Strandpiel 39
In die geveg – into battle
Work being Somebody Else's Problem for a day or two, another chapter. While the ideas are fresh. In which two people linked by a shared name run into little problems to be overcome. Johanna gets a headache. So does Ponder. Bekki moves towards her informal Graduation as a witch. Young Johanna gets an extended cameo. Still wondering how to get Emma Roydes into the story – she and Young Johanna are inseperable friends, after all. The machinations of Uncle Charles and Uncle Pieter as they try to put a spoke in the wheels of a war machine – Uncle Charles will consider all-out war with the Zulu Empire is bad for business. Uncle Pieter will consider it bad for peace and for his necessarily covert moves towards lowering tensions and fostering some sort of good relations with the neighbours. So they have to make sure the deck is stacked so they can palm the wild card, Crowbar Dreyer.
Music and Art will also be discussed, as well as - eventually - necessary changes at the Guild School.
Fourth version - correcting a goof. Thank you to the eagle-eyed reader who spotted it.
Now read on.
The Zulu Empire, at the Lioness' Kraal.
Denizulu, iNduna of an Army Corps, a powerful general who commanded six thousand spears, a man whose word over those he commanded was law, looked over to his wife with suitable deference and a great deal of respect. Yes, it had been an arranged marriage. The Paramount King had asked his favoured General if he had appointed a Great Wife yet, to be the moon to his sun. Denizulu, a man who had devoted his life to rising in the military and serving his King, had reluctantly admitted that his life had been a busy one, and thus far there had been little room to court any wives, let alone a Great Wife.
Paramount King Mpandwe had smiled benevolently down from the throne, and said this suited his intentions perfectly. Denizulu would of course recollect he had a daughter called Ruth who was unmarried. Well, Ruth was on her way home from {{Great Stone Kraal, Reeks Of Incontinent Oxen And Built On An Insanitary Swamp}}. She needed to be steered towards a suitable husband. As there are no were-leopard traits in your clan, and believe me. I have had this investigated, it pleases me that you should court her. My daughter will also be instructed. If all goes as it should, there will be many cattle as a dowry.
Denizulu had been dismissed, a most trusted General who was being offered one of the greatest favours the Paramount could bestow. One of his own daughters. His head spun with the possibilities. Marriage into the Royal House, the Clan of Ceteshwayo. Any children he had with Princess Ruth would of course be Paramount nobility, princes or princesses through their mother. It was giddying. Even though the Princess Ruth was not at all beautiful. Too tall. Denizulu remembered her mother had been from one of the Hubwards tribes where people ran long and slender, married to the Great King as some political strategy or other, to cement an alliance. Princess Ruth – by all accounts her breasts were too small. Her figure was too mannish. Her hips were too narrow. Her skin was very dark brown, yes. But if ever a woman did not conform to the Zulu ideal of female beauty, it was Princess Ruth N'Kweze. (1)
He sighed. If the Paramount had commanded it...
And he had discovered he quite liked her. She was entertaining and interesting. Clever, witty, companiable. And that long lean figure with no buttocks to speak of wasn't totally offensive to the eye. He appreciated her. Ruth, in turn, had indicated she didn't find him instantly repulsive, either. And a marriage based on mutual appreciation and respect and a degree of friendship – but not love – had begun.
He had been called to her kraal for a very special reason. Normally husband and wife, with their different duties, spent a large part of the year apart and each maintained their own kraal. This suited them both, although time spent together was something that both appreciated. Denizulu had been pleasantly surprised. It wasn't exactly something he'd expected in an arranged marriage. And her kraal was different. Those foreign-looking towers? The stone gatehouses? The weird-looking buildings, of clearly foreign design? The way a long stretch of the outer wooden and brush wall was being dismantled and was being progressively replaced with stone, making it look distressingly permanent, white-skinned masons overseeing the work and patiently teaching Zulus to build in stone and mix the stone paste that held the material together? The seemingly never-ending convoys of wagons bringing cargos of fresh stone in from somewhere? Ruth had off-handedly said it had taken a litle searching, but they'd located a useful quarry site not far away, in the hills.
And everywhere. Work. Intent. Purpose. The women soldiers drilling and training. Building. Noise. Machinery. It all seemed both frighteningly foreign and compellingly attractive.
"This is not so much a kraal, husband." Ruth had said. "I want a city. The first one in our country."
Denizulu shrugged and tried not to look bemused. His wife's city was growing and sprawling. People did things. Made things. Imported and exported things. She even had people to look after sanitation and export the end-result of several thousand digestive systems. Apparently it went into nearby fields that he had to admit looked greener and lusher than the average subsistence agriculture. (2)
Denizulu realised he was married to a woman with a vision. And her small army was a part of that vision. An army needed other people, she had said. For every spear you needed five farmers and artisans behind the person holding that spear. He listened to her ideas. He saw them in action. And he was understanding, as well as he could, what the potential was. Besides, she commanded an impressive force of infantry. And cavalry. And this strange foreign concept called artillery.
Denizulu's army corps was camped nearby. Ruth had accepted the need to feed them for a week or two. Arrangements were being made. She understood this. Custom said that his men had to be present, for the Presentation. Arrangements were being made for this also. She hoped it wouldn't be long before the Event, as six thousand extra mouths to feed would stretch her resources.
And, in what was to him an unfamiliar environment, General Denizulu admired his wife's pregnancy bulge. His soon-to-be-born child was the reason he was here, after all. Custom dictated it.
"How long now?" he asked, politely.
Ruth smiled.
"Two weeks, perhaps." she said.
"Then my... our... son is born." he said.
