Strandpiel 18: Herfsreën – Autumn Rain
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, now easing, 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. Go to my archive and read. You know you want to.
Bekki was back at the Dancers in the company of Tiffany Aching, Nanny Ogg and Petulia Gristle. She noted that there was a target set up, a standard competition archery bullseye, with its concentric rings and divisions. As this was Lancre the rings were painted on in a wobbly sort of way and the frame it stood on was makeshift. But Lancre's archers(1) found it good enough to practice on.
"Humour me." Tiffany said. "Take a shot. Several, if you like."
Bekki shrugged and sent three crossbow bolts down the makeshift range from about a hundred yards. Three quick aimed shots. Two bulls and an inner. Mum had taught her thoroughly. Bekki liked the abstract exercise of competition shooting. It was good exercise, it tested her abilities, and she wasn't being asked to, you know, fire at actual living people. And putting a crossbow quarrel exactly where you intended it to go was always satisfying. You know. As a challenge. A skill to master.
The other witches nodded appreciation.
"Good skill." Nanny Ogg said. "Not showy. She can put her money where her mouth is. Bet she can use that sword, too, and it ain't just for show!"
"Never thought it was." Tiffany said. "You have to be stupid to wear a sword you can't actually use, if somebody calls your bluff. And I've heard about her mother!"
She nodded to Bekki.
"Okay, we've established that you can actually shoot." she said. "Now we're just going to move the target…"
Tiffany, with a little effort, pulled out the three quarrels from the target and handed them back to Bekki. Then she and Petulia lifted the target and its frame together, and moved it twenty or so yards to the right. Bekki noted they took care to position it not quite between two of the standing stones of the Dancers. But, very very carefully, just in front of a notional line in the ground connecting the two.
"Now try." Tiffany said. Bekki reloaded, wondering where the catch was. There had to be one. She shrugged, then sighted carefully on the bull, at around seventy yards, no cross-wind…
The shot went hopelessly wide and impacted into one of the standing stones, nine feet away from the bull. Puzzled, she tried again, sighting on the bull. Again the bolt shot off to the side and hit stone. It audibly clanged.
As she reloaded, Bekki wondered if some odd local condition was acting like a strong crosswind and causing her shots to drift off target. She compensated this time by aiming nine feet to the left, reasoning this would being her back on target.
This time the shot impacted the standing stone to the left of the target. She tried to compensate with her fourth bolt. Again it hit the left-hand stone.
Puzzled, she looked at the others.
Step up this way." Tiffany said. "Oh… take your sword off first? And are you wearing that chainmail shirt today? Better strip off. You'll see why."
Reasoning that this time there weren't any men around, Bekki took a minute or two to adjust her clothing. The mail undertunic, lightweight Assassin-quality mail, jingled to the ground. Then she walked with Tiffany to the stones. Tiffany invited her to retrieve her crossbow bolts. They had not penetrated the stone as such. Nor had they bounced off and dropped to the ground. They just appeared to be stuck there, at odd angles to the stone.
Bekki took one by the shaft and pulled hard, It took some tugging and seemed not to want to let go. She tried to remember what Godsmother Alice had said about her encounter with these stones. Something was important… and her father had said he'd been here too. Something about stone with a love-of-iron…
"It's the love-of-iron, isn't it?" Bekki asked. She wrenched one bolt loose, with effort.
"She's gettin' it." Nanny Ogg said, grinning.
Tiffany Aching nodded.
"A few days ago, you expressed a willingness to shoot at anyone who stepped out of that stone circle." she said. "I didn't want to tell you then, in front of everybody else, that you'd probably only have hit them if they'd been standing directly in front of a stone."
"Because the stones pull anything made of metal to them." Bekki said. "Like an arrowhead in flight."
A horrible thought struck her.
"If I'd come close to this stone with chainmail on…"
"You'd have stuck fast. Hard to get out of. Like a fly on sticky paper." Petulia Gristle said. "Errr… we decided it was best you knew. In case of accidents."
Bekki breathed out.
"Thank you." she said. It occurred to her that two out of the three witches she was with were quietly enjoying this. She wondered if this was what Mum might call correcting an overconfident pupil. The witch version.
"And any sword or weapon with iron in would be just as useless." Bekki said.
