Strandpiel 5: Konfrontasie
In watter Rebecka haar grond moet hou
How dual nationality works out for one proud user.
Currently embuggered by loads of ideas and very little time to commit to record because of the demands of a new job. LOTS of ideas for continuing old stories ("Many worlds", et c) and barely enough time to sketch them out for retrieval later. Building skeletons, basically. And fleshing them out.
A series of episodes and glimpses into the later life of a new character. Readers do appear to want to find out more about her. I'll try to put them into some sort of order. As time allows.
Right now I have a painful problem with teeth, am on heavy duty painkillers and antibiotics because my bloody dentition is betraying me (upper jaw problem that may require a dental hospital stay, bleeding hooray) and I need to do something to take my mind off it. Hoping this tale has coherence. Kind of floaty now and full of warm fuzzies because of all the medication. But this should not affect my writing too much. The luminous green spider sitting on the desk is telling me it's okay and encouraging me to keep going. Weeble.
The pain is easing and the drugs are working. But without a properly functioning front tooth, at the moment I am doing a very good Igor voice. Without the ability to perform autosurgery and swiftly replathe thothe teeth that need replathing. And big problemth with enunthiating the letterth "v" and "f" whenever they come up in thpoken contherthation. Ah well.
Back to the story.
We are now possibly four or five years after the events described in the tale "Gap Year Adventures". The Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons family home on Spa Lane is playing host to two more family members, who are visiting Ankh-Morpork on vacation from a life elsewhere. These two visitors are welcome guests and Johanna is very pleased to host them and catch up with their lives after graduation from the Assassins' Guild School. Bekki and Famke are also delighted to have them stay.
"My gods, you're heavy." Emma Roydes remarked. Smart the family cat purred contentedly and looked up at her with an expression that said "That isn't my problem. Just try and move me. I'm perfectly happy with being on a warm friendly human lap. You're a human. Your role is to provide a lap. I'm a cat. I sit on laps. That's how it is."
Smart shifted her weight in a deliberate and unhurried way that said she was perfectly happy with the situation, thank you very much. So deal with it.
Emma sighed and decided to deal with it. She quite liked cats. And she quite liked the family cats at Spa Lane. It was just that as cats went, these were built over-scale. Johanna seemed to go for larger than usual family pets. The dogs, for instance. Klipdrift and Rooibuis were pretty much at the top end of the scale for dogs. You didn't get much bigger than Boerboels. If St. Onan dogs, the ones used for mountain rescue in Überwald and Lancre and places like that, could carry a small keg of restorative brandy around their necks to sustain lost travellers, then a typical Boerboel could carry a full vat. And a St. Onan between its jaws.
Acerian Maine Coons were the Boerboel of the domestic cat world. Built big. And they tended to be fairly emphatic in their wishes. If a Maine Coon wanted to sit on your lap – you made room.
"So where to next?" Ponder Stibbons asked the visitors. He'd seen both girls make the long transition from being typical eleven year old girls just starting out at the Guild School into becoming self-assured and confident young adults. It had been just as interesting and educative with Mariella, who'd been the first. And as with Mariella, he felt a sort of easy accepting warmth and almost a fatherly feeling of accomplishment in having helped bring it about. It was, he reflected, something to feel pride and satisfaction in. He'd never asked to be a sort of surrogate father, a responsible adult, to teenage girls. But marriage to Johanna had brought responsibilities like this: she'd been a resident Housemistress at the Guild School, and had taken on next-of-kin and responsible adult duties to younger members of the Family who had become Guild students, with their own parents a long, long, way away. It still amazed him as to how well he'd stepped up to the mark. And it would make him a better father to his own, actual, flesh-and-blood daughters. He hoped.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande grinned happily. She was dressed in the plain green uniform of her Army kommando, as was Emma. Both had neatly styled short hair. That had taken some getting used to: he had been so used to Emma's long red hair and Young Johanna's flowing strawberry-blonde. But Johanna, the older Johanna, had pointed out that one of the rites of passage of compulsory military service, one of the first shocks that really knocked it into you that for two years your body was not your own and it belonged to the Army, involved having it all shorn off, whether you liked it or not. Hair went. They let you start growing it back later, admittedly. But look on the bright side. If they sent you up-Bush, into the green, you were better off without it. Long hair in the jungle was uncomfortable. And you didn't want the weight and the sweaty itch distracting you if you were patrolling the kaplyn, with them a crossbow shot or a short screaming assegai-filled rush away. Visibility was not great in the jungle. An enemy could creep up very close without you being aware of it.
