Nothing to it, really! 12.
Vereyminor edit, spotted a glaring error. Corrected it.
Moving the story on to the conclusion with mayhem, fighting, and (no spoilers). People will get hurt. Including the good guys. No getting around this. Setting up with a couple of gentler episodes and glimpses of life in the Assassins' School.
Ground rules: condense to
Drink Rooibuis tea.
And here we are, trying to wrap up this tale in at most another two chapters and perhaps an Afterword.
At the Rimwards Howondalandian Embassy, evening.
Captain Julian Smith-Rhodes had placed his makeshift Embassy guardsmen on full alert and increased patrol frequencies. He had watched as the Clacks tower on top of the roof clattered into action, sending out messages, periodically receiving replies. Angua von Überwald had assured him the problem dogs would now be docile and responsive to consistent firm handling. He had asked her to very discreetly report back to Commander Vimes on the unexpected arrival of a Very Important Person, who would be a magnet for any further assassination attempts. She had grinned back.
"Lively old chap, isn't he?" she said. She had met him briefly when the President had unconcernedly ambled over to take a closer look at the dogs. Knowing that just before Angua had arrived, there had been a kennel full of homicidally murderous canines, Julian had died a thousand deaths inside, not wanting to be known as the ex-military attaché with a formerly high-flying career, who'd let the Head of State be ripped apart by killer guard-dogs. But the Ridgeback he'd chosen had tamely allowed the President to pat his head and scratch behind his ear, tongue lolling out and panting slightly, as if pleased to see an old friend.
The President had then been gallant and congenial to Angua, noting that the Ankh-Morpork Embassy appeared to have a talent for retaining extremely attractive blonde women, and if he were forty years younger…
"A pleasure to meet you, Captain von Überwald!" he concluded, tipping the metaphorical hat. Julian noted he hadn't been introduced to her by name but seemed to know exactly who she was. That she wasn't Embassy staff, and he evidently knew it, didn't seem to bother him in the least.
Julian was not especially surprised a little later when an unremarkable all-black coach turned up at the gate and the occupant politely requested admission. Called to the Gate, Julian considered shouting the Guard to attention and for them to present arms. Then he reflected on the virtues of anonymity, and simply waved for the gates to be opened. As the coach passed, he discreetly saluted. A languid arm waved acknowledgement. Julian fell in behind at a jogging trot and managed to be on the steps as the coach drew up, telling a guard to brief the Ambassador that Lord Vetinari had arrived, and would be seeking an audience.
"Ah. Captain Smith-Rhodes." Vetinari said, pleasantly. "I wish I were meeting you in more pleasant circumstances."
"So do I, my lord." Julian replied. The patrician looked at him with sympathy.
"Six men killed. Eight wounded. A grievous blow for any military unit. I do note you took strenuous steps to rebuild your numbers quickly. Albeit unorthodox ones."
The Patrician's gaze took in a section consisting of Private van Puhler, Private M'Buto and First Liutnant Lutyens. They looked as oddly assorted as anything the City Watch could present. The three fell in behind Julian.
"Liutnant Lutyens is primarily here as Trade Secretary, sir." Julian remarked. His only other officer, discounting the half-insane Verkramp of BOSS, was a small, slight, bespectacled man in his late thirties with receding hair. Physically he had something in common with Inspector Pessimal of the Watch. Julian knew he'd done his National Service in the Pay Corps and had supervised nothing more martial than the weekly pay parade. But an officer was an officer, and Edouard had kept his old uniform in the wardrobe. And he wasn't from BOSS, which had also been a consideration.
"I remember. The Trade Secretary at an Embassy, among other things, has the responsibility of promoting his nation's exports and facilitating exports and sales."
Vetinari nodded at Lutyens.
"I was most taken with the slogan you devised for sales of Green Rooibos tea." Vetinari remarked. "I believe it has a marked diuretic effect. Advertising it, for medical reasons, no doubt, as The Taste Of the Dark Incontinent, was inspired." (1)
"It tripled sales, my Lord." Lutyens said, with modest acceptance of the praise.
"Never overestimate the sense of humour of the Ankh-Morpork public." Vetinari remarked, drily. He turned to the other two.
"Mr van Puhler." He said. "I won't insult you by asking if you're too old for this sort of thing. Evidently not, as I note the uniform fits, and you carry it with pride."
The old man beamed.
"I shall remind Drumknott that a few more cases of that excellent Mouton de Rothschild Spatzendreck (2) from the Barossa valley could be brought in for the Palace cellars. So popular at parties, I find."
"By eppointment to the Pelece, sir?" the old vintner asked, hopefully.
"I see no reason why not." Vetinari said, generously. He turned to the third man.
"Private M'Buto, sir." Julian said. "Formerly of the Forty-Third Auxiliary Kommando, based in Bulawayo in Smith-Rhodesia."
