Strandpiel 52
Twee wêrelde vergadering – two worlds meeting
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.
To cover: events in Howondaland
(Ruth N; the van der Graafs; Mariella and Horst; Olga and Eddie and kids.)
Summer music practice
Bekki in the Watch and training for the Pegasus Service
First long-haul solo flight
End of Book One
Frustrating: all the time at work and unable to write, I've been noodling away with ideas for scenes and incidents to continue this tale and had a lot planned out inside my head but now I've got the time and opportunity to commit the ideas to screen, are they flowing? Like treacle…. The continuations I had so clearly mapped out inside my head when there wasn't an opportunity to write them down are coming back, but patchily and with great reluctance. Sod's Law….
The time is now approaching September, anyway, covering events in the months immediately after the Witch Trials. We catch up some of with our cast of characters at various locations around the Disc…
Most of the Russian phrases used here are mechanical translations via Google Translate. I have cross-referenced and used intuition and more research (Russian magical traditions) to double-check them where I can – a degree in linguistics has to count for something – but if any Russian readers can suggest better – love to hear from you!
Pratoria, Rimwards Howondaland.
Life in the new suburb of Rimwards Howondaland's capital city, the one likely to be named Johanna Smith-Rhodesburg but which for the moment was called Housing Project 42, was relaxed and easy.
Olga and Eddie appreciated this was a nice place to bring up a family. A big new house bought a lot more cheaply than the apartment they also owned in Ankh-Morpork, with a big spacious garden. The most they could do in the Ankh-Morpork home was to have a few window-boxes. It was convenient for Eddie to commute to the University, where he taught, in those moments when he had no alternative. Eddie was first and foremost a research Wizard.
Olga Romanoff shrugged a resigned and fatalistic Far Überwaldean shrug. With the twins growing up fast, they'd have to get a bigger place in Ankh-Morpork. With at least three bedrooms. It would be a big bite in the family finances, even with the Agreement in place. People like Johanna Smith-Rhodes were looking out for opportunities for her. Johanna had even offered her a loan. You know. Until you sort everything out with your family, Olga.
Olga shrugged again. She didn't want to feel beholden to anyone, even to a generous friend who was putting no strings or conditions on her offer. She strongly felt this was something she and Eddie would have to do on their own. It felt better that way. And she'd been self-reliant ever since the rift with her family when she had been fifteen. Oh, it was healing, now, but slowly. She watched the activity in her back garden, and listened to the beat being called.
"один, два, три, четыре!"
It had all began when she and the kulak girl, Irena, had run away. The old ved'ma, Babuishka Natalia, had said she had taught them both as much as she could concerning Witchcraft. She had introduced both girls to the strange foreign woman who had suddenly appeared, the one with the outlandish unpronounceable name of Perspicacia Tick. Her name apparently translated as небольшое кусающее паразитическое насекомое, or a клещ, or aвошь. She and Irena had giggled about it, thinking a Morporkian would not understand. But Miss Tick had turned round and said, in good but accented Far Überwaldean "Actually, you might consider it also means the тиканье of a clock or a metronome."
They had been chastened. And had heard of a faraway place called Lancre, where girls learnt to be Witches in a different way. And both had decided they wanted to go there.
And then they'd crossed a continent to get there, the aristocrat and the peasant, reliant on each other.(1) Olga's father, the Grand Duke, had been furious and had cut her off, disowned her. She had learnt self-reliance quickly. And vastly improved her Morporkian. Irena had had to learn a lot more of the Morporkian than she had.
Later adventures had taken her to the Air Police, and then the marvellous thing called the Pegasus Service. She had met Eddie when a war and a battle had threatened.(2) One thing had led to another and then to marriage and twin children.
"odin, dva, tri, chetyre!"
Olga irrelevantly thought of the other new language she'd been forced to get to grips with, Vondalaans. Marrying Eddie, living for at least part of the time in his country, and with the children being brought up here so they'd grow up speaking their father's language. She had to learn it too.
Een, twee, drie, vier! She reflected "twee" sounded a little like "dva", and "drie" in Vondalaans was like "tri" in her native language. Some things in common, then.
Her father had thawed. Not completely. There was still a lot of ice there. But they'd gone Home, by Pegasus, to the family domain, for the first time in years. Lady Sybil Ramkin had somehow been persuading him. And her mother. Who had probably been emphatic with Father about wanting to see her grandchildren. Grand Duke Nicholas Romanoff hadn't exactly been warm to Eddie. But he'd acknowledged his grandchildren, who had been learning the Rus language from their mother. Olga had been insistent about this. And it looked as if an Agreement would be made between a father and his only daughter, the nominal Heiress to the Grand Duchy, or who had been until her father had disowned her. Olga suspected that he found the alternative even worse, that the Duchy would then go by default to one of her cousins, possibly Natasha. Tasha was a graduate Assassin, and Assassins valued these things. More so than Witches.
