Alexandra – The Making of an Air Witch
Chapter 5 V0.02
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.
Now read on…
Pseudopolis Yard, Ankh-Morpork.
"Barbara Sabrinovna." Captain Olga Romanoff said, maintaining her composure. "Olga Anastacia will suffice, please."
She tried not to look across the office at Irena Politek, who was not quite concealing a grin. Serafima Dospanova studiously examined the pictures on the wall.
"As you say, Olga Anastacia." Barbara Borodinska replied. She sipped her tea appreciatively. "You got an interestin' set-up here. You and Comrade Irena."
Irena Politek, who did not mind being addressed as Tovarischnya, smiled again. Watching Olga wince when the old visiting Witch called her Exalted Highness and Your Grace was worth getting up this early for.
"This is good tea." Barbara said. "You know, Olga Anastacia, sending somebody official what wears a uniform round, to knock on your door and cart you off at three in the mornin', is sort of a mixed message. 'Specially when you're Rodinian." (1)
"We had to be discreet and keep it secret." Olga replied. "Well, as secret as we could. We don't want the problem becoming aware of this."
Barbara nodded. Serafima had fixed it with Georgi and Lidia, during a Pegasus Service routine visit to General Smirnoff with mailings from Ankh-Morpork. While waiting for a reply from the General, she had sought out Barbara and made an arrangement. Lidia and Georgi had agreed to answer the door at three in the morning so that Serafima could arrive by broomstick, discreetly collect Barbara, and fly the six or seven miles to where her Pegasus was discreetly parked up out in the countryside, guarded by Feegle. Landing a Pegasus in the barracks, unannounced and out of schedule, would have been remarked upon. At any time of day.
The next stop had been Ankh-Morpork and the Air Station. Here, without any fuss, in the small hours of the Night Watch, Olga Romanoff had convened a meeting that would be barely minuted and largely unrecorded. If necessary, there would be a note about a potential Code Twenty-Three in Blondograd, Mouldavia(2), that had come to Air Watch attention, and a material witness had been brought to the City to make a statement. Olga was on Night Command; Irena was due to succeed her on the Day Watch shift. It was just an extended handover, during which Witch Business would be discussed. Serafima had been asked to collect and return the witness, which they hoped could be done before local daybreak without arousing speculation or undue attention.
"Barbara." Olga said, getting to the point. "Please reassure me that this talented girl has not yet worked out how to generate fireballs."
Irena and Serafima became more attentive. Fireballs were not a small or inconspicuous magic. They were also a fairly easy thing to do.(3) And nobody wanted an unsupervised novice witch loose who could do fireballs.
Barbara shook her head.
"I can see why you're worried, Olga Anastacia." she said. "Worries me, too. I never asked to take on a pupil. Do it if I have to, but I'm not cut out for teachin'. Don't have the head for it. Girl needs supervision, though. And to be honest with you, she needs more supervision than I can give."
Olga caught the spill words. She stored them for consideration.
"Fireballs?" she reminded Barbara.
Barbara shrugged.
"I ain't never raised the issue of fireballs, Olga Anastacia." she said. "Not once. And I don't think it's ever once crossed the girl's mind that she could."
"Yet." Irena Politek said.
Barbara grinned. "Took care about that, Comrade Irena."
Irena grinned. Olga took another deep breath. Witch business, on top of all the other things involved in running the Air Watch. Sometimes, she reflected, it felt like juggling flaming torches in a fireworks factory.
"So we have this girl. Barely eleven." Olga remarked. "She is emerging as a talent in a place where witches are widely scattered. A city, yes, but not a city like Ankh-Morpork. Some Witches, widely scattered in the countryside and the Steppes out to Baikal and the borders with Genua and Aceria."
"Two or three in Blondograd." Barbara said. "Good women, capable, but not near enough in a place that size. Me in Pokrovsky. Then a few out to the widdershins. But we all has to cover a lot of people on a lot of ground."
"We're doing what we can." Irena Politek said. "We've got Rodinian girls training out in Lancre. Good learners. Ideally they'll go back to Steadings in Rodinia afterwards."
"Else they stays here." Barbara said, nodding to Serafima.
Olga sighed.
"I need pilots." she said. "And where a Pegasus adopts a girl..."
"I know." Barbara said. "You gets her. Always."
Olga smiled slightly.
