Strandpiel 51
Gradeplegtigheid – Graduation
Advancing the story to the point where a natural break will occur, Book One can close, and Book Two will deal with Bekki's life in Howondaland. So closing all the closeable loose ends – for now.
Again, wondering why this is meandering and not quite getting there, and realised that with a cast of dozens all being obediently called forward for cameos just to show they're all in there… well, needs trimming, with a lot of stuff taken out and bunged into a "bonus bits" section at the end with the main piece trimmed to tell a more economical story. I may do this in a later update.
now on Version 0.4. Getting there. A double-length chapter requires lots of fine-tuning. But at least something is now out there. And long: 10,000+ words. I researched Cossack sabre dancing to try to get this bit right, and... wow. Just wow. YouTube has a horrible habit of preventing me from accessing a lot of Afrikaans music on the grounds that "this is copyright to UMG who have not made it available in your country" (bliksems). But it came up with some amazing videos of Cossack women doing the sabre dance and the moves. with one sword and with two. There's an amazing song that goes with it, more of a chant set to music, and that fires the blood in a way Bok van Blerk's "Afrikaanerhart" hymn did. All I know is that the phrase "Rus molodai" recurs a lot, and the Russian title going with it is something like Если девушка казачка - apparently meaning "If the girl is a Cossack". I did spot the "devyushka" in the middle there. This had to be honoured in the rewrite and the sabre dance thing has been expanded a little!
EDIT NOTE: The dance style is called "shashka", after the Cossack sabre. Opinion is divided: professional sword people admit it's showy and makes a great spectacle, but would have lmiited utility in combat as inevitably the two swords would get in each other's way, you could not keep it up for long in combat, and you're up against an unpredictable opponent who is capable of disrupting the rhythm and the beat, and causing things to go wrong if they know what to do. It is thought that this is a formal style originally used by Cossacks to show off and intimidate in a "see what we can do?" way. But in actual fighting they'd use one sword, as a suffiency, in the usual effective way. EDIT: there are YT videos of sword-masters in the British and French formal style who are quite critical, with good technical reason: one talks sniffily about the "moulinette" style of fighting, dismissing it as "windmilling". But come on, it looks incredible.
I also tracked down that blood-stirring song, perfromed by an outfit called VPK Klinok. (ВПК Клинок in Cyrillic, which opens up lots of YT videos) . Shows how little I know about things Russian despite being able to sound the words and read Cyrillic. The "rus molodai" song, meaning "young Russia", or "Russia is young", in the sense of "Russia is strong and virile", is called "Russkaya'rat". (Русская рать) Lyrics below. The strikingly witchy sword-dancer is called Kseira Rogers (Ксения Роджерс АНО Ранг), who performs under the name of "Rank (or Rang? The "г" in Russian is like the G-K heavily voiced guttural thing in Afrikaans...). She has you-Tube videos all of her own, and, damn, somebody who looks like that has to become a Discworld witch. As do the ones who look like Olga Korbut, but who swing a mean sabre.
As with Bok van Blerk's Afrikaans anthems - similarly capable of stirring the blood - it was disheartening to discover how this song has been hijacked by right-wingers and ultra-nationalist patriots. The song is also used as backing music to patriotic videos about, for instance, the Russian freedom fighters of the Eastern Ukraine. And by those who, in a mirror-image of people elsewhere in the world, intend to Make Mother Russia Great Again. Ah well. As I have Johanna Smith-Rhodes say somewhere, the most dangerous national anthems are not the dreary dirges about God Saving The Queen, they're the ones that truly do rouse and stir, that can sweep up even normally rational and clear-thinking people and incite them to do bad things out of a knowledge that they are in the right, their nation is great, and their people are God's anointed. So anything they do is right, God has said so.
But even so... the music stirs. Hole music, as TP said.
Finally – the Witch Trials…
The Meadows, Lancre:
Bekki had to feel sorry for Ampie. She realised he must be interested in her, given the fact he'd encountered so many hurdles on the way to establishing himself. It was sweet, really. In quick succession he'd run into so many things that must have had him asking "Am I that interested in Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons?" and thinking twice about her. But even after meeting… Bekki reflected and counted… "Mum. Grindguts. Auntie Heidi. My grandmother. My grandfather. My little sister Famke. Cousin Johanna. He still wants to be with me. Even after all that."
She allowed herself to think it was all quite sweet and romantic. It gave her a little warm sensation inside. And she smiled at him. Mum had said you really got to know a guy when he was prepared to go all-out for you and take risks. She said it was why she'd decided Dad was a good bet. Dad had had the kak scared out of him quite a few times when he'd started going out with Mum. But he'd stayed there. Mum – and Godsmother Alice – had even hinted he just might conceivably have saved their lives once, or something near to.(1) Bekki suspected her father had that in him, deep down. Nobody got to manage the High Energy Magic Building and get to be Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University – the second most powerful wizard on the Disc, Bekki reflected (if you didn't count Dean Henry at Brazeneck), and that's my actual dad – without having a core of steel at bottom. Or a bottom of steel at his core. Or something.
But, speaking of wizards….
"So you're the young fella!" Mustrum Ridcully boomed.
Bekki sighed.
Her other grandfather, the adoptive one, she supposed, but the one who ticked all the boxes and filled the space marked Grandfather – had flown in on Feegle-assisted magic carpet with the family party from Ankh-Morpork. Everybody, it seemed, wanted to attend the Witch Trials and be there when Bekki stepped into the accepted position of fully-fledged Witch, her five years of apprenticeship and training now pretty much over.
And now he was looming over Ampie, full of not-so-quiet threat and menace. His attitude did not seem friendly or sympathetic.
"I'm just bettin' that when she flew you in by broomstick, you were holdin' on a bit more closely than it called for!" Ridcully remarked.
Bekki sighed. There were advantages and nice things about having a guy you liked flying pillion with you, certainly. She hadn't complained.
Ampie smiled an uncertain smile.
"There are unspoken rules to this sort of thing, certainly, sir." he replied. "En etiquette governs travelling elongside a witch es her passenger. I did esk Rebecka whet is eppropriate. Perheps, sir, you yourself may have trevelled es pillion passenger to a Witch? You will know whet is correct."
Ridcully glowered down for a second. Then he looked faraway for a second or two. Bekki smiled slightly. She had mentioned to Ampie that witches and wizards had a code of practice in these things and she'd even cited Mistress Weatherwax, mayhersoulhavemercyontheGods, as an exemplar, explaining she'd heard Ridcully had been her passenger a few times. Ampie had remembered, then.
"Clever young bugger, aren't you?" Ridcully said, eventually. His eyes narrowed. "Well, Rebecka's parents seem to have accepted you. But know this, boy. I'm her grandfather, as good as. Like me friend Barbarossa over here."
He nodded to Bekki's other grandfather, Mum's dad. Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes nodded back, in an unsmiling sever sort of way. Suddenly Bekki felt sorry for Ampie. Both her grandfathers. At once. And looming.
"Mess with her, and I know lots of interestin' ways to make life eventful for you. Lots of ways."
He nodded to Ampie. Then turned to his friend. apparently the first time they'd met had been at Mum and Dad's wedding. They'd hit it off, and things had suddenly got lively. They'd then gone out hunting a rogue lion together on the Veldt and bonded. Over huntin', drinkin', and dubious song in two languages. Oupa Barbarossa and Grandfather Mustrum had become fast friends.
"Barbarossa. Place like this always has a beer tent. And they brew good beer in this country. Comin'?"
Bekki saw the hint of disapproval that passed over her grandmother's face.
"Not to excess, Andreas." she said, firmly. Ouma Agnetha knew there was no point in putting her foot down. Justnow, anyway.
"We'll take the boykies." Barbarossa said, genially. "Ponder. Danie. Gaan nou ons bier!" They did not invite Ampie. He seemed relieved at this.
He nodded at Ampie. Meaningfully. Bekki noted that her father gave Ampie an acknowledging and somewhat sympathetic look. Uncle Danie grinned his usual "all's-well-with-the-world" grin. Ampie wasn't entirely without allies.
This time Bekki saw the slightly troubled look on Auntie Heidi's face. She went to join the family party. It would be complete when Mum and Godsmother Alice turned up with the travelling Assassin party. They were expected any time now.
"Today you become, officially, a Witch." her grandmother remarked. "And deservedly, too, liewe heksie!"
"Your Final Run, so to speak." Auntie Heidi agreed. "Well, you think we'd all stay away?"
