Pausert came to the control room in time to see two vast freighters going in to land. There was no communicator chatter from them or from below. "It's possible, I suppose. It happens on Vaudevillia. But it's unlike any local government to miss a chance to collect duties. Well, let's go in. If we can deal with the Megair Cannibals, then we can deal with the local officials."
"Maybe," said Goth cheerfully. "Although Nikkeldepain taught me that some of them can make the Cannibals seem downright friendly."
"Well, those Cannibals were pretty welcoming, seeing as we were delivering fresh meat," said Vezzarn. "So where do we land, Captain? Just follow them?"
Pausert looked on the long-range scopes. "They seem to be heading for the point of those dust plumes. So I think we should too."
They did. And it soon became apparent that the reason for there being no port control was that there was no port. Just endless hard-baked flatness with huge herds of wisents being loaded. The town wasn't much of a town, either. Its only reason for being was a low rock-ridge and an up-welling aquifer along its edge that provided a hundred-mile-long drinking trough. Much of the year, this town barely woke up. Right now, however, the herdsmen were seeing that it barely slept. And the circus was there too.
The synthasilk bunting was still bright above the dusty town. Goth and the Leewit were both surprised at how it called to them. Even the captain was smiling, humming his "escapists" background music. It felt, if not like coming home, at least like arriving at an old friend's home.
"
Petey, Byrum and Keep,
" said the Leewit happily to Ta'zara. "The best show in the galaxy!"
The bodyguard had rapidly become a cross between a personal servant and a favorite uncle. He had quietly come to ask Pausert's advice, though. "She talks to thin air, Captain," he'd said worriedly.
"She's from Karres," Pausert explained. "They do that." It was easier than trying to explain vatches to him. Or klatha.
Vezzarn stayed with the ship. "I'm too old for the circus. And I want to check that tube, Skipper. I think they rushed the alignment."
They walked down the bustling streets of the town, past merchants selling everything that saddle nomads might want to part with their hard earned maels for, and quite a lot else besides. Wind-etched and sun-bitten men and women in leathers with extravagant wide-brimmed hats bargained, drank and celebrated at the town's watering holes—or just walked, taking in the crowds, the sights, the buildings. And, of course, headed for the synthasilk magnificence of the lattice ship circus. The
Venture
's crew joined the human tide flowing towards the turnstiles.
They hadn't even gotten to the turnstiles when a beaming Himbo Petey came out in person to greet them and to escort them through like visiting royalty.
"We got word that you were coming. We've been watching out for you. So here's hoping that you've come to rejoin us?" asked the showmaster. "Ethy will be here just as soon as she gets offstage."
"I wish," said Goth, as they made their way past the sideshows. "But I'm afraid that we've just come in to look for something in the second props room."
Himbo Petey twirled his mustachios. They really had improved since Karres, thought Goth. "So you won't be with us for more than six months then. I keep asking Ethy to let us tidy out that junk-pile. And she keeps telling me that I don't understand what
artistes
need." He smiled contentedly. "You have heard that we are expecting a new production!"
"Something not by Shakespeare?" asked Pausert, knowing Himbo's tastes.
"No," said Himbo, looking rather self-satisfied. "Something co-produced by the two of us. Although my input was but a small one."
The Leewit got it first. "Not more babies!" she said, in tones of disgust. "I think it's catching, Goth."
Pausert shook Himbo, now quite pink, firmly by the hand. "I'm delighted. As must be the whole of the lattice ship."
"Well, yes," said Himbo Petey. "The show must go on, and without an heir . . ."
"No precog names?" said Goth.
"Well, no. He'll be Himbo Junior, of course."
Goth hugged him. "Somehow the idea of a junior Himbo Junior is very cute."
"Are you selling out, Goth?" demanded the Leewit crossly. "Next thing I know you'll be all gooey about babies too."
It suddenly occurred to Goth that although the Leewit might not realize it, her little sister didn't like the idea of not being the baby of the family anymore. "You little dope! You know the terms of the agreement with the circus. You were there. It's a family business and needs a new Petey to go on."
"Oh. Well, congratulations, Himbo," said the Leewit, suddenly munificent. She looked at the ringmaster. "He'll never have as fine a moustache, though."
Himbo laughed. "Nonsense! He'll be born with one. He has a show to run."
"So how is the show going?" asked Pausert.
Himbo laughed again. "Well, you'd think that an Imperial cipher and a funding budget would help. But I conclude that the thespians think that just means more fancy stages, costumes and sets. We have a revolving stage now. And what did it do but get stuck the other day. And before that it decided to suddenly start slowly rotating midscene in the middle of that 'to be' soliloquy. I always thought that we could cut it to six words, and the stage seemed to agree with me. But our Hamlet didn't notice and disappeared . . . and the audience found they were watching King Claudius and Ophelia kissing and getting rather involved on a chair in the next set. It gave Hamlet a really plausible reason for murder, if you ask me."
Goth had to suspect vatchy interference.
