Negligient Discharge
A Hogswatch sort-of-short hopefully in two parts but more likely three
V0.5 - more minor typos and spelling corrections - (standardising Latinisations of Russian terms). Aaargh, the Grace-Gertrude thing again! Inspired by reading about Christmas/midwinter gift-giving traditions around the world.
And we're back for the continuation. Thank you to the readers who all came in either through the door marked "Guest", or else did not tick the box for replies (so I cannot respond directly) who gave reader support on the question raised as to whether anything I write is racist or offensive in any way. That little issue with Strandpiel Book One… thanks to readers David and rga156. And on with the story!
Pseudopolis Yard, the 8th January.
Commander Sam Vimes took a deep breath.
"Okay." he said to Senior Lieutenant Irena Politek. "So Vetinari got involved and made it clear to you that he was listening in from the sidelines. Whose idea was it to gift him a bloody Omnicon in the first bloody place?"
"Mine, sir." Captain Olga Romanoff admitted. "He did make a point of asking why we'd code-named him "Sunray".(1) I reasoned that if we gave him access to the network, he'd be less inclined to make an issue of it. Sir."
Vimes eyeballed her.
"Is that the same reason why you issued one to Stoneface?" he asked. "No, don't answer that, Olga."
He nodded to Technical Sergeant Getrude Schilling.
"Couldn't help noticing you and Irena used the loaded term "UFO" on the comms." he remarked. "That goes in some strange directions in this town. Like those loonies at AMUFORA. When those buggers get hold of the story, and they will, it's going to be all about this Area Fifty-Seven nonsense again."
Gertrude sighed.
"Standard code, sir. It was an object, sir. That was flying. And we weren't able to identify it, sir. Which, errr, somewhat neatly defines a UFO. That's why we got an interceptor up. To, err, make it into an IFO."
Vimes looked at her, wondering why people who were geniuses, so bright they sparkled, invariably managed to be complete unworldly innocents at the same time. This was a young woman who would be appalled at causing any actual physical harm to anybody, who had managed at the same time to come up with designs for lethally effective aerial bombs, and, at the last count, five different ways of fitting an explosive or incendiary head onto a crossbow bolt. When he looked at Gertrude Schilling, he saw a distaff version of Leonard of Quirm. A technomantically-minded Witch with a creative engineering streak and an inexhaustible supply of ideas.
He let this line of thought go.
"So Vetinari got to hear everything. As if he was on the scene. Every little detail. As it happened."
He sighed.
"Irena, you then got to find out what this was all about."
"Yes, sir. I understand it's difficult to explain to people who are not Rodinian. But it all makes sense in context."
In the sky, about forty miles Hubwards-by-Widdershins of Dolly Sisters, Ankh-Morpork, on the night of January 7th. Approximately 11:45pm.
It had begun to snow. Not heavily and not in any flight-threatening way. More than a flurry, and less than a shower. It had all the feel, however, of snow that could get thicker and more solid and it was in no hurry to stop.
"Get ready." Irena called to Kestrel, Flying Officer Shirley Bramdean. Shirley gave the thumbs-up and settled into position about two hundred yards away on Irena's left.
"Nobby, pay attention." she called, over her shoulder. "You're my Observer, Gods help me. In case of any doubt as to your role, that means observing."
She watched the glow building on the horizon directly in front of her. it was largely pearly-white, with hints of a pure electric blue. But there was also a lot of octarine in there. She tensed, wondering if she ought to reach for the ammo bag and load up her forward-facing weapon. Each of the mags carried thirty-two small but potent crossbow bolts. A spring in the base fed them into the weapon at a constant rate, which would synch to the repeating mechanism of the crossbows in the nose.
She heard her Second Thoughts, the inner voice of the Witch, advising her not to do this. Her Second Thoughts sounded both crystal-clear and urgent.
Besides, that means I'm going to have to arm up Nobby too.
Her communicator crackled.
~~Kestrel to Red Star? This is getting very weird. Also, eldritch.
