Eyes chap. 10

Returning to another tale that seemed to stop at a nice natural (temporary) point. We rejoin Catherine and the girls, united in adversity, against the inclement elements.

Today's eye-related song: Hawkwind "Shot Down In The Night"

"Close up! No straggling!" Miss Band called, as the wilderness expedition climbed yet another steepish gradient. Catherine again tried to ease the rub of the straps on her shoulders and ignore the bumping of the laden backpack against her lower back. She sighed and resolved to tighten the straps still further at the next rest-stop.

A slight rain drizzled down from a grey sky. Catherine noted that Doctor Bellamy, who was nearly forty and positively ancient, seemed to be having no difficulties keeping up with the group. This did not seem fair. It also meant that forty-eight girls of fifteen and sixteen and seventeen had no excuse, if one of the older Teachers, and one who'd had three kids, ugggh, was showing no distress. Old Belly was tagging along for a day or two to provide practical teaching in Botany and to collect any samples of professional interest. She had been able to halt the march several times for practical instruction in recognising useful plants, the sort that could be used for ad-hoc healing or expedient poisoning, or even to supplement the meagre rations they'd been issued. Several girls had been detailed to find room for edible herbs, assorted fungi, wild onions, and other allegedly edible roots and greenery. Catherine fervently hoped that they'd identified them correctly, and not mixed any of the poisonous ones in with the edible ones.

It all seemed an eternity since the Guild transportation had stopped, forty miles or so outside the City, in the foothills of the Morpork Mountains just Hubwards of the neighbouring city of Chirm. Chirm wasn't much of a place, but it represented warm dry beds indoors and properly prepared meals, things their teachers had said, with amiable sadism, would be a pleasant memory for the best part of a week. We will be returning there at the end of the Expedition so you can glimpse what you are missing.

Forty-eight girls, four teachers and a couple of teaching assistants had piled out of the omnibuses with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Longing looks had been given to the city they would not be visiting, and they had set off into the hills for a round seven-day trip designed to educate them in new skills and test the experience they already had, in an autumn that by now had heavy overtones of winter.

It was late afternoon and the sun was sinking. Miss Band quickened the pace. Chirm was now something like ten miles behind them and hidden by hills.

"Keep moving." Miss Band called, forcing the pace. "We've still got three miles to cover before we can set up camp!"

And that was the other thing… Black Widow House was under a collective punishment for Cathy's breach of School rules. Her teachers had informally decided not to name names, but everyone knew Catherine had brought this upon all their heads. The extra weight she was carrying, of one standard spade and pick, was beginning to tell. And even after shedding the burden, she and the eleven others from Black Widow would still have the bulk of Camp chores to do. She just hoped the mood of collective solidarity would last the march and the physical exertion of doing things like digging latrines.

Chakki N'Golate looked over to her and grinned. Catherine felt better for this. At least they'd be sharing a tent later. Established best friends generally shared.

Catherine, halfway down what would become the latrine trench, sighed a deep sigh. Six girls from Black Widow had been tasked with digging the latrine. They would have to go down at least four feet then set up the necessary arrangement of poles and modesty screen before considering their job was done. Then when they moved on tomorrow they'd have to fill in this pit, then do it all over again when they set up camp the next night. And they still had their own tents to set up…

Samantha Demisage, a big jolly girl from a farming family, tossed another shovel of soil out onto the spoil heap.

"Soonest done…" she said, applying her spade again. "Then we can set up our tent, Maddy!"

Madeleine Selachii was practically minded, for a member of one of the more noble families. And having completed four years at the Assassins' Guild, she'd learned to take the rough with the smooth. It had, the other girls thought, made her surprisingly likeable, after a tricky start. She and Sam had bonded early on over a shared love of all things pony and horsy.

Sam nudged Cathy. Miss Smith-Rhodes was approaching to check on their work. They dutifully picked up the pace as their teacher critically assessed their work so far. Then Miss Smith-Rhodes tutted, stripped off her tunic, and leapt into the trench with them, picking up a spare spade.