Bekki felt warmed. The whole family would indeed be here. Even Ruth, who'd been excused school for the day.(2) Her youngest sister was agonising about what to draw first, in a day full of spectacle to delight the artist. Her travelling bag of art supplies had come with her, and she'd been deliberating as to what to do. Eventually she'd opted for a simple pad and pencils and she was engrossed in doing fast sketches of things that took her interest. There was a lot to be selective about.
"You brought Matti." Bekki said, nodding towards pram and nanny. Auntie Heidi nodded. She'd had qualms about loading a pram on board something as flimsy as a flying carpet, asking what would happen if it rolled off? Irena Politek, who had been piloting the towing Pegasus, had reassured her and advised her to lock the brakes on and have people holding it in place. Heidi had carried Matti, anyway. Just in case.
All three winced as they heard loud familiar voices carrying from the direction of the beer tent. There were a lot of people here. Over a thousand, now. The Witch Trials were a popular and much anticipated event. But Mustrum Ridcully and Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes had voices that carried. Even in a place where local Trolls had turned up; they were Lancre people too.(3)
"Sounds like Grandfather Mustrum's met somebody he knows." Bekki remarked. "Another Wizard, by the sound of it."
"Your grandfather had better behave himself." Ouma Agnetha said, sternly. "Both of them, not just the one I'm married to."
Bekki reassured her. The Witch Trials were specifically a Witch thing. Wizards weren't barred. It was reluctantly acknowledged that there should be a Wizard or two present. Just so they could watch and take note. Bekki suspected it allowed for informal discussions between, perhaps, Arch-Chancellor Ridcully and Mistress Tiffany Aching concerning matters of mutual concern. Dad and Mrs Ogg were likely to be involved too. Informal diplomacy. But any Wizard with half a brain would realise this was a Witch day, and tread carefully, aware of being a guest, and seek not to give offence or be a nuisance. If you added in Eddie de Kockomaainje, Olga's husband, there'd be no more than three or four. Among quite a few hundred Witches. So they'd keep a low profile. She reflected that Dean Henry had attended once, and was now blacklisted forever as a guest, by universal decree of witchdom.
"Edouard is here?" her grandmother said. She seemed interested.
"Ja, ouma." Bekki replied. "Olga will be here, somewhere. I haven't seen her yet. She must be here with the Pegasus Service, for the Review. And perhaps to compete as a Witch. I remember she said she had something planned. She intended to bring her husband and her children."
Ouma Agnetha brightened.
"Such lovely children." she said, approvingly. "And well brought up, too. I must see them."
Elsewhere on the field, the local pub, the Goat and Compasses, had set up its annual out-station in a very large marquee. Even at nine-thirty in the morning it was doing steady business. The Smith-Rhodes family party, or at least the senior men, had gravitated towards, it in the manner of iron filings to a magnet. Professor Sir Ponder Stibbons nursed his beer shandy. He wasn't used to drinking this early in the day, even though he'd been a Wizard since before his adult life had started, and should be used to it by now.(4) He could, however, smell something tantalisingly familiar and more in keeping with his particular sort of Wizardry. Various food stalls were setting up. Cooking odours were spreading. There was, for instance, a travelling Brindisian enterprise that toured venues like this and had a mobile pizza oven. Ponder also suspected an Ephebian food wagon had set up; he could smell doner kebab being set up on its rotating spit, probably a large leg of monopedos rabbit.(5) He sighed, resignedly, and watched the people around him.
Even in Lancre, it seemed, Danie Smith-Rhodes was being recognised as a famous hand-and-foot-the-ball player. He was cheerfully signing autographs, posing for iconographs, talking the Game with local players, and diplomatically fending off offers of drinks, pointing out that his wife - and mother – were nearby and might have things to say if he got cheerfully drunk by mid-day. Besides, the day wasn't about him, his niece was competing at the Witch Trials, and he wanted to be halfway sober for that. Her big day.
"Aye, Miss Rebecka." a fan said, soberly. "Been our assistant Witch in Pork Scratching for nigh on a year now. Bit different. Must be with half of her being from the same forn parts you're from. We're hoping she stays. Bloody good with livestock, Miss Rebecka."
Ponder envied Danie his easy ability to get on with people and to be at home wherever he was. He also appreciated hearing people speaking well of Bekki. That sort of thing made him proud.
And then…
"EARWIG!" Ridcully bellowed. "You old BASTARD!"
Ponder saw the short fat elderly Wizard who'd just walked in visibly wince. He rocked as Ridcully clapped him on the back.
The long thin woman dressed in fussy black looked as if something disgustingly offensive was looming in front of her.
"Actually, it's pronounced Ee-ah-weeg-AH…" she began.
Ridcully beamed genially at her.
"Brought the missus, I see, Earwig!" he bellowed. "Nice to see you, Lettuce! Keepin' him healthy, I trust? Now get a BEER down you, old man, yer hand's empty!"
Ponder shook his head. He knew who the Earwigs were. A Wizard, nominally retired, who'd married a witch with big ideas. Bekki had mentioned her, in the context of "There has to be one, Dad. Somebody into all the frilly bits and the showy gimmicks and the flounces. And to be fair, some of it actually works."
They'd retired to Lancre, where Doctor Earwig had been getting on with some quiet non-practicing research, the theoretical stuff, and supported his wife as best he could whilst she tried to shake up the stuffy old-fashioned world of Witchcraft. Which didn't want to be shaken up or reformed or restructured. It didn't stop her trying, Bekki had said. "We just let her get on with it, and the older witches send her the odd pupil. Miss Tick says it's usually the sort of girl who can do least damage if she gets sent to Mrs Earwig to get her out of the way, and she can usually be retrained later, on the quiet."
Ridcully led Doctor Earwig to the makeshift bar, listening with half an ear to Mrs Earwig loudly insisting that as her husband was going to be an impartial member of the judging panel later, she completely disapproved of his being given strong drink so early in the day.
"And a gin and tonic or perhaps a sherry for you, Lettuce, m'dear?" Ridcully asked, genially. "Get it down you, old man! Remember those nights in the Drum with the chaps? Great days! Oh, and this is m'friend from Howondaland, Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes. Got two gels who are Assassins, a son who's a damn fine foot-the-ball-player, that's young Danie over here, fellow after me own heart, and more to the point, his grand-daughter's a young Witch, Lettuce probably knows her? Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, based over Pork Scratching way in the high hills…"
Lettice Earwig sniffed. There was a tinkling of occult jewellery.
"Oh, yes. The Howondalandian girl. Good with pigs, I hear."
Barbarossa looked at her.
"Vorbei, a fine skill to have!" he proclaimed. "Good with other animals, too. A good girl with stock. Still, she is a Boer, from a long line of Boers. Be more surprising if she was not. End a grend-daughter I em proud of!"
Ponder decided to step in. He suspected Lettice Earwig might have a few unwise prejudices about colonials.
"Doctor Earwig." he said, shaking the older Wizard by the hand. "I'm pleased to have met you at long last. I owe you a lot of thanks, and I'm sure when you meet Doctor de Kockamaainje when he arrives, he'll tell you so too. You – and your wife – made it possible. For Wizards to marry. You paved the way. You got younger wizards thinking differently and realising this is possible. If not for you, I might perhaps still be single. Thank you."
As he hoped, this diverted the flow. He made a mental note to prime Johanna and her family to be understanding. He'd got the undercurrent of bloody colonials from Mrs Lettice Earwig, and feared if he didn't step in, it might be like the thing between Bekki and her History teacher at school, or at worst a footnote to the Boor War.
Doctor Earwig looked a little embarrassed at the praise. He looked at his wife, then at Ponder. Ponder wondered if Earwig was thinking, deep down inside, he might have been better advised to remain single.
"Thank you, Professor Stibbons." the old wizard said, after a reflective silence. "If it helps, when the Lore was rewritten to allow Wizards to marry and remain in practice - I believe to accomodate you and your good lady wife - it enabled me to come out of retirement and to practice again, for which I have to thank you. I understand you are Vice-Chancellor these days?"
Ponder and Ridcully were both dressed in good street clothes, with only the pointy hat and the Unseen alumni octagram badge advertising their status. Earwig, uncomfortably on what promised to be a hot day, was in the gaudiest possible wizarding robes, with staff. He was already beginning to sweat. Ponder suspected Mrs Earwig had insisted on full regalia.
"Sir Ponder Stibbons." Mrs Earwig said. She looks uncertain, possibly as to whether to curtsey, or something. "His Lordship made you a Knight?"
"Yes, at Hogswatch." Ponder replied. "But please. Just Ponder. And when you meet my wife later - she tends not to answer to Lady Stibbons. Very much."
