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, bad statistics, 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.
And on top of this my broadband router blows a gasket and I spend three days without Internet. Ah well, I got to write this chapter virtually from scratch...
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. Especially if somebody's arrived in town who intends to kill you.
18 Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork
Davinia and Peter Bellamy quickly ushered the three student Assassins inside. Claude the butler raised an eyebrow.
"I know they're not expected." Davinia said. "But Doctor Smith-Rhodes needs to see them and hear what they've got to say. It's important."
The butler nodded and went to announce them.
A few minutes later, they were received in the living-room where the dining party had assembled for post-dinner drinks. Martin, Tim and Peggy were reassured to see two other students were part of a group that included four of their teachers. It made it less intimidating.
Davinia prompted her younger son with a motherly nudge. Tim remembered how to present an observational report to a senior Assassin. It had to be concise, accurate and relevant. They'd been taught, after all. He gulped, and decided to treat it like a formal test.
And the tale of the hooded man in black who'd been watching the street emerged. Peggy and Martin added their reports. The serious-looking man with the pencil moustache started asking questions and making written notes. He was introduced as Detective-Sergeant Tugelbend of the City Watch. Peggy found him scrummy-attractive, even though he must be at least thirty. She jumped as a goblin appeared from nowhere; Doctor Smith-Rhodes smiled and spoke to him in Vondalaans. The goblin saluted, loosely.
"Wait." Sergeant Tugelbend said, as the goblin turned to what Peggy realised was a little door in the nook by the fireplace. "I'm assuming you're off to clacks a message? Clacks this for me. City Watch, Pseudopolis Yard."
Victor wrote a message. The goblin read it back.
"Priority one. Tugelbend. Got that? Thanks."
"Same message to the Guild." Johanna added. "Priority; Dark Council. Dankie."
Captain Julian Smith-Rhodes stood up. He patted the hilt of his sword. Although he wore civilian clothes, some things were expected of army officers.
"I feel like a walk after dinner." he said. "Victor?"
"It might need a policeman." Victor Tugelbend agreed. "Mr Bellamy?"
Peter Bellamy nodded. He patted the Prison Service issue baton hanging at his belt. After hearing his sons' story, he'd picked up his issue weapons belt, on the grounds that you never knew.
"You know, in normal circumstances you wouldn't dream of leaving the ladies pretty much on their own." he remarked. His gaze took in a room full of Lady Assassins. "I suspect you'll manage, though."
Johanna smiled.
"I'm sure Ponder end the young men will guard us." she said, with an innocent smile. "Julian. Wear a cloak. You are on their target list. Concealment might be edvised here. End if you hev no weapon, Victor, feel free to choose one." She waved in the general direction of the walls. Victor selected a Watch issue truncheon, the one Johanna normally carried as a Special.
Policeman, prison officer, and career soldier went for a post-prandial walk to the end of Spa Lane and back. You know. Just to take the air after dinner. The weapons they carried were a prudent precaution against it being Ankh-Morpork after dark, as you never knew.
Those left behind in the house decided to have a quiet drink, as among friends meeting informally. The older student Assassins were offered wine and the younger ones soft drinks. They talked Assassins' Guild business for a while, with Johanna and Ruth deliberately letting slip a negligient titbit or two about unpopular members of staff, in the presence of students who contributed to the school newsletter. They knew when to informally reward good students, after all.
Sam Vimes whooped. He'd been just about to call it a night and return home. But the duty operator had caught him with the clacks flimsy.
Prison escape/GTR. Sighting of suspect on Spa Lane. Was watching 14/18 Spa. Seen walking in direction Hope Sq/Water Street one hour ago. Investigating. Priority One. Tugelbend CSP.
"An hour ago. Could be anywhere by now." Captain Carrot remarked.
"But if Victor's convinced, that makes it definite." Vimes said. "Looks like the case is hot again. Can we get Angua out there? See if she can smell anything out of the ordinary? You never know. Howondalandian fast food or something."
Vimes had tried Howondalandian ethnic food. It was certainly different.
"Get a foot patrol or two in the general area. Backup for Victor. Nothing too heavy. We don't want them getting alarmed and going to cover again. To me, it seems like they've tracked down Johanna, and they're casing her for an attack."
"Or else they wanted to be seen." Carrot remarked. "To frighten and alarm, and to say they know and they could attack at any time they choose."
Vimes grunted.
"Maybe, Carrot. But putting the frighteners on Assassins is like trying to sting wasps. You can do it, but it takes a lot of sting."
As they turned to leave, the duty sergeant stopped them.
"New clacks, sir. From Ambassador van der Graaf at the Howondalandian Embassy."
Lord Downey read the clacks flimsy.
"Spa Lane." he said, reflectively. "Client observed by senior students to leave the area and to proceed in the direction of Hope Square."
"Evidently at least one of the clients is now in the city." M. le Balouard said. "They are performing basic intelligence-gathering and are now aware of Doctor Smith-Rhodes' home address. Prior, perhaps, to making an attack."
"We need a regular inobtrusive presence there." Downey said. "Undercover operatives. We also need to keep the Watch informed. We do not need any unseemly incidents where our people become suspects and are detained."
"I'll prime our people with recognised code-words, sir. Ensure that the Watch has a list, so they know who our people are."
Downey nodded.
"Remind me. Get the details of the students who recognised the threat, would you? Send them up for sherry and a commendation. Thank you."
Three men walked, seemingly peaceably, down Spa Lane, seeming to be three friends in quiet conversation, but discreetly watching the quiet suburban street for strangers and odd things that didn't fit. They encountered a Bellamy neighbour who was walking his dog. Peter exchanged greetings, then discreetly asked if the neighbour had seen anyone suspicious, perhaps somebody looking a bit Thieves' Guild.
