Part 36 (1/2)
Greebo waved his arms experimentally and fumbled with the ebony cane. Fingers took a bit of getting used to, but cat reflexes learned fast.
Nanny waved a finger playfully under his nose. He took a half hearted swipe at it.
”Now you just stay with Granny and do what she tells you like a good boy,” she said.
”Yess, Nan-ny,” said Greebo reluctantly. He managed to grip the stick properly.
”And no fighting.”
”No, Nan-ny.”
”And no leaving bits of people on the doormat.”
”No, Nan-ny.”
”We'll have no trouble like we did with those robbers last month.”
”No, Nan-ny.”
He looked depressed. Humans had no fun fun. Incredible complications surrounded the most basic activities.
”And no turning back into a cat again until we say.”
”Yess, Nan-ny.”
”Play your cards right and there could be a kipper in this for you.”
”Yess, Nan-ny.”
”What're we going to call him?” said Granny. ”He can't just be Greebo, which I've always said was a d.a.m.n silly name for a cat.”
”Well, he looks aristocratic-” Nanny began.
”He looks like a beautiful brainless bully,” Granny corrected her.
”Aristocratic,” repeated Nanny.
”Same thing.”
”We can't call him Greebo, anyway.”
”We'll think of something.”
Salzella leaned disconsolately against the marble banister of the foyer's grand staircase and stared gloomily into his drink.
It had always seemed to him that one of the major flaws in the whole business of opera was the audience. They were quite unsuitable. The only ones worse than the ones who didn't know anything at all about music, and whose idea of a sensible observation was ”I liked that bit near the end when her voice went wobbly,” were the ones who thought they did...
”Want a drink do you Mister Salzella? There's lots you know!”
Walter Plinge ambled by, his black suit making him look like a very good cla.s.s of scarecrow.
”Plinge, you just say 'Drink, sir?'” said the director of music. ”And please take off that ridiculous beret.”
”My mum made it for me!”
”I'm sure she did, but-”
Bucket sidled up to him. ”I thought I told you to keep Senor Basilica away from the canapes!” he hissed.
”I'm sorry, I couldn't find a big enough crowbar,” said Salzella, waving away Walter and his beret. ”Anyway, isn't he supposed to be communing with his muse in his dressing room? The curtain goes up in twenty minutes!”
”He says he sings better on a full stomach.”
”Then we're in for a big treat tonight.”
Bucket turned and surveyed the scene. ”It's going well, anyway,” he said.
”I suppose so.”
”The Watch are here, you know. In secret. They're mingling.”
”Ah...let me guess...”
Salzella looked around at the crowds. There was, indeed, a very short man in a suit intended for a rather larger man; this was especially the case with the opera cloak, which actually trailed on the floor behind him to give the overall impression of a superhero who had spent too much time around the Kryptonite. He was wearing a deformed fur hat and trying surrept.i.tiously to smoke a cigarette.
”You mean that little man with the words 'Watchman in Disguise' flas.h.i.+ng on and off just above his head?”
”Where? I didn't see that!”
Salzella sighed. ”It's Corporal n.o.bby n.o.bbs,” he said wearily. ”The only known person to require an ident.i.ty card to prove his species. I've watched him mingle with three large sherries.”
”He's not the only one, though,” said Mr. Bucket. ”They're taking this seriously.”
”Oh, yes,” said Salzella. ”If we look over there, for example, we see Sergeant Detritus, who is a troll, and who is wearing what in the circ.u.mstances is actually a rather well-fitting suit. It is therefore, I feel, something of a pity he has neglected to remove his helmet. And these, you understand, the Watch has chosen for their ability to blend.”
”Well, they'll certainly be useful if the Ghost strikes again,” said Bucket, hopelessly.
”The Ghost would have to-” Salzella stopped. He blinked. ”Oh, good grief,” he whispered. ”What has has she found?” she found?”
Bucket turned. ”That's Lady Esmerelda...oh.”
Greebo strolled in alongside her with the gentle swagger that makes women thoughtful and men's knuckles go white. The buzz of conversation was momentarily hushed, and then rose again to a slightly shriller buzz.
”I'm impressed,” said Salzella.
”He certainly doesn't look like a gentleman gentleman,” said Bucket. ”Look at the color of that eye!” He set his face into what he hoped was a smile, and bowed.