The Black Sheep: part Six. An encounter in Sto Kerrig.
With apologies to my readership in Holland. But hey, any Roundworld country given the Pratchett treatment has all the knobs turned up way past eleven, right? time to turn our attention to all things Dutch...
Sto Kerrig is the smallest and often overlooked member of the Sto plains trinity. Officially, these days, a protectorate of its far larger neighbour Sto Helit and owing nominal allegiance to Queen Keliherrena(1), this is a rich flat country given over to agriculture and a slow, easy, rural life. A long way away from any mountains or even foothills, its very flatness earns it the term "The Neitherlands" , as it has neither hills nor valleys. It is unkindly said, in fact, that a Sto Kerrigian can suffer altitude sickness just by climbing a flight of stairs. Emmanuelle doubted this, as the Ankh-Morpork Mail Coach rattled on through the flat open country. There were all the windmills, for one thing, which were quite tall structures. The country seemed to have a passion for them, like Djelibeybians and pyramids, as if the people felt it was something expected of them.
And then, alternating quite prettily with the green of the cabbages and Sto Helit sprouts(2), there were the enormous splashes of colour represented by the flowers…
"Do you like the tulips, madame?" her fellow passenger inquired, leaning over. He spoke in the slightly sing-song Morporkian of a native Kerrigian speaker.
"They serve to break up the monotony of the cabbage fields." she replied, politely.
"Indeed, Madame. I perceive you are a woman of taste and good sensibility. Let me explain what you are looking at."
"There is really no need…"
Emmanuelle had travelled by coach before. She knew the horror of being cornered by the bore on the coach and having no place to retreat to. Oblivious, the floristry salesman ploughed on.
"These are Grade Five late flowering bulbs, specially bred to prolong the growing season late into November. Did you know we grade all our bulbs from one to five, according to the time of year they come into bloom?"
"Please…"
"And then the next division is the type of the flower. We have the Lily-flowered, the Fringed or Crispa, the Viridiflora, the Rembrandt, the Parrot, the Double-Late, the Kaufmannina, the Fosteriana or Emperor, the Griegii, the Botanical and the Multiflowering."
"I assure you, there is really no need…"
"And we have all the varieties! The early flowering, such as the Single Early Tulips, Double-Kerrigian Early Tulips, Greigii Tulips, The Bellamy Hybrid Tulip, Kaufmanniana Tulips, Fosteriana Tulips, the mid-season Hybrid Tulips, Triumph Tulips, Parrot Tulips, the late season flowering:single Late Tulips and Double Late Tulips, such as you see outside the coach window now, and later in the spring, the tropical hot-house varieties successfully adapted by our cousins in Howondaland, the Viridiflora Tulips, Lily-flowering Tulips, Fringed Tulips, Rembrandt Tulips, the Horned Tulip, the Eyed Tulip, the al-Khali Tulip…"
"The Bellamy Hybrid Tulip?"
"Oh yes! Successfully cross-bred as a type in its own right by the gifted Doctor Bellamy of Ankh-Morpork. I have just come from selling her what she requires for her florists' shops. A shocking business some years ago, was it not?(3) But becoming an Assassin does not appear to have prevented her from running her shops…"
"What a coincidence!" Emmanuelle said, smiling brightly, and turning back her lapel to reveal her Guild badge. "I know Davinia Bellamy, mon brave. She lectures Guild students in Applied Botany. Myself, nothing so intellectual."
She patted her sword hilt.
There was a silence in the coach. Then the fat fussy litle flower-dealer said, thoughtfully, "The Rijksinstitut van de Tulip is currently developing a sustainable black variety." he said. "May I propose the Black Widow as a name for the breed?"
They rolled on in relative silence to the Sto Kerrigian capital, DamHamster(4).
Emmanuelle gratefully got out, graciously accepting a business card from the tulip-salesman and diplomatically evading an offer to meet for dinner. She did not tell him her intentions. She tipped the coachman, as was expected of her, and said she would carry one of her bags (the one with the Assassin equipment in it) and send for the rest, if he would be so kind. Where was there a hotel he could recommend for one of her standing?
She followed his directions, and was soon checking in at an upscale hotel that met her needs for comfort and ease; she noticed she was offered a choice of The Tulip Suite or the Windmill Rooms. She left a request with the reception desk to have her other bags collected from the coach station, and went to settle in. She ignored a vague chattering and scuttling noise in the wainscot. This was, after all, DamHamster. She hummed a song and just hoped they would refrain from going clip, clippety-clop on the stairs all night.
After a while, feeling queasy at the framed iconographs on the wall that celebrated the national produce of Sto Kerrig(5), she decided to go out and follow up at least one useful contact.
