19 The Sun
The long dark night, possibly of the soul, represented by the sequence from the Tower through the Star to the Moon, is now over. The things of the night have slunk back to their lairs and have otherwise been overcome. It is certainly now safe for two children, a boy and a girl, to come out and play in the light of a warming Sun, in a lush garden. This might be the garden of the Empress and they may be Her children. Else, they are two of the characters in The Lovers, who are yet to make the hard choices that come with maturity. Flowers bloom and the grass grows. Nothing evil may enter or prosper here.
Peace, fulfilment, innocence. Children feature. The idea that their parents are the Emperor and the Empress is reflected in the family structure of the suit cards: King, Queen, Prince and Princess. The scene is certainly a balance of the four elements: Air, Earth Water and fire. (Swords, Coins, Cups and Wands).
This is the peace and prosperity in which a family can thrive and children may be raised. It also represents the triumph of Law and Order over evil and chaos – lies cannot thrive without being detected in the sunlight, that sees and illuminates all.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes frowned into the mirror. Normally a girlish-looking young woman turning thirty, amply over-freckled and with striking red hair, the face of a far older Johanna glared back at her. Applications of astringent unctions had dried and wrinkled in the corners of her eyes, giving her crow's feet, and clever theatrical makeup had given her slightly sagging jowls and coarsened the normally sharp lines of her face. Combing grey powder through her hair had turned the vivid red into a fading ginger, and she was wearing padding under a far larger dress size, to give the impression of a body that had gained a few pounds with age and soft living.
With some grim satisfaction, she referred to the iconographs of her mother and of her colleague Joan Sanderson-Reeves, whom she was using as models to practice the essential deceptive skill on. Now all she had to do was to remember to walk and move like a woman in her fifties…
"Em I getting there?" she asked her colleague, who laughed appreciatively.
"Oh yes, baas-lady!" agreed Ruth N'Kweze, who also had a part to play in the deception. She was drably and modestly dressed in old hand-me-down clothes obtained from the shonky shop, which served to conceal the fact that the Zulu girl was a trained and skilled Assassin in her own right.
Correction, Johanna. Like a Rimwards Howondalandian woman in her fifties.
"Tea does not make itself, girl. Go end make it!" she commanded, Boor woman to her housegirl.
"Yes, baas-lady. I em a lazy idle kaffir who you only employ out of the kindness of your heart." said Ruth, as she headed for the kitchen.
Johanna grinned. There is comedy in this situation. Black and tragic comedy, certainly. (1)
Her mind went back to the assignment to come…
Elsewhere, Vetinari was preparing a clacks message, to be coded and sent:-
I am aware of the situation, my lady. While the previous attempt to begin the restoration of the Dark Unholy Empire was thwarted by Vimes,(2) it is possibly asking too much of even him to go out there and do it again. Besides, there is no useful pretext on which to send him, and his methods are far too direct and blunt for this sort of problem. I have engaged subtler minds, who are of proven creativity in resolving these little crises that occur on the borders of diplomacy and the other state. I have every confidence that you will soon hear of a resolution.
He sighed and sat up straight.
She has inhumed werecreatures, he thought. This is the logical progression in her career.
Mrs Ghislaine van der Planck snapped her fingers imperiously. A native of Rimwards Howondaland and recent widow of a Joburg banker, sudden wealth had given her the freedom to visit the Central Continent and tour its varied nations. She'd heard about the tradition of the Grand Sneer; it had sounded like a dem nice idea, to spend a year or so touring all the fabled places she'd only ever heard and read about before. She was travelling light, with only one selected and trusted maid to look after her luggage and clothing. The put-upon black maid sighed, and rushed to refill her mistress's teacup. At least she had got an unprecedented once-in-a-lifetime trip too, away from the servants' quarters and the petty and greater indignities of Home, and the mistress wasn't too bad, when you got down to it.
They were in Escrow at the moment, and would soon be on the way to Bonk, in old Überwald, on a meandering progression that would, the mistress had told all who were prepared to listen, take them to Genua. Then back via Aceria and Toleda, and last of all, to Ankh-Morpork.
The Duke of Sombresinsol glared down at the intelligence digest Igor had brought him along with the evening mail. It had arrived as the morning mail, but the Duke preferred to deal with it in the evening, when he'd just got up and his mind was fresh.