"You are nowhere near finished." she said, by way of explanation. "End we ALL need to use this trench for its intended purpose. Not just students."

Cathy sighed. Miss Smith-Rhodes was fair-minded, they all knew. And she did not shirk from hard work or expect others to do it for her. But having her in here with them, working hard with a spade like anyone else, meant everybody had to work hard and fast. At least as hard and fast as Miss Smith-Rhodes. There was no escaping or shirking or taking it easy, not now. Probably her intention, Cathy thought. At least she pitches in like everyone else.

"Et least four feet deep." their teacher directed. "Distribute the spoil evenly to the rear. The wind blows from thet side. It will ect es a windbreak. A thing to consider if you need to use the privy et three in the morning!"

They dug on in determined silence, following the punishing pace being set for them by a teacher showing no signs of distress, nobody wanting to be the one reprimanded for slacking.

"The sooner this is done, the sooner we cen gether you ell for instruction." Miss Smith-Rhodes remarked. "You are to be told your sleeping errangements. Who will be sharing a tent with who."

Sam Demisage frowned.

"Please, miss. Don't we get to choose?"

Johanna Smith-Rhodes smiled a pleasant smile.

"Not this time." she said. She allowed a few seconds for this to sink in, adding a couple of last spadefuls to the mounded spoil to the rear.

"Deep enough, I think. Now we need to erect the necessary offices end modesty screens. Retrieve the poles end the screening meteriel."

They worked on, perplexed and consternated by the casual announcement. Then, all camp chores completed, they were called together.

Alice Band smiled genially at the forty-eight student assassins.

"I'm well aware that up until now you have all had the privilege of selecting your mutually preferred tentmate." she said. "In lower years at this School we are content to allow that, as it makes basic training easier if you are sharing with a trusted friend. But you are now on the Black. You have four years of basic expeditions behind you. You know the basics. Here is where we stretch you and push you to your limits. You would not be on the Black otherwise."

She looked across at the expectant and anxious faces. She smiled again.

"Anyone dismayed yet? Nobody wants to go home?"

They'd been at the Guild School for four long years. They all knew better than to fall for it. Alice Band also knew this. She grinned again.

"In three years' time those of you who remain will be doing your Final Exam and should you survive that, you will then pass out as licenced Assassins." she said. "You will learn that you cannot always choose your associates. You will learn that survival may mean co-operating with and trusting a person you may not care to associate with, a person you do not consider a close friend, but who, nevertheless, is also a licenced Assassin. This means working with that person and considering their welfare and wellbeing is at least as important as your own. And trusting that they will in their turn and for the same reasons will do the same for you. You will begin learning that lesson tonight. And these tent allocations are not negotiable and will apply for the whole of the time we are out together. You will be observed and graded. Starting – now!"

The tent allocations had been horrible. Catherine suspected a lot of thought had gone into pairing girls who would only share a dorm with great reluctance, let alone a confined two-person tent barely large enough for two people and their packs. And it looked like it was going to rain. There'd be trouble for any girl who negligently left her equipment out overnight. As well as rain-soaked clothing. Which would be a lesser problem after being shouted at by Miss Smith-Rhodes. Nobody wanted to be shouted at by Miss Smith-Rhodes. Even if you learnt a lot of interesting Vondalaans phrases by default.

"Miss von Kugelblitz. You will share with Miss Romanoff."

Cathy winced. Solveig von Kugelblitz came from Borogravia. Natasha Romanoff was Zlobenian. The two had lived in a very correct but icy ceasefire for four years with as little direct contact as they could get away with. Now they were sharing a tent for a week.

Heedless of the winces and some low moans, Miss Band continued.

"Miss Chakata N'Golante. Shares with Miss Saartije van der Plessis."