"We're almost up to the two years, now." Young Johanna said, thoughtfully. She absently touched the new rank badge of Captain, black stars inobtrusive against the dark green of her epaulettes. Promotion was fast in the Slew. If you were good enough. Young Johanna, in the opinion of her senior officers, was good. She had the combat and leadership experience to prove it.
Emma, who was still only a Liutnant, nodded.
"At least we got to join up together." she said. "Aunt Mariella had to do it on her own. She did well, too."
Aunt Johanna smiled, feeling pride and satisfaction in the girls. She'd helped educate them and bring them up right. It was a nice warm feeling. Achievement.
"Ja." she said. "It is getting to be a family tradition now. The Guild School. Fort Rapier for recruit induction. And then when General Dreyer heard of you both. He snapped you up and said "I want you.""
"We got the sales pitch." Emma agreed. "It made it worthwhile after all the crap at Rapier."
Emma Roydes, with no great fuss or drama, had approached Pieter van der Graaf at the age of fourteen, after a memorable visit to Howondaland. Born on the Sto Plains and brought up in a farming family near Scrote, and discovering which Family she was distantly a member of, she had made a decision. She had asked the Ambassador how exactly you went about changing your nationality, and emigrating to a new country. Uncle Pieter had heard her out and gently said it couldn't be done officially until you become an adult at age eighteen. But if you're considering it, we can at least start you off. Your parents must know. They have a say too. Until you are eighteen. But we can give you citizenship lessons. Explain the rights and the obligations involved. You must keep up your lessons in Vondalaans. That is good too. And you need citizens in good standing to support your application for citizenship. People prepared to sponsor you and attest you will not be a drain on our nation's resources. To demonstrate you are capable of getting a good job and supporting yourself. You must stay out of trouble and not get a criminal record. And to obtain full citizenship of our land, there is one thing you must do. This is not negotiable…
The Smith-Rhodes family had collectively agreed to sponsor and support Emma's application for citizenship. Johanna had said, gravely, there'd be no turning back now. Uncle Charles was involved. You've heard that when you sign a contract with Astfgl, Lord of Hell, in your own blood, Astfgl will come to claim his price?
Johanna had patted Emma on the shoulder.
"Well, you're a Smith-Rhodes now. And Uncle Charles can make Astfgl look like a kind dotty old maiden aunt. Trust me."
Emma had been sworn in as a citizen on the afternoon of her eighteenth birthday, in a short ceremony at the Embassy. Quite a few Smith-Rhodes family members had been present.
"Congratulations." Uncle Pieter had said. "And happy birthday. Now sign this set of papers…"
Emma took a deep breath, and signed the acceptance form that said that of her own unforced free will, and in full informed understanding of the implications and obligations involved, she was making herself available for two years of compulsory military service in the armed forces of Rimwards Howondaland.
At least she'd got to be called up in the same draft as her friend Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande. They ended up in the same recruit platoon at Fort Rapier. Johanna suspected Uncle Charles had pulled a few strings. She wouldn't be surprised. Emma's nickname in her platoon had been die Poorkie. The Morporkian. But she'd been accepted. And after that, into the Selous Scouts. The Slew. The élite fighting kommando, now an expanded brigade under its commanding officer Hans "Crowbar" Dreyer. As The Crowbar had said when welcoming his two new rookie officers, it was getting to be a postgraduate college for young Smith-Rhodes' who'd been to the Assassins' School. A rite of passage.
And now, after some combat experience, the two years were coming to a close…
Bekki and Famke Smith-Rhodes had been listening intently to their cousins' tales of being in the Army. Famke had been excited, wanting to hear stories about fighting and how it was to take on the enemy hand-to-hand. Johanna had to kindly rein in her younger daughter and ask her to calm down a bit, please. But you can't fault her for enthusiasm…
"It'll be your turn soon enough, kid." Young Johanna had said, kindly. "It'll get round to you soon enough. Don't you worry."
Young Johanna patted the machete she wore at her hip. It was an old comfortable weapon. It had been in the Family for a long time. Older Johanna felt a pang of loss and regret. Oh, she had a new weapon now. Knowing the moment would come, she had been to the best Dwarf swordsmith she could find, explained the situation, and commissioned what would be, as near as damn it, to an exact replica. Dwarfs knew about these things. The importance of continuity, of tradition, of some weapons being family heirlooms that passed down the generations. And the Dwarf had done a magnificent job. Well worth the dollars involved.
