Strandpiel 26: Bevordering - Advancement
Here we are again... yet another chapter.
I wondered why I was writing a lot but not apparently getting anywhere with this - and then realised that yet again, I was over-working things so that what ought to have been a brief summary paragraph or two was becoming a chapter in its own right. So... start again... original text preserved at the end as a "bonus".
That new job I started. It's a happily international band of misfits of all ages. And it's so funny how these things work out. I work alongside an utterly delightful African girl who is, Gods damn, a walking talking life model for how I picture Ruth N'Kweze. Hell, she's even called Ruth. Tallish, slender, athletic, beautiful, delightfully straightforward... the only "flaw" being that she's Kenyan and not South African. Ruth A is utterly lovely and a privilege to know. Earned brownie points here when she found out I can sing the first two-and-a-bit lines of Nkos'i sikelel'i Afrika (it gets into second verse territory after that, premature second verse syndrome)
Then there's Seb. Who comes from a place called Vaalwater in, yes, the old Transvaal. (apparently not officially called the Transvaal these days) His usual form of greeting to me is a bellow of "Hey, bro! HowZZIT?" and who appears bemusedly pleased about a Britse who is bothering to try and learn a bit of Afrikaans. Can't figure it out and wonders why I bother and what the bleddy hell got into my head, but, hey, bro, no biggie. Lekker.
Seb. A story about him. There is a smoker's corner established in the corner of the grounds for social pariahs. Every expense has been spared here. Basically it's an open metal framework roofed in tatty perspex. One day a far taller person left a bottle of Coke on a transverse overhead strut, slightly too far to reach up to for a shorter person. Seb considered this for a second, then delivered an almighty kick to one of the upright frames of the hut. The whole bloody thing shuddered as if it was all going to come down – I wouldn't have been surprised if it had – and the bottle teetered and then fell. Seb caught it easily as it fell, with complete nonchalance. I watched this and thought... applied violence and agression, with the desired end-result. Just reaching up for the thing would have been too easy... Yup. He's South African. Why am I not surprised? Plays rugby, too. Give him red hair and I now have my Danie Smith-Rhodes. As I say – funny how these things work out.
But. Back to the ongoing tale. First presentation: revisions will no doubt happen. Just need to get something out there.
Flashback to before Hogswatch, at the Assassins' Guild School, Filigree Street, Ankh-Morpork:
Mrs Beddowe's House is probably the oldest and most prestigious House of Study at the Assassins' School. Nobody quite knows for sure how it got its name. It represents one of those time-fogged traditions you find in any upmarket boarding school which has a lot of history behind it, and therefore had a lot of time to build the obscure and mystifying web of School lore that is vitally important to anyone part of its community, wholly mystifying to those outside it, and which serves to establish a clear dividing line between We Who Are Of The School and all those plebs, proles and unfortunates Who Are Not, and who are therefore to be pitied and condescended to.
The most plausible story is that when the School was first established, six centuries before, a Mistress Beddowe was employed to furnish indigent poor scholars with some sort of basic accomodation. Nothing too comfortable, you understand. Just a large long room with space for thirty or so bedrolls.
Although long faded into obscurity, her name remains, as title of the oldest and richest House of the Guild School, one which attracts more than its fair share of sons of the nobility. Competition to get in here is fierce and there is always a long waiting list, although under its current Housemaster, Monsieur Henri le Balouard, it is accepted that for administrative convenience, any boy new to the school whose first language is Quirmian should be sent here to the care of a Quirmian-speaking housemaster. There are up to five Quirmian-speakers in each year, sent here regardless of whether they have a social title or not. (Being a Chevalier or a Compte makes it more acceptable, however).
Two such Quirmians are part of a gaggle listening in the corridor nearby to the housemaster's office, intently listening and trying to stifle any tell-tale giggles. Both count as Chevaliers, which helps, and the older will one day be a Compte. Besides, their mother obtained this grace for her sons. She considered that mingling with the true nobility of Ankh-Morpork would be educative for her boys. The experience would teach them many things about what a true noble gentleman should be – if only by default. And, she pointed out, if you ever have cause to spill any, that their blood is as red as anybody else's, and most assuredly not blue.
And it was abundantly clear to the boys lurking in the corridor that the normally good-tempered Monsieur le B was, rarely for him, bloody furious. Incandescent. The occassions where Monsieur le B really lost it were so rare as to be remarkable. He wasn't even bothering to keep his voice down, in fact.
