Nothing to it, really!
Having just been in hospital for a while and having come out feeling weak as a kitten and tired as a sloth. Six out of ten on the life-threatening scale, but dealt with to everybody's satisfaction. I may write about it sometime as the hospital I was sent to (Stepping Hill, Stockport) was and possibly remains centre of an investigation into the mysterious deaths of patients. Apparently one or more rogue nurses was bumping people off. Allegedly. My gut feeling is that it was down to sloppy record-keeping, people covering their arses after nicking controlled drugs, and general bad management. But I'm here and alive and my rogue pneumo and pleurises have settled down. Struggling to meet deadlines and sleeping 12 hours a day, so please do not think I'm being ignorant in not replying to PM's and reviews. Bit long but I needed something out there to advance the plot. I may revise a bit as it doesn't feel quite right yet.
It's simple. You just need to fill in forms SMP (i) and SMP(ii) and then complete MATB1(b) in triplicate. Getting clothing that fits and doesn't look like Fools' Guild surplus found in a shonky shop. The difficulties of being a young expectant mother in Ankh-Morpork. Even when people aren't out to kill you.
Nine people gather for dinner. Technically eleven - depends on how you look at it!
18 Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork
Ponder Stibbons accepted that at least one wall of the living room would become a shrine, of sorts, to the profession of Assassin. Johanna had graciously allowed him to mount his rarely-carried staff over the fireplace. It rested horizontally in two brackets above the mantelpiece. His ready-use broomstick was mounted above, close to a source of sustaining magic and available, fully-charged, for when it was needed. But these were the only clues that a wizard lived here. His books of magic were now safely locked away in his study, in a glass-fronted bookcase. The maids were wary of dusting them after they'd started growling back, and one semi-rogue grimoire had bitten the end off a feather duster. He had bought the glass-fronted case after the maids had expressed their ambivalent feelings to Madam.
Johanna, by contrast, kept her weapons out in the open, mounted on the walls of the living room. Pride of place went to a crossed assegai and knobkerrie, with a flat hide shield mounted in front of them. A lionskin headdress with dyed ostrich feathers, and an impi commander's flyswitch of office, advertised the seniority of the man who had formerly owned them. These were displayed in a place of honour.(1) Ponder had never asked where she'd got them from, knowing she'd probably tell him; he cherished his ignorance of some of the things she'd done before they'd met.
Many other weapons, grouped by type, were mounted on the walls. A rack of bows and crossbows of various sizes and types occupied one section of wall. Another was dedicated to swords, principally of Howondalandian and Klatchian manufacture, but with some fine Central Continent and Agatean examples. Throwing knives of various weights had their own section for display, as did cavalry lances. Whips of various nations and traditions hung from pegs. (2) And there were other things too, identifiable as weapons by certain aspects of spikiness and sharpness, but which he was unsure of which end you held, and which you pointed at your enemy.
This Wednesday evening, two guests, students at the Assassins' School, were studying the weaponry with intense professional interest. Ponder looked up from where he was reading the Times. Good, he thought, they didn't need to be reminded about not touching a Wizard's staff. A Wizard's staff was attuned to its owner. A wizard of greater power could handle your staff pretty much with impunity, although it was always good manners to ask first. Ponder could give permission for others to handle it. The housemaids, after an unfortunate initial incident involving Eve, had been introduced to the Staff and it had been explained that they needed to dust it occasionally. The capital-S Staff had then become quiescent when approached by the lower-case staff with feather dusters and polishing cloths. But for anyone else there would be a brief unpleasant lightning-lemon shock.(3) Student Assassins were given brief guidance in protocol and etiquette when dealing with wizards and the tools of their trade. Not every teacher warned them that wizards' staffs were primed to deter people other than their owner from touching them; some teacher-Assassins considered this only fair, and a little detail a bright pupil could work out from context. As for a dim pupil: well, best they were weeded out early.
Ponder thought back to the Battle of the Tobacco Fields and winced again. He was pretty sure some of those fireballs had been down to the staff recognising its imperative, to defend its owner in time of peril. When it had gone rogue in his hands and started clobbering Matabele tribesmen under its own volition… Ponder was pretty sure that hadn't been him doing that. But he'd still been hailed afterwards, initially by a very creative journalist, as a hero and a wizard as brave as any of old.
"Please, madam." one of the two girl students had said, indicating a particularly strange weapon. "I do not recognise this blade and I am unsure of its use."
Johanna had smiled slightly and taken the big curved weapon down from the wall. She handed it to the student, hand-grips first.
"It is called a bat'leth." she said. "Its origins are lost in time and space, but I em told it is a blade of hon-OR emongst the Klingon warrior people." (4)
Johanna had taken care to have the blade and points properly edged by a Dwarven swordsmith on her return from Roundworld. Her strange pronunciation of the word "honour" was a private joke.
The student moved the weapon experimentally and allowed her body to move in the directions it appeared to dictate. Johanna nodded approval. That had been her own first response to the bat'leth, in Sheldon and Leonard's living room at 2311 North Los Robles. It had convinced her there was something of worth here.
"It is beautifully balanced." the student observed. She moved with the blade again.
"Something similar is used as a pole-arm by Egetean soldiers." Johanna said.
"And this is the hand-held version. These Klingons are an Agatean people, madam? Thank you for allowing me to hold this."
