Anjin-san - The Pilot

by A.A. Pessimal

Twoflower was not the only Agatean to get to Ankh-Morpork. Here, an Agatean girl washes up in the City, and has to get to grips with local mores and customs very quickly. This is the story of how she finds a home, a job, and possibly a nice guy. Yes, another background story for one of the Air Witches. Now re-cast as a Discworld crossover with an "Agatean"-themed universe Elsewhere

6. Paired Swords

Part Six V0.02. typos corrupted, clunky expressions revised, bits and another footnote added, also a recent episode in the home life of Pessimal.

We're back, with the search closing in for Emiko and Erma in Ankh-Morpork, and hopefully, a resolution in this chapter. Or maybe in Part Seven...

apologies for this being later than I'd have liked, but Real life has been getting in the way - issues ranging from ongoing health concerns, lots of hospital/surgery appointments, and even a disintegrating kitchen sink that needed fixing. (Bloody sink's gone. Great big cracking noise, and the downspout underneath the kitchen sink is wobbling and leaking. I think this is solvable after a visit to B&Q and spending cash on parts... UPDATE: I'll spare the longwinded explanation, but I discovered the bit inside the sink and the bit below the sink are connected by a single long screw which is all that holds it together, maintains tension and structural integrity, and keeps the seals watertight. This screw /(at last 20 years old) must have corroded or weakened or something and just snapped. So all it needs is a single replacement of the right length and bore. Now hunting for one. UPDATE TWO: I found the right sort of screw in the detritus in the workroom and installed it, and as advised, renewed the seal with the plumber's putty half of a pack of Milliput. that's all it needed, 20p worth of bits, as opposed to a £120 callout fee for a plumber who'd faithfully assure me we can be round next Tuesday, guv'nor. which only goes to show...)

Also I'm not sure what happened to Chapter Five, (the new material) as I put it up as usual, then did a V0.02 revision, then updated the chapter... and the whole bloody lot disappeared for a while. I know I went nowhere near "delete chapter", so I can only think FF effed it up again. I've reloaded the chapter and it's showing as there, so, fingers crossed...

Anyway, on with the tale. Moving to completing the immediate story and explaining exactly how Emiko is accepted as an Air Watch pilot. (That isn't a spoiler, it's there in other stories that the Air Watch has an Agatean pilot who goes on to distinguish herself in a mock-attack on the Royal Ankh-Morporkian Navy, in its home depot of, errr, "Pearl Dock". Now THAT was a sitter.)

Seeking to flesh out the Counterweight Continent and to provide a sort of logic to Terry Pratchett's "East Asia", based on what can be gleaned from canon, from the Compleat Discworld Atlas, and intelligent logical extrapolation. And of course to integrate it into Japanese mythology and folklore from this world. as seen in the Ermaverse.

---

Historical interlude:

Agatea, the Counterweight Continent, is a land shrouded in mystery and shadows. With a millenia-old civilisation – several millenia-old civilisations interacting in the same space – there has been ample time to build a History, and lots of physical space in which History can play itself out. Nothing is ever as it seems at first glance and the people (or at least the important people) have developed an exceedingly sophisticated and complex civilisation governed by lots and lots of time-honoured rules, protocols and taboos. (1)

There isn't a single dominant civilisation on the Agatean continent. Two peoples are dominant among many, and these may be called the Huaren-chin and the Nihon-jin. These two peoples are closely related enough, socially and culturally, for each be completely aware of what the other thinks about them and says about them. As a result, there have periodically been disagreements and Disharmony on the grand scale. (2)

While the Huaren are more numerous and thus have the largest single state on the Counterweight Continent, the Nihon are tetchier, more aggressive, and have a greater sense of Pride that can be affronted.

As neither has the power to conclusively defeat the other, the end result has been a sort of sullen, watchful, peace. An Agreement has been concluded between the Emperors of both Agateas that some sort of detente is not only useful, it's advisable, or else we're just going to bloody well wreck everything.

Uniquely, the two Emperors now work (at least in public) as tacitly acknowledged Co-Equals from the great metropolis of HungHung City, which stands almost exactly on the dividing line between the two principal ethnicities. (3)

HungHung City itself is a meeting-place and melting pot of the two major ethnicities. (4) It is the accepted capital and seat of government. At least... for everyone except for the smaller ethnicities and states that exist on the periphery, such as BhangBhangDuc, the two Grimchis, and BướngBỉnh. These look upon both Huaren and Nihon with watchful suspicion.

Agatea is therefore a place of quiet interest to live in, if your mind is inclined in that direction, and you appreciate living in interesting times.

It has largely had an insular attitude towards the rest of the Discworld and has elected, up until modern times, to live in aloof isolation from the rest of the Disc.

However, while being insular, it is not quite an island. A long, winding, isthmus attaches it to the Central Continent. This is remote, very remote, to the main population centres and to the cities which have historically dictated the political direction of the whole Disc, such as Ankh-Morpork, Quirm, Bonk, Blondograd, al-Khali and even HungHung City.

However, this has been a key strategic place several times. Rehigreed, on the Central Continent, was viewed by Agatea as a province and it was certainly settled both by its indigenous people and by Agatean emigrants, who in the main departed from the great seaport of Bes Pelargic. (where People Are Strange). Agatea – both the main states of Agatea and principally the Huaren – still claim it as a province. This came back to bite them when the surging horse-tribes of Rehigreed used the hitherto disregarded land-bridge as an invasion route, pointing out they had no issue with being part of a Greater Agatea so long as they were in charge. (5)

Quite a long time later, when the Yuan dynasty was a bad memory, its remnant had been peacefully assimilated into the Huaren, and a Wall had been built to keep the buggers out, the issue of the Isthmus became a thorny one again.

A gai-jin people called the Rodinians had emerged and were diligently and methodically forging an Empire for themselves. Agatea was dimly aware of this, but shrugged, considering this to be beneath their attention. The white ghosts came and went, in their world. Their Empires were ephemeral, like the cherry-blossoms of May. Nothing to concern us.

And then the Rodinians came to the Isthmus, (6) and cut the land route to the Rehigreedian province. Even worse, they intended to stay, and built an actual city there, called in their crow-croaking language, Bloodibostok. Strong hints that they should desist only resulted in the new city, meant as a strategic naval base, developing strong fortifications. Wars followed. But the White Ghosts now had a foothold on the land-bridge, hitherto thought of as sacred Agatean turf. Agatea, having inflicted heavy losses on Rodinia but unable to conclusively defeat them, resorted to re-building and improving a Wall to prevent them from getting any further. The stalemate persists to this day.

And while the Five Great Families rule human Agatea still, (or at least the Huaren realms), (7) and the Shogunate changes hands but still remains the Shogunate, there is another Realm.

Agatea is only conditionally human. There is an older Agatea still that co-exists in the same space, as near and as unreachable as the back of a shadow, and accessible only to those who know the secret of the Torii Gate. Its inhabitants, if they have the right Knowledge, may cross to the human realms at will. (8)

In Ankh-Morpork, Things are Happening.

The Agatean Embassy, Ankh-Morpork.

His Excellency, Ambassador Lord Twoflower, stood on the gravelled surface of the Garden Of Cosmic Harmony in the Embassy grounds, and contemplated its central feature, the magnificent and imposing Torii Gate. He appreciated its flowing curves were a thing of beauty, and that it was based on architectural principles that were thousands of years old and which reflected the fundamental harmony and unity of all things in Creation. The story was that the Goddess Ameratsu had descended to Disc one day and summoned the Emperor and the Chief Priest, and had shown them the Plans, and said "You shall build this." (9)

Today, all Temples worthy of the name had one.

Twoflower sighed, resignedly. The instruction to build one had come from Home, from the Zǎixiàng himself. You did not deny your Zǎixiàng, even if you suspected a Directive from Home was going to cause a bit of a problem.(10) And, summoned by the Duty Secretary, who had advised him it looked as if the Gate's going to really open this time, sir, he looked on the glowing oval of light that was beginning to form inside the arch and sighed, gloomily.

The polite request from Shogun Vetinari to attend upon him, with no great rush, had arrived as the Ambassador contemplated the phenomenon. He wondered who it was going to be this time. He had despatched his Deputy to the Palace to deliver sincere apologies and to convey that at the moment we're a bit tied up here, Vetinari-sama, but please be assured I'll be along as soon as I can.

Twoflower sighed again. He had been elevated to Lordship by the Emperor Cohen, who had pointed out that he needed a good man in Ankh-Morpork. Somebody with a brain who understands the place and the people, and you speak the language. You're the ideal bloke. And you've got that bloody Wizzard who can advise you if you get stuck. Agreed? Go pack a bag, then. They know you're comin'.

He, Twoflower, had sat out the following couple of decades in near-safety, as Cohen disappeared, along with his dreaded Silver Horde – they called it abdication – and the mess of the Beneficient Peoples' Republic had emerged from the subsequent chaos, with no clear line of succession.

He had not been surprised when his daughter Pretty Butterfly, who in her teenage enthusiasm and zeal had been involved in the Beneficient Republic, arrived in Ankh-Morpork as a refugee when the new state inevitably collapsed. He had suggested to Lord Downey that the Assassins' Guild might be interested in somebody of her abilities and competences. The Guild had offered her a contract and full membership,(11) and she had been there ever since, carving out her niche and creating her Department.

Twoflower had been relieved and proud. He had also been relieved that both the Beneficent Republic and the Restoration Emperor Meiji had taken the point of view that he was too good at his job to replace. Good relations with Ankh-Morpork, they had reluctantly conceded, were too important. Some of the white ghosts could not be ignored.

He wondered if Cohen had seen what was coming, and had arranged this as a favour to a friend, to keep him safe and out of harm's way.

At this precise moment, Twoflower was aware that he'd far prefer being out of harm's way somewhere else.

He accepted the offered fold-down lacquer chair, deciding he should at least be comfortable, and asked a junior clerk to send word to his daughter, to ask if she could be present to offer her counsel.

Composing himself and seeking calm, he settled down to wait.

Unseen University, morning.

"Do you have to bring that bloody thing to breakfast with you, Rincewind?" the Senior Wrangler demanded.

The presence of the Luggage at breakfast was making people distinctly nervous. Although not nearly nervous enough, Rincewind noted, to put people off eating. At present it was sitting, more or less obediently, in a corner, but radiating a perceptible sense of impatience and attentive awareness.

"It followed me down." Rincewind said. "I managed to get through to it that I'll take it on a walk, provided it behaves itself, but not before I have breakfast."

The other Faculty Wizards indicated approval. Nothing got between a Wizard and breakfast. Or, indeed, between a Wizard and any meal. Rincewind was Wizard enough, they conceded, even if he was the peculiar sort of Wizard who just had cornflakes for breakfast and a couple of slices of toast. And those damn Acerian things, potato waffles. Perhaps a boiled egg if he was feeling hungry. Like that fellow Stibbons, they remarked. He hardly eats a thing, too. Can you imagine he gave up living at the University, over a woman, and chose, actually chose, to get married to her and move out?

"New times, new sort of Wizard." Ridcully boomed. "Besides, he and Johanna employ a damn good cook. Big jolly Howondalandian woman, knows what's needed."

He took a suspicious look at the Luggage.

"Take it out for walkies much, do you?" he demanded.

Rincewind, who was addressing his boiled egg, made a deep resigned sigh.

"Funny thing is, Arch-Chancellor, this doesn't happen very often." he said. "But when it does, there's no stopping it. Best to get it out of the way when it does."

"Hmmmph." Ridcully said.

The Air Station, Ankh-Morpork.

Morning handover completed, followed by a brief conversation with an irritated-looking Angua von Überwald, Captain Olga Romanoff settled down to read the overnight reports. She frowned, noting Hanna von Strafenburg's recommendation that Flying Officers Matlock and Glossop should, in her opinion, be sent on a refresher course in aerial pursuit and chases involving suspicious aerial activity. The fact they'd failed to apprehend a Person Of Interest who was very clearly a novice flyer on an inferior broomstick was clearly not satisfactory performance, and pointed to deficient skills.

