Alexandra – The Making of an Air Witch
Chapter 4 V0.03. More of the same .
Damn, I only meant Lexi's story to be at most a couple of pages of a chapter of Strandpiel, as with Yulia Vizhinsky's. But it became apparent it would grow. So I had to bud it off and transplant the cutting to a tale of its own. This is it. Quite possibly for those who have read "Strandpiel 2" and are intrigued as to how a young Witch has the self-confidence to face down Famke Smith-Rhodes Stibbons and make it clear she isn't having any nonsense from a Red Nuisance. Apart from Lexi being a Witch with Cossack roots, I didn't know - then - what her background would be to enable her to be thirteen years old and badass like this. I just had a vague idea she'd be from an Army family. The Babayaga's prediction that in the fullness of time (and a few decades) Lexi might become an Air Watch command officer also popped in out of nowhere. Everything properly coalesced as I began writing about her. After this, having Famke for a Best Enemy would be a stroll in the park.
Bloody autocorrect autoincorrecting things. I wrote "dogs' backs". AC made it "dogs' bags".I'm sure there will be more.
Now read on…
At Pokrovsky Barracks, Blondograd.
Pokrovsky had begun as a village, quite a few hundred years previously, some miles away from the great city of Blondograd. It had lived an unremarkable life, both close to the seat of Imperial Power, and as far removed from the decisions made by the rulers of the Empire as if it were out in the most distant oblast of mighty Rodinia.
Then, the decision-makers in Blondograd were faced with the problem of where to locate Imperial Army units conveniently close to the capital city, but not so close that the place was going to be continually full of rowdy off-duty soldiers looking for entertainment. You needed an Army, the thinking went. And off-duty officers, leaders and commanders, men who had been Educated and knew how to behave themselves, were always welcome in the City. It was just… where do we put the rest of them?
After some surveying, Pokrovsky was selected as the ideal place to build home barracks, depots and training areas. This worked. And over the years since, as Rodinia swelled to Imperial power and then began its slow decline, more and more Regiments were based here. Without any fuss, the original village became surrounded by, and then assimilated into, a military way of life. Pokrovsky was now a military town, almost a city in its own right, a place that thrilled both military enthusiasts and historians. Historians came here for guided tours, in fact. After the fall and disintegration of Rodinia, some historians had (tactfully) argued that the continued existence, against all reason, of the Blondograd Guards Division made it a historical fossil in its own right, a massive and expensive relic of an earlier age which had no real place in the modern world after the State that had sustained it was now largely defunct. (1) An anomaly.
But it persisted. It was still here. It fascinated historians. An Army with no apparent nation to be an Army to. (2)
Economists pointed out that the Guards Division was funded by a social class who remained powerful in the world, whilst simultaneously being an anomaly in their own right: the Noble Classes, who in earlier ages had managed to amass and control significant resources, largely where taxation authorities and national governments could not easily reach. Inevitably, that money would be returned to the economy, and in the case of the former Imperial Houses of Rodinia, it sustained the occupations and the livelihoods of tens of thousands of people, an argument for small government and low taxation.
Social and political historians drew attention to the way the Noble Houses of Rodinia had been whittled down, after the Revolution, to only two Families: the Romanoffs and the Ignatieffs, the only ones with the foresight to see what was coming, and who had got out early to avoid the crush. Both Families had managed to stash the loot elsewhere, with the Imperial Treasury having somehow vanished overnight, a step ahead of the incoming Revolutionaries.
Political theorists, such as Lord Vetinari of Ankh-Morpork and Lady Margolotta of Bonk, pointed out that noble families always raise and sustain Regiments and should be allowed to continue meeting the expense of doing so, devoting their resources to the continuation of military traditions and in the process employing thousands, not only in their Regiments but also in supporting industries, such as the manufacture of weapons, armour and uniforms. Lord Vetinari then noted the health and vitality of Ankh-Morpork's arms industries and the thriving export trade to other countries.(3)
These days, the Division performed ceremonial duties in and around Blondograd, a spectacle that brought in lots of roubles in revenue from visiting tourists, as part of the historical pageant of Old Imperial Rodinia that visitors to Blondograd were enthralled by.(4)
It all worked, just so long as people agreed the Guards Division should not be used to fight in any actual Wars, and if it ever did, they would be under legitimately constituted direction. (5) They should not be used, for instance, for the reunification of Rodinia, to realise the idea of enthroning a new Tsar. Or Tsarina. Vetinari and Margolotta were both very definite about this.
