Strandpiel 28: Goeie gesondheid en welstand – good health and wellbeing
Here we are again... yet another chapter. Quick revision to kill typos and soforth:
Bekki had been out walking the fields with Apricity Brabble. Spending time with the other young witches and seeing them in their own worlds, doing the things they were most skilled with and most at home with, was always an education. It was all part of the Circuit, the open and easy interchange of skills and ideas. And out here, walking the rows and furrows of the big field, she was seeing Apricity in her own world, the world of growing green things. The usually shy and nervy young Witch was Mistress here and she knew her stuff about crops, the quiet slow cycle of growing green things.
In this case, winter wheat and barley, the last crop sown in autumn which would be hardy and slow-growing over the winter months, largely insulated under a blanket of snow. Proof that winter didn't stop life – it merely slowed it. The first shoots of Spring were beginning here, pinpricks of green in a black and white world.
And speaking of green...
A blur of green pixels came streaking down the field. Apricity looked it it with a certain dissapproval.
"Grindguts? Not across the growing rows. Along the furrow, where we walk. What have I told you?" she asked.
"Err, sorry, miss." Grindguts said. He'd learnt to respect witches. Especially since Bekki had hit on the idea of using him as a sort of messeging service, to quickly communicate with other witches around Lancre. She'd reflected on how quickly an imp could move across Ankh-Morpork, navigating the dangers of the City, and wondered if it could be useful here; after all, she'd seen him do it on the night Olecrana Elbow had died, when a message needed to go to her mother, very quickly. It wasn't instantaneous by any means, but a well-nourished Imp could move very quickly indeed as a trail of pixels. He was a useful familiar to have, in this respect.
"What's up, Grindguts?" she asked.
"Just come from Miss Sophie at the horse-stud, Bekki." he said. "She's got a tricky foaling on. Needs a hand. Asked for you."
Bekki looked to where she and Apricity had stacked their brooms at the entrance to the field. "Better fly, then." she said. "Coming, Apricity?"
Two witches and a demon made their way back down the furrows.
"Good job it's still half-froze." Grindguts remarked. "This'd be a right bugger to move in when it gets muddy."
Apricity shrugged.
"You get used to it." she said.
The Guild of Assassins, Filigree Street, Ankh-Morpork. The month of Offle. (1)
"Remarkable." Matron Igorina said, concluding her examination. "All done, for now. You can get dressed, Johanna."
Johanna gratefully swung off the examination table, and began reaching for clothes, feeling oddly vulnerable.(2) She felt grateful that Igorina, at least, wasn't calling her "My Lady."
"Why remarkable?" she asked, suspecting that she wouldn't like the answer. A little bit of her remembered, uneasily, those nagging little pains in her chest she got from time to time, which came out of nowhere for no readily apparent reason. She'd shrugged them off as one of those things, and nothing to worry about. But Bekki had been insistent... she'd decided to have Igorina take a look, if only to humour her daughter and to be able to say "Yes, Rebecka, I have asked for advice on this."
Igorina gave her a long look.
"It's remarkable that you have come to ask for medical advice. Without being forced to, or ordered to, and completely of your own free will."
Johanna winced slightly.
"So. Igorina. Is there enything there I should be concerned ebout?"
"I'd know better if you allowed me to take a proper look inside." Igorina said, sternly.
"Not a bleddy chance." Johanna said, firmly. Her medical adviser shook her head. She'd been forced to make a more remote diagnosis than Igors usually liked to, using non-invasive techniques like stephoscopes, questioning about family history, and asking the patient about observed symptoms. She'd pointed out to Johanna that actually being able to directly observe your heart in action would cut through the uncertainty. With the added bonus that if she directly spotted anything not right, it could be fixed there and then. And I'd do my best cosmetic stitching afterwards, none of those clumsy eighteen-inch scars along the breastbone that male Igors like so much.
