Strandpiel, Book Two

by A.A. Pessimal

The continuation of the saga of interlocking families and friends, spread across at least two continents.

25. Calyptras

Strandpiel 2/25

Converging Lines Of Inquiry

Calyptras and Green Harvest V0.7

(More missing section breaks and odd typos. This time, a previously unspotted typo or two plus one small continuity error to correct - Nadezhda has, of course, had one previous trip to Howondaland. Blame it on History Monks.)

I know. Belatedly did the research. In February in the Southern Hemisphere, grapes in a vineyard would be very well advanced indeed for a harvest in May and I'm really describing here what would be done and crop-dusted in the previous November. But hey, this is the Discworld, a flat Earth…

I left a certain sort of crime unspecified. Some things are too horrible. Fill in the blanks; Granny Weatherwax, mayhersoulhavemercyonthegods, would have said "end it in hemp"

---

18 Spa Lane, Nap Hill, Ankh-Morpork. A Wednesday evening in February.

"Okay, shall we get started?" Captain Olga Romanoff said. Claude had directed the maids to bring extra chairs into Sir Ponder's private study. The others in the room looked expectantly at Nadezhda, the last to enter.

"Da. One moment, please."

Nadezhda Popova looked at the placement of the last free chair, close to the glass-fronted bookcase occupying one wall of the room. Anyone who didn't have magic might have just seen the spines of books, some of them antiquarian, old leather-bound volumes, and dismissed them as unremarkable. But everybody else had opted for the other chairs, leaving this one free.

Nadezhda glared at the bookcase.

Then she drew her kjindal short sword.

"This may or may not be in peace." she said, addressing the books. "You choose."

From another pocket, she drew a sheet of paper and shook it open.

"Are you watching?" she said, apparently to nothing. "Khoroscho."

Holding the paper in one hand – Olga and Irena recognised a routine memo to City Watch sergeants – she began making long, deliberate, cuts with the very sharp Cossack knife.

"Kjindal cuts paper." she said to the bookcase. "Always. You are made of paper. Also have shashka sabre."

She nodded to the bookcase, then resheathed the blade and sat down.

"Feel better now. Having back turned to those, and sitting so close." she said to Ponder. He nodded, understanding.

"Magical books. Grimoires." Irena said to Yelena, the non-magic-user. "If you're unwary they can mess with your head. Play games. They need to be reminded."

Yelena nodded understanding, and poised her pen.

Ankh-Morpork City Watch.

Code Twenty-Three Investigation Report

Responsible Investigating Officer: Captain O.A.E. Romanoff (Air Watch, PS)

Also Present:

Lieutenant I.Y. Politek (Air Watch, PS)

Sergeant N.V. Popova (Air Watch)

Air Constable/Flying Officer R.M.I. Smith-Rhodes (Air Watch, PS).

Invited observers from other City agencies with a potential interest:

Sir Ponder Stibbons, Vice-Chancellor, Unseen University

Dame Johanna Smith-Rhodes, Guild of Assassins

Meeting recorded and minuted by:-

Miss Y.L. Garianova, Civilian Assistant (Probationary), Air Watch.

The meeting was reminded that supernatural occurrences are so common in the world as to be natural, especially around registered and licenced practitioners of Magic and Religion, and in the vast majority of cases present no problems or major hazards. "We understand it and we live with it."

Captain Romanoff stated that one of the accepted roles of the magical practitioner in the world, Witch or Wizard, is to manage all this and to mediate it for the vast majority who have no Magic at all. Most of the time this works and everybody wakes up in the morning in the same shape they were in when they went to bed the previous night. Everybody knows the Rules, even if those rules cannot easily be codified, and Everybody clearly includes the vast majority of Entities on the other side.

However, every so often Things Happen that need to be investigated and if necessary, confronted. This is why the Ankh-Morpork City Watch has the Code Twenty-Three system, which predates the first official hiring of one Wizard and the first two Witches as Watch members, and was originally meant as guidance for non-magical Watchmen in dealing with the Supernatural. Its emphasis is therefore on how to identify, contain and ultimately arrest any supernatural entity which is Breaking The Law.

A Code Twenty-Three happens when something breaks through from the Other Side and expresses clear intent to cause harm or destruction. Were this a human or other co-sentient agent in the everyday world, the Watch would have a clear duty to contain and detain under its normal mundane duty of guarding and protecting. Criminal charges could then be brought under the usual headings, ie breach of the peace, criminal damage, actual or grievous bodily harm, or indeed murder.

The fact the criminal suspect is a non-human supernatural entity just makes containment and arrest into a more specialised process. The underlying rationale and logic are the same and call for a different sort of Watchman. As Captain Romanoff observed, that's us. Witches in the Watch.

"As Witches. Or Wizards. We have a clear duty. To deal with these things wherever they occur. We guard, we defend, we watch the borderlines and the edges where worlds meet."

Captain Romanoff observed that Flying Officer Smith-Rhodes, a part-time member of the Air Watch, had come up against a Situation in her Steading which she had quite correctly brought to the attention of her superior officers. Two of the people immediately involved had been interviewed by Flying Officer Smith-Rhodes, who had taken their witness statements and brought them here for consideration and evaluation. If you have not already read their depositions, please take the time now.

(Witness statements from Mrs Mariella Smith-Rhodes-Lensen of Bitterfontein in the Turnwise Caarp province of Rimwards Howondaland, aged twenty-nine, agricultural manager and proprietor of a family vineyard and distillery, and from her husband Mr Horst Lensen, same occupation, are appended to the report)

Bekki reflected that she hadn't actually formally taken the reports. Just before she had flown out to Ankh-Morpork, Aunt Mariella had casually said "Give these to Olga or Irena, would you? Thought it'd be useful to write things down."

Bekki had felt a red flush of "whoops…." that it had never occurred to her to do this. She felt grateful that Olga was wording the report to make her look more efficient than she had been.

"The wife and the husband have different names?" Yelena asked, politely.

"Da." Olga said. "Not a usual thing in Turnwise societies."

"Easy with us." Nadezhda said. "My husband is Yuri Yermak. For some legal purposes I am Nadezhda Yermaka. As Witch I am Nadezhda Popova. Strange in this country a woman takes exact same name as husband."

Olga shrugged.

"Rimwards Howondaland is a Republic." she said. "I married a local man. There I have no nobility or title. I am very happy with that. But there is such a thing, informally, as colonial nobility. The Smith-Rhodes family are regarded as one of the founding Families of White Howondaland and have a certain prestige, like the de Beers, the van der Prats and the McSweeneys."

She frowned.

"Long-established Family, apparently. Anyway. The general consensus is that Horst Lensen managed to marry well above himself. His wife therefore makes a point of keeping the Smith-Rhodes name. Johanna's sister, incidentally. Rebecka's aunt."

"Ah." Yelena said, understanding. She carried on report-taking.

It was agreed that the statements came from witnesses of the highest possible reliability. Both are graduates of the Guild of Assassins of Ankh-Morpork, who would have spent seven years being taught to observe and report to a high degree of accuracy. Therefore the events they describe should be afforded a high priority for investigation and resolution.

Doctor Smith-Rhodes pointed out that two Guild members were under sustained attack by an as yet unidentified agency. She could confirm the two Guild members were not subject to a contract and therefore the attacker was not a Guild member. This establishes a clear Assassins' Guild interest in the case, and a need to be kept informed.

Captain Romanoff suggested that Doctor Smith-Rhodes, who also holds the rank of Special Detective-Constable in the City Watch, should be the Guild liaison point in the investigation. Doctor Smith Rhodes indicated agreement.

Yelena looked up from the reporting pad and frowned.

"But Doctor Smith-Rhodes is not currently in the room." she said.

Olga smiled.

"I've known Johanna for a long time." she said. "Long enough to get a good idea as to how her mind works. She can read the minutes later, to keep herself informed as to what she's agreeing to."

"She can indicate her agreement when she gets to read the minutes." Irena said. She turned to Bekki.

"Devyushka, you said you got to visit the possible crime scene." she said. "Can you make a verbal report? Especially on how you perceive the key people."

Flying Officer Rebecka Smith-Rhodes then gave a verbal report on her visit to the key location. Questions were asked afterwards for clarification purposes.

Bitterfontein, six days previously.

Bekki sat in the weak late winter sunlight outside the dispensary, enjoying the day and time she could spend just sitting and reflecting. Her working life involved dealing with a steady trickle of work-related injuries, none of them especially serious, interspersed with what she suspected was going to become a growing stream of people coming out of the nearby towns and homesteads to consult the Healthcare Practitioner who'd just been employed by the Lensens, as, you know, word gets around, and we hear she's pretty good.

Bekki sighed resignedly. At least her days off from the plaas were fixed, as Wednesdays and Thursdays. She'd have to get that on a notice to pin to the door, get the information out so that people wouldn't have wasted trips on those days. Sometimes she flew to Ankh-Morpork late on a Tuesday night; sometimes very early on Wednesday mornings. Her return flight was usually very early on the Friday, so that she could resume her main job here without too much interruption and catch up.

She mused on her recent trip to Turfloop Township. It wasn't even a town as such; a couple of square miles of largely ramshackle shanty housing with a couple of communal wells and access to the nearby river. Aunt Mariella had explained the black labour for the plaas almost exclusively came from here, so she had an interest in recruiting the best possible workers and keeping them in the best possible health. It wasn't dragon wizardry, Mariella had explained: healthy workers are good workers. Good for the business. Also, she had a moral responsibility to people who worked for her. They have made the Lensen family prosperous. I want to give something back.

Bekki had found herself, invited by the Headman to tour the township, watching people, reading them, identifying ailments and little problems she felt she could put right. Aunt Mariella, who seemed to know everyone, had been introducing her to people and asking pertinent little questions, like how long is it now before the child arrives, Nella?

Her aunt hadn't explicitly said "Among Bekki's other healthcare skills, she is a midwife." But Bekki felt this had at least been implied. And midwifery was one of the primary Witch skills. Everybody did it. Only the other week, Godsmother Irena had commed back to Control that she'd be at ground level for an hour or two, as she was dealing with a childbirth. Get a reserve up to cover my Patrol. Red Star out.

Emergency Childbirths were an Air Watch shout. The rest of the Watch understood this. If you couldn't get the mother to the Lady Sybil in time, or the Lady Sybil couldn't get a midwife to the mother in time, Air Witches did the job that was in front of them. Ground patrols confronted with a confinement had been known to run out into the street and frantically semaphore upwards, to draw the attention of an Air Witch. (1)

Bekki had counted at least twelve pregnant women in the township. She had asked Aunt Mariella who, you know, attended. Mariella had shrugged.

"Some of the older women are skilled." she had said. "Experienced, anyway. Some are good, some are appalling. But it's Tradition. There are a couple of herbalists here. They don't seek publicity for one very obvious reason. They're a sort of healthcare practitioner too. Reckon they'll make themselves known to you. Eventually."

