A bit of Castamir fanfiction.

 I had this idea about Harmon's death, and it seemed to me to be a good idea to follow that up. this can stand alone as a short story, but Simon is considering remodelling it to use as an opening to book 3. 

 

 

The visitor was one of those ferrety little rats of men I usually avoid; but he had used the, if you will pardon the phrase, ‘magic words’ of ‘It’s about your former master, Harmon.’

“What about Harmon?” I asked, surprised the fellow actually followed me into the Tower, something few peasants will do. He looked like a townsman, wearing brighter colours than actual peasants, but all commons do usually fear the Tower. 

He looked about, his eyes bright, knowing, and observant. He appreciated the tankard of ale I sent for – somehow I did not think tea was his tipple – and took being presented with it by an unseen servant with remarkable aplomb.

“You do pretty well for yourself, Towermaster,” he said. “And news of your fame has spread since the unfortunate demise of Harmon. You’re better at selling yourself, getting put in so many ballads and chap books.”

“I am?” I asked, disconcerted.

“Are you telling me you don’t know?” he asked, derisively.

“I didn’t know,” I said. “I don’t generally purchase chap books or ballad sheets.”

“And you didn’t pay to be featured, either?” he sneered.

“No,” I said, starting to get irritated. “Did you actually have anything to tell me about Harmon or am I going to defenestrate you?”

“That would be a very bad idea,” he said. “If I die, or disappear, certain knowledge will be released. But I’d rather you paid for the knowledge.”

“What knowledge?” I asked, in as controlled a way as I could, eyeing up his weasely little throat as if I wanted to fasten my hands about it

I did, of course, but I do have a lot of self-control. People who survive time with the likes of demons or elves learn to keep themselves in check.

“I know how he came to be thrown from his horse,” said the ferret.

“Well, why the hell didn’t you come forward before? And if, as I surmise, you consider the circumstances suspicious,” I said.

He looked really surprised.

“Are you telling me you didn’t pay for someone to kill him?” he asked.

I did grab him by the throat at that point. And let him go, immediately.

“No,” I said, with some effort, “I did not pay for someone to kill him. I loved him like a father, and if anyone killed him, I want to know, so that I can avenge him.”

“Frottorand’s bollocks!” he swore. The overgod of the various minor deities of the land was the reason so many men were named ‘Frottor’ to honour him, it being disrespectful to use his whole name, of course. He went on, “Will you swear it, on your magic?”

I did not really see why I should, for ferret-face, but if someone had harmed my master, I wanted to know.

“I swear on my love of Arcana and on my magic that I had no part in the death of my former master, Harmon,” I said.

My staff’s orb lit up enthusiastically.

“Well, now!” said Ferret-face, licking his lips. “And what will you give for the information?”

“At the moment, I’m inclined to offer you your hide, intact, and without blemish or extra embellishment,” I said.

“There’s no need to get nasty,” he said.

“Oh?” I said.

“Look, you’re famous enough that rich idiots fall over themselves to hire you,” he said.

“Yes, and I tell most of them to go fish up a tree,” I said. “I have no interest in fame, or wealth. And I despise most noblemen. I sell potions to those who need them, at cost, plus a little for my time, save when I waive my fee entirely.”

“You seriously need a marketing manager.”

“I seriously do not. You can tell me, and I owe you a favour; or you can withhold your information and I owe you an ill turn. You are aware of the fates of Lord Pennover and his mother?”

He shuddered.

“By the gods!” he cried. “I’ve not insulted you the way the ass Penover did, to get turned into an ass for real, nor sent a demon after you as it’s said Lady Renilla did, to join her son as a ruddy beast of burden!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Accusing me of murdering Harmon is pretty insulting. And I’m beginning to think you know nothing; for I used speak with dead to talk to Harmon, and he had no thought that he had been murdered.”

“Well, I do, so there,” he said. “I work in The Blue Demon Inn, in Stonebridge.” It was the nearest town, in fact, my birthplace, and imaginatively enough, there was a stone bridge over the river there. “Harmon hired a horse there.”

“Yes, I’ve never understood why he would do that, when he could have used a rug of travelling,” I said.

“He said he wanted to call on one Lord Dreflain, who is nervous of magic,” said the ferret. “So he hired a horse. He arrived on his carpet, and left it hovering in the air, rolled up. It was weird.”

“An unseen servant,” I said.

“Yeah, and it took the carpet away when he expired,” said the ferret.

I was probably going to have to ask him his name at some point.

Actually, I thought I knew it.

“I’ve seen you before,” I said. “You’re Orgey Spint.”

He actually looked gratified.

“You know my name!” he said.

I wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t been in the Blue Demon a few times with Harmon, where the fellow had it shouted at him all the time. I had a revelation. He was sick of being, at the beck and call of everyone, and wanted a lump sum to escape.

“If your information is good, when you finally get there,” I said, “How would you feel about being on a retainer for me... I’ll match your pay in the inn... to bring me any information you think might be interesting about people moving through the town, local notables and so on, and I’ll pay extra for how useful I find what you bring me?”

He brightened.

“I’m your man,” he said. “Getting away isn’t always easy.”

