Strandpiel 8: die Boerekryger
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. Still, taking sick leave has some advantages… pain and discomfort are a bugger but at least I can do this.
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. Trying to keep everything in roughly chronological and sequential order with lots of call-backs and flashbacks to related tales.
We closed the last chapter on Bekki Smith-Rhodes Stibbons taking her first formal steps into witchcraft and learning how she too can fight back against the oppressive hand of a secret police force. We are now a year or so further on.
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
Bekki had put her foot down about the idea of being sent to the Quirm Academy For Young Ladies as a boarder. She wasn't usually one to defy her parents. But looking her mother full in the eye and saying "No" had been a huge, huge, effort.
Her father had winced. Even her sister Famke had fallen silent and was intently watching to see what happened next. Her sister Ruth, dear shy quiet little Ruth, had whimpered and ran to Annaliese for comfort. Even the cats had scarpered.
Johanna Famke Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons glared at her oldest daughter. She did not seem pleased. At all.
"No." Johanna said, curtly. "Explain."
Then her mother unbent. Slightly.
"You're still upset that you can't go to the Assassins' School, aren't you?" she asked, in a more conciliatory – well, a less confrontational – voice.
Bekki sighed. She couldn't deny that. It was true. Anywhere else seemed like a lesser deal, after spending so long anticipating and looking forward to the Guild School, and the thrilling experience it promised.
"Listen, Rebecka. I do not want a battle of wills with you." Johanna said. "I would win, naturally. But you'd end up hating and resenting me for a long time afterwards. I do not wish that. So tell me exactly why you do not wish to be educated in Quirm. I will listen."
Ponder Stibbons relaxed. It wasn't going to be a Klatchian stand-off after all. The idea of his wife locking horns with equally strong-willed and stubborn daughters was something he dreaded. Especially with those difficult teenage years looming ahead. More battle-experienced fathers had warned him about teenage girls. In the opinion of a fellow father, the moment they turn eleven, pack them off to a boarding school, pronto, so all the teenage sulks and tantrums happen somewhere else and the potential for fights with their mothers is minimised. It's the only way, Ponder.
"I went to a boarding school myself." Johanna said. "As did my two sisters. Well, your Aunt Agnetha attended the same school as me, at least. Later, your Aunt Mariella went to the… she went elsewhere. Anyway. It was necessary. A population widely scattered over a large area. The children had to be sent away to school. Your grandparents wanted us away from the border area as things were unstable. There had been Zulu attacks. So we were sent inland."
Johanna smiled slightly.
"As it happened, I very nearly hated it." she said, frankly. "So do not assume I am being unfeeling and cold here. I may understand you better than you realise."
"Tell me about your school, mum." Bekki said, relieved that the fight was ceasing to be a fight and they were actually talking to each other. She dreaded the alternative.
Johanna smiled slightly and described the Hendricka van Zyl Academy For Young Boer Ladies. Bekki thought it sounded like everything dreadful she'd heard about the Quirm Academy and the dotty old ladies who ran it. Only with a Vondalaans accent.
"I was the frightening hard case from the border country." her mother said, drily. "The one who had already fought the Zulus at the age of eleven. I had a reputation. I was not troubled by bullies. I also took the part of a girl who was being bullied. Meaner girls could not stand that she was so blonde and very, very, pretty. After I intervened, she was also not troubled again by bullies. Katerina became my friend. I liked her. I still do. She kept telling me I was too angry, and I should learn to laugh more and be less hostile."
"Mum. Are we talking here about Lady Katerina? The wife of the new Ambassador?"
"Ja. The same one."
Her mother smiled.
"Uncle Pieter deserves his retirement. As does Aunt Friejda. It was pleasant to hear the new Ambassador is married to an old friend of mine. This makes things interesting, and means we can maintain a close association with the Embassy."
Johanna smiled again.
"The Hendricka van Zyl was by no means a bad school." she said. "I just found it difficult to adjust. To accept the restrictions. Perhaps you feel the same way about Quirm?"
