The Price of Flight part 42
V0.03 - even here on a necessarily truncated chapter (see end note) there are glitches.
Dvärgbröd and salmiakki
Returning to a different paused tale, as Strandpiel seems to be chaptered-out for a while – keeping it fresh and revisiting. This was part set up, so I thought – why not?
Feeling guilty, having realised I have Norwegian readers, for skipping over "Nothingfjord" in a single paragraph... but a wonderful reference came my way for the Norwegian mindset and she may be entering the story at some point.
Also, having named Mariella's (male) Ridgebacks after prominent members of the South African rugby squad(1), it occurs to me that if she keeps a pack, there must be females in there too. I looked up members of the Springboks' women's national side, and wondered if it would be unkind or bad-taste to name female dogs after them. Also, I don't want the Meisies In Groen En Goud coming round to complain... they'd donner the living bliksem out of me with many a kluitklap and possibly a poeseslap.
Carrying on the tale, as after three long chapters where I had to resolve the immediate plot line, revisit other plots, and set up an interesting thing for the future, I'm out of steam there and I'll let it (Strandpiel 2) stand for a while. So back to the other ongoing work!
Opening with a scene that sets up multiple gags, even the shaggy-dog sort, and to take what everybody else suspects about Sweden and Swedish people Up To Eleven. Readers in Sweden... it's your turn now.
The Kungahuset, Kopplingsdetaljersholm, Hubsvensska
Bekki and Lexi stood at a respectful distance from Prime Minister Andersson. Bekki had to remind herself this actually was the Statsminister. Usually, she reflected, senior politicians wore more clothes than that.
"I will be with you both in a moment." the Prime Minister said, as the masseur worked his way down her back. She sighed with pleasure. She also didn't seem bothered at all that she was dealing with political business whilst lying on her front on the table-top, stark naked except for a modesty towel.
"Shame you didn't time this visit for an hour ago." she remarked. "Or we could have done the actual talking in the sauna together."
"Lots of visits to fit in, ma'am." Bekki said, quickly. She remembered a previous visit where Hanna von Strafenburg had accepted the offer of a relaxed conversation in the sauna. Bekki had been found a large bathtowel to wrap around herself, and had found the experience to be uncomfortably sweaty and far too hot. The cold plunge afterwards had been unspeakable. But Hanna had been completely at home, and she had concluded the necessary diplomatic business whilst wearing only a towel.
"Hanna's not here today?" she asked. "You know, I quite like her. Very straightforward lady and that's the spot, Gustav... but as you say, personal business. I wish her every happiness. You don't happen to know anything about the man, do you? Pity."
Bekki explained what little she knew for certain about the Graf von Bleiballoon. The prime minster, a well-kept blonde woman in her fifties, looked back at her and nodded, sagely.
"I'll see what I can find out myself." she said. "I do quite like Hanna. I'd love to see her settled. She's good company in the sauna. Just there, Gustav! I'm seeing the Überwaldean Ambassador later, and he knows all the titled people."
She looked up, knowingly, at Lexi Mumorovka.
"I'm sure you know the sauna is our word for what you would call the banya." she remarked. "Perhaps on your next visit?"
"Da, Dama." Lexi said, respectfully. "Is banya in Ankh-Morpork, run by Swommis, but still banya. Have been invited there by my kuma, Nadezhda Veranovna."
Bekki had heard about the sauna just off Hope Springs, where the city, incredibly, actually had well-attended public baths. Some Swommi immigrants had indeed seen a business opportunity, and had remodelled a bath-house to fit their own ethnic requirements, and by extension, those of other ethnic groups who had a sauna and cleanliness culture calling for seriously hot baths. The Rodinian pilots of the Air Watch tended to go there in a group at least once a week and made a social, family, thing of it. Often, non-Rodinian pilots were invited. Hanna von Strafenburg had said to Bekki that she appreciated the invitations, and tried to attend without fail.
Bekki was very relieved she was elsewhere for most of her week and had been able to carefully avoid this, without giving offence. She stood back and watched the massage continuing, while reviewing what she understood to be the key points of the discussion to come, remembering the Word of Mouth from Lord Vetinari. She also hoped the Ankh-Morporkian Ambassador was going to be present.
"Pleasant though this is, shall we attend to business?" the Prime Minister said. "I don't want to keep you, and I know you have other places to visit."
She rolled nonchalantly off the massage table and stood up, beckoning Gustav to do what was necessary. Bekki wondered again at the idea of "other countries, other customs". The most senior politician in Hubsvensska, the Head of Government, no less, was currently standing naked in front of her, unconcernedly waiting while the faithful Gustav brought her a big white dressing gown and comfortable slippers. Gustav, who looked as if he'd seen this a hundred times before, brought her the gown, and she casually shrugged it on, finding the slippers with her feet.
"Sure you don't want a massage, either of you?" she asked.
Bekki politely declined. She thought it's not every day you get to refuse a massage from the Hubsvensskan Prime Minister, and accepted the invitation to follow her into the office and attend to business. (2)
The Prime Minister, still very casually dressed, settled into her seat behind the big desk. Bekki reached for the official despatches from Vetinari, saluted, and passed them over. As the Prime Minister read them over, she noted, not to her great surprise, that they were the only fully dressed people in there: everybody in the room, all men or at least male, were in white fluffy dressing gowns and slippers. There was a certain post-sauna ambience in the air, a hint of heat, steam and woodsmoke. She acknowledged the Ankh-Morporkian Ambassador, a man who was clearly used to all this sort of thing, and passed him his official despatch from Vetinari.
