Anjin-San, part two
a Discworld/Erma crossover
(with other stuff flung into the cauldron for flavour - Japanese Folklore and other stuff)
A short one to keep the momentum going
V0.3- Factual correction and slight expansion.
Back to where we left off, where an Agatean one-parent-family has arrived in Ankh-Morpork. The mother of an adventurous little girl is trying to work out what she can do for the best, as her little girl is prone to climbing out of the window at night – that is, if her mother is lucky - and going exploring in this strange and fascinating new place.
As we shall see, Mother-san knows a few tricks of her own and has in her late adolescence had the sort of education where she has learnt a trick or two. These have enabled her to escape pursuit and detection by the family of her husband, who disapproved of the liaison.
Loosely based on Brandon Santiago's webcomic "Erma", except for the fact I've moved the action from Blairwood to Ankh-Morpork, and the polarity of the parents of Erma has been changed – in this incarnation of the tale, mother Emiko is the completely human one, while Erma's unseen and necessarily absent father is the "youkai". So no Sam Williams for this Emiko – yet. (Read on)
Giving Emiko a human Discworld alternate is necessary in the context of the story – this is, after all, filling in the backstory for an Air Witch who so far exists as a handful of scattered references and one brief cameo appearance. I've decided it isn't really "retconning" - the Majokko, Akuma-san, who makes a brief appearance as a background character in The Price of Flight, could be older than she looks at first glance, and have an eight-or-nine year old daughter by an absent father. She is just there, in the courtyard of the Ankh-Morporkian Embassy in Al-Khali, has a character-establishing moment, and soon flies off again.
The only qualification is that the other children of the Air Watch, such as Tatiana Yermeka, and Valentina and Vassily Romanoff, are seen as "unit mascots". The Air Watch kids, (military brats?) are all well under ten, and are indulgently treated and loved by quite a lot of adoptive aunties.
Among the Air Watch Cadets, there's a twelve year old girl, younger than the others, who was considered an exceptional case as she is a Hergenian Banshee, so the Air Watch has one (at least one) not-quite-human member in its extended family – Bridget O'Hellion has Talents all of her very own. So far there's been no mention of an older "Japanese" girl with strange abilities, which as we shall see, include the ability to fly without benefit of broomstick. (I can see Bridget, when she arrives with the Watch, and Erma, becoming friends – it would fit the vibe of the Erma cartoon, where a friend she makes is part of a civilisation of sentient rat-people – the friend is posing as human to fit in, up in the surface world. Their school is understanding and a background vibe says they're experienced in dealing with, and welcoming to, half-human and non- human pupils. Also, by the time they presumably meet, they'd both be pretty much the same age. I see possibilities here for Erma's education on the Discworld).
But I'm pleased that's as near as it gets to a retcon!
Also, I was (at first) really surprised there are no "Erma" fanfics here. (possibly because a webcomic is primarily a visual medium?) or else I'd try to officially list this as a Discworld/Erma crossover. EDIT - well, you live and learn - there are a handful listed under "Comics" (no category for Webcomics, as on TV Tropes, that separates them out and makes a distinction).. So the "Find" command, that assured me there aren't any Erma fanfic inclusions, is wrong!
It also occurs to me that if this action happens "three years before the Present Moment", then little incidental things include the fact the Air Watch will have no communicators, and therefore no Control Room.
Also, this is pretty much in the same time frame in which the Business At Pokrovsky happens and the Air Watch becomes aware of the existence of Lexi Mumorovka. (see Alexandra; The Making Of An Air Witch). So it's a busy time for Olga with regards to recruitment of exceptional people.
"Blairwood Close" doesn't exist on the canonical City Mappe Aye-Two-Zedde; I invented the location as a homage to the Erma webcomic. It seemed fitting. I have an idea it'll be somewhere where Dimwell shades into what the first canonical books called "The Alchemists' Quarter", which was later evolved into an "industrial estate" for businesses.
688
But onto the unfolding tale... bonus points for anyone who can spot the Blue Öyster Cult song reference(s).
Unseen University, Ankh-Morpork. The High Energy Magic Building.
Ponder Stibbons and Professor Rincewind studied the evidence of HEX's systems breakdown together. Rincewind looked up and contemplated the frozen picture on the screen together. Rincewind then shuddered, in a heartfelt sort of way.
"Reminds me of Agatea." he said. He looked accusingly at Ponder.
"Let me guess." he said. "You get three Bledlows to drag me over here. Three. Not the usual two. I can't help but recollect you sent me over there once, on a Mission. From this very room."
