Strandpiel 49
Resolusies en ooreenkomste – Resolutions and agreements
And so we come back to the story. Second impression - first round of typos and minor corrections. Keeping the momentum going!
The City of the Inkonyami, The Zulu Empire.
Swords clashed in the morning air. Although it was only seven in the morning, a crowd had gathered, a wide circle of warriors drawn from both the Lioness Impi and Denizulu's personal household troops. Most of his command had left after the Presentation to go to their own assigned bases: a single impi, a normally-sized command of maybe eight hundred men, had remained with the honour of guarding their General, and by extension, the Queen-Regent-Elect and the Heir. Male and female warriors were three or four deep, delineating an arena and watching the sword play with fascination and deep interest.
The two black-clad fighters circled, watching each other and looking for the opening, as their faraway instructress in Swords had taught them. They had learnt their lessons well. Emmanuelle de Lapoignard would have expressed pride in both.
Then they closed to combat again. There was a susurration of anticipation from the crowd as the swords clashed again. This was the sort of thing they liked.
Thrusts, parries and slashes were exchanged for quite some time as the two fighters danced around each other, sweating with the exertion.
Then at last one made an error.
Sharon Higgins, Licenced Assassin, Dark Clerk, and Ankh-Morpork's Consul to the City of the Lionesses, felt the point of the sword at her throat and bowed her head slightly, acknowledging defeat.
"Je me rends." she said, according to formula. She reversed her sword and offered it hilt-first to the victor, as custom dictated.
"Bayede, your highness." she said.
Ruth N'Kweze took the sword, grinned, then lowered her own weapon and returned Sharon's own sword.
"Keep it, I've got plenty." Ruth said. "Thank you for the workout, by the way."
Sharon sheathed her own sword, then made a quick kneeling curtsey to Ruth, as manners dictated. Another whisper of approval ran around the crowd. Sharon felt relieved. She'd been assured that the word had been put out that this was a training bout and even though an Assassin was going for the Queen-Regent-Elect with a sword, she was not doing it with the actual intent of assassinating. They were simply sparring, training together. Therefore nobody needed to step forward and protect their Princess. You are all, however, invited to watch.
Ruth and Sharon, who had graduated from the Guild School in the same year, clasped hands. They understood each other. It made sense for Vetinari to have assigned Sharon here as Consul.
"Something Johanna warned me about." Ruth remarked. "Having a baby wrecks your physical fitness, and you have to work hard to get it back."
"She's had three. She should know." Sharon replied. "Glad to assist, Ruth."
"Appreciated." Ruth replied. "Frankly it's a bit of a slog. Johanna warned me it's tough at first, but it gets easier."
The circle of warriors made obeisance as Ruth walked through them. Several ventured admiration at their iNdula's prowess with the ikhlwa. Ruth grinned back and thanked them, ensuring she used their names, and telling them the sword is a discipline all of its own, but can be learnt. And now you will have seen how a warrior with a sword moves, and have perhaps been thinking of counter-moves with your spears. When time permits, I will seek to teach you to counter swords. I learnt the fighting styles of our potential enemy from White Howondaland, and I know the Red Deaths. The elder Red Death taught me the fighting skills of her people, after all.
Ruth looked at Sharon, and added, in Morporkian:
"Relax. I'm not planning a war with them any time soon. But as Vetinari knows, if they ever move against me, I can rethink that. But not until then."
"No first strike." Sharon said.
Ruth nodded.
"But if they strike first. We counter them."
Sharon accepted this.
Speaking of the elder Red Death." she said, thoughtfully. "That story the Pegasus pilot brought with her about a fight in Lancre, of all places."
Ruth nodded, and grinned.
"My half-brother Yazu. Exiled from this country. Gets work herding pigs in Lancre. Then he runs into Johanna. And by all accounts, into her family. Just not his day, is it? Fancy a bite of breakfast?"
The two laughed and walked on.
Highmost Pigmanhey, Lancre:
Petulia Gristle folded her arms and glared downwards. The people being glared at were not comforted by the fact Rebecka Smith-Rhodes was standing next to her, also tight-lipped and glaring. A certain amount of tapping of the feet was happening.
The assembled Feegle in the yard at Highmost Pigmanhey were not comforted by the fact two other women in black hats were standing alongside Petulia and Bekki. Granted, those black hats were not pointy. Given their profession, it was a different, more stylish, and exquisitely millinered, sort of black. But if a woman wearing this sort of black hat was annoyed with you, it was bad news.
