The Price of Flight – part thirteen.
The Arms Race.
After my brush with that emissary of Pestilence called Covid-19, let's get back into it now my enthusiasm is back.
In which Olga realises an Arms Race is going on between the two Superpowers.
V0.3 - noted more bits of text randomly chopped out by FF, restoring; general tidying and tinkering.
The Zlobenian Embassy, Paragore Ward, Ankh-Morpork.
"That is your luggage." Vasilisa Budonova said, flatly. She surveyed the mound of trunks and bags.
"We prefer to think of it as the Diplomatic Bag." said the tall lugubrious-looking diplomat, helpfully.
"Diplomatic bag or not, is too much for Pegasus." Vasilisa said, firmly. A little voice inside her head said I am obliged now to find a way of transporting all this. For this entitled wet dishrag of an aristo. Perhaps I understand Revolutionaries more now.
"Wait one moment. I will consult." she said, reaching for her Omnicom.
"Snow Maiden to Valkyrie Control. Have arrived to collect passenger. Is little problem. Over."
-Valkyrie Control here. Explain nature of the little problem, SnowMaiden. Over.
"SnowMaiden responding. I am expected to take Diplomatic Bag. Is far too big for Stravinsky to carry as well as passenger. I request a drone cargo rug and towing cable. Over."
-Stand by, SnowMaiden.
There was a short silence, with Control holding the line open. Vasilisa studied her passenger critically. He looked glum and miserable: a young man in perhaps his early twenties, not much older than she was, with an oddly familiar look to him. She wondered what he'd done wrong to be abruptly uprooted from the dream diplomatic posting in Ankh-Morpork, out to a place that was a remote dusty desert arsehole miles from anywhere. A place Robyn might describe as the sort of place the wopwops would call the wopwops, the outer wopwops , the place other wopwops would shun as impossibly remote… (1)
-Valkyrie to SnowMaiden. I am despatching Firebird with the cargo rug and towing harness. Hauling cargo will impede your speed and mobility. As a precaution, Firebird is to accompany you on the flight as aircrew. She will be armed, as a visible deterrent. You are Flight Commander. Acknowledge. Over."
"SnowMaiden to Valkyrie Control. Gratefully acknowledged. Firebird as aircrew and a cargo rug for all the gov ….the Diplomatic Bag. Is any trouble anticipated? Over."
--Valkyrie to SnowMaiden. Better be cautious. We know little about the current situation in Syrrit. It is preferable you have a second crewman aboard. One who has both hands free to display a crossbow as deterrent while you act as pilot. No, trouble is not expected. But it pays to be cautious. There is much cargo to load? Please advise. Over.
Vasilisa surveyed the mound of crates and trunks. One of them barked. She investigated. Then glared at the diplomat. On top of everything else. A brace of hunting dogs, who were not happy at their confinement.
"I could hardly leave them here…" the diplomat protested.
"SnowMaiden to Valkyrie Control. Nine large trunks. And two dogs. Over."
--Valkyrie Control to SnowMaiden. Firebird has been issued a big rug. Are the dogs secured in travelling crates? Over.
Vasilisa took the omnicom out of her pocket, and activated its seeing eye so that she could give Control a visual. She heard Valkyrie Control mutter "Liebe Götter!" disbelievingly.
-Well, at least Firebird gets on with dogs. She has a talent. I will authorise twenty minutes of loading time, then I can advise Sunray you are airborne. If there is nothing else, safe journey, and above all, be mindful of the Rules of Engagement. Valkyrie Control out.
Vasilisa focused her attention on the passenger. She tried not to scowl.
"The rules. You sit on passenger saddle here, behind main saddle. Main saddle has high cantle in rear. This has handrails you can hold onto with hands. If you must, if there is turbulence, you may then steady yourself on my shoulders or at my waist. To avoid regrettable misunderstanding, nowhere else. The emergency exits are located nowhere, as there are none. Here is obligatory brown paper bag. If need arises, use it."
There was an unspoken question. Vasilisa went "Tcch."
"Ensure everything goes in brown paper bag, not over Stravinsky, not over me, and throw it overboard. But not over City." She looked up. "And here is my aircrew."
The descending Air Witch looked hopelessly encumbered. A coil of thick rope which trailed metal fittings was wound around her torso. A heavy crossbow had been slung over this. A long rolled something was tethered to the back of her broom by a secure rope. It looked heavy, except for the fact that in defiance of gravity, it was hanging up on its rope. The net result was a witch with encumbered manoevrability, who was flying very carefully, mindful of the strange aerodynamics and being no longer streamlined.
Wee Archie Aff The Midden, who had been watching from the mane, looked up and a smile spread across his face.
"'Tis mah ain Hag. Miss Rebecka."
Vasilisa counted mentally to ten. After a deceptively quiet morning, it was going to be one of those days.
"Today, I am your Hag. I, pilot. Miss Rebecka is passenger – aircrew - and you are Navigator for me." she said, in a slow patient voice. "Remind me how I came to get you."
