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'My mum bought it for me!' Walter chased the last air bubble to the edge of the paper and stood back. Then, completely ignoring the witches in his preoccupation with his task, he picked up the paste-pot and went back inside. The witches stared at the new poster in silence. 'Y'know, I wouldn't mind seein' an operation,' said Nanny, after a while. 'Senior Basilica did give us the tickets.'
'Oh, you know me,' said Granny. 'Can't be having with that sort of thing at all.' Nanny looked sideways at her, and grinned to herself. This was a familiar Weatherwax opening line. It meant: Of course I want to, but you've got to persuade me. 'You're right, o' course,' she said. 'It's for them folks in all their fine carriages. It's not for the likes of us.' Granny looked hesitant for a moment. 'I expect it's having ideas above our station,' Nanny went on. 'I expect if we went in they'd say: Be off, you nasty ole crones. . .'
'Oh, they would, would they?'
'I don't expect they want common folk like what we are comin' in with all those smart nobby people,' said Nanny. 'Is that a fact? Is that a fact, madam? You just come with me!' Granny stalked round to the front of the building, where people were already alighting from coaches. She pushed her way up the steps and shouldered through the crowd to the ticket office. She leaned forward. The man behind the grille leaned back.
'Nasty old crones, eh?' she snapped. 'I beg your pardon-?'
'Not before time! See here, we've got tickets for-' She looked down at the pieces of cardboard, and pulled Nanny Ogg over. 'It says here Stalls. The cheek of it! Stalls? Us?' She turned back to the ticket man. 'See here, Stalls aren't good enough, we want seats in'-she looked up at the board by the ticket window-'the Gods. Yes, that sounds about right.'
'I'm sorry? You've got tickets for Stalls seats and you want to exchange them for seats in the Gods?'
'Yes, and don't you go expecting us to pay any more money!'
'I wasn't going to ask you for-'
'Just as well!' said Granny, smiling triumphantly. She looked approvingly at the new tickets. 'Come, Gytha.'
'Er, excuse me,' said the man as Nanny Ogg turned away, 'but what is that on your shoulders?'
'It's. . . a fur collar,' said Nanny. 'Excuse me, but I just saw it flick its tail.'
'Yes. I happen to believe in beauty without cruelty.' Agnes was aware of something happening backstage. Little groups of men were forming, and then breaking up as various individuals hurried away about their mysterious tasks. Out in front the orchestra was already tuning up. The chorus was filing on to be A Busy Marketplace, in which various jugglers, gypsies, sword- swallowers and gaily dressed yokels would be entirely unsurprised at an apparently drunken baritone strolling on to sing an enormous amount of plot at a passing tenor. She saw Mr Bucket and Mr Salzella deep in argument with the stage manager. 'How can we search the entire building? This place is a maze!'
'He might have just wandered off somewhere. . . ?'
'He's as blind as a bat without those glasses.'
'But we can't be certain something's happened to him.'
'Oh, Yes? You didn't say that when we opened the double-bass case. You were certain' he was going to be inside. Admit it.'
'I. . . wasn't expecting just to find a smashed double bass, yes. But I was feeling a bit mithered at that point.' A sword-swallower nudged Agnes. 'What?'
'Curtain up in one minute, dear,' he said, smearing mustard on his sword. 'Has something happened to Dr Undershaft?'
'Couldn't say, dear. You wouldn't have any salt, would you?'
' 'Scuse me. 'Scuse me. Sorry. 'Scuse me. Was that your foot? 'Scuse me. . .' Leaving a trail of annoyed and pained patrons in their wake, the witches trod their way to their seats. Granny elbowed herself comfortable and then, having in some matters the boredom threshold of a four-year-old, said: 'What's happenin' now?' Nanny's skimpy knowledge of opera didn't come to her aid. So she turned to the lady beside her. '
'Scuse me, could I borrow your programme? Thank you. 'Scuse me, could I borrow your spectacles? So kind.' She spent a few moments in careful study. 'This is the overture,' she said. 'It's kind of a free sample of what's going to happen. 'S got a summary of the story, too. La Triviata.' Her lips moved as she read. Occasionally her brow wrinkled.
'Well, it's quite simple reely,' she said, at last. 'A lot of people are in love with one another, there's considerable dressing up as other people and general confusion, there's a cheeky servant, no one really knows who anyone is, a couple of ole dukes go mad, chorus of gypsies, etc. Your basic opera. Someone's prob'ly going to turn out to be someone else's long lost son or daughter or wife or something.'
'Shh!' said a voice behind them. 'Wish we'd brought something to eat,' muttered Granny. 'I think I've got some peppermints in my knicker leg.'
'Shh!'
'I would like my spectacles back, please.'
'Here you are, ma'am. They're not very good, are they?' Someone tapped Nanny Ogg on the shoulder. 'Madam, your fur stole is eating my chocolates!' And someone tapped Granny Weatherwax on her shoulder. 'Madam, kindly remove your hat.' Nanny Ogg choked on her peppermint. Granny Weatherwax turned to the red-faced gentleman behind her. 'You do know what a woman in a pointy hat is, don't you?' she said. 'Yes, madam. A woman in a pointy hat is sitting in front of me.' Granny gave him a stare. And then, to Nanny's surprise, she removed her hat. 'I do beg your pardon,' she said. 'I can see I was inadvertently bad- mannered. Pray excuse me.' She turned back to the stage. Nanny Ogg started breathing again. 'You feeling all right, Esme?'
'Never better.' Granny Weatherwax surveyed the auditorium, oblivious to the sounds around her. 'I assure you, madam, your fur is eating my chocolates. It's started on the second layer!'
'Oh, dear. Show him the little map inside the lid, will you? He's only after the truffles, and you can soon rub the dribble off the others.'
'Do you mind being quiet?'
