Maskerade (13 page)

‘Oh, and the cat got stuck up a tree.' He sucked
his hand, and the agent noticed that a handkerchief was tied around it.

A hazy look of recollection clouded the driver's eyes. ‘And then there were the stories,' he said.

‘What stories?'

‘The little fat one said everyone had to tell a story to help pass the time.'

‘Yes? Well? I don't see how that could slow you down!'

‘You should've heard
her
story. The one about the very tall man and the piano? I was so embarrassed I fell off the coach. I wouldn't use words like that even to my own dear grandmother!'

‘And of course,' said the agent, who prided himself on his ironic approach, ‘the word
timetable
never crossed your mind while all this was going on?'

The driver turned to look directly at him for the first time. The agent took a step back. Here was a man who had hang-glided over Hell.

‘
You
tell them,' said the driver, and walked away.

The agent stared after him, and then walked around to the door.

A small man with a hunted look climbed out, dragging a huge fat man behind him and gabbling urgently in a language the agent didn't understand.

And then the agent was left alone with a coach and horses and an expanding circle of hurrying passengers.

He opened the door and peered inside.

‘Good morning, mister,' said Nanny Ogg.

He looked, in some puzzlement, from her to Granny Weatherwax.

‘Is everything all right, ladies?'

‘Very nice journey,' said Nanny Ogg, taking his arm. ‘We shall def'nitly patronize you another time.'

‘The driver seemed to think there was a problem …'

‘Problem?' said Granny. ‘I didn't notice any problems. Did you, Gytha?'

‘He could've been a bit quicker fetching the ladder,' said Nanny, climbing down. ‘And I'm sure he muttered something under his breath that time we stopped to admire the view. But I'm prepared to be gracious about it.'

‘You stopped to admire the
view
?' said the agent. ‘When?'

‘Oh, several times,' said Nanny. ‘No sense in rushing around the whole time, is there? More haste less speed, ekcetra. Could you point us in the direction of Elm Street? Only we've lodgings at Mrs Palm's. Our Nev speaks highly of the place, he says no one ever looked for him there …'

The agent stepped back, as people generally did in the face of Nanny's pump-action chatter.

‘Elm Street?' he stuttered. ‘But …
respectable
ladies shouldn't go there …'

Nanny patted him on the shoulder. ‘That's good,' she said. ‘That way we won't run into anyone we know.'

As Granny walked past the horses they tried to hide behind the coach.

Bucket smiled brightly. There were little beads of sweat around the edges of his face.

‘Ah, Perdita,' he said. ‘Do sit down, lass. Er. You are enjoying your time with us so far?'

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Bucket,' said Agnes dutifully.

‘Good. That's good. Isn't that good, Mr Salzella? Don't you think that's good, Dr Undershaft?'

Agnes looked at the three worried faces.

‘We're all very pleased,' said Mr Bucket. ‘And, er, well, we have an
amazing
offer for you which I'm sure will help you to enjoy it
even more
.'

Agnes watched the assembled faces. ‘Yes?' she said guardedly.

‘I know you, er, have only been with us hardly any time but we have decided to, er' – Bucket swallowed, and glanced at the other two for moral support – ‘let you sing the part of Iodine in tonight's production of
La Triviata
.'

‘Yes?'

‘Um. It isn't
the
major role but of course it does include the famous “Departure” aria …'

‘Oh. Yes?'

‘Er … there is, er … that is, er …' Bucket gave up and looked helplessly at his director of music. ‘Mr Salzella?'

Salzella leaned forward. ‘What in fact we would like you to do … Perdita … is
sing
the role, indeed, but not, in fact …
play
the role.'

Agnes listened while they explained. She'd stand in the chorus, just behind Christine. Christine would be told to sing very softly. It had been done dozens of times before, Salzella explained. It was done far more often than the audiences ever realized – when singers had a sore throat, or had completely dried, or
had turned up so drunk they could barely stand, or, in one notorious instance many years previously, had died in the interval and subsequently sung their famous aria by means of a broom-handle stuck up their back and their jaw operated with a piece of string.

It wasn't immoral. The show had to go on.

