Strandpiel 45
Opvolging – Succession
(Impulmelemo in isiZulu, apparently)
Here we go again... the latest chapter of the monster saga of inter-related family and friends of two continents. Still looking to bring it to some sort of a natural close... might take a while yet... fSecond draft with a lot of typos spotted and corrected and minor revisions.
I was privileged to watch the Wales-South Africa rugby match at the weekend, in the company of South Africans. An exhibition game played in Washington DC with the intention of communicating rugby to Americans and popularising the sport there (The USA does in fact have a handy side, viewed internationally as being in the second or third tier down from the Big Eight Or Nine. They apparently beat England once, but then, everybody does.) I suspect at least 80% of the crowd in Washington were expat Bokkies or Welsh and the Americans present were in the usual bemused state of fascination at watching the parent game of what North America calls football – vaguely familiar and bewildering at the same time. As one American said to me once – don't you guys ever use helmets or body armor? Well – a sort of head-padding in the scrum, yes, and, er, personal protection where it's needed.. otherwise it slows you down. Gets in the way. (Hmm. Acerian Rules Football. Wearing armor. Might be interesting as a side-story...) also lots of Bokkie Babes being vocal. That was pleasing too.
Yes. An evening fixture, our time. A braai was indeed involved. With community singing. With perhaps fifty Saffies and five Welsh people present. I was perhaps the only person there who knew the words to both national anthems. "Hen wlad fy nhadau" and then "N'khosi sikeleli'Afrika/Uit de blou...". This aroused interest.
And... yes. Most of the people around me sang the first verse of the South African national anthem, as best they could, out of a sort of politeness and well, it's the national anthem, isn't it? And then when it got to the bridging middle eight, after the repetition of "South Africa" and the change of key... I really hadn't imagined it when I posted that youTube clip of the crowd at a Bokkies game singing the Anthem.
Things got ten times louder and more heartfelt when the language switched to "Uit die blou van onse Hemel, uit die diepte van ons see..."
And I nearly bodged it on the fifth line, where out of habit I started off with "Deur ons ver-verlates vlaktes..." which of course nobody (officially) sings any more. Like addressing those Russian footie fans I met in Manchester as "tovarisch" and calling their city Leningrad, despite another regime change. (Well, they did appreciate the effort and said "nichevo", but still corrected me. St Petersburg these days, and not Leningrad ).
It now switches to English on the fifth line... "Sounds the call to come together, and united we shall stand; Let us live and strive for freedom, in South Africa, our land!"
Two national anthems; four languages. Jislaik. Duw, even.
Anyway. A braai, a lekker bier, the company of bros and meisies, and rugby. Lekker. (And the inevitable Bok van Blerk later, with a side-serving of Pieter Smith, Robbie Wessels and – yes – Ampie)
The Bokkies lost in the last ten minutes when their full-back fumbled a clearance from behind his own goal-line... the ball was intercepted by a Welsh player for possibly the easiest try ever scored in a rugby international. And that winning margin for the Bokkies was wiped out. Danie Smith-Rhodes would not have been pleased. Not at all.
Coming up soon: South Africa versus England. That should be fun. A replay of the Boer War, as always...
On with the story! (mainly exposition but with a few moments of the right sort of absurd).
Update: the Bokkies beat England. This was pleasing to both my Welsh and my adoptive South African sides. Danie S-R was quite chuffed. It made up for last week.
Ankh-Morpork, the Patrician's Palace:-
From the Sto Plains Dealer (your local newspaper for local, City and international news, wherever you are across the Sto Plains! (Scrote edition)
Well, the event kicked off at about four in the afternoon, which was a wise decision on the part of the match promoters as it avoided the mid-day heat of a Howondalandian sun, which can have a massive effect on performance. A capacity crowd of maybe eighteen thousand had packed the arena, all waiting with bated breath to see the unveiling of a newcomer to the team, but one who is likely to make an impact with experience and training, as he grows to maturity as a player in what was described to me as a Game of Throne.
And wasn't that crowd in fine voice indeed, as they sang and chanted! There seemed to be an awful lot of Quirm St Germain fans in the stadium, as the chant that rang around the pitch was in honour of the team manager Arsène Wegener. Indeed, one set of the ladies were wearing the QSG colours of red and black, although I did spy the green and white of the Pig Packers worn by another section of the local female followers.(1) Strange how our best sides can attract a passionate overseas following in the most unlikely places!
And the crowd hushed as the Paramount High King of the Empire stepped forward to address them, and I was remided that the fifteen-a-side code is popular in parts of this continent, as I looked on a man with a build too tall for a hooker but with the distinctive look of one who could have been a good second-row forward...