And father still had big dreams of the Tsarate being restored. But the Rus people were spread over four or five countries, not just Far Überwald, and no Grand Duke on his own had the power to be acclaimed the uncontested Tsar. Her family seat was technically in Zlobenia: the full title was Grand Duke of the Border Marches of Zlobenia and Far Überwald. Two of several countries that would need to be reunited, or dissolved in their current form and reconstructed, before a Tsar Of All The Rus People could emerge.
She shook her head. Politics.
"odin, dva, tri, chetyre!"
If she understood it right, Father was prepared to offer a solution. Olga would not now become Grand Duchess. That was fine: she didn't want it. Her life was elsewhere. On Father's death, the title would skip a generation. Her son Vassily would become Grand Duke.
She looked over to regard her children. They were in this strange, maddening, bloody infuriating sometimes, but all the same an attractive, foreign country, learning how to be Vondalaanders. Like their father. But if Vassily now had a Destiny, he – and his sister Valentina – were also going to have to learn how to be Rus. As well as being cosmopolitan Ankh-Morporkians, which was also important.
She sighed. Vondalaanders spoke of strandpiels, people caught between two cultures and continents, who had to learn to be both. Her children had to become triply strandpiel. Three places, three cultures, three languages.
Well, their education in how to be Rus was beginning.
"odin, dva, tri, chetyre!"
Olga allowed herself pride in her children. They were learning the movements and steps of the shashka , using the short knout whips, the handles right for a Cossack sabre, but with the blades replaced by short cords of knotted leather. Their teacher had shaken her head at Valla's earnest request for swords, explaining that she was just coming up to five years old, and not even Cossack daughters got to wield the swords so young. They would be too heavy, for one thing, and you must learn the steps and the moves thoroughly, even before you move on to wooden training swords.
But Valla was learning, Vassily too. The best part of a year spent flying Home, or at least to the Steppes, with Irena and the younger girls, to learn to dance together for their performance piece at the Witch Trials, had not been wasted. They'd also learnt something of a different tradition in magic and the Craft.
In return, Xenia Galina had asked to see something of the world, and the way women in other places practiced the arts of the babiushka and the ved'ma. Xenia Galina had never left the wide Steppes and their bordering mountains before. They had brought her to the Witch Trials, to lead the dance with them. And to be introduced to other witches in the country that was now the heart and focus of Disc witchcraft, whatever form it took.
And now she was in Howondaland, teaching Cossack traditions and skills to the children. It was good to have her. Nanny Ogg had cooed and gushed over the twins, and had then said "They both got magic, Olga, love. You'll have to do something about that."
Valla would go to Lancre when she was older. Vassily... Olga frowned. He'd have to go Wizard. Not, then, the Assassins' School. Lord Downey had been hinting. And their nanny Annaliese, who had been wonderful, had left. She wanted to marry. There was a man over in Piemberg who worked for Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes. The understanding had begun while Annaliese had been working for Johanna Smith-Rhodes, and for some years had been edging towards marriage, albeit at a leisuredly speed. Olga had not been able to deny her. So for the moment, the nanny role was Xenia's. And the children adored her. A nanny who could dance like that with two swords... and who wasn't just a ved'ma. She was also a shamanskaya.
Being senior rank in the Pegasus Service had privileges. Her family, with the aid of navigator Buggy Swires, could travel anywhere they liked. It made commuting quick. Movements were usually dictated by where Olga had to be in the course of a working week, and Eddie also planned his week to be in step with hers. This usually meant a few days here, to commute to one University at Witwatersrand, or in Ankh-Morpork, where Eddie was an accepted member of the band of research Wizards at Unseen University. This had meant her husband had acheived the Holy Grail of academia: full tenure at two Universities and a full-time salary from each for what amounted to two part-time jobs. The money was handy. And Lord Vetinari had accepted that a full-time working mother, one who did sterling service for Ankh-Morpork, needed some latitude in her career so as to continue giving sterling service. He saw no reason to intervene in her using the resources of the Service to enhance her work-life balance. (3)
Latterly, her family had been visiting the Rodinia a lot. Olga and Eddie had now to consider what sort of an education their children would get. One thing was for sure: it would not be a conventional one.
After a while, Xenia suggested the children should take a break. She smiled a gentle smile and tossed a scabbarded sabre to Olga. Olga caught the pommel effortlessly. The two Witches danced a shashka of their own, with occassional clashing sabres...
Turfloop Township, Bitterfontein, Rimwards Howondaland:
The group of policemen looked on with a sort of uneasy shuffling bafflement as Mariella Smith-Rhodes-Lensen, ignoring them, held a dress up to the excited little girl. She said that in her opinion, Minnie would look lovely in it, and she ought to save it for Octeday or for very best, hmm? Not for everyday?