"I realised I don't want to board, mum." Bekki said, frankly. "I don't want to be away from the family. You. Dad. Ruth. Annaliese. Even Famke."
Her mother nodded, understanding. She took her daughter's hand.
"And besides, mum, send me away to a boarding school and I'll keep running away. Coming back. You'd have to send me in chains."
This time Johanna laughed.
"Alright!" she said. "But you still have to go somewhere, Rebecka."
Ponder Stibbons made a suggestion.
"Would your old school in Howondaland take her, Johanna? She'd be hard put to run back home from a few thousand miles and an ocean away. And she'd have her family over there to go to, in the holidays."
"Dad!" Bekki protested. It sounded awful.
"That is not a bad idea, Ponder. Thank you." Johanna said. She looked as if she were considering the idea. Seriously considering it. Bekki felt cold inside. It wasn't as if she didn't like her family in Howondaland. Even loved them. But it still felt like exile.
"After all, the family keep sending people here, and expecting I should automatically take them in, and look after them." she mused. "Three or four so far. It's time they should take somebody I send to them. Just as uncomplainingly, and to be just as prepared to foot all the bills. The idea has merit."
Bekki found herself thinking quickly.
"Mum. Dad. Wouldn't that mean I'd have to give up learning how to be a witch?" she asked, summoning up a last-ditch argument. "There'd be nobody there to teach me."
This was agreed to be a consideration.
Then Johanna appeared to have a very good idea. As if it had just occurred to her.
"I know. You carry on living here. But you go to the upper school at Seven-Handed Sek's. Simply stay where you are. In this way you get an education, you carry on living at home, and you may carry on your informal learning with Irena and Mrs Proust and the others. To keep your options open. Is this acceptable? Good. we are decided."
Bekki felt relief. It could have been so much worse.
And privately later, Johanna and Ponder embraced and kissed. She complimented her husband on having, under the pretence of being helpful, suggested an alternative that Bekki had found so horrible that she'd accepted the solution offered, without further argument.
"Well, you know, Johanna. What the Watch calls good cop, bad cop. It works more often than you think." he said modestly.
"A parenting skill." his wife agreed.
And life carried on. Bekki and her friends donned their respective school uniforms every day and went to their assigned schools. Bekki and her friend Davvie travelled into the city together. They agreed how exactly alike their respective uniforms were. The silly, silly, indescribably naff blonkett hat, which they suspected was there out of a sadistic desire to make the wearer look like an utter pranny. The baggy blouse they were expected to grow into. The shapeless gymslip skirt with its pinafore front, a pleated dress skirt ending approximately in the region of the ankles. It was the same cut and style, except that Davvie's school blouse was black and Bekki's was white. The blonkett hat was black for Assassins, raspberry-red for Sek's. As Davvie remarked, it didn't go well at all with red hair and made Bekki look like an exotic ice-cream.
And both were envious of Assassin schoolboys, whose clothing, even at eleven or twelve, was exquisitely cut and tailored. Emmanuel-Martin de Lapoignard, a boarder, looked incredibly good in his uniform.
"It's as if they want to rub it in." Davvie said. "You girls are only here on sufferance, so you might as well be wearing old potato sacks."
Bekki agreed.
"Mum says there's a point of view that says it's not natural for girls to have any sort of education at all." she remarked. "But she thinks that's a lot of poepiekack."
"Poppycock?" Davvie said. "That's a mild word, for your mum."
Bekki grinned.
"Not in Vondalaans. Or in Kerrigian. You know when you get the runs and things get unpleasant in the toilet department? That's poepiekack."
Davvie considered this.
"Yuk." she said.
"Yuk indeed. Like the time we got Parsifal Venturi after he'd been behaving like a little horror. Again. Remember?"
Davvie grinned. That had been her idea. Bekki had helped.
"Parsifal's a first year student with us. Worse luck. They've put him in Mrs Beddowes' house. Where Manni is?"
"Oh. Bad luck for Manni. Still, he'll manage. How's Mum as a teacher?"
Davvie pulled a face.