"You can never know too many weapons." Johanna said, simply. "End by thet, I mean you must know. Merely hendling a new weapon for an hour or so cen engender over-confidence. Continual prectice is key."
She added: "Klingons exist, ja. I did not directly encounter eny. But I heard of them when on a mission for the University, exploring a strange other world. I fear you could not cite them in eny school work es a warrior race, es they are unknown here on the Disc. The weapon returned with me from thet world. End megic was involved, ja. "
Which was also scrupulously true. (5) Her student did not need to know specific detail. She strongly suspected Star Trek: The Next Generation would not be accepted as a valid research source in School essays.
The student eventually returned the weapon to the wall, with thanks.
Johanna smiled. Rivka-bin-Divorah was a Cenotine, one of a people small in numbers but high in determination. Their religion was a strict and tightly ordered one hedged with taboo and observance. Worshipping one God, it had fathered Omnianism, a schismatic and in its eyes heretical faith. The Cenotines had either exiled themselves to other parts of the Disc when Omnianism came calling to convert them to the new faith, or else had retreated into the mountains to fight a fierce and pitiless guerrilla war with the Divine Legions. Even though the struggle had bred a people who could fight like Hell, only the advent of Brutha and a new sort of Omnianism had ultimately saved them. On the brink of defeat by sheer weight of numbers, their country had been returned to them with apologies from the new Omnia, and its sincere aid in rebuilding. These days, Omnianism graciously accepted that its fellow believers in Om, the Older People of the Prophets, were exempt from evangelism and, uniquely, had their own mechanism for reconciliation and salvation in Om's Holy Kingdom. (6)
Rivka was a product of the new Cenotia, quiet, meek and demure on the outside until you looked her in the eyes and saw the fire in there. She was ideal Assassin material. Johanna saw her job as one of general education, and shaping the raw talent this girl represented. Whilst teachers at the Guild were wary about having open favourites among their pupils, just sometimes a pupil came along who stood out from their peers, and who it was a pleasure to cultivate and pay that little bit more personal attention to. It was informally accepted that every Guild teacher would now and again adopt a protégée, a student with special talent or ability. Ruth N'Kweze had been one, in her time; Johanna was beginning to suspect Rivka would be her second.
And it helped that Rivka bin-Divorah was pretty much best friends at School with her younger sister, Mariella Smith-Rhodes. This meant that on Wednesdays, a day normally devoted to Compulsory Sports and Physical Activity with a minimum of prep in the evenings, she could invite her sister over to dinner. And casually ask if she'd like to bring a friend along? It made situations like this easier and more informal. Their housemistress, Emmanuelle de Lapoignard, knew and approved, and had included a note about it in her handover files for her successor, Mademoiselle de Badin-Boucher. It gave both girls opportunity to see some sort of family life outside boarding school, and a reason for them to return late. Overnight stays at the weekend were a possibility, too.
"I was meaning to esk, Johanna." Mariella said, studying a particular weapon intently. "What are these, end how are they used?"
Ponder sighed. Rimwards Howondalandians were attracted to large powerful weapons. It appeared to be a national addiction. But he had a strange fascination with one of his wife's new acquisitions. It bothered him that while they looked like distorted letter X's, only one leg of the X was an apparent handle. The other three legs were sharp blades, one of which looked like a large vicious axe. It would be interesting to get a general idea, if only for academic reasons. Most of the things on the wall frankly scared him. Knowing his wife could use any of them in any combination, with pretty much expert proficiency, was only marginally more reassuring. He watched her take one down, carefully holding it by the leather-bound grip, and weight it in her hand.
"The Zande knife. Elso called a kpinga, an nzapa, or a kwanza." she said. "It is a weapon of a tribe of the deep jungle in Howondaland. Fortunately for us, we have hed little contect with this people. This weapon is a good reason for my use of the word "fortunate." Do you wish to know how it is used? Good. We shell go into the garden end kill time until dinner is ready. Mariella, please ensure the dogs remain indoors. These are throwing weapons. I do not wish the dogs to chase them."
Johanna noticed how her dogs seemed to have an extra depth of affection for her sister. She sighed. Mariella had an easy unforced manner around the servants, who all seemed to return the affection for Young Madam. She, Johanna, had had to work at it, and her current liberal attitude to black people was the culmination of her twelve or thirteen years in Ankh-Morpork. Mariella seemed to have condensed those thirteen years of painful change of attitude into roughly five minutes. The house goblins seemed to like her being around, too. Her usual greeting to Op die Veldt was a high-five and a happy exchange of "Hey, Wimowe!" countered with "Hey, Red Vixen Cub!" (7). She also had an easy familiarity with the servants. Aunt Friejda winced to see it, and considered there should be some distance between the white householder and the bleck servants. ("Why?" Mariella had asked, perplexed. "This is not Home. For any of us!")
"Ponder, look efter our other guests when they errive." she directed him, and led her students out into the garden. Simeon, the Boy, was chopping firewood for winter, splitting larger logs into ready kindling against a flat tree-stump. He began working a little faster at the appearance of Madam.
"Take a break, Simeon." Johanna said. "Leave one of those logs on the stump? Dankie."