But Johanna still missed the sword. The one she'd received, on her own eighteenth birthday, from her Aunt Johanna, her father's sister. Who had received it from her own mother, also called Johanna Smith-Rhodes. In the understanding that one day…
Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande had completed her Final Run and graduated from the Assassins' School. Her aunt, Johanna Famke Smith-Rhodes, had unbuckled her weapons belt, removed the machete and its scabbard, and explained about all the women who had worn this weapon, right back to the original Johanna van der Kaiboetje Smith-Rhodes.
"It's your turn now." she had said. "Don't disgrace the weapon. Make them all proud of you. Including me."
Young Johanna had accepted with grace and solemnity. The machete now hung at her hip.
"And when the day comes, pass it on." she had added. "You will know when and who to."
Two glasses of klipdrift had sealed the ceremony.
And now, Johanna considered her daughters and felt a wince of apprehension. Her daughters were citizens. In a few years, they'd be required to enlist…
She wondered about Bekki, who'd be first. Her oldest daughter was quiet and had the look on her face that said she was thinking deeply about things. Considering. Johanna wondered what sort of two years Bekki would have. She suspected Bekki wasn't a good fit for the military. Famke might do better when her time came. We'll deal with that when the day arrives. One step at a time…
"I could sign on again for regular service." Young Johanna said. "Rolling three-year contracts. Uncle Pieter said, when I saw him last, that Emma and I would be a really good fit for the Diplomatic Service. You know. Military attachés somewhere. He thought Emma would be ideal for an embassy on the Central Continent. Dual nationality and everything. A foot on both continents. A Strandpiel. With Assassin training."
"He explained about it." Emma said, brightly. "The accepted stuff. You command the security detachment at an Embassy. Assassin training means you know what to do and what to look out for. You get to do the stuff that's out in the open. You know, work with the armed forces of the host country. And the other things…"
"Where Assassin training is also useful." Young Johanna said. "Where it gets interesting."
"And dangerous." Old Johanna remarked. "No doubt Uncle Charles would have an opinion to express."
"He's an interesting man." Emma remarked. "Did I tell you we spent a leave as his guests at Jacarinthia House?"
"No." Old Johanna said. "But I would not be in the least bit surprised. What offers did he make about careers after you leave the Army?"
Bekki went to bed that night feeling worried and apprehensive. She'd really loved meeting Emma and Johanna again. Part of her life, something she'd found hard to deal with, was making deep attachments to people she'd loved and felt close to who'd been there for years. And then they moved on and suddenly they weren't there any more. Auntie Mariella, for instance, who'd been close and loving and kind and, well, all an auntie should be, all you could ask for in an auntie. And Rivka, who it had carefully been explained to her wasn't an auntie as such, but like a sort of big sister, who'd been really pretty and really close and really funny and who she really loved and who had loved Bekki in return. Then suddenly they were gone, went away to tour Howondaland, Mummy had explained. Letters and pretty things had arrived, but it hadn't been the same. The older dogs had died about then, as well, Kaffee and Crème.
Emma and Johanna, her cousins, had filled the Mariella and Rivka gap in her life and they had pretty much the same sort of friendship. And then they'd finished at the School where Mummy taught, and they'd gone to Howondaland too. There'd been some sort of ceremony where Mummy took the sword off she wore at her belt – Bekki couldn't remember a time when Mummy hadn't worn that sword – and given it to Johanna. Daddy had been there too, and Godsfather Julian. Bekki had sensed something else in the air that evening. Daddy had been quiet and very respectful. Bekki had asked him about that odd taste in her mouth that had happened during the ceremony where Mummy had given the sword to Cousin Johanna. Like… Bekki struggled for words to describe it. Like some sort of tingling metal on your tongue, Daddy. Sharp and sour, like lemon juice but not as tasty.
Her father had hugged her shoulders.
"Me too." he said. "But I bet we're the only people tasting tin."
Bekki had even asked her sister. Famke had made a face.
"Tasting metal in your mouth? You get some really silly ideas, Bekki!"
Her father had smiled tolerantly.
"Some things attract magic. Like static electricity. They aren't magic in themselves but it's like when you put a jumper on in a dry room in the dark. Sometimes you see a blue spark in the air."
