Maskerade - Terry Pratchett [88]
He stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles. This took some time.
And then he began to play.
The Ghost danced along the edge of the balcony, scattering hats and opera glasses. The audience watched in astonishment, and then began to clap. They couldn’t quite see how it fitted into the plot of the opera—but this was an opera, after all.
He reached the center of the balcony, trotted a little way up the aisle, and then turned and ran down again at speed. He reached the edge, jumped, jumped again, soared out into the auditorium…
…and landed on the chandelier, which jingled and began to sway gently.
The audience stood up and applauded as he climbed through the jangling tiers toward the central cable.
Then another shape clambered over the edge of the balcony and loped along in pursuit. This was a stockier figure than the first man, one-eyed, broad in the shoulders and tapering at the waist; he looked evil in an interesting kind of way, like a pirate who really understood the words “Jolly Roger.” He didn’t even take a run but, when he reached the closest part to the chandelier, simply launched himself into space.
It was clear that he wasn’t going to make it.
And then it wasn’t clear how he did.
Those watching through opera glasses swore later that the man thrust out an arm which merely seemed to graze the chandelier and yet was then somehow able to swivel his entire body in mid-air.
A couple of people swore even harder that, just as the man reached out, his fingernails appeared to grow by several inches.
The huge glass mountain swung ponderously on its rope and, as it reached the end of the swing, Greebo swung out farther, like a trapeze artist. There was an appreciative “oo” from the audience.
He twisted again. The chandelier hesitated for a moment at the extremity of its arc, and then swept back again.
As it jangled and creaked over the Stalls the hanging figure swung upward, let go and did a backward somersault that dropped him in the middle of the crystals. Candles and prisms were scattered over the seats below.
And then, with the audience clapping and cheering, he scrambled up the rope after the fleeing Ghost.
Henry Lawsy tried to move his arm, but a fallen crystal had stapled the sleeve of his coat to his arm rest.
It was a quandary. He was pretty sure this wasn’t supposed to happen, but he wasn’t certain.
Around him he could hear people hissing questions.
“Was that part of the plot?”
“I’m sure it must have been.”
“Oh, yes. Yes. It certainly was,” said someone farther down the row, authoritatively. “Yes. Yes. The famous chase scene. Indeed. Oh, yes. They did it in Quirm, you know.”
“Oh…yes. Yes, of course. I’m sure I heard about it…”
“I thought it was bloody good,” said Mrs. Lawsy.
“Mother!”
“About time something interesting happened. You should’ve told me. I’d’ve put my glasses on.”
Nanny Ogg pounded up the back stairs toward the fly loft.
“Something’s gone wrong!” she muttered under her breath as she took the stairs two at a time. “She reckons she’s only got to stare at ’em and they’re toffee in her hands, and then who has to sort it out afterward, eh? Go on, guess…”
The ancient wooden door at the top of the stairs gave way to Nanny Ogg’s boot with Nanny Ogg’s momentum behind it, and cracked open onto a big, shadowy space. It was full of running figures. Legs flickered in the light of lanterns. People were shouting.
A figure ran straight toward her.
Nanny sprang into a crouch, both thumbs on the cork of the badly shaken champagne bottle she held cradled under one arm.
“This is a magnum,” she said, “and I’m not afraid to drink it!”
The figure stopped. “Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Ogg…”
Nanny’s infallible memory for personal details threw up a card. “Peter, isn’t it?” she said, relaxing. “The one with the bad feet?”
“That’s right, Mrs. Ogg.”
“The powder I give you is working, is