Strandpiel 12: Vriendskap vir altyd

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.

In which Bekki discovers all about economic inequality. And feels guilty about it.

Bekki thought her friendship with Shauna O'Hennigan was like several worlds meeting all at once. Bekki was an Ankh-Morporkian with Howondalandian roots. Shauna was an Ankh-Morporkian with Hergenian heritage. They even put up the two flags together on Bekki's bedroom wall to symbolise this. The orange, white and blue of Rimwards Howondaland, with its intricate central band that carried the smaller inset flags of Sto Kerrig, Ankh-Morpork and the first Boer Republik. Crossed with the night-blue of Hergen, which had a pattern of stars on it, a constellation that symbolised hope and freedom. (1)

"The good old Starry Trough." Shauna said. She looked around her at the big spacious bedroom. She was still getting used to the idea that a girl could have a bedroom all of her own. And a big bed she slept in on her own and didn't have to share with three of her sisters. It was something she'd never have thought possible.

"Doesn't it get lonely and scary at night, Bekki, sleeping all on your own?" she asked, curiously.

Bekki had never really thought about this till she met Shauna. She was wondering what sort of Hell it might be to share a bed with Famke and Ruth at night. She loved her sisters, even Famke, but she still wanted her own space at night. She considered this an Inalienable Right of Teenage Girl. Each of the three sisters had her own bedroom. Shauna had blinked disbelievingly at this. The sheer space and scale of Spa Lane compared to the cramped shared terraced house in Dimwell, which even she considered had too many people living in it.

The sound of piano scales drifted up from downstairs. Inexpertly and indifferently played.

"Famke." they both said, together.

Bekki smiled slightly. Famke had been told. In no uncertain terms. One of the hangovers from the old Assassins' Guild School, from the days when a far smaller number of exclusively male pupils had been leisurely instructed in how to be Gentlemen Who Inhume, was the Concordat insistence that the Assassin, being a person of breeding, culture and refinement, should be proficient in at least one musical instrument. Or to show musical talent and appreciation. The Guild insisted on this.

Famke had therefore better start getting good at a musical instrument. Starting now, Famke Cornelia Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons. Your Aunt Mariella got around this one by taking opera singing lessons. She was good at it. She has a singing voice. The Guild accepted that ticked the boxes. But, Famke Cornelia, your singing voice is at best reminiscent of a strangled duck. However, we do have a piano. This is a piano stool. It opens up. You will find there is sheet music inside. Then close the lid, sit down at it, and stop complaining. Dankie.

The piano had apparently arrived with the house when it had been newly occupied. Great-Aunt Friejda had advised on furnishing. Her niece and her husband were people of means and social position. People of means and social position must have a piano. It was expected. Do not be difficult about this, Johanna.

The piano, a baby grand, had arrived. It had largely gathered dust underneath a protective sheet. Once, the Lancre witch Nanny Ogg had visited town, and stayed with Auntie Emmie next door. Auntie Emmie had seemingly innocently said Johanna next door has a piano.

After Nanny Ogg and Uncle Danie had taught each other a rafter of songs they knew, with enthusiastic piano accompaniment, Mum had then kept the bloody thing covered up. Made a point of it, in fact. Bekki had been very tiny at the time. She vaguely remembered the funny old lady she'd first met when Daddy had taken her to Lancre had sung something odd about hedgehogs. Uncle Danie had introduced her to the one about Auntie Tina. Uncle Danie and Mrs Ogg had really bonded.

The piano had stayed covered till now. Famke had whinged and grumbled about a waste of time that could have been spent doing useful things with some interesting weapons. Mum had put her foot down. And pointed out that playing piano teaches you about dexterity with your fingers. Which is useful to an Assassin. A transferable skill.

So two or three times a week, the household were treated to scales and simple themes, inexpertly played. Except when…

After a brief pause, the piano started up again. This time any discordance and bum notes were a thing of the past. The music became Fondel's Ein Kleine Schadenfreudemusik. A sonata, beautifully played.

"Ruth." Bekki said. Shauna nodded appreciatively.

"Faith. That little girl has got it. More than her big sister does."

"Either of her big sisters." Bekki agreed. Bekki felt glad she was excused piano. Mum allowed Ruth, who would have patiently been waiting her turn, a go on the piano when she felt Famke had suffered enough. Or that everybody else had suffered enough from Famke.