Vetinari nodded. "Smith-Rhodesia." he said, turning the name over as if the association had just occurred to him. "I see."
M'Buto stamped to a very precise attention. Julian noted that in uniform, there was no trace of servility in the man.
"Eight years in the service of the Smith-Rhodes family, Baas!" he said, proudly. Vetinari noted the distinction, but said nothing. "Combat with the bloody Matabels on one border, end with the bloody Zulus on the other. Baas!"
"And when not in uniform, your job here was?"
"I was a gardener here, sir. Man has family to feed, man does what he can. Baas!"
Julian noted the Acting Ambassador and Lady Friejda rushing to the door to welcome the other unexpected guest.
"I'm sure you served with pride and distinction. Capital!"
Vetinari turned to acknowledge the Ambassadorial party. He said to Julian, in a low voice:
"Do take care, Captain Smith-Rhodes. You are a young man of remarkable talent. I fear that now you have come to the attention of the Bureau of State Security for your unorthodox recruitment of personnel, BOSS will certainly be watching your back. As should you. Ah, Ambassador! Lady Friejda!"
The Guild of Assassins, the next morning.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes found she had most of her morning free after taking a single classroom-based lesson. It would have been a period of Unorthodox Combat Training until lunch. But this was something her pregnancy prevented her from participating in. Miss Pretty Butterfly was covering this class with tuition in Mixed Martial Arts. Butterfly had learnt from Johanna: at sensei level in at least three disciplines, she saw the virtues of combining her separate proficiencies, switching between modes as combat dictated and pragmatically using what worked, be it karate, ju-jitsu or kung-fu. As she put it, citing the great philosopher Ly Tin Wheedle, if a sensei blinds himself to new ideas by pushing his head so far up his own fundament so that he cannot see them, then he is no longer sensei. (3)
Seeing the morning drag on in the staffroom, marking student work and breathing in second-hand smoke, she therefore accepted Joan Sanderson-Reeves' invitation to sit in on an advanced planning committee meeting.
"Forward planning for the School, m'dear." Joan said. "You've got a sharp mind, it'll keep you gainfully occupied, and it'll keep your mind off things."
Johanna had agreed, and found herself in a committee room with some very senior Assassins and House tutors, debating the waiting list for School places for future academic years.
She wasn't greatly surprised to see it involved pencilling in prestigious Names like various Eorles, Selachiis, Venturis, Rusts, Hargarths, Omniuses and Lavishes for their expected years of entry. Without, she reflected, any entrance exam or basic tests of proficiency or aptitude. Just having the Name and enough cash behind them for the School fees was seemingly enough.
Ag, no wonder so many of them are idiots with an exaggerated sense of entitlement, she thought. She looked down the long table and her eyes met Joan's. Joan's face had a slightly amused look, which said This is eighty per cent of Dark Council work, my dear. Hardly glamorous or exciting. For a moment, Johanna wondered if this was some kind of practical test of her, sounding her out for eventual Dark Council membership in her own right. Then she dismissed the thought, and reflected that at least she was getting an idea of what sort of idiots would be arriving at the School in coming years.
She noted that there was a theoretical veto on any of the big family Names which could be raised at any time. Hearing the name of a spectacularly odious Venturi child who she knew was currently a spoiled brat of eight, she considered speaking up on behalf of the rank-and-file Teachers who would have to seek to educate the brat.
"Doctor Smith-Rhodes?" Lord Downey asked her. Johanna sighed.
"Is it going to be disruptive to the flow of this discussion, if I were to say thet I hev met Miss Olivia Georgina Venturi, end I find her to be a specteculary obnoxious end unpleasant little… child?" she asked, pointedly.
Downey looked at the Guild Bursar, Mr Wimvoe, who looked back with an expression of alarm. He obviously hadn't been expecting dissent.
"Inside pocket on the left, old chap." Downey said, gently. The bursar scrabbled for the little green bottle of Dried Frog Pills. Joan Sanderson-Reeves helpfully poured him a glass of water.
"Fees, Master." he said, eventually. "The possibility of Venturi family charitable donations. And social expectations."
Johanna sighed. She'd raised the objection to Olivia Georgina Venturi just to see what would happen if anyone ever tried to veto a high-status candidate. And not out of any expectation the child would be turned down.
"End she's stupid. Thick es a plenk." Johanna added.
"Well… that's what we do here, Doctor Smith-Rhodes. Educate people." The Compte de Yoyo said, placatingly.
"Which depends on there being a cepecity in the individual to eccept education." Johanna pointed out.
Downey frowned, gravely.
"Who is our least senior housemistress at the moment? Things are changing so quickly."
"Mademoiselle de Badin-Boucher, Master." Joan said, neutrally.
"Pencil Miss Olivia Georgina Venturi into Black Widow House, if you please. For three academic years hence." Downey requested. He looked at Johanna again. She shrugged.
