The Witches of Karres

by James H. Schmitz

  "A point," said Hulik, "of which the Imperium is well aware."

  He watched her, his face expressionless.

  "We shall work in different ways," Hulik smiled. "If I get it, it may bring me great honor and rewards from the Imperium. Or it may, which really seems at least as likely, bring me quick death, by decision of the Imperium." The smile became almost impish. "On Uldune, on the other hand . . . well, I would be most interested in seeing that the House of Eldel is also restored to something approximating the place of power it once held here."

  "An honorable ambition!" Sedmon nodded approvingly. "As for me—I am perhaps overly prudent and certainly not as young as I was—I could very well use a partner with youth, audacity, and intelligence, to help me direct the affairs of Uldune. In particular, of the greater Uldune that may be."

  Hulik laughed. "Great dreams! But very well . . . We shall work carefully. I have not yet made a report that the ship once named the Venture appears to be at present on Uldune."

  The Daal's eyes lightened.

  "But," Hulik went on, "I shall proceed exactly as if I had made that report. If, in spite of Sunnat's efforts and yours, the Evening Bird lifts from Uldune on schedule I'll be on board as passenger. . . . Now, I believe that little Vezzarn they've signed on for the ship is your man?"

  "He is," Sedmon said. "Of course he doesn't know for whom he's working."

  "Of course. I know Kambine's background. He's nothing."

  "Nothing," the Daal agreed.

  "Laes Yango?"

  "A man to be reckoned with in his field."

  "What specifically is his field? I've been able to get very little information on him."

  "He deals. High-value, high-profit items only. He maintains his own cruiser, makes frequent space trips, uses other carriers for special purposes, as in this case. He banks a considerable amount of money at all times, makes and receives large payments at irregular intervals to and from undisclosed accounts by subradio. Some of his business seems to be legitimate."

  "He should not become a problem then?" Hulik said.

  "There is no reason to assume he would be, in this matter." The Dad looked at her curiously. "Am I to understand you intend to continue your efforts to obtain the drive, even if Captain Aron turns out to be what I suspect he is?"

  "I do intend that," Hulik nodded. "I have my own theory about your Karres witches."

  "What is that?"

  "They are, among other things, skilled and purposeful bluffers. The disappearing world story, for example. Karres has been described to me as a primitive, forested planet showing no detectable signs of inhabitation. There are many such uninhabited worlds. Few are even indicated in standard star maps. It seems most probable to me that the witches, instead of moving Karres through space, themselves move by more conventional methods of travel from one world of that sort to a similar one elsewhere—and presently let it be known that 'Karres' was magically transported by them to a new galactic sector! I believe their purpose is to frighten everyone, including even the Imperium, into leaving them severely alone. That they are capable of a number of astonishing tricks seems true. It is even possible they have developed a superdrive to transport ordinary spaceships. But worlds?" She shook her head skeptically. "Pausert may be a Karres witch. If so, his mysterious powers have not revealed to him even the simple fact that Vezzarn was planted on him as a spy. . . . No, I'm not afraid of the witches!"

  "You don't feel afraid of the Chaladoor either?" the Daal asked.

  "A little," Hulik admitted. "But considerably more afraid of not getting the drive from Captain Pausert, if it should turn out later that there really was such a thing on his ship. When the stakes are high, the Imperium becomes a stringent employer!" She shrugged. "And since success in this might be as deadly to me as failure, you and Uldune can count on me . . . afterwards."

  * * *

  A colored, soundless whirlwind was spinning slowly and steadily about the captain. He watched it bemusedly a while, then had his attention distracted by a puzzled awareness that he seemed to be sitting upright, none too comfortably, on something like a cold stone floor, his back touching something like a cold stone wall. He realized suddenly that he had his eyes closed, and decided he might as well open them.

  He did. The giddily spinning colors faded from his vision; the world grew steady. But what place was this? . . . What was he doing here?

  He glanced around. It seemed a big underground vault, wide and low, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet long. Thick stone pillars supported the curved ceiling sections. A number of glowing white globes in iron cages hung by chains from the ceiling, giving a vague general illumination to the place. Across the vault, the captain saw a narrow staircase leading up through the wall. It seemed the only exit.