His teeth bared and flashed in the candle-light as he read the digest.
Apparently an old fool of a woman from White Howondaland and her negro servant were doing a grand tour of the continent. It would take them to within striking distance of his castle during the next week.
Hah! Did they think he was stupid? Did they think that, having only awoken from a long rest in the last few years, and having taken steps to secure his castle and his operating base, that he was out of touch? He knew the new power that had arisen in Ankh-Morpork would prefer to see him neutralised as a threat. He'd also heard that the female, the one who had attained the heights with him in the days of the old Unholy Empire, still lived and breathed in this world. Although the silly woman had forsaken blood and tended towards wearing pink, of all the unfitting clothing for a vampire. Assuredly, Margolotta, who he knew was playing for a subtle power of her own, also wanted him gone. Well, he'd deal with her. The bitch was using her power and influence to block his recruiting vampires to his cause. He would finesse that. His agents were out, hunting for the ashes of long-gone vampires, who he preferred to think of as temporarily absent, who would have no truck with this Temperance business and who would still think in the old ways.
And they would come. Oh yes. They would come. And then, the werewolves would see the advantages. Serafine von Überwald had a grievance with Ankh-Morpork and had agreed, at least in principle, to being his agent among them. And there were Dark Dwarves who wanted Low King Rhys removed. His agents were also looking for the last few Orcs in the Loko district. Once he had a captive breeding population, and Rogis(3) to oversee the breeding…
But did they think he was stupid? He knew of the existence of the Guild of Assassins. His agents in the city had advised him of the brightest and best among them. He had summary files, on Arthur Ludorum, Emmanuelle-Marie Lapoignard les Deux-Épèes, Alice Band, Mericet, Nivor, the deYoyo family, the Wiggs siblings, and on his desk even now, on Johanna Smith-Rhodes.
He noted that she partnered a Zulu girl called Ruth N'Kweze, reasoning that nobody would ever believe a Boor and a Zulu could work together. And that they had previously used the gambit of Boor woman of affluence escorted by a downtrodden black-skinned serf to get up close and personal to the object of interest.
And now such a woman and her servant were coming close to his lair. They really must think him stupid. Let them learn.
He grinned. He would take their blood, naturally. He wondered what sort of a savour Howondaland gave to human blood. He'd never tried one before. And now two, one of each type, were on the way. He would drink the black one to the last drop. She would be his first. And vampires who had had the experience had assured him when you try black, there's no going back!
M. le Balourd was a suave Assassin who favoured evening dress – black, naturally. An indefinable age between thirty and fifty, a master of disguise, seduction and lethal inhumation, he had taken on difficult assignments for the Guild before and exceeded in all expectations. These days, he preferred a quieter life, transferring his skills in Inimical Espionage to selected student Assasins, and working with his colleague Doctor Perdore on sifting and analysing news and intelligence reports that would be of interest to the Dark Council.(4) While he had been the seventh of the Eight initially summoned to the Dark Council to assess this case, he felt relieved he was not going. But today, he had news that would be of supreme importance to the Sixth, who was. He rushed to the quarters of the Assassin who had been code-named "006" in the top-secret mission notes, heedless of the fact he was a male teacher going into a female area.
"Johanna!" he called, breathlessly, letting himself into her rooms. "I apologise for breaking in like this. But there's a complication!"
Sombresinsol had sent a lesser vampire, one of the few he'd been so far able to draw to him, to check the Howondalandian women. This vampire was a Black Ribboner, one who had decided to try an alternative way after a debacle in Lancre, but who had grown tired of cocoa and bad singing. He had lapsed into b-vord again under the stony and baleful influence of the Old One. Away from the self-styled Dark Lord, he felt guilty and ashamed. He resolved that he'd just overcome them, read their minds, and then report back to the Boss. Carefully, he noted an open set of window-shutters in the hostel. Ah…
The original plan hastily set aside, Johanna and Ruth took a covert magic carpet flight from the Guild, travelling by day and night. Their pilot was a senior student called Miriam bint-Elhazred, a Klatchian girl who needed to get her airborne confidence back after an abortive mission to target Sam Vimes.
