Strandpiel, Book Two

by A.A. Pessimal

The continuation of the saga of interlocking families and friends, spread across at least two continents.

35. Convergence

Second Strandpiel 35

V0.03, more of the usual reasons

Keeping up the momentum . Just watched yesterday's rugby, or at least highlights: the Six Nations is on, and Scotland beat England 29-23. The match-winning points came from a Scotsman called Duhan van der Merwe. ("Aye, laddie. He is from the Midlothian branch of the van der Merwe clan, ye ken?") Digging, I discovered he is an Afrikaaner from the Western Cape who emigrated to Scotland and began playing professional rugby in Edinburgh. Having represented South Africa at all levels apart from the full Springboks fifteen (injury and consequent absence ruled him out here) it was suggested to him that it was within the rules to give his adopted nation a go, as he'd been resident in Scotland for over three years. And yesterday...

In other news, Ireland beat Wales 34-10. And as if the story of Duhan van der Merwe isn't unlikely enough... the match-winning try for Ireland was delivered by an Irishman called Josh van der Flier. (I have just Googled. Josh is actually Dutch, born to parents resident in Ireland...)

Story-writing today will be interrupted by one eye on the Italy-France game, which kicks off in Rome at 3pm.

Heigh-ho. Three continuation chapters open and none finished. Let's get cracking! There's a readership out there. Sorry, this took far too long. Just a deficiency in the writing circuits that made this feel like hard work – but at least it's double-length.

Also learning how to get from bloody one-drive to here. Irritating!

Wes-Sandrift, the Turnwise Caarp.

"And now, the next problem." Mariella said, as they left the office. She had surrendered the chair behind the desk to Mevrou Hendricka, who had graciously accepted the role of Owner, Manager, and Proprietor that the seat commanded. This had not been lost on Sergeant van Klaamer, who had sat up even straighter in his own guest chair on the opposite side. Hendricka had then steepled her fingers and asked if the Sergeant was now ready to take her witness statement.

Figuring that Hendricka Lensen was not likely to need their moral support, Mariella and Rebecka had left, politely closing the door behind them.

Bekki nodded, thoughtfully.

"I wonder what it's all about?" she said.

Mariella shrugged.

"You're the Healthcare Practitioner." she said.

Bekki got it: read the room and listen for spill-words.

"Bet it's not sharp." she observed.

"Or kiff." Mariella agreed.

They moved to the sitkamer(1) and walked in.

Bekki had expected to read a lot of negative stuff in the air around the van Jaasvelds. After her visit to their home, and knowing they were here, she had been steeling herself for the same cloud of negative and depressive energy, brought here with them. With an occassional jarring bolt of anger or of malice.

She was surprised. She noted Young Jan over in a far corner of the room in a low heads-down conversation with Uncle Horst. But the big impression was of something else altogether: excitement, joy, delight. As Sanna the housemaid poured tea for the guests, then stood back respectfully, Bekki noticed how Ellie Mayer and Anna van Jaasveld barely registered this, engrossed in the illustrated magazines and newspapers Bekki had brought back from Ankh-Morpork. Several months' worth of back copies now made a large stack and there was plenty to look at and to get engrossed by.

Bekki felt a stab of absurd guilt mingled with an even more absurd relief: she'd completely forgotten to go to talk to Conina Harebut, to explain about Ellie, and to ask if Conina had, you know, any old hairdressing trade magazines and style guides she could have.

But she had remembered to get the standard range of magazines directed at women of various ages and inclinations. Modern Young Woman, aimed at the late teenage/early twenties end of the market. Pseudopolitan, for the slightly older, still single and more affluent single woman who thought of herself as sophisticated and cosmopolitan. Woman and Home, for the older married lady looking for domestic suggestions, as well as how to maintain her femininity and grace even though married and possibly beset by motherhood. Woman's Bi-Fortnightly, for the more sedate older lady. Mariella had suggested this with Hendricka in mind. And of course Wotcha and Bu-Bubble, which while they had as much substance as a frothy coffee were, like the frothy coffee, fun to drink.

Mariella had remarked that these reminders that Ankh-Morpork was still out there somewhere could keep her sane, whenever life in Bitterfontein got to her and stirred up a sense of cabin-fever.

Understanding completely, Mum had added them to the weekly newspaper bill and kept them for Bekki to take back to Mariella, along with copies of the Times and the Inquirer. They'd been an instant hit with the ladies of the Lensen household. Uncle Horst, too: he avidly read the sports pages of the Times and the sports supplements that came with the weekend papers, like the Sporting Pink Saturday results paper.(2)

Bekki had once walked into the lounge to see Sanna the senior housemaid quickly returning a copy of Pseudopolitan to the stack with an expression of furtive guilt on her face. Then she had resumed dusting.(3) Bekki had pretended not to notice.

Just now, Anna and Ellie were curled up together on the long settee with a stack of magazines, chattering excitedly about the clothes, the fashions, the makeup, the hairstyles. They looked, in fact, like a completely normal family with nothing worrying or problematic about them, an aunt and a niece with a shared interest. Ellie, in fact, was turning into one long excited high-pitched squeal as she discovered the delights and temptations of the big city.

Bekki almost missed the more sober, frowning, conversation between Uncle Horst and Young Jan van Jaasveld, which was being carried out with lowered voices and downcast faces.

"Of course." Uncle Horst said, in what sounded like a funeral director's voice, "We'll do everything we can to help out. But I need... we need... to talk to Ma and Mariella first."

Bekki caught some more ominous spill-words here, almost lost in the excitement of the two women.

We're on the verge of bankruptcy. Things have taken a turn for the worse. We desperately need help.

She was absorbing this when Ellie Mayer noticed her. As Mariella walked over to welcome Jan and talk to the men, Ellie squealed "Rebecka! Bekki! Come and look at these lovely beautiful boots! They're so lovely!"

Bekki felt happy that Ellie was behaving and acting like a normal girl of thirteen. And that her Auntie Anna seemed equally happy and engaged, with at least some of the worry and anger lines having faded from her face... Bekki looked again and frowned. Her face....she went to join them.

"Thank you so much for bringing all this back with you!" Ellie exclaimed. "You said you would. Get things like this from Ankh-Morpork for me."

Bekki tried not to "errrr." She belatedly remembered she'd promised to talk to her hairdresser about things for Ellie. And that she'd completely forgotten to call by at Conina's. It was when Mum said she's taking us all there for a session, Bekki recalled. For this Opera House thing where Famke's somehow managed to get into the School Orchestra. Mum said she wants a hand with Famke, who is going to get her hair cut and styled and get fitted up for an evening dress, whether she wants to be or not. Mum said she thought it might need two of us. So I reckoned going to Conina's could wait till then...

Bekki tried not to stare at Anna's face, reckoning she could tactfully ask later. Or if not her, Mariella certainly would. They talked about ladies' dress boots for a while, with Ellie getting excited, Anna making covetous sighs, and Bekki realising that in a place like Haartebeeste, there wouldn't be much call for fashion wear. Everyday plain serviceable working clothes, like Anna and Ellie were wearing today, in Boer drab, with hard-wearing working boots. Maybe something a little smarter for Octeday and Kerk. And that would be it.

"You'd have to be careful round here." Bekki said, practically. "Stuff designed for the city would need special care out here. Fashion footwear isn't really designed to last for too many years. Even in the City. Working farms aren't exactly ideal."

She smiled at them both.

"Listen, what sizes do you take? I brought some pairs of shoes and boots over with me, for best. To be honest I hardly ever wear them, as there hasn't been much call here. Kerk on Octeday. That's it. If they fit, you might want to try them on?"

Ellie squealed again. Bekki made a resigned sigh. Lexi Mumorovka in Ankh-Morpork was wearing some of her clothes. Before Lexi, there'd been Shauna. If it turned out she shared at least some sizes with Anna and Ellie, that would be another dent in her wardrobe. But it was worth it; Anna van Jaasveld, justnow, was looking like a normal woman in her twenties who'd found something to be excited by. It had taken the lines out of her face, of embitterment, anger, frustration and suffocation, that threatened to make her look prematurely fifty.

Again, Bekki tried not to look too intently at her face. She wondered how to raise the issue.

Anna? Those marks on the left side of your face. They're suggesting to me that maybe a week ago, somebody hit you quite hard. The swelling around your eye has gone down, but not completely, and there's the end of a bruise across your cheek . I need to ask if there are also any bruises where it doesn't show, underneath your clothes...

She looked across to Aunt Mariella, who had joined the men and was in a low-voiced conversation with both. Something very subdued and serious was happening but at the other side of the room, it was hard to get specifics. Bekki caught a flash of spill from Mariella.

Of course we'll do what we can. But this will need a lot of talking about. We need to make a plan.

Mariella gave Young Jan a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Bekki." she said. "Horst and I need to have a bit of a talk with Jan and Anna. Hope you don't mind, but this is the sort of talk that needs to be, well, just the four of us, for justnow. Mevrou Hendricka too, when she's free."

Bekki followed her aunt's casual glance.

"I get it." she said. "Plaas business. What if I take Ellie for a walk, perhaps show her round?"

"The surgery, perhaps." Mariella suggested. "I'm just betting you'll have a patient or two. Ellie could do some of the simple things in the background, where you need another pair of hands? There's the old proverb." She switched to Quirmian.

"La femme mariée voudra vous voir plus tard."

Bekki tried not to look at Anna. She nodded to Mariella, who reverted smoothly to Vondalaans. She grinned at Ellie.

"You can come back to the magazines later." she said, reassuringly. "When Anna's free, we can have a trying-on session. I don't keep much here, but you're both welcome."

"The same with my stuff. We could work something out." Mariella said. "But for now, business?"

Bekki smiled at Ellie.

"Grown-up stuff is about to happen in here. And we're both under eighteen. Coming? The magazines and things will still be here later."

Ellie didn't pout too much. She went out with Bekki, with a covetous backward glance at the magazines. Bekki wasn't surprised to meet an anxious messenger coming the other way, while seeking to avoid policemen.

"Please, Miss Rebecka. Dertein sent me to find you. There are people."

"Patients." Bekki said. "Back to work, then. Ellie, while we walk, let me tell you a few things."

Bekki led her out of the house, kindly and firmly, noting she cast a last longing look back at the wonderful magazines from Ankh-Morpork, evidence of a wonderful place where so many more things were available for a girl in terms of fashion and cosmetics and footwear. And, Bekki reflected, hairstyles.

"You lived there?" Ellie said, looking at Bekki with wide-eyed awe. "In Ankh-Morpork?"

"I was born in Ankh-Morpork." Bekki replied. "I was brought up there. Went to school there."

"But you speak Vondalaans like one of us. You came here."

"Why not? This is my country too. Mum made sure I learnt the language. Well, me and my sisters. So we wouldn't be at a disadvantage."

