“Huh-no!” panted the captain. “But maybe we’d better-“
It was too late! A loud, self-assured voice became audible now at the opening to the alley:
“Here, here, here, here, here!” it said in the reproachful, situation-under-control tone that always seemed the same to the captain, on whatever world and in whichever language he heard it. “What’s all this about?” it inquired rhetorically.
“You’ll all have to come along!” it replied.
Police court on Porlumma appeared to be a business conducted on a very efficient, around-the-clock basis. They were the next case up.
Nikkeldepain was an odd name, wasn’t it, the judge smiled. He then listened attentively to the various charges, countercharges and denials.
Bruth the Baker was charged with having struck a citizen of a foreign government on the head with a potentially lethal instrument, produced in evidence. Said citizen admittedly had attempted to interfere as Bruth was attempting to punish his slave, Maleen, also produced in evidence, whom he suspected of having added something to a batch of cakes she was working on that afternoon, resulting in illness and complaints from fifty-two of Bruth’s customers.
Said foreign citizen also had used insulting language; the captain admitted under pressure to “Fat and Ugly.” ‘ Some provocation could be conceded for the action taken by Bruth, but not enough. Bruth paled.
Captain Pausert, of the Republic of Nikkeldepain—everybody but the prisoners smiled this time, was charged
(a) with said attempted interference, (b) with said insult, (c) with having frequently and severely struck Bruth the Baker in the course of the subsequent dispute.
The blow on the head was conceded to have provided a provocation for charge ©, but not enough. Nobody seemed to be charging the slave Maleen with anything. The judge only looked at her curiously, and shook his head.
“As the Court considers this regrettable incident,” he remarked, “it looks like two years for you, Bruth; and about three for you, Captain. Too bad!” The captain had an awful sinking feeling. From what he knew about Imperial court methods in the fringe systems, he probably could get out of this three-year rap. But it would be expensive.
He realized that the judge was studying him reflectively.
“The Court wishes to acknowledge,” the judge continued, “that the captain’s chargeable actions were due largely to a natural feeling of human sympathy for the predicament of the slave Maleen. The Court, therefore, would suggest a settlement as follows, subsequent to which all charges could be dropped:
“That Bruth the Baker resell Maleen of Karres with whose services he appears to be dissatisfied for a reasonable sum to Captain Pausert of the Republic of Nikkeldepain.”
Bruth the Baker heaved a gusty sigh of relief. But the captain hesitated. The buying of human slaves by private citizens was a very serious offense on Nikkeldepain. Still, he didn’t have to make a record of it. If they weren’t going to soak him too much.
At just the right moment Maleen of Karres introduced a barely audible, forlorn, sniffling sound. “How much are you asking for the kid?” the captain inquired, looking without friendliness at his recent antagonist. A day was coming when he would think less severely of Bruth; but it hadn’t come yet.
Bruth scowled back but replied with a certain eagerness, “A hundred and ‘fifty m-“ A policeman standing behind him poked him sharply in the side. Bruth shut up.
“Seven hundred maels,” the judge said smoothly.
“There’ll be Court charges, and a fee for recording the transaction-“ He appeared to make a swift calculation.
“Fifteen hundred and forty-two maels.’
He turned to a clerk. “You’ve looked him up?”
The clerk nodded. “He’s right!”
“And we’ll take your check,” the judge concluded. He gave the captain a friendly smile. “Next case.”
The captain felt a little bewildered.
There was something peculiar about this! He was getting out of it much too cheaply. Since the Empire had quit its wars of expansion, young slaves in good health were a high-priced article. Furthermore, he was practically positive that Bruth the Baker had been willing to sell for a tenth of what he actually had to pay!
Well, he wouldn’t complain. Rapidly, he signed, sealed, and thumbprinted various papers shoved at him by a helpful clerk; and made out a check.
“I guess,” he told Maleen of Karres, “we’d better get along to the ship.”