Barbarossa – and Danie – roared with laughter. They knew too about Johanna's reactions to being a Ladyship. Danie teased her about it. Little Brother Privileges applied.
And outside, the King and Queen of Lancre were due to arrive soon, to formally open the proceedings.
Meanwhile a sort of Diplomacy was happening in one section of the growing crowd. The first of the Zulu families temporarily resident in Lancre were arriving to enjoy the day. Bekki had winced inside, remembering recent events, but the two family parties had assessed each other cautiously. Then Auntie Heidi had made the first step. She and one of the Zulu women were now comparing recent babies. Ouma Agnetha had joined in. Some things are universal even without much of a common language. Bekki did some translating, but not much was needed: childcare was happening. And Bekki looked closely. Her cousin Mattewis, only a few weeks old, wasn't wearing conventional baby clothes. He was in a scaled -down Bokkies jersey, in green with gold trim. Right down to the springboek-and-protea emblem on the front.
"I'm just betting he's got the number ten on his back?" Bekki asked her aunt. Auntie Heidi made a shrug.
"What can you do? Danie got it for him. Starting him young, evidently. And his father plays in the number ten shirt. Fly-half." (6)
Bekki had to admit her cousin looked cute and adorable in the shirt. He spoilt it a little by audibly belching and farting.
"Definitely his father's son." Bekki said.
"No question." Auntie Heidi agreed. She frowned. "None of the Zulu men are here yet?"
Bekki sighed. "Long story. Listen…"
And the Assassins' School party arrived, on foot. Bekki and Ampie went to join them.
"So. No Zulu men here?" Johanna Smith-Rhodes asked. Alice Band was looking over to where members of the various Feegle clans had gathered, in a place of their own – nobody else wanted to contest it – with the intention of loudly cheering on their own clan Hags. A group of Keldas had gathered, somewhere in the middle, to talk Kelda business, and just get together. The life of a Kelda offered few opportunities to convene like this, among friends, and often with sisters or even mothers. A respectfully guarded space had opened around them. The gentle slope offering a good view of the performance arena was known as Feegle Hill. Godsmother Alice just looked watchfully wary, Bekki realised. As well she might. Bekki noticed one of the Feegle was, inconguously, larger and wiider than the rest and was bright green. Grindguts was among his adopted clan, then: the demon stood out from a long way away.
"They're coming later, mum." Bekki said. "With the King. Do you want me to go and very carefully explain to Famke? If at all possible, to disarm her first?"
Johanna shook her head. They regarded the Assassin pupils; the girls in the party had clustered, squealing with excitement, to say hello to Mrs Smith-Rhodes and to get to see her baby son for the first time. Auntie Heidi was allowing them access. Favoured girls even got to hold him for a while; Famke was, for the moment, being normally twelve-year-old female and enjoying the occasion.
"We've had words." she said. "With Famke and the others. Prince Yazu – ex-prince Yazu – is explaining it to his people too. Ag, the man is Ruth N'Kweze's brother, so he is not entirely stupid. It should be a fine day."
Johanna looked at her daughter with an expression of pride.
"You'll do well. It's good to be here."
And then there were the strangled notes of what optimistically aspired to be a fanfare. Bekki and Johanna looked round to where Shawn Ogg, Herald to the King of Lancre, was wrestling notes out of one of those long trumpets with a banner dangling from the handle. Bekki also saw Ampie wince, and for a moment his face developed the sort of little twitch that Mum said the Guild School's music master got a lot.
Then Ampie walked over to Shawn, tapped him on the shoulder, and made a request. Shawn Ogg, nonplussed, handed him the instrument.
A second or two later, Lancre heard an expertly played royal fanfare.
"Ag, he's a horn player." Johanna remarked. "You cannot blame him for wanting to hear it done right."
Bekki then glanced over to where Auntie Heidi, who had been primed, rested a hand on Famke's shoulder and restrained her. Her aunt then said something fairly emphatic into Famke's ear. The other White Howondalandian pupils looked on, visibly nervous, but making no move towards weapons. They'd been told too.
And the expectant crowd, a couple of thousand big by now, gasped as a double-file of Zulu warriors double-marched into the roped-off arena, their shields and assegais raised. They fanned out to make a processional route.
Then King Verence and Queen Magrat of Lancre walked into the arena space.
"The Ceremonial Guard Impi of the King and Queen of Lancre." Bekki said. She recognised Dabu among the Guard, whose youngest member appeared to be only around eleven. Dabu, she noted, was holding a brand-new shield, with an intact hide. Bekki glanced over: she noted the look that passed between Dabu and the Assassin schoolgirl, Connie Muthelezi.
Her mother had noted it too.
"She'll have to wait a few years." Johanna said, drily. "She might be able to marry at home at thirteen, but we're not geared up for pupils who can put a "mrs" in front of their name. Poses problems."
"Assuming they still want to in a few years." Bekki replied.
"That is a consideration, ja." her mother agreed.
The King and Queen moved to the dais prepared for them. Being Lancre, it was made up of old produce boxes stacked together and hastily nailed into a supporting framework, then covered in drapes to make it look like the real deal. Bekki had seen it being built.
Verence and Magrat sat, very carefully. The King waited for his new royal guardsmen to reassemble to one side of the temporary throne, then read a prepared speech with great precise dignity. The effect, Bekki thought, was spoilt by the fact only a small section of the crowd could hear it, and there was a low susurration made up of people obligingly repeating the King's speech and passing it on down the line. By the time it got to Bekki, it had become something like "We all come to the Swatch bridles". She gathered the King had welcomed everyone and opened the show, anyway.
And then the Trials truly began.
Shawn Ogg had somehow, and belatedly, got hold of one of the new amplifying megaphones with an imp in it, so as to relay his words, and the first of the witches came forward to do her piece…
"When are you on?" Mum asked.
"Early afternoon." Bekki replied. "Mrs Earwig has got the running order."
She nodded towards the judging podium. Judges had been Mrs Earwig's idea. Other Witches had vetoed the idea of their holding up numbered scorecards, which went against the spirit of the thing. In any case, Verence and Magrat were also Judging. Both would take the democratic verdict of Witchcraft into consideration. Especially Magrat, who was very likely to consult people like Nanny Ogg and Tiffany Aching first.
There was a round of dutiful applause as Miss Perennia Harpenden finished her routine, which had involved trained ravens. Perrenia, a Witch whose black was now unavoidably streaked with off-white, was rounding up her performing birds with the promise of fresh eyeballs.
Then there was a stirring in the audience as a large horse-box was driven on and quite a few large ostlers wrestled an even larger stallion into the arena. Shawn Ogg was seen to consult a written note.
Can't make this bit out… hold on a minute. Got it now! Your Majesties, and visiting Sirs and Ladies, Mr Arch-Chancellor Ridcully, Sir Ponder Stibbons and Lady Johanna Stibbons(7), Ladies and Gentlemen, trolls, dwarves, goblins, and Feegle… you are now about to witness Miss Sophie Rawlinson demonstrating the practical uses of the Horseman's Word! With the assistance of Mr Thaddeus Hobley's latest stallion, Black Death On Legs, out of Evil Beldame, by Demon Lord…
"This should be interesting." Barbarossa observed, as Sophie walked out into the arena. "That fellow looks like a mean horse indeed."
"Ja. But I've met Sophie. She would not be doing this if she were not confident." Johanna replied.
Sophie motioned for the ostlers to let go of the restraining reins. They gratefully released the horse and ran for cover. Black Death On Legs still tried to bite, on general principles. Then the huge snorting stallion saw Sophie and its ears flattened. It neighed, reared and lunged.
Sophie took a step forward and folded her arms. She looked up at the horse, without fear. It reared up in front of her and tried to club its forelegs down. Sophie looked up, dispassionately.
The horse never made contact. Its hooves seemed to bounce off some feet in front of Sophie and it skidded off to one side. Then lowered its head and charged. Again it ran into the invisible wall.
Mustrum Ridcully laughed.
"Gel's called up protection!" he remarked. "Damn good, too! There are wizards she'd put to shame with that!"
Sophie allowed the horse to vary its attacks and directions, turning to face it every time, allowing it to burn off its energy on whatever shield she was using. Then she walked unconcernedly up to the panting, blown, stallion, reached up and took the bridle in her hand, pulling its head down to her. She lifted an ear and whispered to it. The stallion blinked. Sophie nodded and repeated whatever she had said.
