A sort of a Zoo Tale
Returning to the Ankh-Morpork City Zoo, by a roundabout route
The even weirder third chapter. In which things start to get explained.
But as the Nocturnal and Deep Sea Galleries were visited by members of the public, a new and even stranger development happened. Brown-robed and cowled monks began visiting the Zoo in groups. Being only human, they made their fifty pence entry tickets last. But they congregated around one particular marine animal... Johanna, who had been too busy to inquire about statues in the Library, found herself taking an interest. What the Hell was going on?
Johanna Smith-Rhodes led a busy and energetic life. She liked this. Juggling responsibilities between her teaching job at the Guild School, supervising the Animal Management Unit and directing the Zoo led to a full week. Sensible delegation to teaching assistants and junior staff members meant a lot of the workload was cut or capably dealt with by subordinates. While she liked to stay close to her base at Raven House and to manage her students, she now had resident Teaching Assistants who acted as Assistant Housemistresses and performed much of the routine administration. Sensibly managed, her time even allowed her to fit in one or two shifts each month, pro bono, as a Watch Special Constable. She was also on call as one who could cover emergency consular tasks for her uncle, Rimwards Howondaland's Ambassador to Ankh-Morpork. In practice, this overlapped her Watch duties: it wasn't unknown for compatriots to end up in the Watch cells and loudly, drunkenly, demand to see the Ambassador or somebody from the Embassy. Sam Vimes would smile and oblige them, if Johanna were available. They tended not to ask again.
But, she reflected, in a happy relaxed haze over a glass of wine, there would always be time for Ponder.
It had been a busy time for both of them and several weeks had elapsed since the successful opening of the Zoo's new galleries. Both had been dealing with student exams, setting exam papers, ensuring students were prepared for the day, and finally invigilating. This all took time and effort. Johanna had found herself bored and wanting to be somewhere else, pacing the exam hall and wishing some foolish student would break the monotony by seeking to cheat. Student Assassins had used some fairly ingenious means in the past and all teachers were ready to spot the signs, or at least, the signs of the tricks and dodges they knew about. But if anybody had been fiddling their exam, they were doing it so well that there was nothing showing. Apart from a couple of routine admonishments to "Face the front!" and "Both hands above the desk!" there had been little to do.
Ponder, who had to deal with even stranger means of cheating on exams(1), had ruefully agreed that all this was a time-consuming drudge, but it needed to be done. They smiled, understanding each other.
"Did you get anyone?" he asked. She smiled and shook her head.
"Not personelly. I understend Joan caught one. A girl started crying in the exam hall. Bill Bradlifudd thought it was a case of her just heving exem nerves end let her go to the privy to wesh her face end compose herself. Joan hes long experience of teaching girls. She was suspicious, end followed, end discovered the girl hed concealed crib sheets in the privy. She wes just ecting the tears. Bill, who does not hev Joan's experience of teaching girls, fell for it, I'm sorry to say. The pupil wes hoping to take edventege that a male teacher cen only stend outside the door when a girl pupil is in the privy. But Joan is under no such restriction. I imegine thet pupil now hes real tears to cry, es Joan was... well, you know Joan. The pupil is to be expelled."
"Ouch." Ponder said. He'd met Joan Sanderson-Reeves, an old-time classroom monster. Being caught cheating in an exam by her would be a lesson. "Well, the theatres are always looking for good actresses now the old rule's been relaxed." (3)
"The girl was good at drama." Johanna said, reflectively. They looked out of the restaurant window onto the street outside. In the early evening, Ankh-Morpork's street theatre was playing out. Regular citizens merged with the more colourful denizens of the City; drab everyday civilian clothes were dotted with occasional clowns, jesters, thieves, Assassins, off-duty soldiers in red uniforms, Seamstresses looking for trade, a Golem plodding by on an errand, two dwarves in full armour and chain-mail. A Wizard and an Assassin having dinner together would not make the Top Ten of strange sights. And then there was...
Johanna frowned, looking at the oddest thing out there. A procession of five or six chanting monks, with other pedestrians giving them a wide berth as though there was something contagious to be caught. Perhaps there was....
Ponder watched them too.
