Maskerade (11 page)

Oh, good grief. She felt the blush start. In darkness! What kind of a reaction was that?

Agnes's life unrolled in front of her. It didn't look as though it were going to have many high points. But it did hold years and years of being capable and having a lovely personality. It almost certainly held chocolate rather than sex and, while Agnes was not in a position to make a direct comparison, and regardless of the fact that a bar of chocolate could be made to last all day, it did not seem a very fair exchange.

She felt the same feeling she'd felt back home. Sometimes life reaches that desperate point where the wrong thing to do has to be the right thing to do.

It doesn't matter what direction you go. Sometimes you just have to
go
.

She gripped the bedclothes and replayed in her mind the way her friend spoke. You had to have that little gulp, that breathless tinkle in the tone that
people got whose minds played with the fairies half the time. She tried it out in her head, and then delivered it to her vocal cords.

‘Yes?! Who's there?!'

‘A friend.'

Agnes pulled the bedclothes up higher. ‘In the middle of the
night
?!'

‘Night is nothing to me. I belong to the night. And I can help you.' It was a pleasant voice. It seemed to be coming from the mirror.

‘Help me to do what?!'

‘Don't you want to be the best singer in the opera?'

‘Oh, Perdita is a
lot
better than me!!'

There was silence for a moment, and then the voice said: ‘But while I cannot teach her to look and move like you, I can teach you to sing like her.'

Agnes stared into the darkness, shock and humiliation rising from her like steam.

‘Tomorrow you will sing the part of Iodine. But I will teach you how to sing it
perfectly
…'

Next morning the witches had the interior of the coach almost to themselves. News like Greebo gets around. But Henry Slugg was there, if that was indeed his name, sitting next to a very well-dressed, thin little man.

‘Well, here we are again, then,' said Nanny Ogg.

Henry smiled nervously.

‘That was some good singing last night,' Nanny went on.

Henry's face set in a good-natured grimace. In his eyes, terror waved a white flag.

‘I am afraid Señor Basilica doesn't speak Morporkian, ma'am,' said the thin man. ‘But I will translate for you, if you like.'

‘What?' said Nanny. ‘Then how come—
Ow
!'

‘Sorry,' said Granny Weatherwax. ‘My elbow must have slipped.'

Nanny Ogg rubbed her side. ‘I was
saying
,' she said, ‘that he was—
Ow
!'

‘Dear me, I seem to have done it again,' said Granny. ‘This gentleman was telling us that his friend
doesn't speak our language
, Gytha.'

‘Eh? But – What? Oh. But— Ah. Really? Oh. All right,' said Nanny. ‘Oh, yes. Eats our pies, though, when—
Ow
!'

‘Excuse my friend, it's her time of life. She gets confused,' said Granny. ‘We did enjoy his singing. Heard him through the wall.'

‘You were very fortunate,' said the thin man primly. ‘Sometimes people have to wait years to hear Señor Basilica—'

‘—probably waiting for him to finish his dinner—' a voice muttered.

‘—in fact, at La Scalda in Genua last month his singing made ten thousand people shed tears.'

‘—hah, I can do
that
, I don't see there's anything special about
that
—'

Granny's eyes hadn't left Henry ‘Señor Basilica' Slugg's face. He had the expression of a man whose profound relief was horribly tempered by a dread that it wouldn't last very long.

‘Señor Basilica's fame has spread far and wide,' said the manager primly.

‘—just like Señor Basilica,' muttered Nanny. ‘On other people's pies, I expect. Oh, yes, too posh for us now, just because he's the only man you could find on an atlas—
Ow
!'

‘Well, well,' said Granny, smiling in a way that everyone except Nanny Ogg would think of as innocent. ‘It's nice and warm in Genua. I expect Señor Basilica really misses his home. And what do you do, young sir?'

‘I am his manager and translator. Er. You have the advantage of me, ma'am.'

‘Yes, indeed.' Granny nodded.

‘We have some good singers where we come from too,' said Nanny Ogg, rebelliously.

‘Really?' said the manager. ‘And where do you ladies come from?'

‘Lancre.'

The man politely endeavoured to position Lancre on his mental map of great centres of music. ‘Do you have a conservatory there?'

