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¨Cexcept 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.
'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?'