James H. Schmitz - The Witches of Karres

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2024-12-02 0 0 608.65KB 165 页 5.9玖币
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The Witches of Karres
James E. Schmitz
ONE
IT WAS AROUND the hub of the evening on the planet of Porlumma when Captain Pausert, commercial
traveler from the Republic of Nikkeldepain, met the first of the witches of Karres.
It was just plain fate, so far as he could see.
He was feeling pretty good as he left a high-priced bar on a cobbled street near the spaceport, with the
intention of returning straight to his ship. There hadn't been an argument, exactly. But someone had grinned
broadly, as usual, when the captain pronounced the name of his native system; and the captain had pointed out
then, with considerable wit, how much more ridiculous it was to call a planet Porlumma, for instance, than to
call it Nikkeldepain.
He then proceeded to collect an increasing number of pained stares as he continued with a detailed com-
parison of the varied, interesting, and occasionally brilliant role Nikkeldepain had played in history with
Porlumma's obviously dull and dumpy status as a sixth-rate Empire outpost.
In conclusion, he admitted frankly that he wouldn't care to be found dead on Porlumma.
Somebody muttered loudly in Imperial Universum that in that case it might be better if he didn't hang around
Porlumma too long. But the captain only smiled politely, paid for his two drinks, and left.
There was no point in getting into a rhubarb on one of these border planets. Their citizens still had an
innocent notion that they ought to act like frontiersmen but then the Law always showed up at once.
Yes, he felt pretty good. Up to the last four months of his young life, he had never looked on himself as being
particularly patriotic. But compared to most of the Empire's worlds, Nikkeldepain was downright attractive in
its stuffy way. Besides, he was returning there solvent, would they ever be surprised!
And awaiting him, fondly and eagerly, was Illyla, the Miss Onswud, fair daughter of the mighty Councilor
Onswud, and the captain's secretly betrothed for almost a year. She alone had believed in him....
The captain smiled and checked at a dark cross street to get his bearings on the spaceport beacon. Less than
half a mile away.... He set off again. In about six hours he'd be beyond the Empire's space borders and headed
straight for Illyla.
Yes, she alone had believed! After the prompt collapse of the captain's first commercial venture, a miffel-fur
farm, largely on capital borrowed from Councilor Onswud, the future had looked very black. It had even
included a probable ten-year stretch of penal servitude for "willful and negligent abuse of entrusted monies."
The laws of Nikkeldepain were rough on debtors.
"But you've always been looking for someone to take out the old Venture and get her back into trade!" Illyla
reminded her father tearfully.
"Umm, yes! But it's in the blood, my dear! His great-uncle Threbus went the same way! It would be far better
to let the law take its course," said Councilor Onswud, glaring at Pausert who remained sulkily silent. He had
tried to explain that the mysterious epidemic which suddenly wiped out most of the stock of miffels wasn't his
fault. In fact, he more than suspected the tricky hand of young Councilor Rapport who had been wagging
futilely around Illyla for the last couple of years....
"The Venture, now . . . !" Councilor Onswud mused, stroking his long, craggy chin. "Pausert can handle a
ship, at least," he admitted.
That was how it happened. Were they ever going to be surprised! For even the captain realized that Councilor
Onswud was unloading all the dead fish that had gathered the dust of his warehouses for the past fifty years on
him and the Venture, in a last, faint hope of getting some return on those half-forgotten investments. A value of
eighty-two thousand maels was placed on the cargo; but if he'd brought even three-quarters of it back in cash,
all would have been well.
Instead, well, it started with that lucky bet on a legal point with an Imperial official at the Imperial capital
itself. Then came a six-hour race fairly won against a small, fast private yacht; the old Venture 7333 had been a
pirate-chaser in the last century and still could produce twice the speed her looks suggested. From then on the
captain was socially accepted as a sporting man and was in on a long string of jovial parties and meets.
Jovial and profitable, the wealthier Imperials just couldn't resist a gamble, and the penalty the captain always