Not perhaps a very reliable man, but I do make a reasonably good living when I do do favours for nobles, and Chessina has been investing in various business ventures, about which I did not make too many close enquiries, and it really was about time to have a network of informants.  It adds to the air of omniscience which helps a wizard’s reputation, teamed with my favourite enigmatic smile.

“Do you write?” I asked.

He looked offended.

“Of course,” he answered.

“Good; I’ll provide you with enchanted parchment, which will write a duplicate for me as you write, with a rune to erase it when the page is full,” I said.

The duplicate I would copy out legibly as I doubted his writing was especially fluent.

“By the gods, magic is wonderful,” he said, awed. 

It’s a spell, cast on two sheets of parchment at once, using Quantamius’s Tangling, a useful spell making two things do the same thing at the same time, however far apart.

“I love magic,” I said, sincerely.

“Right. Well,  I ain’t surprised Harmon took you as an apprentice, you was a clever little boy,” he said. “That’s why I thought it was you as done him in; it being Verro Horseman who I saw tinkering with his saddle, he was Verro Penson when you were a nipper. You played with him.”

“No, he made me play with him; he was a bully, like his father,” I said. Oh. That explained one reason I had taken an immediate dislike to Lord Penover; Verro and Pen are some of the names derived from that fairly common name.  He put me in mind of my youthful tormentor, Verro.  I went on, “You think he put a burr under his saddle or something?”

“There was no burr,” said Orgey. “I did check, on account of being suspicious. But the saddle was loose. Now, there’s some horses will puff up, just so the girth is put on loose, to throw the unwary; and you have to be aware of them. But Old Whitey wasn’t like that. And an experienced horseman would not be caught, but I don’t think Harmon rode much?”

“No, he wasn’t much for riding,” I said.  “Did anyone else but Verro approach the horse?”

“No, he was the ostler handling it,” said Orgey. “But he’s open to bribes, is Verro.”

“Well, I imagine it might have been a petty revenge on his own account, I suppose,” I said, reluctantly. “Harmon found me when I manifested magic for the first time, when I stuck Verro’s feet to the cobbles, and Harmon was in Stonebridge, and unstuck him, and gave him a lecture on bullying children smaller than him. If Verro thought that Harmon had glued his feet down, not me, I can see why he would be happy to drop him on the ground ignominiously. That he struck his head and died not being a circumstance Verro would have forseen, being rather limited. Which is like saying that the river is rather damp,” I added, viciously.

Orgey sniggered.

“He’s as thick as a well-dried turd,” he said.

“That, too,” I agreed. “Well, I shall look through Harmon’s diary, and see what he wanted to see Lord Dreflain about, which might hold a clue. I suppose you’d better stay to supper now you’re here. Are you afraid to sleep in the tower?”

“Naow, I ain’t one of them fools what think magic is dangerous. I mean, magic is dangerous, but so are horses if you don’t respect them, or a mill if you’re a miller, and I know if you tell me ‘don’t go here’ I’d be an idiot, or more likely dead, to not listen.”

I found his attitude rather refreshing. Magic is a tool, a dangerous tool to the unwary, but if respected, will not kill.

“I think you’d better stay in the room I give you to sleep in, and I’ll fetch you for breakfast,” I said. “We rise early, you need not fear getting back to the inn. Did you bring a horse?”

“Mule,” said Orgey. “I’ll go see to it. And, er, thanks for the hospitality. Plenty wouldn’t even have offered me ale. I don’t give loyalty lightly, but you got it.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I actually believed him. Simple acts of courtesy can have long reaching effects.

 

Naturally I had to explain Orgey to Chessina when she came in from playing with our ward, Elizelle. Chessina was visibly pregnant now, and had a serene look to her. Vellera, our apprentice, was with her.

“Orgey believes Harmon was murdered, dear,” I said. “He’s just become my employee, as an informant.”

“Very wise,” said Chessina. “A great man can never have too many informants. I keep telling you so.”

“And I listened,” I said.

Orgey was mesmerised by Chessina, who had fortunately not decided to surprise me with the appearance of her horns and tail.

“Your lady wife is the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, awed.

I preened.

So did Chessina. No woman minds being admired.

“Are we going to avenge your master, Master?” asked Vellera.

“That’s the idea,” I said. “But we need to find out some background information before we can act.”

I was not sorry to send Orgey on his way the next morning, as I had work to do, and did not want him hanging about.

I also did not want him corrupting Vellera. Chessina was capable enough of that, and the child was now happily grubby when she was not at lessons, from climbing trees, rolling down slopes, messing about in streams and the other sorts of fun she had been denied as a royal princess, and a lot more wholesome fun than if she had listened wide-eyed to the sort of gossip Orgey had subjected us to over our two meals with him. At least he did not see magic everywhere as many commons do, and commented that the sickness of Mayor Renil Purseclose’s hogs was more likely to be his pinchpenny attitude over how often their straw was changed than any kind of sending by Widow Aria Tailor, however much she called the mayor down. The tale of the hogs running mad was amusing though, especially as they disrupted the mayor’s parade.

