Maskerade. Part 31

Bucket looked around, puzzled. "Is there a dog somewhere in here?" he said.

"Well, I for one don't believe in pandering to singers," said Granny Weatherwax. "Fancy food, indeed! I never heard the like! Why not give him mutton with the rest of us?"

"Oh, Lady Esmerelda, that's hardly a way to treat-" Bucket began.

Enrico's elbow nudged his interpreter, with the special nudge of a man who could see clootie dumplings vanishing into the long gra.s.s if he weren't careful. He rumbled out a very pointed sentence.

"Senor Basilica says he would be more than happy to taste the indigenous food of Ankh-Morpork," said the interpreter.

"No, we really can't-" Bucket tried again.

"In fact Senor Basilica insists insists that he tries the indigenous food of Ankh-Morpork," said the interpreter. that he tries the indigenous food of Ankh-Morpork," said the interpreter.

"'S'right. Si," said Basilica.

"Good," said Granny. "And give him some beer while you're about it." She gave the tenor's stomach a playful poke, losing her finger down to the second joint. "Why, in a day or two I expect you could practically turn him into a native!"

The wooden stairs gave way to stone.

Perdita said: He'll have a vast cave somewhere under the Opera House. There will be hundreds of candles, casting an exciting yet romantic light over the, yes, the lake, and there will be a dinner table shining with crystal gla.s.s and silverware, and of course he will have, yes, a huge organ- Agnes blushed hotly in the darkness.

-on which, that is to say, he will play in a virtuoso style many operatic cla.s.sics.

Agnes said: It'll be damp. There will be rats.

"Another clootie dumpling, Senior?" said Nanny Ogg.

"Mmfmmfmmf!"

"Take two while you're about it."

It was an education watching Enrico Basilica eat. It wasn't as though he gobbled his food, but he did eat continuously, like a man who intends to go on doing it all day on industrial lines, his napkin tucked neatly into his collar. The fork was loaded while the current consignment was being thoroughly masticated, so that the actual time between mouthfuls was as small as possible. Even Nanny, no stranger to a metabolism going for the burn, was impressed. Enrico Basilica ate like a man freed at last from the tyranny of tomatoes with everything.

"I'll order another mint-sauce tanker, shall I?" she said.

Mr. Bucket turned to Granny Weatherwax. "You were saying that you might be inclined to patronize our Opera House," he murmured.

"Oh, yes," said Granny. "Is Senor Basilica going to sing tonight?"

"Mmfmmf."

"I hope so," muttered Salzella. "That or explode."

"Then I shall definitely want to be there," said Granny. "A little more lamb here, my good woman."

"Yes ma'am," said Nanny Ogg, making a face at the back of Granny's head.

"Er...seats for tonight, in fact, are-" Bucket began.

"A Box would do me," said Granny. "I'm not fussy."

"In fact, even the Boxes are-"

"How about Box Eight? I've heard as Box Eight is always empty."

Bucket's knife rattled on his plate. "Er, Box Eight, Box Eight, you see, we don't..."

"I was thinking of donating a little something," said Granny.

"But Box Eight, you see, although technically unsold, is..."

"Two thousand dollars was what I had in mind," said Granny. "Oh, dear me, your waitress has let her dumplings go all over the place. It's so difficult to get reliable and polite polite staff these days, ain't it...?" staff these days, ain't it...?"

Salzella and Bucket stared at one another across the table.

Then Bucket said, "Excuse me, my lady, I must just have a brief discussion with my director of music."

The two men hurried to the far end of the room, where they began to argue in whispers.

"Two thousand dollars!" hissed Nanny, watching them.

"It might not be enough," said Granny. "They're both looking very red in the face."

"Yes, but two thousand dollars two thousand dollars!"

"It's only money."

"Yes, but it's only my money, not only your money," Nanny pointed out.

"We witches have always held everything in common, you know that," said Granny.

"Well, yes yes," said Nanny, and once again cut to the heart of the sociopolitical debate. "It's easy to hold everything in common when no one's got anything."

"Why, Gytha Ogg," said Granny, "I thought you despised riches!"

"Right, so I'd like to get the chance to despise them up close."

"But I knows you, Gytha Ogg. Money'd spoil you."

"I'd just like the chance to prove that it wouldn't, that's all I'm saying."