"Tell me again." Petulia said, taking a deep breath. "For the attention of Doctor Smith-Rhodes and Miss Band. Who were rather inconvenienced, and somewhat annoyed, and who would also appreciate an explanation. No hurry. In your own time."
Johanna Smith-Rhodes nodded, emphatically. She'd been advised to leave this to the witches. Johanna, who knew something about Feegle, was happy to let Witches handle things. Alice Band, standing next to her, had once confided her own past experience of Feegle, in a reluctant and "this is between us as best friends" sort of way, over a drink late one night. Johanna had taken note. (1)
Several hundred Feegle were there, mainly from the High Hog clan but with contingents from other clans who had graciously been invited to watch the big fight and have a bit of fun at the expense of yon Alice Band, aye, laddie, the same yin oot of the story, she's back in town.
All were standing with heads lowered, in a sort of collective foot-shuffling awareness that they'd annoyed the Hag this time, nae mistake.
There was an embarrassed silence. Under four thermonuclear glares, there was a certain amount of shuffling, nudging and pushing going on among the Feegle. Eventually a spokes-Feegle was pushed, unwillingly, forwards. A wide circle formed around the young Feegle who suddenly realised he was standing alone out there. Nobody wanted to stand too close.
"Err… it's like this, Mistress. Mistresses." said Wee-Archie-Aff-The-Midden, looking small and woebegone. "As ye ken, ah wiz in Ankh-Morpork on the Hogmanay. That is, Hogswatch, ye ken? Ah wiz deliverin' Miss Rebecka tae her kin, alongside oor Gonnagle… errr… and ah got tae meet her kin."
He looked up at Johanna and ventured a nervous placating smile. She did not smile back.
"And ah met the one as the Zulu people calls the Red Death, and ah was in thrall tae her presence and her majesty and her person…"
"Less flattery. More explanation, if you please." Petulia said. Johanna nodded.
"Ah came home wi' the tale, and related it to my people. How oor Miss Rebecka comes frae a clan o'great fighters, akin to bigjob-sized Feegle, and nae mistake, doon tae the red hair, an' everything.."
There was a chorus of "Aye, ye're right there!" from the Feegle, and similar remarks of agreement. Petulia nodded.
"An' we witnessed how Miss Rebecka drew her claymore and she wiz prepared to fight they big Zulu scunner here in the yard. Nae magic, the big cludgie wiz prepared tae fight oor wee young Hag, and she wiz ready tae fight him back."
Johanna looked over at her daughter. Bekki went slightly red, but held her mother's eyes. Johanna looked away and down at Wee Archie again.
"Tae be honest, we wiz a bit disappointed there wiz no fight an' she chose tae treat with him. We wiz looking forward to seein' him bein' took tae the cleaners."
"There was a misunderstanding." Petulia said, firmly. "Rebecka is sensible, and understood. As did Yazu, who is my guest and my employee. But do continue."
Wee Archie swallowed.
"Aye. Well, Mistress. We had oor scouts oot. They met scouts frae other clans. After the fight, oor way of greetin' each other, ye understand, they exchanged in-tell-ee-gence, as we do when oor scouts meet, and they conveyed the news that a party of young bigjobs was coming this way. They said they knew the one leadin' it was the renowned arck -ay-olll-oll-o-geest Alice Band, who has a certain fame in oor tales…"
Wee Archie wilted under a glare from Alice, then recovered himself.
"So we followed the party, so as to have a little harmless mirth at Miss Alice Band, who appeared uncomfortable to be in Feegle lands again. And so as to be sure she wiz not carryin' a spade of any sort, ye ken? And we saw none other than the Red Death herself wiz with her. And we held council, and we thought – surely the Red Death has heard that her eldest child, oor wee Hag Miss Rebecka, was unjustly assailed by a Zulu in this land. She wiz here tae seek vengeance, as a mother will when her child is attacked. And we thought – there is certain tae be a big fight."
"And just to make sure, you tipped off our Zulu guests." Petulia said. "You went to Yazu and his half-brothers and their families and said Hey, china! Ye got trouble comin' your way! Best grab your spear, know what I mean?"
Wee Archie nodded.
"An' we gathered here. Tae watch the big fight. So as tae see the Red Death in combat."
