Another slightly revised and re-written chapter. With more bugs and typos taken out and some added detail that was too good not to include.

The members of the Mature Students' Class were down on the Butts with a variety of strung bows they had drawn from the Guild armoury. It was a pleasant warm spring day, and the attitude was a relaxed and easy one, as this was the sort of class where somebody ran the risk of being killed only if they were very stupid or very unlucky.

The Butts was a large open field in the city centre, on the Morpork side of the river. It had been spared being built on because of the old, old, city law that said all male citizens over the age of twelve and under sixty should spend at least three hours every day practicing their archery. While this law had fallen largely into disuse, archery remained both a popular hobby and a necessity for other occupational groups, several of whom were influential enough to block any moves by property developers to "acquire" the fields.

By informal arrangement its use was shared between the various interest groups. The City Watch taught its recruits the essentials of archery here – or at least, Alice Band thought, as she watched Fred Colon ineffectually trying to convey instruction, it tried to.

The city regiments taught recruits here, and those Guilds whose members needed a grounding, such as Thieves and Assassins, brought their school pupils here There was room enough for everyone, and on this particular afternoon, it was Watch recruits and mature trainee Assassins.

Alice had asked for and got a group of school-age pupils to look after the weapons and guard their equipment against opportunist theft. The understanding was that she'd take them in twos and threes and give them some sort of tuition alongside the adult entrants. It also gave Alice some practice at dealing with the pupils, which she'd need if she was going to go on and teach at the school.

Right, OK. Martin's got his half of the class down into the trench behind the target line. He's lifted the red flags to alert people that shooting is in progress and if you step between them, you are doing so at your own risk. Time to make a start.

"My chosen target is Number Seven from the left." she said, in a clear carrying voice. "Observe!"

She took a deep breath and angled the Hublandish double-recurved hunting bow she had carried since early adulthood. She tested the breeze with a damp finger and adjusted the angle and direction of the bow slightly.

"Six aimed arrows at one hundred yards."

Alice's fingers blurred as she loaded – drew – loosed, directing six arrows at the target in the shortest possible time.

She lowered her bow, aware that not only were the Assassins watching, Fred Colon and the Watch recruits were paying full attention. From the butts below the target, a pointer was raised, indicating five inners and one outer. That is, a tight grouping of five arrows, any of which would have killed, and one that would have wounded. She took the class down to the target so they could see, inviting Colon and his class to follow. Archery was her speciality, after all: she had no false modesty, she knew she was good at it. And it did no harm to advertise. It might also be good for public relations if a little of what she knew spread to the Watch: besides, Colon was such an appallingly bad instructor it made her teeth grate. She felt a little bit sorry for those Watch recruits, if truth be told. After all, like Assassins they'd be facing sudden death in dark places too, but for a fraction of the money. If knowing how to use a bow properly might make the difference, she didn't mind them cadging a bit of learning off her.

She turned to her mix of student Assassins and Watchmen.

"Many of you may be wondering how I did this" she said, indicating five arrows occupying a space the size of a saucer. The target had the shape of a human attacker on it, running in the direction of the bowman and holding a spear at the high port. (1)

All five arrows occupied a tight close grouping in the chest: the sixth had deviated off to its right and perforated the figure's right arm.

"Not quite perfection, as the sixth arrow coincided with a higher breeze. Which makes it all the more important that you get off as many aimed shots in the time you are allowed. Unless you really know what you are doing, never consider one arrow to be enough. That is a form of over-confidence."

She paused, let the message sink in, and went on:

"There is nothing, absolutely nothing, magical in what I did. Any of you, with attention to basic principles and enough practice, can perform at least as well."

Alice looked around her, but her moment of satisfaction was marred by a murmuring whisper.

'ere, those warrior women in Samothrip or somewhere… they was said to be lethal with the bow and arrow!

…yes, but look at the price they had to pay. Dint they have to have a…you know… an err, um, cut off? Otherwise it got in the way of the bow?

Think she's from Samothrip?