"Strict. But fair. Nobody messes around in Doctor Smith-Rhodes' classes. You see a different side to them when you see them as your teachers. Even my mum."
Bekki made understanding noises. Nuns didn't have children, as a rule. It was, for nuns, a pretty basic Rule. So there was no danger of kids in her school ending up with their mother as a teacher. Well. You had Mother. Who was the Headmistress, and sort of everybody's mother and nobody's. But that was different.
Bekki and Davvie parted company at Filigree Street. There were still a couple of stops on the omnibus before Bekki got to Seven-Handed Sek's. She sympathised with Davvie for having to live in close association with the abominable Parsifal Venturi. And Manni, who had to share an actual dorm with him. At least her school was girls-only. She thought back a few years…
Bekki, aged around eight, knew they were in trouble when she and Davvie were brought into the room where their respective parents were waiting. Mum and Davvie's mum looked like judges presiding over a death sentence. Their fathers stood off to one side. Bekki reflected that Davvie's daddy ran a prison and was used to dealing with criminals. He was still in his prison officer's uniform and looked as if he'd be happy to lead them both off to a cell once judgement was pronounced. It wasn't a comforting thought.
Mum and Mrs Bellamy shared a look and a nod.
Bekki noted that Davinia Bellamy, normally the most cuddly, warm and mumsy person she knew, looked anything but, right at that moment. In fact, she seemed utterly frightening. And her own mother was tight-lipped and, she noted, angry. Fuming, in fact. That was not comfortable. At all. And Davinia Bellamy was being silent. Appraising them.
"I'm not going to mess around." Davinia said, eventually. "I've got, in fact, a pretty good idea what happened. So right now, I'd really appreciate it if you both, in your own words, explained exactly what happened with Parsifal Venturi. Let me tell you right now that his parents are very angry and weren't shy about explaining to us about how angry they are. So in the interests of sharing it about a bit, we're now talking to you. So who'd like to begin? Davinia?"
Bekki's mother nodded, emphatically, and glared at them.
Davvie cleared her throat nervously, and began…
Parsifal had been his usual self. In fact, a loud, braying, obnoxious, son of the nobility. Neither Davvie nor Bekki liked him very much. They'd been playing out on the Tump and their group had run into Parsifal's group, who'd tried to take things over in their usual obnoxious aristocratic way.
Bekki and Davvie had been out a lot with Davvie's mother, who had been passing on her knowledge of plants and green growing things to the girls. Bekki had learnt a lot about plants, that they weren't just green things with one end in the ground and the other end in the sky. It would be useful knowledge to a burgeoning Witch, in fact. Davvie had learnt quickly too, including her mother's warnings about "don't touch that one!" and helpful, very detailed, descriptions as to what exactly That One did and why you didn't go anywhere near it. This had involved learning that there were far worse things out there than nettles. Davvie's mother taught a rather specialised and Assassin-relevant version of botany at the Guild School.
After enduring Parsifal's braying and self-unaware company for an hour, the girls had nodded meaningfully at each other.
Then Davvie had deliberately thrown her ball into a certain patch of growing green stuff, and pretended to make ineffectual attempts to get it out again. She had very carefully avoided touching any of the green.
"I'd love it if you got my ball back for me, Parsifal.." she had pleaded, appealing to his vanity. Bekki had watched as Parsifal, loudly proclaiming how useless girls were, had waded into the green, heedless of scratches, to retrieve the ball for her. Davvie had thanked and praised him and he had basked in warm glowing smugness. He had not noticed her carefully wiping the ball clean on a fold of her dress.
And, half an hour later, the symptoms had set in…
"Croton oil poisoning." Davinia had said. "The sap of the croton plant. No permanent effects, no long-term damage, but externally it causes a horrible, disfiguring, painful skin rash. And taken internally, it is a very powerful emetic. Which acts very quickly."
She looked disapprovingly at the two girls over the top of her glasses.
"I seem to remember I pointed this out to both of you when I took you on a walk the other week. Well, at least you learn quickly. You know what a clump of croton oil plants looks like. That much is obvious."
