Maskerade

'Madam?'

'Sir?!'

The voice was melodious. It suggested that, at any minute, it might break into song.

'Attend. Tomorrow you must sing the part of Laura in Il Truccatore. We have much to do. One night is barely enough. The aria in Act One will occupy much of our time.'

There was a brief passage of violin music.

'Your performance tonight was... good. But there are areas that we must build upon. Attend.'

'Did you send the roses?!'

'You like the roses? They bloom only in darkness.'

'Who are you?! Was it you I heard singing just now!?'

There was silence for a moment.

'Yes.'

Then:

'Let us examine the role of Laura in Il Truccatore "The Master of Disguise", also sometimes vulgarly known as "The Man with a Thousand Faces"...'

When the witches arrived at Goatberger's offices next morning they found a very large troll sitting on the stairs. It had a club across its knees and held up a shovel‑sized hand to prevent them going any further.

'No one's allowed in,' it said. 'Mr Goatberger is in a meetin'.'

'How long is this meetin' going to be?' said Granny.

'Mr Goatberger is a very elongated meeter.'

Granny gave the troll an appraising stare. 'You been in publishin' long?' she said.

'Since dis mornin',' said the troll proudly.

'Mr Goatberger gave you the job?'

'Yup. Come up Quarry Lane and picked me special for...'–the troll's brow creased as it tried to remember the unfamiliar words–'...the fast track inns fast‑movin'_ worlds publishin'.'

'And what exactly is your job?'

' 'Ead 'fitter.'

' 'Souse me,' said Nanny, pushing forward. 'I'd know that stratum anywhere. You're from Copperhead in Lancre, ain't you?'

'So what?'

'We're from Lancre, too.'

'Yeah?'

'This is Granny Weatherwax, you know.'

The troll gave her a disbelieving grin, and then its brow corrugated again, and then it looked at Granny.

She nodded.

'The one you boys call Aaoograha hoa, you know?' said Nanny. ' "She Who Must Be Avoided"?'

The troll looked at its club as if seriously considering the possibility of beating itself to death.

Granny patted it on the lichen‑encrusted shoulder. 'What's your name, lad?'

'Carborundum, miss,' it mumbled. One of its legs began to tremble.

'Well, I'm sure you're going to make a good life for yourself here in the big city,' said Granny.

'Yes, why don't you go and start now?' said Nanny.

The troll gave her a grateful look and fled, without even bothering to open the door.

'Do they really call me that?' said Granny.

'Er. Yes,' said Nanny, kicking herself. 'It's a mark of respect, of course.'

'Oh.'

'Er...'

'I've always done my best to get along with trolls, you know that.'

'Oh, yes.'

'How about the dwarfs?' said Granny, as someone might who had found a hitherto unsuspected boil and couldn't resist poking it. 'Have they got a name for me, too?'

'Let's go and see Mr Goatberger, shall we?' said Nanny brightly.

'Gytha!'

'Er... well... I think it's K'ez'rek d'b'duz,' said Nanny.

'What does that mean?'

'Er... "Go Around the Other Side of the Mountain",' said Nanny.

'Oh.'

Granny was uncharacteristically silent as they made their way up the stairs.

Nanny didn't bother to knock. She opened the door and said, 'Coo‑ee, Mr Goatberger! It's us again, just like you said. Oh, I shouldn't try to get out of the window like that–you're three flights up and that bag of money is a bit dangerous if you're climbing around.'

The man edged around the room so that his desk was between him and the witches.

'Wasn't there a troll downstairs?' he said.

'It's decided to break out of publishing,' said Nanny. She sat down and gave him a big smile. 'I 'spect you've got some money for us.'

Mr Goatberger realized that he was trapped. His face contorted into a series of twisted expressions as he experimented with some replies. Then he smiled as widely as Nanny and sat down opposite her.

'Of course, things are very difficult at the moment,' he said. 'In fact I can't recall a worse time,' he added, with considerable honesty.

He looked at Granny's face. His grin stayed where it was but the rest of his face began to edge away.

'People just don't seem to be buying books,' he said. 'And the cost of the etchings, well, it's wicked.'

'Everyone I knows buys the Almanack,' said Granny. 'I reckon everyone in Lancre buys your Almanack. Everyone in the whole Ramtops buys the Almanack, even the dwarfs. That's a lot of half dollars. And Gytha's book seems to be doing very well.'

'Well, of course, I'm glad it's so popular, but what with distribution, paying the peddlers, the wear and tear on–'

'Your Almanack will last a household all winter, with care,' said Granny. 'Providing no one's ill and the paper's nice and thin.'

'My son Jason buys two copies,' said Nanny. 'Of course, he's got a big family. The privy door never stops swinging­'