The Price of Flight – part thirty-one
After -After-echoes (Otava yo)
V0.5. right, that's it. Last necessary scene added. I therefore declare this story arc to be officially closed. Added bits where Olga and her parents start talking to each other again. And sharing the woe of realising they've all been manipulated by Vetinari. Also introducing the Klatchian Air Attachée. Couldn't leave this bit out.
The very last bits! 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 – coming soon! (the focus will be on Bekki's eventful first full year in Howondaland with occasional further glimpses of the Air Watch – same time period, different focus).
Anyway, the story…
Spa Lane, Ankh-Morpork. Two weeks after the end of the Emergency.
Rebecka Smith-Rhodes returned home at the conclusion of a Duty Day. She had spent the afternoon in drill practice for the big parade, and was footsore and dead-beat. She wondered about the mentality of people who joined the Army and took actual pleasure in this sort of thing.
"It is good for you." her mother said, callously. "If and when you do National Service, you will now have had advanced training. It helps."
Bekki just wanted to strip her boots and socks off and plunge her feet into ice-cold water. Light meal, a polite hour or two with her parents and sisters, and Ampie of course, then bed.
Her mother looked at her appraisingly.
"Banked your flight pay from the other week yet?" she asked. "It came to a good amount, but Gods know, you deserved it."
"It's in my Royal Bank account, mum." Bekki replied. "When I need to, I can draw some and take it to Bitterfontein with me."
"Good. Do not forget I have contacts. People who can convert dollars into rand at a better exchange rate, and who take less commission."
"Don't doubt you, mum." Bekki said, politely. Her mother had a mind for that sort of thing. And she indeed did know a lot of people.
Bekki frowned slightly. She really didn't need all that much money. Aunt Mariella and Mevrou Hendricka had wanted to put her onto a salary, a generous one, to recompense her for working as Healthcare Practitioner to the employees of the Lensen plaas. Bekki had realised there was a culture clash here, and had explained, embarrassedly, about the class of employed person who in Rimwards Howondaland could safely be defined as a Healthcare Practitioner but who everywhere else was a Witch. You can't directly take actual cash money for being a Witch and working as a Witch. You just can't. Bekki had explained about the old-clothes standard and the complex nature of obs, and how this was an alternative economy among Witches and those who asked for their services.
They had understood. Both had made clear that if they could only pay in kind for Bekki's services, then come to us, if there is anything you need, and we will provide.
Bekki suspected that the money budgeted to employ a Healthcare Practitioner was being paid into a separate account anyway, if only to keep the books straight, and so that it could be demonstrated to anyone who chose to look that the Lensen plaas was doing everything in accordance with the laws and ordinances of the Turnwise Caarp and the Union of Rimwards Howondaland. It would be completely in keeping for Aunt Mariella, maybe ten years down the line, to casually say something like "So you wish to get married, Rebecka? Well, we've been banking a bit of cash for you for as long as you've been here. Might be enough to go towards buying you a house, or something. Consider this as fulfilment of a very big Ob." Bekki considered. Make that at least fifteen years. Although all the marriages she could think of were happy long-standing ones. It wasn't entirely a completely horrible prospect to contemplate.
A little later that evening, there was another surprise for Bekki. Dinner had been informal and relaxed, with Famke on overnight leave from the School, and Ampie present as a guest. Right up until the moment as the dessert plates were being cleared, when Claude announced that Lord Downey of the Assassins' Guild is present, my lady, and desires a few moments of your time.
Mum had not seemed surprised.
"Show him in, Claude."
Downey had stayed for a social drink after dinner. He and Mum had talked a few odd bits of Guild business, but not, Bekki suspected, the sort that could be discussed with two Guild students present. He had been warm and informal with both Ampie and Famke, asking politely about how Ampie saw his life after graduating, and that of course he wished a very capable student every success. He had been avuncular to Famke, noting that she was a young lady who would be watched - for all the right reasons, Miss Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons – and that he had every confidence, should she come out in one piece at the other end of her training, that she would become a singularly remarkable and noteworthy Assassin.
Hope she got the hint, Bekki thought. Her surprise happened shortly afterwards.
Downey shook her hand and congratulated her on the part she'd played in the raid on Klatch. He reminded her she had been an Associate Member of the Guild since her birth, and pointed out that an Associate Guild Member may participate in a contracted mission, at the discretion of the senior Assassin in charge. And having participated, may then receive a percentage of the set completion fee.
