" Friday, I believe," said a voice from the rocks. "Oh, bugg–"

The horses reared up and then galloped forward. Asphalt's crack of the whip had been an almost instinctive reaction.

They didn't slow down until they were several miles further along the road.

" Just shut up about money, all right?" hissed Asphalt.

" I'm a professional musician," said Glod. "Of course I think about money. How far is it to Quirm?"

" A lot less now," said Asphalt. "A couple of miles."

And after the next hill the city lay before them, nestling in its bay.

There was a cluster of people at the town's gates, which were closed. Afternoon sunlight glittered off helmets.

" What do you call them long sticks with axes on the end?" said Asphalt.

" Pikes," said Buddy.

" There's certainly a lot of them," said Glod.

" They can't be for us, can dey?" said Cliff. "We're only musicians."

" And I can see some men in long robes and gold chains and things," said Asphalt.

" Burghers," said Glod.

" You know that horseman that passed us this morning..." said Asphalt. "I'm thinking that maybe news travels."

" Yes, but we didn't break up dat theatre," said Cliff.

" Well, you only gave them six encores," said Asphalt.

" We didn't do all dat rioting in the streets."

" I'm sure the men with the pointy blades will understand that."

" Maybe dey don't want der hotels redecorated. I said it was a mistake, orange curtains with yellow wallpaper."

The cart came to a halt. A rotund man with a tricorn hat and a fur‑trimmed cloak scowled uncomfortably at the band.

" Are you the musicians known as The Band With Rocks In?" he said.

" What seems to be the problem, officer?" said Asphalt.

" I am the mayor of Quirm. According to the laws of Quirm, Music With Rocks In cannot be played in the city. Look, it says so right here..."

He flourished a scroll. Glod caught it.

" That ink looks wet to me," he said.

" Music With Rocks In represents a public nuisance, is proven to be injurious to health and morals and to cause unnatural gyrations of the body; said the man, pulling the scroll back.

" You mean we can't come into Quirm?" said Glod.

" You can come in if you must," said the mayor. "But you're not to play."

Buddy stood up on the cart.

" But we've got to play," he said. The guitar swung around on its strap. He gripped the neck and raised his strumming hand threateningly.

Glod looked around in desperation. Cliff and Asphalt had put their hands over their ears.

" Ah!" he said. "I think what we have here is an occasion for negotiation, yes?"

He got down from the cart.

" I expect what your worship hasn't heard of," he said, "is the music tax."

" What music tax?" said Asphalt and the mayor together.

" Oh, it's the latest thing," said Glod. "On account of the popularity of Music With Rocks In. Music tax, fifty pence a ticket. Must have amounted to, oh, two hundred and fifty dollars in Sto Lat, I reckon. More than twice that in Ankh­Morpork, of course. Patrician thought it up."

" Really? Sounds like Vetinari right enough," said the mayor. He rubbed his chin. "Did you say two hundred and fifty dollars in Sto Lat? Really? And that place is hardly any size."

A watchman with a feather in his helmet saluted nervously.

" Excuse me, your worship, but the note from Sto Lat did say–"

" Just a minute," said the mayor testily. "I'm thinking...

Cliff leaned down.

" Dis is bribery, is it?" he whispered.

" This is taxation," said Glod.

The watchman saluted again.

" But really, sir, the guards at–"

" Captain," snapped the mayor, still staring thoughtfully at Glod, "this is politics! Please!"

" As well?" said Cliff.

" And to show goodwill," said Glod, "it'd be a good idea if we paid the tax before the peformance, don't you think?"

The mayor looked at them in astonishment, a man not certain he could get his mind around the idea of musicians with money.

" Your worship, the message said–"

" Two hundred and fifty dollars," said Glod.

" Your worship–"

" Now, captain," said the mayor, apparently reaching a decision, "we know that folk are a bit odd in Sto Lat. It's only music, after all. I said I thought it was an odd note. I can't see the harm in music. And these young me‑ people are clearly very successful," he added. This obviously carried a lot of weight with the mayor, as it does with many people. No‑one likes a poor thief.

" Yes," he went on, "it'd be just like the Lats to try that on us. They think we're simple just because we live out here."

" Yes, but the Pseudopo '

" Oh, them. Stuck‑up bunch. Nothing wrong with a bit of music, is there? Especially," the mayor eyed Glod, "when it's for the civic good. Let 'em in, captain."

Susan saddled up.

She knew the place. She'd even seen it once. They'd put a new fence along the road now, but it was still dangerous.

She knew the time, too.

Just before they called it Dead Man's Curve.

" Hello, Quirm!"

Buddy struck a chord. And a pose. A faint white glow, like the glitter of cheap sequins, outlined him.

" Uh‑huh‑huh!"

The cheering became the familiar wall of sound.

I thought we were going to get killed by people who didn't like us, Glod thought. Now I think it's possible to be killed by people who love us...

He looked around carefully. There were guards around the walls; the captain had been no fool. I just hope Asphalt put the horse and cart outside like I asked him...

He glanced at Buddy, sparkling in the limelight.

A couple of encores and then down the back stairs and away, Glod thought. The big leather satchel had been chained to Cliff's leg. Anyone snatching it would find themselves towing one ton of drummer.

I don't even know what we're going to play, thought Glod. I never do, I just blow and... there it is. You can't tell me that's right.

Buddy whirled his arm like a discus thrower and a chord sprang away and into the ears of the audience.

Glod raised the horn to his lips. The sound that emerged was like burning black velvet in a windowless room.

Before the Music With Rocks In spell filled his soul, he thought: I'm going to die. That's part of the music. I'm going to die really soon. I can feel it. Every day. It's getting closer...

He glanced at Buddy again. The boy was scanning the audience, as if he was looking for someone in the screaming throng.

They played 'There's A Great Deal Of Shaking Happening'. They played 'Give Me That Music With Rocks In'. They played 'Pathway To Paradise' (and a hundred people in the audience swore to buy a guitar in the morning).

They played with heart and especially with soul.

They got out after the ninth encore. The crowd was still stamping its feet for more as they climbed through the privy window and dropped into the alley.

Asphalt emptied a sack into the leather satchel. "Another seven hundred dollars!" he said, helping them onto the cart.

" Right, and we get ten dollars each," said Glod.

" You tell Mr Dibbler," said Asphalt, as the horses' hoofs clattered towards the gates.

" I will."

" It doesn't matter," said Buddy. "Sometimes you do it for the money, but sometimes you do it for the show."

" Hah! That'll be the day." Glod fumbled under the seat. Asphalt had stashed two crates of beer there.

" There's the Festival tomorrow, lads," rumbled Cliff. The gate arch passed above them. They could still hear the stamping from here.