The Wizard of Karres

by Mercedes Lackey

  The question, of course, was whether they could get the Venture repaired and space-borne before then. Even with the Sheewash Drive, it was going to be a close thing.

  * * *

  The engineer from Saltash & Gryfin, Ltd. was not encouraging. "The tubes will have to come out entirely, Captain Aron. They're just about completely shot. And half of the instrumentation needs to be junked. The fact that you managed to set your ship down without leaving a crater in the landing field fills me with admiration for your skill as a pilot, though I have grave doubts about your common sense. I'll let you have a quote in the morning, but brace yourself for something steep. Frankly, if you could afford it, it would make more sense to haul your drive out and scrap it."

  Captain Pausert sucked breath through his teeth. He was painfully aware that the Venture's current bank balance was comfortable enough for regular running, but not really in good shape for massive repair bills. "How steep is 'something steep,' and how long is this going to take?" he asked warily. "I've got a contract to fulfill and it's got really harsh noncompletion clauses. We'll need to make this a rush job."

  The engineer grimaced. "Captain, I've never seen engines or even control systems that have taken this kind of battering and still functioned, and I was once a Navy engineer. What'd you do? Pick a fight with a neutron star? I've seen craft towed in from battles that looked better. I'll give you a precise figure as soon as I can, but we're talking the better part of half a million maels, I'm guessing. And to reengineer and recalibrate the engine . . . call it three weeks. It's a big job."

  "Oh." The captain sat down. So, by the sudden dent on the couch beside him, did Goth. She'd plainly been keeping an eye on the engineer while she was in no-shape. "Well," said the captain weakly, "will you get back to us with the exact quote?"

  The engineer nodded. "As soon as I've done the calculations, Captain Aron. But as I said, it's a big job." He left the captain and Goth to stare at each other in despair.

  "A half a million maels. And you know what these repair quotes are like," said the captain gloomily. "Never under."

  Goth was already calculating. "We've got about three hundred and fifty thousand maels left in the account. And we can run into the red another fifty thousand or so. We'll be a long way short, Captain. And I just don't see how we can get Hantis and Pul to the Imperial Capital in time, if it's going to take them that long."

  "It'd be quicker to haul the engines out and put a new drive in. They could do that in a couple of days."

  "Well, then, that's what we need to do," said Goth, decisively.

  The captain shook his head. "If we had a couple of spare million, we could do it. And stop thinking of Wansing's jewels, Goth. They'd catch us for sure. And besides, it's not right."

  "It's an emergency, Captain," said Goth thoughtfully. By now her reserved manner fooled him not at all. The captain knew that she was thinking seriously about larceny.

  Well, to be honest, so was he. They had a vital mission to complete, after all. But it still went against his grain.

  He sighed. "Give me a few minutes to think. We must have some way of raising the money."

  "I could go and play some poker," said the Leewit, appearing from behind the couch, the Agandar's cards in her hand.

  "I suspect they might think that they were marked, child," said the captain, managing at least half a smile.

  "Oh, they are," said the Leewit cheerfully. "Look. Here on the edges." She dealt a card out, face up. "See that pattern around the edge? It's different on some of them. Lisol and Ta'himmin spotted it back on Nartheby. Those Sprites have got sharp eyes."

  "But that's on the face of the cards. That's no good. It's got to be on the edges or on the backs." Goth was betraying more knowledge of cardsharping than the captain would have expected.

  The Leewit snorted. "So why is the royal flush marked then, smarty?"

  The captain felt that odd scalp-crawling sensation that he got from klatha events. He reached slowly for the cards. "Not," he said in a hushed voice, "to enable the previous owner to cheat at cards."

  "What?" said Goth, puzzled.

  The captain looked at the two of them, and, dealing the cards out face up, separated out the suits. "Just who was the previous owner of this pack of cards?" he asked.

  "The Agandar. Criminy! You mean . . . ?"

  "Yes," said the captain, sorting the suits into order. "I think this pack of cards that the Leewit has been carrying around in her pocket is what the Agandar's pirates were looking for all along."