Pokrovsky Village was still there, in pretty much the dead centre of the barracks. It had the usual run of churches, bars, shops, a Town Hall, and soforth. But radiating out on all sides were the barracks of the various regiments, cavalry lines on one side, infantry lines on the other, with the usual hard-to-categorise supporting arms in their own depots and enclaves. The Engineers, for instance, and the unglamorous logistic support units. Warehouses, storerooms, wheelwrights, wagon-makers, farriers, chandlers, leatherworkers, quartermasters' stores.
There were Barracks for each Regiment, with the usual panoply of Quarters, canteens, guardrooms, parade squares. And in the next ring out, Married Quarters for NCOs and officers, beginning to look like a normal town if you viewed it from the air. And most exalted of all, the estates set aside for the most senior officers, the biggest, richest-looking houses with extensive gardens, allocated to Regimental Commmanders and above. These were out on the very edge, almost in the countryside. (6)
On this particular afternoon, a girl had walked from the Senior Officers' Estate, where she lived, into Pokrovsky Village. With nothing obviously remarkable about her, she mingled easily with the crowd on the streets, wives buying food for the family, off-duty soldiers doing what they needed to do(7) in the town, and standing politely aside for the occasional patrol of on-duty soldiers, both infantry and cavalry. Sometimes she met people she knew, and exchanged greetings. Pokrovsky Village was possibly the safest place to be at this time of day: she was too young to attract the attention of the soldiers, as girls older than her did, and she was spared the back-and-forth banter of the men and the older girls. Besides, people who knew her father's status would back off from doing this to her at any age, as that was prudent. She also knew that as the day became evening and the various bars and wet canteens opened, street life could get more interesting, and the provost patrols might need to demonstrate that the clubs they carried were not just for display. But she'd be back home by then.
Alexandra sighed. Going back home was not, at the moment, a happy thought. Home felt contaminated. Mama was quietly despairing that the banya had developed faults. The water was lukewarm and dirty-brown, as if drawn from the nearby river. The tiling on the walls was developing musty-smelling mould, despite regular cleaning and scrubbing. Nothing seemed able to stop it forming. Engineers that Papa had asked to take a look had pronounced themselves baffled.
Alexandra, who knew the reason for this, had taken to packing her bath things and going round to sympathetic friends. She was always welcome at Barbara Borodinska's home, where her son-in-law, the exalted RSM, welcomed her with sympathy and understanding. Barbara had filled him in on what was happening, and he was worried for the health of the Regiment, as well as concerned for the Mumorovs.
Lidia, the RSM's wife, was concerned for the effect all this was having on Alexandra's health and wellbeing. They had discussed the problem at length. The RSM was keen for a resolution. The Annual Review was due in three weeks' time and he wanted the Kazachok Cossack Cavalry Regiment to be impeccable for this. He'd seen the calamity that had befallen the Cuirassiers. He didn't want the Kazachok to be next. And he was concerned that Colonel Mumorov seemed distracted, somehow, not his usual self?
Alexandra, troubled, felt as if representations were being made to her to sort all this out. But Mama and Papa refused to listen to her. Mama thought she was being a silly, jealous, petty, little girl over it and flat-out lying to her. Papa looked as if he was fighting an inner battle with himself, as if the real Ivan Mumorov was still in there somewhere and knew something was dreadfully wrong, but the glamour, the spell, was clouding his mind and making him ineffectual in the household.
She frowned again. Papa was still, when out of the house and out of her influence, the same man he always was. Most of the world outside had not noticed. But RSM Sigurdin had seen something off-note, and he was a worried man. Alexandra realised that for a man to become the most senior soldier in a Regiment, he needed not just soldierly qualities and a voice that carried to the furthest corner of the parade-ground. He also needed intelligence, and a fine-tuned sensitivity to the mood and feel of the whole Regiment. Like a doctor assessing a patient, she thought. The slightest hint of an illness in the body and soul of the regimental family. The RSM would pick that up. He'd try to diagnose it, to apply a cure. He'd worry about it until he did.
And with the Divisional Witch as his mother-in-law, they'd identified the source of the infection.
Alexandra did not feel quite as alone now, with other people aware of the root cause, the virus in Pokrovsky. But she knew it still depended on her to apply the cure. Even Barbara had been definite on that.
It was a big responsibility for an eleven-year-old girl who had only just properly realised she was a Witch.
What do I do about this?
She wished Serafima was here. Serafima would know.
