Eyes chap. 11
Returning to another tale that seemed to stop at a nice natural (temporary) point. We rejoin Catherine and the girls, united in adversity, against the inclement elements. And the seemingly unsympathetic teachers escorting them.
Another hard day had fallen in the hills. Setting one of the teaching assistants to police the camp site, the principal directing staff got together to review the expedition so far.
"No real violence yet." Davinia Bellamy remarked.
"Not significantly so, no." Alice Band agreed. Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who had had to separate Natasha Romanoff (1) and Solveig von Kugelblitz, patch up a minor scrape or two, and shout at both of them very loudly, kept her peace. With luck the public shouting-at and consequent punishment would deter other fights from breaking out.
"Miss van der Plessis and Miss N'Golante seem to be a success story, though." Davinia remarked. She tried to keep incredulity out of her voice. Saartije van der Plessis was a White Howondalandian form a state that practiced apartheid. Chakata N'Golante was a Black Howandalandian from the country next door, separated by more than just a disputed river border, which did not appreciate other black Howondalandians being on the receiving end of apartheid.
Incredibly, they had been the first of many deliberately mis-matched tent-mates to publicly declare that whatever their nations at Home thought, they'd decided a very small tent was not the place to declare a war And they'd better at least pretend to be friends.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes, herself a White Howondalandian, grinned mirthlessly.
"Ag, they're only doing it because they know I wished it on them. They bleddy-well hate my guts right now." She said. "Which is a stert."
"So they'll slog on, encourage each other, share the chores equally, make it easier for each other. Just to spite you." Alice remarked. "The fact that's the point of the lesson is not something they're taking into account."
"End efter a week…" Johanna said, thoughtfully. "Who knows, it mey continue. Of course, purely to spite me."
"Of course." The other two agreed, straight-faced.
"A shame Solveig and Natasha can't see it that way." Davinia mused."It's a shame, as taken individually they're both well-adjusted and capable girls."
"But the river Kneck changed its course egain lest summer." Johanna said, thoughtfully. "So places once in Borogravia are now in Zlobenia. End vice-versa. (2) We do not hev thet problem with the river Ulhanghi."
Johanna's tirade had explicitly said that if the two could not be friends, they should consider the Kneck was getting on for a thousand miles from here, give or take a few hundred yards either way. She, Johanna Smith-Rhodes, was not prepared to tolerate it running down the middle of a tent in the Morpork Mountains with a Borogravian on one side of the tent and a Zlobenian on the other. Especially not two who, if they had not noticed, wore the same uniform, were pupils at the same school, and, they hoped, would graduate together into the same Guild!
It was, Catherine Perry-Bowen had noticed, a variation on a theme of the speech she used when White and Black Howondalandians got into fights over issues properly belonging several thousand miles away out towards the Rim. It was emphatic. It was scary. It was loud. It was frightening. And Miss Smith-Rhodes not only had a lot of practice in delivering it, she practiced what she preached. Not even Chakkie had any complaint with the way Miss Smith-Rhodes interacted with her.
And everybody else had been assembled to watch.
Catherine had sighed and got on with her own chores. She had persuaded Deborah Rust into putting in a little more work that had made their shared space more tolerable. She noted the directing staff were not vetoing this. Which was good.
Finishing the work they'd put in on their tent space, Catherine looked round to see Sam Demisage, who had returned from another foraging expedition. She was empty-handed, Catherine noticed.
"Cathy." Sam said. "Remember what I noticed when we were on the march here? Just been to check. I was right. I need you. I need Maddy and Jeannie, too. People to help. You know, carry things."
Sam lowered her voice and looked round to see who was watching. She whispered "Did you manage to smuggle any money in? You had that big win on the horses everyone was talking about."
"I've got seventy dollars." Catherine whispered back. "In notes."
They hadn't been prohibited from carrying money with them. Catherine suspected the directing teachers would confiscate any found. But they had to find it first. And they'd not been explicitly prohibited from leaving the camp site, either...
And a little later, Sam led the three others on a foraging mission. She went first, Cathy at the rear, and a Venturii and a Selachii in between who were trying to make it abundantly clear to anyone watching that they were not together, oh dear Gods, no, they were only here because Samantha, who was universally regarded as a jolly good sort, sterling gel, one of the best, had asked them to be. The fact a wretched Venturi/damned Selachii was also there was just one of those things.