Cathy looked round. Chaki's face had gone unreadable. Saartije looked at Miss Smith-Rhodes in mute appeal. Miss Smith-Rhodes shook her head in a very definite "no."

"The Right Honourable Miss Madeleine Selachii. Will share a tent with the equally Right Honourable Miss Jeanette Venturi."

And so the pattern emerged. It was horrible. It was painful. It was nightmarish.

"Miss Catherine Perry-Bowen. Will share with Miss Deborah Rust."

Miss Band added a few terrifying remarks about the way any incidences of fighting, arguing, non-co-operation, or allowing petty national or ethnic differences to get in the way of effective working together, were sure to be punished. She outlined a few possible punishments, in some detail.

"It is now up to you, ladies. And we will be monitoring. Go and draw your tents. Myself and Miss Smith-Rhodes will be directing you in establishing tent lines."

"How many corpses do they want by morning?" Chakki grumbled. "I wish I was sharing with you, Cathy!"

"Me too." Catherine replied. "Ah well, better find that bloody horror I've been saddled with. I hope she behaves."

"And doesn't have any thoughts of revenge. After the sword-fight." Chakki reflected. "But what do I have in common with Saartije?" she added, with a slight panicked wail.

"That's the thing, isn't it? A test. There's always a test." Cathy said. "I hope Deborah's bright enough to realise that, and bloody well knuckles down!"

Tents were erected in a subdued silence. Cathy found herself having to use a lot of diplomacy to get Deborah Rust out of a shocked stillness and to get her to do anything at all. She decided to go gently, be cheerful, and to encourage Deborah in as positive a way as she could. They'd be sharing intimate space for a week, after all. And the fact a total of four members of teaching staff were watching carefully and taking notes was another consideration…

The supporting poles collapsed again. Catherine sighed, resignedly. She stepped close to her unwanted tent-buddy and said, in a low voice,

"Look, Deborah. I didn't choose this. Neither would you. But we're stuck with this and while I don't know about you, I intend to pass the test and make the best of what we've been landed with. And you want to pass this test as well, don't you? Just nod, they're watching."

Doctor Bellamy was supervising this end of the tent-line. She was indeed watching closely. Even intently.

Deborah gave a curt brief nod that might have been assent. Catherine studied her face.

"I suggest we put the recent past behind us. You behaved badly, I put you in your place, and as Madame Two-Swords said, it's over. Let there be an end to it. You really don't think they don't know we had that sword fight? That they don't compare notes in the staffroom? Why do you think they put us together? They're watching us to see how well we can work together after that. It's why they paired us up. One little slip and we both fail. And Deborah. I'm not failing this. Have you got that?"

Cathy maintained eye contact, trying not to let her own eyes water. Rust eyes were hard to stare out. But Deborah looked away first, and just for a second there was a gleaming of uncertainty, or something very like it. Cathy breathed out. What was it about these new eyes? Before losing her own eyes and getting the implanted new set, she'd never have been able to stare out a member of the Rust family like that. She'd have been the one to blink first.

Well, whatever power the new eyes had, she wasn't complaining. Under her direction, Deborah was prevailed upon to implant the upright poles firmly and keep the roof-brace straight whilst Cathy threw the tent canvas over and located it to the fastening points. Then, the two set about tightening the guy lines and pegging the sides to the earth. They were one of the first pairs to complete their tent, a fact that appeared not to be lost on the directing staff. Miss Smith-Rhodes nodded her approval. Even the briefest acknowledgement from Miss Smith-Rhodes of a task well completed was like getting a gold star.

"Hai!"

Twenty-five naginata blades presented in the misu guruma gaeshi position. The students repeated the ki shout as their right feet stamped forward, the long polearms held overhead with the blades cutting down into the bodies of imagined foes. The sensei nodded approval, as they sought to mirror her position and movements.

"Kazu guruma gaeshi!" the sensei called, her pose changing with fluid grace. "Hai!"

"Hai!"

