Strandpiel 42
Leer en Wilg – leather and willow
Krieketwedstryd – the cricket match
And we're back after the last cliff-hanger resolved itself. As before – version one, still trying hard to resolve the story and move it along but there is so much ground to cover and so many sub-plots to tie up. For an interlude in the tale, I wondered how to do that strange rite of Englishness, cricket, in a Discworld context. Other ideas intruded. British readers will see the homage to BBC Radio's "Test Match Special", which took over an entire radio channel's output in the summer months and whose commentators, Henry Blofield and Brian Johnston, were probably the most eccentric sporting commentators to be found anywhere in the world. Cricket being a sport to appreciate at leisure, not for them the hyperbolic frenzy of football, American football or sometimes rugby. In a game lasting as long as summer daylight did, they could talk about anything and anything when there really wasn't much going on at the wicket. And did. Generally about the cakes and sandwiches, often sent by appeciative listeners.
And from Blowers and Johnston I started giving creative thought as to how the Discworld might evolve sound radio, or something not unlike. And the sort of laterally creative mind constantly bombarded by inspiration particles that could come up with the idea. Maybe she might get as far as music radio...
Again - version one. And no footnotes - yet...
Now read on.
The Lords' Crockett Ground, Ankh-Morpork. Saturday.
Things had settled down a little bit since the dramas of Tuesday night. Bekki and her father had settled down for that long talk with Ruth and assured themselves that she hadn't been traumatised by her fight in the Dungeon Dimensions. Their most obvious fear had been dispelled when they realised Ruth was completely temperamentally opposed to burning any artwork, least of all her own. She had only burnt her drawings of the Dungeon Dimension Things because that had been the right thing to do, and she had wept afterwards – not because she'd killed the Things, but because she had been destroying Art. Even at eight, she had strong opinions about this.
"Besides, Daddy." Ruth had said. She had frowned, as if working something out in her head. "When you start burning pictures and books and things because you don't like what they are and what they show people. Don't the BOSS do that in the Other Country? I don't want to join the BOSS, daddy. They aren't nice people. And when you burn books and pictures. They used to burn witches, didn't they? Because of books they had that frightened people. And if you burnt a book Bekki owns because you don't like what it tells you, you want to burn Bekki because she's dangerous too."
Ruth had hugged her big sister.
"I get it." Bekki had said, wondering why her thought processes lagged behind her baby sister's. Not for the first time in her life and probably not the last. "Once you start burning books, you end up burning people."
"And I don't want to burn people." Ruth said. "Daddy, I know it worked in that place. Setting fire to the picture set fire to the Thing in the picture too. I'm not sure if it would work here in the real world and I don't ever want to try."
Ponder Stibbons relaxed. He'd had the lingering fear his daughter might try pyrotechnic sympathetic magic here, if anyone really annoyed her. Sketch a picture, set light to it... he'd assured her that he and Mummy forgave her for playing with matches as sometimes you had to start a fire, but only this once, Ruth.
Ponder had reflected on the other thing. Once, the children in her class at school had been doing a basic maths lesson, learning how to draw circles with compasses and pencils. The class bully had thought it would be a huge laugh to tug the paper away, or deliberately nudge Ruth's shoulder, just as she completed a circle. After all, it was only soft stupid Ruth, the weird kid.
According to witnesses, Ruth had mildly said "Don't do that again, please."
The bully had sniggered, and done it again. Ruth had calmly collected her paper, repeated "Don't do it again, please." and tried to draw another circle.
The bully had tried to do it again. According to the class teacher, who said she was poised to intervene at this point, Ruth, without looking around, had stabbed down with the compasses, and pinned the bully's hand to the desk-top.
"I told you not to do that." Ruth had said. "But you wouldn't listen, would you?"
"It was a mercy the long sharp point only went through the loose skin between the tops of the fingers." the teacher had said, when summoned to Mother Superior's office where Ponder and Johanna had been called to attend the incident report. "But it went into the desk right up to the hilt. It took some pulling out. You just wouldn't expect it of a quiet girl like Ruth."