"Lots of the lads on leave, tae see their clans and their Keldas." Wee Archie explained. "Oor Big Man's up wi' the Hag O'The High Airs herself, an' most of the other fellas is on duty. Wi' Miss Rebecka not flyin' on Boykie today, ah wus the Spare, on reserve…"
Vasilisa ran to help Bekki drag in the rolled magic carpet. It was reluctant to come to ground level until Vasilisa remembered the Word. They leapt aside, as forty or fifty pounds of rolled carpet fabric (with underlay) dropped like a brick on its tethering rope.
"Never stand directly underneath." Bekki remembered.
"So you did do conversion course. I did wonder."
"For not quite a full afternoon." Bekki reminded her. "An hour on theory and maybe an hour and a half of flying time. Flying Carpets for beginners." (2)
Aware of the eyes of a whole Embassy on them, Bekki and Vasilisa realised they at least had to appear to be competent. They swiftly conferred, then rolled out the carpet on the gravelled yard. Vasilisa looked at the tangle of cable Bekki had unrolled from herself and asked, in a low voice
"Done this before?"
"No. First time."
There was a pause. Then Bekki said "Hanna gave me an instruction leaflet… got it here somewhere…" she rummaged, and located a piece of paper. She unfolded it. Vasilisa came to look. She did the face-palm thing.
"Dragkabelförflygmatta. Monterings anvisningar.(3) Ah. We get these from Ikea Ikeasson, do we?"
"There are helpful drawings." Bekki pointed out. "Mounting points for carabinier clips A and B are located underneath forward edge of Carpet at points D and C… unroll towing cable, and locate mounting points G, H, I and J, located on port and sideboard loin straps, breeching straps and trace straps…"
Eventually they figured it out. Then moved on to stowing the airfreight.
"Could use a little help here." Bekki said, pointedly.
"Aircrew task." Vasilisa said. "I, pilot."
The patiently waiting diplomat spoke, in a low voice, to a couple of Embassy servants. At Bekki's direction, they helped place the crates and dog-carriers on the carpet. This took time: she was trying to point out every case had to be placed just so, to ensure balance and stability in flight. Bekki also wanted things stowed so that there was room for her.
"Looks like you've made a fort there." Vasilisa observed. "A little Kremlin."
"Ever made a blanket fort as a kid?" Bekki replied. "If there's even a remote chance somebody's going to be firing things at me, all this stuff in between me, and for instance any crossbow bolts, is going to come in handy."
"Are we ready to go yet?" Vasilisa demanded.
"One last flight check." Bekki said. "Aircrew duties, remember? Can't fly till I'm satisfied stowed cargo is safe and doesn't pose risk. Then the pilot checks my working and if she's happy, we take off. Irena and Hanna had us sweating when we did Flight Drills. Remember?"
She nodded to two growling and barking carrying boxes. Then she crossed her legs and composed herself.
The bemused diplomat looked at Vasilisa.
"Witch things." she said. That was easier than a patient and lengthy explanation. People tended to accept that as an answer and not enquire further. "Your dogs will be happier passengers afterwards. And I'm assuming you have name? I am Natasha Vasilisa Danutavichniya Budanova. Vasilisa Danutavichniya will suffice."
"Semyon Casimirovich Romanoff." the diplomat said. "Just call me Semyon?"
He looked over. The red-haired witch was still sitting cross-legged in her niche among the trunks, with her head bowed. But the dogs had quieted and were calmer…
"Отлично. Так почему же мы говорим на морпоркском?" she demanded.
"Indeed, Miss Vasilisa Danutavichniya. Why are we speaking Morporkian, when we are of the same people?" He paused, blinked, and exclaimed "Great Gods! Those dogs are borzoi! One nearly took the hand off a servant last week! How is she even doing that?"
Bekki had come out of the Borrowing trance and had opened one travelling cage. The dog, a huge shaggy wolfhound, was partway out and was allowing her to pet it. It was as if girl and dog were communicating somehow. Finally it retreated into the box, and meekly allowed her to close and secure the door. She then repeated the procedure with the other dog.
"She's good with dogs." Vasilisa explained. She patted Semyon on his shoulder. "Witch things."
"Flight-Commander? Care to make final pre-flight inspection?" Bekki called.
Vasilisa walked around Pegasus and towed carpet and checked the towing cable connections for security and for the sake of appearances, then pronounced herself satisfied. She vaulted into the pilot saddle and patted Stravinsky's neck. Wee Archie stood up in the mane and saluted. Semyon, after figuring out the best approach to what was not by any means a normal horse, got into the passenger saddle aft of the wing roots. He sensed it was not done to use the wing root to give yourself a leg up, then realised the tack allowed for a second set of stirrups.
The pilot-witch in front of him activated something with a little click, and spoke into apparent thin air
"Flight commander to aircrew. Activate carpet on my count…"
Semyon let the rest wash over him. He heard the red-haired girl's voice, from behind him, and more clearly from in front of him, at the same time, and half-comprehended what was being said. It must make sense on some level…
Spatial inertia and stability spells applied. Ignition sequence on rug… three, two, one…
There was an audible gasp from the watching Embassy staff. He realised they were watching the carpet lift in the air by about... he turned to look. Four feet. With all the cargo. And flat as a board.