“Sounds like poisoning in something they ate,” Chessina had commented. “Didn’t Wisewoman Matille have to tell off Moro of the hill for letting his hogs eat cherry leaves gathered with hay?”

Orgey had laughed.

“I’ll tell the town that one, if I may,” he said.

“Do,” said Chessina. “We wizards get blamed for enough; might as well set the record straight as to where the blame lies.”

 

oOoOo

 

When Orgey had left, with his charmed piece of parchment, I turned my mind to reading Harmon’s diary.  

It was essentially the last entry.

I suppose I shall have to do something about Lady Sheyla’s request. I can’t believe that idiot Dreflain seriously thinks that Sheyla is putting spells on him. He flatters himself that the merry widow would consider him a suitable fifth husband. Now if he had been her husband and had accused her of trying to poison him, that would not surprise me, but using some kind of mind-control spell to make him desire her? The fool doubtless managed to get the hots for her on his own, though convincing him of that will be difficult. I may have to come up with some spurious but comforting ritual to assure him that he is protected from magical wiles, and point out that if he still desires her, presumably the only wiles are those of a beautiful and accomplished woman which is the oldest magic of all, and the province of the Goddess Agapa. Not that love and lust are the same thing, but there are connexions. I am more concerned about why Sheyla has asked me to convince Dreflain that she is not involved in any magic directed at him.  She was adamant that I call on her when I had seen him.

I do not wish to be too presumptuous, but I do wonder whether this is an excuse on Sheyla’s part to involve me in her affairs, I am not ill-looking, and to marry the Towermaster would be a social feather in her cap, having been turned down by Dragovar. She will be disappointed. I have no desire to ally myself with a socially-climbing noblewoman with the proclivities of a gutter-whore. I wish Lords Bertor and Marel luck of her, the fools. At least Dreflain has the sense to want to break away.

 

I had heard my master mention Sheyla. He was inclined to say that he would have said that her morals were as loose as the waist-string of a whore’s drawers, save that he suspected they had gone so far past that as to be pooling around her feet for the lack of any string at all.

Should I go and see Dreflain? No, he was unlikely to be likely to have had anything against Harmon, and probably wasn’t even expecting him.

I needed to speak to Verro. And intimidate him.

He had been  terrified by me glueing him to the ground. A show of power should have him babbling all he knew.

I took the carpet into town, and took a room at the Blue Demon.

The sign was even less well painted than I remembered. Given that demons are known for their mutability, the grossness of the form was not too inaccurate, but the execution of the painting was poor enough that it might just as well have been meant to be a dragon. It had too many teeth. Mind, there was the demon we knew as Pointy-teeth... but that had been at court, not far away in the provinces like this.

I drew a fake circle of summoning on the floor, set an invisible servant there holding a censor of sparkles, a magical toy which produces sparkles of light when shaken or when magic is nearby. I had borrowed it from Elizelle, having made it for her, as something to soothe and occupy her in her cot. With the invisible servant instructed to rotate slowly, moving it up and down from floor level to about six feet up, it produced a fair facsimile of a magical gate opening.  Why waste serious spells when the little inadequate could be impressed by less? I had learned a lot of showmanship from Chessina.

I called for Zelly, the chambermaid, and with largesse she was persuaded to send Verro to my room.

“I don’t mind so much him handling me with a good vail,” she said.

I doubled her tip; I did not know about the handling.

“Threaten to shave him next time he passes out drunk,” I suggested. “All over. And not to be too careful of anything that sticks out.”

She giggled.

“Thank you kindly, Towermaster, I’ll do that,” she said.

 

Verro turned up with an ingratiating look on his face.

“What might I do for the Towermaster?” he asked. He did not seem to recognise me. I suppose it had been a long time, and now I was taller than he was, and broader of shoulder. He was still fat, though. His teeth were in worse condition now, as he grinned and cringed simultaneously. I had a moment’s sudden revelation that he did not see Orgo Plumber, who had been his punching bag, but Castamir, Towermaster, mighty wizard, and Seriously Scary Person. He was eyeing my staff and the manifestation of my unseen servant playing with my foster-daughter’s toy. Incongruously, I wanted to giggle.

“Verro,” I said. “You were seen slacking my predecessor’s girth when he hired a horse from this inn. I’ve had rather more weighty things on my mind, like dealing with demons and stopping an elven war, but now I’ve turned my mind to why you murdered my former master. You will tell me the truth, all the truth, or I may decide to use the portal I have there and send you to... well, let us just say, you would not enjoy it.”

“Oh mighty wizard!  It wasn’t me, well, I mean, I was paid to do it, I never thought he would die, I was ready to laugh at him, because he did me a bad turn once, and when Lord Bertor said he wanted him delayed and injured perhaps, I did it!”

“And what do you count a bad turn that Harmon did you?” I demanded.

“He stuck my feet to the ground to stop me putting a snotty orphan in his place!” he yammered.

“No, actually, he didn’t,” I said. “The snotty orphan found he had magical powers, and Harmon released you and took him as his apprentice. Where I became more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” I stood to tower over him. It’s amazing what good food in the growing years of the teens do for a lad.

He soiled himself both ways.

