Home thoughts from abroad. Or abroad thoughts from Home. Or something.
Chapter Thirty-Four. The End?
Being a series of letters and postcards to Ankh-Morpork from two recent school-leavers on a gap year – well, by now more of a Gap Eighteen Months - touring the Howondalandian (or Klatchian – it depends where you're standing) continent.
It's the end of the line and the rest of everybody's life begins here.
Now read on….
Piemberg. Glimpses of family life.
Agnetha Maaijande nudged her sister Johanna and nodded to a corner of the room.
"Oh, ka…Hell." Johanna sighed. She took a cautious step forward to where her daughter Famke was observing a fine example of the local wildlife. Famke, not yet two years old, had toddled to watch the interesting creature that was squatting on the wall under the window and was watching with deep intent fascination.
"They give me the creeps, those things." Agnetha remarked. Johanna moved with slow deliberation as the baboon spider began stridulating, a low bass hiss of warning.
"Famke? Move slowly away. Come to Mummy, sweetheart. Now." Johanna said.
"Singing, mummy!" Famke said, fascinated.
"Yes. They do." Johanna agreed. "But still. Best you come to Mummy. Or Tannie Agnetha."
Johanna drew her machete and prompted the spider away with the flat.
Not a lethally poisonous spider. But can still deliver a nasty bite. And when they hiss, they're threatened.
Johanna judged her moment. Baboon spiders grew big. Ten inches across. So if you got it underneath the body just so. On the flat of the blade, and then flick it out of the window….
Everybody in the room breathed more easily as the spider was encouraged to leave.
"Make a mess, if you donner them a klap." Agnetha said. She smiled at her sister, the more experienced mother taking the opportunity to assert superiority and greater knowledge. "Takes a big klap. And they tend to splat. Takes cleaning."
She hugged Famke warmly. "Johanna, you must have worked out by now that a good nine-tenths of being a mother is to be continually terrified at the things they do and the situations they get into."
Johanna nodded, feeling truly worried at what might have happened. Her sister smiled and shoulder-hugged her, the point having been made.
"And there are problems here they won't have seen in Ankh-Morpork." Agnetha added. "Can't leave them on their own, Johanna. Bekki, too."
Johanna agreed. Hers were city children who needed the short course in Veldt hazard-recognition. It came as standard if you were born and raised here.
Ponder Stibbons breathed out. He'd once been to Fourecks. He'd seen the wildlife there. This was his fourth or fifth visit to Howondaland. He had to concede that the wildlife here wasn't quite as threatening as Fourecks. But it came a close second.
"Is, er, that as big as spiders get round here?" he asked, politely.
Kurt Maaijande laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hells, no! We get Orb Spiders too. In the bush. Bigger. And you get violin spiders, sand crab spiders – they're bigger. Yellow-sac spiders. The worst are button spiders. Tiny little bliksems. But their bite kills. One nibble and – bang. You fall over. Dead."
"Don't frighten him, Kurt." Agnetha said. "If one of us spots something dangerous, we can point it out. Warn people. So they know what to watch for. No point in alarming people."
She smiled.
"All part of being a good host." she said.
"Well, now that's sorted out!" Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes boomed, amiably. "Things to do. Ponder, my boy!"
"Yes, sir?" Ponder said, attentively. He instinctively treated his father-in-law with the same deference he used for Mustrum Ridcully. Physically, they'd been assembled in the same factory to much the same sort of blueprint: the factory spec had appeared to call for "build them large. Make them loud. Make them direct. Give them an appetite for beer, big dinners and dubious songs. We're going for elemental force of nature here".
Barbarossa shook his head. He addressed the room, a happy post-breakfast group.
"I don't know. Boy still calls me "sir". The only fellow to have come halfway close to taming Johanna. Father of two lovely girls. Fought like Hell against the bloody Matabel. Stood by my daughter's side in some hard places. Got the good opinion of my friend Mustrum Ridcully. Nothing to prove to anyone, and quite a few years in, still he calls me "sir"."
He clapped Ponder on the shoulder, making him rock slightly.
"Got a job for you. There's a part of the land where it's too dry. Never been able to make anything grow there. Not much use for grazing. The geologist people say there's nothing useful underneath it. Frankly it's a dead loss. You wizards can do water-divining, yesno? I want you to see if there's a water source there, if you're willing. Usually you bloody wizards ask a lot of rand for a consultancy like that, but the way I see it, a wizard in the family!"