-Roger on that, Firebird. Beginning forward canter…
-Initiating inverse mass compensation. You can go to short-take-off on five….
-Going into short take-off run…
-Thaumic security field activating round rug….
-We have lift-off. Hey, Firebird, we did it!
"Err… Miss Vasilisa Danutavichniya. You have done this before?" Semyon asked. The moment of "We are never going to clear the top of the Embassy buildings" and the uncomfortable feeling of being tilted sixty degrees from the horizontal, and waiting for the inevitable crash, was fast receding into bad memory.
Vasilisa paused before answering, levelling her Pegasus into a slow steady climb now they'd cleared the last of the rooftops. The little blue man sitting in the mane snickered.
"Well. We have a load which even with inverse mass spells is at the upper limit of what a single Pegasus can reasonably propel. I am towing a slaved drone carpet which is fully laden, which seriously limits my speed, mobility and aerodynamic stability. Including your dogs, I am responsible for the wellbeing of six living creatures. Many things had to be co-ordinated and many spells applied to get Pegasus and towed carpet working together. With an unwieldy and very heavy flying platform and such a short runway, I had to employ an extremely highly-angled take-off."
She paused.
"It is just as well my teachers were thorough in the flight drills, as I'm sure I can do it so very much better the second time I do such a thing."
There was a long pause. Ankh-Morpork shrank and stretched into the distance underneath. Semyon contemplated the fall. He also felt a sense of unfairness that he'd barely been here for six weeks and now they were posting him on…
"It helps not to look down, if you are prone to dizziness. You do not yet need the brown paper bag? Horoscho. I ask because we will shortly be directly over the Borogravian Embassy and I will pretend not to be aware if you choose to drop it…" she switched to Morporkian. "Navigator. We will ascend to angels three. Just to get our passenger settled and acclimatised. This will take approximately thirty minutes. The next stage is yours."
Wee Archie Aff The Midden looked nervously around.
Errr… ye said Angels, Mistress? I dinnae like the sound of that. Some of they angels can be a bit relentless, ye ken. Wi' the flaming swords and sandals with they great big studs in."
Vasilisa took a deep breath.
"Wee Archie. Angel is Hag-speak for unit of one thousand feet. We say "Angels three". Is shorter on Omnicon than saying "three thousand feet". Do you not know this from flying with Firebird?"
"Tae be honest, Mistress, I dinnae pay attention." the Feegle said, with his usual naïve honesty. "And Miss Rebecka always says "we're at five thousand now, Wee Archie" and the like."
"Well. I can only climb in wide shallow spiral with heavy load. It will take time. You then navigate everything to Smyrrit. Any course calculation you have to do, start it now."
Aye, mistress. Errr…"
"Is there anything wrong, Wee Archie?"
"I has to move a Pegasus, and Miss Rebecka on the magic carpet, all at once?"
"Da, that is idea."
"Crawstep everything?"
"Da."
Wee Archie swallowed.
"Miss – you was saying as how this is your first time, on a Pegasus wi' a towed carpet?"
"Go on." Vasilisa said.
"Well… I've only ever craw-stepped single broomsticks an' just the one Pegasus before… "
Vasilisa did the thing with her forehead and the palm of her hand.
"I'm not sure what exactly it is you need to do, but I'm sure you will do it to the best of your abilities."
Vasilisa was surprised to hear this was Semyon the passenger. Being encouraging and confident.
Wee Archie perked up.
"Now tell me in general terms what you have to do."
Semyon nodded encouragement at a convoluted explanation.
"So you have to take into account the size and volume of the thing or person you are crawstepping. Usually a single human, sometimes a human on a broomstick, sometimes a human woman on a Pegasus. The solution is obvious, is it not? Think bigger. Go to the next level up. Include also the towed carpet, and Miss Rebecka, in your mental picture." There was a pause. "That is, the picture forming in your head, behind your eyes, when you prepare for the Crawstep."
Wee Archie brightened up.
"Aye, mister. 'tis simple, phrased in that manner. I thank ye!"
Vasilisa turned her head to glower at Semyon.
"Look. I'm a diplomat. This is part of the job."
Bekki had made herself a fairly comfortable nest in among Semyon's many boxes and trunks. She was still able to watch the sky around then, and the dwindling city spiralling below, as Vasilisa performed the long slow careful ascent. Periodically she watched behind her, looking the ten yards forward to where Stravinski the Pegasus was effortlessly beating powerful wings in the air. Some sort of discussion appeared to be going on between pilot and passenger, snatches of it were being blown back to her in the slipstream, but it was in Rodinian, a language she remained imperfectly fluent in. All she could see from here was the back of his head, but from the front he had actually reminded her of somebody. She couldn't quite place it. And she just knew this would nag at her.
