Strandpiel 29: Oorgange en Veranderinge – Transistions and Changes
Here we are again... yet another chapter.
Looking closely at the Mapps in the Compleat Discworld Atlas, and realising that my conception of Howondaland and how it fits into the wider Disc needs to be "tweaked" a little from canon to make it work.
In our world, East Africa swings up from South Africa through Mozambique and Kenya into Ethiopia and then to Egypt and the Middle-East. More or less.
In my Howondaland, you'd have Rimwards Howondaland at the bottom near the Rim with something of a Widdershins coast (a port city called something like "Turban", for instance). Then you get the Zulu Empire which would be bigger and more solid than its equivalent on our world, which would have absorbed the local equivalent of Mozambique and Kenya as provinces. "Ethiopia" and indeed "Saudi Arabia" would be provinces of Klatch, and "Egypt" displaced up to the Circle Sea as Djelibeybi. (with Cenotia next door, displaced from where Israel would be on our world). The debated semi-desert zone with its Apaches would be inland, bordering the Great Nef and the Central Plains with Klatch on the other side.
The physical geography of the Disc, at this point, curves back into the Central Continent with the Tezuman Jungle beginning some way inland. You get the "Gulf of Ghat" and then Ghat itself, which the political atlas notes is a province of the mysterious and religiously hard-line Theocracy of Muntab.
Hmm, he thinks. Shades here of the Moghul Empire, where an Islamic dynasty subjugated the Hindu peoples of northern India and ruled them for several centuries, or at least till the British turned up.
What if... Ghat/Muntab has a hazy, ill-defined border with the Zulu Empire. Not much of one, depending on the narrow coastal strip Rimwards of the Tezuman Kingdom. And up until now, the Theocracy of Muntab and the Zulu Empire have had an informal agreement to leave well alone and not to militarise it. But a new Theocrat has arisen with ideas and has thought -why not annex this rich fertile land which the Tezumen clearly don't want. Build a fort or two here, and tell the uncivilised primitive Zulus they can like it or lump it. Our Armies are morally and technologically superior, after all, and fired with the Word of Muntabian religion. And best of all, it allows a strategic jumping-off point for a Holy Expansion into Howondaland, as the Gods clearly dictate. After all. Spear-chucking Zulus. What threat can they possibly be...
Muntab is about to find out. Lionesses will be involved.
First version – the usual revisions for typos and clumsy bits will follow
Meanwhile in Ankh-Morpork and Lancre...
The Patrician's Palace, Ankh-Morpork:
"I propose we leave the renewed Muntab question for analysis at a later time." Vetinari said, setting the briefing notes to one side. "At least this time we have a concrete issue to work from, and a fairly clearly defined problem to find an answer to. Also, it will take some time for the Zulu Empire to reinforce its Hubwards-by-Widdershins border, even given the renowned speed at which its armies can deploy. We have time, I think."
He nodded at the City Council assembly, a fairly small one which, unusually, had no more than twenty or so key people in the room.
"I require a report on the current state of the Pegasus Service." Vetinari said, briskly. "I believe there have been pleasing developments recently, Lieutenant Romanoff?"
Olga Romanoff stepped forward.
"Yes, sir. I am pleased to report that the Service currently has fourteen Pegasii which are fully fit for service. A fifteenth is currently recovering following surgical intervention and at present is unfit for service. But there are no complications, she is recovering well, and will be fit for flight in perhaps two months. Usually a horse can return to normal work after perhaps a month, but I want to be absolutely certain of this one."
"Ah, yes." Vetinari remarked. His eyes scanned the room.
"I believe we have Dame Johanna to thank for this."
Johanna gritted her teeth and forced herself to smile. Her eyes met Vetinari's. He's enjoying this, the bliksem.
"And her talented and able elder daughter. Who I understand may well inherit a title on her eighteenth birthday? The Smith-Rhodes baronetcy, passed to a Smith-Rhodes born in Ankh-Morpork. The title returns home, so to speak."
Vetinari smiled a gnomic smile. He nodded at Croissant Rouge Pursuivant, a senior Herald who was trying to hide at the back of the room and was trying very hard not to attract Johanna's attention.
"Which ties up a small but untidy loose end to everybody's satisfaction, I think. And now we have the happy news of not one, but two, Pegasus foals."
He nodded to Johanna.
