Strandpiel 31 : Vooruitbeplanning (looking ahead)
The Patrician's Palace, Ankh-Morpork. Late February:
Lord Vetinari raised his head from the documents on his desk. The ever-attentive Rufus Drumknott stood behind and to one side with an armload of fresh files, ready to be provided as needed. The invited dignitaries in the Oblong Office shuffled uneasily. They knew Drumknott acted as a mobile arsenal, ready to furnish ammunition as needed to his master, which would then be unerringly fired at carefully selected targets.
Vetinari smiled briefly at his guests, who included the Ambassadors of Muntab, the Zulu Empire, and Rimwards Howondaland. There was another Ambassador there, a newcomer to the city from a nation that had only very recently opened its borders, and decided to end its long-standing aloof isolation from the world. This Ambassador stood a little distance away from his peers, arms folded, looking at the world through heavy-lidded eyes down an impressive hawk-like nose. He occassionally looked coldly in the direction of his Muntabian and Zulu peers.
Martin Vinhuis, the relatively new Ambassador from Rimwards Howondaland, a man still carefully finding his feet in possibly the most significant diplomatic posting of all, felt he could afford to relax. A little. His nation was not directly involved in the Muntab business and from his point of view, anything that diverted the attention of the Zulu Empire from its border with his nation, and caused it to divert significant military strength in the opposite direction, was to be encouraged. Even so... he had an uneasy feeling concerning the reasons why he had been summoned here. Lots of urgent despatches had gone back and forth, via the Pegasus service, to the BOFA in Pratoria. Mr van der Graaf had stressed the seriousness and the urgency of the situation, and wanted to consult on aspects arising. Martin could bet, with certainty, that Vetinari was fully aware of the nature of these despatches and would have opinions to express on one or two policy directions the government was considering.
He looked across. It was no accident Lord Downey and Dame Joan, from the Assassins' Guild, were both present, the two most important voices in the Guild.
"Muntab." Vetinari said. It needed no aditional words.
The Muntabian Ambassador, who to Martin's mind had a tendency to act and speak unwisely, glowered through his full beard.
"We withdrew from the coastal province reluctantly and according to the armistice terms agreed." he said. "Our territorial claim stands, and the withdrawal was ordered as proof of our good intentions and willingness to abide by the decisions of the armistice council."
You were forced out, Martin Vinhuis thought. The Zulus gave your troops a succession of bloody noses and kicked your guavas back along the coast. And that brings up a rafter of new problems and headaches...
"Yes. Your government saw the wisdom of consolidating a new defensive line along the accepted border of your nation." Vetinari remarked. "As did that of the Zulu Empire, who, having made their point, returned, unasked and unforced, to the accepted outer border of the Empire."
He nodded to the Zulu ambassador.
"I believe all parties involved saw the wisdom of the Theocracy of Muntab and the Zulu Empire having no contiguous land border, along which no regrettable misunderstandings or territorial disputes may arise." Vetinari said, smoothly. "The peace agreement jointly brokered by Ankh-Morpork and the Klatchian Empire appears to have restored peace in the area. As well as the decision to ask the Kingdom of Tezuma to administer the debated area, which makes legal, ethical and geographical sense."
Vetinari nodded to the new Ambassador.
"You may not have met his Excellency, Frowning Acapulco, who is now the accredited Ambassador to Ankh-Morpork of the King of Tezuma." he said. "I can now reveal that negotiations have been going on for some time with the King, with the intention of bringing Tezuma into the modern world. The King in Tenochelevenlan has seen the wisdom of Tezuma coming out of its forest fastnesses, and expanding its realm into the coastal strip between the forest and the ocean. The policy of both Klatch and Ankh-Morpork is to support that, and to encourage Greater Tezuma to act as a buffer between Muntab and the Empire."
Frowning Acapulco, a Tezuma of few words, nodded meaningfully to his peers. Muscles rippled under copper-coloured skin. The obsidian-bladed sword at his waist was a courtesy detail.
Martin smiled slightly. After the initial skirmishes and the capture of the Muntabian forts – and how the Hells had the Zulus managed that? – the Zulu Army had been set to chase the Muntabians out of the disputed land completely.
And then a third force had intervened. A Tezuman army had appeared from the woods and without any fuss or drama, had interposed itself between Zulu and Muntabian.
