Strandpiel 34
Sawubona V0.03
V0.03 Tidying up, removing inconsistences, housekeeping
Retcon to tie it more closely into coming chapters.
26/11/22: England have just lost the latest replay of the Boer War, 13-27 against South Africa, and at Twickenham too. Go Bokke! (1)
But back to the story:
In which things happen in various parts of the Discworld.
The River Ulunghi, Howondaland, not far from the place called umGungundlovu.(2)
The men and women watering their horses at the River, having taken the opportunity to refill their own canteens and waterskins, looked speculatively across at the other side. Everything there looked, so far as they could tell, identical to this side. Somewhere in the distance, cattle they couldn't see were lowing and mooing.
The only thing, the important thing that made a difference, was the absolute order to remain on this side of this River. The Black Tsarina had been absolutely insistent on that. The native Zulu guides provided by the local boyar, the native prince who ruled here, had explained the other side of the River was no longer the Zulu Empire, it belonged to neighbouring people who defended and guarded it jealously and would view any incursion as a hostile act.
Yuri Khemeletsky still looked across the River, speculatively. He'd heard about the Boer people on the other side. From what he'd heard, he was deeply appreciative of how a largely cavalry-based irregular Army had taken on the imperial might of Ankh-Morpork, the colonising Power. And defeated it. Then they'd made it clear to the Zulus on this side that this River was the border between their lands. Any Zulu attempt to cross the river had been repulsed. Conclusively. These Boers were almost like Cossacks. He suspected he'd quite like them. He understood their point of view, and was happy not to provoke any Situations.
"What do you think?" he asked Pavel Avalov, his sotnik.
Pavel considered the question.
"Nobody's watching us from that side." he said. "You'd expect that. They're a scattered people, and they all have their respective stanitsas to attend to. They can't watch this side all the time. But they send patrols out. What I can see of that far bank tells me horses ride there regularly. It has the look."
Yuri nodded, accepting this. He drew Pavel's attention to the long low hill on the other side, its escarpment sloping directly down to the river, its ridge topped by trees. If nothing else, the strangeness of the trees was a reminder that he was in a distant foreign country, a long way from the Steppes.
"According to the briefing, what do they call that hill?" he asked. "You've got a better head than me for foreign languages, Pavel."
"The Zulus call it the Indawo yokucwaninga ithusi. Or the Imayiniyethusi." Pavel replied. "The people opposite call it the Kuiperskop."
Yuri briefly wondered how his deputy was getting so good at the local languages. Then he remembered Pavel had arrived here unmarried and single. And one of the Zulu girls in the Black Tsarina's army had taken a fancy to him.
You learn a language quickly from the woman in your bed, I suppose, he reflected. He also speculated just how many mixed marriages were going to happen in this country. Some of the black girls, under Zoya Zlatavichniya's leadership, were impressive. They rode like Cossacks, they were learning to think like Cossacks, to act like Cossacks. And the Cossack people have always accepted new members who have proven themselves worthy. We're not choosy. If somebody proves themselves, shows commitment to our ways, then they're in. It keeps the People vigorous. But until now, they've always been white people.
He paused and thought again.
Well, apart from the odd Rehigreedian or Agatean. We from the Baikal are nearest to Rehigreed. We have Cossacks who practically pass for Agatean in our Host. The Vulga people have absorbed Klatchians, Ghatians and Muntabians. Some Swommis and Hubsvensskans were absorbed into the Siberian Host in the Vortex Plains. So black Cossacks? Nichevo. No big deal. If the mothers can't get too much Rodinian, their children will. Being a Cossack is a state of mind. Not a colour of skin.
He shook his head slightly, listening to Pavel explaining that apparently there were copper mines there in the very old days, but all played out now. Медный рудник. Medniy rudnik. The copper mines. They are called that in both languages, the native one here, and the one the people opposite speak, you know, related to the Fritz language. Kuiper. Kupfer, to the kolbasniks.
And Pavel is from the Turnwise Ronbas. The Ron Cossacks, nearest to the Fritzes. Half a Discworld away.
"Impressive, considering we've not been here for long." Yuri commented. Pavel shrugged.
"Talked to people. Found out more about this River. Thandiwe helped."
He indicated the Zulu girl who was riding with them. Zoya, understanding about Pavel and Thandiwe, had detailed her to ride with the sotnia as one of the local guides. Yuri, who more and more was seeing not Zulu cavalry but black-skinned Cossacks, had approved this. Again he reflected that her skill with the stabbing assegai and the throwing javelins she carried was impressive, but she really needed the Swords training, to be fully accepted as one of her new People.
"You know, Pavel." he said, contemplating the bluffs over the River, which prevented them from seeing too far into the Boer country opposite, "It occurs to me that if they're clever, and I'm betting they are, that would be the ideal place for them to conceal an observation post allowing them to look a fair way into this country. Hide it properly, and we wouldn't know they were there."
"They're outstanding at fieldcraft, from what I hear." Pavel agreed. "As long as we're patrolling here, we should bear this in mind as a possibility."
"Da. And they have good reasons to be watchful. If our Tsarina's brother chooses to attack them, there will be much damage over there."
Yuri agreed. The local Prince, the man who governed this borderland in the name of the dying King, was likely to come down on the side of Tsarina Ruth when the war came. He was showing every hospitality to her cavalry, here to ride the river border and carry word if Simbothwe, the brother, rose in rebellion and sought to attack here. Prince Mfanafuthi(3) knew the consequences of any Zulu incursion into White Howandaland. Inevitably, there would be a reprisal attack by the Whites into his lands and a lot more damage. It was therefore in his best interests to be on Ruth's side and hail her, when the time came, as Paramount Queen.
Meanwhile, the Cossacks weren't just giving loyalty to an employer. She was the Black Tsarina to them, the rightful Queen. And, as Ruth and her advisors had realised, Cossacks were hardwired to show loyalty to the rightful Tsar, in this case the ruler of an Empire that stretched a long way across Howondaland. Now they served one again, they'd serve her absolutely. It wasn't just the money.