"Uncle Fergus plays the bloody accordion." Shauna said, and shuddered. "Mind you, Auntie Kate's a decent hand on the fiddle."

Bekki nodded. She waited for the punch-line.

"But Auntie Kate's Thieves' Guild. She plays the violin a bit, too. When she's not out thieving."

Shauna stretched out in the big chair. Bekki got a huge bed to herself. A floor you could see. With space between the bed and the walls. With an actual carpet. A desk to do her homework at. Bookshelves. With books. And a big comfy chair to sit in. All to herself. Sweet Sek and His Mother.

"I'm not jealous or anything." Shauna said, and this was true so far as it went. "But all this. Big house. Big garden. And servants. Sek. Takes some getting used to."

Meeting social inequality head-on was something that made Bekki feel guilty and a little bit embarrassed. She wondered if she was just a rich kid with too much privilege who was just playing at it. You know. Going to the sort of school which, while it wasn't proletarian as such, and certainly wasn't so far downmarket as to be in the gutter, certainly accepted everybody. It nominally charged fees. But she suspected the nuns quietly said "don't worry about it. It's more important your daughter gets an education." to a lot of families. She couldn't see the Assassins' School doing that sort of thing. Much.

She also suspected her parents paid quite a lot more than the accepted school fees for three daughters. Just to help out. SHS relied a lot on charitable donations and benefactors. To keep it afloat. Mum had said to Dad one night "Well, you know, Ponder. We budgeted this amount for Bekki to go to the Guild School. She isn't going there now. It's not as if the money isn't there. Even if the fees for the convent school are so much less than the Guild School would have charged. If it helps out."

She also suspected Uncle Julian, her Godsfather, had discreetly chipped something in. He was custodian of a family bank account in Ankh-Morpork. Which had lots of money in it. He thought it was a good school too. Which it was. The teaching nuns were really good at what they did. There could be worse. Even if Sister Maria Ignatia Consummatus Deorum(2) tended to smell of juniper-based perfume sometimes. She could still deliver Überwaldean Language and Literature and had once taught them a few songs. There was, she had said, nothing like The Sound of Music. Even if it was delivered in a voice scented by schnapps.

Shauna stretched lazily in the chair.

"I don't think I'm ever on my own." Bekki said, with perfect honesty. Most of the time, the people and guardians around her were physically living in this world. with a side-serving of deceased ancestors who periodically popped in to act as her spirit guides. She had not told her friend, yet, about the Johannas. She was wondering how to phrase this if it was necessary. By the way, I've got relatives who call by every so often...

Klipdrift, the huge Boerboel mastiff, lifted his snout and panted. Shauna reached down, not very far down, to pet him. Sometimes one of the dogs slept in her room at night. Not always; they had three young mistresses to choose from. They couldn't be everywhere. But any night intruder would soon discover they were in trouble. the house was geared up for this. in lots of ways. Boerboels were just the start of it. Bekki remembered the thing with the bogeyman...

"That's true." she said. "This big lad here at night to guard you. You don't do small pets, do you?"

"Not 'alf!" said another voice.

Shauna jumped. The thing about Grindguts The Destroying Demon had been very carefully explained to her. That despite appearances, he really was a nice guy. The imp was sitting on the back of the chair, his powerful stumpy little legs and pointy tail swinging.

"We all keep an eye on Bekki by night, miss." the imp said. "And on her sisters. Ruth's OK with me and likes having me around, so I might spend time in her room. Talk to her. Nice kiddie. But that bloody Famke's a bugger. Doesn't believe I exist so she won't talk to me. Little sod."

Grindguts was now accepted as a family sprite. Mum had accepted the inevitable. He sometimes spent time with Dad down in the study. "You know, talking magic stuff. Imp to wizard. He's OK, your dad. Your mum still scares me, though."

Grindguts brought out a tiny pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. Bekki cleared her throat emphatically.

"Go outside, Grindguts." she said. "Sit on the windowsill if you're going to smoke. Thanks."

Her familiar grumbled, but trotted over to the window anyway.

"He's too familiar." Bekki said, tolerantly.

"I never peek when you're getting dressed!" the imp shouted. "Not that I'm bothered. One way or the other. Different species!"

"I would be!" Shauna shouted back. "Especially since I'm staying over tonight, you wee green gobshite! Keep them feckin' eyes in your head when I'm in the nip, you hear me?"