Bekki got it. She had to earn trust. She also gathered infant mortality and child mortality would be higher here than in Bitterfontein. She wondered what she could do about this. The general rather basic standard of everyday cleanliness in the Township was also a concern when it came to delivering effective healthcare.

It was a puzzle.

She sat on the nearest thing she had to a stoep, considering this.(2)

Inevitably, her thoughts turned to the next Wednesday and Thursday. She'd been advised that this would be purely advanced training in combat skills and would take place at the Forward Training Area out in Chirm. So pack warm underwear, devyuschka. Hanna von Strafenberg will be in charge. You will be living under canvas.

Bekki had asked about weather in Chirm in February. Uncle Horst had reminisced about Guild wilderness training expeditions. Without meaning to, he had stressed they were damp, cold and uncomfortable. Aunt Mariella had said "Remember to pack chocolate."

Bekki looked up into the weak but not cold sunlight of late winter in Rimwards Howondaland. Clouds were gathering out to Rimwards. She made a resigned sigh. The plus side of being this close to the Rim meant that winters were mild compared to places nearer the Hub. However, it was still winter. And the minus side. Being this near the Rimfall meant other things happened. Even three hundred miles away, if the Rimfall at the edge of the world was particularly lively, then you could see it as a band of light at night, down on the Rimwards horizon.

Apparently if the geothaumic and hydrothaumic energy of the Rimfall was particularly strong, it fed into the powerful electrical storms Howondaland got at this time of year. Dad studied this, but managed to get into lots and lots of wizard-speak if she asked about it. Apparently it was stronger in winter. Nobody knew why. Dad supposed it was due to elephants. Somehow.

Bekki frowned. She'd seen one Howondalandian tropical electrical storm at far too close quarters. She was in no hurry to experience another one.

A little voice in her head said Captain Romanoff is asking for people to provide weather reports from around the world so we can establish some sort of records. The weather-wizards seem to think that patterns emerge that may help us predict what the weather could be like tomorrow or the day after. They've apparently said to Olga that record-keeping is key and with more recorded observations they can detect more patterns. Maybe I should start writing a log alongside my other paperwork…

To give herself something to do, Bekki went back into the dispensary, found a spare desk diary, the smaller sort where the space for each day is too impossibly small to do very much, and retitled it "Weather Log"

She thought back to the electrical storm, located the date, and recalled it had been very rainy here, just rainy, the day she had set off to Ankh-Morpork and arrived in the blizzard. She wondered if this was the sort of thing the weather wizards needed to know.

She was describing the electrical storm that had greeted her on her return two days later, with a little voice in her head prodding her for attention, as if she was missing out something important.

It will come to me if it's important, Bekki decided, and carried on filling in her impressions of local Caarp Province weather as she could remember it.

"Hi, Aunt Mariella." she said, without looking up.

"Homework for Olga?" her aunt asked, looking down.

"Ja. I can see the logic. She's got part-time pilots all over the Disc, and a while back we got the blizzards. I arrived right into the middle of all that. Olga and Irena had a think, spoke to people, and they want some sort of weather warning system set up. I'm here, right on the Rim, almost. People like Stacey Matlock and Tillie Glossop are based in places like Lancre or Escrow, and we've got Vasilisa Budonova out in Zlobenia. Olga wants regular weather updates from people based on all sides of Ankh-Morpork."

Mariella nodded understanding.

"Then it goes to Wizards at the University who file it and forget it." She said. "So your father has to chase them and then do all the work."

"As always." Bekki agreed.

Mariella grinned.

"Going to Haartebeeste to see the van Jaasvelds." she said, casually. "Coming?"

"Okay." Bekki said. She closed the diary and stood up.

Mariella led her to the horses. One, a sturdier looking pack horse, was being loaded with sacks and equipment. Two were saddled up for riders.

"One of their waterpumps has gone down." Mariella explained. "Totally carrots. Without water, a plaas is completely stuffed. The thing is, they've just been continually trying to get fifty years of work out of equipment with a life of twenty years that should have been replaced ten years ago. Ran it to kak, and they're lucky to get katspoegie out of it justnow."

Mariella shook her head. Bekki added totally carrots to her growing Caarp vocabulary and gathered this meant a vital piece of equipment was worn out to the point where what should be a constant flow of water had become katspoegie, cat's spit.(3)

"Horst's offered Young Jan some spare parts to fix it and he's left me to organise. So I might as well get you over there at the same time, so you can meet people. That way, you'll have some sort of report to make to Olga and the others."

A little later they rode off together, leading the pack-horse.

They discussed the known situation together as they rode. Bekki noted that her aunt was being very careful and restrained in what she was saying, sticking to the known bare facts about the five key people. Bekki understood this: she was a Watchwoman too, just about to meet people who were all potentially Suspects. It was perhaps better she did not hear anything that was hearsay or common gossip, anything that might prejudice her mind ahead of actually meeting the key people.

The single key fact was that there had been a supernatural manifestation. It had been powerful enough to make its presence felt to people who were not magic users. It had attacked Aunt Mariella on an overnight stay there. Twice. She had seen it for long enough to be able to give a description. Uncle Horst had been ignored by it, largely, but had glimpsed enough of it to be able to give a description that tallied with Aunt Mariella's. The thing had been able to get close enough to Aunt Mariella to touch her. Bekki accepted that this would be deeply disconcerting to a trained Assassin, especially one as good at it as her aunt. Whatever it was, it appeared to be tied to one of the people resident at the plaas.

Bekki, as the only Witch for a long way in any direction, was therefore obliged to take an interest.

The problem was that she had only arrived in her new Steading some seven weeks previously and was still establishing herself.

They discussed this as they rode on a well-established trail, which led to a larger better-kept and wider trail that was locally distinguished with the status of road. It was at the moment dry, but perceptibly rutted by the passage of carts. A typical Howondalandian landscape of orange-red earth patched with green grass and scrubby undergrowth receded to either side, with the hills of the Sandrifts, ever present, clothed in the darker green of growing vines. Here and there, other agriculture was happening: fields of young mealies, or else cattle turned out to graze, with an occasional farmstead visible, small farmers making a living, rather than big agribusiness. Quite a lot of the land was apparently wild and untouched, much as the first Boers would have found it after getting off the immigrant boats at Caarp Bay and beginning their long Trek into the hinterlands of a new continent.

"This is the main road out of Bitterfontein to Uniondale." Aunt Mariella said. "The local municipalities keep saying they're going to upgrade the road, but it's one of those justnow things. Something for tomorrow."

"Something to do justnow." Bekki agreed.

"I tell you, Bekki, this sort of thing is not good for cart wheels." Aunt Mariella remarked. "That wreck that ended up injuring Phineas Macumbe happened on a trail like this. Getting better roads is something we're working on too. Makes sense, but people then gripe about who pays, and about taxes going up."

"Everybody wants public services, but they don't want to pay for them and it's Everybody Else's Problem." Bekki replied, after a little thought.

"Exactly." Aunt Mariella replied. "Sto Kerrigians are great merchants and tradesmen. They – we – are renowned for it. They also had a little difficulty with collecting taxes. Suddenly everyone in Sto Kerrig had got deep pockets and short arms. Then you get the other half of this country, who came from Ankh-Morpork."

"So, no road upgrades." Bekki said.

Mariella grinned.

"It makes work for Arne Timmermann." she remarked. "He runs the best wheelwrights in the area by far. People come to him for spare parts and repairs and replacements. And it's a Lensen business."

Bekki recalled the wheelwrights and carpenters' shop at the plaas. It had been very big, bigger than you might expect on a farm. With lots of interesting and sometimes alarming looking machinery.

Mariella grinned. She indicated a smoke-haze on the horizon.

"That's Uniondale." she remarked. "Too big to be a village, too small to be a town. Also, ninety-nine per cent Morporkian. You don't see signage in any language other than Morporkian, and if you speak Vondalaans in the street, people give you the stink-eye. One of the last loyalist hold-outs in the War of Independence, they never let you forget, and they still fly the Morporkian flag there."

She shrugged.

"Some places are like that. We Boers let them get on with it, if it makes them happy."

They rode on. Aunt Mariella said to watch out for the turn-off for Barambas. We're not going there either, it's a small town, I understand they're advertising to fill the vacancy as the one horse died of boredom. Haartebeeste's on the way out there. Even smaller town. The van Jaasveld plaas is some miles outside.

Bekki acknowledged this. Some minutes later, just before the sign-post for Barambas and Haartebeeste, she saw the girl.

---

I know it's only likely to be incidental and completely unrelated." she said to Olga Romanoff. "But I should report it as well."

Nadezhda Popova nodded to Irena Politek.

"A second manifestation in the same region." Irena said. "A second ghost. But not one Mariella could see?"

"It could be significant." Olga agreed. "We are not talking about Lancre here, where magic is intrinsic to the landscape. Nor about a heavily populated area like Ankh-Morpork, where everyday ghosts are so common as to be, well, everyday. This may be linked. We do not know enough yet."

She nodded to Bekki to continue.

---

The girl, well, a young woman in her early twenties, really, was standing by the roadside. She had a hopefully expectant air, as if she had no doubt that the thing she was waiting for would soon arrive.

Bekki frowned. Something was wrong here. Not many women went around unaccompanied in a conservative society like Rimwards Howondaland. Apart from women like Mariella, Bekki thought. Or maybe me, when I get established here.

Bekki rode closer to the woman. Blonde, attractive, nothing overly remarkable about her. but she looked as if she was dressed in her very best. Understandable if going to a social event on a weekend evening, or if she was going to Kerk on Octeday, but here? On a backwoods dirt road, miles from anywhere, on an early afternoon, midweek? Everybody is in working clothes. Including Mariella and me.

Bekki greeted the woman and waved. She seemed to notice Bekki and wave back, but there was an odd latency about it, like a time delay, as if the information had taken longer than it should to reach her. Bekki pulled her horse to a stop, noting it seemed reluctant to go nearer. Aunt Mariella, who was leading the pack horse, also noticed a strange hesitancy on the part of both horses.

"Miss? Can we help you?" Bekki asked, remembering who was the dominant ethnicity around here, taking care to say it in Morporkian first, and then in Vondalaans afterwards.

The girl smiled dreamily into nothing. Again she took a long time first registering Bekki was present and then answering her.

"You're on your own out here. I'm betting we're the first people to ride this road in hours. Can we be of any assistance?" Bekki pressed her.

The girl smiled again. Bekki had a slightly swimmy feeling. It was a bit like going into the Eternal Now when Death was near, when the world for all other people froze in the instant. Everything had gone quieter. Not silent, just muted, as if it were happening in the room next door. She looked round to Aunt Mariella. She seemed to be moving a lot more slowly, as if she was moving in thicker air or perhaps in water, as if swimming. Her mouth appeared to be opening, but very, very, slowly, as if she was framing a question…

Bekki looked at the girl again. She seemed to be more insubstantial somehow. Her outline was fading and shimmering….

"You're very kind. Thank you for offering. But my boyfriend's going to be along soon. I'm sure he is. To pick me up. In his coach."