"Lord Venturi is pretty annoyed." Bekki's mother pointed out. "And he isn't completely stupid. He knows whose daughters you are. And let me tell you. He is hopping mad."
And Bekki suddenly sensed that both their mothers were being as stern as they could be, to cover up the fact that they really wanted to burst out laughing.
"Peter?" Davvie's mother invited him. Peter Bellamy, her father, stepped forward.
"I've been talking about this with your mothers." he said. "We think it's time for a Take Your Daughters To Work Day…"
The Tanty Prison was a grim, grey, frightening place. Bekki realised prisons are not meant to be nice. Not at all. But still…
Davvie was quiet. She knew her daddy worked here. Was quite high up in the place, in fact. But she'd never actually been inside it. And it was scary.
Mr Bellamy led them through the stark intimidating corridors of the prison. Other people, prison officers, and convicts wearing red armbands, greeted him respectfully. A lot of them seemed to be aware of a secret the girls were not aware of.
"New inmates, Mr Bellamy?" a junior officer asked, with a wink.
"Dangerous criminals." Davvie's dad agreed. "Assault with a deadly weapon, conspiracy to cause actual bodily harm, administering a noxious substance, and one count each of assault. The little horrors."
The junior officer shook his head and tutted.
"They look so innocent, too. As if butter wouldn't melt. The worst sort, Mr Bellamy!"
"Just finding a cell for them now." Davvie's dad said. "Women's wing, I think. Got to observe the rules."
He led them through a series of doors, that swung shut and were locked behind him. Bekki and Davvie found themselves in a different part of the prison. Women of various ages looked at them curiously and with sympathy from the inside of cells.
"They're a bit young, Mr Bellamy?" one asked.
"They've still misbehaved, though." he replied, selecting a cell. He unlocked the door.
"In here." he said. Then he smiled pleasantly at the girls.
"It's like this." he said. "Lord Venturi shouted at your mothers about what you did to his son. That annoyed your mothers. So they came and shouted at me. That sort of spoilt my evening. Now it's your turn. I'll come back for you both later. When I remember. For now, listen to your cellmate and what she's got to teach you. That's all, see you both later."
"Hey, you two."
The girl who was lying full-length on the cell bunk smiled pleasantly at them. She looked perfectly at home here. Bekki recognised her. She'd been introduced, very carefully, and Bekki suspected without telling everything, as a very special friend of her Godsmother Alice. Suddenly she knew she'd be safe.
"Come over here, you two criminals. Talk to me!"
Bekki smiled at the memory. It hadn't been funny at the time. Peter Bellamy had rescued them later and he'd even apologised. But apparently Lord Venturi was so powerful and had so much influence that not even Bekki's mother could ignore him. So something had needed to be seen to be done. By way of visible punishment.
"Actually, Bekki, it was your mother who came up with the idea." he said. "Lock you both in a cell at the Tanty for an afternoon, and let you stew."
Bekki accepted this. She wasn't surprised.
"And, well, Miss Gibbet was doing her annual fortnight inside. Friend of your mothers. She was the ideal cellie for you both. Somebody who could explain why prison life isn't a bundle of laughs and why you should, if you have any sense, stay out of trouble. A good life lesson."
Steffi Gibbet had explained that as a Thieves' Guild member, she had to do an annual fortnight in prison. Just to keep her trade skills up. It was expected. She'd been really good company in the cell. She'd even shown the girls how to pick the cell lock.
"Why don't you escape?" Bekki had asked. Steffi had shrugged.
"No point. Nowhere to go to, and anyway I've got to do this for a fortnight every year to keep up my Class One Thief status. May as well get it out of the way, and tick the right box on my record. Mr Bellamy knows I've got a lockpick. He's happy about that, and pretends I don't have one. So long as I don't lend it to anyone who does want to escape. Part of the game, really."
Steffi had also explained to them what it really meant to do time in the Tanty. When people were not playing games and trying to shock you straight. Davvie had gasped and realised exactly how much her father, very carefully, was not telling her about the job he did every day. It was valuable information. A lesson.
