A man was theoretically sweeping them. What he was in fact doing was moving the dirt around with a broom, to give it a change of scenery and a chance to make new friends. He was dressed in a long coat that was slightly too small for him, and had a black beret perched incongruously on spiky black hair.

'Excuse me,' said Agnes.

The effect was electric. He turned around, tangled one foot with the other, and collapsed on to his broom.

Agnes's hand flew to her mouth, and then she reached down.

'Oh, I'm so sorry!'

The hand had that clammy feel that makes a holder think longingly of soap. He pulled it away quickly, pushed his greasy hair out of his eyes and gave her a terrified smile; he had what Nanny Ogg called an underdone face, its features rubbery and pale.

'No trouble miss!'

'Are you all right?'

He scrambled up, got the broom somehow tangled between his knees, and sat down again sharply.

'Er... shall I hold the broom?' said Agnes helpfully.

She pulled it out of the tangle. He got up again, after a couple of false starts.

'Do you work for the Opera House?' said Agnes.

'Yes miss!'

'Er, can you tell me where I have to go for the auditions?'

He looked around wildly. 'Stage‑door!' he said. 'I'll show you!' The words came out in a rush, as if he had to line them up and fire them all in one go before they had time to wander off.

He snatched the broom out of her hands and set off down the steps and towards the corner of the building. He had a unique stride: it looked as though his body were being dragged forward and his legs had to flail around underneath it, landing wherever they could find room. It wasn't so much a walk as a collapse, indefinitely postponed.

His erratic footsteps led towards a door in the side wall. Agnes followed them in.