The Witches of Karres

by James H. Schmiz

  “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.

  “Ah, Your Wisdoms!” the officer greeted them respectfully as he approached. “You are unharmed, of course — but accept the Daal’s profound apologies for this occurrence, extended for the moment through his unworthy servant. We learned of the plans these rascals were devising against you too late to spare you the annoyance of having to deal with them yourselves.” He gave the partners a look of stern loathing. “I see you have been merciful — they live. But not for long, I feel! We captured the woman as she attempted to escape to the street… Now if Your Wisdoms will permit me to speak to you privately while my men remove this scum from your presence—”

  * * *

  The captain found it difficult to get to sleep that night.

  The policeman, a Major something-or-other — he hadn’t caught the name — had transmitted an invitation to them from the Daal to attend the judging of the villainous partners at the Daal’s Little Court in the House of Thunders next day. He’d accepted. A groundcar would come by two hours after sunrise to take them there.

  Goth had explained the “Your Wisdoms” form of address after they returned to the house and switched on their spy-screen. “It’s how they talk to a witch around here,” she said, “when they want to be polite… and when they’re supposed to know you’re a witch.”

  Apparently it was regarded as good policy on Uldune to be polite to witches of Karres. And the Daal evidently had intended to let them know in this roundabout way that he knew they were witches.

  He was only half right, of course…

  Did Sedmon the Sixth have something else in mind with the invitation? Goth figured he did but she didn’t feel it was anything to worry about. “The Daal wants to get along with Karres—”

  There shouldn’t be any trouble with the overlord of Uldune in connection with the Sheewash Drive, of which he would hear from the prisoners tomorrow, if he didn’t already know about it. But the captain’s thoughts kept veering towards some probably very unpleasant aspects of their visit to the House of Thunders. He realized presently he was afraid to go to sleep because he probably would start dreaming about them.

  He raised his head suddenly from the pillow. There was shimmering motion in the dim-lit hall beyond the open door of the room, a blurred suggestion of a small figure beyond it. The shimmering came into the room, advanced towards the bed, blotting out the room behind it, moved along the bed, passed over the captain’s head, and went on into the wall. The room had become visible again and Goth, in her white sleep-pants, was now perched on the foot of the bed, legs crossed, looking at him. She had their spy-proofing device in one hand.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “You’re worrying about that pig getting skinned!” Goth told him.

  “Hmm… Sunnat?”

  “Who else?”

  “Well, the others, too,” said t
he captain. “It’s a rather horrid practice, you know!”

  “Uh-huh. You needn’t worry, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “Sedmon isn’t having anyone skinned tomorrow, if we don’t say so.”

  “Why should he care what we say?”

  “We’re witches, Your Wisdom!” Goth said. She chuckled gently.

  “Well, but…”

  “Threbus and Toll know Sedmon, Captain. They visited his place four, five times before I was born. They told me about him. He’s got a sort of skullcap he uses that keeps klatha waves out of his mind. You can bet he’ll wear it tomorrow! But he still doesn’t want trouble with witches. He knows too much about them.”

  “That’s why you got them to think I did those klatha tricks tonight?” the captain asked.

  “Sure. If they found out we got the Drive here, they better think we can keep it. Far as Sedmon is concerned, you’re a witch now.”

  “What kind of a fellow is he otherwise?” the captain asked. “I’ve heard stories…”

  “I can tell you stories about Sedmon you won’t believe,” Goth said. “But not tonight. Just one thing. If we’re alone with him — not if someone else is around — and it looks as if he’s starting to wonder again if you’re a witch, call him ‘Sedmon of the Six Lives.’ He’ll snap to it then.”

  “Sedmon of the Six Lives, eh? What does that mean?”

  “Don’t know,” Goth said. She yawned. “Threbus can tell you when we see him. But it’ll work.”

  “I’ll remember it,” the captain said.

  “Going to do any more worrying?” Goth asked.

