The Witches of Karres

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 co

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 out 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 ski

“Hmm… Su

“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 ski

“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.”

“That’s why you got them to think I did those klatha tricks tonight?” the captain asked.

“Sure. If they found out we got the Drive here, they better think we can keep it. Far as Sedmon is concerned, you’re a witch now.”

“What kind of a fellow is he otherwise?” the captain asked. “I’ve heard stories…”

“I can tell you stories about Sedmon you won’t believe,” Goth said. “But not tonight. Just one thing. If we’re alone with him — not if someone else is around — and it looks as if he’s starting to wonder again if you’re a witch, call him ‘Sedmon of the Six Lives.’ He’ll snap to it then.”

“Sedmon of the Six Lives, eh? What does that mean?”

“Don’t know,” Goth said. She yawned. “Threbus can tell you when we see him. But it’ll work.”

“I’ll remember it,” the captain said.

“Going to do any more worrying?” Goth asked.

“No. Night, witch!”

“Night, Your Wisdom!” She slipped down from the bed, clicking off the spy screen, and was gone from the room.

Impressive as the House of Thunders looked from a distance, it became apparent, as the military groundcar carrying Goth and the captain approached it up winding mountain roads, that its exterior was as weather-beaten and neglected as the streets of the old quarter of Zergandol. The Daal’s penuriousness was proverbial on Uldune. Evidently it extended even to keeping up the appearance of the mighty edifice which was the central seat of his government.

The section of the structure through which they presently were escorted was battered, but filled with not particularly unobtrusive guards. Several openings and hallways revealed the metallic gleam of heavy armament, obviously in excellent repair. Dilapidated the House of Thunders might look, the captain thought, but for the practical purpose of planetary defense it should still be a fortress to be reckoned with. The escorting officers paused presently before an open door, bowed the visitors through it and drew the door quietly shut behind them.

This was a windowless room, well furnished, its walls concealed by the heavy ornamental hangings of another period. Sedmon stood here waiting for them. The captain saw a lean, middle-aged man, dark-ski

He greeted them cordially, using the names with which they had been supplied by his Office of Identities, apologized for the outrage attempted against them by Su

“My first impulse,” he said, “was to have those wretches put to death without an hour’s delay!”

“Well,” said the captain uncomfortably, quickly blotting out another mental vision of the Daal’s executioners peeling wicked Su

Sedmon nodded. “You are generous! But that was to be expected. In fact, in the cases of Bazim and Filish Your Wisdom appears to have inflicted on the spot the punishment you regarded as suitable to their offense—”

“It was what they deserved,” the captain agreed.

The Daal coughed. “Also,” he said, “I have considered that Bazim and Filish are, when in their senses, most valuable subjects. They claim they acted as they did solely out of their great fear of Su

The captain cleared his throat, assured him it did.

“There remains the matter of Su

A handful of minor officials were arranged about the mirrored expanse of the Daal’s Little Court when they entered. Sedmon seated himself, and the visitors were shown to chairs at the side of the bench. A moment later two soldiers brought Su