Strandpiel 25: Kom by die huis
How dual nationality works out for one proud user.
Another one, with lots of footnotes
Another amateurish, rushed and skimpy thing thrown together in a hurry so as to fulfil a need to keep the tale moving forwards. Lots sketched out, too little time to write. More will follow. Apologies if this looks a little bit scrappy and got to get something out there for Hogswatch as a sort of gift to readers. I will come back and expand or rewrite bits of this. Important right now to get it out there. Happy New Year! Happy Hogswatch! Tidying to v1.1.
The Assassins' Guild School, Filigree Street, Ankh-Morpork.
It was the last day of term before School broke up for the Hogswatch hols. First year pupil Famke Cornelia Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons waited in the Housemistress's Office of Raven House, placidly waiting for the attention of the two teachers who sat at the desk. She had not been invited to sit and for the moment, was quietly observing her Housemistress and the senior teacher, who were over at the desk, quielty conferring, and politely ignoring her. Famke had been summoned to the office by the duty prefect, and had left her dorm to comments like I wonder what sort of trouble Tykebomb's got into this time? Famke was quietly pleased with comments like that. It all added to her reputation. The last time, it had been some older relatives of Cassandra Venturi, including her unspeakably grotty older brother Parsifal, who had wanted to take sides in the ongoing difference of opinion between their sister and that lower-middle-class Smith-Rhodes girl, who seems to think she can get away with anything because of who her mother is. Famke had grinned and said if people were paying attention, her mother was, if anything, a little bit harder on her just to make the point that there was no favouritism going on. You've not been paying attention, obviously. Besides, my mother's people are tough and self-reliant, and we're taught early on to solve problems for ourselves and not to go running to older relatives and Family for help. Which you should learn to do, Cassandra? You've got a lot of Family round you at the moment and you're looking to them to solve your problems for you? Oh, and by the way...
Famke had then run at, leapt up at, and head-butted Parsifal Venturi, a boy four or five years older and twice her size. As another Venturi tried to punch her, she heard her friend Thora roar with anger and leap into the fight. It had taken three or four teachers to stop the fight and drag Famke away. And several more to deal with Thora, and a lot of Matron Igorina time to deal with the casualties.(1) But the Venturi family had laid off her then. Famke thought it was worth the trouble she and Thora had got into, even if her head was a bit swimmy and her face bruised from the punch that one of the Venturis had got through to her. It hadn't been entirely a one-sided fight.
But the Tykebomb had established a Reputation. It was said of her that if she walked into a room, you had to check if the fuse was fizzing, and how long it had to burn down before she went off boom.
But she'd also learnt in her first four months at the Assassins' School. Never piss your teachers off was a maxim. OK, Aunt Mariella had done it frequently when she was writing stuff for the School Newspaper. But she'd written it so subtly that you had to read it three or four times, before you realised she was actually saying things like Mr Moody the Classics Master frequently gets very, very, obviously, drunk.(2)
Famke knew she did not have her aunt's writing talent. And it paid to be cautious. Therefore she was happy to stand, apparently disregarded, watching her Housemistress, Miss Lansbury, and Doctor Smith-Rhodes, as they wordlessly exchanged written reports.
Regard Famke. She has the family red hair and the freckles. She has the same sort of lithe energetic alertness that characterises her female relatives. Her build is boyish, wiry, spare and athletic. Her face has an alertness of look and a tendency to set in a slight frown, especially when she is thinking. In short, she is a typical Smith-Rhodes woman, albeit one of only eleven. Very little about her obviously comes from her father: a very slight squint, maybe, indicating that whether she likes it or not, spectacles may be necessary in her future. But this very slight hint of Ponder Stibbons about her notwithstanding, everything else appears to be pure Smith-Rhodes.
Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons accepted another report from Miss Gillian Lansbury. She read it carefully.
"Setisfectory." she said, putting it down on the desk and accepting another one. Famke watched her carefully. This time Doctor Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons frowned, glanced at Famke, then back to the report.
"Not so setisfectory." she remarked. She accepted a third report.
"Definitely needs work." she said. Miss Lansbury agreed.
A fourth report got a grudging nod from Doctor Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons.
"Graded ebove-everage. Good."