"Let us summate." she said. "Two concerns. Firstly, the kukimora."
She waited for everybody present to touch iron.
"This appeared from nowhere. Barbara first felt it from the air, as an intrusion down below. It was aware of her and concealed itself. Suggesting it has power. It then appears in a home where there is dissension between a husband and a wife. This negative feeling allows it a beacon to home in on and it exploits the weakness to apply a glamour which allowed it to be welcomed in. It is now exploiting the situation to attach itself firmly to that household, as a parasite, a cancer cell. The husband and wife welcome it, accepting the cover story that this is a relative looking for a place to stay. But the thing discovers the daughter of the household has the strength to keep it out of her mind, and the insight to recognise it for what it really is."
Olga sighed.
"In other words, it discovers it is fighting a Witch. The Witch fights it back."
"Alexandra Violovna has power, Olga Anastacia." Serafima said, urgently. "I have seen it and felt it."
Olga nodded. She looked grave.
"So far. This remarkable girl has befriended the house spirits in her home. She has two familiar spirits she can call on when she needs them. She knows and speaks to the Vedegon of her family. She outwitted a vikhor, a sylph. This wind-spirit can come when she calls. And now, Barbara, you're saying she did a Tiffany Aching?"
Barbara sighed. Irena and Serafima turned to regard her with attention.
"True as I'm sittin' here, Olga Anastacia. We found where her house-spirits ran off to when the kukimora threw them out of the house. They found a place down near the river, on the bank, where they're livin' feral. The domevoy was havin' a hard time of it, thrown out of his home. Well, you'd expect that, wouldn't you, a homeless domevoy? And the banniks, if they was human I'd be callin' em good girls, lookin' after him, doin' what they can, sticking together. They're adaptin. You knows yourself, Olga, a bannik is sort of a friendlier indoor rusalka who like hot clean water, and doesn't want to drag people under an' drown them and eat 'em. Anyway…"
Barbara sipped her tea.
"Alexandra, poor kid, she was in bits to see them like that. Had to tell her afterwards that Witches don't do swears or oaths or vows 'cos those have a habit of comin' back and bitin' you on the bum, but Alexandra swore she'd get the bloody Elf out and get them back home, however long it took. She was definite about that. Gives her another reason to hate the Elf. So we bring them food and sustenance. You know, sustenance. Somebody to believe in them. That's important."
"And on one of your visits…" Irena prompted her.
Barbara frowned.
"It's that bloody Elf." she said. "Things movin' in. Sort of encouraged, 'cos one nasty thing's made it in, others is tryin' their luck. Like callin' to like. Where it's the wrong sort of damp, black mould grows unless you can scrub it all off and find out where the damp's comin' from in the first place. Another reason to end this, Olga."
Olga nodded.
"Anyway. First rusalka, a wild rusalka, seen this far up the Musckovada for at least ten years. Usually they don't come this close to big human towns. That bloody Elf, puttin' out a fluence. We get there, it's menacin' the banniks. You know, indoor nymphs. No match for a wild rusalka, like puttin' a housecat up against a tiger. Alexandra just went off fightin' mad. Next thing I sees, she's leapt into the shallows and she's fightin' the rusalka, screaming at it to leave her friends alone. And I'm thinkin' – got to rescue her. You don't leap into a river to fight a rusalka."
"Indeed not." Olga said. "What happened next?"
Barbara grinned.
"She swings her fist. She punches it once. Then we got a dead rusalka. The girl only had a horseshoe in her pocket, din't she? Wraps it round her knuckles, and – bam. Straight in the teeth, no mucking around. Rusalka looks surprised for a second then goes down. Ends up as a swirl of dirty water, with a crown of leaves floatin' on it. And that goes to green slimy rot too. Alexandra looks at me and she says "Barbara Sabrinovna, I believe I know the secret of iron, now."
"Eleven years old. Kills a rusalka. Stone undead. Slava bogu." Irena Politek said. "Only one other Witch managed that."
"And she used a frying pan." Olga said, drily.
"A horseshoe does the job." Barbara said. "Up close and personal, like."
The witches considered this.
"Speaking of horseshoes." Irena said. "You've got to admit that was good thinking. If the evil thing's already in the house, there's no point in nailing the horseshoe over the door to keep them out. But if it's something you want to seal in, to stop it getting out..."
