The Shaman of Karres

by Eric Flint

  “Then I guess you’d have the Empire, the Daal of Uldune, and us—the witches of Karres—after you,” said the Leewit, walking out from behind the screen, stroking a small rochat, which was hanging over her shoulders like a purple fluffy collar.

  “Where did you get that from?” asked the captain. “You’d better give it back,” he said.

  “It’s a baby and needs looking after,” announced the Leewit. “It was lost back in the tunnels and followed us out.”

  “They do live down there,” said Me’a. “Live and breed.”

  “I’m sure someone else would love to have it and would look after it,” said the captain, knowing he’d lost, but still trying. “There’s really no place for it on a spaceship.”

  “They seem to do perfectly well on spaceships,” said Me’a. “And they cope with the foulest of conditions. They cheerfully breathe the air outside the domes and they can eat almost anything. They are common on my homeworld, even if they don’t breed there. I had one as a pet, when I was young.”

  She seemed to be taking a rather nasty pleasure in both Pausert and Ta’zara’s reaction to the Leewit’s new pet. But it was her turn next. “Why haven’t you got any legs?” the Leewit asked.

  Me’a straightened up in her chair and said, her eyes narrow and hard, “Shut up, little girl. Or else…”

  In reply the Leewit whistled at her. A two-pitched shrill and directional whistle, which hurt Pausert’s ear drums and shattered several pieces of glass, and made Me’a clutch her ears and wince in pain. The captain—and Ta’zara, stepping in front of the Leewit—prepared for consequences. A cocoon would protect her, the captain thought, preparing the klatha pattern. But it might be best applied to the Na’kalauf bodyguard…

  The Leewit stepped out from behind the bulk of Ta’zara. “It’s important,” she said. She didn’t sound like a small girl at all, but far more like her mother Toll. Pausert was willing to bet she was channeling the teaching pattern in her head. “And don’t make me whistle again. The next time I will break your ear drums and leave you deaf, if you’re lucky.”

  It was plain that Me’a was used to being in control and was not ready for this kind of situation. So the captain did his best to put a bit of caution into her calculations. “She’s a Karres witch, Me’a. And she’s a healer. Don’t do anything hasty.”

  Me’a turned her steely look on him. “It’s not a question I tolerate. You are in my control. I have three hundred…”

  The sound was abruptly cut off, because Pausert had put her into a klatha cocoon.

  The Na’kalauf bodyguard reached for her and his hand struck the cocoon. He was ready to fight—as were the two other of her men in the room. “What have you done?” he demanded.

  “Something only I can undo,” said the captain. “And probably saved her hearing. Now I think it is time we all calmed down. The Leewit asked her a simple question.”

  “And I still need to know,” said the Leewit. “I’ve been able to feel it…like a sore tooth ever since we got close to her. And she can’t hear you now. She can breathe, but that is about it. If anything happens to the captain she’ll die like that. Not even a Mark 20 Blaster has any effect.”

  “It is my task to keep her safe,” said the bodyguard.

  “She’s safer than in a vault in the Daal’s Bank,” said the Leewit. “Clumping unhappy about it, but safe.”

  “I’ll let her out, if you keep her from doing anything stupid,” said the captain. “But if she puts a foot…uh, hand wrong, back in she will go. She’ll be safe all right, until I let her out.”

  “She does not like to have her…condition spoken of. But I will do my best. I bind myself to that,” said the bodyguard. He stepped up and pulled a wire free of its connectors. “That will stop her calling the others, until I have spoken to her.”

  “And you too,” growled Ta’zara, at her other two men. They nodded, wide-eyed.

  So Pausert reversed the pattern. Like the Leewit when the captain had done it the first time to save her life, Me’a had not taken kindly to being imprisoned in the klatha cocoon. She started with swearing—well enough to get the Leewit to laugh. That didn’t seem to help. She stopped and ground her teeth. “Right. This farce stops now. Pa’leto, Mazan, Teem, take them down.”

  Nobody moved. “They’re a threat, Pa’leto. Take them. Or I will.”

