Strandpiel Book Two
Chapter Nine
Spreading lots of Grit
As always, this is V0.03. Even in a short chapter you get them. Glitches, typos, AND bits that FF randomly chops out.
A continuing family saga charting the interlinked lives of family and friends on at least two continents, with a cast of characters both living and dead. Moving the tale on – it is roughly mapped out and the main incidents are sketched in, some are even already written to be slotted into the appropriate places in the timescale. The trick will be filling in the incidental stuff –
We are still Snowbound in Ankh Morpork. The main arc completed, this is clearing up afterwards, and spreading salt and grit onto possibly icy surfaces underfoot.
(Saving a Pegasus, which is a rare and a valuable horse and essential to Ankh-Morpork. New witches come along all the time and it is entirely possible an orphaned Pegasus might in time adopt a new pilot. But Pegasi are rare, and every effort must go into preserving one. A snippet of orphaned dialogue….
"If we can get the pilot back too, that is a bonus, Firebird."
"This is that Air Watch black humour I hear so much about, ma'am?" Bekki replied, keeping a completely straight face.
"It spares the time and resources we need to devote to training a new pilot from scratch, certainly." Captain Romanoff said, with a completely straighter face.)
We begin at the Air Station. It is now late afternoon and things are beginning to move again in the City.
Captain Olga Romanoff put aside the paperwork on her desk and looked attentively up at the junior pilot standing opposite her. She graciously ignored the non-uniform fur coat the pilot was wearing. In the circumstances, some things were understood. Lance-Constable Budonova(1) had been among those redeployed to cover foot patrols and help make up for the shortfall in ground Watch. Snow was still coming down out there, although not quite as viciously as in the morning. Therefore Olga, as responsible commanding officer, had approved of wearing as much warm protective clothing as possible. Knowing she wasn't likely to be going out again except in emergency, she had stripped off telogreika and valenki and made this available to anyone it fitted who was going out. Her second-best ushanka had been loaned out, too. (2)
At least she's wearing her Watch badge where it's visible, Olga thought. Therefore, not improperly dressed.
She very carefully did not comment on the bright blue winter coat with the pure white fur trim along its hems, cuffs and collar. It was attractive, stylish and graceful. Just not the usual Watch-issue. The fact Vasilisa was also wearing an overbelt with her swords, as well as the white-cross-over-red heraldry in her fur cap that announced her as a Ron Cossack, added to the general exoticness.
And in the case of Snegoroshka, the Snow-Maiden, very appropriate clothing indeed. Damn, could she have a Grandfather she's not told anyone about?(3)
She decided to start with the other more conventionally-uniformed officer who had been on the foot patrol. Then to work up to dealing with Vasilisa.
"Has Mr Vimes spoken to you yet?" she asked. "Not officially, anyway? I was able to raise what you did last night with the Patrician, Serafima Marisovna. He says "well done" and is asking you to write a full report, at your earliest convenience. But you know how these things pan out, Serafima. You saved a Klatchian carpet and twenty passengers from crashing and got them here. They're still here, sleeping it off in crash rooms or being looked after in reception rooms. No possibility of moving them on, yet. The carpet and most of the cargo are in the yard under three feet of snow. Not even Nobby's tried to scavenge anything yet."
Olga shook her head, sorrowfully.
"So of course the Klatchians are protesting that we abducted their carpet, forced it to land at Pseudopolis Yard, that we have stolen the carpet and the cargo, and that we are holding the crew and passengers hostage against their will."
She shared a mutually exasperated look with Serafima Dospanova.
"You never know, it might even occur to somebody, eventually, to say "thank you." I believe most of the crew and passengers already have."
"Nichevo." Serafima replied, shrugging. "You do what you have to."
"And well, too." Olga replied. "Mr Vimes will see you get a bonus. Somehow. And incidentally, how much actual sleep did you get before coming back on shift?"
Four hours. Perhaps five. It suffices."
"Horoscho." Olga said, eventually, then turned to Vasilisa.
"That left-ear person you brought in, between you." she said. (4)
Vasilisa smiled slightly.
"One of those people. Yes."
"We detained him for his own good, Olga Anastacia." Serafima said. "He was frozen stiff, but was still obsessed with watching us."
