(Return to) The Discworld Tarot
The Minor Arcana
Gods know what I'm taking on here as there are fifty-six cards in the Minor Arcana, the familiar sequence of Ace-to-Ten, then Princess (Page or Jack) Prince (Knight), Queen and King. The parents of the familiar deck of playing cards, each family of court cards is slimmed down to King, Queen and Jack, and the only survivor of the Major Arcana is the Fool, who lives on as the Jester.
In no particular order, I shall tackle them as the Muse takes me – I can always re-order them afterwards - and I know it's going to be a long slog!
The Ace of Swords
Usually, a single sword, normally brandished point-up. The suit of Swords evokes the element of Air, intellect, mental energy, anger, violence, obsession, and, as with the Ace of Wands, it embodies what is, errr, delicately described as the Male Principle (the symbolism should be obvious... in the case of the Ace of Wands, it is indeed a stiff wooden thing). Long hard pointy things directed at you with intent are generally bad news. Generally, odd-numbered Swords are unfortunate and ascend in a sliding scale of general horribleness through one, three, five, seven and nine. You really do not want to draw the Nine. Even-numbered Swords balance things out and can be quite positive.
The Ace can be the sword of Law, upholding order and reason, the enforcing of rules and the established order. (Primal Chaos has its own card, the Eight of Wands). It can be a sudden flash of inspiration , an idea, a concept, a new insight on an old way of thinking, a new application of an old rule. The Sword of Law is symbolically held by the unfortunately named goddess Dike (see earlier stories) who, as we have noted, is evolving to serve the beliefs of a radically different set of believers. Certain, er, items (popularly associated with the Goddess Dike and her followers), also have, shall we say, a sword-like quality to them.
Swords are also generally about communication, newspapers, clacks, conversation, gossip... they say the tongue is a double-edged sword and the pen is mightier than...
Now read on.
The hastily contrived holding field was maintaining its integrity, just about. Summoned to deal with a rift in space-time and contain a Manifestation, Mustrum Ridcully had recognised what they were up against from his experience in Lancre. (1) He had restrained the more gung-ho Faculty members from using magic as this would only make a difficult situation worse. Instead, he had recommended to Sam Vimes that a couple of his Watchmen nip round to Doldrum's Pin Factory at the double and come back with a bloody big coil of extruded steel wire, the stuff they use for making pins. The creature had been run to ground in Kicklebury Place, one of the city's market squares, and now could not leave because the dread presence of the steel wire that had been run around the square by a couple of golems, blocking all exit routes. Steel was, after all, 97% iron. This particular creature could not abide its presence.
Ridcully rested on his staff and watched the unfolding street theatre, as did many other Ankh-Morpork residents who had been forced back, with difficulty, behind the Watch safety barriers. These were also of lightweight metal construction and were adding to the unease, distress and general pugnacity of the creature that was circling the open square, a mess of wreckage and overturned market carts, searching for a way out, or failing that, somebody to kill.
There was just too much iron...
"Who's going to pay for the damage, hey?" a voice demanded from near Ridcully. "Sixty dozen eggs, I had on that stall!"
"You think you've got woes?" another voice chimed in. "Me, I had a hundredweight of sugar! All ruined!" Like the previous voice, it had "aggrieved market trader" stamped all over it.
A third voice lamented the loss of his stock of flour and baking sundries.
"Who's going to pay for all this, I'd like to know?"
A female voice, well-modulated, suggesting education and good breeding, said, in a sarcastic tone that carried easily,
"Well, you could bake a bloody big cake, I suppose."
Ridcully grinned to himself. He looked across to where Miss Alice Band and her assistant Miss Jocasta Wiggs were standing, watching the drama unfold. He liked Alice. She was alright, for an Assassin. Alice was one of the new wave of Assassins who were, in their own quiet way, changing the profession for the better. Former pupils like young Jocasta were the walking proof of that.
"I like that!" Sacharissa Cripslock said, looking up from the inevitable spiral-bound notebook. "Shame we might already have used it, though. But a good headline never dies..."
