Maskerade (35 page)

Walter didn't appear to notice her. He pawed aimlessly through his stack of music and ran his hands through the drifts of old programmes. One hand touched the keyboard of the harmonium and played a few neurotic notes.

‘Wrong to stop. Show must go on …'

‘Mr Salzella is trying to stop the show, isn't he, Walter?'

Walter's head shot up. He stared straight ahead of him.

‘You haven't seen anything, Walter Plinge!' he said, in a voice so like Salzella's that even Granny raised an eyebrow. ‘And if you tell lies, you will be locked up and I'll see to it that there's big trouble for your mother!'

Granny nodded.

‘He found out about the Ghost, didn't he?' she
said. ‘The Ghost who comes out when he has a mask on … doesn't he, Walter Plinge? And the man thought: I can use that. And when it's time for the Ghost to be caught … well, there
is
a Ghost that can be caught. And the
best
thing is that everyone will believe it. They'll feel bad about themselves, maybe, but they'll believe it. Even Walter Plinge won't be certain, 'cos his mind's all tangled up.'

Granny took a deep breath. ‘It's tangled, but it
ain't
twisted.' There was a sigh. ‘Well, matters will have to resolve themselves. There's nothing else for it.'

She removed her hat and fished around in the point. ‘I don't mind tellin' you this, Walter,' she said, ‘because you won't understand and you won't remember. There was a wicked ole witch once called Black Aliss. She was an unholy terror. There's never been one worse or more powerful. Until now. Because I could spit in her eye and steal her teeth, see. Because she didn't know Right from Wrong, so she got all twisted up and that was the end of her.

‘The trouble is, you see, that if you
do
know Right from Wrong you can't choose Wrong. You just can't do it and live. So … if I was a bad witch I could make Mister Salzella's muscles turn against his bones and break them where he stood … if I was bad. I could do things inside his head, change the shape he thinks he is, and he'd be down on what'd been his knees and
begging
to be turned into a frog … if I was bad. I could leave him with a mind like a scrambled egg, listening to colours and hearing smells … if I
was bad. Oh, yes.' There was another sigh, deeper and more heartfelt. ‘But I can't do none of that stuff. That wouldn't be Right.'

She gave a deprecating little chuckle. And if Nanny Ogg had been listening, she would have resolved as follows: that no maddened cackle from Black Aliss of infamous memory, no evil little giggle from some crazed vampyre whose morals were worse than his spelling, no side-splitting guffaw from the most inventive torturer, was quite so unnerving as a happy little chuckle from a Granny Weatherwax about to do what's best.

From the point of her hat Granny withdrew a paper-thin mask. It was a simple face – smooth, white, basic. There were semi-circular holes for the eyes. It was neither happy nor sad.

She turned it over in her hands. Walter seemed to stop breathing.

‘Simple thing, ain't it?' said Granny. ‘Looks beautiful, but it's really just a simple bit of stuff, just like any other mask. Wizards could poke at this for a year and still say there was nothing magic about it, eh? Which just shows how much
they
know, Walter Plinge.'

She tossed it to him. He caught it hungrily and pulled it over his face.

Then he stood up in one flowing movement, moving like a dancer.

‘I don't know what you are when you're behind the mask,' said Granny, ‘but “ghost” is just another word for “spirit” and “spirit” is just another word for “soul”. Off you go, Walter Plinge.'

The masked figure did not move.

‘I meant … off you go, Ghost. The show
must
go on.'

The mask nodded, and darted away.

Granny slapped her hands together like the crack of doom.

‘Right! Let's do some good!' she said, to the universe at large.

Everyone was looking at her.

This was a moment in time, a little point between the past and future, when a second could stretch out and out …

Agnes felt the blush begin. It was heading for her face like the revenge of the volcano god. When it got there, she knew, it would be all over for her.

You'll apologize, Perdita jeered.

‘Shut up!' shouted Agnes.

She strode forward before the echo had had time to come back from the further ends of the auditorium, and wrenched at the red mask.

The entire chorus came in on cue. This was opera, after all. The show had stopped, but opera continued …

‘Salzella!'

