The Sorceress of Karres

by Eric Flint

  Goth picked up the papers she'd spilled onto the desk, and put them back in the envelope.

  "Um. I am sure this time I'll be doing this pro bono."

  Goth wasn't too sure what that meant, but she was pretty sure an Imperial Agent would. So she smiled in the way that she'd seen Hulik do, while dealing with something nasty. "I hope I won't be seeing you again, sir. It's a hope you should share."

  "Could… couldn't you leave those with me?" asked the lawyer.

  "No," said Goth. "And it wouldn't help you if I did. There are further copies sitting in the embassy. I think it's time you changed your ways. Goodbye."

  "Uh, can I see you out? Look, it was just a temporary loan."

  "I am sure it is. And the inheritance and the will should therefore be sorted out very soon, won't they? I have an escort waiting to drive me. Stay here." Goth slipped the appearance of a gray cloak around her, much as Sunnat had once done. She walked out, into the corridor, which was conveniently empty, and disappeared.

  He stuck his head out of the office like a snapping wilfer a few moments later, peering up and down the passage, and using language that would have made even the Leewit blush.

  Goth followed him back into his office, and was nearly hit by the slamming door. Moments later he was on the communicator. "We're in trouble deep, Voks."

  Goth could only hear one side of the conversation. But Imperial Security Service was mentioned, rather a lot, along with some very bad words. Goth didn't mind the fact that some Nikkeldepain politico would be campaigning hard to get the Imperial embassy-a nest of spies-under close surveillance. Her work there was done. She waited while the nervous lawyer paced and then called his contact in the Central Records Office, and asked him to pull a copy of Captain Threbus's file. Goth waited, irritated at wasting her afternoon.

  The lawyer decided that the sort of day he was having called for strong drink, and took a bottle out of the cupboard. Goth 'ported the glass to her apartment, before his fumbling hand reached it. He blinked. "Sure I had a glass here." He went out to secretary's office, and returned a little later with a coffee mug-having sent his assistant home for the day. It must, belatedly, have occurred to him that he'd been shouting at his friend Voks. Goth waited until he had returned to his office, before calling him on his own secretary's phone.

  "I forgot to mention," she said, when he picked up the call, "That we're watching you and your friend Councilor Voks. Listening to your calls too. You should wash your mouth out with soap."

  She put the communicator down and listened with some glee to the faint sound of a coffee mug smashing in the next room. It was time to go.

  So she did.

  ***

  The hearing did not attract much attention. Pausert's mother. A few of the estate's creditors. The lawyer. The judge. Goth had expected it to be an open and shut affair. It turned out more complex than she'd imagined. But on the other hand, it appeared that the right way, here on Nikkeldepain, to get the legal profession to earn their keep was to have them very afraid.

  "I appreciate, Mr. Shand, that the latest information in the file held by the Central Records Office does point to the unfortunate death of Captain Threbus on Thambar's world. None-the-less owing to previous suspicions, and the fact that no body has been produced-we can't rely on these Imperials, you know-that I cannot reach a decision and order that Captain Threbus be declared dead."

  Goth, reclining bonelessly on a seat near the back, relaxed in no-shape, uncoiled and nearly forgot to maintain her invisibility. After all the work she'd done! There was a judge in severe trouble.. .

  The lawyer coughed. "Your Honor."

  "Yes, Mr. Shand."

  "Your Honor, there is the matter of the debts against the estate."

  "The law is quite clear on that, Mr. Shand. Creditors will not suffer, and the rights of property must be respected. Heirs are held responsible for first settling those."

  "Yes, Your Honor. Except in this case, the heir cannot fulfil the sum of the obligation completely until probate is granted. Hitherto they had agreed to terms in the expectation of an early settlement. But given that an order will not be given, they will have to sue the state, and appeal to a higher court."

  "Then they must do that, Mr. Shand."