She walked on, losing herself in the street-theatre. She passed a group of military historians, being shepherded by a junior subaltern who had drawn the short straw for the duty. They were enthusing at the Ignatieff coat-of-arms, carved in stone over a lintel. Another historian was quietly regarding a different arch, this one where there was clear evidence the original design had been replaced by a five-pointed star bearing a symbolic hammer and sickle. She walked politely by.
"Chebureki! So hot you'll think you've bitten into Chernobyloko! (8) Blinis fit for the Great God Epidity himself! Kartoshki what was in the ground only yesterday! Come and get 'em! Oh, hello, miss!"
Alexandra smiled, glad of the distraction.
Hello, Mr Diblov." she said.
Mr K.M.O.T. Diblov,(9) Purveyor(10), beamed back.
"Could I interest you in a slice of vatrouschka , miss? Fresh as of… recently?"
"No thank you, Mr Diblov." Alexandra said, politely. While she liked the street trader – Papa thought he was basically alright, "and he has a sort of honesty" – she knew better than to buy anything from him. New recruits who didn't know about him were vectored here by their platoons, in a sort of ritual of passage into full brotherhood. She understood it was a part of dedovshchina, the ordeal expected of all Rodinian army recruits at the hands of their comrades.(11) New men just out of recruit training were expected to eat Diblov's food, keep a completely deadpan face while eating it, and had to hold it down afterwards.
Alexandra looked down at the street food counter. She saw gently bubbling borscht which had a far more luridly purple colour than you might expect. She saw blinis that could have been used for roof tiles. Pelmeni that could have been loaded into a siege catapult and used as shrapnel.
"I've been invited to dinner by Mrs Sigurdina and her family." she explained. She added, with perfect honesty, "I really don't want to spoil my appetite."
"Ah, fair enough, miss." Diblov said, taking no offence. He gave the seething borscht a cursory stir.
"The Sigurdins." he reflected. There was respect in his voice. "A real lady, Dama Lidia Varvarovna. She always asks as how I'm getting on. And her mother, Dama Barbara."
Diblov looked speculatively at Alexandra.
"There's a whisper Dama Barbara's took you on as a pupil?" he asked, in a low voice. "What with her being a ved'ma, and all that."
"She's teaching me a few things." Alexandra replied, in a lower voice.
Diblov nodded.
"Always stay on the right side of your ved'mas." he said. He added, in a lower voice "Even the young ones. Safest."
Alexandra stepped politely to the side of the counter as a cavalry troop trotted by. She recognised men from one of the other cavalry regiments, the Cuirassiers, in their green tunics and polished breast and back plates, their high crested helmets shining in the sunlight, their horsetail crests bobbing with their movement. She also picked up a general air of worry, of demoralisation; they didn't seem as jaunty as they usually were. She thought she understood why.
She and Diblov waited for them to pass.
"They've had something knocked out of 'em, miss." Diblov said, after a while. "Not surprising, after that bad business."
"I saw it." Alexandra said. "Those poor horses."
Diblov nodded, grimly. He lowered his voice again.
"That girl what's stayin' with your family." he said. "There's something not quite right about her. I saw the look on her face when it was happenin'. She looked as if she was enjoyin' it. She was grinning!'"
"Mr Diblov." Alexandra said, trying not to shudder as she remembered. "I know I can't prove it and I could get into trouble for saying it. But she caused it."
Diblov stepped back for a pace or two. Alexandra saw his eyes beginning to water as she realised he couldn't hold her gaze. She remembered something Barbara had said, about saving bein' intense for when it's needed. People gets worried.
She controlled herself and looked away. Even a few days later, she could get angry about it.
"Now that was the Witch talking, wasn't it?" Diblov said, quietly.
Alexandra nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Her family had taken Cousin Bella out Promenading, to show her the sights and the layout of the place. Mama had forced Alexandra to dress up smartly and come along. And the thing had happened. Alexandra had noticed how cats spat, arched their backs and ran off when Bella was nearby. Dogs whined and ran away.
Then, to her horror, to everyone's horror, although only Alexandra could guess why, she had realised horses didn't want to be near Bella, either. One moment, the Cuirassier troop had been walking along in correct and impeccable military order, breastplates shining and plumes flowing.
