The Witches of Karres by James E. Schmitz

“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, and 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 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. 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’ 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 leg 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 and 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. “I 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 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. “Serves them right to get hot coals in their back pockets for that though!”

“I thought so,” the captain agreed.

“I’m afraid that poker didn’t catch up with Sunnat,” Goth added. She’d got out of the chair, stood rubbed 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 bolted 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 stem 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 that 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 but 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 the 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.”

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