Strandpiel 14: Dood en wat gebeur volgende – Death and those things which happen next
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 learns a few more essential Witch skills
Bekki learnt, a day or two later, why Olga Romanoff, after a day of Watch duties, witching, and moments of deep thought and reflection, had started a spontaneous post-shift party with added vodka. It hadn't all been to do with Bekki going solo as a broomstick pilot.
Bekki had loved the spontaneous life-affirming joy of it all. Half the ground crew and some of the pilots in the service were Far Überwaldeans. They hadn't taken much encouraging to down tools and join in a wild dance. Irena had explained that there were such people as Cossacks out there. They danced like that. It had evolved for much the same reasons and purposes as morris dancing in Lancre. Occasionally with long curved sharp sabres, but mostly unarmed.
And Olga, dancing the steps, moving with the balalaika music, had looked wildly, fiercely, beautiful. Untamed. She was a witch; witches tended not to be conventionally attractive. But in the right circumstances, she had the kind of look and attitude that men would kill for. Or be prepared to be killed by. A lot of men might have considered that a fair trade-off.
Bekki, after her acceptance into the sisterhood of broomstick pilots and her first exposure to seriously strong drink, had been taken home by Godsmother Irena. It had been held to be prudent.
Despite the little inner Bekki who had gibbered through the vodka fumes that Mum is going to go absolutely spare! She'll go mental!, Mum had been fine about it. Bekki had discovered a former residential housemistress at the Assassins' Guild School had seen it all before with regard to teenage girls experimenting with strong drink and all its inevitable consequences. Johanna Smith-Rhodes had evolved some nasty strategies for dealing with girls who had discovered the wonderful world of alcohol. She didn't get angry or censorious or naggy about it. She hadn't needed to. In a pleasant, matter-of-fact way that assigned no blame or censure whatsoever, her mother had introduced her to the downside of drinking. Like Matron Igorina's Lecture, it involved practical education and a strong dose of aversion therapy. And a big greasy piled-up breakfast plate, just when you felt at your most fragile. And as Octeday morning always followed on from Party Night, the hangover and the big greasy breakfast had happened just before two and a half dreary unspeakable hours of sitting in Kerk listening to the preacher droning on.
Dad had been more inclined to be critical, in fact. This was uncomfortable. In the good-cop, bad-cop game of parenting, her father had always been the Good Cop. Till now. He'd hit another of the rocks of being father to a teenage girl – what if she went out and discovered drink? And the other things that went with it? Dad had become absurdly over-protective. Bekki resolved to ask the others in Shauna's Gang about this.
Irena had explained the party hadn't gone on for all that long after Bekki had been escorted home. Bekki remembered that Sam Vimes himself had loafed up to see what the noise was about. Mr Vimes had realised that this was an Air Police tradition whenever a new witch-pilot in training went solo for the first time. He understood this. He also understood a significant proportion of the Air Police strength came from places like Far Überwald, Zlobenia and Mouldavia. And when those people got it into their heads to get up and have a dance, or more accurately squatted down to have a dance, you let them get on with it.
He had apparently seen Bekki, hair flying and whooping and laughing, learning how to do a complicated dance involving sabres, with Irena and Olga, and Mister Mig Oyeff the ground technomancer/broomstick mechanic, teaching her the measures.
Vimes had shaken his head, put on the grumpy expression that happened whenever a Watch party with alcohol he couldn't share was in progress, and noted Olga had a sort of blondey – auburney – brunettey hair thing going on. But definite auburn.
Then he'd looked at Bekki.
"New pilot." he'd remarked to Nottie, who was duty air witch and who therefore had to stay off the vodka. "Wetting her wings, isn't that the word you people have for it? I don't know. Talk about a Red Hair Force."
But he'd stayed out of it. They were mad people from the other side of Überwald who were made madder still by being witches and even more insane by being pilots. And they'd joined the Watch. You had to make allowances.