  He drew the royal flush out of each suit and laid them out. "I think . . . I'm sure the answer is right here. Right in front of our eyes." He stared intently at the picture-cards. Patterns imported centuries ago from Old Yarthe, that had altered gradually over the centuries.

  The Agandar had been on Uldune. Bloody-historied Uldune. The world whose pirate fleets had once spread fear and terror across a huge sector of the galaxy. The world that had turned from piracy and raiding to become the clearing house of half the dubious merchandise in the galaxy. A place that still welcomed pirates, at least successful ones.

  Why had the Agandar been on Uldune? To follow up the rumor of a new spacedrive? Or had he been on Uldune anyway, for another purpose?—when his spies had brought him the rumor that the Venture was being renamed the Evening Bird by courtesy of the Daal's highly efficient staff of forgers.

  Uldune still welcomed pirates. Successful pirates.

  It provided, among other services, a fence for stolen goods and . . . banking. The pirates of ancient history hid their loot in secret hoards on desert islands, but the modern pirate was more likely to use a bank vault. Or a numbered private account. Kleesp's accomplice had actually said as much! Pausert was willing to bet that the cards in front of him held the key to just such a numbered account. But the question was: how? He studied the pattern on the edge of the cards. It was a simple repeat-pattern, hand-painted and skillfully so, but still nothing more than that, at least as far as he could see.

  "I'll bet it's supposed to give us the numbers of the Agandar's bank accounts. Probably with the Daal's Bank. But for the life of me I can't see what the numbers could be. I suppose you could count which number of the repeat pattern was wrong, but what order would they go in?

  He picked up the four sets of marked suits. "See," he said, dealing them out again. "There are sixteen repeats of this pattern on the top margin. Each one of these cards has a different one of those repeats altered." He moved the cards around, arranging them in the order of the altered repeat pattern on the top edge. "We can make pretty patterns, but they don't . . . ulp."

  As he laid the last card in the row, the altered patterns linked up. There was a brief hum and a small hyperelectronic screen and keypad appeared above the cards.

  Letters began forming on the screen: ENTER ACCESS CODE.

  "They aren't cards at all," whispered the captain. "It's a hyperelectronic computer. Those are circuits, not just patterns."

  "And a mini-subradio!" said Goth. "No wonder the Agandar was able to keep in touch with his fleet."

  The captain shook his head incredulously. "He even said he had a secret shielded transmitter! The Sheem robot was also hyperelectronic. We should have guessed."

  "Only question is: what's the access code?" asked the Leewit." Then, a little plaintively: "And when do I get my cards back?"

  "That's two questions," said the captain. "And I don't know either answer."

  ENTER CODE WITHIN THE NEXT THIRTY SECONDS.

  "Or . . . ? I guess we don't dare find out," muttered the captain. "I need to be lucky. I need every ounce of klatha power." He took a deep breath and began to type a sequence of numbers.

  Nothing happened.

  FIVE SECONDS

  "Hit enter," said Goth.

  CODE ACCEPTED. DESTRUCT PROGRAM ABORTED.

  A menu popped up. A very ordinary menu of choices, including subradio banking.

  Pausert exhaled slowly. Then, accessed the subradio ban
king option.

  "I think," he said, "the Leewit's cards have given us the jackpot. Let's see if we can transfer enough into my account to allow us to simply buy new engines, and forget about repairs. That'll be a lot faster."

  When the figures came up, the Leewit whistled softly. "We could buy a whole new ship," said Goth.

  "Buy a whole clumping fleet!" exclaimed her sister.

  The captain shook his head. "The paperwork would take longer and attract more attention than a repair job. Besides, I like the old Venture. She's been places with us that no new ship would ever have coped with. But, when this is all over and we decide what to do with what's left of the Agandar's fortune—after we track down those of his victims we can trace—I will promise you both a refit and a redecoration of your cabins. And fifty decks of cards for the Leewit."

  "Want that one," said the Leewit, pointing. "Always knew those were my lucky cards."

