Maskerade. Part 36

Greebo waved his arms experimentally and fumbled with the ebony cane. Fingers took a bit of getting used to, but cat reflexes learned fast.

Nanny waved a finger playfully under his nose. He took a half hearted swipe at it.

"Now you just stay with Granny and do what she tells you like a good boy," she said.

"Yess, Nan-ny," said Greebo reluctantly. He managed to grip the stick properly.

"And no fighting."

"No, Nan-ny."

"And no leaving bits of people on the doormat."

"No, Nan-ny."

"We'll have no trouble like we did with those robbers last month."

"No, Nan-ny."

He looked depressed. Humans had no fun fun. Incredible complications surrounded the most basic activities.

"And no turning back into a cat again until we say."

"Yess, Nan-ny."

"Play your cards right and there could be a kipper in this for you."

"Yess, Nan-ny."

"What're we going to call him?" said Granny. "He can't just be Greebo, which I've always said was a d.a.m.n silly name for a cat."

"Well, he looks aristocratic-" Nanny began.

"He looks like a beautiful brainless bully," Granny corrected her.

"Aristocratic," repeated Nanny.

"Same thing."

"We can't call him Greebo, anyway."

"We'll think of something."

Salzella leaned disconsolately against the marble banister of the foyer's grand staircase and stared gloomily into his drink.

It had always seemed to him that one of the major flaws in the whole business of opera was the audience. They were quite unsuitable. The only ones worse than the ones who didn't know anything at all about music, and whose idea of a sensible observation was "I liked that bit near the end when her voice went wobbly," were the ones who thought they did...

"Want a drink do you Mister Salzella? There's lots you know!"

Walter Plinge ambled by, his black suit making him look like a very good cla.s.s of scarecrow.

"Plinge, you just say 'Drink, sir?'" said the director of music. "And please take off that ridiculous beret."

"My mum made it for me!"

"I'm sure she did, but-"

Bucket sidled up to him. "I thought I told you to keep Senor Basilica away from the canapes!" he hissed.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't find a big enough crowbar," said Salzella, waving away Walter and his beret. "Anyway, isn't he supposed to be communing with his muse in his dressing room? The curtain goes up in twenty minutes!"

"He says he sings better on a full stomach."

"Then we're in for a big treat tonight."

Bucket turned and surveyed the scene. "It's going well, anyway," he said.

"I suppose so."

"The Watch are here, you know. In secret. They're mingling."

"Ah...let me guess..."

Salzella looked around at the crowds. There was, indeed, a very short man in a suit intended for a rather larger man; this was especially the case with the opera cloak, which actually trailed on the floor behind him to give the overall impression of a superhero who had spent too much time around the Kryptonite. He was wearing a deformed fur hat and trying surrept.i.tiously to smoke a cigarette.

"You mean that little man with the words 'Watchman in Disguise' flas.h.i.+ng on and off just above his head?"

"Where? I didn't see that!"

Salzella sighed. "It's Corporal n.o.bby n.o.bbs," he said wearily. "The only known person to require an ident.i.ty card to prove his species. I've watched him mingle with three large sherries."

"He's not the only one, though," said Mr. Bucket. "They're taking this seriously."

"Oh, yes," said Salzella. "If we look over there, for example, we see Sergeant Detritus, who is a troll, and who is wearing what in the circ.u.mstances is actually a rather well-fitting suit. It is therefore, I feel, something of a pity he has neglected to remove his helmet. And these, you understand, the Watch has chosen for their ability to blend."

"Well, they'll certainly be useful if the Ghost strikes again," said Bucket, hopelessly.

"The Ghost would have to-" Salzella stopped. He blinked. "Oh, good grief," he whispered. "What has has she found?" she found?"

Bucket turned. "That's Lady Esmerelda...oh."

Greebo strolled in alongside her with the gentle swagger that makes women thoughtful and men's knuckles go white. The buzz of conversation was momentarily hushed, and then rose again to a slightly shriller buzz.

"I'm impressed," said Salzella.

"He certainly doesn't look like a gentleman gentleman," said Bucket. "Look at the color of that eye!" He set his face into what he hoped was a smile, and bowed.

"Lady Esmerelda!" he said. "How pleasant to see you again! Won't you introduce us to your...guest?"

"This is Lord Gribeau," said Granny. "Mr. Bucket, the owner, and Mr. Salzella, who seems to run the place."

"Haha," said Salzella.

Gribeau snarled, revealing longer incisors than any that Bucket had seen outside a zoo. And Bucket had never seen such a greenish-yellow eye. The pupil was all wrong...

"Ahaha..." he said. "And may I order you something?"

"He'll have milk," said Granny firmly.

"I expect he has to keep up his strength," said Salzella.