‘Yes, indeed,' said Nanny Ogg stoutly, and then, just to make sure, she added, ‘You should see the size of my tomatoes.'

Granny rolled her eyes. ‘Gytha, you
haven't
got a conservatory. It's just a big windowsill.'

‘Yes, but it catches the sun nearly all day—
Ow
…'

‘I expect Señor Basilica is going to Ankh-Morpork?' said Granny.

‘We,' said the manager, primly, ‘have allowed the Opera House to engage us for the rest of the season—'

His voice faltered. He'd looked up at the luggage rack. ‘What's
that
?'

Granny glanced up. ‘Oh, that's Greebo,' she said.

‘And Mister Basilica's not to eat him,' said Nanny.

‘What
is
it?'

‘He's a cat.'

‘It's
grinning
at me.' The manager shifted uneasily. ‘And I can smell something,' he said.

‘'S funny,' said Nanny. ‘I can't smell a
thing.'

There was a change in the sound of the hooves outside, and the coach lurched as it slowed.

‘Ah,' said the manager awkwardly, ‘I … er … I see we're stopping to change horses. It's a, a nice day. I think I may just, er, see if there's room on the seats outside.'

He left when the coach stopped. When it started again, a few minutes later, he hadn't come back.

‘Well, well,' said Granny, as they lurched away again, ‘it seems there's just you and me, Gytha. And Señor Basilica, who doesn't speak our language. Does he, Mr Henry Slugg?'

Henry Slugg took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. ‘Ladies! Dear ladies! I beg you, for pity's sake …'

‘Have you done anything bad, Mr Slugg?' said Nanny. ‘Took advantage of women who dint want to be took advantage of? Stole? (Apart from lead on roofs and other stuff people wouldn't miss.) Done any murders of anyone who dint deserve it?'

‘No!'

‘He tellin' the truth, Esme?'

Henry writhed under Granny Weatherwax's stare.

‘Yes.'

‘Oh, well, that's all right, then,' said Nanny. ‘I
understand
. I don't have to pay taxes myself, but I know all about people not wantin' to.'

‘Oh, it's not that, I assure you,' said Henry. ‘I have people to pay my taxes for me …'

‘That's a good trick,' said Nanny.

‘Mr Slugg's got a different trick,' said Granny. ‘I reckon I know the trick. It's like sugar and water.'

Henry waved his hands uncertainly. ‘It's just that if they knew …' he began.

‘Everything's better if it comes from a long way away. That's the secret,' said Granny.

‘It's … yes, that's part of it,' said Henry. ‘I mean, no one wants to listen to a Slugg.'

‘Where're you from, Henry?' said Nanny.

‘
Really
from,' said Granny.

‘I grew up in Rookery Yard in the Shades. They're in Ankh-Morpork,' said Henry. ‘It was a terrible rough place. There were only three ways out. You could sing your way out or you could fight your way out.'

‘What was the third way?' said Nanny.

‘Oh, you could go down that little alleyway into Shamlegger Street and then cut down into Treacle Mine Road,' said Henry. ‘But no one ever amounted to anything who went
that
way.'

He sighed. ‘I made a few coppers singing in taverns and suchlike,' he said, ‘but when I tried for anything better they said “What is your name?” and I
said “Henry Slugg” and they'd laugh. I thought of
changing
my name, but everyone in Ankh-Morpork knew who I was. And no one wanted to listen to anyone called plain Henry Slugg.'

Nanny nodded. ‘It's like with conjurers,' she said. ‘They're never called Fred Wossname. It's always something like The Great Astoundo, Fresh From the Court of the King of Klatch, and Gladys.'

‘And everyone takes notice,' said Granny, ‘and are always careful not to ask themselves: if he's come from the King of Klatch, why's he doing card tricks here in Slice, population seven.'

‘The trick is to make sure that everywhere you go, you are from somewhere else,' said Henry. ‘And then I
was
famous, but …'

‘You'd got stuck as Enrico,' said Granny.

He nodded. ‘I was only going to do it to make some money. I was going to come back and marry my little Angeline—'

‘Who was she?' said Granny.

‘Oh, a girl I grew up with,' said Henry, vaguely.