Mother Superior had been here before with the older Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons girls. Both of them. She had looked at Johanna, who just to make the point had dressed in formal Assassin black. Then she had looked back at her teacher.
"Yes. Ruth having an unexpected proficiency with long sharp weapon-like objects." she had said. "Wholly unexpected. Who could have thought it?"
The other girl had been taken to the Lady Sybil for stitching. Ruth had been summoned to Mother's office and The Parents Had Been Called For. Johanna glared at the other parents, who had been vocal. Then they belatedly realised what Assassin black meant. And quietened down.
It had all blown over. Johanna and Ponder had paid the other girl's medical costs, Johanna saying this was not an admission her daughter had been in the wrong, you understand. But we Assassins have a saying – noblesse oblige. I'm also prepared to pay any other medical expenses that may prove necessary in the future. As a goodwill thing, you understand. Afterwards.
Ruth had been suspended from school for a week. She had spent the time drawing, painting, reading and making music. Johanna had had the first speculative thoughts that her youngest daughter might thrive at the Assassins' School, after all.
And the family of the other girl had noticed in the evenings that a group of girl pupils from the Assassins' Guild School would walk past the house. In a manner that was not ostensibly threatening at all. But the ringleader of the Assassins, who was red-haired and about twelve, had a tendency to look at the daughter who had menaced Ruth and say apparently sympathetic friendly things like "Sorry about your right hand. Hope it gets a chance to heal."
Johanna had put the word out to Famke to stop doing that.
And today, Ruth had accompanied her older sister to the crockett ground. Mum had insisted. To get her out into the fresh air, mum had said.
Bekki shifted position on the wooden bleacher seat. She'd tried to pick a spot likely to have most shade as they'd be here for a while. She frowned. She wasn't completely sure why she was here. There were lots of far better things she could be doing with a free Saturday. Still, she had to admit it was pleasant and restful. A huge open green space with a ridiculously small playing area in the middle of it. No wonder this ground had been built out in New Ankh where space wasn't at a premium. She counted thirteen men – well, older boys, this was a school match – dressed in white, doing not very much that she could see. And two referees – well, they were called umpires – nominally Wizards for some reason, in white robes, with white pointy hats, overseeing whatever arcane rules the game was played to.
Periodically a red ball enountered a bat and went spinning off somewhere. Some of the white-clad figures on the edges, the ones nearest to, went racing after it to relay it back to the player charged with thorwing the ball. Sometimes the two in the middle with bats would change ends, sometimes more than once, sometimes not at all. Numbers changed on the scoreboard accpording to no recognisable logic. Every so often there was a cry of "HOWZAT?" and an appeal to the wizards, who would raise a variable number of fingers and pronounce "Out!" or "Not Out!" If ruled Out, one of the batsmen would sigh, shoulder his bat, and troop over to the pavilion, to applause from the crowd. A new batsman would appear to replace him.
Bekki found it as bewildering as trying to understand opera. She wondered if somebody had ever written an opera about crockett – recursively and exponentially bewildering to the uninintiated.
She looked over to Ruth. Her sister had brought a satchel with her, containing art pads, pencils, rubbers and other things. She was sketching, and had said, men dressed in white on a green field on a sunny day. Contrasts. You had to draw it, Bekki.
Ruth's art was drawing more attention from spectators around them than the game was. People were saying things like "Oh, I say!" and She's good, isn't she?"
It wasn't all they'd bought with them. Mum had sent them in a taxi-cab with the other stuff. Dorothea had helped – in fact done most of it – but Bekki had considered it was important for her to make at least some of the sandwiches herself and to try to ice one of the cakes.
"It's a Guild side. You're there to support them. I understand this sort of thing is expected." Mum had said. "Mention it's from me, would you?"
Again, Bekki wondered exactly why she was doing this. It all felt rather like pandering to expectations...