Lord Vetinari put the newspaper down on top of a pile of periodicals gathered in from all parts of the Disc. The Pegasus Service gathered up-to-the-moment local newspapers from wherever they visited, where such things existed, as part of the regular flow of information into the Palace. More local newspapers came in on the Rail Ways services where an enterprising newsagent at New Ankh Station sold them to people who liked to keep in touch with their home towns. Vetinari liked to read the papers. It kept him appraised of what people elsewhere thought was important.
"I believe the editor of the Dealer placed a low priority on reporting from Howondaland." he remarked. "Not a newspaper with a reputation for international news. Unparelleled for its reporting of all things to do with brassica, and unrivalled for its in-depth perceptive analysis of the commodities and futures markets, where they are concerned with things agricultural and cabbage-related."
Indeed, news from the Zulu Empire was a story buried away on page nine. The big front page story, spreading onto pages two and three (2), was about an outbreak of cabbage mange in and around Scrote that was spreading to Sproutington, and had put other centres of the brassica trade on high alert.
"Indeed, sir." Drumknott said. "Advised they could send a reporter out to the Zulu Empire, with all expenses paid, to cover a royal birth, I understand the editor made remark about a bunch of head-hunting savages whose queen is having a baby or something, in a country that doesn't even grow cabbages, how primitive can you get, what could there possibly be in that to interest our readers, who's spare at the moment, oh, it's the closed season for foot-the-ball, let's send our sports reporter, so he can do something to justify his salary."
Vetinari shook his head.
"And thus the Dealer misses a very big story. Which all the other newspapers are covering in some detail, with lots of speculation."
He nodded to the newspapers.
"Some of which is even accurate. Is Lord Downey in the anteroom?"
"Together with Dame Joan, sir." Drumknott confirmed.
"Capital. Show them in, Drumknott?"
Vetinari welcomed the two most senior Assassins genially.
After opening pleasantries, they discussed the news from Howondaland.
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
Ponder Stibbons returned home to the sound of singing and piano playing. Quite loud singing. It wasn't bad singing, he had to confess. He'd heard it somewhere before; some sort of duet about flowers. He knew without needing to be asked that the piano player must be his daughter Ruth. But where were the singers?
"We have a guest, sir." Claude the butler said, opening the door to him. "The celebrated opera performer, and Witch, Miss Agnes Nitt."
"Oh." Ponder said. He'd heard about Agnes Nitt, seen her from a distance occassionally, but hadn't actually met her yet. He sighed. It had been a busy day in the High Energy Magic building: some research postgrads had been excited by the theoretical question of what you might get if you turned a Bag of Holding inside out. The resultant near-catastrophe had taken a while to sort out, and there was every expectation the missing wizards would turn up. Somewhere.
And now.. Ponder followed the not unpleasant singing into the living room. Yes. There was Ruth, playing the piano faultlessly. And the wide imposing presence of a witch dressed all in black. Somehow, she was singing both parts simultaneously. There was a small audience: Johanna and Bekki were watching and listening intently. And Johanna's parents, currently in town for one of their visits. Also Young Johanna, a houseguest. Both housemaids, who were finding things to be seen doing so that they could listen. And... Ponder refocused – a small dapper man in evening dress standing alongside Johanna Francesca and Johanna Cornelia. He sighed. That must be Bekki's music tutor... another ghost in the extended household.
"Jislaik." Johanna's father said, as the piece ended. "Thet little meisie hes a telent. End the big one."
Ponder heard a voice say "Wunderbar!" and saw the new ghost produce a spectral handkerchief to blow an insubstantial nose into. He relaxed. A new spirit in the house who was overcome by a faultless performance and who needed to blow his nose. Not a threat, then.
Agnes Nitt stepped forwards. Ponder was somehow reminded of watching a very large warship coming into a comparatively small dock.
"Hello." she said. "You must be Professor Stibbons. Ruth's father. I keep hearing about you, but so far I've never got to meet you."
"Likewise." Ponder replied, politely. Agnes quickly made the witch-bow. He took her hand. A little voice inside his head said not every wizard gets the bow from a Witch...
"Bekki invited me over." Agnes said. "Witch to witch. She also wanted me to meet Ruth."
Agnes looked over and smiled. Ruth, happy, smiled back.
Ponder considered. Bekki had invited a new witch to the household to meet people. Especially Ruth. He wondered about the implications of this, and looked across to Johanna. She smiled slightly and nodded at him.
"It is good for Ruth to meet new people." Johanna said. "People who share her interests end eppreciate her ebilities."
"She hes music." Agnetha Smith-Rhodes said. "My grend-daughter should be introduced to other musicians."
