Soul Music - Terry Pratchett [125]
Satchelmouth shut his eyes and held on tight until the last scream and crackle and splinter had died away. When he opened them, it was just in time to see a burning wheel bounce down the canyon.
“Blimey,” he said, “it was lucky there…was…some…thing…”
His gaze went up. And up.
YES. IT WAS, WASN’T IT?
Mr. Clete sat up in the ruins of the cart. It was clearly very much on fire. He was lucky, he told himself, to have survived that.
A black-robed figure walked through the flames.
Mr. Clete looked at it. He’d never believed in this sort of thing. He never believed in anything. But if he had believed, he would have believed in someone…bigger.
He looked down at what he’d thought was his body, and realized that he could see through it, and that it was fading away.
“Oh, dear,” he said. “Hat. Hat. Hat.”
The figure grinned, and swung its tiny scythe.
SNH, SNH, SNH.
Much later on, people went down into the canyon and sorted out the remains of Mr. Clete from the remains of everything else. There wasn’t very much.
There was some suggestion that he was some musician…some musician had fled the city or something…hadn’t he? Or was that something else? Anyway, he was dead now. Wasn’t he?
No one took any notice of the other things. Stuff tended to congregate in the dry riverbed. There was a horse’s skull, and some feathers and beads. And a few pieces of guitar, smashed open like an eggshell. Although it would be hard to say what had flown.
Susan opened her eyes. She felt wind on her face. There were arms on either side of her. They were supporting her while, at the same time, grasping the reins of a white horse.
She leaned forward. Clouds were scudding by, far below.
“All right,” she said, “And now what happens?
Death was silent for a moment.
HISTORY TENDS TO SWING BACK INTO LINE. THEY ARE ALWAYS PATCHING IT UP. THERE ARE ALWAYS SOME MINOR LOOSE ENDS…I DARESAY SOME PEOPLE WILL HAVE SOME CONFUSED MEMORIES ABOUT A CONCERT OF SOME SORT IN THE PARK. BUT WHAT OF IT? THEY WILL REMEMBER THINGS THAT DID NOT HAPPEN.
“But they did happen!”
AS WELL.
Susan stared down at the dark landscape. Here and there were the lights of homesteads and small villages, where people were getting on with their lives without thought of what was passing by, high over their heads. She envied them.
“So,” she said, “just for an example, you understand…what would happen to The Band?”
OH, THEY MIGHT BE ANYWHERE. Death glanced at the back of Susan’s head. TAKE THE BOY, FOR EXAMPLE. PERHAPS HE LEFT THE BIG CITY. PERHAPS HE WENT SOMEWHERE ELSE. GOT A JOB JUST TO MAKE ENDS MEET. BIDED HIS TIME. DID IT HIS WAY.
“But he was due in the Drum that night!”
NOT IF HE DIDN’T GO THERE.
“Can you do that? His life was due to end! You said you can’t give life!”
NOT ME. YOU MIGHT.
“What do you mean?”
LIFE CAN BE SHARED.
“But he’s…gone. It’s not as though I’m ever likely to see him again.”
YOU KNOW YOU WILL.
“How do you know that?”
YOU’VE ALWAYS KNOWN. YOU REMEMBER EVERYTHING. SO DO I. BUT YOU ARE HUMAN AND YOUR MIND REBELS FOR YOUR OWN SAKE. SOMETHING GETS ACROSS, THOUGH. DREAMS, PERHAPS. PREMONITIONS. FEELINGS. SOME SHADOWS ARE SO LONG THEY ARRIVE BEFORE THE LIGHT.
“I don’t think I understood any of that.”
WELL, IT HAS BEEN A LONG DAY.
More clouds passed underneath.
“Grandfather?”
YES.
“You’re back?”
IT SEEMS SO. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY.
“So I can stop? I don’t think I was very good at it.”
YES.
“But…you’ve just broken a lot of laws…”
PERHAPS THEY’RE SOMETIMES ONLY GUIDELINES.
“But my parents still died.”
I COULDN’T HAVE GIVEN THEM MORE LIFE. I COULD ONLY HAVE GIVEN THEM IMMORTALITY. THEY DIDN’T THINK IT WAS WORTH THE PRICE.
“I…think I know what they mean.”
YOU’RE WELCOME TO COME AND VISIT, OF COURSE.
“Thank you.”
YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A HOME THERE. IF YOU WANT IT.
“Really?”
I SHALL KEEP YOUR ROOM EXACTLY AS YOU LEFT IT.
“Thank you.”
A MESS.
“Sorry.”
I CAN HARDLY SEE THE FLOOR. YOU COULD HAVE TIDIED IT UP A BIT.
“Sorry.”
The lights of Quirm glittered below. Binky touched down smoothly.
Susan