  "Hmm. I was thinking about that share in the Petey Byrum and Keep," said Goth thoughtfully.

  CHAPTER 35

  Even spending money like water, it took three days to get the "Evening Bird" ready for space again. The captain was nervous every minute of that time, because he knew that the amount of money they were spending was sure to get someone from the ISS interested, before too long.

  So, the minute the preflight checks were done, Pausert lifted the Venture. As if to make up for his brilliant landing on jury-rigged controls and with a mere three battered tubes, the takeoff was one of his worst. Still, they were space-borne before the authorities figured out just who had been spending rivers of money on little Porlumma. There were going to be some red faces if they ever they found out that they'd put in new engines for the infamous Captain Pausert, whose vid still graced Porlumma customs control offices. Still, in fairness, they could say that Captain Aron from far-off Mulm had looked nothing like the vid-picture. The stern-visaged, planar-faced Aron bore no resemblance at all to the images of the cheerful criminal Pausert.

  "Right," said the captain to his two witches. "The time has come to show me how to work the Sheewash Drive. I feel I'm ready."

  "Huh. Otherwise we'll have to hit you over the head or something," said the Leewit, cheekily. "I'm not going to do it with you dragging us back like a big rock, again, that's for sure."

  "Only if you promise me you'll stick to the pattern exactly this time, Captain," said Goth sternly.

  So Goth and Leewit talked the captain through the pattern. As it was developing, the captain thought he saw where it could be done differently. But this time he stuck exactly to the pattern as Goth and the Leewit presented it.

  They kept it up for a mere fifteen seconds. The captain was sweating and beginning to feel as if the entire weight of the Venture was pressing onto his shoulders, when Goth said "Enough."

  "Whew," said the captain. "It sure does take it out of you."

  "Uh-huh. Come on. Let's eat."

  They walked through to the mess. The captain found that Hantis had had the forethought to order the new electric butler to make them a substantial lunch. It was more reliable than the old electric butler, but he'd gotten used to the way the old one used to burn the eggs. "How did I do?" he asked.

  "We did pretty good," said the Leewit, talking with her mouth half-full.

  Goth swallowed and started loading up another huge forkful. She looked sideways at him with those big brown eyes. "Told you the captain is a hot witch."

  Captain Pausert concentrated on adding food to a stomach that was telling him he'd been starving for a while. After he'd got to his third plateful he said, "You know, when we were doing the klatha pattern—the part where we sort of plait those strands of light—I thought, well, if we . . ."

  Both witches started to giggle. In the Leewit's case, as she had a mouthful of juice, the captain had to pat her on the back while Goth fetched a pile of napkins. "Told you so," said Goth to the Leewit.

  "Good thing you didn't try it," said the Leewit sternly.

  The captain held up his hands. "But it felt like it would work. And I have worked out new klatha stuff that did."

  Goth grinned at the Leewit. "Like our Egger trip."

  "Or those clumping cocoon shields," said the Leewit, snorting. "Toll was so right, Goth."

  The captain began to feel more than a little irritated. Sure, they'd had some misadventures here and there, but he didn't have a guiding pattern in his head. "I worked out how to do klatha hooks and the vatch-handling all by myself. And the cocoon shields might have been awkward to get you out of, but they worked. They worked pretty well."

  "Oh, they work all right, Captain. Except," Goth scowled, "when you leave me behind and attack hundreds of Sprites on your own. They just don't work the same way that most of the witches of Karres do things. That's what Toll said when Maleen suggested you'd need a pattern to teach you. She said you were better off learning to do them on your own and maybe seeing them in new ways. So Maleen and some of the other premotes did some work on it. Came out they agreed with Toll. Came out they thought we wouldn't survive if you were taught. So we've had to let you blunder along. Sometimes I wondered if we would survive because you weren't trained. But it seems like you're pretty lucky so far, Captain. It's hair-raising, though."

  "But don't do any more 'sperimetal twists while we're linked," said the Leewit, shaking her finger at him.