After a while, the Cossacks rode on, accompanied by the Zulu soldiers detailed as escort by Prince Mfanafuthi. Yuri and Pavel noted that even with their horses moving at a fast trot, the Zulu infantry could easily keep up on foot. They added this to their store of information about the fighting soldiers of their host nation, and wondered how fast they'd need to move to leave them behind.
Yuri noted the crown colours of half a dozen different Cossack hosts in his sotnia, and realised that a new thing was emerging here. A Howondalandian Host, drawn from all over the Central Continent. If we are going to be here for a long time – and there's something about this country – then black faces under the fur caps bearing those crown colours would soon be a part of Cossack tradition. He grinned. And why not?
Bitterfontein, RH, Wes Sandrift.
That eventful day had picked up pace in the mid-afternoon. As Mevrou Hendricka had predicted, Sergeant van Klaamer, his patrol sidekick Korporaal Elswaar and a detail of Konstabels had shown up, along with the inevitable botgata-wagen to transport arrestees.
Bekki had known this when she saw the black employees of the plaas moving quickly to be in places where the policemen were not. She sighed, and deduced the police had gone to the huis. This seemed to be at the epicentre of a rapidly widening circle of retreating black people. She noticed her orderly was looking ill at ease.
"Dertein? Remember, you have full authority to be here, and you work at my direction." she said. "I'll make that clear to the police and when they interview you, I'll see one of us, ideally me, is present. As your safeguard." she said. "Won't be long."
She fell in with Aunt Mariella, who was also on her way to the huis from the glasshouses.
"The paws got here, then." Mariella said, laconically. Bekki thought about this one.
"Die Pote?" she asked. "Is that like platvoete, flatfeet, in Ankh-Morpork?"
"You got it." Mariella said. "Big flat clumsy paws trampling over everything."
The policemen were grouped outside the huis, in a manner Bekki found oddly familiar from Ankh-Morpork. She noted they had not yet been invited in, and didn't seem in a hurry to assert any intention to go in. Sergeant van Klaamer had taken off his cap, deferentially, and seemed torn between his official status, and deference to Mariella.
"Err.. this is an official visit, Mrs Smith-Rhodes-Lensen, ma'am." he said. "There has been a report of an incident here."
"And you're here to investigate and to take reports." Mariella said. "Glad you're here. So we can clear the air and get the whole stupid business cleared up. We'll just wait for Mevrou Hendricka."
Mariella smiled at the policemen and addressed them by name. She asked about wives and families, making small-talk. She called for one of the black maids from the huis and requested her to prepare drinks for the visitors.
"Got to be hospitable." Mariella remarked. "After all, you've come all the way from Bitterfontein and it's a dusty road. You're in charge, Sergeant?"
"Yes, ma'am." Sergeant van Klaamer said. "Lieutenant Botha is on other duties, and the Captain said he was happy to leave it to me. For now, anyway."
"For now." Mariella repeated. She frowned slightly. Verdraainer was evidently biding his time. For now.
Bekki frowned too. If this had been the City Watch, Mr Vimes would not have been happy to have the investigating detail huddling together with no clear direction. He'd have had Watchmen already walking around the plaas, taking notes, informally talking to people, reading the air, and not waiting for permission to investigate. He'd have been shouting at Watchmen who were happy to accept hot tea and coffee from the householder who was quite clearly using this as a stalling technique. Mr Vimes, in fact, would by now be saying things like "Mariella, I know you and I know the way your mind works. What are you cooking up?"
"Just the six of you, Sergeant?" Bekki asked, curiously. She half-suspected that more efficient policemen might be out there, asking questions and noting details. That was a Vimes strategy too: relax the suspects by visibly presenting Fred Colon or Nobby Nobbs, while more discreet Watchmen, who hadn't announced themselves, were busy elsewhere.
"Oh, just us, Miss Rebecka." he replied, with assurance. "Seems a clearcut thing, from the report Mev'Mariella sent us!"
He indicated the two black policemen, members of the native auxiliary police. Mariella had taken care to ensure her hospitality applied to them too, without favour. Bekki noted the black maids served them hot drinks with a sort of put-upon minimal courtesy, as if they were trying hard not to show dissent that they'd been asked. They seemed, in fact, to be making as obvious a point of this as they could without risking censure.
"They have to be here, miss." van Klaamer said. "To help interview your blacks."
His spill-words were Hope this doesn't offend you too much...
"Lekker." Bekki said. "If you'll excuse me for a moment.."
She went into the huis and to her room. A thought had just occurred to her, and she rummaged in the drawer where she kept her Watch things ready for her weekly service. She found what she was looking for, hesitated a moment, and slipped it into a pocket for now.
Then she looked up at the matryoshka dolls on the shelf. Had the eyes of the outermost doll just flashed bright orange for a second? Not the emphatic red of the early morning, but perhaps another warning, to be on her guard.
"Spassibo." she said, and she went out again. Keeping the useful item in her pocket to bring out when the time was right, she made small-talk with the white police konstabels alongside her aunt. It wasn't difficult to sustain; they knew about her Healthcare Practitioner status and the conversation inevitably flowed this way, with Sergeant van Klaamer amiably revealing that Miss Rebecka had been a marvel in dealing with his afflicted feet, so if she's willing, she could be good for you, young Kobus, what with your corns.
"Or even the korporaal's boils!" Kobus joked back.
Bekki tried to stay impassive and not to shudder. She agreed she could do these things, certainly. She expressed interest when Konstabel de Bruin was introduced as a man about to become a father and asked how long was it to go, justnow?
"She's good." van Klaamer said, with a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Word is that Miss Rebecka's got well into double figures as a midwife."
"Mainly back ho… on the Central Continent, where I trained." Bekki said. "Three or four here. So far."
She tried not to be too specific about this. Her local birthings had so far been for people in the Turfloop Township. One had been brought here to Wes Sandrift by a concerned family at three in the morning. Technically it had been a flagrant breach of apartheid law, but Mevrou Hendricka, aroused from sleep in the small hours, had said in as many words that if Oskar Verdraainer wanted to make an issue of that, then let him. This was a clear medical emergency demanding humanitarian assistance, and she'd stand up in court to assert that.(4)
Discovering Mrs de Bruin was eight months gone, Bekki proposed to visit and check. First time mother?