But all eyes were on the wreckage of the market square. The unicorn pawed and stamped and snorted. Ridcully could swear it was breathing fire down its nose. It was aware it was being stalked. Another tranquiliser dart hit it in the muscle of its flank. But instead of having the desired effect, it seemed to be making the animal more irritable.
"She went straight in there without back-up." Alice said, shaking her head. "She could have waited for Ruth or Heidi or one of her usual assistants. But no. She's obsessed with getting a unicorn for the Zoo! And she's too proud to ask for help!"
Alice Band had an arrow nocked to her hunting bow. The arrowhead glistened and gleamed in the grey, half-hearted, Ankh-Morpork light. Ridcully appraised it.
"Silver, m'dear?" he inquired, with a professional eye. Alice smiled, mirthlessly.
"Silver-plated, Mustrum." she said. She had earned the right to be on first-name terms with Ridcully; his brother Hughnon was her godfather and adoptive uncle. Mustrum Ridcully was quietly chuffed that the normally reserved Alice Band was beginning to think of him as another uncle at one step removed. He appreciated her trust in him.
"I carry these for weres and vampires. Silver-plate over steel. The steel punches a hole, the silver kills. From what Mrs Ogg once told me, it works for these things too." Alice had once come a cropper in Lancre and had been rescued by Nanny Ogg, who had taken a sympathetic shine to her. (2)
Ridcully tipped his hat appreciatively. He had come to recognise the value of co-operation with other professions and Guilds, and, unlike previous Arch-Chancellors, was not so daft as to think wizardry had all the answers. He turned to watch the unfolding drama.
The stalker, by now, had belatedly realised her tranquilizer darts were having no effect. From the excessive care of her movements and the way she was very carefully inching her way back towards her fellow Assassins, it was apparent she had realised she was in danger and was cutting her losses, as a good Assassin should. The unicorn snorted and turned its attention to the source of the prickling irritation in its hide. It turned, and angled its head, very carefully lining her up just so...
The crowd collectively ooh'ed at the unfolding gladiatorial combat. Free entertainment was always popular in Ankh-Morpork. And if it involved one of those uppity Assassin bastards getting their well-deserved come-uppance, then this was a bonus, a blow struck in the ongoing class war. Just a shame it had to be miss Smith-Rhodes, though. She was one of the best of them, even allowing for her being one of those stroppy bloody White Howondalandians.
Ridcully turned to a new arrival.
"You know, I don't think it's going to go down, James." he said, conversationally. (3)
Doctor James Folson, Ankh-Morpork's premier horse veterinarian, nodded appraisingly.
"Equines is always funny, Mr Ridcully." he said. "I consider a beast that size – and it is magnificent – is going to take a lot more tranking then them pissy little Assassin blowpipes can deliver. Me, I'd have doped its feed. With a bloody big dose."
"You'd have thought young Johanna was experienced enough to realise that." Ridcully said. "I just hope she can get out in one piece. Unicorns are ornery."
"Exceedingly hornery, mr Ridcully." Doughnut Jimmy agreed. "Thing is, while I'd be the first to applaud her talent with exotics, she ain't all that experienced with horses. I think she's just realised that."
"Hell of a time and place to find out." Ridcully said. "Alice, m'dear, keep that arrow ready? You might distract it, at least."
"If I inhume it, Mustrum, then Johanna is going to come after me." Alice Band replied, grimly. "She's dead set on getting that thing alive!"
Then several things happened in swift succession. Just as Ridcully was turning to Ponder Stibbons, who was practically chewing through the brim of his wizarding hat in white-faced anxiety, the unicorn leapt and charged at Johanna. Dropping the now useless blowpipe, she leapt across the wreckage of two shattered market stalls, slipping in a mess of pulped tomatoes and cabbages. Commander Sam Vimes was heard to shout
"That is enough! Watchwoman down!" Ridcully reflected that Johanna was a Watch special constable – she had been called up at the express request of the Patrician to manage the rogue unicorn situation. Vimes would not let his feelings about Assassins get in the way of a Watch member who was in trouble. Besides, she'd saved his life once, against the usual run of things in his interactions with Assassins. (4)
"Dorfl! Kvetsch! Restrain that animal! Get her out of there!"
