The Price of Flight – part thirty
After-echoes (Otava yo)
V0.3. Yes, there are corrections and revisions. And bits to slightly rewrite and tweak. And... Gertrude. Not "Grace". she's somebody else.
In which the story resolves itself, more or less, and there are a few glimpses and after-echoes of up to a year ahead.
Also having to pay some thought as to where all this fits into the timeline of "Strandpiel 2", which continues Book One and takes place at the same time… events alluded to here, marginal to this story, will be more central in S2, when it gets going.
Still lots of reviews and PM's to be dealt with. Apologies. Five ten-hour days at work tends to truncate time for other things. But at least I now have four days off.
Also picked up on a Russian TV historical drama called "Дружина" (Druzhinya. Brotherhood? Band of Brothers? A Company, in the sense of a war-band?) Set in the 13th century and visually spectacular, although with no subtitles, this is like total immersion in a new language where I can pick out the odd word and on a good day get the sense of a short sentence. As far as I can make out, all of Russia is under the tyrannical grip of the Mongols, save perhaps for one small village which, perhaps with the aid of magic potion (vodka?), is still resisting the invaders. Crossed with a generous dose of Robin Hood and Merry Men. (With Ghengiz Khan's local bloke cast in the Sheriff of Nottingham role). Actually a ripping yarn and really good watching.
Aaargh. Keep typing things like "Rumknott", Dumknott" et c, everything except "Drumknott".
And… watching an episode of reality TV show "Come Dine With Me" where there is a South African contestant who is being, well, a male South African who is causing culture shock to the others. Just by being typically male South African. So funny to watch. Sample dialogue (His Saffie accent. Garth the Amoral Afrikaner has EXACTLY the same twang and staccato crack in his voice that I imagine the Smith-Rhodes family speaking with... "chewing bricks and spitting gravel")
Q – Why do women get married in white?
A – Because all useful household goods arrive in white.
Google on CDWM, Leeds, Garth for the full splendour.
"Otava Yo" is apparently Russian for "aftergrass", the first growth in a field after harvest, colloquially "aftermath", and also the name of a really good Russian folk-rock band with the lovely Yulia Usova playing fiddle - a woman who is the walking definition of "pinball smile" and a damn fine musician to boot. Imagine a group of people who really love the music they play and whose music is infectious and haunting by turns. that's Otava Yo, the band. Look up things like "Fighting Couplets" and "What Songs!" for a taster.
Anyway, the story…
The yard of the Lemonade Factory, the Isle of Gods, Ankh-Morpork, Wednesday 12th Grune.
A total of forty Air Witches, Air Auxiliaries and ground-crew Dwarfs stood attentively at ease, ranked by height-order and arm of service, in the parade-yard.
Sergeant Hanna von Strafenburg glared at them. She was standing to attention, and it had not been lost on the Air Watch members present that she had a pace-stick under her arm. Teknik Sikorskisson, who had served in one of the Low Queen's Regiments and knew exactly what one of those was and what it meant, had tipped off the rest. In his opinion, a drill-minded Sergeant with a pace-stick was a thing to be avoided. (1)
"Give the Golem a pace-stick." he had grumbled, in a low voice. "That's all she needs, innit? Talk about running repeating crossbows to the Apaches."
The Air Witches had been assembling daily, as time and availability allowed, to spend a couple of hours learning how to do ceremonial drill. This was not something that the City Watch usually taught in basic training, and there was not much room, or call, to learn it afterwards. Hanna, who prided herself on getting it right when drill was called for, had been spending evenings poring over a borrowed drill manual.
The girls knew the basics, like "Abteilung! Antreten! Rührt Euch, Habt acht: Warte darauf!(2) Stillgestanden!" They'd even moved past that to intermediate concepts like Richt Euch!, numbering off and adjusting line; things like Rechts/Links um!andAbteilung, kehrt!had followed.
That was as much as it needed in normal everyday circumstances. A multi-national command had accepted that there should be some minimal drill, there should be one universally understood set of commands and as the nearest thing they had to a Drill Sergeant was an Überwaldean, the word of command might as well be in that language.
It had worked so far. Now, Hanna von Strafenburg realised, she had to move onto advanced concepts in drill such as Paradeaufstellung! Im Gleichschritt, Marsch! and Links/Rechts schwenkt Marsch! and then the whole business of what the Handbuch für Militärparadebohrer called theZur Meldung/Zum Ein(Aus-)marsch der Truppenfahne, Augen rechts. It had several whole chapters devoted to this. By the time she got to Augen geradeaus!, she realised that this was post-graduate thinking, and uneasily reflected that the Air Watch, as a whole, was not all that far advanced past Was ist der aktuelle Standort meiner Kuh?(3)
Hanna had frowned. She had thought of some of the more regrettably un-militarily minded parts of the Air Watch, like Darleen and Kiiki. And wondered whether there was an upper limit to the willingness of a group of Witches to absorb military drill. While this was inconceivable to Hanna herself, she could, if she was honest, see this as a possibility in others. There was no accounting for the strangeness of Auslanders, and not everybody was a Prussican Überwaldean.
Hanna had therefore discreetly asked advice.
Today, a large, imposing, soldier in his late forties was standing next to Hanna von Strafenburg. He too had a pace-stick folded under his right side, resting in the crook of his elbow. He silently assessed the Air Witches and the Tek-Dwarfs, and frowned slightly, as if not especially pleased with what he saw. He shook his head.
"Well, ladies. Gentle…men. We has a challenge in front of us, I sees. Sergeant von Strafenburg yere is tasked with getting you all up to speed on parade-marching. While she yis good at basic drill, and you all knows she yis good, this yere occasion is the first time you is going to march in public, on the highway, in front of a watching crowd. She wants you to be good at it. She only yas three weeks to do it. She yis concerned that may not be enough."
He smiled, pleasantly, at them all.
"So she yas asked for assistance. My name is Regimental Sergeant-Major Llandovery Powys Williams. Pronounced "Sir." I yas thirty years of experience. I reckon in three weeks you will be good."
He smiled at them again.
"Beginning now."
Pseudopolis Yard, Monday 18th Grune.
Olga Romanoff sat behind a desk in an office in the Yard and scowled. There was nobody else in the office; she was scowling on general principle.
Nearly a fortnight(4) on from the end of the Syrritian Emergency, she had been medically passed as fit to fly again. (5) And then this had happened. It was as if people were actively conspiring to keep her out of the air.