  “No. Night, witch!”

  “Night, Your Wisdom!” She slipped down from the bed, clicking off the spy screen, and was gone from the room.

  * * *

  Impressive as the House of Thunders looked from a distance, it became apparent, as the military groundcar carrying Goth and the captain approached it up winding mountain roads, that its exterior was as weather-beaten and neglected as the streets of the old quarter of Zergandol. The Daal’s penuriousness was proverbial on Uldune. Evidently it extended even to keeping up the appearance of the mighty edifice which was the central seat of his government.

  The section of the structure through which they presently were escorted was battered, but filled with not particularly unobtrusive guards. Several openings and hallways revealed the metallic gleam of heavy armament, obviously in excellent repair. Dilapidated the House of Thunders might look, the captain thought, but for the practical purpose of planetary defense it should still be a fortress to be reckoned with. The escorting officers paused presently before an open door, bowed the visitors through it and drew the door quietly shut behind them.

  This was a windowless room, well furnished, its walls concealed by the heavy ornamental hangings of another period. Sedmon stood here waiting for them. The captain saw a lean, middle-aged man, dark-skinned, with steady, watchful eyes. Uldune’s lord wore a long black robe and a helmet-like cap of velvet green which covered half his forehead and enclosed his skull to the nape of his neck. The last must be the anti-klatha device Goth had mentioned.

  He greeted them cordially, using the names with which they had been supplied by his Office of Identities, apologized for the outrage attempted against them by Sunnat, Bazim Filish.

  “My first impulse,” he said, “was to have those wretches put to death without an hour’s delay!”

  “Well,” said the captain uncomfortably, quickly blotting out another mental vision of the Daal’s executioners peeling wicked Sunnat’s skin from her squirming body, “it may not be necessary to be quite so severe with them!”

  Sedmon nodded. “You are generous! But that was to be expected. In fact, in the cases of Bazim and Filish Your Wisdom appears to have inflicted on the spot the punishment you regarded as suitable to their offense—”

  “It was what they deserved,” the captain agreed.

  The Daal coughed. “Also,” he said, “I have considered that Bazim and Filish are, when in their senses, most valuable subjects. They claim they acted as they did solely out of their great fear of Sunnat’s anger. If it is your wish then, I shall release them to conclude the work on your ship, as stipulated by contract — with this condition. They may not receive one Imperial mael from you in payment! Everything shall be done at their expense. Further, my inspectors will be looking over their shoulders; and if they, or you, should find cause for the slightest complaint, there will be additional penalties, and far more drastic ones… Does this meet with Your Wisdoms’ approval?”

  The captain cleared his throat, assured him it did.

  “There remains the matter of Sunnat,” the Daal resumed. “Your testimony against her is not required — her partners’ separate statements have made it clear enough that she was the instigator of the plot. However, it would be well if Your Wisdoms would accompany me to the Little Court now to see that the judgment rendered against this pernicious woman is also in accordance with your wishes…”

  A handful of minor officials were arranged about the mirrored expanse of the Daal’s Little Court when they entered. Sedmon seated himself, and the visitors were shown to chairs at the side of the bench. A moment later two soldiers brought Sunnat in through a side door. She started violently when she caught sight of the captain and Goth and avoided looking in their direction again. Sunnat had clearly had a very bad night! Her face was strained and drawn; her reddened eyes flickered nervously as they glanced about. But frightened as she must be, she soon showed she was still trying to squirm out of the situation.

  “Lies, all lies, Your Highness!” she exclaimed tearfully but with a defiant toss of her head. “Never — never! — would I have wished Their Wisdoms harm — or dared consider doing them harm if I hadn’t been forced to what I did by the cruel threats of Bazim and Filish. They—”

  It got her nowhere. The Daal pointed out quietly it was clear she hadn’t realized with whom she was dealing when she turned on Captain Aron and his niece. Malice and greed had motivated her. It was well known that her partners were fully under her sway. Justice could not be delayed by such arguments.

