Maskerade

by Terry Pratchett

Page 25

 

  There was no one in the office, but there was another closed door in the far wall. Bucket knocked again, and then rattled the door handle. Im in the bath, said Salzella. Are you decent?

  Im fully clothed, if thats what you mean. Is there a pail of ice out there?

  Was it you who ordered it? said Bucket guiltily. Yes!

  Only I, er, I had it taken to my office so I could stick my feet in it. . .

  Your feet?

  Yes. Er. . . I went for a brisk run around the city, dont know why, just felt like it. . .

  Well?

  My boots caught fire on the second lap. There was a sloshing noise and some sotto voce grumbling and then the door swung open, revealing Salzella in a purple dressing-gown. Has Senor Basilica been safely tethered? he said, dripping on the floor. Hes going through the music with Herr Trubelmacher.

  And hes. . . all right?

  He sent along to the kitchen for a snack. Salzella shook his head. Astonishing.

  And theyve put the interpreter in a cupboard. They dont seem to be able to get him unfolded. Bucket sat down carefully. He was wearing carpet slippers. And- Salzella prompted. And what?

  Where did that dreadful woman go?

  Mrs Ogg is showing her around. Well, what else could I do? Two thousand dollars, remember!

  I am endeavouring to forget, said Salzella. I promise never to talk about that lunch ever again, if you dont either.

  What lunch? said Bucket innocently. Well done.

  She does seem to have an amazing effect though, doesnt she. . .

  I dont know who you are talking about.

  I mean, its not hard to see how she made her money. . .

  Good heavens, man, shes got a face like a hatchet!

  They say that Queen Ezeriel of Klatch had a squint, but that didnt stop her having fourteen husbands, and that was only the official score. Besides, shes knocking on a bit. . .

  I thought shed been dead for two hundred years!

  Im talking about Lady Esmerelda.

  So am I.

  At least try to be civil to her at the soiree before the performance tonight.

  Ill try.

  The two thousand might be only the start, I hope. Every time I open a drawer there are more bills! We seem to owe money to everyone!

  Opera is expensive.

  Youre telling me: Whenever I try to make a start on the books, something dreadful happens. Do you think I might just have a few hours without something awful happening?

  In an opera house? The voice was muffled by the half-dismantled mechanism of the organ. All right-give me middle C.

  A hairy finger pressed a key. It made a thudding noise and somewhere in the mechanism something else went woing. Blast, its come off the peg. . . hold on again. . . The note rang out sweet and clear. O-kay, said the voice of the man hidden in the exposed entrails of the organ. Wait until I tighten the peg. . . Agnes stepped closer. The hulking figure seated at the organ turned around and gave her a friendly grin, which was much wider than the average grin. Its owner was covered in red hair and, while short-changed in the leg department, had obviously been first in the queue when the arm counter opened. And had also been given a special free offer of lip. . . . try André? said Agnes weakly. The organist extracted himself from the mechanism. He was holding a complicated wooden bar with springs on it. Oh, hello, he said. Er. . . who is this? said Agnes, backing away from the primeval organist. Oh, this is the Librarian. I dont think he has a name. Hes the Librarian at Unseen University but, much more importantly, hes their organist and it turns out our organ is a Johnson[8], just like theirs. Hes given us some spare parts-

  Ook

  Sorry, lent us some spare parts.

  He plays the organ?

  In an amazingly prehensile way, yes. Agnes relaxed. The creature didnt seem about to attack. Oh, she said. Well. . . I suppose its natural, because sometimes barrel-organ men came to our village and they often had a dear little mon- There was a crashing chord. The orang-utan raised its other hand and waved a finger politely in front of Agness face. He doesnt like being called a monkey, said André. And he likes you.

  How can you tell?, He doesnt usually go in for warnings. She stepped back quickly and grabbed the boys arm. Can I have a word with you? she said. Weve got only a few hours and Id really like to get this-

  Its important. He followed her into the wings. Behind them, the Librarian tapped a few keys on the half-repaired keyboard and then ducked underneath. I know who the Ghost is, whispered Agnes. André stared at her. Then he pulled her further into the shadows. The Ghost isnt anybody, he said softly. Dont be silly. Its just the Ghost.

  I mean hes someone else when he takes his mask off. Who. Should I tell Mr Bucket and Mr Salzella?

  Who? Tell them about who?

  Walter Plinge. He stared at her again. If you laugh Ill. . . Ill kick you, said Agnes. But Walter isnt even-

  I didnt believe it either but he said he saw the Ghost in the ballet school and theres mirrors all over the walls and hed be quite tall if he stood up properly and he roams around in the cellars-

  Oh, come on. . .

  The other night I thought I heard him singing on the stage when everyone else had gone.

  You saw him?

  It was dark.

  Oh, well. . . André began dismissively. But afterwards Im certain I heard him talking to the cat. Talking normally, I mean. I mean like a normal person, I mean. And youve got to admit. . . he is strange. Isnt he just the sort of person whod want to wear a mask to hide who he is? She sagged. Look, I can see you dont want to listen-

  No! No, I think. . . well. . .

  I just thought Id feel better if I told someone. André smiled in the gloom. I wouldnt mention it to anyone else, though. Agnes looked down at her feet. I suppose it does sound a bit far- fetched. . . André laid a hand on her arm. Perdita felt Agnes draw herself back. Do you feel better? he said. I. . . dont know. . . I mean. . . I dont know. . . I mean, I just cant imagine him hurting anyone. . . I feel so stupid. . .

  Everyones on edge. Dont worry about it.