The girl took to staring expectantly down the road again, in the direction of Bitterfontein.

"Errr. Miss. Miss?" Bekki tried. But there was no response. It was as if Bekki had vanished completely from her world, forgotten.

"Who are you talking to?"

It was Aunt Mariella's voice, articulated perfectly normally. Bekki realised she could hear birdsong again, and some sort of animal calling in the undergrowth. She then realised how quiet it had been while she was talking to the girl at the roadside, who was waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up in his coach.

Who had vanished completely.

Bekki frowned. It was an open road. Open countryside. Nowhere to conceal yourself. She looked at Aunt Mariella. At least, for somebody who isn't an Assassin to conceal herself. And she didn't look like an Assassin…

Bekki also noticed the three horses were now less skittish and happy to move on.

"Didn't you see the girl? At the roadside?" Bekki asked.

"What girl…"

Mariella paused. She wasn't magical at all. But she'd been Assassin-trained. And the Assassins' Guild had evolved practical advice for the guidance of its members, as to how to recognise if magic was in operation in the vicinity. And one of the tell-tale signs was if animals started to behave oddly, if a horse shied at absolutely nothing or refused to approach or pass a certain point…

"You just saw a ghost." Mariella said, flatly.

Bekki grinned, relieved. It took less explanation with some people.

Mariella listened to her description of the event. She didn't seem surprised.

"They say the definition of a good witch is if she can see ghosts in daylight." Mariella remarked. "The old witch Mrs Ogg said that any fool can see a ghost at midnight, but seeing one at mid-day, that's the trick."

She paused, frowned, and added

"Interesting it should be here, though. We are not that far from the van Jaasveld plaas here. Five, six, miles. Shall we ride on?"

---

Olga Romanoff frowned, steepled her fingers and then realised she was steepling her fingers. She quickly un-steepled them.

"Okay, we'll minute that as a point of additional interest." she said. "Something that might be related and is certainly another supernatural event in the same general locality. And, Bekki. Mariella did say she had a vague memory?"

"Something from before her time in Bitterfontein and the Turnwise Caarp." Bekki said. "She was going to ask Mevrou Hendricka about it. Mrs Lensen, that is. Uncle Horst's mother. Something maybe ten or twelve years ago. A young couple in an open-topped coach driving too fast after he'd had too much to drink. It lost a couple of wheels on a bad road and crashed and the girl in the back was killed. Really sad, if it's true." (4)

Irena nodded, thoughtfully.

"She's waiting for him to come back for her. And he hasn't. Just like a man."

Most of the women in the room nodded. They'd all heard this story.

If Mariella can get the details." Olga said. "Is there a local newspaper? One of you can check the archives, perhaps?"

Olga, Irena and Nadezhda looked at each other. To Bekki, it was clear they were agreeing on something, without any words being said.

Witch Business.

"Bring me what you find out." Olga said. "Anyway. You got to this place Hearty-beest-er?"

---

Haartebeeste was hard to get to. It had a river, well, more of a stream, really, coming off the Sandrifts. Where the Haartebeeste fed into the Orange River higher up, the settlement there was called Twee Rivieren, Two Rivers. (5)

They had to detour to find a ford, and Bekki realised that the Haartebeeste River, while not flowing all that fast nor being all that wide, ran deceptively deep. You could only safely ford it in a couple of places.

"There's power in that water." Aunt Mariella said, when they were on the other side. "People have been drowned."

"I get it." Bekki said. She wondered if anything supernatural had been drawn here, a different sort of power in the water. Rivers and riverbanks were another sort of edge, a border to patrol. She sensed nothing. Which of course didn't mean there was nothing there. It could just be hiding, and watching. But I'm sensing nothing…

"Got bad after the last storm." Aunt Mariella said. "Coming back the next morning, we really had to take care on this ford."

"I can see." Bekki said, looking down into water that was somewhat churned and murky, as if it was bringing down sediment from the nearby hills. And those hills were nearer here, closer. The Sandrifts were also putting out a spur, following the line of the river, forming a stark bluff where the red of the underlying stone was exposed, patches of vegetation clinging to otherwise bare sides. The landscape appeared to loom. In a way it didn't at Wes Sandrift.

"We just need to mount the crest of the kopjie and look down." Aunt Mariella said. "The track goes up here. And then you'll see…"

Bekki was soon looking down, into a dip, a valley between two ridges, outcrops of the Sandrifts. All around her there were growing vines, terraced up onto the hillsides, growing in ordered ranks down on the flat. Men were tending to them. It looked like a well-ordered vinicultural business, much like that Aunt Mariella and Uncle Horst ran. But somehow the vines didn't look as good or as well-developed not as rich as those on the Lensen plaas. The farm buildings and the huis that she was looking down on didn't seem as large, or as numerous, nor as, for want of a better word, prosperous, as those on the Lensen plaas.

The huis itself, the beating heart of a Boer farm, looked, for want of a better word, shabby. Bekki thought it desperately needed to have its external paint renewed, to have a bit of love and care put into it. It didn't seem all that inviting at all.

"Aunt Mariella." Bekki said, thoughtfully. "When people first came here, they had all the land to build on. They knew they were going to be building their lives here. So why on Disc did they choose to build their home, their huis, in the narrow space between two hillsides like that? Even in summer they're going to spend a lot of the time in shadow, away from natural light. It'll be worse in winter. That's not going to help whatever's happening here."

"You'd have built the huis further out, away from being overshadowed by two big kopjie-sides?" Mariella said. "Like the Lensens did. Out in the open flat land. I'd have done that too. But think also, meisie. Every little bit of good growing land is valuable. I'm betting the first van Jaasvelds elected not to waste good growing land, and put their living quarters and farm buildings in the place that would yield least crop. In the shadowed place."

"And they've been living with that ever since." Bekki said. She studied the lay of the land. Everything down there was in weak winter sunshine now. In two or three hours it would be a different story.

People were greeting them now. Bekki noted the different demeanour here of the black field-hands. More watchful, closed-in, defensive, sullen. These were not the people who worked for the Lensens, who worked in a more relaxed and possibly happier manner, in a place where… Bekki frowned. Lensen employees were treated with respect and managed intelligently. In turn they genuinely respected their employers. Not in a forced way. Respect cut both ways. She wondered how the blacks were treated here. And shuddered, not liking the possible answers. The Lensen plaas was not a typical employer. It was very possible the van Jaasveld plaas was more typical of Rimwards Howondaland. The defensive wariness of the black workers told its own story.

Aunt Mariella was, well, just being Mariella. Speaking with the everyday casual respect she'd give anybody, black or white, asking where Minheer Jan was, and adding a "dankie", which seemed to confuse the black man she was speaking to.

Bekki reflected that the Assassins' Guild taught this as standard: courtesy mattered. Even to labourers and servants. And her aunt also been brought up, outside of School, by Mum and Dad, till she was eighteen. She'd have grown up with our house servants, who still remember their Young Madam with affection. And in Ankh-Morpork, where if people aren't colour-blind, they don't generally think your complexion is a biggie.

Bekki allowed her witch-senses to come into play, remembering to be cautious. The very moment she used any active magic, if there was anything down there, it would almost certainly become aware there was a magic-user in the vicinity. She recalled Nadezhda Popova's guarded speculation that… they… might be taking an interest.

As she internally vocalised the word "they", she touched the metal of her horse-harness. It didn't do to take that sort of chance. And any Witches who might give her back-up were a long way away. She was on her own out here.

Bekki contented herself with letting impressions come to her, trying to read the atmosphere of the place.

"Place" and "Plaas". Practically the same word… something is deeply wrong here. Don't force it. Don't actively search. Or you'll touch off a tripwire… Mum said there are many kinds of tripwire and the one you don't know is there will be the one that could kill you… and they all tell people who are watching that you're out there, like leaving a calling card. Watch. Observe. Passive intelligence, the Assassins call it. There's energy here. Trapped. Building. It has got nowhere to go. Claustrophobia. Fear. Fear of malice, of something stronger than you are, something cruel. No, not cruelty. Dominance? Somebody down there, more than one, is frightened. I can sense it. Something gathering. Building. Lots of emotion… I'm getting shapes but nothing telling me what the shapes are. It's negative. It takes. It doesn't give back, it doesn't, what's the word, nurture. It's strong. And I've got to go into that huis…

Bekki fought down a moment of fear. She was a witch. This was where you found out, they told me, how good a witch you are.

Mariella, riding close, offered a hand. Bekki reached over and took it.

"Aunt Mariella? This is a scary place."

Her aunt smiled, reassuringly.

"Try spending a night here." she said. "I'm glad you said that. I don't want you getting over-confident."

Mariella paused.

"Neither would Olga Romanoff." she said. "My advice is watch. Observe. Treat it like a Watch inquiry. Then report back up the chain of command to Olga and Irena."

---

"So those were your first impressions." Olga Romanoff said. "Even before you met the key people."

"This dead weight of wrongness. Negative stuff." Irena Politek remarked. "So thick and heavy you could feel it from a quarter of a mile away. And it frightened you. No shame in that, devyuschka. I've had to do Code Twenty-Three call-outs that frankly terrified me."

She looked across at Ponder Stibbons.

"One in this very house. Long story. Olga had to do a Twenty-Three in this very room, in fact. Not long after you were born."

"We'll tell you later, devyuschka." Olga said. "And it is a long story. Not immediately relevant here, however." (6)

"It is relevant that it took four of us to do it." Irena said, remembering. "Big job, four Witches."

"Note that for the record." Olga said to Yelena, who nodded and added it to the report. "Code Twenty-Threes, in our experience, often require more than one Witch. Often, a full squad."

She turned back to Bekki.

"And then you met the suspects, and were invited into what we shall provisionally describe as the crime scene." she said. "Your impressions of them?"

---

The first of the key people she met was Young Jan van Jaasveld. He seemed genuinely pleased to see them and clasped Mariella's hand as if her presence was also a great relief of some sort. As they discussed the pack-horse and its load, Bekki studied him, trying to read him. She had to remind herself he was the same age as Uncle Horst. He just looked older. Clean-shaven except for a stubbled chin, balding – Bekki thought this was a casual cruelty to men who were not even thirty – dressed in clothes that had seen better days, and very, very, worried. Something in his eyes said that. She sat her horse quietly, trying to read the psychic atmosphere around him. Something under a forced exterior of stolid calm said he was quite frantic about something. The something was out of his control. Or the somethings. She read lack of sleep, the sort that accumulates over weeks or months of not quite enough sleep. Deep worries and concerns. A fear…. She got a sense of dislocation and deep uncertainty. She tried to see further. The farm isn't his. But he's worried he'll lose it before he inherits. That's a shameful thing for a Boer. A sense of having to run three times faster just to keep up. Of continually being behind.

She frowned. Every harvest just paid the bills and the credit lines that had mounted up in the previous months. Little left over to call a profit, to reinvest. A fear... One day the harvest and the yield will not be enough to pay the running debts and the debt carries over, mounts up?

