Maskerade

Act Two. Nanny watched from the wings.
    The interesting thing was the way in which people contrived to keep one hand higher than their necks in case of accidents . There seemed to be far more salutes and waves and dramatic gestures than were strictly called for in the opera.
    She watched the duet between Iodine and Bufola, possibly the first in the history of the opera where both singers kept their eyes turned resolutely upward.
    Nanny enjoyed music, as well. If music were the food of love, she was game for a sonata and chips at any time. But it was clear that the sparkle had gone out of things tonight.
    She shook her head.
    A figure moved through the shadows behind her, and reached out. She turned, and looked at a fearsome face.
    “Oh, hello, Esme. How did you get in?”
    “You’ve still got the tickets so I had to talk to the man on the door. But he’ll be right as rain in a minute or two. What’s been happening?”
    “Well…the Duke’s sung a long song to say that he must be going, and the Count has sung a song saying how nice it is in the springtime, and a dead body’s fallen out of the ceiling.”
    “That goes on a lot in opera, does it?”
    “Shouldn’t think so.”
    “Ah. In the theater, I’ve noticed, if you watch dead bodies long enough you can see them move.”
    “Doubt if this one’ll move. Strangled. Someone’s murdering opera people. I bin chatting to the ballet girls.”
    “Indeed?”
    “It’s this Ghost they’re all talking about.”
    “Hmm. Wears one of those black opera suits and a white mask?”
    “How did you know that?”
    Granny looked smug.
    “I mean, I can’t imagine who’d want to murder opera people…” Nanny thought of the expression on Dame Timpani’s face. “Except p’raps other opera people. And p’raps the musicians. And some of the audience, p’raps.”
    “I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Granny firmly.
    “Oh, Esme! You know I’ve got a dozen of ’em in my house!”
    “Oh, I believe in ghosts ,” said Granny. “Sad things hangin’ around goin’ woogy woogy woogy…but I don’t believe they kill people or use swords.” She walked away a little. “There’s too many ghosts here already.”
    Nanny kept quiet. It was best to do so when Granny was listening without using her ears.
    “Gytha?”
    “Yes, Esme?”
    “What does ‘Bella Donna’ mean?”
    “It’s the nobby name for Deadly Nightshade, Esme.”
    “I thought so. Huh! The cheek of it!”
    “Only, in opera, it means Beautiful Woman.”
    “Really? Oh.” Granny’s hand reached up and patted the iron-hard bun of her hair. “Foolishness!”
    …he’d moved like music, like someone dancing to a rhythm inside his head. And his face for a moment in the moonlight was the skull of an angel…

    The duet got another standing ovation.
    Agnes faded gently back into the chorus. She had to do little else during the remainder of the act except dance, or at least move as rhythmically as she could, with the rest of the chorus during the Gypsy Fair, and listen to the Duke singing a song about how lovely the countryside was in summer. With an arm extended dramatically above his head.
    She kept peering into the wings.
    If Nanny Ogg was here then the other one would be around somewhere. She wished she’d never written those wretched letters home. Well…they wouldn’t drag her back, no matter what they tried…

    The remainder of the opera passed without anyone dying, except where the score required them to do so at some length. There was a minor upset when a member of the chorus was almost brained by a sandbag dislodged from a gantry by the stagehands stationed there to prevent accidents.
    There was more applause at the end. Christine got most of it.
    And then the curtains closed.
    And opened and closed a few times as Christine took her bows.
    Agnes considered she took one more bow than the applause really justified. Perdita, looking out through her eyes, said: Of course she did.
    And then they closed the curtains for the last time.
    The audience went home.
    From the wings, and up in the flies, the stagehands whistled their commands. Parts of the world vanished into the aerial darkness. Someone went around and put out most of the lights. Rising like a birthday cake, the chandelier was winched into its loft so that the candles could be snuffed. Then there were the footsteps of the men leaving the loft…
    Within twenty minutes of the last hand clap of applause the auditorium was empty and