Strandpiel 37
liefde en romanse – love and romance
We're back! Taking an unexpectedly darker turn with warclouds looming – but all to set the scene for Bekki arriving in Howondaland, which will be soon. Continuing the logic of the story from the last episode which is now apparently becoming a mighty saga of interlocked family and friends on two continents, not just about Bekki. Again first imprint, will revise for typos. Lots of ideas, too little time. I have MANY ideas sketched out and roughly plotted. It is just a matter of finding time... too many ideas and scenes, in fact – all in my head and jostling for priority! i will come back and add footnotes in Version Two - just want to get this out there first as it's been a long wait.
Old joke:
Q. What do you call somebody who hangs around with musicians?
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork:
It was a warm sunny morning in May. Warm sunny mornings with clement blue skies above did occassionally happen in Ankh-Morpork, even without magical or divine intervention. Bekki, her time in the Chalk Country over and with a few blissful free weeks to herself before her life began again in June, was enjoying being at home with her family. It was now a year since she had left home to begin her new life as a Witch. Her sixteenth birthday would happen soon – this was a good reason for her to be at home with precious free time – and there were two big rites of passage into adult life on her horizon.
She couldn't do anything about the uncomfortable fact she would very soon have to do City Watch recruit training. It wasn't a career vocation she'd have chosen for herself. But having been selected for the Pegasus Service made this unavoidable – all new Pegasus pilots also did the training, no exceptions. The Pegasus Service was unique and semi-autonomous, it technically and nominally belonged to the King of Lancre due to Politics, but it worked for Ankh-Morpork, also due to Politics. And it had been born out of the City Watch Air Police, so it also belonged to the City Watch, due to Sir Samuel Vimes. The Air Police was staffed by uniformed Watchwomen who were also pilots. So the Service was an extention of modern Witchcraft, women attracted to the organisation by the siren call of flight and that Ankh-Morpork was the world centre of excellence in flight technomancy. The deal for being at the cutting edge of flight was to be fully badged Watchwomen and to put in at least a couple of shifts a week as policewomen on the beat, in her case as the other demands of the Service permitted. There was always a squad of Air Witches on rotating call at Pesudopolis Yard. These would soon include Bekki. So she had to be trained.
She sighed. At least she could do the other thing. Which was to work up her performance piece for the annual Witch Trials. She knew exactly what she was going to present. The focus and concentration involved took her mind out of the unpleasant ordeal ahead. And there was lots of space out here on the back lawn. That was important too...
A small audience had gathered to watch her train. Her mother had taken a little time out of her day to observe. A couple of the house servants and a gaggle of interested house-goblins were clustered by the kitchen door, her mother intent, the servants both fearful and appreciative at a display of controlled muti, the goblins excited and chattering among themselves. Bekki cleared them from her mind, mustered the magical force she'd need – she felt it surging up inside her – then directed and released it in short controlled bursts...
Afterwards, she dispelled the residual force, then said she was feeling a little bit hungry for some reason.
"Better eat, then." her mother said, patting her on the shoulder. Johanna really needed to be over at the Zoo. She was running late. But making time for her oldest daughter was important too. Her duties as Zoo Director could wait a little. And she had just spent half an hour in quiet appreciation of the display: qualities such as focus, concentration, methodical planning, dedicated application of skills and a healthy respect for potential danger were exactly the sort of thing she liked to see in her Assassin students. Watching her own daughter apply all these attributes, impeccably, in the service of Witchcraft, was something that made her very proud indeed. She just wished Ponder had been here to see it too. But he was off on a professional jolly and would be away for a couple of days: something to do with Mustrum Ridcully squaring off against Dean Henry at Braseneck College over in Pseudopolis, some professional disagreement or other. Ponder, along with his old friend Adrian Turnipseed, had to be there to restrain their respective Arch-Chancellors, to prevent academic bloodshed.
Johanna, with her experience of departmental wrangling, strongly suspected that any useful business or agreements between Unseen and Braseneck wouldn't be concluded by the two older wizards: Ponder and Adrian would spend twenty minutes in a pub over a beer and sort it all out with a handshake. Then present Ridcully and the Dean with a done deal.
"Dorothea?" Johanna asked her cook. Dorothea had taken a break to watch the show too. The cook, with a typical Howondalandian fear of muti, had huddled with the two housemaids and the gardener for mutual reassurance, both scared and thrilled at the magical display they'd witnessed; Johanna suspected they'd only stayed because they absolutely respected Miss Rebecka, and knew she wasn't an evil sorceror who'd turn the muti on them. Besides, Bekki had treated Dorothea's varicose veins, the scourge of middle-aged women who were on their feet all day doing hard work. She'd done Blessing's eye infection too. The staff knew Miss Rebecka was a good witch, or the nearest thing to, with healing in her hands.
"Muti makes people hungry." the cook said, smiling. "I can prepare a light snack, madam. Especially for Miss Rebecka."