Ruth noted his hasty correction, and overlooked it, graciously. He was relieved. In Zulu society, the expectation was that a wife was subservient and submissive to her husband. Ruth, he had discovered, had firm ideas about this sort of thing. And what complicated things was that a commoner, however exalted, if married to a member of the Paramount House, should be respectful and deferential to them. Ruth had suggested the two conditions cancelled each other out and they should treat each other as equals. Denizulu had accepted this. He had an uneasy feeling that his wife outclassed him on practically every level you could think of. Watching the way she'd led the army in Muntab had confirmed this for him.
"Come on, Denis." Ruth said, taking his arm. "Let's have something to eat and drink, and we can discuss things."
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
"I see." Johanna Smith-Rhodes said, studying the picture. Gillian Lansbury sat next to her with a stack of portfolios. Gillian looked quietly intent; Johanna considered the sketches she was holding, and breathed out, a long, resigned, mother's sigh.
"This one of Rebecka is really lovely." Johanna said. "I feel es if I should get this in a frame, end on display. But..."
Gillian smiled in a resigned way. This was the wall. The one artists felt they always, inevitably, had to explain, at length, to non-artists, civilians in the Art world.
"If it helps, Johanna." she said. "Ruth says on the day, Bekki said she'd meet her sister halfway. Bekki took her top off and slid her bra straps down so it only looks as if..."
Johanna nodded.
"End the portrait is cropped, for modesty. To just below the shoulders."
"Yes. Bekki insisted on that. It is a beautifully done portrait, isn't it? And Bekki's not showing any more than if she were wearing an off-the-shoulder ballgown in public."
Johanna sighed a deep sigh.
"These self-portraits concern me, Gillian."
Gillian Lansbury sighed again and realised it was time for The Talk.
"Johanna. I know you're concerned. But art is about shape and form. Line and curve. To an artist, a human body is just a selection of interestingly shaped forms and lines and curves. That's why we draw life models. Any human body is of interest to an artist. Clothes are interesting and a challenge, yes, but sooner or later you want to draw the body underneath."
Johanna considered. The top few drawings were in their way unremarkable. Hands, arms, feet, lower legs. All sketched from a perspective suggesting the artist were considering their own limbs. It didn't take a genius to realise they appeared to belong to a young girl of around, say, Ruth's age.
Johanna noticed later ones appeared to have been done as if the artist had found a model, as if they were looking at somebody else from outside. She wondered if they were of one of Ruth's schoolfriends, then realised they were of the same girl. Then she realised.
"Mirrors." Gillian said. "The artist's friend, when you need a life model to draw and you're the only person in the room."
Johanna turned a picture over, and really winced.
Gillian patted her arm.
"Did you think she'd stop at sketching legs and arms?" she said, kindly. "They do attach to a body."
"Nude self-portraits." Johanna said, and winced.
"She's not being exhibitionist or prurient or anything like that." Gillian said. "She's an artist, Johanna. You have to draw bodies. And you can see she's running into the limitations of doing self-portraits from a mirror. You have to keep breaking off and breaking pose, to be able to draw what you're seeing. And while you're doing that, what you're seeing is changing and you're one step behind all the time. The observer changing what's being observed during the act of observation. Ponder might call it quantum art."
"Sounds like you've done this yourself." Johanna observed.
"I have. And until you discover a few little refinements, it can all get a bit blurry. Scrappy. Look, I've had a talk with her."
Johanna breathed out.
"Nude drawings. Of my eight year old daughter. Edmittedly, done by my eight year old daughter. But even so..."
Gillian patted Johanna's arm.
"Look, Johanna. I've got students at the School with promise, ones who are competent. Maybe even talented. I organise life-drawing classes for them. I hire a model in for a couple of hours. I think it might be good for Ruth if she tags on to a couple of my classes. She'll be in a room with senior Guild students, yes, but it should be okay. She'll be learning how to do these things safely, under supervision, and if it turns out in a couple of years you and Ponder choose to send her to the Guild School, she's getting a taster. Good all round, don't you think? And her teachers at Sek's all think she's way ahead of all the others in her year anyway, in just about everything. Mother Superior said to you that this causes administrative problems? A girl who sits in class looking utterly bored and sketching things in her exercise books, the teacher accuses her of paying no attention, then Ruth repeats back everything the teacher's just been saying, and tops it by asking a few difficult questions that not only demonstrate she's understood perfectly, she is in fact way ahead? We've all had pupils like that, and you know it can get tricky!"
Johanna remembered people like Arachne Webber, and winced. Elementary Arachnids, with Arachne in the class, very carefully and diplomatically revealing her knowledge of spiders greatly outstripped that of her teacher...
"Okay." Johanna said, after consideration. "It might be good to introduce her to Manfred, too. Show her the music rooms. Perheps we should go end talk to people together ebout this. But these nude drawings..."
Gillian smiled.
"We're not completely stupid and unworldly people, Johanna. I've explained to Ruth that there's nothing wrong about this. And given her a little Talk. You know. We all know about the Ankh-Morpork Fine Art Appreciation Society."
"Yes." Johanna said, flatly. "The Enkh-Morpork Fine Art Eppreciation Society."
Gillian supressed a shudder. "Although they do prefer older girls. Thankfully. Back in the day when we were penniless students at the Royal Art School, some of us actually posed for them. As life models. My friend Daniellerina thought it was easy money. Posing naked in a room full of fellow artists. Help out, earn a few dollars. She came back fuming and swearing, and saying "never again". And now Danni Pouter is famous, it's emerging that some of them actually did have sharpened pencils and could draw a bit, and those pictures of Danni, nude, are changing hands for big money and being published in some surprising places." (3)
Gillian smiled a serene smile.
"Thank the gods I never did. Can you imagine? Nude drawings of me when I was younger, getting into the hands of our pupils, and circulating?"