And then, Nottie had said, a Shout had gone up. Air Police units were needed in the air. Olga had stood up, shrugged her tunic back on again, the one with the lieutenant's rank badges, and said
"Back to it, people. Look on the bright side. It's overtime pay. I want two brooms airborne over Widdershins Broadway. By five minutes ago."
And the Air Base was now a working station again after a couple of hours' downtime. Suddenly, with no fuss. Vimes grinned appreciatively. His pilots were professionals. He could stand a bit of balalaika music, the deep melancholia-tinged singing of strange songs written in a weird mirror-alphabet that made your eyes water and looked like wizard-script, the consequent insanely mad dancing, and he could even turn a blind eye to a glass of vodka here and there. Hell's Bells, Far Überwald was fuelled on the stuff. If small amounts of it tanked up his pilots – and they'd all been off duty anyway – when they volunteered to do the overtime – well, not a problem. He was also pretty sure the Smith-Rhodes girl would be sorted out when she got home. Irena had been responsible. He just didn't really want Johanna Smith-Rhodes coming round to ask exactly why her thirteen year old daughter had been given strong drink while on Watch premises. He winced, and hoped Irena had fixed that one. He contemplated Bekki. Nice girl, sensible, steady. Grown-up for her age. And not every pilot who was trained here, or who worked out of here for the Pegasus Service, was a sworn-in Watchwoman. Many of them were, if only as Specials. It made a lot of things easier. But he understood Witches were a sort of Lore unto themselves. That most of them also respected the Law – in their way - was something he appreciated. Where the two overlapped, the Air Police got good coppers.(1)
Shame she's so young, Vimes thought. I can't swear her in even as a Special at her age. Maybe she could go out on a ride-along one or two nights. Give her a little taster. An experienced hand to keep her safe. When she turns sixteen, swear her in. At least as a Special. That worked with Nottie. She's a good copper. Bekki's mother was a good Special.
It had come as a surprise to Bekki that Olga Romanoff was actually married, like a normal person. She wondered where the Watch Witch found the time. And she kept it quiet, as if it was no big deal.
And lots of Wizards turned up at her house to talk to Dad. Again it was no big deal. They'd stay for dinner sometimes, then disappear off to Dad's study to talk in wizardspeak. She'd met them all. Victor Tugelbend, who was in the Watch, was fun and quietly funny. There was Professor Rincewind, who twitched a lot and was wary around Mum as if he expected her to do something horrible to him. The Librarian, of course. There was always a banana for the Librarian. Bekki and her sisters had had it carefully explained to him that while he was different, he was still a Wizard. And not to use the m-word. Of course, Famke had innocently asked why we shouldn't call him a monkey. All conversation had stopped. Mum had gone very quiet and still. Dad did the thing with his forehead and the palm of his hand. Then the Librarian had knuckled forward, taken the little girl by the hand, and had said, in a series of gentle but expressive oooks, why he preferred to be referred to as an ape. He'd then given her a little hug that said "no harm done." Mum had breathed out and said "Thenk you, old man."
Bekki vaguely recalled a long, thin, wizard of about Dad's age or maybe a little younger, who spoke Vondalaans. Mum gave him the same courtesies as any other visitor from the Other Country. Bekki frowned, and recalled he tended to arrive with Olga. Apparently he was at the university there and had some sort of Visiting Fellow status at Unseen. He didn't stay over, which was odd for a visitor from Howondaland, and tended to leave with Olga.
Belatedly, Bekki put the pieces together. She'd never even noticed before.
"I do the Pegasus Run to Howondaland twice a week." Olga had said. Stay overnight if I can. Got a place to stay there."
She sometimes ferried Eddie back if he had anything to do at Unseen. On average, they spent three nights of the week together, sometimes more. Olga viewed it as a work-related perk.