"Be delighted, sir… Barbarossa." Ponder said, quickly. His father-in-law grinned down happily.
"Coming, Kurt? You can see what needs to be done and if Ponder here finds a good place for a well, you can hire labour to dig it. Roust a cart-load of fellows in from Nirvana."
Barbarossa shook his head.
"Ag, whoever called the bloody township Nirvana must have had a sif sense of humour. But that's the Transvaal for you. Anyway, I take two of my sons-in-law for a ride in the morning. We can make a bet as to what sort of a fellow Mariella eventually brings home as my third. Got two good men so far, and there's every hope the third will shape up, whoever he turns out to be."
Barbarossa looked knowingly at Ponder.
"You've seen more of the girl over the last few years than we have. Get you away from Johanna, you can tell me if any interesting candidates have shown themselves. Her mother's got high hopes of a fellow called Timothy, apparently."
Ponder looked over to Johanna. She smiled tolerantly. Then made mysterious reference to a place where nothing ever grows and no rain or rivers flow, but at least it didn't snow at Hogswatch. Or indeed at any other time of year.
"See if you can bring some water there, Ponder. Before we get to remember Hogswatch is coming. Nice present!"(1)
Some days earlier, Pratoria.
Horst Lensen relaxed. The day had turned out to be a lot better than he had anticipated. He had been confronted with the nightmare scenario for any student Assassin walking into the place where the very last stage of the Final Examination was to take place. He had discovered the teacher who was administering the exam was the one who, for most of the preceding seven years, had treated him with, at best, studied and professional iciness and who, at worst, had looked at him as if he was something distasteful at the bottom of an animal cage. Frequently.
And well-founded lore among students was that Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes, normally a maverick who avoided wearing the formal Black in favour of comfortable Howondalandian veldt-khaki, only ever donned the full formal Black when concluding an inhumation. Contract rules stipulated this; the Concordat said an Assassin must be correctly dressed as a courtesy to the client, so they would have no doubt whatsoever as to the status of the person concluding the contract.
And, Horst had noticed with cold icy dread, she was wearing her best official Black.
Deciding he was probably doomed, he had decided to put up the best possible performance on the way out.
To his surprise, she had filled out the pink slip, congratulated him, and had invited him to call her Johanna, as post-graduation good manners suggested.
And now he was a guest at a good restaurant with Johanna, her family, and other people. It appeared that he'd evaded Death for a third time.
"Order anything you like." she had said. "It's on expenses. The Guild's paying. And after the year you've had, the Guild possibly owes you a good lunch."
"Strive ye not to slurp thy drink, Rebecka." the plump blonde nanny said, in her strangely accented language that was like to, but not, Vondalaans. And not Kerrigian either.
"And no making a noise through the straw, either." Johanna added. She smiled at Horst.
"Annaliese's from the Sto Plains." she explained. "You've never really heard Phlegmish before? Those clever linguist people believe it's the root-language, the oldest form. Kerrigian came from Phlegmish and Vondalaans came from Kerrigian. I've never asked, but I'd suspect Vondalaans sounds a bit coarse and crude and zef to people from Phlaanders. Is that so, Annaliese?"
The nanny smiled.
"Thy speech is most direct and makes the point swiftly, Mistress." Annaliese said. "It is of interest to be in a location where all speak as ye do. It is much improving my speaking and my understanding."
Johanna smiled.
"Six years, nearly, and she still calls me "mistress." she said.
She appraised Horst for a few moments.
"So. Mr Lensen. Horst. What do you intend to do now you've graduated?"
He considered this.
"I'm not too sure. I should now go to the Bureau of Defence, as my deferment will expire soon. To register for National Service. Then return to the family plaas and help out. To fill in the time until I'm called up. Then it's likely to be basic training at Wynberg or Simonstown. They're the nearest training barracks to Home."
Johanna considered this. She knew her country wasn't short of military bases. It was inescapable. And policy was to send recruits to bases fairly near their homes. It was expedient and offered the human touch of short weekend leaves. She'd done her initial training at Fort Rapier in Piemberg, and assumed Mariella would go there too when her time came. Fort Rapier trained a lot of women soldiers.
"And after basic induction and officer training school. Posting to a dedicated branch of Service." she said, thoughtfully. "Once the basic competences are instilled. And assessments are made."