When they got out, both girls tried, very conscientiously, to Be Good. It was far preferable to the alternative.
The Upper School at Seven-Handed Sek's meant doing more formal lessons to a standard that meant she could pass exams. Bekki had no problem with this. Most academic subjects didn't really stretch her too much. Both her parents had higher academic degrees, a Professor and a Doctor, and she'd inherited intellect from both of them. So she could do most subjects to the desired standard without thinking very much about it. Homework was a breeze. She skipped through it most nights to get a necessary chore out of the way.
Then she got Miss Lonsdale-Rust as her History teacher. Miss Lonsdale-Rust was one of the very few teachers at her school who wasn't a nun. Civilians, as the pupils off-handedly described them. Her teacher was a relative of the noble Rust family. Not a full-blown Rust: but closely enough related for her to cherish her status and be jealously proud of it. Bekki suspected there was going to be trouble here.
The trouble began when miss Lonsdale-Rust taught about the history of the old Ankh-Morporkian Empire. She took it as axiomatic that the Empire had been a Good Thing, the manner in which Ankh-Morpork had spread its evolved ideas of justice, freedom, democracy and enlightened government around the known Disc. The subject peoples had been exposed to enlightened governance and had learnt lessons at the hands of their colonial rulers. Indeed they would never have known of these things until the people of Ankh-Morpork had selflessly come to share them.
Bekki took a deep breath. She hoped it wouldn't get worse. It did.
Miss Lonsdale-Rust dealt with the deplorable situation prevailing over a century before, when misguided and malcontent colonial peoples had taken advantage of Ankh-Morpork's relative weakness to rise in revolution and seek an independence which, in the opinion of miss Lonsdale-Rust, they should not have sought. They should have been happy to remain colonial subjects for their own good!
Her teacher cited three examples of ungrateful and misguided colonial subjects. Hergen. Llamedos. And Rimwards Howondaland. All of whom had foully and ungratefully fought their wise overlords a century or more before.
"The subject Kerrigian peoples of Rimwards Howondaland should have been grateful for the unstinting assistance we gave them in their hour of need, when they were threatened by invasion from the Zulu Empire." Her teacher declared from the front of the class. "At great loss to our nation, and with no expectation of reward. Instead, a little over twenty years later, those people, who spoke and still speak a debased and degraded form of Kerrigian, showed their true colours by taking advantage of Ankh-Morpork and rising in rebellion over some perceived slight or other, in what we still call today the Boor Wars…"
She graciously noted the raised hand.
"You have an observation, Miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons?"
"Please, miss. The Ankh-Morporkians did expect something in return for assistance during the Zulu Wars. My country, or to be precise my mother's country, of which I am a citizen and proud to be a citizen, is rich in gold and diamonds. The underlying issue, we are taught, is who controlled those resources. This was also key to the War of Independence later on."
Bekki glared at her teacher.
There. I've said it. Suck on that. Or go voetsaak.
Bekki was aware of a grin and an ecstatic thumbs-up from Shauna O'Hennigan. Who had been shifting uneasily in her seat whilst hearing Hergenians being described as an uncivilised, untrustworthy and war-addicted tribe, always eager to fight.
The teacher frowned.
"Do not be insolent, Miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons. And I notice you have a Morporkian accent. You are being brought up and educated in this city. You will therefore remain silent and learn Ankh-Morporkian history. Show some patriotism and respect for your nation."
"I believe I am. Miss." Bekki said. She was suddenly furious. A demon inside her made her say, very loudly and clearly,
"Sal veg tot die einde, om ons nasie te smelt!"
Her teacher blinked.
"You will have the goodness to speak Morporkian in my classroom, miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons."
"Even when discussing my other country, miss?" Bekki asked, pushing the confrontation. She added, witth emphasis, "Nie. Ek dink ek sal nie Morporkianse in jou klaskamer praat nie. Moenie aanvaar dat ek Morporkianse is nie." The other girls either gasped or fell silent. There was a long moment of mutually hostile glare.