"But not a first time midwife." Aunt Mariella said. "She's good, Karl."
Good relations having been established with the policemen, Mevrou Hendricka arrived. Bekki wondered if she'd been deliberately taking her time, so as to let Mariella establish a good relaxed working relationship first. She speculated on the irony of the policemen being on the receiving end of one of the time-honoured strategies without their fully realising it, in this case Good Mevrou, Bad Mevrou. Mariella to charm them, Hendricka to be the stern and frostier one.
"Good to see you, Diedrik." Hendricka said. "I believe we all know what is to be done here? Mariella will have informed you about the unpleasant business that occurred here this morning? That you are here to take witness statements, make a necessary arrest, and to return swiftly to Bitterfontein where you will have other duties?"
Sergeant van Klaamer saluted her, smartly.
"Ja, Mevrou." he said, with obvious respect. "It's a clear-cut case. "Two black labourers, both still babelaas from drink taken the previous night, brought a township dispute into your plaas. Issued with agricultural tools, they chose to fight and disturbed your peace with violence. Grievous injuries were inflicted by one black on the other black. Both were disarmed…"
He looked at Bekki for an instant, then back to Hendricka.
"The black who had inflicted the injuries was led away and detained and the other is in your infirmary. We are here to take witness statements under formal oath and to make arrests."
"Then to return to Bitterfontein." Hendricka said, briskly. "You will of course keep me informed as to what happens next."
"Ja, mevrou." the sergeant said, suddenly eager to please. "With your permission, I can take the statements from the white people who were present?"
"We can use the office." Mariella said. She exchanged a nod with Hendricka. "Come this way, Sergeant?"
Bekki noted Sergeant van Klaamer became even more deferential as he entered the plaas office. This was Mariella's place, and it reflected her personality. Like any management office, it had the usual appointments of desk, chairs, files and paperwork. Pens, inkwells and paper were laid out neatly on the otherwise clear desktop.
The wall behind, however, had framed diplomas and certification. Absolute dead centre, behind where Mariella would sit, was her Guild of Assassins membership diploma. The cloak-and-dagger emblem was large and obvious. Framed iconographs from her military service were on display too. And as there were character traits Mariella shared with her older sister, a growing display of interesting weaponry occupied one other wall.
"Matabelian assegai." Mariella explained to one of the policemen, who was taking an interest. "Ever fought them? No? Not to worry, I'll explain. They tend to be larger and longer than the Zulu sort with a bigger bladed head. But then, Matabels do tend to be larger men than Zulus. They prefer bigger shields, too."
She smiled at the policeman. It was a friendly, non-threatening sort of smile.
"The trick is to step forward and to get inside their reach." Mariella explained, in the same amiable everyday voice. "That way they lose their advantage, and you can then deal with the situation in close combat."
"Well, I can see I can safely leave you to it, Mariella, if I get called away." Mevrou Hendricka said, approvingly. She smiled at van Klaamer.
"My daughter-in-law is a very capable young woman, Deidrik. An asset to the business and to my family."
Bekki tried not to grin. Intimidation could take many shapes. And the policemen were getting it.
Sergeant Deidrik van Klaamer gulped, nervously. Mariella gave him an encouraging smile.
"Shall we get on, Sergeant? If you take the guest chair, we can call in the people you need to interview. Perhaps if you keep one Konstabel here as a witness, the rest of you could be shown an appropriate place to interview the black employees who were witnesses? Horst can supervise that, wherever he's got to."
Mariella sat behind her desk. Bekki appreciated how she had subtly and unmistakably taken charge.
"Shall we begin?" she asked, pleasantly. "Got your notebook, sergeant? Lekker. Alright, my name is Mariella Elisabet Smith-Rhodes-Lensen. Married, twenty-nine years old, and a proprietor of the Lensen business..."
Horst Lensen, who alongside Ricus van Linden had supervised setting up a table and two chairs in the currently un-used wine pressing shed, sighed a deep resigned sigh. The next stage was going to be that of calling in the black labourers who had been present at the fight that morning, reassuring them they were in no trouble, and that either he or Baas van Linden would be present as a witness to ensure fair play during the police interviews.
Horst reflected it also offered an opportunity to ensure the story would be straight. Yes, there had been a growing animosity following recent events in the Township. Yes, the two miscreants had brought it to work with them. Sensing trouble, their fellows had tried to keep them apart. There had been a fight, with pangas. Injury had been inflicted. Miss Rebecka and Baas van Linden had disarmed and detained the men. Miss Rebecka had then repaired the injuries.
Horst frowned. Better get them to emphasise that Ricus had detained the man? Play down Bekki's part in that and divert attention to her having been present to give medical care afterwards. Still, at least I'm here, or Ricus will be here, to confirm identities to the police and observe fair play without too much heavy stuff and shouting. Ricus is good at that; he takes the point of view that if any Lensen employee needs to be shouted at, he's paid to do it, it's his job...
Horst reflected on the general sloppiness of local policing. He'd lived for long enough in Ankh-Morpork to be aware that anyone trained by Sam Vimes would be going about this a whole lot differently. And they'd be more difficult to deal with. He grinned for a second. This conferred a distinct advantage. He confirmed with Konstabel de Bruin that the arrangements were suitable. De Bruin was to take the statements, with the two native konstabels to assist. Horst or van Linden would also attend, to witness on the part of the employer.
Horst Lensen tried not to grin. It appeared the police had already made their minds up as to what had happened here this morning and would just be gathering in confirmation. They didn't seem interested in investigating more deeply. As far as Sergeant van Klaamer was concerned, the case was closed. He just needed to sign it off and demonstrate he'd completed the paperwork.
And just maybe they won't be inclined to join any dots and ask awkward questions. S goes to the cells in Bitterfontein barracks. In a week or so he appears before the magistrates, who find him guilty and assign an appropriate sentence of maybe six months or so. T, who provoked the fight, has the fact he was grievously wounded taken into account, gets a suspended sentence and a fine, as he is black and therefore needs to be found guilty of something. Then it all blows over, and back to normal...
"We need to make our own statements. Up at the huis." Ricus van Linden reminded him. Horst accepted this.