Petulia took a deep breath. She had been aware of a gathering of Feegle in and around the farm and an aura of excited anticipation. When the misunderstanding had been defused and the combatants had put down their weapons, with the student Assassins sent to prepare their accommodation for the night, she had clapped her hands and demanded the Feegle come out here, now. I want words. The yard had swiftly filled. Alice and Johanna – and Yazu and his band – had looked at each other, wondering what this was all about.
"You put the word out. Come and see the big fight."
"Aye, mistress. Our bookie Honest Billy wiz layin' odds, ye ken."
Archie swallowed. Braver Feegle were stepping forwards.
"Aye, Mistress. We wiz disappointed when the Red Death laid her claymore down and pretended to be defenceless."
"Aye, dinnae be daft! We ken how that one goes! Ye puts your sword down and holds up your hands and your enemy disnae ken ye hiz a knife in each sleeve an' two more in each boot-top, so ye gets him wi' craft!"
This time Johanna did smile. The thought crossed her mind as to whether it might be permissible to recruit a couple of Feegle as Guild pupils. Just to see how it went. An experiment.(2) They'd worked out instantly what her back-up strategy had been, something that had eluded many of her pupils.
"Aye. We got tae see how the Red Death would h' fought. Wi' craft and cunning."
"Valued skills among the Nac mac Feegle." Petulia said. "Carry on."
There was excited murmuring among the Feegle.
"'Tis true we did not see the Red Death fight." said a larger Feegle. "But when they Zulu whelps ran in wi' the spears held high an' they started a battle song. We saw the wee girl draw her claymore an' shout a war-cry of her own, an' without a moment o' pause, she attacked them. 'Twas stirrin' to see!"
This time Johanna blinked as several hundred Feegle throats took up a roar of
"Onnz for yow, yow blaksims!"
"'Tis a stirring battle-cry, mistress." the large Feegle said, as the echoes died. "A war-cry of your people?"
"Ja, you could describe it es thet." Johanna said. She wondered whether or not to translate it and decided it could wait. She shook her head. Cultural transmission took many strange directions.
"The wee human whelp." said a Feegle. "Kin tae ye and tae miss Rebecka? I hear she is called the Tykebomb."
There was loud admiration.
"Sister tae oor Hag. Daughter of the Red Death."
"Aye, Reckon she's a Red Death tae?"
"Nae, laddie. Too wee tae be a Red Death. And forbye, she didnae actually slay anybody. Maybe she will grow intae one."
"Aye. Ye could well name her the Red Headache, maybe?"
Alice Band shook her head.
"The Red Headache." she said. "Famke. That's aiming too high. Wrong end of the body."
Then there was movement among the Feegle and the throng parted. The Feegle appeared to be standing aside. Respectfully.
And the Kelda appeared, flanked by guards. Petulia and Rebecka made a respectful bow. Kelda Peigi, an older Kelda in what looked like late middle age, bowed back. She looked up at the two Assassins.
"Miss Alice Band? Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who is mother to a Hag? I apologise for the behaviour of my brothers and sons and the problems this posed for ye both. The news arrived too late for me to forbid it. There will be no repetition."
The Kelda looked up. She smiled. Angus Og, the gonnagle, stood beside her.
"Now I would speak with ye, if ye would?"
At a nod from their Kelda, the massed Feegle gratefully ebbed out of the yard and vanished.
"Cup of tea, Peigi?" Petulia offered. The Kelda indicated her thanks. Petulia nodded at Bekki, who went off to the kitchen. Bekki was relieved normality had resumed: the youngest Witch always made the tea.
She paused and looked at her mother and Godsmother.
"I could use a couple of people to help with the meal for tonight?" she asked.
Alice Band nodded. She looked at the student Assassins, who'd been watching the phenomenon of massed Feegle with some interest. Younger Zulus were dotted among them, accepted as idle-minded bystanders.
"Plenty of people standing around with nothing to do." Alice said. "Grab as many as you need, Bekki? My instructions."
Bekki grinned, and went to choose volunteers.
Later in the afternoon, Petulia Gristle went to find Famke. The witch glared at her.
"Got a job for you." Petulia said. "Your mother suggested it and said it would be a good idea. To keep you occupied and out of trouble. Follow me."
Famke, realising she was potentially in trouble and that this was not a person to annoy, despite appearances, followed.