Then Olga and Eddie turned up together at Spa Lane. They were guests at dinner. Eddie looked worried. Olga resigned. Then Mum took Olga off in one direction for a private drink and a chat. Dad led Eddie to his study. He took a bottle with him and two glasses. Bekki conscientiously tried not to eavesdrop. But Dad had a sort of quietly smug look. Mum had a secret little smile on her face.
"I've spoken to Mr Vimes." Olga said. "I'll keep on going for as long as I can. But then it's all yours for a few months, Irena. Acting Lieutenant."
Irena shook her head.
"I don't know. The woman who said she was never going to have children. Ever."
Bekki perked up, alert. She'd wondered. Last night. She tried to imagine Olga as a mother. She couldn't make it fit.
"Don't get ideas, devyuschka." Olga said. "If you turned out to be the only witch nearby, I'd let you birth me. Given a choice, I might just put you in the top twenty of possibles right now, if I was forced to. Low down that list. However, I might let you babysit afterwards, if you're good."
"That'll do." Bekki said. "Where are you going to bring the baby up?"
"Here, probably." Olga said. "Which makes it interesting. I'm from Far ؒ Überwald. With a side-dish of Zlobenian. It's complicated. Eddie's from Rimwards Howondaland. So if our child is born in Ankh-Morpork…"
"Triple nationality. At least." Irena said. "Add in Zlobenia. That's quadruple nationality. Slava bogu. Bekki's got enough with double."
Bekki tried to visualise it. Not one language but three. Given the location, they'd kind of shuffle around between being the indoor and the outdoor language. Up to four different nationalities. And passports. She frowned. Was Überwald advanced enough to issue passports to its citizens? Some countries didn't. She tried to visualise an Überwaldean passport. It would have to be in anything up to fourteen different languages. Two principal human ethnicities, Near and Far. And a separate set of boxes for species. Then which, for instance, Dwarf or Werewolf clan you belonged to. And a pull-out section for your full Vampire name, if applicable.
Well, at least I could talk to Olga's little girl in two out of those three languages…
She felt really excited about a new baby among her family's extended circle of friends. She was going to be an informal auntie again. This was nice.
Ponder Stibbons poured another small glass of something soothing. He looked over at Doctor Eduard de Kockamaainje, of the School of Magical Studies (2) at Witwatersrand University, Rimwards Howondaland. Eddie also had Visiting Fellow rights at Unseen University. He was a consultant in Howondalandian Magic and Mystical Traditions.
The two Wizards had an easy friendship based on mutual interest, professional links, and the fact they'd both managed to attract the interest of the sort of woman each would have considered to be way out of his league and completely unattainable. Eddie and Ponder had both been trained as Wizards. They both had realised, early on, the uncomfortable truth that to a young Wizard, practically every normally attractive and interesting woman would be way out of their league. That came with the pointy hat and the staff. It still astounded both of them that they'd struck lucky in the way they had. It bonded them.
Eddie, a physically unprepossessing man, long, gawky and angular with a straggly half-hearted beard, had met Olga on one of her official flights to Howondaland. Witch and Wizard had bonded in adversity, in the face of what looked like an imminent all-out pitiless war that was about to roll over them.(3) It was the same grim bloody war after which Ponder had decided that if association with Johanna Smith-Rhodes meant facing hideous agonising death at her side at fairly regular intervals, he might as well die married to her. It made a sort of sense. Marriage and Bekki had happened not too long afterwards.
For Eddie, he'd finished his Army service not long afterwards. With an enormous sigh of relief. He'd never been a good fit in the man's man bro culture of the military. National Service had meant the excruciating horrors of recruit training, during which the Military had realised a fully trained towenaar was useful. He'd been posted as a field-wizard to an infantry unit, told his rank of Captain was a technical courtesy and not to go around thinking he was an Army captain in any actually useful or relevant sense, and had been befriended by a young Lieutenant called Julian Smith-Rhodes, a man who sauntered through life as if he'd already got it all worked out. Which, as Eddie gloomily conceded, Julian probably had. They had remained friends.