Johanna considered the letters in her bag. She'd bring them out at the right time. She carefully did not ask him if he still wanted to go to BOSS, the paramilitary secret police, after initial training, preferring to let Horst raise this in his own time. She invited him to speak of home and family, and listened.
Horst Lensen spoke about the family vineyards, with pride and a certain wistfulness. Johanna listened for the spill words. Horst appeared concerned and worried. She gathered his father, somewhat cold and distant, had a regrettable tendency to sample the end product too much and could get unpredictable after quality-testing the family wine.
"Occupational hazard of the vintner, yesno?" she remarked, gently.
Horst nodded, sadly.
And his older two brothers. The older brother who stood to inherit had no real feel for the work and saw it as a means to get gambling and party money. The middle brother had moved out as soon as he could and was doing well elsewhere. Without saying so openly, Horst hinted there were debts.
"And I believe I owe your sister four thousand dollars. I appreciate that, and she will be repaid. But it will take time." he said, sadly. "I do not think I could count on family largesse. Not at present. I could perhaps resell Assassin equipment I will have no need for while doing military service. That's good for perhaps fifteen hundred. As a downpayment."
"At the Fiveways Fair2(2)." Johanna said, sympathetically. An Assassin who fell on hard times could auction their working gear to raise desperation funding. This was accepted. Other Guild members usually contrived, understanding, to offer the best prices for it. But selling your kit was a shameful thing and last resort. She considered, and brought out a letter from several.
"This is from Lord Downey." she explained. "I understand part of it is not to be taken personally, and it is a standard form letter to graduates in your circumstances."
She waited while he opened and read it. His eyes opened with surprise and his face expressed surprise and not a little relief.
"I understand, I think, that I should refrain from accepting any contracts, at least for a few years and until I have undertaken refresher and retraining courses in certain areas." he said, slowly. "That is perhaps for the best."
Johanna nodded.
"It is right, I think. Experience tells us that if we graduate a hundred students each year, less than twenty will choose to be active in the Profession. For now, you are one of the eighty."
Horst accepted this.
"But, Johanna. I wasn't expecting to read that your sister and Rivka submitted very good reports about me. Mariella… well, we really didn't get on. Pretty much entirely down to me, I now realise. I regret that."
Johanna shrugged.
"You redeemed yourself. Where it counted. At Smithville. On the river. And when you intimidated that petty Customs dof with well-chosen words and assisted Mariella and Rivka with being released from custody. This and other things suggested we should review your case favourably."
Horst re-read the letter.
It has been decided that in the exceptional circumstances which applied, the costs incurred by the Guild in facilitating your rescue will be waived to you and absorbed as inescapable working costs. You will now not be charged for the nearly ten thousand dollars in expenses which were incurred by the Guild. Miss Mariella Smith-Rhodes has been separately informed that the Guild will reimburse her for the personal expense she incurred in financing your rescue. You may now begin your adult life free from debt. Again we congratulate you for the personal resolve, bravery, and the depth of character you displayed in your actions at several points in your journey across the continent…
It was signed by Lord Downey, Guild Master, and Miss Joan Sanderson-Reeves, Deputy Guild Mistress.
Horst Lensen blinked.
Johanna studied his face.
"Surprised? Ag. Ten thousand dollars is small change compared to the amount in the Guild coffers. Despite Mr Winvoe thinking it's coming out of his own pocket and threatening this sort of generosity could bankrupt us. I'd say we can afford it."
She called for the wine list.
Horst noted she took care to select a wine from the Lensen family vineyard. He wondered if she'd researched this. He also recalled that normally, she preferred beer.
"I'm not normally a wine drinker." she remarked. "But sometimes the occasion calls for it. And this is not too bad at all. Your family grow good grapes."
Something to speak about to Father, she reflected. And research, dig around. How bad a state is the Lensen vineyard in, financially? Something to consider. It's always bad to see a Boer family go under.
"Any thought as to arm of service?" she asked, making it sound casual.
Horst sighed.
"I never thought there was any doubt." He said. "Till recently."
He opened out.
Shortly after his arrival in Ankh-Morpork, there'd been the usual reception at the Embassy for new Guild students. Johanna had escorted the new people there to be introduced to the Ambassador and key people, so they could be reminded that as citizens in a foreign country they had both rights and obligations.
At some point, the sinister and weasely Liutnant Verkramp, the resident BOSS section chief, had selected Horst Lensen as a likely candidate, and a sort of grooming process had begun.