Bekki watched the skies for other air-users. For such a big city, relatively little usually happened in the airspace above it. Traditionally, City Witches had been few and far apart and worked in discreet ways that did not invite publicity. And they preferred to move at ground level rather than fly. Some species flew: vampires had always been here, and others, such as banshees, were not unknown. Klatchian immigrants had smuggled magic carpets out of Klatch and as often as not had moved into the taxi-for-hire business. Then, with Lancre now training more Witches than there were Steadings for them, more and more were moving to urban Witching and had brought broomsticks with them. The City Watch Air Police had been born this way, an ever-growing number of Witch Police Constables who after a while had rediscovered Pegasi, flying horses. The Air Watch was multi-national and multi-lingual.
Bekki know the vast majority of broomsticks seen above Ankh-Morpork would be Air Watch. She looked out for them anyway. You could never get too much practice in spotting other air-users. One day it might be El.. a Code Twenty-Three. Hostiles. Or Klatchians. Not the nice people who ran ethnic hot food shops or drove flying taxis. The other sort of Klatchians, the ones who had planned an invasion years ago.
Within half an hour she had spotted six brooms at different distances. Bekki wondered at how she could be so sure that was Amelia Cronkhart over there, Zemphis Al. She was too far away to see anything more than a Witch on a stick. Perhaps individual Watch Witches identified themselves in the way they flew? Little quirks, as good as a signature?
Then she frowned, watched, frowned again and reached for her Omnicon. She flicked the switch to IC.
"Firebird to SnowMaiden. Rug keeping station with us at half-angel low, bearing one-ninety, fifteen hundred yards. Over."
-Confirmed, Firebird. Will com this to Control. We're being watched. Won't be an issue in a few minutes. Stand by for Transition to Feegle Space, five minutes. Over."
Bekki focused on the dogs for a few minutes. She really wasn't sure how they'd react to Feegle Space and she wanted to take no chances.
-SnowMaiden to Valkyrie Control. Will enter into Transition in sixty seconds. Over.
-Valkyrie Control to Snowmaiden and Firebird. Happy landings. Over.
And any observers, perhaps those aboard a magic carpet five hundred feet lower and three quarters of a mile away, might have observed a slow-moving Pegasus towing a cargo load suddenly wink out of existence above Ankh-Morpork.
Semyon Romanoff blinked. Where had Ankh-Morpork gone? This place was – strange. Not part of his experience at all. Yet the little blue man and the two Witches seemed at home here. Bored, even, as if this was nothing new to either of them.
Vasilisa turned to him.
"We call this Feegle Space, Semyon Casimirovich. You are in no danger. I understand that this can be disorientating with none of the usual visual or spatial cues. Sit straight, and do not engage in any conversations with multisided polygons, unless you are fluent in advanced mathematics and physics."
Her voice sounded odd. Muffled and echoing at the same time. He looked past her to the mane, where the little blue man was standing on one leg, slowly rotating, as if seeking a direction.
"We can be in here for between five and thirty subjective minutes, whilst the Navigator senses the direction we should take. Especially in the case of Wee Archie Aff The Midden, I want him to be right and accurate, rather than fast. And before you ask, no, I do not know how they do it. But he will bring us out of this place, and over Syrrit."
"So I perceive." Semyon looked over to his right. A rather bewildered looking man was standing there, seemingly a hundred yards away, looking at them with unfocused interest. Semyon recognised the costume of a horse tribe from somewhere up towards the Vortex Plains, and watched as he seemed to fade and pulsate in and out of reality. Were his eyes meant to be swivelling like that?
Vasilisa made an impatient noise.
"I see him too." she said, as he drew, or rather lurched, nearer. He was walking as if his legs were suddenly each ten feet long.
"A bloody shaman. And not one of the good ones, either."
Vasilisa beckoned him close.
"Hey. Drug'hi. (4). You wish wisdom?" She leant down from the saddle. And beckoned him closer still. Then she said, in urgent reverend tones
"не тушите огонь, мочясь на него. Один из жизненных уроков. One of life's lessons, drug'hi. And stay off the distilled toadstools."
The man's dulled eyes brightened with comprehension for a second. He bowed in reverence to Vasilisa, then faded out of existence. She smiled slightly to herself.
"Shamans. We see them in here sometimes. But we don't need to take the drugs!"
"Ah." Semyon said, comprehending. "And, err, your words of wisdom?"
"Not complete nonsense." she replied, shrugging. "Pissing on a fire might put it out, but it leaves a foul stench. I'm hoping some tribe out there makes it a religious commandment. You never know!" (5)
They both looked over to Wee Archie, who was still rotating and seeking.
"Give him time." Vasilisa said. She and Semyon then passed the time by asking the usual polite inquiries about each other.
-Yes, I am a cousin of your commanding officer. No, that does not confer privileges. I believe I was posted out of Ankh-Morpork because Prince Heinrich wanted a relative of his there, I was in the way and anyway the wrong ethnicity, so I am getting a bum posting nobody else wants, up Kroschkoi's backside in the benighted middle of Klatch. My two cousins in Ankh-Morpork, the Witch and the Assassin, scare the Hells out of me, to be frank. And you?
