Negligient Discharge
A Hogswatch short in three parts. Well, short compared to the other stuff I've been writing lately.
V0.7 - expanding a bit. Same correction reason. Standardising Latinisation of Russian spellings. Also minor glitches. A new footnote added - completely obvious, with hindsight - about the up-to-eleven Discworld "Russia", and one inferred aspect of Ded Moroz and Sneguroschka which "Russians" would not at all be surprised by. Also... re-read "The Price of Flight" and realised a Brick joke could be built in here.
Inspired by reading about Christmas/midwinter gift-giving traditions around the world. Also... I now know the troika of Ded Moroz is (in the consensus opinion) drawn by three white horses. Can it be three bears here, for Rule of Funny plus up-to-eleven Discworld Russian? Please?
In the sky, over the Hubwards-by-Widdershins approaches to Ankh-Morpork
Irena Politek considered she had been seriously distracted by what happened next, or she might have been in a position to recognise a problem and to do something about it.
But, as she said in her defence, it isn't every night, or indeed every Koliada night, that you personally encounter Ded Moroz and his helper Sneguroschka. Refusing the offer of a gift from her people's analogue of the Hogfather would have been bad-mannered, as well as culturally unthinkable.
She hoped this would swing it with Sam Vimes. Cultural, Ethnic, and folklorique pathways, tactically invoked at the right moment, were almost as good as a get-out-of-jail-free card. She planned to use the fact she was ethnically a Rodinian, who had been interacting with somebody who in her culture had God-like status, in her defence. You did not, if you had any sense, refuse a God. Or an Anthropomorphic Personification. Acts of Gods were a defence too.
Besides, the gift itself…
"What gift would a good Witch ask of Ded Moroz?"
Ded Moroz had contemplated this, in deep thought. Irena had forced herself to maintain eye contact with Sneguroshka and had looked into eyes that were the colour of the inside of a blizzard. Those eyes were the colour and swirl of buran and purga. Irena also sensed the deadly disorientation of vyuga. Looking into the blizzards, she had a distinct feeling her mind and memories were being probed and read. This reminded her that she was not looking at her Air Watch comrade Vasilisa Budonova; the Snow-Maiden had taken Vasilisa's external form, because it amused her to do so. Irena suspected that she had also done this to confound the Air Watch pilots who were watching, from their various vantage points.
Irena tried to stop herself from being sucked into the blizzard. She reminded herself of what was truly real and would still be real the next morning, when the time and the season for Ded Moroz and Sneguroshka was over. This led her down an avenue that did not feel comforting…
I will not show you my primal self. Sneoguroshka said. But you have strength of will, Irena Yannesovna.
Ded Moroz twinkled down from the running board of the troika. Irena tried not to even think of his primal self. One aspect of it had caused a lot of trouble for Witches some years previously.
"You pose a problem, Irena Yannesovna." he said, pleasantly. "It appears there is little I could give you that you actually want. Nothing tangible, anyway. But it appears there is one thing you desire. Which is not in my power to give."
The spirit of Midwinter and Koliada looked down at her, gravely.
"I can give you a glimpse, Irena Yannesovna. When you were introduced to me, you had memories of midwinters past. Here and now is your Midwinter of the present. I will give you a brief glimpse, a promise perhaps, of midwinters and a Kolaida yet to come. But the fulfilment of that is not in my hands to give. Take my hand…"
Irena reached up to him. And the world changed…
She looked down from above at a town, a village, perhaps. A walled stanitsa in the forest. Over there, the Steppes began. Here on the edge, where forest gave way to plain. Where the land became mudflats and then a river, the Neveneva. Edges. Places that drew witches. She knew it, instantly.
"Pskov…" she said, to herself.
The world changed again. She felt the heels and soles of her valenki boots meet resistance, with a slight muffled thump. She knew what it was. A rug on a wooden floor. And she knew the room.
And she saw him, seated at his workbench. He was working on something, a craftsman at his trade. She wondered what it was. But she looked past him, to the iconograph mounted on the wall in front of him, a place where a devoutly religious person might usually put an icon. It was of herself.
Irena felt an uncharacteristically warm fluttering glow. Deep down, a young Witch curled her lip and scowled with distaste. Irena ignored this. That was, for the moment, the minority vote.
He has my picture. Where he can see it. Every day…
She spoke his name.
"Vitali?"
He raised his head and turned round. Irena realised this was going to be a moment to cherish.
"I'm here. Don't ask me how and I suspect I'm not going to be here for very long. But I'm here."
"Irena?"
They embraced for a long timeless moment.
"You're warm and you're alive." he said. "That's a relief. I heard this sort of thing happens when, you know, somebody dies. They get to come back and say goodbye. You're in your working clothes. And you're in a dangerous job."
"I'm a witch." Irena reminded him. "If I were dead, I would know about it. Death would have called by. He isn't here."
