Part 15 (1/2)
SQUEAK.
Mr. Pounder felt that many eyes were watching him. Many small, s.h.i.+ning eyes.
”And...what happens now?”
SQUEAK.
The soul of Mr. Pounder looked at his hands. They seemed to be elongating, and getting hairier. He could feel his ears growing, and a certain rather embarra.s.sing elongation happening at the base of his spine. He'd spent most of his life in a single-minded activity in dark places, yet even so...
”But I don't believe believe in reincarnation!” he protested. in reincarnation!” he protested.
SQUEAK.
And this, Mr. Pounder understood with absolute rodent clarity, meant: reincarnation believes in you you.
Mr. Bucket went through his mail very carefully, and finally breathed out when the pile failed to disgorge another letter with the Opera House crest.
He sat back and pulled open his desk drawer for a pen.
There was an envelope there.
He stared at it, and then slowly picked up his paper knife.
Sliiiiit...
...rustle...
I will be obliged if Christine sings the role of Iodine in ”La Triviata” tonight.
The weather continues fine. I trust you are well.
Yrs The Opera Ghost ”Mr. Salzella! Mr. Salzella! Mr. Salzella!”
Bucket pushed back his chair and hurried to the door, opening it just in time to confront a ballerina, who screamed at him.
Since his nerves were already strained, he responded by screaming back at her. This seemed to have the effect that usually a wet flannel or a slap was necessary to achieve. She stopped and gave him an affronted look.
”He's struck again, hasn't he!” moaned Bucket.
”He's here! It's the Ghost!” said the girl, determined to get the line out even though it was not required.
”Yes, yes, I think I know know,” muttered Bucket. ”I just hope it wasn't anybody expensive.”
He stopped halfway along the corridor and then spun around. The girl cringed away from his wavering finger.
”At least stand on tiptoe!” he shouted. ”You probably cost me a dollar just running up here!”
There was a crowd in a huddle on the stage. In the center was that new girl, the fat one, kneeling down and comforting an old woman. Bucket vaguely recognized the latter. She was one of the staff that had come with the Opera House, as much part of the whole thing as the rats or the gargoyles that infested the rooftops.
She was holding something in front of her. ”It just fell out of the flies,” she said. ”His poor hat!”
Bucket looked up. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he made out a shape up among the battens, spinning slowly...
”Oh, dear dear,” he said. ”And I thought he'd written such a polite polite letter...” letter...”
”Really? Then now read this this one,” said Salzella, coming up behind him. one,” said Salzella, coming up behind him.
”Must I?”
”It's addressed to you.”
Bucket unfolded the piece of paper.
Hahahaha! Ahahahaha!
Yrs The Opera Ghost PS: Ahahahaha!!!!!
He gave Salzella an agonized look. ”Who's the poor fellow up there?”
”Mr. Pounder, the rat catcher. Rope dropped around his neck, other end attached to some sandbags. They went down. He went...up.”
”I don't understand! Is this man mad mad?”
Salzella put an arm around his shoulders and led him away from the crowd. ”Well, now,” he said, as kindly as he could. ”A man who wears evening dress all the time, lurks in the shadows and occasionally kills people. Then he sends little notes, writing writing maniacal laughter. Five exclamation marks again, I notice. We have to ask ourselves: is this the career of a sane man?” maniacal laughter. Five exclamation marks again, I notice. We have to ask ourselves: is this the career of a sane man?”
”But why why is he doing it?” wailed Bucket. is he doing it?” wailed Bucket.
”That is only a relevant question if he is sane,” said Salzella calmly. ”He may be doing it because the little yellow pixies tell him to.”
”Sane? How can he be sane?” said Bucket. ”You were right, you know. The atmosphere in this place'd drive anyone anyone crazy. I very well may be the only one here with both feet on the ground!” He turned. His eyes narrowed when he saw a group of chorus girls whispering nervously. crazy. I very well may be the only one here with both feet on the ground!” He turned. His eyes narrowed when he saw a group of chorus girls whispering nervously.
”You girls! Don't just stand there! Let's see you jump up and down!” he rasped. ”On one leg!”
He turned back to Salzella. ”What was I saying?”
”You were saying,” said Salzella, ”that you have both feet on the ground. Unlike the corps de ballet corps de ballet. And the corpse de Mr. Pounder.”
”I think that comment was in rather poor taste,” said Bucket coldly.
”My view,” said the director of music, ”is that we should shut down, get all the able-bodied men together, issue them with torches, go through this place from top to bottom, flush him out, chase him through the city, catch him and beat him to a pulp, and then throw what's left into the river. It's the only way to be sure.”
”You know know we can't afford to shut down,” Bucket said. ”We seem to make thousands a week but we seem to spend thousands a week, too. I'm sure I don't know where it goes-I thought running this place was just a matter of getting b.u.ms on seats, but every time I look up there's a b.u.m spinning gently in the air-What's he going to do next, I ask myself-” we can't afford to shut down,” Bucket said. ”We seem to make thousands a week but we seem to spend thousands a week, too. I'm sure I don't know where it goes-I thought running this place was just a matter of getting b.u.ms on seats, but every time I look up there's a b.u.m spinning gently in the air-What's he going to do next, I ask myself-”