"Love of iron." Tiffany Aching agreed. "All these stones have got it. Only seems to work if you're within five feet, though."
Bekki thought quickly. She recalled what else Godsmother Alice had said. She also wanted to get one back.
"So being close to these stones neutralises weapons. Weapons with iron and steel in."
The three older witches nodded.
Bekki smiled slightly. She reached down and pulled a knife out of the built-in scabbard in her boot-top. Assassin footwear(2) incorporated things like this as standard. Mum had taken her, and Famke, to a specialist leatherworker who knew exactly what was needed.
"All weapons?" she asked. She considered the boot-knife for a second, then laid it against the stone by the length of its blade. She withdrew her hand. The knife clattered to the ground, spurned in romance by the stone. A second blade was similarly jilted.
She took a certain pleasure in seeing Tiffany Aching pick it up, and how she tried hard not to look puzzled. Tiffany tried to stick it to the stone again, realised it wasn't going to, caught it by the hilt as it dropped, and then studied the knife in her hand.
Then she realised.
"This isn't steel. It's made of metal, but it looks wrong. Feels wrong, somehow. It's slightly the wrong colour and it doesn't look like steel. Feels a little lighter, too."
Bekki grudgingly gave the older witch full marks for being observant and intelligent.
"My Godsmother, Miss Alice Band, gave them to me as a going-away present." Bekki said. "She was hoping to get me some crossbow bolts with heads in the same metal. But till then, I've got to make do with ordinary steel. I'm not sure of the specifics, but Godsmother Alice said these blades are in something called a titanium-tungsten alloy. The Dwarfs make them, but they're incredibly expensive. She said they're, what's the word, completely un-magnetic. No iron whatsoever. My Godsmother said she'd had to use these knives when she visited Lancre. And that they were worth every dollar, when she couldn't use iron. I think I see what she was trying to tell me, now."
Tiffany handed the knife back, with a little smile on her face. Nanny Ogg whistled.
"That Alice Band? And she's your Godsmother? I remember. Long time ago now. Before she became an Assassin. She killed two elves here. Well, not right here. Round the other side, between the Piper and the Drummer. Whoops, nearly forgot."
Nanny reached down and touched Bekki's chain-mail. In a perfunctory way, and quite a lot later than people usually did when their names were mentioned.
"If you wants to pick that up, love, and your sword, we'll walk round to the spot where it happened, and I'll tell you. I was there. I seen it. Knew then young Alice was going to become an Assassin. Got the killing streak."
And Bekki heard the story, on the spot where it had happened, exactly the same spot, how Godsmother Alice had killed two Elves, quick as blinking, who were taunting her that while they could shoot her from inside the circle of stones, she was incapable of retaliating with her iron weapons, as the stones would not allow her to.
"They said that, did they?" Bekki said. It was a reversed-whistle-through-the-teeth moment. "To Godsmother Alice? Told her they were going to shoot her, and she was powerless to do anything about it?"
Bekki shook her head. Some people really could get overconfident…
"Then we seen her, me and Esme Weatherwax, mayhersoulhavemercyontheGods"
"MayhersoulhavemercyontheGods!" the other witches chorused, ritually.
"And then young Alice grins. And that grin from young Alice Band is not the sort of grin you ever wants to see bein' grinned at you. And, no hesitation, no messin', she's got these two knives out, and they goes right through in between the stones and drops the Queen's two bodyguards. Dead. Shut the Queen right up, let me tell you. She goes a-running, scared, knowing she'll be next. Just wish Alice had had a third knife on her to throw."
A thought struck Nanny Ogg.
"And these is the same knives. Bekki, love. I'm just bettin' somethin' is watchin' us now from inside the circle. We can't see it. But they watches. Just as we watches them. Show them the knives."
Bekki faced the gap between two stones. Where her Godsmother, a long time before Bekki had been born, probably only a few years older then than Bekki was now, had killed Elves.
Feeling a little silly for doing this, but also knowing full well that empty space in front of you didn't necessarily mean there was nothing there, she raised the two throwing knives.
"Do you remember these knives? Take a good look. Their last owner killed two of you with them. These knives are mine now. I don't want a fight, but if you come here seeking to do hurt or harm or injury, you'll feel them again. They've got your peoples' blood on them. Whether they get any more of your people's blood on them, or not, is up to you."