The ring of desperately grinning faces watched her.

I could just walk away, she thought. Walk away from these grinning faces and the mysterious Ghost. They couldn't stop me.

But there's nowhere to walk to except back.

‘Yes, er, yes,' she said. ‘I'm very … er … but why do it like this? Couldn't I simply take her place and sing the part?'

The men looked at one another, and then all started talking at once.

‘Yes, but you see, Christine is … has … more stage experience—'

‘—technical grasp—'

‘—stage presence—'

‘—apparent lyrical ability—'

‘—fits the costume—'

Agnes looked down at her big hands. She could feel the blush advancing like a barbarian horde, burning everything as it came.

‘We would like you, as it were,' said Bucket, ‘to
ghost
the part …'

‘Ghost?' said Agnes.

‘It's a stage term,' said Salzella.

‘Oh, I see,' said Agnes. ‘Yes. Well, of course. I shall certainly do my best.'

‘
Jolly
good,' said Bucket. ‘We won't forget this. And I'm certain a very suitable part for you will come along very soon. See Dr Undershaft this afternoon and he will take you through the role.'

‘Er. I know it quite well, I think,' said Agnes, uncertainly.

‘Really? How?'

‘I've been … taking lessons.'

‘That
is
good, lass,' said Mr Bucket. ‘Shows keenness. We're very impressed. But see Dr Undershaft in any case …'

Agnes got up and, still looking down, trooped out.

Undershaft sighed and shook his head.

‘Poor child,' he said. ‘Born too late. Opera
used
to be just about voices. You know, I remember the days of the great sopranos. Dame Violetta Gigli, Dame Clarissa Extendo … whatever became of them, I sometimes wonder.'

‘Didn't the climate change?' said Salzella nastily.

‘There goes a figure that should prompt a revival of
The Ring of the Nibelungingung
,' Undershaft went on. ‘Now that
was
an opera.'

‘Three days of gods shouting at one another and twenty minutes of memorable tunes?' said Salzella. ‘No, thank you very much.'

‘But can't you hear her singing Hildabrun, leader of the Valkyries?'

‘Yes. Oh, yes. But unfortunately I can also hear her singing Nobbo the dwarf and Io, Chief of the Gods.'

‘Those were the days,' said Undershaft sadly,
shaking his head. ‘We had
proper
opera then. I recall when Dame Veritasi stuffed a musician into his own tuba for yawning—'

‘Yes, yes, but this is the Century of the Fruitbat,' said Salzella, standing up. He glanced at the door again, and shook his head.

‘Amazing,' he said. ‘Do you think she knows how fat she is?'

The door of Mrs Palm's discreet establishment opened at Granny's knock.

The person on the other side was a young woman. Very obviously a young woman. There was no possible way that she could have been mistaken for a young man in any language, especially Braille.

Nanny peered around the young lady's powdered shoulder at the red plush and gilt interior beyond, and then up at Granny Weatherwax's impassive face, and then back at the young lady.

‘I'll tan our Nev's hide when I get home,' she muttered. ‘Come away, Esme, you don't want to go in there. It'd take too long to explain—'

‘Why, Granny Weatherwax!' said the girl happily. ‘And who's this?'

Nanny looked up at Granny, whose expression hadn't changed.

‘Nanny Ogg,' Nanny said eventually. ‘Yes, I'm Nanny Ogg. Nev's mum,' she added darkly. ‘Yes, indeed. Yes. On account of me bein' a' – the words ‘respectable widow woman' tried to range themselves in her vocal cords, and shrivelled at the sheer
enormity of the falsehood, forcing her to settle for ‘mother to him. Nev. Yes. Nev's mum.'

‘Hello, Colette,' said Granny. ‘What fascinatin' earrings you are wearing. Is Mrs Palm at home?'

‘She's always at home to
important
visitors,' said Colette. ‘Do come in, everyone will be so pleased to see you again!'

There were cries of welcome as Granny stepped into the scarlet gloom.

‘What? You've been here before?' said Nanny, eyeing the pink flesh and white lace that made up much of the scenery.