Johanna had noticed this and decided not to intervene too much. She couldn't. Nobody could openly defy or oppose BOSS without sanctions, not even a Smith-Rhodes who was related to the Ambassador. Considering her options, she had decided that she at least now knew who the BOSS mole in the Guild was, and could control this at least, as far as she could.
And it wasn't too hard to work out. Verkramp had picked on a vulnerable boy, with a distant and lacking father, who was alone in a strange place, already somewhat isolated from his peers, and stepped in as a father-figure to offer the approval and mentoring he desperately needed.
Verkramp had wheedled small petty things out of Lensen about his peers and teachers. Where Miss Smith-Rhodes, for instance, had let slip her scepticism concerning the rightness of apartheid as social policy, and about her closeness to Zulu nationals whom she appeared improperly friendly with. These little things had been added to the relevant damning files.
Johanna sighed. She'd expected this.
And then he'd said, well, you're telling me little things. Look for the big ones. It is a service to our nation, and after you graduate, BOSS needs good people. Stick with me and your future is assured.
She added this to a growing mental file of her own concerning Verkramp, and decided that one day there'd been a reckoning with him. The only reason why she hadn't dealt conclusively with him before – apart from there being no official contract – was the suspicion that if Verkramp disappeared, BOSS would replace the ridiculous silly little tumour with somebody who was more efficient as a spy.
"And it wasn't just you." Horst continued. It was mortifying, but it was good to confess. Cleansing, somehow. "Miss van Kruger too. And other students. Including Mariella. When she started getting friendly with that Zulu girl."
Johanna said nothing.
And we let this happen, she thought. She felt a twinge of something like shame. Doctor Perdore and Monsieur de Balouard had been of the opinion that the situation could be managed, and young Lensen could be fed the right sort of misleading information that could be passed on. And nobody had paused to consider the corroding effect on the pupil himself. She reflected on one or two problem cases among the current crop of Rimwards Howondalandian students at the Guild, and wondered how this knowledge could be used to support them. It was highly likely Verkramp was corrupting them too.
"I regret that now. Sincerely and deeply." Lensen said.
Johanna took his hand in a much belated gesture of forgiveness. If it hadn't been him, it would have been somebody.
"You were not entirely to blame." she said. "But it seems you've redeemed yourself. I'm pleased. Now let's talk about how to save your soul."
She brought out another letter.
"It's a personal reference from Hans Dreyer." she said. "He wants you in the Slew. I'm thinking that a much-decorated Army commander. In an élite unit. If anyone has got the clout to get you out of the clutches of BOSS, it's the Crowbar. If somebody like Dreyer wants you after you pass out of officer school, he will get you. And I'm just betting the Bureau of Defence have already got a copy of this reference. Go with him."
Johanna smiled.
"You had seven indifferent years at the Guild School." she said. "But that's not the end of the world. Hans Dreyer wants to make something of you. It'll sting and it'll be hard, but he will."
She lowered her voice. This was not a private space. "Listen. Let me tell you a story. One upon a time there was a young girl of around nineteen or twenty. She had an attitude. She was closed in, defensive, narrow-minded, a pain in the guava, and completely hard to love. She even thought things were broadly right in this country and that BOSS were doing a good job, even if they were a bit extreme sometimes."
She poured some more wine.
"That stroppy little girl had just spent two years in uniform. A little over half of that in the Slew. Seen action. Then she got to go to Ankh-Morpork. The Guild of Assassins made her an offer she couldn't refuse. And Gods, she was a pain in the guava there too. At first. But three good people did a lot to shape her up and knock the sharp edges off. The wrong sort of sharp edges. She met a woman who liked other women more than she liked men. While she didn't go that way, this friend showed her that being different is not to be inferior. You know? There was a woman from Quirm who lived an interestingly different life. She opened the stroppy little girl's eyes too. And a much older lady who'd seen it all at least once, and then come back to see the things she quite liked for a second go. A terrifying older woman who was still, and stayed, a very good friend. And opened the idiot dof's eyes as to what really is. And despite being frankly hard to love and despite her being a fool and a bliksem and a total pielkop, they never gave up on her. And she changed. Do you see what I'm saying here?"
Horst Lensen contemplated his former teacher.
"I believe I do, Johanna. And thank you."
Johanna smiled.
"I sometimes wonder where that young idiot might have gone otherwise." she said.