"Well done, Miss Smith-Rhodes." Downey said, handing over a Guild bearer's bond. Bekki looked down at the total and blinked.
"You deserve it." her mother said. "Mariella thought so too. Even Rivka chipped in a third of that. And you know what? She did not complain."
Later on, Mum reminded her of the sting in the tail.
"You were there as Air Watch." she said. "Therefore you were on Watch time. Mr Vimes is not unreasonable, and he would agree most of that is still yours."
Bekki frowned.
"Most of this?" she asked. Her mother patted her on the shoulder.
"When you go into work tomorrow. You must clear yourself, and follow standing instructions on these things. Request an interview with the Commander of the Watch, and explain you were also paid – and you are entitled to be – by the Guild of Assassins. The usual agreed rate is twenty percent, payable to Widows and Orphans. After that, the rest is yours."
Johanna Smith-Rhodes grinned.
"I've been there. Widows and Orphans has had a lot from me over the years. Trust me, meisie."
The next morning, Bekki relayed her request through the usual channels. Sergeant von Strafenburg took it to Acting-Captain Politek. Acting-Captain Politek then came looking for Bekki, and took her to the Watch Commander's office.
Irena knocked on the door. A voice that was not Mr Vimes said "Enter."
Bekki then belatedly remembered who was Acting Commander justnow, and took her cue from Irena, who saluted, came to attention, and said
"Air Policewoman Smith-Rhodes, ma'am. She has something to discuss with you."
"Go on." said Acting Commander Romanoff, looking back attentively from the Commander's side of the desk. Bekki saw the height of all the stuff in the in-tray, the relatively smaller pile of completed paperwork in the out-tray, and wondered if Olga was glad of the distraction.
"Well, ma'am…" Bekki began, and explained.
Olga laughed.
"Is that all? Well, you were right to declare it, devyuschka. And it is true that according to practice and precedent, the Commander of the Watch can order you to make a donation to Widows and Orphans. Of your own free will, naturally."
"Naturally." Bekki agreed. "Twenty per cent is fifteen hundred dollars."
Olga looked at her thoughtfully.
"As Commander of the Watch, Mr Vimes usually makes it twenty percent. But at this very moment he is not here. I am Commander of the Watch." she said.
She looked gravely at Bekki.
"Bring me two hundred and fifty dollars, devyuschka. Then I will record this conversation and leave a formal written record to say we had this interview, in which you disclosed you had received a share of an Assassin contract fee whilst on Watch time. I will say I interviewed you and I have no concerns, that I am satisfied the cash was received legitimately and represented no conflict of interests. I will record that you made what in my judgement as Acting Watch Commander was a sufficient donation to Widows and Orphans. I will omit the exact amount from my report."
Olga smiled up, benevolently.
"You have a Steading to run, after all. Some things require there to be actual money available. Now, is that everything, Air Policewoman Smith-Rhodes?"
Bekki saluted, and was dismissed.
The Patrician's Palace, Ankh-Morpork, two days later.
Vetinari welcomed the Air Watch delegation to the Oblong Office and thanked them for turning up.
"what is this for, sir?" Acting Watch-Commander Olga Romanoff inquired.
Vetinari gave her a sharp look.
"Only. you've got most of the Air Watch command officers here. Which leaves us rather short of supervision. Currently Sergeant Raskova is doing a few hours overtime on Control. Right now she's doing everything. Covering every desk."
"She is a capable and level-headed officer." Vetinari said. "I have no doubts as to her ability to step up."
He took in Olga, Irena, Nadezhda, Nottie and Hanna.
"Thank you all for turning up, ladies. Lieutenant Garlick, I'm aware this is delaying your departure for Klatch. However, this is important."
He nodded to Drumknott.
"Before you travel, I consider that it might be advantageous for you to meet the person who will be assuming the position of Air Attaché at the Klatchian Embassy here." he explained. "For all of you to meet them, as you will be working closely together, and I require there to be an atmosphere of the correct mutual understanding, respect and co-operation."
Drumknott moved to a different door to the Oblong Office.
"You may join us now." he said, to the person patiently waiting there.
Vetinari smiled.
"The Special Plenipotentiary Representative of the Seriphate of Klatch." he said.
Olga and Nadezhda looked at each other. They'd been expecting a ...
The woman who walked in was modestly dressed by Klatchian female standards, and favoured black. She unhurriedly put back her hood and lifted her veil.