Mariella looked suitably attentive and friendly and serious, and tried not to wince as the little girl shyly but effusively thanked her, calling her "Baas-lady" and "Mevrou", as their relative status demanded. She wished the bloody policemen were not there, as their presence was making most of the people here nervous. It could be a lot more informal then, and not have overtones of the Lady of the Manor dispensing charity and largesse to the serfs. And needing a police escort to do so.
Mariella thought that was un-necessary. The township at Turfloop provided labour for local farms and businesses, including her own. She knew she could walk here any time she liked – well, any time I'm invited – without needing to wear weapons and without needing an armed escort. Many of the men and women here worked for Horst and herself. Mariella knew them all by name, and had made it her business to know about spouses, children and extended families.
Mariella sighed at the very idea that a girl's dress, that had probably already seen three owners and was one wearer away from being shonky-shop, could be seized upon as if it were new off the rack at Boggi's. Mariella herself was not temperamentally inclined to skirts and dresses, although she could wear them if she had to.
But that was a good reason for her being here today, along with other ladies who had got the general idea of being charitable and providing relief to the poor. Mariella had spent time trying to get the revolutionary concept over that there was no such thing as deserving poor, or by implication undeserving poor. There was just poor.
And in most circumstances in this country, poor went hand-in-hand with being black. Mariella felt uneasy about this. Their poverty, and her being very affluent indeed, were somehow connected. They worked for the Lensen family and worked hard and loyally, but in most cases never got out of a rudimentary shack in the township.
Mariella turned to one of the other Ladies who had come out today on a mission of poor relief. She had seen the need and had been prepared to advance a lot of money. Mariella had accepted the donation, on the condition this particular Lady came herself, and practically assisted. She felt it would be good for her ongoing education.
"We do whet hes to be done end whet should be done." Mariella reminded her, speaking Morporkian as this was the other woman's first language. "End best you are here to see for yourself. So you hev no comforting illusions."
"My father says they are poor because the men drink and gamble and use dagga." she had said. "That we can't be blamed for their wasting the money we pay them."
Mariella had then invited the other woman to follow her nose, and indicated a larger and more prosperous-looking building.
"Of course they do." Mariella had said. "Thet's the shebeen. Or one of them. Ag, if you lived in a place like this, wouldn't you want to drink yourself stupid? End of course the children need more than one set of clothes, ones a scarecrow might not refuse. There are femilies who might eppreciate more than one meal a day. Old people who have worked for white employers all their lives, end still hev nothing to show for it et the end. Thet is whet we are here for. Without eny fuss, without preaching eny sermons, without expecting more than just normal unforced thenks. We do whet is needed. We do whet works."
"Of course. We do what works."
Mariella smiled. We do what works was the family motto of the Smith-Rhodes'. It did no harm to remind Chloe of this, as she'd married into the Family.
"End besides. I want, end Horst wants, people coming into work for us every morning who are healthy, well-fed, wearing good fitting clothing, end who are not still reeling drunk or hungover from the filthy stuff the shebeens brew up. This is not only morally right, it makes good business sense. Healthy employees work better. Thet is not rocket wizardry."
Mariella held the eyes of Chloe Smith-Rhodes, to make sure she was getting the point. Satisfied, she looked away, and gave a begrudging nod to the policemen. They had to be here, she supposed. Chloe was, after all, wife of the local MP, and a member of not one, but two, of the most powerful and influential families in the nation. If she took it into her head to visit bleck townships and Do Good Works, she couldn't be stopped, but she had to be seen to be escorted. Nobody would want to explain it to either Charles Smith-Rhodes or Jakob DeBeers, if she wasn't.
It was still, Mariella thought, a bloody nuisance. At least several other local Ladies were with them, a powerful coalition of important local farmers' wives, the Mevrous of Bitterfontein. Most, to a greater or lesser extent, were practical women who thought like Mariella. All of whom had wanted Julian Smith-Rhodes as their political representative. Mariella had not needed to do much background persuading there.
And it cannot do Julian's political career any harm, if his wife is seen as being socially concerned and gives generously to charitable causes…
Mariella watched the food being unloaded and distributed. It would go to people and families most in need and it would be distributed fairly. She had said as much to the headman of the township, a sort of combination of native chief, Mayor, alpha male and leader of the Township Council. She understood it was a hard place to be; with little real formal authority except that he could impose or which residual tribal affiliations bestowed, such as those which the ruling whites allowed to remain. He was responsible to the local Commisioner for Native Affairs, a role which was politically a football played between the Bureau of Internal Affairs and the Bureau of State Security, for good order and acceptable behaviour among the blecks. BOSS took a close interest in the townships.
Mariella considered Captain Verdraainer for a moment, the local BOSS head in Bitterfontein. Of course he'd be here.