-I am from the city of Blondograd in Far Überwald. My native city has had many names, although its correct name is Blondograd. My father's family are of the Ron Cossack Host, where I spent time in childhood, properly learning how to ride and use the sabre. There I discovered I am a Witch, and I was sent to learn the Craft and to speak Morporkian in a place called Lancre. Here this splendid winged horse found me, though he was a foal then. I met your terrifying cousin, who recruited me to the Air Watch, although I have a Steading most of the week which serves the Oblast where your Uncle Nicholas is Grand Duke, the Disc is indeed a small place, and Wee Archie appears to have found his Way, let us be moving again…
They popped out into glum skies and sweat-making humidity. The landscape underneath them had mountains in the near distance and undulating hilly plains of brown sandy soil pockmarked with scrubby growth. It looked profoundly depressing. Vasilisa heard Semyon sigh resignedly.
"This is not Ankh-Morpork." he said, sadly.
"Nichevo." she said.
Bekki had listened to a long conversation in Rus drifting back to her, and had got the gist of large parts of it. She had paid as much attention to keeping the dogs relaxed and soothed in a frighteningly strange place. Borzoi wolfhounds getting panicked and breaking out of their travelling boxes at around eight hundred feet was a complication she did not need.
"He's Olga's cousin, she reflected. That explains the likeness.
Then she remembered the standing instruction to Pegasus crews. When you pop back into Disc space after crawstepping, wherever you are, activate the Omnicon and see if it connects.
Her father and Wizards at the University were collecting the data, she remembered, to see if the technology could be improved on still further. Dad had had a lot to do with creating this idea. He had some good research wizards working on communication devices. Bekki flicked it onto IC and asked Vasilisa, who as Flight Commander needed to give approval. Having followed protocol, she flicked the lever to the A setting, for comms with Control.
"Firebird to Control. Firebird to Control. Have arrived over Smyrrit."
She looked down and saw what looked like the world's largest coach and wagon park looming up. A distinct smell was looming up, too. Aunt Mariella had once been here,66) and had described it. It could only be…
"Arrived exactly in the right place, two crew, passenger and cargo. We are over the Whistlestop, local time approximately three-fifteen in the afternoon. Weather conditions are dank, muggy and humid. Completely grotty, in fact. Clouds in the distance to… Rimwards… suggest a thunderstorm is imminent. And I'd be surprised if you're actually getting any of this. Firebird out."
-Valkyrie Control to Firebird~###~~~~ Got quite a ~###~ that. ~~~Over.
It was faint and crackly but they were connecting. That surprised her. She advised Vasilisa there was limited contact to Control in Ankh-Morpork and was acknowledged. Bekki started running landing protocols and drills through her head, watching the sky out of ingrained habit. She sat up, then changed to IC.
"Firebird to SnowMaiden. Aerial activity to my right… that is, on bearing one-seventy. To your left and rear. Possibly one mile, angels high, heading this way. Over."
-Acknowledged, Firebird. Visual confirmed. Reading one large, several small, unidentified contacts. Not likely to be ours. Keep watching. Over."
Bekki found herself unslinging her crossbow. She opened the pouch where she kept bolts, but did not load or arm. Yet. A crackling vibration in her Omnicon suggested Vasilisa was also trying to speak to Control. Linked together on Internal Comms, IC, the sets resonated to each other like this. Something else to mention to Dad.
She watched the fast-moving specks in the air resolving themselves. Heading this way. One large, central. The rest smaller... she counted seven. As she watched, they split and spread out. The central one was now clearly a crewed flying carpet. It was holding back from the rest, the smaller faster ones. They looked familiar, something everyday, but she still couldn't place them.
"Firebird to SnowMaiden.. rug, definite Klatchian, two-no, three… crew. Level with us bearing one-sixty. Seven possible fighters. Three coming round to starboard, four to port…."
Bekki blinked in surprise.
"Vasilisa, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
-Firebird, I don't believe it either! By the way, load up. Rules of Engagement. Out."
Bekki checked the crossbow was secured to her by the lanyard. This meant if she lost her grip on it, it wouldn't go off into the sky and plummet away from retrieval. The watch didn't like people who let their weapons fall several hundred feet. Crossbows are expensive, Olga would point out. As she loaded up, she sensed something moving. Without conscious thought, shedropped to the carpet. A dark shadow passed over her and she felt the whoosh of something moving in the air. Very close.
She looked up and saw the improbable but dangerous flying animal recede away. With the pilot astride its back who had just tried to kick her off the carpet. She saw his right foot move back into the stirrup – it looked utterly ridiculous, but she had the chill realisation that had his foot actually connected...
Everything started to shake and wobble and sway from side to side. Bekki took her left hand from the crossbow and tried to IC Vasilisa. All she got was an ear-damaging massive screaming noise, the crackle of static and white noise. Then everything fell silent.
Aboard Stravinsky, Vasilisa looked back over her shoulder and counted the intruders in their airspace. This was bad. Towing a laden carpet, there was no manoevre possible and speed was necessarily slow. Those...things... outnumbered them and were faster and more agile. She hoped Bekki would remember she could detach the carpet, and it would have enough residual magic in it for her to steer it to the ground. If she was allowed to.
"Now I have seen everything." Semyon remarked. "Flying sheep."