And Olga had flown back on official missions, and, incredibly, sought him out. As his professional links to Ankh-Morpork grew, she'd got to fly him to the city via Pegasus. Lord Vetinari had said "I do not consider I need to know about this."
It had apparently been Vetinari's way of saying "thank you" for her services. It also allowed Eddie to collaborate with peers at Unseen to develop interesting things at the Thaumatalogical Park. Vetinari always had more than one reason.
And life with Olga had progressed. Things had become a pleasant routine involving Olga spending part of her week and at least one overnight stay in Rimwards Howondaland. Eddie got to stay at her place in Ankh-Morpork. It was the sort of marriage in all but name that had two countries and two homes. A Strandpiel marriage, Eddie had said.
Eddie had tentatively suggested making it more formal. To his astonished surprise, she had agreed.
The only problem, as he said to Ponder, had been the in-laws. Apparently Olga's father, already furious at his daughter becoming a witch, had really gone ballistic about her marrying beneath herself. A Wizard son-in-law, a mere middle-class tradesman, was not acceptable as consort for a potential Grand Duchess. He'd fired the phrase "morganatic marriage (4)" at her as a dire insult. They'd had to go and look it up. They now very proudly described themselves as being a left-handed marriage.
Ponder sympathised. At least his father-in-law quite liked him. A hostile Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes did not bear thinking about.
Introduced to Pieter van der Graaf by Johanna, the then Ambassador had said there was no need for Olga to actively seek Rimwards Howondalandian nationality, as, by default, marrying a citizen conferred it on her. And as a married woman, Olga, you are of course excused National Service. Welcome to our nation. (5)
"Horosho", Olga had said. She had turned to Johanna. "Apparently, that translates as "kiff".
A brief civil marriage had ensued at the Howondalandian Embassy. Quick and discreet, only a handful of guests had been invited. Johanna and Ponder were there. Julian Smith-Rhodes had been Best Man. Irena had supported her lifelong friend. Sam Vimes had attended on behalf of the Watch. Lady Sybil too, because weddings were always romantic, weren't they? Especially a noble daughter, wanting to present her father with a done deal. Do you want me to have a word with your parents, Olga? Duchess to Grand Duke? See if we can't sort something out? Lady Sybil Ramkin knew every titled person on the Disc, or seemed to. Her contacts book was legendary. (6)
And life had continued much as before. Until now. Mossy Lawn had confirmed it. That a potential Grand Ducal heir was on the way. Apparently Olga's father had expressed a strong sentiment on hearing about this. A very strong sentiment from the future grandfather. Johanna had called in favours from the Guild concerning politely declining any contract sought on the life of an inconvenient son-in-law. She'd also put the word out that if such a contract were to be even considered by any former student of hers, she might be inclined to offer a bit of mentorial guidance and explain, at length, why it should be declined. Unseen University had also pointed out that they had strong views concerning anyone not a Wizard trying to kill an accredited Wizard. That sort of thing, as Mustrum Ridcully pointed out, stayed in the family. If needed. Our prerogative. And life carried on.
Ponder Stibbons, basking slightly in the aura of being the Experienced Man, said "Is there any doubt? You're a Wizard. Olga's a Witch. Of course, the child might turn out to surprise everybody, and have no magic at all."
Eddie winced slightly. He'd heard about Bekki. He'd met Bekki. He realised a magically gifted child needed careful handling. Bekki had started doing random interesting things before she was five. She had needed to be instructed that using magic to make nice things happen wasn't always a bright idea.
"Looks like you're going to have to do the same with yours." Ponder had said, in the happy tones of a father who'd got all that out of the way talking to the new man who had it yet to come. "Did I tell you about how Grindguts happened?"