"Business getting slack, Peter?" the neighbour asked. "Usually the Watch fill the vacant rooms in your hostel!"
"No, nothing like that." Peter Bellamy assured him. "Mr Vimes would have a word if we tried to cut out the middleman."
He wondered for a moment about whether some prison officers might benefit from signing up as Watch Specials, just to see crime and punishment from a different angle. It was an interesting idea.
"Keep your eyes open, Roger? Unlicenced thieves watching this street. It's a good idea if we watch out for them first."
It will do no harm to have neighbours looking out too, he thought. He advised the neighbour to be careful, as the man we're interested in is dangerous. "Don't confront him. Anything odd you see, tell me or Doctor Smith-Rhodes at number eighteen? Thanks, pleasant night!"
They walked on towards the light, relative bustle, and late-opening Klatchistani general store on Hope Square. Here, the suburb was busier: they could smell warm steam carrying the tang of shampoo, medicated soap and disinfectants from the public bathhouses on Hopesprings. Indeed, there was a steady trickle of people with rolled towels under their arms. Depending on the direction they were walking in, they were either clean and gleaming, or else typical city denizens carrying towels.
"Ah." said Julian Smith-Rhodes, as five intent-looking men approached them. They only coincidentally fitted the part of men in dirty jobs going for a bath at the end of their shift. And none of them were carrying towels and washbags. "Better we close up, I think."
"Gentlemen! A fine night to be out in our fair city!" said the spokes-thief, hefting his club. "You know the score, I think."
Victor Tugelbend produced his Watch badge. He couldn't go undercover with the Particulars as his face was too distinctive. So he had no worries about compromising himself. (1)
"Professional immunity, I think." he said. Sam Vimes had made it clear that Watch personnel were exempted Thieves' Guild insurance.
"Paid up." Julian said, opening the cloak to reveal his indemnity badge. He had opened the cloak so that, wholly coincidentally, it revealed his sword too.
Peter Bellamy laughed.
"Bodger Ferris, isn't it? And "Bad-luck" Ludd. Been a while since you were last on D-Wing. Landing Seven, I recall."
"Whoops…" said one of the thieves. If your life involved the hazard of occasional stays in the Tanty, then mugging a prison officer while you were out was not a good idea. And to try and mug a very senior screw who recognised your face was even worse.
"Er, Mr Bellamy, sir. I wonder if we might be allowed to rethink, here?" Ferris asked, diffidently.
"You'd better, I think." Peter said, amiably. "We'll wait for you."
The licenced Thieves went into a huddle. Then Ferris emerged.
"I can't nick you if you're operating under Charter." Victor said, pleasantly. "But the truth is, we're all either paid up or exempt. Waste of your time. And ours. You could be useful, though."
He described the stranger seen on the street earlier.
"If he's the man we want, definitely also an unlicenced Thief". he said. "So sharing what you know with us isn't touting or grassing. Mr Vimes would be pleased. And for reasons I won't go into, the Assassins have an interest too. Always useful to have friends in Black."
The Thieves went into a huddle again. Then they seemed to reach an agreement.
"We bin working this general area since six o'clock." Ferris said. "Spotted this bloke about eight. We'd just let these three young Assassins past as they're trouble you don't want, and anyway their Guild pays indemnity for them, right? Then it looked like there was four Assassins, this big guy in a cloak who was partway up Spa Lane just standin' there, watchin'. You know, lurkin'. In the shadows and things. Err. When he seen them three young Assassins had clocked him, he stood and watched them go past for a while. As if he was rememberin'. Then he turns and comes walkin' back to Hope Square. Errr. We sees he's a big broad bloke. Not an Assassin. Just a bloke in a cloak. Looked like a bottle covey, so we thought best not to try and ask him if he's Guild. But Titch Gibbet, who was with us, said he'd try to follow at a distance, see where he went. Get the Guild bounty for an unlicenced practitioner, you see? None of us fancied it. So we said to be careful. Waitin' for him, now."
"I'm sure I've seen him before. In the Shades." another Thief said, eager to earn a few credit points against his next stay in the Tanty. "Near the Troll's Head, with three other buggers. Sounds Howondalandian, you know the wey these people telk? Sex is whet they cerry coal in?"
Julian Smith-Rhodes noted the bad attempt at a Rimwards Howondalandian accent. He forced a smile.
"Ja. Some of "we people" do telk thet wey. I'm from Caarp Town(2) in the Caarp Colony, myself. The sticky-out piece rrrright on the end of the continent. What you might call our cherecteristic eccent isn't quite so obvious there."
He exaggerated his normally slight accent for emphasis and enjoyed watching the Thief wince.
Victor stepped in. Aware he'd got all the information he could from the thieves, he thanked them for their public-spiritedness and passed over a few dollars. He knew he could claim it back as informant money.
"The Fish and Ring's still open." he said, indicating a pub on Hope Square. "Have a beer on us, and we'll look out for Titch Gibbet for you."
Peter Bellamy nodded goodnight in a way that indicated he'd memorised their faces against any future professional involvement, and the two groups parted ways.
The three concerned citizens then walked to the other end of Spa Lane, Julian and Victor noting the sidestreets like Welldrake Lane, TearFair, and Happity Hocks, as well as numerous alleys and public ways in between homes. At the junction with Tump Lane and Mithering Heights, they opted to turn back, regarding the dark and silent bulk of the Tump in front of them. Mithering Heights, the winding road to the top of the Tump, was not lit. They thought twice about climbing it. (3)
"Somebody should patrol up there." Julian said, reading the land with a career soldier's expertise. "I'd like to know how much of Johanna's home could be overlooked by somebody with a powerful bow. I bet most of the garden's visible from up there."
