Bucket waited nervously in the wings. Unnecessarily nervously, of course. The Ghost was dead. There couldn't be anything to worry about. People said they'd seen him killed, although they were, Bucket had to admit, a bit hazy on the actual details.
Nothing to worry about.
Not a thing.
Nothing whatsoever in any way.
Everything was absolutely nothing to worry about in any way.
He ran a finger around the inside of his collar. It hadn't been such a bad life in wholesale cheese. The most you had to worry about was ogle of poor old Reg Plenty's trouser buttons in the Farmhouse Nutty and the time young Weevins minced his thumb in the stirring machine and it was only by luck they happened to be doing strawberry yoghurt at the time-
A figure loomed up beside him. He clutched at a curtain for support and then turned to see, with relief, the majestic and reassuring stomach of Enrico Basilica. The tenor looked magnificent in a huge cockerel costume, complete with giant beak, wattles and comb.
'Ah, senor,' Bucket burbled. 'Very impressive, may I say.'
'Si,' said a muffed voice from somewhere behind the beak, as other members of the company hurried past on to the stage.
'May I say how sorry I am about all that business earlier. I can assure you that it doesn't happen every night, ahahah…'
'Si?'
'Probably just high spirits, ahaha…'
The beak turned towards him. Bucket backed away.
'Si!'
'…yes… well, I'm glad you're so understanding…'
Temperamental, he thought, as the tenor strode on to the stage and the overture to Act Three drifted to its close. They're like that, the real artistes. Nerves stretched like rubber bands, I expect. It's just like waiting for the cheese, really. You can get really edgy waiting to see whether you've got half a ton of best blue-vein or just a vat full of pig food. It's probably like that when you've got an aria working its way up-
'Where'd he go? Where'd he go?'
'What? Oh… Mrs Ogg…'
The old woman waved a saw in front of his face. It was not, in Mr Bucket's current state of mental tension, a helpful gesture.
He was suddenly surrounded by other figures, equally conducive to multiple exclamation marks.
'Perdita? Why aren't you on stage… oh, Lady Esmerelda, I didn't see you there, of course if you want to come backstage you only have to-'
'Where's Salzella?' said Andr?
Bucket looked around vaguely. 'He was here a few minutes ago… That is,' he said, pulling himself together, 'Mr Salzella is probably attending to his duties somewhere which, young man, is more than I can say for-'
'I demand you stop the show now,' said Andr?
'Oh, you do, do you? And by what authority, may I ask?'
'He's been sawing through the rope!' said Nanny.
Andr?ulled out a badge. 'This!'
Bucket looked closely. ' "Ankh-Morpork Guild of Musicians member z 244"?'
Andr?lared at him, then at the badge, and started to pat his pockets urgently. 'No! Blast, I know I had the other one a moment ago… Look, you've got to clear the theatre, we've got to search it, and that means-'
'Don't stop the show,' said Granny.
'I won't stop the show,' said Bucket.
' 'Cos I reckon he'd like to see the show stopped. The show must go on, eh? Isn't that what you believe? Could he have got out of the building?'
'I sent Corporal Nobbs to the stage-door and Sergeant Detritus is in the foyer,' said Andr?'When it comes to standing in doorways, they're among the best.'
'Excuse me, what's happening?' said Bucket.
'He could be anywhere!' said Agnes. 'There're hundreds of hiding-places!'
'Who?' said Bucket.
'How about these cellars everyone talks about?' said Granny.
'Where?'
'There's only one entrance,' said Andr?'He's not stupid.'
'He can't get into the cellars,' said Nanny. 'He ran off? Probably in a cupboard somewhere by now!'
'No, he'll stay where there's crowds,' said Granny. 'That's what I'd do.'
'What?' said Bucket.
'Could he have got into the audience from here?' said Nanny.
'Who?' said Bucket.
Granny jerked a thumb towards the…