"The appropriate bounty will of course be paid. This is understood. We can afford to be generous. Lieutenant Romanoff, how long does it take for a Pegasus foal to become fully operational?"
Olga shrugged.
"They grow fast. I estimate they will be fit for flight in between a year and eighteen months. Possibly sooner. As creatures at least partly of magic, the normal rules do not apply."
"So there will be seventeen operational Pegasii." Vetinari noted. "Have the new foals selected their pilots and been Named?"
"Yes, sir." Olga said. "The newborn foals have bonded to two young witches. I am making plans to induct both young ladies into the Service. And, as Commander Vimes insists, they will also be sworn in as Special Constables of the Watch."
Sam Vimes nodded a very satisfied nod.
"Haven't met the Rawlinson girl yet, but apparently she went to Sybil's old school." he said. "So she'll have self-confidence in spades. And I know Rebecka Smith-Rhodes."
He nodded to Johanna.
"Her mother was a bloody good Special. Want to come back, Johanna? You can pick up a badge again, any time. And I'm glad to be getting your daughter. And her Pegasus."
Vetinari nodded.
And the names of the new mounts?" he asked, genially. "I believe once a Pegasus accepts its Witch and responds to the name she has given it, they are bonded for life."
Olga swallowed slightly.
"Pilot Rawlinson has named her mount Rosie, sir." she said, reluctantly. Naming the Pegasii was, she considered, a weak point. They tended to attract names that were not wholly appropriate. "After the first pony she owned, when she was four."
"And Miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons?" Vetinari asked. He glanced at Johanna again. "I do apologise. The Honourable Miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons."
Johanna winced again and tried not to glare.
"Just Miss Smith-Rhodes, sir. A witch always takes her mother's name." Olga said. "And except in special circumstances, we don't use social ranks. Just Miss, or Mrs, or Mistress."(1)
"I stand corrected, Grand Duch... Mistress Romanoff."
It was Olga's turn to wince slightly.
"In fact, I think I have the name here...Drumknott?"
Vetinari, Johanna noted, was in playful mood this morning. Pleased with the two new Pegasii, she speculated.
Drumknott did his best with the word.
"I think it's..." he focused. "Bo – et – e-yeah? Botjee?"
Johanna shook her head and put the poor man out of his misery.
"Boetjie". she said, enunciating clearly. "It is a difficult word to pronounce, for one who does not speak Vondalaans. Boykie will suffice, although the "t" is there, end slightly glottal. The "-tjie-" sound is elweys a sort of "tcch-kie". Morporkian does not hev the exect same consonant."
"And the derivation? Rebecka's first pony, perhaps?"
"No, sir. Boetjie was the horse belonging to the famed General Koos de la Rey, during the War of Independence. Which people here call the Boor War."
"Ah, I see. History." Vetinari remarked. "But a Pegasus stallion named for a horse belonging to a great military leader. Interesting."
One who fought against Ankh-Morpork, Johanna thought, with satisfaction. Bekki, perhaps, making a little point there. Which Vetinari will no doubt have grasped.
Hobley's Horse Stud, Lancre
Bekki and Sophie watched the two Pegasus foals gambolling playfully in the paddock, doing the sort of things all horses do at that age, but without any of their hooves leaving the ground for longer than the normally accepted length of time. Neither horse appeared to want to go that far away from their mother, who was placidly cropping the grass, the only sign of her recent trauma being the long angry red scar on her flank. This was healing faster than might usually be the case for a horse who has undergone major surgery; Bekki reflected that a vet-minded Igor had discreetly visited from Ankh-Morpork, had pronounced homself happy at the work done, and had applied the sort of nameless salve to the wound that Igors use to speed healing.
"Their feathers are coming in." Sophie had said, referring to the downy growth that was beginning on the foals' wings. She shivered with excitement.
"Bekki. Pegasii. Can you imagine? I can't wait till they're old enough to break in!" she said. "We're flying! On Pegasii!"
She hugged Bekki excitedly.
"Yes. But Olga and Irena have both told us what the price is." Bekki said. "We sign the contract. We get sworn in as Pegasus Service pilots. And we've got to join the Watch. That means basic Watch training, In Ankh-Morpork."
"Only for two days a week, though, if you have a Steading." Sophie said. "I get to see the world. How do you go about getting a Feegle to be your Navigator?"
Bekki winced. She had a horrible feeling this had already been decided for her.