Olga considered this. Stacey and Tillie were both good pilots. Maybe not the outstanding very best, but they'd both had years of experience and both were 588-badged veterans of the Lancre War. And this Mystery Witch had run rings round them, on a Yak. Then again, Stacey Matlock needed to have some of that irritatingly bumptious self-confidence knocked out of her, or she could verge on insufferable...

We need to pull this woman in, Olga decided. I want to interview her myself. If her criminal record comes up clean, to see if she's a good fit... Olga noted the Mystery Witch, from the sparse physical description Stacey and Tillie had given, had at least a superficial resemblance to the Agatean woman they were hunting, this Emiko Yureimoto, according to Angua's contact. She wondered if this was the same woman, or if this was a coincidence too far.

She set this aside for now, and contemplated the faint smell of banana in the air. According to Hanna, the Librarian had called round by night and delivered several books, that sat on the desk in front of her, with an urgent "Ook!" that meant "Can you see Captain Romanoff gets these?"

Hanna had offered hospitality in the form of hot tea and biscuits, and had sent a dogsbody round to an all-night store to buy some bananas.

Olga sighed again, and read the titles. Generally thick forbidding tomes on Agatean folklore with too much wizard-speak. She eventually settled on one with a gaudier paper outer sleeve. The cover read "You would not believe those crazy Agateans!" with, in larger letters underneath, "Weird Agatean Things (volume four) compiled by Stripfettle, James and Kyōjinnichikai." (12)

Stripfettle's Weird Agatean Things.

It looked promising. Olga opened it at random and navigated to what it had to say concerning onryö. She moved on to what it said about Witchcraft in Agatea.

After a while, she pushed her chair back and decided she needed fresh air. Literally. She wasn't sure what, but there was a tightening feeling in her temples, like the onset of a headache, or perhaps one of those muzzy heads you could get just before a thunderstorm.

She went to advise Irena Politeka she was now in charge at the Air Station, until I get back, and booked out her personal broom. A few minutes later, she was in the air, telling herself she wasn't up there for a joyride, she was performing a routine unannounced Commanding Officer's check on the readiness of her air units.

Unseen University.

Professor Rincewind was just scraping the last of his boiled egg out of the shell when the Luggage finally lost its patience, extended its many dear little feet, and aimed itself at the open door, scattering a couple of unwary Wizards.

Rincewind sat for a moment with a spoon full of tantalising white egg poised on its way to his mouth.

"Oh, Hells!" he said, feelingly.

Ridcully patted him on the back.

"You'd better chase it, don't you think?" he said. "You did say you were takin' the damn thing for walkies."

Rincewind reluctantly put the spoon down. At least he'd had most of his breakfast...

As Rincewind reluctantly pursued his Luggage, Ridcully reflected that the damn blasted bloody thing had put him in mind of his huntin' dragons. When they picked up a scent. Unmistakable.

Unhurriedly, he turned to Recent Runes and the Senior Wrangler.

"We should follow on." he said. "No hurry. We can finish eatin' first. Maybe wait for young Stibbons, when he can bear to leave the embrace of his home and a lovin' wife. In fact, she usually leaves for her work, at about now."(13)

Runes and the Wrangler shared a look. A married Wizard who preferred to live out was something entirely new and strange to them.

"Mustrum." Runes said, cautiously. "Shouldn't, you know, we be following them on now? The trail might go cold."

The Arch-Chancellor shook his head.

"Think about it, Runes." he said. "This sort of trail persists. We just follow the screams and the wreckage. That sort of lingers. Trust me."

He called for more beer and a refill on black pudding and bacon. (14) Then he reached for the Wow-Wow sauce. The wizards around him ducked, instinctively.

The Agatean Embassy, Ankh-Morpork.

More and more Embassy staff had gathered on the Garden of Cosmic Harmony. Twoflower didn't need to look round. He could hear the crunching of their feet on the gravel. He realised there was a sense of anxiety and dread in the air, but tried to still his mind and to focus on the glowing oval in the air. He was beginning to see a landscape through the oval that was certainly not that of Ankh Morpork, on the other side of the Torii Gate. At least, in this universe. He thought he recognised the rolling green hills of the Kansai Prefecture, not so far from the great seaport at Bes Pelargic, where once, a lifetime ago, he'd set out as a tourist for distant Ankh-Morpork.

Twoflower shook his head. He'd seen a lot, learnt a lot and grown a lot in that time.

He missed completely the person coming up behind him until she spoke into his ear.

He welcomed her, sincerely and lovingly, but an inconvenient voice in his head was asking How is it that her feet made no noise on the gravel? To announce intruders with noise is one of the things that gravel is for.

"You would not have asked for me without a reason, Daddy-chan." said Pretty Butterfly. "But I perceive there is a good reason. I see it in front of me."

"This isn't unknown." Twoflower said to her. "This is the thing the Torii Gate is for, after all. But usually they send a messenger. Usually, it's Haru, the family kappa. During the night, he was sent here with messages, for myself, and for Vetinari-sama. The Gate might glow for an instant, the kappa bows and hands the despatches over, or receives our replies to convey back. The kappa then steps back through the portal into the Shadow Realm. Then the glow, a slighter glow persisting for a shorter time, fades."

"But for now. It has been glowing brightly and with much light for a long time, and it is getting brighter." Butterfly remarked. Her father, looking like the far younger Twoflower who had once marvelled at everything he saw and worn out at least one iconographic machine, took her hand.

"So you believe we are to be visited by one who is more than a mere kappa." Butterfly concluded. "Perhaps one, or more than one, of the Great Family?"

"That is what I believe." Twoflower replied. "The letter received advised me to stand by and to be prepared to receive guests of Quality who will wish to discuss matters of grave importance."

Butterfly considered this.

"If not the parents, then one of the children." she mused. "The Lady Fumiko, perhaps, who is Eldest Daughter."

"Perhaps." her father agreed. He glanced up, and tried to make his face look impassive. Two broomsticks were orbiting the Embassy, seeking to keep at a discreet space and not to fly directly overhead, which would be impolite.

He winced inside. There was a big, persistent, display of Magic going on. Of course this would attract the Air Watch. He tried to compose an explanation for Vetinari. And, he now realised, for Olga Romanoff. And, his hindbrain urgently advised him, for Arch-Chancellor Ridcully.

"So, not a visit." Butterfly said. "More of a manifestation."

Blairwood Close, Dimwell:

Even Erma looked up from Warrior Unicorn Princess, as Chow-Mein, their Luggage, extended its many dear little feet and shifted position.

Emiko sighed. On top of everything else, the Luggage was restless and clearly agitated about something. This was a bad sign. She and Erma watched as Chow-Mein shuffled to face the door to the stairs, and moved into what was clearly a defensive crouching position, its handle rattling and its narrow side pointing at the door.

Emiko tried to remember what she knew concerning jubboko-wood. Something was coming this way that was clearly threatening. At least to a Luggage. A memory stirred as to what there was out there that could make a Luggage feel threatened. She also felt a growing sensation like the air before a storm, heavy, and oppressive.

This is not a good way to start the day, she thought.

Erma looked up at her mother with a wide-eyed questioning expression on her face. Emiko realised that whatever it was, her daughter was feeling it too.

The Patrician's Palace:

"Thank you, gentlemen. Very enlightening." Vetinari said to Sam Vimes and to Mr Boggis. He raised an eyebrow to Rufus Drumknott.

"The Second Secretary from the Agatean Embassy is in the waiting room, sir." Drumknott said.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

"And not the Ambassador?" he said, questioningly. "Very well. Mr Daizu-san will no doubt have an explanation to convey. Vimes, Mr Boggis, do not let me detain you."

Over Ankh-Morpork:

The Air Watch patrol settled down to a steady, cautious, circuit over the Agatean Embassy.

Flying Officer Amelia Cronkhart looked over to the patrol commander, Flying Officer Serafima Dospanova, and again wondered how the Hells she'd ended up here. She looked down at the ominous glow that was building up around the godsdamn thing in the Embassy grounds, and tried to think straight despite the growing tension behind her eyes, that sure as Hells felt like the first ominous sign of a migraine headache.

She sighed. Life had been simpler, back in the prairie region of Tornado Alley, in what they called The Middle, where she'd grown up as a homestead girl. All you needed to do was to watch the weather and retreat to the tornado shelter whenever it was necessary. Okay, so sometimes the homestead blew away. But it generally came down in one piece, pretty much, and you could either haul it back or else relocate to wherever it came down. People built their prairie homes in a unique architectural idiom, to allow for this. Collecting and identifying your livestock afterwards was a chore, too, but hey, that was what brands were for.

It was when she turned twelve-thirteen that things had gotten intense.

On top of all the other junk that had started happening, the young Amy Cronkhart had realised that whenever a tornado happened, she had to watch the sky.

The realisation had occurred after maybe about the third or fourth time she'd to do a last-minute dodge and roll to evade a falling farmhouse.

Homesteads picked up by tornadoes tended to drop on her. Every goddam time. She even wondered if it was the red leather boots, or something. Folk stories said red boots attracted tornadoes. But heck, good lasting prairie footwear wasn't so plentiful that she could stow them away in a locker somewhere. She just had to put up with it. And keep watching the skies.

Tornado Alley was wide and flat and largely featureless. It was hard not to watch the sky. That was inevitable, really, even for those who did not have to watch for falling homesteads. In between tending to animals and people who were ailing or sickening – folk said that while young Amy Cronkhart had a sharp sassy mouth,(15) she could work miracles with tending to injuries – she tended to watch birds in flight. They fascinated her. Hells, the sky fascinated her, though it was hard to work out why. It's not as if I'm likely to sprout wings and fly, she told herself. And even then, likely I'd still get a homestead thrown at me.

One day, the two travellers from out of the Turnwise came through Tornado Alley, on their way to Genua, they said. People from foreign parts were rare here, and they'd caused a commotion. They'd witnessed a tornado at close quarters and had seen Amy duck and roll to avoid being hit by a homestead in freefall. When the dust had settled, the taller red-haired one, the one who knew where she was about concerning Homesteads and ranching, had said, in her hella-strange foreign accent,

"Yizzlike!" (or something that sounded that way) "Does thet kind of thing heppen often?" (16)

Explanations had followed. Mariella, the redhead, and her friend Rivka, the sort of girl you did not want to mess with, had looked at each other, and Mariella had said, in her harsh accent "We know people. I think you need somebody to talk to."

And then the woman on the hella strange flying white horse with the actual wings had turned up. Amy reckoned she was one of the people Mariella and Rivka knew. There had been a Discussion.

The uniformed woman on the white horse had introduced herself, and said "I think we need to get you to a place where there aren't any tornadoes. Or farmhouses in freefall. Get aboard, we can go up for a joyride, and we can talk. I can tell you what it's all about."

"Does it involve wearing gingham, ma'am?" Amy had asked. She had learned to loathe gingham. She felt it didn't suit her. And seeing the world from above for the first time was making her go "Wow!" For one thing, she hadn't realised the one paved road, the one leading to Ozwego City, looked distinctly yellow, a sort of a golden color, from this height. (17)

Olga Romanoff had grinned.

"Not if you don't want to."

"Ma'am, count me in!"

After a conversation with her parents, and the packing of a bag or two, Amelia Cronkhart arrived in Lancre for Witch training. After that, after flying training, after getting her own Pegasus, she had only really gone back to Tornado Alley for brief duty visits Home.

But that had been three years ago.

Here and now, she fell into step with Serafima and they continued, cautiously and in full accordance with international law, to orbit the Agatean Embassy. They flew side by side and close together, so that they could talk without needing to shout.

With a skill honed by years of avoiding airborne homesteads, Amelia scanned the sky around her.

"Gotta look alert." she said, urgently. "That's Syren. Headin' this way."

Park Lane, Ankh-Morpork

Emily Pargeter and Sam Williams had been released from shift and were gratefully making their way to their respective homes. Both had been told they were on instant recall if the situation needed them, and Sam had given Olga Romanoff his home address. He had naively asked what form Recall to Duty took. Emily had grinned and said it usually consisted of an Air Witch flying up to your bedroom window, thumping on it very hard till you woke up, and shouting at you to get your uniform on and your broomstick fired up right now.

