One hairy hand was raised high in the air, and then plunged toward the strings.

Blert never wanted to repeat the next ten seconds. People shouldn't be allowed to do that sort of thing to a defenseless musical instrument. It was like raising a little pony, feeding it and grooming it properly, plaiting ribbons in its tail. giving it a nice field with bunnies and daisies in it, and then watching the first rider take it out with spurs and a whip.

The thug played as if he were searching for something. He didn't find it, but as the last discords faded away his features twisted into the determined expression of one who intends to go on looking.

"Yer, right. How much?" he said.

It was on sale for fifteen dollars. But Blert's musical soul rebelled. He snapped.

"Twenty-five dollars," was what he snapped.

"Yer, right. Will this be enough, then?"

A small ruby was produced from somewhere in a pocket.

"I can't change that!"

Blert's musical soul was still protesting, but his business head stepped in and flexed its elbows.

"But, but, but I'll throw in my guitar primer and a strap and a couple of pleckies, yes?" he said. "It's got pictures of where to put your fingers and everything, yes?"

"Yer, right."

The barbarian walked out. Blert stared at the gem in his hand.

The bell rang. He looked up.

This one wasn't quite so bad. There were fewer studs, and the helmet had only two spikes.

Blert's hand shut around the jewel.

"Don't tell me you want a guitar?" he said.

"Yep. One of them that goes whoweeeooowweeee-oowwww-ngngngng whoweeeooowweeee-oowwww-ngngngng."

Blert looked around wildly.

"Well, there's this one," he said, grabbing the nearest instrument. "I don't know about wooeeeoowweee wooeeeoowweee but here's my primer as well and a strap and some pleckies, that'll be thirty dollars and I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll throw in the space between the strings for free, okay?" but here's my primer as well and a strap and some pleckies, that'll be thirty dollars and I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll throw in the space between the strings for free, okay?"

"Yep. Er. Got a mirror?"

The bell rang.

And rang.

An hour later Blert leaned on the doorframe of his workshop, a manic grin on his face and his hands on his belt to stop the weight of money in his pockets pulling his trousers down.

"Gibbsson?"

"Yes, boss?"

"You know those guitars you made? When you were learning?"

"The ones you said sounded like a cat going to the toilet through a sewn-up bum, boss?"

"Did you throw them away?"

"No, boss. I thought: I'll keep them, so's in five years' time, when I can make proper instruments, I'll be able to take 'em out and have a good laugh."

Blert wiped his forehead. Several small gold coins fell out with his handkerchief.

"Where did you put them, out of interest?"

"Chucked 'em inna shed, boss. Along with that whaney timber you said was about as useful as a mermaid in a chorus line."

"Just fetch them out again, will you? And that timber."

"But you you said-" said-"

"And bring me a saw. And then nip out and get me, oh, a couple of gallons of black paint. And some sequins."

"Sequins, boss?"

"You can get them up at Mrs. Cosmopilite's dress shop. And ask her if she's got any of those glittery ankhstones. And some fancy material for straps. Oh...and see if she can lend us her biggest mirror..."

Blert hitched up his trousers again.

"And then go down to the docks and hire a troll and tell him to stand in the corner and if anyone else comes in and tries to play..." he paused, and then remembered, "'Pathway to Paradise,' I think they said it's called...he's to pull their head off."

"Shouldn't he give them a warning?" said Gibbsson.

"That will be be the warning." the warning."

It was an hour later.

Ridcully had got bored and sent Tez the Terrible over to the kitchens to see about a snack. Ponder and the other two had been busying themselves around the flask, messing around with crystal balls and wire. And now...

There was a wire stretched between two nails on the bench. It was a blur as it twanged an interesting beat.

Big curved green lines hung in the air above it.

"What's that?" said Ridcully.

"That's what the sound looks like," said Ponder.

"Sound looks looks like," said Ridcully. "Well, there's a thing. I never saw sound looking like that. This is what you boys use magic for, is it? Looking at sound? Hey, we've got some nice cheese in the kitchen, how about we go and listen to how it smells?" like," said Ridcully. "Well, there's a thing. I never saw sound looking like that. This is what you boys use magic for, is it? Looking at sound? Hey, we've got some nice cheese in the kitchen, how about we go and listen to how it smells?"

Ponder sighed.

