The Discworld Tarot
The King of Swords
We're back! This can be seen as a postscript to my novella "Hyperemesis Gravidarum", which has, as a minor theme, a description of the internal dynamics and tensions present within the extended Smith-Rhodes family. This is headed by Charles Smith-Rhodes, a very powerful and rich politician, statesman and general manipulative meddler in the country of Rimwards Howondaland, a Family (in the capital-F sense, normally given as honorific to the sort of Family you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of and whose members practice virtues of loyalty, mutual support and the making of Offers You Cannot Refuse). Charles represents the more senior and socially influential branch of a colonial family founded over a century before by Sir Cecil Smith-Rhodes, an adventurer originally from the Ankh-Morpork area, who emigrated to Howondaland in search of a better life and (initially) at least one meal a day with named meat in it. Only two of his four sons provided children. But their lives took radically different directions and the two family lines they produced co-exist in a sort of family harmony which respects loyalty, mutual assistance, close bonds of kinship and name, and a shared tendency to be Badass if ANY Smith-Rhodes is threatened from outside.
Sir Cecil is in this case the Patriarch, the Founding Father, the warrior whose Sword was wielded to make his dynasty great and which brought power and prestige to his descendants. But the wise, noble and warlike King of Swords can also be a man who conceals secrets and surprises. And wants to keep them concealed.
Any resemblance to the life and work and achievements of Roundworld historical figure, the British-born adventurer Sir Cecil Rhodes, who transformed Southern Africa, is a figment of the author's fevered brain…
This is also a sort of brief sequel to "Hyperemesis Gravidarum", which deals with the trials of impending motherhood for Assassins. Now read on…
The train rattled on out of Ankh-Morpork, heading roughly Rimwards-by-Widdershins towards the Sto Plains. The miasma of City smells was already falling away and was gradually being replaced by the unmistakable odour of cabbage. Lots of cabbage. Together with the necessary organic component which enabled cabbages to grow in profusion. The compartment windows were closed as protection against the inevitable smoke and smut of the engine, but enough was visible to hold the interest of the travellers who had reserved a full compartment of the coach for themselves. A First Class compartment, as Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes could afford this luxury, as well as the best available accommodation for their family party when they arrived at their destination.
Eve, the lady's maid who her mother and aunt had insisted Johanna take with her (as befits a lady of social standing) was excitedly chattering with Annaliese, the nanny. Johanna reflected that the two servants were using a unique patois of Vondalaans, Phlegmish, Morporkian and words from several Howondalandian native languages. Again she wondered exactly how this would rub off on her baby daughter, as Bekki grew and learned to speak.(1) She didn't begrudge them. For Annaliese, this was almost a trip Home to the Sto Helit/Sto Kerrig border region where her family farmed Sto Helit Sprouts. For Eve, it was a rare treat for a Howondalandian tribal girl who had been brought here to be a servant to the needs of White Howondalandians. A bit of a working holiday for both of them.
"Annaliese?" Johanna said.
"How mayst I serve ye, mistress?" her nanny replied, in her native Phlegmish. Johanna smiled. She could understand Phlegmish, which was only a dialect or two away from her native Vondalaans. But it still had odd rustic and bucolic overtones to her ears.
"I believe Bekki is now fast asleep." she said, offering her child to her nanny. Handing her daughter over could be a wrench, but it was what the plump and cheerful Annaliese was employed for. "Please return her to her pram and ensure she is comfortable."
"I shall attend to this for ye, mistress."
Johanna thanked her, and turned to the two other travellers. The two girls had bagged the window seats, and were excitedly discussing the journey. Mariella was trying to keep an older-girl-cool in front of Young Johanna, probably to emphasise that nearly-fourteen gave her the privileges of superior status over almost-eleven. Johanna could see the dynamic. It went something like "And besides, when School starts again I'm in the fourth form and you are going to be a lowly insect in the First Year. I may acknowledge you as related to me, provided you don't embarrass me in front of my friends. But do not count on that."
Officially Mariella was Young Johanna's aunt. But with only three years between them, the dynamic was more one of an older sister to a younger. Nearly twenty years separated the older Johanna from her sister. She reflected this gave their relationship overtones of mother-daughter, rather than straightforward siblinghood. She sighed. While they were in Ankh-Morpork, attending the Assassins' Guild School, she was officially next-of-kin and guardian to both. She mused on the vagaries of parenthood that had led her parents to spread five children out over a twenty-year period. You get them when you get them. These things are resistant to any sort of planning. She knew that well enough after the advent of Bekki.
And her parents, who were still in Ankh-Morpork on an extended holiday two months after the awful night when they'd arrived, showed no signs of leaving for home just yet. They couldn't, really. Her father was a material witness at the trail of the four men who'd raised havoc in the city, among other things making a fairly determined effort to murder members of the Smith-Rhodes family. Father had helped detain the ringleader.
Her mother had gone one better. They'd arrived as informal passengers on the Pegasus service. Mindful of this, Mother had made a polite request of Olga Romanoff, saying it might be better if the girl arrives early. You know. To acclimatise here and to get to know this city, if she's going to be at school here for anything up to seven years. I'm sure Johanna can provide a room.
