(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 Wands
The Ace of Wands has a lot in common with the Ace of Swords. Both are rigid implements that may be used for active pointing and thrusting. For this reason, both cards represent aspects of what is coyly described as The Male Principle. But while the bladed-metal Sword represents the element Air and the process of thought and intellect, the dull wooden Wand represents the element of Fire and the process of insight and intuition. (Wood feeds the fire in which metal is smelted, after all.)
An essential difference lies in the combat uses of the Aces. The sword is clearly an offensive weapon with a sharp edge, devised to cut, slash and thrust and cause damage. The wand – in its form as a staff or a stave or a truncheon – is there to defend. It guards, it wards off, it prevents damage being received. It can resolve a fight while causing the minimum of damage. Staves protect and serve...
Commander Vimes sat in his office. The coffee grew cold, unheeded, in the mug on his desk. The cigar sat in the ashtray burning down to a stub of its own volition.
Vimes was not given to introspection, but he watched the cigar burn itself down. It was one of the very best the Disc could offer, from the island of Toledan Sumtri, a Melliuso y Gretaliña. (1) The cigar was long, golden-brown, wrapped in an ornate red-and-silver band halfway down its length, and glowed a dull fiery red at the business end. Vimes frowned. It reminded him of... putting aside the thought of sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and not caring to be reminded of other associations, he picked it up and read the small print on the label. Melliuso y Gretaliña. it read. With, in smaller print beneath, Una tabla de planchar y un bolardillo de laton.
Vimes painfully reassembled the Toledan. It was another of those languages you needed a smattering of to be able to talk to ethnic minority groups. An ironing board and a small brass bollard? he wondered. He'd have to ask Pessimal or Carrot. Between them they knew nearly everything.
From outside the window came the irregular clash of wood on wood. There was a class on, he reflected, in appropriate use of the truncheon. He thought he'd refrain from loafing down later, and not deliver a completely deniable lesson in the innappropriate use of the truncheon. It was an informal skill Watchmen deserved not to be taught, after all, and could make a difference in a fight. His thoughts wandered again, as he relished a rare spell of inactivity. Special Constable Hancock, a well-meaning menace, had petitioned him for a chance to teach quarterstaff fighting to Watchmen. Vimes approved, cautiously, and had requested Hancock to put a notice up for people who might want to learn another useful skill in their own time. Against all expectations, Hancock was actually quite skilful at it, and enthused wildly about a martial art that was rooted firmly in Ankh-Morporkian culture and tradition. Vimes privately thought that if you really wanted to know about how to effectively wield four or five feet of wooden club, you'd nip down to the Koom Valley Halls on Victor's Retreat, where they taught Malicious Morris Dancing. The Lancre School was taught on a Thursday night, to advanced learners who'd signed the standard disclaimer to say it was entirely at their own risk. (2). Well-founded rumour had it that the shadowy and mysterious Ninja Morrismen of New Ankh had talent scouts there , and any particularly gifted amateur might be discreetly invited to... another... training arena, where other skills were taught.
Vimes reflected that if he could infiltrate a Watchman into the Ninja Morrismen, he'd at last be able to get a handle on this mysterious group, who sought no publicity. It bothered him that there were groups in the city of whom the Watch had no knowledge. Even a hint, a basic flash of intuition into what the Ninja Morrismen were about, would be useful. He distrusted secretive groups who taught potentially lethal fighting methods. They made his policeman's soul twang.
Vimes sighed, relaced the cigar in the ashtray – it was one of the really expensive ones Sybil bought for him, and Sumtri was said to be the Disc's centre of excellence in cigar-making. They were to Pantweeds what the MacAbre was to Jimkin's Old Bearhugger. Bewilderforce Gumption sold them at horribly extortionate proces.
He picked up the Watch Commander's Truncheon of Office. A slim but sturdy rosewood stick, ornated in silver. Vetinari had wished it on him. The silver tracery spelt out phrases in Latatian like "I Protect and Serve" and "Keeper of the King's Peace."
Sometimes, Vimes thought, you had to keep the King's Peace by belting somebody really hard over the head with it. He frowned again. In the really old days, hadn't there been such a thing as the Sceptre, to be held only by the anointed and rightful King and carried by him alongside the King's Sword? A symbolic reminder of some sort, that the King's sword was for war, the King's sceptre was for peace and prosperity, and a really good King had to deliver both... Carrot acknowledged the Baton of Office, but even when acting Watch Commander, politely refused to touch it or carry it. And if anyone was aware of the symbolism, it was Carrot. Carrot had once shaken his head and said "The sword's enough, sir." Vimes had not pressed him.
He replaced the baton in the special rack on his desk. It usually lived there, a reminder this was the Watch Commander's desk.
The other group within the Watch that gave the baton special significance had been Tugelbend, the only Watch wizard, and the two Air Police witches, Irina and Olga. Vimes winced. He knew he'd once vowed there would never be magic users in the Watch. But Tugelbend was sensible and has once saved Vimes' life; the two witches had come with their own broomsticks, which was a great saving, and were a great addition to the Air Police. And hell's bells, there was even an Assassin in the Watch these days – two, now - but both were impeccable and very useful Special Constables. Johanna Smith-Rhodes had been the first; then, after Vetinari pointed out that he'd been fending diplomatic protests from the bloody Kwa'Zulus about there being a White Howondalandian in the Watch, he'd taken on the N'Kweze girl to ensure parity. Even though he'd protested that Precious Jolson counted as a Black Howondalandian by ethnicity.
Vetinari had shook his head and pointed out that Precious was, to all intents and purposes, an Ankh-Morpork city girl, albeit with far darker skin, and in any case was a Matabele. The Zulus had been insistent and wanted one of their own in the Watch. Johanna had suggested Ruth N'Kweze. Vimes had been grateful for her. She'd tagged along on the Night of the Were-Leopards and had given sterling service, being instrumental in closing the case. (3)
Vimes winced again as new associations formed. Broomsticks. The Wizard's Staff. Assegais. All variants on the same theme. Olga Romanoff had said about the Baton:
"That's Boffo, Mr Vimes. In a sense it's a magic wand."
Damn it, the girl had been correct. Good insight, there.
He grinned. He recalled that an insufferable Wizard with an exaggerated sense of his pulling power had made a clumsy pass at Sally von Humperdinck. What was his name? Oh yes, Goatley. Bernard Goatley. A wizard gets a skull ring and thinks he's God's Gift...
He'd said, suggestively, that a Wizard's staff has a knob on the end. Why not feel mine and find out?
Sally had stared back at him, waited for a moment or two, and broken the silence with
"Yes. Which end is the knob on, exactly?"
Vimes grinned. That just about summed up most wizards...
(1) Melliuso y Gretaliña:- Melleus and Gretalina, the greatest tragic love story on the Disc. A searing romance conducted despite the two lovers being born two hundred years apart on two different continents. (History Monks may have been involved.) In the end, the Gods took pity on them and turned them into an ironing board and a small brass bollard. Look, Gods don't need to give reasons.
(2) This was sponsored via the Lancre Embassy's Cultural Attache, Bert Weaver, who had a day job humping coal on the docks. The Embassy of the Kingdom of Lancre is a cheerful part-time affair run by any Lancre citizen with a few hours to spare who doesn't mind putting the Ambassadorial sash on. The Embassy occupies a couple of rooms over a coal-wharf on Two Pint Dock.
(3) See my story Whys and Weres. A previously undisclosed detail is that after helping close the case, Ruth N'Kweze eventually became the second Watch Assassin Special Constable. Vimes could hardly have refused her.