They'd arrived at The Lords. Bekki had fumbled for the admission money to buy tickets, but the attendent at the turnstile had seen both were carrying large platters of covered sandwiches and cakes.
"You're with one of the teams, miss? You must be. Go in through that little door over to the right there, do you see it?"
Bekki had learnt something vital about crockett. Carrying cakes and sandwiches and being mistaken for a wife or girlfriend of a player – hah! – got you in for free. Plus guest.
They'd been directed to put the stuff on the table, miss, for later, and you can go and find a seat, anywhere you like.
And now she was watching the game, trying to fathom it out. The Assassins' Guild School First Eleven against Hugglestones' Academy First Eleven. A prestige match, apparently, between two schools with a long crocketting history. It had drawn a few hundred people, possibly slightly shy of a thousand.
And there were other things.
A genial old buffer of a man with one of the new amplifying megaphones periodically said things like
"That's the Honourable Richard Swivelly, solid second-order batsman, out for seventeen runs, bowled by J.P.F. Richmal-Crompton and caught by Imrah Khan, now being replaced by The Very Honourable Kelvin Tatton-Park, going in to bat for Hugglestones."
Bwkki noted the old buffer who was commentating seemed to forget the amplifying megaphone was still on. The rambling discursions betweeen the two old men were therefore audible to a large part of the ground. Their voices carried. Somehow it sounded right. Not obstrusive at all.
"Lots of useful colonial types in the Assassins' team, Blowers."
"Couldn't agree with you more, Johnners, old chap. Chap from Klatchistan, young Imrah Khan, damn useful wicket-keeper, safe hands. And talking colonial, I hear those odd-looking cakes that appeared in the pavilion, one of these young fellows must have got a young lady who knows what's expected of her, apparently they're called cake-sisters. From Howondaland, by all accounts, and said to be damn fine pastries."
"Koeksisters." Bekki said, automatically. They'd taken ages to bake.
"And speaking of colonials, the Assassins are bringing in a new bowler. Probably might have to do with those cakes, Blowers. Young fellow called Andrew van der Pris, is that right? Odd to see those chaps playing something other than fifteen-a-side, but by all accounts, bit of a springbok..."
"Andrijs duPris", Bekki corrected them again. She wondered about the Morporkian assumption that all Vondalaans names were van something or van der otherthing. Admittedly that was right about half the time. But not everybody was a van. Or a van der.
She watched Ampie intently. Tallish, well-shaped, moved nicely, looked good in the white, which she noted had a black trim to it, tossing the little red ball idly into the air and catching it again as he looked down the close-cropped green strip at a batsman taking guard...
"Hey, big sister."
Bekki jumped as her sister Famke leapt into the seat next to them.
"Hey, baby sister!"
Ruth looked up and spared a nod. Then she went back to her drawing.
"Hi, Famke." Bekki said. "Out on parole?"
"Just finished lessons." Famke said. "I heard you were going to be here, thought I'd join you."
Famke squealed with delight and elbowed Bekki in the ribs.
"Oooh. Your boyfriend's bowling!"
Bekki took a deep breath. Famke wasn't here for the crockett, then. She'd turned up to extract Little Sister Privileges and to get annoying and giggly.
"And I just bet that's not approved walking-out uniform." Bekki said.
Assassin schoolgirls were permitted to wear trousers and tunics, in regulation black, for lessons that demanded free physical movement. But they still had to wear the full gymslip skirt for walking out in the city.
Famke grinned and opened her bag.
"I was wearing this when I went out of the Guild." she said. "Proper clothes underneath. Ditched the dress as soon as I could. And the hat."
Bekki watched as Ampie made his run-up. Fluid, graceful, attractive, nice to watch... then his arm swung and the red ball was launched, incredibly swiftly. The batsman managed to clip it away off the side of his bat; it bounced, and one of the fielders stopped it easily. Nobody else moved much.