"Why not try the snacks while you're waiting?" the Prime Minister said. She indicated a buffet table. "We've got Knäckebröd, Leksands Knäckebröd, Roslagsbröd, Skedvi Bröd, Blodplättar,and Dvärgbröd. With sides and dips." She paused, looked at Lexi in an appraising sort of way, and added "We can also offer surstrommung if you'd like. The thing is, that has to be kept in a separate room, as it requires careful preparation and handling. It's a national dish that we're quite proud of."
"I should not like to put you to the trouble." Lexi replied, courteously. The Prime Minister smiled back, understanding.
Bekki studied a table that seemed to be about fifty percent very dry plywood. The part of her mind that processed language was sending her an urgent prompt about Dvärgbröd and reminding her Hubsvensskan was another distant relative of Vondalaans in the great big language family set-up. "Therefore think about the words Dwerg brood. Dvärgbröd. See a connection? Also, you respect your teeth."
Bekki realised that complete refusal would not be polite, thought about it, and selected the thinnest plywood she could find, topping it with what appeared to be a sort of cream cheese. Next to her, Lexi had made her selection, some kind of dark coloured pancake, and had topped it with what looked like fruit jam or preserve that had a deep purple-red colour.
"Firebird, they have blinis." she said. "Taste strange, but not badly so."
Bekki, realising she'd completely missed the pancakes, and assuming the selection to be lots of variations on a theme of crispbread, conscientiously tried not to crunch too loudly on hers, hoping she would not be called upon to speak just yet. Or there would be a cloud of crumbs.
"I see you selected the Blodplättar, Officer Mumorovka." the Ambassador said, amicably. "I find they're an acquired taste."
"Is quite good, sir." Lexi replied. "Colour is unusual, and taste is strong, but not in bad way. At home, have blinis. Are same sort of thing."
The Ambassador smiled.
"Perhaps not quite, Officer..."
Bekki realised the three others in the office, two men and a Dwarf, were looking intently at Lexi as she ate the pancake-with-jam. She frowned. Their look had a sort of "does she know?" quality to it.
"It is the blood that gives it the unique colour and taste." said the mournful-looking middle-aged man, in a strong Hubsvensskan accent.
Lexi stopped eating for a moment. She looked at him, then down at her plate, and then shrugged and carried on eating. She finished the plate and looked very deadpan.
"I liked taste before I knew what it was made of." she said, practically. "It should not stop me from liking taste after you tell me this is blini, made with blood." (3)
She returned to the buffet and selected a second one, just to make the point. Bekki noticed she took care to put more jam on it.
"Like Klatchian sheep's eye, but tasty." she remarked.
"Bravo!" the Prime Minister said. She looked amused. Then she looked serious, and said to Bekki:
"Lord Vetinari is still vetoing Mr Ikea Ikeasson's commercial idea." she remarked. "Mr Ikeasson's retail concept. As he is a Hubsvensskan citizen, we're obliged to take an interest in his welfare and his commercial success. Obviously, a major retail outlet in Ankh-Morpork would be beneficial not only to Mr Ikeasson, but to this country. It would represent major export earnings and great prestige for Hubsvensska."
Bekki put down the plate with her part-eaten crispbread with cream cheese. She had reasoned that as long as she avoided the Dvärgbröd and took care to select only the thinnest crispbread, and then to pair it with something that added some actual moisture, she'd be alright. She also got the spill-words. Please explain why Lord Vetinari is so set against this idea. I am listening.
She remembered the pre-flight briefing.
"I'm sure his Lordship made his concerns clear to you in his letter, ma'am." she said. "As I understand it, the idea concerns having a purpose-built building on the edge of the City, dedicated only to retail of Mr Ikeasson's products, where customers are directed around a labyrinth lined with Ikeasson products, which they can inspect and select purchases from."
The Prime Minister nodded encouragingly.
Bekki gathered her thoughts.
"The retail labyrinth is a preset course winding through several levels, and once a customer is on it, they can't cut corners or go back on themselves. They're committed to following it through to the end, where they will have a list of items they wish to purchase, and payment can be made. Errr..."
The Ambassador took over.
"This is where His Lordship has reservations, ma'am." he said, smoothly. "As I'm sure he has advised you, something similar happened in Ankh-Morpork some decades ago. Mr Ikeassson is not the first to have had this idea. The previous experiment had several undesirable side-effects. Of a supernatural and a magic kind." (4)
"I read the report." the Prime Minister said. "I've sent it to the clever guys at the Universitetet för Magi och Trolldom for their input on this, so we can better assess the risks involved."
She looked searchingly at Bekki.
"You're a Witch." she said, in a matter-of-fact way. "And your full name has a Stibbons in it. What's your opinion on this?"
Bekki thought.
"The thing with the Shopping Mall happened a few years before I was born." she said. "But my father was there and saw it at first hand. He said that the magic was so strong it hypnotised people and turned them into a sort of walking mindless zombie with no will to resist. If that's what it does to people, then my deep feeling is that anyone building something like this is just asking for trouble. Err.."
Bekki wondered if she was stepping over some invisible line here by expressing her own opinions rather than those of the City. She remembered Olga Romanoff saying that doing this sort of thing had once landed her in deep trouble with Vetinari and Vimes.(5) But the Ambassador was nodding his approval, despite the one Hubsvensskan Dwarf in the room protesting that this was rubbish, people were being over-cautious, and he didn't see what the fuss was about, people aren't that affected by magic? "I've had Wizards try to put spells on me," the Dwarf said, "and you know what, they just bounced straight off!"