And thus Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaiandje had arrived, seven weeks ahead of schedule. Mother had somehow failed to mention this, saying when the Pegasus arrived "You don't mind, Johanna? Good, that's settled, then!"
And the extended household had accommodated one more guest. Whilst on a whirlwind of buying everything Young Johanna needed for School, and that had cost, the elder Johanna had pointedly picked up a votive statue of Hat, the Djelibeybian Vulture-Headed God of Unwelcome and Unexpected House-Guests. Claude, the unflappable butler, had enshrined it in the dining-room niche provided for the worship of necessary Small Gods. But damn it, none of them had got the hint yet. Even though her cousin Suki had recognised which deity it was. Suki had taken it as a huge joke.
So she had got out of the house completely on a long-planned short break. It was the only way to stay sane. Her parents had not raised objections. Her mother had assured her that she'd look after the house in the meantime. Her father had, mildly for him, said "Tell me what you find out, Johanna. I would be interested." And the expedition had set out.
The party changed trains at Dimmuck Junction, to board the mainly-freight train to Effing Forest via Scrote. Johanna hoped to fit in a visit to Effing Forest, which was partly managed for lumberjacking, and partly maintained as a wildlife reserve. Cousin Julian had remarked, completely straight-faced, that it was a magnificent place to see pair-bonded Great Tits in all their free glory. (2) Johanna decided she was just going to be there for the wildlife, thank you very much.
They settled into a fair less comfortable and well-appointed coach than the one they'd left behind at Dimmuck. The landscape around them changed subtly, becoming one less of flat cabbage plains and more hilly and undulating, with more trees. And then they arrived at Scrote station. A hopeful and badly-painted sign said
SCROTE
Population 484
Twined with New Scrote, Smith-Rhodesia, Howodnaland.
"Strictly unofficially, I think." Johanna said. In a way, it encapsulated the reason why they were there.
"But New Scrote is a city." Young Johanna objected. "With thousands of people!"
"Ja." said Older Johanna. "But everything began here. And this is why we are here today. Shall we collect our bags?"
The party, except for Baby Bekki, was travelling light. Mariella reflected on how the baby appeared to have three or four times the luggage of anyone else. (3) Most of this was travelling on the stowage rack underneath the pram. Johanna shouldered her pack. The girls and the two servants followed her.
Scrote was not a big town. It had a certain dusty, grimy, air to it. On a hot July day, the group soon set up a small dustcloud as they walked from the railway station, one of the few new buildings to be seen. They found their lodgings at the crossroads, a newly built annex to The Jolly Cabbage pub. This had been built by an optimistic owner to capitalise on the railway link and Johanna had booked several rooms here for her party. The accommodation was basic, but acceptably clean, and she accepted downstairs hospitality while their luggage was portered upstairs by Mine Host.
"Staying long, ma'am?" asked an otherwise surly local at the bar.
Johanna accepted her favoured beer shandy, and shrugged.
"Three days." she said. "With my femily members here."
Then she added the reason, to fill the vacuum.
"One side of my femily is originally from Scrote." she said. "I em interested in finding out ebout my femily's origins."
The local nodded interest.
"Ah, you're from Howondaland, judging from your accent?" he said. "We've had people here from round your way before, ma'am. You know, wanting to see where Sir Cecil was born, and things. Town council put a blue plague-thing up at the cottage."
Johanna took this with interest. She wondered about exactly who had passed this way before. And she hadn't known about the blue plaque.
Mrs Mine Host, when she could be pulled away from cooing over baby Bekki, was prevailed upon to provide soft drinks for the girls and something for the servants. Johanna signalled her consent for Annaliese and Eve to have something semi-alcoholic. To her surprise, Eve made to take her drink outside. Johanna called her back.
"We are not in the house, baas-lady." Eve said, meekly.
"Doesn't metter." Johanna said. "It might et home, but this isn't Howondaland. Sit with us."
"Ah." Mine host said. "Three rooms upstairs in the Annex are ready for you, ma'am. I, er, made up a bedroll in the stables for your servant…"
He looked at Eve. Johanna gave him a cool look.
"Anything wrong, ma'am? We've had Howondalandians stay here before. They insisted on their black servants being segregated. And the only place to segregate them is the stables."
"Eve sleeps in a room, like anyone else in my party." Johanna said, firmly. "Annaliese is also a servant. But there is no bedroll in the stable for her. Move another bed into Annaliese's room. They cen share."
Mine Host went away shaking his head. Eve said "Thank you, madam."
"Apartheid belongs in Howondaland." Johanna said. She looked at young Johanna, wanting to be sure she was getting the point. "Things are different in this country. Besides, I require a maid who will hev hed a restful night's sleep, opportunity to wesh in something other than the pump in the yerd, end who does not smell of horses in the morning."
Mrs Mine Host tried to break the ice.
"I must say, you've got three bonny daughters, ma'am." she said.
Mariella supressed a snigger. Johanna winced.