"Good point." Peter agreed. "But best done in daylight."
They turned and returned to walk back down Spa Lane. They met a Watch street patrol coming the other way.
And social drinks continued at Johanna and Ponder's. The people left behind there saw no reason to behave differently just because somebody who might have a connection with a murder attempt on one or more of them had been seen lurking in the area. This was not the way the Guild thought.
Johanna accepted another Sam Vimes Special with thanks. One of the many helpful things Sybil Ramkin had done was to sympathise whole-heartedly with Johanna's "no-alcohol-in-pregnancy" regime. She had then despatched Willikins to teach Claude and Eve how to make those jolly useful non-alcoholic cocktails, the sort which kept Sam sane at the end of a long day. Similar cocktails, non-alcoholic but mimicking the effects of strong drink, were now keeping Johanna sane during pregnancy.
Emmanuelle, who was under a Quirmian medical regime, happily sipped an Überwaldean hock of character and distinction. Davinia was content with a heavily diluted gin and tonic, which she knew from three previous experiences was a mother's little helper in pregnancy. She knew, carefully and sparingly taken, it was a mother's little helper after the kids were born, too. Juniper berries are good for a pregnant woman, she reflected, happily. And I should know. Therefore gin, to me, is practically medicinal. She listed the alchemical agents present in juniperus commenis and its fruit, and by extension in gin, to herself. Pinene, myrcene, sabinene, limonene, cymene, borneol, camphene, juniperine, terpenic alcohol, and terpineol…
"Can you dilute this tonic water with a little bit more gin, for me?" she asked Eve the maid. "Thank you!"
She turned and met her sons' disapproving gaze.
"Look." She said, kindly. "What have I taught you all about juniper? It's a muscle relaxant. It's an astringent and natural cleanser. It eases the joints. It refreshes. It's good for respiration."
Mariella Smith-Rhodes stored up a new euphemism for pissed as a fart for possible future use in the Cloak And Dagger. She speculated to herself on its possible use, knowing several of her teachers were reputed to fall back on the gin bottle as a teaching aid.
Mr Moody was seen to be in great need of muscle-relaxant after a stressful week….. Doctor Smith-Rhodes offered Doctor Bellamy a liniment, to be taken internally, that would bring about a degree of muscle relaxation…. No, that's unfair. She's not drunk at all. Not like Father after the witblits… and Doctor Bellamy is OK. Mr Moody, on the other hand. They said his muscles were so relaxed at that Staff party that he had to be helped home to bed.
"Francis Ptarmigan was keen on demonstrating the Djelibeybian national beverage." Emmanuelle observed. "Arakh, I understand it is called. Distilled from the fruit of the date palm."
"In the interests of greater international understanding." Ruth N'Kweze agreed, with a sideways Are you getting all this? look at Mariella. "Arakh is common all across the Klatchian end of the Howondalandian continent, I understand?"
Rivka-bin-Divorah winced slightly. She'd once witnessed an unwary Klatchian pupil attempt to correct Doctor Smith-Rhodes on her geography. The luckless Klatchian had said something like "But miss, in accepted geographical usage, is it not more correct to talk about Howondaland as being a remote sub-region of the Klatchian continent?"
The Klatchian had not made that error again. Rivka had learnt a lesson that accepted geographical terminology is subjective, according to which end of the continent you happen to have been born on, and whose empire and hegemony you do not consider your nation to be a part of. Rivka decided to refer to her own country as being in Hubwards Klatch, to save the sort of misunderstanding that inevitably led to closer acquaintance with the substances to be found at the bottom of a large animal cage. She noted that Zulus too referred to Howondaland as the continent and Klatch as a mere country within it. Ankh-Morpork – and Klatch – took the opposing point of view.
But she appreciated there was a sort of test going on. Some of the little snippets of information could freely be hinted at in the next C&D. She gathered that teachers in the Classics department were seen as hard work by their peers in the staffroom and that Mr Moody was not universally loved, even by other teachers. Mr Ptarmigan, who taught Tsortean and Djelibeybian, was seen as a younger version of Moody.
"You could put it in a cartouche." Dr Bellamy remarked. "Newt, amphora, rat with crossed eyes, newt again, amphora inverted to convey the abstract idea of emptiness."
"Add the quilled feather symbol to denote a scribe or teacher." Emmanuelle observed. "A newt holding a quill, peut-être…"
As the doorbell rang, Mariella and Rivka exchanged a look. It said "Don't forget this." Mariella thought furiously.
We've heard a lot tonight. It now falls to us to separate out what is meant for wider dissemination. Speak to Rupert Mericet and discuss it with him?
Then Claude was there, announcing Captain von Überwald of the City Watch.
Titch Gibbet followed the large man, carefully, back into the city. As he trailed his mark along Water Street and through the University Backs, he could taste the fifty dollars finders' fee for a Guild member who ran down an unlicenced Thief. It had been a slow few weeks on the streets. Very little actual cash or fenceables. Too many people took insurance out these days. Although the Guild paid a subsistence income, a lot depended on performance bonuses of one sort or another. And Titch shuddered. Any more of this hand-to-mouth living and he might be forced to take an actual job. You know, work. Ten hours on a building site or off-loading ships at the docks. It didn't bear thinking about.
He discreetly followed his mark down into the outskirts of the Shades. He was being careful. He sensed this was a hard man, a bottle covey, who didn't want to be followed. But if he could get a street, a door, a house number… he could go back to the Guild and lodge his report. Maybe get an advance on that fifty dollars.
And then, in the dark ill-lit street. A hand came from behind him and clapped over his mouth. A deep voice growled into his ear.