"Yes, but Dwarfs are not a magical people." the Prime Minister said, tolerantly. "You aren't affected by it. It must be all the iron. On the other hand, human people are."
She looked stern.
"From what I could grasp of the wizards' report, we'd be building a sort of massive accumulator sort of thing, a lightning conductor to draw magic in and allow it to build up." she said. "Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people, mainly human, on a sort of continuous treadmill letting their minds be distracted. Feeding the effect."
She shook her head.
"I'm not saying "nej", Ikea. But I'm not inclined to say "ja", either. Until the Wizards come back with a report as to if this thing can be made to work safely, it's on hold. For now. Safest way."
Mr Ikea Ikeasson politely thanked her for her time, glowered at Bekki as only an annoyed Dwarf can glower, and left the office. Prime Minister Andersson shook her head.
"He'll come round." she said. She patted the desk. It had a unique look about it, functional and stylish, with smooth machined lines and regularly spaced circular indentations along its angles suggesting screws and fixings had been imperfectly covered, as if their visible presence was meant to be part of the design.(6)
Bekki, who had instinctively known the Retail Labyrinth was a bad idea, sighed, resignedly, realising now exactly who that Dwarf was. The one she'd annoyed. Ikea Ikeasson himself. Ah well...
They moved on to other items of business. This included an exchange of police files and passing on the friendly greetings of Commander Vimes in Ankh-Morpork to his counterpart in Hubsvensska, Chief Inspector Kurt Melankolisker. This was the rather downcast-looking middle-aged man in the room, the one the Prime Minister was treating with sympathetic kindness.
"So Sir Samuel is advising me that a murder suspect has fled Ankh-Morpork for Hubsvensska, and he is asking my assistance in tracking him down." Chief Inspector Kurt Melankolisker remarked, in a mournful voice. "Tell him I will do all I can, even though it all seems so futile. However many criminals you detain, there are always more. Being a policeman is to appreciate the nature of futility, and it can make you despair."
Bekki tried to be sympathetic. She also wondered why the quality of the very light in the room seemed to diminish around the policeman, as if he was putting out some sort of field around him. She remembered that on previous visits, she and Hanna had met Chief Inspector Melankolisker's deputy officers, and they were worse. Saga Knorrlander(7), a woman with a personality who affected big baggy lived-in knitwear, who also attracted a sort of field of low light and gloom around her; Inspector Harry Something, a man who was never knowingly sober; and the abominable Evert Bäckhander, who had mortally offended Hanna von Strafenburg to the point where their Hubsvensskan hosts now nominated other police officers to liaise with the Ankh-Morpork City Watch.(8)
She and Lexi watched Melankolisker being gently led away by kindly understanding people. As he was led away, the light quality in the room appeared, in some intangible way, to return to the general level that was normal for Hubsvensska. (9)
Bekki looked at Lexi. The spill-words were This is Hubsvensska.
Hell's Sink, in the Swommi country.
"Is pleasant here." Lexi remarked.
"Just wait a few months." Bekki replied. She remembered being here in winter. "The snow's eight feet deep and it's twenty below."
Lexi, a Rodinian, looked at her.
"And your point is?" she asked.
Bekki conceded this. Lexi was a Rodinian, after all. An eight-foot snowdrift was possibly a mild clement winter day to her.
They leant on the balustrade together, appreciating the peace, quiet and aesthetic harmony of the place, and looked out over the waters of the sea, currently quiet and placid, reflecting the sunlight and the house behind them. The theme of a Syd Baileyus anthem, the Ballade, rose in her mind as a not unwelcome ear-worm and she appreciated the sort of visual stimuli that must have inspired him to write it. (10)
Behind them, the quirky, but attractive, Bjälbo, the Kesäranta, reflected into the waters. (11) The local Swommi equivalent of the Patrician's Palace was an old timber-framed mansion house, one that had survived the Winter Wars with various unfriendly neighbours, and which even incorporated an oddly-shaped tall tower which suggested lighthouse to Bekki. She looked out over the ocean and reflected that in one direction, there was nothing until you got to Agatea, the next continent out. In another, the nearest landfall was Nobinovgorod, another of those lingering hangovers that served to remind you how big the Rodinian Empire had been at its peak. Lexi was curious to visit, but it wasn't on the list for today. Other people in the Pegasus Service did the Run there, usually the more senior Rodinian pilots, as Vetinari considered the destination to be politically sensitive. (12)
Currently, the Swommi Government was considering a response to the official mailing from Vetinari that Bekki had brought out. The Cabinet was in session. With no pressing matters of urgency and friendly relations between both Governments, it was going to be as straightforward as it ever got.
The two Pegasus pilots were therefore relaxing at the waterside and watching the world go by. They would be called for when needed.
"You bought lots of sweets in City." Lexi remarked. Bekki got the spill-hint. Some of that chocolate looked nice.
"There's a good reason." Bekki remarked. "Mr and Mrs Viani at home run a general stores. He appreciates it if I look out for interesting product lines he can sell. I bring him a selection of exotic foreign sweets from various places. In a place like Bitterfontein, you would be surprised how well something new and exotic and different sells. People like different."
She paused, and elected to be honest.