Suddenly a docile stallion allowed her to mount and ride it bareback. It tried a token buck, but Sophie leant forward and whispered into its ear again. There was no more resistance after that. She took her new mount for a couple of turns around the ring, calling a cheerful hello to Bekki as she passed. On the next turn she paused at Bekki's party.
"Just thought of something." she said. "Ruthie? Do you fancy a ride? If your mum says you can, of course."
Ruth Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons looked up. Like her sisters she'd been taught to ride, although she'd never been on anything bigger than a pony yet. Sophie knew this.
Johanna made a quick decision.
"Ok." she said. "I trust you, Sophie."
Ruth was quickly lifted up to sit in front of Sophie, by her grandfather. And then the two did another turn round the field. Where Sophie got off and had another quick word with the horse, indicating where Johanna was standing. The stallion appeared to get the point.
"All yours, Ruth." Sophie said.
And the small girl on the back of the big horse looked down, and changed in some indefinite way. Sitting up straighter and with a lot more confidence and assurance.
"I'm Anri-Yolande." she said. "Ruth's still here, but she's a passenger."
Then Anri-Yolande took the reins, and cantered the now docile stallion round the field for a lap… and there was thunderous applause. Anri-Yolande Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons, without fear or timidity, hopped off the back of the horse easily, took the reins, then acknowledged the crowd. With, Sophie noted, the Witch's bow. She passed control back to Sophie.
"I should let Ruth take charge again." Anri-Yolande said. "That was fun, by the way. Thank you."
Sophie took a deep breath and looked round. Yes. Agnes Nitt was here. She had an idea of what was going on from talking to Bekki. Sophie breathed out, took the acknowledgement of the crowd, and nodded for Agnes to come forward. She'd know what to do…
Miss Sophie Rawlinson! Who knows the secret of the Horseman's Word! (pause) Oh, and the little girl what came forward to help, wasn't she good!
More witches came forward to perform. Sophie attached herself to the Smith-Rhodes family party and accepted congratulations.
"Believe me, it wasn't so difficult." Sophie said, modestly, but indistinctly. Johanna's family servants had accompanied the party. It had been a big magic carpet. Dorothea had packed several large food and drink hampers, and she and the other servants were appreciating what amounted to a working holiday. Everybody wanted to be there on Miss Rebecka's big day. Food and drink was circulating.
"Maar, you were impressive!" Barbarossa said. "Hed to edmit to a bit of worry when you put Ruth on thet creature's beck. But she did well too. A girl to be proud of!"
He looked at Sophie's tunic and saw the gold and silver bees that were pinned there. He recognised what they were.
"Care to tell me ebout those, meisie?" he asked. "You do not see those very often on people with a white skin."
Sophie explained. She added, modestly, that when you've faced down a naga, an unbroken stallion isn't so bad. And the Horseman's Word helps, too.
"So you saw bettle. Elongside the Zulus." Barbarossa said. Bekki and Sophie recognised the undercurrent in his words. White people fighting on the side of the heriditary enemy...
"I fought for Ruth." Sophie said, making the distinction clear. "The Princess. She has that effect on people. You want to fight for her. Afterwards, her father rewarded me. so did Ruth. I might go out there and work for her for a while. See practice in Howondaland."
Barbarossa shook his head. He grinned. Bekki reflected that her grandfather quite liked Ruth N'Kweze.
"Wellnow. I'm only just over the river. You'd be welcome." he said. "Whetever BOSS thinks concerning your crossing the border. I would not tell. Vorbei, there's always a difficult horse or two."
Sophie thanked him and reached for another sandwich. Bekki understood. Magic made you hungry. And Dorothea's home cooking was preferable to some of the sub-Dibbler offerings being peddled here.
There was a ceremonial fly-past from the Pegasus Service. Every rider in the Service, given leave for the day by Vetinari, was here. And every Pegasus, including two riderless mounts who were following along behind their dam. Bekki and Sophie shivered with excitement. It wouldn't be long now. A month or two. They watched King Verence taking the salute from the dais, and went to take their own places, at the end of the line, the two novice pilots yet to be sworn into the Service. The only two who were in plain Witch clothes and standard pointy hats; all the other riders were in their rarely-worn full dress uniforms. With, of course, the pointy hat worn by the Service, the swept-back aerodynamic design.
Captain Olga Romanoff walked with the King and Queen as they made their Review. Verence took care to have a few words with each pilot. He was the Colonel-In-Chief, after all. Finally he came to Boetjie and Rosie, the two colts, and their riders.
"Our newest pilots, Your Majesty. Yet to be trained. And the two colts."
Bekki stood at Boetjie's head-stall. She exchanged a few words with the King and Queen. Bekki was aware of iconographs being taken and her family looking on with quiet pride. Then they moved on to Sophie. Afterwards, Bekki could recall nothing more than the honest and slightly worried face of the King, and Magrat's air of "I'm not so much a Queen, more of a working Witch in a crown."
And then it was over, the Pegasi flying back to the Air Station after their demonstration, Rosie and Boetjie, for now, with them.
And Apricity Brabble stepped up to perform…
The shy, quiet young Witch took off her boots and socks, with great deliberation. She lifted each foot in turn to demonstrate that it was bare. Then she stood, composed herself and stepped forward, beginning a circuit of the ground, walking widdershins. Nothing happened for a while and the crowd began to murmur. But in her path, where she had walked, budding plants sprouted from the ground. They grew quickly. Mustrum Ridcully whistled appreciation, as the growing plants matured into wheat and barley. He nudged Ponder Stibbons and Edouard de Kockamaainje. They'd all seen the octarine glow forming round the girl as she walked.
"That's ped fecundis!" Ridcully remarked. "The gel's got ped fecundis! Ye Gods, Stibbons, that's an advanced eighth-level spell!"
Elsewhere there was a shout of "Don't waste that! Harvest it!", but Apricity walked on, oblivious to the crowd, eventually coming back to her starting point and recovering her boots and socks. She shook herself out of the trance, then donned her footwear again. Inevitably, she found herself with Bekki and Sophie, being offered food from the family hampers and eating prodigally.
"Don't suppose you cen do fruit, could you?" Danie Smith-Rhodes asked her. "I quite fency a mango or a guava or something elong those lines."
Apricity shook her head.
"For some reason it works best with cereal crops for me." she said. "Wheat and rye and oats and barley. Spelt, too, for some reason."
They watched the hiatus in proceedings whilst scythes and reaping tools were employed for the sudden bounty.
"Better watch that." Sophie said. "Round here, they'll all want you walking barefoot in the fields as often as possible."
Apricity shook her head again.
"Doesn't work for all that long." she said. "I was lucky to make it once round the field. It wears off." She paused, and asked "Got any more of those sweet sticky cakes?"
"Heunigkoeken?(8) Help yourself. Got melktert, too." Bekki said. Apricity was eating enough for three. It figured: she'd just called nearly half an acre of corn into being where previously there hadn't even been seeds. The energy for that had to come from somewhere, just as it had for Sophie's magical shield that had bamboozled a moody stallion. As it had funnelled through Apricity, Bekki reckoned she deserved a lot of sweet sugary cake as a fast way of replenishing the energy. And melktert,(9) one of the great staples of Rimwards Howondaland. Bekki explained it was mainly condensed milk with added sugar, and - normally - quite fattening.
And the day progressed. She noted that with witches of many nationalities, now, it was taking on an air of international competition. She sighed. She'd be seen as representing Rimwards Howondaland, inevitably. There were an inevitable writer-of-news or two here, with iconographs. And news articles travelled a long way these days. They got syndicated. (10)
A young Quirmian witch with an insouciant air demonstrated how to turn water into wine. Bekki explained to Uncle Danie, who was speculating on inviting her to a Bokkies' after-game social to see if she could do it with beer, that the effect didn't last long. It would persist for just long enough, and then inertia would set in and it would revert to water. Or else, for anyone who drank it, as several willing volunteers did to testify to the spell, it would, in the normal course of events, become something akin to fairy gold. Well, a golden-coloured liquid, anyway.
There was the Überwaldean witch who did something involving sausages, der Schweinstrick. A Brinsdisian witch made a small tree sprout an unexpected spaghetti crop. Bekki sighed. They were giving the crowd what they wanted to see and being funny foreigners.
Then Olga, Irena and several of the younger Far Überwaldean witches did a group performance. It was spectacular. Olga and Irena had changed out of their dress uniforms and put on what Bekki gathered was folk dress.(11) As had the younger witches. A group of Dwarves who Bekki recognised were ground-crew at the air station joined them, as did Miss Agnes Nitt. The Dwarfs were also wearing Far Überwaldean costume, including tall conical fur hats which still managed to have horns in them. Balalaikas of various sorts were being brandished.