Johanna studied her colleague. Gillian could be described as plainly pretty, in a well-scrubbed homely sort of way. But still...
"So I explained this to Ruth." Gillian said. "That there are people out there who might not see art. If these pictures were ever stolen or otherwise got out of her hands. Men who are not nice to know, and who Ruth would not want to have take an interest in her drawings of herself."
Johanna scowled slightly and her hand, possibly unconsciously, went to where a sword-hilt or a whip-handle might be if she were wearing weapons. Gillian noted this.
"I also pointed out her grandmother's currently in town. And if Agnetha Smith-Rhodes were to find out, there would, I think, be a bit of trouble." Gillian smiled slightly. "I got the feeling when you introduced me to your mother, Johanna, that she has a fairly direct approach to life, and she wouldn't see a distinction between art and indecency?"
Gillian smiled more broadly as Johanna winced. She continued.
"Ruth got the point of that without needing any elaboration, I think. So it's in hand, Johanna. She's aware of why it might not be a good idea to do this unsupervised. That these pictures have got to be kept safe and stroed securely. Maybe in your safe down here, Johanna? Just to be on the safe side. And this sort of thing needs careful handling and adult supervision."
"Thenk you." Johanna said. She put the awful thought of her mother discovering these pictures out of her mind, or of the consequences of Ruth innocently showing them off to her grandparents, then asked "Where's Ruth now?"
"Reading." Gillian said. I heard about the other problem, from you and Ponder. I found her some art-related stuff to read that she might find interesting. There are some interesting stories in it. And it's good for her to see Art from other cultural perspectives. Not just the local ones."
The Assassins' Guild School, Ankh-Morpork:
Famke Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons finished the last of her homework prep and methodically tidied it away. People who lived and worked with her or taught her saw the marked physical resemblence to her mother, and therefore were not surprised to see she shared a lot of her mother's physical traits and robustly direct approach to the world around her. Definitely the daughter of Johanna Smith-Rhodes, people said. Can you be surprised?
Famke ticked off the last item on her Homework list. A simple account for her Physical Science teacher on the interplay of forces, inertias, potential and kinetic energy in a simple system with regard to the basic three laws of classical mechanics. Simple and straightforward, except that Famke had not been able to resist adding a few helpful caveats about how according to the Groenefjordianhaven Principle, two bodies once in contact continue to influence each other even though they may never meet again, and how this influences the subsequent motion of those two bodies, in ways with deep implications both for science and Magic. Which just might lead to some wholly surprising and counter-intuitive results concerning the motion of a spherical ball down an inclined plane, especially if Alchemists had made the rolling ball or if Wizards were helping the experiment along a bit.
She grinned. Being around her father, the basic ideas of Quantum had rubbed off on her, and she wasn't above irritating her Physics teacher with the odd piece of carefully judged insubordination.
People who only saw her mother in her tended to forget she was also the daughter of Ponder Stibbons. Famke's written schoolwork was therefore impeccable, well-presented, and well-researched. If a subject really interested her, she could go into it in a lot of detail.(4) Doing her homework well also meant she wasn't hassled and could get on with the really interesting stuff, like being able to spend an hour and hopefully more with Miss Glynnie down in Seven-A. They'd got onto things like reading the claves and syncopating the backbeat to land on 4 and 10 in 12/8 time.(5) As well as continuing drilling in the forty rudiments, the basic beats of drum-craft and the foundation of all percussion. Miss Glynnie was remorseless here. She insisted Famke should know those forty basic patterns thoroughly, and know to play them well. (5) Famke was also getting theory lessons in how to properly read music. She was even enjoying this, too.
She smiled, collected her personal drumsticks from the armoire where she stored her permitted and authorised weapons, and left the dorm to descend down to the Concussion Bunker for some practice.
Elsewhere in the School, Andrijs duPris was finishing his prep work, which included an application form for the attention of Matron Igorina as to why he should be considered for her select class in First Aid, Second Aid, Third to Fifth Aid Inclusive, Field Medicine, and Basic Heroic Surgery. It had taken some thought. Matron Igorina was not, primarily, a School teacher and most of her work was taken up with the necessary medical back-up in a place where people led active and occassionally hazardous lives. But she took some classes and lectures in the course of a week, including an advanced module to senior students on the Black, in which she taught a heavily diluted version of Igoring to people who were not Igors. There were always more applicants than places and Igorina only took those who she considered would be the very best at it. Her selection processes were exacting and rigorous.
Ampie was motivated: he'd accepted Johanna's advice that it would support his application to the School of Military Music if he took intensive courses in field medicine. Bandsmen were also corpsmen, in most Armies. It would, he hoped, get him two years in non-combatant roles and softer postings with more privileges, as well as access to a higher musical training. Armies liked their bands to be made up of the best possible musicians. And crockett was one of the two national sports, in Rimwards Howondaland. Armies liked sportsmen and the prestige they brought to their units, and gave generous leave to practice and play. Win, win, win. With luck, he could ace the grim horror of conscription and do something worthwhile with it.
He had survived his first encounter with Bekki's immediate extended family. Ponder Stibbons, her father, had let his father-in-law lay down the Law as to what standards of behaviour would be expected of any young man who considered himself good enough to court a Smith-Rhodes grand-daughter. In a way, it had been an ice-breaker: Bekki's father had discreetly said "I got it too." And offered a handshake, as well as a sympathetic smile full of fellow-feeling. Ampie could see why Doctor Smith-Rhodes had been so accepting. She had been perfectly happy to stand back and let her own father make the expectations clear. Nothing she could add, either.