"It is not quite thet way." she said, carefully, ignoring the implication that in a different world she could be a mother of three girls. Easily. And there was a strong family resemblance. People could easily make the error. She introduced Mariella and Young Johanna, carefully explaining the real family relationship.
"Oh, I see. And you're here to see where your family came from. Originally."
"Ja. The gentleman at the bar gave me some interesting information."
She signalled for his glass to be refilled. Little courtesies like this did no harm. Then asked about the cottage with the blue plaque.
The next morning began early. Johanna had been appalled to discover how several months of relative inactivity in pregnancy had damaged her physical fitness. Although she suspected her hips had irreversibly widened and nothing would restore that part of her to pre-childbirth, she felt she could do something about the rest of it. The bit of excess weight. And the inelegant oversized pregnancy bosom. Therefore she rose early, wakened the girls to join her, filled her backpack with stones from the pub garden rockery to give her some weight to fight, and went on an early morning run. This time she made three miles before having to pause to catch her breath. Mariella, who had kept up effortlessly, stopped to offer support. Young Johanna seemed similarly unstretched. That was good; the girl would need peak physical fitness for her School classes.
"Never get pregnant." she advised both, trying to ignore cramp pains from protesting long-underused muscles.
"I wasn't planning to." Mariella replied. She seemed eager to start off again. Johanna reflected that her sister was an athletics champion in her age-group. Her niece also demonstrated above-average physical fitness. Damn them both.
"Did you notice," Mariella remarked, as they set off again on the dusty country road, "how those stones in the rockery all seemed a bit strange? I could have sworn one of them had a fragment of diamond in it. Looked like a piece of jawbone, only in stone."
"Ja, like old bones." said young Johanna. "But in stone."
Old Johanna had an uneasy suspicion. She taught natural history and biology.
"Must have been quartz or something." Mariella decided. "People round here wouldn't know what diamond looks like."
Johanna decided she'd look more closely at the rocks in her backpack when she returned them to the rockery pile. She had wondered why only a little bit of lichen had attached itself to them.
"Let's get back." she decided. "Three miles back to the inn, then breakfast. Johanna, the School will expect this of you and more. You understand I'm preparing you? Good."
She left the girls discussing the fearsome cross-country running routes Mr Bradlifrudd had devised. Mariella's laying it on with a spade, but best the girl is aware, Johanna thought.
They washed, changed clothes, and had breakfast. Mine Host had been up and about and had mistook their interest in the garden rockery.
"You won't find any diamonds in there, miss." he had cheerfully advised Young Johanna. "It were picked clean a long time since. The diamonds my dad found got used to pay for the hotel extension. And these days we has to treat trolls like they was people. There won't be no more."
He had added, indulgently, "Kids, eh?" and shook his head to Johanna, who had smiled back, albeit in a brittle way.
"Yuk!" Mariella said, letting a piece of long-dead troll fall from her fingers. Young Johanna looked puzzled, but replaced a piece of stone with gentleness and a certain respect. She'd met her first trolls in the city, and had experienced a moment of fear and consternation at encountering something unknown in hot and sunny Rimwards Howondaland. But she'd learnt quickly. Old Johanna thought she saw her niece surreptitiously pocket something, observed a very suspicious look of cherubic innocence, and decided to ask her about it later.
Breakfast passed pleasantly, but again Johanna had to veto the suggestion, no doubt well-intended, that Eve eat separately by herself. Again she wondered about the compatriots who'd passed this way previously and the impression they'd left behind.
"No." she said, firmly. "It is correct that servants eat at a separate table. There hes to be some distinction. But members of my household eat together et the same table. Regardless of the colour of their skin. If they work for me, they are treated es equels. Lay a second place et Annaliese's table. Thenk you."
After feeding Bekki, something she did privately, she left the child in the care of Annaliese and Eve and went to seek out the blue plaque. It took little finding.
The three family members read it in silence, next to the door of an unassuming farm cottage. It read, in crudely cast letters in some sort of enamelled pot metal:
SIR CECIL JOHN SMITH-RHODES
The Father of Modern Howondaland
WAS BORN IN THIS PLACE.
5th GRUNE, 1841.
The three read it in silence.
"So this is where we began." Mariella said.
"Ja." Johanna said, wondering why she didn't feel anything very much. "At least, half our family. The other half is in Sto Kerrig, but I doubt our great-great grandmother's family line is recorded in too much history."
She knocked on the door, intending to ask permission to take iconographs. Nobody was in. She took the iconographs anyway.
The cottage was in good repair, nothing special, nothing shabby, just the home of farm labourers. Johanna wondered about the sort of man her great-great-grandfather had been and what had shaped him in his life here. And why he'd emigrated to a new continent.
There was a man who might answer some of those questions. But he wouldn't be available till the next day. She sighed, marshalled the girls, and they set off for their next stop, an afternoon exploring the Effing Forest.
"I understand you visited Effing Forest." said the tweedy gentleman, as he relit his pipe. "There are some truly lovely tits to be seen there. They pair-bond for life, you know."