"And not just music." Agnes remarked. "Professor Stibbons, I've been talking to Johanna and also to Mrs Smith-Rhodes concerning Ruth, and, well..."
Agnes turned and offered her hand to Ruth.
"I'm sorry. We're talking about you and not to you. That's rude. Please excuse me."
Ruth made the resigned shrug of one who is aware she is often talked about and not to. She took the offered hand.
"It's really nice to play for you while you sing. I like that." she said.
"Maybe we can do some more of that." Agnes offered. "You're really talented. If your parents agree, of course. Oh, and your grandparents."
Agnes looked over to Agnetha and Barbarossa. She held Agnetha's eyes for a moment or two. Ponder noticed that Agnes made a point of looking away first, in a manner that suggested she could have out-stared Agnetha Smith-Rhodes, but was graciously conceding on this occassion so as not to cause embarrassment. It was a subtle point. Ponder noted that his mother-in-law smiled slightly, as if she'd got the point concerning Witches.
"Wellnow." Barbarossa boomed. "Ponder's here. What ebout enother song?"
Agnes considered.
"I appreciate you're making the effort to speak to me in Morporkian, and not your first language." she said. "Thank you. Dankie, even. I never learnt to speak too much Vondalaans. Although as a singer you have to learn a lot of songs in languages you aren't fluent in. Just the songs. Opera is like that. And operetta. And general performance. About ten years ago, there was a fashion for one song after it caught the public imagination and I had to learn it, and a couple of others, in Vondalaans. People wanted to hear it."
Agnes nodded over to Johanna.
"Something to do with your sister, I understand. Anyway, they wanted me to dress in a costume a bit like the clothes you're wearing now, Johanna. And a red wig." (3)
Ponder tried to put the image out of his mind of a very much larger and wider Mariella.
"Does thet sort of thing bother you?" Johanna asked, politely. Agnes shrugged.
"It's the opera mind." Agnes said. "Which even infects musical theatre. I know I wouldn't survive five minutes in the sort of conventional fight you or your sister get involved in. And I'd be a puddle of sweat or I'd drop of heatstroke in a desert or a jungle in the first twenty seconds. But if Opera dictates that an eighteen stone woman (4) should dress up as the celebrated fighting Assassin and adventuress Mariella Smith-Rhodes, however ludicrous it looks, then you get into the costume and the long red wig and sing. I hope your sister wasn't offended too much."
"Ag. She was emberressed et the ettention." Johanna remembered. "End she hoped it would all blow over es a pessing feshion. But offended. No."
Barbarossa blinked and then convulsed with laughter. Agnetha glared at him. But she also looked amused. He recovered himself.
"I epologise." he said. "It was wrong of me to laugh. But you hed to play the role of my daughter. On the stage. I em pleased my girl became such a celebrated person, do not get me wrong. But did people not see something strange ebout thet?"
Agnes shrugged, in an unoffended way.
"That's opera, Mr Smith-Rhodes." she said, as if that explained everything. "The rules are different. If opera even tried to look like real life, it wouldn't work. Trust me."
"We cen take the red wig es understood, I think." Johanna said. "Besides, there isn't one in the house."
"Thank you." Agnes said. "I had to learn the words in Vondalaans, anyway. Perhaps we should perform it, Ruth? I'm sure you know the piano part."
Singer and pianist briefly conferred. Then Ruth began the piano introduction to a song she'd heard performed at national gatherings all her life. Even though she was not even nine, it was part of her heritage and it was in her blood. The piano playing was flawless and emphatic. The song, already a powerful anthem, had a new depth when performed by a professional opera singer. Especially one with the Witch talent to sing two parts simultaneously.
In vuur en bloed vind ek my nou;
Soos elke boer en kind en vrou,
'n Oormag kwyl nou oor ons land -
Staan gewapen tot die tand.
Nobody joined in, Ponder thought, afterwards. They just listened. And afterwards, Barbarossa had shaken Agnes by the hand, and said he hoped Agnes would become a friend of this family.
"Stay for dinner." Johanna said. "There are other people coming over."
The City Of The Igonyami, The Zulu Empire
Ruth N'Kweze turned to the circle of her closest friends and advisors who were gathered around her, in conditions of great security. They wanted complete privacy with nobody listening in.
"Ideas, please?" she said, fighting down the impulse to shout So what the Hells are we going to do about this? She was Queen-Regent Elect, after all. It wouldn't have sounded right from the woman who was now poised to run a whole Empire, whose very word would be law, who would now, should she have had a butler, be addressed by him as Your Majesty and not as Your Royal Highness. Ruth knew butlers were the first to promote you and were stickers for the correct honorific. Johanna had complained about Claude stepping her up from Madam to My Lady, when two Damehoods and a Ladyship had been dropped on her all at once. Claude would just love me right now if I dropped by to dinner, Ruth thought. Again she missed Ankh-Morpork.