“Oh, by all the gods! You have come to take revenge! Please don’t hurt me, I swear on Frottorand, Frottillina, Ogroval, Agapa and all the other gods never to hurt any more people smaller than me!”

“That rather suggests you have been hurting people in the meantime,” I said. “Why should I forgive you?”

He sobbed and knelt, and whinneyed like one of the horses he cared for.

“You are revolting,” I said. “I really can’t be bothered with you. So long as you tell me all about this Bertor who hired you to delay Harmon.”

“He wanted to propose to Lady Sheyla before Harmon did, because he knew he had no chance as a rival to the Towermaster,” sobbed Verro. “And he gave me a bonus because Harmon died!  And he married Lady Sheyla, and they went to the capital to visit her cousin, Lady Renilla, Duchess of Osierleet. But they came home, and she’s aged beyond all recognition, and Bertor has taken to drink. That’s all I know.”

“It’s enough,” I said. “I lay a geas on you, by stone and stream, by sun and moon, by tree and grass to place into the poor box of the Sisters of Frottellina the sum of the bonus.”

No of course the geas had no power; I wasn’t going to waste a rather powerful spell on someone whose terror and conscience would do the same thing, because his fear was enough to give him stomach problems if he delayed too long. Harmon had often spoken of using the magic of human credulity and Chessina, bless her, had actually explained this to me, and that it was not charlatanism, but pure psychology, and using my will against that of others.

I never argue with my wife.

“If you start bullying again, I’ll know,” I said. “You may go.”

He staggered out as well as unpleasantly filled trousers permitted him. I cast a few air freshening spells. His diet was not of the best, and it was detectable.

And then I swore several blistering oaths.

Sheyla, widowed many times, preternaturally beautiful, and cousin of a woman who had summoned a demon. And Sheyla had also lost her looks.

One had to assume that it was she who had introduced Renilla to  demonology, and with the same patron, the demon we knew as Pointy-teeth.

I was too close to this.

I clenched my fists, and my jaw, and fought with myself not to let my rage out over this senseless killing of my master, who had no interest in this blasted woman!  I wanted to blast Bertor into a million little pieces, and I was having to clamp down because the inn was beginning to shake. Verro... I had dismissed him before I obliterated him. He was a brainless thug. He had not thought things through. Bertor... no, I would not think of Bertor, while there were breakable things near me like the town of Stonebridge, or my beloved foster-daughter’s favourite toy.

I would write a report to Dragovar and let him deal with what to do about Bertor, and Harmon’s murder; and what to do about Sheyla.

He is the Royal Wizard, after all. They pay him for these headaches.

 

I dismissed the invisible servant, and took my carpet home, where Chessina, who could read my moods very well, promptly grew horns and a tail and let me chase her to bed where she could enjoy manipulating me into being what she called masterful.

I felt a lot better after she had loved me into submission.

Doubtless after my report had been read, we would get a summons to the city.

Oh, well, a quiet life is not for the likes of wizards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dietrichson Report, by Simon

 Simon wrote this because it had been scratching at the back of his mind. It's essentially an alternate ending to the film 'Double Indemnity' in which Walter Neff gets away with it scott free. It's just one of those little things which won't leave one alone... so he wrote it.

The Dietrichson Report

Pacific All Risk Insurance Co. Internal Memo

To: Barton Keyes, former chief claims adjuster, retired

From: Walter Neff, chief claims adjuster

Subject: Final report on the Dietrichson case

Keyes, I can now compose this report, the final report on the Dietrichson case, but I can never send it, not when we buried you this morning.

I was there with my wife Lola, our three children Jane, Alice and little Billy, your god-children, and all your other friends. You had a lot of friends Keyes, with your big heart that you would never admit to.

You had the Dietrichson case all worked out Keyes, you and your little man, all but one little detail. You had the identity of the murderer wrong because you were too close Keyes, you thought it was Zachetti. It wasn't Zachetti, Keyes, it was me, Walter Neff, right across the desk from you. I killed Dietrichson because I was in love with his wife, Phyllis. I planned the whole thing and I planned it smart because I knew you would investigate and I had to fool you.

I killed Dietrichson, Keyes, I broke his neck in the car on the way to the station. I felt his neck snap as I twisted it and I glanced up at Phyllis in the mirror and saw the savage exultation in her face. It didn't impinge on me at the time but I came to remember it later.

I got onto the train in place of Dietrichson, just like you figured, wearing a blue serge suit like Dietrichson was wearing. Remember the blue serge suit Keyes, it had a part to play later on. Jackson surprised me by being on the platform of the observation car but he turned out to be useful in the end. I sent him away, jumped off the train and Phyllis and I put Dietrichson's body on the tracks as though he had fallen from the train. I thought we were all clear and then the car wouldn't start. I thought my heart would stop, Keyes, but I managed to get the thing going.

Things moved smoothly then, though that idiot Norton tried to claim it was suicide. You put him right with a vengeance, Keyes, I really enjoyed watching you do it. And then. Then I thought of what I'd done. I'd killed a man. I'd killed him for his woman. And money. Then I remembered that look, the look on Phyllis' face when I killed Dietrichson, and that made me uneasy, Keyes.