"Ja. End tits like coconuts, I believe." Mariella said, with an extremely poker face.
Johanna tried to get the discussion back on track. Young Johanna just looked puzzled, at a joke in another language that had gone over her head. Good.
"Thenk you for hosting us, Mr Dunham-Massey." she said, politely.
"Oh, Guild loyalties, and all that." the local historian said, airily. He had been an Assassins' School student many years ago and had left without Taking Black, to pursue an interest in history. He had the status of a country squire with an independent income, and acted as a magistrate to arbitrate local issues and minor breaches of the Law. His passion, however, was the local history of the village of Scrote and its surrounding parishes. He had access to extensive records and archives going back into previous centuries and had written several definitive monographs on Scrote and its people. He was exactly the right man to talk to. And he appeared flattered by her interest.
"Cecil Smith-Rhodes." he said, reaching for an album of engravings. "Quite possibly the single most noteworthy person to come out of Scrote. Although in recent years, Mr Jones of the Gamblers' Guild has risen to prominence. He was born Ernest Henry Jones, by the way. His family still live out on the Dimmuck road. The Jones parents are retired now, but he sends some of his earnings back to support them. Took the name "Scrote" after his home town. Most gratifying in a Guild leader, that he doesn't forget his roots."
Johanna stored up the information about Ernest Henry "Scrote" Jones for future reference. She wondered if Emmanuelle knew that. Then all three leaned forwards as Mr Dunham-Massey opened the book to a page showing the classic illustration of Scrote. It was clearly the front of Seth's Livery Stables, unchanged in two hundred years, with the archetypical three young men sitting on a bench on the right, looking as if they had every intention of getting up and leaving as soon as they could. And on the other side of the stable doors, three old men who'd never left. But there was something else there in this engraving…
"From the days before iconography, I'm afraid." the historian apologised. "But let me draw your attention to the fourth young man in this illustration, Doctor Smith-Rhodes. It dates from the 1850's."
Something in the carriage and bearing and look of the fourth young man, leaning on the wall a little distance from the rest… the anonymous engraver had caught his likeness perfectly.
"The image of young men lounging on the bench outside Seth's, swearing that one day they'll leave this place and make it big in the wider world, is something of a cliché about Scrote." he went on. "But I have reason to believe the fourth person here is the one who did. The one who got away."
Johanna rummaged in her bag and came out with one of the books she'd brought with her, the official biography of Sir Cecil Smith-Rhodes. She opened it up to a portrait, commissioned much later in life, and they compared the two faces.
"Yes." The historian said. "The young Cecil Smith, as he was then, aged about seventeen."
His eyes passed over Johanna and the two girls.
"And may I venture to say that even at this remove, there is a distinct family likeness?" he said. "Remarkable."
There was a knocking at the door. Mr Dunham-Massey excused himself and went to answer it. The girls heard a familiar voice saying "Hello. I'm not too late, am I? I believe members of my family are here…"
Johanna and Mariella winced.
"Do come in, Mr Smith-Rhodes. Of course I remember you. From when you were here with your father some years ago. I understand you're at the Embassy now?"
Julian Smith-Rhodes nodded an embarrassed sort of acknowledgement to his cousins. Johanna glared at him.
"So you've been here before, Julian?" she asked, in a voice that expected an answer. Her cousin had the good grace to look slightly shifty.
"Father and Mother did visit here. When I was sixteen. Seven years ago. Errr…"
Johanna remembered. Charles Smith-Rhodes, the acknowledged Family head, had visited on an extended stay, bringing two of his sons. Julian had still been at school then. His older brother Cecil was on a theology degree at Witwatersrand. Uncle Charles had wanted to make the best of a bad situation by introducing Cecil to senior religious figures, in the hope he might get a congenial situation when he was ordained. And they came here, she thought. Why am I not surprised?
"Part of the Grand Sneer for you and your brother, as I recall." the historian said. "And how is Cecil getting on?"
"Oh, head in books and old scrolls at Witwatersrand." Julian said. "Researching his doctoral thesis on Gods of Howondaland. Unworldly, as always. Father stopped despairing of him some years ago, and gave him his head."
"End speaking of your father…" Johanna said.
Julian accepted a cup of tea.
"Well." he said, deciding full disclosure was the only course open to him. "He heard about your plans to come out this way. He asked me to call by and tag along. Errr…"
"End to find out whet we find out." Johanna said. She reached over and patted Julian's hand, kindly. "To keep him informed. I understend. Well, Julian, there should be no secrets within our femily. Don't you egree?"
The historian returned to the engraving.
"Sir Cecil is stending some distance eway from the other young men." Mariella observed. "Is this deliberate?"
"Several reasons, my dear." said Mr Dunham-Massey. "Firstly, popular history demands simple narrative hooks. The truism of three young men sitting on a bench swearing that one day they will leave Scrote and seek a fortune is well known. As is the unfortunate corollary that they never mange it and in time become the three old men, nursing pints and memories on the opposite bench. The narrative demands there should be three. Two is too few, and four is one too many."
