"'S funny thing," said the little troll. "Suddenly everyone's playing music with rocks in it. Mr. Dibbler's signed up another band for the concert, too. To kind of warm it up."

"Who?"

"'S called Insanity," said Asphalt.

"Where are they?" said Cliff.

"Well, put it like this...you know how your your dressing room is dressing room is next next to the privy?" to the privy?"

Crash, behind the Cavern's raggedy curtain, tried to tune his guitar. Several things got in the way of this simple procedure. Firstly, Blert had realized what his customers really wanted and, praying forgiveness from his ancestors, had spent more time gluing on bits of glittery stuff than he had on the actual functioning sections of the instrument. To put it another way, he'd knocked in a dozen nails and tied the strings to them. But this wasn't too much of a problem, because Crash himself had the musical talent of a blocked nostril.

He looked at Jimbo, Noddy, and Scum. Jimbo, now the bass player (Blert, giggling hysterically, had used a bigger lump of wood and some fence wire) was holding up his hand hesitantly.

"What is it, Jimbo?"

"One of my guitar strings has broke."

"Well, you've got five more, ain't you?"

"Yur. But I doesn't know how to play them, like."

"You didn't know how to play six, right? So now you're a bit less ignorant."

Scum peered around the curtain.

"Crash?"

"Yes?"

"There's hundreds of people out there. Hundreds! A lot of 'em have got guitars, too. They're sort of waving 'em in the air!"

Insanity listened to the roar from the other side of the curtain. Crash did not have too many brain cells, and they often had to wave to attract one another's attention, but he had a tiny flicker of doubt that the sound that Insanity had achieved, while a good good sound, was sound, was the the sound that he'd heard last night in the Drum. sound that he'd heard last night in the Drum. The The sound made him want to scream and dance, while the sound made him want to scream and dance, while the other other sound made him...well...made him want to scream and smash Scum's drum kit over its owner's head, quite frankly. sound made him...well...made him want to scream and smash Scum's drum kit over its owner's head, quite frankly.

Noddy took a peek between the curtains.

"Hey, there's a bunch of wiz...I think they're wizards, right in the front row," he said. "I'm...pretty sure they're wizards, but, I mean..."

"You can tell tell, stupid," said Crash. "They've got pointy hats."

"There's one with...pointy hair..." said Noddy.

The rest of Insanity applied eyes to the gap.

"Looks like...a kind of unicorn spike made out of hair..."

"What's that he's got on the back of his robe?" said Jimbo.

"It says BORN TO RUNE," said Crash, who was the fastest reader in the group and didn't need to use his finger at all.

"The skinny one's wearing a flared robe," said Noddy.

"He must must be old." be old."

"And they've all got guitars! Do you reckon they've come to see us?"

"Bound to have," said Noddy.

"That's a bodacious audience," said Jimbo.

"Yeah, that's right, bodacious," said Scum. "Er. What's bodacious mean?"

"Means...means it bodes," said Jimbo.

"Right. It looks like it's boding all right."

Crash thrust aside his doubts.

"Let's get out there," he said, "and really show them what Music With Rocks In is about!"

Asphalt, Cliff, and Glod sat in one corner of the dressing room. The roar of the crowd could be heard from here.

"Why's he not saying anything?" Asphalt whispered.

"Dunno," said Glod.

Buddy was staring at nothing, with the guitar cradled in his arms. Occasionally he'd slap the casing, very gently, in time to whatever thoughts were sluicing through his head.

"He goes like that sometimes," said Cliff. "Just sits and looks at der air-"

"Hey, they're shouting something out there," said Glod. "Listen."

The roar had a rhythm to it.

"Sounds like 'Rocks, Rocks, Rocks,'" said Cliff.

The door burst open and Dibbler half ran, half fell in.

"You've got to get out there!" he shouted. "Right now!"

"I thought the Insanitary boys-" Glod began.

"Don't even ask," said Dibbler. "Come on! Otherwise they'll wreck the place!"

Asphalt picked up the rocks.

"Okay," he said.

"No," said Buddy.

"What this?" said Dibbler. "Nerves?"

"No. Music should be free. Free as the air and the sky."

Glod's head spun around. Buddy's voice had a faint suggestion of an echo.

"Sure, right, that's what I said," said Dibbler. "The Guild-"

Buddy unfolded his legs and stood up.

"I expect people had to pay to get in here, didn't they?" he said.

Glod looked at the others. No one else seemed to have noticed it. But there was a twang on the edge of Buddy's words, a sibilance of strings.

"Oh, that that. Of course," said Dibbler. "Got to cover expenses. There's your wages...wear and tear on the floor...heating and lighting...depreciation..."

The roar was louder now. It had a certain foot-stamping component.

Dibbler swallowed. He suddenly had the look of a man prepared to make the supreme sacrifice.

"I could...maybe go up...maybe...a dollar," he said, each word fighting its way out of the strongroom of his soul.

"If we go on stage now, I want us to do another performance," said Buddy.

Glod glared suspiciously at the guitar.

"What? No No problem. I can soon-" problem. I can soon-"

"Free."

"Free?" The word got past Dibbler's teeth before they could snap shut. He rallied magnificently. "You don't want paying? Certainly, if-"

Buddy didn't move.

"I mean we don't get paid and people don't have to pay to listen. As many people as possible."

"Free?"

"Yes!"

"Where's the profit in that?"

An empty beer bottle vibrated off the table and smashed on the floor. A troll appeared in the doorway, or at least part of it did. It wouldn't be able to get into the room without ripping the doorframe out, but it looked as though it wouldn't think twice about doing so.

"Mr. Chrysoprase says, what's happening?" it growled.

"Er-" Dibbler began.

"Mr. Chrysoprase don't like being kept waiting."

"I know, it-"

"He gets sad if he's kept waiting-"

"All right! right!" shouted Dibbler. "Free! And that's cutting my own throat. You do know that, don't you?"

Buddy played a chord. It seemed to leave little lights in the air.

"Let's go," he said softly.

"I know this city," Dibbler mumbled, as the Band With Rocks In hurried toward the vibrating stage. "Tell people something's free and you'll get thousands of them turning up-"

Needing to eat, said a voice in his head. It had a twang.

Needing to drink.

Needing to buy Band With Rocks In shirts...

Dibbler's face, very slowly, rearranged itself into a grin.

"A free free festival," he said. "Right! It's our public duty. Music festival," he said. "Right! It's our public duty. Music should should be free. And sausages in a bun should be a dollar each, mustard extra. Maybe a dollar fifty. And that's cutting my own throat." be free. And sausages in a bun should be a dollar each, mustard extra. Maybe a dollar fifty. And that's cutting my own throat."

In the wings, the noise of the audience was a solid wall of sound.

"There's lots lots of them," said Glod. "I never played for that many in my entire life!" of them," said Glod. "I never played for that many in my entire life!"

Asphalt was arranging Cliff's rocks on the stage and getting massive applause and catcalls.

Glod glanced up at Buddy. He hadn't let go of the guitar all this time. Dwarfs weren't given to deep introspection, but Glod was suddenly aware of a desire to be a long way from here, in a cave somewhere.

"Best of luck, you guys," said a flat little voice behind them.

Jimbo was bandaging Crash's arm.

"Er, thanks," said Cliff. "What happened to you?"

"They threw something at us," said Crash.