  The captain smiled at her. "Ex-pe-ri-men-tal. Not even little ones?"

  "No," both of them said firmly.

  It was somehow comforting to discover that Karres had not just turned him loose untrained without consideration of the matter. He could see the point, to some extent. A schooled witch would tend to approach things in the way in which they had been taught. Coming at it cold, he had a rather different perspective, and had come up with different but effective answers, even if some of them had been rather hair-raising.

  Just that little burst of the three of them working together at the Sheewash Drive had shortened their journey by several weeks. The captain had added considerable power to the drive, as they saw when they picked up beacons on the communicator. The journey from Porlumma to the Imperial Capital would now take four days instead of nearly three weeks.

  The trip wasn't entirely peaceful, though. The captain was awakened from his sleep by an intercom call from Goth. "Captain. You'd better get here, quick." She was laughing as she said it, but the Leewit was yelling in the background so he had a pretty good idea what the problem was.

  He was quite right. It was Silver-eyes, who was, as usual, tormenting the Leewit. The little vatch gave up the moment the captain arrived and buzzed affectionately around him. Hello, Big Dream Thing. Ooh, did you ever give that big bully a hiding! Can I bring some more big ones? They're scared of you.

  The thought was enough to make the captain shudder. Some vatches, like Silver-eyes itself, couldn't be handled. The next big one might be the same—only much more powerful. Not right now. I don't want to frighten them all off.

  That seemed to amuse the little vatch. Guess so. That last big one is making a lot of noise about it. The others are mostly laughing, though.

  There are a lot of others? Pausert felt weak at the thought.

  Oh, sure. Little ones like me, lots and lots. Not so many big ones. But I'll be a big one too, some day. You wait and see! I'm already a little bigger now from eating that dream-candy.

  Having seen the Nanites from a vatch perspective, the captain thought that he knew what Silver-eyes was talking about. Lots of it? Inside dream-people?

  Yep. But they're dream-not-people. They're not there. Just the candy is. It sorts of thinks together to be a pretend-dream-people.

  The vatch, obviously getting bored with all this conversation, went back to tormenting the Leewit. In the interests of peace, tranquility, and the noise levels in deep space, the captain had to tickle the vatch with klatha hooks to get it to go away.

  * * *

  When they entered the area around the capital planet, Pausert discovered t
hat the new drive fitted on Porlumma had one other serious advantage: The signature of this engine was quite unlike the one that the ISS was hunting for. They passed unmolested through the cordon and went peacefully onward towards the great spaceport at the Empire's heart.

  "What's the program, Hantis?" the captain asked, as they drifted in to land along with the thousands and thousands of other ships that were here for the Empire's biggest annual event.

  The Sprite made a face. "The witches have cooperated for some time with Hailie. But the Empress is in quite a precarious position, as you know. Something like open contact with the witches of Karres could be the final straw to give her enemies the leverage to insist that she step down. Her stepson would jump at the opportunity. So the contacts are very secret. We have a rendezvous point at the Nenbutal Grill—it's an eatery on the portside of town. I give a certain password, and things will be taken from there."

  "Hmm." The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think we'd better all go along with you."

  "An escort will be welcome. We can pretend to be a mere party of diners."

  So, once the ship had docked and port formalities and customs had been dealt with, the entire crew of the Venture with her special passengers took a cab into the town, heading for the Nenbutal Grill. Pausert was relieved to think that his responsibilities were almost over. It had been a tougher mission than he'd anticipated when he'd cheerfully taken it on, back on Emris. But it was finally nearing completion.

  However, when they stepped out of the cab into the cold evening air, Pul took a deep sniff of the warm steamy aromas coming out of the half-timbered restaurant and suddenly evinced a desire to visit a lamp-post further up the street. Hantis followed him, holding his leash.

  Hantis came back a few moments later, trailing the stocky yellow grik-dog. "My dear Captain," she said, coolly, "I'm really not feeling at all well, and the smell of that Nenbutal food has quite put me off. I don't believe I'll dine after all. Will you call me another cab to take me back to my hotel?"