"Okay." Igorina said, taking a deep breath. "Family history of sudden unexplained cardiac arrest. More prevalent in women in your family as they get older. Your father's sister dropped suddenly at the age of thirty-four. Admittedly after several stressful days of minimal sleep and constant fighting. Which is normal for Smith-Rhodes women. No post-mortem or investigation. However, your daughter, the witch, gathered some rather more unusual post-mortem evidence, involving speaking directly with the deceased. From what she said, I suspect the key factors are cardiomyopathic conditions, such as a weakness in one or more of the heart valves. In your case, possibly the aortic and pulmonary semilunar valves regulating blood flow to the lungs or out into the main arterial system. "
Igorina then put this into lay-speak.
"The tubes deteriorate and wear out over time. Slowly, imperceptibly, but they don't last for ever. An exertion of effort you might have not even noticed at twenty-five can prove too much for you at forty-five, and everything goes twang. Unravels."
"Okay." Johanna said. She took a deep breath. "Elweys essuming I ectually wanted to do enything ebout this." she said. "Explain the options."
"Well." replied Igorina. "On the one hand, you live till well into your seventies and get to see all three of your daughters giving you grandchildren. All three will get the message after a constant stream of reminders and prompts from their mother. And you will, Johanna. It's in your genes to. I'm betting you're already fretting that Rebecka doesn't write home nearly often enough? Thought so."
"Igorina?"
"Yes, Johanna?"
"Try not to look so bleddy smug, will you?"
Igorina smiled.
"On the other hand, something you also get through your genes is a tendency to cardiomyopathy. Which means that at some point in the next thirty years you may well drop dead, suddenly, and with no warning, and never get to see those grandchildren. Which is a shame, because periodically getting very annoyed with you because you refuse to accept medical advice is a professional challenge to me, and I think I'd miss that. So I propose surgery, Johanna."
Johanna, fully dressed by now, nodded grudgingly. Igorina went in for something other than the kill. The complete opposite, in fact.
"I check your heart valves. Repair or replace if necessary. Not the whole heart. Just the valves. Check there isn't any atherosclerosis going on. Ensure there's no need for any bypass surgery, and if there is, do it. A one-stop overhaul, in fact. And I close up afterwards, give you my very best cosmetic stitching, then you will take a month off with light duties and lots of bedrest. No. Arguing. Rest. Then the job's done. Barring Acts of Gods, you get up to another forty years. Well, whatever kills you then will not be your heart, unless anyone gets close enough to put a dagger through it."
"I'll think ebout it." Johanna said, grudgingly.
Igorina smiled slightly and shook her head.
"I've already booked your room at the Lady Sybil. In two weeks. Lord Downey agrees, incidentally. So does Dame Joan. And Alice. And Emmanuelle. They all think you're too good to lose."
There was a meaningful pause.
"Igorina. Whetever heppened to doctor-patient confidentielity?"
"I thought I needed back-up on this one. Patient with a history of non-compliance. And the story Bekki told pretty much convinced me, even before needing to examine you. A very clever young girl. You should be proud of her."
Igorina smiled again.
"Look. Igors work closely with Witches. We respect their input. Very able women. If a witch tips you off that she thinks there's a problem – you listen to her."
Igorina paused, and added
"If it's any consolation, I warned Bekki she shouldn't think she's immune. She's got the family genes too. Then again, she's sensible. Unlike certain female relatives I could name. You might mention this to Mariella and suggest she drops in for a check-up when she's next in town? Got to be thorough about these things."
Hobley's Stud, Lancre
Sophie Rawlinson had lost a lot of her usual bumptious energy. She looked very tired and very worried and, Bekki noticed, was not so much Witch as merely anxious and teenage. She, Bekki and Apricity examined the panting, sweating, and very gravid, Pegasus mare together. Her bonded Witch-pilot, Miss Stacey Matlock, soothed her mount at the head-stall, looking very worried indeed.
Bekki knew this was serious. This was a Pegasus mare in foal. And if things were not resolved soon, not only the foal but the mother could be lost. Ankh-Morpork would not like this very much. Then Bekki reflected that Ankh-Morpork could go and voetsaak. What mattered here was an animal in distress... two animals in distress. That these were extremely valuable animals was of lesser importance.
"She can't foal, Bekki." Sophie explainned. "Tried everything. I've even been inside. There's definitely a foal in there. But it can't come out. Something's going wrong but I don't know what. And it might be a feet-first delivery."