"That sorts itself out, I suspect. Kelda Peigi from the High Hog Clan is likely to sort a navigator out for me, I think." Bekki shuddered slightly. She had a good idea as to who he'd be. "Do you have a Clan nearby to here? Who's the Kelda?"
Sophie frowned.
"Not sure. To be honest I've been too busy. You don't get Feegle horses, do you?"
"Probably not, no."
"Then I haven't met any Feegle yet."
They watched their mounts together. Sophie was based here. Bekki now flew over twice a day to feed and groom Boetjie and maintain their bond. The foal was always glad to see her. Even though she knew Sophie would gladly cover for her, Bekki felt this was important and made the time, however busy the working day, to be over morning and evening. Boetjie would become more a central part of her life when he was weaned from his mother. Irena was instructing her in the necessary care and training she'd have to put in then.
"Your mum got a big bounty from Vetinari for what she did, didn't she?" Sophie asked, politely. Bekki nodded. Mum had casually mentioned the amount as if it were no big deal. Bekki's jaw had dropped open in amazement. She just hadn't realised exactly how valuable Pegasii were to Ankh-Morpork. Then Mum had said that she'd put half of it into an investment account for Bekki, which she wouldn't be able to access till she was twenty-one, so no big ideas. By then, interest should have augmented it a little.
"You earned it." Mum had said, laconically.
Mum had added that the wild boars Bekki had rescued as orphaned piglets were settling in well at the Zoo. "Lively creatures." she had added. "No way could you ever have kept them as pets."
They'd been a wrench to part with. But Petulia Gristle had nodded emphatically at the news they'd be moving on. Petulia had been very relieved, in fact, and had helped in nailing the lids very firmly down on some sturdy travelling boxes to be loaded on the outgoing train. Bekki asked a prayer for forgiveness from the Rail Ways staff. Sending unexploded wild boar by rail can't have helped make it a good day for them.
"Oh, Rosie is so cute!" Sophie exclaimed. "And... Boytkey."
"Boetjie." Bekki corrected her. "you've got to get the right back-of-the-throat sound on the "t". It should be barely there."
"Odd name." Sophie said.
Bekki shrugged.
"Maybe in this country. But when I did the War of Independence for History in School. I read about General de la Rey."
Bekki remembered the battle of wills with Miss Lonsdale-Rust. It felt like a lifetime ago now.
"During what my people called the Dark Year. When it looked like the Morporkians might win, if only by weight of numbers. We still held the Transvaal, the Free State and parts of Smith-Rhodesia and Natal. General de la Rey fought and kept the faith. His men called themselves die Bittereinden, the bitter-enders. And every time it looked as if the Morporkians had him cornered at, for instance, one end of the Transvaal. He had a habit of suddenly popping up behind them to ambush the men who were out to get him. The legend grew up that Boetjie, his horse, had wings, it could move so fast. So..."
"Bekki? You're sitting here talking with a Morporkian accent about a war in a different country that Ankh-Morpork eventually lost. But you're talking like you're on the other side..."
Bekki grinned.
"Sophie. Just because I was brought up in Ankh-Morpork, and I speak with a Morporkian accent, it doesn't mean I am one. Well. Not all of me. You've met my mother. Imagine lots of people who talk and act and think and fight the way she does. A lot of my family fought in that war. And not all of them were women."
Sophie's a Witch. She should be able to speak to the Ancestors, if they turn up near her. I'll introduce her to Johanna van der Kaiboetje...
"Does it get confusing?" Sophie asked. "Being in two different countries at once?"
"No, not really. People call it being a Strandpiel. One foot here, one foot there.(2) I worked it out – I think – after becoming a witch. I'm never going to be completely one thing or the other, and there's no point trying. The thing that matters is to be me. As hard as I can be."
Sophie shrugged. As usual, her mind returned to things with hooves that neighed. They were easier to deal with and she was entirely at home here.
"I just named mine after my first pony." she said. "I really loved Rosie."
They watched their Pegasii together. It was a nice day.
The Gulf of Ghat, Howondaland.
The Lioness Impi had shaped up well after a forced march up the coast of the Empire. People had turned out from everywhere they'd passed to look upon the phenomenon of an all-female fighting Impi, and, best of all, quite a few girls had approached the iNdula and begged permission to enlist as recruits. The iNdula had received them graciously, reminded them of the obligations of the fighting warrior, that they were to show absolute loyalty to their iNdula, to the Paramount Crown Princess, and to the great Paramount King, in that ascending order, and that to prove worthy of their weapons and distinctions, they were now to be assigned to the initial recruit training batallion of the impi.