"You go first. I'll need to stand here as responsible property owner and make sure the Pote know what the rules are right from the start. Set expectations. Then we can switch, and you can loom over the karels."
"Looks like we've made a plan!"
"Agreed." Horst replied.
They shook hands on it, and then a plaas employee ran in to tell Bass Lensen that visitors had arrived. Horst sighed resignedly, and went out to greet them, reflecting that it was going to be one of those days. The black employee who had brought the message to him gratefully vanished, to get as far away from the police presence as he could.
"Have we come at a bad time?" Jan van Jaasveld asked. Horst sighed, then shook his head and grinned.
"I mean, ag, man, you've got die Pote all over the place, like a rash." Jan observed.
Horst shook hands with his old friend. He greeted Anna van Jaasveld, who had accompanied him. And then there was the girl, Ellie Meyer.
"No, not at all." he reassured them, moving to make the approved cheek-kiss to Anna. He looked more closely at her face and tried not to do a double take, then went to make the cheek-kiss on the other side, out of courtesy. She looked down, turning her face away.
Horst decided not to make a thing of this. If she wanted to talk about it, she would do, in her own time. No sense forcing it.
He smiled at Ellie. "You're all very welcome. You always are."
"You're just perhaps a little bit busy justnow?" Anna said, curious.
"We'd better stable the horses, then we can go to the huis." Horst said. "I'm going to be needed there anyway, to make a formal statement to van Klaamer."
He called into the pressing shed.
"Ricus? Can you look after things here? I'll be back as soon as I can."
He looked over. Ellie seemed to be in a sort of silent world of her own, taking in the sights and sounds.
"We had to bring her." Anna said. "There was no way I was going to leave her on her own in that place. Not with... well, you know. And I wanted to get out. I needed to get out. So we brought her."
Horst contemplated this for a moment. Bekki had tried to explain about spill-words, in a way that a lay person could understand. Some teaching at the Guild School had touched on this, an observation that what people didn't say, if you were attentive, could mean much more than the words they actually spoke. But that had been in the days of the former Horst Lensen, who frankly hadn't been all that sensitive to other people. The former Horst Lensen hadn't really been listening.
But the adult Horst, changed by time and experiences, now realised Anna had potentially spilt a whole novel. And he wished Bekki was here. Or Mariella. They knew the language of spill-words.
"Ellie?" he said, prompting her. "You should dismount, I think, and lead your horse to the stables? Follow us."
"There's so much light here." Ellie Meyer said. "So much space. It feels..." she paused, lost for words. "Cleaner."
The look Jan and Anna exchanged spoke volumes, or at least another chapter.
"I'll explain as we walk." Horst said.
They led the horses to the stables.
"So there was a fight." Jan said. "Two of your blacks, babelaas and even still drunk from the night before, bring their quarrel to this plaas. They are issued pangas for a day of clearing undergrowth in the bush. Bad feeling spills over, and they realise they both have weapons."
He shook his head.
"Pa would have run to the huis for his crossbow."
"There was a fight?" Ellie said, suddenly animated and excited. "Was anyone killed? Is this why the policemen are here?"
Anna tried to shush her.
Horst sighed.
"No and yes, Ellie. No, nobody was killed. A man was badly injured. And yes, this is why the police are here. I will shortly have to give them a statement. As will everyone else who witnessed the fight."
"Was Rebecka there?" Ellie asked, excited. "She wasn't hurt, was she?"
Horst sighed again.
"Bekki saw it all, yes." he admitted. "I imagine the police will want to speak to her as one of the first witnesses, as she saw it all, start to finish." He skipped past the problematical bit, where Bekki had disarmed the man who was still standing. "No, she wasn't hurt. She did the surgery on the wounds of the man who got cut down. Good job, too. If I ever got chopped up with a panga, I'd hope Bekki was nearby with a needle and thread."
"I hope I see her." Ellie said. "She promised me some books and things. From Ankh-Morpork." Her eyes half-closed and she looked blissful for a moment. Then her face clouded over again. "But she must be really busy at her job."
Anna's face went into half-frown, half-smile.
"I know she was really good with Jan after he got crocked up at the fifteen-a-side." she said. Even Horst caught the spill-words Although she also fixed that foul dirty old man's hearing.
She and Jan shared another look that was part-anxiety, part embarrassment.
"Need to talk to her." Jan said. "Part of the reason why we're here. Errr."
Horst didn't inquire.
"But there are other reasons?" he asked, as they stabled the horses.
"Ja. We need to ask you a really big favour. You, and Mariella, and the Mevrou. Plaas business."
Horst nodded. This was Boer to Boer. He knew where he was with this.
"Stay for dinner? Hopefully we can send the Pote away with a couple of arrests. Then there's space."
"So you arrived on the scene when the fight was over. You had been working in the glasshouses when you were advised that there was a commotion, and you walked to the scene of the incident to witness that there was a black male on the ground, bleeding profusely from various wounds, while his assailant, a second black male, had been disarmed and had been persuaded to give himself up without further struggle."
"That is correct, yes." Mariella confirmed. She smiled pleasantly at Sergeant Deidrik van Klaamer.
"You witnessed Mr Ricus van Linden, your labour manager, leading him off to a place of safe detention, after Mr van Linden had ensured the weapon was on the ground, out of his reach, and that after being informed of the termination of his employment by Mevrou Lensen, the suspect was taken, without a struggle, to the aforesaid place of safe detention. Meanwhile Miss Rebecka Smith-Rhodes was occupied dealing with the injuries inflicted on the second black, after which he was taken to one of the sick-berths in her infirmary."
"That is also correct." Mariella affirmed. "Rebecka advises me the injuries are serious, but not life-threatening, and that there is no need for him to be under guard as he will not be walking anywhere in a hurry for some time to come."
Sergeant van Klaamer smiled a relieved smile.
"Thank you for your co-operation, Mrs Smith-Rhodes-Lensen, and all that remains is for you to sign and date your witness statement as a true and complete record of the fact."
"Delighted." Mariella said. She quickly read over and signed her statement.
Van Klaamer received it with thanks.
"Now we should move on to Miss Smith-Rhodes." he said.