"Isn't that how horses usually come out?" Apricity asked, innocently. The other witches looked at her.
"Think about it." Sophie said, with exhausted tiredness. "Not with a horse that's got wings."
"If it comes out head-first." Bekki said, gently. "The wings stay flat to the body. No problem. But the other way round. Against the set of the wings. With the uterus pushing, anyway."
Apricity considered this for a second. Then she blanched.
"Ouch." she said.
"Ouch indeed." said Bekki. Then she focused her mind. It was something she'd first learnt with a struggling nanny goat in a barn in Howondaland, several thousand miles away.
"Everyone be quiet a moment..."
Bekki focused and tried to make contact. The Pegasus mare turned tired and pain-filled eyes to her. Then the connection happened, and she realised. Three lives now. She saw the picture in her mind and tried to make sense of the tangle of limbs and bodies. She thought, and asked the mare a direct question.
Save foals. Take pain away. Do it.
"I understand." Bekki said. "I'll try not to hurt you – or them." Then she turned to Sophie.
"You know about horses. How often does a mare have twins?"
Sophie blinked with tiredness. Then the implications hit her.
"You mean..."
"Twins. And tangled. Both Pegasii, too. I saw the wings."
Bekki called for Grindguts.
"Yes, love?"
"Run me a message to the nearest Clacks tower." she said. "For my mother. Reversed charges. She said I could do it in an emergency. Tell her: Pegasus mare. Dystocia. Twin foals. The wings make normal birth dangerous. I want her to guide me through a Caesarean. What do I need to do and how? Wait – I'll write it down. Wait for a reply and bring it straight back. Got that?"
"Bekki. You want to – open her up? Go in directly?" Sophie said.
"Might need to yet. Stacey. You need to know. If we have to do this it's hazardous to the mother. But at least the foals live."
The older witch nodded, sadly.
"You've done this before. Bekki?" Apricity asked. Bekki decided to hedge a little.
"Helped with one at the Zoo, yes. And that was a zebra, Sophie. Related species."
Sophie nodded. Bekki did not add that she'd just pretty much watched, while her mother did one. That had been a single foal, awkwardly presented. But mother and foal had both lived.
While waiting for the reply, Bekki examined the mother herself. Stripped down and greased, and reaching as far inside as she possibly could, as she feared, a foal was jammed in there. Wrong way round and with at least one wing opened out and blocking the passage. It was potentially stuck like an arrow with a barb. Or opening an umbrella indoors and trying to get it through a door, wrong way round. And the mare was contracting... this meant either the stray wing would tear the tissues, or it would be irreversably damaged rendering it useless for flight, or both. And she couldn't reach far enough in to flatten it down against the foal's body...
"Sophie. Get me some oil of guafinesia(3), could you? You know the one. It's an essence distilled from one of Mistress Weatherwax's special herbs, and yes, mayhersoulhave merccyontheGods. I need a small-bore syringe too. Thanks. Quick as you can."
Bekki explained what she was going to do. Inject a strong sedative, almost a paralysing agent, directly into the uterine tissue to act like a desperate brake on the labour contractions. The mother would get some relief, the foals would remain sustained, for the moment, in the uterus, without being flooded with hormones of alarm and distress, and then they could consider sedating the mother sufficiently to allow for her to be gently dropped onto her side to make a caesarean birth possible. To take the immediate distress away, hold everything in a sort of stasis for now, and to wait for the advice from Bekki's mother, who had done loads of caesareans. They were a regular thing at the Zoo.
Very, very, carefully, and intently focused, Bekki went back inside the mare with the syringe. The last thing she wanted to do was to prick her finger. Or into the foal, whose hindlegs projected some way into the birth canal but, because of the opened wing, could go no further. Is this another reason why Pegasii died out in Nature?, she thought. And she had to put it in the right places... with intense care, she injected the anaesthesia regularly in three or four places, carefully judging the amount she was putting into each. With surprising speed, the contractions ceased. She checked what she could again: the foal she could reach was still alive. Good. A stillbirth was no fun for anybody. Very carefully, she extracted her arm and the syringe. She checked her arm: all manner of things she preferred not to think about, but no blood. So nothing torn in there. Yet.