"So leave the window slightly ajar, Sam." she said.

Sam, who had been told to present himself back at the Air Station at five for a supervised uniform issue and some initial training in basic presentation and foot drill – don't be late, as Sergeant von Strafenburg is coming in earlier, just for you – accepted this.

He also appreciated being able to walk at least partway home alongside Emily. Their paths would go together as far as Park Lane Circus before diverging. He knew Emily, as a daughter of a well-off family, had a flat somewhere off Snapcase Street. They had a Property Portfolio, apparently, and she got a peppercorn rent.

Well, they had money set aside in a trust fund to pay Assassin school fees, he reflected. Then she caught Magic, and they had to send her to a cheaper school. And her vocational education in Lancre meant no fees at all. So, cash in hand.

Sam understood this. His own family had met Assassin schoolfees without a wince. His uncle, now deceased, had owned a house off Ingot Street, which optimistic estate agents called "Edgeware Borders". It occupied the indeterminate in-between state, too upmarket to be Dimwell, too downmarket to be Edgeware Road.

Knowing Sam's two older brothers were both settled in places of their own, and being childless, the uncle had bequeathed his home to Sam. Sam Williams had been thankful. A fairly large house of his own with multiple bedrooms was somewhere to store his collection of comics and ephemera, so long as there was space for a bed and he could move between rooms.

Although now and again, he did speculate about a potential Mrs Williams. She'd have to be a comics fan and into Agatean culture, Sam thought. And you didn't see too many girls at Dave Stamper's Comic Exchange.

"Does the Watch ever allow you free time for other things, you know, a private life?" Sam asked, casually.

Emily had smiled.

"Well, I do get to see Ambrose when I can." she replied. Replying to an unspoken question, she had said "He's a banker. We're thinking of getting married, maybe in the next few years. Lots of time yet."

"I see." Sam replied, wondering why he felt a little bit deflated. So much for her having a thing for me...

Emily suddenly frowned. "I'm getting a bit of a headache." she said. "It must be the weather. It's feeling a bit close, like just before a thunder and lightning storm? Hopefully, a few hours' sleep should put that right."

Her turn-off for Snapcase Street was now on them.

Emily smiled and gave Sam an impulsive quick hug.

"You did really well last night, Sam." she said. "It was nice having you there."

Then she was walking away and waving goodbye.

Sam sighed a philosophical sigh.

"Unmei" he said, firmly to himself. "Shōyū."

He found a café on Park Lane Circus, ordered a coffee to unwind, and watched the traffic and the street theatre for a while. Idly, he wondered why Emily had thought there was a storm on the way. The air for May felt clear and pleasant. Well, as clear and pleasant as it ever got for Ankh-Morpork, anyway. Here, in the upmarket part of Ankh, a very affluent district that tried to ape the ambience of places like Quirm, there were pavement cafés, some of which were open for the breakfast trade and had obligingly put tables and chairs out.

He took in a couple of ornamental cherry trees whose flowers were shedding petals, and had a nostalgic pang for time spent in HungHung City. The fall of cherry blossom would be like a snowfall there, at this time of year. One or two petals, a pale pinky-white fragility, got as far as his tabletop.

His mind in the sort of mildly spaced-out psychedelic zone that comes from having been awake, active and working in one form or another for over twenty-four hours, Sam Williams sat back and tried to unravel his mind. With luck, if the Air Watch wanted him back at five – he tried not to dwell on the idea of getting recruit-level foot drill instruction from Sergeant von Strafenburg – he could stop his mind racing, at least get it down to a sedate jog, or even walking pace. Then home, it was only fifteen minutes walk from here, and if he was lucky, five or even six hours' sleep. Maybe seven?

When he was halfway down his cup, his attention was drawn to a commotion in the distance along Park Lane. Screams and crashes and crunches featured.

He sighed. What if he, Special Constable Samuel Williams, was the only Watchman for miles around? Having been signed up meant he was obliged, or something?

He hoped the noise would tail off into the distance, or something, meaning the obligation was only theoretical. But it persisted. And got louder and closer.

He sighed again. One of those days, evidently.

The Patrician's Palace:

"I see." Vetinari said. "Enlightening. Thank you, Daizu-san."

The Agatean diplomat, an awkward looking fellow with a lugubrious rubbery face, (18) made the most formal respectful bow that he could, but nearly, amusingly, fell flat on his face. Vetinari made a slight seated bow in return, and steepled his fingers. He contemplated things for a moment. Rufus Drumknott entered with several written reports which he passed to the Patrician.

Vetinari read them attentively. A very slight smile crossed his face.

"We also have a disturbance in the city." he remarked. "Professor Rincewind's Luggage has broken free and is reported to be charging down the River Walks, in the direction of Phedre Street. Fortunately, most people it encountered have been quick-witted enough to leap out of its way, but traders' barrows and market stalls in its path have not been so fortunate. There is a certain amount of material damage going on.

"Professor Rincewind is in pursuit, but is being lamentably ineffectual in restraining his property."

Vetinari shook his head, as if in sorrowful reproach. He lifted the second report.

"We also have independent confirmation of the magical discharge at the Agatean Embassy, relayed back from Pilot Officers Cronkhart and Dospanova of the Air Watch, who are keeping the matter under observation. Senior Pilot Officer Dospanova stresses that she is mindful of diplomatic convention, which means she cannot directly overfly Embassy premises. She also points out that a discharge of magic of this intensity may well interfere with flight if it grows any stronger, and she may not be able to maintain a Watch for much longer."

Vetinari pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Mr Daizu-san, your coach is waiting outside? Capital. I consider that if the Ambassador cannot come to me, then I have no recourse other than to go to the Ambassador. You will take us there."

Park Lane, Ankh-Morpork.

The Luggage, on a clear imperative of its own, had moved through Ankh-Morpork like a neutron in a nuclear reactor. Rincewind had once been forced by circumstances to develop at least a well-informed layman's knowledge of New Clear Physics. (19) He knew what happened when uncontrolled neutrons started shooting off. Things sort of accumulated. In this case, an ever-growing tail of angry people, affronted stallholders demanding who was going to pay for the damage, several Watchmen, and people attracted to street theatre.

He ran on.

There really didn't seem to be any alternative.

He also wondered about the beginning of a headache he was feeling. And the slight taste of tin in his mouth.

He glanced to his right.

Somebody dressed in well-tailored black was running alongside, with the sort of easy loping stride that suggested he could keep this up all day.

Damn.

Rincewind got the feeling that this really wasn't his day.

Over Ankh-Morpork:

Olga Romanoff's instructions to Amelia and Serafima had been short and to the point.

"There is a Watch patrol in the street outside the Embassy gate. See them? One of you flies down, prepares a report, and gets them to run it back to the Yard. Get a copy to the Palace. Whatever this is, Vetinari will want to know. Then return here. Davaii!"

Olga had scowled down, feeling the tightness in her temples getting stronger. She could also taste tin in her mouth, the sharp unpleasant acid-metallic tang.

"Whatever those idiots are doing, they'd better have a good explanation for this." she said, darkly.

"Looks like pie, ma'am." Amelia had said, keen to be seen making a contribution, as Serafima sped off. Olga raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever it is they've built down there. Odd-shaped arch. Looks like Pie. You know, the thing in math, that's to do with circles? Twenty-two over seven. A fraction that kinda goes on for ever. Begins with three."

Olga considered this. That arch did look like the Ephebian letter. She considered the implications of that. Bloody Stupid Johnson had inadvertently discovered some of the stranger properties of Pi when he designed that Sorting Machine for the Post Office....(20) A cold wash of horror flushed over her and she forced herself to be impassive. Had the bloody Agateans, working independently of Johnson, devised something similar that could warp space and time?

"Code Twenty-Three." she said, to herself. "Govno."

She patrolled with Amelia, noting the disturbance below seemed not to be getting any worse, at least. That was something to be thankful for. She wondered if all this connected, somehow, to the Yureimoto business, and remembered she still had that on her plate. And over there to her right, a commotion seemed to be building up in the street. She recalled Amelia and Serafima had been sent on a routine Highway Patrol flight, to support the Traffic Division with managing rush-hour early morning traffic on the main roads. Quite properly, they'd diverted here to a more immediate emergency. This meant nobody was covering the street. No Eye in the Sky.

Olga waited for Serafima to rejoin them and confirm the report had been sent. Her hand-written copy had gone to a clacks tower as top priority and would be sent both to the Yard and the Palace.

They watched the phenomenon together and noted practically every Embassy employee was out there watching, hypnotised by the light show.

Serafima said, urgently and in Rodinian:

"Olga Anastacia. That is a Domovila Gate. And they are opening it."

Olga looked down. She remembered the crudely carved wooden posts right on the Edge of the steading of her teacher in Witchcraft, the BabaYaga Natalya. And later on, she'd seen the Dancers in Lancre and the Standing Stones in the Chalk. They were also Domovila Gates.

"I believe you may be right, Serafima Marisova." she replied.

The commotion in the street was getting louder and closer. Olga considered the alternatives and made a decision.

"Listen. At present nobody is covering whatever's happening in the street, on Park Lane. You two have been here since the beginning. We clearly need continuing cover here. But somebody needs to check the civic disturbance elsewhere on your assigned patrol beat, and if necessary, resolve it. Also, I want nobody crashing, if this bloody thing leeches the magic out of the air and kills our brooms. Somebody needs to circulate a warning to all Witches in the air. Stay on station here, and fly low. If you feel the magic draining from your brooms, force-land inside the Embassy compound, and investigate on the ground. That is an emergency landing we can justify, when any protest is made. I will go to do the other necessary things."

"We can then reply that if it wasn't for whatever the Agateans are doing, we would not need to force-land inside Embassy." Serafima said.

"Got it. Now good luck, and stay safe. I will try to get back here as soon as I can."

Wishing she had access to some quick and direct way of communicating with her pilots in the air, Olga quickly clasped the hands of both her pilots, and sped off towards Park Lane Circus, where she judged the civic disturbance was.

Within a couple of minutes, she had found it. She scowled, and descended to street level.

Park Lane, Ankh-Morpork.

"Turning out to be a nice morning, isn't it?" the young man said to Rincewind, in an amiable voice.

Gloomily, Rincewind noted the running man wasn't even out of breath, and had an air about him of one who could keep this up all day, if he had to. This was not good in a pursuer.

He was in his middle twenties, had a pleasant boyish air about him, and with that shock of floppy blond hair and the eyeglasses, he didn't look threatening or intimidating.

But Rincewind was a seasoned and experienced assessor of potential threats. He noted the black clothing. The stylish and well-tailored black clothing. And the fact that some people could afford to be very friendly and affable and not in any way threatening at all, as there was really no point in their being outwardly menacing. That in itself was suspicious, and could be seen as a waste of effort.

"You're Professor Rincewind." the young man prompted him, all the time keeping up an easy running pace as they followed the Luggage. (21)

Rincewind felt there was no point in denying this.

"Thought so." the young man said. "I read your file at the Guild."(22)

They ran on in silence for a few moments, the noise of screams and crashes resonating behind them.

"The Guild." Rincewind said, flatly. " A file. On me."

The young man grinned.

"I'm a Guild graduate, certainly." he said, cheerfully. "Although these days... sorry, did I introduce myself? I'm Samuel Williams. I work for the Palace Secretariat. Nothing personal, you understand, but I'm guessing His Lordship is going to want to know about this. And I'm the man on the ground, so to speak."

"And a Dark Clerk." Rincewind said. If words had flatness, these words would be Lincolnshire. They would make Holland look like Tibet. (23)

"Listen, I'd love to talk to you properly some time." Sam Williams said. "I know your thing at the University is Egregious Geography. And I know from your file that you've been to Agatea. That interests me. Did I mention that I'm on the Agatea and Aurient Bureau at the Palace? So it's a professional interest."

