‘I don’t think you exactly grasp what’s going on,’ said the (possible) dwarf.‘They want to find her to ask her a lot of questions.’

‘Has this got anything to do with Lord Vetinari?’ said Glenda suspiciously.

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ said Pepe.

‘What sort of questions, then?’

‘Oh, you know-What is your favourite colour? What do you like to eat? Are youan item with anybody? What advice do you have for young people today? Do youwax? Where do you get your hair done? What is your favourite spoon?’

‘I don’t think she’s got a favourite spoon,’ said Glenda, waiting for the worldto make some sense.

Pepe patted her on the shoulder. ‘Look, she’s on the front page of the paper,isn’t she? And the Times keeps on at us about wanting to do a lifestyle profileof her. That might not actually be a bad thing, but it’s up to you.’

‘I don’t think she’s got a lifestyle,’ said Glenda, a little bewildered. ‘She’snever said. And she doesn’t wax. She hardly even dusts. Anyway, just tell themall that she doesn’t want to talk to anybody.’

Pepe’s expression went strange for a moment, then he said with care, like aman, or dwarf, struggling to be heard across a cultural divide, ‘Do you think Iwas talking about furniture?’

‘Well, what else? And I don’t think her housework is anyone else’s business.’

‘Don’t you understand? She’s popular, and the more we tell people they can’ttalk to her, the more they want to, and the more you say no the more interestedthey become. People want to know all about her,’ said Pepe.

‘Like what her favourite spoon is?’ said Glenda.

‘I might have been a bit ironic,’ said Pepe. ‘But there’s newspaper writers allover the city looking for her and Bu-bubble want to do a two-page spread onher.’ He paused. ‘That means they’ll write about her and it’ll take two pages,’he volunteered helpfully. ‘The Low King of the dwarfs has said that she is anicon for our times, according to Satblatt.’

‘What’s Satblatt?’ said Glenda.

‘Oh, the dwarf newspaper,’ said Pepe. ‘You’ll probably never see it.’

‘But she was just in a fashion show!’ wailed Glenda. ‘She was just walking upand down! I’m sure she doesn’t want to get involved in all that sort of thing.’

Pepe gave her a sharp look. ‘Are you?’ he said.

And then she thought, really thought about Juliet, who would read Bu-bubblefrom cover to cover, wouldn’t generally go near the Times, but would absorb allkinds of rubbish about frivolous and silly people. People that glittered. ‘Idon’t know where she is,’ she said. ‘I really haven’t seen her sinceyesterday.’

‘Ah, a mystery disappearance,’ said Pepe. ‘Look, we’re already learning aboutthis sort of thing down at the shop. Can we go somewhere a bit more private? Ihope none of them followed me up here.’

‘Well, I can smuggle you in through the back entrance, as long as there isn’t abledlow around,’ said Glenda.

‘Fine by me. I’m used to that sort of thing.’

She led him through the doorway and into the maze of cellars and yards thatcontrasted rather interestingly with the fine frontage of Unseen University.

‘Got anything to drink?’ said Pepe behind her.

‘Water!’ snapped Glenda.

‘I’ll drink water when fish climb out of it to take a piss, but thank you allthe same,’ said Pepe.

And then Glenda caught the smell of baking coming from the Night Kitchen. Shewas the only one who baked in her kitchen! No one else was supposed to bake inher kitchen. Baking was her responsibility. Hers. She ran up the steps withPepe behind her and noted that the mystery cook had yet to master the secondmost important rule of cooking, which was to tidy things up afterwards. Theplace was a mess. There were even lumps of dough on the floor. In fact, itlooked as though it had been possessed by some kind of frenzy. And in themiddle of it all, curled up on Glenda’s battered and slightly rancid oldarmchair, was Juliet.

‘Just like Sleeping Beauty, ain’t it?’ said Pepe behind her.

Glenda ignored him and hurried along the rows of ovens. ‘She’s been bakingpies. What on earth did she want to come along and bake pies for? She’s neverbeen any good at baking pies.’ That’s because I’ve never let her bake a pie,she told herself. That’s because as soon as she found anything difficult youtook it away and did it yourself, her inner voice scolded.

Glenda opened oven door after oven door. They had arrived just in time. By thesmell of it, a couple of dozen assorted pies were cooked to a turn.

‘How about a drink?’ said Pepe, in whom thirst sprang eternal. ‘I’m surethere’s brandy. Every kitchen has some brandy in it somewhere.’

He watched as Glenda pulled the pies out, using her apron to protect her hands.Pepe regarded the pies with the indifference of a man who likes to drink hismeals and listened to Glenda’s sotto voce monologue as pie after pie was laidout on the table.

‘I never told her to do this. Why did she do this?’ Because I did tell her todo this, sort of, that’s why. ‘And these are not half bad pies,’ she said moreloudly. In surprise.

Juliet opened her eyes, looked around blearily, and then her face contorted inpanic.

‘It’s okay, I’ve taken them all out,’ said Glenda. ‘Well done.’

‘I didn’t know what else to do and Trev was busy with the footballing and Ithought they would be wantin’ pies tomorrow and I thought I better do some,’said Juliet. ‘Sorry.’

Glenda took a step backwards. How to begin? she wondered. How to unravel it andthen ravel it all back up again in a better shape because she had been wrong?Juliet hadn’t just walked up and down with clothes on, she had become some kindof a dream. A dream of clothes. Sparkling and alive and tantalizingly possible.And in Glenda’s memory of the fashion show, she literally shone, as if beinglit from the inside. It was a kind of magic and it shouldn’t be making pies.She cleared her throat.

‘I’ve taught you a lot of things, haven’t I, Juliet?’ said Glenda.

‘Yes, Glenda,’ said Juliet.

‘And they’ve always been useful, haven’t they?’

‘Yes, Glenda. I remember it was you that said I should always keep my hand onmy ha’penny and I’m very glad that you did.’

There was a strange noise from Pepe, and Glenda, feeling her face go red,didn’t dare look at him.

‘Then I’ve got a bit more advice for you, Juliet.’

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘First, never, ever apologize for anything that doesn’t need apologizing for,’said Glenda. ‘And especially never apologize for just being yourself.’

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘Got that?’

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘No matter what happens, always remember that you now know how to make a goodpie.’

‘Yes, Glenda.’

‘Pepe is here because Bu-bubble wants to write something about you,’ saidGlenda. ‘Your picture was in the paper again this morning and—’ Glenda stopped.‘She is going to be all right, isn’t she?’ she said.

Pepe paused in the act of surreptitiously removing a bottle from a cupboard.‘You can trust me and Madame on that,’ he said. ‘Only people who are verytrustworthy would dare to look as untrustworthy as me and Madame.’

‘And all she will have to do is show off clothes—Don’t drink that, that’s cidervinegar!’

‘I’m only drinking the cider bit,’ said Pepe. ‘Yes, all she’ll have to do isshow off clothes, but to judge from the mob back at the shop there’s going tobe people who want her to show off shoes, hats, hairstyles… ’

‘No hanky panky,’ said Glenda.

‘I don’t think you’ll find, anywhere in the world, a greater expert in bothhanky and panky than Madame. In fact, I would be surprised if you, Glenda, knewone hundredth of the hanky and panky that she does, especially as she inventedquite a lot of it herself. And since we’ll notice it when we see it, we’ll keepan eye on her.’

‘And she’s got to eat proper meals and get a good night’s sleep,’ said Glenda.