The Sorceress of Karres (27 page)

"Okay. Are we going to tell them?" The Leewit jerked her thumb at the other prisoners.

The captain nodded. "I'll tell them we'll be back for them. It's only right."

The three prisoners that had been there when they came looked resigned. The tattooed man bit his lip and took a deep breath. "They like you to do that. Expect you to do that. I'm waiting my chance. Leave the kid with me. Or kill her quickly."

It was the first real sign of emotion Pausert had seen from him. "We'll be fine. Really. Just be ready when we come back, because I plan to blast out of this planet as if my tail was on fire."

"Almost," said the one tall thin man, "you make me believe in Patham again. Or in more than his mercy."

Pausert grinned. "The locals are about to start believing in his seventh hell. The really nasty one." He turned to the archeologist. "Mebeckey. We'll be back . . ."

"Guards! Guar—"

Vezzarn rapped him smartly over the head. "Mister nice guy. Sorry, Captain. I should have been quicker."

Ta'zara shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You can shout all you like in here. They never come."

"Well, then we'd better go anyway."

The tattooed man from Na'kalauf sighed. "I have never known any of them to come and talk to prisoners. But . . . anyway, it won't help you, but good luck."

Pausert warmed to the man. He must have been through hell, waiting to be eaten. "We do have a few tricks up our sleeves," he said. "Have faith."

"It hurts too much to do that," said Ta'zara.

They left via the pole. It had very obviously been put there for just that purpose. Only, unlike the many who must have tried it before them, the four of them did not drop over the wall into the swamp for the hunters.

Instead, they switched on the scrambler and sat against the wall. Goth did a light-shift of them to appear like a part of the wall. "I've gone to temperature and scent, too, but I don't know how long I can keep that up," she said. "It's a real strain trying to do several shifts at once. I'm not even trying to disguise sound, so be quiet."

"It doesn't matter," said the Leewit. "Everything stinks around here and I'll soon be as cold as the wall, anyway."

That was the hardest part. It was cold. The Leewit tried to burrow into the captain while they sat there keeping still.

And very soon, the eager Cannibals were hunting out into the swamp. All Pausert could do was hope that it was even colder and wetter and more miserable out there. It seem hard to believe that it could be.

"Well. It looks like that worked," said Pausert.

They left together, heading for the spacefield.

"Easier if we go as a bunch of gray-skins," said Goth, once they were away from the prison camp. She light-shifted them into a group of the Megair Cannibals. Because she knew the pattern, they were all ones with the collars. Other Megair Cannibals sheered away from them.

"I think we were right," said Pausert. "Most of the time with these guys, it seems to be might and numbers and rank that work their hierarchy. So as long as we look like a bunch of high lords, the ordinary Cannibals will leave us alone."

"Makes sense," said Goth.

"Yeah," said the Leewit. "Only it's not quite 'lord.' It's 'him who kills most.' One finger-bone from every fight."

Pausert blinked, thinking of the Megair Cannibal who had come to see them. That was a lot of fingers. And yet . . . he had wanted to know.

They made their way to the
Venture
. A team of Megair Cannibals was in the process of unbolting the front nova turret.

The Leewit shouted at them.

The effect was quite comical. They stopped and hastily began reassembling the unit.

"It looks like it worked," said the captain. "Give them another few minutes and we'll move the ship."

Before too long, only a single Cannibal was left in the area, one with a three-finger collar. Since he seemed disinclined to go anywhere, they walked up the gangway. The three-bone collar tried to stop them. The Leewit whistled at him, and he fell over.

"Stunner," she said. "Works well."

"You're supposed to bite off the finger. That's how you get followers," said Goth. "But I guess we'll just haul him inside and lock him in one of the staterooms."

"I am not biting off his finger!" said the Leewit.

The poor
Venture
showed some signs of looting. Much of what could be carried away easily, had been. However, it was apparent that they hadn't yet started on disassembling the ship's main components. Perhaps they were still trying to work out how it moved so fast.

Outside, night was beginning to fall on Megair 4. The rain, of course, had never stopped falling.

"I think we should go and set fire to their whole nest," said the Leewit furiously.

"Certainly the fire-control system. And maybe break the place apart while we're at it," said Goth, almost as cross.