She watched the game, trying to ignore one sister shifting and fidgeting with boredom and the other intent on adding more detail to her drawing. Occassionally Ruth paused to sharpen her green colouring pencils.
"You'd think he could have hit those sticks with the ball at least once." Famke observed, after a while. "He must have thrown that ball about twenty times by now."
There was cheering and applause as the batsman hit the ball squarely and sent it soaring.
"Is this as exciting as it gets?" Famke said.
"Nobody forced you to come." Bekki said.
"You're only here because your boyfriend is. Admit it, Bekki, you find it as boring as I do!"
"Shut up and watch." Bekki said.
And then Ampie surprised everybody.
"Oh, I say, Johnners! That was a superbly executed googlie off the nearside pad. The Howondalandian lad certainly put some off-spin on the old ball there! That's F.J.R. Coverdale, cleanly bowled out there by mr Andrew van der Pris of the Assassins. And didn't those bails fly!"
Famke, Bekki was pleased to note, had shut up. Ampie had just delivered a ball that somehow seemed to curve in the air and go behind the defending batsman, to smash the three upright sticks apart and send the two little ones balanced on top spinning away over the head of the player crouching behind them. Judging by the applause this was the sort of thing crockett fans came to see and probably scored some sort of maximum points. The player Bekki divined was F.J.R. Coverdale of Hugglestones' Academy shook hands with Ampie, exchanged a few words, then walked back to the pavilion. Another batsman was coming out to replace them as Ampie received the congratulations of his team-mates.
"It took him long enough." Famke said.
"Shut up." Bekki replied.
"Ideal boyfriend for you, then. The slow and steady type."
Ampie managed it again, shortly afterwards, although not as spectacularly as the previous time.
"Just caught the offside stump there, Blowers. With a nice Agatean on the ball. Only gave it a little kiss on the cheek in passing, but that's enough to get the chap bowled out."
"Indeed, Johnners, indeed. R.H.M. Blackmore of Hugglestones, bowled out for seven by the colonial chap from Howondaland, young van Pris. Wasn't there a Colonel Blackmore, with Venturi's Apple-Pickers, got himself terminally bowled out by one of those Boer chaps at the battle of Laing's Neck in the Boor War? Wonder if they're related?"
"History repeating itself, Blowers. Who knows? By the way, just heard there's a smashing vanilla sponge cake on the table in the pavilion now and some of those delicate cucumber sandwiches the ladies always seem to put out, goodness knows why as nobody ever eats them..."
"Gods bless the ladies, Johnners. Where would we be without them? Well, the lad's one short of a hat-trick, and coming in to bat now is Mr R.P.D. Glover-Paice of Hugglestones..."
Ruth looked up and frowned, registering the way the Moebius commentary was perfectly audible around the ground.
"These sound systems where imps who can imitate your voice repeat what you're saying, but lots louder." she said. "Then they speak it down a trumpet tube to make it louder still."
Ruth paused, as if thinking something out. Famke and Bekki listened encouragingly.
"I'm wondering if there might be a way to send it over really long distances." She said. "You know. This event happens here. But people can listen to it in Sto Kerrig or Pseudopolis".
Famke considered.
"You'd need a really big trumpet." she said. "Maybe lots of imps, Spaced out at intervals to relay what the last imp said."
"Yes, but we've got the Clacks for that." Bekki said.
Ruth shook her head.
"You can only send a written copy in words on the Clacks. Somebody types it in at this end. Somebody else types it back into words on paper at the other. What I want to do is send the actual sounds. So people can listen."
Bekki and Famke looked at her with polite loving-big-sister bafflement.
"Err – how?" Bekki asked.
Ruth smiled nervously.
"I haven't worked it out yet." She said. "But the imps in those magnifying trumpets here what you say. They imitate your voice perfectly and repeat it, only louder, so everyone can hear. I was thinking. If you can break words and still pictures down into code and send them over the clacks and somebody makes them into the same words and pictures at the other end, however far away it is. It should be possible to do that with sounds, too."