"S'right, guvnor." Grindguts the Destroying Demon said. He was sitting on Ponder's desk smoking a very small cigarette. Ponder tolerated colleagues smoking in his office. Wizards and smoking went together, after all. The privilege extended to familiars too.
"One minute I'm a model 1.4 Basic Imp tied to a page in a pop-up-book for kiddies, hardly any sentience, trained to do a little song-and-dance act for kiddies, nothin' else. Next thing, I gets all this wossname, independent thought, starting to happen. You know, free will. I pops up, does the schtick, and this little girl, not even three, sez to me "What else can you do?" and then she sez "You should run around outside the book. It's not fair when I turn the page you're shut in again." And then bugger me, I'm runnin' around and I'm gettin' all this cognition goin' on. Could run around freely then. Didn't have to watch out for them bleedin' cats."
Eddie winced. Ponder patted his arm.
"I had to double-lock the Book then." he said. "Some of the other pop-up characters did not look nice at all. I really didn't want Bel-Shammaroth turning up, for instance. Admittedly whoever wrote the book had thought twice about making him into a pop-up imp. Just a normal drawing on a page. But with Bekki, you never knew."
Eddie winced again. Ponder basked in the glow of experience.
"And she's pregnant. That goes on for nine months. Let me tell you about some of the things that you've got to beware of…"
Elsewhere, Johanna had opened a bottle of mampoer and poured two glasses.
"Any thoughts where the child goes to school?" she asked. Olga frowned. She'd never been to school. Education for one of her status had been a succession of private governesses, minor titled people from Quirm and Ankh-Morpork. And then, highly informally, old Natalia, the babiuschka.
"Eish, that's for later. Need to talk to you ebout the next nine months. I found I could still ride a horse to the last minute. Horses edjust es your shape changes. Your Pegasus should get used to you. But I hed to give up edificeering efter three months. You'll have to work out how thet effects riding a broomstick. Witches must have got pregnant before?"
Johanna, too, was enjoying being able to pass her experience on to a first-time mother. It gave her a nice warm feeling inside.
"I tell you, Johanna, I'm not giving up a drink." Olga said, firmly.
"Very wise." Johanna said. "I tried that while I was carrying Bekki. Made no difference end I was miserable es Hell. Got Bekki. The little witch. I learnt. Drenk as normal while Famke was on the way. I considered thet if I was going to be uncomfortable for nine months with all the usual things, a drink would help. It helped with Famke."
"The one who is almost certain to become an Assassin." Olga remarked.
Johanna took a long sip of her drink. It helped.
"Ja. Over-confident es Hell. Still working on thet."
"And Ruth?" Olga asked. Johanna smiled. Ruth was approaching six years old. She was dark-haired like her father, promised to be physically slight, wore glasses like her father, and projected a huge-eyed shyness at the world. Her two older sisters loved her and were fiercely protective of her.
"Neither witch nor Essessin. Thenkfully. Inclined to gentler things. If she hes megic, it is in her fingers. End I do not think those fingers will hendle too meny weapons."
"You hope."
They thoughtfully listened to the piano scales. It was very easy to tell the difference between Famke and Ruth at the piano.
"She draws end paints, too. Gillian is impressed."
Life went on. Olga got visibly larger. The other witches were protective of her.
"Apparently a woman in the old country managed sixty-nine." Irena said, conversationally. All conversation stopped.
"Sixty-nine." Nottie said. Bekki looked up too. She thought ten O'Hennigans was pushing it a bit. And both Nottie and Bekki had mothers who'd stopped at three. Nottie sometimes talked dismissively about her brothers, the two Princes of Lancre. Apparently they were little shits.
"Da. Sixty-nine." Irena confirmed. "She was prone to twins. And triplets. And quads."
"Ah, kulaks." Olga said, reflectively. "Kulaks breed like rabbits. Well-known fact."