"It's what sound would be if your ears were eyes," he said.

"Really?" said Ridcully, brightly. "Amazing!"

"It looks very very complicated," said Ponder. "Simple when you look at it from a distance and up close, very, very complex. Almost... complicated," said Ponder. "Simple when you look at it from a distance and up close, very, very complex. Almost...

"Alive," said Ridcully, firmly.

"Er..."

It was the one known as Skazz. He looked about seven stone and had the most interesting haircut Ridcully had ever seen, since it consisted of a shoulder-length fringe of hair all round. It was only the tip of his nose poking out which told the world which way he was facing. If he ever developed a boil on the back of his neck, people would think he was walking the wrong way.

"Yes, Mister Skazz?" said Ridcully.

"Er. I read something about this once," said Skazz.

"Remarkable. How did you manage that?"

"You know the Listening Monks up in the Ramtops? They say that there's a background noise to the universe? A sort of echo of some sound?"

"Sounds sensible to me. The whole universe starting up, bound to make a big bang," said Ridcully.

"It wouldn't have to be very loud," said Ponder. "It'd just have to be everywhere, all at once. I read that book. Old Riktor the Counter wrote it. The Monks are still listening to it, he said. A sound that never fades away."

"Sounds like loud to me," said Ridcully. "Got to be loud to be heard any distance. If the wind's in the wrong direction, you can't even hear the bells on the Assassins' Guild."

"It wouldn't have to be loud to be heard everywhere," said Ponder. "The reason being, at that point everywhere everywhere was all in one place." was all in one place."

Ridcully gave him the look people give conjurers who've just removed an egg from their ear.

"Everywhere was all in one place?"

"Yes."

"So where was everywhere else?"

"That was all in one place, too."

"The same place?"

"Yes."

"Crunched up very small?"

Ridcully was beginning to show certain signs. If he had been a volcano, natives living nearby would be looking for a handy virgin.

"Haha, in fact you could say it was crunched up very big," said Ponder, who always walked into it. "The reason being, space didn't exist until there was a universe, so anything there was, was everywhere."

"The same everywhere we had just now?"

"Yes."

"All right. Go on."

"Riktor said he thought that the sound came first. One great big complicated chord. The biggest, most complicated sound there ever was. A sound so complex that you couldn't play it within within a universe, any more than you can open a box with the crowbar that's inside it. One great chord which...as it were... a universe, any more than you can open a box with the crowbar that's inside it. One great chord which...as it were...played everything into being. Started the music, if you like." everything into being. Started the music, if you like."

"A sort of ta-dahhh ta-dahhh?" said Ridcully.

"I suppose so."

"I thought the universe came into being because some god cut off some other god's wedding tackle and made the universe out of it," said Ridcully. "Always seemed straightforward to me. I mean, it's the kind of thing you can imagine happenin'."

"Well-"

"Now you're telling me someone blew a big hooter and here we are?"

"I don't know about someone someone," said Ponder.

"Noises don't just make themselves, that I do know," said Ridcully. He relaxed a bit, certain in his own mind that reason had prevailed, and patted Ponder on the back.

"It needs some work, lad," he said. "Old Riktor was a bit...unsound, y'know. He thought everything came down to numbers."

"Mind you," said Ponder, "the universe does have a rhythm. Day and night, light and dark, life and death-"

"Chicken soup and croutons," said Ridcully.

"Well, not every metaphor bears close examination."

There was a knock on the door. Tez the Terrible entered, carrying a tray. He was followed by Mrs. Whitlow, the housekeeper.

Ridcully's jaw dropped.

Mrs. Whitlow curtsied.

"Good morning, Hyour Grace," she said.

Her ponytail bobbed. There was a rustle of starched petticoats.

Ridcully's jaw rose again, but only so that he could say: "What have have you done to your-" you done to your-"

"Excuse me, Mrs. Whitlow," said Ponder quickly, "but have you served breakfast to any of the faculty this morning?"

"That's right, Mister Stibbons," said Mrs. Whitlow. Her ample and mysterious bosom shifted under its sweater. "None of the gentlemen came down, so I got trays taken up to them all. Daddio."

Ridcully's gaze continued downward. He'd never thought of Mrs. Whitlow as having legs before. Of course, in theory the woman needed something to move around on, but...well...