The Price of Flight – part eleven
V0.6. I wasn't a hundred percent happy with the first version as it was rushed out to get something out there. I realised on re-reading it was a bit rushed and even though longer than the usual run of things, it could be revised and improved upon. I also had a necessary corrective review from a reader who pointed out a bit that could be factually revised – happy to do that, reader Moriko no Hikari and I hope the correction makes the original comic point and respects your reality. After this it's back to elephants and other little scenes I am itching to write, such as new recruit Officer Schilling and what she brings to the Air Watch. Together with two more classes of recruit pilot hitherto rejected by the Air Watch but included owing to political pressure by Vetinari.
Still not perfect or (to me) completed, and I am likely to come back with Version 0.7.
Epilogue to the Battle of Lancre: The Air Station, Pseudopolis Yard. Ten years after.
The total strength of the Air Watch and Pegasus Service now stood at fifty-one Air Witches and Pegasus pilots. They were supported by five carpet pilots who made a distinct little group of their own, a total of twenty ground Thaumaturgic Technical Officers(1), with thirty Feegle and gnomes who had their own part to play in the scheme of things. Other Watchmen were seconded to Olga's command in the Air Police, as was thought operationally necessary. There were seventeen active Pegasi, and two more foals rising to maturity. The two new foals had chosen their Witches, who were here getting training as and when their Steadings permitted. On top of that, the Service was actively recruiting new pilots, and aircrews, of the right temperament to fly in the new sub-squadron that was being formed. So. Fifty-three pilots soon. At least.
It was rare and usually impossible to have all fifty-one Air Witches in the same place at the same time. Duty and the nature of the job meant that a large proportion of the duty pilots were elsewhere, over the City or on Pegasus Service runs.
Besides, at least half were part-time Specials, Witches with Steadings to run elsewhere, who put in a few days a week as they could, or else who were Reservists who came back for a few days a year to keep their skills up in the event of a general call-up.
It had to be a special event to get everybody together. So special, in fact, that Lord Vetinari suspended Pegasus flights for a few hours, and Mr Vimes accepted that there would be no air cover over the City for the same time.
Olga looked out from the window of her command office, on an upper floor that looked down over the Air Station. She looked down over the ranks of her command, who were standing at ease in ranks. Full dress uniform was the order of the day; for some, the newest pilots, it was the first time they were wearing it and the newness of it showed. For most, it was rarely worn and almost as new, scratchy and unfamiliar. Olga, who had to wear it more often than most(2), turned and took another look at herself in the full-length mirror she had brought up to the office for occasions like this.
No marks on the white. Everything cleaned and gleaming. Red braid and epaulettes in the right places. Lanyard straight. Boots gleaming. Leather polished.
Olga took another look.
Medals straight and in order. Better go down.
Olga took another look down to the landing strip, where her sergeants, Nottie Garlick and Hanna von Strafenburg, were performing the hitherto impossible, of getting fifty-one Witches moving and working in unity without argument or hesitation.
It's a common purpose. Flying. Everyone is here to fly. So they go along with the rest as part of their price of flight. And wearing a uniform. Olga thought. And three stripes are a sort of magical spell. Put a witch in a uniform, that she accepts of her own free will – nobody here is a reluctant conscript – and then give a couple of those witches the military Boffo of three stripes on each arm. Hanna, especially. She is born to this.
"Ready?" Olga asked. Lieutenant Irena Politek, her deputy commander, straightened the set of her sword, looked at herself in the mirror, and nodded.
Olga frowned at the third person in the room, a guest with a necessary function to perform here, who looked ill-at-ease and uncomfortable in a place where Olga had made it abundantly clear to him he was only present on sufferance. Or perhaps probation.
"Remember what I told you, drughi, and we will get on just fine."
He nodded, mutely, and followed them downstairs.
They descended the stairs to the temporary parade ground together.
"Achtung! Stillgestanden!"
Olga tried not to blink at the impeccable coming-to-attention of her command. All her witches had at some point done basic foot drill, usually as part of initial Watch training. It was accepted that it gave Sergeant Detritus something worthwhile to do and filled any hiatus in the training day. When in doubt, get them on the parade square, was the motto.
After that, foot drill was usually not a great part of a Watchman's day, and salutes were usually the bare minimum necessary for courtesy.
Hanna right-turned, marched to her senior officers – Olga was relieved that this was normal military marching, not the absurd parade-march(3) – then stamped to an attention and a salute that would have brough tears of joy to the eyes of a Guards drill-sergeant.
"Senior Sergeant von Strafenburg begs leave to report forty-nine Air Witches of all ranks, thirty Gnome and Feegle Police Constables, five recruit pilots, and twenty-two ground personnel, are present and ready for your inspection, Frau Hauptmann, Fraulein Oberleutnant!"
Olga returned the salute.
"Others should join me on the inspection." she said. "As a courtesy."
She looked across to the roped-off area reserved for invited guests. As expected, he had arrived, quiet and without ceremony, in the company of Mr Vimes and Captain Carrot. She was relieved that her own twin children were behaving, having been told that this was Mummy at her work, so do not run to her until you are permitted to. And behave here with great respect. This is a solemn occasion. Other children present, sons and daughters of Air Witches, were also being quiet and subdued, their fathers, where present, here to care for them. She turned, marched a few steps, and saluted.
"The Air Watch is now present and ready for inspection."
She took in both the dignitaries, and very carefully did not specify to whom she was extending the invitation.
Vimes made a little sideways nod.
Lord Vetinari leant on his cane.
"Shall we proceed, Sir Samuel? Lead on, Captain Romanoff. Capital."