Olga studied her. Serafima Dospanova was a serious-looking girl, older than most, in her early twenties, tall and perhaps overly slim, with long dark hair framing a long lean face. She could not be described as conventionally beautiful, with her long angular face, a big prominent nose and a sharp pointed chin. The call-sign Vorona had been inevitable, really. The Crow. Serafima accepted this philosophically, but said she'd heard the Hergenians also called the bird the Stormcrow after their Goddess of War. And that she liked this better. (5)
"Can't see where the attraction is." Irena Politek said, with meaningful sarcasm.
"Da. And it's not as if anybody's actually encouraging them." Olga agreed. She eyeballed Vasilisa and Serafima. Vasilisa put on a look of impenetrable innocence.
"They do appear to believe a government cover-up is happening." Serafima remarked. "That we are in touch with alien intelligences who are giving us their technomancy, in return for a base on this world."
"Therefore, they watch over us." Irena said.
"Citizens have that right, Irena Yannesovna." Vasilisa said, helpfully. "The Patrician has said that government institutions should be open to scrutiny."
Olga released a breath.
"They are paranoid people." she said. "But harmless. And I agree we have a duty of care to them, as we do to all citizens. You found a man in the street, who was suffering from exposure in this extreme weather, and you took him to a place of safety where he could receive medical assistance to recover. As he was reluctant to go with you, you placed him, temporarily, into a state of detention by the Watch, and took him to Igor, with a minimum of actual force."
She smiled, slightly. An observer might have seen a sort of wry affection there.
"Dear Nick. Somewhere inside him, there may be a nice, but somewhat deluded and muddle-headed, young man. I would not want him to come to harm. In a strange way, I almost feel we are responsible for them."
Irena nodded assent.
"It didn't help that in the old days, Tatiana and Kiiki used to drink in their coffee house. And took inventive and imaginative glee in making stories up. Then swearing them to silence, and apologising for saying too much, and if Lieutenant Romanoff ever found out, they were going to get into trouble for it."
"Yes." Olga said, flatly. "They did."
Olga looked up and to her left, where there were iconographs on the office wall. Five, in a line, were prominent. They were the faces that went with the names on the memorial plaque outside, overlooking the Landing Deck.
Serafima and Vasilisa recognised a Moment, and both removed their headwear in respect.
"Thank you." Olga said, after a short silence. "Tatiana Grigorenko is the second one along."
She indicated an iconograph of an Air Witch who was forever frozen in a moment of dirty-minded laughter, like a young Nanny Ogg.
"Kiiki Pekissaalen, however, is not there. Surprisingly, given her extreme risk-taking personality, she's still alive, but no longer with the Service."
Olga brought herself back to the present.
"Nick Highpriest is going to allege unlawful detention by agents of the Conspiracy, who were desperately trying to prevent him uncovering the Truth." Olga said.
"He can think whatever he likes." Serafima said, shrugging dismissively. "The fact is that we saved his idiyot malchick life."
"He should be lucky he received no additional injuries." Vasilisa said. "He was burbling on about my being one of those nordick aliens, I must be one, the pretty blonde ones who apparently cross the limitless oceans of space at great time and expense, to seek out spotty young men with no social skills who do not change their socks and underwear nearly often enough. Apparently we nordicks put ourselves through this to breed with such men, as we find them irresistible."
"I applaud your restraint, Lance-Constable Budonova."
"Da. I informed him I was making allowances because his mental processes were not working as they should, but if he continued pawing me about like that, then I would give him an intimate probing he would not forget in a hurry."
"Where did they get ideas like that from in the first place?" Irena said, shaking her head.
Olga looked grave and disapproving.
"From Tatiana and Kiiki, I believe." she replied. "You know the sense of humour they shared. I had to speak severely to both."
Olga looked again at the iconograph of a departed friend.
Then she said
"I will report accordingly to Mr Vimes when any complaint from Mr Highpriest reaches him. No further action. Well done to you both, meeting dismissed."
Serafima left, after squeezing Vasilisa's hand and giving her a sympathetic look. Vasilisa remained.
Olga remembered.
"You said this morning when you arrived that you had a despatch from Home? I promised to speak to you about this over tea. Then emergencies began happening. I believe we have time now."
"Da, Olga Anastacia. And Irena Yannesovna should be present also. It concerns Natalia Svetlanavichniya."
Vasilisa communicated the news swiftly. Olga tried to absorb the sudden, absurd, ridiculous, disbelief, followed by even more absurd shock.
She is a hundred and one. Who knows, maybe a hundred and three? Why are you disbelieving and surprised?