"It will happen, little sister." Precious Jewel N'Khazi said, flatly. Ruth nodded, resigned. Her older half-sister was one of the few siblings she could absolutely and completely trust. There was even a sort of sibling love between them. They'd been to the same school, for one thing.
"Our father is now seventy. I spend more time at the Royal Kraal than you do and I have been watching him. As a loving daughter should."
"And as an Assassin should." Ruth replied. "Go on, Pee-Jay."
Her sister smiled slightly.
"Father is, to all outward purposes, healthy and vigorous, as a man of half his age. If you'll forgive me for the unpleasant mental image this provokes, his younger wives have no complaints and are audibly very appreciative. Or so we are told."
Ruth tried not to shudder. But this was useful intelligence. She just had to close her ears to the fact it involved her father. And on occassion, yuk, even maybe my mother. My actual mother.
"A man who is ailing will often first show it when he loses interest in physical pleasure." Sissi N'Kima remarked. She was up and out of bed, although limping heavily and still wearing an ungainly surgical brace to support her healing broken neck. She was thankful for the Igors who had restored her: this was the sort of injury that without Igoring could have left her quadriplegic, paralysed from the neck down. "Madame Emmanuelle taught us this. And she should know."
They surpessed grins. Practically everybody in the room was an Assassins' School graduate.
"However." Precious Jewel went on. "Zazu is looking less smug than usual. As if he realises that when a new Paramount King takes over, his job as Speaker of the King's Truth may end. He is worried. I'd watch him, Ruth. He spends time with your half-brothers, as if currying favour. No doubt now the sucession is declared, he will come to you and swear himself as your loyal man. Don't believe him. I wouldn't."
"Thanks, Pee-Jay." Ruth said. "Look, you don't seem all that convinced that Father is as healthy as he tries to make out? What do you know, big sister?"
Precious Jewel looked grave.
"Zazu can't hide it. At least not as well as he thinks he does. He's worried. And I'm getting whispers that Vetinari, in conditions of some secrecy, sent over a doctor from Ankh-Morpork. Not just any old doctor. Mossy Lawn. Himself. And what do you know, within a few days of Father getting a medical examination from probably one of the best doctors in the world, he stops farting around, and finally decides the succession. To my suspicious mind that tells me something is going on."
"And he decides it's going to be Nipho." Chakki N'Golante said. "And he attends Nipho's Naming. And names him as successor there. In front of eleven thousand soldiers who are all going to be fanatically loyal. Especially after he called out the Heroes and awarded Bees."
Sissi N'Kima reached up and touched the golden bee that was attached to her top, in much the same place and for much the same reason that soldiers wore medals. It was flanked by a silver bee, awarded by Ruth.
Only the Paramount King could award a Golden Bee. A stylised honey bee, sculpted in beaten gold, meant the recipient had earned the utmost thanks of the Paramount King, usually for exceptional bravery, and earning renown in combat. And it was more than a bravery medal. It meant the recipient could go to the Paramount King, at any time, regardless of whether the throne had changed hands, and ask a favour. The King was obliged to respond.
Mere princesses and princes could only award Silver Bees. Ruth had apologised for the current lack of elemental silver about the place at the moment, but had awarded the silver-plated assegais to women who had fought for her on the day, hoping these would be accepted as of equivalent worth. Bees would follow. Those few silver bees Ruth actually had to award, ones that had been spared being melted down for anti-were weapons, had gone to people like Sissi, who really deserved them. A second one had gone to the foreign witch Sophie, who had assisted in killing the monster. Sophie had also been presented to her father, who had greeted her warmly, assured her he understood that the white witches kneel to no man and the bow was sufficient respect, and besides you fought for my daughter and my Heir. So here, white witch, is a Golden Bee. You have the love and favour of the Paramount House.
It had all been impressive theatre on the day, and was now in newspapers all over the Disc. Eleven thousand soldiers were now absolutely loyal to the Heir and, by extention, to his Mother. Like Ankh-Morporkian butlers, they'd all been elevated by association, after all. Denizulu was even now forming a new regiment, the household troops of the Crown Prince and Heir. Men were fighting to enlist or transfer.
But Ruth was suddenly worried.
"So Father could be a lot more ill then he's letting on." she said. The implications settled like lead snowflakes.
"That occured to me too." Precious Jewel said. "Your Majesty."
Ruth winced.