Catherine looked round. She wasn't sure – and she realised, with Miss Band or Miss Smith-Rhodes you would never be sure – that they were being discreetly followed. But they'd deal with that when it happened…
"I have to say Catherine Perry-Bowen is coming on in leaps and bounds." Davinia Bellamy said. "You know, before her…. accident…. she was more of a follower rather than a leader. She was content to let other girls do the planning and the commanding and do whatever she was directed to do. Now she's taking charge. She's leading."
"Ja." said Johanna Smith-Rhodes. Her eyes strayed towards the pot where the bones, fat, and scraps were simmering. They had agreed the stock would be kept, filtered into a spare bottle, and would be the basis of a nutritious stew or a broth the next day. It would be a lot tastier, too. Johanna was tending the campfire.
"Thet thing she persuaded Deborah Rust to essist in. I found it impressive."
Alice Band nodded approval.
"Certainly clever. And very practicable. Although were this a military camp, which it expressly isn't, the tent line now looks a little bit odd. Sergeant-majors would throw fits!"
Catherine had seen they were about to put their tent up over uneven land with lots of bumps and depressions which would make sleeping uncomfortable. She had persuaded Deborah to help even things out by at least flattening the ground. Then she had an inspiration. There was no way to make the tent any higher. But you could make the ground lower. Excitedly she explained her brainwave to Deborah. Who had sighed, said "very well, then" and assisted in digging a nearly three-foot deep trench. The spoil heap had been mounded on the windward side as an additional windbreak. Catherine had discovered the main supporting poles could be driven in deeper and the canvas spread out wider. Once the trench had been lined with groundsheets, there was even a shelf of sorts on either side for dry stowage of packs and kit. Even Deborah had conceded this gave more space, more headroom and a more comfortable feel. Knowing this was near as a Rust got to thanks, she had sighed and spread out her sleeping bag.
Miss Smith-Rhodes had even said "You realise in a place with a higher water table, you could not hev done thet." But had walked away. And Miss Band had said "Well done, but remember you're filling in that hole tomorrow morning before we move on."
Then Sam had come round to assemble a forage party…
"Just over here." Sam said, leading her party up a hill. "I could smell it on the march up."
"So you hinted." Jeannie Venturi remarked.
"But never said. Not where they could hear." Sam added.
Cathy looked round, suspecting one of them was nearby and listening. But she saw nothing. She hadn't expected to see anything.
They breasted the hill. And there it was, in the valley below. A single isolated farmstead. Big long sheds, or maybe barns. And the sound of possibly thousands of chickens. And a hint of ammonia on the breeze. A small herd of cows grazed in a field.
"You grow up on a farm." Sam said, proudly. "You know." The Demisage family ran a farm and a market garden in the Shires country near the City, Catherine reflected.
"So, er, what do we do?" Jeanette Venturii asked. "If we rob the place, and they come complaining to Miss Band, she's going to go all Librarian on us."
"Besides, Daddy has Firm Views on anyone trying to rob any of his tenant farmers." Madeleine Selachii observed. "It's Just Not Done. A good chap doesn't."
Catherine noticed Jeanette agreed with this sentiment. Probably on the safe list of things Venturiis and Selachiis can discuss in public, she thought. Decent treatment of your tenant farmers, provided they pay the rent on time.
"My father got his men to track down the bandits who robbed one of his farms." Jeannie remarked. "A good horsewhipping and then into the Tanty." She paused for an instant. Then directly asked Maddy Selachii.
"And yours?"
"Same sort of thing." Maddy replied. "But he got a few of them with man-traps. And his men weren't gentle."
"Oh, obviously!" Jeannie agreed.
Catherine sensed the world turning. Long-trapped glacial ice was beginning to turn to a trickle. She blinked.
"We're not robbing anyone!" Sam Demisage repeated. "Guild of Thieves would shout about demarcation, for one thing. No, we're just going down to the front door, we are going to knock on it, and I am going, as one farm-person to another, to negotiate the purchase of eggs and chickens. So we can all eat better. Got your cash, Cathy? Good. Maddy, Jeannie. Glad you mentioned noblesse oblige to tenant farmers. Can I ask a silly question?"
"I've got money." Maddy reluctantly replied.
"So have I." said Jeannie, not wanting to be outdone.