The two newest and currently most junior pilots in the Service were relegated to the rearmost rank, which didn't exactly allow for a grandstand seat. Both felt their newness; not painfully, but with a discomforting impression, being among all the experienced pilots and the veterans of the Service, that they still had much to learn. Neither wore a rank badge and the only distinctions they wore were the new and shiny arm-patches, the Flying Pig of the Air Police and the Pegasus-in-Flight of their other operational responsibility.
Ankh-Morpork City Watch Officer 523 was somewhere near the middle of the rank. Sergeant von Strafenburg had meticulously numbered them off by height, so the tallest were on the outside files and the shortest in the middle, which meant her friend and co-recruit, Ankh-Morpork City Watch Officer 517, was right on the edge.
Rebecka Smith-Rhodes watched the action as best she could through the ranks in front of her. They were in Open Order, which allowed a wide enough space for the inspecting party of dignitaries to pass through them. So far, Vetinari was a long way away, being genial with the Flight-Feegle, who were ranked in front of the pilots. She heard their voices in the otherwise silent assembly.
"And you are?"
"Flight-Navigator Wee Archie-Aff-The-Midden, sir." Olga's voice.
Bekki glimpsed, between shoulders in the forward ranks, Vetinari leaning forwards and down.
"And your duties are?"
"To guide my Hag and her Pegasus true, an' tae guard them faithfully, sir!"
It sounded as if Wee Archie had been patiently taught the words by rote.
"And if somebody were to try to do harm to your Witch or to her mount?" Vetinari asked. He sounded amused.
"Weel, sir, I'd pit the hems on them an' take the dirty scunner right tae the cleaners, nae bother! And I'd ask if his mother can sew an' I'd pit ma boot right intae his spog an'…"
"Thank you, Flight-Navigator." Olga said, hurriedly. There was a susurration of agreement from the other Feegle.
"I see the Pegasi are very well guarded, then." Vetinari replied. "Commendable."
"Miss Rebecka wouldnae be too pleased either." Wee Archie piped up, as Olga and Vetinari moved on. "Aye, she'd pit a fireball up his kilt in nae seconds nothing, an' roast the spogs right aff his sporran!"
It is hard for a commanding officer in full dress uniform to do the thing with her forehead and the palm of her hand, but something in Captain Olga Romanoff, viewed from behind, conveyed the essence of forehead and palm.
In the rear rank, Miss Rebecka winced slightly and thought back to six or seven months previously…
She and Sophie Rawlinson, the two newest Pegasus Service riders, had completed basic Watch training and were now being inducted into what the Service did. Sophie had been allocated to Olga Romanoff, and was accompanying Olga on the Howondalandian One route.(4) Bekki had drawn Hanna von Strafenburg as her mentor, and she had the Hubland States route.(5) They had agreed that Bekki got things like snow, ice, howling gales, freezing rain and mud. Sophie got to share desert heat, baking sun, jungle humidity, and places where lots of jolly interesting ailments might be picked up. The two girls agreed that if they averaged out their routes, they might get something with nice pleasant clement weather all year round.
The rest of the Air Division had accepted them equitably enough. Bekki and Sophie were pilots. Bekki had been training with them since she'd been eleven or twelve; her official mentor in Witchcraft had been Irena Politek, her Godsmother; however, the rest of the tight-knit group of fliers had inevitably all offered something to their Fledgling. Bekki had grown up with them in the background, taught mainly by one Witch – alright then, two Witches; but with maybe twenty others all adding something to the mix. Sophie Rawlinson had arrived, brand new and sixteen, with her Pegasus. Bekki had explained what she knew about the ethos and mentality of the Air Watch to her friend.
"What's that other badge some of them wear?" Sophie had asked. "That sort of black tape on the left tunic breast. With Five-Eight-Eight on it in silver. Looks like a medal of some sort. Not everybody's got that."
"I'm not sure." Bekki had said, honestly. "I know the pilots who wear it are the ones who've been here longest. They refer to each other as five-eighty-eights. I get the feeling it's one of those things you don't ask about if you're new."
Sophie nodded, understanding.
"Like the thing when the older Watchmen wear lilac. It's a mistake to ask out loud why. Then they have a way of saying if you need to know, you weren't there."
Bekki nodded.
"Like lilac. And whatever it means, neither of us were there."
Sophie nodded agreement. Neither of them was in a hurry to go to Olga or Irena and ask, outright. "What's five-eighty-eight?"
They straightened their flying helmets and carried on down the stairs from the crew restroom to dispersal. There were missions to fly.
On the way they passed the other thing they were not in a hurry to ask about. It was a large wall-mounted sort of a plaque, almost a shrine. It was mounted exactly where witches going to and from air patrols would see it all the time. It was designed to look like a side or front elevation of an Ephebian, maybe a Latatian, temple, with vertical uprights carved to look like stately columns supporting a pointy roof. It was carved in bas-relief, as if the building, at this place, had elected to wear a cameo brooch. The columns split the front face into three sections. Two remained blank; the left-hand column had what looked like six names carved into it, with dates. The bas-relief of the pointy temple roof protruded out some way, evoking the sort of sheltered corner where a Watchman might take advantage to bunk off for a smoke in the relatively dry and relatively un-windy.
At the highest point, just under the apex of the symbolic roof, was a carved representation of a Watch badge, bearing the number "588". And underneath was the carved motto
THEY PAID THE PRICE OF FLIGHT.
Bekki knew that 588 was Captain Olga Romanoff's Watch badge number. She wondered how this related to the 588 badge only some pilots wore.
