Maskerade - Terry Pratchett [32]
“What was the third way?” said Nanny.
“Oh, you could go down that little alleyway into Shamlegger Street and then cut down into Treacle Mine Road,” said Henry. “But no one ever amounted to anything who went that way.”
He sighed. “I made a few coppers singing in taverns and such like,” he said, “but when I tried for anything better they said ‘What is your name?’ and I said ‘Henry Slugg’ and they’d laugh. I thought of changing my name, but everyone in Ankh-Morpork knew who I was. And no one wanted to listen to anyone called plain Henry Slugg.”
Nanny nodded. “It’s like with conjurers,” she said. “They’re never called Fred Wossname. It’s always something like The Great Astoundo, Fresh From the Court of the King of Klatch, and Gladys.”
“And everyone takes notice,” said Granny, “and are always careful not to ask themselves: if he’s come from the King of Klatch, why’s he doing card tricks here in Slice, population seven.”
“The trick is to make sure that everywhere you go, you are from somewhere else,” said Henry. “And then I was famous, but…”
“You’d got stuck as Enrico,” said Granny.
He nodded. “I was only going to do it to make some money. I was going to come back and marry my little Angeline—”
“Who was she?” said Granny.
“Oh, a girl I grew up with,” said Henry, vaguely.
“Sharing the same gutter in the back streets of Ankh-Morpork, kind of thing?” said Nanny, in an understanding voice.
“Gutter? In those days you had to put your name down and wait five years for a gutter,” said Henry. “We thought people in gutters were nobs. We shared a drain. With two other families. And a man who juggled eels.”
He sighed. “But I moved on, and then there was always somewhere else to go, and they liked me in Brindisi…and…and…”
He blew his nose on the handkerchief, carefully folded it up, and produced another one from his pocket.
“I don’t mind the pasta and the squid,” he said. “Well, not much…But you can’t get a decent pint for love nor money and they put olive oil on everything and tomatoes give me a rash and there isn’t what I’d call a good hard cheese in the whole country.”
He dabbed at his face with the handkerchief.
“And people are so kind,” he said. “I thought I’d get a few beefsteaks when I traveled but, wherever I go, they do pasta especially for me. In tomato sauce! Sometimes they fry it! And what they do to the squid…” He shuddered. “Then they all grin and watch me eat it. They think I enjoy it! What I’d give for a plate of nice roast mutton with clootie dumplings…”
“Why don’t you say?” said Nanny.
He shrugged. “Enrico Basilica eats pasta,” he said. “There’s not much I can do about it now.”
He sat back. “You’re interested in music, Mrs. Ogg?”
Nanny nodded proudly. “I can get a tune out of just about anything if you give me five minutes to study it,” she said. “And our Jason can play the violin and our Kev can blow the trombone and all my kids can sing and our Shawn can fart any melody you care to name.”
“A very talented family, indeed,” said Enrico. He fumbled in a waistcoat pocket and took out two oblongs of cardboard. “So please, ladies, accept these as a small token of gratitude from someone who eats other people’s pies. Our little secret, eh?” He winked desperately at Nanny. “They’re open tickets for the opera.”
“Well, that’s amazin’,” said Nanny, “because we’re going to—Ow!”
“Why, thank you very much,” said Granny Weatherwax, taking the tickets. “How very gracious of you. We shall be sure to go.”
“And if you’ll excuse me,” said Enrico, “I must catch up on my sleep.”
“Don’t worry, I shouldn’t think it’s had time to get far away,” said Nanny.
The singer leaned back, pulled the handkerchief over his face and, after a few minutes, began to snore the happy snore of someone who had done his duty and now with any luck wouldn’t have to meet these rather disconcerting old women ever again.
“He’s well away,” said Nanny, after a while. She glanced at the tickets in Granny’s hand. “You want to visit the opera?” she said.
Granny stared into space.
“I said, do you want to visit the opera?”
Granny looked at the tickets.