  On his right, some thirty feet away, was a fireplace . . . .

  He gazed at the fireplace thoughtfully. It was built into the wall; in it was a large, hot coal fire. The individual coals glowed bright red, and continuous flickerings of heat ran over the piled mass. A poker shaped like a small slender spear stood at a slant, its tip in the coals, its handle resting on a bronze fire grate.

  Some feet away from the fire was a marble-topped table. Beside it, a large wooden tub.

  It was an odd-looking arrangement. And why should anyone build such a great fire on a warmish spring evening on Uldune? He could feel the waves of heat rolling out of it from here.

  Warmish spring evening—the captain's memory suddenly awoke. This was the day they'd made a complete ground check of the Evening Bird's instrumentation. Everything was in faultless working order; he and Goth had been delighted. Then Goth had gone back to the house. Sunnat, who'd attended the check-out with Filish, suggested sociably he buy them a drink as reward for the good job the firm had done so far. But Filish had excused himself.

  He could see no harm in buying her a drink. There'd been a low-ceilinged, half dark, expensive bar off the spaceport. Somebody guided them around a couple of corners, left them at a table in a dim-lit niche by themselves. The drinks appeared—and right around then that rainbow-hued whirlwind seemed to have begun revolving around him. He couldn't recall another thing.

  Well, no sense sitting here and pondering about it! He'd go upstairs, find someone to tell him where he was and what had happened to Sunnat. He gathered his legs under him, then made another discovery. This one was startling.

  A narrow metal ring was closed around his right ankle. A slender chain was locked to the ring, and eight feet away the chain ended in a link protruding from the solid wall. He stared down at it in shocked outrage. Why, he was a prisoner here! Conflicting surmises tumbled in momentary confusion through his mind. The most likely thought seemed then that there'd been trouble of some kind in the bar and that as a result he'd wound up in one of the Daal's jails . . . but he still couldn't remember a thing about it.

  The captain scrambled to his feet, the chain making mocking clanks along the floor beside him. "Hey!" he yelled angrily. "Hey! Somebody here?"

  For a moment he thought he'd heard a low laugh somewhere. But there was no one in sight.

  "Hey!"

  "Why, what's the trouble, Captain Aron?"

  He turned, saw Sunnat twenty feet off on his left, standing beside one of the thick pillars which supported the ceiling of the vault. She must have stepped out from behind it that very moment.

  The captain stared at her. She was in one of her costumes. This one consisted of crimson trousers and slippers, a narrow strip of glittering green material wound tightly about her breasts, and a crimson turban which concealed her hair and had a great gleaming green stone set in the front of it above her forehead. She stood motionless, her face in shadow, watching him.

  The costume didn't make her appear attractive or seductive. Standing in the big, silent vault, she looked spooky and menacing. Her head shifted slightly and there seemed to be a momentary glitter in the eyes of the shadowed face. The captain cleared his throat, twisted his mouth into a smile.r />
  "You had me worried, Sunnat!" he admitted. "How did you do it? I really thought I was waking up in an Uldune prison!"

  Sunnat didn't answer. She turned, started over towards the fireplace as if he hadn't spoken.

  "How about getting me loose from the wall now?" the captain said coaxingly. "A joke's a joke . . . but there are really a number of things I should be taking care of. And I told, uh, Dani I'd be home in time for dinner."

  Sunnat turned her head, eyes half shut, and gave him an odd, slow smile. It sent a chill down his spine. He wished he hadn't mentioned Goth.

  "Come on, Sunnat!" He put a touch of annoyance into his voice. "We're grown ups, and this game's getting a little childish!"

  Sunnat muttered something he didn't understand. She might have been talking to herself. She'd reached the fireplace, stood staring down at the poker a moment, then picked it out of the coals by its handle and came towards him with it, holding it lightly like a sword, the fiery tip weaving back and forth. The captain watched her. Her eyes were wide open now, fixed on him. The tall body swayed forward a little as she walked. She looked like some snake-thing about to strike.

  He wasn't too alarmed. Sunnat might be drugged or drunk, or she might have gone out of her mind. And he didn't like the poker. This was trouble, perhaps bad trouble. But if she got close enough to use the poker, he'd jump her and get it from her . . . .