"You bury iron at the threshold, under each doorstep." Olga said. She considered. "No Elf can cross that. In either direction. So she's managed to contain it. To seal it in. Especially after it was responsible for killing people. And horses."
"She's defending." Serafima remarked. "And defending well, too. But does she have the strength to destroy it?"
Olga shook her head.
"Maybe we're asking too much of her. On her own." she remarked. "Which is where we come in. You know, nobody knows where these things come from? As witches, we just accept they're there, and every so often we have to deal with them. But there might be something in what that wizard Oblamov said. He speculated that Elf-worlds are like wasp-hives. One Queen, always. But everybody who watches hives knows new Queens arise now and again. If the weaker one isn't killed, she gets thrown out. Sometimes she gets a retinue and goes to make a new hive. But what happens if a new Elf-Queen, one still working out her powers, just gets thrown out and ends up on her own in our world?"
"Kukimora." Irena said. "And, Olga, this one's making a nest for itself in an Army barracks. It's got a measure of control over a Colonel who commands eight hundred cavalrymen. We know from the duel between those two officers she can start fights. What if she starts one involving a whole Regiment? Just for fun?"
Barbara nodded, soberly. "And another thing to consider, Olga Anastacia. General Smirnoff is a widower. No secret he's open to the possibility of a second Mrs Smirnoff. And he commands twelve thousand men."
Olga put on her most impassive face. Inside she was thinking Damn. Now it has to be a written report. Code Twenty-three, level four. Just so Vetinari – and Margalotta – know we're aware. Better brief Mr Vimes, too. He doesn't like nasty surprises.
"At least one Elf. If she feels secure, then she might invite others over. And if they can manipulate a human Army to do their fighting for her. We need to end this. Decisively." Olga said.
"I agree." Irena said. "I also suspect it isn't going to get any worse, at least in the next few days, but it isn't going to get any better, either."
"Okay." Olga said, steepling her fingers. "Here's the plan. Barbara, I'm going to be at Pokrovsky in a week's time for the Review. Family. I can't avoid that. Our turn this year. I should be there. When the formalities are over, we will deal with the kukimora. This is by your leave, of course, as Pokrovsky is your Steading? Thank you. I believe the three of us should deal with it, together."
Olga looked down at the framed iconograph on her desk. I need to get that updated, she thought. My children are older now.
"Three of us. It is fitting. How are your grandchildren getting on, Barbara?"
Barbara Borodinska grinned, understanding.
"That sort of Three. Ye Gods, Olga Anastacia. You're going for some powerful magic here."
Olga grinned, and did not answer.
"After this, I make the parents an Offer. I hope to phrase it in a way that cannot be refused. Then this girl Alexandra Mumorovka is instructed to pack her bags. She speaks some Morporkian? Good. The next stage is Lancre for at least a year, ideally two, for her to go on the Circuit and learn. Under very definite supervision."
Olga frowned.
"I need to brief Nanny Ogg and Tiffany Aching. So they know what to expect and can make preparations."
"They'll also need to know there's a Twenty-Three in Blondograd. Involving Elves." Irena said, practically.
"Noted. To advise them that I'm dealing. And I'm pretty sure I'll have it all dealt with, so no need yet for their involvement. But let's ensure they know, Irena? Thank you."
"And then?" Serafima asked.
Olga smiled.
"After Lancre, she comes here." she replied. "This girl taught herself to fly. From first principles. Barbara says she just sat astride a broom and figured it out within half a minute. That interests me. Usually, a brand new Witch needs a prompt, somebody to tell her "flying is possible", to push her in the right way. Even you and I needed that, Irena, a long time ago? But this one knew. It was instinctive. When she gets to Lancre, we'll have Hanna or Stacey give her an assessment at the Air Station. I get that she's a natural for flying. In which case, she's Air Watch. I want her. She can be a Fledgling on the city circuit."
Olga grinned at the others.
"Any questions? No? good. Barbara. We can get you back to Pokrovsky before sunrise by local time, so nobody knows you've gone. Alternatively. Have you ever been to Lancre before? No? Well, we need to brief other witches in Lancre and the Chalk Country as to what's going on in your Steading. It occurs to me it might be best coming from you."
Olga sighed, resignedly.