"Well, when it's safely different and not to do with politics or any sort of breaking social conventions. Exotic new sweeties are safe. Mr Viani pays me for them, he turns a profit, people get to try something new, I get to hear local gossip, and people who ask me if I can get more of those pilahja sweeties are more inclined to tell me things. You know I keep a jarful in the surgery for patients? Sergeant von Strafenburg usually lets me take a little time off for this, provided I get her a bar of good chocolate. Bruberg sininen, for preference." (13)
"But not, perhaps, the strange licquorice." Lexi said. Bekki patted her on the shoulder. The visit to the confectionary shop in Hell's Sink, where Bekki was known, had involved her new wing-mate being invited to try salmiakki. Several very poker-faced Swommis had appreciated the street theatre.
"Tasted of alchemist's black powder mixed with salt and sugar. Was not bad, just strong. And odd."
"Klatchian sheep's eyes again." Bekki said. We all have to learn. Besides, Lexi's a Rodinian and if there's nothing Swommis like more, apart from strong drink and the word "perkele", it's a chance to take the rise out of Rodinians.
She thought of her Air Watch colleague Kiiki Pekisaalen, a woman who got job satisfaction out of teasing Olga Romanoff and the others, and grinned. She wondered how Kiiki's duty days in Ankh Morpork were playing out this week. I can ask, later. Olga wants to keep her apart from Yulia Vishinsky. Olga was very definite about that. She doesn't want the two jokers in the pack teaming up.
Behind them, a suited functionary came to the top of the steps and called for them. The break was over.
The Vortex Plains. The stanitsa of Nova Podmyshkastalina.
Things didn't look too bad at this season of the year. From several thousand feet up, the landscape showed in patches and smears of variegated russet colours, shading from yellow thorough browns and greens to a sort of patchy greeny-blue. A long slow river meandered across the largely flat plain, a darker grey-blue. In the far distance on one side was sea; in the far distance on the other horizon there was a suspicion of a forest beginning. In between were the plains, which looked from above like the sort of rag an artist cleaned his paintbrushes on, full of random patches and splodges of colour leeching and spreading into the material. Bekki tried not to look further on, where in the unguessable distance, Cori Celesti rose, the home of the Gods shrouded with masking cloud and mist in its upper reaches. The Pegasus Service conscientiously strove to go no nearer than it had to. Communication with the Gods was something they were happy to leave with the Priests. (14)
Bekki studied the ground underneath, looking for their destination and the landing strip that had been prepared for the Pegasi. She also noted Lexi's intent excitement at visiting the sort of place that would be in lots of respects Home, even if it was an aspect of the homely and the everyday and familiar that was completely new to her. She shook her head, realising this part of the mission wouldn't be hers. Lexi had a job to do here and a report of her own to make later, to Vetinari. If she did it well, it would earn her a lot of points in the Service and establish Pegasus-cred for her.
Bekki tried to remember the geography. Below her would be the River Kolyma, or was it the Irkutsk, or was it the Lena. Central Continent map-makers and geographers had been a bit hazy here, mainly because no invading army had ever got this far into Rodinia to be certain. They talked about the Four Great Sister Rivers of Rodinia and had an awareness that on the other side of the Vulga and the Urinal Mountains there were more rivers still. But it frankly all got a bit hazy after the Vulga.
Nadezhda Popova, she remembered, was from here. Nadezhda had identified this river as... she tried to remember. The Ob. That was it. Is a very big Ob, Firebird, Nadezhda had said, with a very deadpan face. It connects to the Irkutsk and the Yenisev and drains into the inland sea, which we call Baikal.
The Baikal, a long long way away, was Lexi's home region, Bekki recalled. She also recalled Nadezhda saying the Kolyma was the place where you found the Gulags, the time-honoured prison colonies. A better place than you would think, but I would not choose to live there. Life there is basic. People there are shaped by the place. But is still my Siber'ya. (15) Bekki briefly contemplated a part of the Vortex Plains, Siberia to its natives, that even other Siberians considered to be a district they'd only visit if they had to. It sounded like a Cossack version of the Shades. She shrugged. It wasn't on her Run. Everywhere had its Shades, and the Rodinian version was for Serafima Dospanova to deal with. Her Run. (16)
They soon spotted the town below them, by the river. Lexi said "Is stanitsa.", in a voice that recognised the familiar and everyday. She also sounded excited.
As they descended, Bekki could pick out more details. The amorphous mass of brown and grey, moving and changing shape alongside the River, began to resolve itself into a horse-herd grazing on the grass to be found there, on the better ground. Further out, other subtly different amorphous masses were resolving into herd-groups of a different animal, placidly grazing not on grass, but on the sphagnum mosses that out there were the dominant ground-cover. Bekki remembered Nadezhda's briefing about her homeland, one of the things that made Siberian Cossacks subtly different. They used another sort of animal for transport and general utility. Other Cossacks thought it was strange and even a little bit funny, but were respectful of the skill involved and the local conditions making this practical and even necessary.
She was now able to make out the antlers.
To her left, Lexi giggled.
"Они едут верхом на оленях. Я слышал, что они это сделали. Люди здесь странные."