"Weaponised flying sheep." Vasilisa muttered. She set her Omnicon for visual and moved it in a sweeping motion, so that visual evidence of what was going on was being transmitted, and might even be preserved for replay later. She hit "transmit" and hoped the pictures would, adding
-Code eighty-seven, repeat, code eighty-seven! Control, hostiles in airspace, Klatchians…
And then there was an ear-damaging massive screaming noise, the crackle of static and white noise. And everything fell silent.
Vasilisa swore and stuffed the dead Omnicon into her pocket. Semyon asked if there was anything he could do. She thought about this.
"Shout when they get close again. Wait a minute."
Semyon watched her stand up in her stirrups and bend down forwards and to the right. She was rummaging in an equipment pannier attached to the forward tack. He wondered whether to grab her belt or waist toprevent her falling... and then she was back in her seat again. She handed him an iconograph.
"Da. Take pictures. I want proof of this. And be selective. You have only twenty-four shots."
Behind her, Bekki was running Rules of Engagement through her head. This was the protocol for "escalating levels of response" if a Pegasus was ever threatened or under outright attack. It ran something like
1) "Warn them first, loudly and clearly"
2) "If the attacker is not deterred, show them your weapon. "
3) "Fire warning shot from weapon."
4) "If attacker persists in attack and there is no other alternative, shoot to kill."
5) "Throw your Feegle at them."
Bekki waited for one of the – and she boggled – flying sheep - to draw near, crouching down in her fort of trunks. Close to, she saw flying sheep were not as ridiculous as you might think. An angry sheep had a lot of weight and mass. She knew from working with Mistress Tiffany Aching on the Chalk that even a ewe could bowl you over. They all had very sharp hooves. And these were rams. Each had a controlling pilot, saddled up with reins. Short, villanous, turbanned Klatchian tribesmen who were grinning at her and making hand gestures that needed no translation.
Bekki scowled. One of them had tried to kill her. By kicking her off the carpet. Rules of Engagement. Unfortunately I have to warn him first.
"Voetsaak, jou bliksem!" was the first thing that came out. The Klatchian looked puzzled for a moment, then resumed grinning. The grin annoyed Bekki more than the murder attempt. A memory emerged. Aunt Mariella and her friend Rivka had once been this way. Rivka ben-Divorah, Assassin and walking lethal weapon, had been a sort of adoptive big sister to Bekki. She still was. She remembered Rivka, when they'd met last. explaining how swearing worked in Cenotian and how it had to be derived from Klatchian, as Cenotian, a language ressurected from religious discourse, lacked curses of its own, as its holy books were unaccountably short on base profanity. (7)
Bekki shrieked, as loudly as she could, " Kissinemek, bar-zonna!"
The Klatchian's grin faded and was replaced with anger. Good. I've told hom to go away and keep his distance. More or less. Verbal warning.
She levelled the crossbow. The angry Klatchian sheep-rider noted this and came no closer. But others were.
And as the carpet rocked again and the load began to shift ominously, Bekki saw what they were doing: the flying sheep were deliberately mobbing the Pegasus, Stravinsky, and trying to get underneath the beating wings, to interrupt the wingbeat, to give him no room to fly and to force him to crash. One had a whip, which he brandished as he flew closer, a whip that could cause pain and panic to a horse...
They're trying to make us crash! she realised. Bekki thought Rules of engagement. If there is clear and apparent unambiguous threat to a Pegasus and its rider, when on their lawful duties...
Time to escalate.
She stood upright, trying to keep her feet on the rocking carpet, hideously aware of what might happen if one of the flying sheep came up from underneath, the blind spot of any flying carpet, and butted. Things would be bounced off. And she was still about six hundred feet up. With no parachute.
She heard one of the dogs whining in fear. That decided her. Letting the crossbow drop and raising an arm, she became aware of the grinning Klatchians on their flying carpet who appeared to be co-ordinating the attack. She smiled at them, letting them see the glow forming around her right hand. Then she pointed her finger and threw the fireball.
The icongraph attached to his left wrist by its retaining strap, Semyon was now drawing his sword, the indispensible social accessory for a Gentleman of Means. Vasilisa, trying to control her mount, noted this in passing.
"You're a diplomat..." she said. "A neutral third party."
Semyon Romanoff looked pale and determined.
"Yes. But the drop doesn't know that." he said, practically. " You said "no emergency exits", remember? Nobody up here is neutral."
Vasilisa looked further over her shoulder.
"Put that away and start taking iconographs." she said. "Firebird's getting angry. And I know her well enough to know that's when it's time to duck."
The fireball exploded wide of the flying carpet. Bekki had meant it to. If they still didn't get the message after this, there would be an all-pervading smell of roast mutton in the sky.
Bekki watched the carpet change course abruptly and skitter away. She then started lobbing fireballs at the sheep-riders. Just near enough for them to feel the heat and blast. As she expected, the sheep, and she suspected some of the riders, panicked and ran. No animal ran towards a fire. Those left in the sky fell back to what they seemed to think was beyond fireballing range. The attack was over. She sat down and relaxed. Then realised the two dogs required some loving reassurance.