"Only…" Bekki groped for words. "The sparks weren't blue, Daddy. It's the… other colour. When you see a rainbow and you know there are eight colours there, but when I said that at school, people thought I was being daft or I couldn't count, as everybody knows there are only seven colours in a rainbow."
Bekki closed her eyes against the memory of other people's derisive scorn. Her father, who'd been there himself and knew what it felt like, took her hand.
"But I know there are eight colours!" she said.
Ponder smiled at her.
"So do I, sweetheart." he said. "Your mum and your sister and most people at school will only ever see seven, though. That eighth colour does have a name. It's called the octarine. We're privileged. We get to see it. Our secret."
Bekki pondered the octarine, and what it meant, as she went to sleep.
And then when she awoke she was standing, barefoot in her nightie, on a beach of black sand, with no clear ideas as to how she'd got there. The sky above was black too, with strange stars in it. A cold wind sighed and soughed and she shivered a little.
It did not feel like a nice place. Not at all.
REBECKA. REBECKA MONIKA IRENA SMITH-RHODES-STIBBONS.
Bekki turned, cautiously. She considered the tall shrouded figure who had used her full name.
"Oh." she said. "It's you."
DO YOU KNOW, REBECKA? I'M MORE USED TO WITCHES WHO ARE A LOT OLDER THAN YOU RESPONDING TO MY PRESENCE WITH THAT SORT OF ATTITUDE.
"That sort of attitude?" Bekki asked.
A MATTER-OF-FACT ACCEPTANCE VERGING ON SLIGHTLY SCORRNFUL DISMISSAL. Death said. AS IF MY TURNING UP IS NO BIG THING, WITH OVERTONES OF "YE GODS, WHAT DOES HE WANT NOW?"
Bekki shrugged.
"I saw you when you turned up to claim Kaffee." she said. "I got really upset with you."
I WAS AWARE THERE WAS NO COMFORT I COULD OFFER YOU, AND I WISHED TO GET THE WHOLE THING OVER AS QUICKLY AS I DECENTLY COULD. Death remarked. WHEN YOU CAME AT ME PUNCHING AND KICKING AND SCREAMING. THOSE KICKS ON THE SHINS REALLY HURT, BY THE WAY.
Bekki felt a hot flush of shame and guilt. Godsmother Irena had been there and had grabbed Bekki round the waist and physically hauled her away. Mummy, who had been kneeling next to the dying family dog and who had started weeping, had seemed perplexed to see her daughter screaming and crying and kicking out at an apparently empty space. Daddy had apologised into apparently thin air. Then Daddy and Godsmother Irena had explained it to her later. At length. Bekki realised that Death had just been there to collect Kaffee's soul. Not to actually kill a beloved family pet and certainly not to gloat about it. Just to do a necessary job. He didn't deserve a distraught little girl repeatedly kicking him hard and painfully on the shins.
She hung her head in red-flushed shame.
"Sorry." she said, meaning it. There was a sense of the working relationship having thawed.
I SUSPECT WE ARE GOING TO SEE EACH OTHER A LOT, REBECKA. I TOO AM SORRY OUR FIRST MEETING WAS NOT IN THE MOST IDEAL OF CIRCUMSTANCES. BUT YOUR APOLOGY IS ACCEPTED. WE SHOULD HAVE A FRIENDLY PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIP, I THINK. AND START AGAIN.
She took the offered bony hand. It felt okay, not unpleasant.
"Mr Death?" Bekki asked. "Where is this place and why am I here?"
THIS IS A PLACE THAT STANDS OUTSIDE THE DISCWORLD. IT IS KNOWN AS THE DUNGEON DIMENSIONS, A VARIATION OF THIS PLACE IS SIMPLY "THE DESERT". I WILL NOT HIDE IT FROM YOU THAT THERE IS PERIL HERE AND I AM HERE TO COLLECT SOMEBODY. I AM ALLOWED TO TELL YOU THAT THIS IS A PLACE ALL MAGIC USERS MUST VISIT ONCE. IF YOU SUCCEED IN WHAT IS TO BE DONE HERE, YOU WILL RETURN.
Bekki considered this.
"And if I don't succeed?"
Death paused before replying.
ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH THE CONCEPT OF WHAT YOUR MOTHER AND HER WORKING COLLEAGUES DESCRIBE AS "THE FINAL RUN"?
"Yes, but I'm not even ten! That happens to people when they're eighteen!"