"It's your birthday on Octeday." Johanna remarked. "We can have a family thing in the evening. I've got the usual Octeday afternoon thing. You know, hosting a few students. Still, the more the merrier, and you know them all."
Bekki understood. Mum and Auntie Heidi had pastoral duties at the School, to students from The Other Country. As a sort of compensation for being forced to attend the unspeakable and dreary service at the Kerk on Octeday morning, the students usually got divided into two groups for a social afternoon, one lot with Mum, the other with Auntie Heidi. Auntie Heidi usually got the foot-the-ball players. Uncle Danie liked interacting with the hearty young boykies.
"It's nearly summer. It promises to be warm. It's your birthday. We can fire up the braai." Johanna decided. "Get a couple of the senior boys who know what they're doing to mind it. They do the work. The rest of us appreciate them for doing the work. We have a plan."
She looked at her daughter with a thoughtful and appreciative eye. Bekki was industriously putting away the large second breakfast that Dorothea had lovingly put in front of her, with a "You must eat, Miss Rebecka. I know the muti makes people hungry. I saw it at home."
Bekki had also found herself putting three spoons of sugar in her tea. Rooibuis tea, naturally. Mum had other sorts, but this was the one the family drank most of, by a long way.
"So you graduate as a Witch soon." Johanna said. "At the Witch Trials."
"Ja, mum." Bekki said, indistinctly. She swallowed and took a long draught of her tea. Expending magic really did make you hungry. And the thing about Witches habitually taking insanely large amounts of sugar in their tea – that wasn't a stereotype.
Johanna was abstemiously nibbling a sweet biscuit with her tea. She'd been married to Ponder Stibbons for long enough now to suspect how this worked. The energy to power and channel magic had to come from somewhere. It must come from the constitution and physical systems of the magic user. In theory, all magic users should therefore be as thin and spare as Esmerelda Weatherwax, or some of the old-time wizards Ponder had described, of the previous generation to the current Faculty. Magic burnt calories. Those calories had to be replaced. Hence Bekki was sitting opposite the table from her, expressing real hunger, and devouring the sort of breakfast Harga's House of Ribs might have called overdoing it a bit. Well, none of my daughters are going to be anorexic, Johanna thought, with a certain pride in a motherly job done well. And they'll all eat well and burn it off.
"I think wizards never start off fat, mum." Bekki said. "They have to eat a lot to compensate for the magic they expend. But then they get older and do less actual magic. But they still eat as if they are. They've got the habit by then. Then you get the Faculty."
Johana nodded.
"That makes sense." she said. "Your father still handles a lot of magic every day. At the High Energy Magic Building. So he's stayed pretty much in shape. Unlike some of the others."
Dad's never really been into big meals, anyway." Bekki said. "I mean, not stupid insane big Wizard meals."
"Or tea with three sugars." her mother agreed. "There's a witch habit you've got yourself into."
"It comes with the job, mum." Bekki said. "Mrs Aching always made sure I got at least one meal a day. You know, during lambing season. But if you're a witch, sometimes it's so busy that if you don't make time, you miss meals and live on hot tea with lots of sugar. It felt that way during lambing on the high Chalk."
"So there are very few fat Witches." Johanna remarked. "It balances out, then."
She looked speculatively at Bekki.
"These Witch Trials. You enter competition. You perform your piece. You are judged. And during the day you are graduated."
"Well. No final exam as such, mum. The older witches kind of confer among themselves, and sort of agree. She's ready to take a steading. The competition part is something to do while they're deciding. Especially if any Steadings are vacant and they're arguing – deciding among themselves – which of the newcomers is fit to take over. For instance, Sophie's almost sure to be offered the Steading that covers the horse studs around Lancre. She's been covering that anyway. This just makes it official. They'll decide it needs a horse witch, and she's it. She should be able to do caesareans now, after you showed her. I took her to a slaughterhouse a day or two later, to get her used to things being cut up. She was a bit wobbly for a while, but I think she's forcing herself to get over it, as she's going to have to do it."
Johanna nodded.
"When she comes here to do her Watch training. We'll take her to the Zoo and show her practice. See how she gets on. And speaking of the Zoo, I'm due there in an hour. You may as well come along. My class should be there by then and I can trust my teaching assistant to allocate work. All I need to do is make sure they know I'm watching."
Johanna smiled slightly.
"The students respect you, too, if you haven't noticed. I suspect the pointy hat has as much to do with it as the fact that I'm your mother. Also that you can call Famke to heel. She grumbles and she grouses, but your sister does as you tell her."
Johanna smiled.
"Wish she would for me. When you're finished with that wizard-sized breakfast, you can perhaps fire up your broomstick and ferry me to the Zoo to save time? Dankie."
The Assassins' Guild School, Ankh-Morpork.