The two Watch golems moved with surprising speed, pushing or lifting people out of the way.. Doughnut Jimmy said, amiably:
"Right now, Mr Ridcully, I'd be doing what we in the trade call the Herriot Manoeuvre.(5) It's an essential skill anyone who deals with animals has got to learn sooner or later. Looks like the girl's getting her lesson..."
The crowd reacted with horror at what happened next. Faced with a trio of targets, the unicorn hesitated, but not for long. As Constable Dorfl gently but insistently lifted a tomato-smothered Johanna Smith Rhodes to her feet and began steering her away, the unicorn charged.
Right at Constable Kvetsch, who stood impassively waiting for it. Everyone expected the unicorn to be stopped dead, or for its horn to be bent or blunted. They did not expect to see it shattering into the golem's chest , smashing it open in an explosion of pottery shards. Dorfl took advantage of the distraction to hustle Johanna behind the barriers. She made her shaky way over to Alice and Jocasta.
"Well, I'll just hev to make enother plen." she said, with pretended nonchalance, as she scraped tomato puree off her clothing. The crowd was stunned into horrified silence as the unicorn shook its head and contemptuously shook the shattered golem off its horn. It stood and roared triumph, in a voice as closely related to neighing as a lion's roar is to a domestic cat's meow. It came from the same general place and had the same general timbre but it was a lot more frightening.
"Was that meant to happen?" Vimes said, incredulously. The broken golem reeled back towards the barriers. It had just reached them when its abused upper torso parted company with its lower body, in a tinkling broken-flowerpot sort of way.
"Quick! Get him to Igneous!" Captain Carrot's voice.
"Is he dead?" Vimes asked, as the packed street expressed its collective horror.
"My Chem Is Intact, Mister Vimes." said Kvetsch. "I Would Appreciate It If My Body Were To Be Rebaked." Several Watchmen hastened to gather his pieces to safety, hustling away what they could grab.
"She's going to bloody well kill me." Vimes murmured, horrified.
"I don't know sir." Carrot said, cheerfully. "No Assassin's got you yet."
"I'm not talking about Assassins, Carrot!" Vimes replied. "I mean that bloody Dearheart woman! I just got one of her golems wrecked! She will go absolutely bursar!"
Meanwhile, Alice Band had adopted her sternest classroom face, a Look that her pupils feared and dreaded. Especially when she combined it with an intimidating silence. Johanna looked away, red-faced. Eventually, Alice spoke.
"Over-confidence, Miss Smith-Rhodes!" she thundered.
Johanna, sensibly, said nothing. She had, after all, committed the greatest sin known to the Guild. She deserved a rebuke. Alice delivered a scathing professional critique, ticking the points off on her fingers.
"You didn't prepare adequately, you thought the usual trick with a blowpipe and a tranquilizer dart would do it – you assumed - you did not thoroughly research the client, you just leapt straight in, and you carried on using a technique that was having no effect whatsoever. You didn't have a back-up plan in case things went wrong, and you certainly didn't have a clear escape route! You idiot!"
Well, at least its coming from a friend, and there are no students watching. I hope. thought Johanna.
"I'm not going to ask what the Hell got into you because I know. You were so carried away and so obsessed with capturing that animal, that you threw all your training away and you got sloppy!" Alice continued, remorselessly.
"Well, miss," Doughnut Jimmy said, trying to lighten the mood, "At least you learnt the Herriot Manoeuvre!"
Alice unbent and smiled.
"And you know what? I'm so bloody, unspeakably, glad that you're still alive for me to be able to shout at you! Which is more than you deserve right now, frankly."
The two Assassins clasped hands, friends again.
"Right now, we need to be able to wrap this one up." Vimes said, decisively. "If only so I can tell His Lordship that the emergency's over. Anyone got any ideas? And how did the bloody thing get here in the first place?"
"Cock-up at the Thaumatological Park, Sam." Ridcully said. "Some of me young wizards were collaborating with the bloody damn Druids on practical uses of stone circles."
"Ouch." said Alice Band and Sam Vimes together. Alice had been to Lancre. She knew what could happen when you got over-confident around a stone circle.