A little after that, they landed at the Whistlestop, seeking the Zlobenian consulate. Semyon explained that in the mobile city of the Rug Road, the ancient trading route across Klatch, all the consulates operated from caravans, waons and yurts. A little low-level flying soon found the Zlobenian Consulate, and the girls brought the flight down in its wake.
Excited people on the ground had been following the combat, and they were cheered in. Bekki immediately gathered that most of the Smyrittan people did not like their current Klatchian friends, the ones who had come in at the invitation of "concerned parties" to restore civil order. Watching them being driven off in the air and forced to flee had been popular.
The Zlobenian Consul welcomed them with handshakes. Other diplomats were making their way across. Vasilisa, anticipating this, went to retrieve her mail and despatches for distribution.
"They tried to bring you down." The Zlobenian Consul said. "We all saw this. If you are prepared to wait a little before returning to Ankh-Morpork, ladies, we can furnish you with attestations and witness statements for Lord Vetinari. We would be delighted to do this. And for you to get our urgent reports on the way to our home Governments."
The Klatchians had imposed a complete lockdown on the Whstlestop. Nobody had been able to enter or leave. Until now.
Bekki and Vasilisa settled down to wait. It was all they could do. To help pass time, they assisted Semyon with unloading his baggage. Bekki discovered, once they'd stopped barking with joy and seeking to lick her to death as their new best friend, that the two huge shaggy hunting dogs were called Boris and Vladimir.
The Patrician's Palace, Ankh-Morpork.
Diverted directly to the Palace on her return from Howondaland, Captain Olga Romanoff found herself drawn into discussion on the Smyritt Emergency with a Field Marshal, a General and an Admiral. Olga was pleasantly surprised that General Wrangle, in particular, was inclined to treat her as a professional equal and was attentive and very open-minded to her opinions. She had to be diplomatically understanding with Admiral Harrap, who had been embarrassed and disconcerted about the outcome of a joint exercise Vetinari had pressed on both of them. The Navy had boasted that its City harbour at Pearl Dock was impregnable and nobody, anywhere, could hope to make a decisive attack on the Royal Ankh-Morporkian Navy, safe in its own home port.
Vetinari had then asked Olga what sort of attack a determined Air Force might mount in such circumstances. Purely out of academic interest, you understand.
The Battle of Pearl Dock had then gone down in the annals of military history. Olga, Irena and especially Hanna von Strafenburg had watched, observed, looked up publicly available records concerning how the dock had been built, how deep the water was underneath ships at anchor, and had even told the Navy in advance when they'd be launching a strictly mock attack. Just to test the idea of the Navy's impregnability.
Waves of Air Witches had "attacked" at dawn, making mock passes over the ships, simulated low-level attacks at wavetop height, performing diving attacks from above, some dropping leaflets and paint bombs to emphasise the point. Olga had been vexed that the sailors had lined the decks of the ships and cheered, appreciating the flying display.
She had then authorised the use of "cold fire" – fireballs in appearance, but merely harmless balls of light that lingered for a while, marking where they had hit, then evaporating, leaving no damage. The Air Watch used cold fire a lot in training.
Vetinari's observers, neutral referees, had then estimated two-thirds of the Navy would have been destroyed or scuttled in the fight, with hardly any Air Watch losses.
Olga and her staff had then begun advising the Navy, privately, on effective counter-measures. (8)
Objectively-minded observers had begun to realise that air power would play a part in any future war.
Olga had been brought up to date by Vetinari advising her that in her absence, he had authorised a Pegasus mission to Smyrrit, on the pretext of performing a small favour for the government of Zlobenia. No doubt we shall know more when the ladies return, which is imminent.
Concealing her irritation, she asked who had been despatched.
"Officers Budonova and Smith-Rhodes, I understand. By the way, Captain Romanoff, I understand the diplomat the Zlobenians packed off to remote central Klatch was a Count Semyon Romanoff."
" Da. My cousin. Not totally stupid, but rather lacklustre." she said. Olga refrained from adding that her cousin had been implicated in some stupid late-night drink-filled discussion on deposing Prince Heinrich, which would amply explain his exile. Vetinari probably knew that already and would even have a transcript of the discussion, damn him.
Getting through largely useless speculation on Smyrrit and what the Hells the Klatchians were up to now, the conversation turned to how the Air Watch could be useful in support of both Army and Navy.
Olga was presenting on the value of air observation in reconnaissance, when her Omnicon activated.
"Excuse me a moment." she said. The communication came through loud and clear. It was shocking.
-Red Star Control to Syren. Come in, Syren. Trouble. Over.
"Syren here, Red Star. Thought you were off duty today? Over."
-Syren, you're needed at the Air Station. Code Eighty-Seven, Smyrrit. Say again, Code Eighty-Seven, Smyrrit. Over.
Olga tried to look as impassive as she could. A Code Eighty-Seven was high on the emergency list. It meant Pegasus shot down by enemy action. It had never been invoked before.
Olga hesitated, considering her options. It also hit her like ice-cold water that two of her pilots had gone down with the Pegasus.
"Firebird and Sneguroshka." she said, almost absently. They'd both been her pupil Witches.