Ten minutes' searching took her to the local Guild of Assassins bureau. This was a well-lighted modern office just off the Zuidas, conveniently located for the city's legal, political and financial district. There was a notice in the window, in the Kerrigian language, and the door was locked. Emmanuelle did not speak Kerrigian, but she was fluent in Morporkian and Überwaldean, and understood the Kerrigian language to occupy a halfway-house between the two. Besides, she'd been around Johanna Smith-Rhodes for long enough to have picked up a smattering of useful Vondalaans, the Howondalandian dialect of the language. After some mental puzzling that in other circumstances would have enabled her to complete the Times crossword in a record time, she worked out that it meant For five minutes closed. In the kaffeehuis opposite we are.
She looked over the road for the kaffeehuis. Yes, there it was. The smell of good coffee wafted over, together with a strange earthy herbal scent she couldn't quite identify. She felt thirsty, and a little peckish, for some unnaccountable reason. Yes, a coffee would be nice at this time in the afternoon. She smiled, and walked over.
The mingled smells intensified as she walked in. There was a counter, and a blissed out smiling barrista behind the coffee machine. A glass-fronted counter sold cakes, and other substances she could not identify. Tables were dotted about the large room, sparsely attended, and a haze of lazy smoke hung in the air. She spotted the two Assassins instantly, and walked over to join them. They were not so lost in thought as to be unaware; one rose from his chair and said "Emmanuelle?", then extended his hand. She smiled, knowing him: Piers Verlinden, who had been part of her Mature Students' Class. And that was assuredly Guy de Groot, who the Guild had appointed here as local Chief Assassin. The two made way for her. She politely declined one of the local cigarettes – she had heard about what Kerrigians meant about "a good smoke" – and lit one of her favourite Quirmian cheroots.
She passed on fraternal good wishes from the Guild, and politely asked what trade was like here.
"Oh, so so." said deGroot. "We are not especially busy here. The people are too law-abiding, for one thing. We have occasional contracts from lawyers and bankers, and other dangerous people."
"Such as the cheese-makers." added Verlinden. "Never annoy a cheese-maker. There is money in cheese!"
Emmanuelle laughed, appreciatively.
"And how is the lovely and lethal Johanna these days? I hear she is doing well for herself!" added Verlinden. Emmanuelle smiled. Piers and Johanna had had an interesting association during training. For one thing, it was said that peoples who by historical association were of the same ethnicity, but who lived in widely divergent parts of the Disc, were "separated by a common language"(6). This was definitely true of Quirmians and Genuans, although they nominally were related peoples who by historical accident spoke the same language. It also appeared true of Morporkians and Fourecksians. Emmanuelle had witnessed many moments of mutual incomprehension between the Kerrigian Verlinden and the Howondalandian Johanna.
In fact, the witty, gentle and laid-back Verlinden could not have been more shocked, were he to have been a Cro-Magnon man suddenly confronted with a Neanderthal Woman, and told that they were related.(7)
"She is doing well, I am happy to say." Emmanuelle assured him. "You have not met her for some years? You will find she has changed. Or rather, Ankh-Morpork has changed her. Which is for the good!"
Then, she explained her reasons for being there. The two local Assassins – possibly the only permanent presence a quiet backwater place like this requires - nodded and grasped the essentials.
"We have heard of him." De Groot nodded. "But as so far, his only breaches have been of the criminal law and he has not done anything to come officially to our attention, we have left him be and considered his crimes are for the Wacht to deal with."
She nodded. "And the local Watch?"
"Vimes-trained, I'm afraid." said Verlinden. "The local commandant has inherited Vimes' prejudices towards Assassins. Although we still have informal contacts, they cannot be counted on to be helpful."
This was getting more and more common around the Disc now, she reflected, as Vimes trained so many Watchmen for other cities, and Sammies got everywhere. Eh bien, another limitation to work around.
The smoky atmosphere was now beginning to get to her head. Verlinden was sent to get more coffees.
"And something to eat, please!" Emmanuelle requested him. The Kerrigian assassin smiled, indulgently.
"That would be a good idea, madame!" he said.
She did not tell them yet that Lord Downey had loaded an additional task on her: to inspect and report back on the operational readiness and efficiency of the Sto Kerrig bureau. Still, she could be generous and overlook a few things, if the local men were helpful on her quest.
"It is entirely possible the man you seek, Balthazar Smith-Rhodes, has gone to ground in this city, not knowing his Gamblers' Guild debt has been paid off". De Groot said, thoughtfully. "After all, we have our old historical and kinship ties with Howondaland. We speak, broadly, the same language. Although Boors do tend to stand out here. They think and act and dress differently. There is a tavern frequented by Boors in the Strandwardt area of the city. It was called the Klatchian Head, although they prefer to call it the Kaffir und Kebab."
"Perhaps I shall visit there." she mused. "But a problem arises. I will need a guide who speaks the language."
"I can do that…" Verlinden and deGroot said together. She smiled. Men did like to be helpful to her.
"Now he has defrauded and taken advantage of a Guild member" de Groot said, thoughtfully, "and a Guild member is here with a contract, then his business has legally become our business. We will do everything we can to assist, Madame."