"How did you get here? I got the message you were working tonight."
Irena snuggled, glad to be with him. Inside the young Irena expressed dissent and distaste on how fluffy all this was getting. She ignored her.
"Surprising things happen." she said. "Especially on Koliada Eve."
She wondered about telling him the whole story. Then decided against it. She just didn't know how long she had.
"Listen." she said. "This time next year. Together. Even if I have to desert. And I just know Olga's going to grant me leave. To make up for tonight. So. Very soon?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sneguroshka's face. She was grinning. Irena tried not to scowl at the intrusion on an intensely private moment. Vitali didn't seem aware, anyway.
"Technically, I'm absent without leave right now." Irena said.
"Good." Vitali remarked. He kissed her. She didn't resist. Another long timeless moment followed.
Was that good? Khorosho. Now, we return, Irena Yannesovna.
Irena scowled. Then the scene faded and she was back on her broom, in the cold night sky with snow falling, as if she had never stood up and walked across the sky to speak to…
…people who were no longer there.
~~Valkyrie to Red Star. Valkyrie calling Red Star. Come in, Red Star.
"Red Star here, Valkyrie. Sitrep, please?"
~~I believe I understand, Red Star. And that the Situation is resolved. I also have to report that after you vanished from sight, the girl…the entity… called Snow-Maiden came to each of us, explained you were in no danger, and said her Grandfather wished to offer each of us a gift, as was fitting.
There was a silence, as if Hanna could not believe it herself.
~~Each of us, in turn, found herself in the presence of the one called Ded Moroz. He gave us each a wrapped gift. We will declare those on return to the Air Station, as we are obliged to do. Then they resumed their flight. In your absence, I judged there is no threat to the City and that this is a cultural thing of relevance to the Rodinian community. We made no effort to pursue, and I advised Penguin Control there is no cause for concern. Sunray is aware and has given approval.
Irena shook her head and cleared the recent memory of Vitali out of her mind. It took some effort.
"Acknowledged, Valkyrie. Requesting that your Flight returns directly to the Air Station to debrief, and to refuel your brooms, then you can return to Chirm. Thank you for turning out so quickly. Red Star out."
Buoyed up on the warmth and the memory of a few unexpected minutes with Vitali, Irena wondered about what sort of presents the other Air Watch pilots would have received. She guessed they'd have been tailored to the needs or desires of the pilots as hers had been. She wouldn't ask: hers had been intensely private and personal. It would be intruding…
"Cor, Miss Irena! Where did you disappear to for twenty-odd minutes? I was scared I'd have to walk back. Or else ask Miss Hanna for a lift."
Nobby sounded oddly thoughtful and subdued. A few minutes later, back over the City, Irena realised she'd made a simple, elementary, error of judgement. It had just not occurred to her that Nobby would also have been granted a gift. One expertly tailored to his needs and desires.
Pseudopolis Yard, on the morning of January 8th. At the Court of Inquiry.
Then it happened." Sam Vimes said, glaring at Nobby.
"I was at fault, sir." Irena admitted. "I mis-interpreted Sergeant von Strafenburg's report when she said "each of us found herself in the presence of Ded Moroz." I read this as meaning only Air Witches had been granted an audience, and failed to take into account that one of the detachment last night was male."
"So you never thought to ask what Nobby got for his Rodinian Hogswatch present." Vimes said.
Irena took a deep breath.
"No, sir. I did not. It never occurred to me." she said, frankly. "After my brief absence, I did, however, check that all the ammunition magazines were present and correct."
"Hmmph, that's sexism, that is." Nobby Nobbs complained. "Just 'cos I'm not a woman…"
I can always move permanently to Pskov if I am asked to surrender my commission and resign. Irena thought. I would be welcome there and they do not have a village Witch.
The thought was at that moment an attractive one. Senior Lieutenant (retired) Irena Politek, beginning a new and more obscure life as the village ved'ma, married to Vitali, the local jobbing metalworker, the occasional craftsman in all metalworking trades… she felt the surge of warmth and well-being again.
Would they allow me to keep Pryaniki?
She thought of her Pegasus.
"You flew back to the Air Station." Vimes prompted. "The intention was to debrief and wrote reports. You re-entered City airspace proper over Dolly Sisters and New Brickfields, so as to avoid flying too near the University. Sensible, as University airspace can do funny things to brooms. The fastest route by air would then have taken you over Small Gods."
Irena braced herself and put on her most impassive face. She noted Mr Vimes had a face that might have turned a whole dairy into yoghurt. Lemon flavouring optional.
"Let's go into what happened next, shall we? In some detail."
In the sky, over the Hubwards-by-Widdershins quadrant of Ankh-Morpork.
Irena knew her home on Euphrasy Street would be below them. Part of her looked forward to coming off shift and going to bed. Another part of her was wondering how much longer she would be living there. It had been her apartment for sixteen years and it had suited all her single-girl needs for bedroom, kitchen, bathroom and sitting room.
