The Shaman of Karres

by Eric Flint

  It was amazing how people’s imagination filled in the gaps. Goth was sure she couldn’t have made up all those details if she’d tried for a month. It made leaving quite easy—which was helped by the fact that Woton was a skilled hyperelectronic engineer, a trade much in demand at the Cascades.

  Goth was very glad to be on her own again. She celebrated by visiting the Cascades and, after wandering around a little in no-shape, being quite glad the Leewit wasn’t here. Her little sister liked to play cards, and had never really accepted that it was probably her klatha skill that made her win. Even when Goth had pointed it out, the Leewit didn’t consider it cheating. She took a serious objection to ordinary cheating, though. Goth did too, but Goth didn’t break things with her ultrasonic whistles. She just relieved the cheats of their own money. She even gave some back to the victims.

  Still, there were quite a lot of Imperial maels in her purse by the time the SS Bolivar got into port, and offloaded its cargo. That was just as well, because the agent wasn’t keen on selling her a passage. “It’s a freighter, miss. They don’t take passengers.”

  “You have before,” she said.

  He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know?”

  Goth did not say, Because the desperation, and hope, of that passenger left a trace, a memory imprinted in this greasy ferrostone countertop. Instead she said, “I got a message from her.”

  The man actually looked relieved—and his response was not quite what Goth had expected. She’d meant a message before Pausert’s mother Lina had left Morteen. He didn’t read it that way. “Oh, good. She got there and back, then. I was worried. But she insisted.”

  That was a fair thing to worry about, really. From the start of this mission it had been obvious to Goth and to the Karres witches that the odds against Pausert’s father being anything other than dead had to be high. The imprint of his name proved that hadn’t been true.

  She’d also given him quite a lot of money, Goth read. But he didn’t mention that.

  “I am prepared to pay you handsomely for the passage,” said Goth.

  The man sighed. “Look, young woman, it’s dangerous. You know…at least I think you do, that they don’t go where the schedule says they do. No one from here really wants to go to Iradalia. It’s just that they are a world that doesn’t share their landing records with the Imperial landings record register. And they’re far enough away to justify the time.”

  Goth hadn’t known, but she did now. Not that it made any difference—except…given the ship’s speed, and the time that it would take to get to Iradalia, she could narrow down the possible destinations outside the Imperial border. That information, she could—and would—send back to Karres. Just in case.

  “I’m prepared to pay for a passage. Regardless.”

  “I’ll ask the captain,” said the agent. “He may not agree. They ship out tomorrow.”

  “Give him a call,” she said, pointing at the communicator.

  The agent shook his head. “I’ll talk to him when he comes in. Come back in about an hour.”

  Goth nodded, walked out, and quietly slipped herself into no-shape. But she was getting tired now from her too frequent use of no-shape, and shifted a bit too slowly. The agent had followed her to the door and locked it. So she had to ’port the key from his pocket, and let herself in—by which stage he was already in his office and on the communicator, talking to someone.

  “…says she got a message from her.” Goth could only hear one side of the conversation, but the other person had obviously replied.

  “I thought so. It’s odd. We should be careful,” answered the agent.

  The person he’d called replied again, and the agent supplied, “She’s coming back in an hour.”

  Even standing too close for comfort, Goth couldn’t hear the reply, just the burr of a gravelly voice. The agent answered, “To Iradalia? All right. But—” He was plainly interrupted at this point. He sighed and shook his head. “Look. You deal with it. Off-planet. And you’d better send someone. I want no part of this.”

  He put the communicator back down, went to open his door, and failed to find his key in his pocket. Goth took advantage of that time to go through his desk drawers and steal his blaster from them—and, when he came back, she let herself out. When he came to the door again, feeling in his pockets, and looking around his grubby floor, she ’ported the key back on his desk. Then she went out quietly and walked over to the port buildings where she sent an expensive subradio message, before returning to the agent’s office. She was just in time to see two spacemen enter. She followed them in, again in no-shape. She was getting even more tired, but she thought she could maintain no-shape for a while yet.

