Maskerade

Nanny winked at Granny Weatherwax as she turned to scurry away.

Granny caught her arm. 'Remember,' she whispered, 'when we go into the Box... you keep an eye on Mrs Plinge. Mrs Plinge knows something. I ain't sure what's going to happen. But it is going to happen.'

'Right,' said Nanny. She bustled off, muttering under her breath, 'Oh, yes... do this, do that–'

'Drink here, please, ma'am.'

Nanny looked down. 'Good grief,' she said. 'What are you?'

The apparition in the fur hat winked at her. 'I'm the Count de Nobbs,' it said, 'and this here,' it added, indicating a mobile wall, 'is the Count de Tritus.'

Nanny glanced at the troll. 'Another Count? I'm sure there's unaccountably more Counts here than I can count. And what can I get you, officers?' she said.

'Officers? Us?' said the Count de Nobbs. 'What makes you think we're Watchmen?'

'He's got a helmet on,' Nanny pointed out. 'Also, he's got his badge pinned to his coat.'

'I told youto put it away!' Nobby hissed. He looked at Nanny and smiled uneasily. 'Milit'ry chic,' he said. 'It's just a fashion accessory. Actually, we are gentlemen of means and have nothing to do with the city Watch whatsoever.'

'Well, gentlemen, would you like some wine?'

'Not while we on duty, yanks,' said the troll.

'Oh, yes, thank you very much, Count de Tritus,' said Nobby bitterly. 'Oh, yes, very undercover, that is! Why don't you just wave your truncheon around where everyone can see it?'

'Well, if you t'ink it'd help–'

'Put it away!'

The Count de Tritus's eyebrows met with the effort of thought. 'Dat was irony, den, was it? To a superior officer?'

'Can't be a superior officer, can you, 'cos we ain't Watchmen. Look, Commander Vimes explained it three times...'

Nanny Ogg tactfully moved away. It was bad enough watching them blow their cover without sucking at it as well.

This was a new world, all right. She was used to a life where the men wore the bright clothes and the women wore black. It made it a lot easier to decide what to put on in the mornings. But inside the Opera House the rules of clothing were all in reverse, just like the laws of common sense. Here the women dressed like frosted peacocks and the men looked like penguins.

So... there were coppers here. Nanny Ogg was basically a law‑abiding person when she had no reason to break the law, and therefore had that kind of person's attitude to law‑enforcement officers, which was one of deep and permanent distrust.

There was their approach to theft, for example. Nanny had a witch's view of theft, which was a lot more complicated than the attitude adopted by the law and, if it came to it, people who owned property worth stealing. They tended to wield the huge blunt axe of the law in circumstances that required the delicate scalpel of common sense.

No, thought Nanny. Policemen with their great big boots were not required here on a night like this. It would be a good idea to put a thumbtack under the ponderous feet of Justice.

She ducked behind a gilt statue and fumbled in the recesses of her clothing while people nearby looked around in puzzlement at the erratic twanging of elastic. She was sure she had one around somewhere–she'd packed it in case of emergencies...

There was the clink of a small bottle. Ah, yes.

A moment later Nanny Ogg emerged decorously with two small glasses on her tray, and headed purposefully for the Watchmen.

'Fruit drink, officers?' she said. 'Oh, silly me, what am I saying, I didn't mean officers. Home‑made fruit drink?'

Detritus sniffed suspiciously, immediately clear­ing his sinuses. 'What's in it?' he said.

'Apples,' said Nanny Ogg promptly. 'Well... mainly apples.'

Under her hand, a couple of spilt drops finished eating their way through the metal of the tray and dropped on to the carpet, where they smoked.

The auditorium buzzed with the sound of opera­goers settling down and Mrs Lawsy trying to find her shoes.

'You really shouldn't have taken them off, mother.'

'My feet are giving me gyp.'

'Did you bring your knitting?'

'I think I must've left it in the Ladies.'

'Oh, mother.'

Henry Lawsy marked his place in his book and raised his runny eyes heavenward, and blinked. Right above him–a long way above him–was a glittering circle of light.

His mother followed his gaze. 'What's that, then?'

'I think it's a chandelier, mother.'

'It's a pretty big one. What's holding it up?'

'I'm sure they've got special ropes and things, mother.'

'Looks a bit dangerous, to my mind.'

'I'm sure it's absolutely safe, mother.'

'What do you know about chandeliers?'

'I'm sure people wouldn't come into the Opera House if there was any chance of a chandelier dropping on their heads, mother,' said Henry, trying to read his book.

Il Truccatore, The Master of Disguise. IlTruccatore (ten.), a mysterious nobleman, causes scandal in the city when he woos high‑born ladies while disguised as their husbands. However, Laura (sop.), the new bride of Capriccio (bar.), refuses to give in to his blandishments­–