'“Sto Helit Lace”?' said Cliff. 'Gook?'
'It's a kind of very fine lace they make iii the city of Sto Helit,' said Glod. Glod gave Buddy a lopsided look. 'That bit where you said “hello, baby”,' he said. 'Why'd you do that?'
'Er...'
'I mean, it's not as if they even allow small children into the Drum.'
'I don't know. The words were just there,' said Buddy. 'They were sort of part of the music . . .'
'And you were . . . moving about in a funny way. Like you were having trouble with your trousers,' said Glod. 'I'm not expert on humans, of course, but I saw some ladies in the audience looking at you like a dwarf looks at a girl when he knows her father's got a big shaft and several rich seams.'
'Yeah,' said Cliff, 'and like when a troll is thinking: hey, will you look at der strata on dat one . . .'
'You're certain you've got no elvish in you, are you?' said Glod. 'Once or twice I thought you were acting a bit . . . elvish.'
'I don't know what's happening!' said Buddy. The guitar whined. They looked at it. 'What we do is,' said Cliff, 'we take dat and throw it in de river. All those in favour say “Aye”. Or Oook, as the case may be.' There was another silence. No-one rushed to pick up the instrument. 'But the thing is,' said Glod, 'the thing is . . . they did love us out there.' They thought about this. 'It didn't actually feel . . . bad,' said Buddy. 'Got to admit . . . I never had an audience like dat in my whole life,' said Cliff. 'Oook.'
'If we're so good,' said Glod, 'why ain't we rich?' "Cos you do the negotiatin',' said Cliff. 'If we've got to pay for der furniture, I'm soon goin' to have to eat my dinner through a straw.'
'You saying I'm no good?' said Glod, getting angrily to his feet. 'You blow good horn. But you ain't no financial wizard.'
'Hah, I'd just like to see ' There was a knock on the door.
Cliff sighed. 'Dat'll be Hibiscus again,' he said. 'Pass me dat mirror. I'll try to hit one out on de other side.' Buddy opened the door. Hibiscus was there, but behind a smaller man wearing a long coat and a wide, friendly grin. 'Ah,' said the grin. 'You'd be Buddy, right?'
'Er, yes.' And then the man was inside, without actually appearing to have moved, and kicking the door shut in the landlord's face. 'Dibbler's the name,' the grin went on. 'C. M. O. T. Dibbler. I dare say you've heard of me?'
'Gook!'
'I ain't talking to you! I'm talking to you other guys.'
'No,' said Buddy, 'I don't think we have.' The grin appeared to widen. 'I hear you boys are in a bit of trouble,' said Dibbler. 'Broken furniture and whatnot.'
'We're not even going to get paid,' said Cliff, glaring at Glod. 'Well now,' said Dibbler, 'it could just be that I could help you there. I'm a businessman. I do business. I can see you boys are musicians. You play music. You don't want to worry your heads about money stuff, right? Gets in the way of the creative processes, am I right? How about if you leave that to me?'
'Huh,' said Glod, still smarting from the insult to his financial acumen. 'And what can you do?'
'Well,' said Dibbler, ' I can get you paid for tonight, for a start.'
'What about the furniture?' said Buddy. 'Oh, stuff gets busted here every night,' said Dibbler expansively. 'Hibiscus was just having you on. I'll square it with him. Confidentially, you want to watch out for people like him.' He leaned forward. If his grin had been any wider the top of his head would have fallen off. 'This city, boys,' he said, 'is a jungle.'
'If he can get us paid, I trust him,' said Glod. 'As simple as dat?' said Cliff. 'I trust anyone who gives me money.' Buddy glanced at the table. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that if something was wrong the guitar would do something - play a discord, maybe. But it just purred gently to itself. 'Oh, all right. If it means I get to keep my teef, I'm all for it,' said Cliff. 'OK,' said Buddy. 'Great! Great! We can make beautiful music together! At least -you boys can, eh?' He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. In Dibbler's eyes, the lion roared. Somewhere high in the Ramtops, Susan rode Binky over a cloudbank. 'How could he talk like that?' she said. 'Play around with people's lives, and then talk about duty?' All the lights were on in the Musicians' Guild. A gin bottle played a tattoo on the edge of a glass. Then it rattled briefly on the desktop as Satchelmouth put it down. 'Doesn't anyone know who the hells they are?' Mr Clete said, as Satchelmouth managed to grip the glass on the second try. 'Someone must know who they are!'
'Dunno about the boy,' said Satchelmouth. 'No-one's ever seen him before. An' . . . an' . . . well, you know trolls . . . could've been anyone. . .'
'One of them was definitely the Librarian from the University,' said Herbert 'Mr Harpsichord' Shuffle, the Guild's own librarian. 'We can leave him for now,' said Clete.
The others nodded. No-one really wanted to attempt to beat up the Librarian if there was anyone smaller available. 'What about the dwarf?'
'Ah.'
'Someone said they thought he was Glod Glodsson. Lives in Phedre Road somewhere-' Clete growled. 'Get some of the lads over there right now. I want the position of musicians in this city explained to them right now. Hat. Hat. Hat.' The musicians hurried through the night, the din of the Mended Drum behind them. 'Wasn't he nice,' said Glod. 'I mean, we haven't just got our pay, but he was so interested he gave us twenty dollars of his own money!'
'I tink what he said,' said Cliff, 'was dat he'd give us twenty dollars with interest.'
'Same thing, isn't it? And he said he could get us more jobs. Did you read the contract?'
'Did you?'