"And again I remind you she is under the age of eighteen, and I will be present in the role of her legal guardian." Mariella said. "As the law stipulates."
"She is under eighteen." van Klaamer repeated. "You know, you tend to forget that when you're speaking to Miss Smith-Rhodes."
"She has that way about her." Mariella agreed. "However, she is, believe it or not, still only a couple of months away from even her seventeenth birthday. But some girls mature faster."
Van Klaamer nodded to the Konstabel who was in the room with him, witnessing the interviews.
"Call her in, Kobus."
Bekki reflected that the local police weren't entirely sloppy. Even if Aunt Mariella had needed to remind them that if Bekki was to be interviewed too, it probably was for the best if she waited outside in the corridor, to avoid any possibility that the witnesses were listening to each other's statements and colluding.
Bekki shook her head. The principal witnesses had already had a good few hours to collude and get their stories straight. They didn't need to be in the same room. Although enough of Mariella's statement had filtered back to her via an imperfectly closed door for Bekki to admire the way her aunt had skipped over the issue of who exactly had disarmed the assailant. She'd told the absolute (if not complete) truth throughout and had still managed to give van Klaamer the impression, without actually explicitly saying so, that Baas van Linden had done the disarming. His expectations had done the rest.
Good. An easy ball to catch.
She smiled, and walked in.
"This won't take up too much of your time, miss." Sergeant van Klaamer said, reassuringly. "We just need your account of the incident this morning and for you to sign it. It'll probably be read in court, hopefully the Magistrates won't require you to attend, but you can never be too sure."
He smiled, benevolently.
"Just a few details, miss. Your full name?"
"Rebecka Monika Irena Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons." she paused. "The "Stibbons" part tends to drop off the end in everyday use. Broken hyphen, or something."
"Age?"
"Sixteen years and not quite eleven months. My legal guardian, Mrs Mariella Elisabet Smith-Rhodes-Lensen, is present in the room, and I'm sure you'll note that in the correct place."
"Occupation?"
"Employed by the Lensen company as resident nurse and healthcare practitioner."
She paused, and added
"My other occupation for two days a week is with the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. I'm sure you know already that I get to commute. The price for being able to commute to the City is membership of the Pegasus Service. Which is part of the Watch."
Sergeant van Klaamer looked back at her with interest. Bekki pulled back a grin. It would do no harm to remind him she was Watch-trained. It would give her statement a bit more weight, for one thing.
"Watch Cadet?" Konstabel Kobus said, interested. Aunt Mariella made a derisive noise. Bekki shook her head.
"At first." she said. "And in the Air Watch, the word is "Fledgeling". I passed out as a Fledgeling maybe eight months ago. So I do have to admit I've not been doing it very long, I'm only part-time, and I certainly don't have the Watch experience of either of you."
"But you're still a Sammie." Aunt Mariella remarked. She smiled at the two policemen. "Vimes-trained."
They noted, with satisfaction, Sergeant van Klaamer and Konstabel de Bruin turning to look at each other. The look said Take care with this one.
"I'm under eighteen, yes." Bekki said, forestalling the obvious question. "But Commander Vimes relaxes the minimum age rule in exceptional circumstances."
Van Klaamer eventually cleared his throat.
"Shall we start from the beginning, Miss Smith-Rhodes?" he suggested, deferentially.
Bekki smiled at him and began to recount her perception of events. The Sergeant took slow, careful, notes. Bekki sighed, and slowed her delivery to match his writing speed. She remembered from Ankh-Morpork that a lot of Watchmen had been recruited for skills other than penmanship.(5) Aware this was going to take time, she mentally honed the statement she was giving, sticking to the facts but very deliberately telling nothing more than was absolutely necessary. As with her aunt, she was keen to come over as a concerned and honest citizen who wanted nothing more than to honestly assist the police with their inquiries.
She set about honestly assisting.
Horst led the van Jaasvelds to the huis, bringing them into the kitchen through a side door.
"Visitors, ma."
Mevrou Hendricka rose to graciously receive the newcomers. She exchanged kisses with Jan and Anna, then looked at Anna's face more searchingly. She shook her head slightly and then stretched out her arms in welcome to the third person.
"You are, I think, Ellie Mayer. Welcome. I'm pleased to meet you."
Hendricka gave her a long appraising look, then smiled.
"Sorry I missed seeing you at the fifteen-a-side the other Saturday. It's amazing how you can be in the same small town and keep missing somebody, isn't it? Good to see you here. I'm sure you welcome a chance to travel outside Haartebeeste and meet new people."
"It was crowded, ma." Horst reminded her. "Saturday. Big game on. And the crockett. And the produce market. Lots of people in from places like Uniondale and Kirstensbosch."
Hendricka nodded towards a maid, who went to provide tea. She smiled at Anna, who was looking at her with frank curiosity.
"You're walking, Mevrou Hendricka." Anna remarked. "Not even one stick. The last time I saw you, you were..."
"Crocked and hobbling." Hendricka said, finishing her sentence. "Today, short distances, on an even floor indoors, no sticks."
She smiled.
"Rebecka knows something about physical therapy." she explained. "She bullies me into moving first thing in the mornings, when I really feel it, and she has been known to do things to my legs that even the Omnian Inquisition would have said was taking it too far. Hurts a bit, but it works."
"The salves and the creams too, ma." Horst reminded her.
"Ja, and those. Feels like dragonfire for a few seconds. But they work."
Hendricka grinned.
"It isn't a miracle cure, and by nightfall I'm feeling it again. Needs to be done daily. She's good."
Hendricka smiled.
"Your father's hearing has improved?"
Horst noted the flash of anger that passed over Anna's face, swiftly cut off.
"Ja, mevrou. He can hear everything now, loud and clear. All that wax that built up. Not good for a man." Jan assured her.
Hendricka nodded.
"Does it make it easier to deal with him?" she asked, perceptively. She looked over to Anna again, who turned her face away and looked downward. "No, don't answer that if you don't want to. Come and sit. You've probably noticed the police are all over the plaas. Hopefully they'll be done soon. And we can move to the main room."
She smiled benevolently at Ellie.
"Mariella said you're a reader and you might want to borrow some books." she said. "And Rebecka is in a very privileged position, what with the flying horse and the little man, wherever he is..."