She now had a feeling it was getting to be too small. She had outgrown it. Whichever way it went, whichever direction somebody had to move in, she would be moving soon, closing a long chapter of her life. She knew this.(1)
Irena saw the dome of Small Gods looming up in the distance, its bulk apparent even in the badly-lit gloom of an Ankh-Morporkian night. She commed in to Control to advise they would be landing in perhaps five minutes. Penguin Control acknowledged.
Behind her, Nobby Nobbs was playing with the multiple repeating crossbows again. Irena sighed, resignedly. There was no stopping him. Waste of breath. But I've got the ammo. All four magazines. I counted them. Out of his reach.
The huge dark dome of Small Gods drew nearer and then passed underneath them, a half-sphere topped out with a very carefully selected non-denominational weathercock.(2)
As they pulled away on the other side, Nobby was making dakka-dakka! noises and enthusiastically swinging the weapon towards it. Irena was about to say "Knock it off, Nobby!" when the whole broomstick lurched forwards and to the left in a horribly familiar way. As it was also wholly unexpected, Irena had to fight to get it back under control.
She was aware, in the moment, of other Air Witches taking evasive action, swerving across the sky. And she heard the rattle and fast regular clunking noises of metal on wood and the steady, repeating, vibration of the airframe.
"Nobby!" she shrieked. She heard his mingled cry of alarm and exultation. "Cease fire! NOW!"
"Don't know how to, miss!" Nobby shouted back.
Irena winced as the echoing noise of impacts came back up to her. In accordance with the inevitable, a single crossbow bolt bounced back and screeched uncomfortably close with the twanging, metallic, whistling, note of a ricochet.
"It's easy!" she screamed. "Take your fingers off the bloody triggers!"
"Can't, miss. They're stuck…"
Irena reflected on what older Watchmen had told her about Nobby and weapons. He was inevitably drawn to the big powerful ones, the more powerful the better. And of course somebody with the physical build of Nobby Nobbs soon discovered they were too powerful and he couldn't control them. She risked a glance back. It wasn't so much Nobby firing the weapon as the weapon firing him, throwing him around like a rag doll, his fingers seemingly stuck to the spade-like grips that carried the triggers.
She swore. No wonder the broom was hard to control. And... she'd counted the magazines, hadn't she? There were still four? So why did the rear crossbow assembly have two loaded mags in it that had not been there previously? Where had he got them from?
Finally the repeating mechasnism clicked on empty chambers. The lurching of the broom subsided. Irena counted the other brooms in the sky. Still four.
"Red Star to all pilots. Anybody hurt? Any damage?"
"Kestrel here. No damage. Who gave him the ammo?"
~~Valkyrie calling Red Star. Report no damage to us. I believe almost all the rounds negligently discharged by Gremlin impacted the dome of Small Gods. I counted nearly thirty impacts. However, Red Star, there is damage to your own broom.
Irena sensed the loss of power and flight capacity. She was slowing and dropping perceptibly.
~~Gremlin lost control of the weapon, and it appears he has shot through the fairing cover and the bristle array. Recommend you make emergency landing, Red Star.
"Red Star here. Read you. I think I can make it to the Air Station. Got visual on approach route. Red Star to Penguin. Clear the deck. This is going to be bumpy."
~~Reading you, Red Star. Penguin out.
Irena gritted her teeth, knowing she was going to have to nurse the rapidly failing magic and hope it was enough to get her down onto the Air Station landing deck. reflecively, she reached up to her neck to touch the Holy Potato of The Great God Epidity that she wore on its chain. She'd had this since before she had learnt to fly. (3)
Except it wasn't there. Vitali had noticed the clasp wasn't quite holding it securely, and had offered to fix it. She remembered it was on his workbench in Pskov.
"Bly'at." she said, with feeling. "Chort. Pizdyts. Хрень, Хуйня. Der'mo!"
The Landing Deck rose up to meet her, slightly faster than she would have liked.
"Govno." Irena said, fatalistically. She braced for the landing.
Pseudopolis Yard, on the morning of January 8th. At the Court of Inquiry.
Sam Vimes scowled.
"Twenty-six bloody great holes in the dome of Small Gods." he said. Six rounds still unaccounted for. Gods know where they went. And Corporal Nobbs manages to get part of the way towards Ace status in air combat. First Watch broom shot down since the Lancre war."
Nobby squirmed and sidled in place. Vimes glared horribly at him. As did the Air Watch contingent.
"Nobby." Vimes said, breathing deeply. "I am not a pilot. But I can get that the last thing you do in the air is to shoot your own bloody broom down. I'd suggest that's basic. Lesson One."
He took a deep breath.
"The Teks assure me that broom is not a complete write-off, but it will take an extensive rebuild to get it into the air again. And nobody got killed or injured. Luckily for you."