"Thought you were being clever, bro? I went to know why you were following me. End I went to know fest!"
He recognised the clipped accent as Howondalandian. He struggled until a punch in the kidney sent shocks of pain through his entire body. Then he felt himself being dragged into an alley, where his world became, very briefly, one of terror and pain.
"Hi, Johanna." Angua said, briskly. The two Ridgebacks flowed around her, happy to be near her but showing respect. She petted both, allowing this. Angua's normal relationship with very large dogs involved their recognising she was not to be treated with disrespect and for them to be very obedient indeed around her. Kaffee and Crème had learnt this early. For her part, Angua knew that if very large hunting dogs came in ones or twos she could deal with it in a very direct way, if she had to. As they could badly injure a werewolf if not deterred and if a pack's basic hunting instincts over-rode caution, she much preferred the "let's make friends here" option. So long as they recognised which bitch was alpha. As with Harry King's Lipzwigers, Überwaldean hunting dogs originally bred in a country where werewolves could be a problem, bluff could also work, but where a dog species had been bred for seriously big game, she much preferred "friends". And Ridgebacks had been bred for lion-hunting, for goodness sake. As for Kaffee and Crème – well, a friend of Mistress who could take them for walkies either in human or doggy form was a friend indeed. "I talked to Victor and the rest outside." she said. "It looks like I'm needed. Can I borrow somewhere private to Change?"
Johanna suggested she used an upstairs bedroom, and whistled her dogs away from following. They were used to Angua in both her forms; but being present during the Change itself was something she firmly deterred. The two maids looked at each other, neither wanting to be the one to be designated Lady's Maid to a werewolf. Blessing had once needed to hear some gentle soothing voices, and a brief introduction to the idea that werecreatures, on this continent, didn't always want to tear your throat out. But, Angua reflected, people coming from a place where popular legend and a certain degree of inescapable reality had spread the idea there were such things as wereleopards needed gentle handling. And it wasn't Blessing's fault: she'd been taught to offer maid service to white ladies who casually announced they needed to borrow a room to change. Or in Angua's case, to Change.
After some minutes a large golden-haired canine creature bounded down the stairs. Blessing fled to the kitchen, whimpering slightly. Claude, who had been instructed, held the front door open.
"Good hunting, madam." he said to the night, unperturbed. Johanna smiled. Those additional lessons at the Guild of Butlers, which she was paying for, were clearly working.(4) She whistled back Kaffee and Crème, who clearly wanted to follow.
The three other men in the shabby sparsely-furnished upstairs rooms heard Preet duPlessis returning. They looked at each other apprehensively. Hard men themselves, they knew Preet was hardest of all. And looking at Ouistrehaam's purple-bruised face and blackened eye, they knew not to offend him. And to a man, they knew Preet was mad. Insane. But he'd got them off the island and through that verdammte jungle swamp and then to here, by degrees… a city where a man could disappear. Over a million people. They just had to bide their time. Do the thing Preet wanted. Hopefully going after Assassins would kill him. Then they were free. They just had to ensure they stayed alive. Then vanish. Free men. But Assassins… they'd seen how those people fought. Those terrifying moments in the Tobacco Farm, locked in the stockade, sure eight hundred fighting warriors would overwhelm the flimsy defence of so few people. Hoping the fat kaffir prince had given orders they were to be kept alive and freed, to continue the easy life they'd had, working all they could out of the snotty shitty little gremlins, lower even than niggers. That ice-cold blonde woman had said, in her superior way, they were important, hadn't she?
And then the incredible had happened and the onrush of a full native regiment had collapsed into a shambles. They'd fallen into pits, run shrieking and barefoot over caltrops, one of those damn women had given orders for an arrow storm that had thinned them out even more, they'd even had some verdamte automatic crossbow set up discharging two or three big powerful bolts every second, powerful enough to punch through one kaffir soldier and get the man behind him… and then sometimes the man behind him… then the ones in black, the others in the Ankh-Morporkian uniforms, and the handful of soldiers from Home, they'd fought like demons in the close-combat, each of them taking down three or four of the Prince's army. And then the little snotties, who'd incredibly somehow armed themselves, had rolled up what was left of the impi from the flank.
They'd seen it, watching from over the top of the prison stockade. That bloody lawn-ornament in the golden armour, going through men twice his size with that axe, as if they were made out of cheese… the kaffir girl, the other sort, the Zulu, who'd taunted men into fighting her and kebbabed at least three on her assegai. Man, that Zulu was smoking hot, you could break the Racial Separation Act with a piece like that in your bed, but she could fight! And the one in charge, the lethal red-haired girl Preet wanted to kill slowly and painfully… was he insane?
They said she was married and pregnant now. Preet still wanted to kill her.
DuPlessis surveyed his associates. They noticed, uneasily, he had blood on his hands and tunic. His knuckles were torn as if he'd been punching somebody repeatedly. But he seemed to have controlled his ever-present rage. For now.
"We may have to move soon." he said, eventually. He spoke in Vondalaans. "There was this little weasel. Following me."
They heard the past tense and were not surprised.
"Luckily, he was not the police. He was not the Guild of Assassins. He was Thieves' Guild. Whatever that is. Well, he's nothing now."
"The body?" somebody asked. Bodies followed Preet. They'd followed him all his life, through at least three prisons. Du Plessis laughed, sourly.
"Dumped. But nowhere near here. They say the Watch here clears up two or three bodies a day. Nothing new for them."
"Ja, but the Watch here is run by Sam Vimes." said a braver henchman. "We saw some of his people in the Tobacco Farm. They're not the usual thick Watchmen. They're taught to think and fight."