And then they heard the school clock, fashionably late but not very much so, begin to chime five o'clock. All three heard it out in silence. As the fifth chime died in the air, Miss Lansbury said
"Well, that's officially the end of the School term. The Hogswatch holidays have begun." She reached for a sheet of paper that looked official. "If you'd just care to sign the release form, Doctor Smith-Rhodes..."
Miss Lansbury then looked over to Famke as if belatedly realising she was in the room.
"For the next two weeks, miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons, you are no longer my responsibility." her Housemistress said. There was a hint of weariness about the words. She nodded at Doctor Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons.
"All yours, Johanna. I'm assuming she's packed such belongings as she needs to take home with her."
Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons smiled at her daughter.
"Come here, you." she said, no longer a schoolteacher. Famke went to her, realising she really did love her mother. Separation had made her fonder, somehow. And the hols were here.
"Got eny friends you might want to have come over during the holiday?"
"There's Thora..." Famke said, instantly. Her mother nodded.
"Thora." Johanna's memory opened the filing cabinet of students and rummaged for a description. It found one. "I'll see Dorothea is instructed concerning her dietary requirements."
She turned to Miss Lansbury.
"Come over, sometime, Gillian." Johanna said. "you're elweys welcome."
18 Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork:
Professor Ponder Stibbons looked down at the long, heavy, cold-box that had been delivered by express cart from the railway station. He wondered if it hadn't just been the fact that the porters were pretty efficient that had got it here so quickly, both undamaged and uninterfered with. His wife's name had been on the delivery label, after all.
While Dorothea the cook fussed about where they were going to store it all, Ponder felt a stirring of pride. Again he looked down at the regulatory transit label, which was impeccably completed.
Authorised magical practitioner: Rebecka Smith-Rhodes (Witch).
His daughter had applied the magic. His own daughter. Fred Gydaire's Cold Box had been perfectly cast. He recognised several lesser spells, wards against theft, damage and misdelivery. Also perfectly cast. There were student wizards who were capable of seriously screwing up spells like this. Bekki was good at what she did. But above all, his daughter could now call herself Witch. This, he knew, was no small thing. (3)
"There must be a whole pig in there." Dorothea said. "Well, not the skin or the bones. The meat of one. We will be eating pork for a long time."
"It won't hurt to leave it in the cold-box. For now." Ponder said. "The magic will last for some time and the meat will stay fresh."
Dorothea smiled.
"I know, sir. She is your daughter. You trained Miss Rebecka well in dealing with things of muti."
Ponder smiled proudly and accepted the compliment. He was looking forward to seeing both his absent daughters again for Hogswatch. He knew the servants and the goblins were looking forward to it too.
The Assassins' Guild School, Filigree Street, Ankh-Morpork.
Famke Cornelia Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons went quickly back up to the First Year dorm to pick up the few things she'd need to take with her for a fortnight at home. The dorm had depopulated swiftly as the girls departed to familiies and guardians, at the signal of the five o'clock bell that announced the End of Term. The abominable Cassandra Venturi, the would-be Alpha Bitch and thwarted School Bully, had been one of the first, allowed to leave earlier in the day along with other family members at the School, as, well, Rank Hath Its Privileges. Everybody else had still had afternoon lessons to attend. Famke's last lesson of the term had been Literature. It hadn't been so bad: Auntie Heidi had covered it. She had led a class discussion on the Hogfather in literature and culture around the world, and had talked about the way the Kerrigian custom of Zwartepieter had travelled to Howondaland with the first emigrants. And how the anomaly of a representation of the Hogfather being a black man was accepted by her people, who saw nothing wrong or strange in that. Famke had smiled quietly; the Zwartepieter, in her family home, was usually played by Claude the butler, who was a real black man. She knew her grandparents usually persuaded some of their black employees to play the role for them. It was held to be good luck if the first person to knock on your door on Hogswatch Day was black-skinned. Her mother saw a very big irony in that. As did Aunt Heidi.
But now all she had to do was to collect a washbag, some underwear, and the few bits of bloody homework that needed to be completed over the hols – didn't they realise these were hols, for goodness' sake? And then go downstairs to where her mother, her mother again now and not Doctor Smith-Rhodes, was waiting for her.
One of the last few pupils in School was sitting on the end of her bed, combing and plaiting her hair. It was attractive long blonde hair, lush and long and silky. The fact it was growing on her chin had been cause for comment and consternation.