"Red Star to Kestrel. Hold position. I'm starting to get an idea as to what all this is about. I do not believe we are in any danger. Yet. Stand by. Red Star out."
She sat, broomstick in neutral, and noticed, feeling no surprise, that the snow was now falling more quickly and seemed to be thickest around the very improbable air vehicle that was approaching. It was getting close enough for her to begin making out details. She shook her head. This was going to be a very strange contact report to write. But the conviction grew that she now knew exactly what was going on here.
"Red Star to Penguin Control. UFO is now in visual. I believe I will soon be in a position to confirm type of air vehicle and the identity of the crew. Stand by. I will keep an open channel. Also, once contact is established, I will be speaking to the occupants in Rodinian. I believe risk is low, and we may be able to log this as a Code Twenty-Three, Level Two. Red Star out."
~~Penguin Control to Red Star. Message acknowledged. Advisory: I have activated recording systems for replay and transcription later. Penguin out.
Irena absently reflected that a recording and an automatic transcription of the Comms, done via HEX at the University, would save on time later when making her report of the night's strangeness. Less actual writing on her part. She was also fighting off a completely uncharacteristic sense of child-like wonder and delight, as if a five-year-old Irena was emerging out of nearly three decades worth of accreted adult disillusionment and cynicism. A sense of well-being and happiness was intruding. The Witch and Watchwoman in her instinctively distrusted this, and sought to fight it down.
She sensed Nobby Nobbs stirring in his seat.
"Here, miss Irena, I've worked it out!" he announced. "Whoever that is, he's pullin' the old dodge. Got to be. We see it every year. You dress up as the Hogfather, right. Then you takes advantage of the trust and innocence of the kiddies so they let you into the house with a sack, and while your accomplice who's dressed as Hogfather's Little Helper distracts them, right, you rob the house blind..."
"Nobby…" Irena said. She felt annoyed with him. He was causing cracks to appear in the sense of childlike innocence that was surfacing in her, for one thing.
"Only. He got the sleigh right, I suppose. But everybody knows it's drawn by four pigs. Them things ain't pigs. Not even close. And there's only three of 'em. He's got the colours wrong, too."
"Nobby…" Irena said again.
"'Sides, he's got the date wrong." Nobby said, shaking his head at the sloppy preparation for criminality that was involved here. "Hogswatch Night was a fortnight ago. He's two weeks too late. I say we nick him for Impersonating the Hogfather with intent."
Irena took a deep breath.
"Nobby, my people will tell you that everybody else is a fortnight too early." she said. She activated her communicator.
"Red Star to Penguin Control. I am within two hundred yards of the aerial object, which is stationary in the sky. It takes the form of a typical troika sleigh, drawn by three… air-capable draught animals… of the genus ursus arctus. I recommend Special Constable Smith-Rhodes is consulted as to the precise zoological classification. It is loaded with sacks and bags, nature of contents unclear. There are two occupants, an IC-one male of apparently sixty years old, and an IC-one female who is apparently perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. Both are dressed in blue clothing with white trim. The female is armed with a long sword of the shashka type and a shorter dagger of the type known as a kjindal. Male is unarmed. The….girl… is aware of us and is looking in our direction but is making no moves that could be described as threatening. Yet. Also, Pilot Kestrel is attempting to take iconographs. Stand by."
Irena watched as the girl, or seeming girl, stood up in the back of the sleigh and scowled at them. Somehow this was viscerally threatening.
Irena sighed as she sensed three approaching octarine emissions. She didn't need to look up or behind her to know what they were.
~~Valkyrie Flight to Penguin Control and Red Star. Reporting that we are in visual range of the intruder and we await your instructions. I now have visual on you and Kestrel. Valkyrie out.
Irena sighed again. Hanna von Strafenburg's sense of timing was impeccable. Up until now this had been a massive asset to the Air Watch.
"Red Star to Valkyrie. Stand off and make no aggressive or hostile moves. I repeat. No aggressive moves. Do not approach closer than five hundred yards and on no account deploy any weapons systems. I'll explain later. Red Star out."