Johanna thought he was about to make a statement like "It isn't just about education. We have to think of the social exclusivity of our School, and about the revenue students bring with them." But he moved on.
"Next category: relatives of graduate Assassins and members of proven family lines." he said. "Do we have any as yet unconsidered candidates to pencil in?"
"Well, there's at least one." Mr Mericet remarked, looking at Johanna. She wondered, very briefly, why everyone was now looking at her. Then realised.
"Well, thet's et least eleven years hence." Johanna said, realising.
"We seek to plan early, Doctor. And as the soon-to-be parent of a child, I'm pleased to be able to remind you that in your case discounted fees would apply. Would you object if we pencilled your son, or daughter, in with a guaranteed School place in eleven years time?"
"Not et ell." Johanna replied, politely. "Es long es you realise thet if a son takes efter his father end not me, the University would hev en interest. It recommends schools for young men with megickel telent."
"And a daughter with magic?" Joan asked. She knew the Assassins' School could not accept pupils with magical potential. Things got disruptive, or had the promise of becoming so.
Johanna shrugged. "They sey the Quirm Ecedemy for Young Ladies hes the expertise, now, to deal with megic. They hev a visiting teacher, a Miss Tick, who edvises on the development of potential witches. I understend this involves terms of work experience in Lencre, under skilled guidance."
"Oh, yes." Joan said, thoughtfully. "Perspicacia Tick. Knew the gel when I was there. She turned out well, all things considered!"
"So we have a one-in three chance of teaching your child, then." Downey said, smiling slightly.
"One in four." Johanna corrected him. "The fourth elternative is to send him or her to school in Rimwards Howondaland."
Johanna, who had agreed with Ponder this was only a remote possibility, appreciated watching Downey wince.
"These days we hev good schools." she assured him.
"Moving on." Downey said, swiftly. "In principle, we also pencil in the children of Doctor Bellamy and the Comptesse de Lapoignard for the same school year? Any thoughts on their Houses? Your preference, Johanna, for your own?"
"If female, end if she wishes, end is eble, to ettend here. Raven House." Johanna said, firmly. "If a son. No preference."
Her intentions were noted down. Emmanuelle's unborn child was to be offered Black Widow if a girl, House of his mother's choice if male. It was accepted Dr Bellamy's child would, like the older brothers, be a day pupil. Joan could deal with that.
"A good set of pupils, the Bellamy brothers." somebody said. "Not stellar, just all-round competent. Pleasant lads, too."
"A credit to Davinia, certainly." Joan said. "Now the Wiggs child? Good family, good Guild reputation, nephew of Mr Wiggs, cousin of young Jocasta and her brothers? Shall we say an all-round good bet and a good investment?"
Johanna let her interest slide away again during this part of the discussion. Children of Assassins in good standing with the Guild, or belonging to parents with a Reputation, were always accepted. Even on scholarships or bursaries paid from the Widows and Orphans fund. The Guild believed in a specific sort of genetic inheritance supported by environmental factors during upbringing. Nature and nurture, thought Johanna, a zoologist. And I know the fees this school charges. Ag, another big expense. The Quirm Academy is also prestigious. And charges fees to match. We will need to start saving for it now. Again I will need to bring in a big-money contract just to be sure. There is also the probability of siblings. She shuddered. Doing all this all over again. Ag!
"And finally. The issue of overseas students, which as you all know involves the reward of high guaranteed fees, matched with the need to pay very close attention to political realities and nuances." Downey said. "I note the Paramount Kingdom of Matabeleland wishes to send pupils to this School for the first time. It can guarantee to pay fees for four. Opinions?"
"Given the Kingdom's economic woes, I suggest it would be prudent to get the money up front." Mr Wimvoe said, insistently. Downey nodded assent.
"Accepted. But I have been in discussions at the Palace, and Lord Vetinari assures me the fees for four pupils will be backed by guarantees. He has asked me if there is any way in which the total number can be expanded to eight, in line with the quota we accept from the Zulu Empire and from Rimwards Howondaland. His Lordship sees virtue in children from the three main nations of Howondaland being educated side-by-side for seven years."
"Three nations otherwise locked in a dance of mutual hostility." Mr Mericet observed. "Which periodically flares up into, ah, border disputes. Which cannot be called "war", despite the bloodshed, as the diplomatic formalities of actually declaring a war are invariably bypassed."
Johanna frowned.
"If His Lordship considers this hes long-term benefits, could it be suggested to him thet eny financial aid offered to the Metebels includes a component to pey for educating selected citizens in Enkh-Morpork?" she asked. "In internetionel terms, four School Fees for seven years ere a drop in the bucket."
"Another four." Downey said, correcting her.
"Overseas aid." somebody said. "Your tax dollars in action."
Joan Sanderson-Reeves shifted in her seat.