And later, when she had Horst had gone their separate ways, she reflected she'd completely forgotten to collect Rivka's crossbow so as to bring it back.
Ah well. He'll sort that out for himself.
Johanna busied herself getting her travelling party together. They'd arranged to travel from the Embassy in Pratoria for the short hop across the country. Bringing them all together was like herding cats, but she managed.
Piemberg. Another glimpse of somebody else's future direction.
Johanna looked sympathetically at the worried native couple who'd brought the animal in, trusting that Baas Barbarossa would be able to help. Her father had the local reputation of being a good and fair baas to all the people who lived in the area, not just the white ones. And she knew that livestock were valuable to the black people who lived in the area. A good goat was milk, fleece for spinning, and at the end of its life, meat for the pot.
This was a pregnant nanny goat, who was suffering.
She knelt upright and sighed.
"So what do you think, Johanna?" her mother asked. Agnetha Smith-Rhodes had said to the native woman that perhaps her daughter could assist, she knew a lot about animals and their ailments.
"It's classic dystocia, mutti." Johanna said. "Something wrong in the womb. She's in labour but can't birth the kid."
Johanna patted the panting goat's flank. She was almost certain that she would have to go in with a caesarean. She could do it, but it was uncertain. The mother might die, but at least the owners would get a new kid to raise. And good animals were the nearest thing to wealth these people had.
The third generation Smith-Rhodes present let her lip tremble.
"So the mummy goat might die? And her baby?"
Johanna squeezed Bekki's hand.
"I could go in." Agnetha said. "You know. Manually. But there isn't much room there and it could be my hand and arm are too big."
"What do you mean, ouma?" Bekki asked. Her grandmother explained. To Johanna's pleasant surprise, Bekki didn't flinch, express repugnance or go "Ewww!"
"If babies come out of there." Bekki said, working it out, "And something is stopping them. Then somebody can put their arm and their hand in, and find out what's wrong."
"Ja, exactly!" Agnetha said, pleased. "But my hand may be too big. And your mother's. Your mother may have to cut her open to get to the kid that way."
"And that would hurt. And the mother might die." Bekki said. She moved forward and laid her hand on the nanny goat's flank. She closed her eyes.
"Mutti, ouma. Let me do this. I think I can see what's wrong!"
Agnetha looked at Johanna. Both took a deep breath.
"She has little hands." Agnetha said. "It may work. Rebecka, be sure you wish to do this."
Bekki nodded. She seemed sure and determined.
Then a few minutes later, her arm greased to the shoulder and her tunic off, she was focused intently on what she was doing. Her mother and grandmother watched intently.
"Mummy, I can feel more than two legs." Bekki said, her face pressed to the goat's flank. "There are two babies in here. One is alive. I can feel its face nuzzling me. It's tickly. But both babies are trying to come out at once, and they're all tangled up. I can see if I close my eyes how they are…"
She concentrated again.
"I can do it now. If I take this leg and move it around…"
The mother goat bleated. It sounded like relief.
Bekki withdrew her arm. Seconds later the first of two kids was born. After that there was a second.
Agnetha Smith-Rhodes smiled. The goat's owners exclaimed in pleasure and relief.
Bekki squealed with pleasure as the kids staggered onto their hooves. She gently steered them to where they could find milk.
"And she doesn't need to be shown." Agnetha remarked. "It's instinct. Rebecka. Tell me how you did that."
"While you're washing your arm." Johanna said, feeling pride in her daughter. "Properly."
"I closed my eyes." Bekki said. "And the mummy goat showed me a picture of what was inside her. How her babies were all mixed up and needed help. It was easy. Do you see that in your animals, ouma?"
Agnetha and Johanna looked at each other.
"Her father's a wizard." her grandmother said. "Don't they say this is a witch-skill? Magic?"
Johanna sighed. She was now fairly sure her daughter's life would lead her to Lancre. Or to the Chalk. She was also aware of the goat's owner exclaiming about how the child had good muti and was surely destined for isangoma status.
"Oh, griet." Johanna said. "Liewe heksie."
Her mother patted her on the shoulder.
"Ja. Onse liewe heksie."
"Haai oe Blommie". Johanna said, censoring herself. Her mother didn't like bad language and anyway, not in front of her daughter. She decided to talk to Ponder about this. She could normally figure out more or less what was wrong with an ailing animal, but did it the conventional way, and was never helped by closing her eyes and seeing a helpful picture project itself onto the screen of her mind.