"You are being insolent, miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons. And disruptive. Get out."
Bekki picked up her bag and coat and walked out. Behind her she heard
"Where do you think YOU are going, miss O'Hennigan?"
"Faith, miss, you're dealing with an irrational, uncivilised and completely unbiddable Hergenian here, who has no gratitude and no respect at all for Ankh-Morpork, so she hasn't. And who is far too quick to take offence for imagined insults. You just said so."
Bekki grinned. A second or two later, Shauna O'Hennigan joined her in the corridor.
"Well, I think we two wild and unruly colonial girls are not now going to be welcome in her classroom. Which gives us a free hour. What do we do with it?"
They walked out of the school together, knowing there would be reckoning and a punishment later. But, feck, they could go voetsaak about that. Fecken' eejits. Pielkops.
They spent it in a coffee shop in the city. Whilst behind them, the school realised two girls were missing.
Ponder Stibbons shuffled uneasily in his seat. He felt like a little boy who'd misbehaved in class. Being in a head-teacher's office always gave him that feeling. (1) He wished Johanna was here. But she'd expressed a wish to stay out of this one. It could be argued she was too near the issues, several times over. Ponder was to keep her informed, however. She'd got a precis of the problem and what had caused Bekki to misbehave. Johanna had privately conceded that in her daughter's position she'd have done pretty much the same. And with less admirable restraint and self-control. Therefore, as she agreed inhuming her daughter's history teacher would not be advisable at this point, she was going to stay out of it and ask Ponder to deal with things. For now.
Ponder looked over to Mother Eviscera. She was a shrewd and somewhat kindly old nun with a lifetime in teaching, who knew how to handle people, and who had seen many tricky situations involving pupils and teaching staff.
"I don't think the pupil-teacher relationship has irreversibly broken down, Professor Stibbons." she said, diplomatically. She looked over at Miss Lonsdale-Rust, who was standing there with her arms folded, in an aura of self-righteousness, a teacher who is retaining saintly self-control in the face of provocation by unruly pupils.
"What I therefore suggest is that we draw a line under the unfortunate events of this afternoon, and all parties begin again. Clean slate, as it were. Rebecka is an incredibly bright and able girl. A credit to the School. Straight A's, with one or two B's, I see. Never been in trouble before. Until today."
Mother Eviscera looked at her History teacher again. It was a long searching look. Then she looked back to Ponder.
"Rebecka's mother, Doctor Smith-Rhodes, sent her apologies for not being able to attend here at short notice?" she said. Ponder noted the emphasis placed on Johanna's name. He wondered if the history teacher had caught this. "Still, she's a fellow teaching professional. I appreciate it isn't always possible to get last-minute cover. Your wife also has occasional duties at the Rimwards Howondalandian Embassy, I think?"
There it was again, thought Ponder. Another brick-sized hint.
"She is called upon for occasional Consular duties, yes." Ponder agreed. It was only ever actually once in a blue moon. But Miss Lonsdale-Rust didn't need to know that.
The Mother Superior smiled a benign nunly smile.
So we are, I think, agreed. I will only take token action against the two young ladies for walking out of the class and absconding from the School. In a spirit of forgiveness and understanding. They will undertake to attend Miss Lonsdale-Rust's classes and not to be disruptive. They will do the assigned homework to the best of their ability."
Mother Eviscera would also privately rebuke her teacher and suggest that she should understand there were a lot of children of immigrant families in Ankh-Morpork. Some of whom would attend her history classes and, although Morporkian on the outside, would not be happy to hear their family backgrounds dismissed as uncouth, uncivilised and primitive. Hergenians, for instance. And Rimwards Howondalandians. Especially those of a proud Boer lineage. She was also, as a history teacher should, to look up the name Smith-Rhodes and refresh her knowledge as to the significance it held in terms of the history she was teaching. And to cross-reference it to her student register, to see if she could perhaps spot a connection. But, for the sake of discipline, neither the father nor the pupil was to know this.
