'You can get anything done in Ankh-Morpork,' said Glod firmly. 'I must have knocked on every damn door in the Street of Cunning Artificers. Twenty-five dollars!'
'You're complaining? It ain't your tooth dat's paying for it.' They both turned to look at their guitarist. He was staring out across the endless fields. 'She was there,' he muttered. Feathers spiralled towards the ground. 'You didn't have to go and do that,' said the raven, fluttering upright. 'You could simply ask.' SQUEAK. 'All right, but before would have been better.' The raven ruffled its feathers and looked around at the bright landscape under the dark sky. 'This is the place then, is it?' it said. 'You're sure you're not the Death of Ravens too?' SQUEAK.
'Shape doesn't mean much. Anyway, you've got a pointy snout. What was it you were wanting?' The Death of Rats grabbed a wing and pulled. 'All right, all right!' The raven glanced at a garden gnome. It was fishing in an ornamental pond. The fish were skeletal, but this didn't seem to interfere with their enjoyment of life, or whatever it was they were enjoying. It fluttered and hopped along after the rat. Cut-My-Own-Throat Dibbler stood back. Jimbo, Crash, Noddy and Scum looked at him expectantly. 'What're all the boxes for, Mr Dibbler?' said Crash. 'Yeah,' said Scum. Dibbler carefully positioned the tenth box on its tripod. 'You boys seen an iconograph?' he said. 'Oh, yes . . . I mean, yeah,' said Jimbo. 'They've got a little demon inside them that paints pictures of things you point it at.'
'This is like that, only for sound,' said Dibbler. Jimbo squinted past the open lid. 'Can't see any . . . I mean, can't see no demon,' he said. 'That's because there isn't one,' said Dibbler. It was worrying him, too. He'd have been a little bit happier if there'd been a demon or some sort of magic. Something simple and understandable. He didn't like the idea of meddling in science. 'Now then . . . Suck-' he began. 'The Surreptitious Fabric,' said Jimbo. 'What?'
'The Surreptitious Fabric,' Jimbo repeated helpfully. 'It's our new name.'
'Why have you changed it? You haven't been Suck for twentyfour hours.'
'Yeah, but we thought the name was holding us back.'
'How could it be holding you back? You aren't moving.' Dibbler glared at them and shrugged. 'Anyway, whatever you call yourselves . . . I want you to sing your best song, what am I saying, in front of these boxes. Not yet . . . not yet . . . wait a moment . ..' Dibbler retired to the furthest corner of the room and pulled his hat down over his ears. 'All right, you can start,' he said. He stared in blissful deafness at the group for several minutes until a general cessation of movement suggested that whatever they had been perpetrating had been committed. Then he inspected the boxes. The wires were vibrating gently, but there was barely any sound. The Surreptitious Fabric clustered around. 'Is it working, Mr Dibbler?' said Jimbo. Dibbler shook his head. 'You boys don't have what it takes,' he said. 'What does it take, Mr Dibbler?'
'You've got me there. You've got something,' he said, at the sight of their dejected faces, 'but not a lot of it, whatever it is.'
'Er . . . this doesn't mean we're not allowed to play at the Free Festival, does it, Mr Dibbler?' said Crash. 'Maybe,' said Dibbler, smiling benevolently. 'Thanks a lot, Mr Dibbler!' The Surreptitious Fabric wandered out into the street. 'We need to get it together if we're going to wow them at the Festival,' said Crash.
'What, you mean . . . like . . . learn to play?' said Jimbo. 'No! Music With Rocks In just happens. If you go around learning you'll never get anywhere,' said Crash. 'No, I mean . . .' He looked around. 'Better clothes, for one thing. Did you see about them leather coats, Noddy?'
'Sort of,' said Noddy. 'What do you mean, sort of?'