"I believe I understend." Mariella said, her face scrunched up in brief intense thought. "End the fourth man must be the one who leaves, end meneges to escape. So the fect he is stending some way epart from the others is symbolic of this?"
The historian smiled.
"Exactly correct, my dear. That, and the occupation forced on the young Cecil Smith at this stage of his life. Rural farming offers a limited number of job specialisations."
Mr Dunham-Massey turned a few pages and opened a different engraving.
"Created by Mr Elijah Remnant, a cousin of the celebrated artist, in the middle to late 1850's". he said.
The new engraving showed a disgruntled looking and very familiar drover working with an awful lot of gruntled pigs, who seemed happy in their proverbial environment.
"Cecil Smith was a swineherd."
Johanna leaned forward with great interest. This had not been mentioned in the authorised biography. All it had said was that the young Cecil had worked for a time in various farm labouring jobs before saving up enough to emigrate.
"A pig-herder." she said. "No wonder the others were reluctant to make space for him on the bench. End he hed to stend."
"Some distance eway." said Young Johanna, grasping the point.
Johanna flipped to the credits page in the biography. Yes. There it was. The author's fulsome thanks to Mr Charles Smith-Rhodes of Caarp Town, who had generously opened up family archives to his research, and made many carefully selected documents available….
Julian looked diplomatically unreachable at this point.
Mariella asked
"But he was only called Cecil Smith. Et which point did the Smith-Rhodes name originate?"
The historian smiled at his audience. He seemed pleased to be demonstrating his erudition.
"We can date that precisely, my dear. I have here a copy of the marriage certificate and the recording made in the parish register at the Church of Epidity, God of Potatoes and Root Vegetables, and by default, God of Brassica. Aged eighteen, Cecil Smith married Mary Roydes. No engravings were taken of the happy couple."
The historian coughed, nervously. He looked at Julian.
"Carry on, sir." Julian said. "My cousins should know everything. I can assure you it will not affect the Agreement."
Johanna gave him a sharp look.
"What Egreement?" she asked.
"Err.. there was scurrilous local gossip concerning the visible pregnancy of Mary Roydes." the historian said, uncertainly. "It persists in diaries and records kept by long-established families in this village. Although there is no suggestion whatsoever that Cecil was not the father."
"Whet Egreement?" Johanna asked again.
At the same time Mariella, perplexed, said "Even so, thet only makes the family name Smith-Roydes."
The historian chose to answer the easier question.
"Cecil had assiduously saved from his earnings. He was able to buy emigrant passage for himself and his wife on the voyage to the colonies in Howondaland. On the journey he was befriended by the ship's chaplain, who made many books available to him. Do not forget we are dealing with an intelligent young man who had been frustrated by the few career options available to him here. He had been educated and could read. At some point during the voyage he chose to re-invent himself, hyphenating his and his wife's names as Smith-Roydes."
He nodded to Mariella in acknowledgement.
"Alas, a badly educated immigration officer, possibly of Kerrigian descent, mis-transcribed the name on their arrival. The spelling of "Smith-Rhodes" is a mistake on the part of a disinterested clerk, to whom Morporkian was not a first language. Cecil found he preferred the new spelling."
There was a silent pause. Johanna filed away the information that the family name should really be spelt "Smith-Roydes", and grinned to herself. Then she said
"Julian, Mr Dunham-Massey. Essume I was not let into the secret ebout this Egreement. Tell me ebout it."
The historian looked uncertainly at Julian. Julian looked at Johanna and read the correct inference into her narrowed and suspicious eyes. He looked back to the historian and nodded.
"Very well, then." said Dunham-Massey. He looked at Johanna. She tried to look sympathetic and encouraging.
"Some years ago, I was visited here by Mr Charles-Smith-Rhodes, his wife, two of his sons, and members of the family entourage." he began.
"They were on a prolonged visit from Rimwards Howondaland, I was given to understand, and Mr Smith-Rhodes was most intrigued and interested in my work as custodian of local history in this town. We discussed my researches into the origins of the Smith-Rhodes family, and Mr Smith-Rhodes was both approving and encouraging. He was firmly of the opinion that I should continue in my researches, and periodically sends me copies of material from the family archives in Caarp Town for my consideration. He is also kind enough to defray my expenses by payment of a moderate yearly stipend, acknowledging that I am working as an agent for the Family in this matter. Errr…"
Johanna nodded. She had grasped the point.
"End Mr Charles Smith-Rhodes is very keen for eny new information to be sent to him with ebsolute discretion, end minimal delay?" she said. She knew the way The Family worked.
"Indeed, Doctor Smith-Rhodes." he said. "He was most supportive and persuasive. He fully appreciated my point that my professional status as a member of the Guild of Historians means I can tell no outright lies, nor can I preferentially advance or conceal data."
"Father made the point that history walks a narrow line between subjective perception and dispassionate analytical objectivity, but the complete truth has to be known at some level." Julian said. "And better we know the absolute truth. He merely asked for you to exercise discretion in what you release to outsiders."