"I've got to do the shift handover in half an hour. Then Irena takes things over here. Thinking about it, I might as well fly you over myself and do the interpreting. It'll be around nine or ten in the morning there by local time, so the people we need to speak to will be up and about. It also gets you introduced to Nanny Ogg. I'm guessing you know of each other by reputation? Khoroscho. Time you met, anyway."
She nodded to Serafima.
"Vorona, you can fly as my second pilot." she said. "Then when we're done I can go off shift and you can get Barbara back to Pokrovsky, as agreed. See if you can get a message to the girl that she hasn't been abandoned and we'll be dealing with this business soon? Thank you."
At Pokrovsky Barracks, Blondograd.
The atmosphere at home was getting strained. It was gloomy. It was oppressive. It suffocated. Alexandra was having to pull on reserves of strength to be able to stand it. Cousin Bella had retired to her bed, complaining that the fight with Alexandra had injured her and left her ill. Her invalid status meant that Mama was being run ragged tending to her needs. Papa had despaired, and was now employing a maid from Blondograd to help look after the ailing houseguest.
Both blamed Alexandra for the situation, Mama vocally so, despairing she had given birth to an ungrateful, jealous, spiteful brat with a vicious streak. Alexandra knew this was Bella talking through her mother, who was under the kukimora's spell. But even so, she still felt wounded and hurt and cast out.
Papa had shaken his head and had asked, bewildered, what was getting into you, Alexandra?
She had responded by asking what is getting into you, and into Mama?
She had again patiently repeated the facts. Bella had turned up unannounced. She had claimed to be a cousin, but was not a child of any sibling of either Mama or Papa. She had quoted parents whose names were un-known to anyone. She was now demanding – and getting – the best of everything and was even wearing clothes that rightfully belonged to her, to Alexandra, as well as Mama's better clothes. And Mama's jealously guarded jewellry, Papa. Which she has collected and cherished over the years. Some of those pieces were inherited from my great-grandmama. Mama handed it over without a fight. Does that in itself not seem odd to you?
Papa had looked puzzled and doubtful, as if she was getting through to him. She pressed her advantage, knowing the thing could only be ejected if her father, whose house this was, withdrew his invitation of his own free will. But where does it go to then, the inner Alexandra prompted her. It is here. In this world. It will find another victim.
"Papa, things happened near to her when she went out." Alexandra said. "Those two proud and stupid young officers had a duel over her. One is dead. The other wounded and soon to be cast out in disgrace for killing a brother officer. She laughed. Did you not see that? And when the horses of the Cuirassiers panicked and stampeded. Six horses needed to be put down. Five people killed. Thirty injured. If you hadn't gone to try to restore order, you would have seen her laughing. Why did nobody see her laughing at the hurt and misery she caused?"
It was a long speech. She had needed to pace herself, to keep the pitch of her voice low, so as not to sound like a shrill and shrieky younger version of Mama.
"Papa, she makes you take your swords off when you come into a room where she is." She continued. "And you, a Cossack, do this without argument?"
Alexandra thought she knew the reason for this. Swords were steel. Bella wanted no steel near her. She asked to eat with the finest silverware, the cutlery Mama only usually brought out for best. It tarnished after she touched it, but she ate with it. Nobody else seemed to notice, or else they accepted this. The steel of sword-blades so near to Papa might block her glamour, so much iron nearby. Bella took care to fix Papa's mind about steel. And after the latest fight, when one of the spare horseshoes had come to her hand to punch the wild rusalka with, she thought she knew. She kept the lucky horseshoe near her now, in her pocket where she could touch it for reassurance.
Alexandra realised she had been lucky. It had been rage, and love for friends who were being menaced, that had made her jump into the shallow waters, where she had sought to fight off the terrible rusalka with its gaping mouth full of pike-like teeth.
The spare horseshoe had practically leapt to her hand from her pocket and she had punched out, screaming "Leave my friends alone! Leave my friends alone!"
Then Barbara Borodinska had taken her shoulder and was gently telling her "It's gone, love. It's dead. You killed it. See its crown?"
The garland of leaves and flowers was bobbing in the water. As they watched, it went to withering rot. The slimy remnants vanished without trace into the waters of the Musckovada.
"Best get you home. You're soaked." Barbara had said. "Wait a second."
They had left the food and drink and said goodbye, for now, to the displaced house-spirits.
