Maskerade

Indeed. Oh, yes. They did it in Quirm, you know.”
    “Oh…yes. Yes, of course. I’m sure I heard about it…”
    “I thought it was bloody good,” said Mrs. Lawsy.
    “Mother!”
    “About time something interesting happened. You should’ve told me. I’d’ve put my glasses on.”

    Nanny Ogg pounded up the back stairs toward the fly loft.
    “Something’s gone wrong!” she muttered under her breath as she took the stairs two at a time. “She reckons she’s only got to stare at ’em and they’re toffee in her hands, and then who has to sort it out afterward, eh? Go on, guess…”
    The ancient wooden door at the top of the stairs gave way to Nanny Ogg’s boot with Nanny Ogg’s momentum behind it, and cracked open onto a big, shadowy space. It was full of running figures. Legs flickered in the light of lanterns. People were shouting.
    A figure ran straight toward her.
    Nanny sprang into a crouch, both thumbs on the cork of the badly shaken champagne bottle she held cradled under one arm.
    “This is a magnum,” she said, “and I’m not afraid to drink it!”
    The figure stopped. “Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Ogg…”
    Nanny’s infallible memory for personal details threw up a card. “Peter, isn’t it?” she said, relaxing. “The one with the bad feet?”
    “That’s right, Mrs. Ogg.”
    “The powder I give you is working, is it?”
    “They’re a lot better now, Mrs. Ogg—”
    “So what’s been happening?”
    “Mr. Salzella caught the Ghost!”
    “Really?”
    Now that Nanny’s eyes had managed to discern some order in the chaos, she could see a cluster of people in the middle of the floor, around the chandelier.
    Salzella was sitting on the planking. His collar was torn and a sleeve had been ripped off his jacket, but he had a triumphant look in his eyes.
    He waved something in the air.
    It was white. It looked like a piece of a skull.
    “It was Plinge!” he said. “I tell you, it was Walter Plinge! Why are you all standing around? Get after him!”
    “Walter?” said one of the men, doubtfully.
    “Yes, Walter !”
    Another man hurried up, waving his lantern.
    “I saw the Ghost heading up to the roof! And there was some big one-eyed bastard going after him like a scalded cat!”
    That’s wrong , thought Nanny. Something wrong here .
    “To the roof!” shouted Salzella.
    “Hadn’t we better get the flaming torches first?”
    “Flaming torches are not compulsory!”
    “Pitchforks and scythes?”
    “That’s only for vampires!”
    “How about just one torch?”
    “Get up there now! Understand?”

    The curtains closed. There was a smattering of applause which was barely audible above the chatter from the audience.
    The chorus turned to one another. “Was that supposed to happen?”
    Dust rained down. Stagehands were scampering across the gantries far above. Shouts echoed among the ropes and dusty backdrops. A stagehand ran across the stage, holding a flaming torch.
    “Here, what’s going on?” said a tenor.
    “They’ve got the Ghost! He’s heading for the roof! It’s Walter Plinge !”
    “What, Walter?”
    “ Our Walter Plinge?”
    “Yes!”
    The stagehand ran on in a trail of sparks, leaving the yeast of rumor to ferment in the ready dough that was the chorus.
    “Walter? Surely not!”
    “Weeelll…he’s a bit odd, isn’t he…?”
    “But only this morning he said to me, ‘It’s a nice day Mr. Sidney!’ Just like that. Normal as anything. Well…normal for Walter…”
    “As a matter of fact, it’s always worried me, the way his eyes move as though they don’t talk to each other—”
    “And he’s always around the place!”
    “Yes, but he’s the odd-job man—”
    “No argument about that!”
    “It’s not Walter,” said Agnes.
    They looked at her.
    “That’s who he said they’re chasing, dear.”
    “I don’t know who they’re chasing, but Walter’s not the Ghost. Fancy anyone thinking Walter’s the Ghost!” said Agnes, hotly. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly! Anyway, I’ve seen—”
    “He’s always struck me as a bit slimy, though.”
    “And they say he goes down into the cellars a lot. What for, I ask myself? Let’s face it. Fair’s fair. He’s crazy.”
    “He doesn’t act crazy!” said Agnes.
    “Well, he always looks as though he’s about to, you must admit. I’m going to see what’s happening. Anyone coming?”
    Agnes gave up. It was a horrible thing to learn, but there are times when evidence gets trampled and the hunt is