"You're not making another raid on the Scholarship fund here?" she said, meaningfully. "You know as well as I do, Donald, that our emphasis with the Fund, for which we are both trustees, should be on giving a chance to poor, unconnected, but bright, candidates from this continent!"
Downey retreated. "I'll speak to His Lordship again." he soothed her. "And on reflection, there will be benefactors who might be prevailed upon to, er, sponsor the education of a Howondalandian child."
"The parents of Olivia Georgina Venturi, perheps?" Johanna asked, in a helpful voice.
Downey gave her a reassuring smile.
"I'm glad you're here, Doctor Smith-Rhodes." he said, in a friendly way. She tensed, waiting for the sting in the tail.
"Now our Howondalandian bureaus are currently supervising the assessment process for candidates from the Zulu Empire and from your own country of Rimwards Howondaland." he began. "The Empire provides up to two hundred candidates for a place, who are gradually whittled down to a final eight. Who's in charge there? Oh yes. Miss Precious Jewel N'Khazi. One of your first graduates, I believe, Johanna?"
Johanna winced. Precious Jewel belonged to a past life, when her White Howondalandian attitudes had been more unreformed. She didn't like to be reminded as to how this had fouled up the teacher-pupil relationship. (4)
"Has a terse relationship with her half-sister Ruth N'Kweze." Joan summarised. "Doesn't like the fact Ruth got to be Paramount Crown Princess, and she didn't. I just bet her father engineered that to get his two Assassin daughters watching their backs for each other, and not making any bids for their next promotion!" (5)
"And strange how, after rigorous selection, at least two candidates in every batch seem to be Princes or Princesses." Compte de Yoyo observed.
And our preselection processes are different, how exactly?" Joan said, with a smile.
"And the parallel process in Rimwards Howondaland gave us, among many other sterling people, Miss Heidi van Kruger." Downey observed. "As well as some notable current students. Miss Mariella Smith-Rhodes of Black Widow House, for one."
He looked at Johanna and smiled.
"I have been approached by a highly-placed person in your nation." He said, pleasantly. "Who is prepared to sponsor the education of a young lady who he feels has got great potential for the Guild. Now this would be an unprecedented ninth pupil from your country in her year, and could cause problems with going over-quota. But the candidate is of great interest and I'm very keen to accept her for training. I'd be interested in hearing your opinion."
"Go on." Johanna said, cautiously.
"A Miss Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Majaandie, from Piemburg." Downey continued, in the same pleasant voice. "What can you tell us about her?"
Every eye turned to watch Johanna. Damn him, he even pronounced her name correctly.
"It's bleddy Onkle Charles, isn't it?" Johanna demanded. "Onkle Charles Smith-Rhodes! He's paying her fees!"
Downey shook his head.
"Client confidentiality precludes, Doctor Smith-Rhodes. But as you have been made aware, a close blood relative of a graduate Assassin with a fearsomely good reputation is always of great interest to us. Your younger sister is universally well-thought of, after all. Could I prevail on you for a reference?"
Johanna scowled. Then composed herself, explaining this was her oldest niece, the eldest in that new generation of the Family, who would carry the honoured name of Johanna Smith-Rhodes in memory of the woman who had founded that family branch, over a century before. What could she say? Her sister Agnetha had opted to stay at home and live a quiet life as wife of our father's trusted farm manager. She has five children with Kurt Majaandie, her husband. Do not make the mistake of thinking she is only a wife and mother. On the border, every woman knows how to swing a machete and use a crossbow. You never know when you need to do this in earnest. Or use the machete for something other than hacking undergrowth. Agnetha would have encouraged all her children, as they grew, to learn weapon skills. In case of an attack from over the River. If not her, than definitely Barbarossa, their grandfather. The young Johanna, almost ten years old, would be able to run two miles quickly without gasping for breath. To saddle and ride a horse. To repair her own clothing and boots. To put five crossbow bolts into a tight grouping in a human-shaped target. To stare down a Ridgeback puppy and dominate it, to make the dog hers. She, Auntie Johanna, had taken the girl up-country for a day and a night, sorry it could not have been longer. She has good camp disciplines and can watch a pride of lions, unobserved and unsmelt by them, as they hunt. She has a keen intelligence and wishes to see the world and knows two of her aunts are in Ankh-Morpork, so it is possible for a Boor girl from the Veldt to break out and find wider horizons. What else do you wish to know?
"Do you think she would thrive here, Johanna?" Joan Sanderson-Reeves asked, with careful politeness.
Johanna paused for an instant.
"Ja." She said, reflecting that Agnetha would have to part with her daughter, even to a boarding school nearer home, sooner or later. It was a matter of distance, that was all. And Uncle Charles, in his way, was insistent when he made decisions on behalf of the Family. Decision's made. May as well make the best of this. "I believe she would. End I wish her to go to Raven House. Femily essociation, es you say."
