Maskerade. Part 16

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Bucket," said Agnes dutifully.

"Good. That's good. Isn't that good, Mr. Salzella? Don't you think that's good, Dr. Undershaft?"

Agnes looked at the three worried faces.

"We're all very pleased," said Mr. Bucket. "And, er, well, we have an amazing amazing offer for you which I'm sure will help you to enjoy it offer for you which I'm sure will help you to enjoy it even more even more."

Agnes watched the a.s.sembled faces. "Yes?" she said guardedly.

"I know you, er, have only been with us hardly any time but we have decided to, er"-Bucket swallowed, and glanced at the other two for moral support-"let you sing the part of Iodine in tonight's production of La Triviata La Triviata."

"Yes?"

"Um. It isn't the the major role but of course it does include the famous 'Departure' aria..." major role but of course it does include the famous 'Departure' aria..."

"Oh. Yes?"

"Er...there is, er...that is, er..." Bucket gave up and looked helplessly at his director of music. "Mr. Salzella?"

Salzella leaned forward. "What in fact we would like you to do...Perdita...is sing sing the role, indeed, but not, in fact... the role, indeed, but not, in fact...play the role." the role."

Agnes listened while they explained. She'd stand in the chorus, just behind Christine. Christine would be told to sing very softly. It had been done dozens of times before, Salzella explained. It was done far more often than the audiences ever realized-when singers had a sore throat, or had completely dried, or had turned up so drunk they could barely stand, or, in one notorious instance many years previously, had died in the interval and subsequently sung their famous aria by means of a broom handle stuck up their back and their jaw operated with a piece of string.

It wasn't immoral. The show had to go on.

The ring of desperately grinning faces watched her.

I could just walk away, she thought. Walk away from these grinning faces and the mysterious Ghost. They couldn't stop me.

But there's nowhere to walk to except back.

"Yes, er, yes," she said. "I'm very...er...but why do it like this? Couldn't I simply take her place and sing the part?"

The men looked at one another, and then all started talking at once.

"Yes, but you see, Christine is...has...more stage experience-"

"-technical grasp-"

"-stage presence-"

"-apparent lyrical ability-"

"-fits the costume-"

Agnes looked down at her big hands. She could feel the blush advancing like a barbarian horde, burning everything as it came.

"We would like you, as it were," said Bucket, "to ghost ghost the part..." the part..."

"Ghost?" said Agnes.

"It's a stage term," said Salzella.

"Oh, I see," said Agnes. "Yes. Well, of course. I shall certainly do my best."

"Jolly good," said Bucket. "We won't forget this. And I'm certain a very suitable part for you will come along very soon. See Dr. Undershaft this afternoon and he will take you through the role." good," said Bucket. "We won't forget this. And I'm certain a very suitable part for you will come along very soon. See Dr. Undershaft this afternoon and he will take you through the role."

"Er. I know it quite well, I think," said Agnes, uncertainly.

"Really? How?"

"I've been...taking lessons."

"That is is good, la.s.s," said Mr. Bucket. "Shows keenness. We're very impressed. But see Dr. Undershaft in any case..." good, la.s.s," said Mr. Bucket. "Shows keenness. We're very impressed. But see Dr. Undershaft in any case..."

Agnes got up and, still looking down, trooped out.

Undershaft sighed and shook his head.

"Poor child," he said. "Born too late. Opera used used to be just about voices. You know, I remember the days of the great sopranos. Dame Violetta Gigli, Dame Clarissa Extendo...whatever became of them, I sometimes wonder." to be just about voices. You know, I remember the days of the great sopranos. Dame Violetta Gigli, Dame Clarissa Extendo...whatever became of them, I sometimes wonder."

"Didn't the climate change?" said Salzella nastily.

"There goes a figure that should prompt a revival of The Ring of the Nibelungingung The Ring of the Nibelungingung," Undershaft went on. "Now that was was an opera." an opera."

"Three days of G.o.ds shouting at one another and twenty minutes of memorable tunes?" said Salzella. "No, thank you very much."

"But can't you hear her singing Hildabrun, leader of the Valkyries?"

"Yes. Oh, yes. But unfortunately I can also hear her singing n.o.bbo the dwarf and Io, Chief of the G.o.ds."

"Those were the days," said Undershaft sadly, shaking his head. "We had proper proper opera then. I recall when Dame Veritasi stuffed a musician into his own tuba for yawning-" opera then. I recall when Dame Veritasi stuffed a musician into his own tuba for yawning-"

"Yes, yes, but this is the Century of the Fruitbat," said Salzella, standing up. He glanced at the door again, and shook his head.

"Amazing," he said. "Do you think she knows how fat she is?"

The door of Mrs. Palm's discreet establishment opened at Granny's knock.

The person on the other side was a young woman. Very obviously a young woman. There was no possible way that she could have been mistaken for a young man in any language, especially Braille.

Nanny peered around the young lady's powdered shoulder at the red plush and gilt interior beyond, and then up at Granny Weatherwax's impa.s.sive face, and then back at the young lady.