Well, it looks from here as if she's got both of her…

Alice cut the conversation short, a red flush coming to her cheeks. She'd been here before. Any woman who'd even casually glanced at a bow and arrows had been here before. Never mind that they'd just seen a virtuouso display of archery, even if Alice said so herself, sooner or later it all boiled down to… and what irritated was that it was just a myth. Pure and simple. But some myths carried force.

Ah well, time to set them right…

"Gentlemen, just a very quick history lesson before we proceed!" Alice called. "The gentlemen from the City Watch are right in saying that in classical times, there was a civilisation in Samothrip – which is modern-day Kythia, incidentally – where women fought on equal terms with men. In fact, it was something of a matriarchy."

Alice produced a throwing knife from a hidden recess of her clothing, and casually unpicked a shoulder seam.

Do this carefully and I can get it repaired later.

"I have been to Kythia on archaeological digs and unearthed evidence to prove the women warriors existed in fact. My own bow is based on a model still in use all the way across the Central Continent between the Hub and the sea, in fact. We discovered similar weapons in tombs in Kythia, giving the double-recurved bone composite bow a very long ancestry.

"But, as I have heard Assassins' Guild students whispering about it – and if they paid attention in their history classes, they should know better! – then I am going to be forced to put you right on a point of detail."

Alice glared at the offending students, who shuffled and looked away.

"Yes. It is true that Samothripian warrior women had to cut off what has been described as an err…ummm… because if left intact, it would foul the draw and interfere with the smooth action of the bowstring."

Alice sheathed the knife and gave her cuff a slight tug. Her sleeve concertina'd down from her shoulder to the wrist, leaving her whole arm bare, except for a leather vambrace on her forearm. She held it up.

"In the Kythian language, an errr'um is a sleeve." she said. "And take it from me, there's nothing like a loose sleeve for fouling a bowstring!"

She smiled.

"There is absolutely no evidence for the proposition that Samothripian, nor indeed Kythian, warrior women underwent a partial mastectomy." she said, sternly. "Take it from me, gentlemen, there is absolutely no need for a woman archer to undergo such mutilation. And if you don't believe me, there are three women present who can all testify to you I am personally one hundred per cent intact in the bosom department. Ask any of them. In fact, I counted them myself this morning when I got up, and there are definitely two. Now have we all got that out of our systems? Yes?

Emmanuelle grinned and gave a thumbs-up, Johanna and Joan nodded and smiled.

"And we are now going to go over some of the basic principles! Sergeant Colon, I've no objection to you and your men and women joining forces with us for the afternoon?"

"Thank you, m'lady!" Colon said, looking relieved. He had been having his own private speculation about Alice's breasts.

"Noblesse Oblige!" Alice murmured. Then she set about teaching.

"Over short distances, up to about sixty yards, an arrow will travel to its target at a flat trajectory." She paused, then rephrased her words in Colon-speak. "It will go in a straight line. Therefore if you hold the bow just so, and point your finger at the target accurately, you will hit the target."

Alice had her class pointing unloaded bows at each other and at the targets repeatedly, until she was satisfied enough to let them loose at the targets with real arrows at fifty yards. To her pleasure and gratification, everybody hit, even Colon, who beamed as if he'd achieved a career best. She allowed them all several more looses at fifty, so as to build a sense of confidence, then progressively pulled back at ten-yard intervals. At sixty, everyone still hit: at seventy, the first misses happened; at eighty, nobody hit.

"Now this where it gets interesting" she said. As we move further away from the target, our accuracy decreases when loosing arrows over a flat trajectory. This is because?"

Nobody answered.

"This is because the power driving the arrow derives from the bent bow, which is focused by the bowstring interfacing with the nock in the arrow's base. As the arrow flies further from the bow it loses this initial power as a second force, the force of gravity, pulls it down. Therefore we expect to see, as here, that all the arrows which have missed the target have fallen short and in the ground some way in front of it. To compensate for arrows falling short, what do we do?"

Fred Colon raised a diffident finger.

"You… point the arrow a little bit upwards, miss?"

