'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 surreptitiously to smoke a cigarette. 'You mean that little man with the words “Watchman in Disguise” flashing on and off just above his head?'
'Where? I didn't see that!' Salzella sighed. 'It's Corporal Nobby Nobbs,' he said wearily. 'The only known person to require an identity 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 toll, and who is wearing what in the circumstances 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 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,' said Bucket. 'Look at the colour of that eye!' He set his face into what he hoped was a smile, and bowed. 'Lady Esmerelda!' he said. 'How pleasant to see you again! Won't you introduce us to your. . . guest?'
'This is Lord Gribeau,' said Granny. 'Mr Bucket, the owner, and Mr Salzella, who seems to run the place.'
'Haha,' said Salzella. Gribeau snarled, revealing longer incisors than any that Bucket had seen outside a zoo. And Bucket had never seen such a greenish-yellow eye. The pupil was all wrong. . . 'Ahaha. . .' he said. 'And may I order you something?'
'He'll have milk,' said Granny firmly. 'I expect he has to keep up his strength,' said Salzella. Granny spun around. Her expression would have etched steel. 'Anyone for a drink?' said Nanny Ogg, appearing out of nowhere with a tray and adroitly stepping between them like a very small peace-keeping force. 'Got a bit of everything here. . .'
'Including a glass of milk, I see,' said Bucket. Salzella looked from one witch to the other. 'That's remarkably foresighted of you,' he said. 'Well, you never know,' said Nanny. Gribeau took the glass in both hands and lapped at it with his tongue. Then he looked at Salzella. 'What yourrr lookin aat? Neverrr seem mil-uk drun beforr?'
'Never quite. . .like that, I must admit.' Nanny winked at Granny Weatherwax as she turned to scurry away. Granny caught her arm. 'Remember,' she whispered, 'when we go into the Box. . . you keep an eye on Mrs Plinge. Mrs Plinge knows something. I ain't sure what's going to happen. But it is going to happen.'
'Right,' said Nanny. She bustled off, muttering under her breath, 'Oh, yes. . . do this, do that-'
'Drink here, please, ma'am.' Nanny looked down. 'Good grief,' she said. 'What are you?' The apparition in the fur hat winked at her. 'I'm the Count de Nobbs,' it said, 'and this here,' it added, indicating a mobile wall, 'is the Count de Tritus.' Nanny glanced at the troll. 'Another Count? I'm sure there's unaccountably more Counts here than I can count. And what can I get you, officers?' she said. 'Officers? Us?' said the Count de Nobbs. 'What makes you think we're Watchmen?'
'He's got a helmet on,' Nanny pointed out. 'Also, he's got his badge pinned to his coat.'
'I told you to put it away!' Nobby hissed. He looked at Nanny and smiled uneasily. 'Milit'ry chic,' he said. 'It's just a fashion accessory. Actually, we are gentlemen of means and have nothing to do with the city Watch whatsoever.'
'Well, gentlemen, would you like some wine?'
'Not while we on duty, yanks,' said the troll. 'Oh, yes, thank you very much, Count de Tritus,' said Nobby bitterly. 'Oh, yes, very undercover, that is! Why don't you just wave your truncheon around where everyone can see it?'
'Well, if you t'ink it'd help-'
'Put it away!' The Count de Tritus's eyebrows met with the effort of thought. 'Dat was irony, den, was it? To a superior officer?'
'Can't be a superior officer, can you, 'cos we ain't Watchmen. Look, Commander Vimes explained it three times. . .' Nanny Ogg tactfully moved away. It was bad enough watching them blow their cover without sucking at it as well. This was a new world, all right. She was used to a life where the men wore the bright clothes and the women wore black. It made it a lot easier to decide what to put on in the mornings. But inside the Opera House the rules of clothing were all in reverse, just like the laws of common sense. Here the women dressed like frosted peacocks and the men looked like penguins. So. . . there were coppers here. Nanny Ogg was basically a law-abiding person when she had no reason to break the law, and therefore had that kind of person's attitude to law-enforcement officers, which was one of deep and permanent distrust. There was their approach to theft, for example. Nanny had a witch's view of theft, which was a lot more complicated than the attitude adopted by the law and, if it came to it, people who owned property worth stealing. They tended to wield the huge blunt axe of the law in circumstances that required the delicate scalpel of common sense. No, thought Nanny. Policemen with their great big boots were not required here on a night like this. It would be a good idea to put a thumbtack under the ponderous feet of Justice. She ducked behind a gilt statue and fumbled in the recesses of her clothing while people nearby looked around in puzzlement at the erratic twanging of elastic. She was sure she had one around somewhere-she'd packed it in case of emergencies. . . There was the clink of a small bottle. Ah, yes. A moment later Nanny Ogg emerged decorously with two small glasses on her tray, and headed purposefully for the Watchmen. 'Fruit drink, officers?' she said. 'Oh, silly me, what am I saying, I didn't mean officers. Home-made fruit drink?' Detritus sniffed suspiciously, immediately clearing his sinuses. 'What's in it?' he said. 'Apples,' said Nanny Ogg promptly. 'Well. . . mainly apples.' Under her hand, a couple of spilt drops finished eating their way through the metal of the tray and dropped on to the carpet, where they smoked. The auditorium buzzed with the sound of operagoers settling down and Mrs Lawsy trying to find her shoes. 'You really shouldn't have taken them off, mother.'
'My feet are giving me gyp.'
'Did you bring your knitting?'
'I think I must've left it in the Ladies.'
'Oh, mother.' Henry Lawsy marked his place in his book and raised his runny eyes heavenward, and blinked. Right above him-a long way above him-was a glittering circle of light. His mother followed his gaze. 'What's that, then?'
'I think it's a chandelier, mother.'
'It's a pretty big one. What's holding it up?'
'I'm sure they've got special ropes and things, mother.'
'Looks a bit dangerous, to my mind.'
'I'm sure it's absolutely safe, mother.'