"We wait now?" Sophie asked.
"We wait." Bekki confirmed. The four witches waited together.
Then a blurred streak of pixels somehow bearing a Clacks flimsy shot into the stable. Grindguts passed it up to Bekki.
Caesarean mandated. Keep patient stable. Inject strong anaesthetic into uterine muscle to suspend contractions. Monitor lifesigns of foals. Will be arriving within the hour – speaking to OR and IP. If necessary drop patient, strong local to flank and deep tissues, go in with scalpel, extract foals and placentae, stitch up from interior to exterior (uterus, muscle wall and external skin) advise that mother may be lost, put foals on wetnurse. Horses can only stand so much rough treatment. But am coming. Mother.
Good diagnosis stop. Like the one you did on me. Stop. Will talk to you about that stop. Love, mother.
"Mum's coming." Bekki said. "The Pegasus Service is flying her out."
"She's good at these things, is she?" Sophie said, the born horsewoman expressing doubts about a mere generalist.
Bekki smiled tolerantly.
"You'll see." she said.
In the early evening light, four witches settled down to watch and wait...
The Royal Kraal, uMgungundlovu, (Ulundhi) The Zulu Empire.
"Ingonyamakazi!"
Nearly a thousand warriors of the new impi, ranked on the parade ground outside the Royal Kraal, watched the way their iNduna's spear rose. They heard their iNduna begin the chant, the ritual of challenge, the proud statement to an enemy of who they were, of whose right arms were stronger, of who would most assuredly leave the battlefield alive and triumphant. Nearly a thousand throats roared back
"Singujehova Ingonyamakazi!"
And beat assegai and knobkerry against their flat hide shields, in perfect unison.
Their iNduna smiled. Many, many, people were watching. The new impi was officially the Guard Regiment of the Paramount Crown Princess. She did, indeed, have the right to raise a fighting regiment of her own. She had taken this seriously, and had petitioned her father, the Paramount King, for total freedom to raise her troops in the manner she best saw fit. The fighting soldiers she had raised and trained were turning heads. Everywhere. Indeed, in the singing and the chanting there was a distinct absence of bass voices. Contraltos, yes. And quite a few sopranos. Maybe the majority voice was mezzo-soprano. And, as observers conceded, it was certainly different...
Ruth N'Kweze had not been idle since being called Home to assume her rank. She had reasoned that if being a Zulu Princess involved ceremonial duties and these included raising a Regiment loyal to her, she was therefore going to take those ceremonial duties seriously. She had given the matter some serious thought, and had called together six or seven people who had also been educated overseas, either as her peers or later as her pupils, and explained what she wanted to do and why. All of them had come in on the project and had helped select and train the recruits called to the service of the Princess. She had also convinced her husband, pointing out that both the heriditary enemies of the Empire raised women soldiers and we didn't.
Ruth had pointed out that the White Howondalandians had been training women to fight in the front lines for some time now. Did she have to remind him of the Red Death sisters, and the new terrible manifestation of the line, the one known as White Death Tinged With Blood? (4) And there were thousands of women trained to fight by their Armed Forces. Then, look in the other direction. The Matabels have a long tradition of Amazon warriors – fierce, strong, fighting killers. Yet we, the Zulus, lag behind and insist it is not seemly for women to fight. We can change this.
And now the result stood ranged in ranks before her, trained, fit, armed, confident, and ready to fight. Ruth smiled. She had her Ingonyamakazi now – the Lioness Impi. And her father was now posting them to an active command. She felt relieved it would not be against the Whites. She had too many friends there, for one thing.
Ruth considered their movement order. They were going out as part of a Bull's Horn commanded, at least nominally, by her husband. It was to a border where some unrest was going on with the neighbours and a show of strength needed to be made. Ruth wondered if this was her father's way of moving a problem on: having seen it could be done, Zulu women were now getting ideas. If they no longer had anything visible to get ideas about, that would serve her father.
Well, let's start the march to the furthest border of the Empire...