"You pair of idiots, you pair of arrogant prize fools, what on Disc do you think you were doing? You are a young man of sixteen and you, two years younger. Do you think, even in your wildest dreams, that it was right or proper or seemly to try to pick a fight with a girl of eleven who is not even half your size? To go to that child and to offer her violence? What do you think you were doing? This reflects badly on the School, it reflects badly on this House, and above all it reflects badly on me! And the fact she knocked one of you down and left the other staggering in circles and seeing stars – well, you wish to be Assassins. You both have a long way to go, gentlemen!"
"Tykebomb." Emmanuel de Lapoignard said, laconically. His brother Phillipe-Henri nodded agreement. Neither seemed surprised.
"Bien sur. Can you get to be a Scary Mary at eleven? Looks like Kay's managed it. In her first term, too."
"Well. Start the way you wish to go on."
They listened as the loud rebuke raged on. Every word was clear, even through a thick oak door and across thirty feet of corridor.
Monsieur Le Balouard was officially Principal Lecturer in Quirmian language and culture. He also taught Dance and Deportment. The boys knew he organised the escorted trips to the Seamstresses' Guild that were a much anticipated part of the syllabus for boys in their Lower Sixth year.(1) General opinion was that this was worth the hazards and privations of the Black Track. And, on the Black, Monsieur le B taught things like Stylish Espionage, Intelligence-Gathering and Deniable Diplomacy. This boiled down to, apparently, learning how to defenestrate any number of adversaries and penetrate any number of willing women. His training was known to students as Defenestration and Penetration, D&P. There was also a course module in Drinks, Shaken But Not Stirred, and in making the sort of amusing quip that was mandatory, as a style point, when contemplating the corpse of a recently inhumed foe.
He looked like a well-preserved and athletic man in his forties, but he'd been teaching at the school for a long time and must be much older than that. Nobody really knew how much older. He'd apparently had a discreet career in Deniable Diplomacy, before becoming a schoolteacher to pass his skills on to a new generation. What was known about him was that his father was Quirmian and his mother came from the mysterious country of Hyperllamedos, Hubwards of Hergen and Llamedos. It made for an interesting mix.
"Overconfidence! Did you not stop for an instant to reflect on whose daughter she is? And who her aunt and her cousin are. Not because this girl gets improper favouritism because of who she is related to. But think, you pair of imbeciles! This Guild believes in family lines, and with good reason. Assassination runs in families. It is in the blood in certain families. Has it never occured to you that young miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons has undoubtedly received a lot of informal Assassin training, before even stepping foot in this School? As well as being her mother's daughter? And you know her mother. She teaches, or seeks to teach you, certain skills. Would you pick a fight with her? Ever? So why did you think you could intimidate or attack her daughter?"
Punishment was decided and awarded.
" Now get out of my sight. Idiots."
The students in the corridor dispersed, or tried to look as if they were there by happenstance, as a chastened and humiliated Parsifal Venturi and his brother Michael slunk into the corridor. Parsifal's nose was swollen and held in place, for the moment, by a strip of white plaster, the break reset by Matron Igorina.(2) Michael showed signs of a fairly comprehensive beat-down, jointly administered by Famke and Thora.
Behind them, Henri le Balouard sat back with a sigh of expressive Quirmian disgust, and contemplated the next thing he was going to have to do. This had its quantum of hazard about it too, but it had to be done.
He politely asked Johanna Smith-Rhodes for a moment of her time in the staffroom. She nodded assent, and politely asked how his interview with the Venturi brothers had gone. He gave her a precis. She nodded and thanked him.
"You are taking this well, Johanna." he remarked.
She shrugged.
"Not my place to get involved." she said. "Gillian's her Housemistress. Down to her to ellocate punishment. Here, I'm only the mother. Best I stay out of it."
Then she grinned.
"I tell you, Henri. Both the Venturi boys are keeping their heads down in my clesses. They look es if I em ebout to eat them elive. This worries end frightens them. I em not going to let them think eny differently. Maar, the issue is being dealt with by the eppropriate people! I cennot get involved. It would be unprofessional to treat them eny differently, because they hed a little disegreement with my daughter. But they do not need to know thet."
Henri le Balouard smiled. There was nasty, and then there was creatively nasty...
"But you will be speaking to Famke at some point?" he asked.
Johanna smiled, the smile of a mother who has worked it out.
"Oh, yes, Henri. I will. And very severely. But not justnow. When I get the girl home for Hogswatch. She will get a speaking-to."