Bekki stepped forward, feeling a bit of what Irena and Olga called boffo was called for. She dragged her heel in a rough but definite line between the two stones.
"In the language of my mother's people. Trek ons die lyn. That means something to my mother's people, who are mine too. You cross this line, which I swear I will help to hold, and you will get trouble. Belowe pyn en smart. You may never have met Howondalandians before. Find out about us. When we say we will stand fast, hold the line and fight you where we stand – we mean it."
Bekki held the two knives up. She was flying now.
"Weapons with a history should have names. This knife is now Pyn. This knife is Smart. And the pain and the hurt they promise will not be mine!"
Bekki got her answer: a short and unmistakable flurry of snow and ice, a sensation of an unbearably chill winter, and a leaden grey sky stretching over a snowfield that went on as far as the eye could see. Then it cut off, as quickly as it had started.
"Well done." Tiffany Aching said, at her side. Bekki came back to Disc, realising Tiffany and Nanny Ogg had been standing just behind and to either side of her. "You swore a vow. Witnessed by us. It had to come from you. In this place there had to be a Three. To remind them we are watching, and new witches are arising all the time. That we are not weak, and witches come to us with surprising backgrounds and skills."
"A Witch who can use weapons like an Assassin. Even if she don't want to. Trained by Assassins. On the fly, admittedly, but trained by the best. Never been done before." Nanny Ogg said. "And with one foot in a country that don't do witches very much. First one from her country that we've met. New ideas. New ways of thinkin'. Something new."
Nanny grinned. A big cheerful almost toothless grin. She reached over to pat Bekki on the shoulder.
"You did good, girl. We got a defender in you. Reckon she'll do, Tiff?"
Tiffany Aching smiled.
"Yes. She'll do. But right now, I want to get her trained up on sheep. You can't be an animal-witch if you don't know too much about sheep. But no hurry."
"Err..." said Petulia Gristle, the disregarded fourth. She'd felt the elf-world too.
"We give 'em a message." Nanny said. "They heard. They'll tell the Queen. And they'll think again about coming back. That's enough for today. You brung some good cuts of pork with you, Petulia? Good. I'll get one of the girls crackin' on cooking it for our tea. Leave that target. I'll send one of the lads up to collect it. Those buggers over there can look at the holes in it, and reflect on our havin' a girl who can shoot straight. Among many other things. A defender. Let's get on our broomsticks and back to a warm kitchen, shall we?"
"Just let me get my mail shirt back on, Mrs Ogg." Bekki requested. In this place she felt oddly exposed without it.
To/:-
Mrs Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons
And Professor Ponder Stibbons
18 Spa Lane
Nap Hill
Ankh-Morpork
AM3 1DL
Liewe Ouers / Dear Mum and Dad.
Well, it's getting interesting here up in the Ramtops. Winter is almost here, and we are concentrating on all the things we need to do before the snow and the ice really set in. Autumn in Lancre is usually wet with lots of rain. Plenty of rain. The rain is beginning to get colder and Petulia and Gouther tell me it will turn to snow soon. I believe I Have Been Warned.
Gouther and the men have been out cutting firewood for the winter. The log piles are growing huge on three sides of the house and there is no sign of their stopping soon. I have been learning about dealing with those little accidents which beset men who use axes and saws. Fortunately there are Igors down in Hot Dang, where the lumberjacks are, and they are skilled in reattachment of fingers, hands, feet and in extreme cases whole limbs. Petulia and I have had to stabilise wounds, do basic stitching, and fly emergency casualties, plus any detached parts, down to the Igor station.
I had to deal with one of the Mobberley brothers, who had heard about steam power and thought they could harness it to make what they called a Saw with Chains for fast felling of trees. I can see the idea might one day work, but right now it requires thought and more careful experimentation than the Mobberleys could apply. The Igors think Sensibility Mobberley will be up and walking on his new legs within the month.
Lumberjacks in Hot Dang are a strange breed. Your thorough training in foot care is appreciated, by the way. I respect your advice that high heels should be avoided as they force you to walk in an un-natural and an uncomfortable way and leave the feet prone to bunions and other ailments. You sincerely believe that women should avoid them as far as is practicable as they are Bloody Uncomfortable. I agree.
