Maskerade. Part 33

Walter Plinge had already loped off, in something of a hurry.

Agnes hesitated. They probably wouldn't even notice she wasn't there, right up to the point when Christine opened her mouth...

He hadn't wanted to answer, but Walter Plinge spoke when spoken to and she had a feeling that he wasn't able to lie. Telling lies would be being bad.

She'd never seen the ballet school. It wasn't far backstage, but it was a world of its own. The dancers issued from it every day like so many very thin and twittering sheep under the control of elderly women who looked as though they breakfasted on pickled limes. It was only after she'd timidly asked a few questions of the stagehands that she'd realized that the girls had joined the ballet because they wanted wanted to. to.

She had had seen the dancers' dressing room, where thirty girls washed and changed in a s.p.a.ce rather smaller than Bucket's office. It bore the same relations.h.i.+p to ballet as compost did to roses. seen the dancers' dressing room, where thirty girls washed and changed in a s.p.a.ce rather smaller than Bucket's office. It bore the same relations.h.i.+p to ballet as compost did to roses.

She looked around again. Still no one had paid any attention to her.

She headed for the school. It was up a few steps, along a fetid corridor lined with notice boards and smelling of ancient grease. A couple of girls fluttered past. You never saw just one: they went around in groups, like mayflies. She pushed open the door and stepped into the school.

Reflections of reflections of reflections...

There were mirrors on every wall.

A few girls, practicing on the bars that lined the room, looked up as she entered.

Mirrors...

Out in the pa.s.sage she leaned against the wall and got her breath back. She'd never never liked mirrors. They always seemed to be laughing at her. But didn't they say it was the mark of a witch, not liking to get between two mirrors? It sucked out your soul, or something. A witch would never get between two mirrors if she could help it... liked mirrors. They always seemed to be laughing at her. But didn't they say it was the mark of a witch, not liking to get between two mirrors? It sucked out your soul, or something. A witch would never get between two mirrors if she could help it...

But, of course, she very definitely very definitely wasn't a witch. So she took a deep breath, and went back into the room. wasn't a witch. So she took a deep breath, and went back into the room.

Images of herself stretched away in every direction.

She managed a few steps, then wheeled around and groped for the doorway again, watched by the surprised dancers.

Lack of sleep, she told herself. And general over-excitement. Anyway, she didn't need need to go right into the room, now that she knew who the Ghost was. to go right into the room, now that she knew who the Ghost was.

It was so obvious obvious. The Ghost didn't require any mysterious nonexistent caves when all he needed to do was hide where everyone could see him.

Mr. Bucket knocked at the door of Salzella's office. A m.u.f.fled voice said, "Come in."

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.

"I'm in the bath," said Salzella.

"Are you decent?"

"I'm fully clothed, if that's 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 feet?"

"Yes. Er...I went for a brisk run around the city, don't know why, just felt like it..."

"Well?"

"My boots caught fire on the second lap."

There was a slos.h.i.+ng 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.

"He's going through the music with Herr Trubelmacher."

"And he's...all right?"

"He sent along to the kitchen for a snack."

Salzella shook his head. "Astonis.h.i.+ng."

"And they've put the interpreter in a cupboard. They don't 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 dreadful woman go?" woman go?"

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

"I am endeavoring to forget," said Salzella. "I promise never to talk about that lunch ever again, if you don't either."

"What lunch?" said Bucket innocently.

"Well done."

"She does seem to have an amazing effect though, doesn't she..."

"I don't know who you are talking about."

"I mean, it's not hard to see how she made her money..."

"Good heavens, man, she's got a face like a hatchet!"

"They say that Queen Ezeriel of Klatch had a squint, but that didn't stop her having fourteen husbands, and that was only the official score. Besides, she's knocking on a bit..."

"I thought she'd been dead for two hundred years!"

"I'm talking about Lady Esmerelda."

"So am I."

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

"I'll 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 is expensive." expensive."

"You're 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 m.u.f.fled 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 woing.

"Blast, it's come off the peg...hold on...try 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.

"Andre?" said Agnes weakly.

The organist extracted himself from the mechanism. He was holding a complicated wooden bar with springs on it. "Oh, h.e.l.lo," he said.

"Er...who is this?" said Agnes, backing away from the primeval organist.

"Oh, this is the Librarian. I don't think he has has a name. He's the Librarian at Unseen University but, much more importantly, he's their organist and it turns out our organ is a Johnson, a name. He's the Librarian at Unseen University but, much more importantly, he's their organist and it turns out our organ is a Johnson,* just like theirs. He's given us some spare parts-" just like theirs. He's given us some spare parts-"

"Ook."

"Sorry, lent lent us some spare parts." us some spare parts."

"He plays the organ?"

"In an amazingly prehensile way, yes."

Agnes relaxed. The creature didn't seem about to attack.

"Oh," she said. "Well...I suppose it's natural, because sometimes barrel-organ men came to our village and they often had a dear little mon-"

There was a cras.h.i.+ng chord. The orangutan raised its other hand and waved a finger politely in front of Agnes's face.

"He doesn't like being called a monkey," said Andre. "And he likes you."

"How can you tell?"

"He doesn't usually go in for warnings."

She stepped back quickly and grabbed the boy's arm. "Can I have a word with you?" she said.

"We've got only a few hours and I'd really like to get this-"

"It's important 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.

Andre stared at her. Then he pulled her farther into the shadows. "The Ghost isn't anybody anybody," he said softly. "Don't be silly. It's just the Ghost."

"I mean he's someone else when he takes his mask off."

"Who?"

"Should I tell Mr. Bucket and Mr. Salzella?"

"Who? Tell them about Tell them about who who?"

"Walter Plinge."

He stared at her again.

"If you laugh I'll...I'll kick you," said Agnes.

"But Walter isn't even-"

"I didn't believe it either but he said he saw the Ghost in the ballet school and there's mirrors all over the walls and he'd be quite tall if he stood up properly and he roams around in the cellars-"

"Oh, come on... on..."

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