Hogswatch holiday week, Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
Famke's two particular friends from One Raven, both girls who were forced by circumstances to remain in the School over the hols, walked up the drive of Eighteen Spa Lane together. Thora Bryttasdottir, who Connie thought looked like a self-propelled axe moving of its own volition - you had to look twice to register that there was a small Dwarf attached to a very large weapon – grinned up at her. (3)
"It'll be alright, Connie. Kay said her mother's okay about any friends of hers dropping by during the hols. Doctor Smith-Rhodes is pretty good to people who get stuck in School, they say. She knows what it's like."
Connie made a non-commital shrug. Quite a bit taller than Thora, they made an odd pairing and heads had turned. But, she reflected, an axe-armed Dwarf was a safe person to walk the streets with. She was even allowed a horned helmet in School colours, as this was Cultural. Nobody messed with Dwarfs with axes. Cultural also applied to the axe. Normally first year pupils were not allowed to carry weapons. But an exception applied to Dwarfs in the School. Cassandra Venturi had griped about this too. Cow.
Cultural also applied to that which Connie was allowed to wear in place of the ridiculous blonkett hat. Apparently a long-gone pupil of her ethnicity had made the case, and it had been allowed. But it just made her look even taller than Thora and it was a pig to remember when going through low doorways. But at least it wasn't the bloody blonkett...
"It's okay for you." Connie said. "Dwarfs are allowed in her country and they're accepted. But my people..."
Thora patted her friend's arm.
"It'll be okay." she repeated. "Kay said you'd be welcome."
They knocked at the door. Connie noted the butler – he had to be a butler, he exuded Essence of Butler – who answered. Was black. Black skin, older man, fifties. The very white hair black Howondalandian men got when they got older. Which contrasted all the more against black skin.
"Yes?" he invited them.
"Thora Bryttasdottir. This is my friend Constance Muthelezi. Famke said we were welcome?"
The butler scrutinised them. Connie wondered if he had been briefed.
"Please enter, Your Royal Highness. I am assuming, Miss Muthelezi, that you have no connections with the Paramount Royal House?"
"No. Just Miss." Connie said. "Plain, ordinary, Miss."
"Wait here. I will announce you. Presently."
They waited in the hall. Both girls noted that even here, there were weapons. Kay had described her mother's weapons collection to them, and that these days it was overspilling into other rooms in the house. Apparently you could kit out a small Army, as long as you didn't mind it being an army of irregulars where not one thing matched another.
Distantly, they heard themselves being announced. There was a high-pitched "squeee!" of delight, then Famke came running to them.
"Come on in. Meet my weird family!" she said. "Get the feathers off, Connie, they're lopsided."
Connie took a deep breath, and they went to the living room. Doctor Smith-Rhodes stood to welcome them. She smiled slightly at both pupils.
"Errr... do I need to check my axe in, ma'am?" Thora asked, diffidently.
Johanna shook her head.
"So long es you promise not to try end hit enybody with it." she said.
She scrutinised Connie, who seemed fascinated with the display of Zulu weapons over the fireplace. Connie appeared to have registed that the central set had once belonged to an induna, a general. Flanking sets in a lesser position had belonged to Zulu warriors of lesser rank. The girl couldn't take her eyes off them.
"I believe I know whet you are thinking." Johanna said, gently. Then she said, in basic Zulu with a few grammatical errors:
"My kraal. You are here guest. Be at ease. A guest is family while she is guest."
Johanna switched back to Morporkian.
"I'm only the Red Death on a different continent. Where different rules epply. Would you care to take the head-dress off? Looks uncomfortable."
Connie gratefully shed the Cultural head-dress; Zulu pupils were permitted to wear ostrich feathers in School and house colours, rather than the blonkett. As anything was better than the blonkett, Connie had gone along with this. Claude the butler smoothly gathered it up to hang somewhere.
Famke made the introductions. The older red-haired girl who sat in a chair, engulfed by two massive cats, had said nothing and was watching them attentively. This turned out to be Rebecka, the Witch. The sheer size of the cats probably explained why she couldn't stand up.
"Acerian Maine Coons." Bekki explained. "They've been around since I was tiny. Getting on for ten years old, now."
Connie accepted this. Witches and cats went together, somehow. Then she saw the dogs and jumped. Hadn't Doctor Smith-Rhodes ever heard of normal-sized pets? And they were...
"It's okay." Bekki said. "They've been around black people since they were puppies. They know how to behave. We trained them to just see people."
