This seemed to fox One-Man-Bucket. It was a line that generally satisfied without further explanation.
who would you like? he asked cautiously. can I have that drink now?
“Not yet, One-Man-Bucket,” said Mrs. Cake.
well, I need it. it’s bloody crowded in here.
“What?” said Windle quickly. “With ghosts, you mean?”
there’s hundreds of ’em, said the voice of One-Man-Bucket.
Windle was disappointed.
“Only hundreds?” he said. “That doesn’t sound a lot.”
“Not many people become ghosts,” said Mrs. Cake. “To be a ghost, you got to have, like, serious unfinished business, or a terrible revenge to take, or a cosmic purpose in which you are just a pawn.”
or a cruel thirst, said One-Man-Bucket.
“Will you hark at him,” said Mrs. Cake.
I wanted to stay in the spirit world, or even wine and beer, hngh. hngh. hngh.
“So what happens to the life force if things stop living?” said Windle. “Is that what’s causing all this trouble?”
“You tell the man,” said Mrs. Cake, when One-Man-Bucket seemed reluctant to answer.
what trouble you talking about?
“Things unscrewing. Clothes running around by themselves. Everyone feeling more alive. That sort of thing.”
that? that’s nothing. see, the life force leaks back where it can. you don’t need to worry about that.
Windle put his hand over the glass.
“But there’s something I should be worrying about, isn’t there,” he said flatly. “It’s to do with the little glass souvenirs.”
don’t like to say.
“Do tell him.”
It was Ludmilla’s voice—deep but, somehow, attractive. Lupine was watching her intently. Windle smiled. That was one of the advantages about being dead. You spotted things the living ignored.
One-Man-Bucket sounded shrill and petulant.
what’s he going to do if I tell him, then? I could get into heap big trouble for that sort of thing.
“Well, can you tell me if I guess right?” said Windle.
ye-ess. maybe.
“You don’t have to say anythin’,” said Mrs. Cake. “Just knock twice for yes and once for no, like in the old days.”
oh, all right.
“Go on, Mr. Poons,” said Ludmilla. She had the kind of voice Windle wanted to stroke.
He cleared his throat.