Soul Music by Terry Pratchett Page A

played?’ said Susan.
    â€˜Er . . . you rip off a human’s head and kick it around with special boots made of obsidian until you score a goal or it bursts. But it’s not played any more, of course,’ she added quickly.
    â€˜I should think not,’ said Susan.
    â€˜No one knows how to make the boots, I expect,’ said Gloria.
    â€˜I expect if it was played now, someone like Iron Lily would go running up and down the touchline shouting, “Get some head, you soft nellies”,’ said Jade.
    They walked in silence for a while.
    â€˜I think,’ said Gloria, cautiously, ‘that she probably wouldn’t, actually.’
    â€˜I say, you two haven’t noticed anything . . . odd lately, have you?’ said Susan.
    â€˜Odd like what?’ said Gloria.
    â€˜Well, like . . . rats . . .’ said Susan.
    â€˜Haven’t seen any rats in the school,’ said Gloria. ‘And I’ve had a good look.’
    â€˜I mean . . . strange rats,’ said Susan.
    They were level with the stables. These were normally the home of the two horses that pulled the school coach, and the term-time residence of a few horses belonging to gels who couldn’t be parted from them.
    There is a type of girl who, while incapable of cleaning her bedroom even at knifepoint, will fight for the privilege of being allowed to spend the day shovelling manure in a stable. It was a magic that hadn’t rubbed off on Susan. She had nothing against horses, but couldn’t understand all the snaffles, bridles and fetlocks business. And she couldn’t see why they had to be measured in ‘hands’ when there were perfectly sensible inches around to do the job. Having watched the jodhpured girls who bustled around the stables, she decided it was because they couldn’t understand complicated machines like rulers. She’d said so, too.
    â€˜All right,’ said Susan. ‘How about ravens?’
    Something blew in her ear.
    She spun around.
    The white horse stood in the middle of the yard like a bad special effect. He was too bright. He glowed. He seemed like the only real thing in a world of pale shapes. Compared to the bulbous ponies that normally occupied the loose-boxes, he was a giant.
    A couple of the jodhpured girls were fussing around him. Susan recognized Cassandra Fox and Lady Sara Grateful, almost identical in their love of anything on four legs that went ‘neigh’ and their disdain for anything else, their ability to apparently look at the world with their teeth, and their expertise in putting at least four vowels in the word ‘oh’.
    The white horse neighed gently at Susan, and began to nuzzle her hand.
    You’re Binky , she thought. I know you. I’ve ridden on you. You’re . . . mine. I think .
    â€˜I say,’ said Lady Sara, ‘who does he belong to?’
    Susan looked around.
    â€˜What? Me?’ she said. ‘Yes. Me . . . I suppose.’
    â€˜Oeuwa? He was in the loose-box next to Browny. I didn’t knoeuwa you had a horse here. You have to get permission from Miss Butts, you knoeuwa.’
    â€˜He’s a present,’ said Susan. ‘From . . . someone . . . ?’
    The hippo of recollection stirred in the muddy waters of the mind. She wondered why she’d said that. She hadn’t thought of her grandfather for years. Until last night.
    I remember the stable , she thought. So big you couldn’t see the walls. And I was given a ride on you once. Someone held me so I wouldn’t fall off. But you couldn’t fall off this horse. Not if he didn’t want you to .
    â€˜Oeuwa. I didn’t know you rode.’
    â€˜I . . . used to.’
    â€˜There’s extra fees, you knoeuwa. For keeping a horse,’ said Lady Sara.
    Susan said nothing. She strongly suspected they’d be paid.
    â€˜And you’ve