Well. Try telling this to Hot Dang lumberjacks, many of whom have imported the unique lumberjack dress which is a custom in Aceria. And I use the word "dress" literally here. And high heels. And lingerie. Apparently in Aceria this is Traditional. A lot of the lumberjacks here are from Aceria and are bringing their traditional skills to Lancre. The pub in Hot Dang is therefore an international and a cosmopolitan place that is accepting of their little quirks. You see a lot of strange sights in there.
At least I speak Quirmian. Thanks to Auntie Emmanuelle and especially to Madame de Badin-Boucher, who taught me all about sacrées as used in her native Quirmian Aceria. (3) It surprised the lumberjacks when I was able to speak to them in their native language, together with carefully applied sacrées, about how high-heeled court shoes are not suited to hard work in a forest. Not even for women. On a man of six feet and eighteen stones in weight… but as they say, some things are Traditional. At least many lumberjacks, both native Lancre men and the immigrants from Aceria, are dressing more sensibly for everyday work and saving the more exotic clothing for leisurewear and special occasions.
I also thank you for the alchemical recipe for worming draughts suitable for pigs and the advice as to how to make them up. Petulia and I did two or three hundred beasts with them. At least with piglets, you can up-end them and allow gravity to do the job, as you showed me at the Zoo. Mature sows and boars take more thought. Petulia uses a variation on the idea of pig-boring to render them soporific, less prone to struggle, and easier to manage. Pig-boring is an interesting skill. I discovered I could do it to an extent by reading them the stock exchange listings from the Times in the most monotone voice I can manage. I also discovered that the Howondalandian newspapers you sent me – the one with family news from Piemberg – do the same. News of births, marriages, deaths and court appearances from Piemberg, read in Vondalaans in the most monotone voice I can manage(4), works to stun pigs into a state of listless catatonia in which it is easy to dose them. Petulia begged me to stop as she reminded me they are to be allowed to return to full life – we are not in this case humanely killing them. But she believes I have an aptitude for the Pig Trick. Whatever that is. No doubt I will learn it in due course. Lancre pigs do not understand foreign languages, apparently, and their attention soon wanders. Petulia doesn't want their attention to wander so far that it loses its way and fails to return. Yet.
We are indeed slaughtering, butchering and preserving surplus pigs prior to winter. I have learnt much about this process, which is grisly but necessary. I can now roll and tie a full loin of pork ready for the oven inside three minutes and have learnt the intricacies of salting and preserving pork meat for a winter store. Fortunately the hides and skins are not tanned here and this is done elsewhere. What I saw of tanning in Ankh-Morpork convinces me that this is a disgusting process best performed by others. Petulia wishes to send you a Hogswatch gift of meat and pork produce, by the way. As thanks for your sending me here. It can be in Ankh-Morpork inside a day and we will let you know in good time so as for it to be collected.
Please send, in order of need:
More books. Lancre people are not great readers. They are not famed for this. Petulia fell on the few I brought with me, as she is clever and literate, but we have read everything available to us in a country where things made of paper tend to end up in the Privy attached to a loop of string.
Thermal underwear!
More socks, the thick woolly ones. This is Lancre, and winter is coming.
Also the following Herbs and Apothecary preparations which are in short supply here…(list attached)
How are preparations for Hogswatch going at Home? I hope to be with you for part of the season, flying conditions permitting. Also Famke is worried you will forget about her and leave her in School. I am sure you won't, however tempted you are! And perhaps the incident with Cassandra Venturi on the edificeering wall really was a genuine accident? Famke says she was nowhere near her. I believe her: my sister may have a lethal streak but she is not stupid, and knew she would be blamed regardless. She would not do anything so obvious and blatant and any disagreement with Cassandra would be pursued outside the line of sight of so many witnesses. I hope it can be sorted out.
Dad; please tell me about "love of iron"? In wizard-speak, if you have to. I have been to the Dancers, the standing-stones, and the more I know, the better. I also thank Godsmother Alice for her gift to me. I now know what she intended it for – although I have only used them to threaten, and to warn People who may well have seen them before. They appeared to understand, and did not force a confrontation, choosing to reveal a little of themselves to me which served to explain why they are to be resisted. Die vjand nou jaag oor ons veldte, as they say. Godsmother Alice will know. If arrowheads are available in the same Metal, they may well be useful.