Johanna read the Times in the staffroom. The headlines were about the previous day's bombs and disruption. Everything had become quiet since, but the newspaper noted that the Watch and other City agencies were on alert for anything new happening. A sub-headline was BUSINESS AS USUAL! SAYS PALACE. Lord Vetinari was prominently iconographed, gravely surveying the ruin of the Palace garden, and a wall full of broken windows. He had issued a statement to the effect that he had every confidence in the ability of Sir Samuel Vimes to run down and catch the men responsible. His coach had been seen leaving in the direction of Scoone Avenue in the late afternoon, the Times reported, speculating that he was attending the Rimwards Howondalandian Embassy to offer official sympathy there after the attack. The Pegasus horses had been observed coming and going and one had landed at the Embassy, no doubt as a goodwill gesture to Rimwards Howondaland to allow the fastest possible communications with home in a time of emergency. Sir Samuel Vimes and Watch teams had been following up possible leads around the City, locations undisclosed, but information will follow as we have it.
Still feeling irritation at Uncle Charles and his incessant manipulation of the wider Family, she went for lunch, joining Alice Band at the Tump House top table, chatting about School business with Alice and her upper-sixth girls, the ones who were soon to do the Final Run. It was a pleasant lunch. Afterwards, privately, Alice briefed her on what the Times had not been able to say, concerning the two raids that had arrived just too late.
"Be careful, Johanna." she advised. "They're coming for you. We're keeping a close watch. You can probably tell?"
"Ja." Johanna replied. She'd sensed a discreet informal escort nearby when out on the street. She'd seen some of them but by no means all, which assured her there were some good people out there. She also knew her neighbour Davinia Bellamy was offering house-room to Guild operatives who were keeping the street under watch. It was a comforting thought that a squad of Assassins was two doors away, on some sort of alert. She also suspected a few people doing unremarkable things like walking dogs on the Tump, overlooking her home, were more than they seemed. But any attacker would inevitably have surprise on their side, and be able to choose the battleground.
She itched for the final showdown. Just to clear the verdammte business up, count the bodies, or else the living prisoners, and then to get on with life. Uncomfortably, she felt like a spectator, wanting to get in there with the team, but sidelined, in this case by her advanced pregnancy.
She sighed. In the afternoon, she needed to be at the Guild's horse stud, at Garstairs on the Rimwards slope of the Tump. It had been suggested that one thing she could usefully do was to stand or sit at the arena ringside, watching a class of novice horse-riders trotting in a perpetual circle, and advise on things like posture, command, and rein discipline. She didn't quibble; it put her a relatively short distance from home at the end of the day.
She took the School omnibus over to Garstairs with the class of pupils scheduled for equestrian lessons. Aware of their eyes on her for various reasons and aware of the Graduate Assassin detailed to act as her bodyguard, she settled into a largely silent journey, wishing the seats on these things could be made more comfortable. Much more comfortable.
Working alone at 18 Spa Lane, Claude the butler double-checked that none of the other staff were nearby. He closed the living room door for privacy, then reached up and took down a crossbow from the displayed weapons on the wall. He tested its action, cocked it, sighted, and dry-fired. The mechanism clunked, and he swiftly re-cocked, sighted on an imaginary target, and dry-fired again. He clicked the release catch on the stock and the bayonet of last resort clunked into place on its spring-loaded mechanism, ten inches of very sharp honed steel. He dummied a few thrusts, then smiled and clicked it back into its recess inside the stock.
He replaced the crossbow on the wall, assured himself that his copy of the key that opened the baas-lady's armoury worked (6) and he had access to ample bolts, then took down a machete from the wall. He parried a few blows and thrusts, smiling as the old training came back to him.
The former Sergeant Claude N'Gemini, late of an auxiliary infantry battalion from Smith-Rhodesia, a man who had sworn his loyalty not so much to to the Staadt as to the Smith-Rhodes family, nodded with satisfaction. He now understood why the Ambassador, the baas-fella Mr van der Graaf, had sent him here to serve his baas-lady. He knew a fight was going to come down sooner or later, involving the baas-lady. And she was both a good baas and a Smith-Rhodes. He would, if it came to it, fight for her. And on his training nights at the Guild of Butlers, Gentleman's Gentlemen and Senior Domestic Servants, Mr Willikins was pleased to demonstrate other little skills a butler could deploy in service of his baas. Strictly unofficially and off the set curriculum. Mr Willikins only taught them to selected people, butlers who served masters who led hazardous lives. Butlers with pasts. Mr Willikins had detected his past early. Mr Willikins was a man Claude respected.
He replaced the machete and then went about his butlering duties. Dorothea would, he knew, have something good on the table for the servants' lunch. It was something to look forward to. A taste of Home, like dovi or sadza with named meat, hopefully goat.