  “No, mistress. To get you free I gave my oath that I would stop you doing anything stupid.”

  “And that would be suicidal,” growled Ta’zara, “let alone stupid. Think about it, instead of yelling.”

  That silenced her. She sat and glowered at them for a few moments. Then she said, “I understand why the Daal of Uldune warned that you were to be treated with great care. What did you do to me?”

  “For us to know,” said the Leewit.

  “But you don’t want to have it happen again,” said the captain.

  “You could get a funny hat like the Daal,” said the Leewit. “He thinks it protects him.”

  “And does it?” asked Me’a, her voice slightly more normal.

  The Leewit just looked at her, and grinned.

  Me’a took a deep breath. “I have learned something of a lesson. But I am sorry, my…condition, is off-limits. It is something I must live with.” The steeliness was back in her voice again.

  “She’s a Karres healer, Me’a,” said Pausert.

  “It is untreatable. A degenerative condition, not that uncommon on my homeworld.”

  Pausert started to get some idea quite what made the smuggler boss tick. Looking closely, the lines around her eyes were probably from dealing with pain. She was younger than he’d thought at first. She had to be ruthless and driven to get that far, that fast, in a large, powerful organization, especially in a wheelchair. Pity was something she actively fought off. In a flash of insight, Pausert knew that hope was too.

  “It’s not only for you,” said the Leewit. “There’ll be others. I need to know in advance.” She stepped forward and took Me’a’s hand.

  “Don’t touch me…oh. What did you do?” demanded Me’a, in a tone between suspicion and awe.

  “Stopped you feeling the pain. It’s still there, I just blocked it for now,” said the Leewit. There was that adult tone to her voice that Pausert knew meant she was getting help again from the teaching pattern the young of Karres had imprinted in their minds. It allowed them a lot more freedom, and more help when they needed it.

  “I don’t allow myself drugs.” That same steely control came through in Me’a’s reply.

  “No drugs. I just stopped the nerve from producing the chemicals to send news of the pain to your brain. It’s not going to last. Now shut up. I need to concentrate.” Her hands glowed slightly with klatha force.

  Pausert walked over, put his hands on her shoulder, and then moved to the other shoulder because the rochat squirmed away under his hand. He willed himself to lend her his strength. They stood like that for quite a long time. Me’a eventually decided to put an end to it. “I need my hand back.”

  “Shut up,” said the Leewit, and then added a few more words in another language that made Me’a open her eyes wide in amazement. “Nearly done.” Then the Leewit pulled her hands away and said, “Now I need food. Lots. Pancakes with Wintenberry jelly.”

  “What?” asked Me’a, taken aback by the change in direction.

  “She’s used a lot of energy. She needs food. Now,” explained Ta’zara, with a suggestive crack of his knuckles.

  Me’a looked at him, looked at her bodyguard. “See to it,” she said to one of her men. “Now. Just what have you done to me? When will the pain come back? And how did you know our native language? Such bad words too!” Her tone was…odd. Almost plaintive.

  The Leewit yawned and flopped into a chair. “I only like the bad words. You had an autoimmune disease. I’ve stopped your body reacting to it. You’ll get some odd aches, and funny sensations as the nerves get used to it. It was starting to affect your hands too.
”

  “Do you think I didn’t know?” snapped Me’a, sounding more like herself. “What have you done…?”

  “Lemme eat, and I’ll explain,” said the Leewit, tiredly. She looked very small and frail, and the captain put his hand back on her shoulder, supporting her, until the food arrived. Then she ate with ravenous speed, and startling volume. The small rochat stuck its head out, and snatched a bite—but it had to be quick about it.

  The passing time had obviously given Me’a time to think, and to calm down. “Shall I have more food brought, Your Wisdom?” she asked politely.

  “Reckon I’m about done,” said the Leewit. “But the captain could probably use some.”

  Me’a nodded. “It shall happen as fast as possible, Your Wisdom.”

  The Leewit wiped her face on her sleeve, and her hands on her trousers. “You’re not hurting anymore, are you?” she asked of Me’a.

  “No. It is something I have lived with for a long time. Is it…really going to last?” There was a desperate appeal in her voice.