Then the leading horse had seen Bella. It had shied and refused to go any further. The rest of the troop had piled up behind it and refused to go on. Some horses reared and threw their riders. Others turned and stampeded, as the panic spread. A couple of watching pedestrians had gone down under the hooves. Nothing spreads faster than a panic among horses. And on a town street with nowhere to stampede to, the result had been three people dead, fifteen more injured to varying degrees of severity, and six horses so badly injured they had to be put down.
The Mumorov family had been nowhere near the stampede. Papa had told Mama to look after the girls, and he had stamped off to use his personality and his authority to try to restore order, to round up off-duty cavalrymen, to collect and calm riderless horses.
Mama had been shocked. Alexandra's eyes had narrowed. She wondered if she had been the only one who had seen Cousin Bella practically laughing at the hurt and damage and death she had provoked.
Bella was a kikimora, a sort of Elf. There, she'd said it. Elf. What would saying or thinking the word do, that could made things worse? The elf was already here. And no animal would willingly approach her, no horse could bear to be near her. She, Bella, had known that. And she, Bella, had provoked the catastrophe for the Cuirassiers. Alexandra decided there would be a vengeance over that. A Reckoning. The screaming of the injured and hurt horses demanded that.
And a few days later, Bella had been invited to a Reception for officers. Alexandra had not been invited, but by all accounts, junior Lieutenants and Captains had practically been fighting over her. She had stood there and let the animosity and the bad feeling build. Alexandra guessed she'd been smirking at the discord she was causing, maybe even helping it along.
Again there had been tragedy. Two very junior officers, again of the Cuirassiers, had actually fought a duel over her. One was now dead, another seriously wounded.
But Papa and Mama still allowed her the freedom of the house.
Hearing of this, Papa had been gloomy and had reached for the vodka bottle.
"I feel for Yevgeni Markov." Papa had said. Alexandra listened intently, trying to blot out Cousin Bella's insistent sly smirk. Papa and the Cuirassier colonel were professional equals. They weren't friends, but they respected each other. And it looked as if Papa was sorry and resigned.
"This is likely to be the end of his career. One disaster, a man might survive. Two, in the same week, and they will ask questions as to his competence and why he let this happen. General Smirnoff and Brigadier-General Turmenov are likely to ask him to do the decent thing and clear his desk. He'll end up on a half-pay pension somewhere."
Papa shook his head.
"A good man. He doesn't deserve this."
"I hear Turmenov is set to retire in the next year or two. His position will be vacant." Cousin Bella said. Her voice was seductive. Alexandra caught the spill words.
Wouldn't it be nice, Ivan Petrovich, to go to that next step higher and become the Brigadier-General? Who commands the whole Cavalry Brigade, all three Regiments? Viola Raisanovna, you can become a General's wife?
Alexandra's eyes narrowed. She was getting in where her parents were weak. Exploiting Mama's vanity. And Papa's ambition. Cementing her position in this household.
"Brigadier-General Turmenov is likely to retire in the next few years." Mama said, in that monotone voice that Alexandra recognised as Bella putting words into her head, parroting her words back.
Then Mama was herself again, the thought and the desire having been planted there.
"Ivan! I'm very sad for Yevgeni Markov, don't get me wrong." She said. "But he was tipped to be Brigadier-General Turmenov's successor as brigade commander. After all, it was the Cuirassiers' turn this time. But now they're forced to step away from the succession and will have to find a new Colonel. Ivan. This means the Generalship now comes to us, to the Kazachok!"
Alexandra caught her mother's vanity and desire, and wanted to scream. She'd force Papa up the ladder. She got the idea this was what Bella wanted too. At least for the moment.
Trapped, she wondered what in the world she could do about it.
Cousin Bella had smiled a very unpleasant smile at her.
And in the present, she spoke urgently to Diblov, the Purveyor. She had a plan, a few ideas, she said.
KMOT Diblov's intelligently rodent-like eyes gleamed back at her.
"Dama Barbara said to me you was a bright girl." he remarked. "And I got from that, that if I could do you a favour or two like I do favours for her, she'd be grateful. And you never say "no" to a ved'ma. Good business sense, is that."
He grinned at her.
"What do you need, young Alexi?"
Alexandra explained.
Diblov grinned.
"If it's to hobble Young Madam, I'll help."
He gave her a name and an introduction.
"Say it's from me. He'll help. Now I've got to go back to work, miss, if you'll excuse me?"
Alexandra went on to the address provided. In the background she heard
"Pierogis! Get your filled pierogis here! Twenty-five kopecks each, and that's taking a knout to me own back, and givin' meself the death of fifty agonising lashes!"