You know what happened then, Keyes, I started seeing Lola. First it was to find out what she knew, but then it was just because it made me feel good. I couldn't help comparing Lola and Phyllis and wondering when Phyllis would decide that she didn't need me around any longer, particularly when Lola told me about her mother and Phyllis.

You remember, Keyes, you said when two people commit murder together they are on a street car together, and they can't get off and the last stop is the cemetery? I was on that streetcar, Keyes and I didn't think I had a way off. Then I broke into your office and listened to your report. You said you had investigated me and that you vouched for me, also that you thought that Zachetti was the murderer and that he had been seen at the Dietrichson house.  As Lola had left home and moved in with a girlfriend, I knew that Zachetti had been seeing Phyllis. Was Phyllis setting up my replacement so soon? Whatever her reasons I figured that this was my way out, my way off the streetcar. I could get Zachetti to get on and he could ride to the cemetery, not me.

It wasn't difficult to get Zachetti to go and see Phyllis that night, I just had to get there first. I don’t know why I wore the blue serge suit, the same one I wore to kill Dietrichson but I'm glad I did. When I got there Phyllis admitted to seeing Zachetti but claimed she did it to use him as a fall guy. Poor Zachetti, he was everybody's fall guy. As I closed the curtains Phyllis drew a gun and shot at me but just missed, I think in the darkness my blue serge suit threw off her aim. I dared her to shoot again but she didn't, told me that she loved me, that she'd just realised it.  I didn't believe a word of it. I took the gun, said "Goodbye, baby" and shot her twice.

I wiped the gun with my handkerchief and left it by Phyllis' body. I got out quick, leaving the door ajar and hid until I saw Zachetti come to the house. I waited until he went in and then I left, I wanted to be well away before the cops arrived as with three gunshots someone was bound to call them. I was sure that an impulsive guy like Zachetti would pick up the gun or something else equally stupid, and as it turned out, he did. Zachetti protested his innocence of course, but it did no good. The jury were out less than an hour. Poor Zachetti, everybody's fall guy.

I helped Lola during the trial when all sorts of things came out, like Phyllis being Lola's mother's nurse and helping her on to her final pneumonia. I came to work with you as a claims adjuster. I saw more and more of Lola and we were married in the spring with you as best man. Then Jane came along, with you as her god-father. Then the war came and I moved into your job when you went to work for the government doing the job you could never talk about. I'm sure your little man worked overtime.

You carried on working for the government after the war, but we remained close, you being god-father to Alice and Billy. I'm glad Billy got to have you around for several years and I'm very glad that when you got sick, it was quick.

And so, I'm responsible for the deaths of three people; and I'm responsible for three lives. Does that balance it out somehow? Perhaps, one day, you'll be able to tell me, Keyes.

This concludes the file on the Dietrichson case.

W. Neff senior claims adjuster.

 

the pirates of Deneb, 7, 8, 9

 

Chapter 7

I wasn't surprised that the officers knew my name, they would have got that through scuttlebutt, but I wanted to know a little more about them.

"Oh, sorry" said the girl "I'm Lady Isabelle von Krueitz, I'm a gunnery Sub-Lieutenant." She was 19 or so, medium height, athletic build, with somewhat tanned skin, short fair hair and blue eyes. The only thing stopping her from looking like a fashion model was her classical nose, which had been broken sometime previously. With the ease and availability of current cosmetic surgery, I wondered if she'd kept the nose to mark out her uniqueness. "The furry gentleman next to me is Ingghe Uniksae an engineering Lieutenant" continued Lady Isabelle. He was young, tall for a Vargr, about average height for a human; he had a lean muscular build, pale, almost cream fur and with a touch of Gvegh accent in his speech. His tail wagged.

"I" said a uniformed officer, pulling a monocle out of a pocket, polishing it and popping it into his eye "have the dubious honour of introducing myself as Lt. Khuli Ikarsi, an ornament to the Command branch of His Imperial Majesty's Glorious Navy; or is that His Glorious Majesty's Imperial Navy. I never can remember."

"This buffoon" said Lady Isabelle amicably, "is an Authenticist who has chosen to model himself on a Terran literary character called Bertie Wooster. When he dresses up he actually looks rather dapper. The monocle is an affectation, it's optically flat; he has perfect eyesight."

"Isabelle, you're being a bit of a bounder" said Lt. Ikarsi, "givin' away my trade secrets doncherno." The Lieutenant was young, tall, slim, dark haired and fair skinned, the hair being slicked back over his head giving him a most unusual look. There were fine laughter lines beside his eyes. Lady Isabelle then turned to a well-built, thickset, very dark skinned older man who had sat quietly, listening intently to my story.

"This is Lt. John Smith" Lady Isabelle began, "no, really, that's his name" she must have seen the doubt in my expression. "He's in Engineering too" continued Lady Isabelle, "and what he doesn't know about gravitics isn't worth knowing."

I looked at Lt. Smith with new respect; it seemed that he must have made the difficult leap from a warranted Petty Officer enlisted man to holding an Imperial Commission as a Lieutenant. One of the two men who had been pretending to play chess while listening to my story, now spoke up.