"Indeed." the historian agreed. "And the generous donations that paid for the commemorative plaque at Sir Cecil's place of birth, together with the sum held by the Cecil-Smith-Rhodes Trust of Scrote, represent a persuasive argument."
"As does Father's stated desire to get the City Council of New Scrote to make the, er, twining arrangement official." Julian said. He carefully avoided meeting his cousin's eyes.
"Your father has behaved like a gentleman throughout." Mr Dunham-Massey said. "We have no substantial disagreement, and please convey my best regards to him. I wish I could say the same for the rather disagreeable person from your country's Embassy who came calling, uninvited, some time later. A rather weaselly individual called Verkramp."
"You have my sympathy, sir." Julian and Johanna found themselves saying, almost together.
"Lieutenant Verkramp refrained from open intimidation. Perhaps he realised his organisation has no power here. But he still managed to behave unpleasantly. He intimated that as Sir Cecil Smith-Rhodes is a national hero of Rimwards Howondaland, whose story is taught in schools, and whose statues grace several cities, any historical information that could be used to weaken his memory or from which negative inferences could be drawn, would weaken the State, and he could not allow that. He hinted there could be consequences if certain elements of the history became publicly known. I did not appreciate his tone, and I showed him the door."
"Very wise, sir." Julian agreed. "I trust you told him nothing which is not generally known?"
"Not him, no. Members of your family, however."
He rose, and undraped a large easel. It supported a very large and detailed family tree. Johanna and the others went to look. It described, in some detail, the descent of the Smith-Rhodes family branches from Sir Cecil and his sons. Johanna quickly located herself on the fifth line down from Sir Cecil.
Doctor Johanna Famke Smith-Rhodes. M. Professor Ponder Stibbons (UU). Resident in Ankh-Morpork. Senior tutor, Guild of Assassins' School. Director of the Ankh-Morpork City Zoo.
A line up from her name illustrated that she was the oldest child of Andreas Smith-Rhodes and Agnetha Smith-Rhodes, née Agnetha van der Graaf. Other branches named her four siblings, with brief biographies. The final box of the five on that line read Mariella Elisabet Smith-Rhodes. Student, Black Widow House, the Assassins' Guild School. A side-branch from her mother led to the van der Graaf family, noting her uncle, aunt, and their two daughters. she read Suikerissa van der Graaf (Suki). Journalist and writer of news in a dependent box. A single line (for the present) led from Johanna and Ponder to a small and otherwise empty box in which the name Rebecka Monica Irena Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons had been pencilled with date of birth.
"Within a week of being visited by the unpleasant Verkramp, I was graced by His Excellency the Ambassador and his wife. Mr van der Graaf was most concerned I had been threatened by BOSS, and delivered personal apologies and an assurance he would see to it that I remained untroubled by them. I found them personally to be very pleasant people, although Lady Friejda did bring a retinue of servants with her. Apparently the local tavern housed them in the stables, at her instruction."
Johanna and Mariella winced. Another little mystery solved.
"I did what I could to be hospitable to all my visitors, regardless of complexion." Dunham-Massey said, drily. "I treated the servants with the same courtesy as I would to any visitor's domestic staff, requesting they go to the kitchen and accept refreshments from my housekeeper, where they could be on call for their mistress. Your people have some strange ideas of social order."
"Try telling thet to Aunt Friejda." Johanna said. She studied the genealogy with curiosity and interest. "The chart is most impressive."
"Thank you. When studying your family, it helps me immensely in keeping the family relationships fresh and accurate in my mind. Especially with the two principal, and somewhat divergent, branches of your extended family. And to be frank, Doctor Smith-Rhodes, knowing a little about you, I was expecting to meet you at some point. I'm surprised it took you so long."
The historian then discussed the known later history of Cecil Smith-Rhodes. He had started wheeling and dealing almost as soon as he set foot in Howondaland. Four sons had been born at roughly yearly intervals, Mary Smith-Rhodes raising them whilst Cecil went out on merchant venturing expeditions.
"Piracy." Johanna explained to Mariella and Young Johanna. Julian winced.
"I wouldn't put it that frankly." he objected. He was met by looks of candid scepticism.
"Cecil became a maritime explorer and trader." The historian said, smoothly. "Over the course of the next six years, he became more prosperous, first owning one ship, then two. These became the foundation of the family fleet. Also, he devoured the contents of this book whilst on the sea voyage. Evidence exists to support the proposition that he bought it in Ankh-Morpork, as part of a long-term plan. It became a favourite of his, and he returned to it assiduously."
He passed a battered old volume to Johanna. She took it with reverence, opening it to see her ancestor's signature in the inside cover. The girls crowded close to look.
"One of several volumes." Julian explained. "Father gifted it to Mr Dunham-Massey. He felt it should return home."
"Assaying for Gold and Diamonds." Mariella read. "Volume Three. A Geological Survey of Rimwards Howondaland."
"Heavily marginally annotated." Julian noted.
Mr Dunham-Massey smiled briefly.
"I did say your ancestor was bright, intelligent and capable." he remarked. "Although contemporaries wondered if he was drunk, or mad, or stupid, when he invested the proceeds of mercantile venturing.."