The man Diblov had directed her to was a Regimental Farrier, but one who served the Hussars, the third cavalry regiment, rather than her own Cossacks. She was glad of this; a farrier who ultimately reported to Papa might have spoken to him about this. But this kindly and strong stranger received Colonel Mumorov's daughter to his forge, and listened carefully to her. It was clear he'd heard about Cousin Bella too.
And being a blacksmith meant he worked with the stuff all day. Smithing, as Barbara had said, was one step away from magic. He knew about kikimoras too, and wasn't surprised to find his own guess had been confirmed.
"You're a ved'ma." he said. Alexandra felt gratified that people, the important people, were noticing. "You'll find a way. And I don't like those who will deliberately injure horses. And laugh about it."
He provided what was needed and refused offer of payment.
"You're a ved'ma." he said. "Besides, this is waste. I'd only have resmelted it for bar-stock."
Alexandra tided the gift away in her bag, thanked him sincerely, and turned to leave. The blacksmith smiled. And because some things have to be repeated three times for them to be true, he repeated
"You are a ved'ma. You have a kikimora to destroy."
Alexandra made the witch-bow. The gloom and red light of the forge, the dancing and leaping shadows and the change in the patterns of the light, suddenly felt a far more magical place. Being acknowledged as a witch by a farrier somehow made her feel stronger and more centred, as if some sort of old bargain had been reaffirmed. And she realised. She could defeat the kikimora. She just needed to work out exactly how. Containing and restricting it, forcing it on the defensive, taking the strategic imperative, was going to be the first step.
The Sigurdin family welcomed her warmly, as they always had. They'd been supportive and understanding ever since Cousin Bella had first arrived. Barbara had remarked that she'd felt something odd and unclean by the river, you know, that night we flew to the Mamayev and saw the statue up close. You didn't feel it, girl? Well, I did. And it was comin' this way. Now we know what it is and where it went.
"But why me? Why my family?"
"Why not you?" Barbara asked. "That's not a Witch's question, girl. You should know that by now. The thing you should be askin' is – it's happenin' to me. How do I deal with it?"
Alexandra accepted the rebuke. Barbara was right. She was the witch. She should be dealing with this.
"My guess is it come this way lookin' for a place it could worm itself into. To slither in through a crack. To build its strength." Barbara said. "It's attracted to discord and bad feelin's. And your mum and your dad were arguing over you and what happened out in the Baikal. The fight you got into. Your dad's angry at your mum who couldn't see you had to have that fight. He got frustrated and annoyed with her. She goes into a snit and a sulk. They don't patch it up. It gets worse. Result, big argument, big rift, big cloud of bad feelin', which shone out like a beacon. Next thing you know, your Cousin Bella's sittin' in the living room, having been invited in. Your mum and dad give her an open door and invited her in."
Alexandra must have looked crestfallen and upset. Lidia Varvarovna Segurdina hugged her. Alexandra hugged back.
"Not your fault." Lidia said, kindly and firmly. "Absolutely not your fault. All married couples have disagreements. And that fight out in the Baikal was not one you invited or brought about through your own behaviour. You were unjustly attacked. You fought back."
"And you defeated them." her husband remarked. He smiled. "Four of them. One of you. I could use troopers in this Regiment who fight like that. You'd be surprised how many of the men are looking at you and giving you respect over that. Stories travel."
"You're a Cossack." Lidia said. "Your mother isn't. She doesn't understand our ways. Not completely. That's part of the problem."
"But the big problem is Madam." Barbara said. "We got one of them in the place. That's bad news."
She looked sympathetically at Alexandra.
"Lexi, love. You know it falls on you to resolve this? You're the witch. Just at this moment it affects your family mainly. And anyone this thing touches. Speaking of which…"
She picked up a table-knife and motioned everyone else to do likewise.
"It's been invited in. The only people who can un-invite it are the people who did the invitin' in the first place."
She looked at Alexandra again.
"Sorry, love. Your mum and dad need to see what sort of parasite they've brung into the house. Then they have to throw her out. Of their own free will. That's your job. Make them aware."
"But, how?" Alexandra asked, trying not to sound whiny or pleady.
"Don't know." Barbara said, frankly. "But the need is yours, Lexi. Usually a Witch in this sort of situation finds a way. It has to be you. Because you're there."
Barbara shook her head.