Memories of the Night crowded in. The little green demon who had managed to look more threateningly intimidating than a six-inch sprite made out of pixels could possibly manage. Granted, Witches and familiars went together, yes. His first experience of air travel, on the back of a broomstick that had managed a fast, high, parabola across the City, the rooftops shrinking beneath him and then rushing up again with dizzying bowel-clenching speed. Meeting Bekki's grandmother, who had quietly directed him to a room which she knew full well had Bekki's grandfather in it. The little green demon tagging along and saying "hope you're insured."
Meeting Young Johanna, now The Pink Death, a woman who was a Guild legend, a Scary Mary of her time at the School. Although she was OK, he had to admit.
Wondering how he was going to explain breaking curfew and returning very late to the Guild. There were sanctions for this. When invited into the delivery room to view the new Smith-Rhodes child, Doctor Smith-Rhodes had casually said "I'll get you a cab back when we're done here. I've clacksed the Guild to say you'll be late, on my authority. Mr Nivor will understand."
And Bekki. He was now seeing the Witch at work. Apparently she'd laid it down to the Official Midwife that they were going to work together on this one, with no arguing. Bekki had birthed her nephew. All part of the job, to the working Witch.
The child had been Named. Bekki, as presiding Witch, had been given the privilege of suggesting middle names for the boy. She had considered, and gone into deep thought, then said, in a firm voice, "Mattewis Johannes Martius."
This had been accepted, even by her grandmother. Ampie wondered what the reasons were; he had seen Ponder Stibbons blink with surprise, and Bekki had said "We can talk later, dad. As between magic users. Witch to Wizard".
Ampie had seem Mrs Smith-Rhodes – no, she'd said "In the curcumstances, you can call me Heidi, it's shorter." - look worried, as the other thing was raised. A Witch had assisted at the birthing. That Witch now had a privilege, something of a Duty, to discharge, which was to lay a Blessing on the newborn child. It was, Ampie gathered, something that worried parents. You never knew what a Witch would say in these circumstances.
Bekki had held the new child in her arms and gone into deep contemplation. Everyone was watching. Silently. Then she said, in a firm voice
"Mattewis Johannes Martius van Kruger Smith-Rhodes. You will know exactly who you are and exactly where you came from. That's important as you're a Strandpiel, like me. Be yourself. And know who you are and where you came from."
Then she had handed the child back to Heidi.
"It really needs two more Witches." Bekki had said. "You know. Accepted custom."
"I'm sure you can find them." Heidi had said. "Dankie, Rebecka."
"All a bit deep for me." Danie Smith-Rhodes had said.
There had been a celebratory drink. Then Doctor Smith-Rhodes got a cab, and sent Ampie back to the Guild.
Mr Maroon, the porter, had signed him in. He seemed completely aware, and had anxiously asked about the health of Mrs Smith-Rhodes, as Mrs Maroon would also want to know. Ampie had filled him in. The old porter had smiled with relief.
"Glad to hear it, sir. She is one of the more popular Ladies, after all. Well thought of. Oh, and a message from Mr Nivor: he wants to see you in the Viper House office, if you'd be so kind? Nothing to worry about, he understands why you're late."
Ampie had made his way to his Housemaster. He was only slightly surprised that Grune Nivor wasn't alone in the office: he counted Lord Downey, the Guild Master, Dame Joan Sanderson-Reeves, the Deputy Guild Mistress, Lady T'Malia – he wondered how old the seemingly ageless teacher actually was - Madame Comptesse Lapoignard and other senior Assasins. They all looked at him expectantly.
"I hear you have news from the hospital?" Lord Downey inquired.
"Yes, my lord. I'm heppy to be able to inform you Mrs Smith-Rhodes hed a son. Mother end child are well end healthy. Named Mattewis Johannes Martius van Kruger Smith-Rhodes."
Ampie realised this wasn't nearly enough, as Madame Emmanuelle raised an expectant eyebrow at him. He tried to remember the sort of things women wanted to know in these circumstances.
"It eppears he may develop the femily red hair. Hard to tell on a newborn, but based on pest femily experience, the older ladies were definite ebout this. His birth weight was ten pounds end one ounce."
He saw Madame Emmanuelle wince and close ler legs protectively.
"Alors. Poor Heidi." she said. Feelingly. Ampie, who had no idea at all what sort of birth-weight counted as large or small - he'd never had reason to think about this before - remembered Agnetha Smith-Rhodes remarking that the child was big, and likely to grow to the same size as his grandfather. Eventually. Danie had considered this, and said that made his son a good prospect for a prop-forward or perhaps a flanker in the scrum.
Lord Downey smiled a big relieved smile.
"I am pleased. Heidi is well thought of." he said. "You know, in eleven years time, we could well be educating a male Smith-Rhodes. That will be something new!"
"I'll get him pencilled in." Dame Joan said. "For the right year of entry. I'll have words with young Heidi. She knows what's expected. Damn, should go to look in on her tomorrow. Want to tag on, Emmanuelle?"
Ampie had been invited to a celebratory sherry with his teachers, on the grounds that he was the nearest thing to a Smith-Rhodes family member present, and had quite clearly been sent to act on their behalf with regard to some joyous news indeed. Then he was packed off to his dorm. There would be no favours: he still had to be up at seven for the School day. But it had been a different sort of night...
"Well, lad," his Housemaster Mr Nivor had said, reflectively. "Looks like you've been adopted by the Smith-Rhodes family. For now, anyway."
Madame Emmanuelle had smiled and taken his hand.
"Which is not an unalloyed benefit." she had said. "Your life will very surely now have events and interesting incidents in it."
The Zulu Empire, at the Lioness' Kraal.
"Which part of this are you failing to understand?" Ruth N'Kweze said, as reasonably as she could manage. "In a few months I am going to get bigger, fitter, stronger, healthier cattle. Lots of them. This benefits everybody. And yes, it is due to the un-natural intervention of the strange foreign white witches, if you want to see it that way. And no, I do not hold to the belief that they are evil and untrustworthy and have got mkhkonyovu(7) written all through them."