The iNdula smiled a satisfied smile. The usual structure of an impi was that it was bound to a region, a clan, or a group of clans. Over time, an age-related structure had evolved where there was a youth impi, a beginners-and-recruits impi, inducting boys of thirteen and over and teaching them the skills of the warrior. At eighteen, the boy, now a man, passed into the unmarried mens' impi, the best, the finest, the fittest, the beating heart and the strong spear-arm. Then there was the married mens' impi, which operated like a combination of reserve regiment and part-time force, to which a nucleus of trained and experienced men could be recalled at need, men of up to sixty who were otherwise civilians.
A female regiment was a new thing. It had not evolved this support structure yet. The iNdula smiled again. This meant she was free to develop a new way. A new structure, a new way of thinking about how to organise and support and sustain an Army. To begin with, she was prepared to recruit anybody, from any part of the Empire, regardless of clan, family, social class, or even ethnicity. If you were a fit strong girl with the right aptitude who was prepared to swear loyalty, you began as a Lioness Cub. Even if you weren't ethnically a Zulu and were Xhosa, Bantu, Hottentuit, or even a loyal Matabel. There were some in the Empire, after all. (3)
She assigned her new recruits to the baggage-train after swearing them in, and assuring anxious parents that their daughters would be looked after and cared for as surely as if they were her own daughters, blood of the Paramount Crown Princess herself. The iNdula, after all, had spent several years as Assistant Housemistress of Raven House, and knew all about pastoral care of young girls. She was hardly unskilled in this.
The baggage-train was usually the responsibility of the Youth Impi and the oldest of old men in a male regiment. It would, she reflected, keep the new recruits fairly safe in the rear, and practically test their ability to keep up with the march. Actual drill and weapons training could be delivered as and when, and the best funnelled into the active ranks to replace anyone lost in combat... the iNdula frowned. Best not think too much of that yet.
Then Ruth N'Kweze, Paramount Crown Princess of the Empire and iNdula of the Lioness Impi, was called to confer with other leaders concerning what was known of the dispositions of the Muntabians.
She was confident of her abilities here. In a different life, she was also Miss Ruth N'Kweze (Black Widow House), Graduate Assassin, trained in political strategy by Lady T'Malia, one who had listened attentively in Practical Geography lessons delivered by the Compte de Yoyo, trained in the fighting skills and weaknesses of a dozen different nations by people like Johanna Smith-Rhodes, and whose aptitude in weapon skills had been graded highly by people like the Comptesse de Lapoignard. Ruth felt she was in a position to bring something new to the time-honoured martial competences of her nation. And she was inclined to deliver proof of this.
The Assassins' Guild School, Ankh-Morpork.
Famke had returned to School after the hols, marvelling slightly that there hadn't been a serious row with Mum, not even once. There had been the usual Announcements at Assembly, with Lord Downey getting smug over the Honours' List, expressing pompous pride in Mrs Mericet getting a Damehood, and then a few muted sniggers in the Hall at Mum becoming a very reluctant Dame.
"While every advancement to the nobility is a source of pride to the Guild, we accept that Dame Johanna is extremely firm in her desire to continue being known as Doctor Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons for everyday practical purposes." Downey had said, with the slightest of shakes of the head, as if disbelieving that an Assassin could ever spurn social advancement. Downey had added, for completions' sake, that marriage to Sir Ponder Stibbons, KCOSB, also made Mum into Lady Stibbons, but that Doctor Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons was also clear that this should only ever be used when supporting her husband as a reflection of his new social status, and she was in agreement this would be impolite to her husband otherwise. Then he paused, smiled, and added that this, of course, elevated our student, Miss Famke Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons of Raven House, to the position of the Honourable Miss Famke Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons, a small detail that would be noted in the amended student rolls.
People had looked at Famke.
"The Honourable Tykebomb." Connie Muthelezi had said, shaking her head.
"Do we bow or curtsey?" Suzie Metcalfe asked.
Famke grinned.
"Neither. Just grovel at my feet." she said.
"How does it feel to be on the same scale as Sandra Venturi?" Thora asked.