THAT HAPPENS TO ASSASSINS WHEN THEY ARE EIGHTEEN. Death corrected her. YOU ARE A MAGIC-USER. THIS HAPPENS TO MAGIC-USERS WHEN IT HAPPENS. KEEP YOUR HEAD, AND USE YOUR WITCH-SENSE. YOU HAVE IT, OR YOU WOULD NOT BE HERE AT ALL.
"What do you have to do now?" Bekki asked Death.
OBSERVE. AND WAIT. THE PEOPLE YOU WILL SOON ENCOUNTER, BY THE WAY, ARE PEOPLE I HAVE NO TIME FOR WHATSOEVER. I DO HAVE TIME FOR YOU. AND YOUR FATHER IS SOMETHING OF AN ACQUAINTANCE.
B ekki got the feeling Death was on her side, somehow, and didn't hold any ill-will over the shin-kicking business.
AND I SUSPECT YOUR MOTHER WOULD GET A TRIFLE ANNOYED WITH ME IF ANY HARM BEFELL YOU HERE. THAT IS A CONSIDERATION TOO. GOOD LUCK, AND THINK LIKE A WITCH. THAT SHOULD NOT BE TOO DIFFICULT FOR YOU.
Then Death was seemingly not there any more. Bekki took a deep breath. She reached up for the amulet that had been bestowed on her at her Naming. Oupa Mustrum had said it was help and protection. Then realised she'd taken it off before going to bed. It was on her bedside cabinet. Poot.
And then, they were there. As if they'd always been there, but had chosen that moment to appear. And Bekki knew them. She'd seen things like that before, on the margins of her bad dreams. As if they came from somewhere outside her dreams, and were watching to see what she would do and which way she'd go.
But tonight, they were centre-stage. Surrounding her. At a distance, but still surrounding her. Feeling her. Sensing her. Bekki thought they were creepy. Like that man Mr Verkramp. He'd been a guest at dinner every so often. Bekki had found this hard to understand. Mr Verkramp was a creep. He made her shudder. She could tell Mummy and Daddy didn't want him there. The servants, nice sweet Blessing and funny laughing Eve, even the usually solid Claude, all treated him with wary respect. Blessing seemed frightened of him. Eve had whispered to her later that Dorothea the cook had spat in his soup. Mummy treated him with absolute formal politeness. And had said later "you will find out that sometimes you don't have any choice, Bekki."
Verkramp would have been at home among these things. And not the prettiest of them, either. Bekki made herself stand her ground and hold the line. Staan jou maan. Vorbei. Staan jou Dinge.
She considered them. They didn't look nice. But they looked sort of absurd, really. It wasn't what they looked like. As if they were trying far too hard to look scary and had gone past that. Into silliness. It was the atmosphere around them that was scary. That had the power to hurt.
~~Rebecka. Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons. Come to us. You have power. We can give you power.
"I don't want power." Bekki found herself saying.
~~Daughter of an Assassin. With her mother's blood in her. Daughter of a Wizard. With her father's magic in her. We can use your strength.
"You will not have my strength." Bekki found herself saying. "That's mine."
~~You can be our doorway into the world. The one who leads us into the world of light and magic.
~magic… magic… magic… came the susurrating whisper of a thousand voices. Bekki sensed the want and the need and a desire.
~~We will reward you. Bekki.
She felt angry suddenly. Only people she liked got to call her Bekki. These things had no right to. Verkramp had tried to presume familiarity and to call her Bekki. That had really incensed her. The memory surfaced and the anger she'd felt against the creepy little man coalesced into a useful white-hot ball. She kept this safe for when she would need to use it. She also realised, the realisation coming up from some deeper level, that giving in would be an incredibly unwise thing to do. If these things got into the world, people she loved would get hurt. It was down to her to keep them safe. And at this very moment, only she could keep them safe. By fighting and resisting. The old song started to make sense. The one Mummy and the older members of her family sang as a hymn.
Hou jou lyn, en staan jou man -
Dis hier waar ons hul kan keer!
Bekki heard the next line in her head.
Staan vas! Staan vas, Hovondalaand!
She stood fast. And held her line.
"No." she said, simply. "Shan't."
Bekki crossed her arms. She felt Them beginning to probe her mind. She sought to hold her line here too and discovered she could force Them out. With an effort. But this, she realised, was only defending. She needed to attack. And she wasn't sure how to do it.
And then a woman's voice was calling urgently to her.
"Rebecka! Liewe hecksie! Neem hierdie! Jy het 'n swaard nodig!"