  The lawyer coughed. "You would be a substantiate part of such a case, Your Honor. And, as you know, the law is clear, a member of the bench who is a substantiate part of case, may not serve whilst the process is ongoing." He paused. "I will be acting for several of them. I assure you that we will pursue it with as much haste as the court allows. Of course there is one other possibility which could avoid this inconvenience for the creditors."

  The judge scowled at him. "I notice you are choosing your words very carefully to avoid anything that could be construed as a threat. You avoided, for example, stating the fact that such cases can take years, or that such suspension is without pay. What are you suggesting?"

  "Your Honor, I wouldn't dream of threatening any member of the judiciary. I was merely wanting to remind you of a possible way out of this dilemma. The case of Madelwud versus Board of Estates."

  "Jog my memory, Mr. Shand."

  "Madelwud could not be established as dead, Your Honor. He simply vanished one day. He had substantial properties, and was heavily insured-but was also considerably in debt. His widow and principal heir was, de facto, bankrupt and penniless. The creditors could institute civil proceedings against her, but not reasonably expect to recover anything at all. They petitioned the court to order the granting of a provisional certificate of death, with full liability to the heirs, should Madelwud be found to be alive. The insurer pleaded for some form of surety. They were granted leave to merely pay Mrs. Madelwud the interest accrued and the properties were sold off to provide payment for creditors."

  "A good solution. Yes, Madelwud versus Board of Estates. Very well. I rule that a provisional death certificate should be issued, allowing sufficient property of Captain Threbus to be sold to pay off any creditors. If there is any income derived from the rest, it may be divided among the heirs, although properties themselves may not be sold."

  Shand smiled, and Goth saw that Lina was smiling and crying with relief. Goth felt quite choked up herself. It wasn't what she had hoped for, but she hoped it would do.

  She had Pausert bouncing into her apartment tell her that it was good enough for them, a little later. "Vala! Come! We're going for cake!"

  "What's the celebration, Pausert?" asked Goth, grinning at his pleasure.

  "Oh, my great-uncle. He's semi-dead. And that means we don't have to pay any more of his debts. We didn't even have to pay the lawyer. He was very apologetic about it, Mum said. She insisted on paying him anyway."

  Goth, whose own exchequer was running a little low, resolved to relieve him of that fee. A little later, Lina, for once prepared to talk about their personal affairs, filled in the gaps. Pausert had gone to fetch more tall glasses of caram, so it was just the two of them. "The Threbus Institute can't be sold, as it has various shareholders and wasn't a sole possession of my Uncle's. But he owned several other businesses and some land. Even after the debts have been settled, I'll get a dividend. Not a fortune, but we don't need that. Pausert can go to the Space Naval Academy. I have a job until then."

  "And then?"

  "I'll be going back to the South-western border Zone of the Empire. The Duchy of Galm. To see if I can find some trace of what happened to Pausert's father." A flicker of sadness crossed her face. "We couldn't stay there, you know. Moreteen was a garrison town. Not a place needing a specialist like me. But I'll have a small income from the estate, and just myself to look after."

  "He'll miss you," said Goth.

  She shook her head. "He'll be too busy with a young lady of his own dreams to even notice. And what are your plans?"

  That was a bit too close to the bone for comfort. Goth felt herself color. "My family are leaving at the end of the year. I… uh, they have done what they set out to do h
ere."

  "I'm sorry. You've done a lot for my boy."

  "I won't forget him," said Goth gruffly.

  Pausert's mother smiled, but sadly. "Sometimes it just doesn't work out."

  Chapter 21

  They precogs had said Goth would stay here for six months. At the time that had seemed like a very long time to her. Now, as the end neared, it seemed very short.

  And what difference would it make? She could stay a year. Three years. Long enough to see him into the Nikkeldepain Space Naval academy-before leaving him to become affianced to the insipid Illyla. Deep in her heart, Goth knew that there was no point in staying on, as much as she wanted to.