Ruth nodded to her indunalas. They wore variant feathers and distinctions; Sisimina N'Kime, for instance, wore green and white. Only another graduate Assassin might realise these were also the colours of Tump House. Another indunula wore red and black. Quite coincidentally, the House colours of Scorpion House. Ruth had chosen her officers carefully. She had also suggested to her husband and her father that if the White Howondalandians especially valued graduate Assassins – especially their special forces under the arch-enemy Hans "Crowbar" Dreyer – then the Empire could learn from this. And take notes. Her father had agreed, and made the necessary orders.
And the march began. Ruth led them off, looking forward to demonstrating a new way of fighting. She was indeed inclined to take her duties as Paramount Crown Princess seriously, throw herself into them whole-heartedly, and to obey her father's command, which was of course binding law, to the very last letter. And like Hell weas she only going to be a figurehead iNduna, a Colonel-In-Chief, leaving active command to a man. She was going to bloody well lead and take the command decisions. Her husband understood this well enough. It was one of the good things about him. Even if he wasn't, and never would be, Julian. She smiled. Sissi N'Kima was the person she absolutely trusted. She had Julian's latest letter. Kept absolutely safe for her, her Princess, to whom she was a loyal woman to the end of her days. And a former pupil at the Guild School, which helped. Also one who had a very good Understanding with her peer Mariella Smith-Rhodes - the two very carefully refrained from using the f-word. Why, a Zulu and a Vondalaander could never be friends, the very idea was unthinkable. Two people who had spent seven years growing up together at the Assassins' School, on the other hand... Ruth smiled again as she led her troops in a fast easy trot.
Hobley's Stud, Lancre
One of the advantages to being in a place where there was a City Watch presence was that hot strong sweet tea was always freely available. Apricity Brabble, the youngest witch, had been detailed to get the brews in. Bekki, Sophie and Stacey had set about monitoring the life-signs of mother and unborn foals and debating, if the moment came, how to go about an emergency Caesarean. Bekki had got them organised to hang up adequate oil-lamps and to establish a makeshift operating theatre, consisting of a drift of roughly-shaped straw to drop the mother onto, with things like surgical alcohol, needle and thread, and sharp scalpels available. It was agreed that all they'd managed to do was to halt Nature for a period, but things could not be left like this forever.
Bekki, remembering the one caesarean she'd ever seen done, had sent Apricity to scrounge a shavng razor from a watchman, and was explaining that they needed to shave the outer skin over the incision site right back to the skin, so as to be able to clearly see where they were to cut. Bekki had indeed got as far as gently shaving back the hair over a broad incision scar, explaining they needed to go in right over the uterus,and it would have to be a long sure cut. We'd also need cloths, ideally towels, to soak up any blood...
"Not bed." A fourth voice said, drily. "I myself would engle the incision like this, on en equine. Do not forget she will be lying on her side."
Two of the three witches jumped. The third said "Hi, mum." in as nonchalant a voice as she could manage, trying not to betray too much relief.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes smiled slightly. Behind her, Irena Politek stood with arms folded.
Of course, Bekki thought. Air Police and Pegasus Service. She needs to be here. This is official.
"Devyushka." Irena said. "Shall we see what we have here?" She was carrying Mum's equipment bag, Bekki noted. And Mum was stripping her tunic off and asking for something to grease her arm...
Bekki and the others watched her mother make the internal examination. Mum frowned.
"End you were prepared to go in and open her up." Mum said. She shook her head slightly. "Well, full marks for resolution end for making the correct diagnosis. But with these horses."
Mum was selecting a syringe and a bottle from her bag now.
"The price on these creatures cennot be expressed in dollars." Mum remarked. "If it could, each might be worth millions. Lose even one, end Lord Vetinari would not be a heppy Petricien."
Johanna looked at her daughter. She smiled slightly.
"Tonight, we might lose three." she remarked. "End best I em the one to stend in front of Vetinari end make the report. Whet did you use to suspend the contrections, Bekki?"
"Oil of guafinesia, mum. In a one-in-ten dilution."
Johanna frowned, then replaced the small brown bottle and selected a different one.
"I require this diluting to half its current potency." she directed. She looked at Apricity. "You look sensible. Cen you? Dankie." She turned back to Bekki.