Irena Politek glared at her.
"Why am I not that surprised?" she said.
The Sultana and Begum Miriam bint-Alhazred made a salaam.
"So pleased and happy to see you again, Acting-Captain Irena Politek." she said. "And Acting Watch-Commander, my Lady Olga Romanoff. Congratulations to you both on your advancement, I'm sure this is much deserved."
Olga glared at her. Realisation dawned.
"I've seen you before." she said. "In Prince Khufurah's reception room. Garden. You were one of the women in the background. I thought you were just wives and concubines."
"So you paid no attention." Miriam said, smoothly. "My Prince asked me to be present and to observe you. And to give him my assessment of you afterwards. Therefore I dressed as a concubine. I apologise for a necessary deception. And your hairstyle was truly impressive, by the way. It impressed me."
"The Sultana is a graduate of the Assasins' Guild School." Vetinari said, watching them. "Tump House. Miss Band considers her to have been a stellar pupil."
Olga tried not to feel cold inside. An Assassin had got close enough to play with her hair. And she hadn't even noticed...
"We met once before, a long time ago." Miriam prompted her. "The day Müning Castle was captured. Although you and Irena had to return to Ankh-Morpork practically immediately, and I doubt the student Assassins who were with Miss Band would have been of more than incidental interest. And at the time, I was not even sixteen."
"True." Olga conceded. "Irena says you are a Major of the Klatchian Air Force?"
Miriam smiled.
"A senior Colonel now. He is promoting and advancing those he knows he can trust. At present, there are many vacancies. He asked me if being sent to Ankh-Morpork for an indefinite period would feel like further exile. I feigned horror. At being assigned to a place where I was at school for seven years and where my former teachers have memories of me as a pupil. To be forced to use its restaurants. Drink its coffee in its fashionable establishments. To shop for its barbaric and infidel female clothing and cosmetics. With no entertainment or cultural stimulus, save for its art galleries, theatres, clubs and other attractions. To be confined to the penury and impoverishment of a rent-free furnished apartment on Park Lane or King's Way."
She spread her hands in submission.
"My Prince was implacable. He has sent me to Ankh-Morpork to do his bidding, with but a meagre stipend and a meagre expense account to subsist on. Insh'Offler."
"My word." Vetinari said, mildly. "I can see you have been hard done by, Lady Miriam."
She sala'amed to him.
"I thank you for your kindness, My Lord." she said.
She turned to the Air Witches and addressed each one by name. It was clear she had been well briefed.
"Lieutenant Popova. I would so welcome a chance to fly with your Heavy Squadron as an observer, if such a grace can be obtained."
"Such graces are provided for naval and military attachées." Vetinari said, managing to sound the extra "e" on "attachée". "The Air Attachée should be similarly welcomed. We would expect no less than that for Lieutenant Garlick, when she takes up a parellel position in Klatch."
Irena Politek nodded to a woman she suspected she liked, who had managed, with minimal effort, to get exactly what she wanted. A return to Ankh-Morpork. Well, she did say the Prince knew what she wanted. It looks as if she's got it. Her reward for manouvring herself into the right ambush position and helping to shoot down Cadram.
"And when we invite you to see the Air Station." Irena said. "Mr Vimes won't see "foreign diplomat getting the guided tour". You do realise he'll see "bloody Assassin in the Air Station", don't you? He's going to go spare."
Vetinari looked gravely at her.
"Indeed, Lieutenant Politek". he said. "Do make the necessary arrangements, would you? Thank you."
Haliflax House, Runecaster Way, Ankh-Morpork, the day after the Great Parade.
Olga Romanoff still felt a little hungover from Nottie's leaving party the previous night. It had had all the qualities of what Angua von Überwald called "Ladies' Choir Practice". The sort of party involving Watchwomen that had Mr Vimes gritting his teeth the next day, when he got to hear about it. What Fred Colon described, darkly, as "minge-drinking". She had got through the day somehow. And she'd put out of her mind that her parents were in town.
Until Grand Duke Nicholas and Lady Ekatarinya had shown up at the door of the apartment. Her parents had been... well, her parents.
"You live in something this small?" her father demanded.
"Well. We also have our place in Howondaland." Olga had said, defensively. "In Johannasburg. That is a whole house, with a large garden."
Feeling this was not enough, Olga had added
"Uncle Casimir lives nearby. He makes the best of his exile."
Her father pretended not to notice this.