"Ah. Folk dancing is about to be perpetrated." Alice Band remarked.
The six witches formed two lines, facing each other. Agnes and the short wide Dwarf looked at each other to cue each other in. A balalaika stuck up a chord. Then the singing began. And the dancing, first slow and sedate as three pairs of witches performed a slow expressive circling movement. Bekki observed that Olga and Irena were dressed in loose trousers and high riding boots with loose smock tunics, as if they were dancing the mens' parts: the other Witches were in long loose skirts and more conventionally female dress. Apart from one, a woman in her twenties who Bekki did nort recognise and could not put a name to, who was also in trousers and boots, but wearing a long loosely belted coat. That figures. Three to dance the women's parts, three to dance the mens'. Agnes and the Dwarf performed the song in duet.
Калинка, калинка, калинка моя!
В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя!
Bekki knew the song. She explained to her family and friends it was the one where the singer is apparently praising the beauty and the taste of the raspberries growing in his garden, then proceeds to eat his fill of them, and falls asleep, satisfied and happy, underneath a green shady pine tree standing erect and proud in the summer sun.
"Ah." Godsmother Alice said, grasping the point. "That sort of traditional song."
"Does Nanny Ogg know about this one?" Sophie asked.
Bekki nodded. Nanny Ogg collected songs like this. They weren't just a Lancre thing. Even if the original composer had honestly only had the beauty, perfection and tart sweetness of summer raspberries in mind, Nanny Ogg would find another meaning. And put it there, even if it had never been intended. And after getting the Ogg translation, nobody would ever, again, think it was just about raspberries.
The dancing got faster and faster as the song repeated, and, indeed, involved a lot of the squatting-down-on-an-imaginary-stool and kicking your legs out. Skirts flew and legs were briefly exposed. It was spectacular, it was eye-catching, but as yet involved no magic. Apart from the fact Agnes Nitt could be a small choir on her own. It was her witch skill, applied to music.
As applause died down, Olga Romanoff called to the crowd that this was only warming up. She then called for the swords to be brought out. Two Dwarfs appeared with an arm-load of sabres which were distributed to the dancers. Six seemingly spare ones were laid, carefully, in the grass, just so. Then Olga announced that their little company would now perform the Sabre Dance of the Steppe Cossacks. These are Cossack sabres, by the way. Cossacks do not do blunt swords. Very sharp, and very pointy. She illustrated the point by chopping through a stick one of the younger witches held up.
And then the sword dance, beginning slow and speeding up, began. As the six Witches danced and spun and the swords flashed and clashed, six more swords rose from the grass on their own. And their movements perfectly mirrored the movement of the swords being used by the dancers. Just in flashing brief glimpses, Bekki was sure there were twelve dancers out there, not just six… she appreciated the sheer focus and concentration going on. Just using a sharp sword in a dance would be difficult enough. Each of the witches, she realised, was also controlling a second blade, effectively either being in two places at once, or else moving very quickly between them. And then the sixth witch, the one in the loosely belted long black coat, topped it all by using two swords, one in each hand. They flashed and spun and wove intricate patterns in the air. and over to her left, two swords flashed and spun in unison, despite seemingly having nobody to wield them. this provoked tremendous applause. The Assassin party looked on appreciatively. Bekki reckoned they liked this sort of thing. Professional interest. She wondered if Auntie Emmie knew about this. Her maiden name translated out of Quirmian as Madame Two-Swords, after all. It was Auntie Emmie's trademark. And here was another woman using two swords as if she'd been born to it...
There was another song, lead vocals alterating between the principal Dwarf and Agnes, with the Dwarf musicians provising a chorus. Agnes would say later "Thank you, but I only learn the words and how to voice them properly. It's like opera: you can either perform it or you learn what the words mean. Take it from me, you don't do both." The song was more of a chant, really. But it stirred. bekki could pick up a few words and the odd phrases, but not much more. it was the overall effect that counted. Mesmerising. Iit called to the blood.
Русь молодая, сердцу дорого,
Да не пристало нам сидеть по хатам
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Ros molodai... something about youth and vigour and strength and vitality... and calling for the swords...
She heard Eddie de Kockamaaijne explaining to their twin children "This is why I don't argue with Mummy." Vasily and Valentina looked seriously up at him, then nodded. Valentina Romanoff de Kockamaainje watched the dancers with excited concentration. Eddie saw his daughter's hands following the movements of the sword-play and winced slightly. Bekki smiled. She had an intuition what Valla was going to want for her next birthday. A couple of matching shakshas, probably. Ah well. Mum's got a couple of sets up on the wall... and Rivka ben-Divorah uses that sword for preference. She'll have spares too...
And by the look on his face, Jason Ogg the blacksmith was saying to Bert Weaver the Thatcher that if the Lancre Morrismen ever played an international against Far Überwald, it was going to be one bloody hard match… I mean, Bert, that's a ladies' team. Imagine the men?
After that, the witch from Fourecks had a hard act to follow. But everybody agreed it was right impressive, the way she got them two sheep to shear each other. Agriculturally based magic always got a round of applause in Lancre.
Petulia Gristle did the Pig Trick. That one never grew old. Even Agnetha Smith-Rhodes nodded and said "Impressive."
Then Nanny Ogg went on to do her party piece, the Straw Man. Everybody agreed that where she chose to put that last ear of corn was allus good for a laugh. Especially if she chose that Acerian stuff called maize for this bit. You know, the full corncob. Bekki noted her grandmother looked sternly disapproving. Until she cracked a smile. And shook with supressed laughter.
And then Bekki realised the time for her own performance was coming up. She thought she'd be going on straight after Nanny Ogg. Oh, hell. How do I follow that?
And then Nanny came over to them all, in her usual unhurried bouncy way with a great big grin on her face.
"How do, Bekki, love!" she said. "Sorry I ain't made time to say hello yet, but there's a lot to do here. Lots of people to see. People to speak to. You know how it is. Witch business."
Bekki assured her. Then she realised Ampie's personal trials weren't over yet, and braced herself.
"Why don't I introduce you to my family…" she said, taking a big deep breath. "You've met Mum, of course. And Uncle Danie. This is my sister Famke…"
"Ah." Nanny said, giving Famke a long appraising look. "The lively one, as I hears."
Famke seemed uncomfortable under a surface look of wide-eyed innocence. Nanny Ogg's appraising looks - well, they appraised. Finally she nodded, grinned, and turned away. Then Nanny beamed with delight and gave Danie a big hug.
"Learnt any new songs since we met last?" she whooped. "And, ooh, you got yourself a little babby boy, let me see!"
Nanny was diverted for a while, cooing over Matti and discussing babies with Auntie Heidi and Ouma Agnetha.
"By the way, Bekki, love, we decided it ain't fair for anyone to go on straight after me." she said. "Got a bit of an entertainment coming up. Just to break it up. So you've got ten minutes or so. Ah, who's a big beautiful baby boy, then? Did you get two other witches sorted out yet for the wishes, Bekki? I can see you put yours on this ickle love… to know himself and to know where he came from. Important, that is. Well thought of, Bekki. Ten pounds, love? First baby? Well, at least the next one should pop out easier. You know, your next son. Now his big brother's paved the way, so to speak. Take it from me. I've had fifteen. My Jason weighed eleven. They was all easy, after him."
Then she saw Ampie. Her face screwed up in a classic Nanny Ogg rictus.
"Ooh, Bekki, you got yourself a follower, then?"
The next few minutes were full of the usual sort of single entendres and big friendly nudges into Ampie's ribs. He looks siege-engine shocked, Bekki thought.
"Anyway, you look after our girl." Nanny said, in a friendly way. "As I tell the youngsters, always make time for a good man. And if you can't find one of those, the occasional not so good man does, in a pinch."
And then the Entertainment happened. It involved the newcomers to Lancre, the Zulus. Johanna hastily brought together the White Howondalandian members of the party and said "Watch. Observe. And Famke. Do not rush out there waving a sword. This is peaceable."
Connie Muthelezi interpreted the song and ritual dance. Zulu song, even from less than twenty people, echoed round the arena.