She looked over at the in-box. It was piled high and overflowing. Inspector Pessimal had unhelpfully added even more and had said, encouragingly, that he was sure she could make inroads into it.
Olga had switched her Omnicon on and listened to the chatter of the air, yearning to be up there and a part of it. She had read the courtesy copies of the papers that had been delivered to the office. One article had raised a smile.(6) Then, with nothing else to procrastinate over, she had heaved a deep resigned sigh and set to on the in-box, reasoning that the stuff at the bottom was oldest, and therefore either irrelevant by now or else very urgent indeed. And the only way to find out was to actually read the stuff.
Olga carefully lifted the whole in-box with one hand on the top of the stack, inverted it, and up-ended it on the desk so the oldest stuff was on top. It seemed the most direct route.
She gritted her teeth, and dived in.
Acting-Lieutenant Nottie Garlick heaved a deep sigh and accepted handover as control from Nadezhda Popova. She accepted it made good sense to step up to her new rank straight away – there had been a serious outbreak of promotion in the Air Watch after the resolution of the Syrrit business – and she conceded the pay rise was going to be bloody useful.
But she was still finding the idea of leaving was like a wrench inside. She'd been, in one way or another, Air Watch since she'd been thirteen. Two years of Witch training in Lancre before that – well, formal Witch training. According to Mum and Nanny Ogg and Granny Weatherwax, mayhersoulhavemercyontheGods, she'd been a witch since the cradle. It had apparently taken careful management and according to Mum, there'd been a fast turnover of nannies and private tutors. They'd been considering installing a rotating portcullis at the Castle.
Then Spike had arrived, named for Queen Ynci's favourite war-pony. Olga and Irena had spoken to Mum. Granny Weatherwax and Nanny had agreed. So she'd come to the City. And been part of the Air Watch all the way along, seeing the first Witch-pilots arrive, people like Nadezhda and Marina and Darleen and Kiiki, and Tatiana and Sigrid – Nottie felt a sudden stab of grief at their memory – and she'd fought in the war over Lancre. She'd progressed in the Watch, from Fledgling to Air Constable to Corporal to Sergeant. She'd seen it grow. She'd grown with the Service.
And now she was leaving it, if only for a year.
Okay, I'm going to be permanent Pegasus link between Al-Khali and Ankh-Morpork. That makes sense too. I get to stable Spike at the Embassy. Which makes it pretty much a fifth Air Station. I get to fly back once or twice a week. So not complete exile. Air Attaché, which means I get access to the Klatchian Air Force. Dad also wants me to be Lancre's diplomatic presence with the Klatchians. At present we can't afford a permanent Embassy there, so Ankh-Morpork looks after our interests. Ambassador Hargarth is fine about putting a small plaque up on the embassy gatepost saying this is also the Consulate of the Kingdom of Lancre. Making me Consul. Two hats, Nottie.
Nottie focused on the Control job in hand.
-Red Star Wildcard Patrol to Ynci Control. Current position half-angel over Gods Street. Report we are about to land and take witness statements relating to a reported incident yesterday. Could be grounded for up to an hour. Over.
"Ynci Control acknowledging, Red Star Wildcard. Let me know when you're airborne again. Over."
Nottie smiled slightly as the duty plotter eased the Wildcard(7) patrol marker down over a particular location on Gods Street. They were back to regular police work again, with what Sam Vimes had emphatically described as "no bloody distractions."
Irena, flying a modified 110 two-seater, explained where they were going to her patrol partner in the back seat.
"Понятно, Красная Звезда, товарищня лейтенант."
Irena smiled a gratified smile. A patrol partner who called her "Comrade Lieutenant" was worth flying with. It would also piss off Olga when she found out. Irena considered this to be Best Friend Privilege, and that being annoyed kept Olga properly grounded. She thought she had learned a lesson, long ago, in observing Nanny Ogg, the only Witch who had the privilege of checking Granny Weatherwax, mayhersoulhavemercyontheGods, for pretty much the same reasons.
"So you really have never flown before?" she asked, curiously.
"Nyet, Red Star. This is my first time. I find it pleasant and interesting."
Irena reflected that the Air Watch was still changing and mutating. An Air Watch member who was neither a Witch nor a pilot of any sort was a new phenomenon. But we need people like her right now. Experienced and older. You do not get that with seventeen and eighteen year old pilots, who are selected for other skills.
"So how did you get to Ankh-Morpork?" Irena asked, curiously.
"We took the train from Blondograd, Comrade Lieutenant. When the Militsya chose us to be posted here on attachment. The Rail Ways are marvellously fast and comfortable."
Irena accepted this. A draft of Blondograd Militsya had arrived on attachment and were now being integrated into the City Watch, to learn the Vimes method of policing. The Inquirer had deplored this too. Vimes had made a point of sending Watch patrols with more than the usual number of Rodinians to patrol around its premises. Just to make the point.
"Horoscho." Irena said. She indicated the area of interest. "The workmen here were present yesterday. When the incident under investigation occurred. We take their statements concerning what happened."
The workmen up on the scaffolding putting the finishing touches to the onion dome regarded the approaching broomstick with impassive interest. Irena suddenly realised how big an onion dome is when you are close up to it. You did not get that from ground level. Close to, it took some tricky flying to get to the scaffolding platform underneath the overhang. She noted the ropes and ladders going up to the top of the onion, and steeplejacks casually moving up the overhang as if it was nothing to them. Crazy men, she thought. I would not care to do this. It is a long way to fall.
Setting the broom to hover, she was pleasantly surprised when Sergeant Valentina Tereshkova leapt up, athletically, to stand upright on the staff. She glanced down briefly at the hundred and fifty foot drop beneath her as if it was no big deal, flexed her knees, and vaulted over the safety rail onto the scaffolding platform. The workmen watched her with the same impassive interest.
Irena Politek, still sitting in the pilot's position on the broomstick hovering in neutral outside the scaffolding, tried not to look too impressed.
"доброе утро, товарищи! Я хочу задать вам несколько вопросов." Valentina said, producing a Watch notepad and pencil.
"How can we assist, militsya-sergeant?" a workman said, evidently the foreman. Irena decided to step in. If only to remind them who was in charge.
"You know me, Sergei Denisovich. You too, Oleg Georgivich. We require some answers. You can give them."
"What sort of answers, Irena Yanessavichnya?" Sergei asked, politely.
Irena shook her head.