"Let me guess." Vimes said, taking a deep breath. "You got – we got - a bloody Code 23. (6) An incursion of IC14's. (7)"
"The moment we realised what had happened, Sam, we took steps. Mrs Proust turned up. She suggested to me – quite forcibly, I have to add – that dealin' with Elves is witch business. I was happy to leave it to her. She's the City Witch, Ankh-Morpork is her steadin', and she's got the right, by seriously old Lore. Elves get into a witch's parish, that witch deals with 'em. Left instructions to give her anything she needs if she calls for it and came out here to run this beast to ground."
Ridcully paused.
"You know, I almost feel sorry for the Elves. Stupid buggers never learn. They keep comin', and the Witches always stitch them up a treat. It's in good hands." (8)
"I sent a clacks to Lancre, sir." Ponder Stibbons said, finding his voice. "To advise Mistress Weatherwax we had an Elf incursion. Told her Mrs Proust was the witch on the spot and dealing with it."
"So we might expect our Visiting Emeritus Professor of Witchcraft and Women's Studies to call by." mused Ridcully. "Good work, lad. I owe Esme a decent dinner."
"Elves..." murmured Alice. She flexed her bow thoughtfully. "Jocasta, Johanna. When we're done here, do you fancy a stroll up to the Thaumatological Park? I can round out your skills and you can redeem yourself. I bet you're in a mood to inhume something by now?"
"That just about wraps it up for the Elves, then." said Ridcully, with deep satisfaction.
"I leave it entirely in your hands, Mustrum." said Vimes, with a humourless grin. He lit a cigar. He regarded the three Assassins. "Those sodding Elves do not stand a snowball's chance in Hell, and in any case this sort of thing is in your jurisdiction. Any Watch role will be purely in support."
"But what do we do about that?" Jocasta asked, anxiously. The unicorn was prowling around the shattered market, unable to escape because of the steel wire confining it. It looked mad. It looked insane. Its eyes were fiery red pinpricks. "It's already got the better of Johanna."
"For now." Johanna said, determinedly.
"Let's make a plan." Alice said. "Anything that can put a hole right through a golem is bloody well lethal. We can't afford to slip up!"
"How the hell did it manage that? Golems are pretty well indestructible. I always thought?" Vimes asked, perplexed. Ponder Stibbons spoke up.
"Golems are created entities that are powered by magic. Umm. Unicorns are powerful magical creatures. I suspect that in a head-on clash between the two magics, the more powerful magic wins. Golems are pacifistic. A unicorn is a psychotic killing machine. No contest."
He shuddered, remembering Lancre. (9)
"Hmmm." Ridcully pondered. "remind me later, lad. This would make a damn good theoretical question for Finals. In a fight between two creatures of magic, which wins and why? Show your reasonin'."
Alice was thinking, her mind racing among possibilities. She remembered her ill-fated Lancre expedition, shortly before the chain of events started that had led her to full membership of the Assassins' Guild. How an archaeological expedition had led to a fight with Elves and humiliating failure at the hands of the NacMacFeegle. How Nanny Ogg had taken pity on her and befriended her. She'd been given a lot of advice from Nanny, some of it even fit to be repeated in polite company. And the older witch, Mistress Weatherwax, had unbent enough to make a couple of accurate prophecies and add some good advice of her own. What was it that Mistress Weatherwax had said...
The world is made up of stories. The world runs on stories and fables. Understand the narrative. She who can change the story is mistress of her own destiny...
,,, Change the story.
"Where's the nearest leatherworkers?" Alice asked.
"Tuttle Scropes, on Wixon's Alley." Vimes said, automatically. Of course; Alice had bought certain items from there before, emphasizing a need for discretion, otherwise she might call back for professional reasons.
"In the other direction there's Mrs Goodbody's on Easy Street."
"They both do saddlery and horse tack, don't they?"
"Well, yes, but it's not really what you'd call their main line." Vimes said. "Goodbody's do weapons, as I'm sure you ladies know, and Scropes tends towards... well, you know."