It wasn't all bad, she thought. Maybe, under supervision, Bekki might appreciate a few more trips to the Zoo. Bring this skill on and see how far it went.
"Mummy?"
"Yes, Bekki?"
"If I'm going to be a heksie, can I get a go on Daddy's broomstick?"
Johanna smiled.
"No. Bekki. Well, not just now, anyway."
Elsewhere on the farm Mariella Smith-Rhodes kicked her heels in quiet bored solitude. She'd gained the impression from the general vibe that she was the third wheel, the lemon, the unwanted chaperone.
Rivka was spending more and more time in the company of the Cenotian exchange student Aaron. Oh, it was innocent, so far, and it was pretty much the sort of guarded Cenotian courtship (there! She'd said the word.) which had other Cenotians, other established couples, tagging along to see it didn't get out of hand.
But she, Mariella Smith-Rhodes, was now experiencing separation from the closest best friend she had, the girl she'd just spent over a year travelling a continent with and experiencing challenges and perils with. This was one experience, Rivka's unspoken language had made clear, that wasn't for sharing.
She had also noted that Annaliese, Johanna's nanny, had attracted the attention of one of the younger farmhands, who was finding reasons to be working where she was. Annaliese was indicating she was not unaverse to the attention, so long as he realised Famke was her first priority.
She sighed. Romance seemed all around. For other people.
She had made the way to the kitchen of her sister-in-law, wife of her brother Andreas, who was older and wiser and a sympathetic ear.
"Hei, Nelli." she said, trying not to be moody.
Cornelia Smith-Rhodes welcomed her warmly.
"Thought you'd be calling by." Nelli said. "Well, either me or Agnetha. I'm guessing you're at a loose end right now?"
Mariella nodded.
"About this time of day I've got the kettle on. Roobuis?"
Mariella nodded.
"Very well laid out." Rivka ben-Devorah observed. "A lot of thought went into this. These three farmhouses are laid out so they cover each other. Interlocking fields of fire. They're on a sort of raised flat hill. Anybody attacking, let's say a full Zulu impi, has to cross that drainage ditch, the deep one, at the bottom. Then go uphill. Those fruit orchards mean an attacking army has to break formation. Or else pile up in the gaps between the orchards."
"Oranges, lemons, limes." Aaron said. "Some nice apples, too."
She nodded.
"Fruit, yes. Orchards with closely- planted trees. The gaps between them kind of funnel down the closer you get to the buildings. Which are overlooked by the sort of defensive fence where you could have a lot of people with crossbows. And each of the three farmhouses has a big armoury in the cellar. I looked."
She looked across at Aaron.
"Sorry. Keep forgetting you're not an Assassin. This must be boring you."
"Not at all." he said, politely. "And the main working buildings over there can be closed off by dropping wagons and mealie bags in the spaces between buildings. That seems to be the local default position for defending against Zulus. Build a Redoubt with a firestep and concentrate your firepower."
"It worked at Lawkes' Drain." she said.
"Exactly." Aaron said. "you'd have thought somebody on the Zulu side might have worked out by now that the best tactic is to bring even better firepower, and besiege the place. Not to keep charging it with human waves."
She looked at him.
"Look. Does it worry you at all that I'm an Assassin?" she asked, curiously.
He shrugged.
"Gevalt, why should it? There isn't a contract out on me as far as I know, and I've done nothing to annoy you. So far as I know."
Rivka smiled. This guy was, in some indefinite sort of way, different. She liked different. She thought of Mariella.
She'll be OK. If I guessed right, I might get my crossbow back within the next day or two.
Later that afternoon, as the agricultural day wound down and evening dinner beckoned, people made their way back to the central living buildings to eat and rest.
And the expected Welfare Officer from Cenotia arrived to make herself known to her people.
Rivka, walking back with Aaron, pulled up short.
"Oi VEY!" she exclaimed, alarmed. She took a step back.
The woman who'd just climbed down from the cart patted her rigidly coiffed blonde hair. She held her arms out to Rivka.
"SCHMOOPIE!" she exclaimed, delighted to see her.
Mariella Smith-Rhodes suppressed a snicker. Yenta Goldberg had caught up with her problem case.
To be continued in what will be positively the last chapter. Hooray, a completed story. After that – other tales to finish…
(1) I know. Subtle reference to that bloody song.