"I could say here you are dealing with Lieutenant Politek. I could get formal. How near are you to topping out the dome?"
Sergei indicated the covered something in a large protective box, for now.
The workmen, local Rodinians, turned to it and signed themselves with the Threefold Seal of the God Epidity. Knowing what it was, Irena and Valentina also went through the motions, Irena feeling vaguely ridiculous for doing so.(8)
This shared ritual bonded them.
"We just need to figure out a way of getting the priest up here." Sergei said. "So he can do the blessing."
"Da, there must be a blessing." Sergeant Tereshkova agreed. "When the Potato-Lifting Tool of the God Epidity goes atop the onion dome. Now, comrade workers, we have mentioned the God. Which brings us to yesterday."
There was a hint of shiftiness among the workers, Irena noticed. She decided to get official.
"Yesterday morning at eleven, a journalist called Richard Littlehampton was walking down Gods Street. I will not say he was minding his own business as, well, he is a journalist. Suddenly he was hit by a shower of potatoes dropped from a great height, appearing as if from nowhere out of the sky."
Irena paused to let this sink in.
"What makes this of interest to the City Watch is that he was passing directly underneath this church tower at the time." she said, pointedly.
"Ah." Sergei said. "The Great God Epidity moves in mysterious ways, Irena Yanessavichnya."
"Pravda. And sometimes in less mysterious and more direct ones." Irena said. She was watching their faces closely.
"Epidity was probably waxing wroth." said the workman called Oleg. "Especially after reading what was said about our Church and our religion in that man's scribblings."
Irena studied their faces. She knew the Church had attracted opposition by preferring to use Rodinian labour to rebuild its premises. The Guild of Builders had felt shut out, for instance. Which is nonsense. How can Ankh-Morporkian builders possibly know how to properly construct an onion dome? And people had been opposed to an alien, foreign, thing going up to replace the former homely church spire. Which would soon be topped with the Sacred and Holy Potato-Lifting-Tool of Epidity.
"So a miraculous shower of potatoes happened." Valentina Tereshkova said. "It must be miraculous, as he was the only person struck."
"The God has good aim." Irena said. "Fortunately, Littlehampton was the only person struck. Therefore, we might not look at other possibilities too closely."
"Such as, Irena Yannesavichnya?" Sergei asked.
Valentina Tereschkova took the baton.
"There are also workmen at ground level renewing exterior stonework at the base of this tower." she said. "If they had a means of communicating with hypothetical accomplices at the top of this tower, to tell them the right target was approaching."
Idly, Valentina kicked a half-empty sack. It had a muted earthy thump to it, which did not sound as if she had kicked a sack of cement, for instance. Things inside it appeared to shift and roll, in a way cement doesn't. Sergei suddenly looked at a workman furiously, in an I told you to get rid of those! sort of way.
Then she went to the edge of the scaffolding and looked down.
"To take in the dome, this platform needs to be built out wide. It offers a very good view downwards." She remarked. Then she pulled on a rope that trailed down from the scaffolding and tugged hard, twice. Pulleys began squealing. Somebody underneath was responding.
Irena smiled slightly.
"Sometimes the God might move people to do His bidding on Disc." she remarked. "It is a blessing only Littlehampton was injured. And not seriously. A half-rotten potato exploding over him would have caused more damage to his pride, and the bruises are not serious, nor was the concussion life-threatening."
She smiled at the workmen.
"Thank you for your co-operation, comrades. The investigation is concluded, and we can now report that this was an Act of God."
Irena paused. Sergei and his workers now looked very relieved. She was Rodinian too; she knew the telltales in otherwise impassive faces.
"You have a safe means of lighting a brazier up here to cook on. I accept it may not be practical to return to ground level to eat, and no doubt the potatoes in that sack are for your lunch?"
She nodded to Valentina Tereschkova, who closed her notebook and put it away.
"He was needlessly offensive about the Air Watch too, Irena Yannesavichnya?" Sergei asked. Irena nodded, then smiled.
"Da. We took notes. Captain Romanoff was annoyed. So was I." she said. "Ready, Sergeant?"
Irena felt the bump and slight shudder as her patrol partner leapt back onto the broom, again without hesitation. It was an Act of God, no doubt. Mr Vimes had said not to prosecute too vigorously if anything happened to Dick Littledick. Given what he wrote, chalk it up as Attempted Suicide. Oh, it's always handy to know who did it. And to let them know we know, but this time we've decided there's insufficient evidence. But that doesn't mean we need to actually do anything about it. And you've been a copper for long enough, Irena.
The broom pulled up into the air again.
"Impressive." Irena said.
"In Blondograd, when a girl, I was a gymnast." her patrol partner said. "This broomstick to me is a beam or a bar. My body knows the moves, and it doesn't matter if it is at five feet or five hundred."
Irena smiled. Sergeant Valentina Tereschkova would do. Despite being unable to fly, she was Air Watch. Head for heights. She had the Right Stuff. Irena reached for her Omnicon.
"Red Star Wildcard Patrol to Ynci Control. Report investigation concluded. No further action required. We are now airborne again. Over."
Back at the Yard, Olga realised something else that was annoying her and scratching at her magical senses. She took off her pilot's scarf, reluctantly accepting she would not need to wear it, and, taking care not to actually touch it, draped it over the thing on the desk. (9)
She took a deep breath. This latest development in her life was going to take some getting used to. She had been told the previous week, just as she was looking forward to getting airborne again. Mr Vimes and Lady Sybil were off on a long-delayed family holiday together for a fortnight, much to Mr Vimes' reluctance and dismay. That was fine; she had hoped Lady Sybil would really enjoy it, and even that Mr Vimes might find something to like about it. No doubt Carrot would take over in the meantime.
"Actually, Olga…"
She had then been advised that owing to one of those administrative situations, Deputy Commander Carrot and Captain Angua were also using up long-accumulated leave and would also be out of the city. For a fortnight.
Olga had then asked
"So who is going to be running the Watch, as Acting Commander?"
Mr Vimes had smiled a little smile.
"I have every confidence in you, Olga. I'm sure you'll do well."
It had taken a few moments for it to sink in.
Bloody Vetinari, she realised. He'd actually said it, if she'd taken the trouble to pay attention.
So if both the Commander and the Deputy Commander are indisposed, command of the City Watch then devolves to the next senior officer of Captain's rank. Fascinating.