"A one-in-a-million chance" sighed Ruth. "Who would credit it, that there realy WAS a Boor widow with a maid who are in the same place at the same time!"
"Which came up. Es you might expect, efter the event!"
They had decided to drop the disguise, so as not to raie eyebrows at TWO travelling Boor widows being in the same small town. or have an embarrassing encounter with the real thing. They were also reluctant to place innocent compatriots into serious danger. A new plan had hastily been made.
Miriam eventually dropped them at the edge of a forest, a mile or so away from the target. She was told to lie low and wait there. If they were not back in twelve hours, return to the Guild.
The vampire walked into the bedroom, where the maid was preparing her lady for bed. He smiled a toothy smile.
"Ladies!" he said, emanating charm and peace. "Welcome to Überwald! The first thing you learn is never to leave the window open!" And if I were not a Ribboner, though to my shame a lapsed one, also the last thing many people learn.
They remained passive and frozen while he read their minds.
But the vampire's eyes widened in surprise.
She really is sixty-three! Not a younger woman made up as old! And no trace of Assassin awareness… and the maid is also everything she claims to be. They really are just an old woman seeing the world, and her maid! Which means…
He implanted a "forget!" command and raced back to the window. The Black Duke must know this.
Pausing to meet a colleague, who assured them the diversion was set to go as discussed, and to insert something into the mailbag at the front gate of the castle, Johanna and Ruth then infiltrated the castle grounds, as only Assassins can. Taking advantage of the changing light and shadow of the late afternoon, they evaded patrolling guards, then free-climbed to the top of a certain tower, where they waited, performing final checks on equipment.
As darkness fell, the diversion began. Johanna tapped Ruth on the arm. Be ready.
The Duke arose with the failing of the light. He smiled, sensing the Assassins on the roof of his tower, immediately above him.
I will deal with them later. Although if I bind the fiery red-haired one to my will, she can return as my spy in the Guild. When her usefulness is over, I can finish her.
On cue, Igor arrived with the mailsack. There was a growing clamour outside.
"The peasants are in arms, I hear, Igor." The Duke said. He frowned. As an old-time vampire, he had to respect the conventions. So long as they didn't actually try to ransack the castle and kill him, the peasants were allowed an occasional stirring of unrest. It was in the Code. But he was also a haughty Toledan hidalgo by temperament. There had to be limits...
"Allow them an hour, then they disperse quietly, taking their pitchforks and fiery torches with them. If they organise a squad tomorrow to sweep the steps, it would be appreciated."
Igor nodded. He wasn't as sanguine as the duke, who he privately suspected, to his professional satisfaction, of being barking mad, in his plan to restore the good old days that would never come again. Igor had his bags packed and waiting discreetly by a side door.
"And send de Magpyr directly to me when he returns. I want to know why he didn't deal with the Assassins in their hotel room."
The duke bent to the mail as Igor left.
"Get ready…"
Johanna risked looking out over the parapet, directly above the Duke's tower study, waiting for their cue.
At the front door, Igor politely welcomed the half-hearted mob of peasants and villagers.
"Yes?"
A black-cloaked shape stepped forward and tipped her hood back, recealing long blonde hair.
"Oh, it'th you. Little Athtrid. You are taking a rithk, coming here! His Lordthhip doeth not welcome Attaththins."
Astrid von Heinrici shrugged.
"I'm not here to inhume the Duke" she said, with complete honesty. "I'm here as representative of my father, who as you know is Burgomeister in the valley. He's not happy with the Duke's plans".
Igor shrugged.
"Nevertheleth. You were educated at the Aththaththinn'th Thchool. You graduated. You work for Lady Margolotta. Ith I did not know you sinth childhood, I would have to tell the Marthter."
"Appreciated. But, Igor, I put it to you the mob is at the gates. Waving pitchforks and blazing torches. According to the Code of the Igors, you are now obliged to grab your bags and run and leave the Marthter to it."
Igor hesitated.
"I think not."
Then there was the sound of a distant explosion, a whummmph noise of fire and flame, and a distant despairing scream that dwindled to nothing.
Igor reconsidered.
"On the other hand…" he said. Then he scuttled off.
The Duke paused at the large square parcel, postmarked and stamped for Ankh-Morpork. There was no return address on it. He picked up his paper-knife and slit the tape securing it along a join.