She was led to a place where there was a table and material laid out. Dabu, the Zulu boy was there. The two looked at each other, doubtfully. Famke noticed her friend Connie was there too.
"Here's how it is." Petulia said, folding her arms meaningfully. "You two have got fences to mend. And a shield. Your mother tells me you did Basic Craft with Miss Tanner? Well. You know what leatherworking tools look like. I've tried to match the colour."
Petulia nodded down to the oxhide and strips of leather on the table.
"You hacked a bloody great hole in it." Petulia said. "You can fix it. And you can get to know each other while you're doing it. Constance, thank you for being referee. That's appreciated. And no fighting on my farm. Got it?"
Petulia nodded and swept out. She did not look back.
Famke grinned at Dabu. The Zulu boy smiled back, nervously.
"My mother makes these for the impis." Connie said. "I know how to do it. Let's make a start, shall we? And I'll tell you about shield-culture while we work."
The City of the Inkonyami, The Zulu Empire.
Sharon looked down appreciatively at her breakfast plate. She and Ruth weren't alone; two maids stood attentively in the background and Gupta, Ruth's personal cook and something of a manservant these days, hovered, ready for the next command.
Sharon laid the melon rind down on her plate, then wiped her lips.
"You couldn't really do the Full Morporkian in a country like this." she said. "Too hot, for one thing. This is refreshing. Pleasant. Melon and, what do you call it, granadilla. Fruit salad for breakfast."
"It serves." Ruth replied. "Gupta, some more lassi, please?"
Sharon watched the turbaned man, Ruth's cook and more and more these days, her butler, step forward with a glass carafe of the milk-based drink. She speculated on what sort of weapons he was carrying. That colour and style of turban denoted a sort of Ghatian warrior caste. There'd be a ritual knife concealed somewhere in the binding and the pugaree that held it all together could be a lethal weapon in its own right. The Guild of Assassins taught people thoroughly about these things. Especially about the sort of otherwise unremarkable domestic servant who carried concealed weapons, what sort, and where they were likely to be concealed. Sharon rather suspected Ruth had a battle-butler of her own now. Another line of defence.
"But why do you call it Toledan bacon, though?" Sharon asked, curiously.
Ruth smiled.
"Long story. Back in the days when White Howondaland was a colony, the Ankh-Morporkians sent over a colonial governor who had a Toledan wife. Their immediate servants were white, local Vondalaanders, because, well, you can't have beastly smelly blacks near a refined Ankhian nobleman, can you?"
"Indeed not." Sharon said, with a very straight face. She had been a Scholarship pupil at the Guild school who had come from a social class that provided servants to the nobility, who conceded the lower orders might be beastly, but could be taught to bathe and serve their betters and be jolly glad for it. Sharon understood apartheid. In a way it applied to white people too. Sharon had, she considered, been born black in Ankh-Morpork.
"Anyway, his wife was from Toleda. She insisted on fruit for breakfast, usually melon. The Vondalaanders took some patient training to get used to the idea somebody might prefer vrugteslaai to lots of vleiss for breakfast. A completely alien idea. So they called it toledansespek. Toledan bacon.(3) For some reason my people picked the word up."
"Oh, yes." Sharon said. "The celebrated White Howondalandian sense of humour."
They spoke about the relatively new Ankh-Morporkian consulate for a while. Consulates were normally secondary offices and out-stations of Embassies in strategic locations across the host nation, reporting back to the Embassy in the capital city. They could be ad-hoc affairs operating out of a single office, a downstairs living room, or in extreme cases a tree-house in the jungle, a mobile cart on the nomadic trade route across Klatch, or an adobe building next to a stagnant oasis in the desert. (4). The consul was usually part-time, somebody otherwise gainfully employed in the host nation and performing an additional service for duty.
This consulate was different. It had been purpose-built, deliberately so, in the midst of the growing township of guest workers imported from elsewhere on the Disc to help build Ruth's city. Its stated purpose was to look after the interests of Ankh-Morporkians living and working far from Home. And it was far more fully staffed than you'd expect for a Consulate. A team of Dark Clerks were based there, and security was provided by a rotating detachment of Ankh-Morpork City Watchmen. The Pegasus Service now called regularly. Usually a Pegasus might visit a Consulate as seldom as once or twice a year. Pegasi came here two or three times a week.
Sharon Higgins, a Dark Clerk who had risen in the Service, was Consul. Sharon was, among other things, applying herself to learning Zulu. Ruth appreciated this.