Cassandra Venturi had scowled slightly. Her nickname of "Sandra" was something she objected to, as it sounded so unbearably common. Of course, everybody now called her Sandra. It was inevitable.
"I'll get over it." Famke said. "Eventually. What's first lesson?"
"Edificeering." Suzie said. "With Miss Band. Hey, isn't she a Honourable too?"
"Her dad was a High Bishop." somebody else said. "Scores the same as a Sir or maybe a Lord. So his kids got to be Honourables."
"Puts Tykebomb on the same level as Miss Band, then."said Suzie.
There was a silence.
"Hey." Famke said. "I might be a bit of a maniac. But I'm not suicidal."
The woods, near Pork Scratching, Lancre.
Bekki had just finished a difficult birthing. For a human, this time. She hadn't lost mother or child. But there'd been a moment where she'd glanced round and seen a suspicion of black in the corner of the room.
"Oh, no." she had thought. "Not here. Please."
IT IS NOT A CERTAINTY, REBECKA. BUT I HAVE TO BE HERE. JUST IN CASE.
She had accepted this and put out all the skills she had. The mother, a first-time parent, was now stable and the child, a son, looked lively to thrive. With care.
But births like this took it out of you. Not for the first time, she wondered what other job opportunities there were out there and wondered what else she might usefully do.
She wandered on, letting her head clear, and reflected that Alison the minstrel was teaching her how to pick simple themes out on a mandolin. They'd been evolving a routine together where Alison played main theme on the fiddle and sang, whilst Bekki picked out simple repetitive themes on the lower-register strings, something for the soloist to structure her playing around, something that gave it bones to shape the sound. Alison had been appreciative and had said you wouldn't believe what a difference it made. Even if it had just been a case of Bekki picking out the same three chords, over and over again.
"They'd only notice if you weren't there. Or suddenly stopped." Alison had said. (4) Bekki also provided support vocals. Alison had asked if she'd like to join her, you know, for an experimental performance, a sort of duet. Verence and Magrat had been very appreciative. Even of the "King Verence" song.
Bekki smiled. It was fun. Something she liked doing. Although the first time she'd seen Alison perform... the new witches in the dining hall at the Castle had been resigned to watching the usual cringingly unfunny Fools' Guild-trained jester act, the sort of dire performance that should have stumbleweed inching its way across the floor...(5)
Then they'd heard the violin in the distance, from somewhere above their heads.
And looked up.
Alison was moving with ease, fifty feet up, on a high-wire suspended between the minstrels' gallery and a high rafter. Only... she wasn't using the usual sort of long pole for balance. She was practically strutting up there. And playing a jaunty theme on the fiddle at the same time.
Moving as if the matter of a fifty or sixty foot drop if she got it wrong, with no safety net, was completely incidental. Bekki reflected that Alison had said she'd majored in circus skills at the Fools' Guild, and had only come to Troubador and Jestering skills as a later minor.
And here was she was, combining all three into something new, and innovative, and above all, compulsively watchable... no wonder the Fools had exiled her to a rural backwater to get her out of the way.
The high-wire act seemed to end abruptly; there were shrieks as she leapt off the wire, suddenly. Then a silk rope came out of nowhere and she shimmied down it to floor level. The fiddle and bow in one hand, she bowed to the King and Queen, and then said
"Marry, nuncle, 'tis a dark night in a covey of capons where Master Reynard the souter prowls..."
Alison allowed them a moment of let-down at the realisation that after that, all she had to offer was the usual tedious ancient patter.
Then she grinned, extracted a sheet of paper and tore it up.
"That's the official script." she said. "But we're not going to do any of that tonight..."
She smiled briefly and then put on a hang-dog miserable face.
"I never wanted to be a Jester." She said. "I really wanted to be a Seamstress. You know, all the benefits of men. And none of the drawbacks."
Nanny Ogg laughed louder and more appreciatively than the rest, closely followed by Queen Magrat, as Alison launched into a long stream-of-consciousness routine about Men, Leave Them Or Hate Them, You Can't Love Them. It was perfectly pitched for an almost-all-female audience and just on the right side of bawdy.6(6) By the end of it, Bekki and the younger witches had learnt a lot, if only by default.
And there had been more songs...