"Johanna, aren't they those people who gather at the Zoo?" he asked. She nodded. Their monastic robes had something in common with Ponder's working robe: baggy and shapeless with a big cowled hood, covered in abstract embroidered symbols. The bodies were drab khaki-brown, but the sleeves and hoods were in a bright primary blue. What was visible of their faces suggested ritual tattoos or face-painting. She noted one hopeful at the back, possibly a novice, had crudely painted a hooded coat in exactly the wrong shade of blue where it was needed, and the occult symbols had been equally crudely painted on; some of them appeared to be backwards, although it was hard to tell. The other monks were carefully projecting a "He's new here" vibe, or else pretending not to notice.
Johanna recalled her patrols as a Watch special.
"I'm certain thet's Fartmeister Carter et the beck." she said, observing the large ungainly figure who was desperately trying to fit in, and failing. She took note during her Watch patrols and while not expert, was building an internal file of the sort of people the Watch paid attention to. It was all valuable knowledge.
"Lives in Dimwell. Desperately wents to fit in somewhere, but he's never really meneged it, poor fellow. Petty thief, too good-natured to be a street thug, not too clever, could do with eating less sterch, needs to be introduced to the idea of bathing more often, end he hesn't read es far es "l" in the dictionary, or he would know whet a laundry is. End more importantly, whet it does. I think I will telk to him when I em next with the Wetch. Not now, Ponder. These people know I em with the Zoo end they seem fixated with it, for whet reason I do not know."
The procession of monks trailed off, generally of small stature, the large lumbering one at the back looking even more out of place. Ponder shook his head. A snatch of chant reached them.
I am becalmed, lost to nothing...
Warm weather and a holocaust...
Abandoned me and put to sleep...
Tears of the God flow as I bleed ….
Ponder shook his head.
"Another cheerful religion, I see."
She smiled.
"End the Fartmeister hes a new hobby this week. Heppily, not my problem tonight. Elthough if they put off people from visiting the Zoo, they might become one!"
A memory struck her. Guiltily, she remembered Vetinari's words, some weeks earlier. He'd said "no great rush", hadn't he... she turned to Ponder.
"Lord Vetinari said something odd to me, Ponder. He said I should esk you ebout stetues in the University library. There must hev been a reason for thet. He does nothing without a reason."
Ponder asked about the context. She related the night of the opening, about Vetinari being fixated with the oysters donated by Verity Pushpram. Then she realised that was exactly the place where the strangely-cowled monks congregated and chanted. As if they were worshipping...
Ponder nodded, gravely.
"I think he wants us to work something out for ourselves, Johanna. There's some sort of link in a statue in the Library that will tell us more about those blue oysters. And about this new cult that worships them."
"You said you thought they were things of megic." Johanna said, thoughtfully. "Ponder, is it worthwhile for us to go to the library efter we finish here? This mystery intrigues me."
"And Vetinari's going to expect us to act on his advice." Ponder said. "Especially if he said there's no great rush!"
Johanna felt mellow and a little tired.
"Coffee first, Ponder." she requested. "Then the library."
The Library at Unseen University was still open for business at eight in the evening. The lighting source was intangible, probably a by-product of so many magical books confined to the same place, but it offered ample illumination, in a subdued sort of way. Wizards tended to the nocturnal, and students in particular tended to do their best work – well, their necessary work – during the night hours. Ponder and Johanna moved unregarded through the building, noting the statuary as they passed; largely busts and whole studies of past Arch-Chancellors and notable Wizards of the past, who all had the usual vaguely constipated look.
Ponder shook his head.
"All we know is that there's a statue here with a link to the oysters." he said. "But no clue as to which one."
He made another note on his pad, ticking off a statue.
"Arch-Chancellor Torpitude. I'll have to look them up in the histories and the lore to check out what achievements they had. Any Lore or related stories. Any great created magics. That's twenty-three so far. It'll take time."
Johanna acknowledged him. She looked up. Something was slightly out of place here.
"Ponder, those statues up in the Dome. They're of women?"
He looked up.
"Oh, yes, the Two To The Power Three Graces." he said. "Caravati originals. Worth hundreds of thousands, so that's why they were winched up there. Makes it difficult for the Thieves' Guild."
"Cen we get closer to them? In this light they're harder to see."
"I believe there's an access stairway to the lower dome." Ponder said, cautiously. "You can get at least as far as the Shouting Gallery. The acoustics there are unique. Apparently. Umm."
"Lead the wey." she said, extending her arm to be taken. Ponder took it.
Ponder located a discreet door hidden in an alcove near to the Librarian's nest. The Librarian was not there; Ponder suspected he was out re-shelving. He found a bunch of keys in the desk drawer and left a note to say he'd borrowed them.