-Respond, Syren. Over. Irena's voice, urgent. Olga snapped out of it.
"Syren here. Red Star, curent location is..."she paused. This wasn't going to sound good. "am with Sunray at the Zygella. You are on open transmission, Red Star. I require a concise precis. Over."
Irena then summarised the known facts. A broken transmission at the very furthest limit of the Omnicon stating they were under attack. Attackers identified as Klatchian. Then nothing.
"Stand by, Red Star." Olga said.
She looked at Vetinari, and tried to be impassive, in the face of the genuine sympathy being expressed by the military officers present.
Vetinari unsteepled his fingers and stood up.
"Gentlemen. Captain Romanoff. I believe the focal point of our operations..." he looked at Olga. "Or even, perhaps, the Zygella (9)– has now shifted. I will organise transport, and we will reconvene in the Control Room of the Air Watch. On the way, Captain, you could explain the derivation of the code-word Sunray that you use for me? I should rather like to be enlightened. No great rush."
Getting far too long again. To be continued.
(1) I picked up the word "wopwops" on a New Zealand slang page. As you may have guessed, I love the word.
(2) The Air Watch really didn't have that many flying carpets. The ones it did have had been "acquired" from various places in various not-to-be-described ways, as the Klatchians guarded their military-grade carpets jealously. At this time they have maybe half a dozen that started out as civilian-grade carpets, on a par with the normal everyday Yak of the typical working witch. This, and the one military-grade carpet they had (2a) rather slowed down conversion training for Witches, which had to be fitted in as and when.
(2a) A Klatchian military crew, facing execution for other offences and not yet willing to meet Offler face to face, had flown a stolen carpet to Ankh-Morpork and begged political asylum.
(3) Thank you for buying the Dragkabelförflygmatta mounting cable for towed flying carpets. Assembly Instructions.
(4) Discovering an apparent Russian word for "friend" can also be seen to English speakers as "drug high". These are Discworld shamans from its equivalent of Siberia…. See "The Light Fantastic"…
(5) Ghengis Khan's Mongol confederation had a shamanic religion where the Deities spoke to humans via their shamans. One of the greatest taboos was urinating on a fire. This was an insult to the Earth and Fire Goddesses and punishable by death. Vasilisa may have started something here.
(6) See story Gap Year Adventures.
(7) Really true. Modern everyday Hebrew as spoken in Israel had to borrow its swear words from Arabic.
(8) On Olga's express and emphatic demand, these would include effective tuition in telling friend from foe. And did I mention there is an Agatean pilot in the Air Watch?
(9) As near as I can get to the technical zoological term for the soft comfortable pad at the centre of the spider's web, where information comes in from all the strands and the spider needs do nothing except to allow everything to come to it.
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.
This is a bit of story meant to be an expository but which dragged on too long. Parking it here:
I wanted to develop the idea of growing resentment against Prince Heinrich, and an ill-developed plot to depose him as ruler of Zlobenia, ideally to put a Romanoff on the throne in his place and restore the Tsar. Or a Tsarina, for whom there are two candidates, both noble ladies called Romanoff. As this theme doesn't really belong here but can be hinted at, I dropped this idea and summarised. Original conversation while in Feegle Space runs;
"Give him time." Vasilisa said. "But you. Semyon Casimirovich. I am curious. What did you to, to be posted on so soon after arriving in Ankh-Morpork? I am curious."
"May I ask, Miss Vasilisa Danutavichniya, where you are from? We are both Rus, Rodinian, but your accent suggests you are not Zlobenian Rus."
"I am not. Home is the city of Blondograd in Far Überwald, which has had many names, but which is currently Blondograd. My parents are Cossacks who settled, of the Ron Host. They make a living as tailors and dressmakers. A useful skill, but when Witchcraft set in, I was sent first to my ancestral Host to learn how to properly be Cossack. And as Witchcraft grew stronger, to this place called Lancre. I suspect a relative of yours was involved."
"Ah. Did you notice at the Embassy, Miss Vasilisa Danutavichniya, how the servants who helped load my luggage were all Rus, but the Embassy officials who wished me Gods speed were not?"
"I did. I'm a witch, Semyon Casimirovitch. Witches notice."
"I was posted on because my name doesn't begin with a "von" but it ends with an "off". Our wise and cultured national ruler in Zlobenia, Miss Vasilisa Danutavichniya. Prince Heinrich. He exiled my father to Rimwards Howondaland and is refusing to allow him back. Key diplomatic postings go to people with "von" who speak Überwaldean rather than Rodinian. They are the rulers, you are the ruled."
"Except where our rulers are, for example, Romanoffs." she pointed out. "In the Grand Duchies, where I work most of the week. Where Grand Duke Nicholas rules, subject only to Prince Heinrich. He has family in Ankh-Morpork. As does Grand Duke Dimitri."
Semyon looked rueful and shuddered.
"My two cousins. They both scare the Hells out of me, to be perfectly frank. Natasha Alienovna, the Assassin."
"And Olga Anastacia, the Wicked Witch." Vasilisa completed his sentence.
Semyon shuddered.
"Who is also my commanding officer." she added, meaningfully.