"Do you kiss your mother with a mouth like that?" Grindguts called back.

"Away and shite, you little get!" Shauna called back, laughing. "Besides, me mother cusses worse. Where do you think I learnt to fecken' swear in the first bloody place?"

Bekki laughed too. Shauna's impressive vocabulary had caused her parents to wince a lot. Although she had learnt to self-censor around her friend's family. Mum had quietly insisted.

Shauna had toned it down. She realised she had to adjust to stay a part of her friend's family. She'd also learnt some interesting Vondalaans words in passing, she had to admit. She had added these to her lexicon and words like "bliksem!" and "voetsaak!" and "fokke!" could be heard jostling for swear-box time alongside the Hergenian. Bekki's family could also let a few fly in unguarded moments.

She slept over at Bekki's as often as she could. Sometimes Davvie Bellamy joined them. Shauna conceded that the speckky little blonde girl, the nerdy sort, had her own likeability too. Even if she didn't cuss and was shocked at the language. They took the dogs for walks together. Sometimes Joyce from SHS would join them, or Shamsa, or those two nice-looking lads, the Quirmian ones, who weren't stuck-up at all with their head up their own arses like a lot of bloody Assassins. Faith, those Quirmian lads knew a few interesting words too. Why didn't they teach this sort of Quirmian in school?

Bekki had spotted a few other issues too. Shauna had returned with her after an afternoon up the Tump walking Klipdrift and Rooibuis, two girls each with a massive mastiff on a lead. It had been damp and muddy. She had realised when Shauna had been audibly squelching as she walked. Her friend had tried to make light of it. But her socks were soaked right through. And her shoes…

Bekki realised she'd only ever seen her friend in one pair of shoes, shabby but serviceable. Until now. A dreadful and horrifying thought struck her. And Second Thoughts kicked in. The realisation that her friend was poor. And proud. And already felt intimidated by the surroundings Bekki lived in. The very, very, worst thing she could do to her friend was to be seen as offering charity. The rich kid being kind and understanding to the poor one. It would be worse than sneering at her poverty. Much worse.

You really need to dry your feet." Bekki said. "And there are things I can do. From the witching. Wet damp feet get all sorts of little problems. Those shoes and socks need to dry out, for one thing. Shauna, would you let me do your feet? It'll really help me with the witching. I'd be really grateful!"

Later on, after a session of practical chiropody that Shauna desperately needed, Bekki suggested you wear something of mine. You know, while those wet clothes dry, and those shoes dry out completely. I think we might have the same shoe size. Want to try?

Shauna had been consternated to see so many pairs of shoes in the same place. All belonging to the same girl. And none of them with holes in. When she left to go home, she was still wearing a pair of everyday boots Bekki thought she could afford to lose. Probably. She'd still insisted on taking the old wrecked and full of holes ones with her. In a bag.

As soon as she could, Bekki had a long talk with her mother. Mum would know what to do.

There'd been a parent-teacher evening at SHS. Bekki didn't know much of the details. But Dad had brought Mum home, eventually. Apparently wine and cheese had been provided. After a while, there'd been less cheese and more wine and the Quirmian bread provided to go with the cheese had been barely touched.

Dad had been reluctant to go into details. But apparently Mum and Shauna's mum and some of the other mothers, like Joyce's mum, even Mrs Patel whose husband was a chef at the Curry Gardens, had kind of bonded over the wine. Really bonded. There'd been a lot of shrieking and merriment. Those fathers who had attended had winced and tagged on to pick up the pieces and ensure their wives got home in one piece. Or in the case of Mum, that other people she encountered remained in one piece. Mum could get tetchy after a drink.

Bekki closed her eyes. Shauna's Gang were a big item at School. Now it seemed their mothers, their actual mothers, were forming a gang of their own. The dreaded phrase minge-drinking had been spoken.

After Bekki had helped little Rebecka O'Hennigan into the world, Mum had sent a courtesy package over, of all the sort of things that were helpful to a mother with a new baby. She had pointed out that her oldest daughter had been midwife and the child had been named after her, so it seemed sort of appropriate, really. Bekki had thought about this. Maybe mum knew, or had worked it out, that sometimes people needed a helping hand. She'd met Shauna, after all. And this was a nice tactful well-chosen way of doing it. Thanks, mum. But Shauna herself now needed a discreet, tactful and well-timed hand.