Sam grinned.
"I'll do the talking. Come on."
"Yes. They would." Davinia agreed. She felt pleasantly sleepy after an unexpectedly good evening meal. Ah well. I'm sharing with Johanna. Who isn't nearly six feet tall and easier in a small confined space. And she did say "clean" and "modest" don't go together on a week like this.
"Thenks for joining in everything." Johanna said. "You could have opted out of group bathing."
Davinia shrugged. It hadn't been that horrible, although she'd had to steel herself to do it. But she'd been, long ago, a pupil at the Quirm Academy for Young Ladies where bathing facilities had been fairly primitive and a trial for the excessively modest.
"Like being at school again." she said. "You should know, Alice. We went to the same school. Although you were ten years after me. Were the showers just as primitive then?"
Alice grimaced. That said everything.
"Everything's a lesson for the girls." Davinia said. "Everybody's naked under their clothes and sometimes you just have to strip down and get on with it. Best we all do it together so nobody can get embarrassed. And getting the lesson across that stripping down to your shift and just washing the bits that show isn't nearly enough. I also like to think they took notes about where marriage and motherhood will inevitably lead."
"Preferably in that order" Alice said, drily. "But you educated them just by standing there. Given one of the reasons why Black Widow House joined us on this trip, may I thank you? I should imagine they're discussing your stretch-marks now, and vowing never to have children. Or to do any of the things you need to do beforehand to make children. Which makes all our job a little easier!"
"Cetherine egain." Johanna said, thoughtfully. "Thet new edventerous spirit she hes been manifesting."
"Which I agree we need to monitor and steer." Alice said. "Or else it's going to cause a lot of problems."
"Watch Emmanuelle." Davinia advised them. "Or ask what else she got up to when she was sixteen. Speaking of whom…"
"I know." Johanna said. She and Alice suddenly looked grave.
"I mean, I agree it's good practice for everyone on the teaching staff to have a refresher course on wilderness survival. Just so the lessons you learn don't get lost. You never know when you'll need them. And this has been quite enjoyable so far. But it's getting on for seven years now since Emmanuelle graduated?"
"And she's always been able to come up with a convincing reason to evade going on a wilderness refresher." Alice said.
"She won't get eway with it for ever." Johanna said, with steely determination. Davinia noted, idly, how the flattening of her vowels made the word "ever" sound like "ivver". (3) But as with people who worked with the Librarian and learnt to speak "ook", familiarity made a lot of difference.
Barnabas Strommerty ran a thriving egg-farm out here in the sticks. Eggs generally kept for a few days. The regular eggler carts that ran to Chirm called daily, and he made a tidy living at it. Like all farmers, he was money-orientated. Discovering a girls' school from the city, Chirm, he supposed, had set up camp in the hills, he mentally calculated how much he could take them for when they inevitably came calling for supplies. Like all city people, they'd probably have miscalculated how many supplies they'd need and would get hungry. And they couldn't carry it all on their backs, not with all the tents and things. He also kept a few cows, for the milk, and surplus birds and capons went into the pot. He smiled, calculating dollar prices. His daughter had been clamouring for a pony…
So when the four black-clad schoolgirls knocked on the door, he was ready. He listened to the big broad-shouldered slightly plump missy who seemed to be spokesgirl for the four. Two of them seemed like delicate flowers who were put off by the ammonia smell of all the droppings. I got a thousand chickens in the sheds. What do they expect? The fourth, the one with the strange eyes that put him on guard, seemed to be silently watching and assessing.
"So we'd quite like to buy some eggs, Mr Strommerty." The big girl concluded. "And chickens, if you have any spare."
Barnabas grinned and quoted his prices. The four looked at each other in shock. Then Maccabee the hound ran round barking threateningly.
"Heel, dog!" he shouted, not wanting to spook off a profitable sale. To his surprise, none of the girls ran or shrieked in fear. In fact…
"Zlobenian mastiff, do you think, miss Selachii?" one of the delicate flowers asked the other, critically scrutinising the dog.
"Indeed, miss Venturi." The other agreed. "A bit scruffy and needs a bath and some grooming, but a fine specimen of the breed!"