"Well done, sergeant, absolutely correct! We elevate the bow. You are now thinking in terms of the arrow following a curved path to its target. As it rises in the air with the full force of the bow behind it, this compensates for the action of gravity pulling the arrow downward. This curve is called a parabola, by the way, but I'll spare you the maths. Now. Think of your bow-arm as being like the minute hand on a clock. When you loose flat, your arm is at exactly a quarter to the hour. In between the quarter and the hour, there are exactly how many possible positions for the minute hand? "

She waited while they worked it out.

"Sixteen, miss?" said one of the younger Assassins.

"Sixteen." Alice confirmed. "Although in practice we never use this one, not unless you are absolutely sure of a hit, say on a large flying bird or a Klatchian magic carpet."

She posed the act of pointing the bow and an arrow directly upwards.

"As what goes up comes down again, in this case as an arrow with lethal force behind it. Again, over-confidence. But as a general rule of thumb, for every fifteen yards over seventy, elevate your arm and the arrow by another minute. Let's line up at eighty-five yards and try it. Go!"

More hits, more confidence. Alice passed from archer to archer, watching their individual postures, correcting, fine-tuning, showing them how to adapt the minute rule to their own bows and body strength. Even Colon, a man marinaded in nearly forty years of bad habits, was hitting the target with every second arrow at well over a hundred yards, which Alice privately thought was the best she could get out of him.

She also paid particular attention to one Watch recruit, a lance-constable with long flowing dark hair, taking the girl in hand, moulding her body into Alice's to demonstrate best posture, using physical closeness to mirror the Watch girl's body to Alice's.

Be careful, Alice. You're not on the pull, you're teaching her how to use a bow and nothing more, she reminded herself, noting to her pleasure how the Watch girl didn't pull away and seemed to like the body contact. (At the end of the day, however, Alice was pleased to leave with a name and address, ostensibly for private lessons at some unspecified future time).

At the end of her appointed hour, Alice handed over control of the class to Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who then took a lesson in Introduction to Crossbows. Johanna divided the class up into Beginners, Intermediate and Advanced, including the Watchmen and spending a little time with each, demonstrating, observing, correcting and improving. In the Advanced class, Alice learnt to fire pistol crossbows from the hip with minimal or no time to formally aim the shot.

At the end of the day, Fred Colon diffidently approached Alice and Johanna and thanked them for their help.

"To be honest, m'lady, sometimes I wonder if I'm a bit out of my depth with this."

"Think nothing of it, sergeant. You do know Lord Downey believes here should be more co-operation between the Guild and the Watch, if only because there's been some bad feeling in the past. He believes that as good citizens, we should give every co-operation to the Watch. Except in circumstances where it would prejudice Guild business, of course".

"Of course" Colon replied, weakly. Alice didn't add And Downey is going to be quietly pleased that Commander Vimes will be very embarrassed, and will no doubt go Bursar, when he learns his recruits were trained in effective archery and crossbowmanship by the Assassins' Guild. But you'll find that out, Fred, when you report in.

Then Watch Recruit Mercedes de Toleda (2) walked up, and shyly said "hello" to Alice, followed by an exchange of names and addresses and an offer of private tuition.

That night, in the interests of closer co-operation between the Guild and the Watch, Alice took an overnight leave from the Guild. Well, she reasoned it created good feeling and mutual respect between the two organizations. Besides, the itch had become almost painful since she'd last seen Caroline, some months before. There had been one moment, with Johanna, where her self-control had nearly crumbled and she'd very nearly…

Sleeping arrangements in the ladies' apartment meant that they had to share two bedrooms. By initial agreement, Alice and Joan had shared one room, whilst Johanna and Emmanuelle shared the other. The training at first had been so hard and so relentless that Alice could have shared a twin bedroom with a small bull elephant and not noticed. Despite the fact Joan, who had never married, had developed a single-sleeper's snore that could saw large logs, Alice generally found she was asleep he moment her head hit the pillow.

About three months in, Johanna asked if they could rethink the sleeping arrangements.

"Why, m'dear?" Joan asked. Johanna coloured.