"Have you got a death-wish or something, Ampie?" demanded Simon Anstruther, heatedly. Some of their peers in the Lower Sixth nodded emphatically. To them, they were watching a colleague on the brink of a slippery slope with lots of sharp spiky things waiting at the bottom.
Andrijs duPris, known to his peers as Ampie, looked up at him and smiled slightly.
"Don't see whet the fuss is ebout." he said, mildly. "I'm still turning out for the School First Eleven on Seturday es usual. If thet's whet's worrying you."
Simon, the Captain of the School's Crockett team, looked sternly and worriedly at his fifth-order batsman and very useful spin-bowler. Losing a batsman who had promise worried him. They didn't grow on trees, even if colonial types could be surprisingly good at Crockett. The team squad had Fourecksians and a couple of Ghatians, even a Klatchistani. And now one from Rimwards Howondaland.
"Very yes!" said Imrah Khan. He scowled down from under his culturally approved school turban. It was regulation black and had the Guild School badge on the binding puttee. "This bhindi you are seeing..."
Ampie pretended innocence. He carried on oiling his bat, polishing the linseed oil into the willow.
"Ag, I know it's one of the rules of crockett." Ampie said. "You meet a girl. Whetever heppens, Crockett comes first. If it helps, Bekki might show on Seterday. You know. To watch. I'm not sure if she's the sort of girl who'll help make the sendwiches end the cakes end tea for the interval, but you cennot hev everything."(1)
"Yes." Simon said, flatly. "Ampie. It's not that you're seeing a girl. Best of luck to you. But... this girl? You know who her mother is?"
The rest of the Crockett squad nodded. One or two shuddered slightly.
"And she's a witch." Mick Gatting said. Mick was not the sort of guy who scared easily. He was short and thickset and could face a crockett ball coming his way at great speed without flinching. But some concepts, when they all stacked up together, were intrinsically scary.
"And she can put a collar and a leash on the Tykebomb." Simon added. "Granted, big sisters get privileges. But Tykebomb. Her little sister. Don't all these things worry you at all, Ampie?"
Ampie shrugged. He wondered about some of these things himself. Doctor Smith-Rhodes had said and done nothing out of the ordinary and he'd wondered if she'd noticed at all. But he felt, in some odd and indefinible way, as if he was being assessed by her. And Famke, the little sister, was now prone to fits of giggling and nudging her friends whenever, for instance, he passed her in the corridor. He shrugged. Little sisters had privileges too, he guessed. He'd known who Rebecka was ever since he'd been in Ankh-Morpork. Rimwards Howondalandians were a community in the city where everyone knew everyone else. They'd been introduced and she knew him by name, like she did most of the bros and meisies at the Guild School. But he'd been aware of a good-natured red-haired meisie who hung out with her mad friends from Seven-Handed-Sek's. Just a gaggle of early teenage girls who squeaked and giggled a lot. He'd been drawn to the dark-haired Hergenian one who swore a lot – and slapped down by her. (he winced at the memory).
Then Bekki had gone off to Lancre. And come back. And he'd seen the older girl with a new eye. A year older and changed, in some indefinite way. And this had drawn him in. The way she spoke Vondalaans really attracted him. Completely fluent, but with some odd quirks of vocabulary and occassionally of grammar. He wanted to hear more of her voice. He'd never heard his native language spoken like this before.
"She's worth knowing." he said, simply. His friends despaired.
Then they went out to practice and the matter was dropped, for now.
Braseneck College, Pseudopolis:
"Hmmmph." Said Mustrum Ricully, Arch-Chancellor.
"I see, Mustrum." said Henry, former Dean and now also Arch-Chancellor.
The two most senior Wizards on the Disc folded their arms and glared at each other across the conference table.
Sir Ponder Stibbons looked across ot his old friend Adrian Turnipseed, who now had pretty much the same position at Braseneck that Ponder had at Unseen. They shared the sort of look that knew, mutually, that they'd each have to, metaphorically speaking, grab the back of a belt and drag their respective seniors apart. Neither was looking forward to it.
And then the Duty Wizard came running into the room, looking alarmed.
"What is it, man?" Dean Henry grunted. Ponder and Adrian relaxed as the moment of high tension eased.
"You asked to be kept informed, sir." the duty wizard said. "It's happening again. "Massive random discharges of magic, sir. This one in Ankh-Morpork. With no apparent cause, unless..."
"Give it here, man." Henry said. He reached out an imperious hand
Ponder glanced over to look. It was pretty much the same sort of print-out HEX would deliver. HEX monitored the psychic ether for this sort of thing. Except that here it was...
"Hmmph. PEX seems pretty definite." Henry grunted. He nodded at Ridcully.
"Massive recent discharge of magic in the hubwards-by-widdershins quarter of the City." he said. "PEX thinks it's somewhere in the Nap Hill region of Ankh. Anything you people are up to. Mustrum? We've been seeing a lot of this stuff lately. Inexplicible, random and not Wizard magic. Doesn't have the right thaumic signature, even for you people from Unseen."