This man is looking over a clifftop and is deeply afraid one day he'll stumble… and there's something else here. Other people around him. He fears for them and is at the same time full of … anger? Frustration? And he feels a guilt that he's angry with them? Fear and guilt. He can't let the anger show. It's all jammed up inside. But something else, something slippery, something I can't get. He's afraid of that too.

He's tired, he's overworked, he hasn't shaved, he isn't paying attention to his clothes…. And he's frightened.

Bekki shook herself, realising Aunt Mariella was introducing her.

"So you're the nurse?" young Jan said. "People are talking about you. New Boer in town(7), and all that. It's funny. You two could be sisters."

"People do say that, ja." Aunt Mariella agreed.

"Young aunt." Bekki said. "Seventeen years younger than my mother."

Young Jan gave her an appraising look.

"People say you're a w…."

"Healthcare practitioner." Mariella said, quickly and firmly. "The fact she lived in Lancre is complete coincidence."

To draw him out a bit more, Bekki said she'd been brought up in a city, so a lot of things were new to her. She'd heard Uncle Horst talking about the green harvest, but she had no clue as to what it was. "Could you explain it for me, Mr van Jaasveld… okay then, Jan?"

Jan proudly led her to where the standing vines began, growing at ground level and trained onto poles and trellis frames. From Bekki's point of view, this was alright; she'd have to build up to going into the house, where she imagined the sensations of unease, fear, and anger were going to be most intense. Being out in the open air among growing green things would ground her.

"Not much to see here just now." Jan said. "We're still doing the winter pruning on a lot of the vines and getting ready for the season…"

He led them between two lines of standing vines. In here, things were sheltered and their voices sounded a little bit muffled. Bekki gathered that winter pruning meant cutting back excessive growth of vine leaves and side-stems, to ensure the energy of spring growth went into making grapes rather than the leaves, which would only be of incidental interest to Ephebian tavernas.

"Big Ephebian community down at Two Rivers, though." Mariella said. "Maybe it's the easy availability of vine leaves or something."

Jan grinned. Bekki realised focusing on normal everyday things and talking about what he was proud of was doing him some good. She decided to push it further. Therapy.

"The next stage after winter pruning." he said. The buds emerge. Usually at this time of year we get early starters here and there…. Ah, here we are, Miss Rebecka. Do you see what's beginning to emerge here and here?"

Bekki looked. Small growths, like the bulbous knobbly heads of asparagus plants, were emerging underneath the sheltering leaves. Absurdly small, but she could see the potential, what they would become….

"These become the calyptras, which grow into a sort of cluster of very, very, small flowers." Jan explained. "Each of those tiny green flowers, coloured green and so small they do not stand out, develops into a bud. Each calyptra can have up to a hundred grape flowers in it, in that tight cluster. Give it a few months for the buds to swell, and you get grapes. The thing is, if you left it to itself, each vine would have thousands of tiny little grapes on it. The green harvest is basically pruning back. Removing anything up to half the calyptras so the plant energy goes into half the amount. But far bigger grapes."

Bekki appreciated the education. She was also getting other signals. She was no expert in this sort of witching. Sometimes she doubted if she was an expert at any sort of witching. But the deeper she got into the vineyard, the more she realised something fundamental. The land itself was worried. She wished Apricity Brabble was here; Apricity could stand quietly in a field and tell you, with quiet confidence, if the balance was right, if the land was contented, if things at a fundamental and deep level were as they should be. She'd tried to explain it once, but earth-magic wasn't Bekki's thing.

All Bekki got was disquiet, watchfulness, a sense of an alien note having intruded, something not properly of the Land.

Eventually, Jan led them to the huis. Bekki felt the atmosphere getting heavier as they got closer.

---

"The land itself is out of balance." Irena Politek said, thoughtfully. "You were getting subtle signals. Funny. I thought that sort of thing only happened in Lancre."

"Or anywhere with a strong magical field." Olga remarked. "It's not unique to Lancre."

"Maybe it's a side-effect of being so close to the Rim." Ponder Stibbons suggested. "As if the Rimfall exerts an effect. The electrical storms earthing, perhaps? Geomystical nodes forming, focal points of unformed and undirected magic that can be tapped into, sort of, err, a reservoir of magical potential?"

Olga shrugged.

"Worth noting. Yelena? Please note. Background effect of earth-magic. Specific location, or locations, as yet unknown. Anyway, Bekki. The house itself?"

---

Bekki forced herself to be calm as they approached the house. It was a perfectly normal looking Boer huis, she told herself. It wasn't a castle in Überwald or a spooky half-derelict mansion with bats flying around the belfry. This was normal. Her grandparents lived in a plaas like this. Justnow she, Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, lived in a plaas much like this. A completely typical Boer farmhouse, in fact. So why did it stink, on the psychic level, in a way that was forcing her to shut down her witch-senses to prevent herself from being overwhelmed?

She firmly forced out a sensation of metaphysical bats flying circles around a metaphorical belfry, and accepted the invitation inside. That was important too, she reminded herself. A Witch had to be invited. Age-old rule.

Her attention was drawn to the coppice of trees growing on the hillside behind the house. They looked unfamiliar to her; they also looked as if they'd contribute to blocking out light from the house. Old mature growth.

"Syringa trees." Aunt Mariella said. "Howondalandian lilac. They can look very attractive in flower."

"Father wants to have them cut down." Young Jan said. He frowned. "We used to play there as kinder. Felt like a special place. Mother loves them in flower. And the funny thing is, none of the blacks will dare go near them with axes or saws. They refuse. Completely."

---

Nadezhda Popova looked thoughtful.

"Thing manifests in this house." she said. "A thing of power. Even on her way there, Rebecka meets a second ghost. Then the land itself, the Rodina of this place, puts out message it is not happy. Is like Lancre."

"There's a place of power there. There must be." Irena Politek said. "In Lancre you can't move for a hundred yards in any direction without tripping over one. So much magic it spills. Lancre is not the only place to have them. But you know them when you feel them. Olga, we need to get out there, on the ground."

"Another part of the puzzle." Olga agreed. "Something to investigate, certainly. But let us focus on the people, for now. Rebecka?"

---

Young Jan made the other introductions inside the huis. Bekki picked up a new note from him: frantic, underneath a surface calm. Fearful something might happen, that something was going to get out of control. She frowned. Experienced Watchmen had remarked that this sort of thing was a tell, when a person, generally a man, who up until a certain moment had been outwardly normal and sane and getting on with it in a blameless sort of way, just an ordinary quiet sort of bloke, Officer, you'd never have thought it, kept himself to himself, like. Then he suddenly wasn't.

She tried to read the people. Young Jan introduced his wife. Anna van Jaasfeld, plainly dressed, a woman in her middle twenties, unremarkable, everyday. Bekki noted she had an air of down-to-earth practical efficiency about her and looked like the sort of steady capable woman who could get things done smoothly and without a fuss. That was unremarkable. She was a Boer woman on a farmstead, after all. Completely everyday and normal. She and Mariella were quite friendly and had a lot of shared common ground. Bekki picked up a mutual, unspoken, exasperation at, for instance, continual inquiries about why they resolutely remained childless, and resignation that such prompts were probably inevitable.

She was friendly enough when introduced, mentioning she was originally from the Transvaal and remarking that she'd met Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes a time or two, and that even one meeting with your grandfather is unforgettable, such a character, isn't he?

Bekki agreed, trying to place where Bronkhorstspruit was. She'd heard of it…

"Lower down the Ulunghi." Aunt Mariella said, helpfully. "About sixty miles away from home, absolutely slap-bang astride the River."

Bekki remembered now; Bronkhurstspruit was in the Salient, the very last part of what the Transvaal held of what was called the Blood River Country, formerly Boer land which had been reconquered by the Zulu Empire in the Second Zulu War. It was on the wrong side of the river, mainly, and was considered indefensible if the Zulus were to launch a major war… not just the Frontier or the kaplyn, but a projection into enemy territory. On the wrong side of the kaplyn, in fact. Already written off if war came.

Which led to… the sullen and sulky-looking young girl. Bekki remembered she was an evacuee from a war-threatened town that wasn't just on a possible front line, it was effectively lost behind the enemy side. She wondered why people lived there still, a place where there had been repeated destructive battles, twice with the Zulus and at least twice with the Morporkians, then remembered they were Boers. "Bloody-minded" defined a Boer. Another word for a Transvaaler was "bittereinder", one who would fight to the bitter end and if possible beyond, just to make the point and go down fighting.(8)

I'm a Transvaaler too, Bekki reflected, gloomily. At least, half of me is. She had a sudden strong mental image of somebody who might be an older version of her sister Famke. Or maybe a younger version of Mum. A strong but fleeting picture of her in a tough place under fire and a sensation of "let's turn this around and come out winning". She sighed. Family.

Bekki didn't know what she'd expected from the girl Ellie Mayer on meeting her. She didn't seem remarkable at all. And she'd spoken in mutters and monosyllables. Bekki had tried to look behind the surface sulk and sullen-ness, but had just got an impression of locked doors and walls and of the essential Ellie retreating behind them. That had been all. She sighed. There had been girls like this at school, wholly uninteresting and certainly not invited into the fellowship of Shauna's Gang. They'd been largely given scant attention by their peers. Justnow, Bekki wished she'd spent time getting to know what made a girl like that tick. It might have come in useful, here.

She looked at the family group around her. Mevrou Jacoba, a woman who was probably only in her middle forties but looked much older. You could ignore her in a crowd. Easily. Drab, defeated. A woman who had given up and just existed. She had a doughy, unformed sort of look about her. A woman resigned to drudge and drabness. Beaten down. But, she realised, Young Jan loved his mother. He treated her with care and respect and unforced affection. She became more animated in his presence.

She looked across. Anna's otherwise pleasant face had taken on lines, lines not visible before, and her eyes narrowed. She got a sudden flash of resentment, perhaps contempt, in those eyes. Anna's face had become harsher, crueller, for an instant, then it passed. Bekki noted this: tensions between the two women in the household, the mother-in-law and the daughter-in-law. You expected that but the unguarded look had spoken of something that stepped beyond.

Then she considered the older man sitting at the table. Mariella had introduced them both. He had not stood up to acknowledge them.

Bekki's first reaction to him was a sensation of distaste and repulsion. She would have been hard-put to explain why: lots of older Boer men in their sixties had the same look, indifferently tended hair, a big patriarchal grey beard, nondescript working clothes, the deeply sun-darkened skin of a man who has spent his whole working life out in the open air in all seasons. So far, that description could have fitted her own grandfather, a man she loved deeply.

But she also realised this was not Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes. Not with an initial gut reaction like that, one which said in the core of her being that this man is loathsome and somewhere in his past, he has done bad things. She was absolutely sure of it. She also remembered guidance from Olga Romanoff and Irena Politek on this.

---

"First impressions are often right." Godsmother Irena said. "Especially for a Witch. We get them more strongly. "But remember what Mr Vimes thinks about using magic in police work? Just one word. Don't."