"It is a song of praise to the King, and to his Great Wife Magrat." Connie said. "The men sing of a great king who would undoubtably be a victor in war, should he choose to fight any. And, oh, they've done their research, or been told. He is the Great King who threw out the impondolus who stole his kingdom, and defeated their warriors. Some fight with vampires? He is the Great King who when the bisembe and the emere came from their cold poisoned winter land – and look at the way they're touching the metal of their assegais there – led the war and slew the creatures of night and darkness and in their opinion is a King worth serving. Errr. The women are singing of Queen Magrat as the Great Cow, who keeps the land fertile and the people prosperous. A King and a Great Wife… err, that's as near as our language gets to a wife of a King counting as a Queen – who between them rule with wisdom and strength and who bring prosperity. They're expressing thanks and gratitude for their being granted a new life here. Err."
"Magrat's a great big cow, then." Nanny Ogg said, her face carefully straight. "I think I get what they mean."
"Mother of many calves and the fountain of much milk. In a symbolic sense." Connie said.
Nanny grinned a great big Nanny Ogg grin.
"Just wait till I tell Magrat." she said. "I'm just bettin' nobody's translating for her!"
She paused for a moment.
"'Sides, as I recollect it. Magrat led most of the fighting." she observed. "And Verence negotiated all the stuff with places like Ankh-Morpork that's bringin' the money in. So by rights, she's the victor in battle and he's the one what does the nurturin' and the makin' prosperous." Nanny Ogg observed. "Which makes our Verence into a great big cow."
"Doesn't matter, mevrou Ogg." Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes observed. "If one does the fighting, end one does the making prosperous. End thet both do their work well."
Nanny grinned at him.
"I sees you is a thoughtful man, mister Smith-Rhodes." she said. "Something that shows in your family."
Barbarossa appeared to blush slightly. Agnetha smiled, in a satisfied sort of way.
"Ja." she said. "He ettempts to hide it, but now end again it comes out."
A new song started. The ex-prince Yazu and his brothers approached the Smith-Rhodes family group, but cautiously, and began a new chant. Johanna raised an eyebrow.
"Err. This one is in your honour, Doctor Smith-Rhodes." Connie said, cautiously. "Praise to a worthy enemy. One deadly in her anger and unequalled in her skills. I wonder if they intend it as a sort of peace offering?"
Johanna tried not to look pleased. She folded her arms and regarded the Zulus.
"You too are a Great Cow, ma'am." Connie said. There was a spluttering of amusement, largely from the Assassin students.
Johanna looked sharply at Connie, who was maintaining a look of poker-faced innocence. (12) She noted members of her extended family were also adopting distinct and careful poker took a deep breath.
"Continue, Miss Muthelezi."
"And you are also full of that which characterises the Bull, ma'am." Connie said. Johanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "Err.. the strength, agression and speed of the Bull, that is."
There was beating of spears on shields. Heidi and Bekki each kept a hand on one of Famke's shoulders. Just in case.
Eventually. Johanna drew her sword and saluted the Zulus. They returned the salute, courteously, and the sword was re-sheathed.
And then it was Bekki's turn to perform. She took a deep breath and stepped forwards over a patch of sudden corn-stubble, then walked to the centre of the arena, composing herself, aware of the best part of two thousand people watching. A couple of Pegasi were overhead, coming in to land. They seemed to have passengers.
Then she put herself in the other place and two thousand people, including her family, faded out of her mind.
"Hi, ouma. Oupa. Tannie Johanna."
"Just made it then. Bekki's doing her act."
Young Johanna and Emma Roydes took their place with the family. Both were in their best military uniform.
"Ja, just made it in. Mr Vinhuis had to brief us. Olga saw to it we got a lift. King and Queen to see. Embassy business. Diplomatic note to deliver to the King."
Johanna accepted this. Then they turned to watch Bekki.
Bekki drew her own sword. She made a point of saluting the King and Queen with it. Then she very carefully adopted the Position, or one of them. She raised her right hand up with the Sword pointing at the heavens. Her left arm pointed down, fingertip pointing into the ground. It was one of the classic Wizard stances: something about drawing the power of Air and the power of earth into the Fire and Water, the mind and heart of the Adept, the point of balance that concentrates and focuses the Force. Bekki suspected it was just so much Wizard boffo, but it was a way of pointing out to the Witches that because she was the daughter of a Wizard, her magic wasn't just Witch stuff.
And it made a good opening.
She focused again. This had to be just right…
And the first fireball coalesced right on the tip of her sword…
"Mr Vinhuis wasn't making it up, then. Lots of Zulus here." Emma Roydes said, thoughtfully.
She and Johanna were both in the rarely-worn full dress uniform of the Selous Scouts. There hadn't really been one for a long time. And certainly not one for women officers. Then the need for it had come up. Crowbar Dreyer had said something like "Can you two put something together? Throw a few ideas about. I'll sign it off and get a budget for the tailors."
Emma and Johanna had then gone to consult Mariella Smith-Rhodes, who in some circumstances would have to wear the uniform too. Between the three of them they'd made a plan. And a design or two. The result had been the full dress uniform they were wearing, basically an upgrade on the standard everyday clothing but "tarted up a bit." It was dark jungle green, with golden-yellow cuffs, collar and trim, and a golden stripe down the trousers. Mariella had suggested basing it on the Springboeks' foot-and-hand-the-ball jerseys.
And now two obvious combat officers of the Rimwards Howondalandian Army were thoughtfully contemplating a group of Zulu warriors. In Lancre.
"Consider a ceasefire applies. Here." Johanna Smith-Rhodes, the older Johanna, said. "Yazu over there sees the need for it."
The younger Johanna smiled in the direction of ex-prince Yazu, and took off her peaked cap. Pink hair shimmered in the sunlight. She put her cap back on, the point having been made.
And in the arena, Rebecka Smith-Rhodes was now juggling fireballs into the air, flipping each one up as it formed. The ones she had already created were forming a squadron, vivid balls of variably coloured light even in a summer sky.
"One's a devil to control." Mustrum Ridcully remarked. "But the gel must have a dozen up there. Oh, I say!"
Bekki concentrated furiously as the fireballs formed in the sky. And started to fly patterns in the air, leaving trails and after-images in the eyes of those watching. Nine, in red, white, and blue, leaving coloured trails in the air behind them, flew aerobatic stunts as the crowd ooh'ed and ahh'ed. A little conscious Bekki stood apart from the rest of her mind and reflected that after some of the things people had seen today, this was all going to look a bit boring and pedestrian… then she focused everything she'd got on controlling a dozen fast fireballs, stunting and flying them in an assortment of spins and turns and climbs and dizzying descents. Fireballs were something she was good at. Her speciality.
Out of devilment, she made an especially fiery-looking orange ball orbit her sister Famke a couple of times, to briefly wreath her in glowing orange light, then spin back up into the air to rejoin its wingmates.
Just making a point, little sister. Bekki noted her sister's reaction with satisfaction, then considered it was time to wind things up. One by one the fireballs returned to the tip of her blade. She focused, made the necessary adjustment, and flipped each one up straight and vertically.
Eighty or so feet up, it expanded to two or three times its previous size and exploded into a cascade of multicolour firework sparks. Shame this isn't at night…
People appreciated this. It got her cheers and a round of applause. She heard Feegle voices shouting There's the wee girl! Is she or is she not a wee brammer?
And then she was walking back to her family, her performance piece over.
A little later, in the early evening, the judgement came in. Bekki's supernova fireballs had come in third. Sophie's demonstration of the Horseman's Word had placed second. The winner of that year's Witch Trials was Apricity Brabble and her amazing fertile feet. Bekki sighed. Of course the popular vote would be for instant cereal. This was Lancre, after all. But it had been spectacular. She resolved to ask Apricity more about how it worked; her friend had said something about having thought about the interplay between the Wintersmith and the Summer Lady, and she had wondered where the intermediate seasons of Spring and Autumn fitted in, you know, the time you plant and the time you harvest, and she had done some creative thinking about this, and, well...
Bekki even got a bronze medal for it. One of Lettice Earwig's innovations. Apricity Brabble had shrugged, and contemplated her own gold medal, a large showy thing on a golden-yellow ribbon.
"Just gold leaf over base metal. Ah well, she means well." she said.
And allocation of Steadings was going on. Nanny Ogg and Tiffany Aching were moving among the throng, hearing and debating, and eventually deciding. No formal announcement would be made, but bekki noticed Mrs Earwig making diligent notes on a pad...
Finally there was a barbecue supper and music. Bekki's friend Alison the minstrel was organising this part. By late afternoon, musical instruments were arriving. Alison greeted Bekki and said "I've got a double bass here... not sure if it's been properly tuned, though."
To be continued. There will be a part two.
(1) In my Hogswatch story, La Nuit de Pere Porcher, when an anthrorpomorphical entity gets stroppy and two Assassins have to look to a wizard for professional support.