Rincewind grunted. Then he reflected, on the basis of recently observed evidence, that he was very likely to end up hauled up in front of the Patrician for this. So a friend at the Palace should not be spurned, at this moment. And this man seemed friendly enough. Without breaking pace, he awkwardly extended a hand. Sam Williams took it.

They considered the street view in front of them, passing from Park Lane to The Soake with Hide Park on their right, where the Luggage was running on, with all the intent and inevitability of a small determined Juggernaut. (24)

Sam looked on appreciatively as people scrambled and leapt for cover.

"That's jubboko wood, isn't it?" Sam asked. "You know, what we call sapient pearwood? I've heard of them and I've seen them from a distance, but usually when they've been inert and not moving around too much."

"Stuff grows like a weed in Agatea." Rincewind agreed. "They say it's some sort of escaped thing from the Shadow World that crossed the dimensions. Or else some of the seed blew over through a Torii Gate. Bloody dangerous things, those!"

"The Shadow Realm exists." Sam agreed. "Only to them, we're the shadow. Not being magical, I've only ever heard of it at second hand."

Rincewind got the hidden question.

"Can't help you there." he said. "I spent all my time in Agatea running from the human population. Never had to do with the supernatural."

There was a moving shadow in the air overhead. Sam had a moment of apprehension that in speaking about the Shadow Realm, they'd attracted its attention somehow. And Rincewind was a Wizard... well, a Wizzard... wasn't he?

Sam relaxed as an Air Witch descended, flying at maybe a few feet above the cobbles, and slowing her pace to match them. Then he recognised exactly which Air Witch it was. And she didn't look happy.

Rincewind glanced to his left.

Damn.

An Air Witch had silently descended to street level and was keeping station with him. That was bad. He couldn't easily out-run a broomstick. And she didn't look pleased to see him.

The Agatean Embassy.

The coach journey from the Palace had been uneventful, although after a while, the passengers began to see commotion and unrest, with people seemingly clearing up shattered market stalls that were being dragged to the roadside. Vetinari mildly remarked on the public-spiritedness of Ankh-Morporkian citizens, who were diligently gathering up the least spoilt produce and goods, lest it go to waste or risk further damage. He noted that just to make sure, they'd even brought sacks and baskets to gather it in with.

"Professor Rincewind's Luggage, sir?" Drumknott inquired.

"Either that, or a localised tornado." Vetinari agreed. "I understand there's a new young lady in the Air Watch who is a magnet for these things, although, thankfully, the prevailing climate in this region largely precludes tornadoes. I also see no sign of any typically Acerian farmstead abodes that have been brought here by the wind and deposited on our streets, so Officer Cronkhart is not likely to have been involved."

He smiled slightly.

"The Professor owns, or is custodian of, an Agatean artefact which is famously self-willed." he remarked. "At a time when Agatean influences in this City are marked and appear to have a supernatural dimension, this usually inert artefact rouses itself from hibernation and goes on a quest across the City. It is perhaps seeking something."

"The things are connected, sir?" Drumknott asked, with a side-glance at the Agatean diplomat who was with them.

"All things are connected, Drumknott." Vetinari said. "The art lies in discerning how closely they are connected and what the underlying significance is. As Mr Daizu-san is no doubt aware, this is a fundamental tenet of Agatean philosophy."

Daizu-san made a nervous acknowledging bow.

"Indeed so, Shogun Vetinari-sama!" he said, radiating eager-to-please. "The great philosopher Ly-Tin-Wheedle says the turning of the Wheel of Life is one of a perfect circle moving in perfect harmony, but it is best not to be underneath the wheel and crushed in its path."

"Indeed." Vetinari said. "Never stand in front of the moving Wheel. Or indeed, directly in front of the moving feet of a Luggage."

He smiled again.

"I find it ironic that Professor Rincewind's first, preferred and only response to danger is to run away from it." he remarked. "Over the years, he has grown remarkably good at it. But quite ironically, he very often runs in the wrong direction. I believe in pursuit of his travelling accessory, he will soon discover this, and be a great help in resolving a mystery."

Vetinari smiled again.

"Which frees me to deal with a potentially larger danger to this City, but one which I believe can be managed and steered to advantage." he remarked. "Mr Daizu-san, you will use your authority to get us past the gate guard and into the presence of the Ambassador. No great rush."

Nearby to Park Lane Circus, Ankh:

Captain Olga Romanoff took a moment or two to assess the situation. She took a deep breath.

"Special Constable Williams." she said. "Consider yourself still on Watch duty. If it helps, it's paid time."

"Yes, ma'am." Sam said, promptly. He turned to Rincewind.

"Sorry. Did I mention I'm also City Watch?" he said, apologetically.

"Cable Street Particulars." Rincewind said, gloomily. "Plain clothes."

"If you wish to see it that way." Olga said. She glared at him.

"Professor Rincewind, the Patrician is almost certainly going to want a little word with you about all this." she said. without especially looking forward, she deftly turned her broom to steer it past an overturned and wrecked street barrow. Somebody groaned from under the splintered wreckage.

She turned her head to shout at a group of Street Watch who were in pursuit.

"Deal with that, and offer help!"

Sam got that an irritated Olga Romanoff demanded, and received, instant respect. He wondered if it was three personalities colliding – Watch captain, Rodinian noblewoman and of course Witch.

And the Luggage rolled on, onto the connecting street of Lagniappe and Thunder.(25)

Olga resumed her glare at Rincewind.

"I would like you to consider, Professor Rincewind, that when you are brought before the Patrician, it would greatly help your case if I, and Special Constable Williams, could affirm that as a public-minded citizen, you chose, of your own free will, to assist the Watch in bringing about a resolution of this situation." she said. "It could greatly mitigate the verdict. Especially as the damage might currently run into an estimated figure of hundreds of dollars."

As Sam reflected that there it was again, that tiny little telltale on words like resolution and mitigate that was the only sign Olga Romanoff's first language was Rodinian, the Luggage abruptly charged off Lagniappe into Konnobler's Way. This was familiar from last night's patrol beat...

"Ah." Olga Romanoff said, almost to herself. "We are in Dimwell. Now we appear to be getting somewhere."

She didn't elaborate.

Blairwood Close, Dimwell:

Emiko Yureimoto's witch-senses were twanging constantly now. She was aware of a growing discordant note in the atmosphere, over and above the usual street sounds of a morning in Ankh-Morpork. Something appeared to be happening out there, punctuated by crashes and splintering, with a note of shouts and screams.

The almost-headache was getting more insistent, too. For some reason she thought of friends and almost-family she had made in Agatea, on the other side of the divide. The big friendly honest face of Kentaro rose in her memory, looking delighted to see her, as he always did. She saw Rin, the disapproving one, her human face rising on the inhuman reptilian body, and the disembodied head of Ena, trailing on a tapering spectral smoke. Briefly, she saw Yori, and her bratty children. She did not approve of physical chastisement of misbehaving children, but was happy to concede that exceptions could be made, in special circumstances.

And briefly, she saw the one who despite appearances, had been friendliest of all and disposed to be almost a sister to Emiko. This memory, and seeing her face on the inner screen of her mind, comforted Emiko.

This led her to... she shuddered, and cut the connection. Even visualising them could be dangerous, like an invitation. It offered them a doorway.

She frowned. They had come through clearest of all. Emiko Yureimoto wondered why, then dispelled the thought.

She turned to her Luggage, which was clearly guarding the door, as if sensing a threat. Emiko had an absolute clear unshakeable intuition that very soon, something was going to come up from the stairs to the street.

She composed herself, and waited for the inevitable. As a distraction, she picked up a copy of Warrior Unicorn Princess, and was surprised when loose inserts fell out of it. She picked them up, and realised she was looking at page-by-page translations of the dialogue into Morporkian. Erma didn't need these, of course. The ones crudely typeset into pink paper were headed with a reminder, in awkward Morporkian, to please open publication from what you think is reverse face and to understand man-gi is read in this mode. Is the obverse-face to Way things are transacted in your world.

Emiko winced at how crude and approximate the translations were. Then she picked up the better-produced notes printed on white paper. She referred back to the comic at intervals, and found herself wanting to make a bow of respect to whoever had prepared them. They were so much better, and appeared to be locally produced. Out of interest, she wondered if the translator's name was in there anywhere. So there were Morporkians who could speak her language well.

Fletcher Street, Ankh-Morpork:

Sam Williams knew where was now. This was very definitely the patrol beat where during the night, he had witnessed an aerial chase that had outwitted the Air Watch and left them empty-handed; where they'd seen the two-tailed fox; and where they'd witnessed the little girl in the park, all alone in the dark night, but happily playing on the swing as if it was daylight. Who had smiled a sweet smile, waved in a shy way, and then levitated into the air, taking flight.

And now, a sentient piece of shaped jubboko wood was on a quest for something, leading them on a trail. Everything going on here was connected to Agatea.

He heard Olga Romanoff swearing in Rodinian. Something was wrong with her broom; it seemed to be moving erratically and slowing down. Eventually she leapt off it, impatiently, and joined in the running chase, holding her broomstick at the trail. (26)

She shook her head, frustrated anger spent.

"Something's going on." she said. "There's a thing going on at the Agatean Embassy that's causing concern. It appears to be magical. At least I now know that any of my pilots up there will be aware enough to know the magic in their brooms is being drained, and to come to ground. They will not suddenly drop. That reassures me."

"It may be the case we're almost there." Sam said. "Wherever "there" actually is."

They had arrived at the corner of Blairwood Close, and Mrs Dustbin's General Stores. The Luggage paused and shuffled around, as if it was sniffing the air and following a scent. Then it oriented itself at the plain door, to the immediate right of the doorway to the shop. This, Sam guessed, led up to premises above. He recalled Tillie Glossop flying up to close the upper window, reporting it was residential premises where a girl was fast asleep...

He made a connection in his mind.

"I think we'll find out very soon, ma'am." he said.

Olga nodded.

"This bodes." said Rincewind.

Olga glared at him.

Then the Luggage appeared to make its mind up.

The Agatean Embassy.

Vetinari stopped the coach, briefly, at the Embassy gate, where a group of nervous-looking Watchmen were engaged in a standoff with two large, heavily armoured, and horribly beweaponed, gate guards, members of the Celestial Legion of Divine Harmony. Both Vetinari and Daizu-san went to confer with their respective Guardsmen.

Vetinari questioned the nervous-looking Watch corporal who was in charge, and ascertained that something had happened, sir, to the two Air Witches what was on patrol up there a while ago. Err.. The magic seemed to go, sir, and they were last seen coming down, not uncontrollably falling, you understand, sir, but sort of, well, spiralling, like a sycamore seed? Then we lost sight of them as they came down in the Embassy. We've been trying to get messages in to see if they're okay, but those blokes on the gate don't seem to speak Morporkian and they been blanking us."

The Patrician considered this, and dictated a short message for Commander Vimes and for the duty Air Watch commander, I believe Captain Romanoff may be unavailable at present, and it is likely to be Lieutenant Politeka. "See this is clacksed. Thank you. I myself intend to get into the Embassy, as you have advised me two Watch members may be incarcerated within. I therefore have a clear duty, as a conscientious employer, to check on their welfare. Do not let me detain you, corporal."

A few minutes later, the Embassy gates swung open and the coach passed inside, with the two Celestial Legionnaires, both visibly sweating, coming to respectful attention and definitely not trying to impede its passage. Inside the Embassy grounds, the glow was growing brighter and stronger.

Blairwood Close.

Aware she had a few minutes grace, Olga Romanoff wrote a quick report in the fewest possible words. She was aware an angry crowd, the one that had followed Rincewind and the Luggage, had gathered, and she had deployed the available Watchmen to hold it back at a suitable distance. Quite a few had been caught up in the rush and more had arrived since.

She grabbed a Watchmen and tersely instructed him to get this clacksed. "One to the Yard, attention Commander Vimes and Lieutenant Politeka. Copy to the Palace. Got it? Now go. Run, man! Nearest Clacks tower is on Bowyers and Allsfayre."

