But there were two pudgy knees protruding from the huge mushroom of skirts. Farther down there were white socks.

"Your hair-" he began, hoarsely.

"Is there something wrong?" said Mrs. Whitlow.

"Nothing, nothing," said Ponder. "Thank you very much."

The door closed behind her.

"She was snapping her fingers as she went out, just like you said," said Ponder.

"Wasn't the only thing that's snapped," said Ridcully, still shuddering.

"Did you look at her shoes?"

"I think my eyes shut themselves protectively about there."

"If it's really alive," said Ponder, "then it's very contagious."

This scene took place in Crash's father's coach house, but it was an echo of a scene evolving all around the city. scene took place in Crash's father's coach house, but it was an echo of a scene evolving all around the city.

Crash hadn't been christened Crash. He was the son of a rich dealer in hay and feedstuffs, but he despised his father for being dead from the neck up, totally concerned with material things, unimaginative, and also for paying him a ridiculous three dollars a week allowance.

Crash's father had left his horses in the coach house. At the moment they were both trying to squeeze into one corner, having tried fruitlessly to kick a hole in the walls.

"I reckon I nearly had it that time," said Crash, as hay dust poured down from the roof and woodworm hurried off to find a better home.

"It isn't-I mean, it ain't like the sound we heard in the Drum," said Jimbo critically. "It's a bit like it, but it isn-it ain't it."

Jimbo was Crash's best friend and wished he was one of the people.

"It's good enough to start with," said Crash. "So you and Noddy, you two get guitars. And Scum, you...you can play the drums."

"Dunno how," said Scum. It was actually his name.

"No one knows how to play the drums," said Crash patiently. "There's nothing to knows how to play the drums," said Crash patiently. "There's nothing to know know. You just hit them with the sticks."

"Yeah, but what if I sort of miss?"

"Sit closer. Right," said Crash, sitting back. "Now...the important thing, the really really important thing is...what're we going to call ourselves?" important thing is...what're we going to call ourselves?"

Cliff looked around.

"Well, I reckon we look at every house and I'm damned if I see der name Dibbler anywhere," he growled.

Buddy nodded. Most of Sator Square was the frontage of the University, but there was room for a few other buildings. They were the sort that have a dozen brass plates by the door. The sort that hinted that even wiping your feet on the doormat was going to cost you dear.

"Hello, boys."

They turned. Dibbler beamed at them over a tray of possibly sausages and buns. There were a couple of sacks beside him.

"Sorry we're late," said Glod, "but we couldn't find your office anywhere-"

Dibbler spread his arms wide.

"This is is my office," he said, equally expansively. "Sator Square! Thousands of square feet of space! Excellent communications! Passing trade! Try these on," he added, picking up one of the sacks and opening it. "I had to guess at sizes." my office," he said, equally expansively. "Sator Square! Thousands of square feet of space! Excellent communications! Passing trade! Try these on," he added, picking up one of the sacks and opening it. "I had to guess at sizes."

They were black, and made of cheap cotton. One of them was XXXXL.

"A vest with words on?" said Buddy.

"'The Band With Rocks In,'" Cliff read, slowly. "Hey, dat's us, isn't it?"

"What do we want these for?" said Glod. "We know who we are."

"Advertising," said Dibbler. "Trust me." He put a brown cylinder in his mouth and lit the end. "Wear them tonight. Have I got a gig for you!"

"Have you?" said Buddy.

"That's what I said!"

"No, you asked us," said Glod. "How should we know?"

"Has it got dat livery on der side?" said Cliff.

Dibbler started again.

"It's a big place, you'll get a great audience! And And you'll get..." he looked at their trusting, open faces, "ten dollars over Guild rate, how about that?" you'll get..." he looked at their trusting, open faces, "ten dollars over Guild rate, how about that?"

Glod's face split into a big grin. "What, each?" he said.

Dibbler gave them another appraising look. "Oh...no," he said. "Fair do's. Ten dollars between you. I mean, be serious. You need exposure."

"There's dat word again," said Cliff. "The Musicians' Guild'll be right on our necks."

"Not this place," said Dibbler. "Guaranteed."

"Where is it, then?" said Glod.

"Are you ready for this?"

They blinked at him. Dibbler beamed, and blew a cloud of greasy smoke.

"The Cavern!"

The beat went on...

Of course, there were bound to be a few mutations...

Gortlick and Hammerjug were songwriters, and fully paid-up members of the Guild. They wrote dwarf songs for all occasions.

Some people say this is not hard to do so long as you can remember how to spell "Gold," but this is a little bit cynical. Many dwarf songs* are on the lines of "Gold, gold, gold" but it's all in the inflection; dwarfs have thousands of words for "gold" but will use any of them in an emergency, such as when they see some gold that doesn't belong to them. are on the lines of "Gold, gold, gold" but it's all in the inflection; dwarfs have thousands of words for "gold" but will use any of them in an emergency, such as when they see some gold that doesn't belong to them.

They had a small office in Tin Lid Alley, where they sat either side of an anvil and wrote popular songs to mine along to.

"Gort?"

"What?"

"What do you think of this one?"

Hammerjug cleared his throat.

"I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf, "And me an' my friends can walk towards you with our hats on backwards in a menacing way, "Yo!"

Gortlick chewed the end of his composing hammer thoughtfully.

"Good rhythm," he said, "but the words need some work."

"You mean more gold, gold, gold?"

"Ye-es. What're you thinking of calling it?"

"Er...r...rat...music..."

"Why rat music?"

Hammerjug looked puzzled.

"Couldn't really say," he said. "It was just an idea I had in my brain."

Gortlick shook his head. Dwarfs were a burrowing race. He knew what they liked.

"Good music's got to have hole hole in it," he said. "You ain't got nothing if you ain't got hole." in it," he said. "You ain't got nothing if you ain't got hole."

"Now calm down, calm down," said Dibbler. "It's the biggest venue in Ankh-Morpork, that's why. I don't see what the problem is..."

"The Cavern?" screamed Glod. "Chrysoprase the troll runs it, that's the problem!"

"Dey say he's a godfather in der Breccia," said Cliff.

"Now now, that's never been proved..."

"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 der De Bris gang none of 'em had any teef-" a troll! So I can be prejudiced against trolls, all right? He's one mean mutherlode! Dey say when dey found der De Bris gang none of 'em had any teef-"

"What is is the Cavern?" said Buddy. the Cavern?" said Buddy.

"Troll place," said Cliff. "Dey say-"

"It'll be great! Why worry?" said Dibbler.

"It's a gambling joint, too!" * *

"But the Guild won't go in there," said Dibbler. "Not if they know what's good for them."

"And I 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!" 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 dere who think it clever to drink in 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 my job." job."

"The doors aren't big enough for me to go in!" snapped Glod.

"They're huge huge doors," said Dibbler. 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.