insisted on was that they had to buy.
He got rid of the stuff right and left. Inside of twelve weeks, nothing remained of the original cargo except
two score bundles of expensively-built but useless tinklewood fishing rods, one dozen gross bales of useful but
unattractive all-weather cloaks, and a case of sophisticated educational toys which showed a disconcerting
tendency to explode when jarred or dropped. Even on a bet, nobody would take those three items. But the
captain had a strong hunch they had been hopefully added to the cargo from his own stocks by Councilor
Rapport; so his failure to sell them didn't break his heart.
He was a neat twenty per cent net ahead, at that point…
And finally came this last-minute rush delivery of medical supplies to Porlumma on the return route. That
haul alone would repay the miffel farm losses three times over!
The captain grinned broadly into the darkness. Yes, they'd be surprised, ... but just where was he now?
He checked again in the narrow street, searching for the port beacon in the sky. There it was, off to his left
and a little behind him. He'd gotten turned around somehow.
He set off carefully down an excessively dark little alley. It was one of those towns where everybody locked
their front doors at night and retired to lit-up enclosed courtyards at the backs of their houses. There were voices
and the rattling of dishes nearby and occasional whoops of laughter and singing all around him; but it was all
beyond high walls which let little or no light into the alley.
It ended abruptly in a cross-alley and another wall. After a moment's debate the captain turned to the left
again. Light spilled out on his new route a hundred yards ahead where a courtyard was opened on the alley.
From it, as he approached, came the sound of doors being violently slammed and then a sudden loud mingling
of voices.
"Yeee-eep!" shrilled a high, childish voice. It could have been mortal agony, terror, or even hysterical
laughter. The captain broke into an apprehensive trot.
"Yes, I see you up there!" a man shouted excitedly in Universum. "I caught you now; you get down from
those boxes! I'll skin you alive! Fifty-two customers sick of the stomachache… YOW!"
The last exclamation was accompanied by a sound as of a small, loosely built wooden house collapsing, and
was followed by a succession of squeals and an angry bellowing, in which the only distinguishable words were:
"...threw the boxes on me!" Then more sounds of splintering wood.
"Hey!" yelled the captain indignantly from the corner of the alley.
All action ceased. The narrow courtyard, brightly illuminated by a single overhead light, was half covered
with a tumbled litter of empty wooden boxes. Standing with his foot temporarily caught in one of them was a
very large fat man dressed all in white and waving a stick. Momentarily cornered between the wall and two of
the boxes, over one of which she was trying to climb, was a smallish, fair-haired girl dressed in a smock of
some kind which was also white. She might be about fourteen, the captain thought - a helpless kid, anyway.
"What do you want?" grunted the fat man, pointing the stick with some dignity at the captain.
"Lay off the kid!" rumbled the captain, edging into the courtyard.
"Mind your own business!" shouted the fat man, waving his stick like a club. "I'll take care of her! She-"
"I never did!" squealed the girl. She burst into tears.
"Try it, Fat and Ugly!" the captain warned. "I'll ram the stick down your throat!"
He was very close now. With a sound of grunting exasperation the fat man pulled his foot free of the box,
wheeled suddenly and brought the end of the stick down on top of the captain's cap. The captain hit him
furiously in the middle of the stomach.
There was a short flurry of activity; somewhat hampered by shattering boxes everywhere. Then the captain
stood up, scowling and breathing hard. The fat man remained sitting on the ground, gasping about -the law!"
Somewhat to his surprise, the captain discovered the girl standing just behind him. She caught his eye and
smiled.
"My name's Maleen," she offered. She pointed at the fat man. "Is he hurt bad?"
"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 (c), 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
摘要：

TheWitchesofKarresJamesE.SchmitzONEITWASAROUNDthehuboftheeveningontheplanetofPorlummawhenCaptainPausert,commercialtravelerfromtheRepublicofNikkeldepain,metthefirstofthewitchesofKarres.Itwasjustplainfate,sofarashecouldsee.Hewasfeelingprettygoodasheleftahigh-pricedbaronacobbledstreetnearthespaceport,w...

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