Part 27 (1/2)
”I've been to see Commander Vimes of the city Watch,” said Salzella. ”He said he'll have some of his best men here tonight. Undercover.”
”I thought you said they were all incompetent.”
Salzella shrugged. ”We've got to do this properly. Did you know Dr. Undershaft was strangled before he was hung?”
”Hanged,” said Bucket, without thinking. ”Men are hanged. It's dead meat that's hung.”
”Indeed?” said Salzella. ”I appreciate the information. Well, poor old Undershaft was strangled, apparently. And then he was hung.”
”Really, Salzella, you do have a misplaced sense-”
”I've finished now Mr. Bucket!”
”Yes, thank you, Walter. You may go.”
”Yes Mr. Bucket!”
Walter closed the door behind him, very conscientiously.
”I'm afraid it's working here,” said Salzella. ”If you don't find some way of dealing with...are you all right, Mr. Bucket?”
”What?” Bucket, who'd been staring at the closed door, shook his head. ”Oh. Yes. Er. Walter...”
”What about him?”
”He's...all right, is he?”
”Oh, he's got his...funny little ways. He's harmless enough, if that's what you mean. Some of the stagehands and musicians are a bit cruel to him...you know, sending him out for a tin of invisible paint or a bag of nail holes and so on. He believes what he's told. Why?”
”Oh...I just wondered. Silly, really.”
”I suppose he is, technically.”
”No, I meant-Oh, it doesn't matter...”
Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg left Goatberger's office and walked demurely down the street. At least. Granny walked demurely. Nanny leaned somewhat.
Every thirty seconds she'd say, ”How much was that again?”
”Three thousand, two hundred and seventy dollars and eighty-seven pence,” said Granny. She was looking thoughtful.
”I thought it was nice of him to look in all the ashtrays for all the odd coppers he could round up,” said Nanny. ”Those he could reach, anyway. How much was that again?”
”Three thousand, two hundred and seventy dollars and eighty-seven pence.”
”I've never had seventy dollars before,” said Nanny.
”I didn't say just seventy dollars, I said-”
”Yes, I know. But I'm working my way up to it gradual. I'll say this about money. It really chafes.”
”I don't know why you have to keep your purse in your knicker leg,” said Granny.
”It's the last place anybody would look.” Nanny sighed. ”How much did you say it was?”
”Three thousand, two hundred and seventy dollars and eighty-seven pence.”
”I'm going to need a bigger tin.”
”You're going to need a bigger chimney.”
”I could certainly do with a bigger knicker leg.” She nudged Granny. ”You're going to have to be polite to me now I'm rich,” she said.
”Yes, indeed,” said Granny, with a faraway look in her eyes. ”Don't think I'm not considering that.”
She stopped. Nanny walked into her, with a tinkle of lingerie.
The frontage of the Opera House loomed over them.
”We've got to get back in there,” Granny said. ”And into Box Eight.”
”Crowbar,” said Nanny, firmly. ”A No. 3 claw end should do it.”
”We're not your Nev,” said Granny. ”Anyway, breaking in wouldn't be the same thing. We've got to have a right right to be there.” to be there.”
”Cleaners,” said Nanny. ”We could be cleaners, and...no, 's not right me being a cleaner now, in my position.”
”No, we can't have that, with you in your position.”
Granny glanced down at Nanny as a coach pulled up outside the Opera House. ”O' course,” she said, artfulness dripping off her voice like toffee, ”we could always buy buy Box Eight.” Box Eight.”
”Wouldn't work,” said Nanny. People were hurrying down the steps with the cuff-adjusting, sticky looks of welcoming committees everywhere. ”They're scared of selling it.”
”Why not?” said Granny. ”There's people dying and the opera goes on. That means someone's prepared to sell his own grandmother if he'd make enough money.”
”It'd cost a fortune, anyway,” said Nanny.
She looked at Granny's triumphant expression and groaned. ”Oh, Esme! I was going to save that money for me old age!” She thought for a moment. ”Anyway, it still still wouldn't work. I mean, look at us, we don't look like the right kind of people...” wouldn't work. I mean, look at us, we don't look like the right kind of people...”
Enrico Basilica got out of the coach.
”But we know know the right kind of people,” said Granny. the right kind of people,” said Granny.
”Oh, Esme!”
The shop bell tinkled in a refined tone, as if it were embarra.s.sed to do something as vulgar as ring. It would have much preferred to give a polite cough.