"We get to commute between the two. My job gives me this nearly unique privilege. Here serves. When my family also need to be here."
Her mother winced. She hugged Valentina close to herself.
"Well, yes, Olgusya. But even so, this is no place for a Romanoff. This is not fitting. And who does the cooking? The cleaning?"
Olga shrugged.
"Well. We do, of course."
Father suddently looked thunderously angry.
"You have no servants?" he demanded.
Olga shrugged.
"Never needed them. We get by."
There was an ominous silence.
"Olga Anastacia, is this a fitting place to bring up my grandchildren?" her mother asked. "They are Romanoffs. You are a Romanoff."
"Your cousin has a far larger house which is more fitting to her social rank." Father observed. "And Natasha lives alone."
Olga supressed a scowl. The previous night, Cousin Natasha had hosted her aunt and uncle to dinner. Olga had pleaded essential Watch duty. Which, in a sense, nottie's leaving party had been. And in the meantime, Tasha had been saying Gods-know-what to Olga's parents. Damn her.
"Well, yes. But Cousin Tasha is an Assassin." Olga pointed out. "She can certainly afford it."
Her father had hmmph'd. Olga gritted her teeth, sensing the unsaid thought of if Natasha had been our daughter, we would have been spared this. She is dutiful. why can you not be more like Natasha?
"As it happens, Father, Eddie and I aware this is becoming too small for us, and we will soon out-grow this place." she said. "We are even now looking for somewhere more suitable for a growing family."
"Can you afford it?" her mother asked.
"With care and prudent budgeting, yes." Olga said, taking care not to mention Vetinari's seemingly generous bonus. Nor that she'd already been talking to people like Johanna Smith-Rhodes about Spa Lane, a genuinely attractive and pleasant neighbourhood. Johanna had been happy about the idea of Olga and her family moving nearby, and had tipped her off that the people at Number Twenty-Three looked as if they're moving on soon. Also, the older couple at Seventeen, just over the road, they're downsizing and looking for a ground-floor apartment with no stairs. I'll make inquiries.
Her parents looked at each other, wordlessly, and then exchanged a nod. Grand Duke Nicholas Romanoff sighed a put-upon fatherly sigh.
"Olga, your mother and I have been talking." he said. "We also took advice from others."
"Lady Sybil keeps us informed." her mother said. "We are looking forward to dinner with her tomorrow night. She likes you a lot, by the way. Her advice is honest and well-given."
"Pravda." Olga agreed. She liked and trusted Sybil Ramkin. Who was indeed a good friend.
"We have decided." her father said.
He passed a large ornate note to Olga.
"That is a banker's draft. Sufficient to purchase a suitable home, even in this painfully expensive city. There will be sufficent left over to defray the costs of employing servants. Take it. Do not let me have to command you."
No. Because I would refuse your command. And defy you again. Not good for Valla and Vaska. Children need grandparents.
Olga bowed her head.
"Thank you, Father. Mother. I will spend this wisely."
Later on, after several glasses of what he conceded was good wine, her father mellowed and expressed pride in her achievements. And his sympathy that she'd had to bow her head in public to the wretched oaf Heinrich. Just as he, Grand Duke Nicholas Romanoff, was obliged to do as a member of his retinue, and one dignified with the title of Advisor to the Prince. He conceded that this was galling.
"Vetinari's doing." he said. "Still. Heinrich has a great deal to contemplate at the moment. Your command has a large number of Rodinians in it, does it not? And you marched past the saluting podium, past the odious fat fool, to the bands playing "Sacred War" and "Into Battle". Did you notice there were many Rodinians in the watching crowd? And that they were singing along? Heinrich cannot have failed to take note. He looked unusually thoughtful when I mentioned this to him. Vetinari chose those marches."
Olga got the point. Making Fat Heinrich feel insecure by reminding him that Rodinians were an ethnic majority in Zlobenia. The biggest single ethnicity, anyway. And then balancing it out by - publicly - by ensuring the most prominent Rodinian in the city had no alternative other than to bow her head to him. Just to make the point that maintaining the current status quo in the region is most preferable to him, right now.
Olga's mother frowned.
"Of course, he may also be protecting you." she said. "Disruptive elements might be less likely to approach you to be involved in a revolt, now you have been seen to publicly show loyalty to Heinrich."