‘Sharing the same gutter in the back streets of Ankh-Morpork, kind of thing?' said Nanny, in an understanding voice.

‘Gutter? In those days you had to put your name down and wait five years for a gutter,' said Henry. ‘We thought people in gutters were
nobs. We
shared a drain. With two other families. And a man who juggled eels.'

He sighed. ‘But I moved on, and then there was always somewhere else to go, and they liked me in Brindisi … and … and …'

He blew his nose on the handkerchief, carefully folded it up, and produced another one from his pocket.

‘I don't mind the pasta and the squid,' he said. ‘Well, not much … But you can't get a decent pint for love nor money and they put olive oil on everything and tomatoes give me a rash and there isn't what I'd call a good hard cheese in the whole country.'

He dabbed at his face with the handkerchief.

‘And people are so kind,' he said. ‘I thought I'd get a few beefsteaks when I travelled but,
wherever
I go, they do pasta especially for me. In tomato sauce! Sometimes they fry it! And what they do to the squid …' He shuddered. ‘Then they all grin and watch me eat it. They think I enjoy it! What I'd give for a plate of nice roast mutton with clootie dumplings …'

‘Why don't you
say
?' said Nanny.

He shrugged. ‘Enrico Basilica eats pasta,' he said. ‘There's not much I can do about it now.'

He sat back. ‘You're interested in music, Mrs Ogg?'

Nanny nodded proudly. ‘I can get a tune out of just about anything if you give me five minutes to study it,' she said. ‘And our Jason can play the violin and our Kev can blow the trombone and all my kids can sing and our Shawn can fart any melody you care to name.'

‘A very talented family, indeed,' said Enrico. He fumbled in a waistcoat pocket and took out two oblongs of cardboard. ‘So please, ladies, accept these
as a small token of gratitude from someone who eats other people's pies. Our little secret, eh?' He winked desperately at Nanny. ‘They're open tickets for the opera.'

‘Well, that's amazin',' said Nanny, ‘because we're going to—
Ow
!'

‘Why, thank you very much,' said Granny Weatherwax, taking the tickets. ‘How very gracious of you. We shall be sure to go.'

‘And if you'll excuse me,' said Enrico, ‘I must catch up on my sleep.'

‘Don't worry, I shouldn't think it's had time to get far away,' said Nanny.

The singer leaned back, pulled the handkerchief over his face and, after a few minutes, began to snore the happy snore of someone who had done his duty and now with any luck wouldn't have to meet these rather disconcerting old women ever again.

‘He's well away,' said Nanny, after a while. She glanced at the tickets in Granny's hand. ‘You want to visit the opera?' she said.

Granny stared into space.

‘I
said
, do you want to visit the opera?'

Granny looked at the tickets. ‘What I want don't signify, I suspect,' she said.

Nanny Ogg nodded.

Granny Weatherwax was firmly against fiction. Life was hard enough without lies floating around and changing the way people thought. And because the theatre was fiction made flesh, she hated the theatre most of all. But that was it –
hate
was exactly
the right word. Hate is a force of attraction. Hate is just love with its back turned.

She didn't
loathe
the theatre, because, had she done so, she would have avoided it completely. Granny now took every opportunity to visit the travelling theatre that came to Lancre, and sat bolt upright in the front row of every performance, staring fiercely. Even honest Punch and Judy men found her sitting among the children, snapping things like ‘'Tain't so!' and ‘Is that any way to behave?' As a result, Lancre was becoming known throughout the Sto Plains as a really tough gig.

But what she
wanted
wasn't important. Like it or not, witches are drawn to the edge of things, where two states collide. They feel the pull of doors, circumferences, boundaries, gates, mirrors, masks …

… and stages.

Breakfast was served in the Opera House's refectory at half-past nine. Actors were not known for their habit of early rising.

Agnes started to fall forward into her eggs and bacon, and stopped herself just in time.

‘
Good
morning!!'

Christine sat down with a tray on which was, Agnes was not surprised to see, a plate holding one stick of celery, one raisin and about a spoonful of milk. She leaned towards Agnes and her face very briefly expressed some concern. ‘Are you all right?! You look a little peaky!!'