"We has to stand back a bit, us other Witches. To let you take the first shock. Because that's how it is. You has to prove your strength. As a witch. But if you fail, if you try your hardest and can't do it, then we have a go. There's me. There's Yarila Irenovna in the city. We can get Iliana here from Baikal. Then there's Serafimova Dospanova. And others that Serafima can call on."
Alexandra digested this. Then she squared her shoulders and stuck her chin out.
"So you'll stand back and watch how I fight it." she said, trying to sound defiant and not whiny. "This is a test, isn't it?"
"From what Mother tells me, and from what I've heard about other Witches, every young Witch gets a test." Lidia said. "But the nature of the thing means you don't know what it's going to be till it happens."
Barbara nodded approval.
"You got it, girl. Taught you well."
She turned to Alexandra.
"Usually, you get the Dungeon Dimensions tryin' it on." she said. "They're not terrifically hard to beat if you keeps your head. But you gets an Elf. One of the solitary ones, like some kind of wasp. Your task is to find a way of swattin' her. Before she can kill the things she's paralysed for food, like a livin' larder. Before she can move on to sting others and suck them dry."
"My parents." Alexandra said. Inside she felt appalled.
"Your mother and father." RSM Georgi Sigurdin said, with quiet emphasis. "My commanding officer and his wife. A man I have known since he was a junior Lieutenant and I was a private trooper. We climbed our respective ladders together in the regiment."
she caught the spill-words. We know each other. We respect each other. Take away the rank badges and we would be friends of long standing.
"My family." she repeated. "I will not let this happen."
Barbara, Lidia and Georgi smiled.
"Good. Lexi, love. I hope you realise we're not abandoning you or letting you down. There are more Witches than you think keeping an Eye. Watching you. Serafima knows people in Ankh-Morpork. They are powerful. They've fought Elves before. And won. Believe me, they will want to know what you're facing here. One in particular. Not namin' names, but she'll be here for the Annual Review in a fortnight. And before then, I'll get her up to the mark on what's happening here. When you've tried your best and you've done all you can, and if that ain't enough, then we've got the seriously big siege weapons."
Barbara smiled again.
"This Elf can't kill you, love. She knows you can keep her out of your head. She don't like that. That you kept your own mind. But she can do a lot of damage to others. She's already started. You got to stop her. Block her. That'll be a good start. Even if you can't get your mum and your dad to see sense, see straight, see her as she truly is."
"She steers clear of you." Alexandra said.
Barbara shrugged.
"She just sees me as an interferin' old peasant woman with more bluff than ability." she said, casually. "I'm happy for her to carry on thinkin' that. For now. But this is your fight, girl."
"Your need." Lidia said. she looked concerned. "Look, I'm not a Witch. But Mother is. I've been around Witches all my life. I can make a few shrewd guesses. Well, guesses, anyway. You're potentially a very powerful Witch."
She looked to her mother. Barbara nodded.
"Your need is going to give you more power than you think you have. And if I've guessed right, you're going to turn out to be a more powerful Witch than Mother. I mean, look at the things you've already done. And the magic knows your need. That's why you've got a more difficult test than most young Witches your age will ever get."
Alexandra allowed this to settle in her mind. She bit back "And that's supposed to make me feel better?" realising this would have been snappy and ungracious.
Georgi Sigurdin spoke, in a low but authoritative voice. Alexandra recognised the pep-talk to uncertain new officers voice he used on Lieutenants.
"Barbara told me there was a girl of your age out to the Turnwise of here, in a land many thousands of versts away called Chalk." he said. "When she was ten, a year younger than you, she had to fight not just a solitary Elf, but a Queen of the Elves, a really powerful creature. She had to win back her brother, who the queen had stolen. Apparently she defeated a rusalka, with a cast-iron frying pan. Then she defeated the strongest sort of Elf there is."
"Met her once." Barbara said. "That girl got that challenge because she is genuinely the strongest sort of Witch out. Big potential, so she got a big test. Got her brother back, too. And this other idiot boy that got took."
"I'd like to meet her." Alexandra said. If only to ask how she did it.
"You probably will." Barbara said.
"And you'll defeat this one." Georgi assured her.
Buoyed up on love and support, Alexandra returned home.
Here she found Cousin Bella, curled up and taking her ease on the big sofa. She was wearing Alexandra's clothes. Bella gave her a malicious smile. Alexandra again smelled exquisite perfume, mixed in with the rot and stagnant smell of a riverbank.
"That's my skirt! And my jacket! And are those my boots?" she demanded. "How did you get them?"
"She asked. I went into your room and picked them out for her." Mama said. "Don't you think they look so much better on Bella, Alexandra?"