  The Leewit nodded. “Yep.”

  “I want to believe you, but…” Me’a’s voice faded off.

  “You’ll see,” said the Leewit. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. I gotta sleep.” And she leaned herself into Pausert and snuggled down into the chair.

  The captain had helped himself to two of the new plate of pancakes. “Rest,” he said, calmly, looking at the smuggler boss. “We’re going to have to get her back onto the ship, and Vezzarn off it before the trial.”

  “That can and will be arranged,” said Me’a.

  And so it was. It seemed like Me’a had given them a degree of cooperation before—but now all her power and assets were at their disposal. It appeared this was not the only tunnel under the dome city, and the ropes had been a mere minor route for the less trusted. They had a route to outside—several, in fact. One of them came out a few hundred yards from the spaceport perimeter. Another had targeted the store caves of the Consortium. “We’re not there yet,” admitted Me’a. “But you did disturb a plan that is only weeks from completion. It won’t matter, now.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Sitting back in the Venture, all together again, just the four of them, was a pleasant respite, even if the trial was still coming. Late that night, long after the Leewit had gone to bed, Pausert was sitting in the command chair, thinking. It was a comfortable and familiar spot, and, Pausert had to admit to himself, one he kept hoping Goth would suddenly appear next to. But instead it was the Leewit, in her nightclothes, who did. “Can’t sleep,” she said tersely.

  That was the Leewit’s way of saying she was upset about something. So Pausert got two hot drinks and sat down to listen. They talked of all sorts of things, of places they’d been, and people they knew. Pausert just let the conversation take its own course. He’d learned from Goth and the Leewit: They’d tell him sooner or later. If you asked directly, they wouldn’t answer. The conversation soon drifted to talking about Me’a and the plans to get into the store chambers. The captain observed: “It’s like we’re dealing with a different person.”

  There was a long silence from the Leewit. And then she said, “We are. The disease—well, the effects of it—changed the way her brain worked. It…she was pretty horrible under it. It made her…what’s the word…obsessive. That’s gone. It’s kind of not her anymore.”

  Pausert had learned to read some of the Leewit’s tones and mannerisms. She wasn’t finished. So he waited.

  Eventually she said, “It was killing her. But in a way I’ve also killed her. I could do the same to Ta’zara, cure him. Take away his ability to remember what happened on the Illtraming World with the Megair Cannibals. But…I don’t think I can do that. I feel bad because I don’t, because…the other Na’kalauf guard said Ta’zara’s name means ‘the laughing man.’ I knew that, because I can translate his language, but I’ve never heard him laugh.”

  Sometimes, Pausert realized, you had to get a grip on the fact that the Leewit was still very young, and having to deal with matters that adults struggled with. “Then don’t,” he said calmly. “We’re Karres people. We do what needs doing. Sometimes that means doing nothing, or finding another way to skin a miffel.”

  “Huh,” said the Leewit. It was a thoughtful huh, but the captain was still wary. The Leewit’s fuse had gotten longer as she grew, but it hadn’t made her less explosive. And he felt they were heading for an explosion somewhere down the track. But she uncurled herself from the seat, stood up and gave him a hug and headed back to her cabin, leaving Pausert to wonder what was coming. It wasn’t that long in getting there—Ta’zara slipped into the command room. The broad man could be remarkably silent for someone so large. “She is asleep,” he said. “I just stayed long enough to make sure.”

  “You were listening?” asked Pausert.

  “I am her La’gaiff. Her bodyguard. I need to watch over her. But she plainly wished to be alone with you, Captain,” explained Ta’zara. “You are quite right. It is…needful that I remember my brothers, my clansmen. Our people require it. Please do not let her take it away from me.”

  And then he too left.

  * * *

  The courthouse was packed. If it had to get any fuller it would have needed a second layer of people. “They must be expecting to hang us,” said the captain, darkly.

  “It’s free entertainment,” said Inspector Detective Salaman. “Nothing much else is free here.”

  “Not even us,” said Pausert, wryly.