She turned back to her conversation with the headman about how the food was to be distributed. She wasn't telling him; merely suggesting. There was a difference. And he understood. His predecessor as headman had accepted the gifts with all thanks and deference on one of Mariella's first visits. She had suspected something was amiss when she saw the other big men who worked with the head man, and the sullen, frightened looks on the natives which she realised were not just suspicious of the whites. Then, the other ladies of the committee had considered it was enough to just deliver the stuff, spend as little time as possible amongst the blecks, and to go home again, in the warmth of a necessary job well done. Mariella had only just arrived in Bitterfontein then and had realised she would have to establish herself in a new town. But she'd begun by asking her mother-in-law, Mevrou Hendricka, and then she had started establishing friendly relations with the housemaids and some of the more approachable black workers in the vineyards and the bottling plant. She had not so much asked questions as listened. A short time later, the former head man in the native township had been visited at night by a black-clad shadowy person who had made it clear that impounding aid that was freely given, and using his gang to enforce selling it to people who needed it, thus enriching himself in the process, would not be tolerated any more.
The long sharp blade that was pricking his throat acted as an inducement. The black figure then informed him that there was no point calling for henchmen, as they had been dealt with. He was not going to be reported to the police – yet - as this went against his visitor's principles. His visitor said they worked for a different organisation that was scarier than the police. It was even worse, in some respects, than the BOSS. It did not work to the same rules. He could now make plans to resign the Headmanship, collect his wife and family, and move to a different part of the country. Arrangements had been made and passes written. Oh. And the money you made by stealing charitable goods. Deliver that, before you leave, to Mevrou Hendricka at the Lensen plaas. She will use it for legitimate charitable ends. Are we understood?
And in the morning, he found a pink receipt slip, to tell him he had been visited by the Guild of Assassins of Ankh-Morpork.(4) Some reputations resound around the world.
Two dead henchmen, men with seriously bad reputations, were investigated, disinterestedly, by the Bitterfontein Watch, who put it down to "tribal unrest in the townships" and closed the case.
The new headman in the township had learnt from this, and food aid was now distributed freely and fairly. Mariella insisted the women of the Charitable Committee remained to see this was done. She had also been gratified to hear her title of "Red Death To Zulus" had preceded her. Nobody here was a Zulu or tribally related to them – wrong side of the country – and tribal loyalties said that anyone who thinned Zulu numbers out a bit, arrogant bastards, was a Good Thing, even if she was white.
The new mevrou had spent several years now, building a reputation among whites and blacks alike. One side agreed that young Horst Lensen had somehow managed to get one good woman and he was vastly improved by it. The blacks treated her with a sort of unforced respect. Mariella had arrived.
She moved among her people, chatting to them with easy respect and common civility, greeting relatives of her employees, making it clear she knew who was who and who was related to who, expressing fondness and interest in the children, projecting the air of a woman as much at home here as if she was among other white people at Kerk or at a social braai. Chloe moved with her, being introduced, getting to know people, conscientiously trying to fit in and not to give offence.
Then the circle of friendly black faces around Mariella and Chloe melted away. Chloe started, anxiously. Mariella did not look round.
"Captain Verdraainer." she said. "And Sergeant van Klaamer."
Mariella's voice had overtones of whatever this is about, make it quick.
The BOSS officer respectfully saluted her. She turned to consider him. Sergeant van Klaamer was a regular policeman, fairly decent, a long-standing copper with something of the universal Fred Colon about him. An altekock, a time-served policeman who wanted to do his job with the minimum of unpleasantness, who was conscientious, so far as it went, without allowing it to get in the way of his fundamental laid-back laziness and justnow mentality. But Verdraainer...
"You should not be moving among the blacks without an escort, mevrou Smith-Rhodes-Lensen." he said. "Especially since Mrs Smith-Rhodes is with you, and she would be a prime target for criminally-inclined blacks."
Something about Verdraainer's attitude said he believed all blacks were criminally inclined. Mariella noted this.
"Besides, mevrou, you are unarmed."
Mariella decided not to mention the throwing knives up each sleeve. Just in case. She had decided early on that a sword on one hip would be a barrier to open conversation with black people in their own space. And a sjaemboek whip on the other side would be an unspeakable thing to carry here. Any black person seeeing that would not be inclined to be open. And she wanted open conversation, as nearly as was possible between equals. The hidden throwing knives were an insurance policy. (5) She noted both Verdraainer and van Klammer were wearing whips.
"Really? Never felt a need for it. But your concern is noted." Mariella said. She knew Chloe could follow a conversation in Vondalaans, although she preferred to speak Morporkian.
They walked back to where the wagons were being unloaded of things like mealie sacks and tinned condensed milk, basic serviceable goods that would keep. Mariella liked it when she was implicitly invited for a walk round the township. It was educating Chloe, for one thing. She needed education on some of the realities of life in her nation. It was also good for her to see BOSS at close quarters, something her upbringing and social status had shielded her from. BOSS could not interfere with the old Families with impunity. Chloe had been born a de Beer and had married a Smith-Rhodes. She was insulated twice over.