The meaning had been abundantly clear. We don't want to fight you. And we're aware our weapons technically class as Stone Age. But obsidian, such a pretty stone, don't you think? - it's remarkably strong and it takes a really sharp edge. We tip our spears and arrows with sharpened obsidian, too. Want to find out just how sharp it is? If I were you, your lot can bugger off in that direction. Your lot can go voetsaak in that direction. No fuss. No drama. You've had your fight.
And then the diplomatic delegations, from five different countries had arrived, some flown in by Pegasus from distant Ankh-Morpork, some on carpets from Klatch. A suspicious observer might have noted how co-ordinated it seemed, as if the Tezumans had somehow been in contact with Lord Vetinari, perhaps, and encouraged to break their isolation and intervene in the affairs of the wider world. A conference had convened. Ankh-Morpork had not been so impolite as to refer to loans, credits and financial guarantees held in its banks on behalf of several nations. Klatch had not said outright to Muntab, while we share some Gods and commonalities of language and religion, we're not supporting you on this.
But the message had been received and the warring parties agreed to return to their accepted borders, and leave the debated land in the administration of the Tezuman Kingdom. For now.
"The armistice accord was signed by Prince Nazir Shah for Muntab, and by Paramount Crown Princess Ruth N'Kweze for the Zulus." Vetinari noted. He nodded across to Lord Downey.
"It was fortuitous that one who stands a footstep away from the Paramount King was present to speak for the Empire." he remarked. "One of your graduates, I believe?"
"Yes, my Lord." Downey said, with obvious pride. "We were sorry to lose her when she was recalled by her father. I believe the Princess was very vocal during the negotiations."
"Trained for these things by Lady T'Malia." Dame Joan Sanderson-Reeves said, with satisfaction. "It shows. Damn' fine graduate. In every respect."
"Princess Ruth." Vetinari said. He made a marginal note on a report. "Who I believe raised her own regiment. With some novel ideas as to how a Zulu force might fight, no doubt influenced by her years on this continent. I understand that she captured both the forts built by the Muntabians, which were strategically located to slow down and hinder any anticipated Zulu advance?"
Martin Vinhuis sat up, attentively. He'd heard about that. He just had no clear ideas how the Zulus had managed to capture two large fortified positions so quickly with remarkably little loss of life. On the Zulu side, anyway.
Downey smiled again. The Zulu Ambassador swelled with pride. His Muntabian counterpart bristled.
"Using stratagems which contravene the accepted laws of warfare. Underhand tricks. Her life is forfeit should this un-natural female ever enter the Theocracy!"
Vetinari looked at the Muntabian with attention.
"And to some minds, using women soldiers at all is an offence against Nature. But I can't help but notice those underhand and devious stratagems won her both forts. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Prince Babur. And the possession of those forts makes the methods used to acquire them entirely lawful."
Martin Vinhuis then heard, with increasing horror, that a Zulu force had come to the first fort blocking their way. He heard that the Zulus had calmly settled down to surround and besiege the place, making no attempt whatsoever at a series of increasingly bloody and wasteful human wave attacks on a well-prepared redoubt garrisioned by lots of men who could fire projectile weapons from behind safe walls. This went against everything he'd ever heard about Zulu fighting strategy. See a Redoubt, get a rush of blood to the head, sing a war chant, attack it. And then keep on attacking it until something broke. This new approach went against everything Rimwards Howondaland expected when it fought Zulus. He realised he'd have to report back on this one. With some urgency.
He heard that over several nights, sentries on the fort's walls had just dissappeared. Gone. And during the day, extremely good snipers had picked targets on the ramparts and killed men. Nobody could tell where the arrows were coming from. After a while, men inside the fort were reluctant to go on the walls. Some had glimpsed dark, black-clad shadows moving by night. Morale had plummeted.
Martin Vinhuis looked over to where two black-clad senior Assassins were smiling quietly to themselves, and hazarded a guess. There were always Zulu students at the Assassins' School...
And then the men in the beleagured garrison had cheered as they saw a relief column approaching, dressed in familiar mail and helmets and holding familiar weapons. They'd cheered as the relief force apparently punched a way through the besieging Zulus, who had fled from them.
Then they'd opened the gates to their salvation... who turned out to be grinning black-skinned warriors in captured Muntabian armour and uniforms. The men, Ghatian conscripts from a subject province, had looked to their Muntabian officers for leadership.