"If you spad-heads will keep quiet, perhaps we can concentrate better on our game."

Lady Isabelle continued, not in the least abashed, "The snippy gentleman who just so rudely addressed us" her sunny smile took any sting out of this comment, "is Sub-Lt. Piotr Ganushiim of the Command branch and his silent partner is Sub-Lt. Ernesto Singh who is, Emperor Strephon preserve us, of the Flight branch who steer the Castro as well as pilot any ships boats. Though what the poor old girl has done to deserve being flung about by that brute escapes me."

Sub-Lt. Singh retorted by sticking his tongue out, making him look absurdly young. They were all, apart from Lt. Smith, so very, very young. About as young as my children would have been, had I had any. I had been married so I wasn't the loner scout of popular fiction. I had wanted children, she hadn't, our respective careers meant we didn't see a lot of each other so we went our separate ways; not a good thought to dwell on.

"Excuse me; spad-head?" I addressed the query to the group I was sitting with, leaving the chess players to continue their game.

"Navy slang, old boy" drawled Lt. Ikarsi, "Spad is the colloquial name given to a root vegetable discovered on one of the early interstellar expeditions from Vland. It's got a proper Vilani name of course but no-one can be bothered to remember it. It can be prepared in numerous ways or even eaten raw, unlike the flora and fauna of Vland. However it's prepared though it tastes of bland nothingness. Inevitably the Vilani bureaucracy made it a staple food of their navy. Immutable tradition has kept it there. Don't the scouts have to eat it then?"

"No, I'm very glad to say we don’t" I responded, "Although if anyone suggested it I can imagine enraged scouts threatening to eat the person responsible. If that's what I think it is, the only use scouts have for it is to brew hootch out of it."

I reckoned that the 'spad root' of the navy was the scouts 'spade root' due to its shape when raw. It was a useful source of carbohydrates and it was normally issued dried and ground as flour which stores well on long scout voyages. We always added strong flavourings to it. I wondered why the navy didn't.

The mess door opened and in walked Flag Lt. The Honourable Vincent Igadushta. Oh no, what does he want now? The Lieutenant nodded to the other officers, rather uncomfortably I thought and went to the small bar. I suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Lt. Igadushta, although he spent most of his time with command and Flag officers, he wasn't one himself, and he wasn't really one of the crew either. He must be a very lonely young man. I turned to the Lieutenant who had got his drink from the robo-tender and was nursing his glass gazing into the middle distance. "Join us Lieutenant" I made it a statement not a question. My companions gave me looks indicating various degrees of disapprobation as Lt. Igadushta joined us.

"I am sure that we will find your scout expertise very useful in the coming mission." Said Lt. Igadushta, looking rather uncomfortable in our company.

"I hope not" growled Lt. Uniksae, "as that is likely to mean that the old Castro has misjumped and we're in the middle of the Great Rift!" Lt. Igadushta now looked even more uncomfortable. "Mr. Beecher" the Vargr Lieutenant continued, turning to me, "have you ever been in a naval battle?" The other young officers looked embarrassed but relieved that someone had asked the question that they all wanted to. The question that they really meant was 'how does one cope with being in a battle'.

"None of you have?" I asked

"I have" replied Lt. Smith "but not as an officer." No-one else spoke.

"I was in quite a few during the war" I said "the difficult part is looking calm during the waiting; once the firing starts you're usually far too busy to be scared."

"Were you scared sir?" asked Lady Isabelle

"Terrified, every time" I replied "and you needn't call me sir. You're always terrified, but it does get easier to deal with it." For all his apparent self-assurance, Lt. Igadushta was hanging on my words as much as any of the other young officers.

 

 

Chapter 8

We were all watching the clock. The clock that counted down the time to estimated exit from jump-space. Estimated. That word hung in all our minds. We all knew that 90% of all jumps finish within about two hours of estimated time either way. The figures go up until only a minute fraction of all jumps last longer than about 16 hours either way. Then there are the strange ones; the ones like Belerophon. She had jumped from Regina on a routine three parsec jump to Roup. By the Imperial calendar she exited jump-space nine days later, much longer than the usual seven; but the ship that came out of jump was a decaying hulk. Forensic tests on the remains of the ship and the bones of her crew showed that, for them, more than four thousand years had passed. The cause of this tragedy was never determined; so we watched the clock, and waited.

I was doing my waiting on the Flag Bridge with Admiral Chang and Flag Lt. Igadushta. All Imperial Navy ships exit jump-space on alert status so we were all strapped into our stations and wearing pressure suits. One view screen displayed the Bridge where Captain DuToit and his bridge crew were at their stations; another displayed the formless grey nothingness of jump-space. The clock display ticked down towards zero; reached it and continued. Now marking the time after estimated time of jump. We waited.

"Captain" said one of the bridge crew, "electro-magnetic surge detected ahead."

"Confirmed, and increasing" said another. We all breathed a silent sigh of relief; this was the sign of immanent emergence from jump-space.