She sighed with resignation. The message might take most of twenty minutes to get there, even though the Watchman was indeed running. It was a third of a mile to Allsfayre, for one thing, and the physical act of clacksing would take time. Then it depended on the Duty Officer being alert enough to register this was highest priority, and to get it to Mr Vimes and Irena. Again she wished she had a faster, preferably instantaneous, method of communication available.

"Nichevo." she said to herself.

She watched the Luggage raise itself on its legs, and angle itself towards the plain, shabby, door to the upstairs apartment. She tried not to wince as it charged, and braced herself for a crash and a shower of splinters and shards.

She was surprised when this didn't happen, and the door opened of its own accord and flattened itself against the wall.

"It does that." Rincewind said, miserably. "Lesser wood tends to get terrified and does as it's told."

"So I see." Olga said. She smiled, humourlessly.

"Special Constable Williams, you're with me." she said. "Professor Rincewind. Up to you. You can remain here, and talk to all these people who are keen for a word with you."

She indicated the crowd.

"Or you can come with me and Mr Williams. I might take the point of view that you are therefore accompanying the Watch as a civilian consultant. Your choice."

They listened to the unmistakeable and never-to-be-forgotten sound of something with lots of short stubby legs trying to climb a flight of stairs. It sounded like a combination of patter, thud and crashing bounce.

"Follow me." she said, putting herself in front, holding her broomstick in the same way a soldier might carry a spear at the high port, and making her way to the door at a fast and purposeful walk. Sam, sensing this was wisest, fell in behind Rincewind, just in case he ran for it.

"Alright." Rincewind said, crossly. "You're behind me, and you can run at least as fast as I can. I get it. Whatever's upstairs, we're going up. Satisfied?"

They followed Olga up the stairs. From somewhere above, there was the first of several loud, thunderous, crashes.

Sam Williams admitted later that this was scary. But it would have been scarier still to refuse a properly constituted order from Captain Romanoff. Not in the mood she was in. And not on what was still his first time out as a Watchman. And besides. This intrigued him. The Watch had employed him to advise on matters Agatean. Which this clearly was. His sense of curiosity drove him up the stairs, prodding the reluctant Rincewind forward without overtly doing so.

The Air Station, Pseudopolis Yard.

Lieutenant Irena Politeka, aware that while she was in temporary command, she was tied to the Air Station and couldn't leave it, stalked the Flight Deck, with a growing headache and a sensation that something was badly wrong. Early reports were reaching her of a massive eruption of magic in the City, with reports unclear at first as to where it was coming from. One thing appeared to be emerging: it wasn't the bloody University, this time.

At least one air patrol had managed to send in an urgent clacks report that flying was no longer possible for them, as something out there had drained the magic from their brooms and all they could do was to land, very very quickly.

There was also the dreadful possibility that Officers Dospanova and Cronkhart had disappeared completely on their patrol beat. A report had reached the Air Station concerning a massive amount of magic, being generated from inside the Agatean Embassy, and a concern that this would interfere with flight. And then nothing.

Irena fervently hoped the memorial gallery on the office wall, iconographs of Air Watch pilots who had died in the line of duty, was not going to be augmented by the end of the day, and the blank space on the memorial plaque on the outside wall was still going to show five names. Not seven, or more.

Irena had put out a priority alert for the six pilots still in the air to land immediately. She frowned. Pegasi were immune to magic and could most probably still fly, but she wasn't going to take any risks with them. She had therefore grounded all scheduled Pegasus flights until further notice.

She sighed, resignedly. Vetinari was going to love that. But, nichevo.

And, she reflected, so would Sam Vimes. Mr Vimes, she could confidently predict, was going to go spare. She went for an urgent sitrep from the Teks, the essential groundcrew who handled the technomancy. She wanted to know what they'd observed, and whether there was any way of shielding a broomstick from this sort of magical anomaly.

Above all, she wanted to know where the Hells Olga was, while all this govno was being deposited from a great height. Apparently there was another thing, a civic disturbance, out towards Park Lane Circus. Olga had last been heard of flying out to investigate this.

She put the dreadful thought out of her head that her lifelong friend might have ended up crashing because of this. Olga was indestructible. Wasn't she...

Disturbances in that part of Ankh are bad news. She's probably fending off annoyed entitled rich people who are demanding to know what the Watch is doing about this, don't you know this sort of thing has a detrimental effect on house prices, and Havelock Vetinari is a personal friend of mine...

She wasn't surprised when Mr Vimes himself came clattering up the external stair to the Air Station, cigar smoke heralding his presence.

"Okay, Irena. What's going on and what do you know?" he asked, without preamble. He was holding clacks flimsies in his hand.

The Agatean Embassy.

Ambassador Twoflower had been irritated when, after the two Air Witches had landed in the Embassy grounds, quite a lot of the Celestial Guard had approached them with drawn swords or their Celestial Moon-Blades levelled, with intent. Annoyed at being pulled away from awaiting the visitors, and not needing the distraction at this exact point in Time, he had walked across to where the Celestial Legionnaires were forming a circle round the two women. However, he couldn't help noticing they were looking sideways at each other in a "You go first?" sort of way. Twoflower supposed it was the way the tall thin one was looking at them, in a confident sort of way that had a hint of swagger to it, her hands close to but not yet touching the hilts of her weapons... a long and a short sword, in the manner of a samurai, but worn on opposite sides.

She was standing back-to back with the other, far shorter, woman, who had her own right hand poised near the hilt of her own sword. Two currently useless broomsticks laid disregarded where they had landed.

The Guard Captain saluted him.

"Excellency, the gai-jin women have intruded on the sacred soil of Agatea, without invitation." he said. "They must be made an example of."

Lord Twoflower shook his head. His mind ran a scenario where he had to admit to Lord Vetinari – and to Captain Olga Romanoff – that two Air Watch pilots had been beheaded by over-zealous Embassy guards. There was no possible way he could see any good coming of that.

"Absolutely not." he said, resolving to have the Captain rotated back to the Homeland at the earliest possible opportunity, and somebody with more sense and less zeal sent out.

"Put away those weapons, re-sheath your swords, and I'll speak to our guests."

He looked at the tall thin one, who wore what looked like a long slightly-curved sabre at her belt. There was a wicked looking long knife on the opposite side. Definitely not Watch-issue. But certainly a form of daisho. It may be the case that this woman has in her past had something like samurai training.

As his soldiers fell back, some of them looking visibly relieved, the tall woman came to attention and saluted, in the gai-jin manner.

"Mr Ambassador." she said.

"Please do not draw your sword." Twoflower said, in Morporkian. "I can assure you this will not be needed and I'm sure we can all breathe a little easier. I'm sorry, I do not know your names?"

"The tall lady is Officer Dospanova of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, Daddy-chan." Pretty Butterfly said from just behind him. She stepped forward and bowed.

"She is a Rodinian Cossack from the Great Mouldavian Sea region, which they call Lake Baikal."

Serafima saluted back.

"You are well informed." she observed. Butterfly bowed her head slightly.

"Only one officer of the City Air Watch matches your description, Serafima Dospanova-san." she said. "You rather stand out in a crowd."

She looked at Amelia Cronkhart.

"And you are the young lady who attracts falling farmhouses." she said.

"I don't make a habit of it, ma'am." Amelia replied.

"Come with me." Twoflower requested. "If time allows, I can tell you what's going on here. And I sincerely apologise for the inconvenience. It is the case, perhaps, that the Torii Gate interfered with your broomsticks and forced you to land where you could? In the circumstances, it may be hard to make a diplomatic protest."

"I'm so pleased to hear that, Lord Twoflower-san." said Havelock Vetinari, appearing behind them. "In the circumstances, as the host Head of Government making an official call to your Embassy, I rather require a personal guard. Regrettably, I left the Palace in some haste and neglected to bring one. Perhaps I can call upon Officers Dospanova and Cronkhart to act as my formal escort, so that all due protocol is observed? Arigato."

Vetinari and his party joined the ambassador and regarded the Torii gate together. As Witches, Serafima and Amelia assessed the glowing phenomenon with interest. They took in that two figures were beginning to appear in the glowing portal. A third shape appeared to be behind them.

As one, every Embassy staff member gathered in the garden dropped in a susurration of silk and other clothing, and a clattering of armour and weapons in the case of the soldiers. Serafima noted, with interest, that they were prostrating themselves in the kow-tow, the most humble and self-abasing bow possible. She knew that much about Agatean culture.

She and Amelia remained standing to either side of Vetinari, who was watching the show with interest and leaning on his cane. The Ambassador remained seated, with his daughter standing behind his chair. Everybody else, on the other hand, nearly two hundred people now, were flat on the ground and trembling with fear and dread.

Serafima also noted a fox with two tails hiding in the shrubbery. It saw her and made a very obvious wink. Serafima could have sworn it was laughing.

"So it begins." Vetinari said, gravely. "Ladies, take careful notice. Both as Officers of the City Watch, and as Witches. Thank you."

Blairwood Close.

Emiko Yureimoto leapt and tried not to yelp as the door burst open and slammed back against the wall with a crash. She had expected armed Watchmen to burst into the room and seek to make an arrest. Instead, an unfamiliar Luggage ran in, full of intent and something she sensed as anger.

Chow-Mein also reacted. She watched in open-mouthed silence as the two Luggages ran at each other and collided head-on with a magnificent crash. As they fell back, Emiko noticed no visible damage to either. But their lids were opening and their hinges creaking loudly, in a way that suggested roaring and challenge.

Erma lifted her head and looked on, with curiosity and not a little annoyance. She stood up from the table, with a look of intent on her face. At this moment, footsteps on the stairs became louder and closer, and the uniformed woman entered the room. She took in the scene and stepped impassively to one side, resting the broomstick she was carrying against the wall, then folding her arms and saying nothing. Two men followed on closely.

One was a woebegone looking sort of creature, long and thin with a straggly beard, wearing what might have begun as a gaudy robe in red, but which was now hopelessly faded and frayed at the cuffs and hems. He wore a battered tall pointy hat that had seen better days – better decades – and which had the word "WIZZARD" embroidered into it in faded, slightly fraying, letters. Emiko decided he was no threat, and felt a little sorry for him, although she could not have defined exactly why.

No, the woman is the power here.

The other man was interesting. Very smartly dressed in black, although the clothing looked a little crumpled, as if it had been quite a few hours since he had put it on, and it was dusty and a little grimy in places, suggesting exertion in a difficult place. His hair was the sort of blond that explained why her people thought of the gai-jin as the White Ghosts, a colour never before seen in Agatea. It was slightly too long and appealingly floppy... she frowned, wondering how the word "appealing" had crept into her thoughts – and his face was boyish and intelligent. And quite nicely formed.

She wondered exactly how he fitted in, and turned her attention back to the unsmiling woman. She had the look of a very intelligent woman who was used to command and control. Her uniform had very obvious rank badges, for one thing, three gold stars on a red background on each cuff, a design repeated on the slightly over-large epaulettes, which were red, edged in gold braid.

Emiko also noted the paired swords she wore, like the daisho for samurai.

She realised this woman would be in charge of deciding the future for Emiko Yureimoto and for her daughter Erma. It was not, at that moment, a comforting thought.

But for now, the two Luggages were facing each other off and preparing for another butting charge. The four human people in the room were quiet as they all considered this immediate problem.

Except for Erma, who was scowling with indignation. She stepped forward, and Emiko yelped as she did something terribly unwise, and stood between two fighting Luggages. Silently, she raised a finger and waggled it in indignant reproach at each Luggage in turn. She scowled at them.

Four people looked on in silent amazement as the two Luggages backed off from each other.

Then the little girl really Looked at them. They couldn't see exactly what happened next, as her back was turned to them, but the Luggages each reared up as if stung, then cringed away.

"Well, this has never happened before..." the ragged Wizzard said, as what was presumably his Luggage appeared to crouch down in submission. Emiko noticed Chow-Mein also went into a fearful submissive cringe.

Erma smiled beatifically, then knelt down to pat and stroke each Luggage in turn. Chow-Mein's lid opened, and the long mahogany tongue emerged to tentatively lick her hand. Erma smiled at it, and stroked its lid in a reassuring all is forgiven, just don't be so naughty again sort of way.