And had discovered the black-clad stealthy Assassins had been busy here too. There were no longer any officers to lead them.
And the Ghatians had surrendered rather than fight the screaming women, female demons from Hell. Fortunately, their General, the woman in the big head-dress and the lionskin cloak, had turned up then to enforce decent treatment of captured men. She'd also asked, in an Ankh-Morporkian accent, if anyone could do a decent curry, as she was dying for one. Fortunately Gupta Patel had worked at the Curry Gardens for a year or two and knew what was needed... the woman general had been appeased by a lamb rogan josh.(1)
Then she did it all over again at the next fort. Apparently male generals in the Zulu army heard about her minimal losses and suspected she'd been cheating somewhere. Not playing fair. Not following the accepted rules.
Martin Vinhuis heard all this. It fitted the policy directives he'd got from Pratoria.
Find out about Zulu Assassins trained in Ankh-Morpork. This Ruth N'Kweze in particular. She is dangerous. We may need to consider a decapitation strategy.
Later on he asked Lord Downey, in general terms, not committing myself or my government to anything, you understand. In what circumstances do you accept a contract on a fellow Assassin, and how much is it likely to cost?
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork:
"All done, mum." Bekki said. "It's all healing up nicely."
"What does the scar look like?" her mother asked. She hadn't been able to bring herself to look. Bekki smiled.
"It'll just be a very fine line, mum." She said. "You were stitched up by an Igorina, remember? They take a lot of pride in these things."
Johanna grunted. Bekki was washing her hands now after routine nursing.
Bekki had forced herself to be objective and to treat her mother as she would any other patient. Or impatient, in this case.
"Igorina said to me to tell her when I think she can come along and take the stitches out. It won't be too long now."
Then, to get over the squick and potential embarrassment of having had to see her mother at least partially naked, she lightened the mood.
"She autographed it really nicely, too. Great calligraphy, with a scalpel..."
"What?" her mother shrieked.
Bekki shook her head.
"Joke, mum. Relax. Do you want me to get a mirror, so you can see? It's going to be practically invisible. But still done by an Igorina. She's left one tiny, tiny, little bit slightly ragged, right at the very end. That's her autograph, so to speak. So that any Igor...ina...who has to look at it in the future, can see that very tiny little twist and know instantly who did the original job. It's an Igor thing. And that'll be hidden underneath your... well, under your bra, anyway."
Bekki smiled reassuringly.
"You can do your nightie up now, mum. All finished. I was thinking we can have a light lunch? Just talk? Something I need to ask you about."
Bitterfontein, R.H.
The husband and wife who managed the plaas rode off together in a light carriage. They were comfortably dressed in light summer clothes, the young mevrou wearing a very fetching dress in pale green that accentuated her red hair. People watched their departure with little interest. They were probably going off to the big city for a few days' break, an affluent couple who could leave the plaas under capable management for a while. No biggie.
The old mevrou, Mevrou Hendricka, elderly but hale, had nodded to them and laconically said "I don't want to know exactly what you're both doing this time. Just stay safe. If you can."
They had loaded their bags, one or two of which weighed heavier than might have been expected, and kissed her goodbye. Then settled back to enjoy the journey.
A day or so later, at a secluded private estate house near Caarp Town, they had arrived as civilians. Then changed into dark green uniforms bearing officer rank.
Major Mariella Smith-Rhodes-Lensen finished tying up her hair and then turned to Captain Horst Lensen. She adjusted the set of a well-worn fatigue cap, and said
"Ready, jou bliksem? Let's go and see what the Crowbar's got in mind this time."
Then the two officers recalled to active service went down to the briefing room that Uncle Charles had made available to them. It was well guarded by soldiers of the Slew and featured, among other things, an iconograph projector.
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork:
"So when do you finally graduate, or whatever, as a Witch?" Johanna asked. She tried not to pull a face at the bland fare of scrambled eggs on toast. Igorina had insisted on a light diet. Dorothea and Claude had been briefed. They made sure Madam got one.
"That depends on two things, mum." Bekki said. "When I think I'm ready. That's important. And also when the people training me think I'm ready. That's Mrs Ogg, Mistress Aching, and Miss Tick. Petulia Gristle gets a say, too."
Johanna accepted this.
