Maskerade

I’m Mrs. Ogg.”
    Walter gawped at her, and then nodded sharply.
    “Good boy.”
    Nanny left him still looking at the body and headed farther backstage.
    A young man hurrying past found that he’d suddenly acquired an Ogg.
    “’Scuse me, young man,” said Nanny, still holding his arm, “but d’you know anyone around here called Agnes? Agnes Nitt?”
    “Can’t say I do, ma’am. What does she do?” He made to hurry on as politely as possible, but Nanny’s grip was steel.
    “She sings a bit. Big girl. Voice with double joints in it. Wears black.”
    “You don’t mean Perdita?”
    “Perdita? Oh, yes. That’d be her all right.”
    “I think she’s seeing to Christine. They’re in Mr. Salzella’s office.”
    “Would Christine be the thin girl in white?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And I expect you’re going to show me where this Mr. Salzella’s office is?”
    “Er, am I—Er, yes. It’s just along the stage there, first door on the right.”
    “What a good boy to help an old lady,” said Nanny. Her grip increased to a few ounces short of cutting off circulation. “And wouldn’t it be a good idea if you helped young Walter back there do something respectful for the poor dead man?”
    “Back where?”
    Nanny turned around. The late Dr. Undershaft had gone nowhere, but Walter had vanished.
    “Poor chap was a bit upset, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Nanny. “Only to be expected. So…how about if you got another strapping young lad to help you out instead?”
    “Er…yes.”
    “What a good boy,” Nanny repeated.

    It was mid-evening. Granny and Mrs. Plinge pushed their way through the crowds toward the Shades, a part of the city that was as thronged as a rookery, fragrant as a cesspit, and vice versa.
    “So,” said Granny, as they entered the network of fetid alleys, “your boy Walter usually sees you home, does he?”
    “He’s a good boy, Mistress Weatherwax,” said Mrs. Plinge defensively.
    “I’m sure you’re grateful for a strong lad to lean on,” said Granny.
    Mrs. Plinge looked up. Looking into Granny’s eyes was like looking into a mirror. What you saw looking back at you was yourself, and there was no hiding place.
    “They torment him so,” she mumbled. “They poke at him and hide his broom. They’re not bad boys round here, but they will torment him.”
    “He brings his broom home, does he?”
    “He looks after his things,” said Mrs. Plinge. “I’ve always brought him up to look after his things and not be a trouble. But they will poke the poor soul and call him such names…”
    The alleyway opened into a yard, like a well between the high buildings. Washing lines crisscrossed the rectangle of moonlit sky.
    “I’m just in here,” said Mrs. Plinge. “Much obliged to you.”
    “How does Walter get home without you?” said Granny.
    “Oh, there’s plenty of places to sleep in the Opera House. He knows that if I don’t come for him he’s to stop there for the night. He does what he’s told, Mistress Weatherwax. He’s never any trouble.”
    “I never said he was.”
    Mrs. Plinge fumbled in her purse, as much to escape Granny’s stare as to look for the key.
    “I expect your Walter sees most of what goes on in the Opera House,” said Granny, taking one of Mrs. Plinge’s wrists in her hand. “I wonder what your Walter…saw?”
    The pulse jumped at the same time as the thieves did. Shadows unfolded themselves. There was the scrape of metal.
    A low voice said, “There’s two of you, ladies, and there’s six of us. There’s no use in screaming.”
    “Oh, deary deary me,” said Granny.
    Mrs. Plinge dropped to her knees. “Oh, please don’t hurt us, kind sirs, we are harmless old ladies! Haven’t you got mothers?”
    Granny rolled her eyes. Damn, damn and blast. She was a good witch. That was her role in life. That was the burden she had to bear. Good and Evil were quite superfluous when you’d grown up with a highly developed sense of Right and Wrong. She hoped, oh she hoped, that young though these were, they were dyed-in-the-wool criminals…
    “I ’ad a mother once,” said the nearest thief. “Only I think I must of et ’er…”
    Ah. Top marks. Granny raised both hands to her hat to draw out two long hat pins…
    A tile slid off the roof, and splashed into a puddle.
    They looked up.
    A caped figure was visible for a moment against the moonlight. It thrust out a sword at arm’s length. Then it dropped, landing lightly in front of one