"Good choice." Johanna said. "But you can only use oil of guafinesia once on a horse. A second dose would be a mercy killing. It means I must rethink whet to use es a general anaesthetic to drop her. A less powerful specific. Even then she might be dangerously full of sedatives. But there is no choice here."
Apricity nervously held up the remixed drug. Johanna thanked her, and filled a syringe.
"Sophie? Raise a vein in the neck for me. Dankie. I propose to do this under general enasthaesia. End once the mother is out, we must go in quickly. Time is of the essence."
Sophie blinked.
"Sorry. I was just thinking how alike you both look."
Johanna grinned.
"People do say thet. Ja." She paused, and added
"One of you. Go end fetch two gallons of warm milk. Warmed to body heat. End two feeding bottles, of the sort used to hand-feed a small enimel. You must have such things here? They will be needed."
"I know where to get them." Sophie said.
"Good. But first, the neck."
Bekki watched as Sophie rasied a vein for her mother to inject. Stacey held the head-reins and made soothing noises to her mount. Bekki sensed Irena moving next to her. Her former tutor was grimly amused.
"Well, devyuschka, you had the sense to shout for your mother when you ran into trouble." she said. "Lose a Pegasus. No small thing. No small thing at all. We've only got fifteen. It's not the value in dollars. It's that they are so unbelievably rare. Hard to replace. Vetinari would have been very sarcastic to you."
She paused, and added
"Olga wouldn't have been too pleased, either. Can't have that. Best you stand back, watch your mum in action, and take notes."
"Do you think this will be okay?" Bekki asked, in a low voice. She tried not to sound too worried. Irena smiled.
"Put it this way. Your mother. Or Doughnut Jimmy. Who would you choose? When your mother got the clacks, she sent it straight on to us with a note added saying "Pick me up here. I've got my working bag." I picked her up, of course. Then my lad Big Tam, Gods know where he is right now, crawstepped us here. Took twenty minutes."
"Up here, mistress. Wi' the Green Yin." A voice called.
Johanna and Stacey were gently walking the mare down the stables, watching for her to get unsteady on her hooves.
Irena inobtrusively counted down on her fingers.
"I don't think she's going to go down, ma'am..."
Irena said "Ah!", as Johanna dealt out a slightly irritated look at Sophie Rawlinson, who was returning with milk and feeding bottles.
"Somebody usually says that about now." Irena explained. "Trust me, devyushka."5(5)
A few seconds later, the Pegasus mare swayed, tottered and crashed onto her side, right on top of the sheeted hay-bales the girls had set up as an operating table.
"Scelpel!" Johanna called. "Stacey, monitor her breathing. Epricity, see if you cen hold the wing on this side slightly out of the way, dankie. No, the really big scelpel. Horse-hide is tough! Bekki, the Number Twelve Blade. Dankie."
Bekki and Sophie knelt beside Johanna, who kept up a running commentary.
"Retrect the skin-fleps beck. Tidy them out of the way. These ere retrectors. Useful tools. Now to open the muscle-wall. Where we cen, go between the muscle groups end not through them. Easier to stitch. Less complications. Now this is where it gets interesting. Sophie. You're big end strong. I require you to essist in exteriorising the uterus. Thet means lifting it, end the foals, es far es you can... CETCH HER!"
Sophie had gone slightly green and was swaying forward. Bekki and Irena caught and arm each and steered her away.
Johanna looked impassive.
"Es I say to my students, fainting end felling into the patient is not edvisable." she said, drily. She looked over to Apricity, who seemed unaffected and fascinated. Then smiled.
"Elways the big hearty jolly ones who faint. Surprising, isn't it? Epricity. Right now I need to cut into the uterus. This hes to be done carefully, so es not to cut into the foals inside. End it looks es if there is not much room in here. Let us proceed..."
Bekki and Irena quickly propped Sophie up against a haybale. Then they returned to the operation.
"Both foals alive. Thet is pleasing. And, Rebecka. Observe. You were correct. This one who is partway into the birth-canal. The wings, both of them, have part-opened in the womb. No way this one would be born normally. Like opening en umbrella indoors, end trying to beck out of the room."
"Ouch..." Irena, Bekki and Apricity said, together. They felt their legs closing in self-defence and solidarity. Johanna grinned.