Klipdrift and Rooibuis ambled over to check out the new people. Connie, who had heard there were darker reasons why White Howondalandians preferred very big dogs, was infinitely relieved to be merely sniffed and drooled over.
"We can take them out for a walk, if you like." Famke said. "Has to be a long walk, though."
"Before thet." Johanna said. "We'll have a drink, first. But na-now, I need a little word."
She reached out and stroked the fading bruise on her daughter's cheek. She frowned. "I could have sworn this was bigger and more swollen this morning."
"Bekki did something, mum. Not sure what. Witch stuff."
Johanna frowned at her older daughter. It had overtures of Wait till your father gets home. Bekki, who knew this meant I am not qualified to deal with things of magic, so I'm leaving this to your father to deal with, smiled back.
"Basic healing magic, mum. I took the pain and swelling away. Witch skill."
"It was really cool, the way you put it into that spear-head, and it glowed red for a second or two!" Famke agreed. Bekki winced. Mum didn't like anyone tampering with her weapons. But that hot little ball of pain and discomfort she'd extracted from her sister's face had needed to go somewhere... and a large handy nearby piece of metal had been ideal.
"Ah-huh. Which spear?" Mum asked.
Bekki pointed one out. Mum walked over and tested the point and the edge, running a finger down the bladed edge.
"Ok. No herm done." she said. Then she smiled at Famke again. Students at the Guild School knew that pleasant smile. And what it meant.
"I hear you've been getting into fights." Johanna said, sternly. "You have the evidence on your face."
She paused to let this sink in.
"Did that hurt, meisie? I hope it did." Johanna shook her head. "End aren't you lucky your sister knows something ebout healing magic? Heksenheid?"
She allowed another long silence to happen. Connie, who hadn't been in the fight, felt relieved. She noted Thora was looking a little bit uneasy too. Thora had been in the fight. And the staffroom grapevine would have kept Doctor Smith-Rhodes very much informed.
Johanna shook her head again. She was now a schoolteacher confronted by underachieving pupils.
"Inettention, Miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons." she said. "Hed you been doing thet properly, you would not have ellowed one of your assailants to get so close thet they could merk your face. A shocking lepse. However. I do note thet you took a hard punch, but you remained on your feet end were able to cerry on fighting. You got the better of two boys who were several years older end stronger than you. Your grendfather would approve, by the way. I em eware you have not yet been in any of my formal clesses yet. So I propose, by way of punishment, thet while we are waiting for our evening meal, I take you out onto the beck lawn end I teach you how to spot for multiple threats in a close fight, end how to block punches."
She smiled at the two others.
"You two also, Miss Bryttasdottir. Miss Muthelezi. Rebecka, there is always more to learn? Dankie."
Bekki sighed, dislodged two reluctant cats, and followed her mother and the others out into the cold garden. She wished she'd opted to tag along when Miss Lansbury from the School had called by earlier, and had eventually asked if she could take Ruth to the Art Gallery. Gillian Lansbury was fascinated with Ruth. And Ruth liked her: she seemed to realise she was getting a private tutor in Art. Ruth had jumped at the chance. Mum, without actually saying so, found the Art Gallery to be somewhat tedious and irrelevant to her. Famke just saw a bunch of sad boring old paintings and statues. Dad had tried, but had realised he didn't know nearly enough about art. Shauna tended to make loud comments about male nudes that either emphasised how optimistic the artist was, or else "showing off, is he?"
Gillian, taken with the youngest daughter's budding talent for creativity, had volunteered. She'd even said to Mum, only semi-jokingly, if she could take this one away and adopt her or something? And Mum had replied this one, I want to keep. You do get Famke, however. For seven years. You are welcome to Famke.
Bekki had opted to stay indoors, in the warm, and be lazy, with nobody making demands on her time or just being demanding. Hah, on both counts. And now she was watching Mum demonstrating blocks, stops, and counter-moves in street-fighting and generally roughing it. It was impressive and it was a master-class. She also sensed Mum was going easy on what was, after all, a group of eleven-year old girls.
"I do not normally begin teaching these skills until the first year of the Bleck." Mum said. She stepped aside. Connie, eyes widening, overbalanced as she tried to attack a Johanna who simply wasn't standing there any more. Mum helped things along with a slight push that sent the Zulu girl sprawling.
"Roll. Recover. Get on your feet egain." Mum said. She placed a booted foot gently on Connie's shoulder. "End never get up in the same place where you went down. Important. Or the person who put you down – nice try, miss Bryttasdottir – will know exectly where to kick or stemp."