  “It has to be a trap of some sort, Merko. There’s no way she got back to Imperial space. She must have meant she sent a message before she left.”

  “The question is just who is behind this search. Can we afford to just make her disappear?” asked the agent, worriedly.

  The smaller spaceman shrugged. “Can we afford not to?”

  “Look,” said the agent. “She’s just a very young woman. If there was any real muscle behind her, they’d have sent them. Odds are she’s some kind of relative. It must be a wealthy family, to spend that kind of money. But it’s been a good few years.”

  “Then make the deal, but get her on board now. Make sure there’s no record that she did,” said the larger of the two spacemen.

  “I don’t like it. This is not what I agreed to…” the agent protested weakly.

  “You’ll do what we want, Tobi. Or else.”

  The agent glowered sullenly back at them.

  Goth took the opportunity to slip out, and then come back to the doors, rattle them, and knock loudly.

  The three within looked at each other and at her, as Goth walked in. “I’ve thought about it,” she said, ignoring the two spacers and just addressing the agent. “I need a few more hours to consult with…well, other people. I’m not too comfortable with what you told me.”

  The agent looked at the other two again and said gruffly, “It’s go now, or not at all. This is the captain and first mate. They just came to tell me their departure has been set forward. And it’ll cost you twenty thousand maels.”

  That was a huge amount just for a passage, but Goth paid it over without a blink.

  “You must be quite wealthy,” said one of the spacemen.

  “It’s money my Aunt Lina left me,” said Goth. As soon as the money was put away, she calmly ’ported it right back into her purse.

  “Well, we’ll take you across to the ship then,” said the other. “Not long until takeoff.”

  “Oh. I was hoping to send a message…” said Goth.

  “Give it to me, I’ll see it is sent,” said the agent.

  Goth shook her head. “It’ll wait.”

  “I can have your luggage fetched for you.”

  “That would be useful,” Goth said, smiling innocently. She gave him her hotel name and room number. “But I had better go with these gentlemen now.”

  So she went along with them, to the Bolivar. It was much larger than the Venture, and plainly armed. Pausert would have had a fit if the Venture 7333 ever looked that dirty. The Bolivar’s captain and first mate didn’t seem to care or notice. The little cubbyhole they told her was to be her cabin had to be emptied of junk first. “I’ll get someone to clean it out. We weren’t expecting a passenger,” said the Bolivar’s captain. “Have you been on a working ship before, miss?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Goth sweetly. “I was on one, once.” She left out the many ensuing times. It was a dull ache thinking of the Venture.

  “Well, the heads are down there, the mess is up the stair. Stay out of my command deck,” he said, tersely.

  “I am sure I’ll be fine, Captain,” said Goth, not promising anything. “And I may as well clear this stuff out of the cabin. That’ll save some of your hardworking crew some effort.”

  He nodded. “Ju
st put it in the passage.”

  Goth did manage to close the door on the clutter, before stalking after them in no-shape, in time to hear the mate say, “…space her?”

  “It’s that or sell her to Karoda,” said the captain, grimly, “but you can still sometimes get answers out of the slaves they condition. This is too sweet a business to take a chance on.”

  Talk drifted away from her onto loading, and Goth slipped back to her little cabin. She was now very tired from her too frequent use of no-shape—quite hungry, too—but was set on clearing the place out by just tossing everything. Then it occurred to her that she had time…and this might well be where they’d put Pausert’s mother for the trip. And, on touching each item, and reading the story behind it—another tiring, hungry-making process—she found that to be true. Some of it didn’t even take klatha skills: An old space-navy ship-bag at the back of a pile of boxes of spare parts had women’s clothing in it, and her name. Now, if she could just avoid being tossed into space or sold into slavery, she could find out just what had happened to Pausert’s mother. At least, where this link of the chain led.