"Olenyak. Da." Bekki agreed, getting the gist. It had seemed weird to her too, on her first visit. But also incredibly practical. Even if they didn't move all that fast and you couldn't really gallop them. She'd even got to try it out, and had earned Steppe-cred for being able to stay on. (17)
The stanitsa itself was familiar from other visits to Rodinian places. A wooden palisade surrounded and guarded a permanent settlement made up of a surprising number of wooden buildings. There was the inevitable church with the gaudy onion dome on its tower, panelled with metal shingles in green and blue and white. There were some very large barns, maybe silos, which people like Lexi said were there to store the summer hay and fodder to allow the horse-herds to survive the long winter months. Bekki guessed the other herds made their own arrangements for winter feed. There were obvious jetties and moorings at the riverside, and a long low river-barge appeared to be disembarking lumber harvested from the faraway forest. Another river barge was off-loading bales of hay and sacks of what looked like grains. Wood had to be brought in from a long way away, and was evidently at a premium here. If grass only grew near the river where the land was best suited for it, she thought, then fodder and hay must also be brought in from elsewhere, places further from the Hub and towards the edge of the tundra.
Away from the heart of the stanitsa, the isbas and the buildings became more basic, differently constructed, from stone and earth with turfed roofs. Peat-smoke rose from several. The earth buildings spilled over to the other side of pallisaded wall, and out there, a nomadic encampment of caravans and tents appeared to be growing, at least the same size as the permanent town, In the distance, at least two other mobile parties of horseriders and caravans appeared to be approaching.
The landing strip had been marked for them, with ornate flags at both ends demoting where it was safe to land a Pegasus.
Bekki and Lexi went into their landing run, and reached the ground safely. People watching, both Cossacks and also the differently dressed members of the herding clans, grinned and applauded. Pegasi were theatre, wherever they went.
Their first stop was the Ataman, the elected ruler of the Siberian Cossacks. Bekki noticed that at some point, although she hadn't seen her actually doing it, Lexi had swapped her Air Watch headgear for a Cossack fur cap. Without needing to look, Bekki knew the crown colours would be the dark-yellow-and-green of the Baikal Cossacks. The badge in the front, gold against the black fur, would be the waterbird-in-flight of her Host. (18)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: At this point in the story I'm going to do something different and take it in a different direction.
Later today, Weds 5th June 2024, I'm being admitted to hospital for a heart operation. The projection is that I will then have up to a fortnight in hospital, and I won't really be in a position to continue with the tale much for a few weeks.
As I've been timed out on this one, I want to post it up, such as it is, so there's something there, even though it's incomplete as a chapter. These are my notes, hopefully without to many spoilers, for continuation of this chapter: I promise I'll get round to expanding on them!
Bekki and Lexi talk to the Ataman. Bekki uses her strategy for dealing with big bluff bear-like men, which she calls "Speaking to Oupa/Grandfather Mustrum". This is something she will have had long practice in.
Lexi comes into her own when moving round a Cossack town, speaking to people, finding out about the four contending candidates to become Ataman. What complicates things is that a front-runner is a member of the Popov clan, Nadezhda's brother.
Bekki, sidelined, lets her get on with it and take charge of this bit of the mission.
They fly back to Ankh-Morpork, drop off incoming airmail at the Post Office (more Tulliver Groat?) and then go to the Palace to debrief. Olga Romanoff and Nadezhda Popova are present to witness the report given by Lexi about who's who and who is going to be the best Ataman out of four possibilities. Lexi looks at Nadezhda, takes a deep breath, and says "I would not vote for Andrei Popov. This is why." (Nadezhda agrees, saying "My brother has good qualities. But as leader, he is an idiot. I would not vote for him either.")
Vetinari indicates he is pleased and suggests Olga finds more active assignments for Officer Mumorovka. Eventually, Bekki gets home to greet her father.
Meanwhile in Überwald, Johanna and Hanna have an interesting day finding out about airships. Their comms mission arrives in the middle of very heavy rain, of the sort that threatens thunder, Johanna has some fun at the expense of Sergeant Sally von Humperdink, who has been sent to Überwald on the grounds it's going to be like a holiday for her. Sally's pilot turns out to be Kiiki Pekisaalen, a detail that has Hanna going "I see." in a disapproving way. A plan of action is agreed upon.
Oh, Anri-Yolande, Ruth's Perdita-self, makes her appearance, much to Sally's further discomfort. (Remember how the Magpyr vampires couldn't read Agnes Nitt because of the double-self thing? Sally gets to deal with Ruth/Anri-Yolande Smith-Rhodes-Stibbons).
Anything else is spoilers...
(1) Her pack of Ridgebacks includes Etzebeth, Willemse, Strauss...
(2)I know. Monty Python reference. Sometimes you have to.
(3) Blodplättar are pancakes made in an unconventional way, using animal blood, and have something in common with British black pudding. Dvärgbröd isn't a Swedish thing – but in a crispbread culture, you suspect dwarf-bread was part of the original inspiration.
(4) See Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett. What else is an Ikea superstore but a Hive-Mall in a specialised context?
(5) Go to my tale Gap Year Adventures, where Olga oversteps the expected line and is indeed punished by her superiors. Officer Olga Romanoff, notionally a rank-and-file Watchwoman, was sanctioned by being promoted to Sergeant and put in charge, officially, of the new-but-growing Air Police. She reflected on this years later and described her punishment as a life sentence with any sort of parole being a vanishingly small possibility.
(6) TheVerkställande Arbetsbord För Försteministern, available in pine, mahogany or oak, a functional and stylish office desk set, available for KR640.
(7) "You kindly inquire about the health and wellbeing of our daughter." the Knorrlander parents had said. "Well, it's a long story..."
(8) It had involved the sincerely meant offer of a sausage. Of sorts. Salami, to be precise. Now go to the genuinely funny police procedural novels of Leif G. W. Persson, in which Stockholm cop Evert Bäckström figures. The novels do show Swedes have a sense of humour, as the loutish, largely inept and obnoxious copper blunders his way through various investigations, getting a totally undeserved reputation for brilliance in the process. He has a very chauvinistic and misogynist attitude towards women.