Her right arm sagged at the sudden weight in her hand. And then it was there. An adult-sized machete. Black-enamelled. She looked round at the woman who had urged her, the Little Witch, to take the sword she really needed…
And at 18 Spa Lane, a woman's scream ripped the night.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande awoke instantly and leapt out of bed. In the shared bedroom, Emma Roydes also sat upright, blinking a couple of times, then rolling out of bed and grabbing for her weapons. Emma heard Johanna swear in surprise and disbelief, but ran for the door, drawing her sword on the way. She didn't stop to put footwear on.
"She's gone!" she heard the woman scream out, distraught. "Rebecka! She isn't here!"
It was Annaliese, the childrens' nurse. But her screams were raising the household. Johanna and Ponder appeared, as did Claude the butler and several house-goblins.
Older Johanna was soothing Annaliese and encouraging her to take deep calming breaths. Ponder had gone to check the bedroom. He came back, looking shaken.
"Bekki's not here." he reported. "She's gone."
"That's not the only thing." Young Johanna reported. "My machete's gone. My scabbard's empty."
Bekki looked at the woman – women – who had appeared. There was substance to them, yes. But in some other sort of a way they weren't here, either. Here but not here. She felt something that connected her to the newcomers. She felt warmth, a link, love. And they all looked familiar, somehow, like sisters…
"Not quite sisters." said the one who appeared to be spokeswoman for all. She was speaking in Vondalaans, what Bekki thought of the family's indoors language. Morporkian was the one for outdoors and for visitors.
"Who are you?" Bekki asked. Although a little voice inside was saying "You know who they are."
The spokeswoman looked about the same age as Ouma Agnetha and had the same sort of grey hair, with a shimmering hint that it had once been a lush red. She was dressed in veldt-style, tunic and trousers with long knee-boots. And she stepped forward, exuding a very familiar aura of confidence and poise.
"I am Johanna van der Kaiboetje. I married a man called Charles Smith-Rhodes. We started a family. This is my daughter Johanna Cornelia van der Merwe Smith-Rhodes."
A second woman, younger and redder of hair, stepped forwards. Her face was pretty, but marred by several long scars. She smiled at Bekki.
Bekki felt the machete in her hand lifting upwards. Suddenly the weight of it was less. And the long hours spent in swords practice, the swords practice she dutifully persisted in to please Mummy and Godsmother Alice, the swords practice she thought she had no real feel for, began to make sense…
"In this place, the sword is yours. You need it, and here you have a right to use it. The right of family. We all carried it in our times. Our right arms are yours, liewe hecksie!" said the woman called Johanna Cornelia van der Merwe Smith-Rhodes.
One of the Things, all tentacles and miscellaneous limbs, laughed.
~~Woman, you are here by magic. Thank you. We can claim and use that magic. You make us strong!
The older woman with very faded ginger hair shook her head and smiled slightly.
"Magic is here, I grant you. But if you are not a Smith-Rhodes, it's not a magic you can use. Two things link us together and make the magic. The first is our shared blood. The second is the sword in Rebecka's hand. We all carried that in our times. I can no longer wield that as I'm dead. I don't have a body any more to do the wielding. But we can lend what we can to Rebecka. We're lending her the Sword, for instance."
The four women stepped forwards.
Johanna van der Kaiboetje, the first Johanna Smith-Rhodes, rested an insubstantial right hand on her great-great grand-daughter's shoulder. Bekki felt fire and resolution filling her.
"Face your front, liewe hecksie." she said. "now remember what your mother taught you. And give them hell. Pyn en smart!"
Bekki stepped forwards. Things fought to flee out of her way as the family machete started swinging. Bekki sensed the four women falling into step with her…
"So Bekki's disappeared." her mother said. "And, by the looks of it, she managed to get into a room where two very good trained Assassins, with jungle combat experience, are sleeping. Then steals a sword belonging to one of them. Without anyone noticing. And then she disappears into the night."
Johanna looked at Ponder.
"It doesn't add up, Ponder!"
Search parties had been sent out. The neighbours had been alerted.
"Is she prone to sleepwalking?" Emma Roydes asked.
Johanna shook her head.
"This would be the first time." she said. "And she's never been that interested in weapons, either. This is completely out of character for her."
Ponder Stibbons closed his eyes and let his chin droop.
"Ponder, this is a hell of a time to nod off…oh…"
Young Johanna nudged Emma with her elbow. Emma suddenly realised.