One Saturday, Mum had taken the girls out clothes-buying. She had said, in passing "Three kids, and no Annaliese. I might need another pair of hands. Coming, Shauna?"

Shauna had tagged on. She'd had a quiet word of her own with Famke, who was being a bit sulky. Apparently the quiet word had been along the lines of "Zip it, or I'll rip your ears off." Famke had zipped it. Then started treating Shauna with respect. And when it came to buying new shoes and boots and things and clothes for School, Mum had got everybody kitted out. No fuss, no drama. Shauna had been treated as one of the family. Even a slight but noticeable patina of caked-on Dimwell had gone. Mum had sorted that one out by saying that you're a house-guest in a place with maids. Take advantage. I would. Eve, show Shauna a bathroom, would you?

Nicely done. Other people might have said "Show her what a bathroom is and explain the concept in nice simple words, with illustrations". Mum had just said "you might have noticed I employ maids. Guests get maid service. You're staying over as a house-guest. Knock yourself out."

And what Bekki had noticed was a little problem with a lingering odour was solved. She'd been too diffident to mention it to the friend who was sharing a room with her. I mean, how do you approach it? I never saw a bathroom in her house. There's a shared pump in the street. There's a boiler, but that kind of depends on being able to heat it all the time if you want hot water for washing in. She probably knows, but it's not for want of realising there's a problem. And I really don't think Dimwell's got any public baths. I've never seen any.

Bekki pondered this, Irrelevantly, she wondered if pondering was a fortunate word, given who her father was. To ponder: to approach a problem like my father does. To really seriously over-intellectualise it, go round in circles a few times, and then you take a very simple answer and difficult it up, using ten times as many multi-syllabic words as it needs. Wizard-think. It doesn't sound right till it's all dressed up in words.

Then she felt guilty for thinking that way. Dad was a genius. She knew that. And under pressure, he was capable of getting to the right answer very, very, quickly by the shortest route. That was why he was a really good Wizard. Maybe Unseen University does that to a person. You get lots of time and leisure to over-think things and get intellectual about them. Well, Mum keeps him practical. And he makes her pay more attention to all the scientific details. She speeds him up, he slows her down. That works.

Bekki considered what she was realising. Especially when seeing practice with the Witches. What she had at home was rare. Central heating, indoor toilets, bathrooms – more than one. Running piped water. A private Clacks. She wondered if on other worlds parents would be driven nuts by daughters who were on the Clacks all the time to their friends. Or whatever they had on those worlds that was like as Clacks.(3) Bekki, being honest with herself, suspected that if any of her friends were on the Clacks, they'd be using it all the time. However, she'd discovered she was the only girl in her class with the Clacks. Meaningless, when you had nobody to talk to on it. Even things she'd taken for granted, like a bedroom of her own. Even three square meals a day with named meat. Soap and toothpaste just appeared in the bathroom when it was called for. And things like shampoo. For every girl like her who had them, a hundred had some but not all, or even none, at home. It made her feel guilty.

Shauna had come back, gleaming and well-scrubbed. Bekki thought she saw money pass from Mum to Eve.

"Faith," her friend said. "I feel like the lady of the fe… the lady of the manor after that."

In bed that night – they shared the big bed, Shauna felt more comfortable this way – Bekki tentatively asked how she felt about it all. Did she feel she was being taken over? Made into, I don't know, somebody's project? Like a lab experiment?

Shauna had taken her time before replying.

"Don't be a fecken' eejit, Bekki. I know what you're saying. But your mum is doing all the things my mum would do if she had the money and a bigger house in a nicer spot. Doesn't mean my mum's useless. Not at all. But there's ten of us for her to get around. Your mum's okay. And you know what? I'm glad she is! I'm really glad somebody's taking care of me. Sounds soft as shite, but that's how I feel."

Shauna had rolled over in bed and kissed her friend.

"You're bloody great, you freckled carrot-haired gobshite! You're alright!"

Bekki changed the subject.

"What did you say to Famke? One minute she's all "why do we have to have that girl here, she talks funny and she smells". Next minute, she's your best friend forever."

Shauna grinned.

"Oh, after I threatened to rip her ears off and shove them down her gob if she didn't behave herself, I showed her how to deliver a really painful Agatean burn and a surefire dead leg. Me brother taught me. I've promised her that if she's good, or failing that, if she doesn't get caught, I'll show her a Wet Willie and how to deliver a wedgie."