"No, Mama, I don't!" Alexandra exploded. "She can give them back to me right now!"
Mama frowned.
"Don't be difficult, Alexandra. I decided. Those clothes are Bella's now."
Alexandra felt her inner self tapping her on the metaphorical shoulder.
Push on this and you will lose. You will come out as a hysterical child throwing a tantrum. That's what Cousin Bella wants Mama to see. Concede this skirmish. Focus on winning the battle. This is not Mama's fault. Yes, you feel betrayed. But your mother is under her spell.
She took calming breaths.
You can find where she keeps things she has stolen, and take them back.
A thought crossed her mind and she tried not to grin.
Or better still, allow her to keep them for now, but make them so uncomfortable she cannot bear to wear them. Something you saw in the farrier's foundry… he will gladly provide.
"I'm going to call on Major Kosygin and his wife. Be nice, Alexandra, if you can. Seek to make friends with Bella and be a good sister to her."
"Sister?" Alexandra said, incredulously. Bella grinned a malicious grin.
She waited for her mother to leave the house. Then she turned to Bella and said "This is not over. I will finish this. Kikimora."
She left the room with Bella's mocking laughter ringing after her.
Alexandra left the house, and considered. The pathway to the front door was beaten earth, covered with a layer of gravel. Good. She could do this without leaving a trace. She located a spade in the gardener's shed. Then, just in front of the main doorway to the house, at the foot of the step, close to the door, she meticulously cleared the gravel away. After some exertion with the spade, she had excavated a small shallow hole, maybe twenty centimetres deep. She grinned, remembering what she'd read in the Gazeteer about the {-}.
She dropped the old worn-out horseshoe into the hole. By rights it should have been an old knife. But she reasoned it wasn't the shape that worked. It was the iron.
She quickly refilled the hole and spread the gravel back over the top. She smiled. Not a trace.
Working quickly, she repeated this at every doorway into the house with the other old horseshoes she had obtained. She remembered that over in the Turnwise countries where people were strange, the custom was to nail it over the door. But that would have meant a ladder and a hammer and nails, and that made noise, and the iron was out in the open where people could see, and Bella could enchant people to take them down again.
Then she went into the house and tried not to look triumphant.
It didn't take long before she heard Bella screaming.
The Elf turned and looked at her. Her eyes looked panicked.
"What have you done?" she screamed. "I can't get out! I can't leave! What magic are you using? Tell me! Tell me at once!"
Alexandra folded her arms and looked defiant. She allowed herself a slight smile.
"That would be telling." she said. "But usually that sort of magic keeps out nasty evil things. What happens when the nasty evil thing is in the house and is a danger to people outside it? You're right. I can't expel you. I don't have the right. My friend the sylph said he… or she… could blow you out on a wind and drop you hundreds of miles away, but you would return, because my parents let you in. The Vedogon can defend my room against you, but my mother can still come in to steal my clothes at your bidding."
Alexandra paused. This had been a long speech.
She looked the raging angry Elf full into her inhuman eyes.
"I've just reversed a very old magic. I've locked you in here. Kikimora. This is now your prison cell. You cannot leave."
Alexandra grinned. At least people in the wider town would now be safe from her. No more Incidents. She just had to find a way, now, to destroy or expel this thing. And she was closed in with it.
The thing that was Cousin Bella, wearing Alexandra's clothes, screamed and leapt at her, her fingers now claws, trying to rake at her face.
Alexandra batted her away. She suddenly realised how much lighter and insubstantial the creature was. But it was too angry to care. The two ended up on the floor together, in the hall, rolling in a fight. Alexandra got on top, pushing Bella's arms back effortlessly.
Then Mama returned.
Bella changed completely, going into sobbing terrified helplessness.
She sobbed that she'd been trying, really trying, to make friends with Alexandra, but she was still angry about her clothes and angry and jealous that she, Bella, had arrived to stay, and that Alexandra had attacked her and thank the Gods you returned when you did, or she might have really hurt me…
"Alexandra!" Mama said. Mama was furious. "Go to your room. Now! Of all the badly behaved vicious little brats…"
"And you believe her, do you?" Alexandra said, in an equally cold fury. Mama was not listening.
"To your room! NOW! Your father shall hear of this!"
Alexandra nodded to Bella.
"This is not over, kikimora."