Unorthodox Fighting Skills 101. Bekki deliberately refrained from mixing it, and just watched. Thora had gone face-down in the grass this time. But she got up again. And every time Famke got close to landing a blow on Mum, she got stopped, countered, blocked or thrown. Bekki suspected this was being done to make a point. She sighed, and readied herself to provide a bit more basic healing and, she thought, pain relief, The gardener had left an axe in the flat stump over there where he chopped firewood... perfect for somewhere to dump any pain and discomfort...
Bekki looked round.
"hi, Ruthie!" she said. Her little sister ran to her then looked, wide-eyed, at the fight on the lawn. Bekki sighed.
"Nothing to worry about." she said, soothingly. "Just Mum being Mum. And Famke being Famke. And Famke's friends. Being themselves. Hi, Gillian. Nice trip?"
Gillian Lansbury looked on, dissaprovingly.
"That's all we need." she said. "Famke being taught to fight better. Talk about running repeating crossbows to the Apaches!"
"We got to see the Pouter collection!" Ruth said, excited. "And the De Vuilnis. And the van der Meerkats!"
Bekki, who couldn't tell a Pouter from a Vuilnis, nodded encouragingly.
"Thet will do for now." Johanna said, concluding her informal training. "Good blocks, good kicks, Miss Muthelezi. Well done. Miss Bryttasdottir. Good egression. But it's not elways a good idea to charge in screaming a war-cry in Dwarfish. You are signalling your intent to one who knows how to read it. End. Famke. Perhaps now you will not be so incautious es to let Michael Venturi, of ell people, close enough to mark your face?"
She looked round.
"Hi, Gillian." She said.
"And that's delivering a rebuke, is it?" Gillian said, pointedly.
Johanna smiled.
"Drinks, I think."
The evening meal was a pleasant family and friends affair. Dad had come home from the university and the whole family, plus a few friends, dined together.
And shortly after dessert, the evening newspapers arrived.
"Dankie." Johanna said, as Claude stepped back with what Bekki thought was a slightly more expectant look on his face than normal.
"Excuse me while I scen the headlines. Better to be informed." she said.
"Can I have the Arts pages?" Gillian Lansbury asked. "I'd like to see what Tuppence Swivel had to say about the current exhibition."
Bekki watched her mum swiftly speed-read the newspaper, turning pages quickly. Then she stopped on one page and read it for a long time. Her face went to stone, unreadable.
She closed the paper with great care, folded it, and laid it on the table in a deliberately slow, painstaking way.
"Excuse me." She said, to nobody in particular, and stalked out of the room. The door closed quietly behind her.
"Johanna?" Ponder said. He was unheeded. "Oh, hell." he added, quietly.
"Who's died?" Famke asked, curiously.
"Tactful." Bekki said. "As always."
"I don't think it's that." their father said. "Your mother would be genuinely sad if somebody she knew had died. That..." and Ponder Stibbons took a deep breath... "was rage. I've only ever once seen her that angry. When she thought somebody had killed Mariella."
Gilllian Lansbury nodded. She looked at the Assassin schoolgirls.
"Good lesson. If you ever see Doctor Smith-Rhodes in that mood, get out of the way. Fast. Do you know how much paperwork I've got to fill in if a Raven House girl dies? It isn't funny."
"Will you go and talk to her, Dad?" Bekki asked. Her father shook his head.
"Not until I've got an idea as to what worked her up." he replied. "And I know it's in the evening newspaper somewhere."
He picked up the copy of the Ankh-Morpork Times.
"She got a few pages in. And then stopped dead. Something she saw..."
Bekki walked round the table to join her father as he scanned pages. She read over his shoulder. After a while she put a hand on his shoulder and said "Dad..."
The Patrician's New Year's Honours List
As we stand on the threshold of the Year of the Justifiably Defensive Lobster, the Patrician, Lord Havelock Venturi, has seen fit to honour the great and the good of the City with social promotions and advancements...
Ponder read on, silently.
"Well. It might have been nice to have been asked. You know. Advance warning." he said.
The wizards of Unseen University have long eschewed earthly honours, arguing that the richness of their profession is to be found in other realms and the pure advance of knowledge is its own reward. However, Lord Vetinari has noted that the Arch-Chancellor is a valued member of the Ctiy Council and his opinions are always listened to. His Lordship points out that the City Council is made up of the Old Lords, the Lords Temporal, such as Lord Eorle, Lady Rust,Lord Selachii, Lord Venturi, and others. The high Priests of Io and Offler also have the right to call themselves Lords Spiritual and His Lordship notes they are also present at Council meetings.