"All hands, this is the Captain; stand-by for emergence." Captain DuToit announced over the intercom. To an outside observer, a blue glow would appear, expanding to a bright blue patch of sky roughly the size and shape of our ship. Then the ship would appear, illuminated by the glowing blue lines of the energised jump-grid, which would gradually fade away. Our view screen showed a bright patch, growing until it covered the whole screen, then as this faded, we saw blackness . . . . speckled with distant stars.

"James" the Admiral said tersely, "what can you tell about the system?" I waited a moment before replying, letting the data from the sensors build up and project the result as a hologram in front of us. Admiral Chang had decided to arrive towards the zenith¹ of the unknown system rather than its nadir², by tossing a coin. He did this as he said "If anyone knows the way I think and tries to predict where we're coming on the basis of that, well, they're out of luck."

Most ships jump to the plane of the ecliptic³ outside the 100 diameter limit of the target planet, making sure that they are also 100 diameters away from the local sun. We were jumping away from that in the hope that the pirates would be looking at the plane of the ecliptic for intruders, not elsewhere.

"Densitometer and infra-red reading coming in" I said, "There's the brown dwarf, 0.02 standard solar masses, absolutely classic. The surface temperature is about 500ºK, that means there's methane there and probably water vapour, so there should be ices on the planets. Speaking of those, there looks to be four and the nearest will probably be tidally locked. Admiral, my advice stands; I believe the base will be on the closest planet."

"Thank you, Mr. Beecher" Admiral Chang replied formally, "Captain DuToit, has the rest of the squadron arrived?"

"Yes Admiral" replied the Captain, "the squadron jump was successful. The Springer and the Anger arrived within minutes of us."

"Very well Captain DuToit" said the Admiral, "lead the squadron towards the innermost planet, best acceleration if you please."

"Aye, aye sir. At best acceleration our ETA is forty two minutes." The captain then turned to give orders to the bridge crew.

As Admiral Chang brooded on the situation in the holo-display Lt. Igadushta spoke to me on a private intercom channel. "Beecher, what happens if you're wrong about which planet the pirate base is on?"

"I'll probably be dismissed the service and may even end up in a cell" I replied.

"Oh." Lt. Igadushta paused for a while and then asked, "How will we be able to tell if the ships are on the innermost planet?"

"Heat" I replied shortly, "we know that the pirates land their ships as they want to conceal from their men, the fact that their base is orbiting a brown dwarf. They'll need to keep the ships at a reasonable temperature for the electronics and other systems. Against the cold background of the planet's dark side they'll stick out like sore thumbs."

"Won't we stand out as hot against the space background?" queried the Lieutenant.

"Yes, unfortunately. Whether or not we're spotted depends on how good a watch the pirates are keeping" I said, "the Admiral is gambling that in a supposedly secret base the watch won't be very good." Lt. Igadushta nodded and subsided into silence; waiting.

oOoOo

My stomach had knotted and I felt nauseous as we waited. When you're waiting time always seems to stretch but it had been about twenty minutes when a bridge crewman said "Twelve hotspots detected on innermost planet sir. One them is fuzzy, the rest point sources."

"Why is one fuzzy?" asked Lt. Igadushta on intercom.

"One will be the base" I replied "remember the prisoners said that it's buried underground. Unless the pirates have picked up more ships, that means only one of them isn't here. Let's hope it's not the flagship." Any remark the Lieutenant had been contemplating was interrupted by another bridge crewman saying that several search radars had been activated on the planet's surface. The pirates had spotted us. Lt. Igadushta swore, Admiral Chang remained silent.

"It's not over yet Lieutenant" I said, "the pirates won't have been running their power plants at full to save fuel and wear and tear. It takes time to ramp up to full power although a highly trained crew can take shortcuts.

A/N¹ The zenith is roughly 'above' a solar system.

A/N² The nadir is roughly 'below' a solar system.

A/N³ Technically the plane of the ecliptic is the plane in which the Earth rotates about the sun. In the Third Imperium, and the earlier Vilani Imperium, the ecliptic is the plane in which the major world of a system rotates around its star. It is this plane which zenith and nadir are 'above' and 'below'.

 

 

Chapter 9

Lt. Igadushta and I watched the holo-display silently, leaving Admiral Chang to his thoughts. We could see that the eleven point heat sources were growing brighter when one suddenly flared up then grew dimmer. "What's happened?" queried the Lieutenant. The Admiral answered him.

"That Mr. Igadushta, is one of the pirate ships' power plants exploding as they tried, unsuccessfully, to emulate the skill and training of Imperial Naval personnel in emergency reactor operations. Or of scout personnel also of course" he added with a quick nod to me.

"Admiral, we will be in extreme weapon range in five minutes" Captain DuToit said in a calm voice.

"Thank you Captain" replied the Admiral, "you may fire when ready. Mr. Igadushta, instruct Springer and Anger to remain in our shadow, the pirates may think we're alone. If the pirate fleet remains together after they lift-off Springer and Anger are to watch our stern, firing on targets of opportunity. If the fleet scatters they are to act at discretion, but they are not to tackle the pirate flagship singly."

"Aye, aye Sir" said Lt. Igadushta who bent to his communication panel.

