Fortunately, although in the front row it was off to one side. She would have died of shame had it been right in the middle. She clutched her handbag in both hands and risked a look along the row. It was packed. It wasn’t exclusively dwarf, either; there were a number of human ladies, smartly dressed, a little on the skinny side (in her opinion), almost offensively at ease and all talking.
Another sherry mystically appeared in her hand and, as the noise stopped with rat-trap sharpness, Madame Sharn came out through the curtain and began to address the crowded hall. Glenda thought, I wish I’d worn a better coat . . . At which point the sherry tucked her up and put her to bed.
Glenda only started to think properly again some time later, when she was hit on the head by a bunch of flowers. They struck her just over the ear and as expensive petals rained around her she looked up at the beaming, radiant face of Juliet, at the very edge of the catwalk, halfway through the motions of shouting ‘Duck!’
. . . And there were more flowers flying and people standing and cheering, and music, and in general the feeling of being under a waterfall with no water but inexhaustible torrents of sound and light.
Out of it all Juliet exploded, throwing herself at Glenda and flinging her arms around her neck.
‘She wants me to do it again!’ she panted. ‘She says I could go to Quirm and Genua, even! She says she’ll pay me more if I don’t work for no one else and the world is an oyster. I never knew that.’
‘But you’ve already got a steady job in the kitchen . . .’ said Glenda, only three-quarters of her way into consciousness. Later, more often than she liked, she remembered saying those words while the applause thundered all around them.
There was a gentle pressure on her shoulder, and here was one of the interchangeable young women with a tray. ‘Madame sends her compliments, miss, and would like to invite you and Miss Juliet to join her in her private boudoir.’
‘That’s nice of her, but I think we should be getting— A boudoir, you say?’
‘Oh yes. And would you like another drink? It’s a celebration, after all.’
Glenda looked around at the chattering, laughing and, above all, drinking crowd. The place felt like an oven.
‘All right, but not that sherry, thank you all the same. Have you got something very cold and fizzy?’
‘Why, yes, miss. Lots.’ The girl produced a large bottle and expertly filled a tall fluted glass with, apparently, bubbles. When Glenda drank it, the bubbles filled her, too.
‘Mm, quite nice,’ she ventured. ‘A bit like lemonade grown up.’
‘That’s how Madame drinks it, certainly.’
‘Er, this boudoir,’ Glenda tried, following the girl rather unsteadily. ‘How big is it?’
‘Oh, pretty large, I think. There must be about forty people in there already.’
‘Really? That’s a big boudoir.’ Well, thank goodness, Glenda thought. That at least is sorted out. They really ought to put proper explanations in these novels.
She had never been sure, given that she had no idea what sort of thing a boudoir was, what sort of thing you would find in it when you did. She found that it contained people, heat and flowers – not flowers in bunches, but in pillars and towering stacks, filling most of the air with clouds of sticky perfume while the people below filled the rest of it with words, tightly packed. No one could possibly hear what they were saying, Glenda told herself, but perhaps that wasn’t important. Perhaps what was important was being there to be seen to say it.
The crowd parted, and she saw Juliet, still in the glittering outfit, still in the beard . . . being there. Salamanders were flashing on and off, which meant people with iconographs, didn’t it? The trashy papers were full of people glittering for the picture. She had no time for them. What made it worse was that her disapproval mattered not a fig to anyone. The people glittered anyway. And here was Juliet, glittering most of all.
‘I think I could do with a little fresh air,’ she mumbled.
Her guide led her gently to an unobtrusive doorway. ‘Restrooms through here, ma’am.’ And they were – except that the long, carefully lit room was like some kind of fairy tale, all velvet and drapes. Fifteen surprised visions of Glenda stared at her from as many mirrors. It was overpowering enough to make her sit down in a very expensive bendylegged chair that turned out to be very restful, too . . .
When she jerked awake, she staggered out, got lost in a dark world of smelly passages choked with packing cases and finally blundered into a very large room indeed. It was more like a cavern; at the far end were a pair of double doors, probably ashamed to let in a grey light which did not so much illuminate as accuse. Another chaos of empty clothes racks and packing cases was scattered around the floor. In one place, water had dripped from the roof, and a puddle had formed on the stone, soaking some cardboard.