Then she read the names. Only five, once you realised one name was repeated.
SIGRID GUDRUNSDOTTIR.
JENNIFER GRALOCK.
SALLY TREADAWAY.
Татьяна Е. Григоренко.
TATIANA E. GRIGORENKO.
DOROTHY CULPCLAPPER.
Bekki and Sophie read the names quietly, then each made a little Witch-bow and went on to find their Pegasi. From her upstairs office, Olga Romanoff watched, then smiled slightly. She wondered if it might not be worth taking the new girls aside sometime, and properly explaining. Then she shrugged and got back to work. It could wait.
Dorothy Culpclapper. I heard about her. Didn't her broom get over-loaded with magic one day? One of the Teks miscalculated. It exploded in the air. Tragic accident and a simple miscalculation…
"Air Policewoman Smith-Rhodes, sir."
Bekki came back to the present and realised the Patrician was examining her. Olga Romanoff and Commander Vimes were just behind him.
"Yes. I recall the High Ataman of the Steppes was very taken with her." Vetinari remarked. Bekki frowned and remembered an ornately dressed and very senior Cossack who in terms of build and beard had instantly reminded her of both her grandfathers. She had defaulted to Dealing With Oupa mode, which, together with a passing fluency in the Rus language, had assisted diplomacy.
Olga smiled slightly. Pegasus Service pilots were expected to think on their feet. She nodded at Bekki.
"Da. Miss Smith-Rhodes has some promise." Olga agreed.
Vetinari nodded.
"удовлетворительный." Vetinari said. Satisfactory. He nodded. "I shall be hearing more of you, miss Smith-Rhodes." Vetinari said. "And, I rather fancy, of both your sisters." He nodded pleasantly, and raised an eyebrow to Olga, who didn't seem surprised at all that the Patrician was demonstrating fluency in her first language. They moved on.
Lancre, a decade previously.
The fight was over and the Elves had been defeated. The celebration party later had lasted well into the night.(6) The Air Witches had spent a lot of the next day packing up to move back to Ankh-Morpork, with nobody inclined to move too fast as the hangover and the post-combat weariness started to settle in. Olga and Irena had been in no mood to push too hard; and in any case they had another necessary task to organise. Leaving Nottie and the senior Tekniks to organise the return of personnel and materiel to the city, they were now with Magrat Garlick and other senior Witches.
"'T'aint a mortuary as such." Nanny Ogg said. "It's a cold room in the cellars. Kings of Lancre go down there when they're dead, and people up here is plannin' the fun'ral".
"A mortuary for kings." Olga said. "That will serve."
Nanny nodded, soberly.
"Three of your girls is down there, rest their souls."
She paused, uncharacteristically uncertain.
"We're just waitin' for the fourth. Errr…"
Magrat Garlick cleared her throat.
"Tiffany Aching has instructed those clearing the battlefield. Any human remains to be found are to be treated with respect and dignity and gathered together. There are a few, err, and how do I phrase this…"
"Problems." Irena Politek finished the sentence for her. "Sally ran straight into a fireball. What there is of her to be collected was spread out over a wide area. And we really don't think there is going to be much. Even after the most through search."
Olga nodded.
"If something of her, all that can be found, goes into a coffin, then that will be sufficient. I thank you for your kindness."
"Tiffany has the Feegle out looking. That's a hard job. But what there is of Sally to retrieve, they will find." Magrat replied.
"Please. No parts of elves should be mistaken for her and go into the coffin." Olga said. "That would not be…"
Magrat took her hand.
"Feegle know and can tell the difference." she said, gently. "By the way, Tiffany was impressed with how you spoke to the young witch who put up the fireball. She sends thanks."
"Accident. A horrible one, but an accident." Olga said. "No point in being angry with the girl. She was broken up enough as it was."
Magrat smiled gently.
"There's a burial ground behind the Castle. Normally only royalty and faithful servants are buried there. But Verence and I were thinking. Four of you trained as Witches here. They came back and died fighting for Lancre. They should be buried here. Heroines."
"I got the lads together. They done dug four plots." Nanny said. "Time allows, I'll get a stonemason to do the headstones. Reasonable Rates(7) over in Creel Springs owes me a few favours. If you gives me the names, and an idea as to any picture you wants carvin'?"
Later in the day, the Air Watch gathered in the Royal Cemetery behind Lancre castle. Efforts had been made to polish boots and armour. Over to one side, a group of half-a-dozen newly minted witches, fresh from the Lancre coven, stood respectfully. They were travelling to Ankh-Morpork to finish their Witchcraft training as pupils of the Air Watch and would become Air Witches, eventually. Olga and Irena wanted them present here, so that they would have no illusions. Flying was a dangerous profession. Combat flying exponentially so.
Olga and Irena watched the scene. The Air Witches and the Tekniks were all present, and King Verence and Queen Magrat were here. A lot of other witches and Lancre folk had turned up. And there were Feegle. Rob Anybody, one of the prominent Big Men of the Clans, had respectfully explained he had had the local clans scouring the battlefield at the Chalk for Sally. He was keen to assure the Hag o'the High Airs that we did this thing respectfully, Mistress, so that yon puir wee lassie would have a restin' place wi' as much of her as possible in the one place, aye. And we wus certain there is nae elf in the bag, ye ken.
"Oh aye, Big Yan!" another Feegle, known as Daft Wullie, had said. "Bits o' Elf, that smells different, ye ken, and most of the elves wus in bigger bits than th-gurgle…"
Olga had thanked them. And had the problem that there really wasn't much of Sally, even if her Watch badge was going into the coffin too. That had been retrieved, bent and part-melted, but you could still read her number; 503.