"There are three galleries at various levels." he explained. "There's the Shouting Gallery, where the Graces are. Above that you have the Screaming Gallery, and the highest of all is the Laryngitis Gallery. Named after Arch-chancellor Laryngitis, apparently. Although I've never been higher than Screaming. Got a pen and paper on you? It makes things easier. You'll see why."
They ascended a spiral staircase, Ponder solemnly warning her not to get side-tracked.
"Nobody installed all these little doors." he said. Apparently they just, er, appeared, shortly after the Library was built. Apparently it's to do with L-space. Everywhere that stores lots of really old books gets them. Nobody knows why."
Johanna had been into second-hand book shops with illogical stairways and strangely-sized doors in odd places. She nodded assent, and let Ponder lead her. Assassins were taught to exercise caution in magical spaces and if possible to let a Wizard lead the way. She was happy for this to happen.
"And here we are."
He paused at a normally-sized doorway with nothing odd about it at all.
"Got the pen and notebook? Good, it all gets a little strange after this."
He opened the door, and they passed onto the Shouting Gallery, which ran around the inside of the Great Dome, around a hundred feet above the Library floor. The only thing to prevent them from falling was a low and very inadequate handrail. It might, Johanna reflected, have been adequate for dwarfs or goblins. She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing happened.
Ponder took a deep breath. She could have sworn he was shouting. But his words came to her as a distant, faint, whisper. From three feet away.
"This is why it's called the Shouting Gallery!" he shouted. "Something happens. To space and time and sound. They say. Shout as loud as you like. Somebody standing directly opposite. Only hears a whisper!"
Johanna got the point. She wrote in her notebook.
Pndr. To sv our throats. The Graces?
He nodded. Staying carefully to the dome side, he walked around the Gallery to the nearest statue. The name "Diligencia" was carved into the base. It showed a woman with her hair bound back in a scarf, sleeves rolled up, broom in hand. She wore an apron, as if anticipating doing all the cooking once the cleaning was over.
Grc of hrd nd careful work. =DILIGENCE. He wrote.
Johanna nodded, studying the statue. No obvious clues. They moved on through Hope, Patience, and Silence. Still nothing obvious. And then...
"TUBSO?" Johanna wrote. She added another question mark for emphasis. Ponder winced.
"Bit embarasing. Nobody knows. Forgotten Grace."
The statue was different; the Grace it depicted was not long, lean and elegant, but a little shorter and plumper with a slipped laurel wreath and a disgruntled look. She was very much the unfavoured sister among the eight, the plump plain homely one. But no clues... a smug-looking Chastity passed by, her facial expression making Johanna's fist clench, then a rather muscly butch-looking Fortitude, and a slightly simpering Charity. And then...
"BISSONOMY?" Johanna wrote. Ponder answered.
"Another forgotten one, I'm afraid. Around here, may be inevitable. They think Chastity is going to be next to go."
Johanna studied the statue of Bissonomy. She frowned. This Grace was longer and thinner, and her face had an expression of vagueness and unfocusedness, as if the plot had temporarily been lost. In her left hand was a bunch of root vegetables which might have been carrots but might be parsnips, and in the other was some sort of kitchen crock that looked like a cross between a kettle and a saucepan. But nothing suggestive of aquatic bivalves.
"Thts all (9-1), Pndr" Johanna wrote. "But no clue?"
Ponder Stibbons shrugged, perplexedly. Then there was a hint of scrabbling noise behind them, on the very verge of hearing. Johanna sensed something climbing up over the low handrail and trained Assassin senses kicked in. She whirled round, heedless of the long fall to ground level, and flexed the muscles of her right arm in a certain way. A throwing knife dropped into her hand, hilt first. A stray thought crossed her mind about the sort of scrabbling not-quite-human things that might come out of the woodwork in a magical space like the Library. She trusted Ponder to have a spell ready, in that case.
"Oooooook?"
The faintest of whispers reached her. Then she saw the Librarian knuckling his way up over the handrail, very slowly and cautiously.
"-"... she began, lowering the knife. Then she remembered, and shouted as loudly as possible:
"Epologies, old man! But do not come up behind me like thet!"