He grabbed Agnes, clamping his hand over her mouth. His other hand flew to his belt and drew his sword.

It wasn't a stage prop. The blade hissed through the air as he spun to face the chorus.

‘Oh
dear
oh
dear
oh
dear
,' he said. ‘How extremely
operatic
of me. And now, I fear, I shall have
to take this poor girl hostage. It's the appropriate thing to do, isn't it?'

He looked around triumphantly. The audience watched in fascinated silence.

‘Isn't anyone going to say “You won't get away with this”?' he said.

‘You won't get away with this,' said André, from the wings.

‘You have the place surrounded, I have no doubt?' said Salzella brightly.

‘Yes, we have the place surrounded.'

Christine screamed and fainted.

Salzella smiled even more brightly.

‘Ah, now
there's
someone operatic!' he said. ‘But, you see, I
am
going to get away with it, because I
don't
think operatically. Myself and this young lady here are going to go down to the cellars where I may, possibly, leave her unharmed. I doubt very much that you have the cellars surrounded. Even I don't know everywhere they go, and believe me my knowledge is really rather extensive—'

He paused. Agnes tried to break free, but his grip tightened around her neck.

‘By now,' he said, ‘someone should have said: “But
why
, Salzella?” Honestly, do I have to do
everything
around here?'

Bucket realized he had his mouth open. ‘That's what I was
going
to say!' he said.

‘Ah, good. Well, in that case, I should say something like: Because I wanted to. Because I rather like money, you see. But more than that' – he took a deep breath – ‘I really hate opera. I don't want to get
needlessly excited about this, but opera, I am afraid, really is dreadful. And I have had
enough
. So, while I have the stage, let me tell you what a wretched, self-adoring, totally unrealistic, worthless artform it is, what a terrible waste of fine music, what a—'

There was a whirr off on one side of the stage. The skirts of costumes began to flap. Dust flew up.

André looked around. Beside him, the wind machine had started up. The handle was turning by itself.

Salzella turned to see what everyone was staring at.

The Ghost had dropped lightly on to the stage. His opera cloak billowed around him … operatically.

He bowed slightly, and drew his sword.

‘But you're dea—' Salzella began. ‘Oh,
yes
! A ghost of a Ghost! Totally unbelievable and an offence against common sense, in the best operatic tradition! This was really too much to hope for!'

He thrust Agnes away, and nodded happily.

‘That's what opera does to a man,' he said. ‘It rots the brain, you see, and I doubt whether he had too much of that to begin with. It drives people mad. Mad, d'you hear me, mad!! Ahem. They act irrationally. Don't you think I've watched you, over the years? It's like a hothouse for insanity!! D'you hear me? Insanity!!'

He and the Ghost began to circle one another.

‘You don't know what it has been like, I assure you, being the only sane man in this madhouse!! You believe
anything
!! You'd prefer to believe a ghost can
be in two places at once than that there might simply be two people!! Even Pounder thought he could blackmail me!! Poking around in places that he shouldn't!! Well, of course, I
had
to kill him for his own good. This place sends even ratcatchers mad!! And Undershaft … well, why couldn't he have forgotten his glasses like he usually did, eh?'

He lashed out with his sword. The Ghost parried.

‘And now I'll fight your Ghost,' he said, moving forward in a flurry of strokes, ‘and you'll notice that our Ghost here doesn't actually know how to fence … because he only knows stage-fencing, you see … where the whole point, of course, is simply to hit the other fellow's sword with a suitably impressive metallic noise … so that you can die very dramatically merely because he's carefully thrust his sword under your armpit …'

The Ghost was forced to retreat under the onslaught, until he fell backwards over the unconscious body of Christine.

‘See?' said Salzella. ‘That's what comes of believing in opera!!!'

He reached down quickly and tugged the mask off Walter Plinge's face.

‘Really, Walter!!! You
are
a bad boy!!!!'

‘Sorry Mr Salzella!'

‘Look how everyone's staring!!!!'

‘Sorry Mr Salzella!'

The mask crumpled in Salzella's fingers. He let the fragments tumble to the floor. Then he pulled Walter to his feet.