  What had started off as something a young girl had said, without fully understanding its meaning, had become a lot more tangible as time passed. She'd said that she was going to marry Pausert when she was of marriageable age. She'd even toyed with age shifts. Over the last couple of years or so, as they battled the Agander, and then Moander and Manaret, and then the nannite menace, she'd gone from simply liking the captain to assuming he was hers. Still, the age difference had remained a barrier, making the whole thing seem rather abstract.

  But now… having encountered Pausert when he was her own age, she'd found she had a real crush on the young man he'd once been. She'd come back in time and space to save the captain. Now she really did not want to leave.

  And she knew she'd have to. Vala was part of his childhood memories. If she'd stuck around…

  Yes, logic said she had to go. But just a few more days?

  Then came the news that changed it all.

  A jailbreak.

  Nikkeldepain remained a poor place for crime on any major scale, partly because of the culture of the colony, and partly because it had a very useful moon. Kaba was the ideal place for removing people from Nikkeldepain society and serving as a reminder of what could happen to those who broke the law here.

  A grim mining penitentiary, that no-one had ever escaped from.. . until now. The breakout had been stunning in its unexpectedness and more stunning in its violence. The guards had been captured, tortured into co-operation, and then murdered, along with the crew of the ore-freighter.

  The escapees had landed at the spaceport and hijacked a small passenger vessel. They'd used the passengers as hostages and fled-and left more dead bodies in their wake. The somber announcer admitted that as they had fled into the beyond and been lost track of, there was little possibility of recapture.

  The escapees were none other than the desperados captured by the brave Ziller during their raid on the Central Museum of Historical Nikkeldepain.

  Goth decided that it was time she checked up on her old "friend" Franco.

  She went light-shifted as a young woman of questionable virtue, with a bundle. Goth had been watching-with slightly more mature eyes-the people of Nikkeldepain. She looked like the sort of person that one could expect in this quarter, who might be accosted. But not with a bundle that looked like a baby.

  When she knocked on Franco's door, the bundle had somehow become something else. Possibly stolen. And she'd changed her expression to one of furtiveness.

  No one answered.

  She knocked again.

  And again.

  Someone from inside said: "Go away."

  Goth had learned-in order to do good light-shifts-to be very precise about remembering details.

  That voice she remembered well. It was enough to make her nearly forget her current light-shift.

  They hadn't fled the system. They were right here! Mebeckey had just spoken to her.

  Goth turned and left.

  It took her a while to gather her thoughts, but her first action was to check on the well-being of Pausert. She found him, in the act of being spoken to on the street outside his home, by a woman in a small runaround. Some instinct made her slip into no-shape to listen in.

  He was looking at a photo-cube of her. "Vala?" Goth knew young Pausert well by now. In some ways he hadn't changed very much on growing up to become the captain, either. She could now detect the hesitation and slight change in tone when he ventured on those very rare lies. "I haven't seen her for a while, since the end of term. I believe she was going off-world with her parents."

  "She has parents?" said the woman. Goth was almost certain it was Marshi. She had a peculiarly flat voice.

  Pausert nodded. "I haven't seen much of them. They run an import/export company."

  "Do you know its name?"

  Pausert shook his head. "Nope. Don't think she ever said."

  Goth waited, tense. If the woman gave any sign of wishing to harm Pausert…

  "Thank you," she said, mechanically, turning away.

  "Sorry I couldn't help," said Pausert with equal insincerity.

  The woman drove off.

  Goth bit her lip, trying to decide what to do.

  Pausert plainly had no such doubts. He was heading straight for her apartment. Goth ghosted along, making sure that he wasn't being followed by anyone else.

  He knocked, and when he got no reply, turned away, his forehead knotted in a worried puppy-frown. Goth decided that she couldn't deal with his distress. She slipped in between two tall ornamental rechi trees and called him as he walked past.

  "Vala?"

  "Keep walking. Just wanted to tell you I'm fine. Keep to the story of my having left."

  He hesitated briefly. And then determinedly kept walking. "I'll help."