Irena invited Olga to do something spiky and probably biologically impossible. Bekki's knowledge of Far Überwaldean was improving almost daily. She reassembled the syllables in her head and winced, thinking "Ouch…"
"Da. Babiuschka Natalia told me. She said, as a young babiuschka, she dealt with that family. Did some of the confinements. Apparently, my great-uncle, who was Grand-Duke in that Duchy, paid them a pension, as they were celebrities. Govno, he got a few more good kulaks to work his estates. Good investment." (7)
"Serves you right if you have twins." Irena said. "Or triplets."
The older witches looked at Bekki.
"Just wait till you get to do your first multiple." Irena said, in a "you've got it coming to you, devyushka" tone of voice. "I did quads once. Just when you think it's all over, then govno, another one comes at you. Some God's idea of a joke, I suspect."
Bekki had not done a multiple birthing yet. But not too soon after that, and trying to get her head around the knowledge that her school wanted her to do the usual school-end exams a year or two ahead of time as she was "absurdly intelligent", she got to do the other thing witches have to do. Possibly, she speculated, as a necessary balance to Rebecka O'Hennigan. One in, one out.
Bekki had once, briefly, shared a prison cell with Steffi Gibbet, who at the time she knew as a special friend of Godsmother Alice. Her mother had carefully not gone into details. Bekki had shrugged. If Godsmother Alice wanted to hug and hold hands and kiss with her special friend Steffi, that was fine by her. It was sweet. They really liked each other. That was nice. Godsmother Alice needed a special friend, Bekki had decided.
Steffi had stayed in touch with the girls she fondly called "little old lags". They'd been cellies together, after all. If only for an afternoon.
Bekki and Davvie had even been given honorary membership of the Guild of Lags and Lifers. Davvie's father had passed over the membership cards with a very unreadable look on his face.
"Those cost me half an ounce of snout and six packs of rollies." he had said, mysteriously, in Prison Officer Talk.
Bekki had put hers in her Treasures Box. Her first Guild Membership, aged nine. Something to treasure.
Aged fourteen, she had a better idea of what special friendship meant. Shauna's Gang had discussed it one night. It meant bumping uglies with another girl. Shauna had said feck, no harm to it, and while I'm not that way inclined meself, at least you don't have to worry about getting up the duff. Not if you're an Embankment. A Holder-Back-Of-Water. A Friend of Alice Band.
Matron Igorina had also covered it in one of The Lectures. In Matron Igorina's opinion, there was no harm to it and definitely no stigma attached. Some people were made that way. It happened in all-female environments. Boarding schools. Oh, and among nuns.
Shauna's Gang had then watched diligently to speculate as to which of their nuns were special friends. They had a shortlist. Some nuns got visibly nervous.
And now Bekki had met a special friend of Godsmother Alice on the street. Steffi, normally cheerful and upbeat, looked worried. She had taken Bekki for coffee. Then explained she thought a situation needed a witch. She explained. They went round to the shabby little house on the outskirts of the Shades together. Bekki was glad she was walking with a career Thief. On these streets. Although Mum might have words to say…
Steffi let her into Number Twenty-Seven.
"Couldn't get Mrs Proust." she said, apologetically. "Long Short Tall Fat Sally wasn't available. Found you a witch, though."
One of the group of older neighbour women, the sort who rallied round in a crisis, looked around her suspiciously.
"Where?" she asked. "Is she outside, behind the kid?"
"Errr… " Bekki said. Being third choice witch wasn't good for her self-esteem. Then she remembered her training. And channelled Olga Romanoff, good and hard. With a side-salad of Johanna Smith-Rhodes. Mainly her mother, but she had six to choose from.
"Okay." Bekki said, focussing. "You asked for a Witch. I'm here. What's needed?" Her eyes dared them to argue.
The three older women looked at each other.
"A bit bossy, isn't she?"
Steffi smiled slightly.
"I think that's a good ninety percent of the definition of witch." she remarked. "This way, Miss Smith-Rhodes."