(9) Known as Inteheltlagom, or "almost sufficient", light quality in Hubsvensska could be described as "just enough to see by." Light quality, in accordance with the rules of narrative causality, could become starker and gloomier according to the intensity of dramatic feeling and communication going on in a room.
(10) For the tale of how Bekki channels a deceased orchestral maestro and plays in a full orchestra for a performance of Syd Baileyus works, go to Strandpiel, Book Two. (chapter 43, "Intermezzo")
(11) The official residence of the Finnish Prime Minister necessarily has two names, one in Swedish and one in Finnish. With a name in Swedish like Bjälbo, there must be scope for Hobbit jokes... so far I have a picture of a scene where Bekki turns to Lexi, looks at the outgoing diplomatic mail in its sacks and pouches, and asks Lexi "Got the Bjälbo bag in?"
(12) Again, Nobinovgorod is covered in Strandpiel, Book Two. Its associated Pskov Oblast is Home to another Air Watch pilot, Yulia Vizhinsky, and has attraction for Lieutenant Irena Politek, who is entrusted by Vetinari to convey his thoughts and considered reflections to the local rulers. Irena tends to take Yulia with her, as she values a Second Pilot with local knowledge.
(13) At this point in the day, Hanna might take time out to negotiate for a bottle, or bottles, of something like koskenkorva or jaloviina. Her old Swommi wingmate Kiiki Pekisaalen had introduced her to this aspect of local culture and Hanna had conceded that just maybe, Kiiki wasn't as annoying as all that. Bekki hit the sweetshop. Some things were understood at a stage in the day when things got a bit more relaxed, the mission was almost over, and the last stop would be out on a bleak tundra where little luxuries like this were hard to come by.
(14) Although one middle-ranking Goddess was a friend and a patroness of the Air Watch and the Pegasus Service. Olga Romanoff respected and guardedly welcomed this. Devana, the Horse-Goddess of the Cossack People, had no residence rights at Dunmanifestin, for one thing, which Olga acknowledged as a point in Her favour. And a Goddess who was prepared to grab a broom and shovel and muck out her own stables was a deity she could get along with. Devana is a supporting character in Strandpiel Book Two, and her earthly Shamaness and Priestess Xenia Gelena has the honorary position of Chaplain to the Air Watch.
(15) Ankh-Morporkian prison governor Peter Bellamy contemplates crime and imprisonment elsewhere on the Disc in Strandpiel Book Two, via the medium of specialised prison warders recruited from the Gulag system.
(16) The Gulags persisted into the modern era as a sort of "prisons-for-hire" system and discreetly advertised to other States with offers like "Imprison one! Bang one up for free! Limited time only!" Lord Vetinari sometimes thought it highly expedient if every so often, as particularly sensitive case were to be incarcerated a long way away from the city. This didn't happen often, and Vetinari was particularly sensitive to protests from Sam Vimes about prisoners "disappearing". A system had evolved where Ankh-Morpork had its Ambassador To The Gulag Prison Colonies of Kolyma,(16a) who kept careful records of prisoners in whom Ankh-Morpork had an Interest, and who served to reassure Sam Vimes that while secrecy was key, there was also Accountability, on a "need-to-know" basis, and the concept of habeus corpus was being respected. Every so often, the Air Watch and Pegasus Service flew a heavily armed and extremely secret delivery mission to the Gulags on behalf of the City.
(16a) The Ambassador was currently His Excellency Herbert "Throatcrusher" Griggs, of the Guild of Thieves and Cutpurses. Mr Boggis had been asked to nominate somebody who in his opinion could do with a long holiday in the countryside, a long way away from Ankh-Morpork. He had grinned, provided a shortlist, and had asked the Patrician if he could staff an Embassy out there with all of them? Is there any chance, sir?
(17) It had been on an early visit. Bekki had got that it was the equestrian, if you could call it that, version of Klatchian Sheep's Eyes. She had used a bit of gentle Borrowing to speak to her host, and had come out of it with a residual attraction to all that yummy moss. Apparently to the capreolinian connoisseur, the yellow-purple stuff was tastiest and prized for its unique savour. Okay, it gave you a bright red glowing nose, but it tastes great. The thing with the nose and a freaky feeling that if you eat enough of it, you'll be able to fly, well, that's a small prize to pay for great-tasting moss. Bekki herself had stayed on board her mount and had Borrowed its mind to the extent of being able to stay in the saddle and steer and control it for as long as it took for her hosts to approve of her, as somebody who clearly knew what she was about. She had then decided that she far preferred horses, as this new gait and sway and movement took some getting accustomed to. She had also taken advantage of a Perk, and on her return to Ankh-Morpork, had presented her father with a sack of freshly-harvested litmus moss, remarking that "You were saying, Dad, how this is really useful stuff in alchemy, but it has to be harvested a long way away and it's really expensive to buy? Well. Free gift. Tell me when you need some more."(17a)
(17a) Litmus, Leacanora Tartarus, or rim lichen, which is a universal pH indicator in chemistry, was initially only found in the arctic north of Scandinavia, although other sources have now been found around the world. Correspondingly, after its utility was discovered, it was expensive to obtain. On the Discworld, Unseen University might be a significant end-user and Mustrum Ridcully would tend to harrumph at the cost. Ponder Stibbons would be grateful.
