Home thoughts from abroad. Or abroad thoughts from Home. Or something.

Chapter Eleven: The slave market

Being a series of letters and postcards to Ankh-Morpork from two recent school-leavers on a gap year touring the Howondalandian continent.

Carrying on the story, more or less, from the Discworld Tarot short "The Princess of Wands". In which two "Princesses" of the correct airy/fiery disposition go travelling. There will be descriptions of Discworld nations and peoples here which in the best Pratchett tradition will be taken Up Past Eleven and which may have odd echoes of places on Earth. I leave it to my readers to make up their own minds as to which parts of the general Mediterranean/North African/Middle Eastern area may or may not be getting the treatment here.

"Traffic Stats" is an interesting thing to dip into. I am flattered at the numbers of visitors and readers and note most are from Britain and the USA, as you might expect. But the geographical spread is fascinating. I've got readers in the Falkland Islands? Blimey. (Service folk out in the furthest reaches of the British Empire?) Also note my Israeli readership vanished after the girls left Cenotia. I've got readers in the United Arab Emirates, which amuses. Welcome to my unworthy humble tale, offendis. No South Africans, but a goodly number of Dutch people. Velkomst! (Of miskien - Welkom! Jy is baie vriendlik. Bly te kenne.)

Mariella and Rivka are, currently, the most honoured and esteemed guests of a Sultana. Who is giving full and generous assistance in the completion of a guild contract which needs careful thought and planning.

Now read on…

In the Hidden Palace of Many Surprises, En-al-Sams-la-Raisa, Klatch.

Hi Johanna!

Well, as our hostess remarked, a great benefit of the hookah pipe is that there is no hangover in the morning. As Mariella will no doubt report when she gets round to writing her own account, hookah and bhong are potent substances, and we earnestly recommend the Guild trains students in recognising its uses and the effects it brings about in the mind. We were almost completely unprepared for our encounter with it, and realise that our hostess was using it to lower the thresholds of alertness, caution and awareness. There could be dangers in this to the Assassin. We had some unexpected time in seclusion this morning and in the early afternoon where we were let to our own devices, and therefore could focus on getting our impressions of last night down on paper. Memories were at first hazy – an after-effect of the bhong - and we had to confer with each other as to what was said and what would be of most interest to you, and possibly to the Guild, in these informal reports.

It was strange to wake up in a pleasant languorous haze, also an after-effect of the drug, feeling warm and safe but with our arms around each other. This was also slightly alarming.

"Mariella?"

"Hmmph?"

"Please tell me we didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"You know. That. Alice Band. Blue Cat Club."

"We didn't. We'd have remembered."

I conceded this was true. Mariella reminded me that ever since we were both eleven, we have shared dormitories, buddied up in tents on Wilderness survival expeditions, shared a bed in your home when we were guests, and in the normal course of everyday living have seen each other naked or semi-dressed many times.

"Don't you think if anything like that was going to happen it would have happened by now?"

I conceded truth, but registered that we were in what is called the spoon position, with Mariella cuddled up to my back, her body against mine and her arms around my waist. I had to agree this level of intimacy was warming and pleasing. However, I pointed out that usually in such circumstances we have some clothes on.

Neither of us was in a hurry to move, and the respectful knock on the door followed by servants- women servants – entering, was the spur to our returning to real life.

"The Sultana wishes you good morning. She has provided clothing for you to enable you to merge into our society, and respectfully bids you bathe, dress and join her for the breaking of fast."

I must therefore add – with a little embarrassment – that the bhong drug also lowers social inhibitions and renders the subject more tactile and open to physical sensation. This too could also be used as a weapon, perhaps to encourage the subject into unwise behaviour in a chamber where there are concealed iconographs. The potential for blackmail is obvious. I feel this should be reported in any formal account of our experiences here and used for guidance by the Guild.

With the maids in attendance, we bathed and groomed. So much water for bathing, in a desert! There must be a no doubt private water source here unconnected to the rank oasis, as the water is both clean and plentiful. A widdershinist would consider this is a case of the aristocracy stealing what should be a common resource available to all. I would consider it an unfortunate part of life, whilst trying to ensure I am on the side that benefits.