Ponder Stibbons realised, as he drifted to his insubstantial feet and felt the black sand, exactly what was going on. And he realised with a shock of horror that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do to intervene. He'd asked to be taken to where his daughter was, after all. And the magic had obliged. He'd reasoned that by going out of body he could locate her quickly and then return to direct a search party if this was needed. But out here, she was beyond the reach of any search party. And an unwritten rule applied. This was something every magic user had to face alone. Nobody could help. Not even an anxious father.
Yet… Bekki appeared to have help. Moral support, anyway. He wondered about the four women who were advancing behind her as she hacked through the Dungeon Dimension Things. They weren't actively helping, but they weren't hostile either. Far from it. And Bekki… It was like watching a scaled-down version of Johanna. The machete was being handled with deadly precision. As if it wasn't the training Bekki was receiving – as if somebody else's long experience at swinging a sword was being transmitted through her. Johanna and Emmanuelle had agreed that she was conscientious about her swords training and couldn't be faulted for that, but at best, Emmanuelle would only rate her as "competent".
"Her heart is not in it, chere amie." Emmanuelle had said. "She does it to please us, I think, and because my son is there to encourage her. They think of each other fondly, as brother and sister, and like to do things together."
But here she was, fighting like a demon, like her mother would fight. Ponder realised his worries had faded and he was cheering his daughter on. He also realised this solved the mystery of the stolen sword. But how had it got here?
One of the semi-substantial women turned to him and smiled, nodding her recognition. He nodded back, noting how familiar she seemed. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing here. Manifestations, yes. But what of? And the four women he was looking at were alike, and at the same time different. And they all had something of Johanna about them…
And the last of the Things were fleeing into the distance.
Defeated again. They try the same thing every time. And every time they get beaten back. Have they no ability to recognise a pattern and change a losing strategy?
Bekki, the sword drooping in her hand, stood panting for breath on the black sand. The four women crowded around her. Ponder allowed his insubstantial essence to drift down to her side, trying to find a gap to enter the circle. One of the women nudged another.
"Who's this?"
"Ag. It's only the father."
"Daddy!" Bekki said. "Have you met my great-great ouma Johanna Smith-Rhodes? And this is my great-ouma Johanna. And my great-great aunt Johanna. And my great-aunt Johanna."
Ponder mumbled variations on a theme of "Delighted" and "Pleased to meet you."
The youngest – well, the most temporally recent – Johanna Smith-Rhodes smiled at him.
"Tell Johanna – your Johanna – that I'm sorry I didn't have as much time as I would have liked to get to know her while I was alive. At least I got to hand the Sword to her before I died. She'll remember. I didn't know at the time I was going to be dead inside a year. I just knew I had to take Johanna Famke down to the River and hand the Sword over. Ask her. She'll remember. She was only just nineteen, as I recall. Just before they packed her off to Ankh-Morpork, and I never saw her again."
"You knew her?" Ponder asked. The woman smiled, insubstantially.
"Saw her growing up. Tell her I've seen some of the things she's done. And I'm proud of her."
"And of this little one." said the oldest Johanna. "Our liewe hecksie."
"We will need to go soon." said the Johanna with the scarred face. "The need that called us here is over. But before we go, liewe hecksie…"
Bekki blinked as she woke up in her bed. She wondered about a very odd dream. Then realised she was still holding what had been her mother's sword and which now belonged to her cousin Johanna. She held it with a quiet reverence, knowing it had briefly been hers on loan when she really, really, needed a sword. And her arm and shoulders and back ached. An amused and kindly voice in her head said, Of course your arm and shoulders will ache. I ached for days after the battle at Blood River.
Bekki felt the gritty sand between her toes. Somehow it had got into the bed. Then she realised the house was up and lights were on. She got out of bed and went to find her cousin to give the sword back…
Mummy looked at her sternly. She was flanked by Cousin Johanna and Emma.
"Rebecka, did you take Johanna's machete without permission?" her mother asked.
Bekki looked her in the eye.
"Yes, I believe I did." she said. "Without Johanna's permission, anyway. I'm not certain how, mummy. But I believe permission was granted."
Her mother frowned.
"You're not making any sense, Bekki."
Her father intervened.
"Johanna, I think I know what happened…" he said.
A little later, Johanna said "Show me." They trooped into Bekki's room. And inspected the gritty sand in the bed. It was mainly black. But there was red in it too.