"Because I did a lot of training here, with Irena and Olga, Mrs Ogg thinks I'll be ready soon. These things usually get to be known around the time of the Witch Trials, later in the summer. That's when the older Witches agree among themselves who's ready for a Steading of her own, and where."
"So you get Tried. And if they find you guilty, you get a job for life."
"In theory, mum. But if one of the old Witches dies and a place becomes available, there's usually a lot of horse-trading going on as they all try to get one of their own pupils in the job. Mistress Aching warned me about that. It can get serious."
"So where do you think you'll end up?"
"Not sure, mum. The other thing to consider is that when Boetjie matures to the point where I can break him to the saddle, I'm obliged to sign up with the Pegasus Service. I was wondering about doing that full-time. You know, to see the world. But I'd also quite like to run a Steading. That's a challenge."
"Just give me a lift when I need one." Johanna said, considering the advantages of a Pegasus pilot in the family. "So. This Steading thing?"
Bekki frowned.
"Mrs Ogg said the training thing is working too well." she said. "When they first started it, they were running short of young witches, and had to do something. Now there are more witches coming up than there are Steadings for them. Hardly anything left in Lancre or the Chalk, and a lot of witches are thirty or younger. So not many vacancies coming up. But they've still got to train and guide people, because if you get people with magic and no training or guidance, that can be dangerous. And not good for the girls involved, either. I mean, if you got a lot of self-taught Assassins who the Guild doesn't know about and can't guide, that's bad too, isn't it?"
Johanna nodded.
"Tell me about it." she said. "I was one. Till the Guild got me."
"So, anyway. Girls trained in Lancre have got to go further afield, or else to get other jobs. The Air Police can only take so many. You're getting Lancre-trained witches all the way out to Aceria now. Even in Fourecks. It's a big network, granted. And Nanny Ogg has this knack for knowing where everybody is. She doesn't forget."
Johanna nodded.
"So where do you think you'll go?"
"I've been thinking about this, mum." Bekki decided not to mention the meeting in the woods that had got her thinking.
"There's one country out there with no witches. Aunt Mariella says she's always willing to put me up for a few months if I want to give Howondaland a go. And Ouma Agnetha said there's always a place for me, and she thinks I'd easily pay my board and lodging if I went to the family plaas."
Johanna looked hard at her oldest daughter.
"You do know it's illegal at Home?" she asked. "And you probably have a BOSS file by now. I'd be surprised if you didn't. They'll have noted you're a witch. BOSS are also the witch-hunters, you know. That stupid ancient law we brought with us from Sto Kerrig and which nobody's ever bothered to repeal. Besides. They do not like women with too much independence who think for themselves. Which to my way of thinking, defines a witch. You could be headed for trouble. A threat to State Security. BOSS do not like that."
"Maybe that's why I should go, mum." Bekki said. "Start changing peoples' minds. The witch goes where she's needed. And does what she has to when she gets there."
Johanna smiled slightly.
"You're headed for trouble, meisie." she said, shaking her head slightly. "Eish. You would not be my daughter, I suppose, if you weren't."
"Godsfather Julian's in politics now." Bekki said. "Maybe, I don't know, he could try to get that law repealed. Or something."
"And in the thirty or forty years that would take? Ah well, at least you have a family with a bit of influence, who can cover for you and plead ignorance. But beware of asking Uncle Charles for favours, like smoothing over any legal problems you get yourself into. He'll grant you the favour, but he won't forget. Then he'll call it in. Watch out for that."
Johanna paused, and added
"Trust Julian, though. Decent man. Straight player. Despite the handicap of birth."
Johanna smiled at her.
"When you go, it'll be after midsummer, when your Pegasus might be ready to fly? And you can be back here so quickly. Always assuming you get a Feegle to navigate you, one who is actually capable of locating his own bottom after two tries."
Bekki winced.
"Actually, mum..." she said.2(2)
Jacarinthia House, Caarp Town, R.H.
