Maskerade

he said wearily. “The only known person to require an identity card to prove his species. I’ve watched him mingle with three large sherries.”
    “He’s not the only one, though,” said Mr. Bucket. “They’re taking this seriously.”
    “Oh, yes,” said Salzella. “If we look over there, for example, we see Sergeant Detritus, who is a troll, and who is wearing what in the circumstances is actually a rather well-fitting suit. It is therefore, I feel, something of a pity he has neglected to remove his helmet. And these, you understand, the Watch has chosen for their ability to blend.”
    “Well, they’ll certainly be useful if the Ghost strikes again,” said Bucket, hopelessly.
    “The Ghost would have to—” Salzella stopped. He blinked. “Oh, good grief,” he whispered. “What has she found?”
    Bucket turned. “That’s Lady Esmerelda…oh.”
    Greebo strolled in alongside her with the gentle swagger that makes women thoughtful and men’s knuckles go white. The buzz of conversation was momentarily hushed, and then rose again to a slightly shriller buzz.
    “I’m impressed,” said Salzella.
    “He certainly doesn’t look like a gentleman ,” said Bucket. “Look at the color of that eye!” He set his face into what he hoped was a smile, and bowed.
    “Lady Esmerelda!” he said. “How pleasant to see you again! Won’t you introduce us to your…guest?”
    “This is Lord Gribeau,” said Granny. “Mr. Bucket, the owner, and Mr. Salzella, who seems to run the place.”
    “Haha,” said Salzella.
    Gribeau snarled, revealing longer incisors than any that Bucket had seen outside a zoo. And Bucket had never seen such a greenish-yellow eye. The pupil was all wrong…
    “Ahaha…” he said. “And may I order you something?”
    “He’ll have milk,” said Granny firmly.
    “I expect he has to keep up his strength,” said Salzella.
    Granny spun around. Her expression would have etched steel.
    “Anyone for a drink?” said Nanny Ogg, appearing out of nowhere with a tray and adroitly stepping between them like a very small peacekeeping force. “Got a bit of everything here…”
    “Including a glass of milk, I see,” said Bucket.
    Salzella looked from one witch to the other. “That’s remarkably foresighted of you,” he said.
    “Well, you never know,” said Nanny.
    Gribeau took the glass in both hands and lapped at it with his tongue. Then he looked at Salzella.
    “What yourrr lookin aat? Neverrr seein mil—uk drun beforr?”
    “Never quite…like that, I must admit.”
    Nanny winked at Granny Weatherwax as she turned to scurry away.
    Granny caught her arm. “Remember,” she whispered, “when we go into the Box…you keep an eye on Mrs. Plinge. Mrs. Plinge knows something. I ain’t sure what’s going to happen. But it is going to happen.”
    “Right,” said Nanny. She bustled off, muttering under her breath, “Oh, yes…do this, do that—”
    “Drink here, please, ma’am.”
    Nanny looked down. “Good grief,” she said. “What are you?”
    The apparition in the fur hat winked at her. “I’m the Count de Nobbs,” it said, “and this here,” it added, indicating a mobile wall, “is the Count de Tritus.”
    Nanny glanced at the troll. “Another Count? I’m sure there’s unaccountably more Counts here than I can count. And what can I get you, officers?” she said.
    “Officers? Us?” said the Count de Nobbs. “What makes you think we’re Watchmen?”
    “He’s got a helmet on,” Nanny pointed out. “Also, he’s got his badge pinned to his coat.”
    “I told you to put it away!” Nobby hissed. He looked at Nanny and smiled uneasily. “Milit’ry chic,” he said. “It’s just a fashion accessory. Actually, we are gentlemen of means and have nothing to do with the city Watch whatsoever.”
    “Well, gentlemen , would you like some wine?”
    “Not while we on duty, t’anks,” said the troll.
    “Oh, yes, thank you very much, Count de Tritus,” said Nobby bitterly. “Oh, yes, very undercover, that is! Why don’t you just wave your truncheon around where everyone can see it?”
    “Well, if you t’ink it’d help—”
    “Put it away !”
    The Count de Tritus’s eyebrows met with the effort of thought. “Dat was irony, den, was it? To a superior officer?”
    “Can’t be a superior officer, can you, ’cos we ain’t Watchmen. Look, Commander Vimes explained it three times…”
    Nanny Ogg tactfully moved away. It was bad enough watching them