‘Oh, I couldn’t sit in the front row—’ Glenda began, on automatic, but the sherry cut in with, ‘Shut up, stop thinking like your mother, will you, and go and sit down in the damn front row.’

One of the ever-present young ladies chose this exact moment to take Glenda by the hand and lead her slightly unsteady feet through the settling chaos, out through the door and back into fairyland. There was indeed a seat waiting for her.

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 bendy-legged 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.