Therefore, Arch-Chancellor Mustrum Ridcully becomes a Lord in his own right. Afterthe erxample of the Lords Temporal and the Lords Spiritual, the Patrician is firmly of the opinion that there should be such a thing as the Lord Ephemeral. It is also right and proper that the Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University should be advanced to knighthood, in recognition of Services to Magic and Technomancy...
Her father put the paper down, wearily.
"Sir Ponder Stibbons, Baronet. KCOSB." he said. "What the Hell is a KCOSB?"
Gillian Lansbury said "Oh, I know. Knight Companion of The Suspender Belt. Apparently an old King of Ankh-Morpork with some, er, specialised interests, created the Order for a group of his close friends who also liked to.. well, you know. You get a sash and a medal too, Ponder. Apparently it's got a lumberjack's axe and saw on it."
Ponder winced.
"So that's it." he said.
Bekki squeezed his shoulder.
"That's not all, Dad. Look."
She pointed him down the alphabetical list of honours by Guilds. And just after the Artisans were the Assassins...
"For services to agricultural and zoological science. Doctor Johanna Famke Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons is invested with the title of Dame of the Ankh-Morporkian Empire. Oh, hell..."
Apparently Mum is entitled, as she got Ankh-Morporkian citizenship the moment she married you." Bekki said.
"Dad's a Knight and Mum's a Dame?" Famke said, excitedly.
"Yes. They've got Mum both ways. As wife of Sir Ponder, she becomes a Lady." Bekki said. "And a Dame is a knighthood for women."
Bekki pulled up as a horrible thought occured to her.
"Dad. Becoming a knight means kneeling down ,while somebody puts a sword near your throat." she said. "Can you imagine Mum letting somebody else...you know... near her actual neck?"
Ponder grinned.
Then he frowned again.
"Your mother is now a Lady and a Dame." he said. "I wonder what she's done or said to annoy Vetinari recently?"
"Good point." Gillian Lansbury said. "Admittedly, this is only an entry-level Ladyship. Sort of a lance-corporal Ladyship. But Ponder's got a Baronetcy. That is heriditary. It means three people in this room are now Honourables. Even Famke. And the oldest Honourable Miss, under the new rules, inherits the title. Eventually."
Bekki felt an ice-cold flush. Implications descended on her.
"Live long, Dad." she said. "What am I ever going to do with a Damehood?"
Then Second Thoughts kicked in. She looked down the page, at the section which read
The Patrician also notes that there is the long-overlooked issue concerning the original Smith-Rhodes baronetcy, conferred on Cecil Smith-Rhodes, the Sto Plains-born adventurer, who added the new land of Smith-Rhodesia to the largely now defunct Ankh-Morporkian Empire, over a century ago. Sir Cecil was made a baronet, on what was then the clear understanding that this would pass to his oldest son Charles in the fullness of time. Charles Smith-Rhodes, however, threw in his lot with the rebel side during the Boor War, who fought - sucessfully - for the overthrowing of Ankh-Morporkian power in Howondaland, and who set up a Boer Republiek (check spelling? - WdW) which eschewed titles of rank and nobility. Charles did not take up the baronetcy and nor did his direct descendants. The College of Heralds has noticed that this is an anomaly and you cannot have an unclaimed title flapping around, as it looks untidy. They have petitioned the Patrician to do something about it. The current heir to the Smith-Rhodes baronetcy, Mr Andreas "Barbarossa" Smith-Rhodes, of Piemberg, Rimwards Howondaland, has been heard to say he wants none of the bloody thing, as it looks wrong for people living in a a bloody Republic, are you hearing me? Which. under the laws of heriditary peerage. means it now passes by right of primogeniture to his oldest child. There is speculation as to this being another reason why the Patrician has conferred Damehood on Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons of Nap Hill, Ankh. Just to make sure.
Dad? I know you've got to go and talk to Mum sometime. But. Please let me go in there first? I think I know what to do."
Bekki steeled herself. She knew Mum would have retreated to her private study.
To be continued
(1) Clearly and self-evidently covered under the word "Deportment". After all, the Concordat clearly states that young men will be taught to compose themselves appropriately in each and every social situation and will be schooled in all the social skills fitting to a young gentleman...