Johanna had a certain m-word privilege with the Librarian. It helped that "orang-utan", in its original Ghatian dialect, meant something like "Old man of the jungle". Coming from her, he did not get angry about use of the other sort of m-word. Normally it was like using the other m-word, only in a different evolutionary direction; the librarian was usually emphatic in stressing that I Do Not Want To Be Like You, thank you very much. (4)
Reflecting that once you'd deployed a concealed throwing knife, it was bloody impossible to get it back into its sheath again without partially undressing, she sighed and tucked it in her belt. Everyone relaxed. The librarian knuckled towards her and made silent but strident "ook!" noises. A good lipreader would have been busy for a long time. Orangs have very expressive lips. Johanna focused on his emphatic nodding and pointing towards the Bissonomy statue. Something was happening, if only she could work out what. Then she realised the Librarian had climbed all that way up just to give her a book...
"Ook, ook, OOOK!" she lipread.
"Thenk you, old man!" she shouted, as loudly as she could. If the Librarian chose a book for you, you read it. There was always a good reason. The Librarian suddenly looked happy and appreciated. She looked at the title:
Chaffinch's Ancient and Classical Mythology.
It would be something to read later. For now, she pointed downwards and raised both eyebrows; Ponder, who wasn't at home at heights, nodded, and the Librarian knuckled towards the entrance door, prepared to take the conventional route now his point had been made. As a competent edificeer, Johanna gave the Librarian ten out of ten for the climb up the inside of the library, which had incorporated a tricky curving overhang inside the dome. She idly wondered about hinting to Alice Band that she'd heard the University was considering putting up an edificeering team to compete in the Boggis-Downey Championship for Edificeering Excellence. It would be worth it, just to see the look on Alice's face when she worked out the implications.
None of the three registered an octarine glow forming around the statue of Bissonomy that Dopplered across the spectrum as far as blue, and then faded out. They were well down the stairs by then, and the only person to look up and see it was a student wizard, who put it down as One Of Those Things, and shrugged it off.
"ATTEN...HUT!" roared Sergeant Detritus. The gossip, conversation and background chatter of eighty Watch members stopped suddenly. This was Evening Prayers, the duty muster before shift, the time when Watchmen learnt their fate for the night. It was called Evening Prayers because the prayer on every Watchman's lips was Whoever gets into trouble or gets injured tonight, pray the gods it isn't me. The big briefing room at Pseudopolis Yard was suddenly very quiet and very attentive as Commander Sam Vimes made his way to the front, smoking the inevitable cigar. He waited impassively at the front, scorning use of the dais, and stood silently until he had everyone's full attention.
"Good to see you all here." he said, breaking the silence. "Especially all the Specials who've mustered tonight for street experience. Nice to have you with us and I hope you get the right sort of eventful night. I'll get onto your patrol assignments in a minute. Every Special here tonight is going to be partnered up with a full-time Watchman so the experience gets spread evenly around. Look upon it as a learnig curve for all of you!"
Vimes grinned humourlessly. He continued.
"I've just come from the Palace. Lord Vetinari is as always appreciative of the work we do. But, as always, he's keen to bring one or two issues to our attention that our normal intelligence-gathering procedures may have overlooked and which have been brought to his attention by other agencies. In particular, the bloody Priests are worried about a new religion that seems to be emerging. Probably because any money involved is being diverted out of their collection plates, and they don't like competition. Now I've had the Particulars on it and they can't get a handle on these new people either, except that they're making converts and seem to be growing. So far we don't know a bloody thing, except that they parade through the streets dressed in blue robes and chanting about bloody oysters coming for them. Which makes as much sense as any damn religion does.
"Now I do not like this. You all know what people in this town are like for fads and crazes. Anyone remember the Red Star and those bloody loonies going around with red stars painted on their faces? No? Before most of your times, I reckon. Caused a lot of bother and disruption. I just about remember it. Vetinari certainly does. And another bunch of loonies going around painting their faces, chanting impenetrable slogans, and making converts – that makes me itch. And when I get itchy, everyone scratches."
Vimes scowled.
"So you will be looking out for these people. Do not arrest them unless they're a real public nuisance. You know what the bloody Times is like about civil liberties. Just follow, observe. Get names, faces, dates, times, anything you can. Right now any leads would be helpful. Don't suppose anyone knows anything? Anyone?"
Johanna stood up. Vimes nodded at her.
"Detective-Constable Smith-Rhodes?" he invited her. Vimes himself had recruited her as a Special. Although he'd assigned her to the Cable Street Particulars, Johanna liked getting out on street patrols. Vimes did not object to this.