"Sometimes it's unavoidable." Olga Romanoff remarked. "As in, for instance, now. Investigation of possible crimes with a magical dimension. But I'm glad you've got it, devyushka. It's far too easy to use magic, and it can blow back in your face. If it were that easy, we'd be using it all the time. But it isn't. There's no substitute for the old-fashioned sweat-and-blood-and-sore-feet sort of policing. You learn that."

"Da. You sense a suspect is bad man. You feel it, you know it. But still, you must find evidence of badness. To show in court. Magic will not give you that." Nadezhda agreed.

Olga looked attentively at Bekki.

"Old Jan." she said, prompting.

---

Bekki studied Oude Jan van Jaasveld, trying to be fair about it and trying to get past the initial jolt of revulsion she had got from him. Witch senses were saying Be wary. Be careful.

She concentrated on being everyday friendly and open.

"Mrs Lensen." the old man said, in a far-too-loud voice. Bekki had heard voices like this before. There was a superficial similarity to her grandfather, a man who had no indoor voice, an older, physically powerful, man used to being a dominant presence.

He looked at Bekki and appeared to scowl from somewhere inside the big patriarchal beard. It was hard to tell on older Boer men who favoured beards like this. It could do with a trim. And his hair is too long. Definitely a trim. And a wash. And combing though. Bekki reflected that Ouma Agnetha made sure of this with Oupa Barbarossa. Their regular trips to Ankh-Morpork always involved a long session in a barber's shop somewhere…

"Who is this girl?" he demanded, in the same over-loud voice. "Another female who chooses to dress in men's clothes, I see!"

Aunt Mariella shook her head.

"Practical clothing for heavy field work." she said, in the sort of voice that suggested she'd had this conversation before. That she knew how to deal with this sort of old-time disapproval. "We all work in the fields, minheer van Jaasveld. Conventional female clothing is impractical."

Bekki felt the glare from the old man. She was uncertain as to whether she appreciated being called a female. It sounded dismissive, somehow. She also noted Aunt Mariella was speaking just a little more loudly than usual, but also more slowly, taking care to enunciate her words clearly. Then she realised there was another, more understandable, reason why the old man was glaring so intently. She recalled meeting Mum's colleague, Miss Ethylene Glynnie…

Mariella explained who Bekki was and the job she was employed to do. The old man nodded and scrutinised her. Bekki put on a calm expression and studied him in return.

"A nurse?" he said, incredulously. "But she is barely older than a child!"

"All nurses have to begin somewhere, minheer van Jaasveld. And believe me, she started at a young age, and has more experience than you might think."

Bekki realised Aunt Mariella was selling her services and making an introduction. In a clear, calm, voice, she explained about herself, where she had been informally and formally trained, and detailed her areas of expertise.

"Ten confinements?" this was Mevrou Jacoba, expressing incredulousness. "But she doesn't look older than about seventeen!"

Bekki smiled at her.

"You do the job that is in front of you, mevrou." she said, then realised she was using what a lot of people would recognise as Witch-speak. She'd just identified herself as a witch. She hoped nobody here would know what the phrase implied, and covered up with "Ten times, it involved childbirth. I have midwife skills, ja."

"And all ten children thrive." Aunt Mariella said. "She is a good midwife. And has very good general skills as a healthcare practitioner. Let me tell you about the accident she dealt with the other week, involving a broken cartwheel and lots of splintered wood…"

The family listened. Bekki noted the girl Ellie was looking at her, expressing a sort of interest for the first time. The old man grunted an acknowledgement.

"You speak peculiar Vondalaans, young woman." the old man half-bellowed. "Odd. Strange."

Bekki sighed. She explained about growing up in Ankh-Morpork, about the Phglemish-speaking nanny, Annaliese, who spoke a language that was an older sister of Vondalaans, about trips to Sto Kerrig, where a different related language was spoken, and about growing up among expatriot Howondalandians in Ankh-Morpork, who were drawn from all regions of this country and who all spoke different versions of Vondalaans.

"Mainly Transvaal, but with many influences." she said. "I understand a sort of Kerrigian is also spoken in Sumtri, where our people also settled. I met people from there, at Kerk." (9)

The old man grunted, disinterestedly. Bekki sighed. She was getting that he had no interest whatsoever in any sort of opinions or thoughts expressed by women.

He then shouted, loudly

"Tell me, why is this young girl so fascinated with my ears? What does she see in there that is of interest?"

If I get past the earwax… and the dirt… quite possibly daylight?

Bekki sighed.

"You are not able to hear well, minheer? It is possible that I might be able to do something about that."

Mevrou Jacoba suddenly had an expression of hope on her face. Her husband scowled, suspiciously.

"Listen to her, Jan. Please." she urged.

"She's good." Aunt Mariella said. "I would do as she asks, minheer van Jaasveld."

A little later, Bekki found herself getting far closer to minheer Jan van Jaasveld than she would otherwise have liked. A bowl of steaming water sat on the table, in which sat a smaller bowl of warm olive oil. Even with a protective towel wrapped around his shoulders, Bekki had to try hard not to inhale too much of the bodily smell of an old man in none-too-clean clothing who had evidently not washed properly for some time. She sighed. This sort of self neglect happened a lot. She'd seen, and more importantly smelt it, in Witch-work in Ankh-Morpork, Lancre and the Chalk. She'd also seen how her mentor, Godsmother Irena, had dealt with this.

As Mevrou Jacoba clasped her husband's hands firmly together from the other side of the table, she made a point of explaining what she was doing and why.

The oil has to be warmed to body heat. Too cold and it is uncomfortable. Also, warming it makes it runnier. It will seep in past the blockage of accumulated ear wax to make it easier to remove. Warm oil softens and partially dissolves the wax. Making it easier for me to remove the plugs. Just lean your head over to the left for me?

Bekki worked quickly and carefully, wanting this to be over with. The old man's smell was off-putting, for one thing. She was also aware of another hazard of getting in close to older men. Some physical contact was inevitable. But it felt as if he was taking the opportunity to push his leg up against hers as she worked. And she was pretty sure this wasn't accidental.

She was beginning to realise there was another reason for Mevrou Jacoba to be holding her husband's hands well away from Bekki. And it wasn't just for reassurance.

She glanced over to the girl Ellie, who was watching with horrified fascination. The spill-words from her expression said how can you bear to be so close to that disgusting dirty old man?

She filed this away for consideration later. And remembered Godsmother Irena's teaching…

---

"In the Watch, we call that sort of thing frottage, devyuscka." Irena said, drily. "You can count it as a charge of indecent assault, if you've been having a bad day. You get men who try to rub themselves against you, even when you're putting the handcuffs on."

"Da." Nadezhda agreed. "You think they would have got message by then."

"Occupational hazard of Witchcraft." Olga Romanoff said. "Funnily enough, the older witches don't get this."

"Remember what I told you about accidently standing on their foot?" Irena asked. "Just hard enough for them to get that you know what they're up to. Or accidentally dribble a little hot oil on their leg. It's easy enough to deal with."

Olga shook her head.

"Frottage." she said. She nodded at Yelena. "Note this down; evidence of low-level unwanted sexual contact. It can be an indicator of other things, but most men don't get past that. Most men."

---

Bekki was quietly amazed at the amount of ear-wax she was removing, with very gentle tweezering and syringing. It must have been building up in there for a long time…

"Jislaak." Young Jan said, in astonishment. "Pa, there's enough coming out of there to make a candle with."

Old Jan glared at his son.

Bekki worked on. Eventually she was able to do the final clean-up. She took time over this, using surgical alcohol on a wipe to thoroughly clean accumulated dirt from the folds of his outer ears. She noted, with distaste, that the cloth came out black. She sighed. It would have to be thrown away, ideally burnt.

"All done." she said, in a very low voice. "Listen to me. I believe you will be better able to hear, now. I believe this has been part of your life for a long time. Sounds will perhaps be clearer, sharper. You will not need to strain to hear. It is possible even normal, everyday, sounds will be uncomfortably loud…"

She allowed the small jug of olive oil to rattle against the outer edge of the bowl it sat in. She noted, with satisfaction, the old man winced.

"But this will settle. May I now advise? As soon as you can, a long, hot, bath will help this treatment take."

She noted the look of sheer nodding hope on the face of Mevrou Jacoba, and reflected this poor woman had to share a bed with this man. Bekki went on, improvising madly. Care to the wife was also important.

"Hot water, immersion in hot water, helps the bodily fluids to circulate better. It prevents bad humours settling and stagnating in parts of the body, in this case the ears. The esoteric humours and the exoteric fluences need to be in proper balance and circulation is important."

"She's right, Pa." Young Jan said, poker-faced. "A hot bath will get the circulation flowing and flush away the bad stuff, the esoteric humours and all that."

Bekki felt happy in a job well done. Professional satisfaction. More importantly, she also felt relieved she could put distance between herself and the smell. It was getting to her. Aunt Mariella patted her shoulder. The spill-words from her expression were Well done. That wasn't easy. Frankly, I'd have used a small dragon with lots of flame.

There was one off-note. Bekki caught the unguarded expression on the face of Anna van Jaasfeld. She seemed to be imperfectly concealing anger. And a part of that anger, sudden, sharp, badly hidden, was directed at Bekki. It was unexpected.

How dare you heal the old man! I want him dead!

The sudden sharp, clear, meaning came and went in a flash as Anna controlled herself and smiled and congratulated her on a job well done.

Ellie Meyer shuffled, looked nervous, and approached Bekki.

"Mevrou Mariella mentioned you." she said, uncertainly. "She said she thought you might be somebody I can talk to. And, well..." the girl's eyes swept around the room. "Can we? Talk?"

Bekki said "Of course. You've got a room?"

"Off you go." Aunt Mariella said, kindly. "Ellie? You can trust her. I do."

---

"Note that, Yelena." Olga Romanoff said. "Anna van Jaasfeld expressing clear unhappiness that her father-in-law's health was improved after intervention from a Witch. Well, from a healthcare practitioner, anyway."

Olga sighed.

"We're all Witches." she said. "We all read impressions and feelings, and sometimes an unguarded thought is as clear as if it was said out loud. The problem is, it's not admissible as evidence. But we can note that there is circumstantial evidence that Anna van Jaasveld could be viewed as a suspect, and we can't rule her out if anything un-natural were to happen to her father-in-law. Also, clear intimations she's not inclined to be Bekki's best friend any time soon."

"That comes under the heading of looking at me in a funny way." Irena Politek observed. "One of the old Watch stand-bys. Although Mr Vimes usually insists on better evidence than that. Which we have, of course, but only in a way that makes sense to Witches."

"And Wizards." Ponder Stibbons reminded her. He looked at Bekki with concern. "Look. Be careful."

Bekki smiled back.

"Aunt Mariella saw that. Anna knows Aunt Mariella is an Assassin. So I don't think she'll do anything stupid."

"I'll talk to Mariella next time I'm over." Olga said. "But, seriously, devyushka. Stay aware."

She looked concerned. Then she said

"Good Witch craft, by the way. Useful work, plus some applied boffo."

she shared an approving nod with Irena.