Du Plessis scowled at him.
"Wish Ouistrehaam had been taught to think." he said. "His little talk to the lady in the food store earlier could have sold us all!"
Ouistrehaam winced. The most personable of the four, he'd been sent out to get food supplies in, earlier in the day. Du Plessis had drummed it into them not to have anything to do with Rimwards Howondalandians in this city, to do nothing to draw attention to their nationality. It was a big city with an Embassy and an expat community. And wherever you found an Embassy and expats, you inevitably got BOSS with its spying and anonymous reporting. New people in town would arouse interest. We do not want to draw the interest of BOSS, do we?
And what had Ouistrehaam done? He'd found that fat kaffir's food store. All Jolson's Howondaland Delicatessen. All The Tastes of the Continent Under One Roof.
Katerina Vinhuis (née Katarina de Mauritz) let a look of puzzled perplexity cross her face. She had now been twelve years in Ankh-Morpork in the Diplomatic Service, and a clue to her essential personality is that she is still only Senior Social Secretary at the Rimwards Howondalandian Embassy. Not, in the opinion of Ambassador van der Graaf, that this mattered much. She was good at her not-especially-onerous job and her sparkling, if somewhat vacuous, blonde beauty was useful for charming and captivating Embassy guests and relaxing them, often to the point where they might let slip more than they intended. She knew not to sit the Zlobenian Ambassador directly next to his Borogravian counterpart at formal dinners, for instance, and could stack the little gold-foil-wrapped chocolate balls just so on a silver salver.
And she had contracted a good marriage, to Second Secretary Martin Vinhuis. Martin, a man who stood two promotions away from becoming an Ambassador himself, stood to gain by this and in Pieter's opinion had married the perfect ambassadorial wife: attractive, charming, personable, loyal and not overburdened with brains or ambition. It was accepted that when Martin ascended to a First Secretary position somewhere, possibly in Aceria or Fourecks, she would travel with him as part of the package. Pieter van der Graaf would be genuinely sorry to lose both. Friejda too: part of Katerina's remit, unofficially, was as Lady's Companion to the Ambassador's wife. Friejda had been unstinting in equipping the girl with the necessary soft skills to function at a higher diplomatic level. She would need them. Acerians were friendly and hospitable people, but could be frankly direct. Fourecksians tended not to have too many higher social graces but were respectful of those who did.
Katerina looked to her husband for reassurance, aware the temperature round the table had suddenly gone a little chillier, but not comprehending exactly why. Pieter van der Graaf allowed his face to show sympathy for his Second Secretary. Friejda, when younger, had committed the odd faux pas, but never a pas as faux as this one.
"Tell me again." The Ambassador recommended, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "The man who engaged in conversation with you. At Mr Jolson's excellent produce shop. Which you patronise for provisions from Home, such as the excellent boerewois which graces our plates tonight."
"He was a rough sort." Katerina admitted. "But not hostile. A little pleasant, in his way. He apologised for approaching a clearly married woman and stressed he meant no disrespect, but he had heard me speaking Vondalaans. It had to him been a long time since he heard the language from a woman. I asked if he had been in the military, he said yes but did not elaborate, he said he was new in town and he was looking for the whereabouts of a lady called Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who he had met in Howondaland. Well, I said that was a coincidence, for as you know I was at school with Johanna, and our separate ways afterwards brought us both to Ankh-Morpork, and…"
"So you told him?" the Ambassador said, with surface calm.
"Well, yes. Was I doing wrong? I took him to be a fellow she might have had dealings with when she was in the Army. A man she commanded, perhaps, or an old comrade…"
Pieter van der Graaf wondered again how the same boarding school could have produced two such complete opposites. The frothy Katerina, who couldn't think much further than what gown to wear for the next formal ball, and his purposeful combative niece, who selected her weapons with the same diligent care Katerina took over make-up. And it puzzled him that they were friends still. Katerina had been Maid of Honour at Johanna's wedding, he recalled. Made for some fine-looking iconographs, alongside that very personable fellow Victor Tugelbend, who had been Best Man. (5)
"And it did not occur to you to report this earlier?" van der Graaf probed. Katerina looked puzzled. He decided to be gentle.
"Kindly report to Liutnant Verkramp after dinner." he said. "No, you're not in trouble. But he can take a formal statement and show you iconographs of some wanted men. Some dangerous wanted men. BOSS are collaborating with the City Watch and other agencies, on recapturing them before they can cause trouble."
He stood up.
"I will leave the table for a while." He announced. "This is not disrespect. I need to speak to the Duty Officer and clacks a couple of messages. Hopefully I shall not be long."
"Johanna's not in any danger, is she?" Katerina said, looking stricken and worried. "And her child?"
Van der Graaf smiled.
"Not that much more than usual, no." he remarked. "She lives an interestingly eventful life."
Sam Vimes frowned. He had met up with Victor Tugelbend and the others at Hope Square. The helpful Thieves had been rousted from the pub and shown iconographs. Three out of the five had recognised Preet du Plessis and said, in as many words, "Yeah, that's him. Grown his hair longer and got a bit of a beard. But definitely him. Have you found Titch yet? If that bugger gets him first…"
Angua had located them by smell, and she looked up to Carrot in a meaningful way.
"Have you anything that belonged to Mr Gibbet?" he asked the thieves. "If my…associate… here can get a smell, she can follow it."
"Sure, Mr Carrot. Got his scarf here. If Miss An.. your police dog… might care to?"
Vimes sighed. These days, everyone diligently kept up a pretence that they didn't know who the werewolf in the Watch was. The secret had inevitably leaked out, by degrees. He perked up. There were now two other werewolf constables. One a regular and one a Special. Their identities were still secret, for the moment. Let 'em carry on congratulating themselves for thinking they've worked it out about Angua. Deflects attention away.