She was about to mention that there was a growing stack of books and periodical magazines in the house, brought back from Ankh-Morpork by Bekki. It's all in Morporkian, but you should be able to cope with that...
At that moment there was the noise of a scuffle from nearby and a very loud thud, as of somebody falling over. This was followed by a male grunt of discomfort.
Hendricka shook her head.
"If the police interview has turned into a physical interrogation..." she said, darkly. "In my plaas."
"They usually reserve that for the blacks, don't they?" Jan asked, curiously.
Hendricka frowned, and stood up.
"I'm going to find out what it was." she said. "And Gods help Deidrik van Klaamer if he's let things get out of hand."
"Let me get this part straight, miss." van Klaamer said. His wide honest face creased up in perplexity. "One of those two fellows went down. Two panga strikes, wounded and bleeding. The other big fellow is standing over him with a panga raised. Your boy has brought you your medical kit. So you get between them, you fold your arms, and you tell the fellow with the panga that it would be a very good idea if he dropped it."
"Ja, that is so." Bekki confirmed. She sighed, inwardly. Here comes the difficult bit.
"Listen to me. My part in this business is clear. To patch up the wounded man, to assess his injuries, to stop the bleeding and make repairs. That's my job. But I can't do that if the other man is running at him with every intent to deliver another blow."
She smiled at the policeman.
"Distracting, ja-nie?"
Sergeant van Klaamer frowned.
"But you, an unarmed white girl, confronted by a mad black man with a panga. Would it not have been wiser to have run away?"
Bekki scowled for an instant. The assumption that a white woman should scream and run in panic if confronted by an armed black man. She sensed generations of Smith-Rhodes women from up on the Zulu border – beginning with her mother and aunt – glaring at the policeman for saying something so outrageously dumkop stupid. She glanced at her aunt. Mariella had gone to stone, unreachable, not betraying her thoughts.
"Duty of care to my patient, Sergeant." Bekki said. "Besides, Baas van Linden was running to the scene. I had back-up."
She did not add that at that moment, van Linden had in fact been rooted to the spot with his lower jaw hanging open in consternation and surprise. She didn't hold this against him. It was probably the first time this sort of thing had happened to him.
"So you..."
"I spoke to him in his own language and suggested it would be a really good idea if he lowered his arm and dropped the panga. Not to make a bad situation worse." she said, reasonably. Adding "I find it gives me an advantage that I can speak some Xhosa. They don't expect that. They listen."
To the unspoken question, she said "Domestic servants at home where I grew up. Some from Smith-Rhodesia, another from Hutoto Township in Pratoria. They spoke it around me all the time. Some of it rubbed off."
"Smith-Rhodesia." van Klaamer repeated. Mariella permitted herself a slight smile. Bekki could see why. Not every family had a whole country named after them. The fact her family did was useful. Even Sergeant van Klaamer knew the Smith-Rhodes family were influential people. It did no harm to remind him.
"Anyway. He stopped. It is true I had to repeat the request, which I did in a friendly, everyday, non-confrontational tone of voice. He lowered his arm and dropped the panga at my request. Baas van Linden then took charge of the weapon and restrained the man. I was able to get on with some practical surgery on the injured party."
She smiled at the two policemen.
"Look, I did do police basic training in Ankh-Morpork. To the satisfaction of Captain Romanoff, my immediate commanding officer, and also that of Commander Sir Samuel Vimes. Her immediate commanding officer."
She risked a glance to her left. Mariella was smiling slightly more broadly.
"And I realise I'm talking to policemen with ten times my experience. You must know these things, Sergeant. We're taught that police work happens, ideally, with consent. You start by asking people, politely. Speak softly but make sure you know where your truncheon is in case you need it, ja-nie?"
Contemplative silence ensued. Then it was Konstabel Kobus, the younger policeman, who spoke up, doubtfully.
"Yes, miss. But what if the black was deaf to a polite request to lower the weapon and he charged at you? What next?"
Bekki smiled.
"First thing, there was no danger of his coming at me with the panga. Can we make that completely clear and get it into the notes, Sergeant? Thank you. His desire was to finish off the other man. I said to him in as many words that I was not going to let him do that. And it is true that I was not carrying a truncheon or a weapon of any sort. But I would still have gone to the next stage."
She stood up.
"Konstabel Kobus, since you ask, could I ask for your help in a demostration of what would have happened next? You're carrying a sjaemboek, I see. Would you unhitch it from your belt and raise it in your right hand, then come running at me as if you have every intent to hit me with it? Dankie."
"I don't want to hurt you, miss." the Konstabel said, standing up. There was the suspicion of a snicker from Aunt Mariella, hastily cut off. Bekki noted Kobus drew his sjaemboek anyway. She noted the short not-quite-a-club, not-quite-a-whip that was universally carried by policemen – and some white employers of black labour, and smiled to herself. She vocalised to herself Thanks, mum. Thanks, Mr Vimes. Then took a stance.
Konstabel Kobus wasn't exactly sure what happened next, or how it happened next. The girl had asked him to imitate a mad black with a deadly weapon. He had run at her, deciding to not hurt her in any way, just to lightly tap her neck with the sjaemboek, just to make a point as to what that black could have done to her, so she learnt a lesson...
And then she wasn't standing where he expected her to stand. He glimpsed her stepping forward, inside the reach of his whip, making it ineffectual as a weapon. He felt her leg, maybe her body, moving to his left side and suddenly his left leg had overbalanced and he was toppling backwards. He also felt the grip on his right wrist and higher up his arm as he twisted in the air and fell flat on his face. He sensed the girl somehow guiding him into the right sort of fall on his front, face down and with his weapon arm twisted up behind him.
And he saw her standing there, his sjaemboek now in her hand...
"I hope I didn't hurt you too much, Konstabel." the girl said, apologetically. "You did go down with a bit of a bang."
She helped him to his feet, handing his sjaemboek back.
"Sergeant, am I now under arrest for assaulting a police officer?" she asked. There was another almost-snicker from Aunt Mariella.
"We can let this one go, miss." van Klaamer reassured her. "He did volunteer for it, and he knows you're the one who brought Markus Swaart down."