Her students flowed from the watermill to the windmill cut with varying degrees of fluidity. Gareth ffitzroy-Connor relaxed into the moves, which they had been repeating for nearly an hour, trying to flow through the increasing discomfort and muscle ache of his forearms and wrists. Fumbling or dropping the naginata was a shocking offence in Agatean martial arts. He wasn't sure what punishment was prescribed under the code of naginata-jitsu, but knew with absolute certainty that Koucouchou-sama, Miss Pretty Butterfly, would enforce it with severity. Besides, these were live blades. And Agatean blades were not blunt. For this reason the students were spaced widely. And Miss Butterfly was today wearing her hair in the strict shimata magé style. Students on the Agatean Studies course modules were trained to recognise the subtle signals of a society where outward displays of emotion were frowned upon, and so much was coded or inferred in behaviour, deference and other inferred detail. If Koucouchou-sama wore her hair in the odango style, as two symmetrical buns with a long tail hanging from each, it was a general sign she was relaxed, approachable, and as friendly and informal as it got, even a little playful. Her classes could be pretty delightful if she was in that mood, laced with dry comment and informal humour.

But if her hair was himé – left unbound and brushed straight – it could be like dealing with the Empress of Agatea, or at the very least a high-ranking samurai lady. Himé, for all its seeming informal simplicity, said Do not take liberties or offend me, for today I am irritable.

Whilst Gareth appreciated that women with long hair needed to secure it when dealing with a long pole-arm with an eighteen inch blade – or they might discover their hair abruptly getting a lot shorter - shimata magé, a hairstyle involving complex braiding and bunning secured by many pins and a precisely integrated comb – inferred that today was business involving precision, attention to detail and no room for error. Therefore he was careful not to give offence or cause for criticism, especially after his recent punishment. Miss Butterfly would of course be fully aware and would be paying him special attention. And Madame Two-Swords was also present, although today as a pupil and not as teacher. Even though with her greater experience of bladed weapons, Miss Butterfly was careful to use her colleague as teaching assistant, to demonstrate simple blocks, shifts and defensive moves and stances.

Allowed to rest the weapon and relax, the class watched attentively as the two teachers dummied a fight with live blades and consequently no room for error. Madame Two-Swords, a woman always keen to master new fighting styles with bladed weapons, was learning too, although at a far higher level than the student Assassins. Gareth felt appreciative of the opportunity to learn and was thankful both teachers seemed favourably disposed towards him. There appeared to be an Understanding between them that he was to be worked hard, but only nominally punished for his recent misdeeds. And despite being formally confined to the Guild for a month, he'd still been allowed to cross the City to the Heralds-Mollymog campus, albeit under escort. Agatean Studies and weapon disciplines were taught here, on one of the overspill sites from the main School.

He smiled. Things could have been worse. At least he got to sleep in his own warm bed at night. And he wondered about Cathy, sent off into the wilderness as punishment. He hoped she was OK and looked forward to seeing her again.

A loose knot of girls gravitated together after erecting their tents. Generally they were the ones who would have preferred to mess in together had they been allowed. Cathy thought at least they'd be allowed to do this much. She had suggested as many people as possible pool together their rations to see if they'd go further around eight or ten if collectively cooked. The directing staff members seemed to be permitting this. By default they'd also permitted Sam Demisage and Patricia Palmer to slip off the camp site on a mission of their own. They could not have been unaware of this.

"OK, I'm agreeable." said Maddy Selachii. She glanced over sideways towards Jeannie Venturi. Who gave what might have been interpreted as a very slight nod. It helped that Jeannie's preferred tentmate Deborah Rust, who wasn't completely stupid, had also weighed up the situation and indicated agreement to the best solution.

"The advantage is, cooking over one big fire means we're not using up kindling and firelighters as quickly." Catherine said, selling her idea. "One big cook. More efficient than four smaller ones. What have we got to cook, by the way?"