"Es some of we ladies know. Don't we, Elice?" Johanna said, feeling a sudden need to get a dig in. Alice coloured slightly. Vimes paused, recalling the rumours about Alice Band. It's legal, therefore none of my business, he reminded himself. But he still wondered exactly what sort of leather items she bought from Scropes, all the same.
"Commander Vimes, can you give me authority to requisition a few items, for the good of the City?"
"OK, Alice. I'll trust you. I'm short of ideas right now and Mustrum's run out of inspiration. I'm half-tempted to contain this thing here, and wait until this Mistress Weatherwax arrives from Lancre. She sorted out a unicorn problem in Lancre, didn't she? Problem is, it takes time for a witch to fly that distance, even assuming she starts out straight away, and I'm not sure I've got time. So whatever idea you've got, I'll give it a shot. Johanna, flash your Watch badge and tell them it's on my say-so, OK?"
"OK, Mr Vimes!"
The crowd parted to allow the three Assassins to leave. They were soon back with an assortment of items. Sensing street theatre was going to resume, they pressed forward to the barriers again, and the Watch officers were hard-put to contain them. Alice Band's mood had not been helped by Tuttle Scropes unctuously greeting her by name as she walked into his shop.
"Miss Band! How nice to see you again! You've brought, er, some friends with you? How nice! I've got some new lines in you might be interested in. Originally an Agatean design, but a harigata with a difference, as we've built in some interesting vibrating clockwork devices, guaranteed to stand up to the hardest wear and tear..."
Johanna and Jocasta had burst into spluttering giggles. Alice had glared at Scropes; she suspected he might have tipped off the gossip columnist of the Ankh-Morpork Inquirer, who had again hinted at the existence of a prominent lady Assassin with an Ephebian Island Lifestyle.
Alice had marshalled her reserves of politeness, and informed Scropes they were here on City business. She would therefore require the following items...
And now she and Jocasta were preparing a strategy, with particular emphasis paid on keeping an escape route open if it all went, as Alice drily put it, tits-up.
"Do you need..." Johanna began, hopefully.
"No!" Alice said, forcibly. "You stay here, in reserve. From what I know about unicorns, you'll be safer here."
Ridcully grinned and nodded over to Ponder. "I know you're too much of a gentleman to say it outright, but you've been walkin' out with young Johanna for over a year now? So am I right to surmise she no longer has what you might delicately call the essential personal quality for safely dealin' with unicorns?" Ponder went red.
"Just nod, lad." Ridcully said, kindly. Ponder nodded. Ridcully looked at Alice. His brother Hughnon, who'd known the girl all her life, had once confided something in very strict confidence about his god-daughter and adoptive niece. Ridcully's mind leapt to a conclusion.
"My word!" he said to himself. "This is going to be interestin'!"
Ridcully settled back to watch the show. As did about three thousand typical Ankh-Morporkers, packed anything up to twenty deep down all the major and minor streets leading off Kicklebury Place. Some public-spirited people in the front were enthusiastically relaying running reports back to those in the back who couldn't see very well. People were holding up their kids to see. Watching this second wave of Assassins get creamed was going to be a spectacle to tell their grandchildren. Alice Band was aware she was respected rather than liked. She was also aware of all the tales and rumours told about her – that she only ever inhumed male clients out of a deep-seated detestation of men of any species; that she was a habituée of the notorious Blue Cat Club, of which were whispered many tales of the depraved and ungodly activities that went on in there (10); and the really damaging whispers, that given what was rumoured about her degenerate tastes, was she really a fit person to educate young girls?
Alice wondered if she should not be done with the whole thing and publicly come out and shout to the world Yes, I am gay! I am a lesbian! Do you have a problem with that? But Lady t'Malia, her mentor, who knew her secret and was quietly sympathetic, had counselled her not to go public for fear of the effect it might have on School enrolment.
Alice slapped herself for inattention. Just do the job that's in front of you, woman. And you might come out of this alive. She wondered if this was the Elf Queen's revenge on her; she had once faced down and bested the Queen of the Elves in a way that had drawn grudging applause from Granny Weatherwax. And inhumed two of her bodyguard Elves.