"You learnt well. Now. The girl. What did you talk about?"

---

Ellie's room was small and relatively bare, but neat and clean. Bekki noticed the window looked out over the stand of syringa trees behind the house. Everything here had a surface impression of calm, but she sensed something underlying this. it felt like a body of water, calm on the surface but with a lot of things down there in the depths, themselves quiet. For the moment. She also noticed the girl was living out of a travelling chest that still had lots of clothes in it, as if she hadn't properly unpacked yet. But she's been here for some weeks now?

Second Thoughts said She wants not to be here. Unpacking would mean she's given in. She wants to be able to make a quick exit when she goes. This is not home for her.

Ellie went to sit on the bed. She looked out through the window to the lilac trees. Then she turned to Bekki and burst out

"How could you stand to be so close to that filthy disgusting dirty old man? He makes me want to puke!"

Bekki shook her head slightly.

"You do not get to choose your patients." she said. "He had a real problem… yes, I get it, but I'm talking about his ears. And I sorted it out for him. That's what I do."

She sat down in the one chair in the room and waited. Waiting for the other person to fill the silence in words was a Witch skill.

Ellie Mayer, here in her own allocated space, soon began filling them.

She was lonely, and scared, and isolated, in this strange place a long way away from home, where people spoke a different Vondalaans, apart from Auntie Anna who was being really kind to her, she knew nobody, her family, her real family, her friends, were a long way away, and she didn't care if the Zulus invaded, at least when she died she'd be among her family, she just didn't want to be here, why could nobody see that?

Bekki let her get it out of her system and listened. She remembered the bit of childhood wrongdoing - well, she still maintained it was rightdoing – that had put her and Davvie Bellamy into a prison cell for a long unspecified time one afternoon. What had stopped it from being completely scary was that Davvie's father had supervised it and left them in the care of a wise older person who had been their cellmate. But she remembered the chill of horror when the big bare metal door with no window had clanged shut and she had heard the scrape and jingle of the key turning.(10)

Ellie was in her own prison cell here, with no expected release date, and no sympathetic parent to let her out once justice had been served.

Once this memory came to Bekki, she started to see that prison cell superimposed on Ellie's room. The air became stuffy and a sense of claustrophobia emerged. She wished the sensation of being back in that cell included Davvie, who was sensible, and Steffi Gibbett, who was older and street-wise and experienced in life. This memory of the cell only had her in it.

"Did I tell you I was in prison once?" she said, to lighten the atmosphere.

Ellie's face turned to hers. She had a look of sudden horrified fascination.

"Never!" she said.

"Absolutely true." Bekki assured her. "Listen…" she told the story. It amused Ellie.

"And did this horrible boy Parcifal recover?" she asked.

"Eventually." Bekki assured her. "Croton oil has that effect on people. "Mr Bellamy let us both out of the cell a long time before Parcifal Venturi stopped being a bit leaky at both ends."

Ellie giggled. Bekki was pleased to see her being something like a normal thirteen year old girl again. The ice broken, they talked some more.

Bekki shut the ambience of the room firmly out. This was Witch work. She had to focus on Ellie, not let herself be distracted by the local atmosphere.

"You've got beautiful hair." Ellie said, dreamily. "So long, and that gorgeous shade of red. Like a fire."

Ellie came over and moved round just behind Bekki's left shoulder.

"Can I touch it?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer Bekki felt her long tied-back hair being lifted from her back and sensed fingers running through it.

"It's so very beautiful." Ellie said. Bekki got a longing and a desire out of that tone of voice. She also had a feeling that the walls were closing in and the sense of claustrophobia was deepening and getting darker.

She tried not to tense, and allowed this, aware Ellie was opening up, relaxing, showing herself. She also wondered if this was a sort of headology: the formerly closed-in girl was being allowed to handle her hair, and in return she was getting spill-words, strong impressions. She was seeing a girl who had grown up knowing the crap-shoot of genetics had given her the genes for short hair that would never grow too long whatever she tried. She got this: her sister Ruth had got the short-and-not-red-hair gene from their father. Ruth had confided in her oldest sister as to how she hated this and how she really really wished she had the same long red hair as Mummy, Famke and you, Bekki.

Bekki was also getting a common girlhood sorrow: wanting to be a hairdresser and experimenting on the hair of her dollies, only to discover, in a tearful remorseful way, it didn't grow back, and somehow the faces of her beloved dollies were looking up and reproaching her for this. In her case, Daddy, love him so much, had taken Bekki's two hair-mutilated dolls to a dollmaker and had their locks restored.(11) Bekki had grown out of this. but she got the impression in Ellie's case, the childhood dream remained…

"This sort of really long hair really needs looking after." she heard Ellie say, in a dreamily thoughtful way. "You can get split ends, right at the ends of every strand… oh, you have. I can fix that for you, Rebecka. Just cut an inch or so off the very very ends. I can do this, I know I can."

Bekki relaxed. It wasn't that unpleasant, Ellie kept herself clean and close proximity wasn't as obnoxious as it had been with the old man. She frowned at the mention of split ends and reflected she had a session booked at Conina's in Ankh-Morpork soon… Conina Harebut ran a salon that specialised in women who lived interesting lives but still needed haircare.(12) Famke had something coming up at School, some special performance, that required her to look her best. Good luck, mum. Mum had thought about this and had booked the whole family in. She wanted to make a day of it, as clothes-buying was involved too.

"I've got hairbrushes and combs and things." Ellie said, hopefully. "And some scissors…"

Bekki tried not to shriek or leap to her feet. She remembered she was opening this girl out, getting her to talk about herself and her life.

But on the other hand…. Scissors. Here.

"Thank you." Bekki said, as calmly as she could, trying to still a racing heart. "But can I say "no"? Thank you."

She sensed disappointment.

"Look, we could… I don't know, we could go riding together? You can come over and see the Lensen plaas. Aunt Mariella says you read a lot. I've got books." Bekki said, trying to steer the conversation away from scissors. It seemed safest. She acknowledged a mental picture of Xenia Galena, black-dressed, black-haired and intense, forcefully saying "Nozhnitsy, Xhar-ptistsa. Nozhnitsy."

"Nozhnitsy." Bekki said, to herself.

Ellie looked confused.

"Ah, sorry. Rodinian word. Rodinian is a language I'm learning. I go there with the Pegasus Service."

Bekki carefully didn't translate the word.

Ellie perked up.

"You're the girl with one of the white horses? The flying ones? People see them here sometimes. Usually around the Lensen plaas. Did you arrive on one? I'd love to see one!"

Bekki relaxed. Pegasi were a safer topic of conversation. She put a feeling of growing unease to one side and talked to Ellie about her Pegasus, how it allowed her an immense privilege, of being able to commute to Ankh-Morpork when she had to, and how the downside of this was flying for the City Air Watch.

"I have to take him up for an exercise ride every day." she said. "Maybe you might like to come up pillion?"

Ellie, now normally thirteen(13), squealed with excitement. Bekki wondered if this was all it needed, an offer to take her up for a flight. The open air had to be better for her than being cooped up in this dark dingy menacing place…

She's going to be sitting right behind you, her Second Thoughts reminded her, in her mother's voice. Your hands will be full of reins and you will not be able to see what she's doing. Search her first for scissors.

Then Ellie's face fell.

"The old man won't let me." she said. "He thinks it's Witchcraft. That since the white horses started visiting here with witches flying them, this is the Gods' judgement on our land. It's un-natural for a horse to fly, he says. Magic. And magic is wrong."

She looked at Bekki.

"You're a Witch, aren't you? The old man thinks you are. He'll think it more now, since you used magic to cure his ears."

Bekki carefully avoided the question.

"That was ordinary medicine." she said. "No magic whatsoever. Nor is a Pegasus. Birds have wings, they can fly, and there's no magic involved at all there. I happen to own… have access to… a horse with wings. And I can fly. But strictly no magic."

The girl shrugged.

"Maybe" she said, unconvinced. "But I'd really love it if you could take me up."

She scowled.

"Whatever he thinks."

They talked on for a while. Bekki absorbed more details about life on this plaas, learning the old man was a hard-line believer in old-time religion, believed Women Should Know Their Place And Be Submissive, and insisted on daily readings from Scripture so his family could stay in communion with the Gods.

She asked about the grove of trees outside the window. The girl shrugged. "He keeps talking about cutting them down once and for all." she said. "It never goes further than that. I like them. They're a really nice place to sit out on a sunny day. Just read. It's peaceful there."

She changed tack again.

"Apparently this place is haunted." she said, as if communicating a secret. "But I've never seen the ghost myself. I'm always asleep when it happens. Do you know it cut off Auntie Anna's hair one night?"

Bekki tried to be causal and asked when this happened.

"Oh, not long after I arrived." she said. "Auntie Anna had really long lovely hair. Shame."

The girl fell silent.

Bekki thought.

"Did anyone keep the hair?" she asked. "What happened to it?"

The girl considered this. Bekki frowned. There was a look on her face. Godsmother Irena had said that as a Watchwoman, look out for this sort of face on a suspect. If they look as if they're trying to be clever and they get evasive, they're hiding something. Depend on it.

"That's the funny thing." she said. "One long lock of her hair was found tied to the bed-frame. The rest just vanished. Nobody can find where to."

"Nobody?" Bekki asked.

"Nobody." the girl replied. Bekki noted the too-long pause again. She knows where, she decided.

"I got to tidy up what was left afterwards. Auntie Anna let me. She said I didn't do too bad a job." Ellie said, proudly.

She looked pleadingly at Bekki.

"Are you sure you don't want me to…"

"Well, no. Not yet. Next time I'm in Ankh-Morpork, or maybe the time after, Mum wants to take me and my sisters to our regular hairdresser."

She got it again, the longing, the yearning…

"Look, I'll ask Conina." Bekki said, kindly. "My hairdresser. I know people in that job have their dedicated magazines. Iconographs about styles. Hairdressing guides. I'll see what I can find for you, in the big city. How's that?"

Get her a pile of city womens' magazines, Bekki decided. Anna would appreciate those too, probably. I'll ask Aunt Mariella.

"Your Aunt Mariella's really nice." Ellie said. "Tell her I really do appreciate her taking an interest. But she's so… she makes me feel like a useless lump of something. She's really beautiful, with that long red hair. She's confident. She stands up to the dirty foul old man and tells him he's wrong. Nobody else dares say that to him, so bluntly. Uncle Jan respects her. Nobody argues with her. She makes me feel so…."

Bekki got this. She wondered if Aunt Mariella realised that with the best of intentions, she intimidated this girl into monosyllables and frightened silence. Confirming her in her own feelings of inadequacy. It was worth saying.

"Don't feel inadequate." Bekki said. "Aunt Mariella lived in Ankh-Morpork for seven years when she was growing up. I was only just born then. For me, it was like having a big sister, I suppose. But she learnt to be tough and to fight her corner there. The school she went to helped. Maybe you'd be like that too, with the right people around you."

"She's an Assassin?" Ellie considered this. "How much does it cost to get somebody killed? The dirty old man?"