That figured.

Troubled, Bekki discussed things with the Watch witches. For once, the three principal pilots were all on the ground. It didn't happen all that often, but it wasn't vanishingly rare either. Other fliers were doing the Pegasus long-hauls that day.

Olga, Irena and Nottie waited while Bekki passed the teacups round, then heard her out. Bekki told the story. Olga nodded to Nottie. Nottie nodded back, tugged her Watch tunic back on to denote she was on duty, and left the room.

"Hmm." Irena said. "You know the religious people say "the poor will always be with you"?"

She looked at Bekki.

"Unfortunately, they're right. And if you want to discuss the theology of that saying in various major religions, I can get Visit down here if you like. No? Wise."

"I know. And Shauna's my friend. And I like her family!"

"You like everybody, Bekki." Irena said, gently. "Well, apart perhaps from Parsifal Venturi. You're going to have to learn to detach more. It helps you stay sane. And look. We live in a city where the majority of people live in less than ideal conditions. Some people, a lot, live in disgusting conditions. I'm in the Watch too, devyuschka. I've been in homes where you have to wipe your feet on the way out. Where some people live in – well, squalor. Most people make the best of what they have. Like your friends the O'Hennigans. If they could find better, they would. But that doesn't make them unique. It makes them typical. And I see what you're getting it. You see the bad conditions and the overcrowding and the lack of proper sanitation facilities. People working too long in crappy jobs. Of course that makes them less healthy and more likely to get diseases. You saw the state of your friend's feet, that she'd been covering up for a long time, because she thought she just had to live with it. And that was down to worn-out shoes in the rain, damp grubby house, and lack of opportunity to have a bath. Then you wonder if as a Witch you're just pissing in the wind. For every one thing you can fix, there are ten more coming along that you can't.

"I mean. I'm a Watchwoman too. I get that if people had better lives with better housing and less crappy jobs there might just be a little less crime. Might. But right now I see it twice over. One as a Witch and once in the Watch. And let me tell you, kid, we deal with it both ways round. We deal with things as they are. How we want them to be is something for another time. We just do the job that's in front of us. In the here-and-now. If you can make things better for your friend, that's great. But do not beat yourself up about things you can't fix. Knowing when you can make a difference is part of being a witch. Wish I could wave a magic wand, and drop this into your head."

"She's right." Olga said. "And let me tell you what else is in your head right now, Bekki. I had it too. You've got a great big attack of Rich Kid Guilt going on. I mean. Govno. I was born into serious privilege. My father is a Grand Duke. I'd only have got more privilege if he'd been Tsar of All The Peoples, you know? Then I started waking up how much poorer just about everybody else was. I'd seen kulaks. Serfs. Peasants. I just hadn't paid that much attention to them. Then when the magic started and I knew I had to do something with it or explode, and I went to the local babiuschka for advice and discovered she had one other pupil, and I realised what being a witch meant – that you had to be a Witch for everybody – I had to get up to speed with how the majority of people lived. Very quickly."

"She met her first kulak." Irena said. "The old babiuschka's other pupil witch. A serf and a peasant. Me."

"Indeed." Olga said. "A spiky, attitudinal, mouthy little brat of a kulak who should have been knouted. And before Irena says it, I was a haughty aristocratic bitch with her head stuffed full of govno who quite possibly needed to be on the losing end of a good revolution, and to be put up against a wall and crossbowed with the rest of them."

The two grinned at each other.

"Filthy kulak." Olga said.

"Arrogant aristo." Irena said.

"I'm glad I never knouted you." Olga said.

"I'm glad the Revolution hasn't happened yet." Irena said.

The two old friends clasped hands.

"We made friends. Anyway. As a student witch and pupil of the babiuschka, I got to see practice in her steading. And what I saw shocked and chilled me. I realised how fortunate and privileged my life had been, how all the things I took for granted did not apply to other peoples' lives. Not at all. I felt like a silly little rich girl indulging a whim. Not a serious witch."

"But you weren't." Irena said. "Playing at it, I mean. You had witch in you, right at the start. I saw that. And at the time I was not inclined to be your best friend. Not at all."

They both reached towards the samovar.

"You two are getting more and more Far Überwaldean. Or Zlobenian or something." Bekki said. "And for some reason I'm thinking of cherry orchards. With seagulls flying over them. Don't ask me why."