Bekki smiled at her.

"Lots of people from here live there now." she explained. "A few thousand of us. A community. From all over. So growing up speaking Vondalaans wasn't forced or un-natural. Did I ever tell you about having an indoor language and an outdoor language?"

She broke off to talk to a policeman who was walking to the huis.

"Howzit, Konstabel?"

Konstabel de Bruin, the man with the heavily pregnant wife, touched his cap to her respectfully.

"Just on the way to report to the sergeant, Miss Rebecka." he said. "Progress report. We're nowhere near done with speaking to the blacks about this morning and I was wondering if the Sergeant's completed his interviews with the white people yet. Could do with a hand if he and Kobus could come over."

Bekki got that the police would be here for a couple of hours yet. She accepted this.

"When you need to speak to the man in my care, Konstabel. He's a patient with grievous injuries and I'd like to be there. As his medical officer. If you could mention that to the Sergeant?"

She added, remembering her Watch training,

"Accepted practice when the police need to speak to an injured person in medical care. I need to tell you if he's fit or not."

Konstabel de Bruin accepted this, touched his cap again and said he'd certainly mention this to the Sergeant, Miss Rebecka. He excused himself and moved off.

"And especially if he's fit to be moved." she said, half to herself. "On these roads."

Ellie squealed.

"You just told him what to do." she said. "A policeman. And he's going to do it."

Bekki paused. She got the spill-words. How are you so confident?

"Never thought he wouldn't." she replied, with perfect truth. She looked up, and frowned. The sky was getting cloudier and darker and the light was muting. She still had to take Boetjie up for an exercise flight.

Better stay low and hope it doesn't rain too much. But how soon can I get up there? So much happening down here.

She patted Ellie on the shoulder.

"Come on. I'll take you to the surgery. I should be able to find you things to do for a few hours, or at least till they're done with whatever business they have to discuss."

Bekki was just about to start explaining more to her about expectations, when Ellie made a disgruntled sort of noise.

"Hmmph. They think I don't know. But I've heard them talking. They go all quiet and try and whisper. They're going bust. No money. Bills."

Bekki looked around her. Nobody in sight. But still... she took Ellie by the arm and hustled her quickly into a dark deserted workspace. She knew the tithe-barn would be empty at this time of year. Not the season to harvest, store and sort grapes.

"First lesson, Ellie." Bekki said. "You never know who's listening. Especially when you think there's nobody else around. And on a plaas like this, somebody is always listening."

She looked around anyway, fairly sure there was genuinely nobody else around. But you couldn't rule it out. And she guessed Jan and Anna did not want their trials and worries being broadcast to everybody on the Bush Clacks.

Bekki leant on one of the grape tuns, empty now, awaiting its annual cargo to be stripped from the vines, carefully sorted by type and size, so as to go for pressing in its turn. It smelt, this close to, of old dank vegetation and a suspicion of vinegar. Especially of lingering stale vinegar. She knew it would soon need to be thoroughly cleaned and prepared for the new harvest, and briefly wondered exactly how much scrubbing it would take so that the new crop wasn't tainted by the memory of the old.

"Tell me." she invited Ellie, in the voice she'd seen other Witches adopt when seeking information. Godsmother Irena had said it was about tone of voice and body language, as well as getting it across that this was a Witch inviting you to tell her everything you knew.

Ellie told. Uncle Jan was getting frightened that the yield from the next crop would not generate enough money to pay off the debts incurred since the last crisis. Even Mr Viani at the stores was starting to make noises about extending the van Jaasveld credit line any further. Which meant they'd run out of, you know, even basic food. And when the rand coming in won't be enough to pay off all the people they owed money to, Uncle Jan is going to be forced to sell land. They might end up having to sell the whole plaas!

Bekki listened. She'd heard stories like this from local people. She knew the Lensen plaas had once been teetering on the very edge and had come to a hairsbreadth of bankruptcy. She could guess how it went: like the Agatean death of a thousand cuts. Land sold off, in small reluctant parcels, to buyers who knew you were desperate and could dictate a price. Just to pay off debts. Less land and therefore less yield. More debt. Then the process began all over again until there was nothing left...

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm really really sad for Auntie Anna and Uncle Jan, they're nice people who've been so good to me and they deserve better. Uncle Jan will never get his inheritance and Auntie Anna will never get to be mevrou and that's so sad. But it means I don't have to live there any more, and I can go somewhere else, and if that's what it takes then I can't wait!"

Bekki tried to slow down the flood of words.

"Ellie. Ellie? Ellie!" she said, with increasing emphasis. "Just... slow down. Please? Thank you. Listen, let me ask. I'm just betting there have been lots of fights and arguments over this? Tell me. I do need to know this."

"Oh, they've been fighting!" Ellie said, with sudden bitter gloom. "It's been horrible and I don't want to live there any more, Bekki. I never wanted to live there in the first place."

She looked at Bekki with an expression of calculated hope on her face.

"I want to go home to Bronkhorstspruit. Back to my family. Can you get me there, Bekki, on the wonderful flying horse? The little blue man who showed up one night to say hello said you could."

Bekki's eyes narrowed.

"Did he." she said. She decided she wanted a word with Wee Archie. And possibly with Grindguts.

"The little green... man... got him there. He looks frightening but he's really nice and funny when you get to know him."

And definitely with Grindguts.

Ellie looked downcast.

"At least, I wanted to go home again, till I got to see all those lovely things people have in Ankh-Morpork." she said, in a low voice.

Then she picked up.

"Bekki, could you even take me to Ankh-Morpork?" she said, excitedly, as if the idea had just occurred to her. "You go there every week and I'd really really love to see the place. I promise I'll be good and..."

Bekki tried not to look appalled. She could just see how Captain Verdraainer would approach this. It didn't need predictive magic to count up the charges.

-Illegal abduction of a thirteen-year old girl from her lawful guardians.

-Kidnapping a child. People-trafficking. Possibly for purposes to do with the illegal practice of Witchcraft.

-Aiding and abetting illegal exit from the nation.

Her thoughts moved, with the speed of lightning, through a picture of an irritated Captain Olga Romanoff saying "Flying Officer Smith-Rhodes, a little word with you about this international incident you've just provoked?" to the sight of Lord Vetinari steepling his fingers and looking gravely at her over the top of the said steepled fingers. She tried not to feel charred, and moved away from the metaphorical tree.

"Ellie? At the very least you'd need an exit visa to leave the country. You're well under eighteen, and they'd only allow it if your parents consent. And I know, I get to leave the country and come back, once every week. But I have what you might call a season ticket."(4)

Bekki sought to get things back on track.

"I know people. And I could fly you back to Bronkhurtspruit to talk to your parents, if Anna and Jan agree. That would be allowed. But let me talk to those people, the other people I know, first."

Bekki got a sudden mental prompt concerning Irena, Olga and Nadezhda. She was going to need to report back to them. Spend part of tonight writing a report about new developments at Haartebeeste. She'd have to do this tonight, get all the facts straight and in order while they were still fresh in memory, as her duty flight wasn't till later in the week. She sighed, resignedly. And on top of that, the police were still here.

Ellie looked more cheerful. Bekki wondered if she'd ever been the same at around thirteen. Going from chattering-excited to sulky and morose and then manically squeaking, practically in the same breath. They said this was a teenage girl thing, but she couldn't remember if she'd ever been it.

In the sudden silence, noting Ellie had gone into a sort of closed-eye ecstasy, possibly dreaming of getting away from this place, Bekki gently said "Tell me about the arguments and the fights, Ellie."

Ellie told, shuddering. Apparently Uncle Jan and the disgusting dirty old man had been having big shouted rows about the direction their plaas was going in. The dirty old man had said there were no problems and we'd get by as we always had and the crucial thing is that we own the land, our own land, as Boers. Uncle Jan had shouted back that he'd rather like to have some land to own, one day, and the way we're going on, then there'll be none. And just, somehow, managing the land so we turn a little bit of a profit might be nice. Rather than continually chasing and scrimping and cutting and betting everything on the next harvest paying the bills so we just about break even.

Bekki, guessing it would take a lot for Young Jan to break like this and stand against his own father, listened and tried not to look appalled.

"He's worried about losing his inheritance." Bekki said to herself.

"And Auntie Anna's really angry because the fat stupid smelly old woman keeps going on at her." Ellie said. "Apparently the fat old pudding blames it on Anna that she hasn't had any babies yet and she's saying out loud that it can't be her Jan, it's got to be Anna who's got something wrong with her insides, she must be barren."

Bekki tried to look impassive. Witches with more experience had described situations like this to her. Nanny Ogg had said they could get poisonous. Older people desperate for grandchildren and pressing the younger people who were not providing them. It had been during the long session in which Bekki had been introduced to the Special Preparations, and what they were for.

"'Course, Bekki love, if they ain't doin' the business at all, it ain't no wonder nothin' happens. But there are reasons for that, and you got a few little solutions, dependin' on the couple and dependin' on what's goin' on. You has to ask the right questions. And do the right listenin'. Not easy for a young Witch, I knows."

Bekki took a deep breath. She decided to deal with that if and when it happened. And she remembered Nadezhda Popova and her family were coming over soon. Nadezhda was older and happily married with three children. The ideal older Witch to speak to.

"They don't get on." Bekki said.

"Auntie Anna really hates the stupid fat old woman. She got angry because the old pudding calls her lazy and makes her do all the work. There was a fight and they were screaming at each other and Auntie Anna was accusing the old woman of treating her like a house kaffir. Uncle Jan intervened."

Bekki took a deep breath.

"Is that how she got the marks on her face?" she asked.

Ellie shook her head.

"No. That was different."

She closed her eyes and shuddered.

"Auntie Anna tries never to let me out of her sight." Ellie said. "She's seen how the disgusting dirty old man looks at me. That's scary and makes me feel dirty."

"So she doesn't want you alone with him." Bekki said. "But she can't be near you all the time."

Ellie shuddered.

"And one day. The dirty old man tried to get close to me. Close enough to touch. I was trying to get away from him. This was in the lilac trees behind the huis. That catch the sun for longer. Where I go to read. He found me there."

Bekki tried to reach for her hand. She tried not to shudder.

"What happened then?" she asked, softly. Ellie shuddered.

"I dropped the book I was reading. I tried to run away. But he was still coming for me and I knew what he wanted in a place where we were both alone. I screamed when he tried to grab at me. Then Auntie Anna was running over and she screamed at him not to even think of trying to touch me. She grabbed him and tried to pull him away. He hit her, right across the face, and knocked her over. Then it was like nothing had ever happened and he was walking away, but when Auntie Anna got her voice back, she screamed at him that she knew what he'd done before and if he ever tried that with me, then she'd kill him, did he hear?"

Bekki tried to look only concerned and sympathetic.

