Maskerade - Terry Pratchett [63]
“And now we’ll go back into the shop and have a poke around for the other stuff,” said Lady Esmerelda. “I fancy ostrich feathers myself. And one of those big cloaks the ladies wear. And one of those fans edged with lace.”
“Why don’t we get some great big diamonds while we’re about it?” said Nanny Ogg sharply.
“Good idea.”
Madame Dawning could hear them bickering as they ambled away up the aisle.
She looked down at the money in her hand.
She knew about old money, which was somehow hallowed by the fact that people had hung on to it for years, and she knew about new money, which seemed to be being made by all these upstarts that were flooding into the city these days. But under her powdered bosom she was an Ankh-Morpork shopkeeper, and knew that the best kind of money was the sort that was in her hand rather than someone else’s. The best kind of money was mine, not yours.
Besides, she was also enough of a snob to confuse rudeness with good breeding. In the same way that the really rich can never be mad (they’re eccentric), so they can also never be rude (they’re outspoken and forthright).
She hurried after Lady Esmerelda and her rather strange friend. Salt of the earth, she told herself.
She was in time to overhear a mysterious conversation.
“I’m being punished, ain’t I, Esme?”
“Can’t imagine what you’re talking about, Gytha.”
“Just ’cos I had my little moment.”
“I really don’t follow you. Anyway, you said you were at your wits’ end with thinking what you’d do with the money.”
“Yes, but I’d have quite liked to have been at my wits’ end on a big comfy chase longyou somewhere with lots of big strong men buyin’ me chocolates and pressin’ their favors on me.”
“Money don’t buy happiness, Gytha.”
“I only wanted to rent it for a few weeks.”
Agnes rose late, the music still ringing in her ears, and dressed in a dream. But she hung a bed sheet over the mirror first, just in case.
There were half a dozen of the chorus dancers in the canteen, sharing a stick of celery and giggling.
And there was André. He was eating something absentmindedly while staring at a sheet of music. Occasionally he’d wave his spoon in the air with a faraway look on his face, and then put it down and make a few notes.
In mid-beat he caught sight of Agnes, and grinned. “Hello. You look tired.”
“Er…yes.”
“You’ve missed all the excitement.”
“Have I?”
“The Watch have been here, talking to everyone and asking lots of questions and writing things down very slowly.”
“What sort of questions?”
“Well, knowing the Watch, probably ‘Was it you what did it, then?’ They’re rather slow thinkers.”
“Oh dear. Does that mean tonight’s performance is canceled?”
André laughed. He had a rather pleasant laugh. “I don’t think Mr. Bucket could possibly cancel it!” he said. “Even if people are dropping likes flies out of the flies.”
“Why not?”
“People have been queuing for tickets!”
“Why?”
He told her.
“That’s disgusting!” said Agnes. “You mean they’re coming because it might be dangerous?”
“Human nature, I’m afraid. Of course, some of them want to hear Enrico Basilica. And…well…Christine seems popular…” He gave her a sorrowful look.
“I don’t mind, honestly,” lied Agnes. “Um…how long have you worked here, Andre?”
“Er…only a few months. I…used to teach music to the Seriph’s children in Klatch.”
“Um…what do you think about the Ghost?”
He shrugged. “Just some kind of madman, I suppose.”
“Um…do you know if he sings? I mean, is good at singing?”
“I heard that he sends little critiques to the manager. Some of the girls say they’ve heard someone singing in the night, but they’re always saying silly things.”
“Um…are there any secret passages here?”
He looked at her with his head on one side. “Who’ve you been talking to?”
“Sorry?”
“The girls say there are. Of course, they say they see the Ghost all the time. And sometimes in two places at once.”
“Why should they see him more?”
“Perhaps he just likes looking at young ladies. They’re always practicing in odd corners. Besides, they’re all half-crazed with hunger anyway.”