“I never heard of Nikkel,” the store owner muttered doubtfully.
“Maleen!” the woman called shrilly. “That’s the name of one of the others, Bruth the Baker got her. He means it, all right! He’s buying them!”
“A hundred and fifty maels!” the captain said craftily, remembering Bruth the Baker. “In cash.”
The store owner looked dazed.
“Not enough, Moonell!” the woman called. “Look at all it’s broken! Five hundred maels!”
There was a sound then, so thin the captain could hardly hear it. It pierced at his eardrums like two jabs of a delicate needle. To right and left of him, two highly glazed little jugs went clink-clink!, showed a sudden veining of cracks, and collapsed.
A brief silence settled on the store. And now that he looked around more closely, the captain could spot here and there other little piles of shattered crockery, and places where similar ruins apparently had been swept up, leaving only traces of colored dust.
The store owner laid the ax carefully down beside his chair, stood up, swaying a little, and came towards the captain.
“You offered me a hundred and fifty maels!” he said rapidly as he approached. “I accept it here and now, before witnesses!” He grabbed the captain’s hand in both of his and pumped it up and down vigorously. “Sold!” he yelled.
Then he wheeled around in a leap and pointed a shaking hand at the Leewit.
“And NOW,” he howled, “break something! Break anything! You’re his! I’ll sue him for every mael he ever made and ever will!”
“Oh, do come help me down, Maleen!” the Leewit pleaded prettily.
For a change the store of Wansing the jeweler was dimly lit and very quiet. It was a sleek, fashionable place in a fashionable shopping block near the spaceport. The front door was unlocked and Wansing was in. The three of them entered quietly, and the door sighed quietly shut behind them. Beyond a great crystal display counter Wansing was moving about among a number of opened shelves, talking softly to himself. Under the crystal of the counter and in close-packed rows on the satin-covered shelves reposed a many-colored gleaming and glittering and shining. Wansing was no piker.
“Good evening, sir!” the captain said across the counter.
“It’s morning!” the Leewit remarked from the other side of Maleen.
“Maleen!” said the captain.
“We’re keeping out of this!” Maleen said to the Leewit.
“All right,” said the Leewit.
Wansing had come around jerkily at the captain’s greeting but had made no other move. Like all the slave owners the captain had met on Porlumma so far, Wansing seemed unhappy. Otherwise he was a large, dark, sleek man with jewels in his ears and a smell of expensive oils and perfumes about him.
“This place is under constant visual guard, of course,” he told the captain gently. “Nothing could possibly happen to me here. Why am I so frightened?”
“Not of me, I’m sure!” the captain said with an uncomfortable attempt at geniality. “I’m glad your store’s still open,” he went on briskly. “I’m here on business. “
“Oh, yes, it’s still open, of course,” Wansing said.
He gave the captain a slow smile and turned back to his shelves. “I’m taking inventory, that’s why. I’ve been taking inventory since early yesterday morning. I’ve counted them all seven times.”
“You’re very thorough,” the captain said.
“Very, very thorough!” Wansing nodded to the shelves. “The last time I found I had made a million maels. But twice before that I had lost approximately the same amount. I shall have to count them again, I suppose.” He closed a drawer softly. “I’m sure I counted those before. But they move about constantly. Constantly! It’s horrible.”
“You have a slave here called Goth,” the captain said, driving to the point.
“Yes, I do,” Wansing said, nodding. “And I’m sure she understands by now I meant no harm. I do, at any rate. It was perhaps a little- but I’m sure she understands now, or will soon.”
“Where is she?” the captain inquired, a trifle uneasily.
“In her room perhaps,” Wansing suggested. “It’s not so bad when she’s there in her room with the door closed. But often she sits in the dark and looks at you as you go past… ” He opened another drawer, peered into it, closed it quietly again. “Yes, they do move!” he whispered, as if confirming an earlier suspicion. “Constantly… ”
“Look, Wansing,” the captain said in a loud, firm voice. “I’m not a citizen of the Empire. I want to buy this Goth. I’ll pay you a hundred and fifty maels, cash. “
Wansing turned around completely again and looked at the captain. “Oh, you do?” he said. “You’re not a citizen?” He walked a few steps to the side of the counter, sat down at a small desk and turned a light on over it. Then he put his face in his hands for a moment.