"Sending sounds over the clacks?" Bekki asked.
"I can't see exactly how yet." Ruth admitted. "Maybe those imps that have pefect hearing and can imitate voices perfectly are the way it will work. I want to think about how the Clacks work, and what codes it will need. Maybe one imp here hears the sounds. It becomes clacks code. It gets sent. The imp at the other end helps decode the clacks and then repeats the sound."
Bekki thought about it, quickly and furiously.
"Talk to Dad." she said. "About the technomancy. Then talk to Mum. About finance. And best we talk about this sort of thing in private, baby."
"I could call it..." Ruth thought, screwing her face up in concentration, "Radiated sound, or something."
"Shorten it. Make it snappier." Famke said. "Something like... Radia."
"Maybe I could get imps who can transmit music." Ruth speculated. "I want to think about this."
"But only where we can talk about it." Bekki said, relieved a neighbouring crockett fan had laughed indulgently, and said something patronising about what ideas children can get into their heads. She turned on her witch senses. No. Nobody who heard is taking her seriously. But I just bet Ruth comes up with a working idea, now it's grabbed her attention, she'll work at it until she does. Best talk to Mum and Dad. Mum knows Adora Belle Dearheart at the clacks. And her husband.
The warm summer afternoon went on. Bekki discerned a change in intent and tempo in the crockett game. She wasn't sure what it was, but...
"And that's it, Johnners. Hugglestones, all out for a hundred and thirty-two. That's the target the Assassins have to beat in their innings."
"Yes indeed, Blowers. The Assassins have to inhume a score of a hundred and thirty-two all out. And this is a bowler's wicket."
"Maybe they'll break the back of it before tea, Johnners. And some delighful cake to look forward to in the pavilion. A fine selection indeed."
"Oh, It's like foot-the-ball. They change ends at half-time." Famke said, having worked it out.
They watched the first few Assassin batsmen come and go. A Apparently a bowler's wicket meant it was easier to get batsmen out and not so easy for batsmen to score runs. A neighbour to the girls kindly tried to explain this to them at great length. Ruth retreated into her sketching and colouring. Famke grimaced and bekki politely listened to the drone.
Nobody on the Assassin team scored more than a dozen each before being ruled Out. Ampie was the fifth man in. Famke gleefully nudged Bekki. He did better than most, scoring thirty-seven before being caught out. Apparently if a fielder could catch the ball you batted without it hitting the ground first, you were Out.
Rather then go to the pavilion, Ampie walked over to where the girls were sitting, slightly hindered by the big clumsy leg-pads.
"Thank you for coming." he said. "All three of you, I notice."
"Yes." Bekki replied. "I get chaperones. Stop giggling, Famke!"
Damn. He's quite good-looking, all in white...
Hei, mister Ampie." Ruth said, politely.
"So this Crockett thing, then. What's it for?" Famke demanded. Bekki winced. At least we're talking in Vondalaans. Ampie smiled at her, taking no offence.
"You might as well ask what fifteen-a-side is for." he said. "Miss Famke? Catch."
Ampie rummaged in a pocket. Suddenly a crockett ball was arcing up in the air. Famke caught it easily. She weighed it in a hand, as if surprised by its weight and hardness.
"When I'm bowling, I never let the batsman I'm bowling to ever forget this is a small and very hard, quite heavy, object travelling at great speed." Ampie said. "It can be very disconcerting when it misses your face by a few inches. It tends to put batsmen off their stroke."
"So crockett is a kind of war?" Famke asked. She tossed the ball up and caught it easily in her other hand. "One of these could really hurt somebody."
"Now you're getting it." Ampie said. "Well, my part in the game is now finished. If you wish, miss Famke, I could show you how to bowl. The practice nets are nearby to here. Coming?"
"My drawings are finished." Ruth said, and closed her pad. She methodically tidied things into her backpack and stood up.