"Err…" Technical Sergeant Gertude Schilling said, uncertainly. Vimes nodded to her.
"Go ahead, Gertrude." he said, kindly.
"Usually, sir, this shouldn't have happened. Err. With the rear-facing multiple repeating array in the observer's position on a one-ten, we realised there's a very big risk that if the weapon is depressed too low when pointing directly to the rear, there's a very real risk of shooting your own tail off. We're working on a prototype interrupter gear that locks the weapon if it's pointed in this direction, but for now, I had a physical blocking device built into the traverse and elevator mechanism, that would physically prevent the weapon from being depressed so low you can shoot your own broom down. Err. Must have malfunctioned last night. I'll get this investigated…"
Irena winced. Tek Sikkoskisson had warned her last night's broom was flyable, but still had a few little problems. And the Teks were well behind on maintenance…
"While Senior Lieutenant Politek was unavoidably absent dealing with the whim of a couple of bloody Gods, or nearest thing to. Let it be noted that Senior Sergeant von Strafenburg took over in her absence as per regulations and instructions. Hanna not here today? Never mind, I'll talk to her when she gets back from Chirm."
Vimes smiled at Nobby in a way that had very little warmth in it.
"Now, in your own well-chosen words. Begin."
At the City Watch Air Station, Pseudopolis Yard, Ankh-Morpork
"Wasn't my fault, Miss Irena!"
Nobby backed away from the inert and battered broom Irena had just steered into a bumpy crash-landing. In accordance with multiversal imperative, smoke was pluming from the shattered bristle array at the rear. It smelt of burning wood and abused octarine.
Her communicator activated.
~~Penguin Control to all stations Flying Pig. Emergency, emergency. Broken Wing, repeat, Broken Wing. Bird has crashed on the Landing Strip. Until further notice, nobody is to land until we've cleared the wreck and made safe. No casualties. If anyone urgently needs to land, use the street outside, or the courtyard. Do not use the landing deck. Penguin out.
Irena scowled. It didn't look as if it was going to explode, but she needed to make sure…
She extended a hand and focused. This had to be the opposite of a fireball…
The ball of concentrated cold formed around the stricken bristles. Immediately it started going to a fog of white gas, of dry ice sublimating with an audible hissing and wooshing nose. Ice began forming on the surface of the flight deck around the broom. Irena nodded in professional satisfaction as a second and far stronger-looking white ball shot down and joined hers, nullifying and absorbing whatever energy was left in the broom.
Hanna, who had devised the Kohlendioxid-Feuerlöscher spell for moments like this, came down to land.
"I believe we have made safe." she said. She also glowered at Nobby.
Irena got in between them. She considered, then retrieved the ammo magazines and counted them. Four, fully charged. She looked down to her broom, now covered in a thick sparkling layer of frost. It glittered white. With, she noted, a suspicion of blue.
Then she looked at the rear repeating crossbow. Two magazines were in place. She frowned, and recounted the ones she had retrieved. Still four. Still fully loaded.
"Corporal Nobbs." she said. "Explain."
"Err, Miss Irena. After you sort of, er, vanished, Miss Vasilisa come round and said to all of us that Ded Moroz wanted to give us presents, like…"
"Nobby. That was not Vasilisa Budonova." Irena said. "It was an entity called Sneguroshka, who had assumed Vasilisa's form."
Irena paused, and added
"The expectation, that shapes the form of a God, is that she takes the form of an attractive young blonde woman dressed in blue and white. Hence, we saw our Vasilisa, one known to us. Her true shape is something else, and not what you would want to encounter on a winter night. Not at all."
Nobby swallowed.
"Anyway, Miss. I got took to see the Hogfather…"
"Ded Moroz." Irena corrected him.
Nobby, awestruck, had looked up into the benevolent and kindly face. He had tried not to look into the eyes, which were the colour of a deep starry winter night.
"So what does a good… person… want from Ded Moroz on Koliada Night? What is your heart's desire?"
I believe I know the heart's desire of Nobby Nobbs, Grandfather. What he most wishes to do, what he most craves, on this Koliada Eve.
It had even been Miss Vasilisa's voice, Nobby remembered. But somehow speaking far better Morporkian than Miss Vasilisa usually managed, with the barest hint of an accent. This wasn't comforting. Vasilisa Budonova's accent in spoken Morporkian, at least when she was speaking to Nobby, was spiky and usually managed to convey I am considering killing you slowly and painfully. Give me good reasons why not. Nobby reflected that anybody from round that way had that sort of spike in her voice when speaking Morporkian. It wasn't just Miss Vasilisa.
Ded Moroz laughed delightedly, reached round and rummaged in a sack. He brought out an ornately wrapped gift.
"Sneguroschka's choice." he said, as he handed it to Nobby. "You will find my grand-daughter has an interesting sense of humour."