Ridcully smiled slightly.
"We people, Henry? You were one of us. Once."
He took the print-out.
"Stibbons? Fire up HEX and see if he can get a more precise fix than this, would you, lad?"
Ridcully didn't look worried at all, as if he knew something Henry didn't...
"I'll try, sir." Ponder said, taking a mini-omniscope communicator from his pocket. Getting a reliable source of sound to give HEX a voice, even at a distance, had been a triumph. Previously, HEX had relied on using anything nearby with the ability to reproduce sound; the computer techology of the Roundworld, for instance, when he and Johanna had spent time in California. In this world, and outside the H.E.M., HEX had needed to possess a willing volunteer, like a Palace gargoyle, or to speak directly into the mind of somebody wanting to communicate. But the communicator incorporated a specially trained Imp who could relay HEX through an amplifying trumpet.
"HEX? Can you pin down the source of a magical disturbance in the Nap Hill district of Ankh, one big enough to be felt and measured here in Pseudopolis?" Ponder asked.
++I can, Professor Stibbons.++ Computing.++ Stand by.++
There was a quiet silence. Ridcully broke it.
"I'm just bettin', Henry. There's been a lot of this sort of thing in recent weeks? Flashes and bussts of strong magic, and it clusters, you get more of it all the way out to Lancre and the Chalk? Just a thought, you understand..."
++The source of the magical eruption is Number Eighteen, Spa Lane, Nap Hill.++ HEX said. ++Between nine-thirty and ten-fifteen this morning by Dimwell Mean Time.++
"Told you he'd pin it down to the very spot." Ridcully said, proudly. "Hell of an advance on your PEX fellow..."
Then Ridcully paused and looked at Ponder. Ponder Stibbons went a brighter shade of red.
"Errr..." Ponder said. A second voice, like to but different from HEX, spoke from the omniscope.
~~The disturbance is centred on a person called Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons.~~Aged approximately sixteen~~SQUAWK!~~
"And we can identify the person." Henry said, with pride. "Your daughter, I believe, young Stibbons?"
"She's a witch, sir. Just Rebecka Smith-Rhodes. Witches take their mother's name. Always."
Ponder wondered what she'd been up to, this time.
"Witches." Ridcully said, reflectively. "Witch-magic. There's your answer, Henry. I suspect nothin' to get alarmed by. HEX, can you see what the girl's been doin?"
++Enough residual magic remains for me to reconstruct the events.++Observe++
The wizards crowded round the omniscope and watched a replay of Bekki working up her performance piece for the Witch Trials. Ponder felt both relief and pride.
"I say." Henry Dean remarked. "The girl's good, isn't she? Hell of an improvement on her father!"
"I'll say she's good." Ridcully said, basking with pride. "Taught her that meself. That's why she's good at it."
"But what's it for?" Henry asked. Ridcully grinned.
"Think about it, Henry. The nearer you get to Lancre and the Chalk, the more discharges of magic your PEX fellow is detectin'. And at this time of year. Brings anythin' to mind? The Witch Trials, for instance? Lots of young gels practicin'. Who ain't learnt to shield the magic yet. But then they want it to be seen, so that everybody knows they're witches. That's the point, don't y'see? They're apprentices about to be passed fit. So they're doin' their master pieces. Also, anyone attendin' who isn't a witch gets to see. And they remember. That Witches can do magic, and don't you forget it. Good for the image."
He nodded at Ponder.
"Tell the girl, well done from her grandfather, he's impressed. Also that we need to teach her how to shield the magic from the wrong sort of people. You've got magical defences set up at home, lad? With respect to Johanna, that's not the sort of fight she's trained for. Although anythin' comes sniffin' round, whatever shape it is, she'd have a damn good go at it. Especially if it threatens the girls."
The Assassins' Guild School, Ankh-Morpork.
Famke Cornelia Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons made her way down to Music Practice and Rehearsal Room 7a with an excitement she'd never in her life before had associated with the practice of music. The whole tedious, dull and tormenting subject area was now beginning to make sense to her. And to cap it all, she'd found a teacher she really liked and wanted to study with. Most of them were varying degrees of droning voice and mordant weary sarcasm at the front of the classroom, although Famke had to admit some of them were okay. Miss Lansbury's art classes, for instance. Miss L, old Artsy-Fartsy, had correctly assessed what would hold the interest of an adolescent female class and had thrown in a few male nudes. Not blatantly so, but enough to get the class watching with bated breath for the next iconograph slide, to see if there was a willy in it. And when breath was bated, they even listened to her lecture and came away knowing something about classical Brindisian art, about Carravanio and Humvie and the rest.
Famke was even beginning to read music. Or at least, one particular and relevant line of staves on the score. Her teacher was being thorough here too, pointing out that if she wanted to play seriously, she needed to be able to follow a score to be aware of how her part fitted into what everybody else in the orchestra was doing at any given moment.
