Maskerade (10 page)

‘Good morning,' said Granny Weatherwax.

GOOD MORNING
, said a voice by her ear.

*    *    *

Nanny Ogg had long ago polished off the chops and the beer, but she hadn't got into bed. She lay on it, fully clothed, with her arms behind her head, staring at the dark ceiling.

After a while there was a scratching on the shutters. She got up and opened them.

A huge figure leapt into the room. For a moment the moonlight lit a glistening torso and a mane of black hair. Then the creature dived under the bed.

‘Oh, deary deary me,' said Nanny.

She waited for a while, and then fished a chop bone off her tray. There was still a bit of meat on it. She lowered it towards the floor.

A hand shot out and grabbed it.

Nanny sat back.

‘Poor little man,' she said.

It was only on the subject of Greebo that Nanny's otherwise keen sense of reality found itself all twisted. To Nanny Ogg he was merely a larger version of the little fluffy kitten he had once been. To everyone else he was a scarred ball of inventive malignancy.

But now he had to deal with a problem seldom encountered by cats. The witches had, a year ago, turned him into a human, for reasons that had seemed quite necessary at the time. It had taken a lot of effort, and his morphogenic field had reasserted itself after a few hours, much to everyone's relief.

But magic is never as simple as people think. It has to obey certain universal laws. And one is that, no matter how hard a thing is to do, once it
has
been done it'll become a whole lot easier and will
therefore be done a lot. A huge mountain might be scaled by strong men only after many centuries of failed attempts, but a few decades later grandmothers will be strolling up it for tea and then wandering back afterwards to see where they left their glasses.

In accordance with this law, Greebo's soul had noted that there was one extra option for use in a tight corner (in addition to the usual cat assortment of run, fight, crap or all three together) and that was: Become Human.

It tended to wear off after a short time, most of which he spent searching desperately for a pair of pants.

There were snores from under the bed. Gradually, to Nanny's relief, they turned into a purr.

Then she sat bolt upright. She was some way from the cowshed but …

‘
He's
here,' she said.

Granny breathed out, slowly.

‘Come and sit where I can see you. That's good manners. And let me tell you right now that I ain't at all afraid of you.'

The tall, black-robed figure walked across the floor and sat down on a handy barrel, leaning its scythe against the wall. Then it pushed back its hood.

Granny folded her arms and stared calmly at the visitor, meeting his gaze eye-to-socket.

I AM IMPRESSED.

‘I have faith.'

REALLY? IN WHAT PARTICULAR DEITY?

‘Oh, none of
them
.'

THEN FAITH IN WHAT?

‘Just faith, you know. In general.'

Death leaned forward. The candlelight raised new shadows on his skull.

COURAGE IS EASY BY CANDLELIGHT. YOUR FAITH, I SUSPECT, IS IN THE FLAME.

Death grinned.

Granny leaned forward, and blew out the candle. Then she folded her arms again and stared fiercely ahead of her.

After some length of time a voice said,
ALL RIGHT, YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT.

Granny lit a match. Its flare illuminated the skull opposite, which hadn't moved.

‘Fair enough,' she said, as she relit the candle. ‘We don't want to be sitting here all night, do we? How many have you come for?'

ONE.

‘The cow?'

Death shook his head.

‘It could
be
the cow.'

NO. THAT WOULD BE CHANGING HISTORY.

‘History is about things changing.'

NO.

Granny sat back.

‘Then I challenge you to a game. That's traditional. That's
allowed
.'

Death was silent for a moment.

THIS IS TRUE.

‘Good.'

CHALLENGING ME BY MEANS OF A GAME IS ALLOWABLE.

‘Yes.'

HOWEVER … YOU UNDERSTAND THAT TO WIN ALL YOU MUST GAMBLE ALL?

‘Double or quits? Yes, I know.'

BUT NOT CHESS
.

‘Can't abide chess.'

OR
CRIPPLE MR ONION. I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO UNDERSTAND THE RULES
.

‘Very well. How about one hand of poker? Five cards each, no draws? Sudden death, as they say.'