"Put a word of protection in there." Barbara had said. "Anythin' passin' by is going to realise something is protecting them. And if it has any sense, it'll move on smartish. Now let's get you dry."
Lidia and Georgi had visited. Lidia had asked Mama about the problem with the banya. The mould on the bathhouse walls, and the dirty water that seemingly baffled all attempts at cleansing it. Mama had looked miserable. Papa had scratched his head and said the engineers he'd called in had had the place practically taken apart and rebuilt, but nothing seemed to be working.
Lidia had shaken her head and made sympathetic noises. She had then smiled at Cousin Bella, a smile that had absolutely no warmth in it.
"I'm sure that must be the reason for the background smell – forgive me, Viola Raisanovna – of stagnant decay, like rotting vegetation on a riverbank."
She had smiled at Cousin Bella again.
"I really hope the root cause can be identified and removed soon."
Mama had excused herself to go and make tea. Lidia had smiled at Bella again as Alexandra watched, incredulous that she remained unaffected by glamour.
"Bella." Lidia had said. "No matronymic? No family name? Unusual. Bella Nigdovna, perhaps? Bella Temnoyemestovna?"(4)
She let the barbs sink in.
"I can see you appreciate good jewellry." Lidia had said, pleasantly. "As right now, you're wearing Viola Raisanovna's. And now, please do not insult my intelligence by telling me she gave it to you."
Bella's expression became one of pure hate as Lidia stepped closer.
"I invite you to consider the earrings I'm wearing." Lidia said, in the same pleasant voice. "I chose them with care. Haematite, a semi-precious stone. On steel wire. And the choker at my neck has magnetite. They might not be worth much, but they polish up beautifully, don't they? Would you like to try them on? And you don't need to work any glamour on me, by the way. I genuinely am offering them freely."
Alexandra watched as Cousin Bella recoiled, practically hissed with revulsion, and retreated from the room.
Lidia laughed.
"Magnetite and haematite both have a very large iron content." she said, cheerfully, as Bella left. "I guessed a kukimora couldn't stand being close to them. Kept her out of my head, too."
"Are you sure you're not a Witch?" Alexandra asked, admiringly.
Lidia shook her head.
"Mother is. And I learnt a lot from being around her. Remember me telling you?"
Alexandra had then considered her wardrobe of clothing, guessed which items Bella might induce her mother to steal for her next, and had spent a couple of hours opening seams and concealing small iron items in them before stitching them closed again. She had also left sealed envelopes full of iron filings in the pockets, just to make it clear she knew how to make life unbearable for an Elf. A threat.
After the business at the riverbank, Alexandra considered punching Bella with the horseshoe, as she had done with the rusalka. Or throwing a handful of iron filings in her face. The idea was attractive.
She sighed. She had killed the rusalka in defence of friends who were powerless to fight back. She examined her conscience about this. She had been angry. Furious. Raging. But somewhere in that, there had been a little ice-cold core of Alexandra Mumorovka that was still capable of thinking clearly. Or who had, without needing to think, known instinctively the correct weapon was in her pocket. She needed that Inner Alexandra, maybe an Inner Alexandra who operated at a deeper level still than the Inner Alexandra who was there most of the time.
She tried to contact that third-level self, like a deeper layer of the matroschkya doll. She wondered how many Inner Alexandras there were. The matroschkya dolls generally came in sets of five. But some sets, Barbara and Serafima had told her, could contain seven. Even nine. There was no upper limit, provided there was an odd number of dolls. (5)
Odd numbers. the regular Inner Alexandra told her. Oddness defines Witches. Every witch is an odd number, all on her own, in a world of even numbers.
She considered killing Bella with iron, and sighed. A faceful of iron filings might not kill her, just leave her scarred, maimed and blinded. Then she could really play the victim card.
And what if she didn't sort of dissolve and vanish as the rusalka had? What if she left an apparently human corpse? Then the world would see that as murder. And Alexandra would be a murderess.
Alexandra Mumorovka sighed.
"Nichevo." she said, hating that at the age of eleven, she had to contemplate fighting and killing. Wondering if a normal almost-teenage-girl life was now impossible, and feeling gloomy, she eventually went to bed.
Barbara and her family were a supportive rock to her. Lidia seemed to realise, without a word being said, that Alexandra was estranged from her mother right now and that the kukimora had managed to drive a very deep rift between them. Lidia, in a quiet and unforced way, was filling the gap, offering a mother-like relationship for which Alexandra was very thankful.