And it had all begun when old Ubersetzer had banished her from his piano class. That cow Sandra Venturi had sniggered about Famke being given the Wayne Drooley option. You know, the one the Music Department gives to remedial cases. Thickos.
Famke was vaguely aware who Wayne Drooley had been. His name was a byword for the extreme remedies the School found for Assassins who were absolutely, irredeemably, non-intellectual and uncultured but who, nevertheless, the Guild wanted to see graduate for whatever reason. Apparently her Uncle Horst had been a bit of a Wayne Drooley in his time. Famke found this hard to picture. Aunt Mariella had said, off-handedly, that her uncle had been a bit of a pielkop, ja. And a total bliksem. Famke had blinked, looking at somebody who was one of her favourite uncles and trying to reconcile the stories with the quiet and good-natured guy in front of her. Her aunt had smiled slightly. Then admitted he'd improved a bit, in the end.
Famke had quietly decided that there would be vengeance and that Sandra was going to pay for the "thicko" comment when the right moment came along, and had allowed Mr Heggerty, a teacher she privately assessed as being a bit of a wet drip, to escort her down into the bowels of the Guild building. This spared her any confrontations with Hall monitors who would demand to know why she wasn't in a classroom in lesson time. (4) On the way, he filled her in on what she needed to know about Miss Glynnie.
"When you speak to her, always do it from directly in front of her so she's aware you're speaking. Do not cover your mouth and keep the movement of your lips and face as open as you can..."
Famke's face must have betrayed disbelief. This topped her day off. She was going to be taught music by a teacher who was completely...
Mr Heggerty grinned at her.
"It's not as unbelievable as it seems. You know what they say about that? It doesn't stop the musician hearing the music. It stops them from hearing the distractions."
But even so... Famke wasn't surprised to be led deeper underneath the School. Ankh-Morpork was built on quite a few previous Ankh-Morporks. The Guild School, in certain specialised and practical respects, went a long way down. For some classes and specialised resources, space was not a problem, much. Below ground level, there seemed to be quite a lot of it. And it was a long way from Doktor von Ubersetzer's light and airy perfomance studio on an upper floor of the School. A long way below.
Famke sensed a dull rhythmic throbbing in the distance. She wondered why she could feel it rather than hear it. Mr Heggerty smiled slightly.
"Welcome to Music Practice and Rehearsal Room 7a."(5) he said. He braced himself, then opened the door. And Famke realised that music was about more than just piano scales. Her epiphany awaited.
Miss Glynnie turned out to be a wiry, spare, woman in her thirties with long unbound black hair. Dressed in black, she looked like a certain type of Witch. Mr Heggerty made the introductions, and Miss Glynnie looked as if she was really pleased to meet Famke. This made a change; generally teachers who only knew Famke by reputation and family history seemed wary of her.
"Come on in! Welcome to our happy band!" the teacher said, in a voice that sounded slightly strange and wrongly stressed, as if she'd had to learn it from a book or something.
Miss Glynnie took Famke by the arm and began leading her around the large cellar room – at least three or four times the size of the usual classroom, it had to be, given the impressive collection of instruments – large ones, space consuming ones, which necessarily took up a lot of the room. There was a row of individual practice cubicles. Famke noticed they were also soundproofed. Miss Glynnie had explained that the very best Dwarfish acoustics and soundproofing baffles had gone into the design of her workspace, with no expense spared. Famke felt she could understand why.
"Here we have xylophones, various kinds, both metal and wood..."
"Oh." Famke said. Dissappointment welled up for a moment. This was the sort of thing they gave kids in the reception class at Seks to bash on. Little five year old kids. It was just like the Guild to do something like this... shunt the duffer off to spend her Music class bashing a little kid's toy..
"Here we have the Agatean sasara, a sort of vibraphonic instrument..." Miss Glynnie indicated what looked like another xylophone, but suspended vertically from cords. She seemed to become aware of the expression on Famke's face, smiled, then picked up a set of drumsticks and played a trilling lyrical theme on the hanging metal bars. She then gave Famke a look that said "See what's possible?" and put the sticks down.
"Over here, lithophones. Troll musical rocks, finely tuned..." she produced another set of sticks, and beat out a rhythm on the stones. "And here's the large concert gong.. originally a temple drum from BangBangDhuc...don't touch that hammer just yet, please, Famke? Thank you."
Famke sighed. She was beginning to see possibilities here. She stepped back, reluctantly, from the large padded hammer that would be used to hit that insanely large gong. Her fingers were itching. She felt a sudden compulsion to make noise. Loudly.
Her new teacher smiled, guessing her thoughts.
"The Hergenian lambeg drum, the biggest bass drum on the Disc. At least, the biggest that can be carried strapped to one person. Again, Famke, don't touch the drumsticks? Just yet? Thank you. And this is also from Hergen..."