“I’m a wealthy man,” he muttered. “An influential man! The name of Wansing counts for a great deal on Porlumma. When the Empire suggests you buy, you buy of course, but it need not have been I who bought her! I thought she would be useful in the business; and then even I could not sell her again within the Empire. She has been here a week!”
He looked up at the captain and smiled. “One hundred and fifty maels,” he said. “Sold! There are records to be made out. He reached into a drawer and took out some printed forms. He began to write rapidly. The captain produced identifications.
Maleen said suddenly, “Goth?”
“Right here,” a voice murmured. Wansing’s hand made a convulsive jerk, but he did not look up. He kept on writing.
Something small and lean and bonelessly supple, dressed in a dark jacket and leggings, came across the thick carpets of Wansing’s store and stood behind the captain. This one might be about nine or ten.
“I’ll take your check, captain,” Wansing said politely.” You must be an honest man. Besides, I want to frame it … “
“And now,” the captain heard himself say in the remote voice of one who moves through a strange dream, “I suppose we could go to the ship.”
The sky was gray and cloudy, and the streets were lightening. Goth, he noticed, didn’t resemble her sisters. She had brown hair cut short a few inches below her ears, and brown eyes with long, black lashes. Her nose was short and her chin was pointed. She made him think of some thin, carnivorous creature, like a weasel.
She looked up at him briefly, grinned and said, “Thanks!”
“What was wrong with him?” chirped the Leewit, walking backwards for a last view of Wansing’s store.
“Tough crook,” muttered Goth. The Leewit giggled.
“You premoted this just dandy, Maleen!” she stated next.
“Shut up,” said Maleen.
“All right,” said the Leewit. She glanced up at the captain’s face. “You’ve been fighting!” she said virtuously. “Did you win?”
“Of course the captain won!” said Maleen.
“Good for you!” said the Leewit.
“What about the take-off?” Goth asked the captain. She seemed a little worried.
“Nothing to it!” the captain said stoutly, hardly bothering to wonder how she’d guessed the take-off was the one maneuver on which he and the old Venture consistently failed to cooperate.
“No,” said Goth. “I meant, when?”
“Right now,” said the captain. “They’ve already cleared us. We’ll get the sign any second.”
“Good,” said Goth. She walked off slowly down the passage towards the central section of the ship. The take-off was pretty bad, but the Venture made it again. Half an hour later, with Porlumma dwindling safely behind them, the captain switched to automatic and climbed out of his chair. After considerable experimentation he got the electric butler adjusted to four breakfasts, hot, with coffee. It was accomplished with a great deal of advice and attempted assistance from the Leewit, rather less from Maleen, and no comment from Goth.
“Everything will be coming along in a few minutes now!” he announced. Afterwards it struck him there had been a quality of grisly prophecy about the statement.
“If you’d listen to me,” said the Leewit; “we’d have been done eating a quarter of an hour ago!” She was perspiring but triumphant; she had been right all along.
“Say, Maleen,” she said suddenly, “you premoting again?”
Premoting? The captain looked at Maleen. She seemed pale and troubled.
“Spacesick?” he suggested. “I’ve got some pills…”
“No, she’s premoting,” the Leewit said, scowling. “What’s up, Maleen?”
“Shut up,” said Goth.
“All right,” said the Leewit. She was silent a moment and then began to wriggle. “Maybe we’d better-”
“Shut up,” said Maleen.
“It’s all ready,” said Goth.
“What’s all ready?” asked the captain.
“All right,” said the Leewit. She looked at the captain. “Nothing,” she said.
He looked at them then, and they looked at him, one set each of gray eyes, and brown, and blue. They were all sitting around the control room floor in a circle, the fifth side of which was occupied by the electric butler. What peculiar little waifs, the captain thought. He hadn’t perhaps realized until now just how very peculiar.