City Watch Commander, (Acting), Olga Romanoff, sat moodily in the command chair. At least she'd covered what Vetinari had described as the Baton of Office, when he gave it to Mr Vimes. That was utter complete govno. Olga's ancestors had run an Empire. The Imperial Regalia had been divided up among her father and his three brothers. For any one to become Tsar required his three brothers to surrender their share of the Regalia. Splitting the loot, the Crown Jewels and Regalia, had been a safeguard. The Triple Tiara, the Tsarina's regalia that Olga was determined she would never wear, that was in her father's keeping. She had been shown it several times. Uncle Dimitri had the Sceptre. She'd seen that too. She knew– unfortunately – about royal regalia.
And that bloody thing on the Commander of the City Watch's desk was a bloody sceptre. The Sceptre of the King of Ankh and Morpork. The symbol that the monarch guarded the peace and welfare and prosperity of his people. Olga could feel it from here, even covered. That thing had a history. As a witch, she could feel it. She was damned if she was going to touch it.
"Der Watch Commander in room! ATTEN-HUT!"
Her first appearance at Morning Prayers, briefing not just her own Air Watch but every Watchman and Woman on duty that day, had caused the desired stir. As Sergeant Detritus' bellow to stand at attention had died, she had made herself walk to the podium, slowly and deliberately, every eye in the room on her, every mind no doubt anxious to know if she'd suddenly turn into a power-drunk monster.
Her heels clicked as she walked. She took her time in speaking. She scanned the Watchmen, holding a gaze here and there.
"You know who I am." she said. "My name is Captain Olga Romanoff. In normal circumstances I command the Air Watch. For the next fortnight, I am Acting Watch Commander."
There. She'd said it.
"I do not intend to make any changes. I view my role as keeping the chair warm for Mr Vimes when he returns. I know I can trust your divisional commanders and all Sergeants and Corporals to do their jobs well and professionally. As everybody will. Keep on doing what you are doing, and do it well. That is all I ask. In return I will discharge the duties of Watch Commander to the best of my abilities."
She then worked from the briefing notes that Inspector Pessimal had helpfully laid on the podium in front of her.
She requested divisional commanders to attend for a briefing at eleven-thirty, then nodded to Detritus to dismiss the parade. The troll came to attention – Olga thought it was like witnessing an avalanche in reverse – and bellowed again.
The duty Watch filed out, many taking surreptitious glances at her.
Acting-Captain Irena Politek, temporarily in command of the Air Watch, lingered and grinned at her.
"It's the hair." she remarked. "You did that deliberately, didn't you, Olga?"
Olga reached up and patted the Bun of Steel. I will use this sparingly, she reminded herself. Nearly two hundred Watchmen saw this. I believe it had the desired effect.
"Da". she said. "I am told the hairstyle has an effect on people. Headology, Irena."
"Well, do me a favour, Olga. Just, you know, let it down at some point today? I'll help you braid it, or something."
Later in a long day that was dragging, when Olga had realised that being Commander of the Watch largely involved sitting back and not actively doing much whilst Divisional Commanders dealt with day-to-day operational command, when she had decided she'd tackled enough of the in-tray for now, another of the burdens of her post knocked on the door.
She sat back, impassively, whilst Senior Sergeant Fred Colon marched in, and came to an impeccable saluting attention. This took some time, as outlying regions of Colon came to attention some time after the essential core.
Olga reflected that this was the next step up from dealing with Sergeant Hanna von Strafenburg, who performed the same function for the Air Watch, and waited patiently.
"Senior Sergeant Colon, Eff, reporting to the Commanding Officer of the City Watch, Ma'am!"
Olga restrained a long resigned sigh and looked impassive. The Watch might be mildly military. But it still respected some military protocols, and Fred Colon embodied one of them. The Starschina, the Regimental Sergeant-Major, was the First Among The Ranks, what the old Latatians called the "Primus Pilum", the First Spear. He was the first point of contact for the Commanding Officer, the voice of the Rank and File, the embodiment of the soul of the unit.
Olga thought it was entirely fitting for the City Watch that its essential soul took the form of Fred Colon.
"Stand at ease, Mr Colon." she said, trying to be kind as well as commanding. "And…let us be more informal, please? I understand that privately, in this office, you are on first name terms with Mr Vimes. I do not believe I have the same right to call you Fred. But I recall when Irena and I were first starting out as Lance-Constables. You taught us both about policing. You were our Sergeant and you were generous with your teaching and advice. Later on when we both in our time became Sergeants, it is fair to say we both learnt from your example."
In a roundabout way, Olga thought, watching something in Colon's eyes that revealed pride in a former Sergeant he had taught. Your example largely taught us how we should do it differently.
"Thank you. We became what we are now at least in part due to your example. So I think we should acknowledge that, yes? You call me "Miss Olga" when we speak normally. I would appreciate it if in this office you still call me "Miss Olga." Keep it informal."
"Yes, commander… Miss Olga… errr… ma'am. Ma'am Olga."
Olga smiled slightly. It would have to do.
"I need you, Mr Colon. You know the mood and the mind of the Watch better than anybody. You are even better at this than Mr Vimes. He depends on you to keep him informed concerning the mood and mind of the Watch. I ask you to do the same for me while I'm in charge. Now what have you to tell me?"
Colon's eyes flickered down to the covered Baton on the desk. He looked up at Olga.
"Errr…. To notify you, Ma'am Olga, that it's going to be time shortly for one of your duties. Disciplinary interview, ma'am."
"Who do we have? Please brief me, Mr Colon. The person and the charge."
Colon cleared his throat.
"Just one, ma'am. Corporal Nobbs. His daily disciplinary, like."
Olga tried not to wince.
"His daily disciplinary?" she asked.
"Well, it's like this, ma'am. Mr Vimes has it pencilled in the schedule for one every afternoon. Saves time, you see. Err…"
She sighed.
"Anything else, Mr Colon?"
"Yes, ma'am. Sergeant von Strafenburg and Mr Powys-Williams send compliments. Miss Hanna reminds you the Colour Party and Honour Guard are to assemble for parade drill instruction at two-thirty, and that as Air Watch Commander, that includes you."
Olga winced. That bloody parade.
"Tell her I'll be there." she said, resigned.
By Friday, Olga had been curious enough to check the lower right desk-draw. And yes, there it was. The fabled bottle of Bearhuggers' Old Macabre. With the unbroken seal. And the style of label on the bottle suggested it was at least twenty years old. Today's Bearhuggers' bottle label was subtly different. Olga considered, and brought out the bottle from her bag. Having occupied the same chair for five days, she now understood more about why Mr Vimes kept Bearhuggers in there.