Bekki smiled, breathing out the horrible recent memory of I'm going to lose this one! as she walked. Then she saw the white cat again. It looked expectantly at her, then strutted on. She followed, deeper into the wood, wondering what the cat would bring this time. She followed the majestic white cat for some way, into the deeper darker wood, the cat unhurrying and confident the witch would follow, not looking back. Then it turned and the cat wasn't there any more.
Bekki took a deep breath.
"Okay." she said. "There has to be a reason why you brought me here. I'm ready."
She waited a while, scanning the deep dark shadows cast by the trees, over a not-quite-a-clearing where the ground still carried the last snows of winter. It was a bleak place, but one where light and life persisted, in a stark on-the-edge sort of way.
#then, with no great fuss or drama, a shadow resolved itself into the shape of a witch. Tall, spare, with the pointy hat. It conveyed the essence of Witch, somehow. And it didn't seem as if it fully belonged in this world while seemingly being completely of it.
Bekki watched it, without fear, but with respect. The shadow-Witch, somehow also solid and real, appeared aware of her presence and was regarding her with interest.
Bekki found herself bowing. After a moment or two, the shadow-Witch bowed back.
I hears you is doing well. Rebecka. You'll be off to the Chalk soon. To Tiffany.
"That is true, Mistress." Bekki replied, politely. She was going to the Chalk within a few weeks. To learn about lambs and lambing now she'd got as far as she could with pigs. Arrangements were being made.
That's a journey. But it won't be the longest journey you'll make. You're taking a longer journey after that.
Bekki listened attentively.
The witch goes where she's needed. Then does the job that's in front of her. You're going to a place where witches is wanted.
Bekki politely waited for more. The shadow-Witch nodded. She felt it was all the approval she was going to get. But it was Approval.
Then only the white cat was there. It regarded Bekki for an instant with eyes that were more than feline, then trotted off and dissappeared.
Bekki felt as if she'd just received a high degree of approval for her skills. She also had an idea as to who from. Nanny Ogg had spoken about this sort of thing happneing, a few times.
"It was good to meet you, Mistress Weatherwax." Bekki said. "Thank you."
Then she turned and left.
"Oh. And I hope you're not being too hard on the Gods."
There was the suspicion, right on the edge of hearing, of an appreciative laugh. Then Bekki bowed again and turned and left the clearing.
(1) Olga was honest enough to admit to the existence of the Baroness of the Chalk, who was also Duchess of Keepsake. And a witch. Then there was Magrat, Witch-Queen of Lancre. And also the future Grand Duchess of the Turnwise March of Zlobenia and Far Überwald. Who in everyday life was Lieutenant Olga Romanoff of the air Police. And a babiuschka.
(2) Bekki knew about the bit in the middle that dangled. She tended not to talk about it very much when explaining the metaphor.
(3) Ruth knew Precious Jolson back in Ankh-Morpork. She'd seen Matabele Amazons at the Battle of the Tobacco Farm. She wanted women of that size and disposition in her impi, loyal to her. It was a no-brainer.
(4) The unenviable position of the support musician everywhere: nobody notices the bass player. Until he (or she) isn't there. Bekki suspected she was meant to be the bass player in the rock band of life. Or would, if that specific vocabulary existed. She did wonder if there was a role for that in music: somebody to do the donkey-work in the background to enable the lead performer to shine even more. She'd raise this with her sister Ruth, who would listen attentively and then come up with a few ideas, immediately grasping: maybe a special sort of guitar, Rebecka, that only plays the low bass notes. You'd only really need four strings… easy to play… (Mum would advance some money to develop the idea and would take them down to Wheedon's Guitar Shop with a blueprint. It would turn out to be another Smith-Rhodes money-spinner, in its own quiet way).
(5) Like tumbleweed, only not as athletic.
(6) I'm thinking stand-up patter comics of the calibre of Jo Brand, Sarah Millican, Katherine Ryan, et c, who structure whole routines around the dynamics of getting on with men and how to navigate around their multiple shortcomings. Beloved by female audiences and even men fond them funny. American readers: think Joan Rivers or Margaret Cho.
To be continued
Bonus Piece
I started writing this with a vague idea in mind, then realised it was getting nowhere and slowing down the main story. I don't want to lose it – can't see where it's going to fit – so it's here as a "standalone".