Ruth glared at the group of gaunt and slightly manic men standing in front of her. Some were distinctly ragged; others wore elaborate over-blankets wrapped round them as robes; all wore ornate head-dresses to advertise their role in Zulu society. She didn't get too close: to a man they seemed to have been devotees of the maxim that neglecting washing and personal grooming brought you nearer to the Gods. Which was not what you wanted in a generally hot country.
"I'll make it easier for you." she said. Flanking and slightly behind her, her husband General Denizulu, in full official regalia, gripped his assegai slightly more tightly and loomed back. Next to him, her indunula Sissi n'Kima rested a hand on the hilt of her sword. Behind them, although not physically present in the room, were eight thousand loyal spears.
"You belong to the College of Witch-Finders. Which swears an oath to serve the Paramount King loyally and faithfully in all things. Which is good, because the Paramount King happens to be my father. I do his will faithfully. Therefore I am the Paramount King in this kraal. You can bloody well, therefore, serve me loyally."
Ruth took a deep breath.
"The white witches brought the means to take cows and make many calves out of them. Call it muti if you like. I call it artificial insemination. That is here to stay. They will visit often and frequently, as guests and welcome friends. If you don't like it or if you feel they threaten your role here – tough. They stay. Got that? Now get out and go about the jobs you have been assigned. With, I may add, my father's express command!"
They waited while the sullen and resentful Witch-Finders filed out. Unfortunately, the smell lingered. Denizulu, deeply impressed by the way his wife had faced them down – as a Princess of the Paramount should – relaxed and took a deep breath.
"Great Wife, I should now be wary of scorpions or poisonous serpents in the bed's blankets." he said.
Sissi smiled, the smile of a woman who has these things under control.
"We do that anyway." she replied.
"I do not doubt you." Denizulu said, politely. He respected the women in Ruth's indaba, too. "I have let it be known, in passing, that any seeking to slay the Princess will first need to slay six thousand warriors in my command too. And to get past me."
"Thank you, honoured husband." Ruth said. Damn, I really do like this man. But he still isn't Julian. She moved on, fighting down a feeling of guilt.
"Sophie." she said. Sissi nodded. Sophie Rawlinson had arrived to oversee the seeding of selected cows, and to demonstrate to the brighter herders how it was done and what the principles were.
"Not her fault she's got a lot of Alice Venturi about her." Sissi said, referring to the legendary lady explorer. "Or that one over in Urabewe. Lady Jane Greystruck."
Ruth nodded.
"Funny how people fall into roles, isn't it?" she remarked. "Sophie's big and hearty. She promises to grow up into somebody with the same general build and presence as Sybil Ramkin. Her father is the local squire in a village and parish out on the other side of Scrote. Lord of its manor. She went to the Quirm Academy for Young Ladies."
Ruth shook her head.
"Granted, she's not as stupid as a Venturi, and is in fact quite bright. She's a Witch, after all. But it's amazing how when you take a white girl with that sort of background and pop her into the middle of Howondaland – the character emerges. One who shouts loudly at the natives in Morporkian, expects to be obeyed – and generally is. Even by Denizulu's warriors."
"You like the young white witch, do you not?" Denizulu asked. Ruth smiled broadly.
"How you understand me." she said, meaning it sincerely. Denizulu had not been the burden she had feared, and he wasn't a bad deal at all as an arranged husband imposed on her for reasons of State. But still not Julian. She shook the thought away. "She's good at what she does. She has presence. My women accept her. Especially after she faced down the head Witch-Finder and gave him something to think about."
"Namely, never annoy a Lancre-trained Witch. However young." Sissi said. "And out in the open, where everybody got to see who lost the fight."
"Remind me to advise her to check for scorpions in her bed." Ruth said.
"Already done, Princess. I showed her what to look for." Sissi assured Ruth.
"Would the scorpion dare?" Denizulu asked. Ruth smiled at him.
"You're learning. About the white witches. Good. Anyway. I made her an offer. If she doesn't get a place, a what do they call it, a steading, after the Witch Trials, she's welcome to come here and give us a try. I could use somebody like her. Zoya reports she's good with horses, for one thing, she knows basic healings for people, and a reliable magic user I can trust would be useful, as a counter to the Witch-Finders. Win all round."
Sissi agreed. Then reminded Ruth of the next order of business.
"To grace my latest batch of recruits to the Impis with a personal handshake, a few words of welcome, and to memorise a few names and faces." Ruth said. "Okay, let's get cracking. Head-dress? Lion-skin cloak? Any issues or problems among them, Sissi?"
"There's one fron Ghat." Sissi said. "I've got agents checking that her details match. She claims to be a refugee exiled for wanting the Muntabians thrown out, and Ghat to be free again. She wants to learn how to fight so as to go home again later and put it into action. A good reason for signing up, but something doesn't feel right. I've got people watching her."
"Ah-huh. Any routine intelligence I should know about?" Ruth asked, as Sissis helped her into the lionskin robe.
"Reports that people have gone missing from the settlement outside the walls. Just vanished. But that happens for lots of reasons. Lions, usually."
Denizulu frowned.
"I heard other such reports on the march here." he said. "People vanishing. Normally, if it is lions, there are traces. Fragments of clothing. Parts of bodies. Scavenging animals such as hyenas scatter the bones. You see vultures come to the ground to feed. But there were no such signs. It was perplexing. In one civilian kraal, I appointed men to go out and search thoroughly for missing ones. A patrol of six men did not return. We found no traces. Not even weapons. Lions do not consume shields or assegais. And no Zulu warrior surrenders his weapons, anyway. He dies, first."
