Maskerade

upward.
    Granny blinked.
    Up until now the Stare had always worked…
    “Too damn dark ,” she muttered. “Greebo!”
    The bowl of caviar flew out of his nervous fingers and caused a Fortean experience somewhere in the Stalls.
    “Yess, Gran-ny!”
    “Catch him! And there could be a kipper in it for you!”
    Greebo snarled happily. This was more like it. Opera had begun to pall for him the moment he realized that no one was going to pour a bucket of cold water over the singers. He understood chasing things.
    Besides, he liked to play with his friends.

    Agnes saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. A figure had jumped out of one of the Boxes and was climbing up to the balcony. Then another figure clambered after it, scrambling over the gilt cherubs.
    Singers faltered in mid-note. There was no mistaking the leading figure. It was the Ghost.

    The Librarian was aware that the orchestra had stopped playing. Somewhere on the other side of the backcloth the singers had stopped, too. There was a buzz of excited conversation and one or two cries.
    The hairs all over his body began to prickle. Senses designed to protect his species in the depths of the rain forest had adjusted nicely to the conditions of a big city, which was merely drier and had more carnivores.
    He picked up the discarded bow tie and, with great deliberation, tied it around his forehead so that he looked like a really formal Kamikaze warrior. Then he threw away the opera score and stared blankly into space for a moment. He knew instinctively that some situations required musical accompaniment.
    This organ lacked what he considered the most basic of facilities, such as the Thunder pedal, a 128-foot Earthquake pipe and a complete keyboard of animal noises, but he was certain there was something exciting that could be done in the bass register.
    He stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles. This took some time.
    And then he began to play.

    The Ghost danced along the edge of the balcony, scattering hats and opera glasses. The audience watched in astonishment, and then began to clap. They couldn’t quite see how it fitted into the plot of the opera—but this was an opera, after all.
    He reached the center of the balcony, trotted a little way up the aisle, and then turned and ran down again at speed. He reached the edge, jumped, jumped again, soared out into the auditorium…
    …and landed on the chandelier, which jingled and began to sway gently.
    The audience stood up and applauded as he climbed through the jangling tiers toward the central cable.
    Then another shape clambered over the edge of the balcony and loped along in pursuit. This was a stockier figure than the first man, one-eyed, broad in the shoulders and tapering at the waist; he looked evil in an interesting kind of way, like a pirate who really understood the words “Jolly Roger.” He didn’t even take a run but, when he reached the closest part to the chandelier, simply launched himself into space.
    It was clear that he wasn’t going to make it.
    And then it wasn’t clear how he did.
    Those watching through opera glasses swore later that the man thrust out an arm which merely seemed to graze the chandelier and yet was then somehow able to swivel his entire body in mid-air.
    A couple of people swore even harder that, just as the man reached out, his fingernails appeared to grow by several inches.
    The huge glass mountain swung ponderously on its rope and, as it reached the end of the swing, Greebo swung out farther, like a trapeze artist. There was an appreciative “oo” from the audience.
    He twisted again. The chandelier hesitated for a moment at the extremity of its arc, and then swept back again.
    As it jangled and creaked over the Stalls the hanging figure swung upward, let go and did a backward somersault that dropped him in the middle of the crystals. Candles and prisms were scattered over the seats below.
    And then, with the audience clapping and cheering, he scrambled up the rope after the fleeing Ghost.

    Henry Lawsy tried to move his arm, but a fallen crystal had stapled the sleeve of his coat to his arm rest.
    It was a quandary. He was pretty sure this wasn’t supposed to happen, but he wasn’t certain .
    Around him he could hear people hissing questions.
    “Was that part of the plot?”
    “I’m sure it must have been.”
    “Oh, yes. Yes. It certainly was,” said someone farther down the row, authoritatively. “Yes. Yes. The famous chase scene.