Ankh-Morpork, the Patrician's Palace:-
"Of course, Princess Ruth, the Queen-Regent Elect, is now off the Register." Lord Downey said, smoothly. "We have been approached, by several interested parties. This goes without saying. But her completion fee was fixed, after due reflection and recent incidents, at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Vetinari smiled slightly.
"I will not inquire as to who those interested parties were." he said.
Downey had the feeling Vetinari already knew, damn him.
"That we cannot disclose, my Lord." Downey said. "It is also noteworthy that one of our most able graduates also turned down an informal offer from a foreign government to infiltrate the princess's kraal and perform certain tasks there. She naturally reported the approach to us, as is required of any Guild graduate."
Vetinari heard the impatient snort from Dame Joan Sanderson-Reeves, the Deputy Guild mistress. He smiled slightly again, and remarked
"Indeed. If a graduate of the calibre of Miss Rivka ben-Divorah assesses a contract, attempts in her usual diligent and somewhat innovative way to estimate the dangers and to look for weak points in the client's security that she can exploit, and then goes back to the putative client and frankly tells General Crowbar Dreyer that it is, in her well-chosen words, bloody impossible – then it's impossible. No doubt she then invoiced General Dreyer for a consultation fee."
Vetinari watched Downey and Dame Joan wince slightly.
"And then paid fifty percent in Guild tax on that consultation fee. The level of tax, I believe, is something she complains about. Regularly."
"Indeed, my Lord." Downey said, with a faraway look.
"The fact Princess Ruth's inner circle of advisors and personal assistants is exclusively composed of Guild-trained graduate Assassins is also something that miss ben-Divorah took account of when assessing the mission." Vetinari went on. "She'd have to get through quite a lot of former classmates, before getting anywhere near the Princess. Who she would remember as one of her old schoolteachers. With all that implies."
Joan snorted again.
"It's not as if it's a slackly-guarded Klatchian Army stores depot, where there are only a handful of bored soldiers on guard who aren't expecting anyone to slip in by night, and plant lots of incendiary bombs." she remarked. "I believe Mariella Smith-Rhodes thought twice about this one, too." (4)
"Which explains why both ladies are very good Assassins." Vetinari said, pleasantly. "And living ones. They know when not to accept contracts. Well, you have to be congratulated on the quality of your teaching."
Both Assassins tensed. Praise from Vetinari was usually genuine, but also a weapon. It softened you up for the barb to come later.
The Patrician regarded the two most senior Assassins in the Guild thoughtfully.
"The Dark Council's decision to take the Queen-Regent-Elect of the Zulu Empire off the register – permanently – may have had to do with the fact her son is now the Heir to one of the strongest countries in Howondaland, and that, as I see in my notes, the Prince Nipho has been pencilled into Mrs Beddowes' House for his expected year of entry?"
"Indeed, my lord." Downey said. "Royalty on the School Rolls is always desirable. Mrs Beddowes' House is always filled, for preference, with the sons of nobility. And a pupil who by then may be King of an Empire. Prestigious. Rather us, than Hugglestones'."
"And inhuming his mother might well prejudice his family from sending him to the Assassins' School." Vetinari said, drily. "I understand the motivation. Proceed."
"His mother is also a Guild graduate herself, my Lord." Joan said. "Damn fine young woman. Outstanding pupil. I'm quite fond of the gel. Inhuming her would be an awful waste."
Vetinari raised one eyebrow. Joan smiled a humourless smile.
"And besides, my lord, given what we know about the old King, if this hadn't happened there'd be a bloody silly civil war in the Zulu Empire. Not sure there still won't be one, as the boy has at least six ambitious uncles with small armies. But Mpandwe's made his legacy, and said who he wants running the Empire when he goes. We don't want a war there tearing Howondaland apart. They've got the Muntabians on one side spoiling for a fight, the Matabeles on another, and some seriously bad neighbours on a third. Let's say the Empire collapses on itself. The whole bally lot is going to wait for their armies to destroy each other, and then they'll all be in there looking for a slice. Howondaland goes up in a big war. We don't want that."
Vetinari nodded encouragingly. Joan went on.
"Ruth and her sister have been two of the sanest players in the game. Precious Jewel, another damn fine graduate. Our woman in the Empire, by the way. Another reason why Ruth is off-register. If her sister's the Chief Assassin in that country, she will know about any Assassin going in there after Ruth. Causes conflicts. And more problems."
Joan took a sip of the courtesy tea.
"As far as we can see, Ruth and Precious Jewel have been working together ever since Ruth arrived back there. Trying damned hard to stop a civil war happening. To rein in the hotheads. And if they can't be reined in, or if they're damn-fool enough to try to kill Ruth, she deals with them. What's the current bag, by the way? Seventeen of her half-siblings dead or missing and another twenty or so given either a non-lethal warning, or else exiled. I believe one of her brothers was trussed up hand and foot and left on the doorstep of the Klatchian Foreign Legion's recruiting office?"