"It's Emmie. Don't get me wrong, I like her and she cen be verry kind, but she… goes eway at nights and comes beck yawning in the early morning."

"Oh, we all know that!" Joan said, dismissively. "Some wretched man or other. Damn gel's like a cat!"

"She does make a good match with Scrote Jones, though." Alice had said. "In his own unique way he's an extraordinarily honest man".

"If she stuck to the same man, it'd be a good start! If she learnt to charge, she'd be a born Seamstress!" Joan said, "But I suppose we all have to make our own arrangements in that department, don't we, Alice?"

Alice had an uneasy feeling Joan suspected more than she was letting on.

"It's not her disappearing that gets to me. It's thet she insists on telling me ebout it, every lest little detail, when she gets home in the morning!"

"Ah. I can see where that would be a problem. Johanna, my dear, just between the three of us, you've never? You know? With a man?"

Johanna went red and shook her head. Alice sighed. A virgin, a nymphomaniac and a dyke. What a trio they made. And Joan…

"Oh, when Harold was alive, I gave him everything." Joan said, remembering a faraway time. "Young officer, just off to the war with Pseudopolis, it was expected. He never came back."

She sighed.

"I never got the hang of the physical stuff, it was all jolly sticky and possibly unhygienic. But afterwards, just yourself and the lucky chap together in the dark with morning a long way away… that made it all worthwhile, somehow. And after he died, I wondered if there's be another, and put it to one side for later, and then the later became too late. Which is why I'd never object to any of you gels doing what you have to in the way that's best for you, even if one of you does have the morals of an alley cat. And you. Johanna, you don't need my advice, but keeping it to yourself doesn't help. You ought to be keeping an eye out for the right man before "for later" gets to be "too late". And "too late" happens sooner than you think, believe me!"

There was an uneasy silence. Alice didn't know how to fill it.

"Teases you about it, does she? Says she can fix you up with a good man to take the burden of virginity away?"

Johanna shuddered, and nodded.

"Right!" Joan said, decisively. "Though I couldn't have asked for a better room-mate than Alice, I'll move in with our Quirmian minx. Sort her out! You move your things to Alice's room. Dear Emmanuelle isn't here to object, so she can't bloody well argue with it, can she?"

And so they changed rooms.

On the first night, Alice came in from the bathroom, towelling her hair , She put a night-dress on without a second thought, then turned to see Johanna staring at her through wide-open eyes.

"Ellice… do you often welk around nekked?"

"We all are under the clothes!" Alice said. "Joan never objected. She thought it was quite healthy and liberating! Besides, you can now testify to my being completely intact, just in case anyone else brings up the Amazon myth about women archers."

Johanna was bright red. Alice sighed, and got into bed.

"Your turn in the bathroom" she said, trying hard not to stare as the other girl undressed. But she sneaked enough looks to assure herself that Johanna had a gorgeous body. Freckles! Everywhere! I want to count them! I want to kiss every one! That almost pellucid red-head's skin, white almost, where it isn't weathered by Howondalandian sun… How long is it now since Caroline… two, three months? Aaaargh, I need a woman!

Two or three hours into slep, Alice was awoken by somebody nearby. A weight on her bed. A smell of woman…

Johanna was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking nervous.

"Ellice?"

"Astfgwl?"

"Look, this sounds bed. I'm sorry. But I'm lonely and I'm scared. Cen I get in with you?"

Alice made room, and the girl got in. There was a bit of wriggling for comfort, and Johanna settled into Alice in the classical spoons position, her head resting on Alice's left arm and shoulder. Alice was stuck for what to do with her right arm, but settled for embracing Johanna's waist as the least controversial option. She felt toned lean belly muscle under the nightdress, and things stirred in her.

Could it be she's… or at least bi-curious?

She heard Johanna fall asleep and snore gently.

Damn. Damn. Drat. She really did only want to be close to somebody else. Sod.