"That won't do." Ruth said. "We'll have to find out. First duty of the Princess is to her people, and all that."
They left the house together. Armed guards fell in around them, both Lionesses and men from Denizulu's impis.
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
Ruth Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons sat curled up on the comfy sofa in the living room. Her sister Bekki watched her carefully. Nothing to be concerned about; Ruth was engrossed in an art book with lots of illustrations. Something abut the mystical traditions of the Hubland monks of Enlightenment Country and, most of interest to the author, their long tradition of illustrated scrolls and artwork. Every so often Ruth broke off, picked up a pad and pencils, and industriously scribbled, no doubt copying an interesting illustration or point of technique.
Bekki smiled and returned to her own reading. They were both the daughters of Ponder Stibbons: both had learnt to read early and were voracious readers.
After a while Ruth asked Bekki if she'd like a drink or something. Bekki agreed, and her sister went off to the kitchen, probably to charm Dorothea. It was Claude the butler's evening off; Bekki thought he was probably at the Guild of Butlers or something. Idly she wondered what went on there. Did off-duty butlers have a butler to buttle for them in their own Guildhouse, or did they take turns and buttle for each other? In the meantime, the family actually had to do things like make their own drinks. Bekki shrugged. It did them good to fend for themselves now and again.
Ruth had picked a time when she knew Dorothea would not be in the kitchen. It made things like this easier. She picked the correct drawer, where she knew Dorothea stored the things she wanted, and helped herself. She consoled her conscience by telling herself that this wasn't really stealing, as she intended to put them back again, and in any case Dorothea had more than one box. She also reminded herself that if Mum or Dad found out she had these things in her bedroom, she would be in trouble. They had better not find out, then, Ruth resolved.
She also poured two glasses of a soft drink for herself and Bekki. Just to justify her visit. Then she returned to the living room. After a while she settled down to reading the more interesting chapters in the book Gillian had got her from the library at the Assassins' Guild.
She re-read the text that went with the pictures of the statues to be found in the gardens of the Monastery of Time in Qi Dong. They were apprently depictions of the various sorts of terrible demonic entities that lurked on the other side of bad dreams. Some History Monks had evolved strategies for combating them, which the author of the book had considered incidental detail to the art. But Ruth had the sort of mind that grasped concepts easily.
People looked at Ruth Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons, saw the way she physically took after her father, took in the hair so dark brown it was almost black, saw the sort of face that looked as if it ought to be wearing glasses, and the studious, serious, intellectual streak. It was perfectly bloody obvious to outsiders who her father was, and knowing this didn't surprise them. But they never stopped to consider who Ruth's mother was. And deep down inside, Ruth was her mother's daughter too.
The Zulu Empire, at the Lioness' Kraal.
Sophie Rawlinson had been a guest at the Zulu kraal for several days. Irena had dropped her off and had introduced her to Princess Ruth. The Princess had accompanied her on the first round of Doing What Was Necessary, had watched carefully, and had asked shrewd questions. Doing What Was Necessary had all been wrapped up by the evening of the first day, anyway. Irena had said there was no great rush in bringing her back, and she might as well stay on and broaden her experience. Sophie had wondered, for an instant, as if something had been discussed on a previous visit; Irena and Ruth appeared to be old friends.
Sophie had decided to give it a go – there were definitely horses here, she could see and smell and hear them – and this looked like amazing riding country.
Ruth N'Kweze had made a guest bedroom available in her own home; Sophie had been pleasantly surprised by this, assuming she'd be allocated a blanket and a bedroll on the floor of a mud hut somewhere. And in private, she had been able to call the Princess, simply, Ruth.
Sophie realised she was quite enjoying it here.
There'd been the business with the native magic users, who didn't seem to like the idea of women having magic, and still less white women who were tainted by their skin colour. Sophie gathered the white-skinned race in the country next door weren't exactly popular, and anybody who looked even slightly Rimwards Howondalandian was immediately suspect. She decided it might be best not to mention she knew the Smith-Rhodes family. Just in case.
She hadn't bothered with magic when the native wizard had threatened her. Lots of the women soldiers who were loyal to Princess Ruth had gathered to watch the fight and to see what the white witch would do when threatened by a Witch-Finder, an absurd smelly little man who had capered around pointing some sort of dratted magic wand at her, some sort of bone with a feather on the end. Sophie was witch enough to taste the octarine in the air and knew this had to be sorted out quickly. And deep-down witch senses were screaming at her that once a Witch got into a magical fight with a Wizard, it went on forever and expended a large amount of time and magic without really solving anything.
Sophie had scowled, sensing the magic building in his wand, and hadn't bothered with any magic of her own. She'd impatiently slapped the pointing bone out of his hand, hitting the capering little twerp hard on the back of the hand holding the wand, and it had clattered to the ground, inert without the power of the man using it.
Then she'd grabbed hin by the shoulders, hoisted him up, shook him, and spoken to him jolly sternly.
"Look here, you silly grubby little man! If you dare try to use magic on me, you will get it thrown right back at you, do you hear me? Am I getting through? now don't be so bloody silly! "
Sophie, a naturally large girl with muscles honed by long periods spent working with horses, had thrown him to one side and walked on, through a circle of appreciative and grinning women warriors. She resolved to keep an eye on the native wizards after this; but sensed she'd made a lot of friends. That was reassuring.
Princess Ruth hadn't directly referred to the incident. But her personal assistant Sissi, the one who'd also been to the Assassins' School, although you wouldn't think it to look at her, had found a length of white cloth and suggested Sophie needed a neckscarf of some sort. She had wound this around Sophie's black pointy hat, leaving a long length dangling behind that could be used to keep the Howondalandian sun off. Sophie thought it looked quite fetching.