Then we were assisted in donning the uniforms of her personal guard, together with well-selected armour and helmets. We were assured our travelling clothing would be laundered and returned to us, but were able to ensure any items likely to be injurious to the launderers were removed first. As the Guild taught us, this is prudent, and also common courtesy. (I understand Lord Downey was once very severely spoken to by Mrs Manger of the Launderers' Guild, concerning un-necessary occupational injuries to her members tasked with washing Assassin clothing.)

Our hostess greeted us and invited us to share her modest breakfast. She too was dressed as a warrior.

"I have reflected on the matter, and I consider that in any forays into the town, you would attract least attention as members of my guard." she said. "It is known that two armed women dressed as young male warriors stopped in this place. Fortunately it is assumed you are supplicants for entry into my employment, and that this explains your unorthodox dress for women. No other suspicions have been aroused. If you are recognised, then, well, evidently the Sultana, in her wisdom and mercy, chose to accept you into her service."

She poured three measures of some excellently good coffee.

"A blend of common Klatchica coffee beans with just sufficient of the more potent Klatchnikov, to drive out the last lingering effects of bhong." she said. "A blend of my own devising."

Our heads soon cleared and we felt strangely energetic and full of vitality. This was as well, as the morning was composed of strenuous weapon training with Captain Sofiya and the Sultana's personal guard. We counted Sofiya and twelve strong and capable-looking women. We saluted Sofiya out of courtesy and a need to blend in, as a new recruit should do to her officer. The captain returned our salute, smiled slightly, then inspected our weapons. Mariella was carrying her machete; I, my Zlobenian Cossack sabre. I hold that this is the ideal weapon both for use on foot and from horseback, and ideally suited for both. Sofiya approved of it, praised its pleasing curvature, and said it would pass as typical for the horse-warriors of Klatchistan and not be out of place. The machete, however, was too straight, of obviously foreign configuration, and would be marked as a thing of strangeness here. Mariella was asked to exchange it for a local scimitar, which would be on loan to her for the duration of her stay.

And then, before the sun rose to noon, we drilled in use of weapons. Madame Emmanuelle is most thorough in her training and therefore we can assimilate new blades quickly. And these thirteen women were capable fighters. A series of mock-combats soon established that we could both hold our own among them, as Guild graduates should, and Sofiya was pleased with our ability. I also noticed Miriam joined in the training and for one we thought lost in sybaritic behaviour and self-indulgence, she was surprisingly good. But then, she is a Guild graduate too. With frequent breaks for water, after two hours we moved on to drilling with spears. Of course, spears and lances are Mariella's proficiency, as she once proved in the ultimate test.

Captain Sofiya had evidently been briefed. She said she had no need to ask if it were true that Mariella had once ran a man through with such force that not only the point of the lance, but the pennant behind it, had emerged from his back.(1) The rest of the guardswomen ululated approval at this. We had been accepted.

Then, at around eleven in the morning, a guard posted on the wall raised the alarm. Miriam and Sofiya went to confer. Miriam came to us.

"Quickly, and without haste, go to the room you were allocated. Remain until you are called. Wait! Take your machete. Its presence here would be noted as out of place. That weapon points to only one country on the Disc and questions might be asked as to who brought it here. We will talk later. Remember. You remain safe."

We sala'amed respectfully, and returned to the house.

The morning had worked up an agreeable sweat. It was pleasant to swiftly bathe again before resuming our clothes. Mariella went to the door. She had a brief conversation with somebody, then closed the door.

"Guard posted outside." she said. "Miriam doesn't want us going out."

I went to the window. Yes. Two guards, each patrolling with one of the fearsome "boerboel" mastiffs straining at a leash. These were no friendly Fidos.

"Miriam said we remain safe." Mariella said.

"We're still inside the seventy-two hours. I believe her." I replied.

"For now." Mariella said.

So we have spent time, in cool rooms in the heat of the day, getting our journals up to date. It is now approaching three.


Dear Johanna.

It is evening now and I believe we have a plan for getting Horst Lensen out of the slave compound and at least into a more congenial place. Well, more congenial only by relative comparison. But I will get onto this later.