Death thought about this, too.

YOU KNOW THIS FAMILY?

‘No.'

THEN WHY?

‘Are we talking or are we playing?'

OH, VERY WELL.

Granny picked up the pack of cards and shuffled it, not looking at her hands, and smiling at Death all the time. She dealt five cards each, and reached down …

A bony hand grasped hers.

BUT
FIRST
, MISTRESS WEATHERWAX – WE WILL EXCHANGE CARDS
.

He picked up the two piles and transposed them, and then nodded at Granny.

MADAM?

Granny looked at her cards, and threw them down.

FOUR QUEENS. HMM. THAT
IS
VERY HIGH.

Death looked down at his cards, and then up into Granny's steady, blue-eyed gaze.

Neither moved for some time.

Then Death laid the hand on the table.

I LOSE
, he said,
ALL I HAVE IS FOUR ONES
.

He looked back into Granny's eyes for a moment. There was a blue glow in the depth of his eye-sockets. Maybe, for the merest fraction of a second, barely noticeable even to the closest observation, one winked off.

Granny nodded, and extended a hand.

She prided herself on the ability to judge people by their gaze and their handshake, which in this case was a rather chilly one.

‘Take the cow,' she said.

IT IS A VALUABLE CREATURE.

‘Who knows what the child will become?'

Death stood up, and reached for his scythe.

He said,
OW
.

‘Ah, yes. I couldn't help noticing,' said Granny Weatherwax, as the tension drained out of the atmosphere, ‘that you seem to be sparing that arm.'

OH, YOU KNOW HOW IT IS. REPETITIVE ACTIONS AND SO ON
…

‘It could get serious if you left it.'

HOW SERIOUS?

‘Want me to have a look?'

WOULD YOU MIND? IT CERTAINLY ACHES ON COLD NIGHTS
.

Granny stood up and reached out, but her hands went straight through.

‘Look, you're going to have to make yourself a bit more solid if I'm to do anything—'

POSSIBLY A BOTTLE OF SUCKROSE AND AKWA?

‘Sugar and water? I expect you
know
that's only
for the hard of thinking. Come on, roll up that sleeve. Don't be a big baby. What's the worst I can do to you?'

Granny's hands touched smooth bone. She'd felt worse. At least these had never had flesh on them.

She felt, thought, gripped, twisted …

There was a click.

OW
.

‘Now try it above the shoulder.'

ER. HMM. YES. IT DOES SEEM CONSIDERABLY MORE FREE. YES, INDEED. MY WORD, YES. THANK YOU VERY MUCH
.

‘If it gives you trouble again, you know where I live.'

THANK YOU. THANK YOU VERY MUCH
.

‘You know where everyone lives. Tuesday mornings is a good time. I'm generally in.'

I SHALL REMEMBER. THANK YOU
.

‘By appointment, in your case. No offence meant.'

THANK YOU
.

Death walked away. A moment later there was a faint gasp from the cow. That and a slight sagging of the skin were all that apparently marked the transition from living animal to cooling meat.

Granny picked up the baby and laid a hand on its forehead.

‘Fever's gone,' she said.

MISTRESS WEATHERWAX?
said Death from the doorway.

‘Yes, sir?'

I HAVE TO KNOW. WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF I HAD NOT … LOST?

‘At the cards, you mean?'

YES. WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE?

Granny laid the baby down carefully on the straw, and smiled.

‘Well,' she said, ‘for a start … I'd have broken your bloody arm.'

Agnes stayed up late, simply because of the novelty. Most people in Lancre, as the saying goes, went to bed with the chickens and got up with the cows.
⁴
But she watched the evening's performance, and watched the set being struck afterwards, and watched the actors leave or, in the case of younger chorus members, head off for their lodgings in odd corners of the building. And then there was no one else, except Walter Plinge and his mother sweeping up.

She headed for the staircase. There didn't seem to be a candle anywhere back here, but the few left burning in the auditorium were just enough to give the darkness a few shades.

