Maskerade

staggering sideways, “I think I just possibly hate them even worse!!! They’re so ignorant !!! There’s hardly a one of them out there who knows the first thing about music!!! They go on about tunes !!! They spend all day endeavoring to be sensible human beings, and then they walk in here and they leave their intelligence on a nail by the door—”
    “Then why didn’t you just leave?” snapped Agnes. “If you’d stolen all this money why didn’t you just go away somewhere, if you hated it so much?”
    Salzella stared at her while swaying back and forth. His mouth opened and shut once or twice, as if he were trying out unfamiliar words.
    “Leave?” he managed. “ Leave? Leave the opera? …Argh argh argh…”
    He hit the floor again.
    André prodded the fallen director. “Is he dead yet?” he said.
    “How can he be dead?” said Agnes. “Good grief, can’t anyone see that—?”
    “You know what really gets me down,” said Salzella, rising to his knees, “is the way that in opera everyone takes such a long !!!!!…time!!!!!…to!!!!!…argh…argh…argh…”
    He keeled over.
    The company waited for a while. The audience held its collective breath.
    Nanny Ogg poked him with a boot. “Yep, that’s about it. Looks like he’s gone down for the last curtain call,” she said.
    “But Walter didn’t stab him!” said Agnes. “Why won’t anyone listen? Look, the sword isn’t even sticking in him! It’s just tucked between his body and his arm, for heaven’s sake!”
    “Yes,” said Nanny. “I s’pose, really, it’s a shame he dint notice that.” She scratched at her shoulder. “Here, these ballet dresses really tickle…”
    “But he’s dead!”
    “Got a bit overexcited, perhaps,” said Nanny, fidgeting with a strap.
    “Overexcited?”
    “Frantic. You know these artistic types. Well, you are one, of course.”
    “He’s really dead?” said Bucket.
    “Seems to be,” said Granny. “One of the best operatic deaths ever, I wouldn’t mind betting.”
    “That’s terrible!!” Bucket grabbed the former Salzella by the collar and hauled him upright. “Where’s my money? Come on, out with it, tell me what you’ve done with my money!!! I don’t hear you!!!! He’s not saying anything!!!”
    “That’s on account of being dead,” said Granny. “Not talkative, the deceased. As a rule.”
    “Well, you’re a witch!!! Can’t you do that thing with the cards and the glasses?”
    “Well, yes…we could have a poker game,” said Nanny. “Good idea.”
    “The money is in the cellars,” said Granny. “Walter’ll show you.”
    Walter Plinge clicked his heels. “Certainly,” he said. “I would be glad to.”
    Bucket stared. It was Walter Plinge’s voice and it was coming out of Walter Plinge’s face, but both face and voice were different. Subtly different. The voice had lost the uncertain, frightened edge. The lopsided look had gone from the face.
    “Good grief,” Bucket murmured, and let go of Salzella’s coat. There was a thump.
    “And since you’re going to be needing a new director of music,” said Granny, “you could do worse than look to Walter here.”
    “ Walter? ”
    “He knows everything there is to know about opera,” said Granny. “And everything about the Opera House, too.”
    “You should see the music he’s written—” said Nanny.
    “Walter? Musical director?” said Bucket.
    “—stuff you can really hum—”
    “Yes, I think you might be surprised,” said Granny.
    “—there’s one with lots of sailors dancin’ around singin’ about how there’s no women—”
    “This is Walter, isn’t it?”
    “—and then some bloke called Les who’s miserable all the time—”
    “Oh, this is Walter,” said Granny. “The same person.”
    “—and there’s one, hah, with all cats all leapin’ around all singin’, that was fun,” Nanny burbled. “Can’t imagine how he thought up that one—”
    Bucket scratched his chin. He was feeling lightheaded enough as it was.
    “And he’s trustworthy,” said Granny. “And he’s honest . And he knows all about the Opera House, as I said. And…where everything is…”
    That was enough for Mr. Bucket. “Want to be director of music, Walter?” he said.
    “Thank you, Mr. Bucket,” said Walter Plinge. “I should like that very much. But what about cleaning the privies?”
    “Sorry?”
    “I won’t have to stop doing them, will I? I’ve just got them working right.”
    “Oh? Right.