"First we're going across to the dump," said Pausert, firmly. "I'd rather lift with a vessel that doesn't just have the Sheewash drive to rely on. We can lock the ship up. Gutting her doesn't seem to be a rush job for the gray-faces."

"Leave me here, Skipper," said Vezzarn. "I'll get the other units in and check to see if they've damaged anything else."

"Better not have," said Goth, grumpily.

A little later, Pausert and the two Karres witches—appearing to be a party twelve strong—left. Vezzarn shook the captain's hand. "If something goes wrong, I know you'll come and fetch me, Captain. I don't fancy being someone's dinner."

"You're too old and stringy to be nice eating anyway," said the Leewit, giving him a hug. "Don't worry. We got Goth and the captain."

"And we have her," said Goth, grinning.

And me
, said a vatch-voice in their heads.

"Where have you been?" demanded the Leewit. "They've been messing with my stuff!"

Looking
, said the vatchlet.
Big complicated dream this place. Two kinds of dream things here. Sharp hungry kind. And the soft wet ones.

"Everything here is wet!" said Goth. "Anyway, Captain. Let's go and get on with it. You got an atomic lamp with you? 'Cause I don't think the electrics will be working in those old crates."

Pausert had, and a universal toolkit from a drawer that had miraculously been overlooked.

"You keep the
Venture
safe for us, Little-bit? Until we come back? Please?" said the Leewit.

Sure. Need someone to play with. And the dreamstuff this place is made of is happy. Not like out there. Nasty things happened there.

Sometimes making sense out of what the little vatch was saying was quite a challenge, thought Pausert. Cracked space, half-in/half-out dimensional ships. The ship's dreamstuff made of happy . . . about the only thing that made sense was the part about nasty stuff happening out there. And ten to one they weren't talking about the same nasty stuff.

"Well, can you keep the locals away? We want to leave, but we need to fix some things first. We need to go and get some spare parts."

Sure.

"You can have fun with them if they come," said the Leewit generously. "Not like the captain, where I told you to leave off."

Pausert made a mental note of the fact that the Leewit seemed to have gained a very high level of cooperation from this vatch. The little creature could easily stop quite a force if it wanted to. More than a mere locked airlock.

So they went.

It was almost completely dark now, and they did not encounter one Megair Cannibal in their stumbling wet progress to the junkyard of ships. Once there, it was a case of picking the best possible. The captain chose a Tullurian freighter—quite an old ship by the looks of her. She was, of course, gutted. But the Megair Cannibals hadn't ripped out her drives. It seemed they preferred their own. And her multiplier link was there. The jacks were a bit different, and the serial bus, but he could hotwire those, given a few minutes.

Down in the empty hold he found the other thing he'd been hoping for, still bolted to the little cargo-crane—a small grav-tractor, for loading. He sent Goth and the Leewit back with the multiplier link module and had the grav-tractor out by the time they got back. Walking back to the
Venture
—well, staggering back—the captain wished there really were twelve of them to carry it.

"What do you want it for?" asked Goth.

"I hope it'll work on the Phantoms," panted Pausert. "They're not keen on gravity wells. I have a feeling they won't like this either."

"If you say so, Captain. So what next? I reckon the prisoners."

"You're right, I think," he said struggling to breathe and talk. "If we just, huh, let me get this in, and, huh, do a quick bit of wiring . . . tell me about the inside . . .  How best to get a safe boost out of here . . . short of the Egger Route."

"Well, Sheewash off the ground is always tricky. You're supposed to be a ten-year adept before you try it." He saw a flash of teeth. "Might be safer than your launches, though, Captain! I figured, we go fetch the prisoners. March them over here, like they're dinner. And put them into the
Venture
. Locked up, after Mebeckey's last little act—I don't want them deciding to take the
Venture
without us or something. And then the Leewit and me go into that mound. Let the Leewit whistle at their fire-control. Maybe at their communications center too. You have the
Venture
all warmed up. Then we scamper as fast as we can, try a low launch trajectory and hit the Sheewash as soon as we're reasonably well clear of the ground."