Bekki was not surprised that Famke got the hang of it so swiftly. Under Ampie's tuition, she soon learnt to deliver a crockett ball with remarkable and pinpoint accuracy, hitting the wicket practically every time. Bekki marvelled at her sister's aptitude for pinpoint destruction of a target. But she also realised Famke was warming to him, as she tended to warm to people who taught her exciting new skills that could be transferred to creative applied violence. She grinned. Without expending too much effort, Ampie now had the other sister, the irksome one, on side.
"Some of Mum's Devices are designed to be thrown." Famke remarked. "Hey, I wonder if any of them are round like this?"
Bekki winced. Famke and hand-grenades was exactly what the world needed. She hoped their mother thought so, too.
"Of course, it gets more difficult if a batsman is standing in the way, defending the wicket." Ampie remarked. He walked down the length of the practice range and took position. Bekki moved close to her sister.
"Do not injure him." Bekki said, glaring at her. Famke adopted a hurt look.
"Course I won't, Beccs! I'm actually glad I came now. Besides, he's wearing all that protective padding!"
Bekki sighed, and let them get on with it.
Later there was tea in the pavilion.
The girls went home to discover Olga Romanoff had arrived on a Pegasus flight from Howondaland. She had news.
"I've taken some of the iconographs to the Times." she said. "As well as an update on the other thing."
Bekki, Famke and Ruth squealed at the iconographs of Ruth N'Kweze and her little boy. Bekki thought he was utterly adorable. Mum looked quietly pleased.
"What's his name?" Bekki asked.
Olga consulted what Bekki guessed was a press release.
"Inhlakanipho" she said, "Ruth asked Sophie Rawlinson if there was a meaning to her name. Sophie said she thought it was from the Ephebian for "wise person." That's the Zulu version, apparently. But the boy-name version."
Olga smiled slightly. "Apparently you can shorten it to Nipho. Nipho N'Kweze kaCeteshayo. And there's a really long name too."
"Does the Guild know yet?" Mum asked.
"Briefed Joan. The Guild knows." Olga said. "So he's been pencilled in by now, for his year of entry."
Olga paused and smiled.
"Brought mail. There's a note from Mariella. Oh, she also sent over some of the papers from Howondaland. Says there's an interesting article on page four of the Pratoria Star."
Olga smiled slightly to herself. Truly her job had perks.
Meanwhile in Howondaland, Sissi N'Kima contemplated the fruit basket at her bedside. Grapes predominated, but there was a pineapple in there too. She thought of the Get Well Card she'd received, and smiled slightly. The note inside had said
You sent me a fruit basket in hospital once after I'd been crocked up. I never forgot. We have got to run a race again together before we get too old! With love and nearly friendship. M, the Boor-Girl.
PS – I heard what happened. Assassins' honour, and almost friendship. It wasn't us. Please tell R? And congratulate her on her son. Hope mother and son are doing well. M.
Outside, and downwind, a large cremation pyre burnt with acrid foul smoke. The visiting wizard had been definite about this. Especially as the Naga had been carrying eggs. He thought she probably hadn't laid any on her progress from the coast, as they didn't seem mature enough. But Ruth and Denizulu had detached patrols and sent out messengers to try to back-track her progress across the Empire, and to search carefully. Just to make sure. They were already establishing the route she'd taken from the reports of missing people. Ruth now knew where they'd dissappeared to. Descriptions of the sort of serpent egg they might find had gone with the messengers. These were to be destroyed with silver and fire.
And a Pegasus prepared for take-off from the Zulu Empire. Their jobs were done, after all. Ruth and her son were well, safe and guarded. They'd done the job with regard to artificial insemination, the original reason to send Sophie here. Thern there'd been the battle with the Naga and the need to set up a hospital for the wounded. But after Igoring most of them were out of danger now, and anyway a couple of Igors were staying on. Something about Howondaland attracted them. Ruth, from her own bed, had offered them contracts to stay as medical officers to her troops. Sophie needed to be back here, briefly, in a few days for baby Nipho's Presentation to the people he would be a Prince of. But there was time for a visit home first, and as Irena reminded Sophie, she still had the Witch Trials to prepare for.