Angua and Carrot raced away towards Water Street. Vimes watched them go.
"We'll find Titch Gibbet." Vimes reassured them. "One way or the other. He's definitely in danger, though. If we get him first we'll put a guard on him."
"And if you don't?" Ludd asked.
Vimes sighed.
"Then I'm very sorry for him, Mr Ludd." he said, honestly.
He turned to confer with Victor and the others.
"I had a message from the Howondalandian Embassy. Arrived just as we were turning out. Apparently there's been a security leak there. An Embassy employee met one of our charming foursome in town and he got her to tell him where Johanna lives."
Julian Smith-Rhodes looked impassive. He lived in at the Embassy and had got to know some of the characters there. He reflected on low-level staff, Ankh-Morporkians with security clearances, or else people from Home; spinsters or divorcees in the clerical pool who could be easily flattered by unexpected male attention. Apparently this was a favoured tactic of spies the world over. Or a disgruntled put-upon black servant, deliberately being indiscreet in revenge for some unthinking slight or other. (6)
"Which explains why he was here knowing exactly which street to look at." Julian said. Vimes nodded.
"And it seems my sons are now mixed up in this." Peter Bellamy remarked. "That little detail about this du Plessis character watching and observing the three students who clocked him in the street. If they got a good look at his face, he probably got a good look at theirs."
Peter was suddenly a concerned father. Vimes patted his shoulder, knowing exactly how he'd felt the night the Dwarfs tried to kill Sybil and Young Sam.
"Well. If they're at Johanna's still, we can run the iconographs past them. Get them to ID this character. Tomorrow morning, I'll have men visit All Jolson's food store. Find who else was in the shop when Public Enemy Number Two dropped by for a… boorvoice inna bun, or a bunny chow, or whatever. Get them to ID this one. See if we can pick up a trail. Your job, Victor? Thanks. Captain Smith-Rhodes, can you find out which Embassy employee dropped Johanna right in it? Remind that little shit Verkramp he's sharing his information with us, whether he likes it or not? And tell him to go easy on his interrogation. I want nobody shot while trying to escape, or committing suicide by throwing themselves out of a high window, or beating themselves up with a lead-filled rubber hose out of spite just to make BOSS look bad. I'd quite like to be able to speak to this person myself, in fact. Reassure her we have rules about questioning witnesses. Understood?"
"Completely, Commander Vimes." Julian assured him. Julian Smith-Rhodes had no time for BOSS either. And he out-ranked Verkramp.
Much later that night, Johanna laid in bed, thinking furiously. Tracking down her home address had probably been no great stretch for the men who were pursuing her. It had been in the Times, for one thing, and Ponder's entry in Who's Whom (7) would have listed it. She glanced towards the over-and-under crossbow on the nightstand within easy reach. She felt the reassuring weight of the sheathed throwing knives on her arms. Regrettably, she'd had to give up wearing a reserve set on her legs, as they were getting harder to reach. Her machete was propped up by the bed, again within easy reach.
Next to her, Ponder was in deep sleep. She frowned. Much though she loved him, she was taking his ability to fall into easy deep sleep as a personal insult. The Bump made sleeping on her front impossible. Sleeping on her side, the weight shifted uncomfortably. Not only the Bump, but the unfeasibly larger bosom that her state had gifted her as a courtesy detail. Sleeping on her back propped up with pillows was the only way.
And the baby was starting to move and kick, as if constrained by its surroundings and wanting to get out of there. Johanna whole-heartedly approved of this and considered it a worthy goal, something for the child to strive towards, as quickly as possible. A nanny will be needed. More expense.
And worst of all, the crazy senseless verdammte night itches. Her legs, her feet, her belly. Trying to scratch would only awaken Ponder and she would feel guilty.
And my mother had five? she wondered. And my sister Agnetha? What makes women come back for more of this?
Almost everyone had returned home. Davinia had escorted her sons and Peggy back down the street. Emmanuelle had called a cab for herself and the two students. Victor had left on police business. The only two guests to be offered overnight accommodation had been allocated a bedroom furthest away from Johanna at the other end of the house. Even so it had still been audible. The regular unmistakable noises of bedsprings and headboard. She sighed. Getting Julian and Ruth together in Ankh-Morpork had appealed to her sense of humour, as well as a nice thing to nudge her widowed friend towards. But they were in a place where they necessarily had to be discreet. Johanna felt she had to offer them space and discretion. Noblesse oblige, and all that. Even here, the son of a prestigious White Howondalandian family had to be careful. As did a Crown Paramount Princess of the Zulu Empire. While it wasn't illegal, they had to take precautions. Johanna hoped they were taking the other sort of precautions too. While part of her wished pregnancy on Ruth so she could discover what it felt like, the larger and more sensible part agreed that a child who would simultaneously be a Smith-Rhodes and a member of the Zulu Royal House was something neither country was quite ready for. Yet.
Johanna heard a vague noise downstairs. She heard Claude the butler say "Proceed upstairs, madam. Your clothing is laid out for you."
And then the patter of doggy feet. Not Kaffee or Crème, they were piled up and sleeping in their basket at the foot of the bed.
She sighed and began the ungainly rolling motion that she had discovered was the only way a heavily pregnant woman could get out of bed. It was clumsy and inelegant, but she managed to get both feet planted on the floor and with a heave pulled her torso upright. Noting with disapproving envy that Ponder was still deeply asleep, she let her feet grope for slippers.