Joan smiled contentedly. It's always warming for a teacher to hear about a pupil who learnt well and is getting on in the world.
Lord Downey took the theme up.
"We believe it entirely possible, my Lord, that King Mpandwe deliberately engineered this situation, so that the strongest and the most capable of his many children self-selected themselves as candidates for the sucession. Such a struggle would be inevitable in any case. I suspect this is his way of managing it. He may well have had something like this in mind, all along, for Ruth. An education in Ankh-Morpork followed by eleven years living in this city and finding out how it works. Then he commands her home, knowing she would have some anger and resentment to work off. She was allowed to raise her female army. They won the brief war with Muntab. Then she got involved in power politics and became one to watch. She is creating a city, and it is thriving. So she has demonstrated she can run an economy in peacetime as well as lead in war, which is no small thing. The fact daughters can only suceed to the throne in rare and exceptional circumstances is a drawback. But Mpandwe found a loophole. Given what we now know after Doctor Lawn's visit..."
Vetinari smiled an enigmatic smile.
"Doctor Lawn was there at my request, to check on the health of our staff members at the Embassy based at the Royal Kraal." He said. "As a conscientious employer, I do have a duty of care to people from this continent sent to serve in the tropics. If the Paramount King then heard that one of the best physicians in the world was in his kraal, and chose to ask him if he was available for a discreet private consultation, then I do not object to that. The medical alternative, for the King, is apparently the Witch-Finders."
"And the Pegasus Service flew him over." Joan remarked. "Who also carry your diplomatic messages and friendly messages to other heads of state and government throughout the Disc."
"It is true I communicate with Mpandwe." Vetinari said, smoothly. "And that I did urge him, as a matter of some importance, to decide the sucession. As a concerned outsider, I did append a summation of the reasons why the line of succession should be clear and definite, the monarchy should go to a person with the stength and intelligence and presence to use it wisely, a son or daughter who has both will and power to hold the kingship, and see off rivals, without resorting to civil war. Ideally one who has lived and worked in the world outside Howondaland, and who has an international outlook, with well-placed friends and peers in many countries. And also why civil war would be a disaster for Howondaland. I am pleased he heeded my advice."
"Especially after Doctor Lawn's diagnosis." Downey said. He sighed, resignedly.
"Odd to have to call an ex-pupil Your Majesty." Joan mused. "Damn, I recall the gel when she was a pupil of eleven. Just simply miss N'Kweze."
She shook her head.
The Royal Kraal, the Zulu Empire:-
"Life is full of surprises, Zazu." Paramount King Mpandwe said, pleasantly, to his old friend and personal secretary. In his personal quarters, they could speak freely and informally. Both men appreciated this.
Zazu looked at the King with grave serious eyes. Mpandwe threw back his head and roared with laughter. His belly rippled and rolled. The lion-skin circlet around his brow slipped and went lopsided. The King did not attempt to straighten it as the laughter subsided.
"Why so serious, old friend?" he asked. "As far as I can make out, I'm seventy, maybe a year or two either side. Not important. I've had a good life. Fought in a few wars and lived, become king of a people, married many wives and had moments of joy with them all, fathered many children. It's been good."
His face fell into a frown for a moment.
"Probably too many children. Damn, that wily fox Vetinari was right. And don't look at me like that, Zazu. He wants this continent strong and stable and prosperous, so he can sell us things. But I want this continent strong and stable and peaceful and prosperous too. We agree on that. So I'm happy to take his advice, as we are in agreement as to the desired outcome. If not on the exact reasons for that outcome."
"He sent you his personal physician." Zazu said, almost dissaprovingly.
"So?" said Mpandwe. "I preferred this to those scabrous superstitious witch-finders, lining up to kiss my royal arse and reassure me I'm in the finest of health, when for some time now I have suspected I am not. And he confirmed it."
The King motioned for his secretary to bring across the Old Macabre and two glasses.
"Kind of Ruth to get me this. She was always one of the best of the whole rotten bloody bunch." he remarked, pouring a glass.
"Yes. The Paramount Crown Princess." Zazu said. The Speaker was not a man with a head for strong foreign spirits. He contemplated the amber liquid in the glass – a glass, and not a gourd! – with suspicion.
The King grinned.
"My grandson was a gift in so many ways. Especially after the attentive and learned Doctor Lawn discovered there is a thing growing inside me that will kill me within the next two years. Inevitably so. Doctor Mossy Lawn also said it is possible those clever isangomas called Igors might be able to remove the thing inside my belly, but it may well grow back. Not even the Igor-magicians can cure cancer completely, he said."