  She could only hope that it was a short chain.

  And she really wished she had something to eat.

  CHAPTER 10

  Me’a grimaced. “This is a most appalling mess you present me with, Captain. My inclination is to have nothing to do with it. But I have been in coded subradio contact with the Daal of Uldune. Sedmon of the Six Lives has instructed me to give the Wisdoms of Karres any support they need. And that, in particular, applied to three of you. You, Captain Pausert. A particularly dangerous witch called Goth. And the Leewit.”

  The Leewit glowered at her. “You bet.”

  Me’a allowed herself the faintest hint of a smile. “Sedmon knows my weaknesses. I was specifically told not to gamble with you. Any of you. And part of that gamble would be the knowledge that there is a third, powerful, dangerous Karres witch unaccounted for. I have—listed among the powers she is reputed to possess—the ability to be invisible, and probably undetectable. So I need to ask: Where is this Goth? I think it would be wise, from my point of view, to include her in my calculations.”

  Both the captain and the Leewit scowled at her, but, before they could say anything Ta’zara said calmly, “Not to be told. This is your weak flank, lady. You must know you have it, and live and behave accordingly.”

  Me’a sighed. “Strategically sound. But tactically, we need to penetrate two layers of guards. I want all the assets I can get. Besides, I hate the idea of an exposed flank.”

  Ta’zara shrugged. “Live with it, lady.”

  Me’a shook her head. “I prefer…”

  A communicator on the desk buzzed. “Planetary police just entered the building.”

  “How many?” asked the other Na’kalauf bodyguard.

  “Just one. Chief Inspector Salaman.”

  “On her own?” asked the bodyguard.

  “Yes,” replied the voice over the communicator.

  Me’a pursed her lips, shook her head again. “It must be a trap. We’ll be clear in less than three minutes.”

  The communicator voice interrupted. “She says to tell you she’s on her own and needs to talk to you and the people from the ship.”

  “It seems they pay more attention to comings and goings out of the airlocks than we realized,” said Me’a, sourly. “Well. We’ll be out of here with her then. If she’s providing a distraction, they won’t get it. If she really needs to talk—we can talk elsewhere.”

  So they were all bundled into an elevator—which certainly beat climbing all those stairs, even going down. That led into a tunnel with a small groundcar in it, which took them through the dark…somewhere.

  “They’ll bring the policewoman along presently. If need be it can be collapsed. Expensive, but hard for any copper to follow,” said Me’a.

  “I think,” said Ta’zara, “that my mistress should also be hidden. We do not need to tell the policewoman we have a way back to the ship.”

  “There is a screen she could sit behind,” said the other bodyguard.

  The chief inspector arrived a few minutes later. Blindfolded. “We took a tracker bug off her coat. She seems clean otherwise,” said one of the escorts.

  “That would be my assistant. He’s upset about this,” said the chief inspector. “Now, am I going to be allowed to see?”

  “I think not,” said Me’a.

  “I think I can manage to speak without seeing. I assume the enterprising Captain Aron is here.”

  Me’a held a finger to her lips and then replied. “That is for us to know. Now what do you want?”

  “Something completely illegal of course. A temporary alliance, or at least a consultation. One of my informants among the gatherers brought me word of…an unusual story, involving Captain Aron. About granules being devoured by a porpentile—and that creature breaking up into little tumbleflowers.”

  “I see,” said Me’a, not helping.

  “I don’t,” said Chief Inspector Salaman, with a slight smile. “So your identity is still shrouded in mystery.”

  “Who was your informant?” asked Me’a.

  “A gatherer by the name of Malketh. And he’s safely off-world already. You frighten them quite badly. But that wasn’t what I came to talk about. The Consortium are bound to get to hear of it as well. They still have the largest supply of granules, and the most to gain by keeping them rare.”

  “So do we,” said Me’a.