Food was sent up shortly after midday for us, with a message from Miriam that she is dealing with a sudden visitor but will come to confer with us when her new guest leaves. We asked the servant who brought our lunch.

"A carpet arrived, esteemed offendis. From distant Al-Khali. A messenger from the court of the Prince."

We accepted this and weighed up an escape plan. The stables were round the side of the building. We could get up to the roof and down to the stables. But if the gates were closed, and mastiffs were loosed, how to escape with camels…

"Get over the wall, get to the town, steal two camels, run like Hell." said Rivka. We refined the details of this plan, then decided it would be a last resort thing. We might as well just write our journals and wait and see. At least we had weapons here and could bar the door. And from what we'd gathered, we did not think Miriam would betray us when only thirty or so hours of the sacred seventy-two had elapsed.

Then the short fat major-domo was bowing at the door, saying the Sultana had requested our presence. We discreetly checked our weapons and those useful items we had hidden in our clothing, in case we had to run and abandon our luggage. Then went forth.

Miriam was in her reception room, taking thoughtful draws on a hookah. She nodded to us and smiled.

"Be seated, I beg you." she said.

We sat. A discreet look round had assured us there were no visible guards.

"Well. You have been busy girls." she remarked, nodding down at a letter or two and a selection of newspapers. I recognised the top paper was in the Cenotian language.

"Klatch hasn't yet become all that relaxed concerning newspapers." She said. "The idea of a free press rather alarms the decision-makers in al-Khali. The common people getting ideas in their little heads, and all that. And a William de Worde emerging in this country. Unthinkable. But the world press does get to al-Khali and circulates among those who can be trusted with possibly subversive infidel notions. Now and again they get as far as me. So what do we have here. Fairly recent copies of the Ankh-Morpork Times. The Tel Ari Ha'aretz, in Cenotian. The Tel Ari Post, in Morporkian. And an oddity, the Pratoria newspaper, De Burgher. In Vondalaans and Morporkian. Evidently a compromise that helps your nation work." (2)

She smiled again.

"All carrying local variations on a syndicated article by one Suki van der Graaf. Who I understand is related to you, Mariella? In any case, Miss van der Graaf is now listed as one who cannot enter any part of Klatch, on pain of pain. I suspect this would not deter her one little bit if she thought there were a story. And such a story."

"Every so often a routine messenger arrives, stays briefly, then flies on. I am asked if anything has occurred in my desmesne that is of interest enough for Al-Khali to hear. I am reminded of the duty to my lord Seraph to be his eyes, ears and nose in this place. I then tell the messenger, when did you last hear of anything happening in this Offler-forsaken place that would interest Al-Khali? The messenger then concedes I have a good point, politely thanks me for the coffee, then respectfully asks if he may use the privy as he does not wish to be caught short at two thousand feet. Then he departs, to fly on to the next Emir, Sultan or Sultana. But today was different."

She held up a newspaper.

"Very clear iconographs, are they not? They clearly show two miscreants who have entered this country as spies, foreign agents, and saboteurs. I am given the infidel papers, which all crow over the discomfort of Klatch, and report on the strange case of the fire from heaven that consumed a military base and many thousands of dinars worth of hard-to-replace stores. Evidence points to these two infiltrators, one a red-haired pale-skinned person of distinctive appearance who speaks no Klatchian and who croaks, rather than talks, in the barbaric heathen accents of White Howondaland. The other who is dangerous because in appearance she can pass for one of us, speaks our language fluently, but who is in reality an agent of the infidel Cenotians, possibly of their Institute of the Protective Shield. Both are trained by the sinister Guild of Assassins in Ankh-Morpork, which while a pale infidel imitation of our Hashishim, is nevertheless dangerous and inimical to Klatch."

Miriam smiled.

"If I see or hear of their presence, I am to report without delay to Al-Khali. There is a reward of many thousands of dinars if they are caught alive, for the loving care of those in the city who question such people."

She held up a hand.