This is too big for me. I need to talk to Godsmother Irena. And Olga. And Nadezhda. Maybe also to Aunt Mariella.

"Bekki. Do you know what he did before? I asked Auntie Anna. She said he's not to be trusted round young girls. But nothing more."

The girl's eyes were suddenly pleading. Bekki stepped around the question.

"Has he tried to touch you since then?" she asked. Ellie shook her head.

"No. But he did find the books. Including ones Mevrou Mariella lent us. He threw them in the furnace! He said they were ungodly and not fit."

And on top of all this he destroys books. Including ones owned by Mariella. She is going to be annoyed.

Bekki tried to listen and think at the same time. The flood of words from Ellie continued.

"They're fighting over the money problems. The dirty disgusting old man is just burying his head in the ground and telling everyone it will all work out as it always does and Uncle Jan is shouting back at him, really shouting, that his father is wrong. The dirty old man is shouting back that he is the Gods-ordained master of the house and head of everything and he will be obeyed, and Uncle Jan is shouting back that very soon he's going to become the Gods-ordained head of nothing at all if he doesn't wake up..."

Bekki tried to suspend thinking and to just listen. To get the general sense of it.

"And Auntie Anna and the stupid old cow are arguing too, and Auntie Anna is saying, don't blame me for there being no children, have you tried talking to your son?, and they're nearly fighting and hitting each other, and then the dirty old man tried to touch me and he hit Auntie Anna, and then Uncle Jan got angry and actually hit him and said this is the last time you hit my wife, do you hear. And do not even think of taking your belt off to me as I don't know if you've noticed, I'm not ten years old any more and by the Gods I will put you in your grave right next to your first wife, and Auntie Anna got up holding her face and screamed at him that if he tried to touch me again then she will kill him, do not think she can't, and the Ghost came again and I missed it because I was in bed asleep, and nobody has been talking to each other since and it's really poison in that house and I want to get out so badly and I can't..."

The flow of words slackened. Bekki blinked and caught one of the themes.

"Ellie." Bekki said, holding up a hand. "You said... the Ghost came again?"

Ellie, red-faced and breathless, began to breathe more calmly.

"Yes." she said. "The other night, when it rained a lot and there was a little thunder and lightning. It cut a lot of hair off the fat stupid woman. And then it attacked the servant who was due to work in the house the next morning. She was sleeping on her bed-roll in the old cattle barn. We heard her screaming. She had long hair, for a black. You know it's usually all short and crinkly and coarse with the blacks? Well, she was sobbing and crying and it's got around and justnow, no black will come to the plaas except in daylight."

"Muti." Bekki said, to herself. Ellie nodded, enthusiastically.

"Yes, that's what they're calling it in their language." Ellie said. "Black magic. And you know they also argued about pay? The dirty old man wants to stop paying the blacks because he thinks they can't afford to pay them. He's saying he can promise their pay all in one go if they come to work as normal till the harvest's in, and they're going to come in anyway because they've got no choice."

"But they won't." Bekki said. "The harvest is months away. And people still have to eat."

"That's what Uncle Jan says." Ellie said, nodding emphatically. "Everybody needs paying. Even the blacks."

"They'll go on strike." Bekki said. "That's allowed. We can't stop them withdrawing their labour. It's one of the few things they've got to use against white people. We can't round them up and force them to work. Even in this country."

She looked around to see if anyone was listening. One thing white people could get very scared by was any sign of militancy in their black labour. Especially a strike at a crucial part of the agricultural year. Again, she thought that any potential bother at the van Jaasvelds should not get to be a headline item on the Bush Clacks. This aspect of it would seriously worry people. And Aunt Mariella had explained that labour unrests or signs of black militancy usually led to BOSS cracking down heavily on the townships and arresting people by the dozen.

"Bekki, they think I don't know. But one of the things Uncle Jan wants to ask for is if the Lensens can loan him the wages to pay the blacks. Against the harvest. I think he's ashamed to ask. But he said to Auntie Anna that he'd rather ask a friend for help than go to the bank. And I know people at home say the banks are like vampires. They'll lend you thousands and then suddenly do that thing... foreclose? - and you lose everything, because you can't repay."

Bekki sighed.

I must report this to Irena. It's all come to a head now. I really need Irena or Olga or Nadezhda here. Or there are going to be bodies. This has got to be ended. But how?

"Come on." she said, gently taking Ellie by the arm. "There are definitely going to be things you can do to get your mind off all this. And I'm glad to see you talking and thinking like an adult about things, so can I say – not a word in public? We can maybe talk more about this later."

Bekki reflected. What can I tell her?

"There are things people are doing. Who know something of what's happening at the van Jaasveld plaas. You've not been forgotten or abandoned. Please excuse me that I can't say more just now."

They went out into the muted daylight outside. Bekki looked up with the mind of an Air Witch, and frowned. Six-tenths grey cloud now. There was definitely rain in there. And a dark tinge to the cloud over on the Rimwards horizon that suggested something building up in the air. She got the sudden sharp taste of tin on her tongue, just for an instant, and tried not to look worried. Magic. Like on the night of that really big storm. Uncle Horst had said you could still get isolated tropical storms from the Rim this late in the year. Rare, but not unknown.

"I'll need to do that exercise flight soon." she said to herself. They walked on to the surgery.

"Ellie." Bekki said. "you're going to be coming into my world now, where I manage and direct, and I'm responsible. I need to tell you how I expect you to behave. We're going to be dealing with people who come to me for medical treatment. Where I think you can help, I'll find you things to do and believe me there will always be things to do. You can help enormously. But I want you to be professional. That means recognising that people in need are to be treated with respect and courtesy. So if a patient wants to be seen by me alone, you stand back, preferably leave the room. If they consent to you being present, you remain quiet until we speak to you. You observe, you watch. And there will be useful skills you can learn, that I can teach."

Bekki smiled at her.

"Some of the injuries you might see and some of the things I do will seem to be horrible and disgusting. I just do not want you shouting it out where everyone can hear."

No loud squeals of "Ooh, that's disgusting!" or "What an amazing thing, how do you even walk with something that huge and gross?"

"And some of the procedures I do will be messy and will involve blood and matter. If you feel queasy or nauseated, step back, move away from the patient, and sit down quietly till it passes. I'll even provide a bucket. Just don't shout it out loudly."

Do not do what Sophie Rawlinson did that day in Lancre and faint into the patient. (5)

"Thirdly, my orderly Dertein is black. You will treat him with great respect. If he makes a suggestion to you that you do something, it will be for a good reason, and I will expect you to follow the instruction promptly."

Bekki looked at Ellie sternly, to make sure that one had been understood.

"I expect if patients are waiting, and I see they are, he will have triaged appropriately and I will take his advice as to what order to see them in. That's important too. If there's a white person there with a few cuts and grazes, it doesn't matter that they've been waiting longest. If there's a black person with a broken arm who's only just arrived, I see them first. Emergencies take priority. Always. That's important too."

Bekki arrived at the surgery, apologised to the people who were waiting for not having got there sooner, but as you've probably worked out, there's been a situation or two elsewhere to deal with. So, sorry for the wait. Dertein, who's first?

She looked around the people waiting. A black family, a mother and four children of various ages, who were sitting on the grass some way away from the others and looking downcast. A white couple in their thirties, looking like man and wife. She was standing up and was holding an awkward pose, as if in discomfort, And a black man, who Bekki recognised as one of the workers in the farriers' shop, whose right leg told its own story. She and Dertein looked at him and nodded to each other.

"You first, I think. Can you stand? Okay. Help him in, Dertein? Dankie. By the way, this is Miss Ellie Meyer. She'll be seeing practice with me for a couple of hours..." Bekki paused. "... to see if she's got a vocation for nursing. Is it okay if she observes, perhaps assists? Dankie."

The first case was straightforward. The blacksmith's assistant had managed to drop a red-hot blank horseshoe from the forge onto his own leg. It had hit his calf, had slid down, and landed on his foot, but had not been in contact with any part of him for long enough to inflict more than a second degree burn to the upper foot, before he'd had the sense to kick it away.

"Partial thickness burn. Initial treatment was immersion in cold water. Good." Bekki said.

Ellie frowned. Bekki nodded at her to speak.

"Shouldn't you put butter on a burn?" she asked. Bekki shook her head.

"Absolutely not. Lots of reasons, one of which is that it's a waste of butter. Also that any sort of fatty grease can contaminate an injury like this and it can seal the heat in, which is not what you want with a burn. Water as cold as you can get it, preferably with ice. Always."

She studied the wound.

"Lucky for you that you were wearing shorts." she observed to the patient. "So it was open to the air, and no clothing fragments got burnt into your skin. And the upper strap of your sandal took part of the hit to your foot. Could have been a lot worse. Well, there's inflammation, but no great damage to the tendons. It looks worse than it is and you'll be carrying a scar, no help for that. You'll be limping for a couple of weeks and I want you to stay off work and not try to walk on it, as far as you can, for up to three weeks."

She nodded to Dertein.

"Aloe vera salve, please. We can leave the leg injuries open to the air, but I want a protective dressing on the foot. Ellie, I'll show you how to apply a bandage."

She smiled at the patient and took his hand.

"I need to take your name and a few details, please. For the records? Also, for Mev'Mariella. You know she looks after people and your family will not starve if you can't work. You got the injury on the Lensen plaas. Mev'Mariella believes the Lensen plaas should look after its people."

Ellie looked confounded. Bekki smiled at her.

"But if this had happened on the dir... on Minheer van Jaasveld's plaas... he'd have sacked this man as unfit to work!" Ellie exclaimed. "You're going to pay him?" She sounded incredulous.

Bekki grinned.

"That's Haartebeeste, Ellie. We do things differently here. We can't speak for how Oude Jan van Jaasvelt manages his plaas. All I know is, here, this man's children won't go hungry if he can't work. Mariella sees to that."

Bekki also got that Ellie knew one of the social protocols. Never criticise or speak badly of another white person in front of the blacks. And that it must have cost her to pass up an opportunity to cuss the old man.

Ellie's butterfly mind took a new turn.

"What's aloe vera?" she asked, curiously.

"Thanks, Dertein... take a sniff. It's not known here. Yet. But it's a healing herb from Fourecks. I get it through Ankh-Morpork. Very good for burns... yes, it does smell nice, doesn't it? Now I want you to apply it to the burns on the leg. Gentle motions, gentler pressure. I'll do the foot. Then we can put a light dressing on and a bandage on the injury."

Bekki, who had seen the man's eyes change expression when Haartebeeste was mentioned, switched to Xhosa. To an outsider, it was a nurse talking to a patient, possibly about his treatment.