Counting passing seconds for just long enough for the Change to happen and for Angua to be well advanced in getting dressed, she went for a chat with her. On the way, she thanked her butler for his diligence and requested one last task before he went to his own bed: tea for two, to be brought to the Grafin von Überwald's room? Dankie.
"At least I found out her address." Ouistrehaam said, with as much rebellion as he could muster. His damaged face was testimony to the rage of du Plessis, who looked on with stony contempt. He paused for a long moment before speaking. Ouistrehaam wondered if he had pushed it too far and was in line for another beating. He winced.
"Ja." Du Plessis rasped. He lifted and slammed down the book on the table. It was quite a thick book. "So did I."
Later on, Ouistrehaam and Liumans took a discreet look. It was called Who's Whom and appeared to be a directory of notable people in and around Ankh-Morpork. It listed names, titles, academic conferments, medals and distinctions, armed forces ranks and distinctions, current occupation or reason for being noteworthy as well as hobbies and interests. It also helpfully listed their addresses. There was also a city map with locations marked in pencil.
"I've decided." Du Plessis said from behind them. "We do a wet job tomorrow morning. If the Watch are all going to be guarding the Smith-Rhodes woman as if she were a pile of gold, we're leaving her alone. For now. We'll be hitting a different target. One they've not seen any of us go near. So far. while they arer watching Spa Lane, we will be elsewhere."
This is all very unwise." Ruth N'Kweze said, in a faraway voice. "Completely foolhardy and over-confident, and can only lead to ruin."
She stroked Julian Smith-Rhodes' bare back up and down with the back of her leg. He smiled in an equally blissed-out sort of way and stroked her face.
"I agree." He replied. "Completely stupid. Wrong thing to do. So shall we enjoy it while it lasts?"
"Ride to ruin and social disgrace together, sort of thing." she agreed. "But, anyway. Shall we get down to business?"
"If we must." Julian agreed. He made a pretence of clearing his throat.
"My nation's government, insofar as its intentions are known to Ambassador van der Graaf, would like it to be made known to your nation's government that reinforcement of the military fortress at Lawke's Drain is not meant as a hostile act and no adverse intention should be drawn. Two more regiments of cavalry will be temporarily based there for five months so that they can take advantage of natural cavalry country – on our side of the river – for purposes of training and field exercise. Your turn?"
"My father, in explicit written instructions to my uncle the Ambassador to Ankh-Morpork, considers it advantageous if your nation's government accepts that the build-up of forces in the Ulunghi province is due to manoeuvres and training next spring. That we have no intent to invade or make incursions on your side of the border. Klatchian and Ankh-Morporkian military attachés have been invited as independent witnesses and international observers to a muster of the Impis, and have been invited to testify to the international community that we're not there to fight a war with your nation. Your go?"
"Mr van der Graaf believes we need some sort of informal treaty about how many diamonds each of our countries can release on world markets every year." Julian said. "He appreciates there can be short-term gain for us if we flood the market with more than it can carry, thus driving the price down and rendering your nation's exports relatively worthless. But that can only blow back on us in the long run. Same if your people try economic warfare. We both end up hurting."
"Cutting me own throat." Ruth agreed. "And to all intents and purposes the world market for diamonds is here in this city. Vetinari would not be a happy Patrician if we play silly games with price-rigging."
"Mr van der Graaf is speaking for some very highly placed people at Home." Julian added. "My father amongst them."
"And your father has suggested you use your informal channel of diplomatic communication to start a deniable discussion." Ruth mused, wriggling deliciously.
"In the good old pragmatic Smith-Rhodes family tradition." Julian agreed. "We do what works. Whatever makes the Family stronger. And Father accepts that several thousand miles from Home where some things don't matter so much, I should get all sowing of wild oats out of my system in whatever way I see fit. His words. He also thinks if it gets the family a reliable direct line to your government, then he's not inclined to be censorious. He thinks this could be useful."
"And a century ago there was a big scandal about one of your ancestors marring a Boor." Ruth remarked, lazily. She wiggled her hips. "That was thought of as socially shocking. And look who eventually emerged out of that mixed marriage."
"Sir Cecil wanted that because he wanted closer ties with the Boors." Julian said. "He could see a time when that would be useful. And thus we end up with Cousin Johanna."
"And Mariella." Ruth reminded him.
"Yes. And Mariella." He paused, reflectively. "I'm ninety per cent sure she'll keep the secret. I hope we didn't shock her too much."
"Make that a hundred." Ruth replied. "She's a clever kid. I teach her. She's got Smith-Rhodes family values, like loyalty. She likes you. I think she likes me. Hard to tell."
"Does she ever send you up in this school magazine?"
"Not yet. They save that for staff members they really don't like."
They agreed that they'd both, wholly coincidentally of course, turn up at the Royal Bank at the same time, preferably with an economics-minded person from their respective Embassy in tow, to seek to view the wondrous Glooper machine and its keeper, Herbert Turvy. Professor Turvy could then be prevailed upon to explain more about how rigging the diamond market would be a bad thing, using the Glooper to demonstrate how messing with one of your country's principal trading exports could lead to trouble and economic hard times. And possibly war.
"Somebody's got to keep them straight." Ruth remarked.
"I'm forced to agree with you. I'd rather like to grow old in a peaceful prosperous country. With friendly neighbours."
"Fine by me, friendly neighbour." Ruth said. She looped her arms around Julian. "Are you up to another bout of me being useful to the Smith-Rhodes family interests?"
Angua briefed Johanna on the night's events so far. They drank some very good tea sitting side by side on the bed.
"So Davinia's sons have been drawn in." Johanna said, thoughtfully. "She will not like that. She responds decisively to threats to her femily. She becomes a mother bear fighting for her cubs. I would not wish to fight her in thet mood."