"I'll tan our Nev's hide when I get home," she muttered. "Come away, Esme, you don't want to go in there. It'd take too long to explain-"

"Why, Granny Weatherwax!" said the girl happily. "And who's this?"

Nanny looked up at Granny, whose expression hadn't changed.

"Nanny Ogg," Nanny said eventually. "Yes, I'm Nanny Ogg. Nev's mum," she added darkly. "Yes, indeed. Yes. On account of me bein' a"-the words "respectable widow woman" tried to range themselves in her vocal cords, and shriveled at the sheer enormity of the falsehood, forcing her to settle for "mother to him. Nev. Yes. Nev's mum."

"h.e.l.lo, Colette," said Granny. "What fascinatin' earrings you are wearing. Is Mrs. Palm at home?"

"She's always at home to important important visitors," said Colette. "Do come in, everyone will be so pleased to see you again!" visitors," said Colette. "Do come in, everyone will be so pleased to see you again!"

There were cries of welcome as Granny stepped into the scarlet gloom.

"What? You've been here before?" said Nanny, eying the pink flesh and white lace that made up much of the scenery.

"Oh, yes. Mrs. Palm is an old friend. Practic'ly a witch."

"You...you do know know what what kind kind of place this is, do you, Esme?" said Nanny Ogg. She felt curiously annoyed. She'd happily give way to Granny's expertise in the worlds of mind and magic, but she felt very strongly that there were some more specialized areas that were definitely Ogg territory, and Granny Weatherwax had no business even to know what they were. of place this is, do you, Esme?" said Nanny Ogg. She felt curiously annoyed. She'd happily give way to Granny's expertise in the worlds of mind and magic, but she felt very strongly that there were some more specialized areas that were definitely Ogg territory, and Granny Weatherwax had no business even to know what they were.

"Oh, yes," said Granny, calmly.

Nanny's patience gave out. "It's a house of ill repute, is what it is!"

"On the contrary," said Granny. "I believe people speak very highly of it."

"You knew knew? And you never told me me?"

Granny raised an ironic eyebrow. "The lady who invented the Strawberry Wobbler?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"We all live life the best way we can, Gytha. And there's a lot of people who think witches witches are bad." are bad."

"Yes, but-"

"Before you criticize someone, Gytha, walk a mile in their shoes," said Granny, with a faint smile.

"In those shoes she she was wearin', I'd twist my ankle," said Nanny, gritting her teeth. "I'd need a ladder just to get in 'em." It was infuriating, the way Granny tricked you into reading her half of the dialogue. And opened your mind to yourself in unexpected ways. was wearin', I'd twist my ankle," said Nanny, gritting her teeth. "I'd need a ladder just to get in 'em." It was infuriating, the way Granny tricked you into reading her half of the dialogue. And opened your mind to yourself in unexpected ways.

"And it's a welcoming place and the beds are soft," said Granny.

"Warm, too, I expect," said Nanny Ogg, giving in. "And there's always a friendly light in the window."

"Dear me, Gytha Ogg. I always thought you were unshockable."

"Shockable, no," said Nanny. "Easily surprised, yes."

Dr. Undershaft the chorus master peered at Agnes over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"The, um, 'Departure' aria, as it is known," he said, "is quite a little masterpiece. Not one of the great operatic highlights, but very memorable nevertheless."

His eyes misted over. "'Questa maledetta' sings Iodine, as she tells Peccadillo how hard it is for her to leave him...'Questa maledetta porta si blocccccca, Si blocca comunque diavolo lo faccccc-cio...!'"

He stopped and made great play of cleaning his gla.s.ses with his handkerchief.

"When Gigli sang it, there wasn't a dry eye in the house," he mumbled. "I was there. It was then that I decided that I would...oh, great days, indeed." He put his gla.s.ses on and blew his nose.

"I'll run through it once," he said, "just so that you can understand how it is supposed to go. Very well, Andre."

The young man who had been drafted to play the piano in the rehearsal room nodded, and winked surrept.i.tiously at Agnes.

She pretended not to have seen him, and listened with an expression of acute studiousness as the old man worked his way through the score.

"And now," he said, "let us see how you manage."

He handed her the score and nodded at the pianist.

Agnes sang the aria, or at least a few bars of it. Andre stopped playing and leaned his head against the piano, trying to stifle a laugh.

"Ahem," said Undershaft.

"Was I doing something wrong?"

"You were singing tenor," said Undershaft, looking sternly at Andre.

"She was singing in your your voice, sir!" voice, sir!"

"Perhaps you can sing it like, er, Christine would sing it?"

They started again.

"Kwesta!? Maledetta!!..."

Undershaft held up both hands. Andre's shoulders were shaking with the effort of not laughing.

"Yes, yes. Accurately observed. I dare say you're right. But could we start again and, er, perhaps you would sing it how you think it should be sung?"

Agnes nodded.

They started again...

...and finished.

Undershaft had sat down, half-turned away. He wouldn't look round to face her.

Agnes stood watching him uncertainly. "Er. Was that all right?" she said.