The stairs went up the wall at the rear of the stage, with nothing but a rickety handrail between them and the drop. Besides leading to the attics and storeroom on the upper floors, they were also one route to the fly loft and the other secret platforms
where men in flat hats and grey overalls worked the magic of the theatre, usually by means of pulleys—

There was a figure on one of the gantries over the stage. Agnes saw it only because it moved slightly. It was kneeling down, looking at something. In the darkness.

She stepped back. The stair creaked.

The figure jerked around. A square of yellow light opened in the darkness, its beam pinning her against the brickwork.

‘Who's there?' she said, raising a hand to shade her eyes.

‘Who's
that
?' said a voice. And then, after a moment, ‘Oh. It's … Perdita, isn't it?'

The square of light swung towards her as the figure made its way over the stage.

‘André?' she said. She felt inclined to back away, if only the brickwork would let her.

And suddenly he was on the stairs, quite an ordinary person, no shadow at all, holding a very large lantern.

‘What are you doing here?' said the organist.

‘I … was just going to bed.'

‘Oh, yes.' He relaxed a little. ‘Some of you girls have got rooms here. The management thought it was safer than having you going home alone late at night.'

‘What are you doing up here?' said Agnes, suddenly aware that there was just the two of them.

‘I was … looking at the place where the Ghost tried to strangle Mr Cripps,' said André.

‘Why?'

‘I wanted to make certain everything was safe now, of course.'

‘Didn't the stage-hands do that?'

‘Oh, you know them. I just thought I'd better make certain.'

Agnes looked down at the lantern.

‘I've never seen one like that before. How did you make it light up so quickly?'

‘Er. It's a dark lantern. There's this flap, you see,' he demonstrated, ‘so you can shut it right down and open it up again …'

‘That must be very useful when you're looking for the black notes.'

‘Don't be sarcastic. I just don't want there to be any more trouble. You'll find that
you
start looking around when—'

‘Good
night
, André.'

‘Goodnight, then.'

She hurried up the rest of the flights and ducked into her bedroom. No one followed her.

When she'd calmed down, which took some time, she undressed in the voluminous tent of her red flannel nightdress and got into bed, resisting any temptation to pull the covers over her head.

She stared at the dark ceiling.

‘That's stupid,' she thought, eventually. ‘He was on the stage this morning.
No one
could move that fast …'

She never knew whether she actually got some sleep or whether it happened just as she was dozing off, but there was a very faint knock at the door.

‘Perdita!?'

Only one person she knew could exclaim a whisper.

Agnes got up and padded over to the door. She opened the door a fraction, just to check, and Christine half-fell into the room.

‘What's the matter?'

‘I'm frightened!!'

‘What of?'

‘The mirror!! It's
talking
to me!! Can I sleep in your room?!'

Agnes looked around. It was crowded enough with the two of them standing up in it.

‘The mirror's
talking
?'

‘Yes!!'

‘Are you sure?'

Christine dived into Agnes's bed and pulled the covers over her. ‘Yes!!' she said, indistinctly.

Agnes stood alone in the darkness.

People always tended to assume that she could cope, as if capability went with mass, like gravity. And merely saying briskly, ‘Nonsense, mirrors don't talk', would probably not be any help, especially with one half of the dialogue buried beneath the bedclothes.

She felt her way into the next room, stubbing her foot on the bed in the darkness.

There must be a candle in here, somewhere. She felt for the tiny bedside table, hoping to start the reassuring rattle of a matchbox.

A faint glimmer from the midnight city filtered through the window. The mirror seemed to glow.

She sat down on the bed, which creaked ominously under her.

Oh well … one bed was as good as another …

She was about to lie back when something in the darkness went: …
ting
.

It was a tuning fork.

And a voice said: ‘Christine … please attend.'

She sat upright, staring at the darkness.

And then realization dawned. No men, they'd said. They'd been very strict about that, as if opera were some kind of religion. It was not a problem in Agnes's case, at least in the way they meant, but for someone like Christine … They said love always found a way and, of course, so did a number of associated activities.