'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.'
'That's how you got like that?'
'Nope. Dint get like this 'til elephants had sat on me tree, fo' times,' said the small flat troll. 'Dunno why. I'd be cleanin' up after 'em, next minute it'd all be dark.'
'I'd have quit after the first time, me,' said Glod. 'Nah,' said Asphalt, with a contented smile. 'Couldn't do that. Show business is in me soul.' Ponder looked down at the thing they had hammered together. 'I don't understand it either,' he said. 'But . . . it looks as though we can trap it in a string, and it makes the string play the music again. It's like an iconograph for sound.' They'd put the wire inside the box, which resonated beautifully. It played the same dozen bars, over and over again. 'A box of music,' said Ridcully. 'My word!'
'What I'd like to try,' said Ponder, 'is getting the musicians to play in front of a lot of strings like this. Perhaps we could trap the music.'
'What for?' said Ridcully. ' What on Disc for?'
'Well . . . if you could get music in boxes you wouldn't need musicians any more.' Ridcully hesitated. There was a lot to be said for the idea. A world without musicians had a certain appeal. They were a scruffy bunch, in his experience. Quite unhygienic.
He shook his head, reluctantly. `Not this sort of music,' he said. `We want to stop it, not make more of it.'
'What exactly is wrong with it?' said Ponder. `It's . . . well, can't you see?' said Ridcully. 'It makes people act funny. Wear funny clothes. Be rude. Not do what they're told. I can't do a thing with them. It's not right. Besides . . . remember Mr Hong.'
'It's certainly very unusual,' said Ponder. 'Can we get some more? For study purposes? Archchancellor?' Ridcully shrugged. ' We follow the Dean,' he said. 'Good grief,' breathed Buddy, in the huge echoing emptiness. 'No wonder they call it the Cavern. It's huge.'
'I feel dwarfed,' said Glod. Asphalt ambled to the front of the stage. 'One two, one two,' he said. 'One. One. One two, one tw--'
'Three,' said Buddy helpfully. Asphalt stopped and looked embarrassed. 'Just trying the, you know, just trying the . . . trying out the . . .' he muttered. 'Just trying . . . it.'
'We'll never fill this,' said Buddy. Glod poked in a box by the side of the stage. He said, 'We might. Look at these.' He unrolled a poster. The others clustered around. 'Days a picture of us,' said Cliff. 'Someone painted a picture of us.'
'Looking mean,' said Glod. “S a good one of Buddy,' said Asphalt. 'Waving his guitar like that.'
'Why's there all that lightning and stuff?' said Buddy. 'I never look that mean even when I'm mean,' said Glod. ”'The New Sounde Dat's Goin' Arounde“,' Cliff read, his forehead wrinkling with the effort. ”'The Bande With Rockes“,' said Glod. 'Oh, no. It says we're going to be here and everything,' moaned Glod. 'We're dead.'