"Vetinari's manipulation again." her father said. "Neutralising the Romanoffs as figureheads of any rebellion. Natasha is not immune, by the way. She has been invited to present herself to Heinrich at an official reception at the Palace. So she too will have to show allegience in public."
Olga smiled at this. Cousin Tasha also having to endure the indignity of showing loyalty to Zlobenia's ruler. No doubt Lady T'Malia would advise her to play along with it, but perhaps also to discreetly check the Prince's security for weak points that could be professionally exploited. Suddenly she felt better about being a pawn in a greater game. Is there anything to prevent a pawn from saying "I will not do this any more!" and walking off the board of her own volition?
The Rug Road, Syrrit, late Spune, perhaps twelve weeks on from the Incident.
Traffic on the Rug Road had begun again after the Klatchian withdrawal. After the Road had been halted and its regular rhythms disturbed, with its traffic forced to an enforced stop, things for the traders and nomads had been difficult. The Air Watch had been running round-the-clock supplies of fodder, basic foodstuffs and water to the Whistlestop to replace that which had been used up in the halt. Nadezhda's Heavies had taken on the bulk of this work, with the delivered supplies being distributed by an informal local Council, getting the nomadic caravans up and running again before the economy of the region began to suffer. Ymitury, where the goods of the Rug Road ended up, had made representations to Ankh-Morpork and diplomatic protest to Klatch. The economy of a whole nation ultimately depended on the Rug Road, and the interruption to its free movement was beginning to bite.
Vetinari had laid down the imperatives: the people stuck at the Whistlestop had been using reserves of fodder, food, and water which would otherwise have been used to sustain their caravans through a long arduous trek in the deeper semi-desert. To get them safely moving again, so that their goods make it to Ymitury without extra delay, those lost resources needed to be replaced. I understand you have other calls on your time, Captain Romanoff, but what carrying capacity can you spare?
Olga had allocated the Heavies, towing additional cargo-rugs in addition to laden nets. The advantage of this, she had agreed with Nadezhda, was that the pilots and crews of the Heavies were also building invaluable flying hours and air experience.
After a while, on orders from Prince Khufurah, the heavy transport carpets of the Klatchian Air Force, along with repurposed civilian carriers from Klatchian Carpetways, joined in the airlift. Two air forces that only a week or two before been poised to fight a major war were now working together in a joint humanitarian airlift. Nadezhda and Gertrude Schilling had travelled with an advance party to establish a temporary Air Station at the Whistlestop. They had invited Klatchian Air Force officers to assist, and new working relationships were emerging. Vetinari had noted this with approval.
With the airlift nearly over and normal business resuming, Vasilisa Budonova had been detailed to take a regular mail flight to the diplomatic delegations, almost the last wagons to pick up and leave.
Reasoning that she did not have to be back in Ankh-Morpork that quickly, she elected to make a little detour. She had promised, after all, and it was a poor sort of witch who did not follow through. A few inquiries later, she had flown out to what was now an outlying shepherding group, and had followed the sound of barking dogs to where a young shepherd-girl recognised her and pulled her by the hand to the family yurt.
"We still have nine!" the girl said, excitedly.
"So I see." Vasilisa replied, as she was surrounded and engulfed by boisterous and healthy puppies. Disconcertingly, a couple came to mob her at head-height. "I am pleased."
A little later, the shepherd himself returned to the yurt and spoke to her in Syrritan. His daughter relayed what he was saying.
"I thank you." Vasilisa said, and took her time in selecting. Then she focused, and spoke directly to the mother-dog, which included a little light Borrowing.
He will be looked after. He will be happy. He will have large open spaces to run in. And fly in.
The mother-dog licked Vasilisa's hand and nudged the puppy towards her.
A little later, after one of those conversations(1) with Semyon Romanoff, who she noted had gone out of his way to find her, knowing she was there, she set off for Ankh-Morpork.
"Mistress, if you are going to carry the wee dug like that, if ah wuz ye, I'd put a wee folded cloth under his bum. In case o' jobbies, see." her Flight-Feegle advised her. Vasilisa glared at him, then conceded he was right.
"You're a little late back." Captain Olga Romanoff said. "Make your report, Officer Budonova."
Olga scrutinised her.
"And either you have a physical problem, or else you desperately need a better-fitting bra. I can't help noticing your chest is wriggling, Officer Budonova."
The puppy chose that moment to poke his head up through the neck of her tunic and yelp. As Vasilisa was suddenly surrounded by excited Air Witches who were captivated by the cute, Olga sighed heavily, realising she'd already lost the argument.