And a sprin under tension, now released as the tape was cut, sprang closed and made contact with a phial of deadly oxygen-sensitive chemicals. These burst into flame instantly and triggered the main charge. Three pounds of mixed magnesium and aluminium powder.(5)5
The powdered aluminium provided the explosion, which lacerated even vampire skin and bone and occurred far faster than a vampire could dodge. At the same time, the magnesium flared into bright white salamander light, of the sort that Otto Chriek, the vampire iconographer, found so iminimical. An instant sun erupted in front of the vampire Duke's face. He screamed and went to ash and dust. But unlike the scorned black ribboners, the Duke did not wear a phial of emergency b-vord around his neck…
The flash of light was enough to illuminate the two Assassins on the rooftop. The scream left them in no doubt.
"Now!"
Johanna and Ruth sped down the wall and kicked in through the window. Both levelled their pistol crossbows, which had been loaded with plain wooden bolts steeped in garlic and lemon juice. Among other substances.
But the vampire had gone. The charred remnants of the letterbomb were on the desk, the only thing to have survived being an Assassins' Guild compliment slip, printed on asbestos.
"Cover me!"
Johanna produced a dustpan and brush, deciding not to waste time trying to tell magnesium oxide from vampire dust. Industriously, she started clearing it up. Ruth quickly produced a funeral urn from her equipment bag. Then she covered the door as Johanna tipped pans full of dust into the urn.
There were footsteps in the corridor. The first person to burst into the room was a vampire, dressed in a dashing silk paisley-patterned waistcoat, fashionable a few years earlier. His jaw dropped at the scene, and he completely failed to notice Ruth's fast and accurate shooting. Staked twice through the heart, he too fell to dust.
As Ruth reloaded, the next person in was a rather more cautious Igor.
"Tho much for young mithter de Magpyr" he said. Raising a hand, his own as it turned out, he added "You have nothing to fear from me, ladieth. I merely need to be thure the Mathter ith dead. Then I will be going. You were thent byy Lady Margolotta? Of courthe, forgive me. Profethional discrtethion. By the way, you have a colleague at the gateth."
And then Igor was gone.
Johanna quickly wrote a Guild receipt and dropped it on the desk.
"Let's get out of here!" she said, decisively.
Soon after that, three Assassins and a student were on their way, via carpet, to Lady Margolotta's confectionary castle. Here, they were welcomed warmly. Margollotta dipped a finger into the urn and tasted the ash.
"A hint of pharmacy and upset stomach preparations" she said. "But definitely the Duke. Thank you."
"Whet will you do with him?" Johanna asked, curiously. Lady Margolotta smiled a contented smile.
"I will put him in the crypt with the others. The maximum-security crypt."
She smiled, benignly, at her guests.
" Look, why do you think he had so little luck finding the ashes of long-dead rogue vampires to resurrect? My agents have been out in the field for longer. And they know what to look for. It's very simple. You will, of course, be staying for dinner? Lovely! Do you wish me to clacks Havelock and the Guild to say you've been successful? "
And so the contract was completed.
And today, children play happily in the sunlight in the gardens of the Duke's castle…
(1) Johanna and Ruth are aping the principal characters in long-running South African cartoon strip "Madam and Eve", about a white Afrikaaner woman whose housemaid does not always behave with the appropriate degree of diligence and respect. Thanks to Nimbus Llewellyn for directing me to this strip.
(2) See TheFifth Elephant, by Terry Pratchett.
(3) As noted elsewhere, a Rogi is the opposite of an Igor. Good at painfully dismantling things, but not so hot at rebuilding them, save in new and strange ways… where most Igors these days would recoil from assembling Orcs, Rogis would jump at the chance.
(4) Another of those placeholder names in Terry's Assassins' Guild structure. Nimbus Llewellyn had the inspired idea of fleshing him out as a James Bond character, a dashing and mysterious spy who all the male students at the Guild look up to and admire. Thank you, Nimbus.
(5) I am describing, but by no means in its entirety, the mechanism of a certain sort of letter bomb used by the Provisional IRA and others. People who share a background with me may notice I have deliberately skimmed over and omitted some of the detail needed to make it work.