Olga gently laid the unopened bottle of Schmertnoff vodka next to the Bearhuggers. Just to make the point.
Then she got stuck into the inbox again.
The Patrician's Palace, Ankh-Morpork.
Lord Vetinari steepled his fingers.
"The preparations for the Service of Thanksgiving and the military parade are proceeding satisfactorily, Drumknott?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." his secretary replied. "Those invited representative units of the Army will also be marching and are in training for this. Admiral Harrap has his Drill Petty Officers working with selected ships' companies who will also parade. I understand the problem with sailors ashore is rebalancing them, so they do not sway from side to side while they are marching on dry land. Also, the City Watch is to line the route. The Acting Watch Commander is making preparations for this."
"Ah yes. The Acting Watch Commander." Vetinari said, reflectively. He did not elaborate on this. "Any reports concerning the Duke and Duchess of Ankh on their deserved vacation?"
"Yes, sir, At present they are staying over in Blondograd, and seeing the sights of the city. Suitable accommodation has been found for them. His Grace is said to be both bridling and chafing at the bit."
Vetinari smiled.
"Sir Samuel is in a city whose principal export is vodka," he remarked. "And he is unable to sample the staple product. Ah well, I hope he appreciates borscht, blinis and pierogis. At least he can sample the local food produce."
"Meanwhile, sir, Lady Romanoff?" Drumknott inquired.
Vetinari smiled again.
"She is no doubt learning that ninety per cent of the time, when one is in a higher leadership role, involves standing back and allowing those in the next tier down to do the actual work." he remarked. "If she is wise, and I suspect she is, she will be steering with a light hand on the tiller. Learning how to oversee a machine that largely runs itself, with only the lightest and most subtle adjustments. Essential training for a woman of action, Drumknott."
"Yes, sir. I understand the Special Plenipotentiary Emissary of the Seriphate of Klatch is arriving in the City later today?"
"Ah, yes." Vetinari said, thoughtfully. "Coming to our city incognito, on the regular carpet flight, with the absolute minimum of fanfare. Please convey our welcome to the Klatchian Embassy, Drumknott, and extend an invitation for them to come to the Palace? We should also invite senior officers of the Air Watch, naturally, for an informal meeting."
Vetinari thought for a moment.
"Lady Romanoff should be present, too. Extend the invitation to Acting-Captain Politek, and to Lieutenants Popova and Garlick. I rather fancy Sergeant von Strafenburg is far too busy elsewhere doing necessary work. I would not drag her from it."
Drumknott made a note.
"You know, Drumknott, I hear Lady Romanoff's father has been moved to express both pride and admiration for his daughter's achievements. Even if he is hazy as to how she managed it. Grand Duke Nicholas is as old-time a nobleman as you will find anywhere, however. I suspect he is moved by the undeniable fact that a nobly-born person led what he thinks of as an Army into battle and out-Generalled her opponent, forcing not only a victory but also winning a War. That matters, to a certain sort of mind, if for the wrong reasons."
He frowned, and motioned Drumknott to silence as the Omnicon on his desk crackled into life. It had a label attached that simply said "SUNRAY CONTROL".
-Stormy Petrel to Red Star Control. Am over New Ankh in the Hubwards-By-Turnwise patrol sector, angels one. Reporting two Yaks heading for the City, civilian witches aboard. Over.
-Red Star Control to Stormy Petrel. Approach and identify yourself, offer to escort. Over.
-Roger on that, Red Star. Stand by.
"I find this endlessly fascinating, Drumknott." Vetinari remarked, in the expectant silence.
"Indeed, sir." Drumknott said. Vetinari had requested an Omnicon perhaps a fortnight earlier. Keying it to "Sunray Control" had been an Air Witch thing.
-Stormy Petrel to Red Star. Witches approaching City are identified as Shepherdess and Flying Hedgehog. And, err, they're bringing something in with them…
Olga heard the message over her Omnicon and suddenly felt a lot better about life. She had been scrupulously avoiding going up to the Air Station during her exile as Watch commander. In as many words, Irena had said she, Irena Politek, was Acting Air Captain for a fortnight and she should, therefore, be left to get on with it. Ma'am.
Olga had respected this and had forced herself not to visit the Air Station. But suddenly, there was a need… the Commander of the Watch was required. Forcing herself not to run, she went up to the flight deck for the first time in days. It felt like coming home.
"Captain Politek?" she said, politely.
Irena acknowledged her.
"We've got visitors." she said. "They're coming straight here. My orders."
"Can we stop them?" Olga said.
"Nyet." Irena replied, with a headshake. "We're not dealing with Klatchians here."
Air Witches were coming up on the flight deck, more than was usual. There was an air of expectation in the air. Everyone was looking up.
"What is happening, please, Comrade Lieutenant?"
Sergeant Tereschova looked over at Olga, then saluted.
"Comrade Commisar."
Olga returned the salute, did a double-take, and looked sharply at Irena, who put on an expression of pure innocence.
"Sergeant, I believe this is happening." Olga said, indicating the sky. A cluster of approaching dots resolved themselves into two slow and sedate-moving Yaks, the everyday workhorse of the civilian witch. They were towing, or leading, something else. And to either side, Air Police witches, flying as slowly as they could to keep station with the Yaks, had fallen in as an informal escort.
"Permit this." Olga said. "But when our guests have landed, if they do not resume their patrol beats, there will be trouble. I am guessing that nowhere in the City has air cover at this moment."
Irena beckoned an Air Witch, and suggested she ensured a samovar was on and tea could be offered. Ensure there is ample sugar, and biscuits. This will be needed.
They welcomed Nanny Ogg and Tiffany Aching to the Air Station, first with a salute, and then with the Witch -bow.
Nanny grinned, and then
"'Ere! What you doing with that, you little bugger?"
Irena intervened.
"Flight deck routine, Nanny. When a Witch lands, we clear the deck as quickly as possible. Come with us, please? The ground-crew Dwarfs will take the broom, perform routine maintenance, and recharge it with magic. Tek Gundarsson is doing his duty."
"Good enough." Tiffany said, and gratefully handed her broomstick to a Tek. Nanny turned a scowl to a grin, and passed her broom over.
"So this is your Steadin'." Nanny said, thoughtfully. "Impressive. Very military."