"At the very least, acquire a collar and a lead." Olga said, trying to assert some sort of command. Puppies had a magic all of their own. "I will introduce you to Doctor Johanna Smith-Rhodes, who will perform the necessary inoculations. And…."
All eyes turned upwards to follow the puppy's flight around the Control Room. He had wriggled loose from Vasilisa's tunic and taken to the air. There was now a very happy K'holli puppy overhead, flying great happy noisy circles round the room. Over everybody's head. Olga took another deep breath.
"It is more than usually necessary to get him house-trained. You will see to it, Officer Budonova."
Unseen University, three months after the emergency.
"Stibbb-ONS!"
Ponder Stibbons heard the angry bellow and winced. He wondered what Ridcully had found this time. Several possibilities crossed his mind. He began to assemble defences.
And, he noticed, Ridcully wasn't expecting him to go to the office. This was Mustrum Ridcully was coming to find him. This was a sign that the Arch-Chancellor was very angry indeed. He braced himself. Other Wizards in the research lab paused in what they were doing and looked worried.
"Stibbons." Ridcully said, with pointed and deliberate calm. He brandished a sheaf of receipts.
"Five thousand dollars, Stibbons." he said. "Mind telling me what on?"
"Hello." a woman's voice said, close by. "You must be Arch-Chancellor Ridcully? I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Gertrude Schilling."
Ridcully gave Ponder a suspicious look. Ponder sighed.
"Yes, sir, I did spend five thousand dollars of University money on a woman I'm not married to." he admitted. "Johanna knows. In fact, she said I should invest in Gertrude, as Johanna thinks she's got some very good ideas."
"Johanna said so?" Ridcully said.
"Yes, sir." Ponder replied. "So did Olga Romanoff."
Ridcully scrutinised Technical Sergeant Gertrude Schilling carefully.
"Hmmph." he said. "Johanna. Excellent judgement. Olga's no damn slouch either. However. I need to know what you've been spendin' university money on."
He looked at Gertrude again.
"Without your bein' a member of this University, young woman…. Witch."
"come with us, sir?" Ponder said. "We'll show you."
Ridcully nearly walked straight past the mirrors stacked carefully against a wall. Then he stepped back and did the classic double-take. He uncovered one of the mirrors. He looked carefully at it. He intoned a spell. He shook his head.
"Stibbons." he said. "You've been makin' new Omniscopes? I thought that was impossible!"
Ponder indicated Gertrude Schilling.
"The Schilling Process, sir." he said. "We got the idea when there was that problem with the Omnicon communicators. Gertrude worked out that if you add a little ground-up Omniscope glass to fresh glass and recast it, then you get a new Omniscope. She worked out the idea."
"The most difficult part was working out how to cast completely flat and even panes of glass, sir."(2) Gertrude said. I had to go to Syrrit on Air Watch business, there were ongoing things at three other Air Stations that I had to deal with, and then there was this parade march we had to do. Or else I might have figured it out earlier. Not enough hours in the day, and only one of me."
"A brand new industrial process." Ponder said. "That cost most of the five thousand. When Johanna found out, she got the copyright and patent rights sorted out. The Guild of Artificers and the glass foundries all want to know. Johanna thinks licencing the process is going to be worth a lot of dollars."
"So who's got the copyright?" Ridcully asked, thoughtfully.
"Errr. Johanna's holding it for the moment, sir. Or rather, the Smith-Rhodes Marketing and Management Consultancy is holding the patent and licencing rights and fending off interested people. She pointed out that while Gertrude had the idea, University money paid for it to be developed. Also Gertrude works for the City. She's Air Watch. Needs an agreement working out. Errr. So she's keeping the patent safe until all the parties with an interest come to an agreement. She'll also hold any royalties in trust, till then. As a disninterested and fair neutral party. Olga Romanoff agrees, by the way. Olga's asking for progress reports on the other thing the Air Watch could do with a very big Omniscope. Up until now, we just didn't have one to spare."(3)
"And these do everythin' you could ask from an Omniscope?" Ridcully asked. He ran his fingers down the depressingly plain unornamented frame. It looked like these had been bought off-the-shelf, and the plain light pine had a utilitarian look to it. All a bit Ikea Ikeasson, to his mind.(4) Omniscopes demanded something more imposing and grand.