  She didn't come that close. She stopped twelve feet away, well beyond his reach.

  "Captain Aron," she said, "I think you already know this isn't really a joke! I want something you have, and you're going to give it to me. Now let me tell you a story . . . ."

  * * *

  It was the story, somewhat distorted and with many omissions, of his experiences with the Sheewash Drive on the far side of the Empire. It didn't mention Karres and didn't mention klatha. Neither did it mention that he'd picked up three witch children on Porlumma. Otherwise, it came uncomfortably close to the facts.

  "I don't have any such drive mechanism on the ship," the captain repeated, staring at her, wondering how she could possibly have got that information. "Whoever told you I did was lying!"

  Sunnat smiled unpleasantly. He knew by now that she wasn't drunk or drugged. Neither was she out of her mind, at least by her own standards. She was engaged in a matter of business, in the old Uldune style. And she looked the part. The poker was cooling but could be quickly reheated. She might have been some pirate chieftain's lady, who had volunteered to interrogate a stubborn prisoner.

  "No, you're lying," she said. "Though it may be true that the drive mechanism is not on the ship at present. But you know where it is. And you'll tell me."

  As the captain started to speak, she brought some small golden object from a pocket of her trousers, lifted it to her mouth. There was a short, Piercing whistle. Sunnat turned away from him, smiled back at him over her shoulder and returned to the fireplace, the poker dangling loosely from her hand. He heard sounds from the stairway, shuffling footsteps.

  Filish and Bazim appeared, coming carefully down the stairs side by side, carrying a chair between them. Goth was in the chair. There was a gag in her mouth; and even at that distance the captain could see her arms were fastened by the wrists to the sides of the chair.

  "Over here!" Sunnat called to her partners. They started towards her with Goth. She put the poker back in the coals, its handle resting on the grate, and stood waiting for them. As they came up, she reached out and snatched the gag from Goth's mouth. Goth jerked forward, then settled back while the two men put the chair down beside the table, facing the fire. Sunnat tossed the gag into the coals.

  "No need for that here, you see!" she informed the captain. "This is a very old place, Captain Aron, and there's been a great deal of strange noise made down here from time to time, which never disturbed anybody outside. It will cause no disturbance tonight."

  "Now then, we have your brat. You're quite fond of her, I think. In a minute or two, I'll also have a very hot poker. If you don't wish to talk now, you needn't. On the other hand, you may tell me anything you wish—until I decide the poker is as hot as I want it to be. After that I'm afraid I'll be too busy to listen to what you have to say—if I'm able to hear you, which I doubt—for, well, perhaps ten minutes . . . ."

  She swung to face him fully, jabbed a finger in his direction.

  "And then, Captain Aron, when it's become quiet enough so you can speak to me again—then I'll be convinced that what you want to tell me is no lie but the truth. But that may be a little late for your Dani."

  He felt like a chunk of ice. Goth had glanced over at him with her no-expression look, but only for an instant; she was watching Sunnat again now. The two men clearly didn't like this much—Bazim was sweating heavily and Filish's face showed a frozen nervous grimace. He could expect no interference from those two. Sunnat was running the show here, as she usually did in the firm. But perhaps he could gain a little time.

  "Wait a moment, Sunnat," he said suddenly. "You don't have to hurt Dani—I'll tell you where the thing is!"

  "Oh?" replied Sunnat. She'd pulled the poker out of the coals, was waving the glowing tip back and forth in the air, studying it. "Where?" she asked.

  "It's partly disassembled," the captain improvised rapidly. "Part of it is still in the ship—very difficult to find, of course . . . ."

  "Of course," Sunnat nodded. "And the rest?"

  "One small piece is in the house. Everything else has been locked up in two different bank vaults. I had to be careful—"

  "No doubt," she said. "Well, Captain Aron, you're still lying, I'm afraid! You're not frightened enough yet. . . . Bazim, get the water ready. Let's test this on the brat's sleeve, as a start."

  Bazim reached into the wooden tub beside the table and brought out a dripping ladle of water. He moved behind Goth's chair, stood holding the ladle in a hand that shook noticeably. Water sloshed from it to the floor.