She and Irena shared a mutually appalled look.
"There is no doubt?"
"None at all, Irena Yannesovna. She received her Advance Warning two days ago. She asked me to inform you that she will be leaving next Thursday at approximately four in the afternoon. She said that's a good time to go, as the afternoon becomes evening and the day fades. Just time for a last glass of vodka at sundown."
"Approximately four?" Olga asked. It was a stupid thing to ask, she knew, but the news had slowed her ability to think quickly.
"Give or take ten minutes, she said."
It will sink in soon. I have heard the words. My heart and mind are yet to catch up with my ears.
Olga Anastacia, Irena Yannesovna. She was your Little Mother in witchcraft, your first teacher. I have only known her for four months. I find myself regretting it could not be longer."
"Da." Olga said.
Vasilisa coughed, discreetly, after a long painful silence. She hadn't been a witch for very long, but she knew, instinctively, how these things went. She wondered, inside, how she'd feel when the inevitable moment would come when Olga, her own teacher and tutor, received the Advance Warning. She came to the right conclusion, and said
"I have already spoken, privately, with Nadezhda Veranonvna. She will seek to deflect anybody from knocking on this door for as long as you both need. Nottie Garlick is also aware."
"Thank you." Olga said, distantly. Irena indicated gratitude. Vasilisa slipped out and closed the door behind her.
Perhaps twenty-five minutes later, Nadezhda Popova knocked on the door and entered, with a tray carrying glasses of hot sweet tea.
"Nottie is looking after Watch business." she said. "The girls understand. Everyone does. This is Witch business. Right now it takes precedence."
Olga and Irena came to Mother Hen for comfort, understanding, and a safe shoulder to weep on.
"A witch is passing." Nadezhda said, when grief was, for the moment, over. "Not just a witch, a Babayaga. You need to plan. I never met Natalia, but you tell me she rode with the Ron Cossacks as a girl and was both ved'ma and shamanka to them? There must be a shamanka at her Leaving. One who can perform such rites as are needed, when the shamanka makes her final vision quest and will never Return."
Olga, red-eyed, looked at Irena. The same name occurred to both.
"Xenia Galena." Irena said.
"One of us needs to fly out. To ask if she can be present. To take her there." Olga decided. She took a deep breath. Planning a Going Away and a funeral was making her feel less overwhelmed. It was grounding her.
"My father should be told." Olga said. "A courtesy. He is Grand Duke. Also, I want no talk of his snatching back the land on which the domovila stands. That is the heart of a witch's Steading."
"He also needs to know Vasilisa Danutavichnya is taking over the Steading and the Domovila." Irena said. "That the succession has been decided, that she is Natalya's chosen successor, and that the decision stands. Whatever a Grand Duke thinks."
"We also need to tell Mr Vimes. That next Thursday is a Grandmother's Funeral. Almost literally."
"A babiushka's funeral." Nadezhda added. "Olga, we should perhaps all go? All the Rodinians who are here, from all places and traditions. Hanna and Nottie can command between them on that day. And it is only for one day."
"Da." Olga said, deciding. "I agree. Perhaps selected others. Who might benefit. Firebird speaks some Rodinian. She should see more of our people in our own lands."
"It is fitting." Nadezhda agreed. "I do not know who Natalia Svetlanavichniya was pupil to. But she was teacher to Irena Yannesovna. Who accepted Rebecka Smith-Rhodes as her pupil. Bekki is therefore in the same unbroken line, and her Witchcraft has a root in our Rodinia. She should be there."(6)
After the drama and disruptions of the day, Ankh-Morpork was waking up and getting back to something approaching normal. People agreed that the fact of the trains running as if nothing unusual was going on had swung it. The trains being there was comforting. The only thing different about the trains was that every locomotive out there appeared to have a sort of low-seated metal snout attached to its front, like a pointed triangular beak sort of thing, that was effortlessly gathering up and shunting away the accumulated snow on the tracks. The weight and power of the locomotive behind it was doing the rest. High snow embankments had grown on either side of the track.
With the trains coming in, people were flocking to the railway stations. Some produce was getting onto carts and getting out there for distribution via shops and stores, as carters ventured onto streets that were getting progressively clearer. Other people were seeing a more direct way of clearing the produce backlogs, and informal temporary markets were now springing up outside the railway stations, despite the snow. Some of the produce was even being sold direct by people who owned it and were entitled to do so. (7)
The gold and blue golems had been seen in the city for only the second time since the day they'd Arrived, and then Disappeared again. They had been a spectacular sight, marching up to eight abreast down the main thoroughfares of the City, trampling down or kicking aside the snowdrifts that had impeded progress. Finding the roadways at least were clear, road traffic had begun to resume.