"The girl does not speak this language." Bekki said. "In return for your treatment, I would like you to speak freely about Haartebeeste. I saw your expression change when it was mentioned. Tell me what you know? Don't worry, you won't get into trouble for speaking criticism of white people. I want honesty. I believe there is trouble there, and people are concerned."

Bekki listened intently to the answers. Apparently there was a sacred place on that land. But the baas there was refusing to let black people go to the sacred place, as his father had allowed. That son, the baas at Haartebeeste, considered this an affront to the white people's Gods. But the Gods of the land were displeased. More, the white baas there, one who treats people very badly and without justice, was threatening to have the sacred place torn down. He had tried to make black workers take axes to the trees. They had pleaded with him not to do this. They had refused his command. He sacked them and drove them off the land with a whip. The true Gods, starved of worship, and angered at a bad man who had done bad things, had sent a dark spirit to rebuke him for his impiety. There were whispers it stalked the house at night and brought unquiet sleep. This had begun possibly two months previously.

Bekki suddenly realised. She tried not to look at Ellie.

"The syringea trees. Behind the house." she said.

The worker nodded.

"The sacred place, Miss Rebecka."

Bekki got the feeling that on top of all this for him, a white-skinned sangoma, who had suddenly manifested the ability to speak Xhosa out of nowhere, was a person who had powerful muti and was not to be offended. This was a good reason why black people were suddenly keen to talk to her and tell her everything. But people will talk to an insistent Witch. Everywhere.

She smiled slightly, then got on with supervising Ellie in the right way to roll and apply a bandage.

"All done." she said, brightly, in Vondalaans. "Kiff. Alles lekker. Come back in a fortnight, please, and I can assess if you are fit for work again. I'll speak to Mev'Mariella when she isn't so busy, and we can see about getting you back to Turfloop so you can rest and the injury can heal."

She nodded to Dertein, who set about assisting the man outside.

Bekki took a deep breath, and went to conclude her notes for the records. Dertein, at her nod, directed Ellie in cleaning the treatment table. She noted his saying that the next patient would be a white lady, Miss Ellie, and she will be reassured to smell disinfectant and see evidence of the treatment area having been disinfected and thoroughly cleansed, after its use for a black person. If it smells of disinfectant, she will be reassured.

She smiled that he was saying this with a completely poker face. But it was true. Some white people could be triggered by things like this, and anyway, sanitising the working area in between patients was good practice regardless.

The next patient was the white woman who was walking very carefully and awkwardly. Her obviously worried husband led her in. Bekki observed her. Late thirties, carrying a little excess fat. This suggests she lives a fairly sedentary life with not too much hard physical work. She's obviously in discomfort, as opposed to actual pain. Loose clothing, no belt. But still moving very carefully as if she's worried something's going to flare up. She's walking as if she can't completely trust her own body just now.

Bekki welcomed her, studying for clues as to how to make a fundamental choice concerning white people. Usually she waited for the patient to address her. This made it easier.

"Hello. I heard about you." the woman said, in Morporkian. She sounded diffident and a little uncertain. "I was wondering if you could take a look at..." she glanced around her, uncertainly. "There's a little problem?"

Some things didn't take too much explaining. She saw the husband's concern.

"Of course." Bekki said, remembering this woman had declined a seat and preferred to stand. This suggested where to look to find the cause.

"Ellie? Dertein? Pull the screens all the way around the treatment table, would you? Ellie, they fold out. Dankie."

"It's been building up for a while." the husband said. "I keep telling her it won't go away on its own."

His wife smiled. "I know. But... Doctor Henderson."

"Ah." Bekki said. Whatever this was, she hadn't wanted to take it to Klipdrift Henderson. This suggested...

Her husband made a resigned nod.

"So when I heard there was somebody else, a young woman..." she said.

Bekki smiled. Ah. Possibly Womens' Things.

"We came all the way out of Bitterfontein to see you."

"Lying face-down in the back of the wagon." she said, ruefully.

"Eina." Bekki said, thinking of potholes.

"On a bedroll and lots of blankets." her husband added. "Eina, indeed."

"And even "eish!" the woman added. They clasped hands.

"Okay." Bekki said. She smiled reassuringly. "I'm guessing this is to do with..."

"My lower back." the woman said.

"So we need to take a look." Bekki replied. She looked around her, guessing the reason for her patient's hesitancy.

"Dertein? We need a women-only space. Could you see the surgery's clear of men and guard the door till I say? Dankie!"

She smiled at the husband.

Look, if your wife might feel better with you present..."

"No need." he replied. "I've seen it and, well..."

"He's squeamish." the wife said. "And apparently it is a bit of a mess."

"Well." Bekki said. "Let's make it less of a mess."

The husband gave her hand another reassuring squeeze, and made to go to the door. Then he paused, looking doubtful.

"Miss Smith-Rhodes, we heard there was trouble here this morning..."

Bekki paused. She carefully replied.

"There was. Two of our labourers turned up, still drunk and with a grievance against each other. When they were issued pangas to go out clearing some bush, they went for each other and had a fight. They were disarmed and detained, which is why the police are here."

Bekki suddenly remembered.

"The one who got badly wounded is here now, in one of the sickbay cubicles, but he's in no fit state to move. Dertein, how is he?"

"Asleep, Miss Rebecka. The sedative you gave him some hours ago is still working. He is in no distress."

"Kiff. Now, mrs... Donaldson. If you could go through the curtained screen over there, and undress in private, when you're ready I can come and take a look?"

Bekki remembered something else.

"Also, this is Ellie. She's seeing practice with me. It's up to you if you want her to be present. If you want it to be just me, that's fine, Dertein could find her a few little things to do somewhere else..."

"No, she can watch. How will she learn, otherwise? But you're going to do the actual, you know, procedures?"

Bekki assured her that she would do the work and while she was doing the work she'd explain the hows and whys to her assistant.

While Mrs Donaldson was preparing for her examination, Bekki switched back to Vondalaans, reflecting that nothing was certain; Ellie was from the Transvaal, where Morporkian was a minority language. Most people had a passing fluency, but there were still those who were militantly Vondalaans-only or only had a very sketchy grip on Morporkian. You couldn't assume. And reading fluency wasn't the same as speaking fluently. Bekki recalled her recent encounter with written Rodinian. That had been a realisation. That you could speak a language, up to a point, but still be illiterate.

"You heard all that?" she asked.

"Most of it." Ellie replied. "That's another thing I can't get round here, so many people speaking in Porkkie! This is a crazy country!"

Oh, you are so right...

"It's going to be Morporkian in there." Bekki said. "The patient's first language. I need to know if you can understand it well enough."

"We get taught. At school. Mrs van Kerkman is such an old cow. Says we need to know."

Bekki saw the girl's face fall again. Missing home. Even a teacher she doesn't like is preferable.

"Anyway." she said, sorting things out. "I don't know yet what we're going to see in there. And this will be intimate examination of a patient. So. Latex gloves. And a facemask. Hook the loops over your ears. Cover mouth and nose. I could have done with this when I was doing the old man's ears? And let me do this properly..."

She rolled her hair, already tied back in a loose braid, up under a protective net.

"You too. Didn't matter so much when we were dressing that burn. But you don't want things getting in your hair. Not a good look. I know it's styled short, but you would be surprised where things can end up. Oh, and bring the equipment trolley? Dankie."

Mrs Donaldson was lying face-down on the treatment table waiting for them. Bekki could see what the problem was immediately. She heard Ellie making a little squeal, hastily cut off.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Mrs Donaldson said, resignedly.

"Well, I'd like to say I've seen worse." Bekki replied, honestly. "Look, do you mind if I pull the waistband of your pants down a little way? I need to get an idea of the full extent of this."

"Go ahead. And by the way, I'm almost naked on a table. In the circumstances, do call me Kate."

"And... errr...how long has this been there, Kate?" Bekki asked. She frowned at Ellie. Her fingers were twitching. Bekki considered this was not a good sign. Somebody who was emerging as a typical thirteen year old girl. Confronted with something like this.

"It's been a couple of months now." Kate confessed. "Although it might have been longer. I was perhaps hoping it would resolve itself. It would heal. Or perhaps burst of its own accord."

Bekki shook her head.

"Usually, if they're smaller than this, that's sensible." she remarked. "Smaller ones, if they're accessible and you can see where they are, you can do for yourself or get a sympathetic friend to treat them. But this one. And where it's located. I can see why, perhaps, you were reluctant to go to Doctor Henderson."

She looked down at the feature of interest again. Then over to Ellie, who was in a state of suppressed excitement with seriously twitching fingers.

"I can fix this." Bekki decided. "It looks alarming, and I can see that even sitting down is uncomfortable just now, and if it's left for much longer it really could get messy. And potentially much worse."

She nodded to Ellie.

"I know your fingers are itching." she said, kindly, in Morporkian still. "But we do these things properly and safely. And yes, you can help out but under my supervision. Got that? Good. Now listen. This is an infected sebaceous cyst. It's built up over a period of months and it's causing Kate a lot of discomfort and possibly pain, especially if she sits heavily on it or anything hits or irritates it. We are now going to fix it."

"It is big." Ellie said. Her eyes were open in horror, fascination and excitement. "And you're going to pop it?"

Kate laughed. Bekki thought this was generous and forgiving, from a woman who was practically naked on the treatment table and who came over as modest and reserved.

"Yes, it's the world's biggest pimple." Kate agreed. "And I trust Rebecka to do the popping."

"Certainly the biggest one I've ever seen." Bekki agreed. She looked down again at the massive swelling, which was a little smaller than the palm of her hand. She'd heard they could get this big. In exceptional circumstances. She wondered what the moment of trauma was that had started this off. Insect bite or sting that got infected? The body pouring its resources into fighting off and containing a localised infection, and perhaps overdoing it a little...

Kate smiled up at Ellie.

"I was thirteen myself once." she said. "I know how you can get into a mood of seeing a pimple and feeling compelled to pop it. The bigger the better."

"And this is big." she agreed. She thought of Joyce, who had been the resident pimple-popper in Shauna's Gang. Bekki, who at the time was learning to do this sort of thing as a career, hadn't quite felt the same compulsion. This was just another thing Witches learnt to do. A trade skill.

But this...

"Did I tell you this was the very first thing I learnt when I was starting off?" she remarked, reaching for necessary things. She set about sterilizing the area. "I was eleven. A patient presented with very bad boils. My teacher let me do them, under her instruction."

She thought of Nobby Nobbs and tried not to shudder. Although Nobby had gone for quantity rather than quality. This was a single. And it was big. Nobby, who was proud of his boils, would be envious.

"Okay." Bekki said, filling a syringe. "Kate, I'm going to inject local anesthetic around the affected area. This will make the lower back and upper buttock numb, but should wear off after a couple of hours. That's necessary, as otherwise the necessary work I'm going to do could be a little painful. You are going to feel a series of small pinpricks in a roughly circular pattern."