The ribbon-tied box weighed heavily in Nobby's hands. He wondered what was inside it, had the sense to thank his benefactor… and was suddenly sitting on the broom again, the retaining straps fastened up, as if he'd never left.
He looked across and to the left where Miss Hanna was talking to the old man and the girl. It seemed as if some agreement was being reached. Miss Hanna made the witch-bow as she received her gift. Then, incredibly, she did the hug-and-kiss-on-both-cheeks with the girl, the one who looked like Miss Vasilisa. Nobby wasn't sure of what happened next, but the improbable sleigh picked up speed as Ded Moroz cracked a whip and the harnessed bears lumbered into speed…
~~Valkyrie to all personnel. I am assured, and I have no reason to disbelieve, that Red Star will shortly return to us. Her own gift is currently being delivered, it seems. We will wait for her and then return to the Air Station. Valkyrie out.
Nobby, bored, unwrapped his own present. I'm not being impatient, he told himself. Proper Hogswatch was two weeks ago. So this come late, like, you know, the relative who can't make it on the day but still brings the prezzies…
He looked with wonderment and delight at the two things in the box, which gleamed with metallic purpose.
Tek Sikkorskisson showed me how to do it. You pull back the top slide over the chamber, you hook the forward leading edge into the guide and you ease it back till it clicks… as this is a double crossbow, two mags, one left, one right… then you pull back the arming levers on both sides till they click, and the cockling handle snaps into place… better do the safety catch too….
Nobby grinned the grin of a very small man who now has access to very potent firepower.
"So that's it." Sam Vimes said. "This late-arriving Hogfather has a Little Helper with a warped sense of humour who got him to grant you your heart's desire."
Vimes' scowl took in the whole room.
"Your Hogswatch present was two fully loaded magazines for that bloody repeating crossbow. No wonder Irena thought everything was okay, when she checked she still had the original four."
Vimes did the face-palm thing.
"Fortunately, no casualties in the City." he remarked. "Irena, you sent a patrol to check the damage and you discovered none of those crossbow bolts had gone straight down into the Temple because they were fired pretty much on the flat, not down and at an angle. The only casualty was the temple's night-watchman who had been up on the roof having a sly smoke. He was sort of traumatised, so you got him to the Lady Sybil."
"Yes, sir." Irena said. "He was in shock. He was raving about having seen some sort of bloody sledge in the sky drawn by three bears, and he was reflecting you don't see that sort of thing every night. Then ten minutes later he is coming under sustained air attack. He blamed it on the sledge and the bears and that suspicious-looking bugger in the blue and white coat and the girl with a face what looked like a bulldog sucking lemon juice off a nettle. His words. I took his witness statement."
"And fortunately for you, we have another witness statement." Vimes said. "Apparently this thing manifested again, on Irrisory Street, outside the home of a reputable and credible witness."
Vimes consulted his notes.
"The home address of a Mister Yuri Timefeyovich Yermak, occupation, equestrian teacher and riding master." Vimes said, drily. His eyes briefly met those of Lieutenant Nadezhda Popova, who looked back impassively.
Father of three children, apparently married to a Witch." Vimes said. "Didn't think to take her name, Nadezhda? Remind me to add that in later. How come nobody else saw this, by the way?"
"Ded Moroz is Rodinian thing, Mr Vimes." Nadezhda said. "I believe if you are not Rodinian and Ded Moroz did not wish to be seen, then nobody else would see. Neighbours might have wondered, after midnight, that strange thing may be happening. But with snow coming down and temperature is freezing. They shrug and stay in bed."
"And if the odd foreign family living next door choose to go out into the streets in the snow in their nightclothes. Well, they're foreign, aren't they? From a place where it snows a lot. Their sort of weird foreign thing."
"Da, Siber'ya." Nadezhda agreed.
Vimes smiled slightly.
"According to the report, your daughter… sorry, the little girl of the household, whose mother has not yet been officially identified… was witnessed to have gone outside into the street at a time between midnight and one in the morning, holding a tray on which were two glasses of a spirituous liquor presumed to be vodka, together with three tasty treats which are, according to tradition, left out for the bears who draw the flying sled steered by the Rodinian Hogfather, aka Ded Moroz."
"That is so, sir." Nadezhda agreed. After being Commed by the Air Station, she had taken care over writing up her incident report.
She also remembered her husband Yuri blinking in disbelief and saying "Now I know it is possible to drink too much vodka on Kolaida Eve."
Nadezhda also remembered the jolt of horror at witnessing Tatiana walk unafraid to the three huge sky-bears, and offering food to each one.
And the three bears had become quiescent and tame and had allowed her to feed them directly from her hand.
One, the one known as Mischka, had allowed Tatiana to hug him and had gently placed two huge paws around her
Are you surprised, Nadezhda Veranovna? They would never harm an innocent child. It is not in their natures. Nor would I.