‘See, company?
This
is your luck!!!
This
is your
Ghost!!! Without his mask he's just an idiot who can hardly tie his shoelaces!!! Ahahaha!!!! Ahem. It's all your fault, Walter Plinge …'

‘Yes Mr Salzella!'

‘
No
.'

Salzella looked around.

‘
No one would believe Walter Plinge. Even Walter Plinge gets confused about the things Walter Plinge sees. Even his mother was afraid he might have murdered people. People could accept just about anything of a Walter Plinge
.'

There was a steady tapping noise.

The trapdoor opened beside Salzella.

A pointy hat appeared slowly, followed by the rest of Granny Weatherwax, with her arms folded. She glared at Salzella as the floor clicked into place. Her foot stopped tapping on the boards.

‘Well, well,' he said. ‘Lady Esmerelda, eh?'

‘I'm stoppin' bein' a lady, Mr Salzella.'

He glanced up at the pointy hat. ‘So you are a witch instead?'

‘Yes, indeed.'

‘A bad witch, no doubt?'

‘Worse.'

‘But
this
,' said Salzella, ‘is a sword. Everyone knows witches can't magic iron and steel. Get out of my way!!!'

The sword hissed down.

Granny thrust out her hand. There was a blur of flesh and steel and …

… she held the sword, by the blade.

‘Tell you what, Mr Salzella,' she said, levelly, ‘it
ought
to be Walter Plinge who finishes this, eh? It's him you harmed, apart from the ones you murdered, o' course. You didn't need to do that. But you wore a mask, didn't you? There's a kind of magic in masks. Masks conceal one face, but they reveal another. The one that only comes out in darkness. I bet you could do just what you
liked
, behind a mask …?'

Salzella blinked at her. He pulled on his sword, tugged hard on a sharp blade held in an unprotected hand.

There was a groan from several members of the chorus. Granny grinned. Her knuckles whitened as she redoubled her grip.

She turned her head towards Walter Plinge. ‘Put your mask on, Walter.'

Everyone looked down at the crumpled cardboard on the stage.

‘Don't have one any more Mistress Weatherwax!'

Granny followed his gaze. ‘Oh deary, deary me,' she said. ‘Well, I can see we shall have to do something about that. Look at me, Walter.'

He did as he was told. Granny's eyes half-closed. ‘You …
trust
Perdita, don't you, Walter?'

‘Yes Mistress Weatherwax!'

‘That's good, because she's got a new mask for you, Walter Plinge. A magic one. It's just like your old one, d'you see, only you wear it under your skin and you don't have to take it off and no one but you will ever need to know it's there. Got it, Perdita?'

‘But I—' Agnes began.

‘
Got it?
'

‘Er … oh, yes. Here it is. Yes. I've got it in my hand.' She waved an empty hand vaguely.

‘You're holding it the wrong way up, my girl!'

‘Oh. Sorry.'

‘Well? Give it to him, then.'

‘Er. Yes.'

Agnes advanced on Walter.

‘Now you take it, Walter,' said Granny, still gripping the sword.

‘Yes Mistress Weatherwax …'

He reached out towards Agnes. As he did so, she was sure that, just for a moment, there was a faint pressure on her fingertips.

‘
Well?
Put it on!'

Walter looked uncertain.

‘You do
believe
there's a mask there, don't you, Walter?' Granny demanded. ‘Perdita's sensible and
she
knows an invisible mask when she sees one.'

He nodded, slowly, and raised his hands to his face.

And Agnes was sure that he'd somehow come into focus. Almost certainly nothing had happened that could be measured with any kind of instrument, any more than you could weigh an idea or sell good fortune by the yard. But Walter stood up, smiling faintly.

‘Good,' said Granny. She stared at Salzella.

‘I reckon you two should fight again,' she said. ‘But it can't be said I'm unfair. I expect
you've
got a Ghost mask somewhere? Mrs Ogg saw you waving it, see. And she's not as gormless as she looks—'

‘Thank you,' said a fat ballerina.

‘—so she thought, how could people still say afterwards that they'd seen the Ghost? 'cos that's how you recognize the Ghost, by his mask. So there's
two
masks.'