Other nations had followed on. Klatch also had a Consulate here. Cross-continent flying carpets visited. The Uberwaldeans had sent a mission, as had Quirm and Brindisi. Ruth was dealing with polite requests from Sto Helit and, of all nations, Lancre.
It was all good: Ruth had heard that Crowbar Dreyer could be contemplating an attack that deliberately targeted the civilian settlement, something that would of course be profusely apologised for later. Well, any attack that stood a chance of taking out an important country's diplomatic mission would be a massive international own-goal. Vetinari really had given her an insurance policy, and because of that she could tolerate a certain amount of informal diplomacy. It was good to know who other peoples' spies were, for one thing. And right now she was having breakfast with one.
Highmost Pigmanhey, Lancre:
"The central pole is the mgobo, the heart of the shield. Everything else builds on this, so it has to be strong. Fortunately you only nicked it. The ox-hide took the force out of your blow."
"I was aiming for his fingers." Famke said, mildly. "That hand-hole in the middle, where you grip it. Got to be a weak point."
Dabu shifted uneasily. Connie frowned at her friend. The three of them were busy rebuilding the damage Famke had inflicted in the fight.
"But anyway." Connie said, meaningfully. "This is the umbumbulazo shield. The sort issued to new members of the impi. You were in the youth impi, weren't you, Dabu, before your family had to… leave in a hurry?"
Dabu nodded, ruefully.
"That is true." he said, in careful Morporkian. "I, my brother, and my cousins, who you met out there. We had begun the training. When we left our country, we were allowed to take our weapons and shields with us. As a courtesy."
He looked again at Famke. She grinned back. Famke, cooled down now, had realised the Zulu boy, while tall and well built, was only a year or two older than she was. That made a sort of difference.
"You get it here, then it gets damaged in a fight. With somebody who's White Howondalandian enough for it to be an issue."
Connie inspected the damage again. The ox-hide had been split all the way down to the centre pole. Usually a warrior who survived a fight like that would get a new shield. But the usual logistic back-up isn't available here. Never mind, we can fix this one…
"We can back the repair in this thinner leather." Connie decided. "Like Miss Tanner taught us. And we can use these strips of dried gut to add a new line of binding ties. Got to be square, though, and in line. Stop just standing there, Kay, and help me mark the leather. Thank you."
And a sort of détente emerged.
"So how did you get here, Ampie?" Bekki asked him, curiously. "You start out in a family with a plaas just on the other side of the Vaal River. Then you get to come to Ankh-Morpork to go to school."
Ampie had volunteered to help with the food preparation. Several students had opted to work with them. For Ampie, the draw had been the chance for time spent with Bekki. She accepted this.
"Mina, gaan jy die slaai gemaak?" Bekki asked another student. "Dankie."
Wilhelmina Steenhuis grinned back and set about preparing a salad. Another student looked blankly at her. Bekki realised only three people in the kitchen spoke Vondalaans. She switched to Morporkian.
"We need salad for at least thirty people." Bekki said. "Needs a lot of lettuces chopping up. Give Mina a hand, could you? Thanks."
"We could use your sister." Helen Guthrie said. "She'd have no trouble at all chopping up salad for thirty. Not after what she did to that Zulu shield."
Bekki shook her head.
"Listen. Long experience. We try to keep Famke away from sharp knives." she said. "Saves bother. I can't believe she was allowed to carry a machete."
"Summer. Narrow trails, overgrown on all sides." Ampie said. "Miss Band wanted people up front to hack the undergrowth away. She reckoned it would burn off some of your sister's spare energy, and give her a legitimate reason to chop at things with a sword."
And to scare off the Feegle, Bekki thought. Godsmother Alice usually has more than one reason. The thought occurred to her that Alice Band might have been provoked to the point where, as she would know full well from her own experience, the Feegle might have got annoyed with a bigjob swinging a machete near them. She speculated for a moment on her sister versus Feegle, and shuddered slightly.
Bekki turned back to Ampie. He was chopping a large side of pork down into manageable pieces for the pot.
"So. How did you get here?" she asked.