‘Oh, yes. Mrs Palm is an old friend. Practic'ly a witch.'

‘You … you do
know
what
kind
of place this is, do you, Esme?' said Nanny Ogg. She felt curiously annoyed. She'd happily give way to Granny's expertise in the worlds of mind and magic, but she felt very strongly that there were some more specialized areas that were definitely Ogg territory, and Granny Weatherwax had no business even to know what they were.

‘Oh, yes,' said Granny, calmly.

Nanny's patience gave out. ‘It's a house of ill repute, is what it is!'

‘On the contrary,' said Granny. ‘I believe people speak very highly of it.'

‘You
knew
? And you never told
me
?'

Granny raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘The lady who invented the Strawberry Wobbler?'

‘Well, yes, but—'

‘We all live life the best way we can, Gytha.
And there's a lot of people who think
witches
are bad.'

‘Yes, but—'

‘Before you criticize someone, Gytha, walk a mile in their shoes,' said Granny, with a faint smile.

‘In those shoes
she
was wearin', I'd twist my ankle,' said Nanny, gritting her teeth. ‘I'd need a ladder just to get in 'em.' It was infuriating, the way Granny tricked you into reading her half of the dialogue. And opened your mind to yourself in unexpected ways.

‘And it's a welcoming place and the beds are soft,' said Granny.

‘Warm too, I expect,' said Nanny Ogg, giving in. ‘And there's always a friendly light in the window.'

‘Dear me, Gytha Ogg. I always thought you were unshockable.'

‘Shockable, no,' said Nanny. ‘Easily surprised, yes.'

Dr Undershaft the chorus master peered at Agnes over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

‘The, um, “Departure” aria, as it is known,' he said, ‘is quite a little masterpiece. Not one of the great operatic highlights, but very memorable nevertheless.'

His eyes misted over. ‘“
Questa maledetta
” sings Iodine, as she tells Peccadillo how hard it is for her to leave him … “
Questa maledetta porta si blocccccca, Si blocca comunque diavolo lo faccccc-cio …!
”'

He stopped and made great play of cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief.

‘When Gigli sang it, there wasn't a dry eye in the house,' he mumbled. ‘I was there. It was then that I decided that I would … oh, great days, indeed.' He put his glasses on and blew his nose.

‘I'll run through it once,' he said, ‘just so that you can understand how it is supposed to go. Very well, André.'

The young man who had been drafted in to play the piano in the rehearsal room nodded, and winked surreptitiously at Agnes.

She pretended not to have seen him, and listened with an expression of acute studiousness as the old man worked his way through the score.

‘And now,' he said, ‘let us see how you manage.'

He handed her the score and nodded at the pianist.

Agnes sang the aria, or at least a few bars of it. André stopped playing and leaned his head against the piano, trying to stifle a laugh.

‘Ahem,' said Undershaft.

‘Was I doing something wrong?'

‘You were singing tenor,' said Undershaft, looking sternly at André.

‘She was singing in your
voice
, sir!'

‘Perhaps you can sing it like, er, Christine would sing it?'

They started again.

‘Kwesta!? Maledetta!! …'

Undershaft held up both hands. André's shoulders were shaking with the effort of not laughing.

‘Yes, yes. Accurately observed. I daresay you're
right. But could we start again and, er, perhaps you would sing it how you think it should be sung?'

Agnes nodded.

They started again …

… and finished.

Undershaft had sat down, half-turned away. He wouldn't look round to face her.

Agnes stood watching him uncertainly. ‘Er. Was that all right?' she said.

André the pianist got up slowly and took her hand. ‘I think we'd better leave him,' he said softly, pulling her towards the door.

‘Was it that bad?'

‘Not … exactly.'

Undershaft raised his head, but didn't turn it towards her. ‘More practice on those Rs, madam, and strive for greater security above the stave,' he said hoarsely.

‘Yes. Yes, I will.'

André led her out into the corridor, shut the door, and then turned to her.

‘That was
astounding
,' he said. ‘Did you ever hear the great Gigli sing?'

‘I don't even know who Gigli
is
. What
was
I singing?'