The Rimwards part of the Tump, in Ankh, is the city's equestrian centre. Everything here revolves around horses. The Racecourse is a prominent feature, and it is surrounded by studs, stables, training arenas, and all the usual fringe businesses serving the horsey world: tack shops, vets' offices, turf accountants, Igors for horses and unlucky riders, and a discreet abbatoir and petfood manufacturers for perpetually losing or otherwise unlucky horses. A Quirmian butchers shop is necessarily discreet, operating from a side-street in unmarked premises and serving a discerning clientele. Harry King maintains a sub-depot here for substances of interest harvested from the stables and streets. (7) A short canter down Endless Street and Stablemaster Road leads to the Deosil Gate, on the other side of which is New Ankh and then eventually open country, fit for exercising horses outside the city.
The Guild of Assassins maintains a stable at Garstairs, used for the ongoing training of pupils in accordance with the Concordat requirement that states every young Lady and Gentleman should be able to ride, as befits their place in society. (8) Garstairs is on the lower Rimward slopes of the Tump, on the very outskirts of the equestrian zone.
Johanna spent an hour and a half sitting on the edge of the ring, watching a class of first-year pupils as they trotted horses round the circuit, calling criticism and improvement to the riders, and wishing she could be up on horseback herself with a horizon to aim at and plenty of scope for a gallop. Finally, her allocated class over, she delivered concluding words and supervised the riders in returning the horses to stable and cleaning down, ensuring good habits of caring for the horses and stable management were being learnt. (9)
After seeing the class off, Johanna watched the next class, a group of third-year pupils, as they disembarked from the School omnibus. Mr Harvey-Smith, the Guild's Equestrian Master, nodded a friendly greeting to her. He was a former showjumper who taught things like jumping, formal dressage, capriole, courbette, levade, piaffe and passage. And when all the poncy affected stuff that earns points was done with, he also taught people how to ride properly.
"Thanks for helping out. I think I know what you need." he said, practically. Harvey-Smith, a surprisingly thickset man from up towards Lancre, could match people to horses in the same way the Librarian could match people to books. As the omnibus changed loads, he indicated the incoming students.
"Saw it in the wife when she was expecting. Learnt all the stuff about taking it easy is all very well, but ye Gods, you need exercise, or you go Bursar. Thought, stuff the doctor's advice. Get her in the saddle. Did her the world of good." He grinned. "This lot are going out on a group ride. If I get you a good horse, fancy escorting? You can never have too many escorts."
She leapt at the chance. Getting to ride for a good two hours…
"See your sister's in this class." Harvey-Smith noted. "She's good. Runs in the family."
Johanna winced inwardly. She'd had the frank talk with Mariella about the expectations on her, concerning living up to the family name and that inevitably she would be judged against her older sister whatever she did. Johanna had been keen to find out if this placed her sister under undue and undeserved pressure. She had been pleased when Mariella had reflected on this and said "Yes. I know. The only way out is for me to make my own name in my own right."
And soon there will be another Johanna Smith-Rhodes here at this school. Ag, the weight of expectations people will place on the girl, even if they do not consciously intend to. Downey is already doing it and he has not even met her yet. Johanna extended the thought to encompass a possible daughter. It made her frown.
And now a group of twenty third year pupils, boys and girls, were gathered around Mr Harvey-Smith, listening to his instructions and expectations of the day. Soon he'd be leading them to the stables and allocating mounts. In the background, a group of senior pupils, sixth formers allowed to stable theory own horses here as a privilege (10) , were saddling mounts and leading them out.
Johanna listened with half an ear.
"Miss Smith-Rhodes! Are you paying attention?" It was an annoyed teacher's classroom voice. Johanna jumped, then realised it wasn't meant for her. She sent an annoyed glare at her sister.
"I epologise, sir." Mariella said, meekly. "You were speaking ebout the importance of road discipline end riding in single file, spaced et ten-yard intervals, being eware of other road traffic, end thet the lest rider in the group wears a red fleg to elert other road users."
Harvey-Smith grunted, mollified. Johanna relaxed slightly.
"And there I was, thinking you were watching the boys over there." He said. Members of the class giggled and sniggered. Mariella reddened slightly and then came back with
"Yes, sir. I was."
"Well, at least you're being honest about it…"
"To be precise, I was wetching their horses. Excuse me, sir, but there eppears to be something wrong with the lest horse in line, over there. Its owner is controlling it with a little more firmness than it perhaps needs. The horse is expressing discomfort. The rider leading it by the reins appears not to have noticed this, end is impatient."
Harvey-Smith watched for a moment. His expression darkened slightly.
"Assuming you're correct, Miss Smith-Rhodes. Where do you think the problem is?"
"The horse is favouring its rear right leg. The problem is in the… lower leg. Excuse me, sir, in my language it is de koot. Possibly in the hoof."