  The case began with all the usual formalities, and soon the captain was learning how wicked a fellow he was. He felt quite proud of his antics as a star-marauding pirate. How he’d disabled the helpless passenger liner with vicious green blasts of his ship’s guns, before his men had captured the passengers and consigned them in manacles to the hold as slaves.

  The prosecution had two of the rescued prisoners and Councilor Stratel as witnesses, telling a curiously identical story, down to all the fine details. The captain held off cross-examination until Stratel had been called. “So you saw this happen with your own eyes did you, Councilor?”

  The man looked disdainfully at him. “Yes, as I said, we were in the main observation deck of the Moria when your ship attacked us.”

  “And you saw me leading the pirate boarding party?”

  “Yes, I recognize you clearly.”

  “You saw the atomic blasts of our fire?”

  “Yes. It hit our ship’s control room, murdering innocent spacemen!” said Stratel, wiping away an imaginary tear.

  “Ah. You saw that, did you?”

  “Yes, a terrible, unprovoked attack on an unarmed peaceful passenger liner.”

  “Very interesting,” said Pausert. “I looked up the Moria in the Imperial Ship Registry. Firstly, she was armed. Secondly, she was built on a class G Starchaser framework, on Camberwell. The observation deck is one hundred eighty degrees from the control room. You can’t see one from the other.”

  “Well, I didn’t actually see the shot hit,” admitted Stratel. “But it was obvious where it was going to hit.”

  “So you lied under oath,” said Pausert pleasantly. “You do know that our ship has been examined by the planetary police. They have seen all our armament and can attest that we have rather old nova guns. They’re out of fashion because they’re rather hard to aim and are unreliable. But they’re what we’ve got. I don’t know what you saw out there, sir, but it wasn’t our ship. Now the common atomic blast-cannons do produce a green ionized blast, but nova-gun fire looks purple.”

  “I misremember the color. It’s not relevant,” said Stratel, crossly.

  “All of you misremembered the color. All of you remember the same place on the ship being struck.”

  “Well, that was what you vile pirates hit,” said Stratel.

  “Liar, liar, your pants are on fire!” said the Leewit loudly, and had to be hushed. So did the laughing crowd.

  After that, they adjourned
before the captain, the crew of the Venture, and their witnesses were to address the court. A message came to the captain and his crew: “Me’a says that you’re to drag it out a bit. The rock is harder than they thought. They don’t want to use explosives but may have to.”

  “The court recesses for lunch,” said Pausert. “Tell Me’a that if she can get me out there, I can deal with it. She can arrange it with the chief inspector.”

  It wasn’t that hard to drag things on—the process was slow—with each of the Venture’s crew making their statements. The prosecutor tried to trip the captain up and failed. But he thought he would have it easy when the Leewit stepped up to the stand—and had to be provided with a stool to stand on so she could be seen. You could hear that by his tone as he said, condescendingly, “Now, little girl, of course you don’t understand…”

  “Why did that man”—the Leewit pointed at Stratel—“give you all that money? Mr. Judge, is he supposed to be giving that man money?”

  And while everyone else was staring at the prosecutor, the captain, who knew the Leewit too well, saw her purse her lips, but this directional whistle was not one human ears were meant to hear. The Leewit had come a long way from just breaking eardrums and shattering fragile things with her whistles. She’d been working on new types and effects. Sound could do strange things to the human mind…and in this case the human sweat glands and tear ducts…it could even frighten one quite badly.

  The judge eventually managed to get the crowd to quiet down, giving the prosecutor time to compose himself. That didn’t help him very much, though, as the Leewit managed to ask him far more pointed questions than he asked her, trading shamelessly on being a little girl who didn’t understand anything, when she was told that she was there to answer questions, not ask them. Her questions always seemed to reduce him to a stuttering panic. He gave up very quickly. His questioning of Vezzarn, after that, was hasty and not very effective. By the time he got to Ta’zara, he’d gotten his wind again. And he might as well not have had it. Questioning Ta’zara and hoping to trap him was a waste of effort. The bodyguard had very precise recall, and wasn’t afraid of anything, let alone some windbag.