Nadezhda had turned, slowly, and had then made the Witch-bow to Sneguroschka.
Tatiana's two brothers, Yuri and Nikita, had awoken, sensing commotion, and were also standing in the street looking bewildered and rubbing their eyes.
And other older children, maybe not so innocent. One is a student Assassin.
"Da." Nadezhda said. "But both remain good boys."
The good outweighs the bad. Snguroschka agreed. Look, we keep careful records.(4) She turned to Tatiana.
Walk with me. she said.
Nadezhda was gratified to see her daughter knew to make the Witch-bow. Then she trustingly took the hand of the Snow-Maiden and was ushered into the presence of Ded Moroz. Tatiana bowed again.
"A good girl who honoured us and brought food for my bears." he said. "We should give something in return. Now what would a good little shamanka want from Ded Moroz, I wonder?"
He rummaged in a sack.
Nadezhda was not surprised that as well as a small boxed present, Tatiana received a shamanka's drum. And a beating stick.
"So it's true, then." Yuri said, resignedly. "She is to be not just a Witch, but also a shamanka."
"These are visitors from the Otherworlds." Nadezhda said. "Isn't it obvious a shamanka would attract them? And know what to do?"
Yuri Timofeyevich, step forward. Sneguroschka said. You are to receive something in trust for your sons, to give to them when their times are right. Two good boys, perhaps in their last Koliada as children, receive the parting blessing from Ded Moroz, before they move to manhood.
The parents in return had received a token something each.
Sneguroshka had looked thoughtfully down at the child, who regarded her without fear.
I have a lesson for you, little shamanka. We wear this appearance only at this short season of the year. You will see us again, but as we really are.
"I knew you were not my friend Vasilisa." Tatiana said. "Her shape is only a costume you are wearing. You have other clothes too."
I believe you know my other name, Tatiana Nadezhovna Popova.
Nadezhda reflected that in this moment, her daughter looked a lot older than six. It was a strange feeling.
Tatiana looked up, serious and intent. For the first time, Nadezhda saw her daughter was barefoot in the snow. A light scattering, but still… then she saw the snow was melting and going to steam around her feet. She frowned. There was only one other person she'd seen who could do that…
"Yes. I know your other name, Lady Sneguroschka. Your other name, which is a truer name, is Maslenitsa."
The world swirled and changed. Vasilisa Budonova, or at least her form, melted and flowed into a sudden flurry of snow and bitingly cold wind. Sneguroschka was suddenly no more. What stood in her place was also female but a shape of cold ice and snow. She was still beautiful, but was a cold, chilly, ice-statue enveloped in primal chill, taller, more imposing, more terrible, than the Snow-Maiden. The sabre of Sneguroschka was gone, and was replaced by the ice-spear of Maslenitsa, its head glowing ice, harder than diamond, sharper than steel. Where she pointed it, the winds of a cold storm blew and snow sang from the sky in a sudden blizzard-blast, metel straight from the Vortex Plains, a place its human inhabitants called Siber'ya. Her robes fell around her in green and white, the colours of a frozen corpse. She, the daughter of Ice and Winter, towered high over a little girl who studied her intently, and then made the same Witch-bow. In the background, Ded Moroz had altered too, and was now Morozko, the primal God of winter-cold in his crown of ice.
"Are you frightened, child?" Maslenitsa asked. Her voice sounded like ice in a winter storm.
"A little." Tatiana admitted. "But if I am to be a shamanka, I need to know your true faces. The faces you wear for the rest of Winter. And you have my respect."
Maslenitsa considered this, then she laughed, and was Sneguroschka again. The snow and gale faded, cutting off in an instant.
"Besides, it was getting cold." Tatiana said, practically.(5)
You will be a good shamanka, Tatiana Nadezhovna. Give my regards to the Daughter of the Otherworld when you next meet.
A little after that, the sky-troika took off and disappeared.
Nadezhda Popova realised she was only in night clothing herself.
"Let's go indoors, family. And warm ourselves."
"So." Said Vimes. "Daddy has a vodka hangover. The little girl gets a drum for her Hogswatch. That's going to work out nicely."
"Is working day today, Mr Vimes." Nadezhda said. "Yuri was keen to get to work."
Vimes understood this.
"So this snow-maiden-entity gives a little girl a drum, knowing her father's going to have a thumping head in the morning. She gives the little girl's two brothers a set of Cossack swords each, and tells them "don't touch."
"that is true, Mr Vimes." Nadezhda said. "The swords are going into the care of the Ataman, who will not bestow them on Yuri and Nikita until they show they are worthy. My sons, they have seen swords. They now know they are to work for them. For their future, as Cossacks. Is incentive."
Vimes looked thoughtful.
"The boys get to wear the weapon belts they were also given last night. With places for scabbards. The weapons come later." Nasezhda said, helpfully.