"The bodhran." Famke said. Shauna O'Hennigan had identified one, in Ruthie's growing collection of musical instruments. Famke had dismissed it as a sort of tambourine without bells, that you played by hitting with a small hand-held stick, very fast. Shauna had said you could learn to play a bodhran quickly enough. Learning to say the fecking name of the fecking thing properly took longer.
"Indeed, Famke." Miss Glynnie said. She rattled a heartbeat-fast rhythm on the instrument, then replaced it. "And over here, military kettledrums of various sizes..."
Famke's tour of the wonderful world of percussion instruments took a while. Then her new teacher sat her down.
"I know you can keep time and you at least understand musical scales." Miss Glynnie said. "The way I see it, if you can keep the time and the tempo, you can play a musical instrument. Well, I'm going to teach you percussion. Attend my classes on time, apply yourself, and above all enjoy yourself. Music should not be a torment. Now. What do I start you out on, I wonder?"
Famke found herself wearing a military side-drum. She was issued two sticks of the right sort, and then spent the rest of her music lesson learning about the basic beats and repetitive patterns.
"Boring, but necessary." her teacher said. "The job of a drummer is to consistently keep the beat for as long as it needs. Once you master this, we can move you along. But you can't do solos until you know the basics. Thoroughly."
Famke was excited by the idea. Being able, even permitted, to make loud noises in School time appealed to her. Miss Glynnie had said the trick was to make loud noises musically. And the hardest lesson of all for a drummer was to learn sublety. It didn't need to be loud all the time. The trick was to understand when you could let rip with all your might. She had illustrated the point by playing a cymbal with wire brushes, creating a soft insistent rippling sound.
"You will learn, Famke." she had said. "And like any other music speciality, this room is available for optional extra study and practice – supervised – outside class time. In the evenings and at weekends, provided you do not neglect your other studies. Interested?"
Famke was. The idea of making music by hitting things with other things – well, where was the downside? And over the following weeks and months, Famke had practiced with what was becoming a single-minded dedication. With the long summer hols looming, she remembered Ruthie had acquired a few drums and things. Her sister wasn't that interested in percussion. She thought it was necessary, but a bit basic. Other people could bash drums, and she, Ruth, would get on with the interesting stuff. Assorted drums were therefore stacked in a corner of her bedroom studio, Famke remembered, and gathering dust. Well, once she got home for the hols, that was going to change...
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
Home from time spent helping her mother out at the Zoo, Bekki sat, composed herself, and hopefully lifted the bow. Her sister Ruth, back from school, smiled and nodded encouragement.
Bekki took a deep breath, arranged her fingers on the frets on the double bass, and moved the bow on the strings as she had been shown. There was a sound like a cat being tortured. Her own cat, Smart, pointedly stood up, raised her tail in disgust and possible fellow-feeling, and stalked out of the room, in feline affront.
Ruth winced slightly.
"Try again, Bekki." she said, encouragingly.
Bekki tried again. The sound was slightly better this time. But even Claude the butler grimaced.
"Perhaps madam should stick to playing pizzicato, for now?" he suggested.
Ruth agreed. Her sister was getting good at pizzicato bass, just using her fingers. The two sisters played together, Bekki realising that Ruth was leading the performance, wrapping her keyboard playing around Bekki's bass and making her sister sound good by comparison.
Bekki looked over. Mum had remarked that the living room was suddenly getting full of musical instruments. There was the baby grand piano that had always been there. But Ruth had balanced a celeste keyboard on top, the smallest and lightest member of the piano family. At right angles on either side were a virginal and a harpsichord, with an Acerian Harp on top of the virginal. The Acerian Harp was a sort of steel guitar thing set out like a keyboard. With at least six different sotts of keyboard set out on three sides of a square, Ruth could switch from one to another instantly. She could even play two seperate instruments at once, one with each hand. Mum had shaken her head and remarked that other little girls of the same age might set out a blanket fort in the living room to retreat into. Ruth had created her own fort, her own zone, out of keyboards. Mum and Dad accepted this. Ruth was good at music.
"I got the idea in a dream, daddy." Ruth had said. She had then edscribed to her father a dream of watching musicians on a stage, with flamboyant guitarists and lead singers getting all the attention in the front, while the keyboards player at the back and on the left a bit had his instruments arranged in a square like this so he could keep switching between them as he got on with it. Ruth considered this practical and sensible.
Dad had winced and muttered something about music with rocks in.
Ruth had then reminded Bekki about their idea for a bass guitar. She had remarked she'd seen girls play such instruments in other dreams. One who reminded me of you, with red hair, called Suzi, Q-something, sounded like a sort of pizza. It was loud, a bit strident and screamy, but it sounded really good in my dream. And a blonde one with a name like Kristina van der Weymout, the artist. Tina Weymouth, I think she was called. She was good too.(4)
Dad had winced again. He'd asked if Ruth had been talking to HEX, or something? Ruth had then said, seriously, that's a good idea, Daddy. HEX would know!