"I say we nick them, Miss Irena." Nobby said, urgently. "Impersonating the Hogfather. With intent. Getting' it well wrong, too. Them robes is blue. Whoever heard of a Hogfather with blue robes? Should be red, miss. An' they got a sleigh drawn by bears. Should be pigs, miss. Everyone knows it's pigs. They're a fortnight late. Must think we're daft. And everybody knows bears can't fly."
Irena scowled. Her voice became the sweet, reasoned, measured tones of a Witch who is dealing with somebody who is being rather slow to catch up.
"Nobby." she said, not keeping her eyes off the highly improbable flying vehicle for as second. Part of her was still the child who was thrilling and exultant at what she was seeing. She felt annoyed with Nobby for breaking the spell. "I put it to you, for your urgent consideration, that practically everything you said then is completely dead wrong. Totally dead wrong. I could go into the details why. But for now, notice the female suspect has just looked in our direction and drawn her sabre. She does not look happy. Do you still wish to make the arrest, Corporal Nobbs? Go ahead. I will watch with interest."
"Err…" Nobby said, uncertainly.
Irena spoke into her communicator.
"Red Star, noting for the transcript that the female on board the air vehicle has just drawn her shashka. I urgently advise all Air Watch personnel not to respond, but to remain watchful. Again for purposes of the recording, I can now confirm ID of the two sus… people under observation. The seeming-male is an anthropomorphic personification known to my people as Ded Moroz. The seeming-female is his associate and co-entity, Sneguroshka. And yes, I know, Penguin. Recommend we treat this as a Twenty-Three stroke Four, a routine manifestation of a God or God-like entity. There is little or no danger. I repeat, little or no danger."
Irena made the best Witch-bow she could, from a seated position, to Ded Moroz and Sneguroshka. The blonde girl made a slight acknowledging nod back and lowered her sword a little. Irena got a sense of bubbling amusement from him, and wary suspicion from her. She lifted both hands to display they were empty, and got another acknowledging bow.
"Here, miss! Ain't that one of your Air Watch pilots?" Nobby asked. "That's Miss Vasilisa, that is! So she does this as a second job? Cor!"
Irena smiled slightly.
"Nyet, Nobby. Look at her eyes. Ask yourself if those are the eyes of Vasilisa Budonova. Our Vasilisa is nick-named Sneguroshka for a reason. You are looking at the reason. That is the true Sneguroshka."
She quickly summated the main points for people who were not Rodinian. Which meant everybody else.
"Red Star to Penguin Control, Kestrel, Valkyrie Flight, and of course Sunray. And to Gremlin, for his information. Briefing and situation report."
She took a deep breath. And gathered her thoughts.
"This is, and at the same time is not, the Hogfather. Tonight, all Rodinians in the Watch have been given the night off…"
"Except you." Nobby said, helpfully. Irena gritted her teeth.
"Da, except me. As a ranking officer still needed to be here, in command. That duty fell to me. All Rodinian personnel have tonight off for cultural and religious reasons. May I clarify a point? To us, tonight is Koliada, which you know as Hogswatch. We do not celebrate Hogswatch two weeks later than everybody else. We take the point of view the rest of the world is impatient, and has it two weeks too early. Tonight is Koliada Night, our Hogswatch. We have what you would call a Hogfather. You are looking at him. He is called Ded Moroz, Lord of Winter and Frost."
Irena made the Witch bow again. She sensed the twinkling-eyed humour of the Winter Lord bubbling back at her, as if from a benevolently-minded Mustrum Ridcully.
"Простите меня, господин Дед Мороз." she said. "Я рассказываю о вас людям, которые не являются родинианцами. Также о тебе, Госпожа Снегурочка. не является оскорблением."
Snegoroschka nodded understanding. Her sword dropped a little further, but she remained on guard.
"Yes, miss, but all your people managed to get proper Hogswatch night off, as well." Nobby said. His voice had overtones of not playing fair here, are you? about it.