It certainly made some things easier. One of the consequences of losing the Domevoy was that Alexandra had realised her clothing and footwear, or such as Bella had left her, needed attention. She had politely requested help. Lidia was showing her how to press clothing and restore the impeccable creases in the right places that she had never really bothered with before. While ironing clothes, they talked, the easy conversation of an older woman and a young female relative.
Lidia's husband, the Regimental Sergeant-Major who worked closely with Papa, had remarked that as Alexandra was a cleanly well-turned-out girl who changed her stockings or her footcloths every day, she could take her boots off without fear, and we can clean and polish them, perhaps?
Georgi had then given her a masterclass, from a man who really knew how to do it, in shining boots to a parade-ground gloss. He had talked to her while he taught her, and she had let slip about what she really wanted to do, to wear a uniform like her brothers and to be part of an Army… well, something in uniform. How unfair it was that this was denied to women and girls.
He had heard her out thoughtfully. To her pleasure, he didn't scoff or mock. He was taking her seriously.
"The Borogravians do this." he remarked. "They were perhaps forced to, after some women got in their Army on the fly. Pretending to be men. They did well."
"But they are the enemy." Alexandra had said, doubtfully. "My brothers who served in the Zlobenian Army tell me so."
Georgi smiled.
"A little more attention in the welt there." he advised. "Alexandra, there are some Rodinians in Borogravia too. We're a scattered people. Not as many there as in Zlobenia, but enough. Some are conscripted to the Borogravian Army."
He shook his head.
"Maybe we do need to rebuild our nation. You might want to consider going permanently to the Host, in the homeland? Cossacks there are a people, not a military. But they at least accept women can ride with the host and fight as the equal of men. At present, this military is conservative and holds to the old ways. Our Guards Division only recruits men. I do hear the Military Academy at Sto Lat takes women now. But only trains them as officers in supporting roles."
"You'd end up tallying records in an office. Or counting blankets in the stores." Lidia said.
Alexandra noticed husband and wife exchanging a look. The spill words said "How much can we tell her?"
She noted they remained silent on whatever it was. Georgi said
"But you never know what next week holds. Or next month. Or next year. Things can change in an instant. You need to stay alert."
Alexandra frowned. It seemed like a hint of some sort was hovering, unsaid, in the air.
"It's really kind of you to spare me this time." Alexandra said. "With the parade review coming up in a few days, you must be really busy?"
Georgi smiled. "Between me and your father, we run a good Regiment." he said, with confidence. "All my warrant officers and sergeants know what's expected. I can trust them. So I can make time for the important things. Family. You, for instance."
He smiled, with almost paternal pride.
"The Romanoffs are arriving to preside. Grand Duke Nikolas and his family. He'll be with Countess Ekatarinya, and their daughter Lady Olga's coming in from Ankh-Morpork. Good to see they're patching up whatever family feud they had."
"A big one." Lidia remarked. "Lady Olga disagreed with her parents, went away, ran away, in fact, and made a highly unsuitable marriage. Which for nobility is no small thing. But she's made her own career in Ankh-Morpork. And Countess Ekatarinya has made it quite clear to Grand Duke Nikolas that nothing is going to stop her from seeing her grandchildren. He's coming round."
Lidia smiled.
"Dear me, I'm gossiping, aren't I?" she remarked. "But the point is, Alexandra, even if a fight with your parents gets dreadful and unspeakable, it doesn't stay that way forever. You remember. They're your parents. And they remember too: you're their daughter. These things tend not to go on forever."
"Thank you." Alexandra said, seeing the lesson. She also wondered why her mother had never mentioned things like this about the Imperial Family. She was usually greedy for anything she could read about them, and wouldn't hear a word set against them.
A picture formed in Alexandra's mind, a memory of Lady Olga Romanoff in her uniform, taking the time to speak to and reassure Alexandra when she'd been seven. She wondered if she'd get to speak to her again and whether she'd be in uniform or regular civilian clothes.
Alexandra frowned. There was something important there, just out of reach, something she couldn't get to…
"Now, gently rotate the very tip of the polishing cloth against a section of the leather. A very little spit, on the tip of your finger…" Georgi said.