And the big girl had actually crouched down, to get on an eye-level with Maccabee, and was petting him…
"Who's a big lovely boy!" she said, as unbelievably, his attack mastiff licked her face and obediently panted… she placed a firm hand on Maccabee's rump, pushed it down and said "SIT!" in a voice that had harmonics, a voice that expected to be obeyed. Maccabee sat, tongue lolling out.
"Now, Mr Strommerty." The girl said, patiently, one hand absently scratching the dog behind the ear.
"You know and I know those are absurdly inflated prices."
"Yes, miss." he said, rebelliously. "But I ain't the one sitting in a tent up in the hills, runnin' low on food, and miles from a city."
Sam shook her head.
"Nice friendly dog, isn't he? I understand the need for a big dog, Mr Strommerty. Back home on our family farm, we keep Llamedosian dwarf-dogs. Corgis. Small, tidy, nippy. Good for herding cows as they can't see what's biting at their ankles, and it keeps them in line.4(4) But because we're so near Ankh-Morpork, we also have a few Acerian sledge-dogs. They're thought to be part-wolf, by the way. Grew up with them. You know, I could talk dogs all day? Corgis can get vicious, by the way. Bit unpredictable sometimes."
She smiled at him again. Then her face went serious.
"Let's be realistic here. Chickens aren't even a dollar each in the city. You know – and I certainly know – out here thirty pence each is a fair price. And I'm not even asking you to pluck and dress them. Just provide them dead. And the egglers who deliver to Ankh-Morpork pay the farmer eightpence a dozen. So let's begin from there, shall we?"
"I can still say "no". Strommerty mumbled, defiantly. He saw the quiet one at the back, with the strange eyes, glare at him. She stepped forward.
Catherine found herself saying, in a flat level voice
"You do know which school we're from? We wear black? Ankh-Morpork? Look. You can say no now. As is your right. But then, we can come back after dark. We've scouted your premises. We can take what we want then. We might leave you money. But then again we might not. And you won't know we've been there until you see the things that are missing!"
She looked down.
"And you can be sure your dog won't bark in the night." she added, nodding to the very friendly Maccabee.
"And you did hear our family names?" Maddy Selachii added.
"Almost sure Daddy owns property out here." Jeannie Venturi added. "I'll check with him. Mr… Strommerty, wasn't it?"
He gave in.
"Bloody Thieves Guild School…" he muttered, going indoors. "Won't be long.
"And we could use some milk!" Sam called after him.
Cathy nudged Maddy in the ribs. "Don't correct him!" she mouthed.
And a little later they loaded up with milk, sacks of eggs and a lot of chickens.
"Pay the man!" Sam said, cheerfully. Catherine turned and tried to be discreet about retrieving the banknotes in her bra. The bill came to surprisingly little and did not significantly dent her cash reserves. She rounded it up to the next highest dollar as noblesse oblige.
And then they made their way back.
From the cover of a nearby shrubbery, Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who had heard every word, decided not to intervene. She smiled, giving all four girls a starred A for the way they'd done things. Sometimes a teacher can unreservedly applaud how well her pupils are learning. And not just the official lessons.
"Of course, hed their intent been theft, I would have intervened." Johanna said to the other two teachers.
Feeling mellow after a chicken dinner – with eggs for breakfast to look forward to – Alice Band nodded agreement.
"Very wise." She said. "Mr Boggis would have really complained about professional demarcation. And Lord Downey would then have called us in for a chat."
"Without a doubt!" agreed Davinia. All three grimaced.
"But they egreed a very fair price. End paid the fermer a little on top for his time. End ensured a chicken end a fair share of the eggs were delivered to us."
"Just a hint of dumb insolence there." Alice mused. "Especially when Miss Perry-Bowen reminded me of my words about everyone being here to help each other and be mutually supportive."
"You can overlook some things." Davinia agreed. "Such as how at least three girls have got large amounts of ready cash hidden on their persons, when an informal rule of Wilderness Expeditions is that all cash is left at home. Living off the land is one thing. Buying your supplies from farms you visit on the trek is another."
Her attitude said she was not yet ready to enforce this point or search pupils for hidden cash.
"Miss Selachii did say that Monsieur Le Balouard teaches that if you're alone in a hostile wilderness, he recommends having money or valuables you can use to buy or bribe your way to survival." Alice mused.
"Well, yes." Johanna said. "But he was referring to the Kletchien desert or the Ghatian jungle where the local tribes are easily persuaded by gold. Not the Morpork Mountains."