‘There they are, in there with their glitter and their finery, and it’s all muck and rubbish round the back, right, dear?’ said a voice in the dark. ‘You look like a lady who can spot a metaphor when she stares it in the face.’
‘Something like that,’ muttered Glenda. ‘Who’s doing the asking?’
An orange light glowed and faded in the gloom. Someone was smoking a cigarette in the shadows.
‘It’s the same all over, love. If there was an award for the arse end of things, there’d be a real bloody squabble for first place. I’ve seen a few palaces in my time and they’re all the same: turrets and banners in the front, maids’ bedrooms and water pipes round the back. Fancy a top-up? Can’t be walking around here with an empty glass, you’ll stand out.’
The cooler air was making her feel better. She still had a glass in her hand. ‘What is this stuff ?’
‘Well, if this was any other party it’d probably be the cheapest fizzing wine you could strain through a sock, but Madame won’t stint. It’s the real stuff. Champagne.’
‘What? I thought only nobby people drank that!’
‘No, just people with money, love. Sometimes it’s the same thing.’
She looked closer, and gasped. ‘What? Are you Pepe?’
‘That’s me, love.’
‘But you’re not all . . . all . . .’ She waved her hands frantically.
‘Off duty, love. Don’t have to worry about . . .’ He waved his hands equally frantically. ‘I’ve got a bottle here of our very own. Care to join me?’
‘Well, I ought to be getting back in there—’
‘Why? To fuss around her like an old hen? Leave her be, love. She’s a duck who’s just found water.’
Pepe looked taller in this gloom. Maybe it was the language and the lack of flapping. And, of course, anyone next to Madame Sharn would look small. He was willowy, though, like someone made of sinews.
‘But anything could happen to her!’
Pepe’s grin gleamed. ‘Yes! But probably won’t. My word, she sold micromail for us, and no mistake. Told Madame I had a good feeling. She’s got a great career in front of her.’
‘No, she’s got a good, steady job in the Night Kitchen, with me,’ said Glenda. ‘It might not be big money, but it’ll turn up every week. On the nail, and she won’t lose it if someone prettier comes along.’
‘Dolly Sisters, right? Sounds like the Botney Street area,’ said Pepe. ‘I’m sure of it. Not too bad, as I recall. I didn’t get beaten up much down there, but at the end of the day they’re all crab buckets.’
Glenda was taken aback. She’d expected anger or condescension, not this sharp little grin.
‘You know a lot about our city for a dwarf from Uberwald, I must say.’
‘No, love, I know a lot about Uberwald for a boy from Lobbin Clout,’ said Pepe smoothly. ‘Old Cheese Alley, to be precise. Local lad, me. Wasn’t always a dwarf, you know. I just joined.’
‘What? Can you do that?’
‘Well, it’s not like they advertised. But yeah, if you know the right people. And Madame knew the right people, ha, knew quite a lot about the right people.
It wasn’t hard. I’ve got to believe in a few things, there’s a few observances, and of course I have to keep off the old booze—’ He smiled as her glance pinned the glass in his hand, and went on: ‘Too quick, love, I was going to add “when I’m working”, and good job too. It doesn’t matter if you are shoring up the mine roof or riveting a bodice, being a piss artist is bloody stupid. And the moral of all this is, you have to grab life or drop back into the crab bucket.’
‘Oh yes, that’s all very well to say,’ Glenda snapped, wondering what crabs had got to do with anything. ‘But in real life people have responsibilities. We don’t have shiny jobs with lots of money, but they are real jobs doing things that people need! I’d be ashamed of myself, selling boots at four hundred dollars a go, which only rich people can afford. What’s the point of that?’
‘Well, you must admit that it makes rich people less rich,’ said the chocolate voice of Madame behind her. Like many large people, she could move as quietly as the balloon she resembled. ‘That’s a good start, isn’t it? And it goes to wages for the miners and the smiths. It all goes around, they tell me.’