  No mention was made by either side of the mysterious spacedrive Sunnat had tried to get in her possession. It seemed she had been warned against saying anything about that in court.

  Sunnat was weeping wildly at that point. Sedmon glanced over at the captain, then looked steadily at Goth.

  “Since the criminal’s most serious offense was against the Young Wisdom,” he said, “it seems fitting that the Young Wisdom should now decide what her punishment should be.”

  The Little Court became quiet. Goth remained seated for a moment, then stood up.

  “It would be even more fitting, Sedmon,” somebody beside the captain said, “if the Young Wisdom herself administered the punishment…”

  He started. The words had come from Goth — but that had not been Goth’s voice! Everybody in the Little Court was staring silently at her. Then the Daal nodded.

  “It shall be as Your Wisdom said…”

  Goth moved away from the captain, stopped a few yards from Sunnat. He couldn’t see her face. But the air tingled with eeriness and he knew klatha was welling into the room. He had a glimpse of the Daal’s face, tense and watchful; of Sunnat’s, dazed with fear.

  “Look in the mirror, Sunnat of Uldune!”

  It wasn’t her voice! What was happening? His skin shuddered and from moment to moment, now his vision seemed to blur, then clear again. The voice continued low, mellow, but somehow it was filling the room. Not Goth’s voice but he felt he’d heard it before somewhere, sometime, and should know it. And his mind strained to understand what it said but seemed constantly to miss the significance of each word by the fraction of a second, as the quiet sentences rolled on with a weight of silent thunder in them. Sunnat faced one of the great mirrors in the room; he saw her back rigid and straight and thought she was frozen, unable to move. Sedmon’s lean hands were clamped t
ogether, unconsciously knotting and twisting as he stared.

  The voice rose on an admonitory note, ended abruptly in sharp command. It couldn’t, the captain realized, actually have been speaking for more than twenty seconds. But it had seemed much longer. There was silence for an instant now. Then Sunnat screamed.

  One couldn’t blame her, he thought. Staring into the mirror, Sunnat had seen what everyone else in the Little Court could see by looking at her. Set on her shoulders instead of her own head was the bristled, red-eyed head of a wild pig, ugly jaws gaping and working, as screams continued to pour from them. There was a medley of frightened voices. The Daal shouted a command at Sunnat’s white-faced guards, and the two grasped the writhing figure by the arms, hustled it from the Little Court. As they passed through the side door, it seemed to the captain that Sunnat’s wails had begun to resemble a pig’s frightened squealing much more than the cries of a young woman in terrible distress…

  * * *

  “Toll!” the captain told Goth, rather shakily. “You were talking in Toll’s voice! Your mother’s voice!”

  “Well, not really,” Goth said. They were alone for the moment, in a small room of the House of Thunders, to which they had been conducted by a stunned looking official after the Daal, rather abruptly, concluded judicial proceedings in the Little Court following the Young Wisdom’s demonstration. Sedmon was to rejoin them here in a few minutes — the captain guessed the Daal had felt it necessary to get settled down a little first. Their spy-screen snapped on the instant the room’s door closed on the official, who seemed glad to be on his way.

  “It’s pretty much like Toll’s voice,” she agreed. “That was my Toll pattern.”

  “Your what?”

  Goth rubbed her nose tip. “Guess I can tell you,” she decided. “You won’t get it all, though. I don’t either…”

  Her Toll pattern was a klatha learning device. In fact, a nonmaterial partial replica of the personality of an adult witch whose basic individuality was similar to that of the witch child given the device. In this case, Toll’s. “It’s sort of with me in there,” Goth said, tapping the side of her head. “Don’t notice it much but it’s helping. Now here — Sedmon was checking on how good I was. Don’t know why exactly. I figured I ought to get fancy to show him but wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. So the Toll pattern took over. It knew what to do. See?”