Alice fell asleep dratting emotionally retarded Howondalandians, and awoke, with a guilty start, to realize Johanna was still fast and happily asleep while she, Alice, had moved both hands onto Johanna's breasts. She was about to move them, but thought

Whoa, she's asleep. No hurry! and enjoyed the weight and the feel and the motion of a firm young breast in each palm. Alice licked her own lips, and tested the nipples – both were very, very, perky and erect and yielded under her exploring finger like the stem of an apple. She felt Johanna mumble and move, her buttocks moving against Alice's hypersensitive midsection.

Stop it, Alice Band, stop it right now!

Alice reluctantly let go and moved her hands downwards, and eventually fell into uneasy sleep.

In the morning, Johanna said "Thenk you. I can't tell you how much I needed thet!" and she wriggled in Alice's arms until they were face-to-face, and gave her a quick friendly kiss on the lips.

Alice cuddled her, full body from head to toes, and thought Dratted girl! Does she KNOW what she's doing to me?

"Emmanuelle thought you were a moffie." Johanna said.

"A what?"

"A moffie, A dyke. A lesbian. She said she could tell. She likes you, Ellice, whetever you are, and said it's your business. But I can tell you're not."

"You can?" Alice was intrigued.

"When I saw you naked. You don't shave. Down below. Everybody knows moffies shave down there. Well-known fect!"

How do these stories get around, Alice wondered.

"And you didn't try enything on with me"

That's not for want of temptation, you naïve child! .

They got up, got dressed, and went about their day's training.

But on the night of the archery lesson, Alice Band found herself giving personal tuition, of a sort, to the Watchwoman Mercedes de Toleda.

Mercedes. Mer-they-dez. Such a beautiful name. It suggests a sleek high-powered beautiful-looking….expensive… high-performance… thing…. Like its owner…. Ooooh YES!

"¡Si! ¡Ah, tocamela! ¡Besamela màs! "

Alice felt her body slipping and sliding and writhing off and over Mercedes, all thoughts of Johanna forgotten, all visions of Johanna no longer conquering her mind, no longer keeping her awake past the dawn.

Sex with Mercedes was a perfect moment for Alice. She knew she couldn't hold it, it was a pointless as trying to keep hold of a handful of rain. But the dark girl was the perfect lover for that transient moment and just what Alice needed to stop herself from exploding in some catastrophic way.

"Don't get used to me, querida." Mercedes whispered in her ear during the afterwards, where arms and legs are a sweaty tangle and fingertips dance a ballet on bare skin. Alice moved her leg gently up the other woman's flank and back.

"I train with the Watch in Ankh-Morpork, I pass out of their school, I return home to Toleda and join the Guardia Civilia there. We have perhaps a couple of months for the loving, arquerita! "

It was enough. Enough to keep Alice sane. She also learnt something of the Toledan language, like yet unlike to Quirmian and Genuan, in Mercedes' bed.

"And I am also pleased, arquerita, you have two breasts."

It was enough. Alice felt reasonably halfway content for the first time in months.

The next morning, returning to the shared flat, a surprise awaited her.

Steeling herself for questions of the "Where have you been all night, then?" variety, and suppressing a contented yawn, she was instead informed by Joan that the four of them had been invited to a sherry and an almond slice in the Master's office.

"The drill is to politely decline the almond slice." Joan informed them. "Apparently they've got something in common with the sort of cakes I used to bake for...special... customers."

Alice nodded, aware of Joan's past history.

"What's it about, and why just us?" she asked.

"Something to do with religion. That's all I know."

"We were waiting for you!" Emmanuelle remarked, a grin on her face. "So where did YOU stop out to all night, cherie?"

Alice put on a gnomic smile, and knocked on the Guild Master's door.

"Ah, ladies!" Dr Downey welcomed them. "I was able to take the opportunity to reflect on what was said by Chief Priest Ridcully when we met in this office concerning the appointment of an Ionian chaplain to this School. On reflection, I considered that to be a very constructive suggestion indeed, and the Dark Council were only too willing to advance the funding necessary to establish a salaried chair. Please do take a glass of sherry, each of you. Almond slice? No? I understand completely about the need to be figure-conscious!"