(2) Igorina had cheerfully said "Brace yourself. This is going to hurt." She wasn't wrong.
(2) Thora's parents had said "I know it's a bit big for her. But she'll grow into it."
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.
Discovered a version of the Proclaimers' Five Hundred Miles sung in Afrikaans by musical jokester Robbie Wessels. This makes me very happy indeed. It is truly an anthem for the Howondalander Feegle who have set up home in the Smith-Rhodes' family lands, the Red Earth Clan, the Rooirocker Feegle. Google You-Tube for O' Die Bokke. This sounds made for immigrant Feegle in a new land.
History throws up fun sidebars. We all know the last war between Britain and the USA was in 1812. It was averted in 1861-65 when the rest of the world collectively decided – do not take sides, and be prepared to negotiate with whoever wins. But. It nearly happened in 1859 with "the Pig War", provoked by an American farmer on the San Juan Islands near Vancouver, Canada, disputed between the US and Britain (The most recent treaty between the US and UK regarding that region clearly marked the border between America and Canada on the mainland, but was vague as to who owned which coastal islands near said border, and where the territorial waters of the islands owned by one side ended, and the territorial waters of the islands owned by the other side began), who killed a British-owned pig rooting in his garden. British authorities tried to arrest the farmer, and the American community on the islands called for US protection. When both sides realized that it was insane to "involve two great nations in a war over a squabble about a pig," in the words of the British commander on the scene, they set up a joint military presence and called in German mediation. (Which eventually decided in favour of the Americans.)
Also... British goverments have deliberately given honorary award to "colonial" people prominent in fighting British rule, knowing this would cause a lot of suspicion in their own countries - or otherwise to embarras them at home.. Vetinari's reasons for Dame-ing Johanna may soon become clear...
Bonus text from Draft One – you do not need to read this bit. But if you insist…
We begin in Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork, around Hogswatch...
There was an evening party for family and close friends of the Smith-Rhodes-Stibbonses. Bekki realised they were mainly friends of Mum and Dad, but she and Famke were allowed to have friends over to make it more of a family thing. Bekki realised there was another advantage to not having been sent to the Assassins' School: the friends of Famke's who had come over were apprehensive about being in a room that had a goodly number of their teachers in it. Bekki and Shauna didn't have to bother about that.
The group of mainly student Assassins therefore huddled as far away from the group of off-duty teachers as they could get. Bekki glanced down to a very prominent axe with a dwarf attached. Thora Bryttasdottir had diffidently asked, on arriving, if, err, she needed to check the axe in or anything. Mum had been gracious about it and said that as long as she didn't actually try to use it on anyone, she could wear it. Some things, after all, were culturally understood. The axe remained in its holster, slung over Thora's back. As Thora was a very young Dwarf girl, the effect was one of a self-propelled weapon that partially concealed its carrier. It took some getting used to.
"Lots of open-carry going on here." Manni de Lapoignard remarked. "Show me one of our teachers who isn't carrying a weapon."
"Maman, for one." agreed his brother Pippi. Student Assassins were not normally permitted to carry weapons. It had been another of Cassandra Venturi's ill-concealed grouses that the damn rat-eating Dwarf gets to carry an axe, and I'm not allowed even a dagger! This, as Famke remarked, had also precipitated a few words in the dorm.
"You know." Manni said, thoughtfully, "You would have thought that the Venturis would have learnt by now. Especially Parsifal. Beccs punched him in the nose when we were all three."
Famke looked up at her older sister with what Bekki recognised as respect.
"You did?" Famke said, excitedly. "You never told me that!"
"I don't tell you everything." Bekki said, mildly.
"Well, you can tell me now!" Famke insisted. "I hope it really hurt!"
"It did make my knuckles sting..." Bekki admitted.
"Anyway." Manni continued. "Davvie got one over on him, in her own way. With the weed that gives you the sh... runs. Takes after her mother, evidently."
Davinia Bellamy, Junior, blushed slightly at the praise. Her mother, standing at the other side of the room and apparently in deep conversation with Monsieur Le Balouard, turned her head slightly, just far enough to convey the impression "we are listening, you know."
Le Balouard spared a slight smile to the Lapoignard brothers, then resumed his conversation with Doctor Bellamy.
"And, anyway. Having not learnt a thing after mixing it with Beccs, he annoys Kay. Who goes all Tykebomb in his face." Manni continued.
"Venturis." Pippi said, shrugging. "What can you say? Too well-bred to learn."