She made it back to her hotel, after a brief visit to the Guild office, and spent most of her first evening in DamHamster lying on her bed and thinking strange thoughts whilst trying not to let the top of her head unscrew and float off. Her senses were greatly and painfully enhanced and she fancied the rodents in the walls were clog-dancing up and down wooden stairs.(8)
Mes dieux! What was in that tobacco?
She was pleased to see the rest of her luggage had caught up with her. However, she did not feel in a fit state to unpack, and drifted off into dreamy thoughts and moods and impressions.
Finally, feeling more herself again, and ravenously hungry, she went down to dinner, knowing she was attracting interest in the dining room, perhaps for being an Assassin, but perhaps also for being herself, a woman who made wives very nervous.
Then she went to Reception.
"Madame?"
"What do people in this city do for entertainment at nights? Or even in the day?" she inquired.
"Well, madame, there is, in the day, the Museum of Cheese on Watergraafsmeer.."
"I think not."
"The Museum of Tulips, on Oudekerk?"
"On reflection, non."
"The Museum of the History of Windmills, on OudeHamstel?"
"Assume my interest in windmills is also limited."
"The interactive Institute of Clog-Making? It is very interesting, they show you how to use the tools and make your own clogs to fit…"
A spirit of mischief hit Emmanuelle.
"I have heard the Walletjes, the Rosse Buurt, is a place of interest by night?"
A spasm of embarrassment crossed the receptionist's face.
"Madame might not be interested in the Rosse…" the receptionist was frantically scrabbling through leaflets and pamphlets about tourist attractions in and around Sto Kerrig, red faced and babbling something about the Seamstresses' Guild, madame…
"Oh, yes. I have heard that in the Rosse, the Seamstresses like to show off their wares in larger shop windows, so to speak!"
Emmanuelle was about to compound the poor man's misery by conversationally saying I nearly became a Seamstress myself once…(9) …and then she saw it. A familiar name, in large letters, on a cheaply wood-cut flyer.
"Show me!" she ordered. The receptionist handed it over, glad of the distraction.
There it was, in large distinctive letters, in an otherwise double-Kerrigian block of words.
Hovondalaand Smith. Balgrogsjager.
Please translate." she requested. The receptionist snorted.
"Him? He is a fraud, madame. An engaging fraud. But a fraud nonetheless. And anyway, he will be giving his presentation in Kerrigian. Well, in Vondalaans, anyway."
"I have access to interpreters." Emmanuelle said, thinking of deGroot and Verlinden. If they assist well, I will give a good report to Downey. A favour for a favour. I like them, but for the Bureau here to be run by a pair of slacker stoners… eh bien, they have an opportunity to make amends!
She took the flyer, noting the receptionist's grudging translation that told her the celebrated and renowned Balgrog hunter was going to make an exciting lecture out of his adventures in the wilderness. All profit from the evening would go to subsidise his next trip out into the wilds. For those who are excited about a chance to invest in the adventure, Silver and Gold investor bonds were available…
His next trip into the wilds of Brindisi and Genua, she thought.
But now she assuredly had her man. And the fun could begin!
She tipped the receptionist.
"One last question, mon ami." she said. "Is there a casino in this city?"
(1) Queen Keliherrena of the Neitherlands, as she is known in Sto Kerrig.
(2) On Roundworld, we would call them Brussels Sprouts.
(3) Se my fanfic Murder Most 'Orrible, in which Davinia Bellamy's late-flowering talent for Saying It with Flowers leads her to the Guild of Assassins, who have noted how many bouquets have spelt out Drop Dead! Around the city.
(4) It's like this. A long-ago Wizard with a bad temper, annoyed there was only that very bland-tasting cheese on the cheeseboard, you know, the one which has a vivid scarlet rind and nobody ever tells you you're not supposed to eat that bit, cursed the city with a plague of gerbils and normally caged rodents. They still breed in the dividing walls to this day. It all makes for a lot of work for the Death of Rats.
(5) Tulips, wooden-soled footwear, suspicious neon-yellow coloured egg-based liqeur, and bland-tasting cheese with a bright red outer rind that nobody ever tells you you aren't supposed to eat.
(6) Originally said about the British and the Americans.
(7) This is quite a common reaction among Dutch people who are meeting Afrikaaners for the first time. The rather more reserved, pacifistic and racially easy-going Dutch tend to be appalled by their brash, belligerent and non-politically-correct colonial cousins, even though Dutch and Afrikaans are closely related languages and mutually comprehensible. Afrikaaners, for their part, look at the modern Dutch and wonder how the Hell those people could have thrown out the might of imperial Spain, built a massive Empire, declared war on the British and nearly won, and spread their cultural influence everywhere from Northern Ireland to Indonesia.
(8) And no doubt singing their good luck and going clip-clippety clop on those stairs…
(9) See my fanfic The Graduation Class for Emmanuelle's back-story, which is quite colourful.