"Very Lady Alice Venturi. " Sissi had said, mysteriously. "Suits you."
Sophie had spent joyous days riding with a detail of Ruth's cavalry warriors, mainly wiry little women who tended to ride bareback. She had got to know them and they had learnt to appreciate each other's riding skills. And she'd made friends with one of the cavalry officers, who did know about saddles and stirrups and more familiar tack. Ruth's heavy cavalry had needed to be taught this from the ground up, apparently, especially to learn the lesson that if you intended to use a lance from the saddle, you needed stirrups. Or the shock of impact bowled you right off and on your arse in the dust.
Zoya Zlatanavichnya was a Cossack; she'd been recruited to train cavalry for Ruth in the Central Continent style, and held indunula rank in her cavalry. She had commanded the escort detailed to look after Sophie in the local countryside, and was jolly good fun to ride with. In return for the hospitality, Sophie had demonstrated her skills at managing horses and treating equine ailments. Zoya had been pleased.
The day they'd ridden round a grasskop hill and straight into thousands of black-skinned Zulu warriors, large men with spears, had been a distinct moment of brown-jodphur'd worry. But everything had been relaxed, and Zoya had said not to be concerned, they're on our side. Sophie had ridden down the front of the sudden army, that she could swear had not been there a moment before, and reflected that she'd never seen so many armed men in one place all at once. It was a far cry and several thousands of miles away from the amiable Shawn Ogg and the other part-time guards at Lancre Castle. Sophie reflected that it was a jolly good thing these chaps were inclined to treat them with friendly respect, as there seemed to be a lot of them all of a sudden.
She recalled things Bekki had said. About her mother's people, and the tales of being on the defending end against an army like this. No wonder the White Howondalandians get worried, she thought.
She heard the women riders around her chant a greeting in Zulu. Then there was a pause and six thousand voices replied with their own identifying chant, with much foot-stamping and beating of spears against shields. It was scary. It was stirring, Sophie admitted. But above all, it was loud.
"Just saying hello." Zoya said, as the two groups parted ways. "You know, not many white people get to see and hear that, and live. We are privileged, babuischka! Is good, da?"
And now, today, she and Zoya were in the crowd watching as the Princess, heavily pregnant but moving with tall dignity, made some sort of ceremonial procession with her husband, the scary-looking big General who commanded those six thousand men out there. Ruth called him Dennis, Sophie reflected. It sounded vaguely absurd, but she meant it in genuine affection. Probably some private joke; the Princess had lived the larger part of her adult life in Ankh-Morpork and missed the place badly.
They were closely escorted by male and female soldiers, and the ubiquitous Sissi, a trained Assassin, was never far from her employer's side, a Filigree Street-trained bodyguard. Sophie wondered how long an assassin, not necessarily with a small-case A, would last. Then Second Thoughts kicked in and she wondered how many assassination attempts there had already been.
Sophie realised the purpose of the day was for the Princess to welcome and greet the latest batch of recruits to be admitted to her regiments. Zoya said she was hoping for one or two who could ride and hoped they'd brought their own horses. And there they were, fifteen or so scared but proud looking women who were about to meet their commander, be sworn in, and then later to be allocated to their NCO's.
Sophie looked them over. Mainly Zulu, as far as she could tell, but one or two of them were lighter-skinned and looked different. Apparently the Empire encompassed a lot of allied and subject peoples and Ruth even accepted mercenaries and soldiers of fortune from all over, provided they were reliable, loyal, and prepared to keep up with the march and learn to speak Zulu. Sophie's eyes were drawn to one, lighter-skinned, who looked different. Something odd about her, something out of place, something that didn't fit... Sophie looked again with a Witch's eye. And she realised.
"Princess Ruth!" she screamed. "Alarm!"
Then she was running forward as It happened...
Ruth made the formal speech of welcome to her new recruits and was beginning the process of greeting each by name, welcoming them to the ranks of the Lionesses, assuring them the training would be hard but not impossible, that you are now a sister in a very big family, and if you have special skills we will try to steer you to where they will be of most use to all...
She heard the scream of warning from the distance and frowned. Sissi appeared to be reacting to something...
And then there was more screaming as something surged up from where the Ghatian recruit had been standing. It was huge, coiled and hissed. Ruth looked up into the cowled and hooded head of a very large cobra. Only this had human arms and a woman's face above the fangs...
Damn, Ruth thought. I've only got this absurd little ceremonial assegai with a head that can barely cut butter. Ceremonial, with the silver ornamentation... tradition says the Crown Princess carries it on formal occassions...
She dodged to one side as best she could as the cobra-woman struck. Suddenly her guards were leaping in, female and male, striking with their assegais, with little apparent effect. Ruth looked on, feeling a surge of horror as the huge cobra head snapped down and bit a warrior, one of Ruth's personal guard, cleanly in two. Blood and debris sprayed. More guards were leaping in between Ruth and the thing, shielding her with their bodies. Ruth felt as if she were rooted to the ground, and tried to think like an Assassin...
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
Ruth Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons meticuluously arranged the mirrors as Gillian Lansbury had taught her. Mirrors angled together just so would capture her left and right profiles and would reflect them into the big mirror in front of her. So that she could see and draw her own profile or three-quarter view as she chose, views of herself that people didn't normally get to see.
This intrigued her. She'd also discovered that if you angled several mirrors so they reflected into each other, you got reflections of reflections of reflections. This made her go "wow". She wondered about trying to capture the multiple reflections and mirror-Ruths on paper. Then she frowned. She'd had a fleeting impression that one of the mirror Ruths, right on the very cusp of vision, was leaping up and down, trying to draw her attention, trying to warn her of something... her spine tingled. Something was wrong...