Bekki frowned.

"Thousands of dollars." she said. "A lot of thousands of rand. And I really shouldn't think like that…"

But people do. That's why there are Assassins.

Second Thoughts kicked in.

Why does she want the old man dead?

But Ellie had moved on again. She was asking Bekki, in the usual hesitant sort of voice, about Things. You know. This thing every month. Auntie Anna's tried to explain. But it's icky and it's disgusting and it's horrible…

Bekki relaxed, on the usual Witch ground again, and took Ellie through the sort of long Talk that had to be delivered to girls of about this age. She remembered Mum and Matron Igorina had delivered it to her. She remembered vividly and had four years experience of it for herself. She was happy to talk Ellie through what it was really important, to guide her, so that she knew what to do and how to deal with it, all the practical things. Godsmother Irena had said that it happens, some girls don't have the sort of older women nearby who can deliver The Talk, and as a Witch, that's where we come in, devyushka.

Eventually they returned to the main room.

By now, Bekki was understanding what Captain Angua had once tried to describe, about what happens to a werewolf in a butchers' shop, for instance, or on a full moon night when the moon is about to rise.

There was a rising surge of pressure, of overwhelmed senses, of all the things about this place she was trying to hold back and keep at arms' length, a sensation they might just break the dam. She knew the full moon was going to come out from behind a cloud, very, very, soon.

Above all, something had followed them back out of Ellie's room. Bekki had an uneasy feeling of something beginning to wake up, to take an interest, to look around it and ask who was aware that it was waking up. It was unpleasant, like stirring dark water with a long stick to see what was in there. And awakening a crocodile. This sensation had been growing, at first on the edge of awareness, but getting stronger, the longer she spent in Ellie's room.

And there were no other magic users around who she could talk to.

"You were gone a long time." Anna remarked. Bekki sensed she was fishing for information about what had been discussed. She mistrusted this.

"Lots of things. Girl talk." Bekki said. She also remembered Ellie's last plea to her.

Don't let me end up alone with the dirty old man!

She'd mention it to Aunt Mariella. But for now…

"Aunt Mariella? I couldn't quite remember that Latatian proverb you told me about, from your school? Did it go something like Nunc relinquamus cum dignitas?"

She was pleased Mariella got it straight away. It was something Mum had told her about; a codeword used in situations where Assassins had to cut their losses and run like Hells, without being so shockingly uncool and unstylish as to say so openly. Now let us retire with dignity summed it up.

Soon after that, they were riding back to Wes Sandrift, their job of delivering spare parts for the waterpump done. Bekki felt the relief of all the negativity and repressed anger and hurt and fear receding, the further they rode away from the van Jaasfelds.

"You did well." Aunt Mariella said.

Behind them, towards the rim, clouds were beginning to pile up. It held the promise of another storm.

They rode on.

---

And in Ponder Stibbons' study, the three senior Witches considered Bekki's report and what to do about it.

"It needs some sort of intervention." Irena Politek said, firmly.

"I agree." Olga Romanoff replied. "But what sort?"

"Not happy." Nadezhda Popova said, firmly. "I get picture of young girl who is frightened. Old man who is dangerous to her."

Watching, and wondering what his daughter had got herself into, Ponder Stibbons reflected that with three of the toughest and best Witches he knew taking an active interest, there was going to be a Reckoning about this. He just hoped Bekki was not going to get hurt in any way.

"Bekki, you said when you left, it looked as if another storm was building up out towards the Rim." he said, grasping a fact he felt he could discuss. "Clouds building up."

"Aunt Mariella says this happens a lot at this time of year." she said. "A storm threatens, but it either disperses or ends up as normal everyday cold rain."

Ponder nodded. Inwardly he was grappling with some awful possibilities. He knew Bekki was growing up fast and the last of the child she'd been was fading out. but as her father, he just wished it could stay around for a little longer. And he had a feeling that while Watch work would open her up to awareness of a lot of pretty horrible things, he just wished she'd keep a sort of innocence, despite…

He made his mind turn to the immediate again.

"It seems these things peak during the lightning storms." he said conscientiously trying not to use wizard-speak. "As if this triggers a burst of magical potential."

The witches indicated agreement.

"One or more of us needs to be there, during or just after a storm." Olga said, thoughtfully. "To see what happens. And it appears there are two suspects. Well, people of interest. The woman Anna and the girl Ellie."

"The girl requires protection." Nadezhda repeated. "She needs to come out of that place."

Bekki suddenly remembered the talk about the Mackery case and Nadezhda's anger this was being discussed in front of Fledglings. She also recalled Aunt Mariella and the shopkeeper Mrs Viani hinting at darker things involving the old man, van Jaasveld. And the something that not even her Second Thoughts could concretely grasp.

She took a deep breath.

"Nadezhda… Sergeant." she said. "When I was thirteen and a Fledgeling, you rebuked Stacey Matlock and Tillie Glossop for talking about a case in front of me. Stacey's usually pleasant and friendly and it would take a lot to make her so mad that she'd rather fireball a suspect than arrest him. But I never got to find out why. I'm getting that memory coming back so clearly justnow that it must have a meaning here."

Bekki explained about some of the not-quite-there prompts her Second Thoughts had been giving her, and the hints, only the hints, locally, about darker deeds involving Oude Jan van Jaasveld.

"I think it's important." she said, aware she was challenging three of the most senior officers in the Air Watch. "And I'm not a Fledgling any more. I understand I might not like it. But I think I need to know."

Olga looked at her. There was, as far as Bekki could tell, concern and sympathy in her face. It was hard to tell with other witches. They tended not to let things spill. And these were Rodinian witches, who elevated the poker-face to an art form. Olga, Irena and Nadezhda conferred briefly, in low voices, speaking in Rodinian. Bekki could hardly get any of the words. Periodically one of the three looked at her. Bekki glanced to her right. Yelena Garianova had stopped taking notes and appeared to be listening with a poker-faced interest.

"You're right." Olga said, eventually. "There are clear indications in your report. The suspect, Mr Jan van… Yaare-es-felt… attempted some very low-level, nuisance, intrusions on your person when there was an opportunity, trying to see what he could get away with."

She looked sideways to Ponder Stibbons, who frowned. Bekki caught it. Dad was concerned and angry. And it took a lot to get her father angry.

"More at the nuisance level. A pest level. Any Watchwoman deals with that a lot. Sometimes, from members of the public. It comes with the uniform, Ponder. You have to understand that your daughter is, in one of her roles, a Watchwoman. We all get it. Very rarely, more than once from the same pest."

The three Watch officers shared grim nods of fellowship.

"We note these things. Because this is a sign that a man who would rub his body against yours, if he thinks he can get away with it, is also signalling what he might do next. Unless checked, small offences now can lead to big crimes later. And now, Bekki, I should tell you about the Mackery case. It was not pleasant. There are some offences which, when you deal with them, leave you thinking you could spend six hours in the banya and still not come out clean. Prepare yourself."

She turned to Yelena.

"You also, Yelena Lidianovna. If you work with the Watch, you too will hear about truly distasteful things. it is best you are fully aware now."

Bekki then heard, with mounting horror and disgust, about the sort of crime Nadezhda Popova did not want to have discussed in front of the Fledglings.

"And that's why… Stacey wanted to hit him with a slow-burning napalm fireball." Bekki said.

Irena Politek nodded.

"Got it in one, Firebird." she said.

"I had to call everyone together after that." Olga said. "Fully sworn-in Air Watch only. To remind everybody we are Watchmen. We investigate. We arrest. We detain. The legal process then takes over. However tempted we are to make the world cleaner. Mr Vimes was present."

"Excuse me." Bekki said. She got up, walked around the desk, and hugged and kissed her father. It felt right. Dad had an expression of mixed dismay and anger on hearing about the Mackery case, and the spill Bekki had got was an expression of apology, to all daughters everywhere, from all decent fathers everywhere.

"Love you, Dad." she said, then resumed her seat.

"So you are thinking?" Irena prompted Olga.

"I think this may be important." Olga said. "We are told his daughters choose not to visit now they are adults. I am beginning to suspect why. Mrs Jakoba van Jaar-es-felt is his second wife. I am wondering what happened to the first one, who cannot have been of a great age when she passed. The girl Ellie is clearly terrified of being left alone with him."

"It is perhaps adding up." Nadezhda said. There was an unreachable look on her face.

"Da." Olga agreed. "I should make time to visit my friend Mariella soon. Ask the good Mrs Lensen, both of them, what they know. I have a few ideas. Others should travel with me."

"I should go." Irena said. "So far I have not visited Firebird in her steading, as her sponsoring witch should."

She smiled at Bekki.

"Deliberate, devyushka. I wanted to give you time to settle in and establish yourself, before I visit. I am not abandoning you. And besides, Mariella is a friend of mine too."

"Recently, I went to Zulu country." Nadezhda said. "My first visit to Howondaland. It has interest. But your Howondaland, White Howondaland, they say is different. I would like to see it."

"So we are agreed, then." Olga said. She nodded to Yelena.

"But that should be as Witches." Ponder said. "err. You're also Watch."

Olga smiled at him.

"Da. Not our jurisdiction. Different country. Which is where it gets difficult. Bekki, does Mariella have any contacts in the local law enforcement?"

Bekki thought about this. She'd met the local copper, the man who had the rural beat. He'd come round, apologetically, to ask if he could see this, err, new hospital place. It wasn't him, his superiors wanted a report… err. If that's okay, mevrou Mariella. Bekki had treated his bad feet, a policeman's ailment she knew only too well, and Aunt Mariella had provided him with a courtesy drink. He had gone back and duly filed a report to say there was nothing to give concern and the place was very well managed.

"There's Sergeant van Klaamer." she said. "Older man, coming up to retirement, easy-going, doesn't want to do too much work, but knows everybody. Seems okay."

Olga nodded.

"And let me guess." She said. "He has a patrol partner. A corporal perhaps, small, scrawny, can't be trusted, possibly has lots of boils and other skin poblems, your aunt keeps him under escort if he visits her distillery and shakes his pockets out afterwards, on general principles and well-founded suspicion?"

Bekki was about to say "how did you know?", but turned it into "Oh, you've met Korporaal Elders, then?"

The three older witches grinned.

"Don't need to, devyuschka!" Irena said.

Olga frowned slightly.

"Minute this, Yelena: aware of complications with local jurisdiction, with regard to police work in a sovereign country, informal approaches will be made to senior members of the local Watch."

Conclusion of the Report:

I am satisfied that there is a genuine Code Twenty-Three in progress in a location where there are very, very, few magical practitioners. Although this is outside Ankh-Morporkian jurisdiction, there is a pressing and clear case for investigation by qualified and experienced personnel. We may need to provide them.

Professor Stibbons has suggested that as Unseen University has a clear role to play in these situations here in Ankh-Morpork, it is very likely Witwatersrand University's Department of Magic fulfils a similar role in Rimwards Howondaland, to identify borders between our world and other places, and to police them against breach or intrusion. Such past breaches, left unattended until nearly too late, have caused massive disruption and damage and it is in everybody's interests they be investigated, regardless of geopolitical location.

