Soul Music - Terry Pratchett [119]
The Dean backed away.
“What?”
GIVE ME YOUR COAT.
The Dean, with great reluctance, shrugged off his leather robe and handed it over.
Death put it on. That was better…
NOW, LET ME SEE…
A blue glow flickered under his fingers and spread in jagged blue lines, forming a corona at the tip of every feather and bead.
“We’re in a cellar!” said the Dean. “Doesn’t that matter?”
Death gave him a look.
NO.
Modo straightened up, and paused to admire his rose bed, which contained the finest display of pure black roses he’d ever managed to produce. A high magical environment could be useful, sometimes. Their scent hung on the evening air like an encouraging word.
The flower bed erupted.
Modo had a brief vision of flames and something arcing into the sky before his vision was blotted out by a rain of beads, feathers, and soft black petals.
He shook his head, and ambled off to fetch his shovel.
“Sarge?”
“Yes, Nobby?”
“You know your teeth…”
“What teeth?”
“The teeth like in your mouth?”
“Oh, right. Yep. What about ’em?”
“How come they fit together at the back?”
There was a pause while Sergeant Colon prodded the recesses of his mouth with his tongue.
“It uh ah—” he began, and untangled himself. “Interesting observation, Nobby.”
Nobby finished rolling a cigarette.
“Reckon we should shut the gates, Sarge?”
“Might as well.”
With the exact minimum amount of effort they swung the huge gates together. It wasn’t much of a precaution. The keys had been lost a long time ago. Even the sign “Thank you for Nott Invading Our City” was barely readable now.
“I reckon we should—” Colon began, and then peered down the street.
“What’s that light?” he said. “And what’s making that noise?”
Blue light glittered on the buildings at the end of the long street.
“Sounds like some kind of wild animal,” said Corporal Nobbs.
The light resolved itself into two actinic blue lances.
Colon shaded his eyes.
“Looks like some kind of…horse or something.”
“It’s coming straight for the gates!”
The tortured roar bounced off the houses.
“Nobby, I don’t think it’s gonna stop!”
Corporal Nobbs threw himself flat against the wall. Colon, slightly more aware of the responsibilities of rank, waved his hands vaguely at the approaching light.
“Don’t do it! Don’t do it!”
And then picked himself up out of the mud.
Rose petals, feathers, and sparks fell softly around him.
In front of him, a hole in the gates sparkled blue around the edges.
“That’s old oak, that is,” he said vaguely. “I just hope they don’t make us pay for it out of our own money. Did you see who it was, Nobby? Nobby?”
Nobby edged carefully along the wall.
“He…he had a rose in his teeth, Sarge.”
“Yes, but would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
Nobby swallowed.
“If I didn’t, Sarge,” he said, “it’d have to be one hell of an identity parade.”
“I don’t like this, Mr. Glod! I don’t like this!”
“Shut up and steer!”
“But this isn’t the kind of road you’re supposed to go fast on!”
“That’s all right! You can’t see where you’re going anyway!”
The cart went around a corner on two wheels. It was starting to snow, a weak, wet snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground.
“But we’re back in the hills! That’s a drop down there! We’ll go over the side!”
“You want Chrsyoprase to catch us?”
“Giddyup, yah!”
Buddy and Cliff clung to the sides of the cart as it rocked from side to side into the darkness.
“Are they still behind us?” Glod yelled.
“Can’t see anything!” shouted Cliff. “If you stopped der cart, maybe we could hear something?”
“Yeah, but suppose we heard something really up close?”
“Giddyup hiyah!”
“Okay, so how about if we throw der money out?”
“FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS?”
Buddy looked over the edge of the cart. Darkness with a certain gulchlike quality, a certain suggestion of depth, was a few feet from the side of the road.
The guitar twanged gently to the rhythm of the wheels. He picked it up in one hand. Strange how it was never silent. You couldn’t silence it even by pressing on the strings heavily with both hands; he’d tried.
There was the harp