"Hey, Tykebomb!" Thora said, pleased to see her.
"Thora!" Famke said. Then, concerned, she said "Isn't it going to be lonely for you? In school over the hols?"
Thora Bryttasdottir shrugged.
"You know how it is. Dad's attending on the Low Queen for a few weeks. Mum's one of her Ladies-In-Waiting. They've asked if I don't mind. And the Royal Court's deadly dull, anyway. Too many people being suitably reverent and minding their manners and talking politics. It'll be more fun here with all the Fourecksians and Foggy Islanders and Acerians and Zulus and things who live too far away to get home for the hols. Oh, and your lot, who don't have families here. And the Grag's finding local people who might take us Dwarfs in."
Famke and her friend had a quick hug.
"Mum says you can come over." Famke said. "I think she'd quite like to see you socially. I know you've only seen her as a teacher. But she's different when she's being Mum. I know she's involved in something with the Embassy, for the Howondalandian pupils here. Getting them together for a dinner at Hogswatch. I've got to attend, apparently. But you can come over to ours. Meet my weirdo family. My big sister, the big daffy tree-hugging witch, she's coming over for Hogswatch. She's weird, but you'll love her."
"When you say witch," Thora said, cautiously, "that's not an insult. You mean capital-W Witch, right, as in pointy hat and broomstick?"
Famke nodded, ruefully.
"That sort, yes." she admitted.
"People to respect, witches." Thora said. "Even big sisters who are witches."
The two friends parted, for now. Famke liked Thora. As the Venturi gang had discovered, a Dwarf piling into a fight screaming war-cries in Dwarfish is a good thing to have on your side and a terrible thing to have coming at you. And a friend who covers your back in a fight is a friend worth having.
Their teachers, who had seen Mariella Smith-Rhodes team up with Rivka ben-Divorah, and then Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande join forces with Emma Roydes, were getting a huge collective attack of deja-vu on seeing Famke Cornelia "Tykebomb" Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons finding common cause with Princess(4) Thora Bryttasdottir of Müning. History, in their opinion, was repeating itself. It was another reason why Famke's mother had said "Bring a friend over", having a good idea of who the friend was likely to be. It was always useful to get advance warning. Besides, Johanna thought, both Rivka and Emma had turned out to ber exceptional students. And exceptional students merited special pastoral care. They'd been worth investing something extra in. And no Assassin teacher cherished the prospect of nurturing a student who turned out, in the end, to be a better Assassin than you were. In those cases, better to have them graduate thinking fondly of you and becoming a friend. The alternative had happened too. And could provoke cause for reflection in the Staffroom. Johanna could think of half a dozen or so who she suspected, deep down inside, could give her trouble – or worse – if there were ever cause for their respective abilities to be practically tested. All but one of them were well-disposed towards her, and she suspected the sixth saw no reason to look for a fight. She hoped. It was best never to make it two.
Ye Gods. I'm getting older, she thought. I'd never have thought like this twenty years ago.
18 Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork:
Famke had been the first of the sisters to come home. Her father had been really happy to see her again. She realised how much he'd missed her, and it was a warming feeling. And it was really nice to be around mum and dad and Ruthie and the servants and the goblins and the dogs and the cats. Manni and Pippi were home next door and Davvie was there on the other side. There was even Ruthie's part-time nanny, sort-of-informal-governess, and almost-a-big-sister, who was full of cheerful exuberance with most of the swearing edited out in front of Ruthie. All it needed, in fact, was Bekki.
Famke took very great care around Mum to avoid anything that even remotely looked like a fight. She noticed Mum was taking scrupulous care on her side too. Both agreed life was too short and they only had a fortnight together. And besides, Shauna was there a lot. Her role in the family was undefined, but Mum was paying her, weekends and a couple of nights a week, to be there for Ruthie, in the absence of big sisters. Famke had decided she liked Shauna, after having been taught a few Dimwell street-fighting tricks, a few dirty songs, and an expanded Hergenian-accented vocabulary. The streetwise stuff had really been useful in the Guild School and gave her an edge over many of her peers, who hadn't been brought up in an overcrowded slum house in a downmarket area of Ankh-Morpork. Famke hadn't either, but she'd learnt from Shauna, who had. Shauna was also scrupulously careful not to swear in front of Ruthie. Mum appreciated this. So did Dad.