She nodded to Ellie.

"Get a sterile pad... no, a larger one... and stand just here. Hold it so. These things can get messy. Now see the scalpels? Different blades for different jobs. Pass me the Number Twelve, would you? That's the one with the long curved blade and the fine point. For delicate work. Thank you."

She smiled reassuringly at Kate.

"If I ever ask for a twenty-two or a twenty-seven, that's the time to get worried." she said, reassuringly. "Those blades, you could use for a sword-fight. Heavy duty. Anyway, in a moment I'm going to make a little nick in the right place. Just a tiny one, to help things along. Ellie? Stay alert. When I make that incision, things currently held in are going to be released. A lot of pressure will have built up. There will be spurting. And hold that pad just there. No, a little further away. Slightly higher up, and pay attention. This is where it could get messy. On my count... three, two, one!"

"Wow!" Ellie squealed. Matter under pressure was indeed being released. This necessarily took a little time.

"You'll feel some relief now." Bekki assured Kate. "But that was just the liquid content. We now need to remove the solid matter. Ellie? In the bag with that. Contaminated waste. Now I'll show you how to evacuate the infection site. It's important not to tear or widen the wound, so we do this carefully. Gentle massage either side, from the outside in, to direct the more solid contents and the last of the liquid matter to the opening and out. You from your side, me from mine. Got that? And we clean as we go. Again, contaminated waste to the bag."

"You're squeezing the biggest pimple in the world." Kate said, kindly. "I trust you. Enjoy yourself."

Bekki soon moved to flushing out and sterilizing the site, then closed the wound with three neat stitches.

"There will be a small scar." Bekki said. "Maybe half an inch long. But that's still preferable to a massive infected ulcer. The skin over the site will feel loose for a while, but it will shrink back over the site in time. I'll just sterilise the area again and apply a salve, then a light dressing, and we're done and you can get dressed. I removed what we call the silverskin, the cyst body, which is just empty dead tissue now, and it shouldn't recur."

Bekki noted the thickening around the waist and the noticeable excess fat there. Kate couldn't be called fat by any means, but there was a distinct widening over her hips.

"Do you, or did you, wear coarse material next to the skin, and perhaps a little tighter than you should? An over-tightened belt or foundation garment? I suspect the coarse material around the skin might have scratched and abraded and allowed a local infection in. It happens."

She tried not to stare too intently as Kate got dressed, and suggested a fine slip or an undershirt of some sort might help. You know, a barrier between top clothes and skin, especially over the dressing.

She saw them out and noted their next stop would be to the huis, to pay respects to Mevrou Hendricka. Bekki advised them the van Jaasvelds were also there, and noted Kate and her husband both frowned. The obvious displeasure spoke volumes.

"He's there?" Kate said. "Well, we won't be staying for very long."

"You... well, you hear stories." her husband remarked, darkly. "About that man."

"Ah." Bekki said. She glanced over her shoulder to where Ellie was working with Dertein at tidying the treatment area. The girl appeared to be listening.

"Not the old man. He's not here. This is the son. And his wife." Bekki clarified. Kate looked relieved.

"In that case, we'll pay our regards." Kate decided. "They had a hard life, as children and young people."

Bekki was about to ask What sort of hard life?, but reflected this was best not said on the doorstep of her surgery where other people were listening. Again, she wished her name was in the Bush Clacks directory. It would make so many things easier, and she thanked them for the donation to the Township Poverty Relief fund.

"Cheaper than Klipdrift Henderson." Kate remarked. Her husband tipped his hat to her.

"Better job, too."

And then it was the turn of the patiently waiting black family. Alerted to the problem being really bad itching, Bekki took a quick look, and then one careful step back. She had seen it instantly.

"Ellie? Dertein? I want seating for five people. Move the long bench in from outside the door, please? Thank you. And Ellie, change your gloves? Old pair in the bin, new set from the box."

Bekki ensured the protective hairnet covered everything, and supervised setting up for treatment.

"Five people presenting with the same condition." she said. "Ellie, Dertein, this is common. I saw it a lot in Ankh-Morpork and a couple of times in Lancre. Among white people. Hair lice do not respect apartheid and they are very contagious. Fortunately, the remedy is simple."

Dertein nodded, understanding.

She smiled down at the black family, now seated in line on the bench. .

"I can cure this." she assured them. "But I mean no disrespect."

Dertein had returned, without needing to be asked, with the smallest possible shearing device. It was descended from the device used to fleece sheep in places like the Chalk. Clockwork drove a spring and the power was transferred to the cutting head. Bekki used it, usually, in animal work where the outer hair had to be removed to get to the skin. She worried about how people might see it if she used what was essentially a sheep-shearing device on the heads of black people. Then she decided she wasn't responsible for what less sensitive white people might say about the blacks, and explained she was going to have to remove all their head hair. Right back to the scalp, as this is an advanced case. I'm sorry, but there's no help for it. We must deprive the small biting insects of a place to live and give them no hair to cling to and breed in. Afterwards, she'd apply a healing lotion.

"Ellie, bend over. Do you see what the problem is, down among the roots of the hair? The lice and the nits, the eggs? Well, this is where we come in."

Inspiration hit. Ellie wanted to work with peoples' hair? Well, let's give her a job to do. See how she does it.

"I want towels around everyone's shoulders... oh, you're getting them? Well done. Then I'll show you how to use the clippers, and you can do the haircutting. I'll follow on with the medication. Dertein, I want iodine in a one-in-eight antiseptic salve, diluted to a sort of runny cream consistency? And an application brush. Dankie."

Bekki was not surprised at all that Ellie was good at removing hair. She watched with appreciation as the pile of cuttings mounded up on the floorboards, reflecting that this was going to need thorough cleansing afterwards. Headlice and nits. Seal the waste bag completely and instruct the boy in the boiler house to take care. Unconsciously, she checked her own long hair was safely protected inside the net.

Ellie was even talking to the black family as she worked, expressing sympathy and understanding at having to shave their heads

"Shame." she said, "Real shame. But you can get Miss Rebecka, can't you, when she says that where there's no hair there'll be no nits? You live in Turfloop township? Nice place? Ah-huh. Do you ever, you know, get to go to other places? Time off?"

"Bless you, Miss Ellie." the black mother said. She then talked about going to stay for a few days with relatives in other Townships, which was allowed. There were family at a township at Melkbosstrand, on the coast, where they'd once been as a family to the big sea, the one that goes on for ever. A beach there was set aside for the use of black people, you understand.

Bekki tried not to let her mouth drop open. She reasoned that she couldn't have expected anything else, really. Ellie, a girl who wanted to be a hairdresser, was, within the first minutes of picking up a set of hairclippers and applying them to a customer, asking about where they went on holiday.

"My husband takes us there. He works here, on this plaas."

Dertein prompted Bekki.

Keno Muthalowe, Miss Rebecka. He works in the distillation plant."

Bekki got the spill words.

"Thanks. Dertein. Now could you go over to the distillery, find Mr Graham, and ask him, from me, to release Keno? I'm just betting he's got this too and he'll need to be done. Bring him here. Thanks."

She accepted the bowl of purple liquid and the brush, then followed on behind Ellie, carefully painting each exposed and bare scalp in the luridly purple lotion. She noted, with appreciation, that Ellie had not nicked anyone's scalp even once, and had made a good job of the shaving.

"A mistake people make." Ellie said, as she shaved. "Bekki, people think hair grows in straight lines on the head. If you look closely at the pattern of follicles, you see it doesn't. It's a sort of a spiral, lots of overlapping spirals. When you know that, it makes hairstyling so much easier, as you're seeing the shapes and patterns in hair that come out of those spirals, look!"

Bekki looked and agreed this was so. She was genuinely interested. She had never known this before. And Ellie was in her own world here. One, Bekki realised, where she might have a future, one where she was completely at home. She wondered about what could be done with this, then her train of thought was interrupted.

"Takes me back." Aunt Mariella remarked, from behind her. "Nearly ten years ago to the camp barber at Fort Rapier."

She nodded to Ellie.

"When your conscription time comes up, mention you've got experience with shaving heads? They'll probably find you a safe depot job dealing with recruits!"

"Howzit?" Bekki asked, as she painted. Mariella shared a consoling glance with the black mother.

"Sorry, Winnie. Shame." she said. "But this happened to me ten years ago. It grows back."

Mariella indicated her own long red hair.

"Mev'Mariella? don't stand too close." Ellie urged her. "Nits."

Mariella took a prudent pace back. She assessed the situation.

"I can see what you're doing and why." she said. "But they're going to look like a row of blackcurrant and aniseed lollies."

"No help for it." Bekki sighed. "I've sent Dertein to fetch the father. He'll have it too."

"I've got an idea." Mariella said. She very carefully stepped away from the delousing area. "Bekki, I came over to give you the heads-up. The paws have almost finished interviewing. They're going to want to collect the two detainees. You might want to be there?"

Bekki considered.

"Okay, but the man here isn't fit to be moved." she said. "Jolting him over all those potholes between here and Bitterfontein is only going to reopen the wounds. And that's a waste of the time I spent stitching."

"I can talk to van Klaamer about that." Mariella said. "Word is they'll take the other one first. The one Ricus has got locked in the old tool shed. And for justnow you've got no customers waiting outside."

"Okay." Bekki said. This is a straightforward job and I can trust Dertein to finish it when he comes back with the father. Ellie, there'll be one more to shave and anoint."

"I've had an idea about the blackcurrant lollies." Mariella said. "I just need to go up to the huis and come back, so keep everybody here? Dankie. Won't be long."

Bekki saw the immediate job was finished, showed Ellie how to strip down, completely disinfect the parts, then reassemble the clippers for the next task, and went to her office station to retrieve some paperwork. She checked a potentially useful thing was still in her pocket, carefully folded and pocketed several sheets of paper, and awaited Dertein coming back with the father of the family. As she was explaining to him why she had called for him to come here, Mariella returned with an armload of headscarves, most in fine silk and linen.

"People keep giving me these." she explained. "Default Hogswatch gifts. Pretty, and I want to keep one or two of the very best, but not all of them. Winnie? I don't want to see you shamed out there, nor the children, and there's no denying you all look a little odd justnow. That purple paint should wear off eventually and your hair will start growing back, but in the meantime I'd like you all to carry away a headscarf you can put on, if you'd all like to choose one? My gift."

She left the headscarves to be chosen from, then nodded to Bekki.

"You've run out of patients." she said. "Now let's deal with the policemen?"

Bekki left instructions for Dertein and Ellie, to finish the task and then thoroughly clean up and disinfect everything, then left with her aunt.

"I got it from Ellie." she said, in a low voice. "I know what it is with the van Jaasvelds."

Mariella considered this, and took her time answering.