General Hans "Crowbar" Dreyer always looked, to Mariella's mind, like a scaled-up Feegle. The Commander and Director of her country's Special Forces had an official remit: he commanded the Selous Slew, an élite brigade of the Army that did specialised tasks in the service of the nation. He also worked in the hazy area straddling the military and the political, interpreting deliberately vaguely-worded reccomendations from senior politicians which, unnaccountably, were rarely put into writing. He also advised the politicians on how certain delicate situations might be interpreted, and if necessary resolved, with a minimum of fuss and how they could be plausibly denied if inconvenient people, like other politicians, foreign agencies, or journalists, got to hear about them. Intermediate locations like Jacarinthia House, neither an Army barracks nor a politician's office, were made available for private and discreet little conferences like this. Their host, Mr Charles Smith-Rhodes, understood such things well enough, and facilitated.
As the General moved in the front of the room like a tightly compacted ball of genially directed aggression, Mariella was not surprised to note other people were present for the briefing as well as uniformed personnel. She recognised Commodore de Noorde of the Navy, a man she'd first met while travelling in Smith-Rhodesia some years before. Their paths had crossed several times since. She nodded to Piet Retief, the local chief Assassin in her country. Retief and the Crowbar had a professional arrangement, should the services of the Guild be required to augment the talents of the Slew for any of those tricky jobs. Mariella appreciated this. She and Horst were reserve officers who could be recalled to duty at any time in the service of their country. But Retief had pointed out that they were also licenced Assassins, and therefore the Government of Rimwards Howondaland should respect this with regard to the appropriate professional fee chargeable to the Guild, should any duties undertaken by Mrs Smith-Rhodes-Lensen (Black Widow House) or Mr Lensen (Viper House) be held to be overlapping the accepted professional competences taught by the Guild. After all, they were civilians now, and not full-time soldiers who could be understood to be working pro-bono as a patriotic duty to their nation.
An appropriate scale of fees had indeed been worked out, and Mariella and Horst's marital bank account was very healthy indeed.
Mariella noted two other uniformed people who, for the moment, were full-time soldiers and therefore providing their services pro-bono as a patriotic duty, despite also being graduate Assassins. It was a fine distinction. She smiled, sympathetically: she'd once been there herself, taking all the risks for a hundred and eighty rand a month, her officer's pay. But if Young Johanna and Emma Roydes were also on board, this looked serious.
And Uncle Pieter was here, the Minister of State for Foreign Affairs. And Cousin Julian, who Mariella understood worked for Uncle Pieter as, in his own words, "a sort of elevated office junior". She read the faces. Uncle Pieter was looking grave-digger serious. Irrelevantly, she recalled that in old Kerrigian, the name "van der Graaf" came from the same root as "gravedigger" or "sexton", indicating the occupation a long-gone ancestor would have had in Sto Kerrig. Uncle Pieter certainly had an undertaker's face on. And Cousin Julian looked worried, tinged with "grim". She wondered what was making him so serious. Ah well, I'll find out.
"Well, thank you all for attending!" the Crowbar said, his face splitting into the usual infectious grin. People would follow a grin like that into Hell itself. Sometimes they had. It came with the job.
"We've got a situation. The reason you're all here is to contribute your thoughts about this particular situation, and to kick a few ideas around as to how we can do something about it. The slides you are about to see are of some people we currently find very interesting indeed. We're also going to fill you in as to their current activities and whereabouts, and as to why this country finds them worrying. Some of you in this room will know, and will have interacted, with some of these people. At school, perhaps. If there's anything you can add that isn't a part of their intelligence files, speak up, as we want to know."
Mariella was on her guard straight away. She sat up straight. And tried not to be too appalled as a succession of possible candidates for bespoke personal attention came up on the screen.
They included her old schoolmate and almost-friend Sissi N'Kime. Her rival on the running track, and the girl who had brought Mariella fruit and flowers in her hospital bed that time, whose actions on the day might well have saved Mariella's life from an assassin.
And to cap it all, there was...
"Bloody dangerous woman." the Crowbar said, drily. "The Paramount Crown Princess of the Zulu Empire. Too bloody clever by half and capable of a lot of joined-up thinking. It might be necessary to send her a care package. Ideas, anyone?"
Mariella, appalled and trying not to show it, looked at Horst. Both tried not to look at Cousin Julian, whose face had gone to stone, unreadable...
Lancre Town. A flashback, insered to heighten the dramatic tension at this point. Maybe two weeks previously.
"So." Nanny Ogg had said, pouring two cups of tea. "You need to go back home for a week or so. To look after your mum, who is recuperating after allowing an Igorina to rummage around inside her."
Nanny looked sympathetically at Bekki.
