as small as a world and as large as alone, dysfunctionalunit: A hush falls over the disc. ...

4:34pm March 14, 2015

A hush falls over the disc.
Tiffany Aching, tending to her cheeses, stops and looks over the chalk. Mustrum Ridcully, throwing darts at the wall beyond the Bursar, puts them down and is quiet for the first time in the day. The Bursar, on some upswing of happy frog pill heaven, would have been grateful if he weren’t plunging from the pink clouds. Hex stops working on his differentials and Ponder stops his poking at the thing that should be going parp but isn’t.
Pseudopolis yard goes silent, the constant shuffling of paper and dragging of chairs ceasing and only the pling, pling of settling wood can be heard. Captain Carrot furrows his brow and looks to Angua, who was sitting with Sally and Cheri, but he finds no reason there, just the same emptiness. Sam Vimes, off for the day and having lunch with Sybil and young Sam has the sudden, unexpected urge to hold them both. He sees the look reflected in ihs wife and does so.
In XXXX Noelene and Darlene put down their mauve tinted beers and looks at the suddenly quiet patrons, Crocodile Crocodile and Daggy stop their own drinking. Twoflower and Lotus Blossom stop their bickering and Twoflower puts his hand over her delicate, deadly one. She doesn’t even think to pull out one of her daggers. Polly Perks stops while sharpening her swords and leans into Mal. Mal wraps his arms around Polly’s shoulders and puts the stone to the side.
The witches Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, Magrat Garlick and Agnes Nitt all wander up to the Dancers, but say nothing, just look over to the gnarled ground where time and space are tangled together. You hides under Granny’s skirts. Nanny hasn’t put out her pipe, but she also hasn’t taken a puff of it since they all arrived.
Rincewind and The Librarian are surprised when the grimoire they were wrestling stops suddenly and lays flat, but it’s short lived. Rincewind sits heavily in a chair and the Librarian sinks onto his knuckles with a soft ook. Vetinari pauses in his reading of the evening’s missives and reports, reaches to Mr. Fusspot and puts his hand on the little dogs head. Mr. Fusspot huffs quietly in his in tray. Drumknott, never one to do so without invitation, sits in the chair in front of his Lordship’s desk and looks positively despondent.*
Susan’s class was already quiet, but it was that special quiet that isn’t really quiet but full of the papery sounds of concentration and effort. The children stop what they’re doing sit demurely, even Tibby Willins who never stopped fidgeting. Only the sounds of Asperanda Weaver sniffling suffused the room.
And then there was a voice, because there’s always one, raised up in song. It was unsure at first and a little wobbly, and possibly a little snotty too.
“A wizards staff has a knob on the end, a knob on the end-”
In Hung Hung there was a shock as One Favourite Pearl broke the silence with Now That We Are Free Let Us Continue With Consideration And Care.
Remorse lifted his voice over the canyons, over the horses, over the gang, singing about the bushranger Rinso
Agnes saw no choice but to join in with Nanny
Nobby Nobbs and the golem Dorfl joined together singing Where Has All the Custard Gone. Say what you like about Golems, but they know how to sing.
In the Royal Post office the old men in the brotherhood of the post sang of legible return addresses and correct stampage.
The clacksmen sang in time to the shutters, the goblins on the rail sang like stomping on walnut shells, the Dwarfs in their mines sang songs about the deep.
Lord Vetinari did not sing, but did not look askance at Mr. Fusspot when he howled, low and long, or at Drumknott who stood once more and went to arrange his paper clips and hummed.
Ponder Stibbons didn’t know many songs, but he felt compelled to sing a lullaby his mother sang to him when he was young. Hex joined in, clicking and whirring and parp-ing in time.
Ridcully sang a song about drinks too loudly at the Bursar and the Bursar, for once, did what he could to keep up.
Shufti and Paul sang Sweet Polly Oliver to Jack, who did not understand why he was so sad, but now giggles and smooshes Paul’s nose with his chubby hands.
And in his study, at his desk, Death lifted his skull from his hands and took up the life timer that had been placed before him.
ALBERT, he said I HAVE NEVER ONCE REGRETTED DOING MY DUTY.
“No, master,” his manservant replied, unusually hushed and compliant
BUT I SUPPOSE I DON’T HAVE A CHOICE IN THE MATTER.
“No, master”
WHEN IT’S TIME, IT’S TIME
“Yes, master.”
SADDLE BINKY FOR ME, ALBERT. AND PERHAPS PACK SOME SHERRY AND PORK PIES. THIS ONE MIGHT TAKE A WHILE. I SHOULD LIKE IT TO TAKE A WHILE.
“Yes, master.” And Albert left, singing a song he hadn’t thought of in years. Centuries, if there was any way to delineate centuries in that timeless place.
Great A’Tuin the world turtle, swam on through space, whose sadness first quieted the elephants, and then the disc, heard the song and took his comfort from them, joined them, singing the song he himself had learned when he was a mere hatchling. The song of the worlds.
And at the start of the desert, sitting against a stone, the golem Anghammarad looks towards the end and says, “All Things Go.”

*Meaning, of course, that the very corner of his mouth is slightly downturned and there is a small furrow in his brow.