Some of the biltong, the dried and shrivelled meat Miss Smith-Rhodes issued as trail rations. Some rice. Some dried potatoes. And their share of the foraged trailside plants, roots and tubers which old Belly had said were safe to eat. Lentils and pearl barley, dried and which would swell in water to several times their dehydrated size. Some herbs, spices and other flavouring agents that the shrewder girls had packed, reasoning they weighed light and could make a difference to the cooking.

Araminta Tockley looked the stuff over and identified some of the tubers and suspicious growths, passing them as safe to stew. Then she picked out some growths and put them to one side.

"Lancre Woad." She said. "You can eat it, but I'd recommend you don't. Old Belly put these in, did she?"

Minty was from Lancre. Catherine was prepared to take her advice. But she asked why. Araminta took a glance aside at the teaching staff, lowered her voice, and explained why. The decision not to use the Lancre Woad was unanimous.

It's another bloody test. They slip them in to see if you're paying attention.

And then Sam and Tricia returned. The fact one was holding up a very definitely dead rabbit and the other was hoisting a duck of some sort in the air in triumph was not lost on the other girls. In fact, there was an argument about it, as Sam said she was prepared to share the rabbit with the seven other girls who'd elected to cook collectively, but with nobody else. Tricia took her duck over to her own collective.

Amazingly, Miss Band and Miss Smith-Rhodes took her side.

Miss Band called everyone together and reminded them that if they'd been paying attention, they had not prohibited anybody from leaving the camp-site. You merely assumed you were not allowed to leave. We never said you couldn't. And we never said "no hunting" either.

Miss Smith-Rhodes checked the corpses and asked if they'd been humanely killed. Having assured herself of clean kills, she said "well done" and invited them to proceed. Also adding that if the meat was shared among all fifty-two people present, no individual would have more than a few scraps of it. It was right it should be limited to those who had shown initiative and application to their lessons. Better the few who showed resourcefulness should benefit.

And after an evening meal that was adequate for most but ample for the enterprising few, Doctor Bellamy called everybody together and asked them to put their tongues out. Then to look at each other's tongues.

Forty out of forty-eight girls had visibly purple tongues.

"It will wear off." Old Belly said. Miss Band and Miss Smith-Rhodes grinned slightly.

"Look." Belly said. "I was not misleading you when I said all the additional plant life we collected on the trail was safe to eat. It is all safe to eat. We have a duty of care not to poison anybody. Besides, evacuating a casualty from here would be a very big emergency. Lancre Woad, for those who were not paying attention in my botany classes, is a natural dye and staining agent. But otherwise harmless and it even has a nutritious root. Have you seen the lesson yet? When somebody gives you a basket full of green things and tells you they are fit to eat, do not take it for granted. Check everything. Question what you are told. On a real assignment, you might end up with something a lot more serious than just a purple tongue. Full marks to the girls who realised and didn't touch the woad, by the way!"

And then, with the light fading, to bed.

Catherine and Deborah said nothing to each other, lying there in what to Catherine was a cold uncomfortable silence. Then Cathy realised she was too tired to care and fell asleep.

Gareth returned to his dorm after an hour of extra physical exercise, gym circuits and weight training conducted by Bill Bradlifrudd, the Guild's PE master. For most of the boys, and one or two girls, this was an optional evening class. One of the Lavish family had been sent here for compulsory extra PE at Miss Band's recommendation, as it had been noted he was putting on weight. Special Measures applied here. The other boys off-handedly called it Fat Camp.

Bill B, to be fair to him, was not the sort of PE master who would single out the fat kid for scorn and derision. Even though Timothy Lavish had let himself get out of condition and ten pounds or so overweight, until Miss Band had decided to intervene, Bill had jollied him along, encouraged him, very carefully used no words of blame or censure, but had very firmly said there was to be no slacking and easing off and kept gentle pressure on. Bill was that rarity, a good PE master who knew his job and how to get the most out of pupils. But Tim Lavish would still be the last guy to be picked for sides in any competitive team game…

Gareth enjoyed physical exercise of all sorts. But a punishment regimen for a month that imposed twice as much of it on him… you could have too much of a good thing. Showered and changed, he sighed. He still had prep and homework to do before bed.