Ampie told his story. Younger son of a farming family, just on the Free State side of the Vaal. He'd realised early that a life of tending cattle and sheep and things was not for him. He'd also realised, from experience of following his fathers and older brothers into sporting pursuits, that there had got to be better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than fifteen-a-side. Ampie had got through various under-seven, under-eight and under-ten sides by being the sort of player who is enthusiastic, shouts a lot, joins in, and is just too slow to get to where the ball happens to be. On those rare occasions he had to actually catch the ball, he always made sure to pass it on, before the fuse exploded. He had got a wholly undeserved reputation for being an enthusiastic steady player and a good man for the team, a bru and an oke, exactly the opposite outcome to what he wanted.
What he did like doing was to go to a remote corner of the family plaas with an old military cornet his father had kept since Army service, and play it. At first this had been banishment – if you're going to play the bloody thing, go to the old barn at the end of the field, you hear me?
Then he had appreciated the solitude and time on his own, something close-knit farm life did not usually permit. And he'd learnt how to coax notes out of the old instrument. A kind uncle had then given him an old saxaphone that, well, it was only gathering dust, you may as well get some use out of the thing.
Ampie had found his instrument.
He also discovered that the Guild of Assassins School in Ankh-Morpork was selecting for candidates for its annual draft, of fully sponsored students to be trained overseas. There were eight places.
Ampie might have shrugged this off as something of minor interest, not of concern. Then he read about Ankh-Morpork and discovered there were lots of schools of music. Far more of them, and training people to a higher standard than Rimwards Howondaland could hope to match. With careers to be made as professional musicians.
Ampie looked down at the saxophone. People had expressed surprise that he could play so well, he had a feel for the thing, and he was self-taught, too.
Then he had an epiphany.
The Assassins' School taught music, didn't it? It had a really good reputation for its musical teaching? Okay, so it also taught people to kill people, but vorbei, you didn't have to practice afterwards, it wasn't compulsory. And it opened doors in Ankh-Morpork… and did he want to be a farmer the rest of his life, and a good bru and an oke in the team on a Saturday?
He started to pester his parents.
Resignedly, they sent off for the application forms.
"He's almost a farmer." his father had said. "He's almost a fifteen-a-side player. Ag, I do not think his heart is in it. And his older brother inherits. I'm not short of sons. If he wants to do this, wellnow, let's give him a go. Make a plan."
"And that's how the nickname started." Ampie said to Bekki. "Amper. Almost. People made it Ampie after a while."
And a not-quite-eleven-year-old Ampie had arrived for the six days of selection for one of those eight places. To find he was one of a hundred and eighty applicants. From all over the nation.
At that point in Ampie's narrative, Petulia's husband walked into the kitchen. He seemed unsurprised and unpeturbed to find it full of people.
"How-do." he said, sitting down at the table. "Bekki, love, I could use a cup of tea. Hear there was a bit of a commotion earlier?"
Bekki sighed.
"You could describe it that way, yes." she admitted. She made a pot of tea – another pot of tea – and briefly described the afternoon's events to Gouther Mossock. He listened, in his usual unperturbed sort of way.
"Can't say as how I'm surprised." he remarked. "Heard about Lawke's Drain once. Big fight there. Reckon you people is like Borogravians and Zlobenians. Happen, whenever you meet, there'll be a ruckus."
He looked on, reflectively. "Only it's easier to tell which side is which, as one lot talk funny with reet peculiar accents, and the other lot have got black skins. Handy, is that."
"Err…" Bekki said, uncertainly. Her look took in three of those people from forn parts what talk funny, with those reet peculiar accents. Ampie, Mina Steenhuis, and Luci van Tonder were trying not to look amused.
"May I introduce everybody?" Bekki said.
After a while, Petulia Gristle walked in. Johanna was with her.
"Right, I think that's all sorted out now." she said, amicably. She looked around at the large pots on the cooking range, and took in some very large bowls of side salad.
"You've all been busy. Thank you. Cup of tea, Jo…Doctor Smith-Rhodes? Thanks, Bekki. Anyway. Change of plan. I've been talking to Doctor Smith-Rhodes and to Miss Band. We're inviting the Zulu families who are resident locally. All of them. So you can all get to know each other. Socially. It's hard to pick a fight when people are eating together. Err. This is Lancre, after all. Difficult, but not impossible. And this being Lancre, you can just bet people are going to turn up who haven't actually been invited. In search of a free dinner. So I'm going to have to ask. Can we double the quantities? I'm sending out to the village stores in Pork Scratching for what's needed, if you can make a list, Bekki?"