Ruth found herself, her sketch pad, her pencils, whirling, as reality altered. Suddenly she was sitting on cold black sand, looking up into a black sky with no stars, lit by dark light that seemed to come fom nowhere.
And she knew she wasn't dreaming.
She paused; Bekki had told her something like this had happened to her, too.
Then Ruth Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons stuck her jaw out.
"I'm ready." she said. "Let's get this over with."
Downstairs in the living room, Bekki Smith-Rhodes was in conversation with her father and her cousin, Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande, over a late evening drink. Young Johanna was staying here for a few days because she had a job interview coming up. Bekki liked her and they enjoyed each other's company. Bekki also wanted to find out more about the convention-defying pink hair. It looked cool.
Then there was a change, a shift, in the psychic current.
"Dad." Bekki said. "Something's wrong."
Her father frowned.
"I feel it too." he said.
Young Johanna looked politely puzzled. She had no psychic ability. But she respected people who did, and if they both ageed something was wrong and felt it at the same time...
"It's Ruth." Bekki said. "It's happening to Ruth."
She led the rush upstairs; Ruth had been sent to bed at the usual time, some time ago. But she wasn't in bed. She had vanished.
"Dad..." said Bekki, indicating the mirrors.
"Oh, hell." Ponder Stibbons said, feelingly.
With the very best of intentions, Gillian Lansbury, who had no magical training, had brought about a situation where a girl with some latent magical skill had been caught between two mirrors. Which all schools of magic, Wizardly or Witch, stressed was not a good place to be. At all. eEpecially when the person caught between the mirrors had magical ability but, Ponder realised with horror, little or no awareness of the dangers or how to use it.
"She's trapped between mirrors. Elsewhere." Ponder tried to explain to Young Johanna. "Somewhere in the multiple reflections. Alternative realities. Parellel worlds. I'll have to get HEX on the case."
"Or else she's opened a Doorway." Bekki said. "Without intending to. And I have a very good idea which world that doorway opened into."
To be continued – two Ruths, two battles. Took a lot longer than I intended to get here – got to leave you on a cliffhanger, but hopefully not for too long...
(1) The same physical qualities had made Ruth a knock-out in Ankh-Morpork. Julian Smith-Rhodes had gone "wow…" the very first time he saw her, for instance.
(2) Ruth had proudly shown the agricultural side off to her husband. She did admit it could get a bit smelly, but explained she'd learnt a lot from observing a man called Harry King. After explaining that it vastly enhanced the crop yield and greatly improved the soil, she quoted Harry King to her husband: "Denis, there's some lovely filith down here!"
(3) I recall Tracey Emin ran into this problem after she became a world-famous artist… it wasn't so much the nude sketches emerging, as the fact she personally wasn't earning a penny from them.
(4) More than it strictly needed for basic first-year work, most of her teachers agreed. "I'm sure she's only doing it to annoy." said Mr Duggan, the Physics master. "And she knows we can't pull her up for insolence, as all she's doing is her homework. And damned well, too. One day I'm going to ask her father if all this stuff about Quantum actually means anything, or if she's just making it all up, to make me look dumb." Johanna had patted him on the arm. Having the limits of your understanding shown up by one of your pupils was not pleasant. She sighed. Being Famke's mother meant she had to do this a lot to her daughter's teachers, with whom she shared a staffroom. Except, Johanna reflected, Ethelyne Glynnie, who really liked her. And who reported no issues and said Famke was an absolute delight to teach, much to the scepticism of her staffroom colleagues.
"I'll mention it to Ponder." she had said. "But if she gets it from her father, it'll be right. Do you want me to show him some of this stuff?"
(5) Lifted from a teaching document from the Royal Northern College of Music. Like Sheldon Cooper's background equations on the whiteboard, I have no idea what it means but it just looks good.
(6) Yup. Parradiddles and ruffs and triplets and all the rest. Famke was absorbing their names and patterns almost daily. There are apparently thirteen absolutely basic Rudiments and forty extended ones in the drumming manual. Miss Glynnie insisted Famke should know them all by name and be able to play them, faultlessly, on demand.
(7) Revisit the end-notes for Chapter Fourteen here. I knew this word would come in useful.
The Notes Dump:
The place where all those simmering ideas go, like the ingredients of a good stew, to simmer until the moment comes to serve them into bowls with the equivalent of good chunky fresh bread and red cabbage.
Discovered on YouTube a South African blogger called Katinka Oosthuizen, whose blog seeks to explain South Africa and Afrikaaner life, as she sees it, to mere uitlaanders. Late teens, yes, but advance her face and attitude by a decade and a bit – and this is Heidi van Kruger/Heidi Smith-Rhodes as I see her. Her education in South African slang is pretty good, too!
Reading the history of the First Boer War in 1880-81. Struck by the fact the British lost every field battle. But the Boers were utterly unable to capture fortified towns held by the British. A dress rehearsal for 1900? The Battle of Majuba Hill… in which the British Army was forced into rout and lost 50% of its strength killed or captured, including its commanding General. At Majuba, the Boers' field commander General Joubert was apparently goaded into battle by his wife Hendrina, who had ridden into battle at his side, never left him, and by all accounts did her share of the fighting. Damn, was her maiden name Smith-Rhodes?
If I get round to writing a "history" of the War of Independence/The Boor War, for simplicity and narrative's sake I'll conflate the two Boer Wars of our world into one; the role of Henrina Joubert is begging to be played by a Johanna Smith-Rhodes, for one thing.
Also discovered the Boers had a Generaal Smit. Or "Smith". Halfway to being a Smith-Rhodes...
One guest review to "Discworld Tarot" that simply said "See Ya!" What the heck's that about? And I can't reply to it. Ah well…