"Anyway, as all four of you expressed a deep association with the Ionian religion, I considered you should be the first to meet our new member of staff, who after interviews and background checks we consider to be the ideal man for this position. The Chief Priest considers that he is absolutely ideal to act as your chaplain and personal confessor." Downey paused, and an enigmatic smile crossed his face.

"The Chief Priest did emphasise to me that no part of this arrangement is negotiable. It's all or nothing, if you understand me. He also emphasised that this is most personally applicable to Miss Smith-Rhodes, who he considers to be most in need of personal enlightenment in several important respects. He's keen to ensure she accepts there will be no offered alternative."

Johanna looked puzzled, but said nothing. Downey nodded. He pressed a buzzer on the desk.

"You may now enter, Chaplain"

He was in his late twenties, tall, athletic and well-built, dressed in the usual sober junior cleric's outfit of a black suit, with grey dickie attached to a white clerical collar. He smiled warmly at the ladies, revealing a mouth full of perfect white teeth.

In a completely black face.

"Well, bonjour!" Emmanuelle breathed, running her eyes over his body.

Joan suppressed a chuckle. Alice looked round at Johanna, whose mouth had fallen open in astonishment and horror. Unheeded, her sherry glass had dropped and had spilt on the carpet.

Downey went on, smoothly, "Ladies, may I introduce the Slightly Reverend Clement N'Effabl? Among his other accomplishments, he is a graduate of this School. His religious inclinations led him to seek ordination in the Church of Blind Io, and he has just returned to Ankh-Morpork - recalled, in fact, by personal order of the Chief Priest - from missionary work among his own people in Kwa'Zululand."

Downey smiled, serenely.

"I'm sure, miss Smith-Rhodes, you will have a lot in common with a priest from your neighbouring country".

The Reverend N'Effabl circulated, shaking hands with the ladies.

"Miss Band! A delight. The Chief Priest stressed he was very fond of you." His voice was upper-class Morporkian, tinged with Howondalaand.

"Madame Deux-Epees! Quelle plaisir. " He inclined his head and kissed her hand. Emmanuelle looked amused and flattered. "The Chief Priest said you're the very popular one who makes friends easily." (4)

"Miss Sanderson-Reeves! I was advised to be at my most mannered and courteous with you. I hope I pass the test"(5)

Joan smiled and said "In my experience, young priests always are mannered and courteous people. You're no exception!"

Then, the Slightly Reverend Clement N'Effable was face to face with the fourth, who'd recovered a little of her composure by then. The three other ladies, and Downey, watched the confrontation with interest.

"In this country, among the nobility, there's a tradition that the oldest son inherits. The spare sons, who are needed if anything happens to the heir, are then packed off to respectable professions, such as the law, the military, medicine, Assassination, et c. Sons thought to be too stupid and slow to be bankers are sent to the priesthood. It works for us too, miss Smith-Rhodes. I'm the twenty-fourth son, by the third wife, of the Paramount Chief. Some might call that number of sons over-doing it somewhat, but it's the way with us. My father thought that it might be useful to have a son with a Morporkian education, so I became the first Kwa'Zulu student at this school. The education, the training, the social contacts, you see. It was hard, but I was fairly treated by people who saw nothing problematical about my skin colour. There weren't any white Howondalaandians among the teaching faculty then, you see." He held her gaze, but didn't extend his arm.

Watching, Alice thought Ah. Now I perceive why Downey agreed so readily to appointing a Chaplain... give Johanna as she currently is any black pupils, especially Howondalandians, and it would be unfair on them. You can see the problem straight away.

"You inhumed my uncle and his extended family, miss Smith-Rhodes." He held up a hand to silence her retort. "I grieved then and still grieve now. But please be assured that I have no personal animosity towards you. In war, these things happen. Last summer, a Boor kommando crossed the Ulungi, intent on dealing retribution against my people for some implied slight or other."

"To follow end destroy border raiders and cettle thieves!" Johanna hissed, finding her voice. Clement held up a hand again.