And now she was seeing Verdraainer, a man who looked like a sociopathic meerkat, long, thin and rat-like, but very dangerous.
Mariella placidly waited for his move.
"Mevrou, we have noted you have concerns for the welfare and wellbeing of the blecks." Verdraainer said. "But we too can express legitimate concerns that perhaps you are expressing too much concern."
"So there are limits on charity?" Mariella asked, ingenuously. "Captain, please point me to the statute and the regulation in law that places an upper limit on clothing the nearly-naked and feeding the hungry. Is there perhaps an official table I can refer to? The maximum number of wagons I may load, their size and carrying capacity, and the point at which I exceed a permitted maximum of aid? Are mealies, for instance, too good for the blacks, and I should instead load the sort of lower-quality grains that normally go to animal fodder? I should like to know, just in case I am inadvertantly breaking any laws of our land."
Mariella noted Verdraainer colour slightly. She concealed a smile. She had learnt the value of asking the right sort of question in her school days, the sort of thing a pupil might ask of her teacher, in the manner of an innocent seeker after truth. Several teachers at the Assassins' Guild School had been on the receiving end.
"Besides, charity is commanded in our religion." she went on. "Pastor van der Draagsaam (6) has preached on this many times, concerning the duty of one who follows Io and Offler, and the need to clothe the naked and bring relief to the hungry. Those of us who have been favoured by the Gods must do this. And I recall his sermon on the need to treat the blacks with stern and loving paternal care, that white people, as the superior race, are called upon to see to their spiritual and physical welfare. I'm surprised you don't recall this, Captain, as we belong to the same Kerk, and I see you at service every Octeday?"
Verdraainer appeared to be trying hard not to grind his teeth. He was being presented with a local landowner of impeccable credentials, who was not breaking any laws and coming across as a Gods-fearing and modest Boer woman displaying the appropriate level of humility and deference to her nation's laws and customs. But even so, she appeared to be taking the piss in some indefinable way. (7)
"Even so, mevrou. I must caution you to take care. It could be perceived that you are not behaving with due respect for the laws of apartheid that govern our society..."
"How so, Captain?" Mariella said, putting on a little wide-eyed innocence. "As I understand apartheid law, which is wise and right for our nation at this stage in its development, the burden of the white race is to do the thinking and the directing for a society which includes all races. The blacks are to live seperately and mixing between the races is to be kept to a necessary minimum. It is sometimes necessary to treat the blacks firmly, if they aspire to a role or a status they cannot resonably expect to hold. But at the same time, white people, especially those who benefit from black labour, are also obliged to look after their black employees and to ensure minimum reasonable standards of care apply. To ensure decent housing, decent nutrition, decent clothing, good health and a basic level of education are given."
Mariella waved an arm around her.
"It's amazing how often we who benefit forget that apartheid involves obligations legally enforced on us, too."
Verdraainer scowled for a moment, then altered his face to a rictus of a forced smile. Behind him, Sergeant van Klaaamer gave Mariella a big happy grin. Seeing the BOSS man outclassed and made uncomfortable was something he liked, too. And mevrou Mariella was okay, in his mind.
"You mention good health, mevrou. Do you have plans there, too?"
Mariella gave a little smile.
"Ja. Basic healthcare. I'm hoping to get at least one skilled person by the end of the year. She can come out here, and attend to basic medical care for the blacks, if she has a mind. At present there is no doctor here. Or a nurse. And I do not want to lose workers un-necessarily through preventable ailments."
Verdraainer was making to walk away. He turned and gave Mariella a little satisfied smile.
"Ja, mevrou. Your niece from Ankh-Morpork, I hear."
Mariella kept her face straight, wondering how the Hells he'd found out. Then she realised. Probably via BOSS at the Embassy. Those bliksems had piemps everywhere.
"I'm looking forward to meeting her." Captain Verdraainer said. He saluted Mariella with a touch of his fingers to his cap. "Rebecka, I believe? Daughter of your elder sister Johanna? Who was educated in a place called Lancre?"
He nodded and moved on.
There was silence for a few moments. Chloe turned to Mariella.
"He is nasty." she said.
"Ja. Best you should know. We all have BOSS files. Julian certainly will have. I know I do. Rebecka will have one by now. She's a Smith-Rhodes. That's a good reason."
"I'd like to meet Rebecka." Chloe said. "She sounds interesting."
"You will." Mariella said. "I think you'd like her."