My job was over now and I felt superfluous as I watched the battle on the screens. Despite what most holo-vids show a space battle isn't visually impressive. Most modern weapon systems use directed energy beams which aren't visible in space; missiles are coloured black and you can only see their drive flares from astern. Fleet actions take place at such a range that when an enemy ship takes a hit it's only discernable on instruments.

I occupied myself by estimating when the pirate fleet would try to jump. They had now lifted-off as a group and were keeping together for the moment. For a safe jump the pirates had to have a very small amount of local gravity. Trying to jump inside ten diameters from an object was basically suicide; a catastrophic misjump with only a pile of debris emerging at the finish being almost a certainty. The odds on surviving grew progressively better as the distance from a gravity well increased; 100 diameters being considered a 'safe jump distance' which wouldn't put up your insurance premiums. The planet housing the pirate base was 8,000 km in diameter, getting 80,000 km away wouldn't be too much of a problem. The brown dwarf however was about 140,000 km in diameter and the base planet orbited at 1.1 million km from it. The pirates had at least 300,000 km to go to get out of the brown dwarf's lethal influence. We had a further distance to cover in order to come up to them than they had to travel to be safe to jump, but we had had a running start which the pirates didn't. It would be close. The Castro had started firing now and the pirates were replying; both sides were hoping for a hit that would slow down their opponents. The pirates would stand a better chance of some escaping by scattering, but they were still keeping together. "Why don't they scatter?" I hadn't meant to vocalise but Admiral Chang had obviously heard me.

"They don't scatter, James" the Admiral said, "because their leader is an utterly callous man. By staying together he reduces the chance of any weapon being targeted on his ship and thus maximises his chances of escape."

"The other pirate leaders aren't stupid, they must realise this" I said, "what's keeping them from scattering?"

"The Flayer – and what a ridiculous title that is" remarked Admiral Chang, "- may have threatened to open fire on his confederates, he may have installed remote controlled explosives on their ships or ensured their compliance by some twisted method I can't even envisage James. I've dealt with pirates many times; they are scum."

We had been hit many times by lasers, but the armour of the old Castro was still thick and little damage was done. Our fire-control was obsolete and not in good condition but we had far more laser turrets than the pirates and they began to take damage. Fire from the pirates slackened for a short time although they must have realised that we had no spinal mount as such would have vaporised their ships long since. Indeed the Castro was so old they may have had no idea what class of ship she was.

As the range between us continued to reduce I saw the displays come alive with incoming traces; the pirates had launched a swarm of missiles at us, hoping to overwhelm our defences and cause sufficient damage for them to escape. My heart sank as I saw from the designations on the display that all the missiles had nuclear warheads. If Castro's elderly damping field failed the ship would be crippled and the casualties enormous.

Some missiles were destroyed by hastily retargeted lasers but most still came on. As they hit there were local explosions but no ship-wracking nuclear detonations. The old damper field had done its job and prevented chain reactions in the warheads. Now we were close enough for the fire-control systems to direct more powerful weapons. Streams of charged particles moving at just under light-speed hit the pirate ships and did terrible damage to their computers and electronic systems. The pirates' formation broke apart as ships veered and slowed at random; Springer and Anger closed in on vulnerable targets and wreaked havoc.

The range was such that instead of symbols the view-screens were showing the pirate ships themselves. My gaze was fixed on the Vargr-made pirate flagship and I saw glowing blue lines suddenly appear on her hull, the pirate leader was making a desperate attempt to jump before he had escaped the brown dwarf's grip. A yellow explosion blossomed just as the glow was at its height, whether caused by the ship's own overloaded systems or a hit by one of our weapons was uncertain. The pirate flagship disappeared into jump-space in the midst of a lurid blue and yellow glow.

oOoOo

And that really is it. The rest of the pirate ships were destroyed or captured; the base surrendered without a struggle; the missing twelfth pirate ship, a Vargr-designed freighter, turned up a few days later and was easily captured. Our casualties were light and I was pleased to meet once again in the wardroom, all of the junior officers I had met before. There was much rejoicing and as I'd taken the precaution of filling my suit's water bottle with scotch, a good time was had by all.

oOoOo

Later, on our return jump to Deneb we got to discussing the whole thing. The pirate fleet's very success worked against them; the more ships they plundered, the more powerful people they annoyed and the more resources utilised against them. Really their defeat was a matter of time. Even if the pirate leader survived, a most unlikely event, his reign of fear was over. Once his secret base was discovered his ace-in-the-hole was gone. Unfortunately none of the prisoners knew if pirate's rutter was merely a combination of several extant rutters or something more. All of the human captains committed suicide so we never found out if them all being Vilani was significant or not.

oOoOo

As I entered my quarters and closed the door, my vid-com screen lit up with Bwephulp's face. "Mr. Beecher" she said, "automatic data correlation led to the capture of the serial-killer the Usani strangler. He had travelled to Maelstrom and his identical modus operandus was picked up by the computers. I have arranged a medical examination at 10:00 tomorrow to determine if you are still in good health after your exertions. It's good to see you back."

"It's good to be back Bwephulp."

Fin.