"Peace, my friends. This is a clash of loyalties and of interests for me, it is true. On the one hand, it is not in my best interests to seek to lie to or to deceive the Prince. There is a reward in golden dinars for your arrest. But I do not need the money. And news from here would take several days to reach Al-Khali, as, regrettably, I cannot travel further than five miles in any direction by carpet without breaking the terms of my confinement. So it must travel by land.

"On the other hand, I am a graduate of the Guild. The Guild has asked me to look after you and work for its interests. I am bound by that informal oath of loyalty too. I really do not want the Guild sending people after me. And there is the nagging concern that if I treat miss Mariella Smith-Rhodes with anything less than complete integrity, and her family get to hear of it, then I am, as demotic Morporkian puts it, both creamed and cheesed. Yours is not a clan to offend. Your sister taught me, and I sense that having her visit this house in her wrath is not an encounter I will safely come out of."

Just once, just once, I'd like somebody I meet on this journey to say they want to treat me right for another reason than "I don't want Johanna Smith-Rhodes coming round to complain over how I dealt with her little sister." This could get annoying. I'd quite like the reason to be "Treat her fairly because it's the right thing to do, and because Mariella Smith-Rhodes can get stroeppy when she's annoyed."

Miriam took another draw on the hookah.

"But I also need to report, substantially truthfully, to the Prince. This presents a conundrum. But I think it is all resolved by a rule that trumps both, the inviolable law of sacred hospitality. Which grants you seventy-two hours of complete safety as honoured guests in my household. I estimate thirty-two of those hours have passed. I will do this. On the first minute of the seventy-third hour, I will direct a report to the Prince alerting you that you have been in this town and advising him to direct his attention here. It will take perhaps three days to reach him by land, but this cannot be helped. Should you be in my desmesne at that time, I will direct my guards to search for and detain you, so as to demonstrate to Khufurah that Steps Have Been Taken. Which clears me. If by then you are on the way to the nearest border, and my guards, who cannot alas be everywhere, fail to locate you – well, I will have tried."

She smiled.

"At nine in the morning on Friday, when my household are at prayer in the Temple, you will find your camels fully laden with your luggage, plus many courtesy waterskins and adequate food. I advise you to make all speed. It is possible a trusted guide will be present to lead you to the border. You can trust him with your lives. By eleven I will find you gone and will begin a search. As my guards accept and respect you after this morning, it is possible they will not search too diligently. But I advise you not to linger. Now. I also have ideas concerning the wretched boy currently being held in the slave pen. My agents tell me, in his way, he is quite comely? I have a plan. You can claim the Guild fee, by the way. As I say, I am wealthy. And you are new to the profession and are building your reputations. I am pleased to assist."

Miriam explained her plan. It had a Klatchian deviousness to it and was impressive. It also avoided any sort of approach involving violence, stealthy entry, or liberating the fool by force.

And then we spent the afternoon and evening training with her guards. We were pleased to demonstrate the skills Miss Band and Mr Harvey-Smith taught us, concerning accurate use of a bow from a moving horse. We noticed each of the horses allocated to us had only one emergency waterskin tied to the saddle, by the way. Not good for an escape from a desert, should we have tried to make a break for it. (3) Besides, everybody had bows.

Another pleasant dinner, and then bed. And the next day we were to get Horst Lensen, prize bliksem and idiot, out of the slave compound. I reassured myself with the thought that he'd then be in a difficult place where he'd have to figure out the rest of it for himself with no help, and fell asleep. Before sleep, I heard Rivka mutter

"Damn, almost forgot."

She got out of bed.

"Hmm?"

"Got to make safe. You know. this afternoon wnen I thought we might have to run for it and abandon our kit. I rigged the more important saddlebags with incendiaries and Devices. you know, so they'd explode and catch fire if anyone tried to open them. You don't want to leave Guild kit behind for anyone to find."

I really would not want her taking up a contract on me. She's too good. I left her to defuse her bombs and fell asleep.


(1) Happens, more by luck than judgement, in my tale Hyperemesis Gravidarum. A result of this was that Mariella asked for training in using spears and lances properly, both on foot and on horseback. She felt she wouldn't be as lucky the second time. Besides, her Goblin name, bestowed after the fight, translated as something like "Red of hair and spear". When you get a name like this, you feel some things are expected of you.