Irena did not press this point. She ignored it. She also noticed the three bears pulling the sky-troika seemed impatient to be setting off again and were beginning to look impatient. Which, she reflected, is not a good thing with Rodinian black bears.
"I'll keep this very brief. Nobby, you said bears can't fly. Look down. How far up do you think we are right now? It's a point of view. The Hogfather as you know him has flying pigs. In the Swommi country, their Hogfather flies a sleigh drawn by flying reindeer. And of course everybody knows pigs and reindeer are incapable of flight."
She smiled. "Blue and white are the true colours of midwinter. Every Rodinian knows that from birth. Where you people got the idea from that it should be red, I do not know. But anyway. Again for the recording and transcript. We are in no danger at all. I am satisfied Ankh-Morpork is in no danger at all. So long as nobody draws a weapon. That is important. Hanna. You aren't Rodinian. Let me spell it out to you. This air vehicle has a defensive system that can smash us out of the sky in seconds. We have nothing to match it. That air defence system is aware of two brooms here, and three combat-purpose MIG-25's circling in the air above it, watching it from all angles. And, Nobby. Stop trying to angle that crossbow around to cover the troika and the bears! Right now! In fact, take your hands right off it and raise them in the air where she can see! That is an order, Corporal Nobbs!"
Irena belatedly remembered her own broom was combat-equipped, with very obvious repeating multiple crossbows fore and aft. And understood what Sneguroshka was looking at, her eyes…those eyes… radiating disapproval. She regarded the Snow-Maiden's shashka. And knew that blade wasn't made of metal. Nothing so trivial. It wasn't so much a sword as a length of something more primal. A shaped piece of the Essence of Winter. It was pure Метель in a blade. Definitely metel. In the Rodinian sense of the word.
She made the Witch-bow again to the seeming girl, noting how disconcertingly alike she seemed to the Sneguroshka she interacted with for most of the year. Except for those eyes. Idly, she reflected that in the last few minutes, the Snow-Maiden had become, subtly, the Vasilisa Budonova who was an Air Watch pilot. Definitely changed her form.
She watched Sneguroshka casually stepping out of the back of the sleigh and walking towards her as if it was no remarkable thing. She stepped out across empty air, snowflakes dancing around her and seeming thickest where she walked, as if they loved her and wanted to be close to her for an instant before resuming their descent to the ground, at least a thousand feet below.
Irena watched her walk to the front of the troika and calm the irritated bears. They fell quiescent to her touch.
"How's Miss Vasilisa doin' that, miss?" Nobby asked, awe-struck. "Is it witch-stuff?"
Irena sighed.
"Nobby, try to keep up." she advised. "That isn't Vasilisa Budonova out there. She just looks like her. I think I understand why, but an explanation would take too long. And hands off that crossbow!"
Walk with me, Irena Yannesovna Politeka.
Irena heard her full, formal and correct name spoken in Rodinian. She thought quickly, and made a decision.
"Red Star to Valkyrie. If I don't come back… well, if I get detained… take command and get everybody back to the Air Station. Put my broom under remote and get Nobby back. Keep him safe. Mr Vimes might get annoyed, otherwise. I repeat, nobody is in danger provided we do not present a threat. For the purposes of the Comms record, I am now going to speak to our friends. The discussion will be in Rodinian. Red Star out."
Irena took a deep breath, fervently hoping she'd got it right, and swung her legs off the broom. Taking care not to look down, she felt her feet engaging on what felt like very solid ground. She stood up.
Feels okay so far. The trick is to suspend disbelief. To trust. Basically, be like a kid on Hogswatch Eve.
Irena Politek took a few tentative steps forward, then made the witch-bow to Ded Moroz and to Sneguroshka, the Snow-Maiden, his grand-daughter, helper and most crucially, his Defender.
You realise I could have let you drop.
Sneguroshka's voice sounded friendly and amused.
Irena forced herself to make an indifferent shrug.
"I do not believe you would have done that. It would have been inhospitable, for one thing. And it would spoil the night for everybody."
