'Has it got dat livery on der side?' said Cliff. Dibbler started again. 'It's a big place, you'll get a great audience! And you'll get . . .' he looked at their trusting, open faces, 'ten dollars over Guild rate, how about that?' Glod's face split into a big grin. 'What, each?' he said. Dibbler gave them another appraising look. 'Oh . . . no,' he said. 'Fair do's. Ten dollars between you. I mean, be serious. You need exposure.'
'Dere's dat word again,' said Cliff. 'The Musicians' Guild'll be right on our necks.'
'Not this place,' said Dibbler. 'Guaranteed.'
'Where is it, then?' said Glod. 'Are you ready for this?' They blinked at him. Dibbler beamed, and blew a cloud of greasy smoke. 'The Cavern!' The beat went on . . . Of course, there are bound to be a few mutations . . . Gortlick and Hammerjug were songwriters, and fully paid-up members of the Guild. They wrote dwarf songs for all occasions. Some people say this is not hard to do so long as you can remember how to spell 'Gold', but this is a little bit cynical. Many dwarf songs[20] are on the lines of 'Gold, gold, gold' but it's all in the inflexion; dwarfs have thousands of words for 'gold' but will use any of them in an emergency, such as when they see some gold that doesn't belong to them. They had a small office in Tin Lid Alley, where they sat either side of an anvil and wrote popular songs to mine along to. 'Gort?'
'What?'
'What do you think of this one?' Hammerjug cleared his throat. 'I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf, 'And me an' my friends can walk towards you with our hats on backwards in a menacing way, 'Yo!' Gortlick chewed the end of his composing hammer thoughtfully.
'Good rhythm,' he said, 'but the words need some work.'
'You mean more gold, gold, gold?'
'Ye-es. What're you thinking of calling it?'
'Er . . . r . . . rat . . . music. . .'
'Why rat music?' Hammerjug looked puzzled. 'Couldn't really say,' he said. 'It was just an idea I had in my brain.' Gortlick shook his head. Dwarfs were a burrowing race. He knew what they liked. 'Good music's got to have hole in it,' he said. 'You ain't got nothing if you ain't got hole.'
'Now calm down, calm down,' said Dibbler. 'It's the biggest venue in Ankh-Morpork, that's why. I don't see what the problem is . . .'
'The Cavern?' screamed Glod. 'Chrysoprase the troll runs it, that's the problem!'
'Dey say he's a godfather in the Breccia,' said Cliff. 'Now now, that's never been proved . . .'
'Only 'cos it's very hard to prove things when someone's scooped a hole in your head and buried your feet in it!'
'There's no need for this prejudice, just because he's a troll-'said Dibbler. 'I'm a troll! So I can be prejudiced against trolls, all right? He's one mean mutherlode! Dey say when dey found the De Bris gang none of 'em had any teef-'
'What is the Cavern?' said Buddy. 'Troll place,' said Cliff. 'Dey say-'
'It'll be great! Why worry?' said Dibbler. 'It's a gambling joint, too!'[21] 'But the Guild won't go in there,' said Dibbler. 'Not if they know what's good for them.'
'And I know what's good for me, too!' shouted Glod. 'I'm good at knowing that! It's good for me not to go into a troll dive!'
'They threw axes at you in the Drum,' said Dibbler, reasonably. 'Yes, but only in fun. It's not as if they were aiming.'
'Anyway,' said Cliff, 'only trolls and damn silly young humans go there who think it clever to drink in a troll bar. You won't get an audience.' Dibbler tapped the side of his nose. 'You play,' he said. 'You'll get an audience. That's my job.'
'The doors aren't big enough for me to go in!' snapped Glod. 'They're huge doors,' said Dibbler. 'They ain't big enough for me 'cos if you try to get me in there you'll have to drag the street in too, on account of me holding on to it!'
'No, be sensible-'
'No!' screamed Glod. 'And I'm screaming for all three of us!' The guitar whined. Buddy swung it around until he could hold it, and played a couple of chords. That seemed to calm it down. 'I think it . . . er . . . likes the idea,' he said. 'It likes the idea,' said Glod, simmering down a little bit. 'Oh, good. Well, do you know what they do to dwarfs who go into the Cavern?' `We do need the money, and it's probably not worse than what the Guild'll do to us if we play anywhere else,' said Buddy. 'And we've got to play.' They stood looking at one another. 'What you boys should do now,' said Dibbler, blowing out a smoke ring, `is find somewhere nice and quiet to spend the day. Have a bit of a rest.'
'Damn right,' said Cliff. 'I never expected to carry these rocks around the whole time-'
Dibbler raised a finger. 'Ah,' he said, 'I thought of that, too. You don't want to waste your talents lugging stuff around, that's what I told myself. I hired you a helper. Very cheap, only a dollar a day, I'll take it straight out of your wages so's you don't have to bother about it. Meet Asphalt.'
'Who?' said Buddy. ''S me,' said one of the sacks beside Dibbler. The sack opened up a bit and turned out not to be a sack at all, but a . . . a sort of crumbled . . . a kind of mobile heap of. . . Buddy felt his eyes watering. It looked like a troll, except that it was shorter than a dwarf. It wasn't smaller than a dwarf - what Asphalt lacked in height he made up in breadth and, while on the subject, also in smell. 'How come,' said Cliff, 'he's so short?' "N'elephant sat on me,' said Asphalt, sulkily. Glod blew his nose. 'Only sat?' Asphalt was already wearing a 'Band With Rocks In' shirt. It was tight across the chest but reached down to the floor. 'Asphalt'll look after you,' said Dibbler. 'There isn't anything he doesn't know about show business.' Asphalt gave them a big grin. 'You'll be OK with me,' he said. 'I've worked with 'em all, I have. Been everywhere, done it all.'
'We could go to the Fronts,' said Cliff. 'No-one around there when the University's on holiday.'
'Good. Got things to organize,' said Dibbler. 'See you tonight. The Cavern. Seven o'clock.' He strode off. 'You know the funny thing about him?' said Glod. 'What?'
'The way he was smoking that sausage. Do you think he knew?' Asphalt grabbed Cliff's bag and slung it easily over his shoulder. 'Let's go, boss,' he said. 'An elephant sat on you?' said Buddy, as they crossed the square. 'Yup. At the circus,' said Asphalt. 'I used to muck 'em arht.'