However, the snow displaced by the golems hadn't disappeared, it had merely been moved. Annoyed residents found their shopfronts were obscured and their front doors blocked by piled snow. Whole sidestreets had been walled off by snow displaced from the main roads.
People were getting out with shovels and spades and were slowly, laboriously, tipping it back into the roads again. Trolls and city golems were clearing passages into the side streets, which at present had not been touched by the gold-and-blue golems.
As the snow got trampled and trodden down, it was going to ice. Children were gleefully polishing pavement snow into slides. This was causing new problems. Igors were being overwhelmed with minor injuries. City Witches, never enough to meet needs, were getting overworked. It was difficult to get casualties to the Lady Sybil.
Watch vehicles were getting out onto the streets. Sam Vimes was making sure of it. The Mounted Watch was getting patrols out. They were picking up some of the slack and were able to ferry some injured people to the Lady Sybil. Some people objected to being ferried into hospital in the back of a hurry-up wagon, as if they were being arrested or something, what are the neighbours going to think? Pegasus pilots, unable to fly right now, were going out on conventional horses, supplementing City Witches in assessing casualties and providing minor healings. Other Air Witches were going out with the first foot patrols containing human Watchmen, one Witch per patrol now, acting as primary First Aid responders.
Back at the Air Station, more witches were being taught the basic magics for all-weather flying. Sergeant Popova had rounded up the MOKOs, the few male pilots with the Air Watch, the Morporkians of Klatchian Origin who piloted the rare magic carpets used by the Watch. She had experimented with whether or not the shielding could be applied to carpets, had discovered it could, and that the anti-icing-up spell that worked for bristles also protected the flight-tassels of the carpets. The magic carpet, as Abdullah pointed out, was a Klatchian thing. While he wouldn't say "never" about snow happening in Klatch, he pointed out it was sort of rare, really, and your flight tassel was made of wool, which absorbed moisture, (not normally an issue in a dry climate, eg Klatch) and, err, snow was made of moisture, and therefore… err… anyway, Sergeant Popova, ma'am, get them wet and go past that to frozen, it'll fly like a brick. Nadezhda had said "Da." And had patiently worked with them on shielding and protection.
Now, the MOKO's were out there, acting as an air ambulance service, ferrying the broken bones and the serious injuries to the Lady Sybil.
Omnibuses, albeit infrequent and late, were beginning to run again. People were getting to work, at least for evening and overnight shifts.
The Clacks towers, sporadically and with both delays and re-routing, were talking to each other again. Adora Belle had been touring the towers she could get to, pointing out that most City towers were within sight of up to five others, and that their crews should be more creative. If you can't see the tower in direct line of sight for the message, point it at one of the others. Then they'll find a direction that works. Just keep things moving. This snow is easing off and can't last forever.
Postman First Class Matti Harjoittaja grinned as he poled himself along on his skis. The laden sledge he was pulling behind him carried bags with maybe sixty pounds of mail. He really just couldn't see what the problem was. It was a funny sort of city that ground to a halt, just because a bit of snow had fallen. Perkele, he'd never thought he'd get to use skis or sledge here. They'd travelled with him as a memento of Home, something to hang on the wall, and had now found unexpected utility today. A funny old world. Still, perkele.
He called "Hei!" to a couple of compatriots who were also out on skis, enjoying the day. There weren't too many Swommis in Ankh-Morpork. But such as there were knew each other and all were finding useful things to do, for themselves or for neighbours.
A little later, the Watch found itself investigating a robbery at a sporting goods shop. The things stolen were skis, ski-poles and ice-skates.
Commander Vimes put the word out to grab anybody selling these things in pubs or back alleys or cart-tail sales.
In the very late afternoon with daylight fading, Captain Romanoff of the Air Watch went into a technical discussion with her MOKO carpet fliers. Looking a little bit red and puffy about the eyes, she asked questions like - can you carry sacks of salt or grit? What's your maximum load? Could you fly low and relatively slowly, along the line of a street, and how can we distribute the grit regularly and evenly over icy roads and pavements? Is this feasible, do you think? Once we've practiced a bit, how quickly could we go?