There was a load bleating Baaa. Irena and Olga pointedly ignored it. For now.
"We have tea and biscuits ready, Nanny. Tiffany." Irena said. Nanny grinned.
"So why are we standin' here? Comin', Tiff?"
"Tiffany." Olga said. "The leash you are holding?"
Tiffany Aching smiled.
"We thought we'd drop by to bring you up to date on how the Syrritan sheep are settling in." she said. "And we heard you're going to have to parade through the City. As, apparently, a recognised Arm of Service."
"With flags. And everythin'." Nanny chipped in. "So we thought. If they're going to call you a Regiment, you needs a Regimental Mascot."
She nodded to the sheep, a large placid ram that was hovering about three feet off the ground.
"We brung you one. You knows. So you can drape it in them curtains what have the regimental insignia on them. One each side."
Olga and Irena looked at each other.
"We need a handler." Olga said.
"Da. Somebody who can march with the Mascot." Irena agreed. Olga picked up a movement in her peripheral vision. #it suggested somebody trying to discreetly get out of the way and find something to do somewhere else, before she gets noticed. Olga nodded to Irena, who nodded back.
"Somebody with expertise in sheep." Olga agreed.
"Parrot, come here!" they called together.
"Oh, bloody hell!" moaned Air Constable Robyn Myers.
Three weeks later
The Day of the Parade passed almost as an anticlimax for most of the Air Watch. They had prepared and polished and practiced for it for weeks, after all. And Mr Powys-Williams and Hanna had made it their business to get them to a pitch of perfection.
"You is good at what you does, ladies." the RSM had said. "You is the best in the world at flying and fighting. Nobody can get close to you. Now you is, for one afternoon, going to be the best in the world at formation marching. You has won your colours. Now you is going to parade them with pride."
Getting all her Air Witches together on the same day had been a logistic miracle. But everybody had turned up. Over eighty Air Witches and Fledglings. Fulltime, part time and reservist. Forty or fifty ground Teks. The forty or so men of the Air Auxiliaries, allowed a grey-blue parade uniform. The Teks, mainly Dwarfs, in gleaming armour and chainmail.
One problem had been what to do with the handful of goblins and those few Air Witches who were, well, not of a drill-and-marching disposition. Irena and Nadezhda had solved this.
At the front of the march with the Colour Party, Olga saw little of the greater whole. She had to trust that the NCO's at the end of each rank would do their part well. She frankly found it to be a relief that the interminable service in Small Gods had ended and they could get out into the open air again. And, once Olga had called the first command, it was now down to Hanna to call the time and give the order. As Parade-Sergeant, she would occasionally turn to Olga for the commanding officer's consent; she had to stay alert for this.
Olga lifted her sword to the march position. She glanced sideways to The Colour, hoisted aloft by Lance-Corporal Sophie Rawlinson.(10). This had been Blessed to within an inch of its life by a succession of priests. At least Metropolitan Igor had been among them.
Then there was Corporal Robyn Myers. Olga had been forced to promote a level higher here, so Parrot might feel better about the ovine nature of her new responsibility. She was holding the leash of Seamus the Sheep as they marched. Seamus had been named by Watch Cadet Bridget O'Hellion, marching back there with the other Fledglings, who had thoughtfully remarked that "He looks a wee bit like my Uncle Seamus". The name had caught Air Watch imagination and had stuck.
Seamus had indeed been decked in formal cloths, mirroring the Standard and carrying the same design. Mr Powys-Williams had made another helpful suggestion, pointing out that his Llamedosian regiment has a goat mascot who also wore an ornate headdress, ma'am, fitting between the horns, like. These had been designed and fitted.
Seamus now wore gleaming silver headdress and breastplate. Parrot had also bathed and groomed him, grumbling under her breath. (11)
There had been an interminable service in Small Gods, presided over by High Priest Ridcully, who Olga thought loved the sound of his own voice. The Standard had indeed been Presented, after it had been blessed by multiple priests. These had included Metropolitan Igor(12). The Air Watch had formed up outside Small Gods, and begin the march. Revisited later, Olga's mind preserved flash-frame glimpses. A route thronged with people and with Watchmen at intervals. Military bands, playing V'Put and Svyashchennaya Voyna. She had wondered if this was Vetinari's way of making a statement to the editors oftheInquirer about there being too many Rodinians in the Air Watch.
But most of all, she was relieved that the govno would soon be over and they could get back to real life again.
As the Air Watch faultlessly pivoted and swung into its allocated position in the review rankings, and Hanna called the order to Stillgestanden!, she looked up to the podium and grandstand erected for dignities. She recognised the fat stupid oaf Prince Heinrich, given pride of place on the left of Vetinari. And on his right… her heart sank. Two familiar faces. Her own parents. Grand Duke Nicholas and Countess Ekatarinya. They must have arrived as part of Heinrich's retinue for the state visit.
Nichevo.
The music died and silence prevailed over the arena. Vetinari stood. He tapped the speaking-device in front of him.
"This thing is on, Professor Stibbons? Capital."
The Patrician spoke. He noted the recent little disagreement with Klatch, praised the work of the Air Watch in resolving it, had a little digression concerning the symbolism of the awarded Colour, with the Ankh-Morporkian flag in the upper quarter near the hoist symbolising loyalty to the established ruler of the City. The rest was sky-blue, symbolising the dominion of the Air by the Watch. The motif of the concentric circles of blue, white and red, which he conceded looked rather like a dartboard and which he was pleased to bestow on the Air Watch.(13) (Damn you, Vetinari!) He, the Patrician, felt it symbolised the Air Watch being, indeed, a target: the mark other Air Forces around the world should aspire to, and aim to be like, the best in the world. The motto, arrived at after some thought, Per Ardua ad Arduam. Indicating in four words that a lot of work, blood, sweat and tears over many years went into making the Air Watch the powerful, well-managed, impressively led, best in the world at what it does.
"And now the privilege falls to me to bestow medals and awards." Vetinari said, smoothly. He nodded to Prince Heinrich. "Your Highness?"
First, Vetinari and the visiting Head of State reviewed the Air Watch. Olga and Hanna walked with them, naming people as they passed down the ranks. She noted, with satisfaction, Heinrich jumped as he met the Feegle for possibly the first time. And she sensed that he was wary of her. Good.
"Flight-Navigator Wee Crazy Alaistair, your Highness." Olga said.