(2) Mother Superior had agreed that some things are so educative that it merits a day away from formal lessons. Especially if Ruth is developing a little magic. She ought to be in the company of witches for a day. View it as a sort of independent assessment of her talents from suitably qualified professionals, perhaps?
(3) Bekki was also pleasantly pleased that the Trolls and Dwarfs present got on peaceably enough. She wished the same could be said of those people from Rimwards Howondaland and the Zulu Empire who had found themselves in Lancre. More on this later.
(4) He wasn't. It went with his continuing inability to grow a proper beard
(5) The monopedos rabbit is discussed in my short Bad Hair Day. It gets a story to itself in Facebook Shorts Written For The Times.
(6) American readers: think "star quarterback". Same vibe.
(7) Alice Band had primed Shawn. Alice had a sense of humour too. Bekki watched her mother wince, probably as much at the fact Shawn had read her married name with a soft "J", as at the "Lady Stibbons" part. Becoming a Joanna always made her wince.
(8) A variant on a theme of koeksisters, which are sort of not-quite cake, not quite doughnut and more than a biscuit. You also get Hertzogkoeke and Krugerkoekie, named in honour of competing Boer leaders in much the same way a mark of distinction for a great General is to have a foodstuff named after you. Heunigkoeken literally means honey-cookie: koekie is how America gets the name for "biscuit", via Dutch.
(9) To expat South Africans, this is an indispensable taste of Home: the local equivalent of Momma's apple pie. Very sweet and often spiced. Lethal to dieters and the weight-conscious. Just whisper "melktert n'roobuis" to a Saffie and watch them go misty-eyed…
(10) Suki van der Graaf had been forced to sit this one out. she was currently confined to Rimwards Howondaland, permission to leave the country having been denied her on pain of re-arrest. Some people were nervous as to where she'd take it into her head to travel next in search of a story, and she was now denied any chance of an exit visa. Her father had advised her to take it without complaint and maybe in a year or so the ban would be lifted. When the syndicated stories got to Pratoria, however, she would rewrite them for local consumption in her own characteristic style. Bekki would get to read them later and wince. (10.1)
(10.1) Bronze medal for Rimwards Howondaland in the Discworld's premiere contest of magical skills! Girl with family roots in Piemberg shows the world what Vondalaander girls can do in world-level competition against the very best! Suki would also add Is it not time that the archaic, outmoded and frankly ridiculous laws prohibiting the practice of Witchcraft in our nation were repealed? And write an opinion piece strongly advocating this position, which would be read by a great many people and provoke debate. It would also be cut out, carefully, and added to her own swelling BOSS file, naturally. Suki was proud of her BOSS file.
(11) Folk dress and national costume: basically what your ethnicity/nationality wore three centuries ago and taken up to eleven. Give your usually foreign audience exactly what they expect to see and pander to expectations. Hence Dutch girls in the clogs and peculiar hats, Bavarians in dirndls, Welsh women in the stovepipe hat with the buckle on it and the big ornate shawls. This is universal.
(12) moments where an Assassins' Guild school pupil can get away with calling her teacher a great big cow only come once in a lifetime. Connie had assured herself of a Crowning Moment of Awesome in the judgement of her peers.
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.
Damn. Re-reading Wintersmith and discovering the man Petulia Gristle (presumably) married, the pig farmer with the biggest pig farm in Lancre, DOES have an official name… Matty Weaver…. Well, he's Gouther Mossock in this tale, which fits the Alan Garner vibe. Perhaps my take on the Discworld isn't a complete one-on-one canonical – it's an Alternate Universe which goes 90%+ the way to being Terry's… well, there's a big Multiverse out there and there must be infinite Discworlds too… this is the one where Ponder Stibbons, in defiance of probability, got married and started a family…
Got into a YouTube comments page on the Red Army Choir, with a viewer speculating that the USA should have fielded its own equivalent as part of the Cold War arms race and that in this case Soviet technology was streets ahead. The idea of the Cold War being contested in music and dance appealed to me. I wrote back:
But in the same vein... they'd have fielded Cossacks doing that squatting-down and kicking out Cossack dance, we'd have sent in an SAS squad of Morris dancers akin to Bill Tidy's Cloggies... possibly a score-draw and a lot of broken shins in lethal close-quarter dancing... and Cossack dancers with sabres up against a crack squad of Scotsmen with claymores comparing sword-dancing styles... that would be a close one going the full fifteen rounds, with, just possibly, the Jocks shading it...
The idea of weapons-grade heavy rock and a MIRV Eric Clapton is interesting, but… it would have to be folk song, or local equivalent of. The USA fielding Country and Western artistes, perhaps, with the Russians making official protest about deadly banned weapons , the musical equivalent of nerve gas, barred by the Geneva Convention. What do we Brits have to compete... the theme tune from "The Archers", maybe? Or the classic line-up of Aran sweaters sticking a finger in one ear and droning on about life and love in the seventeenth century…
Bonus piece: from a conversation in the Fortean Times forums about things that might be mistaken for UFO's. Inspired by a piece on YouTube about legendary demolitions man and steam enthusiast Fred Dibnah, arguably the life model for Dick Simnel in the Discworld. Fred is pure Discworld, btw. Look him up.
Watching the great Fred Dibnah in re-runs of his TV work. I watched this episode - on the logistics of getting things from ground level to the top of an industrial chimney and back again - and a thought occured to me. Watch the video from about 4:00 in.
Dibhah devised his own in-house system of getting small skips to and from the top of the tower where he was working, so as to have a continual back-and-forth of full and empty skips in transit at any one time. Useful if he was dismantling brickwork at two or three hundred feet up.
Watching this system in action, filmed in indifferent daylight from various angles from anything up to a quarter of a mile away. It occured to me: the ropes on the pulley system are invisible until you get really close up, or unless they catch the light. What you are seeing are rounded black objects against the sky, moving with intent between the ground and the top of a factory chimney, and doing so continually. This is Dibnah's own system, don't forget: bespoke to him. Not exactly industry-standard. Hard to explain, until somebody comes along who can explain what you're looking at.
Anybody watching this - and those rounded black dots flying in the sky would have been visible from some distance away, as the camera work shows - who didn't realise they were looking at an industrial steeplejack in action - somebody who didn't have all the facts and who was watching round objects flying in the sky seemingly of their own volition, but with some sort of purpose. How might they interpret this? Taken out of context - these are literally unidentified flying objects. And remain so until (in this case) a perfectly reasonable explanation is given...
Still wondering how many UFO reports, made in good faith by people seeing bizarre things in the sky, might be explicable by rational, explicable, but in context out of the ordinary, things like this. it occurs to me, in fact, to ask if any reported UFO sightings in the North-West of England in the time-period 1970-85 could be correlated to paces where Fred Dibnah is known to have worked... a nomadic demolition man, going to where the jobs are, and taking this bins-and-pulley system with him... meanwhile people not aware of this might look up and think - oh my god...
I also wonder. The stated reason, in fiction, for the Vogons coming to planet Earth was to demolish something in the way of Progress. Is it just conceivable that there are intergalactic Fred Dibnahs out there, romantic adherents to an older way of life, doggedly working with outmoded technology from a previous age because it has more style to it. What we are seeing are not so much state-of-the-art futuristic spacecraft, but the interstellar version of Dibnah's steam engines, out for a joyride and driven by enthusiasts... sent to a backwater corner of the galaxy to keep them out of the way and so as not to create traffic bottlenecks in the principal spaceways... and that the interstellar Dibnah might also make ends meet by doing odd jobs here and there in the Galaxy. (does this explain supernovas - galactic equivalents of redundant chimneys needing to be felled - and that black holes are infill sites for industrial rubble?)
This led to a very short piece of speculative fiction which is not Discworld but should reach a wider readership:
Fehred Diibna'h pushed his soft shapeless headwear up over his brow, adjusted the set of his visual acuity enhancers, and took a deep drag of the addictive herb gathered by expeditions to a small blue-green planet on the remoter reaches of the western spiral arm of the galaxy. Lots of people who knew the secret visited there for the herb, even risked detection by going into local retail outlets disguised as the dominant native life-form, in order to buy convenient packs of the herb in a clever delivery system that involved igniting one end and thern inhaling. Fehred had never had any bother with this. In Bolton, Lancashire, he passed for a native.
"Class seven yellow star, is that." he said, nodding towards the display on the visual screen of his starship, a battered old planet-rover that had seen better decades. It was called the Heart of Third-State Oxygen Dihydride.