  “To some extent that is true,” admitted the chief inspector. “But the Consortium have large stocks, and can hold out long after the tumbleflowers become too rare to support gatherers. And no gatherers means no smuggling. On the other hand, the Consortium’s expenses are very high because they’ve made a vast profit for many years, and expenses have a way of catching up and resisting any attempt to reduce them.”

  “Our expenses are very high too,” said Me’a.

  “Only because we put a lot of barriers in your way,” replied Chief Inspector Salaman. “Because there is a lot of money to be made off the tariff, which exists to make money from a very lucrative business.”

  “And your point is?” asked Me’a, dryly. “Governments do not reduce spending, either. You will still want the money.”

  “True,” admitted the chief inspector. “But in this situation, Camberwell’s Spacecraft Yards are a much bigger business, and much easier to tax. And they’re dying under the huge cost of air recyclers. You could still run a lucrative business, as long as your margins are good. You’re more adaptable than the Consortium.”

  “Flattery, Inspector, gains little advantage with me,” said Me’a. “But I will consider what you have to say. I suspect you propose breaking open the Consortium’s store caves, and getting the porpentiles into them.”

  “Yes.” The chief inspector sighed. “It has been hard countering you, because you anticipate what I might do.”

  Me’a steepled her fingers, and permitted herself a wry smile, before saying, “I preferred having your predecessors here, Chief Inspector. They reacted. You also anticipate my moves. Reacting to them is so much easier to deal with.”

  “Well, there’s a good reason for breaking the Consortium. If the price of granules falls, there will be not much revenue to be raised by taxing it. I will be reassigned back home to Camberwell,” said the chief inspector.

  “At last you give me a good reason,” said Me’a, dryly. “Now, what do you propose?”

  “The court case against Captain Aron has become very contentious. The Consortium have arranged a major demonstration to demand the execution of the pirate. I have, as a result, had to pull our guard from the security area around the caves, to keep public order,” said the chief inspector smoothly. “Of course their own security and perimeter are still there.”

  “So this is not quite the open-and-shut case you told us it would be,” said Pausert.

  “Why, Captain Aron, how surprising to have you here,” sa
id the chief inspector, mockingly. “It will indeed be a little more interesting than we thought, thanks to your sending me a large group of people to feed in my jail. It’s not the way to earn yourself popularity with the local gatherers hoping for somewhere to sleep.”

  “Er…” said Captain Pausert.

  “But, however, they have provided some valuable testimony,” said the chief inspector. “Including some detailed identikits of some of the pirates who captured the liner that Councilor Stratel was on. I have files and pictures of a rather large number of the people here on Cinderby’s World. As I knew where to start with Bormgo’s goons, we have some remarkable matches. People who were on the lifecraft. People that these rescued slaves would never have seen in their lives.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” said the captain, warily. Every time he had had a brush with the law on various planets—from the trouble he’d gotten into rescuing the witches of Karres on Porlumma in the first place, to Gerota Town on Pidoon, he had come off the worse, or at least financially poorer.

  “It should be. Of course it all depends on what other bits of testimony Councilor Stratel can find. Anyway, under the circumstances, with the possibility of rioting, I have been able to prevail on Judge Amorant to relax the bail conditions for the young lady’s bodyguard, as they cannot fly the spaceship. Now, I had better get back. My assistant is likely to start doing foolish things if I don’t return soon. I will see you in court, Captain.”

  She stood up. “And I am sorry I couldn’t put a face to the legend.”

  “You are fortunate that you could not,” said Me’a. “Take her back.”

  After the policewoman had gone, Me’a said irritably, “It would be worth doing this, no matter what Sedmon of the Six Lives said, just to get rid of her. This raid will have to happen when the police are watching the court case.”

  “Might be when they’re expecting it,” said Pausert.

  “No,” said Ta’zara. “Not a strategy they would expect. You’re talking about letting the porpentiles into the caves. They expect robbery, not that.”

  “Actually,” said Me’a, “I thought robbery sounded more attractive.”