"The pestern." Johanna translated. "Learn the word, Miss Smith-Rhodes. Do not assume people here speak Vondalaans."
Harvey-Smith nodded. "Rear-right pastern, possibly hoof. OK."
He cupped his hands and shouted.
"Mr Bradley! Walk your horse over here, if you'd be so kind? Thank you. Won't take a moment."
He nodded at Mariella.
"Now you've raised the matter, young lady, make a diagnosis. In your own time. You're in charge."
Mariella requested the bemused Bradley to lift the rear right leg of his horse so she could look at the leg and hoof. Bemused, he looked at Harvey-Smith, who was steadying it at the head.
"Do as she asks." he said, watching.
Mariella crouched and studied the leg. She touched it, gently. The horse shifted with discomfort.
"Does enyone hev a sherp knife?" she asked. Bradley looked down at her, looking alarmed, and was about to speak.
"I need to clean some pecked earth end grit out." she explained. "I think I know whet is wrong here. I cennot be sure until the site is clean."
Johanna, who had also made a shrewd guess, passed a dagger down to her sister. Mariella scraped away for a while.
"I em sorry, sir." she said. "Egain I do not know the Morporkian words. Et home we would cell this ontsteking van hoef van paard."
Johanna sighed and translated.
"Laminitis." she said. "A local inflammation underneath the hoof resulting in infection. Egain, learn the Morporkian, Miss Smith-Rhodes."
"And how do we deal with it, Miss Smith-Rhodes?" Harvey-Smith asked. His attitude said he'd already worked it out, but he was expecting Mariella to know too.
Mariella was already rotating the tip of her sister's blade against the solid hoof.
"We relieve the inflemmetion. Ellow the material trepped underneath to escape. Or else infection means the whole hoof detaches. The horse is in severe pain end unable to walk. It will need to be humanely destroyed."
Harvey-Smith looked gravely at Bradley.
"And you were planning to ride this horse today? She'd have thrown you, lad. And this might have gone un-noticed. Well, we all live and learn."
There was a groan of disgust from the class as organic matter spurted through the hole Mariella had drilled. A little blood followed.
"We need to disinfect the wound now." she said. "I believe this was the only infection site."
The horse rested its hoof, seeming relieved and able to bear its weight.
"Job for you, mr Bradley." Harvey-Smith directed. "See Fossick, the stable-boy. He's got common remedies available, and he'll show you what to do. You might want to thank this young lady, before you go. Saved your horse. And saved you. And I'd like to know where she learnt that."
"On the Veldt, et home." Mariella said. "To be lost in the veldt fifty miles from home with a lame horse is not a small thing. You learn ebout horses."
"Or you cen die." Johanna said. "Make thet a cless lesson. Your life may one day rely on how good your horse is. Riding is not just a pleasant recreation."
Mr Harvey-Smith clapped his hands.
"Now that's sorted out!" he said, pleasantly. "And I hope you all learnt the lesson there. Which is look after your horse. And your horse will look after you. And very impressive, young lady. Didn't put a foot wrong. Except in one respect."
He turned to the class. "How many of you do not have Morporkian as your first language?" he asked. Several hands were raised. He grinned.
"Special assignment for you. I want you to learn the parts of the horse. Not in your own languages. In Morporkian. Or else, if Doctor Smith-Rhodes wasn't here to translate, we'd have been floundering, trying to make out what the young lady was getting at. Wouldn't hurt if you looked up common ailments of the horse and learnt those too. All of you. How to identify. How to treat, if you can. When to refer to a vet. And I will test you. Now let's get you all saddled up, shall we?"
Mariella rode with her compatriot Trudi van Stijler. They discussed the general standard of horsemanship among their Central Continent fellows. They were not flattering.
"If this is the standard of their cavalry, no wonder we won the War of Independence." Trudi said, dismissively. Mariella made a non-commital noise.
"Those who are born to it, like we are, are good." she said.
"Too few of them." Trudi remarked. "We ran rings around them. Do you think we could get away with a gallop sometime?"
Mariella looked around them. They'd made their way to open fields outside the city. The space was liberating.
"Too many fences." Mariella said. "Old Harvey-Smith ordered us not to perform jumps."
"Ordered them." Trudi said. "We know what we're doing."
Mariella considered this. It was tempting.
"Watch out. Here comes big sister." said Trudi.
Johanna Smith-Rhodes fell in with the two.
"You were thinking of galloping, weren't you?" she said, pleasantly, in Vondalaans. "And jumping."
"Who, us?" Trudi said, innocently. Johanna shook her head.
"I know you both. I know you're two of the best riders here. And I know you're both bloody frustrated you have to go at everybody else's pace. But we were all told not to gallop or jump on unfamiliar ground. Which includes me. So to keep you out of trouble, parts of the horse, in Morporkian. Begin!"