"Redundant nuclear furnace, outlasted its usefulness, together with its attendant Dyson Sphere. Whole lot needs knocking down. Planning permission to build a hyperspace freeway, apparently. In the way. Reckon I can get whole lot cleared inside three months. Nowt to it."
He shook his head, sadly.
"Sad to see them old Dyson Spheres going. Hope a few get kept as industrial heritage sites. Still, got to make a living. got me old flying saucer to renovate,one of t' ones the bloody Greys don't use now as they've moved on to better. Right, lad. Got the old unobtanium props? Used to be rails for a mass transit system, did those. Nobody wants them now they've moved on to hyperunobtanium. I thought, happen I can recycle those for work. Nowt props up an excavation in a Dyson Sphere better nor unobtanium, gradely! And it withstands heat of a Class Seven Yellow for just long enough . so the bugger goes supernova in the right direction. OK, lad, let's get spacesuit on so I can start building up t'scaffolding decks... don't want anything dropping on folk in Tau Centauri, that's right in't way if I get it wrong. Tell thee what, it'll draw a crowd when this bugger goes down. People coming from all over to watch..."
Russkaya Rat'
Ой, что-то мы засиделись, братцы ,
Не пора ли нам разгуляться?
Русь молодая , силы немерено ,
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Ратью пойдём да погоним ворога,
Русь молодая, сердцу дорого,
Да не пристало нам сидеть по хатам
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Было это братцы давным-давно
Чёрные силы пришли войной.
А мы не знали, не ожидали
Жили, любили, детей рожали
Их сорок тысяч сороков,
Русь не видала таких врагов.
А мы не знали, не ожидали
Жили, любили, детей рожали
И полыхнули терема да хаты,
Бабы вплачь да малые ребята,
А мужики все, брат за брата,
Вышли за Родину воевать
Ой, что-то мы засиделись, братцы ,
Не пора ли нам разгуляться?
Русь молодая , силы немерено ,
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Ратью пойдём да погоним ворога,
Русь молодая, сердцу дорого,
Да не пристало нам сидеть по хатам
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Так в наши хаты пришла беда,
Жаркая сеча была тогда.
А мы не знали, не ожидали
Жили, любили, детей рожали
Ой, да не уж-то Русская рать
Не постоит за Родину-мать,
Били-рубили, ворога добили
И победили чёрную рать.
И засияло небо голубое,
Полная чаша мира да покоя
А кто пожалует к нам с войною...
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Ой, что-то мы засиделись, братцы ,
Не пора ли нам разгуляться?
Русь молодая , силы немерено ,
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Ратью пойдём да погоним ворога,
Русь молодая, сердцу дорого,
Да не пристало нам сидеть по хатам
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
*И засияло небо голубое,
Полная чаша мира да покоя
А кто пожалует к нам с войною...
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Ой, что-то мы засиделись, братцы ,
Не пора ли нам разгуляться?
Русь молодая , силы немерено ,
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!
Ратью пойдём да погоним ворога,
Русь молодая, сердцу дорого,
Да не пристало нам сидеть по хатам
Дайте коня мне да добрый меч!(*Х2)
Тьма проходит, и истинный свет уже светит.
Кто любит брата своего, тот пребывает во свете.
Кто ненавидит брата своего, тот находится во тьме
И мы имеем от Него заповедь, чтобы любящий бога
Любил и брата своего, в любви нет страха
Пребывающий в любви пребывает в Боге
И Бог в нем, и Бог есть любовь
Oy, chto-to my zasidelis', brattsy ,
Ne pora li nam razgulyat'sya?
Rus' molodaya , sily nemereno ,
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Rat'yu poydom da pogonim voroga,
Rus' molodaya, serdtsu dorogo,
Da ne pristalo nam sidet' po khatam
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Bylo eto brattsy davnym-davno
Chornyye sily prishli voynoy.
A my ne znali, ne ozhidali
Zhili, lyubili, detey rozhali
Ikh sorok tysyach sorokov,
Rus' ne vidala takikh vragov.
A my ne znali, ne ozhidali
Zhili, lyubili, detey rozhali
I polykhnuli terema da khaty,
Baby vplach' da malyye rebyata,
A muzhiki vse, brat za brata,
Vyshli za Rodinu voyevat'
Oy, chto-to my zasidelis', brattsy ,
Ne pora li nam razgulyat'sya?
Rus' molodaya , sily nemereno ,
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Rat'yu poydom da pogonim voroga,
Rus' molodaya, serdtsu dorogo,
Da ne pristalo nam sidet' po khatam
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Tak v nashi khaty prishla beda,
Zharkaya secha byla togda.
A my ne znali, ne ozhidali
Zhili, lyubili, detey rozhali
Oy, da ne uzh-to Russkaya rat'
Ne postoit za Rodinu-mat',
Bili-rubili, voroga dobili
I pobedili chornuyu rat'.
I zasiyalo nebo goluboye,
Polnaya chasha mira da pokoya
A kto pozhaluyet k nam s voynoyu...
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Oy, chto-to my zasidelis', brattsy ,
Ne pora li nam razgulyat'sya?
Rus' molodaya , sily nemereno ,
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Rat'yu poydom da pogonim voroga,
Rus' molodaya, serdtsu dorogo,
Da ne pristalo nam sidet' po khatam
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
*I zasiyalo nebo goluboye,
Polnaya chasha mira da pokoya
A kto pozhaluyet k nam s voynoyu...
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Oy, chto-to my zasidelis', brattsy ,
Ne pora li nam razgulyat'sya?
Rus' molodaya , sily nemereno ,
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!
Rat'yu poydom da pogonim voroga,
Rus' molodaya, serdtsu dorogo,
Da ne pristalo nam sidet' po khatam
Dayte konya mne da dobryy mech!(*KH2)
T'ma prokhodit, i istinnyy svet uzhe svetit.
Kto lyubit brata svoyego, tot prebyvayet vo svete.
Kto nenavidit brata svoyego, tot nakhoditsya vo t'me
I my imeyem ot Nego zapoved', chtoby lyubyashchiy boga
Lyubil i brata svoyego, v lyubvi net strakha
Prebyvayushchiy v lyubvi prebyvayet v Boge
I Bog v nem, i Bog yest' lyubov'
Machine translation: (can be improved, but flowery and poetical)
Oh, something we sat up, brothers,
Is not it time for us to make a fuss?
Russia is young, strength nemereno,
Give me a horse and a good sword!
Let's go and let's drive the wolf,
Russia is young, heart is expensive,
Yes, it does not fit us to sit on the huts
Give me a horse and a good sword!
It was the brothers a long time ago
Black forces came by war.
And we did not know, did not expect
Lived, loved, gave birth to children
Their forty thousand magpies,
Russia has not seen such enemies.
And we did not know, did not expect
Lived, loved, gave birth to children
And the tower and the huts flashed,
The women lament and the little guys,
And all the peasants, brother for brother,
They went to fight for their Motherland
Oh, something we sat up, brothers,
Is not it time for us to make a fuss?
Russia is young, strength nemereno,
Give me a horse and a good sword!
Let's go and let's drive the wolf,
Russia is young, heart is expensive,
Yes, it does not fit us to sit on the huts
Give me a horse and a good sword!
So in our huts came trouble,
Hot sweat was then.
And we did not know, did not expect
Lived, loved, gave birth to children
Oh, yes, not really Russian army
It will not stand for Motherland,
Billy-chopped, the goal was finished
And they defeated the black army.
And the sky glowed blue,
Full cup of peace and tranquility
And who will come to us with the war ...
Give me a horse and a good sword!
Oh, something we sat up, brothers,
Is not it time for us to make a fuss?
Russia is young, strength nemereno,
Give me a horse and a good sword!
Let's go and let's drive the wolf,
Russia is young, heart is expensive,
Yes, it does not fit us to sit on the huts
Give me a horse and a good sword!
* And the sky glowed blue,
Full cup of peace and tranquility
And who will come to us with the war ...
Give me a horse and a good sword!
Oh, something we sat up, brothers,
Is not it time for us to make a fuss?
Russia is young, strength nemereno,
Give me a horse and a good sword!
Let's go and let's drive the wolf,
Russia is young, heart is expensive,
Yes, it does not fit us to sit on the huts
Give me a horse and a good sword! (* X2)
Darkness is passing, and the true light is already shining.
He that loveth his brother abideth in the light.
He who hates his brother is in darkness
And we have a commandment from him, that he who loves God
He loved his brother, there is no fear in love
He who abides in love abides in God
And God is in him, and God is love