"Talk about their hands in your life. Although if my ticker was playin' up and the clockwork was wonky and the springs needed fixin', there's worse than Igorinas to take it to. And at least she got to find out."
Nanny nodded to a corner of the room that non-witches might have dismissed as empty.
"Good to have close family, isn't it? Although it was bad luck on you, love, when your heart sprang a leak."
"These things heppen, Mrs Ogg." said Johanna Francesca Smith-Rhodes. "End thenk you for ellowing me into your home."
Nanny beamed a welcoming smile.
"You're here for our girl." she said. "I ain't likely to banish you out, an I? 'Sides, I heard the commotion out in the wash-house. One of the old kings got a bit fresh with you, did he?"
"Ja." said Johanna Francesca. "Your former monarch made en unwise presumption. I hed to tell him ebout one of the basic principles of being from a Republic. Which is thet there is no such thing es a commoner end no such thing es a monarch. Therefore if a woman then punches a man who is ecting unwisely out of a sense of privilege, it is his look-out."
Nanny nodded, sagely.
"You did right, love. I had to clock him with a leg of lamb once, while he was alive. You'd think bein' dead and not havin' a body no more, they wouldn't, wouldn't you? No glands. But some people don't learn, livin' or dead."
"Perheps the ghosts of glends are now giving him discomfort, Mrs Ogg. Efter I hit him."
Nanny Ogg laughed loudly.
"I can see where our Bekki and her mum get it from, no mistake!"
Then she turned to Bekki. Seriously, now.
"It's not unknown, love." she said. "Personally I don't think Esme died, in the accepted way. Oh, she got the advance warning. Death turned up for her. But like your auntie over there pops back to keep an eye on your family. Esme treated Lancre like it was her family. All of Lancre. So she nips back once in a while. To stay in touch. If anythin' interests her. I'm just bettin' you interest her. First Witch we've got from your country. New ideas, see."
"Nanny, you're not saying mayhersoulhavemercyontheGods." Bekki observed.
Nanny Ogg shrugged.
"Oh, I'll join in with that in public." she said. "Disrespectful, else. But there's really no point. 'Cos I suspect Esme never really left. But she's picky who she shows herself to."
Nanny gathered herself.
"I'm forgettin' my manners." she said. "Miss Smith-Rhodes, I should be offerin' you a drink?"
Bekki realised Nanny wasn't speaking to her.
"That would be very kind, Mrs Ogg." said Johanna Francesca.
Nanny grinned. "Got some in the kitchen. And I'll need matches too. Hold on a tick..."
Bekki, almost alone in the room, knew she shouldn't. But the temptation was too great. She started to Look at the cluttered knick-kncks and tasteless ornaments on every flat surface. Most of them she could discount after the briefest glance. But there was one thing, hidden inobtrusively away behind ranks of tat, that drew her. It looked like an hourglass. At least, there was sand in it. But it wasn't moving. It radiated something Other...
She knew not to touch. Touching it, she knew, would be not just impolite but terribly unwise.
"Mrs Ogg's secret, liewe hecksie." Johanna Francesca said, softly, from behind her. "Leave well alone."
Nanny Ogg had very sharp hearing.
"Mrs Ogg's secret?" she repeated, a little sharply. Then she relaxed.
"Okay, young Bekki. I don't know if you've worked it out. But I'm guessin' you will, given enough Time. Let me sort out that drink for you, miss Smith-Rhodes. Sorry it ain't klipdrift or whatever you call it. But it's good honest Lancre scumble..."
Nanny poured a viscous oily liquid into a glass. Even from yards away, there was a smell that might have begun as apples. She stood well back, and struck a match at arm's length, holding her face away. There was an actinic Whoomph.
"Jislaik. This is strong." Johanna Francesca observed. "Dankie, mevrou Ogg."
"You're welcome." Nanny said. She turned to scrutinise Bekki. Bekki tried hard not to blink or turn her eyes away. Then the old witch smiled.
"Can't keep it from you." she said. "I 'spect you're wondrin' why I'm still here, same age as I was when you first met me all them years ago?"
Nanny poured another scumble for herself. Bekki politely refused one.
"Very wise. Anyhow, young Rebecka. I reads you as a girl who can keep quiet. Knows how to keep a confidence. 'Sides, you're off to Howondaland after you've spent time down on the Chalk. When Tiffany says you're fit, and she will."