She looked across to where the other mevrous had been watching the not-a-confrontation with the BOSS officer. Her mother in law, Hendricka Lensen, had been watching with deep interest, sitting in the chair provided, with her hands crossed on the top of her walking cane. Hendricka could not walk too far these days. A lifetime of running a plaas, virtually single-handed for a long time, had seen to that. Mariella knew Horst was concerned for his mother's health. It was another good reason to have Bekki here, at least for a while. Hendricka grinned at her. She'd seen Mariella face down BOSS. And had approved.
"Bekki's got an obligation to complete in Ankh-Morpork." Mariella said. "But she'll be here by the end of the year. You should write to her. Introduce yourself as a Family member. Julian is her Godsfather, after all. She'd appreciate that."
They walked on together. It was almost time to close up here and go. But they'd do it unhurriedly. Just to make a point to BOSS. Mariella regarded Chloe de Beers Smith-Rhodes thoughtfully. She'd never win a brains trust. But she had turned out to be nothing like the liability Mariella had feared, when she'd set about giving the new family member some practical lessons in what it meant to be a Smith-Rhodes. She had a good nature, a big heart, she loved Julian, and she was prepared to learn. Mariella remembered feeling baffled and perplexed as to exactly why her sister Johanna was so friendly with Katerina Vinhuis, a woman Mariella thought was a complete one hundred per cent proven bubble-brained airhead. The friendship seemed incredibly implausible, and between two complete opposites. But after meeting Chloe, Mariella could, perhaps, see how it worked now. Chloe was completely relaxing to be around. Uncomplicated company. You couldn't hate her and she was innately likeable. Chloe, Mariella thought, was the Katerina in her life. You needed one. And if what Mariella suspected was right, in no later than eight or nine months, Chloe was going to need something like a Lancre-trained Witch. Another good reason for introducing her to Bekki.
She decided to write to Bekki when she got home. Some necessary advice. Her niece was going to need it.
Spion Kop Barracks, New Ankh, Ankh-Morpork.
Foot drill and parade drill are not to be scorned. Assimilate the movements until your body knows them. Then switch your mind off and let your body do the work. Inside your head you are then free. In that trance state I wrote long letters and made plans for the future…
Bekki remembered her Aunt Mariella's good advice and moved with the rest, as Sergeant Detritus, a troll born to give parade-ground commands, took the Watch recruits through the motions.
Basic Watch training and living in barracks had proven to be not completely horrible. And there was a time limit to it. Mum had firmly refused any suggestion she live at home and commute in. Bekki had been slightly outraged at first and had felt a little betrayed. But Mum had been right.
Listen to me, Rebecka. If you are living in Rimwards Howondaland when you turn eighteen, then you will almost certainly be called up for National Service. That means living in barracks for twenty-two long dreary weeks. Under full military discipline. The City Watch may at most be mildly military. And the training lasts only for thirteen weeks. This will prepare you. Give you the experience you will need, when full military discipline applies to you for much longer. And you will learn good skills from the Watch. Sam Vimes does not teach irrelevant or time-watching skills to his Watchmen. Depend on it.
The barrack-room was shared with eleven other female recruits of various ages. Bekki was not used to communal living of this sort, but realised it was driven by necessity and goodwill. She steeled herself, and got on with it.
Spion Kop barracks – and Bekki wondered what it was in the Ankh-Morporkian military mind that made them name their military bases after their most humiliating defeats – was a large communal facility that acted as base depot for several of the official Regiments of the Army. The regular soldiers accepted that initial training for Watchmen happened here, as it was a big open space with several convenient drill squares. They were also, Bekki realised, shuddering, interested in the notion of women in uniforms. She and the other eleven attracted a lot of interest, some of it not the unwelcome sort.
Spion Kop, the Howondalandian side of her whispered, one night. That was only a humiliating defeat for the Morporkians, liewe heksie. I was there. I saw them stumbling up a steep hill. Only to discover a lot of Boers with crossbows were already at the top – and on the higher hills to each side – and we were waiting for them. Those who were not hit went down that kopjie a lot quicker than they climbed it. Their defeat. Our victory. (8)
"Thank you, Johanna Cornelia", Bekki replied, then she went to sleep. Trying to ignore the snoring of the other Watchwomen around her.
The Turnwise Steppes, technically in Aceria, but as with so many things it depends whose geography book you're reading. "The Great Outdoors" is a nice neutral term.
Olga Romanoff knew she had to be back in Ankh-Morpork in a couple of weeks to supervise induction training for the new pilots in the air Police. But not just now. Nottie Garlick and Hanna von Strafenberg could be relied on to look after the basics for her. Two who would go to the Pegasus Service; three more recently-minted Lancre-trained Witches who would be trained for broomstick pilot duties, Witch Police Constables.
For now, Olga sat and watched the wide flowing river, and the spread of the flat grasslands rolling out to a distant horizon. There was the suspicion of mountain peaks on the very far horizon. The unfortunately named, if your first language was Morporkian, Urinal Mountains.