She took a deep breath, and explained what she'd seen about their congregating at the Zoo around the shellfish exhibits, particularly the new Oysters.
"So Verity dredged these up about twelve weeks ago." Vimes said, thoughtfully. "They were so strange she turned them over to you. And shortly after they go on show, these bloody monks start appearing. To my mind, that's a connection. Pessimal, take a note, will you? Get undercover people in at the Zoo. If that's OK with you, Johanna? Thanks. And you've positively ID'd one of these maniacs as being Fartmeister Carter with a new religion?"
Vimes grinned a mirthless grin.
"I think we know what to do here, people. Get Carter."
Johanna found herself out on street patrol with Constable Visit. She suspected it was as a test for both of them. She didn't mind this; Visit was a capable copper, despite his quirks, and besides, Vimes's parting admonition rang in their ears.
You're both on my time tonight. So get on, play nicely, and do try to refrain from any arguments about Creationism versus Evolution. The debate between Religion and Science can wait for your teabreak, OK?
"And on the eighth day, Om looked upon his work and saw it was good..." Visit murmured to himself.
"Cen it, Visit." Johanna said, but she didn't stop watching the street. They were patrolling an area nicknamed "Little Howondaland", two or three streets largely populated by immigrants from the continent. She was aware of being silently watched by black faces, and a general sense of tension caused – she hoped – only by the presence of a Watch patrol. Many of the people here could technically be counted as illegal immigrants, although Ankh-Morpork tended to accept anybody regardless of race, species or nationality. Deportations did happen, as a cheaper alternative to the Tanty for habitual criminals. And not everybody here was law-abiding. She resolved to let the brown-skinned Visit do any talking. The moment she opened her mouth she would self-identify as a White Howondalandian, and that could cause complications. Her people were generally not loved by their neighbours.
Johanna was feeling like a Dwarf on Quarry Lane. Or a Troll on Cable Street. But then Vimes absolutely insisted every Officer went everywhere and there were no such things as no-go areas. And that they policed fairly when they got there. She suspected this had been done deliberately as an ongoing test. And then the screaming and shouting started.
(1) Cheating in a student wizard exam might involve somebody with scrying or far-seeing abilities papering the inside of their room with torn-out pages from text books (2) and then going into trance in the middle of the exam hall, popping back to take a look after reading the question, then "returning" to write the answer. Invigilators were primed to recognise the signs of trance and could deliver a gentle nudge or a shake of the shoulder, to disrupt any astral travel that was going on. More crucially, the Librarian had been asked to tour halls of residence with a Bledlow or two with master keys, and check the rooms of students doing exams. One student, confidently astral projecting out of the exam hall, had been seen to slump in his seat and moan "Oh, great Om on a crutch!". He had projected back to his room, confident it would not be noticed and all the invigilators would see would be a student paused deep in concentration. Instead of the relevant pages from Oddfellow's Rough Guide To The Dungeon Dimensions torn out and thumbtacked to the wall, he had seen an obviously enraged orang-utan lamenting the destruction done to innocent books, while a Bledlow meticulously wrote his name on a clipboard. His future did not need a scryer for him to realise it involved a failed exam, charges for damage to books, possible expulsion, and a traumatic encounter with an annoyed Librarian. Ponder Stibbons had contemplated installing "soul traps" to imprison the essence of any student astrally projecting out of the exam hall. But these were expensive and thaumatalogically tricky and the spells took time and precision. Getting the Librarian on the case and ensuring this became widely known would have the same deterrent effect for a far smaller outlay.
(2) Because you can't open a book or turn pages whilst astral travelling.
(3) In former days, the Guild of Actors had been forbidden to recruit girls, leading to female roles being played by dragged-up men of a certain inclination. The Patrician had relaxed this old law. Serious objections had been raised, some by religious leaders and moral watchdog groups, others (more loudly) from the male actors who specialised in drag roles who didn't see why all those lovely clothes, wigs and slap should be wasted on mere females.
(4) And anyway, he already knew the secret of man's red fire. It was handy to keep warm by and cooking things on it was a definite improvement to eating them raw. But keep it away from my bloody rain forest, OK?
References:
LP's: Fire of Unknown Origin (the Blue Öyster Cult) (cover)
Secret Treaties, Imaginos – for song SubHuman / Blue Öyster Cult
Music Video: Take Me Away