Soul Music - Terry Pratchett [121]
OH, BLAST.
Things were coming apart. The Librarian had done his best, but mere bone and wood couldn’t take this sort of strain. Feathers and beads whirled away and landed, smoking, in the road. A wheel parted company from its axle and bounded away, shedding spokes, as the machine took a curve almost horizontally.
It made no real difference. Something like a soul flickered in the air where the missing pieces had been.
If you took a shining machine, and shone a light on it so that there were gleams and highlights, and then took away the machine but left the light…
Only the horse’s skull remained. That and the rear wheel, which spun in forks now only flickering light, and was smoldering.
The thing whirred past Dibbler, causing his horse to throw him into the ditch and bolt.
Death was used to traveling fast. In theory he was already everywhere, waiting for almost anything else. The fastest way to travel is to be there already.
But he’d never been this fast while going this slow. The landscape had often been a blur, but never while it was only four inches from his knee on the bends.
The cart shifted again. Now even Cliff was looking down into the darkness.
Something touched his shoulder.
“HANG ON TO THIS. BUT DON’T TOUCH THE BLADE.”
Buddy leaned past.
“Glod, if you let go of the bag I can—”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“There’s no pockets in a shroud, Glod.”
“You got the wrong tailor, then.”
In the end Buddy grabbed a spare leg and hauled. One at a time, clambering over one another, The Band eased themselves back onto the road. And turned to look at Susan.
“White horse,” said Asphalt. “Black cloak. Scythe. Um.”
“You can see her too?” said Buddy.
“I hope we’re not going to wish we couldn’t,” said Cliff.
Susan held up a lifetimer and peered at it critically.
“I suppose it’s too late to cut some sort of deal?” said Glod.
“I’m just looking to see if you’re dead or not,” said Susan.
“I think I’m alive,” said Glod.
“Hold on to that thought.”
They turned at a creaking sound. The cart slid forward and dropped into the gorge. There was a crash as it hit an outcrop halfway toward the bottom, and then a more distant thud as it smashed into the rocks. There was a “whoomph” and orange flames blossomed as the oil in the lamps exploded.
Out of the debris, trailing flame, rolled a burning wheel.
“We would have been in dat,” said Cliff.
“You think maybe we’re better off now?” said Glod.
“Yep,” said Cliff. “’Cos we’re not dyin’ in der wreckage of a burning cart.”
“Yes, but she looks a bit…occult.”
“Fine by me. I’ll take occult over deep-fried any day.”
Behind them, Buddy turned to Susan.
“I…think I’ve worked it out,” she said. “The music…twisted up history, I think. It’s not supposed to be in our history. Can you remember where you got it from?”
Buddy just stared. When you’ve been saved from certain death by an attractive girl on a white horse, you don’t expect a shopping quiz.
“A shop in Ankh-Morpork,” said Cliff.
“A mysterious old shop?”
“Mysterious as anything. There—”
“Did you go back? Was it still there? Was it in the same place?”
“Yes,” said Cliff.
“No,” said Glod.
“Lots of interesting merchandise that you wanted to pick up and learn more about?”
“Yes!” said Glod and Cliff together.
“Oh,” said Susan. “That kind of shop.”
“I knew it didn’t belong here,” said Glod. “Didn’t I say it didn’t belong here? I said it didn’t belong here. I said it was eldritch.”
“I thought that meant oblong,” said Asphalt.
Cliff held out his hand.
“It’s stopped snowing,” he said.
“I dropped the thing into the gorge,” said Buddy. “I…didn’t need it anymore. It must have smashed.”
“No,” said Susan. “It’s not as—”
“The clouds…now they look eldritch,” said Glod, looking up.
“What? Oblong?” said Asphalt.
They all felt it…a sensation that the walls had been removed from around the world. The air buzzed.
“What’s this now?” said Asphalt, as they instinctively huddled together.
“You ought to know,” said Glod. “I thought you’ve been everywhere and seen everything?”
White