"The problem is, I think, there's not too much uninhabited wilderness left within a hundred miles of the City these days." Alice reflected. "To really test the pupils, I fear we're going to have to go a lot further afield, soon."
"And search them for contraband money beforehand." Davinia added. "Make it a formal written rule. Not that we should start now, obviously."
The other two agreed.
"Sam. How the Hells did you manage that with the dog?" Catherine asked.
Sam Demisage grinned.
"It's a knack." she said. "Look. You know all the extreme ways they teach you to neutralise guard dogs? Poisoning it? Stabbing it? Killing it? I concede if all else fails you might have to, but you don't need to go that far. They don't teach you at this school to show a bit of kindness and make friends with it. That works too!"
"Yes." Cathy said. "I remember when you said that to Miss Smith-Rhodes, in class. She said if you felt that way, she could take you on a field-trip so she could watch you try your method on Harry King's Lipzwigers. She said she'd be watching, with interest, from the other side of the fence."
Sam considered this.
"Lipzwigers get a bad press." she said. "But at bottom they're just dogs."
"Even Piss Harry's?" Catherine asked. Her friend looked uncertain.
"Look. In future, just annoy Miss Band. People survive the Vimes Run." 5 (5)
Miss Smith-Rhodes had been in the camp all along, Catherine realised with relief. She had certainly popped up to welcome the foragers back, made no comment about their bags and bundles and a half-churn of milk, but had decisively intervened when Sam said she would sell eggs, chickens and milk to anyone outside their cooking collective.
She had ensured the goods were distributed fairly, asked, for the look of the thing, who had paid for them, and made the very strong suggestion that once back at the School, those lucky enough to be eating well should give consideration to recompensing Miss Perry-Bowen. Thirty pence a head will do it, she thought. Noblesse Oblige.
And then she'd supervised a lesson in how to pluck and dress a chicken, assuring herself the finished birds were properly gutted and safe for the pot. Girls squeamish about it were sharply told that at least they had not needed to kill the birds, and it is good to be aware of where your food comes from. Place the livers in this pot, if you please, as these are also nutritious. What, you have been a pupil at the Assassins' Guild School forover four years, and you cannot confidently identify the liver in a pile of steaming eviscerated guts? Observe, it is this part! Everything else could be boiled for gravy, but we are not in a Quirmian restaurant at present. All other giblets and inedible parts should be disposed of by deep burial. Miss Romanoff, you have a spade? Dig a refuse pit. Thank you.
She did not add that the feathers had a use too, but noticed a couple of the savvier pupils discreetly collecting together the makings of soft pillows. She smiled, allocating marks for practical ingenuity and adaptiveness.
Later, a plucked and properly gutted chicken and a fair share of the eggs was delivered to her.
"She's… different." Chakata N'golante said to her tent-mate Saartije van der Plessis. Both were sleepy after a surprisingly good meal and even a mugful of milky coffee. Milk, praise the gods of Howondaland!
"How so?" Saartije asked.
"Well… you remember when we both arrived? As first-years? Canon Clement got us together, at least we black kids, and said we were going to have a special talk. Just for Howondalandian students. We should listen carefully and be generous of heart, as it was going to take a lot of effort on her part. It turned out to be Miss Smith-Rhodes, didn't it? There she was, in the Boor clothes and everything, even that bloody whip she wears. We all thought, the enemy. No offence, you understand."
"None taken." Saartije said. "We hear she gives thet telk. To the new bleck kids. But whet does she ectually say?"
"Well. We wondered if she'd been ordered to do it. Told she'd get sacked as a teacher if she didn't. Maybe she had been. But she asked our names. Where we were from. Then she said she was new to the school, this was only her second year as a teacher, she was aware she'd made mistakes in dealing with pupils with black skins. Then she said she was genuinely sorry about that, as she thought she'd messed it up beyond hope of putting it right with a couple of pupils in the year above us, and anything we heard about that was likely to be true. She genuinely didn't want to repeat any mistakes with us and she said she didn't have a great deal of experience in treating black people as equals, or indeed in dealing with black people at all. She said that everybody here, black or white, or indeed Agatean or Klatchian, was an equal. We'd all been accepted to study here, after all, and that meant we were all part of a bigger family still."
"Subversive." Saartije said. "I cen see her point, mind you."