"None of my three were born with wings. Thenkfully." she said. "Bekki. Help to disentagle the forelimbs from its sibling. Then we cen birth this one first."
Afte that it was straightforward. Bekki and Apricity eased and lifted the Pegasus foal out of its mother's side, heedless of a necessary amount of blood and mattter.
"Sophie!" Bekki called, urgently. "Job for you!"
Sophie, delightedly, began to rub down the newborn foal. A few minutes later, a second foal was staggering onto its hooves and wobbling, a set of small, perfect, wings, as yet featherless, tucked back against its body.
"Now we need to ensure the womb is free of efterbirth... then we cen stitch up. Epricity. How good are you et stitching? There is a lot to do."
A few seconds later, she was trying to gently force away an insistent foal who was searching for his mother's milk. Very close to where some serious stitching was going on. Bekki now understood about the milk. She called to Sophie, who also understood.
And then she and Sophie were each feeding a Pegasus foal with teated bottles. Bekki knew they could go back to their mother later. When the stitching was finished. For now, it was down to witch intervention.
"I let myself down there, didn't I?" Sophie said, ruefully. Bekki considered this.
"Is that the first time you've ever, you know, seen a horse from the inside?" she asked. Bekki had opened up a lot of pigs lately, both living and dead. She was used to it. But she reflected that outside the Hub regions and Quirm, nobody much ate horsemeat. So this probably was the first time Sophie had seen a living horse of any kind cut open in front of her.
Sophie nodded. Bekki smiled.
"You'll get used to it." she said, and got on with the quiet joy of bottle-feeding a hungry foal, that kept impatiently coming back to her and butting her leg whenever the bottle emptied.
"We're going to need some more milk, I think." Bekki said. "Two gallons isn't going very far."
"I'll get it." Irena Politek said. She had been watching the two young witches with a little smile on her face.
"It hasn't occured to you two yet? Kopek not dropped?" she added.
"The kopek... oh. What penny?" Sophie asked. She was engrossed in the joy of being with a baby animal, and not just any baby animal – a horse.
Irena grinned.
"Well. Each of you has a Pegasus foal. Which is accepting milk from your hand. And which is clearly coming back to you – not just anyone else, you – and demanding more. I'll leave you to work it out, shall I?"
Bekki and Sophie looked at each other, and their mouths dropped open at the same time. It really hadn't registered. They'd just seen "baby animal in distress and needs care" and done the job in front of them, working Witches.
Bekki looked down at her Pegasus, a stallion. Or at least, an aspirant one.
"I think I'll call you "Boykie". she said. Then wondered if the spelling should be "Boetjie". Never mind, she could look it up, or ask Mum, once she'd finished the stitching. Not important.
Boykie(6) the newborn Pegasus nuzzled her hand, with love and trust.
To be continued
(1) Late January, to us.
(2) People do when half-naked in a doctor's surgery.
(3) also, spelt differently, a very potent veterinarian anaesthetic used in conjunction with ketamine to do pretty much this in awkwardly-birthing horses requiring surgical intervention.
(4) A strawberry-blonde Smith-Rhodes caused some naming difficulties. Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande could not easily be categorised, even though it was agreed after certain exploits she was also a Death to Zulus she had encountered. The Pink Death was not held to be a fitting tribute to a feared enemy, for instance. Debate continued as to what ideally pithy name the Empire should bestow upon her. Raspberry-Ripple Death had also been vetoed. It was held that the person who'd come up with that one wasn't taking things sufficiently seriously.
(5) Narrative causality demands this. James Herriot recalls that one of the irritations of veterinarian life was doing large horse work with his partner, the patrician and very horsey Siegfried Farnon, who always managed to imply Herriot used too little general anaesthetic on horses prior to major surgery. Herriot recounts he could time to the second, after injecting a patient, the moment when Siegfried would shake his head and say "I really don't think he's going to go down, James.". which was usually followed by the horse crashing down unconscious.
(6) Or possibly Boetjie.
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.
The Finnish word for pedant, pilkunnussija, translates literally as 'comma fucker'. – Swommi character…
Memo – find out more about things like "winter wheat" and how it grows – at the moment I'm only guessing…