The houseboy smiled with appreciation, and lowered his axe. This was something else that gave Aunt Friejda the vapours, Johanna reflected; giving black servants tools which could be used to fulfil the biggest single neurosis of the White Howondalandian Woman of Means; That They Might Rise Up And Slaughter Us In Our Beds. (8) Although she was White Howondalandian, Johanna had no such phobia. This was Ankh-Morpork. She treated the servants well and paid them at Ankh-Morporkian rates. Apartheid law only applied if anyone official from the Embassy was visiting. Nobody got whipped, and her Ridgeback dogs had been educated since puppyhood to recognise only people. Despite expectations, the most either of her dogs would do to a servant would be to soak them in gallons of doggy spit.(9) Knowing they were well off in every way, her housestaff were happy and loyal. And discreet, she reminded herself. This is needed.
Five months into her pregnancy and still accustoming herself to what felt like an ever-changing centre of gravity, she took one of the Zande throwing weapons by the handle, reminded herself how these things were done, and braced her feet. With an easy movement of her right arm, shoulder and upper body, she let the weapon fly. It described a glittering metallic arc in the air, and missed the smaller log by inches, lodging with a wooden thudding noise in the larger flat-topped tree stump. It quivered for a second or two and then rested.
"Also called the Kwaanza weapon." she said, drily. "Efter a religious celebration where it is customary to give gifts. The tribe who devised this weapon consider it is en eppropriate gift for en enemy. Mariella?"
Her sister took a second weapon, considered its weight and balance thoughtfully, then lifted it into the air and let her arm drop, as she had been taught in knife-throwing classes. It clipped the log, causing it a glancing blow and making it rock on the tree stump, but overshot into the garden behind. A wood shaving floated lazily on the air for a moment.
"Miss bin-Divorah?"
Rivka chopped her arm down decisively. Her thrown weapon very nearly split the log. Johanna nodded her appreciation. She recalled Rivka had an aptitude for thrown ranged weapons.
Choosing their moment, two of the house-goblins, who had been watching with appreciation, ran to collect the weapons.
"One exe-head. End two curved blades. Making it very likely one or more will do demege to the target." Johanna said, glad to be doing something physical with weapons at long last.
"Hey, Wimowe!" Mariella said, taking a returned weapon from the goblin.
"You hit straight next time, Red Vixen-Cub!" the goblin said, amiably. "Aim two points to left. Then you split firewood!"
They spent a pleasant half-hour refining their skills with a new weapon.
Then Claude, the butler, was coughing discreetly behind her.
"Your other guests are beginning to arrive, madam." He said. "The Professor is hosting them in the living room."
Elsewhere, four men, fugitives from the law, had settled into a fairly remote and otherwise deserted homestead in the empty country near Effing Forest. They were preparing for a permanent move into Ankh-Morpork and had already discreetly recce'd the city. Anyone expressing curiosity about the ramshackle old farmhouse, deserted since its tenants had found it impossible to make a living on land that was eighty percent old tree root left behind after foresters had been and gone, had either been bought off or allowed a few moment's reflection to comprehend some not-quite-threats that were allowed to hang, unformed, in the air. A local general stores had been handsomely paid to deliver food and drink, no questions asked. Or welcomed.
Perceiving no threat so long as the men were not disturbed, such as passed for a local community – who in the main did not bother with newspapers except as food wrapping or a necessary item to hang in the privy – regarded them as strangers with a harsh and guttural accent, probably some sort of Überwaldean, listen to the language they spoke among themselves, and left them alone. They went to the city in ones and twos to find out what they could. Gate guards, primed to look out for four shaven-headed suspicious strangers from Rimwards Howondaland who might be dressed in prison uniforms still, paid little attention to the surly drover-looking types, whose hair was growing out along with beards and moustaches. Thieves, both licenced and unlicenced, who recognised trouble on legs, avoided them. Assassins just saw another sort of country peasant in town for the day. Watchmen saw no reason to investigate men who stayed within the law and walked as if they had every right to be there, refraining from running or other suspicious activity.(10) The visitors made no attempt to contact or associate with other Rimwards Howondalandians, recognising the familiar signs of compatriots, and very carefully not identifying themselves. Thus, Liutnant Verkramp of BOSS received no relevant intelligence from his ethnic community.
They visited pubs like the Mended Drum and discovered that in the Troll's Head, information could be bought and traded from a clientele with no love for the Watch or established authority. Recognising kindred spirits, or at least people of a similar temperament who had reasons not to draw the Law onto themselves, the denizens of the Troll's Head shrugged, decided getting into a fight with these guys would not be productive, and moved over to accept them with no questions asked. In return for a few dollars, Mine Host(11) at the Troll's Head tipped them off to accommodation for rent in the Shades that was suitable for men such as yourselves, sir. Three dollars a week for the rooms and another three for keeping your confidences and being a person of tight-lipped discretion, know what I mean?
DuPlessis considered this. He considered the money and valuables stolen in what the local paper was describing as The Great Train Robbery, then nodded, and asked the landlord to set up a meeting. Thinking of jewellery they'd relieved from its former owners, he then inquired about people who dealt in small but expensive items of doubtful provenance, and could convert them into cash. Another ten dollars bought a name, and they hadn't heard it in the Troll's Head, understood?
And so the four wanted men arrived in Ankh-Morpork, ready to take revenge to the next stage.