She sat down heavily on a packing case, glass in hand. ‘Well, we’ve got most of them out now,’ she said, fumbling in her capacious breastplate with her spare hand and pulling out a thick wad of paper.
‘The big names want to be in on this and everyone wants it exclusively and we’re going to need another forge. Tomorrow I’ll go and see the bank.’ She paused to dip into her metal bodice again. ‘As a dwarf I was raised in the faith that gold is the one true currency,’ she said, counting out some crisp notes, ‘but I have to admit this stuff is a lot warmer. That’s fifty dollars for Juliet, twenty-five from me and twenty-five from the champagne, which is feeling happy. Juliet said to give it to you to look after.’
‘Miss Glenda thinks that we’ll lead her treasure into a lifetime of worthless sin and depravity,’ said Pepe.
‘Well, that’s a thought,’ said Madame, ‘but I can’t remember when I last had some depravity.’
‘Tuesday,’ said Pepe.
‘A whole box of chocolates is not depraved. Besides, you slid out the card between the layers, which confused me. I did not intend to eat the bottom layer. I did not want the bottom layer. It was practically assault.’
Pepe coughed. ‘We’re scaring the normal lady, love.’
Madame smiled. ‘Glenda, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking we’re a couple of louche evil clowns who booze away in a world of smoke and mirrors. Well, that’s fairly accurate right now, but today was the end of a year’s hard work, you see.’
And you bicker like an old married couple, Glenda thought. Her head was aching. She’d tried a rat fruit, that was the trouble, she was sure of it.
‘In the morning I’m going to show these orders to the manager of the Royal Bank and ask him for a lot of money. If he trusts us, can you? We need Juliet. She just . . . sparkles.’
And you two are holding hands. Tightly. Something soft snapped inside Glenda.
‘All right, look,’ she said. ‘It’s like this. Jools is going to come back home with me tonight, to get her head straight. Tomorrow . . . well, we’ll see.’
‘We can’t ask for more than that. Can we?’ said Madame, patting Glenda on the knee. ‘You know, Juliet thinks the world of you. She said she’d need you to say yes. She was telling all the society ladies about your pies.’
‘She’s been talking to society ladies?’ said Glenda in astonishment laced with trepidation and tinted with wonder.
‘Certainly. They all wanted a close look at the micromail, and she just chatted away, cheery as you like. I don’t think anyone ever said “Wotcher!” to them in their lives before.’
‘Oh no! I’m sorry!’
‘Why be? They were rather taken by it. And apparently you can bake pickled onions into a pie so that they stay crunchy?’
‘She told them that?’
‘Oh, yes. I gather that they all intend to get their cooks to try it out.’
‘Hah. They’ll never find the way!’ said Glenda with satisfaction.
‘So Jools says.’
‘We . . . generally call her Juliet,’ said Glenda.
‘She told us to call her Jools,’ said Madame. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Well, er, not really a problem,’ Glenda began wretchedly.
‘That’s good, then,’ said Madame, who clearly knew when not to notice subtleties. ‘Now let’s prise her away from her new friends, and you can see to it that she gets a good night’s sleep.’
There was laughter, and the girls helping with the show streamed out into the clammy place that was the midwife to beauty. Juliet was among them, and with the loudest laugh. She broke away when she saw Glenda and gave her another hug. ‘Oh, Glendy, isn’t this great? It’s like a fairy story!’
‘Yes, well, it might be,’ said Glenda, ‘but they don’t all have happy endings. Just you remember you have a good job now, with prospects and regular leftovers to take home. That’s not to be lightly thrown away.’
‘No, it should be hurled with great force,’ said Pepe. ‘I mean, what is this? Emberella? The wand has been waved, the court is cheering, a score of handsome princes are waiting to sign up for just a sniff of her slipper, and you want her to go back to work making pumpkins?’
He looked at their blank faces. ‘All right, perhaps that came out a little confused, but surely you can follow the seam? This is a big chance! As big as it gets. A way out of the bucket!’
‘I think we’ll go home now,’ said Glenda primly. ‘Come along, Jools.’