His accusing gaze took in an Agatean Barking Dog cannon that had, with some difficulty, been manhandled up against the wall and ignored. Wizards used it to drape their coats and outer robes over when they arrived for work.
"We're not sending you back there, if that's what's worrying you." Ponder said.
One of the junior Wizards, who had been tinkering with the inner works of HEX, grinned at him.
"We think we've got HEX out of Paintbrush mode now, sir." he said. "He's back to writing in Words, as normal. We've also got a couple of test-prints out him that aren't in Agatean."
"Good work." Ponder approved. He frowned up at the screen.
"Any advance on image resolution?"
The junior Wizard shook his head.
"The colour balance is wrong, sir." he said.
"You're telling me!" Rincewind butted in. "It's not so much black-and-white as blue-and-white. White, and all those shades of blue. There's only one place in the world you get that."
The image of the woman and the girl on the deck of a ship was still there. Although they were both cloaked, there was something disconcertingly odd about the girl...
"Can we get a print of that image?" Ponder asked. "Or maybe somebody could get a clear iconograph of it?"
The woman's face was clearly visible: Agatean, definitely, some age between twenty and thirty, maybe on the other side of twenty-five, if she had a daughter of maybe eight or nine. Mr Dufflecoat had taken a turn for the worse on seeing it. Although the girl in the picture had her face largely obscured by long dark hair, Ponder had a moment of intuition. He knew the woman was a real person who was out there somewhere. If they could track her down and talk to her, it might resolve the mystery... a long shot, but just in case the screen blanked out, copies would be advisable.
"On it, sir." said the Tech-Wizard. He paused. "We think this is HEX's way of saving the screen, sir. Getting some sort of image up there, rather than just static. Shame it's not a moving picture."
"And you know what Vetinari thinks of those." Rincewind said.
"Get the copies." Ponder said. He explained to Rincewind what had happened overnight, and motioned the Bledlows to block his escape path. They obligingly moved in closer and took a shoulder each.
"No, sorry, didn't see anything like that while I was in Agatea, is that all, got to go now?" said Rincewind.
Ponder shook his head.
"You're still friendly with Miss Butterfly, aren't you, at the Assassins' Guild?" Ponder asked. Rincewind nodded and something like a smile crossed his face.
"Good." Ponder said. "This is the task, and it's a simple one, with only the usual degree of hazard about it." he said. "I want you to walk over to the Guild, talk to Miss Butterfly, give her our compliments, and request she comes over here to offer advice, would you? Thanks. Look, I'll even authorise expenses, if you want to take her to dinner somewhere!"
"Just that?" Rincewind asked, suspiciously.
Ponder sighed.
"Yes, Rincewind. Just that."
"I'll need a cash advance."
The Air Station, Pseudopolis Yard, Ankh-Morpork
The letter was on City Watch headed paper and it was short and to the point.
To whom it may concern.
The bearer of this note, Mr Samuel Williams (Licenced and Articled Assassin, Tree Frog House, now Dark Clerk) has my authority to be on City Watch premises as he is assisting and consulting on a Case. He is not to be detained, as he has given his word on his honour as an Assassin that he is legitimately present to assist the Watch in their enquiries, (note – he is NOT a Person of Interest, he genuinely is helping us with our enquiries), he is not here to perform any reconnaissance pursuant to Assassin business, and he is specifically not here on any sort of Guild contract.
When he visits Pseudopolis Yard, he is to be escorted directly to myself at the Air Station, or in my absence, to the Duty Officer.
This permission will be rescinded when the case under investigation is closed.
Thank you.
O.A.E. Romanoff, Captain Commanding, Air Watch.
Sam Williams sighed resignedly, reflected that there was nothing like being unequivocally welcomed, and inwardly expressed admiration that Captain Romanoff could spell a word like reconnaissance correctly, despite Morporkian not being her first language.(1) And that you'd never know, from speaking to her.
He relaxed. No Assassin cared very much for visiting Pseudopolis Yard. The moment you walked in, even into the public areas which even Sam Vimes conceded Assassins had a right to enter, then every Watchman in the place, of whatever species, clocked you and paid attention. It made people feel horribly, visibly, exposed, which was not a nice position for an Assassin to be in.
"Thank you." he said to the woman on the other side of the desk. She was in her early thirties, auburn hair braided into a serviceable workaday plait pinned and tidied around the sides of her head. She had a disconcertingly intelligent look about her, and all the attitude of a woman born to command. It didn't need the captain's stars on her cuffs and on those big shoulderboard epaulettes, gold-over-red in the Rodinian manner(2), for him to realise this was Captain Olga Romanoff herself. Even without an introduction.