"Hush, they're coming back-"

Mr. Bucket approached, smiled uneasily, and sat down. "Er," he began, "it has to be Box Eight, does it? Only we could perhaps persuade someone in one of the other-"

"Wouldn't hear of it," said Granny. "I've heard that there's no one ever seen in Box Eight."

"Er...haha...it's laughable, I know, but there are some old theatrical traditions a.s.sociated with Box Eight, absolute rubbish of course, but..."

He left the "but" hanging there hopefully. It froze in the face of Granny's stare.

"You see, it's haunted," he mumbled.

"Oh lawks," said Nanny Ogg, vaguely remembering to stay in character. "Another vat of slumpie, Senior Basilica? And how about another quart of beer?"

"Mmfmmf," said the tenor encouragingly, taking time out from his eating to point a fork at his empty mug.

Granny went on staring.

"Excuse me," said Bucket again.

He and Salzella went into another huddle, out of which came sounds like "But two thousand dollars two thousand dollars! That's a lot of shoes!"

Bucket surfaced again. His face was gray. Granny's stare could do that to people.

"Er...because of the danger, er, which of course doesn't exist, haha, we...that is, the management...feel it inc.u.mbent on us to insist, that is, politely request, that if you do enter Box Eight you do so in company with a...man."

He ducked slightly.

"A man?" said Granny.

"For protection," said Bucket in a little voice.

"Although who'd protect him him we really couldn't say," said Salzella under his breath. we really couldn't say," said Salzella under his breath.

"We thought perhaps one of the staff..." Bucket mumbled.

"Ai am quate capable of finding my own man should the need arise," said Granny, in a voice with snow on it.

Bucket's polite reply died in his throat when he saw, just behind Lady Esmerelda, Mrs. Ogg grinning like a full moon.

"Anyone for pudding?" she said.

She held a big bowl on a tray. There seemed to be a haze over it.

"My word," he said, "that looks delicious!"

Enrico Basilica looked over the top of his food with the expression of a man who has had the amazing privilege of going to heaven while still alive.

"Mmmf!"

It was was damp. And, with the demise of Mr. Pounder, there were indeed rats. damp. And, with the demise of Mr. Pounder, there were indeed rats.

The stone looked old, too. Of course, all stone was old, Agnes told herself, but this had grown old as masonry. Ankh-Morpork had been here for thousands of years. Where other cities were built on clay or rock or loam, Ankh-Morpork was built on Ankh-Morpork. People constructed new buildings on the remains of earlier ones, knocking out a few doorways here and there to turn ancient bedrooms into cellars.

The stairs petered out on damp flagstones, in almost total darkness.

Perdita thought it looked romantic and gothic.

Agnes thought it looked gloomy.

If someone used this place they'd need lights, wouldn't they? And a fumbling search confirmed it. She found a candle and some matches tucked into a niche in the wall.

That was sobering for Agnes and Perdita together. Someone used this prosaic book of matches with a picture of a grinning troll on the cover, and this piece of perfectly ordinary candle. Perdita would have preferred a flaming torch. Agnes didn't know what what she would have preferred. It was just that, if a mysterious person came and sang in the walls, and moved around the place like a ghost, and possibly killed people...well, you'd prefer a bit more style than a box of matches with a picture of a grinning troll on it. That was the sort of thing a she would have preferred. It was just that, if a mysterious person came and sang in the walls, and moved around the place like a ghost, and possibly killed people...well, you'd prefer a bit more style than a box of matches with a picture of a grinning troll on it. That was the sort of thing a murderer murderer would use. would use.

She lit the candle and, in two minds about it all, went on into the dark.

Chocolate Delight with Special Secret Sauce was a great success and heading down the little red lane as though hot-wired.

"More, Mr. Salzella?" said Bucket. "This really is first-cla.s.s stuff, isn't it? I must congratulate Mrs. Clamp."

"There is a certain piquancy, I must say," said the director of music. "How about you, Senor Basilica?"

"Mmmf."

"Lady Esmerelda?"

"I don't mind if I do," said Granny, pa.s.sing her plate across.

"I'm sure I detect a hint of cinnamon," said the interpreter, a brown ring around his mouth.

"Indeed, and possibly just a trace of nutmeg," said Mr. Bucket.

"I thought...cardamom?" said Salzella.

"Creamy yet spicy," said Bucket. His eyes unfocused slightly. "And curiously...warming."

Granny stopped chewing, and looked down suspiciously at her plate.

Then she sniffed at her spoon.