Emmanuelle de Lapoignard appraised one of the Zande blades that the two students were returning to their place in the wall display. She weighed one in her hand with an expression of two-parts interest and one-third disdain.
"I see." she said, passing it carefully back to Rivka. "And you say these were confiscated by the ever-vigilant Commander Vimes, following a disturbance in an immigrant area of the City?"
"Ja." said Johanna. "It is fortunate these are legacy weapons, thet somebody's grendfether brought with him when the femily immigrated to here. When they came out in a street brawl they were easily confiscated, es they were thrown et a Golem konstabel."
The usual practice with weapons confiscated by the Watch was to destroy them if they were cheap shoddy home-made items, Saturday Night Specials. Anything better made, professionally manufactured or of intrinsic interest went for storage in the City Armoury or to one of the City museums. These had provoked a court case, where the former owner had appealed against confiscation, arguing that they were both family heirlooms of irreplaceable sentimental value and clearly cultural weapons, like Dwarf axes. Vetinari had observed that not even the most culturally aware Dwarf would risk blunting their axe on a Golem, and since Dwarfs had been the precedent used to interpret the law on cultural weapons and were law-abiding enough not to try to use them on the Watch, the case was therefore vexatious litigation, and was dismissed. Commander Vimes, please dispose of these things according to your usual good judgement in these matters?
Johanna had then approached Vimes and asked if he could dispose of them in her direction.
"What, use my good judgement to dispose of dangerous weapons by giving them to the Assassins?" he had asked.
"Ja. They are of professional interest." she had said.
Vimes had considered. They were Howondalandian weapons, certainly. And Assassins only used weapons for legal business or self-defence. And Johanna was responsible. She'd keep them safe and 99% of the time they'd just be trophies on the wall, or demonstration items…
"OK. We can say this comes under the heading of confiscated property, auctioned off to citizens of good standing, in the normal course of events. (12) I bid five hundred. Johanna?"
"Five hundred and one."
"Do I hear five hundred and two? No? Going, going, gone! Five hundred and one dollars to Doctor Smith-Rhodes, payable to the Watch Widows and Orphans fund. Just keep 'em secure, Johanna."
"Thenk you, Mr Vimes."
And now they were part of her personal weapon collection. Emmanuelle, a woman who would contest the description of sword as a noun if applied to many of the things on Johanna's living room wall, sighed philosophically. To her, a lot of the swords here were merely long metal clubs with a sharp edge.
"Any luck house-hunting?" Ponder Stibbons asked. He knew she was still looking. She shrugged and shook her head.
"It is very vexatious." She admitted. "I am not looking for a mansion, and I wish for something larger than an artisan's terraced house. Some of the things estate agents believe I would be interested in… c'est très abominable!"
Johanna nodded, sympathetic.
"Vinnie told me Number Four may soon be up for sale." she said. "The femily there are looking to move on."
"So Spa Lane becomes La rue des Assassins". Emmanuelle observed.
"Young professional people with families." Ponder observed. "Apparently good for an area."
"So the estate agents say." Emmanuelle replied, drily. "Although I perceive there may be advantages in having friends and colleagues as near-neighbours."
She looked reflective for a moment.
"Number Four, Spa Lane." she said, considering the idea. "Johanna, chère amie, please keep me informed? A private sale involving no estate agents is an appealing idea. I have frankly seen enough of them!"
She turned to Mariella and Rivka.
"How was your afternoon, mes élèves?" she asked, Housemistress to pupils. "I have always sought to avoid excessive physical exertion on Wednesdays, as you know."
It was true: many of the teachers led sports or physical recreation on a Wednesday afternoon. Emmanuelle sometimes took additional Swords classes, remedial work with slow learners, or advanced classes for fast ones. But lately she had used the half-day for house-hunting, a frustrating business. Johanna aced things by exploiting an additional teaching contract at the Fools' Guild School, which kept her in the warm and dry, or at least the dry, indoors. Which was no small thing in Ankh-Morpork in autumn or winter.(13)
Mariella explained that she had been sent out on a cross-country run, on a route devised by Mr Bradlofrudd, the Guild's genial PE Master.
"It was made difficult today, madame." she said, keeping any suspicion of complaint out of her voice. "Epperently, Mr Bradlofrudd considers I em not stretched enough by the runs."
Johanna smiled quietly. The fact her sister tended to come in first in a class of girls after a three or five mile run, a long way ahead of the pack and quite often beating most of the boys of her own age, had been noticed. And it had been noted she was hardly breathing heavily and often complained she could have been faster if the ground had been harder with no muddy stretches. PE teachers got nervous about this sort of thing, cross-country running being expressly designed to be something meant to break their will to resist, and make them more amenable.
Bill Bradlofrudd had asked Johanna's advice. She had frankly asked Bill what he expected, as he was dealing with somebody accustomed to long treks over the Veldt at a fast pace. A three mile run was nothing at all to a Veldt Boor. She proposed a solution, however, something that would really push her sister's limits. Something verging on the sadistic, something only an older sister could think of, as a reminder to her sibling she wasn't there to coast along doing the essential minimum.
"So who won, ma petite?" Emmanuelle inquired.
"Today, me. But not by very much." Mariella admitted. "Five yards, possibly."