Granny spun around. Her expression would have etched steel.

"Anyone for a drink?" said Nanny Ogg, appearing out of nowhere with a tray and adroitly stepping between them like a very small peacekeeping force. "Got a bit of everything here..."

"Including a gla.s.s of milk, I see," said Bucket.

Salzella looked from one witch to the other. "That's remarkably foresighted of you," he said.

"Well, you never know," said Nanny.

Gribeau took the gla.s.s in both hands and lapped at it with his tongue. Then he looked at Salzella.

"What yourrr lookin aat? Neverrr seein mil-uk drun beforr?"

"Never quite...like that, I must admit."

Nanny winked at Granny Weatherwax as she turned to scurry away.

Granny caught her arm. "Remember," she whispered, "when we go into the Box...you keep an eye on Mrs. Plinge. Mrs. Plinge knows something. I ain't sure what's going to happen. But it is going to happen."

"Right," said Nanny. She bustled off, muttering under her breath, "Oh, yes...do this, do that-"

"Drink here, please, ma'am."

Nanny looked down. "Good grief," she said. "What are you?"

The apparition in the fur hat winked at her. "I'm the Count de n.o.bbs," it said, "and this here," it added, indicating a mobile wall, "is the Count de Tritus."

Nanny glanced at the troll. "Another Count? I'm sure there's unaccountably more Counts here than I can count. And what can I get you, officers?" she said.

"Officers? Us?" said the Count de n.o.bbs. "What makes you think we're Watchmen?"

"He's got a helmet on," Nanny pointed out. "Also, he's got his badge pinned to his coat."

"I told told you to put it away!" n.o.bby hissed. He looked at Nanny and smiled uneasily. "Milit'ry chic," he said. "It's just a fas.h.i.+on accessory. Actually, we are gentlemen of means and have nothing to do with the city Watch whatsoever." you to put it away!" n.o.bby hissed. He looked at Nanny and smiled uneasily. "Milit'ry chic," he said. "It's just a fas.h.i.+on accessory. Actually, we are gentlemen of means and have nothing to do with the city Watch whatsoever."

"Well, gentlemen gentlemen, would you like some wine?"

"Not while we on duty, t'anks," said the troll.

"Oh, yes, thank you very much, Count de Tritus," said n.o.bby bitterly. "Oh, yes, very undercover, that is! Why don't you just wave your truncheon around where everyone can see it?"

"Well, if you t'ink it'd help-"

"Put it away away!"

The Count de Tritus's eyebrows met with the effort of thought. "Dat was irony, den, was it? To a superior officer?"

"Can't be a superior officer, can you, 'cos we ain't Watchmen. Look, Commander Vimes explained explained it three times..." it three times..."

Nanny Ogg tactfully moved away. It was bad enough watching them blow their cover without sucking at it as well.

This was a new world, all right. She was used to a life where the men wore the bright clothes and the women wore black. It made it a lot easier to decide what to put on in the mornings. But inside the Opera House the rules of clothing were all in reverse, just like the laws of common sense. Here the women dressed like frosted peac.o.c.ks and the men looked like penguins.

So...there were coppers here. Nanny Ogg was basically a law-abiding person when she had no reason to break the law, and therefore had that kind of person's att.i.tude to law-enforcement officers, which was one of deep and permanent distrust.

There was their approach to theft, for example. Nanny had a witch's view of theft, which was a lot more complicated than the att.i.tude adopted by the law and, if it came to it, people who owned property worth stealing. They tended to wield the huge blunt ax of the law in circ.u.mstances that required the delicate scalpel of common sense.

No, thought Nanny. Policemen with their great big boots were not required here on a night like this. It would be a good idea to put a thumbtack under the ponderous feet of Justice.

She ducked behind a gilt statue and fumbled in the recesses of her clothing while people nearby looked around in puzzlement at the erratic tw.a.n.ging of elastic. She was sure she had one around somewhere-she'd packed it in case of emergencies...

There was the clink of a small bottle. Ah, yes.

A moment later Nanny Ogg emerged decorously with two small gla.s.ses on her tray, and headed purposefully for the Watchmen.

"Fruit drink, officers?" she said. "Oh, silly me, what am I saying, I didn't mean officers. Homemade fruit drink?"

Detritus sniffed suspiciously, immediately clearing his sinuses. "What's in it?" he said.

"Apples," said Nanny Ogg promptly. "Well...mainly apples."

Under her hand, a couple of spilt drops finished eating their way through the metal of the tray and dropped onto the carpet, where they smoked.

The auditorium buzzed with the sound of operagoers settling down and Mrs. Lawsy trying to find her shoes.

"You really shouldn't have taken them off, mother."

"My feet are giving me gyp."