She had tried to explain these things to Xenia Galina, who spoke practically no Morporkian. That if you mentioned certain placenames and words to them, they tended to snigger and tried not to laugh. The Urinal Mountains. The river Lipsczitza, which the other Überwaldean ethnicity calls the Lipschitz. I ask you. It means the river passing through the town of Lipwicznya, which the Fritzes call Lipwig, which has a sharp elbow-bend in it, which Fritz calls a schitz. And in the older tongue, Urinal means "attractively formed lofty mountain crowned in cloud", or "currently accepted border of the ancestral lands of the Kazakh peoples". But the Morporkians do not hear this.
Xenia Galina nodded, thoughtfully.
"Ah." she said. "Morporkians. Nie kulturny, da?" (9)
"Da." Olga agreed. They watched the river together. Olga marvelled at how quickly, on what was a sort of holiday for her, using up accumulated leave, she was becoming a Rus again. A boat was moving past, oars dipping and flashing. From somewhere came a dolorous chant.
Эй, ухнем!
Эй, ухнем!
Ещё разик, ещё да раз!
The two women watched it. Probably a trading vessel moving between ports.
Ey, ukhnyem!
Ey, ukhnyem!
Yeshcho razik, yeshcho da raz!
"An old boatman's song." Xenia explained. Then the riders returned. Twenty-odd very tiny Cossacks, mounted on the small shaggy Steppe ponies, children being taught to ride. Two of them, who had their mother's auburn-red hair, stood out. Olga felt a pride in them. They could ride straight and sit a horse straight and ride every bit as well as Cossack children their age. But then, they were Boer on their father's side, from another race who were practically born to horses. And unusually for a Wizard, Eddie could ride well. This had surprised Olga. It should not have done, she reflected. He comes from the same country and background as the Smith-Rhodes family.
"The children will be safe here." Xenia said.
"I thank you." Olga said, politely. Vassily and Valentina would be in her care for the next two months, learning how to be Cossacks, getting a crash-course in being Rus. They'd need to be in their other home in a couple of months, to become Vondalaanders again and start school. But two months here with a foster-mother who was fond of them would be a good start. And one who was shamanskaya to her people and could also deal with any magic that manifested. Also a consideration.
Members of – and Olga winced, sensing how a typical Ankh-Morporkian would react to this – the Horde of the Vulga Cossacks. The Vulga Horde.
Look, brat, it's a river. The River Vulga. Why is that hard for you to grasp?
Olga Romanoff sighed, and watched the river.
Spion Kop Barracks, New Ankh, Ankh-Morpork.
Getting mail was always a little morale-booster. Bekki saved letters for the evening. She and Sophie Rawlinson got special leave twice a day to feed and groom their Pegasii, who were stabled at the Air Station. It meant things like saluting Commander Vimes, Captain Carrot and Captain von Überwald and calling them "sir" or "ma'am", but they got to see their horses. Who were practically adult now, ten or eleven months after birth.
They would soon be fitting saddles. And flying. Their instructions were not to rush this. Sergeant von Strafenburg, who was okay underneath her austere exterior, had said her instructions were that Captain Romanoff and Lieutenant Politek – two more people they had to call "ma'am" here – would supervise this personally, taking Bekki and Sophie one-to-one in the last, critical, stage of becoming Pegasus Service pilots. And the Captain was currently on leave, doing necessary family things in Far Überwald. From what she'd heard, very Far Überwald.
But with grooming and feeding over and not expected back in Barracks for a while, it was a good time to read letters.
Bekki sat in the hayloft and opened and read letters from Howondaland.
Dear Rebecka.
To my shame, this is possibly the first time I have said hello to you… My name is Chloe and I married your Godsfather, Julian Smith-Rhodes…
Bekki read on. Chloe hoped they could become friends and she'd really love to meet her properly, and she just knew her husband Julian would be delighted to see her again. Mariella tells me you are coming to Howondaland later in the year. Why don't you come to see us?
Bekki focused. She was a witch. She knew there were spill words that people very carefully failed to articulate in spoken conversation, but which a witch could hear clearly. If she focused. And right now, she was realising there were spill-words in written letters too. She studied the paper and the writing on it and tried to look at it the right way and read what had been in Chloe's mind when she wrote it. After a while, answers formed in her mind.
She'd have to give some thought to the reply. How to say to Chloe:
Your first child is going to be a girl. And yes, my Aunt Mariella is right to suggest a Lancre-trained witch nearby might be useful when the time comes. I can see you're worried about yours and Julian's first baby…
She discussed this with Sophie.
Then after a while they went to find their broomsticks and to return to the Barracks. Tomorrow morning was going to be an introduction to the basic principles of Law that the watchman needed to know. (10)
To be continued
Hoping to wrap up Book One of Strandpiel with at most one more chapter, having set up lots of threads to pick up in Book Two….