He wondered briefly about the other badge she wore, with the eagle's head in gold, towards the point of each side of her collar. He didn't recognise that and wondered what it symbolised. However, he knew all about the 588 ribbon, silver numbers over black. It denoted an Air Watch pilot who had seen combat in the air.(3) He'd read her file at the Guild.
He looked over to his right: Flying Officer Emily Pargeter. She came from a well-off Morporkian family in the City, Sam recollected. She'd been earmarked for the Guild School, but had caught magic and invalidated herself. Her family had then packed her off to the Quirm School for Girls, but the magic had persisted, and that strange woman Miss Tick had persuaded the School management to pack her off to Lancre for vocational training. Somewhere on the way, possibly via the medium of man-gi comics and magazines circulating at the Quirm School(4), she had begun an all-encompassing fascination with all things Agatean.
He sighed again. Emily was basically alright and good-natured, but her general geeky and nerdy enthusiasm for everything Agatean was both a help and a hindrance. She was around eighteen, he thought, but tended to behave younger. After the Pegasus adopted her, and by custom she had then been inducted to the Air Watch, Lord Vetinari had asked if despatches could be taken to Lord Fang in HungHung City. Apparently, Olga Romanoff had realized that the nearest thing she had to a person versed in Agatean custom was Emily Pargeter. It was just...
This had explained why he, Sam Williams, had been assigned to nursemaid the hopelessly naive Air Watch pilot, to head off trouble, and provide somebody who did know more about Agatean culture and society. (5) And he conceded that while Emily could be embarrassing in her halfway competent manner and her misplaced enthusiasm, she was actually learning from him. She was a Witch, after all: and while Witches might develop little eccentricities, they are not stupid.
Looking across the desk at Captain Romanoff, he fancied he could get what she was thinking.
Emily and her Pegasus provide the transport. She then stands to one side while Dark Clerk Samuel Williams does the diplomacy. Apart from being taxi-cab driver, her role, at least for the moment, is minimal. But it gives her access to Agatea, to realise it isn't as the comics present it. She gets to see her passion as it really is.
He wondered if somehow, Olga Romanoff had just deliberately given him access to the thoughts in her head. It was a Witch sort of thing to do, after all.
She smiled slightly at him.
"Thank you for calling, Mr Williams. I appreciate that."
She nodded across the room.
"You too, Flying Officer Pargeter. Now, I want you both to take a little time to read the casefile and the summation. I'd welcome your opinions."
There was a knock on the door. It heralded a surprisingly young Air Witch; Sam realized in surprise she can't have been much more than thirteen. Maybe twelve. She was carrying a tea tray.
"Thank you, Cadet Eccleston." Olga said. "Set it down on my desk, would you? Thank you. Then pour three cups. How do you take your tea, Mr Williams?"
Sam remembered a little piece of lore he'd heard somewhere. In any gathering of Witches, the youngest Witch always pours the tea. But there were also biscuits. Good ones, with chocolate on.
He set about reading the file as the junior witch poured the tea and handed out cups. He heard Emily over to his right make an excited little squeal. Ideas began forming in his mind. The young cadet Witch left the office, and he saw Olga take the opportunity to scan some other routine paperwork, pencil a note in the margin of one piece, and redistribute it to the Out tray.
"I need office help." she grumbled to herself. She took a sip of her tea. After a while, she set down a document and looked attentive.
"Any ideas?" she asked.
Sam Williams took a deep breath and got in before Emily did.
"Captain Romanoff, ma'am, it's just possible we're dealing with a yokai." he said. "Or a youkai. Spelling varies."
Is that the same as an onryo?" Emily asked, excitedly. "I read about those in Krypton Evangelion Case Alpha!" (7)
Olga smiled, benevolently.
"Explain to me what a "yoo-kay" is, please." she said. "Mr Williams?"
Olga then heard something about the sprits and supernatural entities of the Shadow World, the parallel Agatea that overlapped the purely human society of that continent. She carefully listened, storing up the information for detailed evaluation later.
After a while, Olga smiled a benevolent Commanding Officer's smile.
"What time did you clock on this morning, Officer Pargeter?" she asked, pleasantly.
"Err.. seven o'clock, ma'am. The same as usual."
Olga smiled.
"Good. I hope you had nothing planned for tonight. I'm sending you off shift right now, but you are going to be back here at eight this evening to go on foot patrols in the Area of Interest, to see if you spot anything."
She looked speculatively at Sam Williams, registering a pleasantly boyish face, with modest scholarly glasses over intelligent alert eyes, and a shock of blond hair. she found herself liking him.
"Want to tag on, Mr Williams?" she asked.
