Maskerade

'Oh, good!' said Bucket. 'What with? Buckets of blood?'

'Didn't you have a look?'

'They said the cellars were fine!'

'And you believed them?'

'Well, there was rather a lot of champagne...'

Salzella sighed.

Bucket took offence at the sigh. 'I happen to pride myself that I am a good judge of character,' he said. 'Look a man deeply in the eye and give him a firm handshake and you know everything about him.'

'Yes, indeed,' said Salzella.

'Oh, blast... Senor Enrico Basilica will be here the day after tomorrow. Do you think something might happen to him?'

'Oh, not much. Cut throat, perhaps.'

'What? You think so?'

'How should I know?'

'What do you want me to do? Close the place? As far as I can see it doesn't make any money as it is! Why hasn't anyone told the Watch?'

'That would be worse,' said Salzella. 'Big trolls in rusty chainmail tramping everywhere, getting in everyone's way and asking stupid questions. They'd close us down.'

Bucket swallowed. 'Oh, we can't have that,' he said. 'Can't have them... putting everyone on edge.'

Salzella sat back. He seemed to relax a little. 'On edge? Mr Bucket,' he said, 'this is opera. Everyone is always on edge. Have you ever heard of a catastrophe curve, Mr Bucket?'

Seldom Bucket did his best. 'Well, I know there's a dreadful bend in the road up by–'

'A catastrophe curve, Mr Bucket, is what opera runs along. Opera happens because a large number of things amazingly fail to go wrong, Mr Bucket. It works because of hatred and love and nerves. All the time. This isn't cheese. This is opera. If you wanted a quiet retirement, Mr Bucket, you shouldn't have bought the Opera House. You should have done something peaceful, like alligator dentistry.'

Na

'Certainly an interestin' way to travel,' she said. 'You do get to see places.'

'Yes,' said Gra

'Can't think what's got into me.'

'I shouldn't think the horses have managed to get faster'n a walk all morning.'

They were, by now, alone except for the huge snoring man. The other two had got out and joined the travellers on top.

The main cause of this was Greebo. With a cat's unerring instinct for people who dislike cats he'd leapt heavily into their laps and given them the 'young masser back on de ole plantation' treatment. And he'd treadled them into submission and then settled down and gone to sleep, claws gripping not sufficiently to draw blood but definitely to suggest that this was an option should the person move or breathe. And then, when he was sure they were resigned to the situation, he'd started to smell.

No one knew where it came from. It was not associated with any known orifice. It was just that, after five minutes' doze, the air above Greebo had a penetrating smell of fermented carpets.

He was now trying it out on the very large man. It wasn't working. At last Greebo had found a stomach too big for him. Also, the continuing going up and down was begi

The snores reverberated around the coach.

'Wouldn't like to come between him and his pudding,' said Na

Gra

'Gytha?'

'Yes, Esme?'

'Mind if I ask you a question?'

'You don't normally ask if I mind,' said Na

'Doesn't it ever get you down, the way people don't think properly?'

Oh‑oh, thought Na

'How d'you mean?' she said.

'I means the way they distracts themselves.'

'Can't say I ever really thought about it, Esme.'

'Like...s'pose I was to say to you, Gytha Ogg, your house is on fire, what's the first thing you'd try to take out?'

Na

'That's right.'

'Like, you try to guess what I'm like by what I say...'

'Gytha Ogg, I've known you all my life, I knows what you're like. I don't need to guess. But answer me, all the same.'

'I reckon I'd take Greebo.'

Gra

' 'Cos that shows I've got a warm and considerate nature,' Na

'No, it shows you're the kind of person who tries to work out what the right answer's supposed to be,' said Gra

Na

The snores changed to a blurt‑blurt noise and the handkerchief quivered.

'...treacle pudding, with lots of custard...'

'Hey, he just said something,' said Na

'He talks in his sleep,' said Gra

'I never heard him!'

'You were out of the coach.'

'Oh.'

'At the last stop he was going on about pancakes with lemon,' said Gra

'Makes me feel hungry just listening to that,' said Na

The snoring stopped abruptly. A hand came up and moved the handkerchief aside. The face beyond was friendly, bearded and small. It gave the witches a shy smile which turned inexorably towards the pork pie.

'Want a slice, mister?' said Na

'Oo, would you, dear lady?' said the man, in a squeaky voice. 'Don't know when I last had a pork pie–oh, dear...'

He grimaced as if he'd just said something wrong, and then relaxed.

'Got a bottle of beer if you want a drop, too,' said Na

'Beer?' said the man. 'Beer? You know, they don't let me drink beer. Hah, it's supposed to be the wrong ambience. I'd give anything for a pint of beer–'

'Just a "thank you" would do,' said Na

'Who's this "they" to whom you refers?' said Gra

' 'S my fault really,' said the man, through a faint spray of pork crumbs. 'Got caught up, I suppose...'

There was a change in the sounds from outside. The lights of a town were going past and the coach was slowing down.

The man forced the last of the pie into his mouth and washed it down with the dregs of the beer.

'Oo, lovely,' he said. Then he leaned back and put the handkerchief over his face.

He raised a corner. 'Don't tell anyone I spoke to you,' he said, 'but you've made a friend of Henry Slugg.'

'And what do you do, Henry Slugg?' said Gra

'I'm... I'm on the stage.'

'Yes. We can see,' said Na

'No, I meant–'

The coach stopped. Gravel crunched as people climbed down. The door was pulled open.

Gra

'Who's Enrico Basilica?' said Na

'Don't know,' said Gra

The coaching i

Mr Bucket looked pained.

'I may just be a big man in cheese to you,' he said, 'you may think I'm just some hard‑headed businessman who wouldn't know culture if he found it floating in his tea, but I have been a patron of the opera here and elsewhere for many years. I can hum nearly the whole of–'

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