Soul Music - Terry Pratchett [64]
A small ruby was produced from somewhere in a pocket.
“I can’t change that!”
Blert’s musical soul was still protesting, but his business head stepped in and flexed its elbows.
“But, but, but I’ll throw in my guitar primer and a strap and a couple of pleckies, yes?” he said. “It’s got pictures of where to put your fingers and everything, yes?”
“Yer, right.”
The barbarian walked out. Blert stared at the gem in his hand.
The bell rang. He looked up.
This one wasn’t quite so bad. There were fewer studs, and the helmet had only two spikes.
Blert’s hand shut around the jewel.
“Don’t tell me you want a guitar?” he said.
“Yep. One of them that goes whoweeeooowweeee-oowwww-ngngngng.”
Blert looked around wildly.
“Well, there’s this one,” he said, grabbing the nearest instrument. “I don’t know about wooeeeoowweee but here’s my primer as well and a strap and some pleckies, that’ll be thirty dollars and I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll throw in the space between the strings for free, okay?”
“Yep. Er. Got a mirror?”
The bell rang.
And rang.
An hour later Blert leaned on the doorframe of his workshop, a manic grin on his face and his hands on his belt to stop the weight of money in his pockets pulling his trousers down.
“Gibbsson?”
“Yes, boss?”
“You know those guitars you made? When you were learning?”
“The ones you said sounded like a cat going to the toilet through a sewn-up bum, boss?”
“Did you throw them away?”
“No, boss. I thought: I’ll keep them, so’s in five years’ time, when I can make proper instruments, I’ll be able to take ’em out and have a good laugh.”
Blert wiped his forehead. Several small gold coins fell out with his handkerchief.
“Where did you put them, out of interest?”
“Chucked ’em inna shed, boss. Along with that whaney timber you said was about as useful as a mermaid in a chorus line.”
“Just fetch them out again, will you? And that timber.”
“But you said—”
“And bring me a saw. And then nip out and get me, oh, a couple of gallons of black paint. And some sequins.”
“Sequins, boss?”
“You can get them up at Mrs. Cosmopilite’s dress shop. And ask her if she’s got any of those glittery ankhstones. And some fancy material for straps. Oh…and see if she can lend us her biggest mirror…”
Blert hitched up his trousers again.
“And then go down to the docks and hire a troll and tell him to stand in the corner and if anyone else comes in and tries to play…” he paused, and then remembered, “‘Pathway to Paradise,’ I think they said it’s called…he’s to pull their head off.”
“Shouldn’t he give them a warning?” said Gibbsson.
“That will be the warning.”
It was an hour later.
Ridcully had got bored and sent Tez the Terrible over to the kitchens to see about a snack. Ponder and the other two had been busying themselves around the flask, messing around with crystal balls and wire. And now…
There was a wire stretched between two nails on the bench. It was a blur as it twanged an interesting beat.
Big curved green lines hung in the air above it.
“What’s that?” said Ridcully.
“That’s what the sound looks like,” said Ponder.
“Sound looks like,” said Ridcully. “Well, there’s a thing. I never saw sound looking like that. This is what you boys use magic for, is it? Looking at sound? Hey, we’ve got some nice cheese in the kitchen, how about we go and listen to how it smells?”
Ponder sighed.
“It’s what sound would be if your ears were eyes,” he said.
“Really?” said Ridcully, brightly. “Amazing!”
“It looks very complicated,” said Ponder. “Simple when you look at it from a distance and up close, very, very complex. Almost…
“Alive,” said Ridcully, firmly.
“Er…”
It was the one known as Skazz. He looked about seven stone and had the most interesting haircut Ridcully had ever seen, since it consisted of a shoulder-length fringe of hair all round. It was only the tip of his nose poking out which told the world which way he was facing. If he ever developed a boil on the back of his neck, people would think he was walking the wrong way.
“Yes, Mister Skazz?” said Ridcully.
“Er.