He grinned.
"The possibility of meeting a youkai spirit face-to-face? You bet!" he said.
She smiled.
"Good. Be back here by eight. I'm sure Lord Vetinari will give consent. Carry my authorisation letter with you and I'll see the patrol commander is made aware."
Blairwood Close, nearby to the Alchemist's Quarter, Ankh-Morpork.
Emiko Yureimoto methodically sorted laundry for the best possible hand-wash she could do in the rented apartment. At least a wood-fired boiler was efficiently providing boiled water, and the good-natured Mrs Lydia Dustbin, who ran a shop downstairs, had provided washing soap and essential toiletries from the shop stock. She could do this while Erma was fast asleep, tired out from wherever she'd been last night. She hadn't asked, relieved her daughter had returned, and she'd heard no terrified screams in the near distance. (8)
She made a mental note to ask if there were any good laundries nearby who could take this chore over, and critically examined her daughter's tabi foot-coverings. They were still mainly sparkling clean – she expected that – but had picked up a disfiguring smattering of street-dirt from her expeditions by night. (9) She sighed at the imperfection, and marshalled her thoughts.
Some of this hot water we can use to wash our hair. Mine and Erma's. At least Mrs Dustbin provided soap and shampoo for our bodies. She decided to make a game out of bathtime and hair-washing, even if all they could realistically hope for was a stand-up strip-down wash over a large bowl of hot water. Mrs Dustbin had said there are public baths, love, but they're an omnibus ride across the city, up on Water Street and Hopesprings Square just nearby to the turn-off for Spa Lane. From here, you'd need a Number Fourteen omnibus up to Nap Hill and Least Gate.
Apparently, there were also places called shonky shops where good-quality clothing, but which had been previously worn by other people, could be bought cheaply. Mrs Dustbin had assured here it would have been washed and cleaned first, prior to resale. She would make enquiries as to which was the best and most reputable.
Emiko decided to make the expedition soon. Mrs Dustbin had also provided something called an Aye Two Zedde street map. It took a little getting used to, and Emiko gave thanks for her long-ago tuition in speaking, and above all reading, Morporkian. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was good enough.
As she rinsed and wrung out clothing items, speculating on whether it was safe or advisable to use a Witch skill or two to dry them, she heard a familiar noise coming in through the half-open window, one that was achingly familiar and sounding clearly over the city sounds. She put the clothing down, carefully, and went to the window, leaning out over the sill, taking in the depressingly disordered and filthy back alley.
And there they were.
Two foxes, looking as grubby and dirty as anything else in this city, exploring the contents of an overturned waste bin.
She watched the urban foxes for a while and the old longing grew in her, the essential skill of her sort of Agatean Witch. It wasn't exactly the green fields and gentle undulating forested hills of her home prefecture, not by any means, but you had to take what you could get. At least there are no doorways to the Shadow-World here. Or none that I've sensed so far. That's something, at least. I'd be very surprised to see a Torii-gate here.
One of the foxes looked up and towards the window, aware it was being watched, and studied Emiko for a moment or two. Then it barked a high-pitched yipping acknowledgement, and sped off on business of its own.
Emiko sighed and forced down the desire. Work to do. Laundry to complete. A meal to prepare. To bathe and to cleanse the two of them as best she could. Then later, who knows?
She returned to the matter of laundry.
Just run out of steam and need my bed. I'll put this up to keep the momentum going, and I'll be back for more later. Next chapter: the net closes in on Emiko. Erma goes on more night escapades. The Air Watch, the University, one Palace Dark Clerk, and now the Assassins' Guild are all looking, after all. And yes, the Discworld's Sam Williams, a man with his own regard for things Agatean and a lot more knowledge than Emily, may well come out of this with something worthwhile, too.
The initial conversation between Ponder Stibbons and Rincewind evokes the canonical novel Interesting Times, by Terry Pratchett, in which Rincewind is sent (against his will) to Agatea, and meets Miss Pretty Butterfly for the first time. (In my fanfic Discworld, she too elects to come to Ankh-Morpork and gets a good job there). Her father, elevated by Emperor Cohen to Lord Twoflower, becomes Agatean Ambassador to Ankh-Morpork, but he may or may not be appearing in this tale. .
(1) Because some words are absolute bloody buggers even if your first language is Morporkian. However you intuitively think they should be spelt – it's always wrong, and there's no getting around this.