Her teachers nodded, sympathetically. Black and White Howondalandian students were gradually introduced to each other over the course of the first two years. It was held to be prudent that they did not share the same dorm, for instance, even if they had to share classrooms. But Johanna had suggested a lot could be achieved on the sports field, just so long as care was taken with the Zulu pupils and javelins, for instance. In one sense they were too close to assegais.
Therefore White Howondalandian pupils to whom endurance sports were commonplace had been set to race against Zulus, who also had the ability to leave Central Continent pupils a long way behind and panting for breath.
Mariella had suddenly discovered she had competition on the running tracks, and what had been a relatively easy Wednesday had now become a real test of speed and stamina. She had developed an intense rivalry with her year-mate Sisibusa N'zima and Wednesday afternoon races for third-year pupils had a new edge. People laid bets. And the competition was close. Sometimes Sisibusa won, sometimes Mariella. Other White Howondalandian and Zulu pupils also competed, but they were the second team behind the two star performers. Bill, seeing them doubled up and panting for breath like any normal pupil, was very happy. Normal PE Teacher-to-pupil relations had been resumed. Ones who sauntered through the hardest exercise he could devise without even breathing heavily were, to him, taking the piss.
"A little victory for Black Widow House, then." Emmanuelle said, approving. She had staked a hundred dollars on Mariella at odds of three to one. Even the Gamblers' Guild had heard of the informal competition between Boors and Zulus, natural enemies of long standing, and the way national pride was being used to cajole the students into really giving it their best. It was too good not to bet on.
"As you say, Madame." Mariella said, neutrally. She really knew it was her versus Sisibusa. House and national allegiance didn't matter any more. And that afternoon the Zulu girl, normally deadly silent and focused, had patted her on the back and said "Good race, Boor-missie. Next time you see my heels!" It was the first time in over two years at the School that they'd exchanged words. Normally they got on with things in silent rivalry. Hearing of this later, Johanna had shaken hands with Ruth N'Kweze. It took time to break down old habits.
Mariella looked at her teacher and decided in this informal surrounding that she might get away with pushing it a bit. After all, her Housemistress made no secret of being a Gambler as well as an Assassin.
"Madame? How much did you win on me this week?"
Johanna spluttered. Emmanuelle gave her pupil a long appraising look. Ponder Stibbons tried hard to keep his face straight.
"Touché". Emmanuelle said, softly. " I won sufficient. And I thank you. But giving you a cut would not be held to be ethical, cherie."
Claude the butler smoothly announced other guests were here. Ponder noticed that he was behaving less like a major-domo in a Howondalandian household and more like an Ankh-Morporkian butler; of service and deferential still, but not servile. He put it down to Willikins' informal lessons and his membership of the Guild of Butlers and Senior Domestic Servants. Johanna and Ponder paid his Guild membership fee without complaint as a perk of his employment.
Johanna took the opportunity to remind her sister about overconfidence. But seeing Emmanuelle put on the defensive had been worth it.
"We are informal here tonight." she reminded the students. "Rivka, you may in this place call me Johanna. I trust you to eddress me eppropriately et school tomorrow. Where, Mariella, you will behave epproprietly to your teachers. End if enything you hear tonight eppears in thet School newsletter you write for, I will know where it came from!"
"We have been warned, Mariella". Rivka said, with apparent seriousness. Johanna found herself liking the girl.
Her last two dinner guests arrived, and the dining party moved to the table.
Timothy and Martin Bellamy usually walked home from the Guild school without fear or undue concern. They were student Assassins, after all. While their parents usually gave them money and told them to take the public omnibus towards Pallant Street and Least Gate and to be safe, they were the sort of boys who saw busfare as a welcome addition to pocket money allowances, and preferred the half-hour walk across the City. They took the view that once past the University and crossing the Water Bridge towards home, they'd got the potentially more dangerous Morpork part of the walk out of the way and could be more relaxed once over the River in Ankh. Water Street, the raised causeway over Mort Lake, was always interesting. And as student Assassins they'd even walked the route underground: Miss Band had taken them down into the old aqueduct that ran underneath to explain how in the very old days, fresh water had been piped into the City from outside. It was rumoured Lord Vetinari's Undertaking involved repairing and renewing the old watercourse, which they knew from underground expeditions ran underneath and through the Tump. The hot baths on Hopesprings and even the very name Spa Lane were testimony to natural water being underground here, somewhere. And once past Water Street on Hope Square, there was Spa Lane and Home.
It was accepted, on a Games Wednesday, that Tim and Martin might linger at the School for a little while to do what prep was necessary for Thursday, and to socialise for a permitted hour with friends who were boarders. Evening meal at the Bellamys was usually later to allow for this, and for Dad's shift pattern at the prison.
They walked on with their friend Peggy Cregan, another day pupil whose home was at Twelve Spa Lane. There seemed to be more and more Assassin black on the street these days. Non-Assassin neighbours had mixed feelings about this, but tended to accept the argument that it made for an effective Neighbourhood Watch.
"Wonder what's for tea tonight." Tim mused. The evening was closing in and it was starting to get chilly.
"Slumpie, I hope." Martin said. "With lots of jam and custard. Mum's good at that."
The thought of a warming dessert, and lots of it, was quite appealing. They walked on. The usual evening people were out, people either returning from or going to work, and shops around Hope Square were still open.