  Id. . . hate you to think I was being silly-

  Ill keep an eye on Walter, if you like. He smiled at her. But Id better get on with things, he added. He gave her another smile, as fast and brief as summer lightning. Thank y- He was already walking back to the organ. * * * This shop was a gentlemens outfitters. Its not for me, said Nanny Ogg. Its for a friend. Hes six foot tall, very broad shoulders.

  Inside leg?

  Oh, yes. She looked around the store. Might as well go all the way. It was her money, after all. And a black coat, long black tights, shoes with them shiny buckles, one of those top hats, a big cloak with a red silk lining, a bow-tie, a really posh black cane with a very nobby silver knob on it. . . and. . . a black eye-patch.

  An eye-patch?

  Yes. Maybe with sequins or something on it, since its the opera. The tailor stared at Nanny. This is a little irregular, he said. Why cant the gentleman come in himself?

  He aint quite a gentleman yet.

  But, madam, I meant that we have to get the size right. Nanny Ogg looked around the shop. Tell you what, she said, you sell me something that looks about right and well adjust him to fit. Souse me. . . She turned away demurely -twingtwangtwong -and turned back, smoothing down her dress and holding a leather bag. How muchll it be? she said. The tailor looked blankly at the bag. Im afraid we wont be able to have all that ready until at least next Wednesday, he said. Nanny Ogg sighed. She felt she was becoming familiar with one of the most fundamental laws of physics. Time equalled money. Therefore, money equalled time.

  I was sort of hoping to get it all a bit quicker than that, she said, jingling the bag up and down. The tailor looked down his nose at her. We are craftsmen, madam. How long did you think it should take?

  How about ten minutes?

  Twelve minutes later she left the shop with a large packet under one arm, a hatbox under
the other, and an ebony cane between her teeth. Granny was waiting outside. Got it all?

  Ess.

  Ill take the eye-patch, shall I?

  Weve got to get a third witch, said Nanny, trying to rearrange the parcels. Young Agnes has got good strong arms.

  You know if we was to drag her out of there by the scruff of her neck wed never hear the last of it, said Granny. Shell be a witch when she wants to be. They headed for the Opera Houses stage-door. Afternoon, Les, said Nanny cheerfully as they entered. Stopped itching now, has it?

  Marvellous bit of ointment that was you gave me, Mrs Ogg, said the stage-doorkeeper, his moustache bending into something that might have been a smile. Mrs Les keeping well? Hows her sisters leg?

  Doing very well, Mrs Ogg, thank you for asking.

  This is just Esme Weatherwax whos helping me with some stuff, said Nanny. The doorkeeper nodded. It was clear that any friend of Mrs Ogg was a friend of his. No trouble at all, Mrs Ogg. As they passed through into the dusty network of corridors Granny reflected, not for the first time, that Nanny had a magic all of her own. Nanny didnt so much enter places as insinuate herself; she had unconsciously taken a natural talent for liking people and developed it into an occult science. Granny Weatherwax did not doubt that her friend already knew the names, family histories, birthdays and favourite topics of conversation of half the people here, and probably also the vital wedge that would cause them to open up. It might be talking about their children, or a potion for their bad feet, or one of Nannys really filthy stories, but Nanny would be in and after twenty-four hours theyd have known her all their lives. And theyd tell her things. Of their own free will. Nanny Got On with people. Nanny could get a statue to cry on her shoulder and say what it really thought about pigeons. It was a knack. Granny had never had the patience to acquire it. just occasionally, she wondered whether it might have been a good idea. Curtain up in an hour and a half, said Nanny. I promised Giselle Id give her a hand. . .

  Whos Giselle?

  She does makeup.

  You dont know how to do makeup!

  I distempered our privy, didnt I? said Nanny. And I paint faces on eggs for the kiddies every Soul Cake Tuesday.

  Got to do anything else, have you? said Granny sarcastically. Open the curtains? Fill in for a ballet dancer whos been taken poorly?

  I did say Id help with the drinks at the swarray, said Nanny, letting the irony slide off like water on a red-hot stove. Well, a lot of the staff have buggered off cos of the Ghost. Its in the big foyer in half an hour. I expect you ought to be there, being a patronizer.

  Whats a swarray? said Granny suspiciously. Its a sort of posh party before the opera.

  What do I have to do?

  Drink sherry and make polite conversation, said Nanny. Or conversation, anyway. I saw the grub being done for it. Theyve even got little cubes of cheese on sticks stuck in a grapefruit, and you dont get much posher than that.

  Gytha Ogg, you aint done any. . . special dishes, have you?

  No, Esme, said Nanny Ogg meekly. Only youve got an imp of mischief in you.

  Been far too busy for anything like that, said Nanny. Granny nodded. Then wed better find Greebo, she said. You sure about this, Esme? said Nanny. We might have a lot to do tonight, said Granny. Maybe we could do with an extra pair of hands.

  Paws.

  At the moment, yes. * * * It was Walter. Agnes knew it. It wasnt knowledge in her mind, exactly. It was practically something she breathed. She felt it as a tree feels the sun. It all fitted. He could go anywhere, and no one took any notice of Walter Plinge. In a way he was invisible, because he was always there. And, if you were someone like Walter Plinge, wouldnt you long to be someone as debonair and dashing as the Ghost? If you were someone like Agnes Nitt, wouldnt you long to be someone as dark and mysterious as Perdita X Dream? The traitor thought was there before she could choke it off. She added hurriedly: But Ive never killed anyone. Because thats what Id have to believe, isnt it? If hes the Ghost, then hes killed people. All the same. . . he does look odd, and he talks as if the words are trying to escape. . . A hand touched her shoulder. She spun round. Its only me! said Christine. . . . Oh.