(1) Another road trip yet to be written. How Olga and Irena made it to Lancre via Ankh-Morpork and other interesting places. Like many Russian girls, getting out there and seeing the world.
(2) Callback to Bungle In The Jungle.
(3) Vetinari also trusted that the eventual Grand Duke Vassily would grow up as a friend and sympathetic ally of Ankh-Morpork. He understood that if Grand Duke Vassily grew up to remember a happy childhood at least partially spent in Ankh-Morpork, he would then be more inclined to be a friend of the City. "And now, Captain Romanoff, could I prevail upon you for your private thoughts concerning this idea of a Greater Kneck Economic and Cultural Co-operation Zone? (3.1) The provocative idea is certainly compelling, and grabs the imagination. Of the coming together of Far Überwald, Zlobenia, Mouldavia, the Hubwards Acerian Steppe, and those parts of Borogravia, Skund, Upper Klatchistan and even Muntab where the Rus people are to be found and where the Rus language and culture constitutes a majority, or even a significant minority. I concede in the long run that a united Federation of these peoples under one de facto jurisdiction has advantages, but in the short term, there would be disruption, strife, uncertainty and upheaval. Not least among the cartographers who would feel obliged to re-draw all the atlases, and to go to the expense of scrapping the old outmoded versions and publishing updated and revised editions. I also hear there are informal contenders for the long-dormant position of Tsar, Father Of All The Ruskiya?"
(3.1) This is canonical: the Compleat Discworld Atlas notes the idea of a group of nations and regions in the general Far Überwaldean area coming together in a cultural and economic union based on shared language, culture, society, et c, which is described in terms of a sort of, er, Russian Federation, with overtones of the old USSR, depending what political philosophy eventually prevails…
(4) as it wasn't an official contract, and as the two henchmen (both men with bad reputations) had been killed in self-defence when they raised spears to a black-clad night visitor who had unaccountably allowed themselves to be seen, the receipt had not been signed. Mariella had paid a couple of hundred dollars to the Guild's widows and orphans fund afterwards. Little things like this are understood, and the Guild saw this as charitable pro-bono work and good public relations. Two Guild members living in the Bitterfontein area both had unbreakable alibis on the night, which the police accepted. The former Headman left, after a parcel of travel passes and documents were delivered to him the next morning. He would start a new life in the Transvaal where the local baas was Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes. Who had been primed by his daughter as to what to expect. Mariella had seen what prisons were like for black people. She preferred other methods of administering justice where it was needed.
(5) And no Assassin ever likes to go completely without weapons. Some habits of thought are ingrained.
(6) In Afrikaans, onverdraagsaam is a word for intolerance or small-mindedness. I'm not sure if it works, but I'm going for a punning name here. Hope it works!
(7) A lot of people had this reaction to Mariella. She was good at things like this.
(8) Really true. Fought on January 23-24, 1900. The British commander (the Rust-like General Redvers-Buller) decided it was imperative to capture and hold the highest ground. Only mist, fog and bad recce prevented him from realising there were higher hills still on either side. The British army found out the hard way that the Boers held all three and had clear fields of fire from three directions. It was such a traumatic memory that even today, the high steep terraces at many British football grounds are called "kops", and another Afrikaans word found its way into English. A surprising amount of Afrikaans re-entered English after the Boer War. The British Army, by the way, tends to name its barracks after glorious defeats. Nobody really knows why.
(9) apparently "nie kulturny" is a killing insult when used by an educated and cultivated Russian, implying that the offending person is not only uneducated and uncivilised, they lack the capacity or intellectual competence to become a worthwhile member of society. "Uncultured" is only the half of it.
(10) This summed up as You're nicked, chummy, and this is why….
Notes Dump:
Russian: words for "shamaness" and "witch" = шаманка ведьма (shamanskaya ved'ma)
Or else шаманство, ведьма (shamanstvo, ved'ma)
An experiment. Struck by how an image search on any subject you like, however unlikely, will start throwing up pornographic images sooner or later. I wanted images of "sharpie pens" and… well, discretion dictates. Just felt-tipped artist's pens. How the hells do you go from "Sharpie pen" to… well. There is Sharpie porn out there. You may not be looking for it but you get it. Felt-tipped pens. That you write and draw with. You would not believe it. So I started throwing random girls' names - just a single name, with no extra text, for goodness' sake - into a search engine and counting the images until the point where the first suspect pictures appeared. So far:
Anne – image 51
Ann – Image 22.
Alison – image 5 (!)
Harriet – 43
Agatha – 39
Agnetha – 117 (OK: realised "Agnetha" is cognate with the blonde one in Abba, so bad choice)
Ruth – 11 (seventeenth century nude painting came in at 8)
Johanna – 147 (although for some reason most of the images thrown up are bikini or underwear shots… still trying to work that one out)
Alice – 53…