"Mum and Dad said they were going down the road to Doctor Smith-Rhodes for drinks later." Tim remarked.
"Didn't Matron Igorina say something about that not being too wise for pregnant women?" Peggy asked. Like many students, she was curious about the sudden attack of motherhood among her teachers.
Martin winced slightly. He and Tim were both wondering what a new sibling would be like and how it would change the family. They knew Mum and Dad wanted a girl, but both were politely disdainful at the idea of a little sister. Better a brother, somebody who'd fit in with three older male siblings.
"Mum thinks it's probably going to be OK and Igorina's worrying too much." Martin said. "Mum said she's already had us three, and she doesn't remember not drinking alcohol while she was carrying us. Okay in moderation, she says."
"So if a pregnant woman drinking alcohol stunts the baby's growth…" Peggy mused, regarding Martin's nearly six-foot frame, "then you'd be six-foot ten if she hadn't."
Martin, sixteen going on seventeen, grinned. "Apparently it scrambles the kid's brains." he remarked. "Which accounts for Tim."
There was a bit of good-natured barging between the brothers. Then Tim paused, looking into the twilight and the not-adequately-lit street. All three student Assassins recognised the change in atmosphere and followed where Tim was looking.
"Thief, do you think?" Tim asked, in a lower voice. He'd been taught to observe. Martin and Peggy watched casually, taking care not to slow or stop and not to stare.
"Could be casing a few joints." Martin agreed, watching the large hooded and dark-clad figure, who was very carefully trying not to be observed. Trying too hard, Peggy thought. She weighed him up. Big man. Wide. Muscly. Street thug. She had seen a face much like that, at close quarters, a few years before. It still gave her bad dreams. (14)
The three took care to walk peaceably past, letting their Assassin black speak for itself. Although the man tried to conceal his face, all three got a glimpse of him. Enough for them to be able to pick him out in a Watch lineup, if it came to that. It was not a pleasant face.
Martin nodded a "good evening" to make it clear the man had been noticed. The three walked on down Spa Lane. They heard receding footsteps behind them as the hooded man appeared to decide it was time to move on. Martin breathed out.
"Better tell Mum and Dad later." he decided. Rumours had got out about some sort of illegal unlicenced contract that had been taken out on Doctor Smith-Rhodes. The Guild teachers had been tight-lipped about this, and nothing official had been said. The general opinion among students was that if any unlicenced assassin ever went after Doctor Smith-Rhodes, she'd eat him alive. But somebody unknown with a stony killer's face appearing on Spa Lane… who wasn't an Assassin…
The first course was potato and carrot soup. With, in Johanna's case, a side of shredded bog truffle. She sprinkled some of the unspeakable-but-expensive into her soup, deciding it would be easier this way.
Ruth N'Kweze looked on in quiet sympathy. She wondered, (if it ever happened and please all the Gods not for a few years yet and much though I care about him, not with this man), what form her own pregnancy craving might take. She had delivered a jar of bog truffles with the personal best regards of Lady T'Malia. Johanna had accepted the gift in the spirit intended. She knew people were usually wary of food or drink gifts offered by T'Malia, but recognised generosity and concern on the part of her superior.
Ponder was in conversation with an old friend. Victor Tugelbend had brought another jar of bog truffles. Arch-Chancellor Ridcully had asked him, saying with uncharacteristic reticence, that the kitchen had been having a clear-out and discovered these. Gods know why we kept 'em, nobody actually eats the damn wretched things, even here,… er, but I did hear Doctor Smith- Rhodes has developed a women's thing, craving thingamajig, for them, so if you're going over there, young Tugelbend, give Johanna and the lad me best, she might find these useful, save her a few dollars, errr…
Victor had spent a few years touring the Disc and, on return to the city, had joined the Watch as a Detective-Constable, drawn to the magnet that inexorably pulled all misfits and awkward people. The idea of a job spent sitting down indoors with no heavy lifting had appealed to him, and the Cable Street Particulars had welcomed his sort of maverick intelligence. His wizard status ratified by Ridcully under the Rincewind Clause(15) , he was the sole Wizard Police Constable in the Watch.
"They've disappeared." He said, frankly, as the dinner progressed to a main course of roast chicken and vegetables. With, for one diner, additional migratory bog truffles. "We know four men escaped from the Island. They crossed the Neverglades and hijacked a train. They robbed the passengers, with extreme violence. They get off the train somewhere after Skankydoodle. Then the trail goes cold. We've got people out looking, but they could be anywhere in a couple of hundred square miles with enough cash to sit it out without needing to make too much contact with the world. They could have changed their appearances. New identities. We just don't know."
"But it's possible they'll come here." Ponder said.
"Revenge appears to be the motive. Yes." Victor agreed. "If I was in their position I'd sit tight wherever I was for a few months. Wait for the chase to ease off. Then consider moving into the city. That's going to be the dangerous time for them. They'd need to get past the Watch on the gates."
He pondered this for a moment.
"Not impossible. Not even hard. Then they'd need somewhere to live. They'd need to establish contact with people they can trust. And they're not from this continent. They'd have to be tough to survive in Ankh-Morpork."