Abdullah wondered if she'd just had some bad news and was trying to distract herself with work.(8)
Ankh-Morpork was adapting, in its unique and variable ways, to heavy snow. According to the weather wizards at the University, they'd be getting this on and off for anything up to a week. Hard to tell, really.
Ankh-Morpork squared its metaphorical shoulders and readied itself for a tough few days.
I know – short bridging chapter – just establishing plot details, tidying up the snowstorm plot (for now) and closing here, having set up and fixed the relative timings for the funeral in chapter one of "The Price of Flight". They can't all be 14,000 words long…. In the next chapter, more stuff from the Going Away of Natalia Svetlanavichnya. (see Price of Flight chapter one which overlaps this)
(1) A convention had evolved: Pilot Officers when in the air; Constables if patrolling on the ground. But always Witch Police Constables, WPC's.
(2) She had considered the practicalities and the implications, and had kept her Cossack fur hat with her. This marked her down as being a sister of the Vulga Host: the distinctive white-cross-over-black was embroidered into the crown and the peak also carried Vulga Cossack identification. Olga knew Cossacks could get intense about people wearing the distinguishing regalia who had no right to. Impersonators and dreamers were not tolerated. She wanted no complications of this nature.
(3) Some explanation, necessarily convoluted. In Russian folklore and tradition, the Hogfather(3.1) is called Ded Moroz. He dresses in blue with white trim, which was indeed standard Santa Claus rig, until Coca-Cola changed it to red and forced a new meme on the English-speaking or Coke-drinking world. However, blue and white remain Santa colours in Russia. Ded Moroz is assisted on his rounds by his faithful and loving grand-daughter Snegoroschka, the Snow Maiden. She is startlingly blonde, wears blue with white trim, and fights for her grandfather against the opposing perils, with her sharp and deadly sabre. Snegoroschka, the Snow Maiden, is also a fixture of Russian Christmas. Now on the Discworld, proud father Oleg Budonov had a daughter. He and his wife Danuta saw how blonde their daughter Natasha Vasilisa promised to become. Being prosperous traders, they began to dress their little Snow Maiden up in blue and white, when winter and Hogswatch came around. The family nickname Snegoroschka stuck. This came with her, eventually, to the Air Watch. As did the fur coats. Hey, backstory.
(3.1) Terry Pratchett pays Homage to the Russian Christmas in Hogfather. Death, as Hogfather, is indeed assisted by his grand-daughter, who slays the enemies of the Hogfather, at Hogswatch. This was not coincidental.
(4) Based on events in Sourcery, the usual designation for "obsessive nutter with no social skills who harangues me on their chosen obsession, whilst not meeting my eyes and looking fixedly at a point somewhere behind my left shoulder" was a red-star person. However, Irena Politek, who was a Red Star person for different reasons and who did look you in the eye when she spoke to you, was in the room. Out of courtesy and caution, "left ear person" was substituted.
(5) One of the flight-Feegle, with a more Gonnagle streak than the rest, had said Stormcrow in the Old Tongue was Badhbh, aye, Mistresses. The Air Watch had collectively said "Bloody hell. We're going by Stormcrow, Vorona, that okay?"
(6) The background details are set. Now go to the very first chapter of The Price of Flight in which a very old witch is assisted to the black sands, and Olga receives a last parting gift.
(7) another headache for an overstretched Watch.
(8) He heard later that she really was going to have to ask for a Grandmother's Funeral. No. really. Literally. Sometimes, you know, it really actually is a Grandmother's Funeral. Not often, but it does happen sometimes.. "Ah." He said. "My earnest condolences."
The Notes Dump
The pile of snow cleared from the path to allow the main story to flow, which may be crafted into a snowman at some point, so it has some purpose in life. Or else stomped by golems and burnished into a lethal slide on which ideas may sometimes fly. Or break their legs.
This chapter, not a lot.
More Fortean Times back numbers retrieved from the archive to seek random gems – FT386 (December 2019) – among other things, Mattel's Barbie Doll aimed at the Mexican/Latin American market – a Barbie called Catrina, her face painted for the Day of the Dead celebration and dressed in black and red, sort of Mexican Gothic, based on the art of a painter called José Guadelope Posada who popularised the Dia las Muertes thing with his late 1800's – early 1900's artwork. Google on Barbie Catrina – I'm tempted to buy one myself as this is so subversive… Death/Undead Zombie dolls for little girls.