'Sort of leather. I went down the tannery in Phedre Road and they had some leather all right, but it's a bit . . . whiffy . . . 'All right, we can get started on them tonight. And how about those leopardskin trousers, Scum? You know we said leopardskin trousers'd be a great idea.' A look of transcendental worry crossed Scum's face. 'I kind of got some,' he said. 'You either got them or you ain't,' said Crash. 'Yeah, but they're kind of . . .' said Scum. 'Look, I couldn't find a shop that'd heard of anything like that but, er, you know that circus that was here last week? Only I had a word with the guy in the top hat and, well, it was a kind of a bargain and-'
'Scum,' said Crash quietly, 'what have you bought?'
'Look at it this way,' said Scum with sweating brightness, 'it's sort of leopardskin trousers and a leopardskin shirt and a leopardskin hat.'
'Scum,' said Crash, his voice low with resigned menace, 'you've bought a leopard, haven't you?'
'Sort of leopardy, yes.'
'Oh, good grief-'
'But sort of a real steal for twenty dollars,' said Scum. 'Nothing important wrong with it, the man said.'
'Why'd he get rid of it, then?' Crash demanded. 'It's sort of deaf. Can't hear the lion-tamer, he said.'
'Well, that's no good to us!'
'Don't see why. Your trousers don't have to listen.' SPARE A COPPER, YOUNG SIR? 'Push off, grandad,' said Crash easily. GOOD LUCK TO YOU. 'Too many beggars around these days, my father says,' said Crash, as they pushed past. 'He says the Beggars' Guild ought to do something about it.'
'But the beggars all belong to the Guild,' said Jimbo. 'Well, they shouldn't allow so many people to join.'
'Yes, but it's better than being on the streets.' Scum, who out of the whole group had the least amount of cerebral activity to get between him and true observation of the world, was trailing behind. He had an uneasy feeling that he'd just walked over someone's grave. 'That one looked a bit sort of thin,' he muttered. The others weren't paying any attention. They were back to the usual argument. `I'm fed up with being Surreptitious Fabric,' said Jimbo. 'It's a silly name.'
'Really, really thin,' said Scum. He felt in his pocket. 'Yeah, I liked it best when we were The Whom,' said Noddy. 'But we were only The Whom for half an hour!' said Crash.[25] 'Yesterday. In between bein' The Blots and Lead Balloon, remember?' Scum located a tenpenny piece and turned back. 'There's bound to be some good name,' said Jimbo. 'I just bet we'll know it's right just as soon as we see it.'
'Oh, yeah. Well, we've got to come up with some name we don't start arguing about after five minutes,' said Crash. 'It's not doing our career any good if people don't know who we are.'
'Mr Dibbler says it definitely is,' said Noddy. 'Yes, but a rolling stone gathers no moss, my father says,' said Crash. 'There you go, old man,' said Scum, back down the street. THANK YOU, said the grateful Death. Scum hurried to catch up with the others, who were back on the subject of leopards with hearing difficulties. 'Where did you put it, Scum?' said Crash. 'Well, you know your sort of bedroom-'
certainly tempting-' The senior Assassin pressed himself against the wall as Buddy's footsteps grew louder. He gripped his knife at waist height. No-one who knew anything about knives ever used the famous over-arm stabbing motion so beloved of illustrators. It was amateurish and inefficient. A professional would strike upwards; the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. He drew his hand back and tensed An hourglass, glowing faintly blue, was suddenly thrust in front of his eyes. LORD ROBERT SELACHII? Said a voice by his ear. THIS IS YOUR LIFE. He squinted. There was no mistaking the name engraved on the glass. He could see every little grain of sand, pouring into the past . . . He turned, took one look at the hooded figure, and ran for it. His apprentice was already a hundred yards away, and still accelerating. 'Sorry? Who's that?'
Susan tucked the hourglass back into her robe and shook out her hair. Buddy appeared. 'You?'
'Yes. Me,' said Susan. Buddy took a step nearer. 'Are you going to fade away again?' he said. 'No. I have actually just saved your life, as a matter of fact.' Buddy looked around at the otherwise empty night. 'From what?' Susan bent down and picked up a blackened knife. 'This?' she said. 'I know we've had this conversation before, but who are you? Not my fairy godmother, are you?'