One of the old men from the Home Guard, veterans of long-forgotten battles, had beckoned her over and talked about old Chalky White, who stood directly in front of a Klatchian Fire Engine. Battle of… somewhere in Sto Helit, can't remember. Anyway. We had to have the coffin weigh right for the funeral, it would have been too light otherwise, you see, ma'am…
Olga had learnt about one of the many uses of sandbags. And had given a discreet order.
Including herself and Irena, there were twenty-three Air Witches present. Six for most coffins. Olga assisted with Tatiana's coffin, as did Irena, Marina and Nadezhda; that was only right. She had also meticulously counted the number of flowers in each funeral wreath, removing just one each from two bouquets. Not on Tatiana's grave. Some things are not right. (8)
Ceremonial was minimal. But the Air Watch could do foot drill when it was needed, and impeccably so. King Verence had the sensitivity to keep his address short and to the point, Olga said a few words, then gathered her troops ranked by three ranks and seven files. She, Irena and Nottie stood off to one side.
"Let actions mean more than words." Olga said. "Front rank! Fire!"
Seven fireballs arched into the sky above Lancre and exploded with maximum noise. Olga repeated the command twice until a twenty-one fireball salute had been completed.
And the Air Watch dismissed.
Olga and her senior officers conferred. Then Olga spoke to Shawn Ogg, who was beginning to fill the graves. She explained that two of them should be left with the earth loose and not tamped down, for now. She had yet to speak to the families, who might ask for the remains to be repatriated to their distant homelands. I'll find out for definite.
Shawn nodded.
"The two forn girls. Shame, ma'am. Tatiana could out-drink anyone in the Goat and Compasses when she was here as a Witch. Remember she helped our mam with the distilling, and showed her how to do that vodka stuff from potatoes. Knew some rip-roaring forn songs, and played that banjo thing with the squared-off box."
Olga smiled, reflecting the Air Watch now had a vacancy for a balalaika player. And that if she'd lived, Tatiana might have grown old as a Rus version of Nanny Ogg.
"And Sigrid. Very, er, beautiful, ma'am. Lots of the blokes round here looked at her, and thought…"
Shawn reddened slightly. Olga patted his shoulder, wondering why she suddenly wanted to weep.
"Da. Blonde. Not many girls here are… were… that sort of blonde."
Olga turned, walked away, and found a quiet place to weep.
And in the present…
Commander Sam Vimes, Duke of Ankh, stood in front of the assembled Air Watch, wanting to blink at the assembled numbers, wondering how the Hells it had swelled from two or three Gnomes and Feegle with their birds, and two young Witches who had brought their own broomsticks when they signed on as Air Constables… to this.
Somewhere, a Pegasus whinnied. Vimes reflected that the stables up here could house only eight; they'd been designed and built when the Pegasus Service was a damn sight smaller. The overspill, nine or ten, were downstairs, temporarily, where the Mounted Watch and the Flying Squad stabled their horses and pursuit coaches. Not only them; Sergeant Dawson had drawn his attention to the two strange horses, the ones with a sword slung on one side of a saddle of unique and archaic design, and a selection of spears slung on the other. Those were not Watch horses. More like something a Hublandish warrior might have ridden into war on, a few centuries ago.
Later, Vimes reflected it had never even occurred to him, or to Sergeant Dawson of the Mounted Police, to do anything other than accept it as one of those things, to fodder the new horses and water them, to accept, for now, that they were there…
Upstairs, Rebecka Smith-Rhodes, who from the back was studying the ranks in front of her, noted the more experienced Air Witches had left exactly four gaps in their ranks, as if waiting for people to come along and fill them. She wondered about the four names on the memorial who she could not identify, and guessed this was both directly linked and symbolic, a memorial to old comrades.
She was surprised to see the two women walk across the parade ground and in some cases wholly or partially through people, who didn't even notice. Both were blonde, one very strikingly so as if she were the walking rule, the epitome of blonde-ness who all other blondes took their instruction from. Strive to look like this woman. The other, the shorter one, who moved with a brash assurance, had darker blonde hair. Both were dressed in leather skirts, gleaming silver mail tunics and winged helmets; Bekki noted they both wore the obligatory sort-of- saucepan-lids, paired, like a very uncomfortable looking bra. And both carried long spears. Each took her place in one of the gaps in the ranks. The one who had the confident swagger seemed to notice Bekki watching her, then grinned and waved.
Bekki felt at home with this. Ah. Ghosts. That's what the four empty places are for. Other Air Witches seemed to have noticed too and seemed happy about this.
And now Sam Vimes was addressing the parade. Every so often he looked at the apparent gaps in the front rank, as if he was trying to make something out in an apparently empty space.
"Sigrid Gudrunsdottir. Jennifer Gralock. Sally Treadaway. Tatiana Grigorenko. And Dorothy Culpclapper." he said. He eyeballed the crowd.
"I'll start with Dorothy. What happened to her was a tragic accident. I'm told she took an unsafe broom into the air. It exploded or she crashed. Or both. That was a time when we needed brooms in the air quickly and maybe we were cutting corners on safety and somebody flying one more patrol than was wise, they weren't paying attention, or else a ground crewman left the switch on for too long, and put more magic in than the broom could hold. Maybe I was pushing you too hard to get air cover up there for Watchmen on the ground. Or something. The result was, we lost a pilot and a Watchwoman. Anyway, she's one of the five we are here to remember."
Vimes eyeballed the parade.