The king lifted his glass.
"Cheers, old friend. I am ready to go. I will go with dignity, as befits a King. And the best of my children, the one who has proven herself best, by the happiest of chances, succeeds me as Queen. At least till her son is old enough."
"Queen Ruth is certainly strong. And capable, yes."
"She is one of the two who can hold it together, Zazu. She and Precious Jewel. Who told me to my face she has no interest in becoming Queen, but she does have an interest in finding and supporting the best candidate to unite the Empire and avoid civil war. Take my advice, Zazu. Ruth will retire you, and I hope she nominates Precious Jewel as her Speaker. Or one of those clever warrior-girls she nurtures, the impressive ones who went to the same school. She won't kill you, she isn't the sort, but whatever honourable retirement she offers you, accept it. It will be generous. And don't go listening to any of her brothers. It is decided, Zazu. Plot treason to the Queen Regent with any of her brothers, and you will have the shortest of retirements, followed by blissful oblivion."
Mpandwe grinned at his old friend.
"Now send me a wife, would you? I am thinking... perhaps Nyokabi. My Great Wife. Like her daughter. A wise head. I need to confide in her that I am dying. Thank you."
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork.
Dinner at the Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons' was relaxed and lively. Other guests had arrived and the dining table was full. Even Famke had been allowed an evening's leave from the Guild School to spend time with her grandparents. Barbarossa, surrounded by his family and a total of four grand-daughters he genuinely loved, was full of booming bonhomie.
"They let you have an evening off now and egain?" he said to Agnes Nitt. She smiled, pleasantly.
"Well, tonight's billed as the understudies' night." she said. "So people who aren't paying attention might be dissappointed if it isn't me on stage. It gives us an evening off and the understudies get to do the main roles. Good for everybody."
Agnes had been discussing music with Ruth and getting to know her. She was quietly impressed. After Ruth had been sent off to bed and Famke packed off in a cab back to the School so as not to miss curfew(6), the adults discussed things more.
"She's definitely got some magic." Agnes said. "She's coming up to nine years old and it isn't especially strong yet. I don't think it's going to be anything like as strong in Ruth as it is in Bekki, but it's still there and it still needs to be managed."
"What do you suggest?" Ponder Stibbons asked.
Agnes smiled.
"Well. My feelings are that the same full Witch training Bekki got from the local circle just wouldn't be appropriate here. I really don't think Ruth is cut out or inclined to do steading work or the Lancre circuit. She doesn't seem temperamentally inclined for that. But she's still going to need some guidance. Somebody to teach her to properly read music, for instance. Right now she's doing everything by ear. Spectacularly well, too. But that's the way the magic is working out in her. With me, it was singing. Everything sort of fell into place when I sang. I just knew. With Ruth, it's music and art. She's not been formally trained in both – she just knows."
Agnes nodded down the table to Gillian Lansbury.
"You're giving her the formal training in Art, but that's just rounding her out, isn't it? Teaching her the theory, and the common things she needs to know so as to fit in with other artists. She needs somebody like that for her musical side."
"End it would help if thet person were elso a witch." Johanna said, thoughtfully.
"Indeed." said Agnes. "Look, whatever's there now is potentially going to erupt when the difficult years happen. You know. When she's eleven or twelve or thirteen. That's why we get involved when a potential Witch turns eleven or twelve. Otherwise you get uncontrolled magic from somebody who in the normal run of things has a lot going on that she can hardly deal with. Bekki was that age when she started training. People in that position need guidance and supervision. And because Ruth's not really going to be a practicing witch, this is something Olga or Irena or Mrs Proust aren't the best people to help with."
"A Witch, but not one who prectices es a Witch." Agnetha Smith-Rhodes said.
"And you can't stop being a Witch." Agnes said. She sighed, deeply. "It's not uncommon. Johanna, you get people who train as Assassins and qualify as Assassins, but who never practice? But they're still trained to do it, even if they end up doing other things with their lives."
She grinned at Bekki's just-don't-call-him-my-boyfriend Ampie, who was listening with interest. He'd brought his instruments along and had happily played along with Ruth and the others, while Agnes sang. Discovering Ampie's musical talents had thawed things somewhat for Barbarossa, and he had been gruntingly appreciative. Johanna had been relieved that Ruth had persuaded Famke to tone down the drumming, and her contribution had actually been restrained and somewhat harmonious.