Ponder politely collected Miss Lonsdale-Rust's homework assignment, said he would ensure Rebecka did it, thanked both teachers for their time, and dismissed himself.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes smiled at the two girls. They were sitting in her study at Spa Lane, awaiting her opinion on The Situation. She heard them out, and then said
"For goodness' sake, drop thet eccent. I em just betting thet while your parents are Hergenian, you were born end brought up here, end your real eccent is a Morporkian one. Just es my daughter's is. If Rebecka ever tried to imitate the way I speak Morporkian, I'd consider she was taking the piss, es thet is not her netural voice. You understend me? Kiff. Be yourself. Important."
Shauna smiled, embarrassedly.
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, Understood." Her accent was now pure Dimwell.
Johanna smiled.
"So we have a situation. You have a history teacher who is a complete dof. She has meneged to alienate both of you. One of you was thrown out of her clessroom. The other one walked out in disgust end solidarity."
Johanna shook her head and tutted.
"Es a teacher myself, I try not to provoke these situations. There is a responsibility to treat all your students fairly end equally."
Johanna remembered a time when she hadn't. It still made her feel ashamed. She sympathised with the horrendous-sounding Miss Lonsdale-Rust to that extent.
"But. Rebecka. You remember I told you life is not fair? End thet whetever else life promises to be, it never promises to be fair?"
Johanna built on this theme. She pointed out that as a teacher herself, one of the most embarrassing things that can ever happen is to be told your own child has misbehaved at school and made life difficult for a fellow member of the Teachers' Guild. One thing that can get in the way of the mutual loyalty a mother has for a daughter. Teachers stick together. At least, in front of the pupils. She, Johanna Smith-Rhodes, was now in the position, if she ever met this Miss Lonsdale-Rust, of having to sincerely apologise for her daughter's bad behaviour in class, and the way she had challenged the authority of her teacher. Because it was expected of her. And believe me, Rebecka, knowing you were in the right, es I do, would only make those words stick in my throat. Do you understand me?
"Yes, mum." Bekki said, meekly.
Johanna nodded.
"Shauna, your parents know you are here. You will be staying for dinner with us. I will get a cab afterwards to take you home."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Shauna said, knowing her friend's mother was to be treated with great respect. It felt safest.
Johanna smiled.
"Shauna. I em not one of your teachers. You are here es a friend of my daughter. You may call me Johanna."
Johanna also added that she had asked a friend round for dinner, whose opinion she valued. Especially in a matter like this.
Godsmother Alice heard the story attentively.
"Interesting." she said. "I wouldn't have provoked a situation like that in the first place, of course. New to teaching, is she? I have to say if any of my pupils were to challenge my interpretation of the facts in a history lesson, provided they did it respectfully and weren't causing trouble for the sake of it, I'd invite them to back up their opinion with facts and give me a reasoned argument. Make it part of the lesson and have a healthy debate. History is mainly a handful of known facts backed up by the way you choose to interpret them, after all."
Alice Band taught History, among other things, at the Assassins' Guild School. She was an experienced teacher of History.
"And I have to say that if anybody were to tell me my godsdaughter had been disruptive in a school lesson, to the point where her teacher had to exclude her from the class, then I might feel I had to have a quiet little word with that godsdaughter." she added. "I don't like to feel as if I'm failing in my duties as Godsmother. It reflects badly on me."
"I'd like to say I'm sorry…" Bekki mumbled.
Alice smiled slightly.
"And apologise to her teacher. Even if my godsdaughter was in the right." she added. "Because you can't have pupils disrupting classes. Makes it tougher for everybody. If the teacher whose class was disrupted brought it on her own head by behaving like an idiot, then, well, you have a little word with her too, later. Where the pupils can't hear it."
Alice smiled again. "I've done that in the past. Quiet little chats with a new teacher who was getting it woefully wrong out of sheer inexperience, and unhelpful attitudes she was finding it hard to get out of." (3)
Bekki noticed her godsmother nod in the direction of her mother. "No need to spell it out, Johanna." Her mother looked uncomfortable for a second or two. Alice smiled again. "That teacher did improve massively after she had a talking-to, though. She was worth persisting with."