Me and about ten fifteen-a-side players...
"I could show you how that's done, if you like." Bekki said. "A useful Watch skill, Mr Vimes said."
"She learnt it from her mother." Mariella remarked. "Then again, I also learnt things like that from her mother. She teaches Unorthodox Combat Skills at my old school, incidentally."
Sergeant van Klaamer shook his head.
"So after that you treated the other fellow's injuries." he said, methodically concluding the report. Well, nothing further to add. Could you sign the statement, miss? Mev'Mariella?"
At this point, Mevrou Hendricka walked in, not bothering to knock. She looked dissaproving.
"All dealt with, Mevrou." Mariella said. "Bekki was just demonstrating how she'd have disarmed the fellow if he'd refused to drop the panga. Konstabel Kobus was helping her."
"I see. Explains why he's looking a bit dizzy." Hendricka remarked. "Mariella, Rebecka, we have guests. The van Jaasfelds arrived unexpectedly."
She excused herself by remarking that you'd better get it over with, Diedrik, and take my statement? And relax, Kobus, I'm hardly likely to throw you the length of the room, am I?
Mariella and Rebecka went to find the van Jaasfelds and talk to them.
The River Ulunghi, Howondaland.
From the top of the river bluff known as Kuiperskop, the watcher, concealed in a low scrape behind the cover of scrub and brush, exhaled in relief as the mixed party of Cossacks and Zulus moved on. He took careful note of numbers of both, knowing his father, who was the Veldskornet of the local Volkskommando, would want to know. Best to be exact.
Mattewis Smith-Rhodes-Maijande, a younger brother with a reputation for being inclined to idleness and avoiding excessive exertion, had gratefully accepted a Duty, of spending a few hours out here just watching the Zulu side of the river to watch what moved. He was guiltily aware of having spent a few pleasant hours asleep, or at least in a semi-doze, until the sound of horses fairly close to had awoken him.
So it's really true, then, These are the white people from the Central Continent who are working for the new Queen. They've reached the River and got this far. They're here.
He would, he decided, wait for his relief to get here. They should be here in pairs, he reflected: to watch and guard and look out for each other. One on watch, one off. But his scouting partner hadn't arrived and Pa had sent him out alone, promising a relief would show up and it's important to have somebody there, just watching. And do you not fall asleep, boy, you hear?
He thought of his bigsister in the Army, Johanna with the pink hair. She'd tried to explain to him, with his National Service looming up on the horizon, how these things were done in the Army. She'd also emphasised "Gods help you if you fall asleep!" and had talked about scouting patrols of her own, out in the deep bush. It had, he reflected, been good advice.
And now there was something to report.
Cossacks.
The exotic foreign-ness of it interested Mattewis. He had tried to memorise as much about them as he could, so he could ask one of the women on the flying horses who visited Oupa and Ouma regularly. He vaguely remembered they were the same nationality and would know. Captain Olga, maybe, or Lieutenant Irena.
Mattewis searched his pockets for pencil and paper and began to write, to get it down on paper. He wondered if it was true, then, if a war really was about to happen.
This has been too long in the making – apologies. Creative muse went on strike, got sick, recovered. More will follow! This will include a revisiting of the Haartebeeste Business, where things heat up drastically. At some point the womenfolk of the Smith-Rhodes family will be gathered together for hairdressing and clothes-fitting. Nadezhda and family will arrive in Bitterfontein for what will be described on their entry visa as a family holiday. Things will stem from this.
(1) South Africa also won in terms of five England players taken off with injuries including one suspected broken arm and one requiring a stretcher, as against two Bokkies needing treatment: however prop-forward Thomas "Tank" du Toit was sent off for causing an England player to be stretchered off. Even playing against fourteen men, England still got beaten.
(2) IsiZulu:- The Place Where The Elephant Came To The Water. More fudging of Roundworld reality here: this is the name of the administrative region of East Natal in our South Africa, whose principal city is Pietermaritzburg, or, err, Piemburg. In the Discworld as it evolved for me, this was shifted further out into the Discworld's Transvaal (Gauteng Province now).
(3) I saw this in a listing of Zulu names and thought – yes. A character MUST be called this on the Discworld. The name means "It's another boy, again". I can just see the Zulu Witch presiding at the birthing idly remarking on this – and then discovering this has been taken as a naming instruction. "As you wish, Isangoma."
(4) The child had been named Hendricka Rebecka by the happy parents. Hendricka had also used local influence to fudge the birth registration, so that the location of the birth had been recorded as "Turfloop-Wes-Sandrift", making it as vague as possible without telling any actual falsehoods.
(5) The Air Watch girls were more literate than most and all, at one time or another, had been cornered by panicked Watchmen asking if they could help with the report writing, miss, and won't take too much of your time.
Notes Dump:
"Sawubona" is an ancient isiZulu greeting which means: We see you. It is equivalent to Hello and Namaste. So when we meet and greet I would say "sawubona" [we see you] "– via cartoon strip "Madam and Eve", recommended to all students of things modern South African.
A sotnia is generally interpreted as a hundred-strong company of Cossacks (or other Russian/Ukrainian/Belorussian cavalry) and is generally officered by a Sotnik. Although there are lots of local elaborations/ differences of detail/ historical variations on these things.
What I'm seeing here is a half-sotnia of possibly thirty or forty Cossacks – more troop strength rather than a squadron – led by its Sotnik (Pavel) with a Hetman or perhaps a senior Uriadnik (Yuri) accompanying so as to get a feel for the country, to spy out the land, and watch for possible hazards and complications. They are, of course, accompanied by an izindula in the service of the local Prince, officering possibly twenty Zulus.
I was also wondering about whether a black person could ever become a Cossack. In these unique circumstances where Discworld Cossacks have arrived in Howondaland in some numbers – as mercenary cavalry to fight for Ruth N'Kweze – there would have to be some cultural and social mixing. I certainly don't see Pavel and Thandiwe as the only mixed marriage, for instance. The status of their children will be interesting – both Zulu and Rodinian Cossack.