Therefore the University will make informal representations to Witwatersrand and Direktor van Rijnswaand, the local analogue of the Arch-Chancellor, will be privately and informally briefed. I will undertake this myself in the presence of Doctor Edward de Kokamainje, who is the University's link-man to Witwatersrand.

Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes is to make very informal representations to contacts at the Rimwards Howondalandian Embassy here in Ankh-Morpork and will ask some hypothetical questions, such as;

What is RH'ian law in these matters?

(I am aware of the status of Witchcraft in RH law and that this presents an additional complication. If we visit as private citizens, we will declare our occupation as"healthcare practitioners")

Who deals with magical intrusions in RH?

What, hypothetically speaking, might happen if the Ankh-Morpork City Watch asks to participate in a joint criminal investigation?

And if the investigation turns up evidence of more mundane crime, who deals with it and would our investigation be treated as valid if it turns up such crime?

Any further guidance from Commander Vimes, and if necessary, the relevant Palace Secretariat, would also be welcomed with regard to the wider political situation and international relations – I note the Shires Protocols that were evolved after the issues of jurisdiction that arose there and which ultimately sucked in a total of seven nations and jurisdictions plus a small war.(14)

Signed as a true record and report,

Olga AE Romanoff, (Witch), Commanding Captain, the Ankh-Morpork City Air Watch.

To be continued– sorry this took so long to get out but it had to be right. Fighting a bout of illness and long days at work…..There will be several more episodes in the Haartebeeste Haunting before it's finally wrapped up, they're all sketched out. The next chapters will touch on this, but I also need to advance other storylines.

---

(1) A frantic clacks back to the Yard, relayed up to Air Watch Command, who could then alert a standing patrol, made it quicker.

(2) Stoep-sitting gets things done in South Africa and South Africa-like places around the multiverse. A Saffa seen sitting on their stoep and apparently taking their ease is very likely to be Making A Plan. You know, all those things I need to do justnow. Lots of useful business is concluded out on the stoep.

(3) Afrikaans and South African English are very expressive languages.

(4) This is the real-world Uniondale Haunting in South Africa; a guy with his girlfriend riding pillion on a motorbike came to grief on the main road near Uniondale, at the turnoff to a place called Barambas. Drink may have been involved. The bike crashed, and the girl, 24 year old Maria Roux, was killed. This was on Good Friday 1968. Since then, Maria's ghost has repeatedly been seen at the roadside, with some people alleging she told them she's waiting for her boyfriend to come and pick her up… this part of the Western Cape is basically the model for my Turnwise Caarp.

(5) Aunt Mariella conceded that sometimes, Boers can also lack imagination when it came to naming places.

(6) Now go to Hyperemesis Gravidarum, where the Air Witches and friends had to perform a mass exorcism in Spa Lane to release, or further appropriately detain, several unquiet spirits who were stinking up the psychic ether. After they'd finished. Ponder Stibbons belatedly put up some very powerful protection spells and standing rituals.

(7) The opening line to a Bok van Blerk song… Daars 'n nuwe boer op die dorp, Sy dra haar khaki rokkies kort – about a newly arrived young woman who is inclined to assert herself, challenge convention, and not take any kak from anybody. The video is fun: Sally the greengrocer has a very Smith-Rhodes sort of attitude towards people attempting to interrupt the otherwise smooth flow of her day.

(8) When the Boer War was plainly lost and slowly, resentfully, the Boers surrendered and made a sort of peace with the British, General de la Rey's Transvaal kommandos kept the fight going to the very last breath, earning the title of the "bitter-enders". De la Rey himself died in contentious circumstances in 1914; the respected old General was advocating for South Africa to remain neutral in WW1 and not to join the war on the part of the hated British. Some authorities wonder if he was advocating a renewed War of Independence while the Germans were occupying British attention and manpower, or even a local alliance with German colonial armies in Africa. It's also telling that after 1994, the Transvaal was abolished as an entity and renamed, as if its existence was a threat to the new black-led government and symbolic of the old white power. An anthem about de la Rey was regarded as such a threat to black rule that the new Government banned it from being played on state radio and TV. And of course when you do that to a song, it becomes notorious and anthemic. It's by Bok van Blerk and is worth a listen – stirring. It gets referenced a bit in these tales, as part of the Boer mind-set.

(9) The former Dutch East indies, now Indonesia. (Sumtri, in the Discworld). As far as I can get, Dutch started to diverge from the parent language there, too; in post-colonial days it has no official status but is still spoken by a dwindling number of people and if it were officially recognised (it isn't) Indonesian Dutch would be an endangered language. According to linguists, there were signs that it was mutating into something that might well have become akin to Afrikaans, if the Dutch had not been forced to cede independence in 1947.

(10) Davvie's father is of course prison officer Peter Bellamy. After an episode where the girls had deliberately poisoned an obnoxious playmate(10.1), Peter (under pressure from the girls' mothers) had taken them to the Tanty and locked them in a cell in the womens' wing for several hours. As a necessary corrective. It's all in Book One.

(10.1) Bekki and Davvie are both the daughters of Assassin mothers, and have a practical knowledge of plant-derived toxins gained from their parents.

(11) Mummy had said "You've learned the lesson, have you, Rebecka? Dolly hair does not grow back?" Her father had sighed with relief. Ponder Stibbons had heaved a sigh of relief. He had been concerned that Bekki, in a flood of remorse, might have applied magic to restore her dollies' hair. And with Rebecka, that could have gone anywhere. Two golem dolls walking about the house, for instance. After Grindguts, he was taking no chances. A bill for repair work on the dolls was preferable to the potential alternatives.

(12) See Sourcery by Terry Pratchett. I expanded on this theme: Conina gets her own tale in my list and she pops up as an interesting location to launch tales or advance the plot. Her attitude was welcoming: "I do haircare for Assassins, Thieves, Seamstresses, Adventurers, Watchwomen and Teachers. So why not the odd Witch?" Johanna Smith-Rhodes, a regular customer, now brought her daughters there.

(13) Parents or guardians of thirteen year old girls will be aware that "normal" covers a broad spectrum of behaviours and at most is loosely approximate.

(14) see Snuff by Terry Pratchett and my continuation tale Bungle in the Jungle, in which a young and new pair of Air Constables called Olga and Irena get to fight in a small nasty war.

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Notes Dump; an armoury for potential future weapons

Discovered that in Russian the word "limonka" is a slang term for a hand-grenade. Too good not to use. also discovered Afrikaans "lemoene" does not mean "lemon". That's a "suurlemeone", a "sour orange".

I am visualising a future conversation between Lexi and Famke:

"So. These Devices your mother speaks of, Red Nuisance?"

"I've never been able to get my hands on any." Famke confessed. "Mum's very careful about that. Bit of a lemon, really."

Lexi patted her shoulder, consolingly. She looked down at the helpful diagrams in an Assassins' Guild training handbook that Famke had managed to purloin. Some of those explosive devices looked like…

"As we say in Rodinia." she said, thoughtfully. "If life gives you a limonka, you pull pin out and throw it back."

From an FB discussion on expatriot South African-ness, memories of the local wildlife, and the state of mind it (being a Soutpiel) engenders; I wrote

Also... hunting down the original story I wrote in which two graduate Assassins, one a Discworld "South African" and the other a Discworld "Israeli," decide to have their Gap Year after graduating from the Guild spent backpacking in the Discworld's version of the Middle East and Africa. Years on, people in many regions are still twitching.

And it all began from considering an orphaned cameo reference to a Miss Smith-Rhodes who teaches at the Guild School. That's all; just one mention. but in the context of "Africa", the name "Rhodes" is evocative. The original Rhodes, Cecil, founded a nation and named it after himself, Rhodesia. And a man called Smith was its last white leader, fighting a doomed struggle to Keep Rhodesia White. I speculated that Terry does not choose names accidentally and wondered what exactly he had in mind for an Assassin called Smith-Rhodes. In a conservative environment like the Guild School, there had to be a place for a "Southern African" teacher who could be relied upon to have (at least in the beginning) an old-time White Southern African approach to life. In short, somebody who took what British people think they know about South Africans all the way Up To Eleven. And a sort of Discworld South Africa was born...

When you look closely, there are all those references, one line glimpses, in the canon, of a South Africa-like place. Much as there were unmistakable glimpses of an Australia-like place in the first books - which later became "The Last Continent". Rob Williams said that at the time of his death, Terry was working on a novel that would have explored Howondaland to the same degree of detail that TP gave to "Fourecks", provisionally called "The Dark Incontinent". Alas, we'll never now see the Discworld Africa, or its South Africans, (white or black), nor its Rhodesians/Zimbabweans. Not officially, anyway.

In my other identity as author AA Pessimal, it sort of emerged. Wasn't intending it to. Johanna Smith-Rhodes was only ever originally intended as a one-off character, a sort of over-the-top expat Saffa who ends up shanghaied to Ankh-Morpork where she joins the Assassins' Guild and gives it a new cultural strand. But the tales grew, and I discovered if I was going to write a fan-favourite sort-of-a South African into the tales, I'd better bloody well do the research and get it right.

Ek het ook Afrikaans begin leer...

Is there a philia for this? Saffaphilia?

Also… as I get more and more into background reading and checking out ideas and trains of thought concerning Russian-ness, what it is to be a Russian, how the idea of Russian identity developed, how Russian people see their world and how Russia as a nation came to be, the whole idea of Rodina'mat… there is now a growing Russophilia. A fascination with the country and the people. (It helps I did a very basic year of Russian language at school, many many years ago. Although all I remember is how to read Cyrillic and that I can sing the first verse of a now outmoded national anthem complete with references to Great Lenin and the Union of Soviets.) So… nichevo. Russian friends – you will get the same sort of Up-To-Eleven in the treatment of Discworld's Russia. I just want to get it right, in the spirit of Sir Terry. All suggestions and corrections for improvement are welcome. Especially if I get anything glaringly wrong. Spassibo.

so...

Soyuz nerushimy, respublik svobobnikh, splotila naveky, velikaya Rus!

Da zrdavstuyvet sozdany voley narodov yedin moguschy, Sovietski soyuz!

Slavschya Oteschestvo!

Nashe svobodvoye!

Druzhby narodov, nadyozhny oplot!

Partiya Lenina!

Sila na Rodinia!

nasz torkestvu, Kommunisma vedyot!

And then it gets into Difficult Second Verse Territory...I guess even people in the Soviet Union tended to start mumbling at this point, if the words were not written down in front of them. I remember the lines about treading unafraid where great Lenin did lead, though. I have ideas, given this is still the Russian national anthem albeit with different words, of having the Great Hymn of Rodinia, where Olga and Irena particularly sing radically different lyrics, but still manage to come together on the lines about "Velikaya'Rus" and "Sila na Rodinia" - "Great Russia" and "The strength of the Motherland", which will be symbolic of "Russians" on the Discworld.