"But du Plessis fought on the border. In the jungles." Another diner observed. His voice was well-modulated with the slightest hint of Rimwards Howondaland. He was well-dressed in smart evening clothes, and was young and red-haired. His profession was soldier, his posting diplomatic. Julian Smith-Rhodes was a quick learner. "So he has the jungle survival skills to survive the Neverglades. He's tough. He survived a military prison and a term on Gogga Island. As far as we can piece it out, he went on to be a mercenary. Crossbow for hire. Where he met the other three. Involvement in crime going way back over twenty years. Is it possible he knows people who have contacts in this city's criminal community?"
Five people at the dinner table had been present at the Tobacco Farm. They'd all looked the captured slave overseers in the face and shuddered. And the ringleader of the slavers had looked back into their faces and taken notes. Each of the five knew they were a potential target.
"So there is danger?" Mariella Smith-Rhodes asked, politely. She found the idea both exciting and scary. It made her tingle and feel alive.
"Not to you so much." Ruth said. "Although a man like that, if he finds out about you, might see it worth his while to hurt your sister by hurting you."
"And that is something to consider." Emmanuelle de Laipoignard remarked. "I accept that in the eyes of these creatures I am a legitimate target. I was there. I fought in the Redoubt. I detained Lucinda Rust. They know my face. If they wish to fight, my swords are ready to meet them. But on my honour as Housemistress of Black Widow House, if they seek to attack girls I am responsible for, I shall defend my girls to the limit."
She softened and smiled.
"Perhaps that is the mother in me talking. And you girls have been my care for years. As dear, and as aggravating, as daughters. Or younger sisters. But my advice to you both, Rivka, Mariella, is to carry throwing knives where you can reach them. You are both good with those weapons and temperate enough to know when not to deploy them. I will turn a blind eye, and in the circumstances request other teachers to allow you both to carry weapons for your possible self-defence. For I fear that you are both now associated with this household, which may be under threat, and your mere presence here makes you vulnerable."
She smiled.
"As my dear colleague and friend Miss Alice Band might say, is anyone dismayed yet?"
"You can each choose a set of good knives before you go." Johanna said, recognising the truth of what was being said. "Pistol crossbows, too. On loan from me."
Rivka grinned, long and slow. The graduate Assassins saw it and approved. It was the look of "I'm not seeking trouble here, but if you really want it, I'll be delighted to oblige" that they liked in pupils.
"I'm sorry to have dregged you into this, Mariella." Johanna said. She felt a mix of pride and concern. What do I say to Mother if she gets hurt?
Her sister smiled.
"I em being permitted to cerry weapons." she said. "This is a privilege. Even if it is most likely I will not need to use them. End if I em. I em a Smith-Rhodes, like you end Cousin Julian. Thet hes to count for something!"
"She's right." Ruth said to Julian. "You Smith-Rhodes people are completely ruthless, vindictive and callous when there's a threat to one of you. I thought my family can get nasty when they're threatened. Then I met yours."
Julian Smith-Rhodes smiled.
"Family trait, I'm afraid." he said. Ruth laughed in a low happy way and stroked his face. They leaned in and kissed, briefly. Mariella's eyes jolted open. Miss N'Kweze? Cousin Julian? She'd heard the rumours that Miss N'Kweze preferred the intimate company of white men, but she'd never have guessed at this…
"Not for public consumption." Johanna said, quickly. "End not to go in thet newsletter, either!"
"I hope you're not shocked." Cousin Julian said, carefully. "We met at the Tobacco Fields battle. We realised we appreciated each other's company, and, er…"
"We were fighting on the same side." Ruth said. "I kind of appreciate being around Julian too. And since he quite likes me, and since this isn't Howondaland, well, we thought, why not?"
"I understand." Mariella said. "I think. Et home there is Oncle Baal."(16)
Johanna and Julian winced. Emmanuelle laughed appreciatively. She'd met the scoundrel Balthazar Smith-Rhodes. Who'd also had a partiality for black-skinned women.
"How is the old rogue doing?" she asked. "I have fond memories of him, ma petite. He was hard to dislike!"
"if you're staying over tonight, try not to eppreciate each other's company quite so loudly." Johanna said, frankly, to Ruth and Julian. "The whole house heard you both eppreciating each other, lest time!"
And the dinner progressed. Even dessert, for Johanna, had a discreet side serving of bog truffle.
Down the street, over a different dinner, Peter and Davinia Bellamy heard their sons' story of the sinister man in the street. Davinia went into a reflective silence for a while as she considered. She conferred with Peter.
Then she packed Martin off next door to get Peggy. She took Tim by the arm.
"You know your father and I are walking up the road to see Ponder and Johanna for after-dinner drinks? Well, you're coming with us, and you're going to tell them exactly what you saw. They've got direct Clacks there. This needs to get to the Guild and the Watch!"
That newsletter: the Cloak and Dagger, the student newspaper of the Guild of Assassins, permitted as an after-school activity for those students with an aptitude for words and seen in a positive light as a means of publicising after-school clubs, sports teams, and passing on exhortations and official messages from the senior management.
Under the editorship of Rupert Mericet (L/Sixth Mykkims), with input from observant and careful-with-words people like Mariella Smith-Rhodes (Three Black Widow), senior School teachers now read it very carefully for signs of sedition, satirical intent, and mention of matters embarrassing to the Guild's higher echelons. A certain amount of censorship/negotiation takes place before final publication, in fact.