Bekki saw the old lady in the bed was elderly and fragile. She proudly said she was ninety-three years old. Up until earlier on tonight, she'd been looking forward to her ninety-fourth. All things considered, this was a bit of a bugger, Stephanie. You'll have to cancel the birthday cake, love.
Steffi agreed, lowering her head. Bekki realised the cheerful optimistic Thief she knew was looking a bit upset. The old lady, by contrast, seemed to be the most cheerful person in the room.
The old lady looked up at Bekki and grinned.
"You're the girl who got sent out? Bit young, but I suppose all witches have to start somewhere. Before there are old witches there have got to be young ones. Come and sit down, love. You can tell me about yourself, while we're waiting."
Bekki sat and talked to the old lady, who she discovered was called Olecrana Elbow. Mrs Olecrana Elbow. She wasn't related to Steffi. It was just that over the last few years, Stephanie got into a habit of calling round once or twice a week. To see I'm okay and I'm being looked after. Isn't that right, Stephanie? She does wonders for me toenails!(8)
Steffi blew her nose awkwardly. The old lady motioned Bekki to lean over and come close. Bekki did this. Mrs Elbow spoke softly into her ear.
"You ain't here for me, love." the old lady said. "I know where I'm going, more or less, and I'm not going to be a bother to anyone soon. You're here for them. Look after Stephanie, would you? She'll need it. Makes out she's hard as nails, but soft as a lamb on the inside. And stop them thieving buggers nicking anything on the way out. Neighbours. Hardly see them until you're about to die, then they turn up for the drama. Hmmph. Not young Stephanie, mind you. She can have whatever she likes. She's earned it."
"I've left the lot to you, Stephanie, love." the old lady said in a louder voice. "There ain't much, but it's yours. The little witch is my witness."
And then the room froze. Time slowed. The tableau of the Ephebian chorus of grieving neighbours and a genuinely sniffly weepy Thief slowed to nothing. Bekki moved suddenly in a world of stillness.
REBECKA.
She jumped. The voice was different… she'd expected something else.
She turned slowly.
"Miss Susan?" she asked.
It was her first teacher, the one she still vividly remembered from her nursery year at Frout's. Only Miss Susan was dressed all in black and holding a scythe…
I HAVE TO STAND IN… Miss Susan appeared to realise, and adjust.
"Now and again Grandfather is unavailable." she said, in her normal voice. "For whatever reason. So I get to cover the Duty."
She nodded across.
"I'm not surprised to see you became a Witch." Susan Sto Helit said, conversationally. "I knew straight away you were going to be different. Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons. I really wanted you in my classroom. Your parents took a little persuading, however."
"So what happens now, Miss Susan?" Bekki asked. "Look, it's my first one…"
"There was a cough from the bed.
"Show her, love?" Mrs Elbow requested. "Time I went. Well, nice meeting you, young Rebecka. All my love to Stephanie. She's a good girl."
MRS OLECRANA ELBOW? Susan asked, putting on the Voice.
The scythe swung. Bekki watched. This too was a witch duty. She wondered if her mother ever got to see this bit, and decided probably not.
"Well, That didn't hurt." Olecrana Elbow remarked. "What next?"
FOLLOW ME, MRS ELBOW. Susan said. NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN, REBECKA. LOOK AFTER STEFFI. SHE'S BY NO MEANS THE HARD-FACED CYNICAL STREET-HARDENED THIEF SHE LIKES TO MAKE OUT SHE IS. HAVING A CONSCIENCE AND A BIG HEART IS SOMETHING OF A DRAWBACK IN HER CAREER. RIGHT NOW SHE WILL NEED SOMEBODY.
Bekki saw them go. It was expected. Then she refocused and returned to the world.
She suggested to the Ephebian chorus of neighbours that if they didn't have anything useful to contribute, they could go. Now. This instant. Affronted, two of the three neighbours left. The third stayed and assisted Bekki and Steffi in What Came Next. They did the laying-out together and then made themselves a cup of tea.