"Piracy." said Johanna.
"Safest to say "mercantile venturing." Julian corrected her. She smiled, having made her point.
"..his profits into buying, very cheaply, large tracts of land thought unsuitable for farming purposes in the region known to its native inhabitants as K'm'bele."
"Kimberley." said Young Johanna. "They taught me this et school." Johanna noted her niece absent-mindedly reaching into a skirt pocket, as if reassuring herself that something was still there. She noted the telling action for consideration later.
"Indeed, my dear. We know Cecil had scouted and surveyed these areas thoroughly. Other people thought he was crazy to invest in land so hostile to farming. But he said he thought his farms could still just about harvest a profit. And over the next few years, he had garnered a small steady fortune in gold nuggets and readily located diamonds. The foundation of your family fortune, indeed."
"And when the more easily found surface deposits, and those that could be gained by shallow strip-mining, gave out, he recruited the first Dwarfs to come to our country. To dig deeper and look further." Julian said.
"End a lot of bleck labourers were bedly treated in the process." Johanna said. "I believe the punishment delivered to a miner suspected of stealing gold or diamonds was hersh." (4)
"Moving on…" Julian said, quickly.
"The proceeds financed his Adventure. Cecil Smith-Rhodes wanted one big gesture, a grand adventure, that would cement his reputation and make his name. Unknown to the administrators of what was then one of Ankh-Morpork's last residual colonies, an outpost at the end of the world and beneath the notice of its Patricians, he recruited a private army. He armed, trained and equipped them. Then marched them Hubwards into what was then the small independent native kingdom of Rumbabwe. The natives were vanquished and the conquered land was offered to the country as the province of Smith-Rhodesia. He took care to settle his soldiers there with generous land-grants, and broke the first sod in what would become the capital city of New Scrote. Ankh-Morpork's ruling Patrician honoured him with a knighthood. And then he went into politics, being involved in both the Zulu War and the War of Independence, what we in this continent loosely term the Boor War. Of his four sons, only two bore children. But from his son Cecil comes the branch of the family which you represent, Mr Julian Smith-Rhodes. You and your father Charles are in direct line of descent on this side."
Mr Dunham-Massey then looked at the three female Smith-Rhodeses in the room.
"Sir Cecil's son Charles took a wife from the socially unfavoured Kerrigian section of the white population, which at the time caused no small social stir. (5) Miss Johanna van der Kaiboetje became the first Johanna Smith-Rhodes. I understand that in her memory, the oldest daughter in every generation of the Kerrigian, or Boor, line becomes the Johanna Smith-Rhodes of her time."
He indicated the relevant section of the family tree.
"And as a historian to the Family, I feel privileged to have two Johanna Smith-Rhodes' in my study. Could I prevail upon you both for iconographs?"
By way of thanks, Johanna had gifted the historian an iconographic representation of her great-grandmother's journal, which detailed a much earlier visit to Ankh-Morpork, together with translation. She had iconographed the family tree, together with the material that proved Cecil Smith's early life as a pig-herd.
And now in the evening Julian had joined them for dinner. He handed a letter over to Johanna. It was from his father. She opened it with deep suspicion.
The letter expressed Uncle Charles' most sincere congratulations on the birth of Bekki. He trusted that she, Ponder and their daughter were thriving, especially after recent upset. As a token of his esteem for her personally, he would be honoured if she accepted the enclosed gift, which could be banked towards Rebecka's education, as he understood fees at the best schools were not cheap. He stressed that there were absolutely no conditions or expectations to be placed on the gift, and wished her family the sincerest good health, prosperity and happiness.
Johanna held up the banker's draft for twenty thousand dollars. She looked suspiciously at Julian.
"It's on the level, Johanna." Julian said. "Father stressed that. He says he knows how bloody-minded and suspicious you can get. He's really pleased to see you've settled down and had a daughter. And he is generous to the Family. If he says he's expecting nothing in return, then…"
She nodded.
"Epart from keeping discreetly quiet concerning whet we learnt ebout Sir Cecil? His early involvement with pork products? His career in mercantile venturing? Inhuman treatment of his diamond miners? End your father's errangement with Mr Dunham-Massey?"
Julian went slightly red. She relented.
"I know, Julian. We were the first. Now trevel is opening up, a lot of people from Home will went to see where Sir Cecil was born end lived. It cen only be good for Scrote if it gets a tourist trade. So long es we know the secret. Mr Dunham-Massey can omit a few things for everybody else."
Julian relaxed.
"Father was talking about buying the cottage. Where Sir Cecil was born. Investing in it as the Smith-Rhodes Museum. Mr Dunham-Massey is very keen to be involved."
"Best it presents the sort of history people wish to see, then." Johanna said. "Tell your father I egree. For now."
Julian relaxed back with relief. She smiled, and refilled their wine glasses.
Sounds outside made her look round. Mariella and Young Johanna had found a playmate, it seemed; a wirily thin girl of about young Johanna's age, with an oddly familiar look to her and flaming copper-red hair. She remembered the historian's parting words.