Ruth had then been forbidden from talking to HEX. At least, when Daddy wasn't there.
Bekki had also wondered why learning to play bass properly was suddenly important to her. Being with her sister, definitely, and sharing her music. She'd enjoyed relaxing with Alison and singing and playing with her, yes. But then a memory of Ampie guiding her fingers on the frets emerged... Bekki found herself reddening slightly. She realised she'd quite like some more of that. And soon.
The Assassins' Guild School, Ankh-Morpork.
Johanna stayed late at the School that evening. There was pastoral work to do that she couldn't dodge. Not that she wanted to: she and Heidi were responsible for looking after students from Rimwards Howondaland and informally talking to them now and again concerning their studies and lives in general. This evening they were speaking to half a dozen or so who were approaching their Final Runs and graduation. Johanna and Heidi wanted to get them prepared for leaving school and returning Home, so the talks concerned leaving, returning, plans for future careers, and what they hoped to do to make the most of their National Service. Informally, she and Heidi were also keen to divert them away from BOSS and government service in more dubious areas. That was important too.
"Thank you, miss Neukerk." Johanna said, concluding an interview with a senior girl. "There's a favour I need to ask you. On Octeday, after Kerk. You're invited over to my home, of course. Among other things it's my oldest daughter's birthday, her sixteenth. Good for everybody to relax and do something different. What I want you to do is to keep a close eye on my other daughter. You know how it works: Octeday religious attendence is still School time, and everybody attending is doing so as a School pupil. Famke is therefore a pupil and does not become my daughter again until she walks through my garden gate. Therefore I'd like a responsible senior student to keep an eye on her on the journey from the Kerk to my home, with no unauthorised diversions or excursions. Lead her directly to our home and if necessary, tie her hand and foot, even if it needs six of you to do it. If she complains, advise her you are doing it with my authority, and she is free to complain to me. Thank you. I will be grateful."
Johanna patted the girl on the shoulder. "Look upon it as a practical test of your skills." she advised. "And send the next one in? Thank you. Who is next, Heidi?"
Heidi Smith-Rhodes consulted a list.
"Andrijs duPris, Johanna."
The two teachers shared a look.
"This one will be interesting."
Ampie knocked and entered, trying to hide his nervousness. Johanna rested her chin on her fingers and studied him. She let the silence drag on a little too long, just for effect. Heidi looked on, trying to stifle her amusement.
"You are just over a year from your final Run, mr duPris." Johanna said, eventually. "I understand you do not intend to be a practicing Assassin. That is acceptable. Very few graduates do enter the Active List. Tell me what your intentions are?"
She let the sentence hang there for a few seconds, and added, almost as an afterthought
"After you graduate, I mean. You have National Service to look forward to."
Ampie smiled slightly.
"After basic induction, mevrou doktor, I am hoping to attend the School of Military Music at Trompensberg. Being accepted there will enable me to practice my skills at something I love, and it would make the two years more bearable."
Johanna smiled.
"You will then be a graduate Assassin, Mr duPris. Do you really think the nation will allow you to serve in the military as a mere bandsman?"
She shook her head slightly. Heidi, in advanced pregnancy and uncomfortable in her seat, said
"You never know, Johanna. The Selous Slew doesn't have a military band as such. But from what I know of General Dreyer, he might feel a sudden need to start one."
"Ja, that is true." Johanna agreed. "The Slew still needs people who can make a recognisible noise on a bugle for roll-calls, and for sounding the Last Post and suchlike."
Ampie grimaced slightly. He'd heard of Crowbar Dreyer and the Slew.
He changed the subject and coughed diffidently.
"It cannot be long now, mevrou Smith-Rhodes?" he asked, politely. Heidi smiled.
"A matter of a few weeks, thank you for your concern. Danie is hoping for a son, naturally."
"A healthy child, mevrou. I sincerely hope the birth goes well."
Heidi smiled.
"The Lady Sybil has skilled midwives." she said. "And I'm sure I could find a Lancre-trained witch nearby, as an extra insurance policy."
Both his teachers watched Ampie's reaction. After a whlie, Johanna decided to be kind.
"I'm not completely unaware of what motivates my daughters and what's going on in their lives." she said. "I can't help noticing there's a friendship developing between you and Rebecka."
Ampie swallowed, aware the two women watching his reactions were Bekki's mother and aunt. Both of them his teachers and both of them Assasins with contract completions on their records. Quite a few, in the case of Bekki's mother.
"Ja. Errr... a friendship is there, mevrou doktor. I cannot deny it. If you dissaprove, then..."
Johanna smiled. She shook her head, and decided to be kind.