And Shauna also had a gift. Famke had found her sitting in the back garden at Spa Lane, with an attentive circle of local children, playmates of Ruthie, sitting around her, intent as she told stories.
"Listen now." Shauna had said. "It is a sad tale I tell, a tale old as the hills and as grey as the dark ocean lapping at the shores of the land of Hergen, a tale of greed, a tale of vanity, a tale of the red bloody anger in the heart of man, and faith, at the heart of woman. I tell of the great Queen Medhbh who ruled the land with her husband and their seven sons, the seven brothers and princes of Hergen, and of the lust and desire to own the Great Bull of Culainge..."
Famke had listened, as spellbound as the others.
"And Cu Chulain, greatest hero of the land of Ulcer, was even as a normal man a warrior who none could withstand. But in his great anger and his wrath when the war-frenzy came upon him, when the unwise and the foolish and those who could not properly pronounce his name drove him to rage, his body spasmed and he became like to a demon or a human troll, and in his rage would scream the one thing his temper could not withstand...
"Don't. Ever. Call. Me. Colin!"
"For a geas, a spell, is placed upon Hergenian names so that the way they are written does not readily correspond with the way they are spoken. It is ever the fate of those called Siobhan or Niamh to hear their names badly spoken, to the point of causing actual pain to those called Siobhan or Niamh, in the mouths of those who know neither Hergen nor the tricky secrets of its spelling..."
Afterwards, Famke had asked Shauna O'Hennigan where she'd got all this from. Shauna had grinned sheepishly and said "Well, now, Kay. Your mother gave me a book. For my birthday. Concerning the myths and legends and the folklore of Hergen. She said she thought I should know these things about my own country, so I didn't lose my roots because of being brought up in Ankh-Morpork. Your mum thought I was putting down the wrong sort of roots, if you follow, and that to expand a miserable metaphor, so she said, they should be the right roots in the right soil. So I read it, and while I kept having to go to a dictionary and look the words up, I thought, this is powerful stuff! Then I went to find more books, and the stories spoke to me, and I put them into my own words, and I started reading them to Ruthie. Then other wee kids started to listen. Then their mothers brought them round to hear stories. I don't mind that. Not when they pay me."
Famke digested this. Then she said
"Shauna. You just made a long speech. And you never swore once."
"Sure, I know. It'll fecking well surprise Bekki. She is coming back, isn't she? I'm missing her."
Beki arived the next evening, after an eventful day of travelling. Claude, the dignified old butler, was first to greet her. He annouced her arrival in the correct manner, gravely informing her mother that "Miss Rebecka is home, madam." Johanna, pausing only to note that her butler was smiling as if he was genuinely happy about this, rushed to hug her daughter.
"You made it home, then." she said, laconically.
"Catch me staying away." Bekki replied, equally laconically.
Ponder Stibbons, in his study and trying to make sense of some term-end dissertations submitted by postgrad students – his job did involve some teaching – became aware of the penetrating and high-pitched squee! noises made by his daughters, plus Shauna, meeting up again. He decided grading and marking could wait, and went to greet her.
"We got her home, guvnor." said Grindguts the Destroying Demon. "Eventually."
"Thanks." Ponder said. He goggled slightly. "Errr... the tartan? And the tattoos?"
Grindguts grinned up.
"Joined the Feegles, did'n'I?" he said. "Got to know them in Lancre. They invited me to a fight, I took 'em all on, then afterwards, the boys said, hey, Green Yin. You're a canny fighter. We'd like ye to join the clan. Kelda Peigi said yes, and she give me the clothes. Good bunch of lads, when you gets to know them."
"Aye, mister Wizard." said Wee Archie Aff The Midden. "We was all right impressed with the Green Yin. Is it right the wee young Hag called him into being? That's strong magic!"
"Nah." Grindguts said. "I was there before her. Just a Version 1.4 imp created in a breeding vat somewhere. Then Bekki comes along and she gives me that bit more. I went beyond me programming 'cos she give me that push. Learnt what I was capable of. I owes her."
"She made ye, laddie." Gonnagle Angus said. "I am glad to see you give the Hag the correct degree of respect, aye."
Johanna looked down at demon and Feegle, who all went silent.