And now what was he going to do with the kid, he pondered, as he padded along the unlighted streets with his slave trotting quietly behind him. If he showed up with a pretty girl-slave on Nikkeldepain, even a small one, various good friends there would toss him into ten years or so of penal servitude immediately after Illyla had personally collected his scalp. They were a moral lot.
Karres-?
“How far off is Karres, Maleen?” he asked into the dark.
“It takes about two weeks,” Maleen said tearfully.
Two weeks! The captain’s heart sank again.
“What are you blubbering about?” he inquired uncomfortably.
Maleen choked, sniffed, and began sobbing openly.
“I have two little sisters!” she cried.
“Well, well,” the captain said encouragingly. “That’s nice, you’ll be seeing them again soon. I’m taking you home, you know.”
Great Patham- now he’d said it! But after all-
However, this piece of good news seemed to have the wrong effect on his slave. Her sobbing grew much more violent.
“No, I won’t,” she wailed. “They’re here!”
“Huh?” said the captain. He stopped short. “Where?”
“And the people they’re with are mean to them too!” wept Maleen.
The captain’s heart dropped clean through his boots. Standing there in the dark, he helplessly watched it coming:
“You could buy them awfully cheap!” she said.
In times of stress the young life of Karres appeared to take to the heights. It might be a mountainous place. The Leewit sat on the top shelf on the back wall of the crockery and antiques store, strategically flanked by two expensive-looking vases. She was a dollsized edition of Maleen; but her eyes were cold and gray instead of blue and tearful. About five or six, the captain vaguely estimated. He wasn’t very good at estimating them around that age.
“Good evening,” he said as he came in through the door. The Crockery and Antiques Shop had been easy to find. Like Bruth the Baker’s, it was the one spot in the neighborhood that was all lit up.
“Good evening, Sir!” said what was presumably the store owner, without looking around. He sat with his back to the door, in a chair approximately at the center of the store and facing the Leewit at a distance of about twenty feet.
“… and there you can stay without food or drink till the Holy Man comes in the morning!” he continued immediately, in the taut voice of a man who has gone through hysteria and is sane again. The captain realized he was addressing the Leewit.
“Your other Holy Man didn’t stay very long!” the diminutive creature piped, also ignoring the captain. Apparently she had not yet discovered Maleen behind him.
“This is a stronger denomination, much stronger!” the store owner replied, in a shaking voice but with a sort of relish. “He’ll exorcise you, all right, little demon, you’ll whistle no buttons off him! Your time is up! Go on and whistle all you want! Bust every vase in the place-“
The Leewit blinked her gray eyes thoughtfully at him.
“Might!” she said.
“But if you try to climb down from there,” the store owner went on, on a rising note, “I’ll chop you into bits, into little, little bits!”
He raised his arm as he spoke and weakly brandished what the captain recognized with a start of horror as a highly ornamented but probably still useful antique battle-ax.
“Ha!” said the Leewit.
“Beg your pardon, sir!” the captain said, clearing his throat.
“Good evening, sir!” the store owner repeated, without looking around. “What can I do for you?”
“I came to inquire,” the captain said hesitantly, “about that child.”
The store owner shifted about in his chair and squinted at the captain with red-rimmed eyes.
“You’re not a Holy Man!” he said.
“Hello, Maleen!” the Leewit said suddenly. “That him?”
“We’ve come to buy you,” Maleen said. “Shut up!”
“Good!” said the Leewit.
“Buy it? Are you mocking me, sir?” the store owner inquired.
“Shut up, Moonell!” A thin, dark, determined looking woman had appeared in the doorway which led through the back wall of the store. She moved out a step under the shelves; and the Leewit leaned down from the top shelf and hissed. The woman moved hurriedly back into the doorway.
“Maybe he means it,” she said in a more subdued voice.
“I can’t sell to a citizen of the Empire,” the store owner said defeatedly.
“I’m not a citizen,” the captain said shortly. This time he wasn’t going to name it.
“No, he’s from Nikkel-“ Maleen began.
“Shut up, Maleen!” the captain said helplessly in turn.