Witches Abroad - Terry Pratchett [84]
The greasy man stared at the masks. All the good ones had been taken by earlier arrivals, but that didn’t seem to dismay him.
He pointed.
“Want that one,” he said.
“Er…a…very good choice, my lord. Allow me to help you on—”
“Wrowwl!”
The butler backed away, clutching at his own arm.
The man glared at him, then dropped the mask over his head and squinted out through an eyehole at a mirror.
Damn odd, the butler thought. I mean, it’s not the kind of mask the men choose. They go for skulls and birds and bulls and stuff like that. Not cats.
The odd thing was that the mask had just been a pretty ginger cat head when it was on the table. On its wearer it was…still a cat head, only a lot more so, and somehow slightly more feline and a lot nastier than it should have been.
“Aaalwaaays waanted to bee ginger,” said the man.
“On you it looks good, sir,” trilled the butler.
The cat-headed man turned his head this way and that, clearly in love with what he was seeing.
Greebo yowled softly and happily to himself and ambled into the ball. He wanted something to eat, someone to fight, and then…well, he’d have to see.
For wolves and pigs and bears, thinking that they’re human is a tragedy. For a cat, it’s an experience.
Besides, this new shape was a lot more fun. No one had thrown an old boot at him for over ten minutes.
The two witches looked around the room.
“Odd,” said Nanny Ogg. “Not what I’d expect in, you know, a royal bedroom.”
“Is it a royal bedroom?”
“There’s a crown on the door.”
“Oh.”
Granny looked around at the decor.
“What do you know about royal bedrooms?” she said, more or less for something to say. “You’ve never been in a royal bedroom.”
“I might have been,” said Nanny.
“You never have!”
“Remember young Verence’s coronation? We all got invited to the palace?” said Nanny. “When I went to have a—to powder my nose I saw the door open, so I went in and had a bit of a bounce up and down.”
“That’s treason. You can get put in prison for that,” said Granny severely, and added, “What was it like?”
“Very comfy. Young Magrat doesn’t know what she’s missing. And it was a lot better than this, I don’t mind saying,” said Nanny.
The basic color was green. Green walls, green floor. There was a wardrobe and a bedside table. Even a bedside rug, which was green. The light filtered in through a window filled with greenish glass.
“Like being at the bottom of a pond,” said Granny. She swatted something. “And there’s flies everywhere!” She paused, as if thinking very hard, and said, “Hmm…”
“A Duc pond,” said Nanny.
There were flies everywhere. They buzzed on the window and zigzagged aimlessly back and forth across the ceiling.
“Duc pond,” Nanny repeated, because people who make that kind of joke never let well enough alone, “like duck—”
“I heard,” said Granny. She flailed at a fat bluebottle.
“Anyway, you’d think there wouldn’t be flies in a royal bedroom,” muttered Nanny.
“You’d think there’d be a bed, in fact,” said Granny.
Which there wasn’t. What there was instead, and what was preying somewhat on their minds, was a big round wooden cover on the floor. It was about six feet across. There were convenient handles.
They walked around it. Flies rose up and hummed away.
“I’m thinking of a story,” said Granny.
“Me too,” said Nanny Ogg, her tone slightly shriller than usual. “There was this girl who married this man and he said you can go anywhere you like in the palace but you mustn’t open that door and she did and she found he’d murdered all his other…”
Her voice trailed off.
Granny was staring hard at the cover, and scratching her chin.
“Put it like this,” said Nanny, trying to be reasonable against all odds. “What could we possibly find under there that’s worse than we could imagine?”
They each took a handle.
Five minutes later Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg stepped outside the Duc’s bedroom. Granny closed the door very quietly.
They stared at one another.
“Cor,” said Nanny, her face still pale.
“Yes,