Maskerade

working its way up—
    “Where’d he go? Where’d he go?”
    “What? Oh…Mrs. Ogg…”
    The old woman waved a saw in front of his face. It was not, in Mr. Bucket’s current state of mental tension, a helpful gesture.
    He was suddenly surrounded by other figures, equally conducive to multiple exclamation marks.
    “Perdita? Why aren’t you onstage…oh, Lady Esmerelda, I didn’t see you there, of course if you want to come backstage you only have to—”
    “Where’s Salzella?” said André.
    Bucket looked around vaguely. “He was here a few minutes ago…That is,” he said, pulling himself together, “ Mr . Salzella is probably attending to his duties somewhere which, young man, is more than I can say for—”
    “I demand you stop the show now ,” said André.
    “Oh, you do, do you? And by what authority, may I ask?”
    “He’s been sawing through the rope!” said Nanny.
    André pulled out a badge. “This!”
    Bucket looked closely. “‘Ankh-Morpork Guild of Musicians member 1244’?”
    André glared at him, then at the badge, and started to pat his pockets urgently. “No! Blast, I know I had the other one a moment ago…Look, you’ve got to clear the theater, we’ve got to search it, and that means—”
    “Don’t stop the show,” said Granny.
    “I won’t stop the show,” said Bucket.
    “’Cos I reckon he’d like to see the show stopped. The show must go on, eh? Isn’t that what you believe? Could he have got out of the building?”
    “I sent Corporal Nobbs to the stage door and Sergeant Detritus is in the foyer,” said André. “When it comes to standing in doorways, they’re among the best.”
    “Excuse me, what’s happening?” said Bucket.
    “He could be anywhere!” said Agnes. “There’re hundreds of hiding places!”
    “Who?” said Bucket.
    “How about these cellars everyone talks about?” said Granny.
    “Where?”
    “There’s only one entrance,” said André. “He’s not stupid.”
    “He can’t get into the cellars,” said Nanny. “He ran off! Probably in a cupboard somewhere by now!”
    “No, he’ll stay where there’s crowds,” said Granny. “That’s what I’d do.”
    “What?” said Bucket.
    “Could he have got into the audience from here?” said Nanny.
    “Who?” said Bucket.
    Granny jerked a thumb toward the stage. “He’s somewhere on there. I can feel him.”
    “Then we’ll wait until he comes off!”
    “Eighty people coming offstage all at once?” said Agnes. “Don’t you know what it’s like when the curtain goes down?”
    “And we don’t want to stop the show,” Granny mused.
    “No, we don’t want to stop the show,” said Bucket, grasping at a familiar idea as it swept by on a tide of incomprehensibility. “Or give people their money back in any fashion whatsoever. What are we talking about, does anyone know?”
    “The show must go on…” murmured Granny Weatherwax, still staring out of the wings. “Things have to end right. This is an opera house. They should end…operatically…”
    Nanny Ogg hopped up and down excitedly. “Oo, I know what you’re thinking, Esme!” she squeaked. “Oo, yes! Can we? Just so’s I can say I done it! Eh? Can we? Go on! Let’s!”

    Henry Lawsy peered closely at his opera notes. He had not, of course, fully understood the events of the first two acts, but knew that this was perfectly okay because one would have to be quite naïve to expect good sense as well as good songs. Anyway, it would all be explained in the last act, which was the Masked Ball in the Duke’s Palace. It would almost certainly turn out that the woman one of the men had been rather daringly courting would be his own wife, but so cunningly disguised by a very small mask that her husband wouldn’t have spotted that she wore the same clothes and had the same hairstyle. Someone’s serving man would turn out to be someone else’s daughter in disguise; someone would die of something that didn’t prevent them from singing about it for several minutes; and the plot would be resolved by some coincidences which, in real life, would be as likely as a cardboard hammer.
    He didn’t know any of this for a fact. He was making a calculated guess.
    In the meantime Act Three opened with the traditional ballet, this time apparently a country dance by the Maidens of the Court.
    Henry was aware of muffled laughter around him.
    This was because, if you ran an eye at head-height along the row of ballerinas as they