"What it's telling me is that this Sneg.. Snow-Maiden… has a dubious sense of humour." Vimes said, flatly. "I think I get why she gave Nobby a loaded repeating crossbow to play with. Don't they say Hogswatch is also a time for mischief and misrule, or something?"
Vimes sighed, again.
"You realise the Dome of Small Gods is also a protected historical monument, or something?" Vimes demanded. "What you managed to do last night, Nobby, is smash up a lot of Assassin signatures that have been carved in the copper up there for Gods know how long, hundreds of bloody years. The bloody Assassins view that as part of their history and their traditions. When Downey finds out, he's going to go spare. Completely bloody Librarian-poo. Maybe even bursar."
Vimes considered this. Then he grinned, slow and long.
"Nobody got killed." he reflected. "Nor even injured. The nearest thing to a casualty, a night-watchman who habitually takes a bottle of rotgut up there with him against the cold, identified a manifestation of a God, or Gods, in a flying chariot towed by bears, just before the displeasure of the God rained down all around him as fire from the sky. Even bloody Vetinari is going to have to accept that. Nobody can stop a bloody God when they get arsey like that. Not even the Air Watch, who lost a front-line broom trying to stop it and damn nearly lost an aircrew. He'll probably get all sarcastic with the Priests and ask if they know what they were doing wrong, to invite this."
Vimes nodded to Irena.
"This Snow-Maiden loaded Nobby up with those tracer rounds, didn't she? Plus some of the new exploding heads? So it was going to look like lightning bolts in the sky?"
"That is so, sir." irena replied. She tried not to wince at the memory of lighning bolts in the sky. Or the richochet that had come so close she could smell the firework residue of the spent tracer chemicals. Vimes nodded.
"We have his witness statement right here concerning this unidentified God lobbing lightning at the Temple. Completely coincidentally, the Air Watch had a patrol out last night, in strength, that responded very quickly. One of its air vehicles, in fact, was shot up in the same incident involving these Gods, and it had to crash-land at the Air Station, no injury to its crew. We can give iconographs of the wrecked broom to the papers, when they come sniffing. Meanwhile there is a report, two reports, independently confirming sightings of those two Gods."
Vimes looked up and grinned.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I consider our bottoms are sufficiently covered." he said. "Vetinari knows, of course, but I can now tell him we have learnt lessons and it is unlikely this regrettable business will be repeated. At least, not till this time next year."
He looked around the room.
"Olga? Irena? Just… do not let Nobby anywhere near your armoury or weapon systems again. Thank you. And this Tek who very unwisely gave Nobby full weapons training?"
"Tek Officer Sikorskisson?" Irena asked.
"That's the man. Dwarfs get sea-sick, don't they? And right now you've got a small detachment at sea, a Naval Flight, working off one of the new sorts of ships with the flight-deck bolted on the back?"
"Sir. The pilots on attachment to the Navy required Teks to support them." Olga said. "There is a complement out there."
"Good. Must be time to rotate people. Pull one back to shore duties, and tell Sikkorskisson he's been posted."
Olga grinned.
"Could we send Nobby out there too?" she asked.
"Tempting, but not a chance." Vimes said. "The Navy has some even bigger weapons. I want to punish Nobby, remember? And stay friends with the Navy. I'm not putting Nobby anywhere near those seriously big Barking Dogs. You know, the ones in the rotating turrets. On his current form he'll end up sinking half the Fleet."
He scowled at Nobby.
"Luckily for you, the Duchess of Ankh is prepared to make a big donation to Small Gods." he said. "You know. Noblesse oblige. The nobility, supporting religion. Just coincidentally, it'll sum to whatever it takes to repair the roof. Which should keep Hughnon Ridcully quiet."
Vimes scowled at Nobby.
"This is going to cost me thousands, you article." he said. "And as for that Air Watch broomstick you managed to shoot down last night. I imagine Captain Romanoff is likely to have sharp things to say about being one down on her flying strength."
He shook his head.
"Nobby, you want to be around the Air Watch? It occurs to me you might need to be out of town for a few weeks. I'm posting you to Lancre. You join the Watch detail guarding the Air Station there. Olga tells me they don't keep too much there in the way of serious weaponry. That's hard luck on Stacey Matlock, but it gets you out of the way and a long way from here. Pack a bag with whatever you want to take and report to Inspector Pessimal for a movement order and a rail ticket. Off you go."
Vimes grinned again.
"I'm forced to say these things happen." he said. "No blame. We could have come out looking worse…. What is it, Gertrude?"
"Permission to go to Small Gods with the clean-up squads, sir?" she asked. "It occurs to me that without meaning to, we did a sustained ground-attack on a major target last night, and I really want to follow through how much damage the ground strafing caused… it's an opportunity, sir…"
Vimes shook his head. He regarded the eager-looking Technical Sergeant Schilling, and tried to look severe.