Bekki comforted Steffi - a woman who was over thirty, more than twice her age, for goodness sake - and then realised there was one other thing a witch had to do. It meant…
"Steffi, can you get a message to Mum? That I won't be coming home tonight?" She wondered if a tearful-eyed thief was up to it.
"I'll do that, Bekki, love." said a voice from near ground level.
It was Grindguts.
"Followed you here, did'n'I? One of your aunties, the dead ones, tipped me off. Told me the address and everything. Said she'd try to tell your dad, but he's stuck in a book right now. Sends her love, but she weren't going to manifest with Death around, just in case She noticed, you know, got ideas, and anyway she thought you'd appreciate privacy at a time like this."
Grindguts grinned. He answered another question Bekki had not asked.
"Crossed the city on me own? No bother. All that practice at evading those bloody cats. Piece of piss!"
Grindguts grinned up at her, then disappeared in a blur of pixels. Imps did that sort of thing, she thought.
Bekki then spent the next couple of hours learning another essential fact about being a witch. That Sitting Up with the dead was bloody tedious and she was stuck with it till morning. She sighed, and hoped she could get back home, change into uniform, and be at school on time. She made herself comfortable on a chair, and wondered what she was sitting up for. It wasn't as if Mrs Elbow was going to come back as a Zombie or anything. At least, she hoped not. But it was one of those things that Had to Be Done, It was expected. She and Steffi sat on opposite sides of the shrouded corpse in the bed, wrapped in blankets, and tried to doze off.
In the early hours of the morning, she saw the black shape in the room. It had appeared from seemingly nowhere, as if summoned from somewhere terrible and evil for some inhuman purpose. First thoughts made her gibber a little. Second thoughts said "Wait and see."
She watched the dark, silent, shape that made no noise at all.
Steffi awoke. She stiffened, then relaxed.
Then the sinister dark spectre threw back the hood of its cloak.
"I bet you don't have the first bloody idea about how to organise a funeral." her mother said. Johanna Smith-Rhodes smiled slightly. She switched to Morporkian. "End it looks like an old lady who didn't have fifty pence to jingle in her pocket. Need to talk to you about this, Steffi."
Bekki smiled. Mum being an Assassin had its advantages sometimes…
Johanna sat down with her daughter and Steffi and they talked about What Must Come Next. Johanna felt Alice might chip in a few dollars to help give Olecrana Elbow a decent burial. Were there any relatives who needed to be informed?
Bekki watched and listened and learnt. It was all an education.
(1) It said a lot that the Watch employed only one wizard – and nearly a dozen Witches. Vimes considered that if he had to have magic-users in the Watch, he preferred the sensible and practical ones. Who were almost all witches and who knew how to use broomsticks.
(2) die Fakulteit van Magie en Towenaarheid
(3) To my story Bungle In The Jungle
(4) When a member of the nobility marries beneath their status. Not approved of in some circles.
(5) BOSS had opened a file on her. Foreigner married to a citizen, a Witch, which is illegal under law, and an associate of the known subversive Smith-Rhodes family. Three good reasons. And employed by a foreign government. Such dangerous people needed watching.
(6) Her Hogswatch card list went into three volumes.
(7) I'm not making this up. Look up Valentina Vassilevya and her husband Feodor. In Russia in the late 1600's, this amazingly fecund mother set the still unbeaten world record. They even got financial and material support from the local nobility who were proud of her accomplishment. Something to boast about to other nobles. It put the town of Shuya, Ivanovo Oblast, on the map, and gave it a local star.
(8) There's a tale about this too. The Seven of Coins, in The Discworld Tarot.
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.
Fropm the current Fortean Times (no 360, Dec 2017): Mkhkonyovu is isiZulu for "untrustworthy intrinsically dishonest person". Useful...