(2) A lot of uniform details in the Air Watch deviated from the standard Morporkian form (drawn from military usage, like officers' rank badges worn at the cuff). Even Sam Vimes grumpily conceded that the Rodinian stuff creeping in at the fringes was inevitable. Like those bloody epaulettes. So many bloody Rodinians in the organisation and its leadership. For e.g., those furry hats they wear in winter, and for high-altitude flying. (2a) (2a) - Having been presented with an ushanka himself for winter patrolling, Vimes conceded it was a practical piece of headgear that kept your ears warm.
(3) The Assassins' Guild file on Lady Olga Romanoff, Countess and Lady of the Noble House of Romanoff and Captain-Commander of the Air Watch, emphasised that in the war in Lancre, she had shot down perhaps twenty-seven air-capable Elves, making her an Ace Pilot, had been forced down once and survived a crash, and fallen briefly into Elven captivity, having to use a Cossack sabre to fight her way out of it. (shameless plug: see my tale The Price of Flight or at least its Lancre War arc). Assassins reading the file were invited to contemplate her proficiency in the Cossack sabre and the associated long knife, together with her accuracy and capability in both regular and pistol crossbows. This was, you are reminded, on top of her competence in the general accepted range of Witch skills, including and especially fireballs. The conclusion was that if Lady Olga Romanoff was ever reinstated on the Active Contracts list, the fee should be at least a hundred thousand dollars, in recognition of the hazards involved. The Assassin, however, is reminded that currently Lady Romanoff is not on the active list, as Lord Vetinari considers her a person whose skills are important to the management of the City, and Commander Vimes would get annoyed.
(4) "I do not want to see those Agatean comics anywhere in this School!" Miss Eulalie Butts had thundered, or at least persistently drizzled, at Morning Assembly. "Absolute mind-rotting badly written nonsense!" Naturally, a thriving underground circulation network had begun shortly afterwards. The young Emily had loved the imported Agatean comics and everything they described of a groovy culture in Agatea that she longed to be a part of. She had even asked if she could spend free periods trying to learn some Agatean, miss.
(5) Olga had explained to Lord Vetinari that she had reservations about sending Emily on her own, and had vocalised a worry that without meaning to, somebody whose competence in spoken Agatean was so patchy, and so based on the speech bubbles in man-gi comics, could well end up mortally offending somebody. Who had access to razor-sharp Samurai swords. Vetinari had listed gravely, steepled his fingers, and said he had a Dark Clerk with appropriate training, Captain Romanoff. He has recently returned from a posting at the Embassy in HungHung City, in fact. "Drumknott, fetch Clerk Samuel, could you?"(6)
(6) Vetinari had been forced to add a clarification: "That is, the human Samuel, Drumknott. Mr Samuel Williams."
(7) A thrilling and beautifully animated man-gi serial where a futuristic HungHung City is under threat from a combination of massive golems which are inimical to humanity, allied to fearsome demonic creatures from the Shadow World, and only a group of resolute high school teenagers assisted by the avatars of the Discworld planetary system (who take the form of pert Agatean schoolgirls) know how to stop them.
(8) At least, not the sort of screams in the night she had learnt to associate with people Erma had taken a dislike to. She knew what those sounded like. Any other sort of scream in the night belonged to what she was beginning to think of as Big-City-Madness, and her soul had felt comforted when Erma returned, hugged her mother, yawned, and had gone to bed. This is a rented bed, Emiko thought. We need a home, where we can grow.
(9) Because not even not-entirely-of-human-manufacture socks worn by a girl who is half-supernatural-entity are completely immune to a typical Ankh-Morpork street. Impeccable 100% cleanliness in these circumstances is asking too much of the supernatural. The spots of debris on the tabi foot-coverings had also been picked up as wall-dirt and as roof dirt, but we will get onto this later.
Notes Dump:-
I had a PM from a possible reader called "Tornado Weirdo". I'm sure it was sincerely meant, but it was a long screed basically urging me to come to Jesus before it was too late.
I replied with:
Err... you do realise you're on a part of the FanFic network devoted to the works of Sir Terry Pratchett, do you not? Have you actually READ any Terry Pratchett, a man who was consistently cynical and sceptical about all forms of organised religion? He could fairly be called a militant atheist/agnostic, in fact: a man who was about 90% outright atheist but who left a tiny margin of error to acknowledge the possibility he could be wrong and there really is something out there.
Let me direct you to his book "Small Gods", which is a long parable about religion and the way it works. And I'll open the Bible at random and read as much of it as I can take in, and allow about as long for this as it would take to read a Pratchett novel cover-to-cover. Deal?
Also... all those PMs which I suspect are bots, trying to lure me into arrangements where somebody uses AI generators to create artwork for my stories - in return for a modest fee. They're getting to be a bit of a pest now. Is there anything that can be done about them?