Apparently, you can domesticate reindeer to the point where they can be saddled up and accept a rider, although it's a specialised skill and you have to know what you're doing. It's done in northern Scandinavia and in Russia, apparently. Now after introducing flying sheep to Klatch, the thought has occurred to me about the direction a Swommi Air Force might take - especially with the very special lichen. One day, a reindeer who truly believes they can fly... with the glowing red nose and all...
(18) Okay, it's actually a duck. The stylised pommel of Lexi's shashka is also the head of a waterbird. Still actually a duck. Baikal Cossacks are proud of their totem animal, which they argue stands out in a gathering of Cossacks who choose more obvious animal avatars, like the wolf (Ron) the stallion (Vulga) the eagle (Siberia) or the bear (Nobinovgorod). They just don't like people saying "Err... why a duck?" Serafima Dospanava, asked this question, had thought about it for a moment, and then replied "Can you eat a shredded bear with pancakes and hoisin sauce? No? Don't forget that of all the Hosts, we are closest to Agatea."
(18a) The Zaphorozhinian Host, being slightly more independently bloody-minded and speaking a language that in some respects ceased to be completely Rodinian, had the Hedgehog as its totem animal. The former Air Watch pilot Tatiana Grigorenko was of this Host.
G. W. Persson
Notes Dump:
A big Dump, this tale.
Just heard of the "liro di gamba" or "lirone", a sort of sixteen or eighteen string precursor to the cello/double bass, popular in the 1500's. There's also the "lira di braccio", a sort of violin/viola with eight strings. Common in the 15 and 1600's, but fell out of favour before what we might think of as the classical orchestral days that began in the middle 1700's.
Also, a professional orchestral musician has advised me that "Percussionists who miss their cue traditionally pay the first round for the complete orchestra after the show."
This was in the context of a discussion on classical music and how the most simple looking things can have a dimension of unexpected complexity. I added this:
I've just been listening to a performance of Sibelius' Finlandia. Just before the hymn section, there are two repeated passages where the triangle player has to play eight regularly spaced notes. Eight dings, pause till the theme repeats, then another eight. That's all. It's their only job. However, the trianglist still manages to cock it up, sort-of-big-time, in the second repetition. He/she misses their cue completely on the sixth beat and then recovers a little too soon on the seventh. ( I mean. "Look, vittoperkele! You only had one job!" the conductor said afterwards, with some heat.)
Maybe even the triangle is an instrument with a deceptive subtlety all of its own?
Terje Wiedswang (violinist) also advises me that: "It is. I could play the Norwegian National Anthem while the rest of the band was playing Bruckner´s 7. symphony, and no one but my deskpartner would notice. Not so for the trianglist."
"Hubland" names plundered from elsewhere:
Stig Sturmunddrang: Swedish film director
Emma Bargo: Scandinavian actress (both via the much-missed Peter Cook, who played a disconcertingly good "Greta Garbo" in a TV sketch. Well... all British comedians are legally obliged to drag up at some point. It's an age-old law enacted by Royal Statute. Peter Cook chose to go for androgynous Scandinavian beauty and, damn, you really have to look twice to see it's a bloke in drag).
And of course NEMI, that great Norwegian cartoon series about a Goth girl living in Oslo. Somebody who looks like that... on Discworld, she would be a Norn. No question. EDIT: Now HERE is a person to incorporate into Nothingfjord!
The allen key in an IKEA kit: kopplingsdetaljer in Swedish.
Big coincidence... wasting time in Facebook Reels, as you do, skipping through vids for interesting visual content, discovered a startlingly red-haired girl of about fourteen with a desire to share her clothing and fashion sense. I was about to skip past when I read her name... Famke. Dear Gods, make the right mental adjustment and put her into Assassin black...
A joyous and completely unrelated thing: discovered the word "boycott", as in lugubrious England cricket player and star (if slow) batsman, Geoffrey Boycott, comes from a protest by Irish tenants against an absentee landlord. They did the full "sending to Coventry"" treatment to his local agent, a Mr Charles Boycott, and absolutely refused to deal with him. This has apparently even reached Italian, as the loan-word and verb "boicottare". This reminds me of the Irish leadership of South American revolutions – another Hibernian influence on the wider world!
(Meanwhile in Hergen: local land agent Mr Charles Proctology has written to his employer, Lord Rust, tendering his resignation and advising His Lordship to send somebody else out quickly, as he personally intends to be on the next coach back to Ankh-Morpork before anything happens.)
The isiZulu word for "a wossname" is "intazinga". This must be noted.
Lady Bokkies: (random selection and definitely not names for Mariella's lady Ridgebacks)
Libbie Janse van Rensburg
Luchelle Hanekom
Jakkie Cillers
Cattie Jacobs
Amber Schonert
"Ses'fikile" the cry of the South African taxi driver - "we have arrived"
"The longest word in Afrikaans" (alleged)_-
Tweedehandsemotorverkoopsmannevakbondstakingsvergaderingsameroeperstoespraakskrywersperverklaringuitetrekingsmediakonferensieaankondiging "issuable media conference's announcement at a press release regarding the convener's speech at a secondhand car dealership union's strike meeting".
I wrote in the Fortean Times reader forums about a two-paragraph short in FT403 (Feb 2021) which kicked off a story arc:
Following through, as far as is possible, the South African haunting story given in outline on page 53. (article: The Weirdest Ghosts of All?)