"Being a Watchman is dangerous. Every so often we lose somebody. Somebody who mattered, somebody we cared for, somebody who left people behind who miss them. It happens, then we come together and grieve."
He paused.
"Then the next day we get back to doing the job which is in front of us. Because we're Watchmen."
Vimes paused. He gathered his thoughts. He was almost sure he was seeing two women in old-fashioned armour and saucepan lid bras, standing in the gaps in the ranks… only when he looked directly at them, they weren't there. They were only visible through the corners of his eyes. He took a breath. Maybe he was working too hard or something.
"Eight years ago now, or was it nine. You did the job that is front of you as Watchwomen. Or rather, you did something I had to do years ago in Borogravia. When regular policing fails, you then have to go to the next stage. Which is what they call a Police Action. That's one of those grey areas in between the place where being a policeman ends, and fighting, and actual shooting wars begin. You could look on it as making sure there's a space left afterwards for normal policing to happen in. But while you're doing what you have to, normal policing is suspended for the duration, and you end up fighting a war. Which is what you did in Lancre. And in the Chalk. You went out and fought the elves."
Vimes touched the metal of his breastplate.
"You had to. No alternative. You made Lancre and the Chalk safe to live in. Against an enemy who wouldn't know Law if it came up and poked them in the eye. And four of you died doing it. That's policing. That's the Watch. That's the dangerous business you're in. As a pilot. As witches. But above all – as Watchwomen. I'm damn glad to know you all. And I'm damned privileged to have known the four of you who were killed."
He indicated the memorial stone.
"Five names. Dorothy, who died in a peacetime flying accident. Sigrid Gudrunsdottir. Jennifer Gralock. Sally Treadaway. Tatiana Grigorenko. Who died in a war. Lots more room on that memorial. Just… let it be a long time before the next names get carved on it."
He paused again, for effect. Then concluded;
Vimes paused. "That's twenty dollars call out and half a dollar a letter for a good stonemason, for one thing. Double that, if it's got to go on in two languages."2(9)
Silence, then a ripple of appreciative laughter. Vimes relaxed. He knew his Air Witches appreciated black humour.
"So whoever dies next had better have a very short name."
More laughter.
"Captain Romanoff? I've seen your full name written down. And you'd be a two-language person. So stay alive. We can't afford to lose you. Thank you."
Ankh-Morpork, a decade previously.
Lord Vetinari steepled his fingers and looked across the desk. Olga Romanoff, Irena Politek, and Nottie Garlick stood at attention, helmets tucked under their right arms. Sam Vimes was there too, lounging at a relaxed almost-attention.
"I trust miss von Strafenburg is recovering satisfactorily and is out of danger? As is Miss Heartsease and the new recruit pilot, Miss Glossop?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." Olga replied, politely. "Virginia's broken arm is mending well after Igor attention. She should be fit for duty within a fortnight. Matilda was merely concussed. She and the other new recruits – we have a total of eight who have had training in Lancre, who have no promise of a Steading, but who all show flying aptitude – are now to continue their witch training here, in the City, under our mentorship."
She nodded at Vimes.
"Mr Vimes is understanding that all Witches take pupils. We are finding them places to stay, and while they will continue to receive Witch training in the usual way, we are accepting them as Watch Cadets until they turn sixteen, and can then enter the regular Watch under the accepted agreement. Their training, with us, will focus on flight and flying skills."
"Capital. And miss von Strafenburg?"
Olga shrugged. She nodded to Irena.
"Hanna put out a massive amount of magic to fight the Elves." Irena said, touching her breastplate briefly. "So much that it nearly killed her. Fortunately, a Kelda who was supervising her people in the fight recognised the danger and used the hiddlings – that is, specialised Kelda magic – to stabilise her and help her recuperate her strength and her vitality. Kelda Jeannie believes there are things in Hanna's head that need the soothings and the healings. Things from childhood and in her background which have left her damaged. Hanna is on indefinite leave to rest and to learn to see things differently. But I believe she will be back with us."
"Capital. I understand she is your starred, er, ace, in air combat with Elves?"
"Da. The ace in the pack." Olga agreed. "We believe she took thirty-seven Elves in the air. And an undetermined number on the ground. Most of us were doing well to get less than ten."
"So her air combat experience will be invaluable in training new pilots for warfare." Vetinari said. "Capital."
"Kelda Jeannie considers that part of the problem with Hanna." Nottie Garlick said. "Up in the sky and fighting, Hanna didn't care if she lived or died, and might have welcomed it had she been killed in combat."
"A suicide jockey." Vimes said, reflectively. "Dangerous. And not just to the enemy."
Five people considered this in silence. Then Vetinari steepled his fingers again.
"It is perhaps time to consider a degree of remuneration." Vetinari said. "The thanks of a grateful City."
Olga looked at Vimes. He grinned.
Vetinari prompted her.
"On past experience of the City Watch, it is customary to ask for a dartboard at this point in the negotiations."
Olga smiled slightly.
"It would be a useful addition to the duty crew room, da." she said. "A sport that teaches hand-eye co-ordination and the accurate placement of thrown weapons."
She grinned.
"I will consider this. But first, the matter of flying pay, and bonus pay for time spent in a war zone? Also, I wish permission for a wedding."
Vetinari blinked.
"And the lucky.. the truly remarkable young man, Lieutenant Romanoff?"
Olga smiled again.
"Not for me. For two of my command."
Vetinari looked at her.
"Lieutenant, it is customary that a person under command in a military…" he looked at Vimes, and corrected himself " – that is, a mildly military – organisation, who wishes to marry, should go first to you, as their commanding officer? Or perhaps to Commander Vimes, as the commanding officer? You have the authority already, and you do not need to ask me?"