"You are Mistress of this place, mistress?" Angus said, politely. "The word, perhaps, is mevrou?"
"Ja." Johanna said. "Here in my plaas I am mevrou. End I hear you people have great respect for Witches. But, end let me make this clear, witches have mothers. End I em her mother."
"Aye, mistress." said Wee Archie. "I hear you are the terrible Assassin who the Zulu folk call the Red Death? Sister to one also called the Red Death?"
There was a silence. Johanna glared at the Feegle. Somehow to them it was as terrifying as any aggrieved Witch. Bekki reflected that this wasn't a thing to say to her mother on first meeting her. It sounded a bit personal, really. And she was impressed. Normally any human who wasn't a witch was just another bigjob to Feegle. But her mother was getting a sort of respect from the Feegle, on first meeting them.
Then Mum breathed out and smiled slightly.
"Ja." she said. "Thet is my Zulu title. End my sister's. We both earned it. But here, I em wife to Ponder. End mother to these three young girls. Who include the witch you have escorted here. End I thenk you. You've earned a drink. Whet size gless do you fellows take it in? When Kelda Kirstie was here, she preferred a thimble."
"Is it true a Feegle clan once brought down Miss Band and tied her up because she was trying to excavate their mound?" Famke asked, interested. "That you're the only people to ever have got the better of her in a fight?"
"The archeologist girl?" Gonnagle Angus said. He was amused. "Aye, lassie. 'Tis a tale among our people. But that was before your Miss Alice Band became what she is now. She had not then had the Assassin training, ye ken." (5)
"Enother time, perheps." Johanna said, quickly. She didn't want stories circulating among pupils concerning those few times when their teachers had slipped up. It detracted from the image and was bad for discipline. And, uneasily, Johanna remembered that time with the unicorn... she'd got over-confident, and had just seen it as a horse with a horn on its head... (6)
Gonnagle Angus smiled slightly and changed the subject. He turned to an appreciative Shauna O'Hennigan, who was watching them with great interest.
"Faith." she said. "Never thought I'd ever see the L..."
Angus raised a warning hand.
"Hear me, cailin." he said. "You are Hergenian, I see and hear. A wee word of advice. If ye wishes to be friends with the Nac Mac Feegle, do not ever use the L-word. In any of its forms."
Shauna digested this.
"So one of the old tales concerning what you might find at the end of the rainbow..."
"Not that one, either." Angus said, firmly. "Although I see and read in you that you are becoming a shanachie. That is an old Hergenian tradition. You are blessed and you are fortunate, cailin. You have a talent. You are a shanachie."
Shauna blinked.
"A shanna-what?" she asked.
Angus did the indrawing of air thing.
"Ye are Hergenian and ye do not know what a shanachie is? You are a maker of tales, girl. A weaver of stories. A bard, if you like. But one who has the magic and can make the old tales come to life, to weave and breathe them and to make them new. Just come you to a Feegle mound. Any mound. Then sit, and tell the tales. Ye will be heard and ye will be accorded respect. And the gonnagle, or if ye are fortunate, the Kelda, may tell you a tale of her own, one ye have not heard before, to add to your store. That was ever the deal. Ye will be welcomed, shanachie. These days there are few of you."
After a while, the two Feegle took their leave and craw-stepped back to Lancre, where Peigi was expecting them. Bekki noted that Angus was leading this time. She appreciated this. The old Gonnagle probably wanted to make sure they arrived. In the right place.
Bekki gave a version of their travels and their stop-over in Howondaland. Her mother listened, appreciatively. Bekki broached the topic of the ancestors. Shauna listened, open-eyed.
"Bekki. That time we were sharing a room and I heard you talking in Howondalandian. And somebody talking back. That was them, wasn't it?"
"Yes. It was. Does it worry you?" Bekki asked. Her friend shook her head.
"You see them too?" Mum asked. She sounded envious.
Bekki quickly explained her theory that in the not-awake, not-asleep state of mind on the beach of sleep, everybody briefly becomes psychic and can see and talk to ghosts who are nearby. Mum thought about this.
"So in thet state of mind. It may be possible..." she said, thoughtfully.
"It's worth a try, Johanna." Ponder said. "It can't hurt. But you'd only be there for a few seconds. And you can't control it. It'd be like some sort of static or something. Fading in and out."