Johanna drilled them both until she was satisfied. Then she said "Drop back, miss van Stijler. Nothing personal. I wish to speak to my sister about private things. Family. And you're the only other person here who speaks Vondalaans. So do us the courtesy and drop out of earshot? Dankie."
Johanna and Mariella discussed the four renegades who were on the run and out to kill. Mariella listened as her sister brought her up to date with the latest information.
"So it is possible the Watch may soon detain them?" Mariella asked.
"I very much hope so. It's that or a fight."
Mariella considered this. Then she spoke to Johanna about her trip into town with Rivka and the conviction that somebody had been following them. Who was not Guild. Johanna listened intently.
"People are following us both." she said. "Informal guards. I suspect this is not entirely for our benefit and they're hoping to draw our potential attackers into the open. We're bait. On a shark-fishing trip."
"I expected nothing less, Johanna." Mariella said. She'd been in the Guild now for nearly three years, and was getting an idea as to how it collectively thought.
"Did you get a clear look at whoever was there?"
Mariella shook her head.
"Just a feeling. An impression. Like the summer we went up-Veldt together. The year I decided I wanted to come here. Do you remember I had the feeling of being watched and I told you? Then you invited me to turn carefully around without moving too suddenly, and I saw the leopard?"
"Ja. That was impressive. Yesterday you sensed a leopard nearby. Or perhaps a hyena. Trust those senses."
Johanna took a deep breath and changed the subject.
"In a year's time you will be starting your fourth year at this school. Guess who will be entering the first year?"
Mariella then learnt about the next Smith-Rhodes who was to become a student Assassin. She winced.
"My sister Agnetha's oldest. Young Johanna. My niece. That makes me feel old!"
"We're stuck with it, I'm afraid. Just because she has my name, and just because Uncle Charles has been meddling and cannot leave well alone. Lord Downey really wants her. And just because you think of her as a walking eruption of snot now, it does not mean she will be that way when she arrives!"
Mariella sighed. Becoming Smith-Rhodes-major, she decided, really didn't suit. And she hoped her niece Johanna would have ceased being such a snotty little brat when she arrived.
(1) Green Redbush. A contradiction in terms, I know. But it exists. And it does clean out the plumbing.
(2) Yes. There really is a South African wine called Spatzendreck. Or "Sparrowshit". No doubt Vetinari buys it for Palace functions, so peoples' mental processes are derailed while they wonder if the label really does mean what it seems to mean. He can then deal with people who are both a little bit drunk and as a bonus, distracted: wondering about "sparrowshit wine".
(3) Seek not to get up your own bum about things. An accepted strategy in Unorthodox Combat Techniques, as described by regular class member Wayne Drooley, involved pushing the other bloke's head up his own bum. He hadn't quite managed this yet, but he listed it as a class goal to strive for. Old-school Assassins didn't like UCT, describing it as "vulgar street fighting", and not the sort of thing this Guild should be encouraging. Johanna had seen a general reluctance to mix it in a fist-fight as a weakness in her students and as a skills deficiency in the Guild. Commander Vimes of the Watch groaned and said "That's all we need, Assassins who can fight like normal people!"
(4) Shameless plug for my early story The Graduation Class, in which a young Johanna arrives in Ankh-Morpork full of unhelpful attitudes and social conditioning, and discovers a need to learn new ways of thinking. Among many other things.
(5) In common with many other seeming patriarchies, the Zulu Empire has had a Paramount Empress occasionally just for the novelty of it. The Empire very soon realises why it prefers to have Paramount Kings, and the neighbours get nervous. Look, women can be nastier. Creatively so.
(6) Johanna had not considered he might have discreetly made copies, as part of his domestic duties.
(7) The horsey zone, paradoxically, has possibly the cleanest and best-maintained streets in the City.
(8) Advanced and outstanding riders are taught lots of other skills suitable to the equestrian Assassin. However, it is accepted that many students, despite tuition, will struggle to attain the minimum proficiencies involved. The Concordat requirement is therefore interpreted pragmatically in many cases. Wayne Drooley, who managed to ride a donkey on holiday on the beach in Quiremouth, got a pass for this alone.
(9) This eventually involved shovels and wheelbarrows.
(10) This privilege is chargeable at an additional three dollars per week for stabling and fodder costs (any veterinary fees which may prove necessary will not be covered). Refer to Academic Regulations And Fees For The Current Year, Appendix 12(a) Approved Pets and Companion Animals Owned By Students. Appendix 12 (b) deals with Prohibited Pets and Companion Animals. This became necessary after the business with Miss Arachne Webber (Tump House) whose companion spider had to be moved to the Animal Management Unit (High Security), when it turned out to be the Sloth Eating Spider of Paraquat, a rare species that in its mature form grows nine feet across from claw-tip to claw-tip and can consume large hunting dogs. I've written about this somewhere.