"Melancholy. It's a big thing with our people." Olga said. "A sort of magic, in its way. I'm just surprised you're not getting an image of three sisters sitting in a room being generally gloomy. That crops up a lot. But where were we? Bekki. I got into doubting. Guilt. Thinking that everything was due to an accident of birth, Wondering why I'd got all the advantages when other people hadn't. Feeling guilty I had the good things in abundance when others did not. And asking myself – if the lottery of birth had put me somewhere else without those advantages, who would I be with those advantages stripped away? And that's a frightening thing. You end up doubting yourself. Denying your own strengths. And that is fatal, for a witch."

Irena shrugged.

"I told her. Somebody has to have those advantages. I'd prefer it to have been me, obviously, but it wasn't. She had no choice in the matter. She should give thanks for her own good fortune and then do what we all have to do – make the best from the resources we are given. Why feel guilty about what you had no power over and didn't ask for? Makes no sense."

Bekki considered this.

"Thank you." she said.

Nottie returned.

"I checked Records." she said.

Olga nodded to Bekki.

"Privileged Watch information, devyuschka." she said. "Hear it, but do not divulge it."

She nodded to Nottie to carry on.

"The O'Hennigan family of Dimwell." she said. "Came up largely clean. Couple of minor misdemeanours by the father, basic drunk and disorderly. Nothing serious. Older sons suspected of theft and fencing stolen property. Nothing proven. One aunt in Thieves' Guild, one older daughter associated with the Seamstresses, otherwise clean."

Bekki compared this to what she knew. Shauna's two older brothers Donal and Davey. Well, she wouldn't be surprised. They looked sharp. Her older sister, one she hadn't met yet, a Seamstress. Couldn't rule it out. And Aunt Kate was a fiddler. Makes sense.

"So nothing there you need to be aware of, Bekki." Olga said. "Apart from to stop feeling guilty about your parents being well-off. That's not your doing. Besides, your mum and dad got to be well-off through their own hard work. They didn't cheat, lie, connive or steal and they didn't get any inheritance. Your dad never killed anyone. Your mother... well, if you look at her career, after a while she started doing the sort of Guild jobs that didn't involve inhuming anyone. What they call Soft Assassination. All the other things the Guild trains people up to do. Then she started making legitimate money doing other things. Which pays for you and your sisters to have a bloody good start in life. Just be thankful. And now we've sorted that one out, you can start being witchy. Right, what's next?"

(1) The first proposed flag of the Irish Republic was a dark-blue field carrying the constellation of the Plough, symbolising freedom, Destiny, limitless bounds, and good honest down-to-earth agriculture. Seems to fit better here than the tricolour that was eventually adopted.

(2) Mother Superior had been heard to sigh and ask what did you do about a problem like Maria, whose favourite things included Bearhugger's Best Kerrigian Gin. Brown paper bottles, all tied up with string…

(3) She raised this with her mother one night, when it had just been, rarely, the two of them.. Johanna had reflected, then grinned, and told her about a wonderful place called California where everybody had cellphones. Apparently a cellphone could be thought of as a really small Clacks, compact enough to fit into a pocket, with sound and pictures. Bekki pictured this in her mind. She went "wow…" and wondered how tiny the goblins had to be. Then asked "And girls my age in this California…" "live on their cellphones, ja." her mother had confirmed.

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 spotted and rescued.

Extract from PM to faithful reader Freyalyn:

Thank you!

There will be more to come. I've got plans for (i) getting Bekki to Lancre, where she has advanced training and a few interesting encounters; and (ii) migrating her to Howondaland where locally resident members of her quirky family make their own input onto her life. She will also discover her own BOSS file is getting thicker and fatter by the day. Even Uncle Charles might be moved to warn her to be careful. (without making a big obvious anvilicious thing about it, trying to mirror something of South Africa in the 1970's and 1980's, where more and more white people grew more and more uneasy with everything that was being done in their name and decided they wanted to move to a different deal. Nelson Mandela would have done what he did regardless - but what can get lost is just how much support he got from reasonable and thoughtful white people, including many in the overseas Saffie diaspora (Soutpiels) who realised things simply could not carry on as they were.).

Still waiting for that call to the dental hospital so they can assess the state of my treasonous upper jaw and see what might be done. The pain, swelling, abscessing and general misery has subsided, however, so something at least temporary could be done concerning the missing front fangs and this will permit me to speak normally again. Hoping so!