"And do NOT keep repeating that pathetic fairy story about Bella being some malicious creature out of folklore and fairy tales!" Mama shouted back. "We all know this is pure spite and jealousy on your part! If Bella is injured and has to take to her bed, this is all down to you!"
Alexandra nodded to her mother, tried to put the stench of swampy riverbank out of her nostrils, and went upstairs to her room.
Now she was angry.
After a while she considered, and pulled the broomstick out from its hiding place under her mattress. She needed to talk to somebody. And it was getting dark outside.
To be continued – important to keep the momentum going. Great God Epidity, this is now going to Chapter Five. In which Bella gets her come-uppance and Alexandra gets a career offer.
Revisions will follow as necessary.
For more Alexandra "Lexi" Mumorovka, she crops up as a character in Strandpiel 2 and The Price of Flight.
(1) "Hold on a minute." said the Republic of Mouldavia. (formerly the Soviet Socialist Republic of Mouldavia, and prior to that, the Imperial Rodinian Home Province of Mouldavia). "We're still here. We're a coherent stable nation. Whatever those buggers in Bonk think, Blondograd is in Mouldavia. We're ethnically Rodinian and we speak Rodinian. Well, most of us do, anyway. We're Rodinia. We never went away. We have a right to an Army. This is our Army . We're proud of it!"
(2) The Mouldavians contested this too. They were proud of their Guards Division.
(3) He also took care to employ the more capable Romanoffs in the service of Ankh-Morpork and kept a watchful eye on who else emerged from that Family as having potential. By arrangement, the more prominent Ignatieffs resided in Bonk, and were in the service of Lady Margalotta. One extremely capable Romanoff who had proven he could raise an army, unite warring factions against an external threat, and ward off a threat of invasion from a hostile neighbour, had been manoevred into exile in Howondaland as it was held to be a good thing that somebody like this wasn't on the Central Continent.(3.1)
(3.1) Go to my tale "Clowning Is…" for Least Grand Duke Of All Casimir Romanoff.
(4) General Smirnoff did insist the Division should also be battle-ready and held regular contests, field exercises and manouevres, just to make the point. There was also a regular interchange of personnel, in a clandestine and undeclared sort of way, with the Zlobenian Army fighting on the Borogravian Kneck front. This brought combat experience into the division and many useful lessons had been learnt.
(5) Lady Margolotta and Lord Vetinari. And no other authority.
(6) Useful if the Colonel's daughter is an undeclared stealth Witch who wants to fly unobserved at night.
(7) And being warily aware of the Regimental Police patrols on provost duty, monitoring the canteens and bars.
(8) The Rodinian name for a mysterious place where a very big explosion once happened in the mists of antiquity. Known to the rest of the Discworld simply as Loko.
(9) Konstantin Maxim Orel Todor Diblov, Purveyor. Or Константин Максим Орел Тодор Диблов.
(10) He left it vague as to what exactly he purveyed. Diblov had once been a battalion quartermaster sergeant. He knew how the Army operated, and had made sure the investigation couldn't actually prove anything. Subsequent to that he received an Exemplary Good Conduct discharge and a full pension for life. Alexandra's papa had hinted to her that a lot of people didn't want the Court of Inquiry to look all that deeply, or lots of people would, at the least, have been embarrassed. Diblov had then opened a Commisary and Canteen in Pokrovsky Village to carry on serving the Army.
(11) In the real Russian army, dedovshchina, or the grandfather treatment, can be more horrible than this and can go way beyond what Americans call "hazing" and the British Army calls "beasting". Soldiers have died or been crippled by dedovshchina, and while the modern Russians claim to have eliminated it from the armed forces, there is evidence it still persists.
Notes Dump:-
An amusing one picked up from a native Arabic speaker. One of the more ignorant British newspapers has mis-spelt "Allah Akhbar" – "God is Great!" – as "Aloo Akhbar" – meaning "Potatoes Are The Greatest!"
There must be a place for this pun in the liturgy of the Orthodox Potato Church of the Great god Epidity.
Also – and small details like this can take up a lot of research time – trying to find out if horseshoes have the same position in Russian folklore as they do in Western European – does Russia have a tradition of the horseshoe placed at a door to keep out evil? (you can't assume) The nearest I've got so far is a general Slavonic one of burying iron or steel at the threshold of a door – no Witch can step over the buried iron. As the nearest iron Alexandra can get happens to be old worn-out horseshoes given by a friendly farrier – I'll go with this.
Siberian shamans are also, traditionally, craftsmen and women in iron – there is a definite tradition here of iron warding off evil.