"And you know all their names, Lady Romanoff?" Heinrich said. He sounded incredulous. She supressed a scowl.
"I am their commanding officer, your Highness." Olga said. "Of course I know everybody's name." They moved on. "This is Technical Sergeant Gertrude Schilling."
Heinrich brightened.
"Ah. There is Count von Schilling, from Plodnicksberg." he said, making conversation. "Are you related?"
"I wouldn't know, sir." Gertrude said. "And it's just "Schilling." No "von". Besides, I'm actually from Borogravia."
Olga supressed a smile as Heinrich moved on, hurriedly.
The review over, medals were handed out. Lots of medals. Lots of handshakes from Vetinari, quick, clinical ones. Olga thought she heard Rebecka Smith-Rhodes hissing to her Feegle, just on the verge of hearing, "You got a medal, Archie. Don't you dare go pawning it for beer money!"
Just when she thought it was all over. Prince Heinrich of Zlobenia was called upon to make a speech. In accented Morporkian, it praised the professional qualities and martial spirit of the Air Watch. It noted that the emergency that had started the Syrritan Emergency had been a diplomatic mission undertaken on behalf of the principality of Zlobenia, a mission to ferry a diplomat into Syrrit, that had been attacked by the Klatchians. Heinrich further noted that a subject of the Principality had been instrumental in resolving the war and the combat. Therefore it is my honour to confer the Blue Riband of the Order of Prince Maximilian of Zlobenia, upon Lady Olga Romanoff, Captain-Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch Air Arm. And a subject of proud Zlobenia.
Olga swore under her breath. Then took a deep breath and marched forward.
A few moments later, Lady Olga Romanoff , in direct descent from the last of the Tsars, Tsars who had managed an Empire of which Zlobenia had been a small border province, shook hands with her notional monarch and bowed her head to him as he placed the medal ribbon and the ornate blue sash about her. She sensed iconograph flashes going off as she straightened up.
Immediate feelings took over. She just knew the fat oaf was going to try to hug her, maybe kiss her. She threw up her right arm in salute, glared at him, and took three rapid steps backwards, coming to attention again. For a second Prince Heinrich, who had lifted one foot as if her were about to step out, looked as though he was teetering on the brink of falling forwards, but controlled himself. Then Olga about-turned, Dismissed herself, and marched back to her place with the Colour Party.
She counted slowly to sixty. Not long now…
The crowd sussurated and looked up, expectantly. Noise grew.
Olga grinned. One of the Heavies flew low overhead. Its fighting tower was full of the Air Watch goblins. Olga had wanted them to be here too with a part to play as Air Watch. It was just that… goblins could not march, their bodies were not designed for it.
The Heavy had a close-in escort, a MIG-25 on each side. Olga wanted to wave up. She recognised the pilots: Darleen and Kiiki. One too habitually unkempt to march, the other too Swommi. Getting them to run the flypast had been a no-brainer. Just up their sort of street. She watched them come and go, feeling disappointed the Heavy had behaved itself and not unloaded its bowels over, for instance, Prince Heinrich.
Finally, they marched off to the jaunty sounds of a Morporkian quick march, Good Old Quiremouth By The Sea. (14)
"Thank you, people." Olga said. "Now back to the job in front of us. Mr Vimes wants people in the air again by five minutes ago. Dress uniforms off, get them folded and on hangers, working kit on. Move it!"
After a moment, she added "Nottie Garlick is leaving us, as you know. Her leaving party begins this evening in the Bucket. I may be persuaded to buy everyone a drink."
I said, no more of this story arc. Spoke too soon. Ten thousand words and a few little tales are yet to be told and I will come back and add them. How were the Feegle incorporated into the parade? What happened to Vasilisa when she next visited Syrrit? Olga's reconciliation with her parents when they visited Ankh-Morpork? Her house move? Bekki's reactions to her bonus pay? All to be added in v.02. Or V0.3. Or V0.4.
After this – moving on to new probably standalone chapters, to be added as and when, featuring the Air Watch. Watch this story!
(1) Wikipedia: "A pace stick is a long stick usually carried by warrant officer and non-commissioned officer drill instructors in the British and Commonwealth armed forces as a symbol of authority and as an aid to military drill." This is used, as you might expect, to pace out the route on any sort of ceremonial march, to calculate timings, spacings, the exact moment when any complex evolution should begin and end and how many steps it will take to complete; and it generally when not in use resides under the right arm of the senior drill-sergeant or RSM in a "you know military law does not allow me to hit you with this, but get it wrong one more time, soldier, and I might get too annoyed to care." sort of way. The pace-stick is in direct line of descent from the vine-stick carried by Roman centurions. Who were allowed to hit their men with it.
(2) The language may change, but the military mind doesn't. For non-Germans -Warte darauf! – Wait for it! The sequence of events, in the British Army, is something like "stand easy – stand at ease… wait for it! – Attention!"
(3) "I require a situation report on the current location of my cow."
(4) Again. haziness creeping in. In a place with an eight-day week, a "fortnight" should properly be a period of sixteen days and nights. In this case, a sixtnight? It's like the thing with the Discworld weekend and Sunday/Octeday: I haven't properly thought this one through yet. Just accept time has passed since the end of the last chapter? I'm not sure how much…
(5) Matron Igorina and the Watch Igor had teamed up on this. Igorina had assessed the injury, retired for a professional consultation with the Watch Igor, and had said "For goodness' sake, try to stay away from pieces of red-hot metal while you're up there."
(6) We regret that our popular correspondent Richard Littlehampton is currently off sick and unable to complete a column for us today. I'm sure you as our regular readers will join us at the Inquirer in wishing him a speedy recovery and in the meantime, welcome our guest writer Sally Frighteous who will be covering the page along with Sarah Vine-Blight.From theAnkh-Morpork Times:
Mystery surrounds the freak accident that happened to controversial Ankh-Morpork Inquirer staff writer Richard Littlehampton who was injured yesterday as he was walking along Gods Street. Eyewitnesses report that as he was passing the Church of Saint Basil, there was a sudden and extremely directional shower of potatoes which, we are reliably assured, hurt when dropped from a great height. Mr Littlehampton was taken to the Lady Sybil, suffering from concussion and possible fractures. Nobody else was hurt in the potato-storm. We are minded that St Basil's is a Rodinian Orthodox Church sacred to Epidity, God of Potatoes, and that Mr Littlehampton has of late been candid and critical of both Rodinians and the Orthodox Church…
(7) Regular Air Watch patrols were tied to a patrol beat, a zone or district of the City and instructed not to leave it except in emergency or until relieved. Wildcard patrols had no such restrictions and could come and go as they pleased. At this point Irena was up there for a specific purpose and one which got her out of the office.