Nanny took a deep breath.
"I reckon I'm a hundred and nine years old, as of last birthday. You tends to lose count after a while. By rights, should have gone when I was eighty-nine. But I did this midwifing job, see. A strange one. Birthed twins who were not twins. Couple I did this for – well, witches only sometimes get paid in money. You knows that yourself, Bekki. They were in a position to recompense me for the time. And I knows exactly how much time."
She nodded to the strange not-an-hourglass.
"Eighty-eight minutes. But that clock only starts to tick when I makes the decision and says the words. The man with the scythe knows that. He said as how he'd pop back when I'm ready to go. Well, eighty-eight minutes after I decide I'm ready to go."
"So you're, err, indefinitely prolonged?" Bekki asked.
The old witch grinned.
"Not indefinitely, Bekki, love. I reckon as how it'd look odd if my great-grandkids grows up and becomes grandparents themselves, and I'm still here. People might start to talk. I reckon if I outlives Eumenides Treason by a good few years. Set a record. For posterior. One day I'll decide to have a Goin' Away party. A big one. Invite every witch on the Disc. Even Lettice Earwig, if she's still around. Have a damn good time and then, eighty-eight minutes before the End. I says the words. Pour Death a drink on me, clink glasses with him, and move on. Go tourin' with Esme."
Bekki digested it. Then she smiled.
"Don't forget to invite me, Nanny."
"I won't, Bekki, love. You'll write to me from Howondaland, when you go?"
Jacarinthia House, Caarp Town, R.H.
"So let's get this straight." Emma Roydes said. "Crowbar. You want us to go out and inhume one of our old teachers?"
Hans Dreyer permitted informality from his junior officers. He grinned at Emma.
"Not this very instant justnow, no." he said. "What I'm asking for, Piles, are ideas as to how we can do this. Make a plan. And you all know these people better than I do. Hell, you've met them!"
Mariella cleared her throat.
"Sproetjie?" Crowbar invited her.
"Sir. This might sound irrelevant. But I cannot help thinking that maybe even at this very moment, there is a room in a kraal somewhere in the Zulu Empire where iconographic pictures of people in this room are being flashed up on a screen. Intelligence files are being read and added to. And people very like us are kicking around ideas of what to do about these very dangerous people. So perheps we should get in first."
Crowbar Dreyer nodded appreciatively at Mariella.
"Glad to see you're thinking about it, Sproet. And your feelings on the matter?"
"You are asking me to accept a contract – which is where we are heading – on people I knew in Ankh-Morpork and have personal and professional respect for. Please excuse me for having mixed feelings on the matter."
"Mariella." Piet Retief said. "You're an Assassin. You're a good Assassin. The Guild teaches us to set aside personal feelings and to be completely professional. You accept the job. Once accepted, it could be your best friend. A family member. A sibling..."
"My best friend? She'd tear my throat out if I tried."
Piet reflected on who Mariella's best friend was. He accepted the point.
"Ja, but in her case, only if the money was right..." Mariella paused. "And my sibling. Even as a forty-odd year old mother of three, she'd have no difficulty in tearing my arms off and hitting me with the stumps. Just to make a point. She's older than me, more experienced than me and meaner than me. Which leads me to a point that four of us in theis room are only too aware of. It's an Assassin thing. Ruth N'Kweze taught us. If you want more experienced, cleverer, meaner and better at being an Assassin than any of us – look at Ruth. We all know that. That's not admitting defeat. That's stating a very obvious fact."
Three other Assassins in the room indicated their agreement to this.
"I can see there's a psychological thing going on here..." Crowbar Dreyer said, slowly.
"You said it yourself, sir." Horst Lensen said. "In the Intelligence briefing. There have so far been thirteen known assassination attempts on Ruth N'Kweze. Since she became Paramount Crown Princess. Mainly from half-sisters who are jealous as Hell she got to be the most senior Princess and closest to her father. Other attempts from half-brothers, who are scared she's got it in mind to become Paramount Empress. And she's still here. A couple of half-sisters have, shall we say, vanished from Court. And at least two half-brothers. That says to me she's got some serious security looking out for her. Probably Guild-trained."
"Definitely Guild-trained." the Crowbar agreed. "Miss Sissi N'Kime. Commoner. No Royal blood. But a trained Assassin and utterly loyal to the Princess. Acts as her personal bodyguard and security chief."