"What you've guessed is probably right, then." she answered. "We need to make a plan. We're sympathetic, they're friends, and we should help. No question. But lots of things need to be sorted into order first, and we'll talk to you later on that. And to Olga and the others."

They walked on.

"But first. Policemen." Mariella said. She indicated where the bokgata wagon, to be used to take officers and prisoners back to Bitterfontein, was parked up. Very close to the shed where one of the offenders was currently locked up. Placid oxen in the traces were busy with nose-bags. The black auxiliaries were now standing off to one side, awaiting instructions. The white policemen had grouped separately. It all looked like a relaxed, laid-back, Caarp Country sort of day in the rurality.

Except for the fact that Baas Ricus van Linden was leading the woebegone looking Thabuswe out of the shed where he'd been incarcerated. Sergeant van Klaamer was waiting, with a set of handcuffs dangling from his right hand. Bekki and Mariella moved forward. The Sergeant noticed this and deferentially touched his cap to them.

"We just need to get this boy chained up and in the wagon, Mev'Mariella." he said. Then we collect the other fellow and get him loaded, and we're done. Out of your way, then."

Mariella nodded, then looked at Bekki.

"Actually, sergeant." she said, reaching into her pocket. She brought out a badge, in dull metal, and pinned it to the upper left breast of her tunic. It carried the prominent number 523 above, and the initials "A.M.C.W." underneath.

"We need to talk about things like jurisdiction, handover, and protocol here."

Sergeant van Klaamer looked puzzled for an instant. Bekki took a deep breath.

"This man was detained here following what you could call a citizen's arrest." she said. She nodded to Baas van Linden. "Mr van Linden then placed him under confinement here to await your arrival. Citizen's arrest, citizen's prison cell."

"Yes, and we've arrived to arrest him." the Sergeant said.

"So now we need to hand the prisoner over to your jurisdiction." Bekki said, patiently. "There has to be a formal handover. Earlier today I gave him a medical inspection to assess his fitness for arrest. I'd like you to review my notes, concerning physical condition of the detainee, and my judgement he's fit in mind and body, and countersign them as a full and fair record. So that there is a record, and one signed copy can go into my medical records at the surgery."

She smiled at him.

"You get to take a copy away, for your files. Which makes life easier for the medical orderly or the custody officer at the police barracks who checks him over and signs him into a cell. This safeguards everybody, you, me, and the prisoner."

Van Klaamer sighed.

"I get that, miss. I get you've had some police training and you want to this by the book. But that badge you're wearing. Enkh-Morpork City Watch. I have to say that's got no legal weight here."

Bekki smiled again.

"I know it has no legal weight in this country, Sergeant. A century ago we fought a pretty conclusive War of Independence to establish Ankh-Morpork has no right here."

She smiled, pleasantly.

"But could I put it to you, for your consideration, that as a part-time police officer who is now involved in a criminal investigation in a different police jurisdiction, I am now absolutely required to report this to my commanding officer in the City Watch, Captain Olga Romanoff? And as this police jurisdiction is in a different country, Captain Romanoff will then march me to her commanding officer – and mine – Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, who will also want to be briefed?"

Bekki smiled. It was the smile of somebody with an unshakable argument.

"Mr Vimes doesn't like it if he isn't kept informed." she said, reasonably. "And while he will also concede the City Watch has no legal standing here, he would point out this badge, which he personally issued to me, carries a large moral weight. And I would rather like to inform him that everything was done absolutely correctly."

Bekki brought out and unfolded the custody reports she'd written earlier.

"I also know if I didn't insist on correct procedure, or if I stood by and said nothing while handing the prisoner over, Commander Vimes would shout at me. Loudly. Then he'd look for other people to shout at, and his voice carries... do you need a pen, Sergeant?"

Bekki felt Aunt Mariella pat her warmly on the shoulder while Sergeant van Klaamer signed the two copies. She also heard one of the junior Konstabels whisper something to his mate about "three mevrous on this plaas now..."

She saw Thabuswe into the enclosed cart, noting with distaste his feet were shackled to stays in the cart-bed by ankle-cuffs, but deciding she could do nothing about that. Catch-wagons in Ankh-Morpork also did this if there was a risk of escape. But a person whose legs were not shackled could shift position more easily on a badly potholed road...

"At least let him have a folded blanket or something to sit on?" she asked. She smiled at Thabuswe, and spoke in Xhosa, "Be strong. We'll see your family are informed."

She returned to the police group. She noticed the two black auxiliaries were trying hard not to grin too much at the Sergeant's discomfiture.

"And can we see the other fellow now, Miss Reb..."

Sergeant van Klaamer realised, and corrected himself.

"Mev'Mariella?" he corrected, hastily.

Meriella shook her head.

"Don't ask me, Sergeant." she said. "That's Miss Rebecka's call." Mariella paused, reflected, then added "She's the mevrou in her own surgery. That's her plaas."

They trooped off to the surgery together, with Mariella leading. Bekki noted the police wagon being urged into a slow steady trot by its agterryer, one of the black auxiliaries. She thought it was fairly typical of Rimwards Howondaland that two black people were doing the actual work, while six white people tagged along and let them do it.

She shook her head and wondered if she'd been around Aunt Mariella for long enough for her aunt's tart cynicism to have permeated into her, by osmosis. Or if this was the sort of thought pattern her mother had all the time, and occasionally vocalised.

What do you think, meisie? Her Second Thoughts said, inside her head. And you'd better be sharp in here too. That's another test coming up.

Bekki silently vocalised Thanks, mum, and squared her shoulders.

She was pleased to find Dertein busy, instructing Ellie in how to roll bandages for easy application, explaining to her that different sorts of injury called for different types of bandage. This reflected well on her. But first there was the other thing to do, the tricky one.

Dertein looked up.

"We dealt with Keno between us, Miss Rebecka." he said. "Miss Ellie shaved his head and I applied the lotions."

"Lekker." she said, approvingly." She turned to Ellie. "We'll get you some practice." Bekki said to her. "Maybe how to put a sling on, for different sorts of arm injuries. Find somebody who can sit still and let you put bandages on them."

"Maybe even on me." Mariella said. "So long as there's a cup of tea where my other hand can reach it."

She looked at Bekki, giving her a silent prompt. There were spill words: You did well with Thabuswe and told the policemen exactly how you wanted it done. Now you've got to deal with the other one.

"Dertein, how is our guest in the sickbay?" Bekki asked, as Sergeant van Klaamer and Korporaal Elswaar walked in. She knew they had without needing to turn round; her orderly suddenly looked ill at ease and worried.

"He is awake, Miss Rebecka." Dertein said. "I advised him the police were here on the plaas. He said nothing. and is worried."

"As he might be." Mariella remarked. She raised an eyebrow to Bekki.

Bekki got it.

"So let's go and look in on him." she said. She quickly counted numbers. "It's going to be a tight fit in there."

The sickbay cubicles did not occupy a lavish space. Each one could accommodate a bed, a bedside table, and then a little space for up to two other people, perhaps a Healthcare Practitioner and her assistant to perform necessary work.

Currently the space around the bedside of Siphale, or possibly Sipho, was occupied by his Healthcare Practitioner, the Healthcare Practitioner's aunt, a police corporal, and a police sergeant. Dertein and Ellie were watching from the corridor, on the other side of the door. Sipho, from a horizontal position, looked from one to the other and saw no particular sympathy in any eyes.

"You know why we're here, boy." Sergeant van Klaamer said.

"Ja, to cuff you up, boef." the Korporaal added. He jingled the handcuffs. Then he realised Bekki and Mariella were glaring at him.

"To serve a warrant of arrest on you." Sergeant van Klaamer quickly amended. "You know how it works, boy. You were in a fight on your white employer's plaas. So you must have been doing something to deserve that. Breach of the peace, affray, going armed for a fight. Lots of people saw you with a panga in your hand."

Bekki heard, in the background, somebody else coming into the surgery. She frowned. Footsteps on the bare wooden floor plus a third beat, might be a walking stick...

The sergeant shook his head, sorrowfully. "Reckon the magistrates will take it in mitigation that you got chopped up and it wasn't you who started the fight. So you'll just get a fine. Whether Mev'Mariella takes you on again when you come out of the barracks jail is her business."

"He hasn't been sacked, Deidrik." a voice from the doorway said. "And I think you'll find that isn't completely Mariella's decision."

Hendricka Lensen moved into the cubicle, adding a fifth person to an already cramped space. Bekki heard Korporaal Elswaar yelp twice as he edged away, largely into the personal space claimed by his sergeant. Hendricka moved smoothly into the vacated space and leant on her stick. The one she'd just used to rap Elswaar across the legs with. Bekki remembered Officer Visit, her first patrol partner in the watch, gloomily remarking that an understated hazard of a Watchman's life was a determined old lady with a walking stick.

Hendricka moved to the bedside and glared down. She lifted her walking stick and rapped it on the wooden side of the cot. Siphale, or possibly Sipho, tried to edge away from her with an expression of wide-eyed terror on his face. Bekki reflected that this was like looking at one of the really old-time Witches and speculated on how Granny Weatherwax, mayhersoulhavemercyonthegods, might have looked something like this if she were annoyed.

"Now see here, Siphale Ikratshikwaye." she said. "I don't like you. Never have. From what I hear your conduct in the township is deplorable. Your behaviour is abominable. You've caused bad trouble and today it came back and it bit you. Unfortunately for me you're a good worker and you behave yourself here, so I have no reason to dismiss you. And while I am tempted, seriously tempted, to sack you, you were not the offending party in that fight."

She shook her head, angrily.

"But I still do not like you. Not one little bit. When the police are done and you have been through the court, I consider I am forced to say you are still an employee here and you can come back, once your wounds heal."

Hendricka took a deep breath.

"But be in no doubt, Siphale. Try my patience. One little slip. One little error. One foot out of line. One toe out of line. And you are sacked. Do you hear me? Do you understand that?"

She glared at him to make the point clear. Then Hendricka nodded, and turned to Bekki.

"Is this fool fit to move?" she asked curtly.

Bekki shook her head.

"No, Mevrou." she said. "Those slashes went deep and took a lot of stitching. He isn't able to walk for now, and if those stomach wounds wemt any deeper, there'd have been a real medical emergency, one I might not have been able to do much about."

She nodded to the policemen.

"He needs to remain in medical care." she said, flatly. "Ideally here, where I can monitor his condition."

Sergeant van Klaamer shook his head.

"You do know, Miss Rebecka, that he can't stay here after the six o'clock bell?" he reminded her. "This is still whites-only space on this plaas, and no black can remain after six?"

"Or eight." Mariella reminded him. "The agricultural exemption."

"I mean, during the day you can treat black people, and it's allowed, but not after the bell." the Sergeant said, bravely pushing on. "The Captain would come down on you like a second-row forward who's got the ball and sees the goal-line, and..."

He faltered to a stop, registering two scowling Mevrous. And Rebecka.

"It would perhaps be easier, Mevrou Hendricka, Mev'Mariella, if you were to load him onto a stretcher and we can transfer it to the wagon, and..."

"No." Rebecka said, firmly. "Not a chance."

She glared at the Sergeant. Unconsciously, she touched her City Watch badge, a picture of a frowning Sam Vimes rising in her mind.

"Listen, Sergeant. The road from here to Bitterfontein is all potholes. Lots of potholes. And ruts. Earlier today this man took a cut to the stomach that very nearly went the whole way through. I lost count of the number of stitches I had to put into him to hold it all together, but there are at least forty."

She glared at him.

"All that jolting is just going to reopen the wound. That's a waste of my time, for one thing. And what if it tears open the whole way? Can you do a roadside resectioning of a lot of spilled intestines? That's messy. Lots of blood. Literally guts. Everywhere. Up to thirty feet of something that isn't designed to see the open air. I'd find that hard, and I've had some medical training!"

Dertein cleared his throat. People turned to look at him.

"Miss Rebecka?" he said, diffidently. "I know it is not my place to speak here, but perhaps the policemen are already aware there have been lions spotted out in the bush, on the other side of the townships. It is rare for them to come so close to populated areas, and perhaps it is because they are hungry. They would smell fresh blood from a distance."

Hendricka turned and smiled benevolently at him.

"No, you were not out of turn in saying that, Dertein. Thank you." she said.

She smiled at the policeman.

"So we appear to have a problem, Dertein. You need to arrest this man. Miss Rebecka, who is very competent at medicine, has said he should not be moved. But he needs to be off the plaas by at latest eight."

She turned to Bekki.

"If he is transferred to a stretcher and some reliable men can be found to bear the litter." she said. "That, I think, might be easier for him than being thrown around in an enclosed wagon? Rebecka, could he be moved that way to his home in Turfloop, where he can recover, the police know where to find him, and he can be formally arrested there when he is fit to be moved?"

"That's possible." Bekki said. "I could fit checks on his health into my township visits."

Aunt Mariella frowned.

"It's true we're sending Denxi home that way." she said. "The man who dropped a red-hot horseshoe on his foot and who can't easily walk that far. But Denxi is generally liked."

She scowled down at Siphale in the bed. He squirmed.

"I am concerned this might be a request too far for whatever men we ask to carry the stretcher." she said. "This man is not liked. His conduct in the township has created many people with no reason to love him. I'm wondering if he might end up, perhaps, having a relapse on the way and could die of his injuries. Lots of annoyed fathers, husbands and brothers out there."

"And Dertein has reported lion sightings in the area." Hendricka said. "Lions coming close to human settlements are generally older, less capable of hunting, and desperate for food."

"Ja." Mariella agreed. "It may need a hunting party, if such a lion takes human prey. A human who is, perhaps, less capable of running or of self-defence. And if not lions, there are hyenas, there are honey-badgers."

Siphale, Bekki noted, was now going an interesting colour, a sort of grey pallor creeping in. A man who'd behaved badly was now discovering how many friends he had. The count probably didn't take him long.

"We'd need some sort of surety, mevrou." Sergeant van Klaamer said.

Mariella looked at him.

"A bail bond. Got that." she said.

She scowed at Siphale.

"Let me propose a different solution, Sergeant. Mevrou." she said. "Behind the main huis, there are the servants' quarters for our domestic workers. This has an exemption and is classified as a blacks-only zone because we need people working in the huis outside the legal times. I know there's a spare room there, an un-used bed. Rebecka has said he can be transferred by stretcher for a short distance. I propose we put him on a stretcher, take him there, and he is legally permitted to reside there until his injuries heal enough for him to be moved by road."

Mariella glared at Siphale.

"Which is hard luck for the staff who live there and who will have to watch you." she remarked. "But let me tell you this, Siphale. Do not be arrogant. Do not behave badly to them. You're going to depend on them for food and water. And to have your pot emptied. They could forget."

"So be humble and be thankful." Hendricka added. "And I tell you this, Siphale. Do not dare try to force yourself on the women resident there. I value my housemaids. I care for their wellbeing."

She rapped the edge of the cot again with her stick, close to the man's midsection, making it clear her choice of where to hit was no accident. He shuddered away from it.

"Could this be a problem?" Mariella asked. Bekki nodded.

"That part of him remains uninjured." she confirmed. "And that's the part that caused all this bother in the first place."

"Also." Mariella said. "Very shortly I will be signing an agreement with Sergeant van Klaamer that if you abscond, disappear or run away while you are in my custody, I will forfeit a thousand rand." she said. "It's called bail. A surety. So."

She glared at him.

"If by any unlikely chance you do run away, be sure I will find you. I will personally hunt you down. Do not think I cannot. And you will still owe me a thousand rand."

She nodded.

Bekki called to Dertein to fetch her equipment bag. She smiled down at the man in the bed.

"Siphale." she said. "I hear the Mevrou's concern about your possible conduct towards young women in her employment. I see this is a concern. Thank you, Dertein."

She opened the bag, hampered by the lack of space, and rummaged, bringing out a syringe.

"Let me explain to you about bromides."

She glanced around. Van Klaamer and Elswaar were beginning to grin broadly. Good.

Anyone who has served in the armed forces knows about bromides." Bekki explained, conversationally. She selected several bottles and filled the syringe with calculated amounts from each. The liquid turned an obliging red-brown colour.

"Military folklore tells us that a bromide is traditionally given to each new recruit, to suppress and dampen the sexual urge." she said, in the same pleasant tone of voice. "It makes handling new soldiers easier to manage so they can direct their thoughts towards being a soldier, with no distractions."

"Ag, that's true, miss." Sergeant van Klaamer said, with a completely straight face. "Always done on Day One to new recruits. You get it in the tea, too."

"Lekker." Bekki said. She did the thing where the patient gets to see a little of the liquid spurting into the air.

"Now I'll inject this into the muscle of the undamaged thigh, I think. Near to the area of concern, so the active drug doesn't have too far to travel. Just gently restrain him, please, Corporal? Gently? Dankie. Dertein, restrain his legs. Dankie. Siphale, what will happen to you now is that when the drug disperses into your system, you will no longer feel a sexual urge. Nothing will physically happen. There will be no sensation, no erection, nothing. This dose will be sufficient for the next fourteen days after which time, it will have worn off. You will still be able to urinate, but nothing else will be possible..."

Siphale screamed and tensed. Bekki depressed the plunger, then withdrew the needle and cleaned the injection site.

"Didn't hurt, did it? Now. Fourteen days, Siphale. If at that time I choose to repeat the dose, then it will add another fourteen days. If not, normal functions will resume. But..."

She watched him as he stopped struggling and passed into sleep.

"Fourteen days. You will now pass into sleep. When you wake up, you will find you are completely deprived of sexual function. Nothing will happen."

This time, Hendricka patted Bekki on her back.

"Well done, miss." Sergeant van Klaamer said.

"Never happened to us." Mariella said, thoughtfully. She shook her head. "They must think women army recruits don't have any sexual urges, or something."

"Got to admit, that was really clever, miss." Korporaal Elswaar said. "Some real corkscrew thinking there."

"Thank you, Corporal." Bekki said, pleasantly. "And... that set of surgical pincers you're holding? Just drop them back in my medical bag for me, would you?"

"And those two phials of medication." Aunt Mariella added, in a non-judgemental voice. "You don't know what's in them, for one thing."

"Good point." Bekki agreed. "That could be Essence of Klatchian Fig. Good in small measured doses, to ease really bad constipation. I wouldn't take it unsupervised to see what effect it has, as you'd very soon find out... thank you, corporal."

Bekki closed and sealed her bag.

"He's asleep. Good. Now we can think about transferring him." she said. "Dertein, could you go and find a stretcher and round up another three men to do the bearing? Dankie."

She looked around the crowded room.

"We're going to need a lot of space for this, as moving a stretcher into the corridor is going to take some thinking about. I think we're all done here, Mevrou?"

Hendricka nodded.

"Ja, too many people. Too small a room."

She frowned down at the sleeping man on the bunk, and nodded.

"All this for a man like that. Waste of space."

Then she turned, carefully, and led the procession out. Bekki left last.

"So what was in that injection, meisie?" Aunt Mariella asked, in a low voice. "You know, and I definitely know, the thing about bromide is utter kak. Something they tell new recruits as part of the game. But you put something in his backside."

"Headology." Bekki said. She felt unreasonably smug and was on the point of congratulating herself for a brilliant idea. Her aunt made a snorting noise.

"Headology? Wrong end of the body."

"Think about it. He heard me explaining what I was going to do. He saw me taking care over selecting the drugs. He definitely saw me do the spurting-it-in-the-air thing. Then I injected him."

"And what you actually put into him was..."

"Placebo, Aunt Mariella. Do no harm. Well, mainly a placebo. Distilled pure water with just enough anaesthesia in it to knock him out for an hour. That browny-red colour. Well, I remember from alchemy lessons at school what real actual bromine looks like. But you wouldn't want to inject that into an actual person. The rest of it is what Igor in Ankh-Morpork calls a Vitamin B12 Complex.(6) Igor thinks some ailments are caused by the body not having the right trace chemicals... long story. He asked if I could try it out on patients. Drugs trial, sort of thing."

Bekki grinned.

"Anyway, I told him I was going to inject something that would take the urge away. They already think I'm a witch. I told him he'd wake up and nothing was going to work. Therefore, nothing will work."

Mariella grinned.

"Headology." she said. "This'll get out, you know. Sergeant van Klaamer realized straight away you were bluffing. But he'll still talk about it and before you know it, you'll be knee-deep in women asking if you've got something they can slip into his evening klippies."

Mariella patted her on the shoulder, kindly.

"So sharp you'll cut yourself." she remarked. "Well, looks like we got away with it about this morning's business. Van Klaamer gets a guilty man to lock up, he'll come back for a second arrest when the other dumkop is fit to move, and when it gets to court in about a month, no suspicion that the blacks had grabbed pangas and started an uprising against their white masters. Well done, meisie."

They walked on into the mid-afternoon. Bekki felt tired. The police were shortly going to leave. But the van Jaasvelds were still here. Which was another issue. At least there are no patients waiting, for justnow.

"Mariella?" Bekki said. "I need to take Boetjie up for his exercise flight. Mind if I vanish for an hour? Dertein can take over. I can trust him with simple procedures."

"Good idea." Mariella said. "You've had a busy day. Clear your head. But if you're going to take Ellie up as pillion, like you promised, search her for scissors and tidy your hair away where she can't see it. She'll be sitting right behind you."

---

"It all looks different from up here." Bekki said, feeling slightly envious of the first-time flyer behind her. She circled Boetjie in the air, banking him to the left(7) as they climbed in the slow easy spiral of a Pegasus in flight. She also felt relief that Ellie had become an excited child, being treated to a unique experience. Even if she had concealed scissors, there were a thousand other exciting things to grab her attention. And Bekki's hair was emphatically bound up inside her flying helmet.

She watched the sky. It was clouding over rapidly and the cloud was getting darker. She noted the cloud over there, down towards Haartebeeste, was getting thick enough now and moving fast enough to leave racing shadows on the ground. This was not good. It meant one of the things she was wondering about was not now possible. If she got up to four or possibly five thousand, if a message from her communicator might carry as far as Pratoria. And even then, it would only work if Olga was in the country.

She decided fifteen hundred would be the maximum ceiling right now, and even then she might need to go lower.

"Shame it's not a clear day." she remarked. Ellie squealed that it didn't matter.

"Aye, Miss Rebecka." Wee Archie said from the mane. "'Tis a good thing you're doing here. Giving yon lassie a treat. Take her mind aff of things."

"Remind me we need a word." Bekki replied. "About all those little excursions you and Grindguts have been on. And where is Grindguts, anyway?"

"Roond an' aboot, Miss Rebecka." her Feegle replied. "He's away doin' stuff."

"What sort of stuff?" Bekki demanded, The Feegle squirmed uneasily.

"Well. Ye ken. Just stuff."

Bekki frowned, and decided there'd be time for interrogation later, Witch to Feegle. She realised she still had to fit in writing two reports for Olga. One on the criminal invesitgation she'd been involved in here, and an update on Haartebeeste. She sighed. She was going to end up going to bed late. No help for it.

---

And later, when the weather closed in, the van Jaasveld party accepted hospitality and stayed at Wes Sandrift for the night. Thunder and lightning began to happen.

That night, the Ghost walked. At Wes Sandrift.

To be continued.

With an awareness that those last four lines are a synopsis of a chapter all of their own. Patience...

---

(1) Wondering what the right word is here: in an "Afrikaans" speaking household, "parlour" doesn't feel right, "living room" is too English, and "lounge" is a bit affected. I've got it that the word is "die sitkamer" for living room, but plonking a single Afrikaans word in an English text doesn't feel right either. Oh, and sharp in this context is Cape idiom meaning "fine, great, pretty good"; doubling it to "sharp-sharp" means "couldn't be better".

(2) Now largely dead but formerly an institution in British towns, especially in the North. The urban and regional papers would, on Saturday evenings, produce a special edition dedicated to a round-up of the day's sporting activities – indispensable in the pre-TV age and in an earlier time when not every home even had a radio. In most towns this was published on pink paper to distinguish it as something special and distinct from the regular news edition. and to signal that it was only about sport. Except for some reason in Sheffield, Yorkshire, where it was the Sporting Green, on green newsprint.

(3) Bekki had figured out that this particular copy had featured an article or two aimed at Ankh-Morpork's growing community of Black Howondalandian women. There had been a black model on the front cover. She had wondered about the effect of this on a black housemaid in Howondaland who glanced down and saw it, and decided to mention this to Aunt Mariella sometime.

In the old South Africa (which is of course the start point for Rimwards Howondaland) the governments of the day were deeply concerned about the wrong sort of ideas being imported from abroad. Newspapers and especially magazines coming in from abroad were censored before going on sale (another function for a BOSS-like organisation) or else prohibited completely. Those buying imported British, American or Dutch publications might find whole pages had been ripped out if the content was deemed critical of apartheid, or inimical to the interests of the South African state. A particular hate of the apartheid government was any suggestion that black women could be as attractive as white women or that fashion/cosmetics could be tailored for their use – this was held to be something that would "raise unrest and discontent" among black women in SA who previously did not know such things existed, and this was therefore a Bad Thing for the maintenance of good order among the blacks. Any American magazine featuring black models was therefore suppressed in SA. It could be that Bekki and Mariella have therefore gifted Captain Verdraainer a sitter here.

(4) Olga Romanoff had, with City backing, got this for her, explaining to Ambassador Vinhuis that in these special circumstances, one of her Pegasus pilots needed to be covered under applicable local law. Olga had not needed to add that Patrician Vetinari could be asked to make a special request to the Government of Rimwards Howondaland under the agreed Pegasus Protocols. Martin Vinhuis had drafted an open entry and exit visa with an indefinite expiry date on it, and Foreign Minister van der Graaf had placed his signature on it by way of higher-level approval. Captain Verdraainer had to accept this, and Bekki hoped it didn't make his gastric ulcer grumble too much.

(5) See Book One. The patient was a mare undergoing caesarian section foaling, and Sophie had to be physically prevented from falling into the operation site.

(6) Hydroxocobalamin acetate is a Vitamin B12a supplement injected in liquid form: the preparation has a vivid bromine-red colour to it. I can see the medics giving medicals to Army recruits holding up the ampoules, and explaining you're now going to get a little shot of something we call bromide...

(7) She wasn't sure why the informal rule had evolved that Pegasus pilots always gained height in an anti-clockwise spiral. She wondered if this was unconscious, a Witch preferring to go widdershins rather than deosil if she had a choice.

---

Notes Dump

IRUSU – the Japanese practice of pretending not to be in when somebody calls. I will use this word.

Just picked up something hitherto unknown (to me, that is) about Cape Region folklore.

Apparently, when a tokoloshe calls by night to terrify and abduct, the local African analogue of the bogeyman is deterred and scared off by putting a brick underneath your bed. (whether this is a single brick, or one brick underneath each post, is as yet uncertain)

I'm not sure why this should be so – is it there as weapon? Threat? Occupying the metaphorical psychic space underneath the bed so no monster can hide there? Given that this is the Discworld – is it "how hard would you like to be hit over the head by this?" But certainly worth incorporating – especially as way back in book one chapter one, Bekki appears as a child being menaced by a bogeyman... a callback, perhaps. (Via cartoon strip "Madam and Eve")

More on Africans in the Russian Army: copied this bio of General Gannibal

Abraham Petrovitch Gannibal, the Afro-Russian General

Abraham (sometimes Abram) Gannibal was a general-in-chief, respected military engineer, royal favorite and well-known figure of the Russian elite during the 18th-century; described by Voltaire as the "dark star of the englightenment", this remarkable African man lived to the ripe old age of 85, having lived through 8 tsars/tsarinas and left behind at least 10 children. One of those children produced a world famous grandchild - the Russian writer Alexander Pushkin. More about him in a minute.

The true origins of Gannibal are shrouded in mystery - exactly where he was born, how old he was and even what he looked like is up for debate. But we can safely say he was born on the continent of Africa around 1690 (some have said Eithiopia/Eritrea but more recent (and less racist*) scholarship has him from sub-saharan Africa, possibly Cameroon) and sold into slavery to the Ottoman Empire before he was a teenager. He ended up in Peter the Great's court as the tsar's page. This practice of taking young African children and making them elite servants was very common across Europe; the i kammermohr /i in a subservient position next to the noble indicated wealth and global influence to the viewer. In Gannibal's case, he was freed and baptized with non other than Peter the Great himself as godfather.

"Recognising Gannibal's great aptitude for mathematics and engineering, Peter gave him a liberal education and brought the young man with him on trips to the west. Having arrived in court as an exotic oddity, Gannibal's rise was impressive: he served as a spy in Paris, where he befriended Voltaire and Montesquieu; he oversaw the construction of fortifications stretching from the Arctic to China; and in 1742 the Empress Elizaveta made him a member of the landed gentry."

Eventually he married the daughter of a Swedish army captain and settled down to having children, and a life. No tragic end. His fascinating life and peaceful death alone would be enough to merit him a place during this Februaral procession of lesser known Black figures, but it is a descendent of his that brings him even further to the top of the list. His great-grandson was Alexander Pushkin, considered the father of modern Russian literature, and someone who was fully aware of his African ancestry. He even wrote an unfinished historical novel about his great-grandfather - the first attempt at prose by this celebrated poet - called "The Negro of Peter the Great."

"In the fragment, which draws on the author's own experience of prejudice, Ibrahim finds himself admired by many women in France, but "this curiosity, though hidden behind an appearance of benevolence, offended his self-esteem". He envies "people whom nobody noticed, regarding their insignificance as happiness". He expects "mockery". And when he falls, it is for Countess D, who "received Ibrahim courteously, but with no special attention. This flattered him." Simply and engagingly written – it is easy to imagine it developing into a rollick – the fragment is nevertheless extremely subtle. The irony can be Austenian in its suppleness, as when Pushkin imagines the Countess finding "something appealing in that curly head, black amidst the powdered wigs in her drawing room", or explores Ibrahim's own prejudice about the sexual motives of the women around him.

"This ambiguity was central to Pushkin's identity. Sometimes he used his African heritage to position himself as a Byronic outsider hero, as when speaking of "my Africa", in Onegin, as if he'd been there. He called American slaves "my brothers" while owning Russian slaves of his own and insisting – as Nabokov's translation of his 1830 poem My Genealogy has it – Gannibal was: "The emperor's bosom friend, not a slave." At other times, he reproduced stereotypes of the day, as when he pictures Ibrahim with "jealously [beginning] to seethe in his African blood" – a trope that society gossips applied to Pushkin himself after his tragic duel."

—Jonathan McAloon, The Guardian

p.p.s. He gave himself the name "Gannibal", after the legendary Carthaginian military commander Hannibal, and requested an elephant in his coat of arms.

Odd fact: the game "golf" has its roots, historically and in name, in a broadly similar Dutch pastime called "kolven". Kolven. That back-of-the-throat first consonant. Golf. It's like the Bokke who got into the Scottish rugby team: this very Scottish sport has a Dutch name.

Eponychium/fairy fingers – the extraneous projections on the hoof of a newborn foal which look weird but which protect the mother from damage. After birth, the "fairy fingers" dry up and fall off naturally, leaving a recognisable hoof.

Vorobey, Воробей: Russian, Sparrow. Thinking of using this as an Air Witch call sign; there's also a picture in my head of a Rodinian character who is yet to be properly introduced to this story, who uses it as a nickname for Famke. (Красный воробей) Or even Рыжеволосый воробей ryzhevolosy vorobey. (red (haired) Sparrow. It will be Lexi's turn to snicker, I think.

Irish Gaelic: the phrase "Go raibh míle maith agat go dtí an leithreas, más é do thoil é," used by comedian Sean Lock for a gag, is translatable as "A million thanks to go to the toilet, if you please" but not, as some people have been led to think, an idiomatic way of saying "Please may I go to the toilet", which would be "An bhfuil cead agam go dtí an leithreas, más é do thoil é". Apparently this is a hovercraft-full-of-eels thing – people have been lured into beleiving this is an age-old Irish greeting.