(8) Irena Politek normally tried to avoid Church attendance. She argued this did not exactly sit well with belonging to a materialist socio-political ideology that should ideally deny the existence of Gods. Besides, she'd had it up to Here with those long dreary four-hour services in her home Oblast.
(8a) People had in the past pointed out that, hold on, Irena, you're a Witch? So you are a channel to non-material powers and magical forces which kind of overlap the spiritual and the religious? And, errr, that golden symbolic Potato of the Great God Epidity you wear on that chain round your neck? This, like so many other things that had dented Irena's certainty, had happened in Lancre. It's hard to be a pure Communist on the Discworld, where Gods really do exist. The Party had tried to square the circle by quoting Karl Spentzer's dictum that people are the opium of religion. To destroy the Gods, the ultimate bourgeois oppressors of the People, (I mean, look at Dunmanifestin, how bourgeois can you get?), make them go cold turkey and take their opium away. Simples. With no belief, they wither and die, and the interests of the Revolution are thus advanced. The Gods, recognizing a threat when they saw one, had responded by making Spentzer one of the first martyrs of the Revolution. The Party, very carefully, did not now over-publicise this bit of the Manifesto, preferring to deal with their more immediate oppressors first.
(9) see my Discworld Tarot short, The Ace of Wands.
(10) "You is a big girl. You has broad shoulders. You is, as of now, the Standard-Bearer." (10a)
(10a) Sophie also had to think bilingually and listen out for commands addressed to the Fahnenjunker. Sophie had been promoted a step in recognition of the greater responsibility.
(11) Seamus now had a paddock at the Zoo station. Nadezhda had suggested this. Tiffany had also suggested that as Tupping Season was coming up, he could be given a dozen or so ewes as incentive to remain close to earth. Between them they'll keep the grass cropped close, and when tupping is over, he'll be as docile as you like.
(12) Not a Patriarch. Bad research – in Russian Orthodox practice, this would be an Archbishop or a Cardinal. As most senior priest in Ankh-Morpork, igor would be a Metropolitan. I know. In a previous chapter I called him a Patriarch. As the highest ranked priest in the orthodox potato Church in Ankh-Morpork, he'd be a Metropolitan. Reporting back to the Patriarch, who runs things fromn Blondograd.
(13) The colours of the Royal Air Force, by stunning coincidence.
(14) Sussex By The Sea is a jaunty quick march used by British military bands.
Notes Dump: A place protected and guarded against commando raids taking place by night to destroy things before they can get off the ground.
Lovely Russian word I must slip in somewhere:
shturmovshchina. Meaning a last-minute rush or a frontal charge to get the job done regardless. Lovely word.
Kicking around some ideas for the future of the Discworld… notes from a PM to reader BenRG;
You're right. The critical fight scene and air battle, such as it was, was quick and simple to write. The night raid took a little longer. Sorting out the politics afterwards and working out what both sides would want from the peace afterwards... well, that took three long chapters. Trying to get it to read convincingly and getting it all into place. (Klatch defeated, and thinking - how can Vetinari exploit this and what will he do? What will happen to Klatch as an entity? What glimpses of a future are there? and - if Vetinari decides the Air Watch he has nurtured over nearly two decades has now got to be too powerful - will he, in a manner of speaking, clip their wings? After all, his implicit purpose all along was to have a counter to Klatchian air power, and they've now demonstrated that conclusively.) This arc is pretty much over apart from one short "epilogue" sort of chapter. And after that... who knows...
Vetinari, I think, will now summarise the change in the balance of world power as something like
* Klatch is now fading from prominence as a Power. Its leadership has realised it can no longer challenge Ankh-Morpork. They are now looking to preserve what they have, reform their country, and seek peaceful co-existence. Good outcome. But who will rise next?
* Is my own state now getting too powerful? In rebuilding armed forces to this extent, are we now going to be perceived as the biggest threat to world peace? My air force defeated them. My special forces crippled their air capacity on the ground. Their Navy declined combat and retreated. What if, in the heady intoxication of victory, the Usual Suspects ask - why stop here? Let's build a new empire! (Watch Regina Rust.)
* Vetinari has elsewhere said the Rus/Rodinian Bear is currently in hibernation in a deep cave. "We are wise not to go in there and prod it with a sharp stick." He is aware of what resurgent Rodinian nationalism could do. At the very least it re-draws the political map and at least three established nations - Mouldavia, Zlobenia and Borogravia - will disappear. So I see him as wanting to identify the leaders and figureheads of such a putative reunification movement, and ensure they are fully occupied elsewhere. He may have colluded in sending Semyon Romanoff to Syrrit, for instance - the trigger incident was the diplomatic flight that was, ostensibly, to get him out there and well away from the Central Continent. Any Romanoff who aligns with Pan-Rodinianism would be trouble. I suspect he definitely wants Olga where he can see her, and she knows that. He will also keep her busy and productive working for Ankh-Morpork. (And what will he do with Assassin, Lady Natasha Romanoff, another plausible candidate for Tsarina who has also been taught political strategy by Lady T'Malia?)
Meanwhile, there is also a revolutionary movement which is also working to re-unite Rodinia, this time under a red flag. Vetinari will know who the possible leaders are here. Therefore Irena Politek will also be found gainful and time-consuming employment in Ankh-Morpork.
Any other potential Comrade General Secretaries of the Party – the plausible ones, not the Reg Shoes (Реджинальд Обувь?) – might also be brought to Ankh-Morpork, where he can keep an eye on them and any sort of revolutionary idealism be diluted by contact with reality.
* "Watch Agatea. if that nation modernises and reforms, they will be the new Klatch" - Vetinari
* "This idea of the Semi-Untied States of Aceria, Drumknott. If the States unite, they have vigour, a vast land area and lots of economic resources, and potentially a far larger population. I suspect that within two centuries, they may well surpass us."
"But if Rodinia unites, My Lord, then a lot of the land area which was formerly Rodinia is now claimed by the Semi-Untied States. Will this not provoke trouble?"
"Almost inevitably, Drumknott. Aceria and Rodinia will not be good neighbours, I fear. But hopefully that will be for future generations to mediate."