Should I mention that satirical publication Private Eye began in similar circumstances from former pupils of prestigious upscale Shrewsbury School, who had spent school days cautiously sending up and satirising School traditions and teachers? Rupert Mericet is a distant relative of Mr Mericet and shares something of the same sardonic and ironic attitude to life. Only his chosen method of inhumation is the written word. I see Rupert, after graduating, becoming Ankh-Morpork's answer to Richard Ingrams and Ian Hislop, and starting a Private Eye for the city...
(1) Johanna's friend and colleague Ruth N'Kweze had no problems with this. In her opinion her deceased uncle would be proud that the warrior who had defeated him was showing great respect to his weapons and accoutrements by displaying them in the place of distinction in the nearest thing she had to a kraal. ("And just between you and me, Johanna, my father was relieved when he got the sad news of my uncle's death. He thought Uncle Dhumisani was getting a bit above himself and might make a move for the Paramountcy. You just saved him having to do something about it himself.")
(2) The black Howondalandian house-staff had fretted about this too. Johanna had reassured them that while they weren't quite for display only, she'd never used a whip on a servant in her life and had no intention of starting now.
(3) Ponder had turned this down from "lethal" to its lowest setting, a polite reminder of "do not do this again".
(4) A shameless plug for my Science of Discworld/The Big Bang Theory crossover, The Many Worlds Interpretation. In which Johanna and Ponder visit Pasadena, California, and learn of many things, including more than she wanted to know concerning the Star Trek franchise. She loved the concept of bat'leth blades, and bought some back to the Disc with her. More MWI coming up soon once I've worked out how Sheldon Cooper mucks up the timelines of Roundworld and Discworld, thus creating a rather big trans-temporal anomaly. Patience!
(5) If you accepted that everything exists somewhere in a Multiverse containing an infinite number of realities. Even a spherical Roundworld with no turtles or elephants to hold it up. Worf is out there somewhere. And his warrior race.
(6) This is indeed the attitude taken to Jewish believers by those schools of thought within Christianity, that would otherwise be seeking to evangelise the Hell out of them as they would to people of all other clearly false and Satanic world religions. In creating Rivka and fleshing out a brief previous mention of her, I'm attempting to write in some of the positive and praiseworthy and admirable things about Jews and Israelis, in a Discworld context. Or at least the non-contentious stuff. Anyone looking for critical commentary or mordant satire on current affairs – well, this is perhaps not the place for that. Rivka I see as sabra to her core. There's also a suspicion that in a world where kosher butchers exist alongside priests of a small and obscure religion that keeps itself to itself and can create golems… there will be a people very like to Roundworld Jews.
(7) Johanna's Goblin title was Red Fox Hair, Liberator Of Goblins. Op De Veldt Dese Nacht De Louw Geshickt (also known as Wimowe) had explained to her that her younger sister shared the red hair, was female, was clearly still a fox-cub, and had not been part of The Liberation. Therefore Red Vixen Cub, with no further honorific until in the eyes of Goblins she merited one.
(8) There was also the unspoken fear of The Fate Worse Than Death. Well-brought-up White Howondalandian ladies only ever uttered this in frightened whispers. Johanna considered that in some respects she was not a well-brought-up White Howondalandian lady.
(9) Her two dogs had terrified the servants when they first arrived. Black Howondalandians knew there was only one reason why White Howondalandians owned Ridgebacks, and meeting two of them, who had bounded excitedly over to check out the new people, had caused consternation. Johanna had needed to demonstrate that her dogs were racially colourblind.
(10) Be fair. If the Watch arrested everybody in Ankh-Morpork who merely looked suspicious, the whole city would be an open prison. More to the point, it would generate Too Much Paperwork.
(11) Usually thought of as Mine Host Who At this Moment is Refraining From Bashing You Over The Head With A Cudgel And Turning Out your Pockets Prior To Throwing You Naked Into The Street, Squire.
(12) This happened once or twice a year to clear Watch store-rooms and lock-ups. Items superfluous to investigations, unreclaimed lost property, wrested from the possession of Nobby Nobbs, or not claimed by the City, were routinely auctioned to the public. Proceeds to Widows and Orphans.
(13) Refer to the Zoo Tale in which Johanna explains to student Fools and allied trades about the habitat of snakes and scorpions: in the pits underneath the Patrician's Palace, and how any mime artiste thrown into a scorpion pit might, if they have the nerve, survive an hour or two in there.
(14) Peggy Cregan appears as a cameo character in my story Murder most 'Orrible, which introduces the Bellamy family. She had a bad experience as a child that led the Guild to take an interest in her.
(15) wizard status may be conferred, without need for written examination, on any who perform a great service to Wizardry or save the Disc from eldritch magical peril, tentacles optional. Victor certainly did that in Moving Pictures. And as Ridcully pointed out, studyin' so hard for so long in order to fail his exams had left him with at least a sixth-level wizardly ability. Carrot had pretended innocence when he explained to Vimes that at the time, he'd merely signed up somebody who had failed his university exams and was expressly not a Wizard, sir, just a normal civilian who'd attended the university for a few years but failed to qualify. Vimes accepted he'd been taken and filed Tugelbend alongside the Vampires, Zombies, golems and others who he's expressly ordered that the Watch should not recruit.
(16) See my story The Black Sheep.