"Yes, sir." Gertrude said. "No appreciable degradation of the magic in the first and second generations. We've been running extensive checks and tests with HEX, and they're completely faithful copies of the original. The next step in the research is to ascertain how far we can go with diluting the original magic until the daughter Omniscopes start to show impaired functions. The threshold point where we've diluted the magic just too much."
Ridcully gave her a long hard searching look. Then he turned to the new Omniscopes, the first to be created in at least fifteen hundred years, with evident absorbed fascination.
"We could name our price for sellin' these." Ridcully murmured. "And we get there before Braseneck."
Gertrude smiled, happily.
"I'm glad you think so, sir. Doctor Smith-Rhodes did say I should get a royalty on every one made. When she gets a spare moment, she says, she'd welcome a chat with you about my intellectual property rights."
Ridcully considered this.
"Stibbons. Convivium is next week?"
"Yes, sir."
"Not too late to write out a few new diplomas to confer? Can't say I was payin' much attention at the time, but as I come to recall, you mentioned a young woman, witch, who ended up learnin' more Wizardin' than she did Witchin'. From Doctor Earwig in Lancre."
He nodded to Gertrude.
"So you got a university education, through the back door. That's as good as a B.F. or a B El. Fancy a Doctorate, m'dear? Not many women manage to get one from Unseen. Off-hand, I can only think of three who've managed it. You'd be the fourth. Small select club. "
"I'd be honoured, Arch-chancellor. That, and a ten percent royalty on every Omniscope sold."
Ridcully sighed deeply.
"Stibbons, she really has been talking to yer wife, hasn't she?"
The Zoo Air Station, late November.
"Fascinating." Lord Vetinari said. "And it saves money on mowing the grass at the verges of the runway. Commendably environmentally friendly."
"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Nadezhda Popova replied. Vetinari had just offered unforced praise. She wondered what the sting would be. Olga had warned her he did things like this.
Vetinari contemplated the latest animal acquisitions of the Air Watch.
"I'm almost sorry I have not been able to make time to come out here before now." he said, attentively watching the sheep. "Mistress Aching gifting you one of the Syrittan sheep that were liberated in the raid was a master touch. I ensured the Klatchian delegation had good seats to watch the ceremonial parade. I am reliably told that seeing one of their own flying sheep, captured by the Air Watch and now marching as your unit mascot, was an instructive experience for them."
He continued to observe.
"Rather undemanding creatures. Almost soothing to watch, in fact. Mistress Aching, in my dealings and negotiations with her, is extremely adamant that the flying sheep of Syrrit remain unweaponised and are never again to be used in battle. I am happy to accomodate this, and I trust they will be used only in a non-combat capacity, such as keeping the grass cropped on this airstrip?"
"Da, sir." Nadezhda agreed. "As you can see, they have their own secure paddock at the end of the airstrip, and are only let out to range freely when no flying is happening."
"Assume my knowledge of animal husbandry is deficient, Lieutenant. Why do a lot of those sheep have colourful smears of orange paint on their backs?"
Nadezhda took a deep breath. She asked Vetinari to observe that Seamus the resident ram has a bag of orange dye powder slung around his neck. This would, in the normal course of events at this time in the sheep-farming year, transfer itself to the backs of the ewes. Our resident sheep-handler will then have an idea as to which will be bearing lambs next spring.
"Ah, I see." Vetinari remarked. "Ingenious."
"Mistress Tiffany Aching advised us in matters of sheep-handling, sir." Nadezhda continued. "She suggested that our unit mascot, when not required for ceremonial work, should live normal life as sheep. As ram, with herd of ewes. That he has reason to remain on ground, and not fly away."
"I see the logic." Vetinari said. And…. Seamus… is to be a father to many lambs."
"Da, sir."
"At least some of whom will take after their father."
"Da, sir. Doctor Smith-Rhodes is very interested."
"I see. Lieutenant Popova, who specifically tends to their needs?"
"Corporal Myers is our sheep-handler, sir. It was made clear to her that promotion to Corporal was in recognition of this extra necessary duty. And is not as if she does not know about sheep."
Vetinari considered this. The ghost of a smile played on his face.
"Oh, yes. The young lady from the Foggy Islands. Capital."
"She will be assisted, other duties permitting, by Lance-Corporal Budonova." Nadezhda added. "She is, after all, in a unique position."
They watched the sheep together. Seamus was grazing at ground level, all four hooves firmly on the ground. For now.