And she did the same for Rincewind's Luggage. Erma reached out her arms and hugged it, and the message was clear.

"I want you to play nicely together. Isn't it so much better when we're nice to each other?"

The uniformed woman shook her head, as if shaking away disbelief.

"Mrs Emiko Yureimoto?" she said.

Emiko nodded.

The woman turned to the appealing blond man.

"Mr Williams, I want you to translate the following." she said. She looked at Emiko, in a way that was suddenly almost sympathetic.

"Mrs Yureimoto, I am Captain Olga Romanoff of the Ankh-Morpork City Air Watch..."

Sam had begun translating into Agatean, but Emiko raised a hand.

"Please. There is no need, although I thank you for the courtesy. I speak Morporkian reasonably competently."

Captain Olga Romanoff smiled.

"I too had to learn it, once." she said. "I found it frustrating and difficult at first. I bet you did, too."

"That is true." Emiko said. "Morporkian seemed hideously foreign at first. But I persevered. It was expected of me."

Olga smiled.

"That was my experience, also." she said. She stepped forward and took Emiko by the hand.

"But I do need to speak to you, officially. I command the Air Watch and I work for the City government."

She nodded towards Sam.

"As does Mr Williams here. We both need to speak to you, in an official capacity."

"We apologise for the intrusion on your home, Emiko Yureimoto-san." Sam Williams said, in Agatean. "But as Captain Romanoff-sama will say, this has, regrettably, been necessary."

As Emiko turned to him in surprise, trying to recall where she had very recently seen the name "Williams" or something like it, Sam quickly translated for Olga's benefit.

"You speak very good Agatean, Williams-san." Emiko said, for want of anything better.

The appealing blond man smiled modestly.

"I was chosen young as having promise." he said, modestly. "Over seven years I was totally immersed in the languages and the cultures of the Counterweight Continent. After leaving school, I was fortunate enough to be offered an opportunity to work in HungHung City. I was there for six years."

He nodded to the long thin glum-looking Wizzard in the shabby robes, who was watching the little girl playing with the two Luggages, both of whom – both of them – were allowing her to get away with this. He seemed to be stunned and incredulous at this.

"Professor Rincewind has also had an extended stay in Agatea, in which it is possible he learnt something of the languages." Sam added, remembering the relevant notes in Rincewind's Guild file, that said if he had any talent at all, it was for picking up languages.

"You are not incorrect." Rincewind said, in good but very hideously accented Agatean. You know, that little girl."

He shook his head.

This is like Boil. Carbuncle. Chancre. Lancre. In that location, there is... Majo. Akuma. Onibaba. Witch. That witch owns Cat. Named Greebo. The bloody animal would take your arm off if you tried to stroke it. But for some reason, little girls can stroke him, pet him, kiss him, and he's all over them like a kitten. Being female and under ten gets you immunity, or something." (28)

Rincewind nodded to Erma.

Emiko tried to stop a giggle of amusement.

"You were in Osaka, Wizzard-sama?" she asked. "That is a very good Kansai accent." (29)

"Madam, it all blurs after a while." Rincewind said, with perfect honesty. "Especially when you are passing through at some speed."

Olga cleared her throat. Sam explained that we were just talking about Rincewind's visit to Agatea, ma'am.

"Okay." she said, and turned her attention back to Emiko.

"Listen to me. Over the last week, there have been a few incidents. As police officers, we have been investigating them. We discovered there has been a common link."

Her eyes passed briefly to Erma. Emiko, understanding, lowered her face and looked downcast. Olga, kindly, reached out and patted her arm.

"As this is something we've never experienced before, and apart from one, my officers have had little or no contact with Agateans, I requested help. Mr Williams is from the Palace Secretariat, and he reports pretty much directly to Lord Vetinari himself."

Emiko looked glum.

"So you are the Keisatsu." she said, indicating Olga. She looked at Sam. "And you are the Kempei-tai."

Olga raised an eyebrow to Sam.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far." he said. He turned to Olga. "Regular police, and the other sort of police, ma'am. In HungHung City, the kempei-tai have a bad reputation. They work directly for the Shogun. The Zǎixiàng has a similar set-up."

"Like Dark Clerks." Olga said. "Or the od-time Particulars. Got it."

She turned to Emiko again.

"At the last count, nine people have been, shall we say, incapacitated after a strange encounter with something, or somebody, who rendered them insane. The common theme, according to eyewitnesses, has been the presence of a very young girl, under the age of ten, dressed all in white."

Her eyes passed over Erma again. She had found a cloth, and was industriously polishing the metalwork on Rincewind's Luggage. It looked like a little girl grooming a beloved pet dog.

"On one of those events, in Water Street, this little girl was seen in the company of an older woman, of Agatean appearance, who in context is likely to have been her mother. There was also a disturbance at the University."

As Emiko bowed her head, Olga reached into her pouch and brought out one of the iconographs retrieved from HEX's screen display. She showed it to Emiko.

"That is us. Yes." she admitted. "On the Gankonoroba-mara, the vessel that brought us here." She wanted to ask How did you get that picture, but realised this wasn't important.

Olga smiled, sympathetically.

"As a police officer, I am obliged to investigate these things." she said. "And we can't overlook that they happened and do nothing. I'm sure you understand that. The matter must be seen to have been resolved."

"I understand. You have a job to do." Emiko said.

"So what we need to do, Mrs Yureimoto, is this. I must formally request that you, and your daughter – Erma? - attend the Palace for interviews with people who are highly placed in the City administration. I stress neither of you is under arrest, but attending these hearings will not be optional."

Olga took a deep breath. She was aware that the little girl Erma had paused in polishing brass and was taking an interest. She also hoped she could get this proposed resolution past Mr Vimes.

"Admittedly, your daughter did subject nine people to sustained violent attack." she said, suddenly feeling unable to believe what she was saying. "But as all the people who were – incapacitated – were Thieves and street criminals she encountered, it can be plausibly argued this was legitimate self-defence. Everybody has a right to that. I would argue for criminal charges to be set aside."

Emiko felt a sudden relief. Things might not be as bad as she thought.

"I would be present at those informal discussions." Sam Williams said. "My job, the one I'm employed for, is to advice the Patrician on Agatean cultural issues. And..."

He spread his hands widely and grinned.

".. you are both clearly Agatean."

"So things may not be as bad as you fear." Captain Olga Romanoff said, smoothly. "But I must now request that you both come with me to..."

At this point, Sam Williams would remark, much later, "things got interesting."

Professor Rincewind made a terrified muted shriek, and began running for the door. Olga conceded later that had she been watching him and not Emiko, she might have registered the growing signs of agitation and unease he had been manifesting, and taken heed of that. Unfortunately, in his haste and need to escape, he tripped over Olga's currently useless broomstick, which she'd propped up against the wall near to the door, and went sprawling, trying to pick himself up and rising to an awkward half-crouch. He was just in time to witness the Transformation as Erma shrieked at Olga. Nobody who heard the screech of a very angry onryö, and survived with their faculties intact, was ever likely to forget it. Olga said, much later, that an angry Banshee coming in for the kill would have, by comparison, sounded like a pigeon cooing.

Sam Williams, initially stunned, heard a little voice in his mind, the inner Sam, calmly remarking Yesterday, you said you were keen to see an onryö from close to. Well, here we are. Another track in his mind recalled his teachers at the Assassins' School, explaining how it was important to understand and master fear, to think, to move, to plan ahead what your next move would be, and if possible how to get the better of the source of that fear. "It is a weapon. It is used to incapacitate and rob you of your mind. Counter with the appropriate defence."

Sam started to go through the calming breaths, as taught by Miss Butterfly.

It helped. Although where a cute and adorable little girl had been, there was now a... He shuddered. And noted the room had gone a lot darker. He looked at Olga Romanoff, who was standing there, unmoving, with her arms folded.

Why isn't she affected?

Olga hadn't seen exactly how it happened. But one minute there had been a little girl there, who had got up to her feet from where she had been playing with the Luggages as if they were big friendly well-socialised housepets – and that had been incredible in itself.

The little girl, who Olga realised radiated a sort of guile-less innocent charm, and a sort of field of adorability, something that had instantly called to the mother in her – had scowled and displayed growing anger. She had flicked her hair away from her face to reveal both eyes – and those eyes! - and then she was gone. Or changed.

Olga Romanoff was suddenly staring into the Abyss. And the Abyss was staring back at her, with fiery red almond-shaped eyes, above a huge gaping angry mouth full of teeth, more or less where you'd expect to find a head in a vaguely human-shaped form that seemed to loom up over her. Behind, there was a suspicion of immense black wings.

Olga had had no conscious time to put up a defence. But she felt one had formed anyway, as if at least two decades as a Witch had decided on this for her. The field of fear and dread that the Erma-thing was directing at her seemed to be breaking on her and cascading to either side. She hoped it wasn't washing over Sam and Rincewind, but knew breaking the thing's gaze and looking at them might not be terribly wise at this point.

She shut her mind to tendrils of existential dread that were getting through, and focused on Defending. She observed the suspicion of Wings that were coalescing behind the creature, and shook her head slightly.

"You aren't getting past me." she said. Then wondered why she'd said it. She re-tightened her folded arms and doubled down on resisting.

The battle continued for a while. Then Olga sensed the thing opposite her was slackening off slightly. She sensed less primal anger in it, and some rising doubt and bewilderment. The black demonic entity with the fiery red eyes flickered, and she could see the outline of a little girl there, like a negative image in the dark reality.

"Erma, we could both keep this up all day." Olga said, kindly. "You can keep trying to break me down, but I think we've established that you can't. For me, I don't have the power or the knowledge to defeat you. I admit that. And besides, maybe I don't want to hurt you?"

The child-image in the middle of the black howling demon grew stronger. Olga pressed the point.

"So, don't you think this is all a waste of effort on both our parts, and maybe we should sit down and talk about it? I can talk to your mother – and to you – about a way out of all this that doesn't involve killing or hurting anyone?"

The onryö energy switched off suddenly, winking out. Olga found herself looking at an endearingly attractive little girl again, who stood there blinking. She looked up at Olga with an expression of bewilderment on her face. Olga dropped to a crouch and took her hands.

"Besides, I couldn't have hurt you even if my life depended on it." she said. "I've got a little girl of my own, for one thing. She's only three, but I'm a mother. I know what it feels like."

Wide-eyed, Erma nodded. Olga smiled.

"Listen to me, Erma. I'm not here to hurt your mummy. I'm not even here to arrest her. For one thing, I've got an offer to make to her that could be very, very, good for both of you. Will you trust me, and let me talk to your mummy?"

Erma nodded, and smiled up.

"Khoroscho." Olga said, and stood up. She looked over.

"Mr Williams?" she said. "Professor Rincewind?"

Sam Williams shook his head. He looked like a man awakening from a dream.

"Wow." he said, simply.

Rincewind stood, shaking slightly.

"That." he said "Was scary."

Olga nodded, relieved they'd both withstood it. At least, neither man seemed to be a dribbling basket case.

She considered her own currently useless broomstick, which had clattered to the floor when a terrified Rincewind had tripped over it while trying to escape. then she considered the other broomstick in the room, which was propped up in a corner near the window.

As if nothing especially remarkable had happened in the interim, she resumed her conversation with Emiko.

"Last night" she began, as if making light conversation, "two of my better and more experienced pilots were on a night patrol. They encountered another air user, whose identity remains a mystery, who failed to stop and identify herself when requested. Some awkwardness in the way she handled a broom in flight identifies her as a novice, a new air user.

"This mystery Witch then escaped them and out of nowhere, she displayed instinctive flying skills that enabled her to succesfully evade pursuit. This was against two very experienced pilots. She outclassed them and made them look silly. That very much interests me."

Olga nodded to the broom in the corner.

"That broom is humming with magic. It has very recently been charged. I can feel it from ten feet away. That also interests me."

Emiko sighed deeply.

"That was indeed me." she said. "I understand running away from the police and failing to stop when ordered is an offence in any country."