The unicorn stopped its angry pacing and looked silently at the two black-clad women who were approaching. It looked psychotically angry still, but something else was creeping in. Puzzlement? Alice looked it firmly in the eye. This was it. The moment. It was absolutely vital not to lose eye contact. For a moment she saw something else in the creature's eyes. Somebody else.
"I fought you before." she said, flatly. "And I defeated you before. I saw you for what you are. You have no place here. I am invoking an older magic, older than the hills, older than Elves. I have the right. So does Miss Wiggs here." At least, I hope she does. There's that young man who arrived here from a different world. This could get messy.
The intelligence faded from the unicorn's eyes. It was replaced by something uncertain, divided. Alice realised she was looking at a unicorn that was going through a complex existential crisis as it tried to figure her out. Good.
Deftly, without losing eye contact, she slipped the bridle and bit over the creature's muzzle. It whinnied, but did not shy away. Alice tried to bite back her relief. There was enough silvered metalwork and ornamentation on the leatherwork to pacify it and bind it to her will. She had absolutely insisted on that. It was essential. And the silver fripperies on the bridle were effectively a cage, encircling the creature's head, encasing its brain, working on its mind. A lot of it was silver gilt over steel. Iron helped, too. The Queen would never get it back now.
"Now, Jocasta!" she called, not losing eye-contact for a second. Jocasta Wiggs, a competent horsewoman, swiftly threw the saddle over its back, ducking to fasten the girth. This too was ornamented with lots of silver. Even the stirrups were silver-plated. Scropes had whined about this being a commission, and Lady Rust would not be pleased, but Alice had said, firmly, the younger Rust sisters all attend the Guild school or are recent graduates. They won't argue with me. I taught them.
And now...
Alice vaulted lightly onto the unicorn stallion's back and took the reins. It made a token effort to buck her off, but submitted to her. People tried to duck out of the way as she trotted it towards them. There was a sudden cheer as the crowd realised the beast had been tamed.
"Oh, bravo, that woman!" Ridcully called. Even Vimes and Doughnut Jimmy applauded.
"No need for the Herriot Manoeuvre, Mr Folsom!" Alice called down. Doughnut Jimmy grinned, revealing uneven yellow teeth, and tipped his hat to her.
Vimes drew close; the unicorn recoiled from the cigar smoke. He discreetly held up a spare Watch badge.
"Alice, is there any chance..." he began.
"None whatsoever, Sir Samuel." she said, decisively. "I might help the Watch as a self-employed consultant adviser, though!"
She turned to Ridcully.
"Uncle Mustrum?"
"Yes, m'dear?"
"Do you know a good blacksmith? One who could craft silver shoes?"
Directions were provided.
"And after that, Alice?" Vimes asked. "Where are you taking the thing?"
Alice Band smiled.
"I rather thought to the Zoo, Sir Samuel. I happen to know the Zoo director's always wanted one of those!"
Johanna smiled weakly.
"Although she doesn't deserve one." Alice added. Then she rode off. The crowd parted for her, like a sea to an old-time Omnian prophet.
There was silence.
"Sir, how..." Ponder said, baffled. Ridcully, more worldly-wise, smiled.
"Clever gel." he said, approvingly. "She changed the story, lad. Think about it. The essential definition of a maiden, of who has the right to subdue and tame a unicorn, is that she must never have had relations of the intimate sort with a man. She must be innocent of the touch of men. And I rather suspect that whatever else our Alice does in her spare time, she meets that definition admirably. Look, lad, legend and time-established Lore older than the hills has nothing to say about women who are, shall I hint, experienced in other ways, but completely innocent of any deeper involvement with men. She met the criteria for unicorn-wrangling. She qualified. That's what the old story calls for. And while the creature was trying to work out whether she was legitimate or not, she slipped silver over it. Clever, clever, girl!"
Johanna Smith-Rhodes shook her head.
"Sir, you said there are Elves loose in the Thaumatological Perk?" she asked.
"Better hurry, m'dear. Mrs Proust's on the case. There might not be enough to go round!" Ridcully advised her. Johanna's eyes narrowed and her jaw set. She loosened the machete in its scabbard.