All my love to you both and to Ruth. I am glad you are offering Shauna little bits of work for you. Ruth appears to really love her, my silly sweary big-hearted Hergenian friend, who I really really miss. I hope Ruthie is not picking up too many strange new words from her babysitter. I love it that Ruthie is coming out of herself more under Shauna's big-sister-substitute encouragement.
Bekki
To/:-
Miss Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, Witch
Highmost Pigmaney
Pork Scratching
The Kingdom of Lancre
Well, Devyuschka!
You will soon know Winter. Not to the standards of Winter in my native country, as there Winter comes early and lingers longer. But Lancre, as I recall, comes a very close second. And we have steppe. Lancre has mountains. You are now experiencing what we call the Rasputitsa, winter's whore of a sister, who softens the ground and heralds the snow with much rain and consequent mud. Olga and I will happily accept that the Rasputitsa in Lancre is every bit as glutinous and as muddy as anything we knew in Far Überwald, an unwelcome reminder of Home.
I hope you remember to hum the main theme of Doinov's СНОВА ПОХОЛОДАЛО! as you go about your work. It may not help, but it serves as a wry comment on the season.
One thing Olga and I brought from Home to Lancre is enclosed. Not the same ones that we wore for the season(!), but new and tailored to your boot size. You will need them. You now have a pair of valenki. These are meant to be worn over your boots, which I hope will be worn with at least two pairs of socks. The valenki over-boot adds another layer of warmth and offers additional traction against snow and ice. They are not elegant, but in Far Überwald, elegance is not a survival trait in deep winter.
We have also provided you with a telogreika outfit and a modified ushanka. These too go over your normal clothing. The telogreika, as you will see, consists of heavily quilted jacket and trousers. Your mother assisted in providing your sizes so that we could have these made up. She believes that living in Ankh-Morpork has immured you to winters as they are known there, but her experience is that people of Howondalandian blood struggle in the Central Continent in the winter months. I have seen your mother, and people like Ruth N'Kweze, in winter. I agree. And those were only Ankh-Morporkian winters. You will look like a small troll in an overcoat, but at least you will be warm. Your mother is keen that you wrap up warm. And thank the small creatures who died so that their fur might go into keeping your head and ears warm. And WEAR GLOVES! You will miss your fingers if you lose any.
Also – are there bath-houses where you may go for a very hot cleansing bath? Important, devyushka. Hot baths and steam are not only cleansing, they are good for morale. Birch twigs and an understanding friend to apply them are a help, but I know you are strange people who shudder at the idea.
Olga and her children thrive. Vassily and Valentina are developing into fine healthy babies. I will try to get iconographs. To think I wished a multiple birth on her in a moment of exasperation! Annaliese is a very good nanny to them, and she is learning our language well. She is also clocking up many flying miles on the Pegasus Service and adapting well to commuting between two continents with a home in each. She misses you too and wishes you well in your new life.
We are hearing good reports concerning you and are very pleased. Good reports reflect well on us. They are pleasing.
Nottie sends her love and she may soon be taking leave to return to her home. She is looking forward to visiting you. You were her pupil too. She wants to see how you are getting on. Have you been to Lancre Castle yet? Magrat likes to meet new Witches in Lancre as and when she can. She may invite you to dinner at the Castle and to stay over as a guest. She is alright and a good friend. I think you will like her, but when you meet Verence – never mention custard. Important. He twitches, poor man. It is painful to watch. Like that chef who has a fit when the word Garlic is spoken. Unfortunate, as he was asked to cater for the King and Queen of Lancre on their State Visit. Given Magrat's family name, I assume this was Vetinari's idea of a joke.
Nottie asks you not to hit either of her brothers too hard. While both have a touch of Parsifal Venturi about them, they are, I think, saveable. And punching a Prince might not be seemly behaviour, even in Lancre.
I expect no payment for the gift of valenki, telegroika and ushanka. And the large warm Cossack cloak which you will find a friend and a comfort when several hundred feet up, navigating blind in a snowstorm. However, Petulia Gristle bakes extremely nice pork pies. The one with Lancre Blue Cheese and cranberries is especially palatable and I could happily eat more than one at a sitting. Olga likes the ones with a hint of strong port wine.