"I was at home as a missionary. My father ordered me to my regiment, my family impi, as a warrior-priest. I went to war. We surrounded the Boors in regimental strength. They chose to go to ground, making a final stand on a kopje. By night, I crawled up to their position and introduced myself as a priest of Io. I communicated to them an offer from my father, that if they surrendered their horses and weapons, we would give them food and water and a safe conduct back to your side of the Ulunghi. I was glad to do this as there must be some good people among your people, and at some point we're going to have to put the weapons down and talk, yes?"

"Yes, but on our terms!" Johanna said, flatly.

"The slavery you call apartheid? I think not. Anyway, Kommandant Retief talked to me. I explained I'd been educated and ordained in Ankh- Morpork. He said 'Thenk Gott! I'm telking with en educated men, end not a nigger!' Which is when I realised we had a problem. I told him my name. He was quiet. I said I was a Zulu. But one educated abroad. But would he not listen? Then they started firing at me. I knew then they would not listen. And the end result was the same. We took the horses and their weapons. No Boor was left alive. But then, neither were nearly two hundred Kwa'Zulu."

He held Johanna's gaze. She said "I knew Maurice Retief. I went to his memorial."

"I knew my uncle. And his wives. And my cousins. And those who died in that battle with Retief. I sang in their death-song and later, said the Ionian funeral rite for them. Our peoples need a new relationship, miss Smith- Rhodes."

Johanna was silent for a long time and finally said

"Et least here, a long way eway from home, we cen perheps telk. Just don't expect me to be your best friend!"

"I wasn't. At least we're talking and not trying to kill each other. That's a start."

"Call it a local ceasefire. My onkle the Embessador has to go to diplometic parties where the Kwa'Zulu embessedor is present. They can menage to eccept the presence of the other without refighting the Bettle of the Ulundhi. I think in the circumstences we should too."

Clement laughed, appreciatively.

"Miss Smith-Rhodes, you are perhaps thinking the Chief Priest sent me to you to be some sort of penance. That's correct, as far as it goes. But have you stopped to consider that Hughnon Ridcully also intended you to be my penance?"

Johanna smiled. "I think I might be able to force myself to be repentent. Just give me time to eccept thet in this city, things ere different. Neither of us is et home here. Here, perheps, we cen think end ect differently."

(1) The British Army's standard rifle-range target shows something broadly similar, except that the attacker is holding a rifle.

(2) In Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett introduces a "Spanish" speaking-and-themed region of the Discworld. This is not named. For want of a better, I've borrowed the Roundworld Spanish city of Toleda to give it a name and a principal city.

(3) Bob Dylan fans may notice a few borrowings from the Blonde on Blonde album of 1966. Sorry, couldn't resist it.

(4) Hughnon Ridcully's actual words had been, "Between you and me, Clement, you could recruit a full regiment from the men that woman's been through, and still have enough left over for a company of Territorials."

(5) Again, Clement is paraphrasing . Hughnon Ridcully actually said: "Watch your step around this one, lad. She's a murderous old bitch with a downer on men who don't meet her high expectations. Before she was caught, she clubbed, stabbed or generally just poisoned eighteen of 'em".

(6) Hughnon Ridcully: "For a peaceable man of God, laddie, you inhumed enough Boors last summer! I know Ionianism is meant to be a muscular religion, but kebbabbin' people on yer assegai, even the Boors, is pushin' it a bit! Now as it happens I've got exactly the right penance for you. Young girl at the Assassins' Guild, she's a Boor, and you know what that means, going to be a teacher there by all accounts. Let somebody who thinks like that loose on black or brown-skinned pupils, and you know there are always a few at the School, and there'll be trouble. Downey asked me advice on this as he sees trouble brewin' with this one. So your penance, my lad, is to befriend this Boor girl and get her out of the state of mind where she thinks the colour of a fella's skin is the colour of his soul. Big job, but I'm sure you'll do it!"

Dedicated to all the fans out there who appear to love my interpretation of Alice Band and who asked me to be nice to her and let her have a fling. Fling duly flung, along with what will be an ongoing frustration.