(2) All capital cities around the world have newsagents that somehow contrive to get fairly recent copies of newspapers from just about everywhere for sale to grateful expats. It helps if they have major airports nearby. Not just London, now I reflect on it: I can think of at least three in central Manchester where you can get daily papers from anything up to forty different countries. The world indeed gets smaller by the day. Jerusalem definitely has papers in both English and Hebrew. There may be one in Yiddish, too. Not sure how South African papers deal with there currently being eleven official languages (before 1994 there were only two, Englishg and Afrikaans). Must research.

(3) there was a case in WW2 where an RAF pilot forced down over northern France expressed admiration for the ME109 fighter. His Luftwaffe captors, knowing he was a prisoner, and liking their captive, generously allowed him to take a 109 up for a flight. The RAF man wondered – very briefly – about bolting back to England. Then looked at the fuel gauge and realised the Germans weren't stupid: he only had about eight minutes fuel, enough for a few circuits and barely enough to get to the French coast. Besides, the guns were unarmed and several other German planes were politely escorting him. He landed, thanked his captors for the courtesy, and went into a Stalag Luft.

Notes Dump:

Random out-of-sequence ideas and possibly cryptic explanations of references in the text. Somewhere in the text but not necessarily here.

Degrees of slavery in the Arab world: This concept is called مخارجة (mukhārajah) (Lane: "And خَارَجَهُ He made an agreement with him, namely, his slave that he (the latter) should pay him a certain impost at the expiration of every month; the slave being left at liberty to work: in which case the slave is termed عَبْدٌ مُخَارِجٌ") in Islamic law. If slaves agree to that and they would like the money they earn to be counted toward their emancipation, then this has to be written in the form of a contract between the slave and the master. This is called مكاتبة (mukātaba) in Islamic jurisprudence which is only, by consensus, a recommendation,[93][page needed] and accepting a request for a mukātaba from slaves is thus not obligatory for masters.[94] Although the owner did not have to comply with it, was considered praiseworthy to do so[95]

Extract fro a reply to a PM Thank you! How is La Belle Province? Full of sacrés and tabernaks, no doubt... (strange coincidence that I put a "French-Canadian" in the current tale as a cameo, whose version of a carefully bespoke Vimes Run involves taking naughty people from hot countries and teaching them ice-skating in the Pork Futures Warehouse, with a side-dish of Psychopathic Violence on Ice With Big Sticks, ie ice-hockey). I'm wondering about giving Antoinette a tale of her own, possibly alongside some of the other cameo Assassins. It may involve a trip to the Hub, maybe with a couple of ill-assorted colleagues...

Glad you like the new Tale! I'm getting as much of it out on screen as quickly as I can whilst the muse is still there. It does have a definite ending and at least one Brick Joke/twist in the tail. Using the Complete Discworld Atlas as a Rough Guide, together with my superimposed OC countries, I've got a few ideas roughly plotted out. At most three more chapters in Klatch and encounters with two other interesting people, then the backpacker girls move on. I've got the canonical nations of Ymitury and Laotan in my sights, followed by the Central Plains where both get honorary Red Indian names. Followed by a roughly plotted jungle adventure in S'Belinde or Urabewe which may involve nods to Stanley and Livingstone and lots of Darkest Africa clichés (wondering how to do a Discworld Tarzan suddenly confronted with a choice of potential Janes. There's also going to be the running gag of Rivka getting all the attention whilst Mariella is the unregarded homely best friend).

There may be a desperate chase in the jungle involving representatives of at least one Black Howondalandian nation who have recognised a Smith-Rhodes on their sacred soil and who want to hold past (mis) deeds by other members of her family against Mariella. Then they cross into what will be achingly familiar ground to Mariella but which is pretty much completely new to Rivka - a reversal of the initial set-up in Cenotia. More exploration of the Discworld "South Africa" then follows and the culmination may take place on the very tip of Cape Terror, the furthest Rimwards point of the continent. Where, trans-continental navigation over, new decisions have to be made...