She turned to Johanna. Bekki's mother said "Give me the bills, Mistress Gristle? I'm sure I can get it on Guild expenses. It is the courteous thing, efter all."
Bekki looked doubtful.
"Short notice." she said. "The stew in the pots should be done by eight. Not sure if I can guarantee a second batch can be done by then."
Ampie stepped forward.
"Mevrou Gristle, may I make a suggestion?" he asked. "Mr Mossock says he hes griddles in a storehouse here. You are a pork ferm. Bekki tells me she hes ettempted to make boerewois. I would like to try it. It should not be difficult to set up a braai."
"That's their word for a barbecue cook-out, the lad tells me." Gouther said. "It's a good idea, our Petulia. And that forn sausage Bekki was making looked the bee's knees."
Bekki reddened slightly. She'd asked Petulia if she could give it a try. It's a sort of pork and beef sausage with spicing. It needs to hang in a cold store for a day or two, but it's good. Might be a good line to sell in Ankh-Morpork, as there are so many Howondalandians there these days. She wasn't sure how good. It had been only her second go at making 'wois.
"Cen you build a braai, Mr Mossock?" Johanna asked. Gouther scratched his head.
"Ain't never seen one of them before, so I'm not reet sure." he said. "I can knock up a barbecue, though. The lad can help."
Johanna nodded.
The big poetjie stew, then. With braai. End slaai. Good, we hev a plen. Go with Mr Mossock, mr duPris."
Bekki put her head together with Petulia and they made a shopping list. They collected a couple of sacks each and grabbed their broomsticks, so as to get to the shop before it closed. Petulia felt they needed lots of bread to go with the barbecue meat and the meat stew. Johanna gave her daughter twenty dollars and instructions to being back some sort of itemised receipt.
And elsewhere, the repair job on the shield was completing. Famke had given up on the leatherworking tools as too impossibly blunt to cut holes in the thick hide for the stitching. She had produced a throwing knife with a very sharp point. Dabu had taken several steps backwards. He looked worried. Connie had done some reassuring, and guided Famke's hands.
"Got to keep the slots you're cutting absolutely in line with each other". She said. "And when you thread the long strips of hide through the holes you've got to keep it flat. Like bootlaces. The binding should be square and flat and tied really tight behind. That's good, you're getting the idea."
"Your mother makes these?" Famke asked. Connie nodded.
"Family thing. We're leatherworkers and shield makers. In the old days, a man going into an impi might have his shield made as a gift by the woman he loves, or a girlfriend who loves him…"
Famke noted the shy look that passed between Connie and Dabu. She reflected that Dabu was only, at most, a year or two older than Connie. She fought a mighty battle with herself and decided to say nothing. Just, you know, watch. This, she thought, might be fun.
"Making the shield is women's work, anyway. Symbolic, I suppose. And there are lots of impis and lots of men needing shields. It's how mum makes her living. Did I mention the colours are symbolic? People like Dabu start out in the youth impi with a completely plain shield in one colour. Usually very dark brown or black. Then after his first fight, he'll be issued a new shield with just a little bit of paler contrast, from a cow or ox that's more piebald. The old black shield gets passed down the line to a new recruit. The shields get paler the more fights you've been in. Till you see real old-time veterans with practically white bleached leather shields. Problem is, he's not in the impi at the moment, so he can't get a new one from his inzindula, and he'll just have to make do with his recruit shield, mended."
Dabu smiled, uncertainly.
"I thank you both." he said. "At least the mended tear will advertise that I was in a fight. And I lived."
"I wasn't doing it for your benefit." Famke said.
"It was a mighty blow, though. And I can say I fought my nation's deadly enemy in battle. And lived. I am no longer a raw recruit."
He paused, then gave Famke a speculative look.
"The deadly White Howondalandian foe, she who the little people named The Red Headache."
"Don't push it." Famke warned him. "Connie, what are you doing?"
Connie was speculatively examining a large piece of dark oxhide. It had a contrasting pattern of paler brown.
"I'm thinking. If we can get hold of a good thick pole to be the mgobo. We've got the hide. I can cut a shield to shape. We've got leather and gut strip for the bindings. Dabu really needs a new warrior shield. You know. To show he's been in battle."
"You can make a whole new one?" Dabu said, excitedly.
Connie looked back at him, shyly.
"Two or three hours work. Just needs a mgobo pole."
"A Zulu girl will often make the shield for a warrior she admires and quite fancies…" Famke said, in a low voice.