"Most importantly, that you do not annoy Smith-Rhodes sisters." Manni agreed. "And especially not the one who leaps up, grabs you by the collar, and smashes her forehead into your nose."
"Really impressive." Davvie said. She smiled down at Famke.
Famke grinned slightly. Shauna O'Hennigan put an arm around her.
"I taught her that!" she said. "The Dimwell Equaliser."
"Confers an advantage." Manny agreed. "The Venturis scorn lowly gutter fighting. So no defence when it gets used on them."
"Whatever." Shauna said. "I'm feckin' proud of you, Kay!"
"Had another weapon, too." Famke said. "An unexploded dwarf."
She indicated Thora.
"Glad to help." Thora said. She then added a few spiky words in Dwarfish and attached them to the name "Venturi".
"Can I write some of that down?" Shauna said, hopefully. She collected new swear words all the time, viewing it as a useful hobby.
"Not in front of Ruthie." Bekki said, firmly. They looked round. Ruthie was sitting with a sketch-pad, pencils and Miss Gillian Lansbury, who seemed completely fascinated with her. Now and again there was a consultation over the paper.
"Ah, she's alright." Shauna said. "What do you call her? Artsy - F..."
"Not where she can hear it!" Davvie said, urgently. Famke nodded urgent assent. Miss Lansbury was the Guild School's art mistress; she was also Famke's Housemistress. Famke, while she pushed hard at the edges to see what gave, wasn't completely reckless: the nickname Artsy-Fartsy for their art teacher was not one she'd care to use if Miss Lansbury was within hearing range. And her teachers had very good hearing.
Phillipe-Henri de Lapoignard, known as Piuppi to his friends, lowered his voice.
"Listen. After the fight, Monsieur called Parisfal and Michael to his office. We all heard. Monsieur Le B doesn't lose his temper often. But he really ripped into Parsifal and his brother."
Pippi then performed a very good impression of his Housemaster. You pair of idiots, you pair of arrogant prize fools, what on Disc do you think you were doing? You are a young man of sixteen and you, two years younger. Do you think, even in your wildest dreams, that it was right or proper or seemly to try to pick a fight with a girl of eleven who is not even half your size? To go to that child and to offer her violence? What do you think you were doing? This reflects badly on the School, it reflects badly on this House, and above all it reflects badly on me! And the fact she knocked one of you down and left the other staggering in circles and seeing stars – well, you wish to be Assassins. You both have a long way to go, gentlemen!
"And then he got into talking about overconfidence and that they evidently hadn't stopped to reflect on whose daughter she is. And who her aunt and her cousin are. Not because this girl gets improper favouritism because of who she is related to. But think, you pair of imbeciles! This Guild believes in family lines, and with good reason. Assassination runs in families. Has it never occured to you that young miss Smith-Rhodes Stibbons has undoubtedly received a lot of informal Assassin training before even stepping foot in this School? As well as being her mother's daughter? Get out of my sight. Idiots."
Famke and the rest grinned.
M Le Balouard turned his head, looking slightly amused.
"J'écoutais chaque mot, mes garçons!" he said. He did not sound angry. "And I admit I was shouting so loudly that a private conversation ceased to be private. I cannot blame you, and indeed the whole of the House, for overhearing. "
"Also, a very good impersonation of my voice and demeanour. Full marks, mon Chevalier de Lapoignard."
Pippi smiled with relief. Monsieur LeB was alright, when you got to know him, and here, out of hours where it was understood, the teachers seemed willling to give a little leeway.
M Le Balouard excused himself, and turned to appraise Famke. He observed her quietly for a few moments. Famke noted that her mother was observing, watching everything, but not intervening. This was teacher stuff. Why does Mum have to invite them home? she thought, trying to supress an indignant sense of this not being entirely fair, somehow.
"Miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons." he said, at length. He took a reflective sip of a tall drink in a long glass, which had a cocktail cherry in it. Apparently he liked it shaken and not stirred. Claude had grasped this immediately.
"Your tutor in Quirmian is Madame de Badin-Boucher. She tells me you have a good quick mind, and already appreciate something of our language. Still, that must come of being a neighbour to the Comptesse de Lapoignard, peut-être ? And you are not old or advanced enough for other classes I teach, therefore you have not been in any of my classrooms. Yet. But that time will come, I am sure."
He nodded down at her.
"I'm sure your mother has had things to say concerning a recent regrettable situation. That is not my place, and I'm happy to leave it to her. Do you know, I believe I shall be watching your scholastic career with interest!"