He turned to Mariella.
"Not one of your old teachers." he said. "A classmate, in fact. Sproet. Do you think you could take her down if you had to?"
Mariella tried not to wince.
"On a good day, maybe." she said. "But I'm not completely certain. When we competed on the running track, it was fifty-fifty as to who crossed the line first. And, well..."
"I know." the Crowbar said. "You went to the same school. For seven years. You were friends, almost."
"Almost." Mariella agreed. "But we both knew if it came to it, and we had to fight, on this continent..."
"Hold that thought." Crowbar Dreyer said. "Mr van der Graaf, you look as if you want to speak?"
"Ja." said the minister. He could keenly feel the agitation various people in the room were trying to supress. He felt something of it himself, in fact. He'd known Ruth N'Kweze himself in Ankh-Morpork, and he had a liking and respect for her. He also knew exactly why Julian was looking miserable.
"Let me give you the political perspective. Yes. It is alarming and highly undesirable, from a point of view of national security, that the Zulu Empire is evolving a better Army. One that is better at fighting. As we saw recently in Muntab. They have always had numerical superiority. We have relied on being better soldiers, man for man, and indeed now, woman for woman. We have looked for a qualitative superiority in terms of training, weaponry and equipment. And in tactical doctrine. Realising that we may not be able to rely on this for much longer is a shock.
"Therefore it is correct, and prudent, to have this discussion as to how we might remove the minds behind their change of outlook. Were this to happen, the conservative leadership of the Zulu Empire would happily disband the femal impi and pretend it never happened, as well as to insist on the good old ways. Which suits us.
"But let me caution you concerning the temendous risk involved in this enterprise. If we launch a decapitation strategy on a very highly placed Zulu royal. And we fail. And we are found out. Do you think this is not a casus belli for all out war? And if we succeed. And the finger of blame is pointed at us. We have then succeeded in assassinating the most important daughter of the Paramount King. And the likely result of this? We cripple their Army's prospects for improvement and modernisation, by removing the mind behind it. But at the price, may I suggest, of all-out war.
"Thirdly. Many of us lived in Ankh-Morpork. I myself was there for over twenty years. Princess Ruth, the subject of our discussion, was also there for nearly twenty. I read her as not so much a Zulu by the end, but an Ankh-Morporkian of Zulu origin. That city changes people. In her case, it changed her to a thoughtful young woman who was prepared to sit and talk to White Howondalandians and understand our point of view. Similarly, it generated people, some of whom are in this room now, who are prepared to sit and talk to Zulus, who understand their point of view. If it comes to direct talks with the Empire, I would prefer to talk to a well-educated and urbane young woman who lived on the Central Continent, and whose world-view is not a completely Zulu one. To me, that is preferential to the alternative. Oh, and also consider Patrician Vetinari's likely opinion of anyone who foments war in this continent.
"If realpolitik makes it necessary to remove the Princess and others like her from the field of play, then we must. But let it be clearly understood this should only be the very last, desperate, option, when all else has clearly failed. Thank you."
Piter van der Graaf sat down, his point having been made.
Crowbar Dreyer breathed a resigned sigh.
"So let's consider this as a theoretical exercise." he said. "so we have some sort of a plan made if we need to bring it out."
He nodded to a woman whose hair appeared, on the lamplight, to have a distinctly pinkish tinge.
"Johanna?"
Happier now that it was clearly only a paper project, the group discussed plans for decapitating the Zulu Empire...
To be continued:-
(1) with almond pilau rice and a keema naan bread.
(2) Bekki had a horrible suspicion she was going to be stuck with Wee Archie Aff The Midden, whatever she did about it. The worst thing was that she actually liked the cheerful young Feegle, despite his navigational skills being akin to those of a concussed flatfish. One that persisted, for instance, in swimming in entirely the opposite direction to the rest of the shoal. It was another downside to the prestige of getting a Pegasus of her own. That and the Watch training that Commander Vimes had promised to give her, as a necessary condition of (nominal) service with the Air Police. She'd seen Sergeant Detritus with Watch recruits. The idea of getting this as a sixteenth birthday present didn't exactly fill her with delight. Bekki hoped she'd get to do a lot of this with Olga and Irena. You know, training specific to her arm of service.
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.