Maskerade

Yes!” said Bucket gratefully. “And at a time like this I think it is very important to try to remember the names of, say, any number of boring and hopefully chilly things!”
    “Wind, glaciers, icicles—”
    “Not icicles!”
    “Oh,” said the interpreter, and slumped forward into his plate. His head hit a spoon, which cart-wheeled into the air and bounced off Enrico’s head.
    Salzella started to whistle under his breath and pound the arm of his chair.
    Bucket blinked. In front of him was the water jug. The cold water jug. He reached out…
    “Oh, oh, oh , dear me, what can I say, I seem to have spilled it all over myself,” he said, through the rising clouds of steam. “What a butterfingers I am, to be sure. I shall ring for Mrs. Ogg to bring us another one.”
    “Yes, indeed,” said Salzella. “And perhaps you would care to do it soon? I am also feeling very…accident-prone.”
    Basilica, still chewing, lifted his interpreter’s head off the table and carefully tipped the man’s unfinished pudding into his own plate.
    “In fact, in fact, in fact,” said Salzella, “I think I shall just…have a brisk…have a nice cold…if you would excuse me a minute…”
    He pushed back his chair and fled the room in a kind of crouching gait.
    Mr. Bucket glistened. “I’ll just, I’ll just, I’ll just…be back quite shortly,” he said, and scurried away.
    There was silence, broken only by the scrape of Señor Basilica’s spoon and a sizzling noise from the interpreter.
    Then the tenor belched baritone. “Whoops, pardon my Klatchian,” he said. “Oh… damn .”
    He appeared to notice the depleted table for the first time. He shrugged, and smiled hopefully at Granny. “Is there a cheese board, do you think?” he said.
    The door flew open and Nanny Ogg burst in, holding a bucket of water in both hands.
    “All right, all right, that’s—” she began, and then stopped.
    Granny dabbed primly at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ogg?” she said.
    Nanny looked at the empty dish in front of Basilica.
    “Or perhaps some fruit?” said the tenor. “A few nuts?”
    “How much has he had?” she whispered.
    “Best part of half,” said Granny. “But I don’t reckon it’s having any effect on account of not touching the sides.”
    Nanny turned her attention to Granny’s plate. “How about you?” she said.
    “Two helpings,” said Granny. “With extra sauce, Gytha Ogg, may you be forgiven.”
    Nanny looked at her with something like admiration in her eyes. “You ain’t even sweating!” she said.
    Granny picked up her water glass and held it at arm’s length.
    After a few seconds, the water began to boil.
    “All right, you’re getting really good, I’ve got to admit it,” said Nanny. “I reckon I should have to get up real early to put one over on you.”
    “I reckon you should never go to sleep,” said Granny.
    “Sorry, Esme.”
    Señor Basilica, at a loss to follow the conversation, realized with reluctance that the meal was probably over.
    “Absolutely superb,” he said. “I just loved that pudding, Mrs. Ogg.”
    “I should just jolly well expect you did, Henry Slugg,” said Nanny.
    Henry carefully removed a clean handkerchief from his pocket, put it over his face, and leaned back in his chair. The first snore occurred a few seconds later.
    “He’s easy to have around, isn’t he?” said Nanny. “Eat, sleep and sing. You certainly know where you are with him. I’ve found Greebo, by the way. He’s still following Walter Plinge around.” Her expression became a little defiant. “Say what you like, young Walter’s all right by me if Greebo likes him.”
    Granny sighed. “Gytha, Greebo would like Norris the Eyeball-Eating Maniac of Quirm if he knew how to put food in a bowl.”

    And now she was lost. She’d done her best not to be. As Agnes had walked through each dank room she’d thoughtfully taken note of details. She’d carefully remembered right and left turns. And yet she was lost.
    Here and there were steps down to lower cellars, but the water-level was so high that it was lapping at the first step. And it stank. The candle burned with a greenish-blue edge to the flame.
    Somewhere, said Perdita, there was the secret room. If there wasn’t a huge and glittering secret cavern, what on earth was life for? There had to be a secret room. A room, full of…giant candles, and enormous stalagmites…
    But it certainly isn’t here ,