'I'm . . . Look, sit down. Right. Well . . . you know how some things . . . like the Muses, as you said . . . people think that some things are represented by people?' A look of temporary understanding informed Buddy's perplexed features. 'Like the Hogfather representing the spirit of the midwinter festival?' he said. 'Right. Well . . . I'm sort of in that business,' said Susan. 'It doesn't exactly matter what I do.'
'You mean you're not human?'
'Oh, yes. But I'm . . . doing a job. I suppose thinking of me as a Muse is probably as good as anything. And I'm here to warn you.'
'A Muse for Music With Rocks In?'
'Not really, but listen . . . hey, are you all right?'
'Don't know.'
'You looked all washed-out. Listen. The music is dangerous-' Buddy shrugged. 'Oh, you mean the Guild of Musicians. Mr Dibbler says not to worry about that. We're leaving the city for-' Susan stamped forward and picked up the guitar. 'I mean this!' The strings moved and whined under her hand. 'Don't touch that!'
'It's taken you over,' said Susan, throwing it on to the bed. Buddy grabbed it and played a chord. 'I know what you're going to say,' he said. 'Everyone says it. The other two think it's evil. But it's not!'
'It might not be evil, but it's not right! Not here, not now.'
'Yes, but I can handle it.'
'You can't handle it. It handles you.'
'Anyway, who are you to tell me all this? I don't have to take lessons from a tooth fairy!'
'Listen, it'll kill you! I'm sure of it!'
'So I'm supposed to stop playing, then?' Susan hesitated. 'Well, not exactly . . . because then-'
'Well, I don't have to listen to mysterious occult women! You probably don't even exist! So you can just fly back to your magic castle, OK?' Susan was temporarily speechless. She was reconciled to the irredeemable dumbness of most of mankind, particularly the section of it that stood upright and shaved in the mornings, but she was also affronted. No-one had ever talked to Death like this. At least, not for long. 'All right,' she said, reaching out and touching his arm. 'But you'll see me again, and . . . and you won't like it much! Because, let me tell you, I happen to be-' Her expression changed. She felt the sensation of falling backwards while standing still; the room drifted past her and away into darkness, pinwheeling around Buddy's horrified face. The darkness exploded, and there was light. Dribbly candle light. Buddy waved his hand through the empty space where Susan had been. 'Are you still here? Where did you go? Who are you?' Cliff looked around. 'Thought I heard something,' he muttered. 'Here, you do know, don't you, dat some of dose instruments weren't just ordin-'
'I know,' said Glod. 'I wish I'd had a go on the rat pipe. I'm hungry again.'
'I mean they were mythi-'
'Yes.'
'So how come dey end up in a second-hand music shop?'
'Ain't you ever hocked your stones?'
'Oh, sure,' said Cliff. 'Everyone does, some time or other, you know that. Sometimes it's all you've got if you want to see another meal.'
'There you are, then. You said it. It's something every working musician's going to do, sooner or later.'
'Yeah, but the thing that Buddy . . . I mean, it's got the number one on it . . .'
'Yes.' Glod peered up at a street-sign. '“Cunning Artificers”,' he said. 'Here we are. Look, half the workshops are still open even at this time of night.' He shifted the sack. Something cracked inside it. 'You knock that side, I'll knock this.'
'Yeah, all right . . . but, I mean, number one. Even the conch shell was number fifty-two. Who used to own the guitar?'
'Don't know,' said Glod, knocking on the first door, 'but I hope they never come back for it.'
'And that,' said Ridcully, 'is the Rite of AshkEnte. Quite easily done. You have to use a fresh egg, though.' Susan blinked. There was a circle drawn on the floor. Strange unearthly shapes surrounded it, although when she adjusted her mind set she realized that these were perfectly ordinary students. 'Who are you?' she said. 'What's this place? Let me go this instant!' She strode across the circle and rebounded from an invisible wall. The students were staring at her in the manner of those who have heard of the species 'female' but have never expected to get this close to one. 'I demand that you let me go!' She glared at Ridcully. 'Aren't you the wizard I saw last night?'
'That's right,' said Ridcully, 'and this is the Rite of AshkEnte. It calls Death into the circle and he - or as it may be, in this case, she - can't leave until we say so. There's a lot of stuff in this book here spelled with funny long esses and it goes on about abjuring and conjuration, but it's all show, really. Once you're in, you're in. I must say your predecessor - hah, bit of a pun there - was a lot more gracious about it.' Susan glared. The circle played tricks with her ideas of space. It seemed most unfair. 'Why have you summoned me, then?' she said. 'That's better. That's more according to the script,' said Ridcully. ' We are allowed to ask you questions, you see. And you have to answer them. Truthfully.'
'Well?'
'Would you like to sit down? A glass of something?'