Olga smiled again.

"Well...technically yes." she said. "As you're from a long way away, it can be argued in mitigation that you simply don't know our local customs. One of which is indeed that new Witch in this city, one we don't know about, is invited to drop in at the Air Station to make herself known and accept a cup of tea. Usually with three sugars. Hospitality to a fellow Witch is a universal rule of being a Witch. Oh, and sometimes we can manage a small cake too."

Olga smiled, benevolently.

"Look, anyone who knows how to do it in this city can fly. It's not a crime. One of my jobs is to manage the airspace, and to be aware of who's up there."

Olga smiled again.

"Flying without due care and attention or under the influence is actionable, however. But I'm betting you were not drunk last night?"

Emiko smiled. She was starting to trust this woman.

"Listen, you gave Stacey Matlock a much-needed humility check. I like her, she has promise, she's a good flyer. But she can get irritating sometimes. Getting outclassed in the air is good for her ego. It stops her getting too confident."

Olga looked at Emiko's broom again.

"Now you've had a taster, you're not going to want to stop." she observed.

"That is true." Emiko conceded. Olga smiled again.

"Starting pay is thirty-four dollars a month." she said, a propos of nothing. "That's more than the usual Watch recruit, as I can never get enough good pilots. We will teach you to fly, you will learn how to fly well and safely, and when Sergeant von Strafenburg says you're fit, you pass out of Flight School as a Flying Officer and the pay goes up to forty a month. The Watch also has a pension plan, all medical expenses for you and for immediate family members are covered, you get eighteen days paid leave plus up to three Grandmother's Funerals, and Erma's school fees will be paid by Widows and Orphans. Interested?"

Emiko blinked, and then bowed deeply.

"I was also approached by the Guild of Seamstresses." she said. "At first I was amazed as to how much a mender of clothing could earn. But when I asked her, Mrs Dustbin explained. In some detail."

"We all make that mistake when we arrive in this city from other lands." Olga said, reassuringly.

Emiko smiled again.

"Do not misunderstand me. Women who dwell in the Floating World are worthy of respect and consideration. Their services are required and valued, or there would not be so many of them. But after due reflection, it is not, I think, for me."

"If you're going to live in this city, you'll need a job." Olga said. "And when your case is discussed at the Palace, it'll look a lot better if I can say you've joined the Watch and are therefore a valued member of my command. Lord Vetinari will see that as a guarantee of good conduct."

"I accept." Emiko said, thrilling at the idea of a career that took her into the sky.

"Good. I'll get a contract set up that you can sign." Olga said.

She looked over to where Erma was getting to know Sam Williams. He was talking about Warrior Unicorn Princess with her, and had cheerfully remarked that the latest issue she had in her stack of back copies was Number 232. He imagined that by the time she'd finished binge-reading over two hundred copies, she'd really want to know what happens in Number 233? Well, if Mummy-san says you can, I can take you both to a wonderful place called Dave Stamper's Comics Exchange, where you can pick up more copies...

Erma bounced excitedly and looked pleadingly towards her mother.

Emiko smiled.

"I have no objection." she said. "That sounds like a good idea. Mr Sam Williams-san, I accept your kind invitation. I would be honoured to go with you to Dave Stamper-san's comic shop."

Olga smiled a beatific smile, and wondered if something else was beginning, like a seed putting out its first tentative shoot.

"Seven-Handed Sek's is a good school." Olga remarked. "I'm hoping to send Valentina there when she's old enough. My husband's a wizard, by the way. So it's hardly surprising our daughter has Magic. SHS is a school that has experience with what might be called differently-abled girls. A pupil Witch I helped train went there, for instance. I'm betting they'd really like Erma and they'd know what to do. Those nuns are very adaptable people."

Emiko explained about Sister Damnatio Eternae. Olga nodded in recognition.

"Oh, Mary Phibes? I like her. She's the one who agitated with the Mother Superior about why it was necessary to take on a new name, the sort that doesn't quite fit in modern times. So therefore, why can't she keep her own name, and be Sister Mary Phibes? (30) She's met Erma, and likes her. So it's settled, then. You've found a good school."

After a while, Olga wrapped things up, feeling pleased she'd pretty much wrapped up the case, brought everything to a reportable conclusion, and as a bonus had recruited a new Air Witch with great potential. And now for the other things...

She nodded to Rincewind.

"Professor, if you can get that thing into the back of a hurry-up wagon and reassure me it can travel calmly without smashing up Watch property, I consider it's best to get you back to the University discreetly, and incognito." she said. "Besides, I'm currently grounded and I need a lift there, which is vexing. I consider it best if you do not leave the University for at least a week. To give all this a chance to die down. Clear?"

She considered the other thing.

"Mr Williams, I require you to return to the Yard with me and to write a report as a Watchman." she said. We can show you where the iconographic copier room is, and you can copy it for the Palace. You still need a uniform issue, but you also need at least four hours' sleep. I'll see Hanna and try to reschedule your induction, for now. "

"You are welcome here at any time, Sam Williams-san." Emiko said, bowing to him. "Erma seems to have really taken to you, and she is a good judge of character. I should know."

She smiled in genuine relief.

"I'll be in touch, Emiko." Olga said, and she bowed. Emiko realised this was a different sort of bow, not just Agatean formality, and returned it.

"Oh, and Emiko?" Olga said. "Welcome to the Air Watch."

---

Across the City at the Agatean Embassy, a different problem was emerging...

---

Ending here, for now. Chapter Seven will deal with Vetinari facing down two incredibly powerful supernatural entities and getting the better of them. It will cover Vetinari's (and Vimes) meeting with Erma and Emiko, and then there'll be a few glimpses of how she first becomes Erma Yureimoto-Williams, and then simply Erma Williams, pupil of Sister Mary Phibes at the Convent School of Seven-Handed Sek. Who will take their very first half-demon pupil in their stride...

(1) You have been warned.

(2) It's like a Lancre wedding with better food. Somebody will always challenge a relative to "repeat what you just said about our family's Cousin Toranaga-san" or "Hey. You. Outside this bloody donjon. Now." To which the reply might be "Yeah? Really? You and whose legions of twenty thousand samurai supported by ashigaru?"

(3) In reality, real political power devolves to a Shogun on one side and to a Zǎixiàng on the other. The Military Protector of the Nihon and the Grand Chancellor of the Huaren were men who greatly respected each other, even liked each other and could be considered friends, who sought to keep the peace (as it was more profitable than war), and to discuss the shortcomings of their respective Emperors. And, as both agreed, if an Emperor displayed too much intelligence or independence of thought, he could be quietly dealt with. The last thing either State needed was an Emperor who thought for himself. As the philosopher Ly Tin Wheedle had written, "This sort of thing leads to trouble."

(4) A bit like Brussels, really. Inferentially, HungHung City is where the Wizzard Rincewind was sent in Terry Pratchett's Interesting Times – he discovers a chaotic Up To Eleven mash-up of Chinese and Japanese cultural references. I'm speculating that a set-up like this would explain things and shed light on what Rincewind saw there.

(5) Based on hints in canon, Rehigreed is the Discworld's Mongolia. Its expansion reached as far as Ankh-Morpork, where an army of nomadic and terribly beweaponed horse warriors disappeared totally without trace, along with accumulated plunder it had amassed across several thousand long miles of Conquering.

(6) Named in Rodinian as the Задница мира, Zadnitsa Mira, a loathed military or administrative posting for people who'd irritated the Tsar.

(7) The Hongs, Sungs, Fangs, Tangs and the McSweeneys. The Nihon, who have been ruled by the Macsueinihoto Shogunate, are understanding. Even in the brief period where the Huaren Realm experimented with being a People's Beneficient Republic (eventually the People decided they'd had enough benevolence, and begged the Emperor to come back) there had been a Party General Secretary called Comrade Mao-Tse-Tang.

(8) Suitably inclined humans, like Witches and Sorcerors, even Wizzards, can go in the other direction.

(9) The Chief Architect of the Empire had looked upon the face of his Goddess and then back at the plans. He had performed the Ceremony Of The Reverse Whistle Through One's Teeth, and had said "Reckon we can knock this up for you, ma'am, but it's going to cost. It'll take some skilled pouring to get the curve of the arch to that exact shape, see, needs craftsmen, will that, and they don't come cheap..."

(10) The headache for Ambassadors everywhere, when sent self-contradictory, ill-considered or simply out-of-touch directives from their home capitals, which they are then obliged to make work or to sell to sceptical and unfriendly hosts. Twoflower could see the Torii Gate offered some advantages, certainly, but he had to deal with people like Unseen University and the local Witches, who could then lobby Lord Vetinari as to why they thought it was a bad idea. Twoflower felt grateful that so far, Olga Romanoff had nobody in her command who knew the full significance of a Torii Gate. There was Emily Pargeter, certainly, a nice pleasant girl, but hopelessly out of her depth.

(11) If you're an Agatean Ninja or a Klatchian Hashishim, special rules apply, after the initial background checks, obviously. Any training or ability tests afterwards tend not to take up much more than an afternoon.

(12) Clive James was a TV presenter who did a regular show ("Clive James on TV") a view of the rest of the world's television that could be subtitled Other People's Weird And Crazy Television. Japanese TV was a rich vein for him to point a finger towards and laugh at, especially its game shows. An Australian, I see his Discworld alternate as a bluff hearty professor at Bugarup University with a thing about Agateans that, as with the real-live Clive James and the Japanese, bordered on casual racism. Bugarup's Professor of Agatean Studies? According to Google Translate, Kyōjin ni chikai (狂人に近い) is a stab at "borderline insanity" - another translation engine gives "close to madness". Possibly a go at the name of an Agatean Wizard?

(13) Ponder and Johanna usually shared a cab, in fact, calling at the University first and then the Assassins' Guild School. It was expedient, especially when she was carrying a hefty bag full of marked student work.

(14) Recent Runes didn't entirely trust people who ate black pudding for breakfast with obvious enjoyment and relish. Blood sausage struck him as being a little too primal.

(15) "That little girl can sass," people said. "Hells, she can sass for Aceria."

(16) Because there has to be a Smith-Rhodes family cameo. And yes, this is the other road trip for Mariella and Rivka. The one that takes in the Wild Widdershins. In which (when attempted) more will be written concerning the Discworld's Untied States of Aceria.

(17) I know. Lots of sly references, not all to Frank L. Baum. Attentive readers will also see homage to an American TV sitcom set in the Mid-West, and especially its opening credits that explain what "The Middle" is. Oh, and "Oswego City" is actually a real place in Kansas. You wonder if two syllables dropped off for fictional purposes.

(18) It didn't help that Daizu-san actually translated as "Mr Bean". It had been speculated (by those who studied these things) that some sort of multiversal resonance was happening. An Esteemed Wizard at the HungHung City College of Magic had said that, well, you know, this sort of thing crosses the Void, and goes back into the Void, for no special reason. It is all rather vexatious, really, and it only goes to show.

(19) Go to my early tale Dopplegangers, in which Rincewind encounters his alternate on the Roundworld, a nuclear physicist who performs a cameo role in The Colour of Magic.

(20) See Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett.

(21) It's like this. After the initial interviews and selection tests, the eleven-year-old Samuel Williams had been assessed by Miss Pretty Butterfly as an ideal candidate for her Agatean Studies course, one which demanded total immersion in Agatean culture for the full seven years. Places were limited and she certainly did not accept just any student Assassin who took an interest. Sam, who already had a fascination with the Counterweight Continent, had very carefully not said that one of the attractions was that students who were accepted by Butterfly were excused compulsory Games on a Wednesday afternoon. Sam felt that being in the dry and maybe even the warm, being Totally Immersed, was way preferable to uncomfortable cold, rain, and mud. Unfortunately for him, Mr Bradlifrudd, the Games Master and PE coach, had genially said to him that it was completely true that Agatean Studies meant being excused compulsory Games on a Wednesday afternoon. he, Mr William Bradlifrudd, did not want to get in the way of Miss Butterfly, nor have hard words with her on that one. "However, laddie, this is Saturday afternoon. And as we don't want you to miss out, grab your Games kit. You look like you could be a useful winger or even a long-distance runner, you certainly have the build for it." Sam's Saturday afternoons had been spent either in endless laps of the running oval, or cross-country running, or else in learning to run very fast indeed in the Number Thirteen shirt of the Guild's fifteen-a-side team. Keeping up with Rincewind was therefore not much of a stretch. He'd been trained for this.

