Soul Music - Terry Pratchett [115]
“MMF MMF MMF?”
“How can we do dat?”
“MMF MMF MMF?”
“Glod,” said Cliff, in a reasonable tone of voice, “I’m going to take my hand away. And you’re not to shout. Right?”
“Mmf.”
“Okay.”
“TAKE IT BACK? FIVE THOUSAND DOL—mmf-mmfmmf—”
“I suppose some of dat is ours,” said Cliff, tightening his grip.
“Mmf!”
“I know I haven’t had any wages,” said Asphalt.
“Let’s get to Quirm,” said Buddy urgently. “We can take out what’s…ours and send the rest back to him.”
Cliff scratched his chin with his free hand.
“Some of it belongs to Chrysoprase,” said Asphalt. “Mr. Dibbler borrowed some money off him to set up the Festival.”
“We won’t get away from him,” said Cliff, “except if we drive all der way to der Rim and chuck ourselves over. And even den, only maybe.”
“We could explain…couldn’t…we…?” said Asphalt.
A vision of Chrsyoprase’s gleaming marble head formed in their vision.
“Mmf.”
“No.”
“Quirm, then,” said Buddy.
Cliff’s diamond teeth glittered in the moonlight.
“I thought…” he said, “I thought…I heard something on der road back there. Sounded like harness—”
The invisible beggars began to wander away from the park. Foul Ole Ron’s Smell had stayed on for a while, because it was enjoying the music. And Mr. Scrub still hadn’t moved.
“We got nearly twenty sausages,” said Arnold Sideways.
Coffin Henry coughed a cough with bones in it.
“Buggrem!” said Foul Ole Ron, “I told ’em, spying’ on me with rays!”
Something bounded across the trodden turf toward Mr. Scrub, ran up his robe, and grabbed either side of his hood with both paws.
There was the hollow sound of two skulls meeting.
Mr. Scrub staggered backward.
SQUEAK!
Mr. Scrub blinked and sat down suddenly.
The beggars stared down at the little figure jumping up and down on the cobbles. Being of an invisible nature themselves, they were naturally good at seeing things unseen by other men or, in the case of Foul Ole Ron, by any known eyeball.
“That’s a rat,” said The Duck Man.
“Buggrit,” said Foul Ole Ron.
The rat pranced in circles on its hind legs, squeaking loudly. Mr. Scrub blinked again. And Death stood up.
I HAVE TO GO, he said.
SQUEAK!
Death strode away, stopped, and came back. He pointed a skeletal finger at The Duck Man.
WHY, he said, ARE YOU WALKING AROUND WITH THAT DUCK?
“What duck?”
AH. SORRY.
“Listen, how can it go wrong?” said Crash, waving his hands frantically. “It’s got to work. Everyone knows that when you get your big chance because the star is ill or something, then the audience’ll go mad for you. It happens every time, right?”
Jimbo, Noddy, and Scum peered around the curtain at the pandemonium. They nodded uncertainly.
Of course things always went well when you had your big chance.
“We could do ‘Anarchy in Ankh-Morpork,’” said Jimbo doubtfully.
“We haven’t got that right,” said Noddy.
“Yeah, but there’s nothing new about that.”
“I suppose we could give it a try…”
“Excellent!” said Crash. He raised his guitar defiantly. “We can do it! For the sake of sex and drugs and Music With Rocks In!”
He was aware of their disbelieving stares.
“You never said you’d had any drugs,” said Jimbo accusingly.
“If it comes to that,” said Noddy, “I don’t reckon you’ve ever had—”
“One out of three ain’t bad!” shouted Crash.
“Yes it is, it’s only thirty-three per—”
“Shut up!”
People were stamping their feet and clapping their hands derisively.
Ridcully squinted along his staff.
“There was the Holy St. Bobby,” he said. “I suppose he was a righteous ass, come to think about it.”
“Sorry?” said Ponder.
“He was a donkey,” said Ridcully. “Hundreds of years ago. Got made a bishop in the Omnian church for carrying some holy man, I believe. Can’t get more righteous than that.”
“No…no…no…Archchancellor,” said Ponder. “It’s just a sort of military saying. It means…the…you know, sir…backside.”
“I wonder how we tell which bit that is?” said Ridcully. “The creatures from the Dungeon Dimensions have legs and things all over the place.”
“I don’t know, sir,” said Ponder wearily.
“Perhaps we’d just better kick everything,