  "Steady, now!" Sunnat laughed at him. "This won't even hurt the brat yet, if I'm careful. Ready?"

  Bazim grunted. Sunnat's hand moved and the poker tip delicately touched the sleeve of Goth's jacket. The captain held his breath. Smoke curled from the jacket as the poker moved up along the cloth. There was a sudden flicker of fire.

  Bazim reached over hastily. But his hand shook too hard—water spilled all over Goth's lap instead of on the sleeve. Sunnat stepped back, laughing. Bazim turned, dipped the ladle back into the tub, flung its contents almost blindly in Goth's direction.

  It landed with a splat and a hiss exactly where it was needed. The line of fire vanished—and Sunnat let out a startled yell . . . .

  The captain found he was breathing again. Crouched and tense, he watched. Sunnat was behaving very strangely! Grasping the poker handle in both hands, she backed away from Goth and the others along the wall, holding the poker out and down, arms stiff and straight. The partners stared open-mouthed. The captain saw the muscles in Sunnat's arms strain as if it took all the strength she had to hold the poker. Her face was white and terrified.

  "Quick!" she screamed suddenly. "Filish! Bazim! Your guns! Kill him—now! He's doing it. He's pulling it away from me! Ah—no!"

  The last was a howl of despair as the poker twitched violently, spun out of Sunnat's hands and fell. It twisted on the flooring, its fiery tip darting back up towards her legs. She gave a shriek, leaped high and to one side, looked back, saw the poker rolling after her. She dodged away from it again, screaming, "Shoot! Shoot!"

  But other things were happening. Bazim began to bellow wildly and went into a series of clumsy leaps, turns and twists, clutching his seat with both hands. Filish swung around towards the captain, reaching under his coat . . . and the captain felt something smack into the palm of his right hand. He wrapped his fingers around it before it could drop, saw with no surprise at all that it was a gun, lifted it to trigger a shot above Filish's head. But by then there was no need to shoot—Filish, too, was howling and gyrating about with Bazim.
And Sunnat was sprinting towards the stairs while something clattered and smoked along the floor a yard behind her.

  There were a couple of light clinks at the captain's feet. Another gun lay there, and a small key. There was a mighty splash not far away. He looked up, saw Bazim and Filish sitting side by side in the tub, their legs hanging over its edge, tears streaming down their faces. Sunnat had disappeared up the stairs. He couldn't see the poker.

  Quite calmly, the captain went down on his left knee, fitted the key into the lock of the metal ring around his ankle and turned it. The ring snapped open. He put the other gun, which would be Bazim's, into a pocket, stood up and went over to Goth. The partners stared at him in wide-eyed horror, trying to crouch deeper into the tub.

  "Thanks, Captain!" Goth said in a clear, unruffled voice as he came up. "Was wondering when you'd let those three monkeys have it!"

  The captain couldn't think immediately of something appropriate to reply to that. He knew it hadn't been some vagrant vatch at work this time—it had been all Goth. So he only grunted as he began to loosen the cords around her wrists. Then he ran his finger along the burned streak on her jacket sleeve. "Get singed?" he asked.

  "Uh-uh!" Goth smiled up at him. "Didn't even get warm!" She looked over at Bazim and Filish. "Served them right to get hot coals in their back pockets for that, though!"

  "I thought so," the captain agreed.

  "'Fraid that poker didn't catch up with Sunnat," Goth added. She'd got out of the chair, stood rubbing her wrists, looking around.

  "No. I was rather busy, you know. . . . I doubt she'll get far." If Goth felt it was best to let Bazim and Filish believe he was the one who'd done the witching around here, he'd go along with it. He gave the two a look. They cringed anew. "Well, now . . ." he began.

  "Somebody's coming, Captain!" Goth interrupted, cocking her head.

  It seemed quite a number of people were coming. Boots clattered hurriedly on the staircase, descending towards them. Then a dozen or so men in the uniform of the Daal's Police boiled down the stairs into the vault, spread out, holding guns. The one in the lead caught sight of the captain and Goth, shouted, "Halt!" to the others and hurried towards them while his companions stayed where they were.