Outline:
From a book called "They Walk in the Night" by E Rosenthal, pub. 1949. Citing a newspaper called the Cape Town Dagblad, concerning events at the plaas owned by stolid Boer Minheer J. van Jaasveld, who, when his young niece Meisie Mayer came to stay, also attracted Something Eldritch, and triggered a poltergeist-ish set of events.
The location is given as Hartebeeste River, in the municipality of Uniondale in the Little Karoo region of the Western Cape. The timing of the ghost story is 1896, which is interesting: about this time lots of little incidents, misunderstandings, flare-ups and skirmishes were building up to the Boer War proper. (Dated this by the reference to "The Jameson Raid", a skirmish between Britse and Boer in 1896) So lots of fear, apprehension, worry and uncertainty in the air. Adolescent (?) girl sent inland, a long way from places where trouble was thought most likely, to get her out of the firing line. (Classic ingredients for a polt story?)
Looked up Uniondale in SA - Wikipedia says the only thing this town is even remotely famous for is a ghost story. Surprisingly, not this one - it has a repeated ghost hitchiker legend dating from a fatal car accident in 1968. funny what you turn up when digging.
Wikipedia:
In stormy weather on Easter weekend of 1968 a young engaged couple had a car accident on the Barandas-Willowmore road around 20 kilometres from the town. The woman, Maria Charlotte Roux, was sleeping in the back seat of their Volkswagen Beetle when her fiancé lost control of the car. The car overturned and she was killed.
The first reported sighting of a ghost matching her description occurred during the Easter weekend of 1976 and since then many other sightings have been reported. All involve a female hitchhiker who is given a lift, then disappears a few kilometers down the road, and some have reported car doors opening and closing, laughter and a chill in the air.
The TV Tropes saga drags on. Apparently I'm too wordy (no argument there) and need to refresh my grasp of house style.
(LARGE CAUTIOUS SELF_EDIT HAPPENED HERE: The original text at this point was an account of the issues TV Tropes and I had with each other, but reading it back, it came over as "exporting drama" and attracting further argument and bad feeling, so I deleted a large chunk here. Maybe in the future, but not now...I just don't want the stress and arguing justnow)
As of March 2024 – still there, and troping very, very, carefully. As I know I'm being monitored, I do make a point of revisiting the "Kangaroo Court" page, just to troll them. Make a very tiny correction or insignificant edit, then move on.
A flight of fancy: the Imperial Roman Air force (IRAF) used the standard Pegasus as its preferred air-vehicle. Depending on what you fed them, they were a most effective light bomber force and easily the equal of the Celtic Banshee or the Greek Fury in the air. The only time the IRAF was outclassed in air battle was when it came up against the Imperial Persian Air Arm in combat, who flew magic carpets. After this, the air-to-air pilum was devised as a distance weapon.
An attempt to create an Airborne Legion failed because Pegasi could only carry one "para-legionnaire" at a time, so the Army was unable to amass shattering force in any one place.
Just putting this one here to see if it has legs and can dance the can-can. (Well. if it can walk a few steps...)
Rule 34 is the term for the scurrilous practice of taking an art-form, be it a cartoon series or a beloved comic book character or a literary/TV genre hitherto viewed as being more wholesome than Whistler's Mother, and turning it into something utterly filthy and morally deficient. Indeed, ISIHAC has its own variant of this in the Censored Songs round.
As everything has its polar opposite, it occurs to me there has to be such a thing as Rule 43, where something hitherto depraved and bereft of cleanliness is rendered wholesome.
I'll start: in a suburban American household, the bored housewife turns to the pizza boy who has just delivered the said cheese-on-toast. She searches her purse and her handbag, and apologises for having no actual cash on her, is there any other way she can pay the bill?
The pizza boy considers this for a few seconds.
"Well, ma'am, if you write a personal cheque, I can accept that. We also take debit or credit cards?"
The housewife beams with relief, and offers her bank card. The pizza boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card-reading machine...
Horilka – Ukrainian vodka ("that which burns")
Complexities of Finnish: Hierontaykköset - via Google Street View, seen on the side of a seemingly empty building in Rovaniemi, and I assumed this meant "up for rent" - Google Translate says it's "massage parlour, massage ones".
German swearing: Right at the very beginning of things ten-odd years ago, where I knew very little Afrikaans and thinking my "South African" character based on one line in the canon was only ever going to be a one-story character, I fudged things badly by using a mixture of indifferent German and cod-Dutch to stand in. (I keep meaning to go back and rewrite..). One of Johanna's swears was a German one: "Heaven, arse and twine!" that I'd read somewhere and liked.
I've just realised that even that was probably wrong: from a German person:
Let's have a look at the proper translation of this German slang/idiom: "Himmel, Arsch und Wolkenbruch!" actually means "for crying out loud". It can be used to express frustration. "Heaven, Arse and Cloudburst!" Johanna might have exclaimed something like "Ag, man! Fokke!"
Interesting stat from a documentary on a British vineyard (in Shropshire, which is a way north of the South Coast band in England, hitherto thought to be as far North in Europe as grapes can viably grow: Kent, Sussex, Hampshire, Dorset were previously the most northerly zone in Europe where viable grapes could grow and wine could be made in England. Shropshire is way north of these.). A harvest of 45 metric tonnes of grapes will make 32,000 bottles of wine. And this is in England, at the very edge of the vinipause. So what are the comparable figures for France, Spain, Germany, Italy, et c, the heart of European viniculture. Or indeed, climes like South Africa...
"munavoi" - Finnish egg mayonnaise, only using butter instead of mayo