  "You already did. Really. I'll see you later."

  He kicked a rechi cone, dribbled it around, like a bored teen. "What's up?"

  "Stuff my parents do."

  "I always wondered about that. But your mother seems nice. She's sort of like you. But always busy."

  Goth wasn't surprised at his assessment. But all she said was: "I'll see you later.

  He nodded and kicked the cone up the street. "Later."

  Goth followed him. There was no guarantee there was no spy-ray tracking him. There plainly wasn't one tracking her, or they would have found her.

  She followed him home. Then, at a brisk walk, she set off for the old quarter of Nikkeldepain. Time for pre-emptive action.

  ***

  It didn't take her long to get to Franco's den. If she had to 'port pieces of the door away…

  But it wasn't necessary. The door was just ajar, swinging gently. Goth went inside, up the stairs.

  The room bore mute testimony to the fight that must have happened. Franco's bodyguard had had his head severed neatly. It lay on a smoldering, tipped rack of used clothes, the eyes still wide and staring.

  It took her a little while longer to find Franco. He was in the bath in the long unused bath in the bathroom. Unconscious, bleeding badly, and dying. They'd plainly tortured him, and he was lying in a pool of his own blood. She went back to the front room and used his communicator to call the emergency number. She gave the address and told them they needed the police and an ambulance flier.

  Then she went back into the bathroom. The window was now bricked up, she noticed. That hadn't helped him. Franco opened his eyes, screwed them up, trying to focus.

  "Emergency services are on their way," said Goth, keeping her voice and feelings firmly under control.

  "I told them to lay off. I told them you had 'nections," Franco slurred. "She don't care. Not interested in you… thought I mus' have box, 'cause I said you'd been to see me. Illtraming… "

  His eyes shut again, and his head lolled.

  Goth wondered if the ambulance would be in time. And she wondered if the escaped prisoners had headed for Pausert. She decided that making sure of that was more important than any assistance she might give to Franco, or whatever more she might learn from him.

  She'd pick up some stuff and camp out in Pausert's loft.

  When she got back to her apartment and saw the door swinging, she realized that it was not Pausert that was their target.

  She went in. And realized that she'd been a little too quick. There was still som
eone inside, and they'd heard her.

  Hastily, she light-shifted into the form of an elderly woman. "I've called the police," she said sternly.

  Marshi stepped out from the door she'd ducked behind. "Where is the girl, old woman?" she demanded, waving a blaster.

  "They… they left," quavered Goth. "A few days ago. Same day as that jailbreak." At the same time Goth was trying something new. She'd split light-shifted images of herself before, leaving herself invisible between them. That was a trick she'd learned from the little vatch. Now she left a light-shifted image of herself standing in place, while she stepped aside in no-shape.

  Just in time! Marshi shot the image. No warning, no compunction. Goth projected it crumpling, as soon as she realized what was happening.

  She'd been caught by surprise, so there was a noticeable lag between the image being shot and starting to fall. And there was the additional awkwardness that the effect of the blaster on the wall behind the image made it obvious to anyone observing carefully that there'd been nothing in the way.

  Fortunately, however, Marshi had looked away the moment she fired the gun. That casual indifference to the effect of her own murderous action underscored Marshi's ruthlessness. But it was a ruthlessness so complete that it was also careless. Goth decided the woman wasn't really even sane.

  "We need to get out of here," said Marshi. "She may actually have called the police."

  Mirkon came into them room. "Where now? That Pausert kid? His mother?"

  Marshi shook her head. "No point. They plainly scampered when they heard about us. I suppose we could check flight manifests, but I think false papers would be easy enough for this kind of operator."

  "Or a unlisted flight. They happen, you know, if you've got the money."

  "I think that's what we need to do ourselves. Get off-world, and use Mebeckey's money to find this woman. We've got a picture, we have finger and retina prints, we have DNA. We'll set up a search across every populated world if need be. Find her and we find the Illtraming."

  "You make it sound important. More than money."