The Snow-Maiden laughed. Irena tried not to look at the blade, at that shaped threat of pure Winter, the blade that could so easily hack five Air Watch brooms, and six people on them, into mangled frozen ruin. Her purpose was to support, guard, and defend Ded Moroz, after all. And she had the weapons to do it. Effortlessly.
Her eyes, like looking into the milky white-out of the most intense blizzard ever, studied Irena. Irena now knew, for absolute certain, that the face and the form she had taken was only incidentally that of her Air Watch comrade, Vasilisa Budonova. This was something else that had been around far, far, longer.
Taking your friend's form amused me. Sneguroshka said. That you call her after me also intrigues me.
"Giving her that call-sign was far more true than we thought." Irena admitted. "She would be interested to hear this tale."
The Snow-Maiden nodded. She turned to Ded Moroz, who seemed one shoulder-shake away from a chuckle. He was watching intently.
She turned to him.
Grandfather, on the route back, I would like to call at this place Krapovits Oblast. I'd like to meet this girl Vasilisa. Out of curiosity.
Irena was on her guard. The Snow-Maiden smiled reassuringly.
She is in no danger, Irena Yannesovna. I am aware others conferred my name on her and she did not claim it for herself. From what I can see she wears it lightly and has never brought disrepute or shame on the name. She is also brave in a fight.
"She is a Good Girl."
Ded Moroz had spoken for the first time. It was a voice that was low, deep, and echoed. It fired a sort of synaesthesia in Irena, the resonances bringing smells, tastes and feelings, of Midwinter nights long-gone in her life.
The true Snegoroschka sheathed the sabre and held up an open right palm. She smiled at Irena.
Walk with me into the presence of Ded Moroz. she said. As my invited guest.
Irena followed her round to the front of the sleigh, still trying not to look down, aware of the overpowering smell of Bear.
Mischka. Kamchatka. Medved. Успокоиться. Успокойся. Потерпи.
Settle down. Be calm. Be patient.
The huge bears stilled. Irena recalled these were also an air-defence system for Ded Moroz, for close-in antipersonnel defence, and felt relief. One, the one whose name she had known from earliest childhood as Mischka, turned a huge shaggy head to her and regarded her thoughtfully. Irena remembered that you set out three pierogis(2), with a meat filling, tonight, along with two glasses of vodka for the aircrew. In the morning the pierogis were gone and the glasses were empty.(3)
"Lord Frost, I greet you." she said, bowing. Ded Moroz chuckled.
"It is fitting one of our people welcomes us to Ankh-Morpork." he said, in a voice redolent of kutka and kolyadki, kulybyaka and rich spiced kutya with kholodets, and the sweet, rich, spiced honey-smell of sbiten.
Irena suddenly felt a pang of longing for Home, and above all to be in Pskov. She forced this down.
"Ankh-Morpork, Lord Frost?" she asked, politely. "Is this not a detour from where you need to be on this night?"
The lord of Winter and Koliada considered this. Then he laughed.
"It takes us a little out of our way, certainly." he admitted. "But Rodinia is a big land, Irena Yannesovna. And we go where Rodinian people are."
Irena considered this. She heard the Snow-Maiden's glittering laughter for the first time, the tinkle of sleigh-bells on a snowy day.
Think about it, Irena Yannesovna. You are a policewoman. You must know thousands of our people now live in Ankh-Morpork. Where people live and believe in us, we must visit on Koliada Night. It is a binding Duty old as belief itself.
Irena understood.
"So Ankh-Morpork now counts as a Rodinian city." she said.
For our purposes, yes. Sneguroshka agreed. It is also by the same definition a Klatchian city, a Quirmian city, an Überwaldian city… but happily, we do not need to consider these others. They make their own arrangements.
"With Another, who is and is not part of me." Ded Moroz remarked. "Thus I was here, but not here, two weeks ago. It's complicated."
"Well, at least you know the way." Irena remarked. "Or perhaps don't."
Ded Moroz considered this. He sighed.
"Yekatarinburg Hedgehog Day." he said, resignedly. "Oleysa Day."(4)
Irena expressed sympathy.