So… I've been background reading into the status and legitimacy of Cossack organisations in modern Russia (and in the Ukraine and Belorussia) to find out more about their social attitudes. I know about the downside - conservative, authoritarian, right-wing organisations in Russia and Belorussia which continue the tradition of being enforcers for the Tsar, by acting as an auxiliary police militia for Putin and Lukashenko, to club down dissent and opposition.
I know the USSR was on the face of it not a racist country and welcomed, for instance, tens of thousands of Black African students to its universities and technical colleges, to teach them the skills to build their nations after independence. Black Americans frequently said they were treated with more courtesy and equality in the heart of the godless communist state than they received in the USA.
Joys – I discovered a folk-pop group called Marusya, formed by African students resident in Russia, who were so taken by the Cossack tradition that they formed a singing group, dressing in Cossack costume and performing African-influenced Russian folk song. The photos are lovely and I wish I could reproduce them: exactly the vibe I'd want from Ruth N'Kweze's Howondalandian Cossack cavalry. I'm trying to find out how well received they were in Russia. I'm guessing they are not just tolerated, they're accepted. I hope so. YouTube videos show a white Russian audience absolutely loving them. Marusya are based in Krasnodar/Kuban, a Cossack stronghold. Some of the footage shows men in the group wearing the swords, or apparently so (dummy swords? Practice swords with dulled edges?), and some doesn't. This implies a level of acceptance by local Cossacks, who appear to be flattered and accepting of them. Deeper digging suggests that there have, indeed, been Black African Cossacks in the past and this goes back a long way, given the archive photographs and illustrations.
It's half past one in the morning justnow and I need my bed…. But this initial delve into odd corners of history tells me that if you can construct a Discworld geopolitical situation that plausibly transports its "Russian"-speaking Cossacks to "Africa" and places them alongside its Zulus, then human nature dictates there will inevitably be mixed marriages and liaisons.
And then you discover this also happened on Roundworld. With copious historical and photographic evidence. Or even further – some old pre-photography illustrations appear to show black faces in the 18th and the early 19th Century Imperial Russian Army. This makes me quite chuffed. However odd a proposition – you discover it is likely to have happened. Somewhere. A nice thought for an author to go to bed on!
Also picked up via tv tropes - "In South Africa, it is illegal to possess foreign money unless one is travelling to or has recently arrived from a foreign country."
I note this in passing as it offers a legal route for Verdraainer to get at Mariella and Bekki: as one who commutes to Ankh-Morpork weekly for her other job, she will at some point have to exchange dollars to rand and back again. So if she returns with a pocketful of Ankh-Morpork dollars, forgets about them, and Verdraainer chooses that moment to do a Customs check...
Wô bù zài hù – apparently Chinese (which version?) for "I don't give a shit". Also guân wö pì shì.
Bi zui! - "Shut up!"
Picking up a random back number of Fortean Times. (FT380, June 2019; it's currently December 2022).
There's a really interesting thing in its letters pages: Lost People of the North discusses current archaeological research in Russia, concerning the "extreme North of Western Siberia" (nicely vague), in a place later identified as Bukhta Nakhodka in the Nenets Tundra.
The Samoyad people (related to the Sami of northern Scandinavia) assert there are extensive ruins here and show evidence that in antiquity, a more complex and numerous civilisation lived here than the land can sustain, as it is now. Permanent towns are not compatible with the nomads who currently dwell here.
Location: the Kanin Peninsula in the administrative region of Nenets Autonomous Okrug, in the Archangelsk Oblast. Look a little to the right along Russia's Arctic Sea coast from the Kola Peninsula (Russia's bit of the Scandinavian landmass), and the Nenets is the smaller one, the next sticky-out bit along.
The Samoyada also have myths of the Sirte, the "invisible people", who dwell inside the mountains and hills. The Sihirtya people are spoken of in ways very like those used in western Europe to describe Elves(-): a people from the underground kingdom of Sirtya, and effectively fill the mythological niche for northern Russian Elves. (At least, for one people in the Far North). This I did not know!
{-} Such prudent practices as not using their Name directly, treating them with reverence, with offerings of food and drink... although revising this part, how do we know we are not dealing with sub-arctic tundra Feegle. Russian Feegle. There's a thought.
Also:-
Researching the sort of emergency heroic surgery that a Healthcare Practitioner might be forced to carry out in a remote corner of the Veldt without a (sober) doctor in sight.
Reading up on caesarean procedure and realising Bekki would have to go through seven different layers and types of tissue to be able to do an emergency c-section, and once having got the infant out, she'd then have to restore everything, in order.
Skin
Subcutaneous fat
Fascia
Abdominal muscles (nb – separated, not cut)
Peritoneum
Uterine wall
Amniotic sac (and poss placenta)
Deliver baby, remove placenta
Then everything in reverse. Still, she did once help out when her mother did a c-section for an ailing Pegasus that couldn't foal... and we've established that she's a fast learner.
I also have a vague storyboard plotted out where she has to do an appendectomy, under guidance... whether I'll write it is another thing. The notion of an alcoholic doctor telling a likely stranger their hands are too shaky, you'll have to do this, follow what I tell you exactly... well, that's a cliché that's been done to death.
In a Facebook discussion on British supermarkets. (Waitrose, Sainsburys, Tesco, Aldi/Lidl, Morrisons, et c)
A flight of fancy soared concerning the name Morrison. Too good to lose. This was it.
Well, once upon a time there were three brothers. One started to take lots and lots of drugs, and the inevitable happened. Jim moved to Los Angeles and formed a pop group. George Ivan largely laid off the drugs and worked as a window cleaner. He was known for singing about how happy his life as a window cleaner made him, often from the top of a ladder, and the genial and sunnily disposed George Ivan was prevailed upon to sing professionally. He realised too late that he hated this, with the only compensation being that the money was better, and absolutely hated people shortening his name to Van. By degrees he became something of a misanthropic curmudgeon. He is, however, notorious at tour hotels for leaving behind hotel rooms where the windows and the glassware have been polished to perfect sparkling cleanliness.
The third Morrison brother opted to open a grocers' shop...thus far, there is a distinct lack of any sort of Soul Kitchen. However, there is cherry pie, ice cream optional. Depends on Rosie in Baked Goods, you know, her with the brown eyes, and what sort of mood she's in.