"What you get for chasing skirt, old son." His friend James Cheadle-Heath was sympathetic, but amused.

"And being caught in the act." agreed Michael Hale-Barns. "One of the Darners, wasn't it?"

Gareth grinned. Girls from Black Widow House were nicknamed The Darners by the rest of the school, as the suggestion was that they'd all grow up to be damn fine Seamstresses. It was covertly common knowledge that Madame Two-Swords had once been approached by the Seamstresses' Guild to work for them.1(1) (Although nobody ever said this where she could hear it). And Emmanuelle's discreet affairs were not that discreet. Boys wondered how much of her cheerfully promiscuous attitude to life rubbed off on her pupils.

"So you still won't tell us who it was then, Gaz?" another boy asked.

Gareth shook his head.

"No. She made a Home Run, remember? Right under their noses. And it's not that I don't trust you. You just don't know who else is listening. Who might be standing outside in the corridor ready to run and tell tales. They want her. It doesn't look good if somebody gets away with it. Do you think I'm going to oblige them?"

The point was taken and nothing more was said.

Gareth eventually went to bed and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

Catherine and the rest awoke to another grey morning in the hills. Chivvied down to a nearby river to bathe and wash by Miss Smith-Rhodes, Catherine was given watch duties overlooking the chosen bathing site. Her duty, as with the other Watchers, was to ensure any men in the vicinity kept well away and did not attempt any regrettable acts of voyeurism.

"Regretteble for them, thet is." Miss Smith-Rhodes had said. Catherine had been loaned Miss Smith-Rhodes' personal crossbow to use as a visible deterrent. She felt honoured and realised this was a mark of favour. Miss Smith-Rhodes was down at the river, leading by example, stripping and washing in the near-icy water, demanding all the girls did the same.

"You cen be modest. Or you cen be clean. I prefer "clean"." she had said. Sneaking a glance, Cathy noted her teacher had not removed her sheathed throwing knives. This, she suspected, was a lesson too. Never be without a weapon and do not let your attention waver. Weapons can be more important than mere clothing. Nudity is not that important compared to having a throwing knife where you can reach it.

And she'd posted Watchers to guard on both sides of the river. Getting over social constraints about nudity and being confident in your skin does not mean any man within ten miles can come and look. Warn first, then fire a warning shot if he does not get the message.

Eventually, Catherine and the Watchers were relieved by others. She made safe the crossbow and handed it back to Miss Smith-Rhodes, who was dressed and gleaming.

"You now know whet a good weapon feels like, yesno?" she said, pleasantly. Catherine had taken the opportunity to test its balance and move into various firing positions. It was a lovely weapon, not the very top of the range, but close to it. Miss Smith-Rhodes chose her weapons with care.

"Yes, miss. Thank you for letting me carry it."

"Now you hev something to espire to. Your turn for a bathe, I think. We will wetch for you."

Catherine and the other Watchers quickly bathed and were joined by Miss Band and Doctor Bellamy. She tried not to stare at the older teacher's stretch marks. Miss Band was younger and in perfect condition. Some of the girls were watching her. Catherine did not inquire as to their reasons. Their teacher was, by any standards, beautiful. Some girls developed crushes and infatuations.

"War wounds, Alice. Never have children." Davinia Bellamy said. Miss Band laughed appreciatively.

The girls bathing with them all mentally resolved never to have children. Old Belly wasn't too decrepit for her age, they supposed, but three children could really mess up your figure. Catherine reflected that perhaps it didn't matter too much, if you could remain physically fit and effortlessly keep up on the march with people half your age or less. Maybe in the bigger picture, stretch-marks and a little bit of inevitable sag weren't that big a deal. She wondered if this was another informal lesson, about how they all might look at forty, and how to meet the inevitable.