Olga and Irena both shook their heads.
"Nyet." Olga said, firmly. "Not this marriage."
And in the present…
Olga Romanoff stepped forward, saluted the memorial plaque, then stooped to lay down the memorial wreath (10). She stepped back again, saluted a second time, and stood back while Irena Politek stepped forward with a tray. She set out five shotglasses, and filled each with a measured amount of vodka. Then Irena too saluted and stepped back. The two then right-turned and marched away to the paraded troops.
Lord Vetinari addressed the parade. He spoke briefly about the proud traditions of the Air Service and said he had no doubt at all that if it came to it, they would fight as fiercely in the defence of Ankh-Morpork as they had for Lancre and the mix of youth and experience he saw, looking out over the ranks, was exactly the sort of vigorous blend that left him in no doubt of their expertise and ability. If those you have loved and lost were here, they would no doubt be proudest of all.
Bekki Smith-Rhodes saw him looking directly at where one of the mystery women in the saucepan-lid bras was standing, and wondered if he could see them too. Maybe all he physically sees is a gap in the ranks. But he's worked out what the gap is there for, and he's deduced who will be filling it.
"Any war is waste." Vetinari went on. "A waste of people, resources and material. It destroys, it disrupts, and people are killed who might otherwise have lived. But sometimes it is inevitable. War over Lancre and the Chalk was inevitable. There would have been no treaty, no negotiation, with the enemy you faced. If that enemy had not been defeated in Lancre, they would have spread out. They would have come here. To face a larger battle with many more people killed, many more lives disrupted. You helped to avert that. Four of your number were killed in preventing a wider war that would have claimed uncounted lives had the enemy not been stopped there. For this you deserve our thanks. And thus we are here to remember our dead."
Vetinari nodded to Olga.
She looked over to her right.
"Musician, forward!" she ordered.
The young man in his best Black, his own uniform, stepped forward, and raised his trumpet to his lips.
Everywhere where there are militaries, everywhere in places where battles have been fought, something emerges which is variably given a name like Taps or The Last Post. This is primal. The Discworld was no exception. Olga Romanoff, realising her command had no horn players, had contemplated her list of friends and contacts and had brought in a trumpet player for the day. One of her pilots knew a trumpeter. He had been Persuaded.
And now the young man in his best Assassin black waited out the two minutes' silent remembrance, heard the frightening Hanna von Strafenburg call the parade to attention, took the nod from the even more frightening Olga Romanoff, and played Taps.
Irena and Olga had changed into their dress uniforms in the Commanding Officer's personal office. Vetinari and Vimes had both expressed reservations. Lord Vetinari had said he appreciated that the Air Watch and Pegasus Service had a very strong Far Überwaldean ethos to it that appeared to be developing into a Service Tradition, and he had no desire to interfere with that, but, nevertheless. The uniform they'd chosen, he could not help noticing, evoked the Cossacks of the Vortex Plains and the Far Steppes. Certainly eye-catching and stylish. It looked good. But, just perhaps, some small concession might be made to the fact they were working for Ankh-Morpork? Some form of headwear, perhaps, drawn from the Morporkian military tradition?
"Lose those fur caps." Vimes had said.
It had helped that Lady Olga Romanoff got lots of invitations to Society events. The ones she could not diplomatically avoid could be hard work, but sometimes there were compensations. Even at a reception hosted by Lady Rust, where she met officers of one of the family cavalry regiments. Olga had to admit that while they were a bunch of rather hearty Henries and Ruperts, their uniforms were striking and designed to impress. She suspected that the more impressive the uniform, the less substantial the man inside it, as if one had been designed to compensate for the other.
Effortlessly fending off propositions and passes, she asked about the uniform, which looked very vaguely familiar in a way she largely couldn't place.
"Oh, based on fighting cavalrymen out of Far Überwald, Lady Olga." the Hussar Captain said. "Called huszars, or gusars, or something like that. Out of the Magpyr country."
It rang bells; Olga was aware of a people called the Magpyrs or Magyiria(11), or something like that, who spoke a truly jaw-breaking language with too many z's in it, and were reputed to be good with horses. She'd never really met any; Überwald was a big place, and the Escrow region was a long way from her home.
"Tell me about the headwear." Olga had said.
"Ah. Well. We've been wearing the busby fur cap for three centuries now, my Lady. It's been around so long a part of the Ankh-Morporkian military tradition. Originally it was called a czapo or a shapska or something like that."
"Really? And this coloured flap hanging over the side?"
"Called the busby bag, ma'am. Not sure at all what that was originally for."
Olga turned it over in her hands and noted the maker's name inside. She smiled slightly.
"A long-established part of the Ankh-Morporkian military tradition? I thank you."
The Air Watch got to retain its modified Cossack fur caps. Albeit with a bright red busby bag hanging over the left side. (12) Vetinari had raised an eyebrow, smiled slightly, and said nothing.
And Olga checked the set of her busby, as footsteps came down the corridor and there was a knock on the door.
"Enter." she said.
It was one of the younger Air Watch members.
"I brought him here, as you requested,. Err.."
"Thank you. Leave him here, devyushka. You may leave. I wish to speak to him privately."
Olga noticed the way she squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. She waited until Rebecka Smith-Rhodes had departed again, and nodded to the young man in black who was holding the instrument case.
"Andrijs du Pris, known as Ampie." she said. "Thank you for coming here today of your own free will. And, this time, at my invitation."
The final-year student Assassin looked nervous.