"Rosie's at the Watch Station in the Yard." Irena said. "I know Bekki's been looking after them both, but you need to be with your Pegasus. The Pegasii. Or Pegasi. With one "i". Or whatever. You never know with damn Latatian plurals which way it goes."
A farewell party of Lionesses chanted and saluted in Sophie's honour as the Pegasus took off. Sophie watched the kraal shrink and dwindle underneath and then there was the pop and dislocation of Feegle Space. A four-sided triangle said hello to them.
Then they were over Ankh-Morpork. Sophie was no expert, but anyone could recognise landmarks like the Tower of Art and Small Gods from above.
"Apparently they want to make you a honorary Lioness." Irena said, drily. "So you get a spear and a shield and a head-dress. No compulsion to enlist, Ruth said, but she's keen for a Witch or two on the strength."
"As long as I don't have to..." Sophie said. Irena laughed.
Only if you really want to, apparently, devyushka. You've seen the sort of bandeau bra thing they wear? Practical. Stylish, too. But if you do leave the top off, wear the pointy hat. Important. So they know you're a Witch. Improperly dressed, otherwise."
The Pegasus flew on.
"Fancy going back to Johanna's? You're a friend of Bekki, so her mother won't mind putting you up. She'll be keen to hear the story."
Irena put in a course for Spa Lane.
"Besides, I want to find out how the other Ruth's little situation is working out. I suspect of the Dungeon Dimensions try anything on, they'll have had the govno beaten out of them by now. Depend on it. with this family."
To be continued...
The Notes Dump:
The place where background notes, proof I've done the research and Showing My Working, and odd little things not strictly relevant to this tale, go to sit in the pavilion until they're called to bat. A waiting room for ideas.
I have an idea, worth developing in fanfic, that there is such a thing as the Rustle Group of top-flight prestigious universities on the Disc. Unseen, Braseneck, Brindisi, perhaps Bugarup. The chasing pack behind could be the Soot-Black-Brick Group - started out as Redbrick, but this is a world dependent on coal-burning. These might have institutions like the Shrimp-Packer Institute of Genua or smaller time-honoured institutions in places like Sto Kerrig, Quirm, Chirm, Sto Helit, et c. And behind them the Clown Colleges - literally so - of the Sorbomme, Muning, et c. And maybe tech and community collleges allowed to rebrand themselves as universities but which are still not much better than local tech colleges - the Owain Money Institute of Higher Education or Pant-Y-Girdl Polytechnic in Llamedos, perhaps. (Yup - I went to one such. NEWI in Wrexham/Flintshire, which today calls itself Pryfysgol Owain Glyndwr/ Glendower University. Its back-history is fascinating and ludicrous enough to be Discworld, but that's a different tale).
Also discovered Holland has a thriving cricket culture. You wouldn't have thought it. But they do play. The national team, who play in orange, managed to beat England in 2009. Former Dutch colonies in the Caribbean contribute players to the West Indian team and of course you get the cultural links to South African cricket. Odd but true.
Thanks to reader CarrieVS – apparently I've been getting the plural form of "pegasus" wrong throughout. Damn, I thought "pegasii" was cool and better than "pegasuses". Ah well… thank you. Correction noted.
Also, if I may pick a nit, "pegasii." One of my pet peeves: the Latin rule for plurals is to replace -us with -i. This can result in -ii if the original word was -ius, which it often does, and -ii is a very distinctively Latin word ending, but it's not always correct. Although I suppose since Pegasus from mythology is a name it doesn't really have a proper plural, and since it's from the Greek, Latin rules needn't apply (I can't honestly say I know the equivalent Greek rule, beyond that the pedantic plural of octopus is octopodes.) But I'm still going to complain.