And despite a lot of dorm rumour, Miss Band wasn't even looking at the girls… from what you heard, a dozen naked girls should have her eyes out on stalks, but Bandy Alice seemed completely indifferent to it. There was a total absence of being leched at and perved over.

It's a cold river. Not as horrible as I thought and refreshing in an odd way, but you do not want to linger. Maybe that's it… but even if Miss Band is what rumour says she is, why should she want to get pervy? We're just washing ourselves. That's all. Just that we aren't indoors in the shower room or the dorm bathroom. What we all do every morning and evening.

They dried, dressed and returned to the camp.

The day for Gareth began with pre-breakfast PE, jogs and circuits around the inner courtyard of the Guild to warm up, then swords practice in the arena. Gareth and the others present, male and female, were issued the heaviest swords the Guild had, Brindisian spade longa with four-foot blades. Anything larger than these would be classed as double-handed broadswords. They were the extreme upper limit of what could be wielded with one hand, and Madame Two-Swords was relentless in her drills, demonstrating the strengths and weaknesses of the weapon to what, Gareth realised, was a senior class drawn from Sixth Form pupils on the way to their Final Exam. Being the youngest there, he carefully tried not to draw too much attention to himself, and sought both to keep up and to learn. He was beginning to realise a month of this would not be a light punishment at all.

The girls who had collectively cooked together the night before gathered to prepare breakfast. This was going to be a cheerless affair of porridge oats made with water, sufficient for one serving each.

She looked around to find Chakki, who was in the next tent-line. To her surprise, Saartije van der Plessis, her tent-mate, was doing breakfast for both. She brushed away Chakki's offer to help with

"No. Let me. Perheps you could brew some coffee? This bleddy mealiepap is going to teste better with coffee."

Surprised, Chakki went to set up a second fire for a brew. Saartjie looked at her and smiled slightly.

"Look. We hev to make a plen. I don't know ebout you, but I don't want to be the baas-lady shouting the orders in kitchen-kaf… shouting the orders. We're sharing a tent. We hev to live together."

"I agree." Chakki said. "Truce."

"Truce." Saartjie said, emphatically.

"I bet Miss Smith-Rhodes thinks we won't be able to do it." Chakki said.

Saartjie snorted. "I bet she bleddy-well suggested pairing us. To see if we ended up strengling each other."

"I'm not giving her the satisfaction. Anyway, I'd stab you. Cultural weapon of preference." Chakki replied.

"Thet's if I heven't done you in first." Saartjie replied. Then they looked at each other and grinned.

"I'm not giving her the satisfaction." Chakki said.

"Me neither. Voetsaak on thet."

Catherine grinned. She'd heard there'd been problems in the night. Some of the mismatched pairs had tried to re-arrange things so they could, under cover of darkness, share with their usual buddy. But the teaching staff had been alert to this and dealt firmly with it.

"Full marks to you for trying." Alice Band had said, amicably. "Black marks for being found out, however. Black Widow girls currently on latrine duty will fill in the latrine trench here, but are excused this duty tonight. The following girls will dig the latrines at our next campsite. Please collect a pick and shovel each from one of the current designated carriers when we move off. Natasha Romanoff. Solveig von Kugelblitz…."

It looked as though otherwise implacable enemies, for whatever reason, were making truces, negotiating agreements, getting organised. Maybe there's a method to the insanity, Catherine thought. But she was relieved to pass on that bloody heavy shovel and pick to a furious-looking Natasha Romanoff later…

(1) See my story The Graduation Class, where Rosie Palm suggests to a younger Emmanuelle that there is a way out of her financial difficulties, if she'd care to consider it.

See there's only four of you;

Superpower looks down on you;

Someone's watching your every move,

if you break or run or put up a fight,

You know the danger feelings alright...

(Hawkwind, Shot Down in the Night)