"Don't push it, Kay." Connie said.
Famke grinned.
"I'll go and scrounge up a pole, shall I? Gives you both a chance to be on your own together."
More coming. This is getting too long and the day is too late. The next bit will deal with Famke's talking-to from her mother and Alice Band. Readers who inquired about this were right. There will be one. And then, the Witch Trial. Got a few party pieces set up by various witches, and Nanny Ogg will be in it. Ampie has yet to meet her.
To be continued. Finally – the Witch Trials…
(1) Johanna understood these things. After all, Alice had been there to witness Johanna's embarrassing moment of over-confidence concerning a unicorn. Everybody slipped up, as an Assassin and general adventurer. If you were able to feel embarrassment over it later, you counted yourself lucky.
(2) after reflection, she decided it was an experiment that should remain theoretical. For now.
(3) Absolutely true. Only in this case it was the Spanish wife of the British governor of the Cape Colony. Their Dutch-African domestic servants had never before come across the idea somebody might want a meat-free breakfast, and were duly incredulous. Spaansespek is now a recognised Afrikaans word for any sort of melon.
(4) Mariella Smith-Rhodes and Rivka ben-Divorah encounter all three sorts in their Gap Year Adventure.
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.
Reply to PM from treader
Thank you! This is an underused aspect of the Ponder-Johanna marital dynamic: that when he's moved to be emphatic, she listens. I think once there was a moment where she was dropping with fatigue but wanted to keep on going: Ponder grabs her and physically carries her over to the bed, saying "no. Sleep!". And she doesn't argue or fight him off. I don't think he's come over as heavy with his daughters yet: but there's always going to be a first time. Probably with Famke. I quite want to explore the father-daughter dynamic here... glad you're enjoying the tale! When Real Life allows - have to earn a living too - there will be a next chapter. I have it roughly plotted. (resolution of the Battle of Highmost Pigmanhey, in which a little bit of Howondaland finds its way to Lancre. Or possibly a little bit MORE Howondaland.) Famke learns a lesson, bridges are built, an armistice is signed, lots of Feegle appear - haven't done much of the High Hog clan yet, save for Archie, Angus and by inference Kelda Peigi. And Bekki is Tried in front of a crowd. Also provisional ideas: Ruth (S-R-S) meets two Imps called Leominster and Jack. Who help advance a musical idea. The Thaumatological Park gets a "Bring our Daughters to Work Day" - Ruth gets to see some of the things her dad Ponder does for a living, and they fire her imagination. Shauna gets her first job after leaving school. Famke comes home for the summer hols. Bekki eventually ends up in the Watch barracks learning how to be a copper. Oh, and she gets to break Boetjie into an oddly-configured saddle. After Watch training, she goes to stay long-term with an aunt and uncle in Howondaland. It's all sketched out. I just need time to write it.
The Other Thing: that footnote where I made reference to recent events in Gaza. Some readers didn't like it. Errr. Fuller response later, but added this to my creator page on tvtropes…
The Rule Of Cautious Editing Judgement: The author does not want to lose readers and is always prepared to engage in discussion on the themes of his work. South Africa, as it used to be is fair game for comment as this is now pretty much history. As well as darkly, bleakly, funny. Modern Israel requires more care as the Big Issues are still current - so the portrayal of "Cenotia" skips the controversial bits and focuses more on what there is to like about that country and its people, especially the bits that even Israelis find absurd about themselves and are prepared to laugh at. Cenotia, for instance, has no "West Bank" or Gaza Strip - but it does have the, err, "Golem Heights". The wisdom of avoiding the controversies was recently proven when a single stray reference to events in the Gaza Strip - in a footnote - provoked flak from Israeli and pro-Israeli readers. While the author isn't going to delete that footnote any time soon and considers it justifiable in its context, this is possibly going to be the only time his thoughts on events in that part of the world are going to be aired in a Discworld context. Occasional digs at Donald Trump have also provoked critical response - but come on. That man could have been invented as a Discworld character...
One necessary correction: German radical left activist Berndt Andreas Baader was the one who died in a German prison in dubious circumstances involving an implausible suicide. I might have said it was Meinhoff who died this way: Ulrike Meinhoff weas the other, distaff, half of the Baader-Meinhoff Group. Who from this distance sound like a Krautrock experimental rock band along the lines of Kraftwerk...