Alice looked at the two girls.
"Anyway. Ponder's told us what the deal is with the school. And got the essay titles your History teacher wants you to tackle for her. Can I see them? Thanks."
Alice took the note from Ponder Stibbons. She read it, and whistled.
"Creatively nasty, I have to say. Rebecka, you have a week to write an essay on the causes and outcome of the First Zulu War. Big topic area. Lots of variant interpretations. Lots of different players, too. At least two White Howondalandian factions, Ankh-Morpork, the Zulus, and the suspicion the Klatchians were stirring things up in the background to make trouble. Also the complication that lots of your family were involved."
She turned to Shauna.
"And you get The Great Hergenian Famine of 1848. That's a trap too. Hergen ran out of potatoes and wahoonies, Lots of people starved, the cemeteries filled, it's been a bone of contention ever since. And you're Hergenian enough for it to matter."
Alice put the paper down. She looked seriously at the two girls.
"She might be a Rust, but she's not completely stupid. She's deliberately picked essay topics for you that are close to the heart, part of your family histories, topics you can't stand back from and which you will find it hard to be objective about, hoping you're both going to put in emotive and one-sided work that she can legitimately fail you on.
"So here is what you will do. There's a legitimate dispute going on here between the teacher and her pupils. It's both fair and professionally acceptable for a third party to step in as arbiter. To ensure objectivity and fair play. I am a history teacher. I've been doing it for years. You will write these essays and submit them to me first for my assessment. I will grade them as I would work submitted by my own pupils. This will be rigorous and fair. If I think it's unacceptable, I will send it back, and you will do it again. Then when you submit the finished essays to your own teacher for her assessment, if her mark varies from mine in any way I will then be able to approach her, on a peer to peer basis, and politely ask her why. I will also write to her, and politely explain this arrangement safeguards everybody, and ensures fair play. So it is in her best interests to go along with it. Oh, and I'll also talk to Mother Superior at Sek's. She knows me. I think she'll be agreeable. It also keeps you out of it, Johanna. I can see your fists itching from a mile away. You really don't want to be one of those parents from Hell who end up punching a teacher on behalf of their kid. Even, in this case, with sufficient provocation. It still looks bad."
"Thenk you, Ellice." Johanna said.
That night, Bekki started reading a history of the Zulu War. She put the book down when she got too tired to read any more. But her head was buzzing with ideas and possibilities. She eventually fell into deep sleep..
"Hello, liewe hecksie." said a friendly female voice. "Remember me from last time?" She was speaking in Vondalaans.
In her dreamscape, Bekki turned. She saw the older woman she recognised as Johanna van der Kaiboetje Smith-Rhodes.
"It is so good to have somebody living in the family we can actually talk to." her ancestor said. "Your mother, for instance, never notices when we try to catch her attention. And you are growing up beautifully, liewe hecksie."
Bekki looked around her. She was scanning for Dungeon Dimension Things. Her ancestor laughed gently.
"That enemy you will not see here. This time, you are fighting a different battle. One of the mind. I am here because we were watching you, and it occurred to us that at this time you might appreciate a history lesson. Walk with me, Rebecka."
Rebecka took her great-great grandmother's hand. Here, it felt warm and alive and solid. They walked together into a sunlit veldt…
To be continued…
(1) This was head-teacher's boffo when dealing with the parents of children. Make them feel like little kids themselves. Induce guilty memories. It makes them easier to manage. It was one of the first trade secrets taught to headteachers when donning the mortarboard of office. Or, in this case, the wimple.
(2) Bekki has basically told her teacher to shove it, that if she hasn't noticed I'm not Morporkian, at least in one vital respect, and that she is not going to speak Morporkian in this classroom when her other heritage is being dismissed and belittled like this. Loose translation, anyway.
(3) See my tale The Graduation Class.