(2) the L-Space Wiki says this about the Assassins' Fair: The Assassins' Fair is one of the rich traditions and customs of the Assassins' Guild of Ankh-Morpork. It is held monthly on the night of the full moon, and is an opportunity for graduate and student Assassins to trade in new and unavoidably second-hand items of stylish clothing, well-crafted working tools and weapons, maps, information, and other peripheral items pertinent to the trade of Assassin. As described in The Compleat Discworld Almanack, it is held in the upper floors and the top of the old bell tower at Five Ways, and entry is selective. The casual visitor is discouraged by the fact the ground floor doors are firmly barred and any visitor must gain admittance by edificeering up the side of what is acknowledged to be a moderately difficult climb. This weeds out casual visitors and most non-Assassins. (Thieves' Guild members, who share many common skills and use an overlapping range of equipment, may be welcome so long as their intention is to buy and not steal). This parallels Roundworld practice among military and paramilitary elites, where the equipment and possessions of deceased members tend to be informally auctioned off among their peers, as both a fitting send-off and to ensure those trade tools are not defiled by falling into the hands of those outside the family.
Notes Dump:
A limbo for random out-of-sequence concepts, impacting inspiration particles, and possibly cryptic explanations of references in the text. Somewhere in the text but not necessarily here. They may relate to a chapter of this work which is not this immediate one or represent one existing in potential L-Space which is yet to be written. They may even be random jottings and ideas to inspire other stories. Time and L-Space are not linear. Strange things happen.
UPDATE:-
Hot damn, the model I discovered on the Internet who is the living walking face of Mariella Smith-Rhodes appears to have made it to TV. She's on the adverts for the Very clothes catalogue firm, apparently. And I still don't know her name so as to do a better search…
Thanks to reader ivanthemostlysane, who came up with a name: Brazilian-based model Cinthia Dicker.
We discussed the hazards of searching for photosources online and the sort of searches that can be misinterpreted.
By George, I think he's got it. Thank you!
Pictures of Cinthia (currently around thirty) in a plain unscrubbed natural manner without excessive makeup or hairstyling - especially "younger" shots - are very definitely my Mariella as I see her. Thank you!
Harder to tell on Lucy, and I suspect Johanna might have definite thoughts on the issue - somewhat distracting - but I can see from some head-and-shoulders shots where your mind is going. Bit hard to justify a photosearch on a shared computer!
Although there is at least one adult movie actress who has a vibe for a Lady T'Malia, in some shots; one of the older ladies who apparently does the "mature" circuit. Not a complete match, though: although I did get interesting reference shots of her doing "historical" porn as a Southern Belle in American Civil War settings, with all that implies. Old-time South Africans would not have appreciated the consequent shennanigans very much. And... period dress and hairstyles, modern underwear. You have got to love the cheesiness of porn -not the mechanics of it, which get a bit "groundhog day" after the first five minutes. But those set-ups, such plot and "acting" as there is; You-Tube has an impressive selection of the intros where the most unlikely and "you have got to be kidding me!" scenarios are set up to justify the consequent action.
My (possible) Lady T'Malia is a lady called Magdalene St Michaels. A British actress in the murky Seamstress-tinged underworld of American porn: over fifty, stately, elegant, somewhat attractive for her age but one who will never be forty-something again despite a degree of cosmetic intervention, and who, for our purposes, has all the acting ability of a large thick plank of wood. Even by porn intro standards (let's face it: they're not hired to actually act) she is a magnificently, stupendously, unbelievably, bad actress with one characterisation: that of constipated discomfort. But you can look at her in period clothing and think - you know, she's not a bad fit for T'Malia.
I recommend You-Tube's galleries of porn movie intros (they have to cut out before the sex really starts, for obvious reasons) as something with the power to really cheer you up on a grey day. They can be howlingly, inadvertently, hilarious. (There's another older lady called Nina Hartley who is genuinely funny for all the right reasons - she also goes against type and shows signs of being a good actress, had she gone into the "respectable" business. You get the feeling she's realised how ludicrous it all is and she's taking the opportunity to send it up and take the piss. Not a very good match for Davinia Bellamy - I have found better - but just now and again, Nina H presents as a slightly mumsy bespectacled blonde of a certain age, with the right aura...)
Apparently there was a long-running South African childrens' TV show called The Little Witch. (Die liewe heksie) I read about it and borrowed a couple of its catchphrases to see if this obscure detail gets noticed...