Mum nodded.
"Bekki." she said. "Are any of them here now?"
"No, mum. I left them talking through Kelda Kirstie. They were happy somebody else was there they could talk through. My guess is that they're still there now, talking to Ouma and Oupa and my aunts."
"Makes sense." Mum said. "Besides. Ghost stories on a dark winter night eround Hogswatch are sort of treditionel. When you are werm end comforteble in a safe place, with femily. You do not elways get the ghosts themselves telling them, though."
"Anyway, mum. Ouma said, or she admitted, that that was probably the biggest single reason why she pushed at you so hard. For you to settle down and get married. She said it was an awful shame that your Aunt Johanna, the woman you were named after, died unexpectedly, young enough to be married and have children. But not being either a wife or a mother. Ouma didn't want you going in the same way. History repeating itself. Errr."
Her mother closed her eyes and considered this. Her face went stone and unreachable for a few seconds. Then she smiled.
"Ag. So if I'd marred, and had kids. Then got myself killed somewhere, leaving orphans and a widower. Mother would have been happy. Eish!"
Then she added "Mother meant well, of course. I believe I understand. Thenk you, Bekki."
Bekki decided to leave the other thing for now, for private. Well, one of the other things, the one that wasn't about Uncle Danie and Auntie Heidi. The warning from Johanna Francesca that Mum should talk to a doctor – if she couldn't get to see that clever Igorina woman – about her own heart. The thing about hearts suddenly stopping apparently surfaced in the family every so often and Smith-Rhodes women were prone to it. Admittedly Mum only shared – Bekki thought for a moment – twenty-five percent of her genetic stuff, a quarter of her essential self, with Johanna Francesca. And half of Mum was a van der Graaf, who didn't have sudden heart attacks. But, Bekki decided, her mother should get it checked out. If necessary, if Mum was toughing it out and denying it to herself, as Johanna Francesca had, then she, Rebecka, would go to see Matron Igorina herself and ask Mum's medically talented friend to drag her into the surgery and examine her at knifepoint, if necessary. Tie her to the examination table, or something.
But it had been a long day... she shared a room with Shauna that night. It was like old times. A lifetime ago, before she'd gone to Lancre to learn how to be a witch.
She did remember to put the grapes in the kitchen. You didn't see them in Ankh-Morpork in winter. Aunt Mariella and Uncle Horst had given her a very large bag of them to take home; Bitterfontein wine grapes. Mariella had said "Don't get greedy and eat them all yourself. Save some for your mother and your sisters."
And the next day, she'd met Auntie Heidi. Bekki had looked at her with witch-sight. Yes. There it was. The big solid aura that was her aunt's life-force. Irena had taught her how to unfocus her eyes and "see" this. It flickered around Auntie Heidi in shades of blue and yellow and green, helathy life-light. But there'd been a second, smaller, flame in there in orange and red, down in the stomach area where you'd expect to see it... and it was a boy.
Not knowing if Heidi had said it to anyone yet, Bekki made an educated guess.
"Roll on next summer." Bekki had said, a propos of nothing. "When it's warm and all sorts of things are possible. Grune's going to be a really nice month, Auntie Heidi."
Auntie Heidi had gone very quiet and thoughtful in mid hug. "Yes. It will be." She said. Then she whispered in Bekki's ear "Your mother knows. I told her. Nobody else yet. Not even Danie, for now."
To be continued
(1) Igorina had actually smiled with delight and said "At last! The Smith-Rhodes family never fails. Famke's in Raven House, isn't she? One to watch. Things were getting boring after Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande graduated."
(2) Mariella had actually written a spoof Classics essay on the great Latatian poets and historians, quoting the original Latatian and Ephebian, referring to wild parties where everyone present got hammered, dropping in quotes about the pedagogue with a habit of getting pissed after school, without once mentioning the whispers about the School's Classics teacher or scurrilous rumours about him. Mr Moody did frequently say we should emulate the moral example of the great Latatians who had shaped the world, after all, as he sought to do in his own life. She had merely said she thought the Classics master was making a good point and was wholly consistent in his actions.