"One thing I need to ask." she said, a curious Witch. "How do you get around everybody? In one night? A Wizard I know thinks that's down to something called Quantum?"
"I know nothing of this Quantum." Ded Moroz said. "But if truth be told, we don't in fact need to do everybody. In most cases the parents act as our agents and provide the presents. And reinforce belief."
We manifest to a few. A selected few. So that Belief is further reinforced. Sometimes we need to be seen.
"It gets impossible after that." Ded Moroz agreed. He laughed, the sound echoing round the sky.
Why do you think we keep the lists? Of the good children and the bad children?
Irena understood.
"So you can then select the candidates for personal visits."
Sneguroshka smiled. Irena reflected she was also The Friend To Good Children. Inescapably, the Other Thing came to mind.
"But the morning after Koliada night. We of the Watch are never called to murder cases involving hysterical parents and decapitated children. I would remember such cases, were there any."
I am not a monster, Irena Yannesovna. I leave that to the Überwaldeans, with their abominable idea of the Krampus. No wonder they grow up into good sociopathic little Prussicans and invade other peoples' countries. No. a stern telling-off suffices. And showing them my shashka, but never using it.
Irena grinned and remembered.
"My comrade up there is Prussican." she reminded them. "But Hanna has lived and worked among Rodinians for a long time. I believe given another twenty years to work on her, she could pass for one of us. They're not all bad."
They looked up to where the MIG-25s were keeping station, a respectful distance away.
"Her heart is good." Ded Moroz said, passing judgement. "Troubled, yes. But she is a Good Girl."
He scrutinised Irena.
"So. On our visit to Ankh-Morpork. We meet a complication, and an armed response from the Air Watch comes up to meet us. We've never had this before."
But the Air Watch has never had the Seeing-Eye Ray before. Sneguroshka pointed out. Grandfather, I'm afraid we're going to run into this sort of thing a lot from now on.
"Bloody technomancy." Ded Moroz said, shaking his big shaggy head. "Part of the whole point is to get in and out unseen, with just enough people getting a glimpse, so they talk endlessly about it afterwards and this feeds into belief. How's it going to look if we light up the night and leave them in no possible doubt? And it suddenly becomes ordinary and everyday?"
He sighed and suddenly looked old.
"This Ray. Da."
Irena considered.
"Lord Frost, now we know it's you, now we know the date of your visit and the approximate time, we can keep this quiet." she said. "It is sufficient for us simply to log a record that says something like "expected visitor from Rodinia, entered Ankh-Morporkian airspace at eleven pm, left our airspace at two am.", without going into excess detail. Those who need to know, will know. One of my pilots will come up, greet you, and then leave you to it. You will no longer trigger a fully armed combat interception flight, a courtesy I will reserve for potentially hostile unknown intruders. Which you are not."
Ded Moroz considered this, and laughed.
So we are in agreement, then. Sneguroshka said. She offered her sword-hand to Irena, who took it. It felt remarkably warm and human.
"One other thing." Ded Moroz said. "They say if you need to know your way around a strange town, ask a policeman. Or a policewoman. I must confess I'm a little bit hazy about where Irrisory Street is. We have a visit booked there."
"I can help there, Lord Frost." Irena said. She rummaged in a pocket. "This is a bit dog-eared, and I haven't had to refer to it in a long time, but this may be useful to you."
Ded Moroz laughed again.
"A mortal? Giving me a gift? Oh, this is so amusing."
"I hope you can read the Latatian alphabet, Lord?" Irena asked.
Ded Moroz studied the Aye-To-Zedde Street Map of Ankh-Morpork critically. He consulted the index at the back.
Irrisory Street. Square A6. Page forty-four.
Ded Moroz and his grand-daughter put their heads together over the map and consulted.
Irena thought about a little girl, of Rodinian parentage, who lived on Irrisory Street. It didn't take great detective work to come up with a name.
"Her mother is a Witch, like me." she said. "She will certainly be aware."
Ded Moroz looked gravely at her.