"By this time next year, the Air Watch will have the makings of its own herd of flying sheep. What will you do with them?" Vetinari asked.
Nadezhda shrugged.
"Technical-Sergeant Schilling has an idea. I understand that she is experimenting with the fleeces of Flying Sheep. How their wool may be mixed with that of common sheep to make a flying carpet."
Vetinari nodded. Nadezhda felt oddly compelled to fill the space,
"I understand Gertrude Schilling appears to believe the blanket underlay underneath the fighting compartment on a Heavy, if it is made from flying sheep wool, will exert negative mass. The mumakil will then feel less weight on its back. And can fly faster and further, or else carry a larger load."
"Ingenious." Vetinari said. "And of course our trade agreement with the Baronetcy of the Chalk is bearing fruit. They will raise the flying sheep herds. We will buy the wool. Both sides benefit. And so, the Air Watch may now develop flying carpets of our own designing. As well as new technomantic applications the Klatchians never thought to explore."
Vetinari seemed pleased. It was, Nadezhda Popova conceded, hard to tell. She sighed, resignedly. Olga and Irena had both warned her that her elevation would mean she now had to deal directly with the Patrician. All commissioned officers of the Watch had to. It came with lieutenant's rank. A little voice in her head was asking if the pay rise was worth it…
After this – moving on to new probably standalone chapters, to be added as and when, featuring the Air Watch. Watch this story!
(1) You know.Those conversations. Which involved, at least on Semyon's part, a little foot-shuffling embarrassment and more being implied than actually said. Body language counts for a lot.
(2) The industrial process involves floating molten glass on a bed of molten metal. So that the glass can be skimmed or rolled off with near-perfect mirror smoothness and consistently even thickness throughout. Revolutionised glassmaking. Apparently.
(3) Did I mention in another tale what Olga described as "the Ray. Da."?
(4) In fact, they were. Gertrude and Ponder considered the frame should be simple, functional and just be there to support and protect the precious glass. It helped to keep them the same uniform size, too, for practicality. Had Ridcully looked more closely at one of those invoices, he would have noticed it was for a dozen of the Rättviksiljansa full-längd spegelram.
Notes Dump: A place protected and guarded against commando raids taking place by night to destroy things before they can get off the ground.
The first and most important thing to sort out here is a ret-con I should have tackled ages ago.
Rule Of Funny applied when Yuri the watch Gorgon got that broken nose in a fight with a mad troll. Being cursed with immortality, she ended up with a bit of concussion and a bad nose-bleed. And it takes Troll strength to damage an immortal being in any significant way at all, if you're going to go down the brute force route. However, as any fule kno, if an immortal Gorgon's blood is spilt, it has ramifications. Yuri's other mystical power kicked in, and the first two Pegasi were born from her blood. (it was a bad nosebleed).
This is why she has honorary rank in the Pegasus Service and a guaranteed flight back to Ephebe for her holidays.
Anyway. Those first two Pegasi, born magically as foals or colts, were adopted by two young Air Witches, Lance-Constables new to the Service, called Irena and Olga.
Majestic winged flying horses, one a stallion and one a mare.
Now this is where Rule of Funny kicked in. Majestic and dignified flying white horses with wings.
Let's name them after characters in "My Little Pony".
There wasn't a problem with Raduga Desh, Rainbow Dash. Bung the name into Russian, and that's Olga's mount sorted out.
However. I'd vaguely heard the name "Cupcakes" from somewhere as having an association with "My Little Pony –Friendship Is Magic". Without bothering to look further, I thought "That'll do" and attached this name to Irena's mare.
As people have since pointed out, with helpful links and explanations, it doesn't. "Cupcakes" is a name associated with MLP – FIM, yes. But in, shall we say, the wrong way. A brain-bleaching sort of way. Which, as Irena dealt out retribution to people who dared hurt her mount, so far the only Pegasus to ever have been injured in the line of duty, is not the most appropriate of names.
So her Pegasus needs a rename.
Looking up ideas; there's a whole culture of tea-making in Russia and a certain ceremonial going along with it. Which for a Russian Witch who values the making of tea, offers retcon possibilities.
The small sweet cakes traditionally offered alongside tea fresh from the samovar.
We have
орешки, dulce de leche, oreshki rettsept, Печенье Орешки со сгущенкой, oreshki rezept.
Vatrushki – cake with cherry filling
Pryaniki
Подснежник podsnezhnik – snowdrop cake.