"Granted." he said. "Go and report to Sergeant Littlebottom. Tell her I sent you. And – still here, Nobby? Dismissed. Get to Pessimal, tell him I sent you, and why."
He turned to Irena. This time there was sympathy in his expression.
"Olga tells me that if anybody is involved in a bad crash and walks away from it, she gets offered sort of sick leave, she said. You nearly came down as a flamer last night. That broom you were piloting is unlikely to go up again without a complete rebuild, they tell me. Will seven days do? Sorry it can't be more."
"Thank you, sir." Irena said, seeing the possibilities.
"Got to warn you, the more excitable newspapers are going to interpret that as "suspended from duty after a disciplinary, owing to an error of judgement." he added. "Which is bollocks. You did well in a tight situation. Gods, Sunray, an air crash, and Nobby Nobbs. That's like juggling axes, surgical scalpels and flaming torches. Sooner or later, something drops."
He extended a hand. She took it.
"Gives you a chance to go to this place…. Piss-cough?"
Irena winced. It had been a long eighteen hours.
"Pskov, Mr Vimes."
"That's what I said. Keep Sybil informed, would you? She'd like to know."
"Sir." Irena said.
She smiled. It could have been far worse. And now she had seven days. And this time, not quite to herself.
"Off you go." Olga Romanoff said, kindly. Nadezhda Popova added an encouraging nod. "We can do without you for a week. But whatever you decide to do, keep me informed."
Irena embraced and was kissed by both.
"Great happiness, Red Star." Nadezhda said. "Remember, if you need a friend to talk to, an older sister perhaps, come to me, your Mother Hen."
Irena smiled. The future felt good.
And that's it, subject to revision and adding/subtracting bits. The tale of Irena's romance with Vitali the metalworker will be told soon in Strandpiel 2. Happy Hogswatch!
(1) At this point in the story I know I should be adding more about Vitali, how he and Irena came to meet, how this fits in with the Parting Words given by Natalya the Babayaga before she Went Away (see Strandpiel 2). But while this meeting has been foreshadowed, it hasn't actually been written yet. It will be a situation in which a skilled, experienced and world-cynical Witch in her thirties comes to realise that one significant chunk of human experience has passed her by completely, and this is her first go at it. Irena will recognise, with some discomfort, that her Godsdaughter and seventeen-year old pupil Rebecka Smith-Rhodes has more experience of this sort of thing than she does. The romance of Irena and Vitali, the circumstances of their meeting, the fulfilment of the Babayaga's prophecy, Irena initially fighting it all the way as Mariella did with Horst Lensen, and her realisation that Vitali comes with significant baggage (deliberately not covered here, but there will be two significant pieces of luggage for Irena to deal with) - will come up soon in Strandpiel 2. Patience!
(2) It had taken a full week of acrimonious Synod for the massed priests to decide on this.
(3) It's true to say Witches generally have no use for religion. But they do not want to gratuitously offend or slight the Gods, and Irena was a pilot. Calling back to the scene in The Price of Flight where just before a hazardous mission, Air Watch pilots are explaining about pre-flight rituals and lucky charms, where Irena explains about the significance of the golden religious symbol she always wears. At least up until now, when all bets are off and a very persusasive metalwolrker has offered to fix the clasp for her.
(4) The idea of an external agency with extensive records and files on everybody, and the ability to reward or punish accordingly (for peoples' own good and for the general well-being of the State, of course), would make perfect sense to Rodinians. They knew all about the Kommittee of General Benevolence, for instance. The idea that Somebody comes to the house between midnight and three in the morning to discuss whether you've been good or bad and We Have Been Taking Reports. Rodinians were not surprised this way of looking at things extended to the supernatural realms too.
(5) Born in Ankh-Morpork to parents who were Siberians from the Vortex Plains, Tatiana was still Siberian by parentage. And when a Siberian admits it's getting a little chilly out there... it's cold. Some things are in the blood and the bone. Tatiana is introduced in Strandpiel2 as a little girl with definite Talents. An older witch, Xenia Galena, who is both shamanka/priestess and witch, has already offered to sponsor and train her, possibly as a Little Sister of the Otherworlds.
Notes Dump.
Where unwanted Hogswatch presents go together with their receipts for when the shops open again.
The Christmas edition of QI (Dec 15th 2021) explored the physics of how big a flying elephant's wings would need to be to allow it to get comfortably airborne. It was determined that a typical Air Watch Mumakil would need a wingspan of 60 feet, tip to tip. This is worth incorporating into my Air Watch tales with regard to the Heavies. However, QI did not take feathered (Pegasus) wings into account and assumed scaled-up Dumbo ears (plain flat leather) : feathered wings offer greater lift due to the feathers having an exponentially larger surface area (the fractal effect), so more lift can be achieved in a smaller area. The jury is still out on this.