"Hells, no! I have known and taught you for nearly six years. I find you to be pleasant, thoughtful, well-disposed and a decent young man. Perhaps too pleasant, for an Assassin. It is true there are young men at this school who I would not wish to see taking an interest in my girls. But you are not one of them. I see no concerns. Besides, this is something Ponder and I will have to face and deal with at least three times. Best we get used to it now, I think."
She held out a hand. Ampie took it.
"Young people will make these sort of friendships. It's foolish to try and fight. You are a friend of Rebecka who happens to be male. You do not need to sell yourself to me, not after the last six years. But let me advise you. My husband is anxious. Fathers generally are. You will need to sell yourself to him, I think. And let me also advise you that Rebecka has two grandfathers. And both are inclined to be extremely protective. My father saw myself and my two sisters marry, and three young men had to get past him. These days he focuses that protective fatherly side on his grand-daughters."
Johanna let this sink in.
"And my sister-in-law here will very soon have a child. I would warn you that my parents will soon be here. They are flying over so that my mother can make a useful contribution to the life of a new mother and get to know her grand-child."
Johanna smiled the smile of one who knew that this time, her parents would be wishing themselves on her brother and his wife. They'd be staying at Heidi's. She relished the brief spasm of pain on Heidi's face, and turned back to Ampie.
"You now have a challenge, mr duPris. To convince Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes that you're a fit man to walk out with his grand-daughter. I wish you luck. View it as an exercise in charm and diplomacy, perhaps. Now, let us consider your future, after you survive meeting my father. National service. Army bandsmen are also, by accepted practice, medical orderlies and field medics. The best of them have a medical training not far short of a doctor. It would strengthen your case for your preferred posting if your education here focuses on medical skills. Luckily, Matron Igorina teaches selected students some useful procedures. I can ask her to select you."
Johanna smiled.
"I might also ask people I know at home who have influence. To support your career intentions. You never know: you might get that posting yet to the School of Military Music. Or it could be eighteen months doing lively things for Crowbar Dreyer. Or a combination of both. We'll see."
Meanwhile, in Howondaland, Ruth N'Kweze, also close to having her child, was about to find out about the Naga...
(1) for non-British or commonwealth readers: "half-time" in a cricket match involves a relaxed English afternoon tea served in the pavilion. The full English afternoon tea is served with sandwiches and cake, and the unspoken expectation is that this is provided by wives and girlfriends of the players. M.C.C. rules(2) are explicit on this:
(2) Section 323 (Miscellaneous): The role of the distaff side in the sport of Crockett is to make and serve sandwiches and light cake and to pour the tea. An acceptable range and full description of suitable sandwiches and sweet cakes is laid out below under 323 (a) (1)and 323 (b) (i) - (xxi) below.
The M.C.C. is the Morpork Crockett Club, the custodian of the Rules and governing body of this great and noble sport of Crockett. Based at Lords' Stadium (3), the spiritual home of the Game.
(3) Lords' Stadium was enabled with a charitable donation from Lord Selachii, a man keen to ensure the Sport of Gentlemen was sustained and perpetuated by having a home of its own. On hearing of his rival's donation, Lord Venturi declared that it was a sterling way of giving the yeomanry and the more promising and less smelly peasants an idea of gentlemanly behaviour, and was therefore to be patronised. He then offered exactly the same donation as Lord Selachii - plus one dollar. Just to make the point. Lords Rust and Eorle also made kind and generous donations. Lords' Stadium is therefore large and well-appointed with magnificent training and teaching facilities. And, because some things are universal whatever the sport, shabby, smelly, changing rooms with under-heated showers.
(4) It also spared the Hall Monitor a confrontation with Famke.
(5) Music Practice and Rehearsal Room 7a weas also known as The Concussion Bunker.
(6). I know. Suzi Quatro. Look her up on You-Tube: in 1973, Suzi Q re-invented the rock band and pointed out there was no reason why a woman could not play bass and be lead singer at the same time. Tina Weymouth played bass for Talking Heads. Both are still going strong a long time later. Incidentally, three out of four founder members of rock band Girlsschool were at one time red-headed, including bassist Enid Williams. And when Ruth discovers Heart and the Wilson Sisters...
A: A drummer.
The Notes Dump:
The place where ideas and concepts go to stay fresh in the fridge whilst awaiting the audition call.
Lithophones - stone drums - really exist on Earth. All other musical instruments quoted are also real. Anyone who's seen an Orange Order parade in Northern Ireland or occasionally over here will have seen and heard a lambeg - a massive bass drum, which, by unwitting Rule of Funny, is generally toted by a weedy little guy. i've no idea why this should be so, but...
Percussion teacher Miss Glynnie is a barely-disguised riff on real-world percussion maestro Evelyn Glennie, a woman born profundly deaf who manages to be one of the world's greatest percussionists. She plays music by feeling the vibrations and, well, percussion plus a full orchestra - that's one set of vibrations coming up through her feet and in the air about her.