"Gut. Because right now I very much wish to inhume something. Coming, Jocesta?"
OK, so I've been a bit tight on Johanna in describing what probably isn't going to be her finest moment as an Assassin or an animal-handler. But I was reviewing my earlier Johanna stories and it occurred to me, uneasily, that there was a bit of Mary-Sue creeping in at the edges. (Well, Maria-Suijzanne, or however it would be spelt in Vondalaans. ) Apart from a few initial stumbles caused by rawness, naivety and misunderstanding, her progress through Ankh-Morpork has been meteoric: she's tackled every crisis admirably, won all her battles, got her man, earned her scars, got her Animal Handling Unit, got her Zoo, reformed her earlier White Howondalandian mind-set, chalked up a couple of firsts for the Guild, won Vetinari's trust, earned the respect of Sam Vimes, who is a hard man to impress...
… just once, I wanted her to be all too human and foul something up. Just to make a point that not everything comes as easily as all that. Into every life, especially for the animal-handler, there must occasionally be a highly undignified, tomato-smeared, Herriot Manoeuvre.
Forgive me... right, the footnotes.
(1) Refer to Lords and Ladies, by Terry Pratchett.
(2) refer to my story, The Lancre Caper, in which Alice fails miserably to perpetrate archaeology in Lancre. Feegles and witches are involved. And Elves.
(3) "You know, I don't think it's going to go down, James." - vet James Herriot relates how, every time he tried to anaesthetise a horse prior to surgery, his colleague, the patrician and very horsey Siegfried Farnon, would deliver this implied criticism of his horse-doping skills. Couldn't resist having Ridcully deliver this line to another vet called James.
(4) refer to my story Nature Studies, in which Johanna supervises the tidying-up after a Dibbler disaster.
(5) The Herriot Manoeuvre:- James Herriot again, ruefully describing the essential veterinary surgeon's last-ditch tactic in the face of an enraged bull, a Doberman bitch defending her puppies, a truculent shire horse, or on one occasion a Greebo-like tomcat defending his essential tom-hood. Herriot reflected that at least once in every vet's career, he (or she) has got to cut his (or her) losses, shed his (or her) dignity, and basically run like Hell or die. Johanna probably never got her blowpipe back. By some inter-universal empathy particle, Doughnut Jimmy knew exactly what name to give it. It's like that thing with alchemists: to be athletic enough to hurdle several upturned lab benches, and intellectual enough to know exactly when to leap.
A Code Twenty-Three: Watch shorthand. To quote my Watch story Small Medium, Large Problem:-
There were quite a few Watchmen in the public area of the Yard. All of them stopped at the mention of a code 23. This is not one a Watchman likes to hear, as its meaning covers Things with Tentacles, Spiritual Manifestations of the Hostile Kind, Incursions From the Dungeon Dimensions, Tentacles, Elf-Attack, Possible Rending of the Fabric of Reality, Tentacles, and Manifestation of Cththonic Horrors Of Which Man Should Wot Not. And did we mention Tentacles? Code 23 was invoked only rarely, but in the past, it had involved events such as fifty-feet women turning into chthonic multi-tentacled monstrosities, and the grim aftermath of Mr Hong's opening night at the fish shop on Dagon Street. Accordingly, quite a lot of Watchmen found other things to do, before being co-opted into a Squad.
(7) IC-14: the ethnicity shorthand in most police forces that only have humans to worry about stops at IC-5. Where species is also a concern, as in Ankh-Morpork, the scale goes up to IC-16. IC-14 stands for "Elves". (For the full listing, see footnote to chapter 8 of my story Whys and Weres).
(8) Refer to Terry Pratchett's Lords and Ladies and the first Tiffany Aching novel, The Wee Free Men, for previous Elf incursions. Alice Band foiled one while in Lancre. (see (2) above). If time permits, i may write the other half of this story - Mrs Proust versus Elves in Ankh-Morpork...
(9) Refer to Lords and Ladies, by Terry Pratchett.
(10) Alice was a frequent visitor to the Blue Cat Club, but generally only on Ladies' Nights.