"Rebecka esked, ma'am. You required a musician, a horn player?"
"Da. I asked. Rebecka suggested you. You know what is to be done?"
"Yes, ma'am. I hev been practicing."
Olga studied him for a while.
"Good." she said. "Horoscho. Now. Despite being dressed as an Assassin, I believe you are more of a musician. There is a form of words musicians are obliged to say at such times as this. Say the words now, if you please, so that we both know where we stand."
Ampie gulped.
"Errr…"
The words weren't quite coming. He forced them out.
"Will I be paid for this gig, ma'am?"
There was a long silence. Then Olga smiled slightly. She withdrew a folded piece of paper from a pocket and slowly, silently, unfolded it. Irena was standing slightly behind her to the right, her arms folded. She was also intently watching him.
"Some time ago, brat, you entered this place without leave in order to deliver chocolate." she said. (13) "We have not forgotten, and the relevant statute of limitations has not yet expired. This is a warrant for your arrest, for trespass on Watch property, intrusion on a place considered vital to City security, and for being an Assassin in a place where Commander Vimes does not welcome Assassins."
Olga let this sink in.
Irena Politek gave him a little smile
"Six months in the Tanty should be a learning experience for you." she remarked. "I'm sure the Assassin's School will understand and defer your studies."
Ampie swallowed again. Then Olga refolded the paper.
"Do what you are here to do and do it well, and I'll tear this up. That's the price for the gig."
"You won't get a better offer." Irena added.
"Rebecka would visit you in prison, I think." Olga said. "Now let us go downstairs. You will be escorted, of course, while on Air Watch premises."
Ampie did what he had to.
Afterwards, as the notes echoed to silence, Olga nodded at Hanna. The order to dismiss the parade was given.
The official ceremonial was over. The Tekniks had laid a table out with lots of glasses and bottles on it. Olga raised her voice and called
"Five-Eighty-Eight!"
The women called forward all wore the silver on black 588 badge, Bekki realised, apart from several of the invited civilians, all women, who came forward. They had the look of ex or retired pilots of the Service about them, women in their late thirties and forties, whose body language and look all said, from some angles, Witch and from other angles Pilot. The first round of vodkas went to them, anyway. Bekki and Sophie watched, Bekki relieved she wasn't for the moment included in the drinking.
"That's five-eighty-eight, then." Sophie said. "All the ones who fought in Lancre."
"The combat veterans." Bekki agreed. She looked over and frowned.
"Bekki, you see them too?"
"Yes. I'm thinking, Sophie. Women with flying horses who are drawn to wars and fighting. It's in their job description. Valkyries. And Olga's pouring vodkas for them."
"Ye gods! Valkyries come here? I suppose it's logical. Maybe they're Air Watch members in their spare time, do you think?"
Sophie paused, as a thought, an irresistible horse-related thought, hit her. "Hey, I wonder where their horses are? If they can fly horses without wings, I wonder how it's done? Shall we see where they've stabled them?"
They decided to go off together to check the stables. A party was breaking out around them, or at least an Official Reception. Caterers were now bringing up a buffet with light snacks.
Ankh-Morpork, a decade previously.
The wider Watch welcomed the Air Division on its return Home. The canteen at Pseudopolis Yard became an informal welcome-home party venue, where the pilots and the Tekniks were backslapped, hugged, kissed and drinks provided for. Vimes tolerated this, so long as nobody got drunk who was actually on duty. After a while, the welcome-home party spilled over to the Bucket on Gleam Street, the Watch local.
Marina Raskova and Kiiki Pekissaalen soon realised people were looking at them. They shrugged. They were used to it. A drinker at the bar, one who was not Watch, and who had been nursing a tall gin as if she had all the time in the world, came over to join them.
"Alice." Marina said, welcoming a friend.
"Hey, you long thin streak of piss!" Kiiki said, affectionately.
Alice Band frowned, then grinned. You had to make allowances for Swommis. It was as if an entire nation had been born with a tendency to coprolalia, the thing that went along with Tourette's and was often mistaken for it. Besides, anyone crazy enough to call an Assassin a long thin streak of piss... they had to be lunatic. Or Swommi. Alice hugged them both.
Kiiki hugged back, fondly.
"So what brings you here?" she said.
Alice grinned.
"Got a message to be here." she said. "Via Olga. She said I might be needed."
They settled with drinks as the pub filled with Watchmen of all genders and species.
"So you got through it alive." Alice said. "What's next?"
Marina looked thoughtful.
"We fought in a war." she said. "We both lived. Although she got herself shot down".
"So? I lived. Got up there again. Got a few more." Kiiki said, indifferently.
Marina shuddered.
"I nearly lost you." she said, accusingly.
Marina turned back to Alice.
"I'm thirty-three. I'm the oldest pilot in the force. I feel like I'm losing my edge. Surrounded by teenagers. I do not want to do this any more."
Alice nodded, sympathetically.
"We've talked about leaving. I have been a witch since I was eleven. I have been a Watchwoman for nine years Ever since Olga and Irena opened the door for Witches. One of the first, after them. But right now, after being terrified for a week, I'm thinking of resigning. Go back to Blondograd, as a normal everyday Witch."
"Or else up to my country." Kiiki said. "We settle there together. Build a Steading. As Witches."
Marina's face fell.
"What I want, really want, is to go there married. To you, Kiiki. More than anything else in the world. But no religion allows it."
"And practically every country in the world doesn't allow same-sex marriages." Alice said, sympathetically. "Have you thought there's one Goddess who'd make it holy?"
Kiiki looked at Alice, long and hard.