Later in the day, Bekki was reminded that while security was usually discreet, it existed here at Hobley's Stud. Guarding the Pegasii and securing their breeding stud was important to Ankh-Morpork. The City Watch kept its advanced Air Station here and there was always a Watch detachment in residence. There was also some sort of treaty in operation: a plaque at the stud gates announced EMBASSY AND CONSULATE OF THE CITY STATE OF ANKH-MORPORK, IN THE KINGDOM OF LANCRE. Bekki knew this meant that some part of the premises were, according to international law, not Lancre at all but Ankh-Morpork. She wondered who the Ambassador was. She suspected that here, it wouldn't be the usual plank-thick Venturi or Eorle or Selachii, who tended to get these postings by default according to Old Law. Lancre was far too important for that. Funny; she'd never thought to ask before. She was usually too busy on her visits here to concern herself with irrelevant things like that.
There was a Watch sergeant leaning on the gate, idly watching the Lancre landscape, nursing the inevitable brew. Bekki hailed him courteously.
"Miss Rebecka." he said, touching his helmet.
"How are you liking it here, Mr Colon?" Bekki asked. The old fat sergeant grinned slightly. He was drawing a lot of sinecure jobs like this as he got older. But retirement was unthinkable. For one thing, a lifetime copper in his last few days of service permitting himself daydreams about what he'd do when he retired was... well, Tempting Fate. Fred Colon had decided to get round this by simply not retiring. Sam Vimes, understanding, was assigning him easy straightforward jobs with not much of a physical component.
"It's okay, miss, and the Goat and Compass does a fair pint, and it makes a change from the City. Looking forward to getting back, though."
They looked out down the road and across a recently cleared strip into the dense trees beyond. Behind the woods, the Ramtop Mountains loomed. The distant muted roar of the River was audible as a background note.
Bekki understood why the trees had been cleared back by a good seventy yards. Security. It established a kaplyn where anyone patrolling the stud could see anything that moved over there, and which might be manoevring into bowshot range. Advance warning. In any case, trees in Lancre grew faster than they could be felled. Or seemed to. Here and there, new saplings were already colonising the cleared strip and taking advantage of the open space.
Standing beside Colon, Bekki watched the ground opposite. She frowned slightly.
"Has anyone ever seriously tried to intrude on this place, Mr Colon?" she asked. "There are lots of valuable things here."
Fred Colon grinned.
"Now and again, miss, they sends people in to test us out." he said. "But you usually gets a warning first. Mr Vimes come out here, and built in a few of the little surprises he uses at home, against Assassins. Said he thought they might be useful. Lord Vetinari sent a few teams of Thieves in, to see how far they could get with their tradecraft. Problem is, round here people don't like Thieves very much. Don't matter if they're Guild or not. None of them got as far as the fence. Local Lancre folk got them first, you see."
"Ouch." Bekki said. Local justice concerning Thieves boiled down to "One strike and you're hanging from the gibbet by one ankle."(7)
"And the way I sees it, you don't get to be a Sergeant by not having contacts who'll tip you off if they're planning to test us out." he said. "Mr Stippler from the Assassins' Guild, he's an old Sergeant, he tends to hint if any parties of Assassins is coming out to Lancre. Sergeant to sergeant, see. Not telling tales on his employers."
Fred Colon beamed out over the late afternoon landscape. He had he air of a man who had it all sorted out to his satisfaction.
"No, miss. We'd know if the Assassins was out there waiting for nightfall, to test us out."
Bekki scanned the treeline again. She noted the positions of a few tree-stumps and hummocks in the ground.
"I can see you've got it all sorted out, Mr Colon." she said, appreciatively. "There's an old saying in my mother's country, Ek is seker dat een van julle daar buite Vondalaans praat. Dit lyk soos iets wat my ma sou beplan."(8)
Bekki said this just loudly enough.
"Miss?" Colon said, bemusedly. Bekki smiled.
"It means something like, always be prepared, as you never know what's out there in the dark." she said. "At home, sometimes it's Zulus."
Colon smiled.
"Oh, I know that." he said. "We got Lance-Constable Sibongile. Useful lad for night patrols. The reason being, nobody can see him coming unless he smiles."
"That was very nearly a racially prejudiced comment, mr Colon." Bekki said.
Colon grinned, slightly abashed.
"True, though."
Bekki excused herself and went to get her broomstick. Best fly before it got too dark..