‘See,’ said Pepe, when they had gone, ‘it’s a crab bucket.’
Madame peered into a bottle to see if, against all probability, one glassful yet remained. ‘Did you know she more or less raised the kid? Jools will do what she says.’
‘What a waste,’ said Pepe. ‘Don’t take the world by storm, stay here and make pies? You think that’s a life?’
‘Someone has to make pies,’ Madame said, with an infuriating calm reasonableness.
‘Oh, pur-lease! Not her. Let it not be her. And for leftovers? Oh no!’
Madame picked up another empty bottle. She knew it was empty because it was in the vicinity of Pepe at the end of a long day, but she examined it anyway because thirst springs eternal.
‘Hmm. It might not come to that,’ she said. ‘I have a feeling that Miss Glenda is just about to start thinking. There’s a powerful mind behind that rather sad cloak and those awful shoes. Today might be its lucky day.’
Ridcully strode through the corridors of Unseen University with his robes flapping confidently behind him. He had a big stride and Ponder had to run in a semi-crabwise fashion to keep up with him, his clipboard clutched protectively to his chest. ‘You know we did agree that it wasn’t to be used for purposes other than pure research, Archchancellor. You actually signed the edict.’
‘Did I? I don’t remember that, Stibbons.’
‘I remember it most distinctly, sir. It was just after the case of Mister Floribunda.’
‘Which one was he?’ said Ridcully, still striding purposefully ahead.
‘He was the one who felt a little peckish and asked the Cabinet for a bacon sandwich to see what would happen.’
‘I thought that anything taken out of the Cabinet had to be returned in 14.14 hours recurring?’
‘Yes, sir. That is the case, but the Cabinet appears to have strange rules that we do not fully understand. In any case, Mister Floribunda’s defence was that he thought the fourteen-hour rule didn’t apply to bacon sandwiches. Nor did he tell anybody and so the students on his floor were only alerted when they heard the screams some fourteen hours later.’
‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ said Ridcully, still covering the flagstones at an impressive rate, ‘but would it not have been digested by that point?’ ‘Yes, sir. But it still went back to the Cabinet, of its own accord, you might say. That was quite an interesting discovery. We di
d not know that could happen.’
Ridcully stopped and Ponder bumped into him. ‘What exactly did happen to him?’
‘You wouldn’t want me to draw a picture, sir. However, the good news is that he will soon be out of the wheelchair. In fact, I gather he’s already walking quite well with a stick. How we discipline him is, of course, up to you, sir. The file is on your desk, as are, indeed, a considerable number of other documents.’
Ridcully strode off again. ‘He did it to see what would happen, did he?’ he said cheerfully.
‘So he said, sir,’ said Ponder.
‘And this was against my express orders, was it?’
‘Yes, absolutely definitely, sir,’ said Ponder, who knew his Archchancellor and already had an inkling of how this one was going to end. ‘And so therefore, sir, I must insist that he—’ He walked into Ridcully again because the man had stopped outside a large door on which was a bright red notice saying, ‘No Item To Be Removed From This Room Without The Express Permission Of The Archchancellor. Signed Ponder Stibbons pp Mustrum Ridcully.’
‘You signed this one for me?’ Ridcully said.
‘Yes, sir. You were busy at the time and we had agreed on this one.’
‘Yes, of course, but I don’t think that you should pp just like that. Remember what that young lady said about the UU.’
Ponder produced a large key and opened the door. ‘May I also remind you, Archchancellor, that we agreed a moratorium on the use of the Cabinet of Curiosity until we had cleaned up some of the residual magic in the building. We still don’t seem to have got rid of the squid.’
‘Did we agree, Mister Stibbons,’ said Ridcully, turning around sharply, ‘or did you agree with yourself pp me, as it were?’
‘Well, er, I think I understood the spirit of your thinking, sir.’
‘Well, this is the spirit of pure research,’ said Ridcully. ‘It’s research into how we can hope to save our cheeseboard. Many would say there could be no greater goal. As for young Floribunda . . .’
Unseen Academicals Page 17