"There's a young girl in this village, Doctor. A Miss Sanderson-Reeves from the Guild School came out to interview her. Apparently the Assassins' Guild want to educate her, as a Scholarship pupil. Miss Sanderson-Reeves said in her opinion, the gel has great promise. You might want to meet her before you leave, as she's likely to end up in your classroom?"
Interested, Johanna had said she would be delighted to.
She recalled the details Mr Dunham-Massey had given her…
"Tannie Johanna?" young Johanna said. "This is Emma. We're going to be at school together!"
Johanna turned and smiled at the girl.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Emma."
She reflected that it took no great thought to understand why a girl called Emma Roydes had come to the notice of the Assassins' Guild. Apparently she'd lost her temper after one joke too many at her expense, with unfortunate consequences for the joker. Johanna reflected that anybody with a name like that, and what were the parents thinking, for the Gods' sake, would have a life filled with unquiet incident. Best we get her, a red-haired girl with an unfortunate name, and teach her how to manage a bad temper… and besides, I'm fairly sure we're related.
And much later that evening, in the quiet of the big room Johanna was sharing with the two girls, Young Johanna remembered something in her pocket. She brought out what at first glance was just an oddly-shaped stone, with a couple of shiny glassy fragments.
"Tannie Johanna, is this what I think it might be?" she asked.
Johanna took the stone, which had a patina of age, dirt and lichen. She reached for a knife, and scraped a little of the patina away. There was a gleam and a glitter.
"Looks like a tooth." she said. "A molar. A grinder."
"Ja. I found it on the rockery." She looked to her other aunt, and added, generously, "Mariella helped."
Johanna grinned.
"Kids, eh?" she said, aping Mine Host. The girls looked at her.
"It is indeed a troll tooth." she said. "From a poor unfortunate who was killed here. And troll teeth are indeed made of diamond."
"I thought it was!" young Johanna said, triumphantly. "But you're not going to give it to him, are you?"
She meant Mine Host.
"So the killers may carry on profiting from the crime? Nie. It is something you found. That and the fragments. In the city I know a man. Who will value this fairly. Most of the money is yours, of course."
"Most?" Mariella asked.
"It came to you by good fortune." Johanna said, firmly. "Which is better fortune than the poor lost troll enjoyed. You will pay a percentage to a recognised Troll charity. Then the rest goes into a secure bank account for you."
Smith-Rhodes family values at work, she thought, as she went to sleep. She fancied somewhere Sir Cecil was laughing and expressing approval of his many-times-great grand-daughters seeing an opportunity, and grasping it with both hands. She hoped so. Maybe a tendency to spot disregarded diamonds lying half-buried on the surface of the ground is a family trait too. Or Cecil passed by for just long enough to nudge the girls. Family values.
(1) Baby's First Words would be more than usually interesting if there was a good chance they could be in one of at least four languages. By express command of her mother, Bekki was to be kept well away from the grimoires her father kept in his study, as when Daddy was a wizard by profession and there was a good chance the child might have some magic in her – you never knew. Ponder Stibbons had sighed regretfully, and decided not to tell Johanna about the old book the Librarian had unearthed from an earlier age of wizardry and gifted to him; Baby's First Grimoire, apparently designed as a pre-school primer for children with magical ability. The opening page began with See Bel-Shammaroth, the dread Ichor-God, slither! See Him slither!
(2) I apologise. But Effing Forest does this to people. There is in fact a long discourse on the magnificence of the Great Tits to be seen in Effing Forest, in their pairbonded glory, in Mrs Bradshaw's Handbook to the Railways. It also refers to the impromptu choirs of lumberjacks who will break into full-bodied lumberjack song at the drop of an axe. The nature of the lumberjacking anthems is not elaborated upon but could perhaps be guessed.
(3) One of those iron laws of parenthood. The youngest child will need three or four times the luggage of anyone else. Nobody is sure why this is so but the general conclusion is that it's down to anxious parents Just Wanting To Make Sure.
(4) Cecil Rhodes was not unique in this. Gold and diamond mining in South Africa has a bad history in terms of its treatment of black miners, right up till the end of apartheid and possibly beyond.
(5) There's a stalled story out there that introduces the very first Johanna. A Ripping Yarn.
Technical linguistic note: Flemish is of course a dialect (or group of dialects) closely related to formal Dutch, which is spoken in Belgium and Luxembourg. As part of the research I unearthed a film loop of South African actress Charlize Theron being interviewed for Belgian TV. It was interesting that there were one or two moments of incomprehension, but in the main an actress speaking Afrikaans and an interviewer speaking Brabantian Flemish had no difficulty at all understanding each other. The moments of difficulty, as far as I could tell, seemed to do with vocabulary items present in one language but lacking in the other, or variant interpretations of the same word. The difference in pronunciation of the second person pronoun "you" and related words like "yours" is marked between the two languages: I chose to represent this by having Annaliese use the archaic form "ye" throughout, as this is how it would have sounded, more or less, to Johanna's ears. Or to Charlize.