Надеюсь на скорый ответ. Ответь как можно скорее. Я вас люблю!
Irena.
To/:-
Miss Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, Witch
Highmost Pigmaney
Pork Scratching
The Kingdom of Lancre
To my dear Godsdaughter.
The case contains twenty special crossbow bolts. A recent contract completion provided me with adequate finance to invest in new equipment and the Guild is also experimenting.
I will spare you the details as many things are Guild-sensitive and privileged information, but there is a growing trend among paranoid people to use the "stone-that-loves-metal" and related things as a sort of detection system, which activates if people entering the building where the client is are carrying concealed weapons. Several Assassins were caught out this way until we realised, and started evolving counter-measures.
Fortunately, such weapon-detection systems only work if the concealed weapon has an iron content. And quite often, they are only as good as the guard tending them, who tend not to be the best human material (recruited cheaply, and as we know, you get what you pay for) and who can become bored and disinterested by a monotonous job. Which makes them easy to deal with.
The Guild is developing weapons with no iron or steel content whatsoever. I also enclose several basic knives which are based on new ceramic compounds with no metal content whatsoever. (And to think we used to consider trolls beneath us, uninteresting, and not worth speaking to. They have interesting technology too!) Strange we are reverting to stone blades – although these are a lot more advanced than chipped flints! Tell me how you get on with these; I believe they can be used for conventional and routine kitchen tasks too and may be of use to you in animal work.
The sealed envelope has copies of the iconographs I took of the Elves I encountered. Show these to your fellow trainees so they know the true look of the things they may be called upon to fight. I believe this will be helpful.
Enclosed is a Guild document which is for your eyes only: please read it and incorporate anything of interest or use in informal teaching you may share with your peers. It sums up what the Guild knows of Elves and the strategies we have evolved for dealing with them, where encountered. You may find this informative. And it is in everybody's best interests if the elves are checked and destroyed wherever they try to intrude, whoever does the fighting. When you are done, please return it to me in the prepaid return envelope: it is checked out from the Dark Library in my name, but will need to be returned there.
Your sister is doing very well at school, as is only to be expected. We are generally very pleased with her progress as she is a fast, able, student: but certain issues have had to be addressed. In plain Morporkian, she requires reining in. Frequently. I am seriously considering sending her on the Vimes Run to rub this in. If I do this, she will set a School record for becoming the youngest-ever student to be sent for correction at the hands of Sam Vimes! Usually this is only done around the age of fourteen or fifteen, or older. The youngest student I ever despatched – and she had exceptional promise – was thirteen. Sending an eleven-year-old is unprecedented. But it may become necessary. Famke, known simply as Kay to her friends, also has the nickname "Tykebomb". Members of staff consider she is a Walking Device on an uncertain fuse, who requires careful handling by people with bomb disposal experience!
I consider she is already showing the seeds of exceptional promise. Such students require bespoke handling. Your mother agrees.
I hope to see you all at Hogswatch – you will be coming Home for the season? – and I do admit I miss you. It's warming to hear of how well you are doing. Well done. So very well done.
With fond love and affection – and I do not say that very often!
Your Godsmother
Alice Band.
To be continued.
(1) Shawn Ogg and a couple of part-time Castle guardsmen
(2) And no, it wasn't Tuttle Scrope, who did a certain other sort of specialised footwear for discerning clients. Mum got her boots from a cobblers' shop who had a discreet "By Appointment to The Guild of Assassins" mark of approval. And you didn't want to stick a knife with a razor edge down your boot-top, hoping you weren't going to ladder your tights, rip your sock, or stick it straight into your leg. Student Assassins had come to grief on this, with the practicalities of the knives-down-the-boot-top thing.
(3) French-Canadian swearing is exotic and interesting. Believe me.
(3) die Liewe Heksie, the TV show, again. Lavinia the Little Witch has a very monotone speaking voice. She'd be good at pig-boring.
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.
Had to check out Russian winter clothing suitable for the harshest winter. The clothing items and designations are Red Army - I'm assuming they applied to civvies too. Bekki's "Russian" fur cap will have the standard fold-down flaps to keep her ears warm, but will also incorporate a pointy hat so that people know.