Bekki remembered the parting words of Johanna van der Kaiboetje Smith-Rhodes, the founder of the family line. That Johanna had bade her stoop down and pick up a handful of the black sand from under her feet. To Bekki's surprise, in her hand it became a mixture of two soils, ceasing to be black sand.
"Are you surprised, liewe hecksie?" she had asked, as she and her daughters faded out of the scene. "This is your earth under your feet. Half the black loam of Ankh-Morpork. Half the red of our veldt. You will draw strength from both. Wherever you go."
Bekki had lifted it.
Dis, my grond, hier in my vuis.
"Shall we leave for home now?" Ponder had asked. He took his daughter's hand. Here, it felt perfectly warm and solid.
Johanna conceded that her daughter's nocturnal adventure had been a magic-user thing. And both her daughter and the missing sword had come back. So no harm done. This was for Ponder to deal with. His area of expertise.
"But she must have imagined the thing with all those dead people. Our ancestors. Dead people don't come back, do they, Ponder?"
"Well… zombies. Windle Poons. Reg Shoe. But I met them too, Johanna."
"Your aunt Johanna, mummy. The one who knew you." Bekki said. The very last time you saw her, she gave you the machete-sword on the riverbank. The sword you gave on to Johanna. She said she died not long afterwards."
"Yes. I remember." her mother said. She looked sad and distant for a moment.
"And she also had a message for oupa Barbarossa. Tell my brother I still think he's a hulking great lout with a loud voice and no table manners, she said. And I bet the great bliksem still farts loudly in public."
Bekki's mother heard this, then a grin crossed her face and she started laughing.
"This once, I forgive you for swearing. That was my aunt speaking!"
Johanna asked about the other women Bekki had met. She frowned on hearing about the woman with the scars and asked Bekki to describe them and indicate how they ran on the woman's face. Then came back with an old engraving she kept in an album somewhere.
"That's her, mummy." Bekki confirmed.
"Johanna Cornelia van der Merwe Smith-Rhodes." her mother said. "My great-grandmother. She took eighteen hits from Zulus with assegais. Including several to the face. But she was still standing at the end of her battle."
Still later, she asked Ponder what the mechanism was. Her husband was forthright and unhesitant, for once.
"The sword. So far that machete has passed through the hands of six women who are, or were, all called Johanna Smith-Rhodes. Blood relatives. Handed down the line as a family heirloom. Can you be surprised there's something of all of them in there? Get somebody with magical ability who triggers whatever's stored in there. Somebody like Bekki. Who had both the need and the ability to trigger it. Maybe what she triggered was just the stored memories and emotions of the former owners. Like a recording of some sort."
Ponder was on fire now. And flying.
"Dwarf devices, the ones that record sound, are made of complex combinations of metals. And we just don't know what else they can record. A sword is a complex blend of metals. This ine is over a century old and it's been charged with high emotions on a lot of battlefields. They also say a sword takes something of the energy of anyone it kills or wounds. How many people, do you think? Over a century and six owners? You never know, Johanna. All this stuff could have been building up slowly for over a century. But up until now, there's never been a member of the Smith-Rhodes family with magical talent. so it's all been latent. Till now."
Both of them contemplated this.
"But why wasn't a version of me there out there too? I mean. this was my daughter." Johanna asked. Uneasily, she thought Because I'm still alive…
"Or maybe it really was the ghosts of the women of your family line. Who came back when they were needed. Who knows? And you're in there too. Lots of you." Ponder grinned. "That's magic, or something very like it. And because it's a magic only members of the Smith-Rhodes family can tap into – especially now they have their first magic-user - it was utterly useless to the Dungeon Dimension Things. And Bekki's over that particular hump, now. They won't bother her again now she's faced them down and fought them off. And you'd have been proud of the way she fought, by the way. She reminded me of you."
Johanna smiled and after a while she and Ponder drifted off to sleep. The house settled down after the upset of the night, and peace resumed.
Notes Dump:
Somewhere in a sea roughly halfway between two continents, the one of the tale being currently written and the semi-glimpsed one of future tales yet to be committed to paper, where isolated ideas are given lifebelts and a signal rocket against being rescued in future. Did I mention I am reading Nelson Mandela's biography "Long Walk To Freedom" and gathering information on what life was like for the other half of South Africa? Useful background for when I come to write Black Howondaland. (aware of a valid criticism – that I'm dealing only with the White African experience and only occasionally touching on reality as experienced by other Africans, and falling into a sort of apartheid mentality by default – treating black African experience as invisible.)