And then a young witch was flying, low and unhurried, over the perimeter of the Air Station. She wasn't going to be so foolish as to try and walk over the seemingly innocuous cleared strip between the road and the forest. But she was just reckoning other people would, like, for example, student Assassins brought out here for a little practical experience. Trying to scope out a valuable City institution where Sam Vimes had built some of his experience into the defences... it would make up for the fact Fred Colon simply hadn't noticed they were there. Bekki estimated maybe fifteen or sixteen. They'd be sent in in pairs, to see how far they would get, with somebody like Mum or Godsmother Alice observing.
Bekki counted six imperfectly concealed students, either in the cleared kaplyn strip or in the perimeter of the wood beyond, just waiting for nightfall. She shook her head. They'll learn... and anyway, it isn't my problem. The security gets tested, the student Assassins get nowhere near anything important and learn a few practical lessons, and whoever's supervising them gets a chance to shout at the slow learners.
She looked down again.
Besides, I'm just betting the area's rotten with non-lethal traps and tripwires. They don't need to be lethal. Just emphatic. Local people know not to go off the road on this stretch.
The vague resolution would have been Bekki landing her broomstick off-road and setting about doing the everyday witchy things of gathering in interesting herbs and roots and things in the forest, seemingly oblivious of anyone else being there. Out of a sense of mischief, she might have started humming or singing something like
Op 'n berg in die nag, lê ons in donker en wag;
in die modder en bloed lê ek koud,
streepsak en reën kleef teen my.
en my huis en my plaas,
tot kole verbrand sodat hulle ons kan vang,
maar daai vlamme en vuur brand nou diep, diep binne my.
Conditioning is a terrible thing; at least one otherwise impeccably concealed student Assassin would have given themselves away by chiming in with the chorus
De La Rey, De La Rey,
sal jy die Boere kom lei?
De La Rey, De La Rey!
This is an observation from reality; try it out in a roomful of white South Africans who are away from home, and therefore prey to the Irish In New York thing or the Australians in London thing or the Scottish people anywhere outside Scotland thing. I've seen it fairly recently… the compulsion to join in with an iconic song…. Somebody put on a Music From Home mix and when Bok van Blerk came up – wallop.
Her point having been made, Bekki would then have exchanged a "hey, howZITT, bra?" with a compatriot, somebody she would know from the social network of White Howondalandians in Ankh-Morpork, and flown away. (Mum would have had words later, I think, and perhaps not just with the student).
(7) Vetinari knew this. Which is why he'd recommended to Mr Boggis as to which Thieves should be sent out to try and test the defences, as he was sure they'd do a selflessly public-spirited task on behalf of the City to the best of their ability. It also made a fairly emphatic point, which was not to annoy Lord Vetinari.
(8) "I'm just betting somebody out there speaks Vondalaans. This is the sort of thing my mother might be involved in." – loose trans.
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.
Extract from pm to reader ivanthemostlysane
Hey, good point!
Glad you're liking it so far - a saga currently All Creatures Great And Small with extra added Witchcraft, plus an Assassin who paid attention in her anatomy lessons and thought backwards about how her tuition in which bits are which, and what they do, can be used to restore life rather than the opposite ("Rehuming"?)... James Herriot plus Hags.
There is a tale to be told concerning the sixth in the line of JSR. Several, in fact. Earlier on there was sideways mention of an incident on the "Kokoda Trail" involving the blondish Johanna. That's a sort of historical and geographic licence: in our world, the Kokoda Trail was a highly contested jungle road in Papua New Guinea, uncontested ownership of which meant that either (i) the Japanese had the main road opened for further island-hopping and an eventual invasion of Australia; or (ii) the Australians then had a springboard to launch a counter-offensive from, and to roll up the Japanese threat to their country. It basically meant continual bloody fighting along the only feasible jungle road capable of sustaining an army (which also went up and down a mountain range), in all seasons, including tropical monsoon, for over a year, until the Aussies won. I moved this delightful bit of jungle real estate to Howondaland and made it a strategic bone of contention between Boer and Zulu, and dropped in a paragraph or two about Young Johanna making her name here. More is yet to be said on this.
Having fun with her Zulu title. Not sure if it has this name outside the UK, but "raspberry ripple" is basically vanilla ice-cream into which raspberry flavouring has been attractively swirled... also looking at cosmetic catalogues for ad-man-speak titles for "strawberry blonde" hair colourants... ("The Excellence Creme Color Pro-Keratin Hint Of Red Death").
Bonus Piece: