Strandpiel, Book Two

by A.A. Pessimal

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

44. Trade Winds

Strandpiel 44

Trade Winds

V0.01

Meanwhile...

We begin with events around the Discworld on a sunny day in May. Also revisiting a related story.

Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork

Shauna O'Hennigan sat in the back garden, in the pleasant warmth of the late afternoon spring sun, with a long cold drink in front of her.

It felt idyllic and the sort of thing to enjoy and savour, a warmish sort of early evening on a sunny day looking out over a pleasantly tended garden which, and to Shauna this was the crucial thing, other people were responsible for tending.(1)

The ambience almost made her feel like a young lady of leisure. Except for...

Her hostess regarded her from across the garden table. She courteously ensured Shauna's glass was topped up and suitably chilled. Then she smiled, and said that it is just possible we have things to discuss.

Shauna nodded and tried not to look nervous.

The previous night, also on Spa Lane:

Bekki Smith-Rhodes had been relived to be advised that the Principal Double Bass of the School Orchestra was likely to be fit for the full Recital the next week.(2) Therefore it wasn't looking likely that she'd be asked to stand in on the night itself, but just in case, could you be on standby for us? Oh, and, we checked Musicians' Guild rates to see what the appropriate professional fee would be for an orchestral musician who has to provide emergency cover for a position in an orchestra, and, errr...

Bekki had been pleasantly surprised to receive a banker's cheque for an interesting amount. Not massively large, but not insignificantly or insultingly small, either.

"You earned it." Mum had said. "Standard session musician's fee, I should think, at daily rate. I imagine Johanna and Yulia got a payment, too."

"Do I need to pay fifty per cent Guild tax?" Bekki asked. Her mother shook her head.

"Wasn't that sort of a Guild contract." she replied. "You subcontracted to provide a regular service to the Guild in the normal run of things. The Guild looked up what was appropriate, and paid you."

Johanna smiled a happy smile.

"If it helps, that was probably ultimately paid for by the Selachii family." she remarked. "You and your cousin both. Not that the Selachiis know about it."

Johanna paused.

"Yet." she said. "And Young Johanna's likely to be covering the spot on the night, too. That means a bigger fee for the actual performance."

Then the flowers had arrived, for Ruth. It was a very big bouquet with a card that said "Sorry we didn't think of this last night. From your Orchestra, to our Soloist."

Miss Ethylene Glynnie turned up shortly afterwards to smooth things over. She explained that at the end of her performance on the night, the soloist is always presented with flowers. It's a performance tradition. She suspected the bouquet to Ruth would turn out to be a lot bigger and a lot more substantial than anything likely to be presented to Miss Camilla Selachii on the night. It was the way the Orchestra were expressing their point of view on things, she thought, and the whip-round to buy a bouquet for their preferred solo performer was a creative and inventive way of sticking it to Camilla without being openly insolent or disrespectful.

"So." Ethylene said. "How are things? Apart from getting lots of flowers, that is."

Johanna sighed.

"News travels fast." she said. "At least five approaches from various talent management agencies offering to steer Ruth's career and maximise potential revenue, provided I sign her to an exclusive contract and sign over up to fifty-five per cent of her earnings."

Ethylene Glynnie picked up the top speculative letter. She read it and sighed resignedly.

"The Dibbler, Parrott and Schwanholm Classical Music Talent Agency." she read. "Although admittedly, they only want thirty per cent. I would still politely refuse."

"Already have." Johanna said. "They're all getting the same standard letter politely thanking them for their interest, but pointing out that Ruth's professional interests are exclusively in the hands of the Smith-Rhodes Marketing and Management Consultancy."

"And this one, from the Guild of Musicians, pointing out that the names of Miss Rebecka and Miss Ruth Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons do not appear on any of their membership lists?" Ethylene asked.

Johanna snorted.

"They are both Associate Guild members." she pointed out. "Of the Assassins' Guild. Privilege of birth. So I imagine the School waiver applies. I'd be pleased to discuss that with anyone they send round. I could use a bit of light exercise now and again."

Ethylene looked over to Bekki.

"And Captain Romanoff might take the point of view that one of her Air Witches can never have too much practice in throwing fireballs." she observed.

Bekki smiled back, pleasantly.

"Cousin Johanna said one of the advantages of playing piccolo is that the carrying case offers her a lot of potential." she remarked. "That's the thing about having a good imagination. You don't need to ask her what she actually meant."

"Not the piccolo itself, obviously." Ethylene remarked. "You have to respect your instrument. Which breaks down into a small and useful almost cylindrical case. Quite rigid, too, so as to protect the musical instrument inside."

"Eish." Ampie du Pris remarked. "You could not easily do that with a trumpet. Awkward shape."

"A saxophone, maybe." Johanna said, thoughtfully. "That sort of tapers."

"For myself, I once found a redundant set of drumsticks had utility in resolving a disagreement with a Musicians' Guild enforcer who was pursuing a disputed fee." Ethylene remarked, thoughtfully. "I was very happy to consider that a degree of prejudice applied. They never came after me again."

They considered the previous evening together. Gods know how, Johanna thought, but the story of the ten year old piano prodigy had even made the newspapers. She weighed up Ruth becoming a newspaper story, against the undeniable fact that the Selachii family would surely have the Times read to them over breakfast. She also reflected that tomorrow evening, as the School's spring break holiday began, she was off on a mission of her own, one that meant taking at least one family member with her. She thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to take Ruth along too, although that hadn't been part of the original plan. Get her away for a couple of days, to a quieter and more remote place, and let this become last week's news.

Her neighbour arrived for a social evening drink. Countess Emmanuelle de Lapoignard was her usual self, louche, laid back and Quirmian. She had also brought her family with her, who were greeted warmly. Bekki and Ampie greeted Emmanuel-Martin and his brother Phillipe-Henri, who were both Black-level students at the Guild School. Usually both were confident and strikingly outgoing young men, who took after their mother in terms of good looks, social presence and just being sharp, in terms of intelligence and sense of humour. Bekki remained puzzled that their father, the Compte and Chevalier Maurice de Lapoignard, seemed such a forgettable and rather washed-out sort of a man. He seemed a really unlikely sort of a husband for Auntie Emmie.

Then she reflected he was an Army colonel, now retired from active service, and his career had been spent in the Klatchian Foreign Legion. She suspected this explained much about him. Mum had remarked that now he was actually with his wife for more than two months in every year, it must be the sort of thing that puts a strain on a marriage. Mum had suspected this put a bit of a crimp in Emmie's social life.

Bekki had also realised that now he was retired from the Legion, this meant his memory was returning alongside his militarily inactive status. Having heard a few things about Auntie Emmie's famously relaxed attitudes to her wedding vows, she wondered how her adoptive aunt was getting around that.

He's got a sinecure job at the Quirmian Embassy, she reflected. Which still gives Auntie Emmie a lot of free time. To, you know, do other things. Pursue other interests.

Apparently there was a discreet sweepstake at the Gamblers' Guild as to how long the de Lapoignard marriage was likely to last. Bekki tried not to shudder, and decided it was nothing to do with her.

She turned to her neighbours and considered Emmanuel-Martin, who was practically the same age as her. Their birthdays fell in the same week. He didn't look his usual cheerful and confident self, which intrigued her. She also suspected Ampie was holding on to a confidence he wasn't prepared to share with her. This irked her slightly. It wasn't just the natural curiosity of the Witch; she had an inner conviction that boyfriends, or male friends who occupied the same sort of space, were not meant to with-hold interesting things from girlfriends, or perhaps from young women who fitted the appropriate adjacent space. Ampie, she decided, needed to be reminded of this essential fact of life.

But first, Emmanuel-Martin de Lapoignard. She moved in on him.

"What's on your mind, Manni?" she said, being very careful not to make it an explicit demand. "We've known each other all our lives and I can tell there's something worrying you. Whatever it is, spill."

Emmanuel-Martin looked worried and a little preoccupied. Definitely not his usual self.

"Errr..." he said, uncertainly. Bekki thought at that moment he looked like an anxious puppy.

"Come on." Bekki said, encouragingly and firmly. "How long have we known each other, Manni? All our lives? No secrets."

He gulped, nervously. Bekki smiled. Dealing with insistent Witches was not a course module at the Assassins' Guild School. She sensed this was a blind spot in training young Assassins, and deftly exploited it.

Manni took a nervous sideways look at where his parents and other senior Assassins were seemingly involved in small-talk of their own, courteously giving space to the younger people in the room.

"Err." he said again. "Beccs, you're right. I've known you all my life and you're different to other girls. Errr. I can really talk to you. I think it's because you're not attractive at all. Err..."

Bekki took a deep breath. Next to her, she got the snortle-noise of Ampie trying hard not to laugh and to keep a straight face. She decided she'd speak to him later.

Auntie Emmie turned, slowly and deliberately.

"Emmanuel-Martin." she said, giving him a haughty disapproving look.

"I believe what you are trying to say, and completely failing to communicate, is something like "Rebecka, you and I were born within a few days of each other. We grew up as neighbours. We are as good as a brother and a sister to each other. Special considerations apply and although we are not related, it is unthinkable for us to consider each other as any sort of romantic match, and therefore normal considerations of romantic attraction do not apply. Therefore I can take any worries or concerns to you as a brother would to a sister." That is the case, hmmm?"

She glared at him.

"Thankfully, you are speaking to Rebecka Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons, who is clever, and capable of disentangling what you meant from what was said. Feel thankful."

Bekki's mother grinned.

"If you want to talk privately away from the rest of us, use your father's study." she suggested. "That might be a very good idea, Mr de Lapoignard, from what I hear? Thank you."

A little later, privately, Bekki got to hear what was on Emmanuel-Martin's mind. She gave good advice, but inside she was grinning happily at what had been disclosed. For one thing, a mutual friend was involved and this had the potential to make life really interesting, and in a good way.

And on the following evening in the back garden at Sixteen Spa Lane with the sun shining and spring warmth in the air, the Comptesse Emmanuelle-Marie de Lapoignard graciously stretched a hand across the table and gave Shauna's arm a reassuring squeeze. Shauna felt the callouses on fingers and palms, so out of place on an elegantly-dressed Quirmian noblewoman, and tried not to dwell on how they'd got there. To a street-scruff from Dimwell, those callouses usually meant somebody with a lifetime of hard manual labour behind them. On Countess Emmanuelle, a woman dressed in well-tailored black, they meant somebody who was pretty good with swords.

It wasn't a comforting thought. Not in these circumstances.

"We should talk, ma petite." Emmanuelle said. "At this present moment, you are a young woman who requires kindly guidance. I am an older woman who is in a position to guide. This has been my job for as long as I have been a tutor at the School. I am used to this."

She talked about her time as a Resident Tutor, Housemistress of Black Widow House for nearly ten years, with some pride and nostalgic affection. Shauna guessed this was to establish her credentials. She also got that this woman was inclined to be sympathetic.

"There is a growing friendship between you and my oldest son." Emmanuelle remarked. "This is noticeable. Claire de Lunette remarked on this to me, when we spoke last. Doctor Smith-Rhodes next door has also noticed. As one is your mentor in your career and the other is your employer, it is legitimate for them both to be taking an interest in your welfare. And be assured, both speak well and positively of you."

Emmanuelle smiled, benignly.

"I myself have been aware of you for the last five, possibly six, years. You have been part of this wider circle of young people, who have included my sons, for this time. I am aware you and Emmanuel-Martin have known each other for a long time. So this is not exactly sudden and with hindsight, may even be inevitable."

She smiled again.

"I have counselled girls at the School for a long time concerning these affairs of the heart." she said. "But please forgive me, this is new to me, as for the first time it involves my own son. So I am exploring new ground here too. Perhaps we should work it out together? Merci."

Shauna relaxed, thinking that this was going to work out okay, probably better than she'd thought. And, feck, she'd rather prefer to have Manni's mum on side and friendly. Not with her reputation.

She also wondered how she'd lucked out like this. Without things apparently changing very much or any Gods looking down and deciding to do her a divine favour, somebody she'd always seen as maddeningly and infuriatingly gorgeously and above all, unobtainably, good-looking, even if he could be a little bit of a total divot, had suddenly looked at her and all of a sudden... things had come together.

"I understand enough of these things to know that when he talks about you and says "she's different", then be assured, those are not empty words." Emmanuelle remarked. "Do not underestimate the value of difference, ma petite. My son's formative years have been spent at the Assassins' School, where his female peers are drawn from different levels of society. Every day he sees girls who are expected to conform to a set of norms and expectations, at least outwardly. It is part of the Education we deliver. Some may rebel, some may be undoubtedly physically and personally attractive, but I suspect that to a boy like Emmanuel-Martin, it all becomes background and commonplace after a while. Just a matter of people, who he attends school with."

She sipped her drink again.

"Then in time away from the school, he interacts with girls like you. You are brash, you are outgoing, you have no inhibitions, you say what you think, you are not a student Assassin. You are the one in a thousand. The original edition."

Emmanuelle smiled again.

"I like you. You are honest and original and unique, and what people see is largely what they get. This draws my son. I have no issues with this, and I appreciate what I see. You are clever and confident and perceptive and Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who is a good judge of character, sees potential in you. You have a career in front of you. And how is the investigation proceeding at the manufacturer of scientific instruments?"

Shauna blinked, and wondered how much to reveal.

"I've had a couple of ideas." she said. "As to what may be going on. But, errr, forgive me, I need to talk to people about them..."

"Understood." Emmanuelle said, kindly. "Now, after I hope I have demonstrated I am not opposed to your being with my son and that I hold you personally in regard, I will now move on to discussing the drawbacks of such a relationship."

Shauna braced herself. This was the but. She wondered how big the but was going to be.

Emmanuelle adopted a neutral face.

"You are from a fairly typical City family, In Dimwell." she began. "My son currently holds the social rank of Chevalier. In Ankh-Morpork, that would be a hereditary baronetcy."

Ah. This sort of a "but". Shauna reflected, with a sense of gloom. Fecking stupid to think otherwise, really.

"He is also the oldest son. On the demise of his father, he will inherit large estates in Quirm and be elevated to the rank of Count."

Shauna allowed this to sink in, and sighed. Emmanuelle smiled again.

"So if it gets that far, he needs to marry a Countess." Shauna said. "Not some street-scruff from Dimwell."

Emmanuelle looked sympathetically at her.

"To some people, the Assassins' Guild School is seen as as a social mechanism for introducing the right husbands to the right potential wives, certainly." she admitted. "This is a consideration, and I would not be doing you a service, nor would I be presenting you with all the necessary information, if we did not have this conversation today. This matter cannot easily be ignored."

She took Shauna's hand, and then grinned at her.

"A woman who marries a Compte would certainly become a Comptesse, yes." she said. "As I will remind Maurice, it is not all that long ago that a Compte de Lapoignard married for love, to a woman who was not born noble, and while not a paysanne, she was of the artisan class. Her father ran a forge and made swords."

She looked wistful and faraway for a moment.

"Her sons are acclaimed as Chevaliers, despite the proletarian birth of their mother." she remarked.

"Ah..." Shauna said, getting the idea.

"I hope I could be more constructive in my association with you than my mother-in-law was to me." Emmanuelle said. She squeezed Shauna's hand. "But, ma petite, you are barely seventeen, as is my son. Such possibilities are a long way in the future, if they happen at all. For now I counsel you to enjoy and appreciate, not to force things, to take each day as it comes and enjoy yourself in your association with my son. Make him happy, and he will no doubt be good for you too. And do not be afraid to shout at him and take him firmly by the ear when he requires correction. And assuredly, he will."

She smiled again.

"And now we arrive at the sort of practical advice that every girl of your age, in a relationship with a young man, must hear." she said. "What do you know, for instance, concerning copulation and contraception?"

Shauna's jaw dropped. Emmanuelle squeezed her hand again.

"Becoming a mother for the first time was a shock." she said. "Grandmotherhood is potentially an even bigger shock, something I prefer, for now, to keep in the future. And do you think I have not had this conversation before, with girls of your age?"

The rest of their discussion was frank, open, often funny, not embarrassing at all, and, Shauna had to admit, it was stuff she really needed to know.

"So. When I need this sort of thing. Where do I get it from?" she asked. Emanuelle de Lapoignard smiled a tolerant smile.

"Your best friend is a Witch." she said. "What, you do not think Rebecka has been instructed in these matters, in two years spent training for Witchcraft in Lancre? This is a fundamental witch skill, cherie. Placing a thumb on the scales of Life, to ensure children arrive in the right time and season, and are otherwise absent. Rebecka will know what is needed and what to provide. I would speak to her, before she leaves to return to Howondaland."

Aboard the Merchant Vessel Aigikampus, on the Turnwise Ocean off Rimwards Howondaland

Technical Officer Gertrude Schilling emerged backwards from a very narrow crawl space. She wiped oil-stained hands, ineffectually, on some very grimy overalls, and turned to the Chief Engineer.

"It's not looking good, Mr Stevenson." she said. "The upper drive shaft has failed and because the gland box has gone, it's distorted out of shape with clear signs of destructive abrasive friction wear to the lubrication collars of the thrust bearing. You can still go forward, but the most you'll get is going to be quarter-speed, and the whole drive assembly really requires a refit in dry dock."(2)

"Could we get a running repair of some sort done aboard ship, miss?" he asked.

The girl shook her head.

"It really needs whole new replacement assemblies, Mr Stevenson." she said. "These are pretty much shot. Lord Vetinari did emphasise speed in building this ship, and it's possible some corners were cut in the shipyard. Errr..."

The other woman, who also looked like a shipyard grease-monkey in her own oil-and-muck stained overalls, pulled her in for a quick heads-together conference.

Then both grinned.

"We can certainly fit replacement parts aboard ship, Mr Stevenson." she said, in her Quirmian accent. Stevenson was somehow comforted that they radiated confidence. He wasn't looking forward to speaking to the Captain again about the snags that meant the Aggie was a long way behind the rest of the convoy and limping along. Was in fact at this moment virtually dead in the water, in fact, so as to allow for this inspection. And no wind for the back-up sails. He tried to eavesdrop their conversation, uneasily aware that these women were a lot more clued up on these things than he was and right now, the ship depended on them.

"We can send the report and the spec for new parts back to Ankh-Morpork."

"Oui, the naval yards there and the engineering companies are marvellously fast at making them."

"They're big and heavy, but not impossibly so. They just need to be precision-engineered, not immensely massive. Simnel and King's could build them in two days straight, maybe less. If I talk to Olga and Irena, we can get them here by carpet..."

"And here, with a little ingenuity, we fit them. Gertrude, chère amie, we have a solution!"

They turned to Mr Stevenson, and looked at him gravely.

"Five days, Mr Stevenson. In the meantime, we will put our heads together and see what other immediate solutions we can try out, so that this ship doesn't fall impossibly behind."

The Chief Engineer, a man who had begun in the old pre-steam sail-only days, sighed a deep resigned sigh. He knew where he was with windlasses, ropes and pulleys, and cables and sails.

"There's no helping it, then." he said. "Wish there was a decent wind, though. Or else we're going to end up just drifting, nearby the Cape and the Rim. Not a good place for a ship."

Gertrude smiled a sympathetic smile.

"Shame we can't call a wind up out of nowhere." she said. "Whatever else you might have heard about Witches."

Wes Sandrift, the Turnwise Caarp

By arrangement, Bekki was to return on the Friday morning ferrying passengers. She performed her pre-flight checks and gained clearance form Control for a take-off, and focused on the smoothest and flattest possible ascent that she could. In front of her, Tatiana Popova squealed with joy, happy that she was going on holiday to an exciting new place and that Mummy had allowed her to fly in front, on the Pegasus, with Auntie Firebird. Life could not get any better than this.

Mummy was riding behind, on the drone magic carpet tethered to Boetjie, where as a member of the family with experience of Transition, she would guide her husband and sons through the experience and what to expect. Their necessary luggage was mainly loaded onto the carpet with them, although some was attached to Boetjie's rear traces and pillion.

Bekki, aware that mass-compensation spells would take some of the weight off Boetjie, also knew that the whole air assembly, a Pegasus towing a laden drone, would necessarily go a lot more slowly and would not be as aerodynamic. Therefore she had to take care, especially on climbs and descents, and certainly when turning. Navigation also had to be pinpoint, to bring her back into real space at a point where she could descent to earth in pretty much a straight line, with minimal turning or banking. She hoped Wee Archie was going to be up to it. He'd had a wee dram or two with his clan in Lancre, just a wee drinkie, ye understand, Miss Rebecka, but it was on Wednesday night, aye and today's Friday... he had then looked into the sterner face of Mother Hen, Sergeant Popova, and had gulped nervously.

Transition passed without incident.(3) To her relief, Wee Archie brought them back into real space at fifteen hundred feet, with the familiar panorama opening up underneath her, Bitterfontein town several miles away to her right, and the Sandrift hills over there to her left, with the Orange River exactly where she expected to see it, and the predominant colour, everywhere, being the dark green of growing vines, sweling and rising to the coming harvest.

She quickly opened a Comms channel to Nadezhda to advise her that we were in the right place and would be descending immediately to come in to land. Nadezhda acknowledged this, and said that from where she was sitting on the carpet, Firebird, directly to your rear on bearing one-eighty, there is a line of hills on the far horizon. What are they called?

Bekki tried to remember the wider picture of local geography. A name came to her.

"They're called the Cedarbergs, I think. Although I haven't been there, yet."

She wondered why Nadezhda's attention had been drawn there. With witches, there was always a reason.

On the open intercom, she explained the landing procedure. Nadezhda commed back confirmation of her part in the landing. Bringing down a Pegasus and a drone carpet safely took co-ordination between pilot and aircrew, and Nadezhda Popova had lots of reasons for wanting to get it right. Here, respective rank didn't matter; Bekki was Flight Commander, and Nadezhda was Aircrew. That was understood. The Air Watch was a very flecxible Service.

The familiar buildings of Wes Sandrift came into view and Bekki concentrated on getting down, acknowledging people on the ground looking up and watching. She wondered that even though she'd been here now for nearly five months, some things never seemed to lose their attraction. A Pegasus always drew a crowd. One towing a passenger carpet, doubly so.

She set Boetjie down safely on the wide flat outside the huis, cantering him forward at a steady gait and slowing him, knowing Nadezhda was matching speed with the carpet and judging when the moment would be right to brake its forward movement and settle it down... and then they were landing.

"And we're here." she said. She took care to assist Tatiana to the ground, where she looked around her in wonder at a whole new world. Behind her, Nadezhda, then her husband and sons, were getting off the carpet and looking around them.

"Need to talk to you." Aunt Mariella said, looking grave. Serafima Dospanova, standing behind her, nodded agreement.

"Welcome home, devyuschka." Serafima said, gravely. "I need to fly back very soon, as I will be needed for other duties. But first, there is time for a handover."

"We need to make a plan." Mariella agreed. "A big one. Serafima, can you hang on until Nadezhda's settled in? Need to brief her, too."

"Okay." Bekki said. She wondered what exactly had happened while she'd been away. No doubt I'll find out...

Aboard the Merchant Vessel Aigikampus, on the Turnwise Ocean off Rimwards Howondaland

Marianne and Gertrude conferred with Lieutenant Irena Politek, who had flown across to the ship to get a situation report. Captain Clark shook his head.

"My luck had to run out sometime." he observed. "I've been sailing for twenty-three years without any incident." (4)

Irena looked at him gravely. She understood it was no small thing for a big cargo ship to be without any propulsive power at all in a big ocean. They were not, at this point, terrifically near the Rim. But Cape Terror, the next big landfall, was called that for a reason. The captain estimated they were six days away from the Cape. So, six days to put things right.

They looked up from the ship's plans. Gertrude, Marianne and Mr Stevenson the Chief Engineer had explained what they were looking at and what needed to be done.

Irena frowned, and wondered if a brand-new ship had some sort of warranty, and the makers were obliged to fix defective parts free of charge. Carriages and coaches had such provisions when they were brand new, after all. If not, Vetinari stresses the absolute importance of this fleet. The City would therefore pay to restore a broken-down freighter with a vital cargo.

"You could perhaps go under tow in the interim." Marianne suggested. "This necessarily means, however, that two ships would be moving at half-speed for several days. But at least they are moving."

Irena suspected a proud Captain would only do this as a last resort. The alternative was even more unthinkable, for many reasons. But going under tow at least allowed some controlled movement, until the replacement parts arrived.

"So, the Simnel and King's engineering works fabricates replacement parts." Irena said. "These take two days to manufacture. They weigh heavy. Therefore our largest and most powerful magic carpet, at great expenditure of magic, ferries them out here."

She looked at the two Enginering Officers. She reflected on the fact they appeared, right now, to be wearing uniforms composed of three parts grease and oil. She sighed. Be fair, they've been working hard in a dirty place. But it'll be a long time before heavy-duty industrial lubricants are recognised as foundation makeup.

"Then they need to be maneuvered into the heart of the ship. Having got them here, can you then install them?"

"Almost certainly." Marianne de Mènieres assured her. "With enough ingenuity, lifting gear, pulleys and fulcrums. And strong capable men to lift. It can be done." She beamed through a mask of grime and old oil.

Irena smiled.

"Okay. Let's do it. It can't make things worse. Captain?"

Captain Clark gave his approval. Then he looked out of the porthole and sighed, resignedly.

"I'd feel happier if there was a decent wind." he said. "So we can hoist sails. But these are the Doldrums. The Horse Latitudes. Wrong season of the year."

Irena expressed sympathy. She was also aware of the Inner Irena trying to attract her attention. Regarding a decent wind...

"I'll talk to people." she said.

Wes Sandrift, the Turnwise Caarp

Bekki tried to get back into the rhythms of her regular job. She'd been amused by the nameplate that had appeared at the surgery door while she'd been away, and especially by the mis-spelling of Serafima's name. Just in case, she'd taken Sara Fima's nameplate out of the slot and stored it safely in a desk drawer. She had then cut a piece of cardboard to approximately the right size, and had used a big marker pen to write

REBECKA SMITH-RHODES

in big letters.

This now adorned the door. (5) She wondered how soon she'd get a more permanent one, and how many spelling mistakes there'd be. For now, she was turning over the new information in her head and deciding she needed to get up to Gamkasloof, the Cedarbergs and Busmanskloof herself. Especially to Busmanskloof. She marvelled that Nadezhda Popova, on probably only her third visit to this country, had picked up the Cedarbergs from the air. Something was clearly there, and Nadezhda had sensed it within seconds while she, Rebecka, whose country this was, had felt nothing.

"I know where my Domovila Gate is now." Bekki remarked to herself.

"Miss Rebecka?" Dertein asked, curiously.

She grinned.

"I hope Serafima didn't work you too hard while I was away." she said. "Dertein, while it's quiet? What do you know about Busmanskloof and the Cedarbergs?"

After a while, she added "I'm a sangoma, Dertein. Remember?"

Nadezhda Popova had a feeling she was going to like her stay here. Even though it wasn't going to be a complete holiday, as Olga Anastacia had set two pressing assignments on her that needed her attention, she reasoned that this still allowed for quality family time. And every family needed a holiday.

Their hostess, Mistress Hendricka, had been delighted to see them. Nadezhda, who had recognised all the signs of older woman who is not yet a grandmother but would like to be, had prepared for this. Tatiana had been introduced and had bowed and presented the older lady with a bouquet of flowers, thanking her in a guileless nearly-six-years-old sort of way for her kindness in allowing them to stay here.

A quick consultation with Davinia Bellamy, brokered by Johanna Smith-Rhodes, had provided the sort of flowers that were stylish, attractive, and not native to Rimwards Howondaland. Eye-catching and attractive. And Olga Anastacia had said "Good idea. Put it on expenses."

Hendricka, who Nadezhda knew was usually tough and uncompromising, had indeed been charmed. Olga Anastasia had said this would be so, that children were her weak point, that she was a natural grandmother who at present had nobody to be grandmother to.

Entranced by Tatiana and inclined to be well-disposed to Yuri and Nikita, she had invited the Yermak family to come back to the huis later for the evening meal. The younger couple who had not yet provided grandchildren, Mariella and Horst, were pleasant welcoming people too. Horst Lensen, who had helped the family move their luggage over to a guesthouse half a mile or so away, had said that once everyone's settled in, you can all come to the stables, and you can select horses you can borrow for your stay. I'm not going to insult anyone by asking if you can all ride.

Yuri had grinned and clapped him on the back, taking no offence. Nadezhda reflected that her husband might need to be reminded that he was on holiday too, and for him to spend a week off in somebody else's stables and paddocks would be missing the point.

The family had discovered a large well-aired and well-kept furnished home with lots of space, with a stable and paddock of its own. Nadezhda had also discovered the nervous looking black woman who had said please, baas-lady. Baas-Lady Hendricka sent me here to be housemaid to you. To cook and clean and to be useful.

Nadezhda sighed. She'd never had servants before. It wasn't in her upbringing or her culture. Cossacks were self-sufficient and shared necessary duties and chores, rather than sit back and assign them to others. Everybody took a turn. She and Yuri shared the cooking, for one thing. She sensed that this was going to take some adjustment.

She contemplated the other thing. Serafima had briefed her, in a necessarily quick but thorough handover. This place called Busmanskloof needed investigation. She wondered how soon she could get there, ideally with others, and contemplated the nature of defences and traps.

For now, she set about settling in and assigning rooms and beds.

The Air Station, Ankh-Morpork

Serafima Dospanova arrived home to lots of bustling activity. Pegasi were being prepared for missions and lots more people than usual were being made ready for flight. Landing on the airstrip, she greeted her young cousin Alexandra Mumorovka, who seemed to be more intent and excited than usual, and appeared to have a large backpack packed and ready, as if she was going on a journey somewhere. noting Lexi was in the sort of serviceable fatigue dress suitable for stable work rather than Air Watch uniform; older worn clothes that still identified her as a Baikal Cossack. She was about to ask why, when Olga Anastacia came to her. Serafima noted the Commanding Officer looked as if she was having a hard but productive day.

"Welcome back." Olga said. "Good stay?"

Serafima looked grave.

"I have reports, Olga Anastacia." she said. "Concerning the business at Hearty-Beast-Er. The Code Twenty Three. There is new information."

"Nothing has actually happened?" Olga asked. "No outbreak of magical energy?"

"Nyet, Olga Anastacia." Serafima replied. "But through Mistress Mariella Lensen, we have discovered a new place of interest. There is a Domovila Gate in Firebird's steading. Until two days ago, only local black people knew about it."

Olga looked grave.

"Drop the reports on my desk, Vorona." she said. "I can read them later. Thank you. For now, I've got delivery flights to organise."

She indicated Lexi.

"So have you. Hand Vorobei over to the duty Fledglings, would you? You won't be flying her for three days, so her tack can be loaned out, until we get that business properly sorted out."

Olga sighed again.

"Then draw a two-seater. You're ferrying Schpaga over with you to take a turn aboard the ships. Navigator Wee Shuggie Neville. You will deliver them."

Serafima turned to her cousin and smiled benevolently.

"Do you get seasick, devyuschka?" she asked, pleasantly.

Lexi smiled.

"Nyet, Serafima Marisovna." she replied. "Like you, I have been aboard boats on the Great Sea. It made me very queasy at first, but you learn how to take deeper breaths and focus on the horizon, not on the boat. It soon passes." (6)

"Khoroscho." Olga said. "Take your personal broom with you, devyushka. It will be needed."

The Assassins' Guild School, Ankh-Morpork.

Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes and Mrs Heidi van Kruger Smith-Rhodes gathered their selected pupils together and ran through last-minute equipment checks, just to make sure nobody had forgotten anything. As Johanna pointed out, they'd be on the Spring Trip for over a week. While anything forgotten here might be replaceable when we arrive, it is always best if you do not forget it in the first place. And pay attention to the small things, like spare bootlaces or functioning matches in your survival kits. These can be more crucial than you think.

She regarded Heidi for a moment. The mother of a very young son, who she was currently nursing protectively, she was a little bit more rounded and maternal-looking than she'd been as a student and later as a tutor at the Guild. But she was still a very good Assassin. Her husband Danie, Johanna's brother, was accompanying the trip. He was currently mixing with the male students, being both a bru and an informal oompie to them, dispensing amiability and bonhomie in his usual loud good-natured way. He wasn't an Assassin, but in his way, he was a useful adjunct; he'd done his time in the Army and had good experience to impart. Then there was Lottie van der Kaasmaakers, employed as nanny and childminder, employed by Danie and Heidi to look after little Mattewis. She was standing off to one side looking nervous. Johanna reflected this was a natural reaction for non-Assassins invited inside the Guild buildings. People tended to wonder if they'd get out again.

And there was also her own husband, Professor Ponder Stibbons, and their youngest daughter, Ruth. Ponder was dressed in what might be called Unseen University Tropical Uniform: a lightweight suit in pale khaki-beige with a bush-hat that had a definite point to it. Ruth was in scaled-down Boer frontier clothes, and had her own pack with her. It helped, Johanna thought, that she was getting these little tasters of School life, just in case the Assassins' School became more than an outside possibility for her secondary education. She knew the Music Department and the Art Department both keenly wanted Ruth as a pupil. It also helped that two of the assembled party were associated with the School Orchestra, who had recently acclaimed Ruth as a talented pianist. She had friends here as well as family. In the case of the Orchestra and Choir, over a hundred new friends. It helped.

Ponder, on the other hand, had to be here, as there would be tasks for him when he arrived.

She sighed. This was not going to be an orthodox Spring Expedition, not by any means. She'd had to present a good case to the School Management so as to get approval, and to get that approval, it had taken Olga Romanoff supporting the idea, and passing on a courteous message from Lord Vetinari, to the effect that he thought Doctor Smith-Rhodes had a very good idea indeed, and he had instructed the Pegasus Service to make transportation available. She looked up. There were indeed Pegasi in the air. She counted. Three of them. And headed here.

"Attention!" she called. "Our transport is arriving!"

Above the Merchant Vessel Bucephalus, flagship of a convoy fleet on the Turnwise Ocean, off the coast of Rimwards Howondaland

"We're here, Mistresses." said Wee Shuggie Neville, as the two-seater broom popped into real space four angels above the Turnwise Ocean.

From this height, Alexandra Mumorovka could see a long way inland into a country where the dominant colour appeared to be red-brown, with large splashes of greens. There appeared to be a large city in the far distance, on the Rimwards horizon, and it intrigued her that her friend Rebecka Smith-Rhodes would be out there somewhere, where she lived for most of the week. Alexandra had been told that if all went well, there might even be a very discreet opportunity for her to visit, and to see regular Witch practice in Rebecka's steading, at least for an afternoon. She hoped so. But this depended on local conditions, Olga Anastacia had said. Alexandra had also been informed that even as a Fledgling, she had past experience that might assist in resolving a little issue or two. It all depended on conditions and circumstances, and we have to be flexible and to consider every option, devyushka. Things can change in an instant and plans need to be reformed. Olga had not specified. (7)

Alexandra also considered that the country she could see had also shaped and formed the utterly annoying Famke, the brash and abrasive Red Nuisance. She tried to set aside the troubling thought that, just maybe, Famke wasn't as abrasive and obnoxious as all that. There was something there that attracted her at the same time, even if it was only the attraction of digging your tongue into a mouth ulcer just to see if it still stung. This perplexed her. Being both irritated by and attracted to a completely irritating person, at the same time. But, nichevo. She was going to be among Rodinians and Cossacks for a few days. And to get paid for it. It would be like being on holiday at home, only on a ship, on a warm sea.

Serafima was now angling the stick downwards, explaining to Lexi to look out for the wakes on the water, see them? When we start seeing actual ships, we then need to identify one. Hopefully, somebody on board with a communicator is looking up. Which makes things easier.

In Feegle Space, Transition:

Johanna had been deeply impressed by the skill and professionalism of the Air Watch crews who had arrived. The three Pegasi had come in to land in the quadrangle of the Assassins' Guild, and straight away, pillion passengers had leapt off to unpack and unroll drone magic carpets that would ferry thirty people and their equipment to a destination.

She understood Olga was strapped for people and resources at the moment and an over-stretched Service was struggling to meet all its commitments. Providing a large chunk of those valuable resources to ferry an Assassins' School party might have been cancelled or rescheduled. But they were here, on time, as promised. She felt deeply appreciative. A voice in her head suggested this was testament to Vetinari placing importance on what was, on the face of it, only a Spring Expedition to provide field experience and training to student Assassins. Except for the fact it overlapped the political.

She considered Vetinari's motives in supporting the expedition, and shrugged. She was just thankful he had.

Here in the strangeness of Phase Space, she remembered how the very capable Flight Commander, who had introduced herself as Corporal Stacey Matlock, had effortlessly set expectations to her passengers.

Effectively, it boiled down to sit down, shut up, do as you're told, the Aircrew member with you on the carpet is absolutely in charge, and for anyone who might get a little bit queasy, we've got lots of brown paper bags. Just try not to chuck them overboard over the City, as people tend to complain.

Stacey had smiled the benevolent smile of a commanding officer who is in charge, and Johanna had reminded herself that Corporal was in this case a deceptive rank. Olga Romanoff trusted her enough to have put her in charge of a whole Air Station, and the only reason Stacey hadn't been promoted further – yet – was that all the higher Command ranks were filled. She certainly had the attitude and the demeanour of what the Army would have rewarded by now with Captain or Major rank.

"Now I want you to close your minds to the idea that the only thing in between any of you and a very long drop is about half an inch of carpet and underlay." she had said, pleasantly. "Magic carpets, remember? Besides, we've got spells. If anyone manages the feat of falling off, there's a safety net sort of spell that means you'll just hang there, looking silly for the rest of the flight, as we don't yet have the technomancy to pull you back on."

She had smiled, benevolently.

"That's if your aircrew officer remembers to switch it on in the first place, that is. Still, you people are taught about the Emergency Drop, aren't you? As falling off would be the Emergency Drop of a lifetime, and I'm reliably told it annoys your teachers because of all the extra paperwork they have to complete, and we'd have to have a bloody Court of Inquiry over it, which would mess up my promotion prospects – then don't fall off."

Of course, there'd been the inevitable airsickness. Johanna had heard, distinctly, her daughter Famke urging the luckless traveller not to waste it, and speculating that if that was the Selachii mansion down there, that gives me an idea.... maybe Camilla's taking a stroll on the lawn, or something?

As this had drifted over from one of the other carpets, Johanna decided she had a good excuse for pretending she hadn't heard a word. She also very deliberately didn't see the brown paper bags being jettisoned as the Pegasi fleet passed over Paragore Ward, where the Selachiis maintained a family mansion. She hoped they had good aim.

Suddenly, the pace picked up again and the scene changed. Familiar vistas appeared underneath. They had arrived.

Aboard the Merchant Vessel Bucephalus, flagship of a convoy fleet on the Turnwise Ocean, off the coast of Rimwards Howondaland.

The tricky part of landing a broomstick aboard a ship at sea, Alexandra Mumorovka realised, wasn't the bumpiness of the deck you landed on. It was being aware of all the masts and ropes and cables that were all around you, as obstacles to flight. At least on these ships, there were less of them as you approached the stern, and there was a large flat region at the back. For some reason, called the Poop Deck, in Morporkian. She shrugged. Morporkians were strange. And Serafima had landed the broom. Her passenger felt relieved. Some of those cables had zipped by, too close for comfort.

She got off, stretched, and reported to Lieutenant Irena Politek, who had commed them in to a landing. She was also aware of lots of sailors and passengers, who had been watching with curious fascination. Many of them looked familiar, in both a general and a specific way. But before she could find out more, there were formalities...

Serafima and Irena exchanged salutes as Serafima reported in. Irena, who looked tired, had her own broomstick to hand, Alexandra noted. She was evidently hoping for a quick getaway.

"How was Howondaland?" Irena asked.

"Pleasant." Serafima replied. "Good people. I liked them."

"Including Dimitri Ivanovich?" Irena asked, with seeming innocence. Lexi noted her cousin hesitated for slightly too long. She stored this for attention later.

"An interesting man." Serafima replied, trying to sound non-committal. "A Rodinian who has lived among these people for some years. He was useful and informative."

Irena didn't press the point. She smiled. She turned to Lexi.

"Cossacks." she said. "Horses. You're here for three days, devyushcka. Look on it as a learning curve."

She added "Speaking of Cossacks, they're from all the Hosts. Including yours. Serafima knows who's who and she can make introductions. And as for me."

She nodded down at Serafima's flight Feegle.

"Navigator Wee Shuggie Neville. You won't be needed for three days. You can get me home."

The Feegle saluted and expressed his willingness to bring this aboot, Mistress Red Star.

"Khoroscho." Irena said. "There is a place I vaguely remember visiting occassionally, called Euphrasy Street. In that street there is an apartment. In that apartment there is a bedroom. And in that bedroom is a bed. I intend to switch my communicator off, and sleep for as long as I can get away with. So if you'll both excuse me?"

She straddled her broom and waited for Wee Shuggie to hop onto the pole. Then she waved goodbye and was off.

"That's why you're here." Serafima remarked. "So Irena can get home and sleep. Your hard work begins here, devyushka."

She looked round. Then smiled. A deep confident male voice said

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Alexandra, hearing a voice speaking in Rodinian, turned and saw the big man, with the close-cropped greying hair of middle age and a distinct military bearing, approaching her. He had the look of an old bull about him, thickset and wide, with the slightly bandy legs of a lifetime horseman. He also radiated intelligence and shrewdness. Next to him was a woman of about the same age, wider, matronly, with an intelligent kindly face. He wore a buff-yellow coat with the belts and swords of a Cossack. If a keen-eyed observer were to look closely, they would see where patches and possibly military distinctions had been unpicked from a coat of clearly military design, leaving areas where the yellow material underneath was brighter, unfaded and more intensely yellow. The only thing left denoting status was the stylised bird, in gold, on each side of his wide neck, on the collar of his coat. The woman next to him was dressed like Serafima, in the same mustard-yellow colour, trimmed and ornamented in green and gold. She smiled happily at Alexandra.

Lexi made a high-pitched delighted shriek, and ran to hug her godparents.

"I see you found your place." Lidia Sigurdina said. "And a uniform to wear."

"Just a fatigue uniform." her husband Georgi remarked, studying Lexi. "The sort issued for labouring and stable fatigues. Heavy duty in hard places. But still a uniform. With clean well-tended boots. Our girl knows the important things."

"She wears it well." Lidia said. "Then again, we both knew that she would."

"Is your mother here too?" Lexi asked.

"The idea tempted her." Lidia said. "But General Smirnoff asked if she could refrain, for now. Divisional Witch is too important a position for the Division not to have one."

"Why are you here?" Lexi asked, curiously. "Have you left the Army?"

Georgi Sigurdin shook his head. He looked amused.

"Nyet." he said. "I'm still Army. While it's true I'm not wearing any rank badges right now, and there's a reason for that, the men I lead here know who I am. If you need the rank badge on your sleeve to be Regimental Sergeant-Major, then you don't deserve to be the Regimental Sergeant-Major."

Georgi explained. News of the phenomenon of Cossacks from all over the Disc choosing to sign up into the army of the Black Tsarina in faraway Howondaland had reached as far as the Blondograd Imperial Guards Division. General Smirnoff set great importance on his command being more than just a ceremonial unit, one that paraded and marched and guarded in the city of Blondograd. He valued military expertise, men who had actually seen war, who could campaign and fight. Men were interchanged, in a clandestine and not-generally-advertised way, with the Zlobenian Army fighting its eternal war with Borogravia, to bring relevant combat experience back to the Division.

"The General asked if there is any good reason why men of the Kazachok Cossack Guard Regiment should not go to get fighting experience in this coming war in Howondaland." he explained. "Your father agreed. He wishes he could be here himself, Alexandra, but as Regimental Commander, he must stay in Pokrovsky, with his command. He conferred with me and we decided the Regiment could spare one hundred men, from all three Squadrons, under my overall command. But the government of Mouldavia, and the wise Lady Margolotta, have insisted we cannot openly be a declared military force belonging to a known nation-state which publicly must remain neutral. As this sort of thing causes international tensions."

Lexi considered this.

"So you are here not as soldiers. But as ordinary Cossacks. So your distinctions and rank badges must be removed."

"Exactly. This is the distinguishing dark yellow of the Baikal Cossacks, is it not? If anyone asks, we are on indefinite leave and have elected to take our families with us to another land. To see the world."

"Your father would send his love, by the way." Lidia said. "At present, he is busy with a large draft of Cossacks from Pskov and Nobinovgorod to induct into the Regiment. They will make a full fourth squadron, in time."

"They suddenly arrived." Georgi said. He shook his head. "The Governor-General of Nobinovgorod has finally been persuaded to place his Regiments under properly constituted authority. I wonder what Margolotta and Vetinari said to him? Anyway, with drafts of recruits still coming to us from the heartlands, your father is especially busy co-ordinating training."

Lexi indicated the one residual rank badge on her Godfather's collar.

"You are a Hetman?" she said.

"Elected as such." he said, "By popular acclaim."

Lidia looked proud.

"Unfortunately, only a recognised Host can have an Ataman." she said, thoughtfully. "But these are interesting times. I rather like to think Georgi fills the right sort of space here. Quite appealingly, too."

"Well." Serafima Dospanova said, thoughtfully, "Now you know another reason why Olga Anastacia sent you out here, devyuschka."

She didn't sound surprised at all.

"Hetman Georgi." she said, showing appropriate respect, "Perhaps we should show Alexandra around? Introduce her to people?"

The Hetman of the Howondalandian Cossacks, of all the Howondalandian Cossacks aboard the ships, said he would be pleased.

A little later, Alexandra received further pleasant surprises as she encountered people she knew from Home, in Blondograd and the Baikal. And one big shock.

Rimwards Howondaland, the Widdershins Transvaal.

"No, provided they're clean enough to sit on and they're not worn all the way through, you can use any old rubbish, basically." Stacey Matlock assured the young Assassins, who were taking a polite interest in the flying carpets and how they worked. "And you're right, the Klatchians guard the secret of the tech and they don't share it with anybody. These are as far as we've been able to get, so far, and compared to what the Klatchians can put in the air, they are a bit pants, yes. No argument there."

She grinned at Ponder Stibbons.

"There are people at the University trying to do the reverse technomancy on carpets we've sort of been able to acquire, the real thing, but it still needs work. Every so often you might see something plummeting and a Wizard goes splat, which sort of indicates they've got a way to go, yet."

Ponder winced. Stacey smiled at him.

"Pushing back the frontiers of human knowledge, and all that." she said. "Pioneers of flight. Occasional casualties. Anyway. We discovered, along with the wizards, that you can take any old carpet, a big room-sized remnant, maybe, and you can load it with the magic that we know about, so it can lift up and support its own weight. The thing is, we don't know everything, yet. So to keep it up there, we have to tether it to a Pegasus so it coasts along and glides in the slipstream once it's under way. That uses minimal magic. Economic use of resources. If there was ever a problem up there and we had to cut loose, it won't be able to go very far under its own magic, but the aircrew member aboard, provided she's awake and not dozing off, should be able to get it down to the ground safely, using what little actual magic there is."

Stacey grinned amicably at the Assassins.

"Still all a bit hit-and-miss, but we're getting there. We've also been able to work out how to enchant smaller carpets so we can use them as a sort of golem drone, to practice air-to-air shooting on. We take great care to ensure the Klatchians know about that, for the obvious reason..."

She broke off as people approached. There was a distinct bear-like roar. It sounded pleased.

"Our hosts, I think." Stacey remarked. The man approaching was a giant, well over six feet tall, with a big overscale physical build. Although older, he looked strong and vigorous, with the sort of full grey beard and unkempt hair that put Stacey in mind of an old-time ogre. She almost overlooked the far smaller older woman who walked alongside him, but the Witch-sense in her prompted her that most of the time, it wasn't the big man who made the final decision. And there was a distinct familiarity about her build and her carriage that made her look across to Johanna Smith-Rhodes.

"Welkom!" he roared, as he approached the group. Then he spoke in the language Stacey recognised as Vondalaans, even if she could barely understand a word of it. It all sounded like somebody gargling with gravel, or struggling with a bad throat. She caught what sounded like the Morporkian words "just now", and remembered Rebecka Smith-Rhodes had tried to explain the underlying philosophy of the phrase to her...

I'll get round to you all justnow. he promised the students. Looking forward to meeting you. But first, family, you understand?

"Heidi!" he bellowed. "So good to see you, young woman! Looking lovely, looking healthy, and you have my big handsome boy! Bring him to me!"

He spared another roared welcome for Johanna, and demanded his grand-daughters, noting only the two of you? Ah well, Rebecka has her own life to live, these days, a grown-up young woman. You did a fine job raising her, Ponder!"

As Famke and Ruth ran out to greet their grandparents, a disgruntled female voice said

"There are three of us here, oupa."

Barbarossa Smith-Rhodes turned his head and grinned.

"And there is you. You fade into a crowd, meisie. Easily overlooked. It's not as if there's anything that stands out about you that makes you instantly recognisable."

Agnetha Smith-Rhodes shook her head.

"Your grandfather attempts sarcasm now and again." she remarked. "He is not very good at it. But so good to see you, Johanna. Your parents will be pleased."

Young Johanna stepped forward. She was the only one not dressed in Assassin black, favouring a military fatigue uniform in dull dark green with a disruptive pattern of browns and paler greens. Her shoulders carried the emblem of a striking eagle, with the rank badges of Major in dull black on her collar and unit distinction of PAMWE CHETE! was emblazoned on both upper shoulders. The bright neon-pink hair meant that unless she bundled it up under a field cap, she'd only look inconspicuous in a very psychedelic jungle.(8)

Barbarossa grinned.

"My grandson, who will grow to become perhaps a second-row forward in the scrum. And three grand-daughters, the genius, the hooligan, and the... unconventional one."

"The weird one." Young Johanna said, frankly.

Her grandfather grinned. Her grandmother looked stern.

"You've still not done anything about that bloody hair." she said, disapprovingly, and shook her head.

Barbarossa put Ruth down, gently, and turned his attention to the Air Watch personnel, who were watching the phenomenon with interest. Stacey came to attention and saluted him. She introduced herself.

"Twenty-three personnel from the Guild of Assassins delivered as agreed, sir." she said. "Together with three directing staff, and members of your extended family who are accompanying."

Barbarossa vigorously shook her hand.

"Glad to have them." he replied, in heavily accented Morporkian. "Olga couldn't make it, then? Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Of course." Stacey agreed. "Captain Romanoff is busy on other duties, sir. She directed me to carry out this mission and get the people here, but she promises that as time allows, she'll call by and check on how things are proceeding."

Barbarossa was introduced to the other Air Witches who had been on the mission. He genially suggested that if they weren't needed to go back straight away, they may as well stop for a mug of tea before setting off for Home? And I see you've brought some of the little people, too, welcome. Oh, and it's Barbarossa.

He turned to his oldest daughter.

"Johanna, come and introduce me to your pupils, will you? Best if I get to know names and faces."

He looked across, recognising Ampie duPris, who looked nervous.

"Although, that one, I've met." he said. "And you brought me the little hooligan. That one's bound to have got herself into more trouble since I saw her last? Thought so. Now what about the rest of them?"

Barbarossa was halfway through getting to know the student Assassins when there was a loud high shriek of female joy. He looked over to where Agnetha was hugging Heidi with great delight. He sighed.

"Don't tell me, Johanna. Heidi's expecting again?" he said. "Not many things make your mother behave like that. And you're all safely married off, so that can only mean there's another baby on the way."

Johanna sighed. She knew about Heidi's pregnancy. So far, students at the Guild didn't. Until now. I'll tell Heidi the news is out, she decided. She can make some sort of official announcement later.

Barbarossa turned to another newcomer and genially asked "Jy is te oud om 'n student te wees. Miskien is jy 'n kollega van my dogter?"

"I apologise, sir. I speak no Vondalaans." Miss Ethylene Glynnie replied, in Morporkian.

"Ah." Barbarossa replied. He repeated his inquiry in Morporkian. "You are a little too old to be a pupil. You must work alongside Johanna?"

He saw the woman intently studying him as if she was trying to work out what he'd said. Then she replied "You are right, Mr Smith-Rhodes. As a teacher at the Guild School and a graduate of the Guild, I need to periodically attend refresher courses to keep my skills up to date. Johanna suggested I come along with her for a few days, so I can tick off some of the boxes. I need to be back in Ankh-Morpork on Wednesday to meet a commitment, but I'm quite looking forward to being here. It sounds interesting."

"She's also responsible for Famke." Johanna said and explained that a School holiday meant the Housemistress could afford to take time out and do other things, away from her commitment to the pupils. Except a small but significant part of that commitment was also, unavoidably, here.

Barbarossa patted her on the shoulder.

"Music teacher? We've got a piano in the huis, if you're interested. Hardly gets played."

Eventually, the Air Watch contingent rolled and stowed the drone carpets and harnesses, their job completed, and set off back for Ankh-Morpork. The Assassin students were shown the basic but serviceable blockhouse where they'd be staying for the duration, while the directing staff and most of the Smith-Rhodes family went up to the huis.

"You brought Ruth?" Johanna's mother said, with a hint of disapproval.

Johanna sighed.

"She isn't going to be a part of the Duty, Mutti." she said. (9) "She isn't a School pupil. Therefore, different rules apply. Can I now tell you why I brought her here?"

Her parents heard her out. Periodically, a piano key sounded, at varying pitches and levels of sound. Her parents listened, as Johanna explained that it was best Ruth was taken out of circulation for a few days until the fuss and interest in the ten-year-old prodigy died down and became yesterday's news, the story of the girl who had come out of nowhere and played piano in front of a full orchestra. Faultlessly.

"Jislaik." Ruth's grandfather said, appreciatively. "She's good. I knew that. But that good? No wonder you want to protect her."

The piano, an upright piano that had been largely gathering dust in the huis with nobody to play it, had turned out to be hopelessly out of tune. Ethylene Glynnie had suggested retuning it, as she and definitely Ruth had the expertise, and tools had been provided. They were busy at the job, which sounded like it would take some time.

"Well, she's very welcome." Agnetha had said, decisively. "And of course we'll look after her. We're taking in Mattewis, while his mother's out on this Duty. The girl Heidi and Danie brought with them can earn her keep, too. They pay her enough."

Johanna relaxed. Her father changed the subject.

"Got to admit, I was impressed by Famke." he said. "The girl could have claimed family rights and stayed here. She's welcome to. You could see she was tempted. But she chose to stay with her fellows over in the blockhouse. She said it's a School thing and she's here as a pupil, and that means she should not get special treatment."

He shook his head.

"Something tells me she'll turn out right in the end. She's got the stuff."

"Is there any doubt?" Agnetha replied.

"Ag. She just wants to be among her friends." Johanna said. Inside, she felt proud of Famke. This, she thought, doesn't happen often.

The piano sounded again, single notes. One jarred.

"Now let us talk about this Duty." Barbarossa said, coming to the point. "The reason you are all here."

Aboard the Merchant Vessel Bucephalus, flagship of a convoy fleet on the Turnwise Ocean, off the coast of Rimwards Howondaland.

"It's a complication." Captain Olga Romanoff agreed, as Serafima Dospanova reported to her. "Shall I speak to the girl, or do you prefer to keep this in the family?"

Serafima considered this.

"Now we know there is potentially an issue, I have spoken to Hetman Georgi. He has confirmed that he is aware of the situation, and he is to ensure the... young man... is warned off. He will if necessary use formal authority to enforce this, if the boy is unwise enough to make any explicit threat. But the Hetman prefers to do this indirectly to begin with, and he will ensure that on this ship, Alexandra Mumorovka is discreetly safeguarded. Men from the Kazachok Regiment who are loyal to her father will be nearby at all times, to act as informal bodyguards."

Olga sighed a deep sigh. Complications.

"The last time this situation erupted, it could so easily have become a blood-feud in the Host." she remarked. "The Mumorovs and their allies, like the Dospanovs, would not have forgiven, and would have sought vengeance."

"And aboard a ship, naval law also applies." Serafima said. "The Captain and the Ship's Master would have an interest in maintaining good order aboard. A fight and a possible killing on board ship would be serious."

Olga considered this. She'd also seen the surly ill-favoured youth with the mis-shapen ear. Watchwoman's instinct had said bottle-covey to her.

"The first time they fell out, she very nearly bit his ear off." Olga remarked. "Granted, the local Witch sewed it back on, but not perfectly. He tried to avenge the grudge several years later. This time, Alexandra humiliated him and ensured he was terrified half to death and lost control of his bladder. At least. And you believe he might want to come back at her for a third time? Has he not learnt?"

"He and his sisters." Serafima confirmed. "Who are also on board. This third time, Olga Anastacia, may pay for all. I'm concerned she might end the threat to her from Peter Stepkin by killing him. And that carries sanctions."

"Not least that she's only thirteen. Too young an age to be killing people." Olga said. "And that certainly opens a blood-feud. Well, we keep them apart for three days, then she's back in Ankh-Morpork. If nothing else, once we open the covert link, the one we have to keep secret, it's a good reason to send her ashore and have Firebird look after her for a day. We just need to ensure nothing happens while she's here."

"Nothing involving the Vodegon or the Vikhor." Serafima said. "If Peter Stepkin is so unwise as to threaten her, and she invokes assistance..."

"Indeed." Olga said.

Then a light switched on in her mind. A resolution to another pressing problem.

"Serafima, Penguin and Martinette are both still aboard that ship, the one they call the Aggie, which is dead in the water with a defective engine and no wind to fill any sails?"

"Da. The vessel which now has an unenviable choice between going under tow, this humiliating her Captain's pride. Or drifting helplessly until the currents drag her over the Rimfall. Or limping to the nearest port for sanctuary, which is her right under international law."

"Where the Rimwards Howondalandians will undoubtedly intern her and impound the cargo." Olga said. "As is their right under accepted maritime law. Therefore, international incident."

Serafima looked gloomy.

Olga smiled.

"Serafima, get Schpaga here, would you? We're flying over to the Aggie. It gets her away from the miserable wretched Stepkins, and she can resolve a problem for us. After that she can do a couple of escorted duty rounds with the horses, for the look of the thing, and on her third day, we can get her to Wes Sandrift to see Firebird. The Link should have been established by then."

Near Piemberg, in the Widdershins Transvaal:

"The way I see it." Johanna Smith-Rhodes said to the others in the room, we need to maintain a watch on the Border, down at the River. To keep the other side under constant observation. Father, you command the local Volkskommando, but on a long river border in your area of responsibility, you can't be everywhere at once all the time. And mounted, armed, patrols are obvious. Stepping up patrolling activity so that the Zulus see more armed men and women riding the border is something that will worry them. We want to avoid that, yesno?"

"Carry on." her father said. Her brother Andreas, who knew from experience what his older sister was capable of, nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Above all, you want to keep the Regular Army out of it, or things will escalate. We've all been here before."

"That's true. "Major Johanna Smith-Rhodes-Maaijande said, cheerfully. "Especially my unit. Oupa, you really don't want Crowbar Dreyer turning up with the Slew. He'll be raiding over the river just for the lulz, and then before you know it they're launching counter-raids, and suddenly there's a war on."

"Neither good nor helpful." Johanna Smith-Rhodes agreed. "Father, you need to be able to demonstrate you're aware of the risk and you're keeping a constant watching eye. But everyone you've got has a plaas or a business to run, and you can't have a general call-up until there's a definite reason for it. So people put in what they can, when they can be spared. Which makes it more likely the regular military takes over."

Her father sighed.

"Martial law." he said.

"And more risk of war." Johanna replied. "What I've brought you, Father, are people who can be relied on, at least for ten days, to set up and man observation points in key areas. These are professional skills we teach. Fieldcraft. Wilderness survival. How to conceal yourself and observe from concealment."

She ticked them off on her fingers.

"I teach these skills. Heidi teaches these skills. Ethylene Glynnie, as a Guild graduate, will have taken similar courses in her time as a student. She's here to refresh her proficiencies. The students I selected are Howondalandian. They know what's at stake here. Granted, not all are Boers, some are Porkkies, but they've all had training at various levels. They not only get advanced experience in field conditions, the oldest ones who are soon to graduate get extra course credits. They also get to see the Homeland again. They are motivated. Father, everybody benefits."

She smiled.

"If this works out, Father, even after School resumes, I can organise weekend cover at least. To help out. The Air Watch have been instructed to give every assistance, so our transport is assured. Also, School breaks up in July for the summer, which is when the danger months begin, and I can then get more people out here for longer. you can reassure the authorities that you're in control and there is no need yet for military intervention."

Her father shook his head. He smiled.

"Good. Let us do this thing." he decided.

Aboard the Merchant Vessel Aigikampus, on the Turnwise Ocean off Rimwards Howondaland.

A small group of people gathered on the deck of the ship and looked up. Sails hung in limp sheets from the yardarms. There was a complete lack of any sort of reassuring throbbing or humming, as of working ships' engines, coming up from below them. The rest of the convoy had receded over the rimwards horizon and was lost to view. Apart from a single ship detailed to keep station and to provide emergency assistance if needed, the Aggie was alone on the vast ocean under a windless sky.

Worried passengers had made representation to the Captain. For one thing, fodder and water for the horses was being used up at the usual inexorable rate. People were worrying.

Captain Clark was a worried man.

Olga Romanoff broke off from reassuring the Cossack spokesperson aboard this ship, leaving Serafima Dospanova to carry on boosting his morale. Gertrude and Marianne, who had become progressively grimier, stood nearby, wondering why Olga seemed to be relaxed and confident about the situation.

"Captain." Olga said. "I'm aware of nautical folklore and sailor's tales about how Witches on board ship are a bad thing and bring bad luck." she said, pleasantly. "All the things that folklore says we can do to jinx a ship and bring misfortune on the vessel and its crew."

She smiled pleasantly at him.

"I'd just like you to reflect and consider on one thing Witches at sea are famously capable of." she remarked, in the same pleasant tones. "And for you to conisder that in this one instance, folklore could have got it absolutely and completely correct."

She motioned for her audience to look straight up. Almost on cue, a witch on a broomstick approached the top of the mainmast, coming in from above so as not to get tangled in the rigging. She appeared to have a brief conversation with the sailor in the crow's nest.

Then he hastily leapt over the side and began to frantically scramble down the rigging. The witch nonchalantly hovered her stick, then athletically leapt into the crow's nest, pulling her stick in after her.

"Cadet Officer Mumorovka is acting according to my explicit instructions, by the way." Olga remarked. "She knows what is needed and tshe has the appropriate skills."

Captain Clark frowned, not liking this at all. Then he stopped dead. Was that the beginning of a cool breeze, on his face?

He looked up and saw the sails stirring... and that girl up in the crow's nest. Her hair...

Above his head, Alexandra Mumorovka had spoken to the sailor on duty and had said "You can stay or you can go as you please. I have job to do. Move over."

Seeing a witch who had appeared out of nowhere, his nerve broke, and he scrambled hastily over the side.

Lexi shrugged, and took his place. Stowing her broom safely, she composed herself and raised her arms.

"Vikhor, come to me." she half-sang, in Rodinian. "Spirit of the air, come to my call."

After several repetitions, she heard the voice in the air near her ear, and felt the caress of fingers that made her long unbound hair float behind her. Olga Anastacia had suggested she left her hair loose for this.

~~I hear you, Lexi. Is that your constipated commanding officer down there?

Lexi fought back a giggle.

"She isn't that bad, Zephoschka. Don't be rude."

~~They say command makes people constipated. Speaking of which, what words of command does my mistress have for me today, oh mighty Witch?

"And don't be sarcastic, either. Zephoschka. Can you fill these sails and make this ship move?"

~~Just that? Light exercise, Lexi. A basic proficency.

"Khoroscho. Do it, please? Thank you."

Alexandra smiled as her familiar spirit did as he – or she – had been asked and a cool refreshing wind sprang up. She smiled. She'd never been able to work out if Zephoschka was male or female, as the spirit was evasive on this. Her suspicion was that they were both, or neither. As if it mattered.

And the ship suddenly began to move forwards, slowly at first, as the wind picked up. People cheered.

On the deck, Chief Engineer Stevenson looked at Gertrude Schilling. He smiled.

"You know, miss, I remember you saying not so long ago that the thing about witches being able to magic up a wind was a myth and never happened." he remarked. "Looks like your girl up top's doing well at it."

Gertrude reddened, then smiled.

"Looks like I was wrong, Mr Stevenson." she replied, amicably.

"We'll have the replacement parts with you within two or three days, Captain Clark." Olga Romanoff said. "Will Alexandra Mumorovka do, in the meantime?" (10)

To be continued. In coming episodes: the advantages of having Ethylene Glynnie refreshing her skills on a night sentry duty. Famke will feature, as she will find inventive ways of livening up the night.

---

(1) The householder had an arrangement with her neighbours with regard to gardening services, and two households amicably shared a gardener and an assistant houseboy who helped out where needed. Another neighbour provided specialised professional advice where needed.

(2) I'm reliably told this makes sense. Some of the first steamships in the 1820's and 1830's failed because of catastrophic failure of the gland box allowing seepage down the driveshaft assemblies and link-rods, with consequent erosion via abrasive friction and accumulated deposits fouling the moving parts.

(3) "Three Witches, one Pegasus, one carpet, more magic than usual." Olga Romanoff had said. "If anything more out of the ordinary than usual happens, devyushka, be sure to complete an Incident Report."

(4) This is a stealth literary reference.

(5) Later in the day, she'd come back to notice that Barke, the carpentry apprentice, had visited and quietly replaced the cardboard with a beautifully cut nameplate which still read MISS REBCEKA SMTIH-RHODES.

(6) It came as a surprise to people that many Cossacks could also do boats. But as they pointed out, the people of the Baikal have the Great Inland Sea. The people of Kazakstan have the deep, wide, and fast-flowing, Mother Vulga. And the Ronbas doesn't get its name from any old stream. Nobinovgorod has the River Nevaneva and access to the open sea. Shame about the Vortex Plains, who have rivers, admittedly, but just tend to use them as handy ice-roads to ride on.

(7) Advertisement: now go to the tale Alexandra: The Making Of An Air Witch for the necessary backstory.

(8) If on active service or a Guild assignment, she got around this by wearing a tight-fitting hairnet under her cap, one made of thick dark mesh that dulled and concealed the colour underneath. Young Johanna was a very capable Assassin who knew the value of concealment, and that a cap on its own could fall off or be pulled off.

(9) Some explanation. In the earliest Johanna tales, knowing no better at the time, I had her calling her parents "Vatti" and "Mutti" as it sounded vaguely right. Since then I've learnt these are German rather than Dutch/Afrikaans terms for Dad" and "Mum". Johanna is far more likely to refer to "ma" and "pa". But it seems too established to easily change. However, I've just published a Hogswatch tale where a very Germanic Krampus smugly points out that he has every right to menace Famke, as she is one two-thousand and forty-eight parts Überwaldean. Johanna would be one-thousand and twenty-four parts Überwaldean. Her father, five hundred and twelve parts Überwaldean... therefore it's not impossible that the Mutti/Vatti thing is a family quirk that came down the line from a long-ago Überwaldean ancestor. These things happen in families. (or maybe not that long ago: I've just run the figures, and to regress back to one Überwaldean ancestor in the Smith-Rhodes line, you'd only need to go back ten generations, or at most 275 years...)

(10) Normally, Lexi was strictly banned from invoking Zephoroschka while on Air Watch duty. Olga was concerned about the havoc an uncontrolled and capricious elemental spirit of the air could do to broomsticks in flight. However, she had added a caveat to the effect of "Unless I ask you to, naturally."

Notes Dump:-

Intermittently getting into a performance of Wagner's Ring Cycle on YouTube. (Dutch orchestra this time, the Nederlandse Radio Filharmonisch Orkest) and thinking... how many musicians is it possible to cram onto a stage, and angle them so that any given violin player is not at risk of being skewered by the bow of the violin player to their right? (Imagining Yulia V shrugging and saying "Necessity. It is easier to read the sheet music when you have both eyes.") And... how many double basses does an orchestra actually need? I counted five on stage here... it's all like the Russian Army massing its heavy artillery wheel-to-wheel. Orchestral overkill, like a musical blitzkrieg.

I have also discovered this. Franz Liszt's First Concerto for Piano and Orchestra (1855) includes a scherzo-like section with a rhythmic triangle accompaniment. The composer added a footnote specifically requesting that the triangle part here not be played sloppily but with delicate precision. It didn't dissuade the waspish music critic Edouard Hanslick from putting it down as "a triangle concerto with piano accompaniment."

Concerto for Triangle and Piano. I like that.

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