(3) Setting up the system by which magical items in transit should be clearly labelled as such had been no small thing. It took a long time for the Post Office and the Rail Ways to agree on common wording and Deputy Postmaster Tolliver Groat had needed to be persuaded not to write a whole sub-volume of Post Office Regulations. Unseen University had been easy, in comparison. Mustrum Ridcully had pointed out that University bureaucracy could take it in its stride that every Wizard should have a unique Practitioner Identification Number that could be verified against an official list (3.1), and that most of the fellows would take this as an extra mark of recognition and achievement. However, Mistress Tiffany Aching and Nanny Ogg, the de facto Number One and Number Two in the Witch hierarchy, had been opposed. On a visit to Ankh-Morpork for various reasons, the two Witches had dropped in on the committee discussion to present their professional point of view. Nanny Ogg had said it was a big bloody waste of time and witches didn't need no final exam, no graduation ceremony, and certainly no bloody number to say they was fit to practice as Witches. Either a girl was a witch or she wasn't, and that's the end of it! 'Sides, I'm not a number, I'm a free Witch. Like any witch in any Village.
Tiffany Aching, aware the Patrician was looking expectantly at her for her contribution, had said that "Mrs Ogg was correct to say we have no final examination – a Witch is always learning, including me – and we hand out no diplomas, and we have no University. But the authority of the witch, like that of the Low King of the Dwarfs, comes threefold. First, a witch knows, inside, that she is a Witch. Second, it comes from the people around her accepting that she is a witch, and giving her the correct respect. And thirdly. The authority of a witch derives from the greater community of Witches recognising her as a sister witch and accepting her as such. And believe me, Lord Vetinari, Arch-Chancvellor Ridcully, Professor Stibbons. Hear me, Deputy Postmaster Groat. If any woman signs this official form pretending to be a witch and according herself a status we do not recognise – we will know. And we will take the correct action. Therefore we need no number to identify ourselves. If that is all, my Lord? My husband is working at the hospital, l and it would be nice to meet him for lunch. That is all, gentlemen. Coming, Mrs Ogg?" Tiffany had then left the room in a way that conferred respect; the effect was slightly spoilt by Nanny Ogg grinning wickedly and cracking a dirty joke.
(3.1) In Britain, the National Health Service legally insists all qualified doctors, dentists, nurses and pharmacists should have a Personal Identification Number as another safeguard against fraud, deception and identity theft Many doctors are vain enough to see this as another detail that sets them above the masses of people who are not medical doctors. Others see it as another bloody waste of time as the PIN can be forged or faked like anything else and only serves to keep the ever-growing NHS bureaucracy busy.
(4) The original Dwarfish translates as Eldest Daughter Of The Senior Mining Overseer. Although it allowed Thora to glare at Cassandra Venturi, who had expressed dissent at a smelly Dwarf stinking up the dorm, and reply "So you're going to be Lady Venturi sometime. Big deal. I may be a smelly rat-eating Dwarf, but I'm also a fucking Princess. So I outrank you. And I'm also going to thump you. Hard." Miss Lansbury had had words afterwards. Lots of words.
(5) My tale The Lancre Caper, in which a young Alice Band discovers why no archaeologist stays in Lancre for long. Elves were a tough fight. Alice was outclassed by Feegle.
(6) It's in The Discworld Tarot: Johanna signally fails to capture a unicorn. Well. She'd been going out with Ponder for quite a while by then and had lost an essential qualification for she who would tame a unicorn.
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.
Earlier today I travelled from Manchester to Bury on the famed Metrolink tram. I passed through a station with the exotic Lancashire name of Besses O'The Barn. This town exists as a district of North Manchester roughly in between Manchester and Bury, Lancashire. It's just before Prestwich, a district which takes on its own character as this is now the beating heart of Manchester's Jewish community, the biggest British-Jewish area outside London. Makes me think if my character Rivka, for some reason. Anyway. I keep meaning to look up how this wonderfully named place, Besses O't' Barn, got its name.
I finally got it. Local legend has it that back in the day when Manchester was an insignificant little grothole of a town on the main coaching road from London to Carlisle and then to Scotland, there was a waystation here. A coaching halt, a sort of 17th century motorway service station, run by a woman called Bess and her daughters, in a converted barn. It had a reputation for comfortable beds, good beer and tasty hot food. Thus the term arose, from those wanting a beer and a dinner, that they were just going to see the Besses o't' Barn… this wonderful local story sounds so Lancre that it has to be used somewhere!