"And now, Irena Yannesovna Politeka." he said, gravely.
"You're not a good girl, and you've never in your life claimed to be one. But you are a Witch. And Witches work to different rules. What does a good Witch want from Ded Moroz on Koliada night, by way of a gift?"
Pseudopolis Yard, the 8th January. The next morning.
And shortly after your bloody Hogfather handed out presents on his culturally-and-ethnically-approved special night, with no care, forethought, and possibly bloody negligience, the Incident happened." Sam Vimes said. Again, he glared at Nobby. "The incident which we are all gathered here to investigate."
This will now go to Part Three. Sorry about that, but at least I'm cracking on with it in short intense bursts.
(1) Go to The Price of Flight for the backstory.
(2) Maybe perhaps pelyemeni or pizoshki? Getting that "pierogi" might be more Ukrainian or even Polish?
(3) The older Irena suspected the empty glasses in the morning had something to do with her father and mother.
(4) I wanted a Russian version of Groundhog Day. Apparently in this Russian city, hedgehogs, including a weather-hog called Pykh, are Russia's answer to groundhogs and predict the weather. Apparently with 90% success. Olesya is a bear who fills the same function in Novgorod.
Notes Dump:
Research for stories goes in surprising directions. It occurred to me that if the USA has two overlapping measurement scales for reporting the relative intensity of snowstorms, how do other nations go about this? What is their "Beaufort scale" for snow and ice? In particular – Russia. This is a country associated, inseperably so, with the notion of stern winter weather. There must be something… and a character like Irena Politek would inevitably default to how "Rodinia" grades its winter weather.
I discovered a hitherto new word to me, "snowpocalypse", coined to describe the snow of February 2021, which even born and bred Muscovites considered to be a bit on the cold side. I discovered Fobos and Roshydromet, the Russian versions of the Met Office. So far I've discovered Russian has lots of words for snow, but seems vague on classifying it into types ordered by intensity. Снег is only the beginning of an extensive vocabulary.
Nast – Наст – is a frozen snow crust that covers a pillow of fluffy and powdery snow. Very good for skiing.
Slyakot' – Слякоть – wet snow on the ground mixed with mud.
Porosha – Пороша – pure snow driven on the ground. The snow that has been falling at night but stopped by the morning.
Phlyak – Пухляк – Extremely fluffy snow cover, good for skiing.
Tselyak – Целяк – snow that hasn't been touched by anybody and doesn't have any trails or dents. "Virgin snow".
Snezhnaya kasha – Снежная каша (snow porridge) – this type of snow emerges when the weather becomes warmer and fluffy snowflakes begin sticking to each other and create crystals of ice, which mix with snow.
Inej – Иней – frost that covers trees and cars in the morning.
The most general word for a snowflake in Russian is snezhinka – снежинка. The most general word for a blizzard in Russian is Metel' – Метель, but some other words specify this type of weather condition.
Pozjomka – Позёмка – snow drifting close to the ground. This is not the process of new snow falling, but when snow from the ground is driven from one place to another. Pozjomka happens when the wind is slow, and it doesn't worsen visibility conditions.
Vjuga – Вьюга – is a ground blizzard, when the snow is taken from the ground and spinning.
Buran / Purga – Буран / Пурга – is a snowstorm that happens mostly in prairies or wide-open spaces. It includes not only snowfall but when the wind also takes the snow high up from the ground. The word Buran comes from the Tatarian language that is spread in the South of Russia, and Purga was adopted from the Northern Finnish.
Also, got to laugh: BBC news this morning was discussing the Omicron virus and interviewed a South African doctor who was, understandably, a bit peeved that her country was being singled out as blameworthy. She had one of the strongest Afrikaner Boer accents I've ever heard and I was thinking – wow. This is the Up To Eleven voice of the typical Rimwards Howondalandian. Of course, the BBC was deluged in messages, some asking "What on Earth was the language she was speaking?" and others indignant there were no on-screen subtitles…. She was called (looked her up) Dr Angelique Coetzee.