"You're a musician. And a good one. I'm betting you won't be an Assassin, you'll end up as a musician who went to the Assassins' School. A world of difference. Well, there are witches who don't do formal witchcraft. Much. I'm a singer who also happens to be able to do witching things when needed, for other people in and around the theatres and the Opera House. Olga and Irena are in the City Watch and have a passion for flight. So they're City Watch and Pegasus Service first, and witches in their spare time. They burn it off in flying for a living. Queen Magrat of Lancre does the Queening. When you think about it, being a Queen is a kind of magic, and that's where Magrat burns it off. I work as a singer and a musician. That's where the magic flares off in me. I would suggest we teach Ruth the skills and awareness she needs to identify and safely handle her own sort of magic. Which she can burn off in Music and Art. And.."
Agnes looked shyly at Johanna and Ponder.
"I like her. Ruth. If you're happy about it, perhaps I can guide her in what she needs to know."
Johanna smiled.
"Ever been a Godsmother before?" she asked.
Agnes smiled.
"Well, I'm in my thirties. I suspect I'm never going to have children of my own. I'm okay about that. But just sometimes..."
"All settled, then!" Barbarossa boomed.
To be continued.
I had lots more detail planned for the dinner party sequence at Johanna's but I see I'm well over 7,000 words. Ah well, could come back and add things in a revised draft...
(1) Ruth N'Kweze had ordered that the subdivisions of her impi were distinguished by their own distinctive colours, so as to foster team spirit, esprit de corps and healthy competition. Red and black were the house colours of Black Widow House at the Assassins' Guild School. Green and white distinguished Tump House. Raven House wore black and yellow. This had a serious purpose but was mainly a private joke on Ruth's part.
(2) the Dealer's Page Three Girl, the amply built Miss Dorothy Scrimpton from Nether Sproutington, the current Cabbage Queen, occupied most of the page, iconographed in a tastefully revealing costume made of cabbage leaves.
(3) A call-back to my tale Gap Year Adventures, where Mariella gave up on reason and bypassed the brains of the people she was trying to organise for a fight. By singing at them, and going straight to the gut. This provoked a trend in Ankh-Morpork when the song hit the public imagination. Mariella was indeed mortified with embarrassment.
(4) Note for Americans and other foreigners: the stone is a perfectly logical measure of weight which is far more sensible than that damned silly method of calculating in contrived decimal-based units like kilograms, or dispensing with the necessary step of fourteen-pounds-makes-a-stone, and calculating personal weight in pounds only. Eighteen stone (British) equals 252 pounds (American) or 114.5 kilos (European).
(5) A callback to Gap Year Adventures.
(6) Along with the sternest possible warning that she had better arrive at the School by the shortest route with no diversions or escursions, are you hearing me, Famke Cornelia?
The Notes Dump:
The place where background notes, proof I've done the research and I'm Showing My Working, and odd little things not strictly relevant to this tale, go to sit until they're needed. A waiting room for ideas.
I was alerted to the existence of a televangelist called Wendy Alec. Well, I'd read some of her "Chronicle of Brothers" novels and quite liked them; at the time I took my hat off to an author who'd had the idea, the audacious idea, to take the Bible, the story of the Fall of Satan, the Creation, the life of Christ and the promised Armageddon to come (ie, Christian chronology) and treat it as if it were another genre of fantasy fiction, whole and entire within its own framework. She brings in St Augustine, Dante and Milton along the way – and damn, when the Bible is treated as fantasy fiction like this by an imaginative author, it makes a pretty good story.
It turns out she IS a believing evangelical Christian of the right-wing "Jesus votes Republican, Israel is to be unconditionally supported in everything as this is God's will, liberalism, socialism and feminism consign your soul to Hell, and speaking of God, He needs all your money, send it to us" variety.
She's also South African.
Damn. A female televangelist with rock-chick looks (she could easily front Fleetwood Mac) and a South African accent. What she preaches is horrendous. It's interesting her televangelist TV network was allowed to set up in South Africa with state approval some years prior to the end of apartheid, for instance. And some of its views are what you might expect to hear. But damn, I could watch and listen to her for ages. She also gets a lot of flack from other right-wing Christian televangelists for daring to be a female intruder into their world, does she not know God decreed women be silent in church and do not presume to lead or command men? And in a world where those who command morality on others but whose personal moral compasses are broken, and then plead for special consideration when they get found out… well, her own background is questionable too. Equal-opportunity hypocrisy/human frailty?
But. Having seen this lady in action… I must write bits of her into my Discworld. Somehow. A slightly more intelligent Sarah Palin from South Africa. Priceless.
Question – have right-wing Christians denounced Terry as Satanic and burnt any of his books, for the usual depressing sorts of reasons?
Art is how we decorate space; music is how we decorate time. Priceless quote.