Angua nodded.
"We've got to end this." she said. Decisively."
"Ja. It is not looking good. At least we now have sightings of those people. En idea they may dwell in the Shades. They must know the search will soon narrow down."
"I'm afraid they'll come for you. Soon." Angua said. Johanna nodded. In the distance the muffled sound of the bedspring duet began again.
"If you're off-duty." Johanna said. "You are very welcome to stay here tonight. If you can sleep, thet is."
"Julian and Ruth?" Angua asked. Johanna nodded, grimly.
"If thet girl does not watch out, she will be the fourth pregnant Essessin!"
"Now there's an international incident waiting to happen." Angua said, drily. "What does her father think about the possibility of a half-white grandchild?"
"Don't go there." Johanna said.
"Or else a half-black Smith-Rhodes…"
"Who would not be the first." Johanna sighed. "Trust me. It hes heppened. Members of my femily do not like to talk ebout it very much, though. I told you ebout Oncle Baal?" (8)
They changed the subject.
"This incautious Thief. Titch Gibbet." Johanna said. The question hung heavy.
"I tracked his scent as far as Pewter Street." Angua said. "In the fringes of the Shades. Then there was a lot of blood. I traced the blood down to Oxpens. But then you start to smell a lot of blood. Lost it in the slaughterhouse smells. I don't think we'll find him alive."
"But in all probability, the men we seek are in the Shades." Johanna said.
"Hard to track men in there. We're putting out the usual probes. Letting it be known there's money for reliable sightings. That's usually the best way of finding somebody in the Shades who doesn't want to be found."
Angua sighed.
"But when they next break cover, maybe go for one of the people on their hit list…"
Johanna nodded.
"Thet is perheps the only way. Engua, do you wish me to clecks the Yard to say you can be contacted here?"
She stood up, unsteadily. Angua watched with interested concern.
"Johanna?"
"Ja?"
"What's it, you know, like to be pregnant?"
(1) Besides, he had a suspicion that the witch who had once stolen his Watch badge (until Sybil Ramkin had got it back for him) had put a word of you would not want to know what the alternative to "blessing" is on it. As a wizard he could sense magic nearby.
(2) Originally a fishing port. So near the Rim, fish struggling not to be swept into the Rimfall were abundant there. It was home port for the Smith-Rhodes mercantile fleet, who reasoned that being based on the absolute midpoint of Cape Terror, they could hug the shore in either direction until they hit safer waters, and not actually need to risk crossing the feared strait. It was a strategy that had helped make the family rich. Sitting on the absolute epicentre of Cape Terror, in the quiet and calm of the eye of the abyss, was held by others to be something that subtly defined the wider Smith-Rhodes family.
(3) I'm working from the detailed map in the back of The Compleat Ankh-Morpork here. All the action takes place in grid square C2. All streetnames and the interestingly-titled pub are correct, with the exception of Hope Square: this just appears as a large open space, treelined on one side, where Spa Lane meets Hopesprings and Water Street. Hope Square is my name: it felt right. There is also a public bath-house, more than one, in fact, in the general area, suggesting an enterprising Ankh-Morporkian mentality has taken advantage of the hot springs from which Spa Lane and Hopesprings take their name: one is situated at Clean Cut.
(4) Intermediate Butlering 1.05: you will deal with all sorts of houseguest. They all deserve your respect and consideration. Werewolves are not always titled people but it is wisest to work from the basic assumption that the lowest social rank equates to that of a country squire. Many will be Grafs, Grafins, Margraves, a rank that equates to Count or Marquess in our nobility. Even if the Gnadige Frau Grafin prefers to take her dinner from a bowl under the table, you will facilitate this with the understanding and respect due to a titled person, and serve her with due courtesy. Ensuring an adequately sized "catflap" is installed in the door should be a priority. NB: this is to be described as "an access portal for the differently abled" and NOT as a "catflap", saving that your Master or Houseguest may well be a were-leopard from the Howondalandian continent, some of whom are Princes or Princesses of the relevant Paramount House…. In this case, and only in this case, the demotic form is perfectly acceptable.
(5) Johanna and Ponder had agreed on this. If the wedding iconographs were going to be there forever and outlast not only the relative youth of the married couple but go into family posterity, at least some of them had better look good. A Best Man like Victor and a Maid of Honour who looked like Katerina… it was a no-brainer, really. Her cousin Suki, the journalist, had whistled appreciatively and ensured the photos got into a lot of publications. As she said, good-looking people at Society events make the illustrated papers.
(6) When Julian found out the actual truth, he would not be greatly surprised.
(7) A very genteel and grammatically correct directory of prominent people in Ankh-Morpork. The Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University certainly merited an entry. Twurp's Peerage only catalogued the nobility.
(8) Shameless plug: to my story The Black Sheep, in which Balthazar Smith-Rhodes is introduced. Let us say his interests in women companions are shared by Julian.
Notes dump:
ontsteking van hoef van paard – "inflammation of horse's hoof", laminitis (veterinary)
What do women 6 months gone hate about being pregnant? back pain, leg pain, poss. of varicose veins, swollen ankles, ungainly walk, the weight gain – over two stone, 30lb – breast size going up by two cups, wired underwear become painful, belly button popping inside out, baby starts to kick and shift, limited bladder capacity, people asking if they can pat the lump, other people patting without asking… constipation…..hormonal changes. Bladder control issues. 4 times a night. Less tolerance of husband. See .
He's behaving pretty much as normal, she is on a shorter fuse, husband gets it.
Cravings may fade, ease or mutate into something else. Hmmm. Where can I go from bog truffles….
pregnancy-stages/6-months-pregnant/
Clumsiness. Must annoy an Assassin.