Alexandra diligently set to with shining her boots, and the thought was lost.
Later, her own mother broke the bombshell.
It will be necessary to put a little distance between us, Alexandra. You are clearly not happy here, and you clearly cannot get on with Bella. I want you out of this house, at least for a while. Therefore we will be sending you to Quirm ahead of time for you to attend the School there. We thought it would be August before you left, but as you clearly cannot live under the same roof as your Cousin Bella, as you have been rebellious, jealous, spiteful and badly behaved, you are going to be taken in by relatives in Quirm who have kindly agreed to foster you until such time as you begin at the Quirm Academy for Young Ladies and can move to a dormitory there.
"Do not argue, Alexandra. This has been decided. You are to go next Tuesday, after the Review."
She looked round the room. Papa looked unhappy, he looked conflicted, uncertain, almost, but in agreement with Mama. Cousin Bella, who had got out of bed to come downstairs and convalesce after the recent upset, gave her a malicious and triumphant look.
Alexandra nodded.
"Very well, Mama. Papa." she said, and went upstairs to her room.
She did not need to sense the Vedogon, awakening to meet a threat, to realise that Cousin Bella had appeared in the doorway, looking maliciously triumphant.
"What do you want?" Alexandra asked.
"Nothing. Except to tell you I've won, Witch-girl."
Alexandra shrugged.
"So it seems." she said.
"You're going to Quirm. Two thousand miles away. I'm going to see to it that you stay there. You'll be fostered by family outside term-time. The girls you go to school with are going to pity you, because you don't seem to have a mother or a father. Or else they might write, they might visit, but nobody comes for her, isn't it sad? Your parents are going to forget you ever existed, Witch-girl. I'll see to it that they do."
Bella paused.
"Well. They'll remember they have a daughter called Alexandra. But it won't be you."
Bella's face and form swirled and changed. Then Alexandra was looking at herself. Perhaps a version of herself with a slightly less pointy nose and a more softened chin. An Alexandra Mumorovka who wasn't just almost-pretty in a good forgiving light. An Alexandra who, Alexandra Mumorovka realised, was the Alexandra Mumorovka she dreamt of being, the one who had got the genes for good looks, poise and beauty.
"I'm taking over, Witch-girl." Bella said. "I'm going to be you. But a better you. The best you. A pretty you. I just couldn't live with that face without improving it. Good night. Sweet dreams!"
Inner Alexandra remarked that you just could not beat an Elf for imaginative, applied, nastiness, could you?
Surface Alexandra decided. I am going to destroy you. Somehow.
She fought back tears and rode on the anger. She remembered the terse message that had come from her friend Serafima, relayed via Barbara.
It will come to a head on the day of the Review. Be prepared.
Alexandra decided to bide her time. After all, everything could change in an instant.
To be continued and finished in, damn, the sixth and final chapter – important to keep the momentum going.
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) Memories of the Kommittee of General Benevolence again.
(2) Or Blondograd, Far Überwald. It was debatable.
(3) Uncontrolled spontaneous fireballs had been an early marker of Irena's potential for Witchcraft. Her "hot dreams" had meant she had been packed off, without undue delay, from a home made largely of wood, in a village made largely of wood, in a forest made mainly of wood, to the care of an experienced Witch who knew how to deal with these things. Irena's nocturnal and involuntary arson is described in Standpiel 2.
(4) Forgive the Russian. Trying to get the idea of "Bella, daughter of nobody" or "Bella, daughter of a dark sinister place" but not quite knowing how Russian might get the mood over. If anyone has ideas – spassibo. The idea is that everyone has a mother, and in Russian can style herself, and be addressed as, for instance, Alexandra daughter of Viola". What happens when there is no mother to be named after...
(5) The Russian thing that in most cases, odd numbers are lucky, even numbers are unlucky. You never buy a woman a bouquet with an even number of flowers in it, for instance. Unless it's for her funeral.
Notes Dump:-
Fortean Times 425 (Nov 2022) A very high awful-puns-per-frame count in Phenomenomix! But as a writer of Discworld fan fiction, I am now expressing the intention to run with one of those puns and have a Fourecksian witch riding a "broomerang". As I'll be using this for fun and not profit, if Mr Emerson (artist) wants to get in touch, I could rent the gag in exchange for a namecheck and a strong drink of his choice?