(22) The Assassins' Guild file on Rincewind summed up all that was known of him, and what could be pieced together concerning his adventures around the Disc. The summation was short and to the point. "This file is for information only. There is no price on this putative client as he is considered to be off the Register. He is suspected to have powerful, high-level, Interests who will work to ensure his protection. We agree his presence is a continuing irritation, but there are Powers in the world whom the Assassin is wise not to go up against. There is a reason, after all, why students are encouraged to contemplate all the occasions on which Professor Rincewind has narrowly averted Death. Also, the Patrician and the Arch-Chancellor have both clearly signalled that this client has more importance to the City if left unapproached by the Guild. You have been advised."

(23) I know. Roundworld references. In my defence, Terry was inconsistent on this too. If it helps, Lincolnshire – famously the very flattest part of England (it even has a region called "Holland", testimony to population interchange and all the Dutch people who came over to drain fens and build windmills) probably has a referent in The Shires. Sto Kerrig is pretty much the Discworld's Netherlands, and Tibet is reflected in Enlightenment Country nearby to the Hub. (And there's another corner of Asia transplanted to the Discworld).

(24) Juggernaut is the Chariot of the Gods in Hindu mythology. It is built vastly over-scale, in much the same way that the Maus tank of WW2 represented something far larger and more imposing than the situation actually called for. (The Maus weighed 188 tons and occupied roughly the space that eight Tiger tanks would fill, if four Tigers were to be parked on top of another four. This was in a time when the usual main battle tank weighed in at 30-40 tons fully laden. Germany only ever completed two "Mice", and the one that saw battle was simply ignored by the Russians, who drove straight past once they saw it was bogged into the ground under its own weight. Its crew took the point of view that the Russians were at the gates of Berlin, surrender and capture was inevitable, that now in May 1945 was not the time to be making enemies, and surrendered without firing a shot. It now resides as a war trophy at the Kubinka armour museum near Moscow.) Juggernaut is the Maus of ancient war chariots.

(25) Seeing the name on the Ankh-Morpork City Aye-to-Zedde street mappe, I wondered about this. Apparently in Italian a lagniappe is the small token gift a merchant might add to a purchase, like the thirteenth bread roll that makes up a baker's dozen. How the street got to be called Lagniappe and Thunder is anybody's guess. (Half-remembering it's one of those obscure crossword clues that Moist von Lipwig gets, and then uses to needle the Patrician by implying that he got there first?)

(26)Olga had survived a lot of things as a pilot, including all-out air war, very brief captivity by Elves, and a run-in with an acid-based Alien. However, she considered it would be downright embarrassing to injure herself in an aircrash – from a broom flying maybe five feet above ground.

(27) The Guan-dao, the Ge, the Quiang, or simply the Ge. A naginata, to the other sort of Agatean. To anybody else, a long pole with a blade on the end.

(28) Terry Pratchett makes this observation in The Unadulterated Cat. That even the most feral, evil and angry un-neutered tom will melt into kitten-like submission if the human approaching it is a girl of about ten or eleven or younger. Anybody else would at least lose a finger or need stitches. Terry speculated that this is a variation on the idea of maiden and unicorn.

(29) As noted elsewhere, Kansai Prefecture, and its principal city, Osaka, are viewed by other Japanese people as the local take on a sort of bucolic hillbilly culture that's a bit behind the cutting edge. Kansai and its characteristic accent are Japan's take on East Anglia or the West Country (British); the more hillbilly parts of the Deep South (USA); the Pskov Oblast (Russia) or Belgium as seen from France. Moral: The Eternal Kansai is a universal concept. See TV Tropes on The Idiot from Osaka. Or, the region of Ur as seen by the rest of Klatch.

(30) "And besides, Reverend Mother, that list of Names all Novices get to choose throm is at least three centuries old. Isn't it about time the Order added a few new ones?"

Thirty footnotes at the V0.02 revision stage, previously twenty-nine. Blimey. All-time record. And as I rushed to finish the thing so as to get something out there, later revisions will no doubt add more!

Notes Dump:

Using the revised and expanded Aye –To-Zedde street mappe in The Compleat Ankh-Morpork to plot the exact route taken by the Luggage, Rincewind and a growing band of increasingly annoyed followers or those simply in need of street theatre.

The journey between Unseen University and the (approximate) location of Blairwood Close, as Rincewind's Luggage follows its keyhole to track down and confront the new Luggage in town, might run University – The Fronts - Bridge of Sighs – Kaleidoscope Walk –the River Walks – Phedre Road – Slip Way – Five and Seven Yard - Martlesbury Street – Salis Street – Park Lane – Park Lane Circus – The Soake – Lagniape and Thunder – Konnoblers Way – Fletcher Street – Can't Find It Street –(illegible bit of the street map where Sham Harga coffee has been spilt) - Blairwood Close.

Blimey. At least Rincewind is good at long-distance running and the Watch, attracted by the commotion, are good at long-distance pursuing. Now if the world's best marathon runners can cover approximately eleven-twelve-thirteen miles in one hour, I might make this thirty or so minutes of jog for Rincewind. (not sure of the scale involved, but A-M is roughly sort of London-shaped, so it's not unreasonable to say perhaps five or six miles might be covered here). I'll fudge it a bit and skip the detail. The other theme that emerged – Osamu and Amaya tracking Emiko down to Ankh-Morpork – also needed its treatment, especially Vetinari negotiating with them. Where two insanely powerful rulers of a supernatural spirit world meet Patrician Vetinari face-to-face, things can only really go in one direction.

And in the end, while the Watch would have methodically worked it out and eventually tracked down Emiko and Erma, all they had to do on the day – or all Olga and Sam Williams had to do – was to follow a territorial Luggage, that was in hot pursuit of the new travel accessory in town. What happened next is recorded above, and the Air Watch got its Agatean pilot, subject to Vetinari insisting Certain Conditions be met, with Olga responsible for supervising their enforcement.

And of course Sam Williams, Dark Clerk, met his Mrs Williams and a ready-made family. More may be said of this in an "epilogue" chapter covering Suburban Life With The Williamses. (An everyday story of normal family life where Dad is a Dark Clerk/Assassin/ Fantasy/scifi author, Mum is a Witch and a kitsune working for the Air Watch, and their perfectly adorable little daughter/stepdaughter is also a howling inhuman Thing from the Shadow Realms of Agatea who can sometimes get a bit moody and out of sorts. (She also has understanding teachers at school, friends who in the main are completely human, and in Ankh-Morpork, an assortment of indulgent, but firm, adoptive aunties at the Air Watch.)

Russian: Задница мира, Zadnitsa Mira, the Arsehole of the World.

Did some background reading about the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905, to get a handle on how Rodinia and Agatea might relate in this world. It is magnificently futile and horrible. In a little less than eighteen months of war, 90,000 Japanese, possibly up to 75,000 Russians and twenty thousand Chinese were killed. A "border dispute" in 1936, a war by any other name, saw the hitherto obscure General Zhukov inflict a significant victory over Japan. (Among other things, the first of a line of tanks, that later evolved into the Germany-defeating T34 series, got their first combat outing. Japan had nothing to match them). July-August 1945 saw a Red Army deployed East from defeated Germany blitzkrieg its way through the tired and demoralised Japanese, to grab what it could for the USSR before the USA started dropping serious bombs.

Today, there is still diplomatic snarling over the status of Sakhalin Island and the Kuril Archipelego. So it may not be over yet.

It's a fair bet that when Agatea met Rodinia, a lot of sparks flew.

BướngBỉnh: some explanation. Unlike BhangBhangDuc or "Grimchi", this location is not raised or alluded to in canon as part of the Agatean continuum. It's completely my own Original Country, but idle thought and association of ideas suggested to me that there should be a Vietnam on the Discworld. If only as a place for seemingly stronger nations to come to grief out of a sense of geo-political overconfidence.

On our world, Vietnam was the first of three places where the Mongol Empire came to grief in a war of conquest. A country made largely of thick jungle or at the least, dense forest, is not a place to send your army if its principal strength consists of an overwhelming cavalry charge on the wide flat plains. At a stroke, the Mongols lost their advantage, and the conquering world superpower had its arse handed to it on a plate in a war of attrition with the Vietnamese.

This should have been a great big hint first to the French and later to the USA.

And as if that wasn't enough, after the Americans left, the Chinese tried it on, to grab something of a disputed border region. The Vietnamese kicked their arses, too. First, France, as a sort of warm-up and light exercise. Then the USA. Then China.

So I was speculating along the lines of – did General Tacticus get as far as Agatea? Did he take one look at BướngBỉnh, sum up his chances, and, in a genre-savvy way, say "No. We're leaving well alone. This is the Swommi country with tropical jungles, and we would be playing the Rodinian role." Did one of his successors, a less gifted general and tactician, try to invade the place and bog Ankh-Morpork (or maybe Quirm) down in a long destructive losing war?

Anyway, thinking of the Vietnamese attitude to warfare, I messed with Google Translate in a crossed-fingers-and-knowing-nothing-of-the-language sort of way, to try to get an approximation of "Land Of The Stubborn Bloody-Minded People". Vietnamese readers, please correct me if this could have been done better. (In fact, Japanese readers are welcome, too? I've already incorporated a couple of suggestions, so arigato!)

In case you're wondering, the other two disasters for the Mongol Empire were Japan (inability to do a D-day and land a sufficient army from ships – Mongols from the very inland heart of Asia do not do boats) and Palestine/Egypt (do not take a massive cavalry army into a bloody desert where there is insufficient water and fodder).

Reply to a PM from reader rga156 concerning stalled tales: an update.

Struggling on!

Trying to revise stalled Air Watch tales:

The Price of Flight - (just now I'm nibbling at a chapter revisiting the theme of vividly bad dreams that feel as if the dreamer has stepped into another world - which in a sense she has).

Strandpiel Two - I'm plotting out exactly how the Air Watch reinforces Bekki to deal with the little problem in her Steading. This is taking thought and I also want it to read well as it pretty much culminates this phase of the story.

Are there others?

I'm also aware of other stalled tales that need revisiting.

Slipping Between Worlds halted on military funerals and memorial services - having attended one or two in the past, these became an effort to write, for various reasons.

Fresh Pair of Eyes - in continuation tales set a few years into the future, I've clearly said the heroine Catherine P-B eventually returns to the School as an assistant teacher in Swords. I just haven't clearly laid out how she gets there. And we got to the point where she now knows where her new eyes came from. How will things change now she has full awareness?

Clowning Is A Serious Business: with reference to the Napoleonic Wars (at one point, peace between France, Prussia and Imperial Russia was concluded in discussions on a riverboat - so moored that it could not be said to be on anybody's land, and therefore a neutral space). It got to this point and stalled. I want to deal with things like how Least Grand Duke of All, Casimir Romanoff, ended up being exiled to Howondaland for being too clever for his own good. And how the crisis in Far Überwald is averted.

The Many Worlds Interpretation: the "Scooby-Doo Gang" need to deal with the growing thing under Empirical Crescent and locate a lost art trove. I know they will do both - I can't easily see how right now. I do see Miss Alice Band having an issue with large and pitiless stone balls rolling at her down a narrow space, when she rolls her eyes and says "Good grief, again? Some people have got no imagination whatsoever!" as she evades them. The Voynich Manuscript is retrieved from Earth and returned to the Assassins' Guild Library. A descendent of the Assassin who checked the book out but failed to return it - several centuries ago - will be presented with a bill for overdue fines. Hilarity will ensue. The mystery of the two Professor Rothschilds, one in Caltech and one in Ankh-Morpork (or seemingly so) will also be resolved.

I'm sure there are others, but those come to mind as the egregious examples!