They'd reached the
Venture
's ramp and the captain had no breath to spare while he carried the heavy grav-tractor unit into the
Venture.
But when he'd set it down and panted for a while, safe in the dry, lit interior of the
Venture,
he nodded. "It sounds good. Except that I think we might as well go together. We've all got klatha skills that complement the others. And Vezzarn can run pre-ignition for me." He looked at the old spacer. "Leave without us and you've got no fast way to get past the Phantoms. So keep your nerve."

The old spacer nodded. "You came back for me, and I learned one thing for sure, Captain. You don't mess with Their Wisdoms. I guess the Megair Cannibals are going to learn that the hard way."

"I should have told them that you don't mess around with the Leewit's stuff," said Pausert wryly. "She's gone quiet and has blood her in eye. She's safer to be around when she's just her usual noisy self."

Vezzarn nodded. "The ship itself and the engines seem okay, Captain. But they took your Pantara detector unit. And they broke open the armory cupboard."

"Now I've got blood in my eye too," said Pausert crossly.

"It's all right, Captain. They didn't even find my lockup," said Vezzarn. "And the guns are in that."

"Ah! That's good news. I think we'd better take a blaster apiece. How are you at hot-wiring this bit of circuitry? I could try doing it myself if . . ."

Vezzarn looked pained. "Skipper, most of the locks I deal with these days have hyperelectronic parts. It'd take me less time than you. I'm not much good at space navigation or handling take-offs and landings, but I can do the rest."

"Good man!"

"Well, begging your pardon, Captain, I'm not. But I'm a live man on account of you and the little Wisdoms. And to tell you the truth, the Daal promised me a bonus to see you stayed that way, too. The Daal is chary with money, but he pays. Hulik promised I'd see it. And besides, there is also the matter of the little Wisdoms' parents. I'm not even thinking about going back without them!" said the former thief and agent, cheerfully, taking the looted part. "Let's get those guns."

"The part I am not looking forward to is that we've got to go out there again. I just got warm carrying that grav-tractor. You want to see if you can bolt that down and wire it up too, while we're out."

"Sure, Captain. Down in the hold?

"No, in the hold airlock."

Vezzarn blinked at him. "What?

Pausert nodded. "Going to use it in space, if we use it at all. I'll give you a hand to carry it down. It's as heavy as lead."

A few minutes later the three set out again. They held hands, as it was as black as the inside of a jungle cat out there. And, although Goth maintained their appearance as a group of Megair Cannibals, she also managed to hide their heat emissions. Unless they made too much noise, they were effectively undetectable.

"Hide our heat?" said the Leewit, shivering up against him. "I haven't got any to spare."

The prisoner compound had only one guard again. Pausert punched him on the point of his receding chin as the Leewit struggled for a whistle. "T . . . t . . . t . . . too cold," she stuttered out between chattering teeth. "Sorry, Captain."

It wasn't freezing, but the wind and the wet combined unpleasantly. Goth had to 'port a piece out of the gate before they could get in. And when they did, it was almost tempting to stay. There was no wind and they were out of the rain. And the prisoners had a tiny fire.

There was also one less prisoner than they were expecting.

The three cowered back against the wall. "Where's the tattooed fellow from Na'kalauf?" asked Pausert, forgetting they were light-shifted to look like Megair Cannibals themselves.

But it was clear that the prisoners were not expecting anything but Megair Cannibals, and that those did sometimes speak some Imperial Universum.

"You took him, masters," said Mebeckey—rather indistinctly, because his mouth was half full of the fleshy leaves from the trough. He swallowed and looked nervous.

The Leewit was busy huddling in front of their small fire. Well, thought Pausert, their day was not over yet. And he was still angry with Mebeckey. The fellow had proved his instincts true.

"Take off that cloak," he ordered. Mebeckey hesitated briefly. Some instinct made the captain produce his blaster—which Goth considerately light-shifted into one of the odd, ball-barreled weapons. The other two had backed off. Mebeckey lifted the cloak very slowly, to reveal a small arsenal. A heavy-duty blaster. A UW. A butcher's knife—none of which came from the
Venture.
He must have had them hidden in his room. Pausert remembered the delay when they demanded entry. He looked at the weapons grimly, furious they'd not thought to search the room. "Drop those."