"What do you know, long thin tentpole?" she demanded.
Alice grinned. Ever since she'd first met Marina and Kiiki at the Blue Cat Club, she'd wondered why she was so amusedly tolerant of being casually abused. Nobody else dared. Maybe that was it. Kiiki was different.
"Olga knows about you both. She had an idea. Olga?"
Olga Romanoff came to join them. She smiled.
"I know you both want to resign. I'll be sorry to lose you. Will you stay on as Reservists? Come back a couple of times a year for refresher training? Anyway, I think I've got you a leaving present. And we're all here. To celebrate."
The crowd of Watchmen was parting like a desert sea in front of a Prophet with a staff. The person working his way to them leant on his stick and smiled a small smile.
"Officer Raskova and Officer Pekkisaalen, I believe? I believe you wish to marry. Would a civil partnership do?"
He looked across to Alice Band and then back to Kiiki and Marina.
"Miss Band, I believe, comes from a long line of Priests. I know she is, in the main, rather cynical about organised religion. However, she has a particular affinity with one Goddess and in these circumstances might consent to be the voice of her goddess in the world. And yours too, I believe? Capital. Shall we commence?"
Lord Vetinari bade them stand. Behind and around him, people like Sam Vimes, Angua von Überwald and Irena Politek were appearing.
He intoned
"By the authority vested in me by the laws and statutes of legally constituted government of the twin cities of Ankh and Morpork, I believe I am entitled to conduct a marriage ceremony for two naturalised citizens of this City, both the named individuals having earned the right to Ankh-Morporkian citizenship, due to their service in its City Watch."
There was more of the same. It resulted in Marina and Kiiki being named partners in legally constituted marriage both in the eyes of Man and under the Gods, specifically those of the goddess Dike, represented here by her Priestess, Miss Alice Band…
Still not quite finished. Look out for Version 0.7 at some point.
(1) Including the new recruits, who were there to fulfil a special new task and who Olga had some lingering reservations about. Vetinari, without actually over-ruling her, had said that there were other considerations to take into account, but of course, the final decision is entirely yours, Captain Romanoff. Mr Vimes had sighed and said "I do know how you feel, Olga, and most of them are not people I'd think of employing for five minutes. But as there's already one of them in the Watch, we've conceded the principle and it's makes it more difficult to say"". Just… give them a fair try, would you?"
(2) Olga had chosen the uniform. It was a perk of command.
(3) Because even for Hanna von Strafenburg, there are limits. Hanna's was goose-stepping. She had decided early on that Junker daughter of a Generalleutnant and an inheritor of the proud Prussican military tradition or not, some things were just taking it too far.
(4) all the states, nations and tribal groupings to the Turnwise of an arbitrary line drawn down the middle of the continent. This meant places like Djelibeybi, Tsort, Syririt, Ymitury, the Central Plains, Matabeleland, Smith-Rhodesia and Rimwards Howondaland.
(5) This run included Island, the Skaggeraks, Hubsvensska, Nothingfjord, the Swommi country, the Vortex Plains, the Steppes and some states of Upper Aceria.
(6) The Air Watch had brought several crates of vodka with them as part of Essential Stores. Olga had accepted several bottles would end up in Feegle mounds round Lancre, apart from the one that had gone into Nanny Ogg's knicker leg, and decided to put it down to wastage, when indenting for replacements for equipment lost on combat. Her only need to intervene had been when Nadezhda and Irena had suggested demonstrating the Sword Dance at the top of the great staircase of Lancre Castle. So everybody could see. Olga had pointed out this was not a good idea after a lot of drink. Otherwise, the pilots had let their hair down and re-adjusted to peacetime.
(7) It's like this. Mr and Mrs Mason of Creel Springs had two sons to go into the family stone-carving trade. The oldest boy was called Free. The younger brother wasn't so much named as marketed; he became Reasonable Rates Mason.
(8) Tiffany Aching noticed and asked Irena. "A custom in our country." Irena said. "You were not to know. In most circumstances an even number of flowers is bad luck. There must always be an odd number. (8.1) The only exception is at a funeral where a bouquet or a wreath must always have an even number of blooms. Olga was making sure."
(8.1) Still the rule in Russia – never give a Russian woman a bouquet with an even number of flowers in it. Otherwise it can be taken as meaning – "Drop Dead!" Thirteen roses – never twelve - is very acceptable.
(9) Actually double and a half: the stonemason had frowned at the Cyrillic letters and asked for a bit more as extra.
(10) This one had an even number of flowers in it, as per Tradition.
(11) Their noble overlords, the de Magpyr family, had more of a bloodsucker streak than usual in their dealings with the peasantry.
(12) And in the case of people like Olga, Irena and Nadezhda, their respective Cossack heraldry in the crown.
(13) go to my tale Strandpiel, in which a Man In Black braves mortal peril to leave chocolate for his lady love, all because the lady loves higgs And Meakins' Finest Assorted milk Chocolate Platter.
Notes Dump: think of it as a sort of dispersal area for recovered ideas which can be cannibalised for spare parts so as to get new ideas up into the air again.
Not sure how to use this yet. But. FB discussion:
Me: Discussed this at work yesterday. how to translate the IT helpdesk motto "have you tried switching it off and switching it back on again?" into dog- Latin as our Guild motto. A bit of frustrating work with Google Translate - how do you put a twenty-first century technological cliché into a first-century language without garbling it totally? - came up with "Deiugo est. Et iungo iterum."
Alysson Rowan In Klingon, that comes out as:
'oH leQ DoH 'ej jatlhqa' vInID SoH?