"Can you? Anyway. She said if she were to say, do or imply anything we found offensive or wrong, or basically White Howondalandian, to any of us, we should immediately tell her so, not leave it to stew, even if it was in a classroom full of people. She'd realised she should not deliberately offend or belittle, and anything she got wrong was out of ignorance and we should educate her. She wished us a happy seven years at the school, and that was it, really. One of the Master Race. Again, no offence. A baas-lady admitting the baas-lady could be in the wrong. That surprised us."
"I bet it did." Saartije said, lazily.
"When she'd gone, Canon Clement – he's scary, a Prince of the Royal House – he called for quiet and said it had taken a lot for her to say that to us. If we had an issue with her, perhaps it might be better not to raise it in class, in front of other pupils, but to wait till afterwards and speak to her privately. She would, he told us, listen, and is sincere in what she says. Be respectful to a woman whose actions merit respect. Treat that sincerity with a warrior's nobility of heart."
"Not to take the piss." Saartije translated.
"Exactly." Chakki said. "You know, you're not bad, for a bloody Boor?"
"And you're OK, for a spear-chucking Zulu." Saartije replied.
"We do not chuck spears. We stab with them." Chakkie replied, firmly.
"End we shoot beck. With crossbows."
"But not tonight."
"Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, either."
Chakkie grinned.
"My turn to cook breakfast. Eggs."
In another tent, a conversation with a similar intent was taking place, but in far less words.
"A good day, miss Venturi." Maddy Selachii said, her last words before sleep.
"A very good day indeed, miss Selachii!" Jeannie Venturi agreed.
(1). Yup. I did lift the name and general demeanour from "The Avengers". (not the British spy-thriller TV series, although a bit of Emma Peel or Purdey applies. It's the American comic book.) FF regular Nimbus Llewellyn suggested it and I thought "why not".
(2) SeeMonstrous Regimentby Terry Pratchett
(3) I know. A real South African accent, rrriprisinted phoniticilly, would have to take into account not only flattening of spoken "a" into "e", but also of minny spoken "e"'s into "i". It would just mek it look bleddy difficult to read end mik sinse out of. So I just suggest it with the a-e- thing. Cen the ixcissively rolled R's elso be taken es read? Thenk you.
(4) Really true. Cor-gi is literal Welsh for "dwarf dog" and they were indeed bred for herding cows, who get worried when they can't see what's biting their fetlocks as an inducement not to stray from the herd, and which is in any case too agile to kick. Acerian sledge-dogs – huskies. Not a dog for everyone and need specialist handling. But big, fierce to outsiders, and very loyal to friends. Apparently.
(5) In a couple of years time, Sam Demisage would meet and make friends with Johanna's pet dogs, to discover her teacher could turn two members of a species bred to be implacable killer guard dogs into big lolloping friendly creatures, whose preferred method of slaughter involved drowning the recipient in gallons of doggy spittle. As Johanna's Ridgebacks could also become ferocious fighters at need, both sides would feel vindicated by their opinions.
Bonus Song Lyrics:
Darryl Hall and John Oates, Private Eyes Are Watching You
I see you, you see me,
Watch you blowin' the lines;
When you're making a scene,
Oh girl, you've got to know,
What my head overlooks,
The senses will show to my heart,
When it's watching for lies;
You can't escape my
Private Eyes;
They're watching you;
They see your every move;
Private Eyes;
They're watching you;
Private Eyes;
They're watching you,
Watching you,
Watching you,
Watching you,
You play with words,
You play with love;
You can twist it around, baby,
That ain't enough;
'Cos girl,
I'm gonna know,
If you're letting me in,
Or letting me go;
Don't lie!
When you're hurting inside,
'Cos you can't escape my
Private Eyes;
They're watching you;
They see your every move;
Private Eyes;
They're watching you;
Private Eyes;
They're watching you,
Watching you,
Watching you,
Watching you,
[Instrumental Interlude]
Why you try to put up a front for me,
I'm a spy but on your side, you see,
Slip on into any disguise,
I'll still know you;
Look into my Private Eyes,
They're watching you,
They see your every move….
Oh, babe, Private Eyes,
They're watching you,
Private Eyes,
They're watching you, yeah,
They see your every move;
They see it….
Ooooh, they're watching you,
Private Eyes,
They're watching you...