"But Pampez has been good to us. Mostly locals, of course, hungry for a bit of galactic-class culture," he said proudly, "But today we also seem to have had an influx of off-world wisent buyers."
"How do you know they're wisent buyers?" asked Pausert.
"They don't wear local clothes—they're wearing suits," explained Himbo. "No one wears suits except wisent buyers here—and why else does anyone come to Pampez? Well, unless you're selling or entertaining. And then you don't have spare time to take in even the finest of shows."
They'd made slow progress, as all the show-folk were calling greetings and wanting to talk. They'd drawn level with the fanderbags. Goth had a sudden realization, as the long inquisitive mobile noses sniffed at her, that these were possibly "her" babies. She sniffed determinedly and went to stroke and pet the sensitive spots on those noses. They remembered her, too, though possibly not from their birth. But you never could tell with fanderbags.
"Mother was right," she said to Pausert. "Messing around with time is not worth the heartaches."
"I thought it was," he said quietly. "If it wasn't for someone called Vala, my own childhood would have been a lot drearier."
She sniffed again. He said just the right things sometimes. "Let's go and look in the props store and then go home," she said gruffly. "We'll come back when it's all sorted for a proper visit, Himbo. Promise."
"Missy Goth. We seem to have picked up a tail," said Ta'zara quietly.
Goth took a quick look up from the fanderbags. There were an unusually large number of men in suits, not the local soft fringed leather outfits, in the sideshow aisle.
Himbo Petey had been running
Petey, Byrum and Keep
for a good many years and travelled across some of the rougher spots in the galaxy. He pulled his communicator out of his pocket. "Security. We have a condition amber. Get Fetz and Porro up on the gate towers and let me have what you can spare in sideshow three. Be warned. They're probably packing heat." He turned to Pausert. "Captain, something looks very odd here. Go out through the fanderbag enclosure, and up. I'll deal with this."
"Don't stick your neck out," said Pausert. "It's Karres business. We didn't expect problems, but . . ."
"Karres problems are my problems too, now," said Himbo Petey, looking a lot less like a dumpy, jovial, mustachioed ringmaster and more like someone you wouldn't want to argue with. "Now go."
They scrambled through the fence. And immediately trouble started to happen.
First, the suits came running up to follow. Himbo stood four-square in their way. "You can't go through there."
"Get out of the way, you fat fool," Goth heard behind them. Then she saw the flare of a blaster.
She couldn't help but turn. They couldn't shoot Himbo! Not Himbo Petey!
One of them had—or tried, rather. But he also misjudged his target speed and his target's response. Himbo Petey always carried a whip tucked into his belt, and it was not just a macho ornament. He might have had one arm singed, but he was still standing—which was more than you could say for the shooter. He'd learned a lesson about whips, for sure.
He'd also learned a lesson about being a town-bred thug and using a gun in a place like this. The wisent herders of Pampez used their weapons every day as the tools of their trade, and not just occasionally to intimidate or murder. The locals didn't use expensive blasters, but old-fashioned slug-throwers. The thug had been shot six times, at least two of those shots coming after Himbo Petey's lash had disarmed him.
Himbo looked up at the Karres witches. Goth could see other suits, whose hands had been suspiciously inside their jackets, now hastily withdrawing those hands. Himbo waved. "Go," he ordered.
They could hardly do otherwise. He was Himbo Petey, the ringmaster, and this was his circus. He gave the orders here! So they made their way along the upper walkway toward the hulk that was the second props store.
"There's more of them," said the Leewit.
Marshi's thugs had found them, and she seemed to be directing them telepathically. If they'd been "seeded" like Mebeckey, they were all a part of her.
They all had blasters. "Give them a whistle, Leewit," said Goth.
The littlest witch did, and the damage was going to cost Himbo Petey and Karres a fair amount to replace. Electronic equipment shattered. So did all the piezoelectric crystals at the heart of the modern blaster. At a guess, from this height, the Leewit must have shattered half the piezoelectric crystals in equipment across the lattice ship.
That didn't stop the orchestrated chase. They met a group of ten "professional enforcers" running in from a side stage. They were probably quite good with guns, and maybe with things like knuckle-dusters, knives or coshes. Ta'zara, however, wasn't just
quite
good at fighting. And when you added a shrill whistle that doubled them up in pain before the Na'kalauf man and the captain had even got started, it was a fairly one-sided conflict. However, Goth realized that while it was one-sided, the enemy was committing a lot of resources to it. Marshi must have several hundred of them here, inside the lattice ship. The sounds of fighting were widespread now. And the plant-woman could coordinate her forces.
"Time for no-shape," said Goth. "Leewit, you hold onto Ta'zara. Keep him calm."
One moment they were there, the next, gone. Goth could hear her sister explaining. "It's like when we were disguised as Megair Cannibals. Only now we're disguised as nothing at all. Don't worry. You can still feel my hand."
Invisible, but holding hands, they made their way onwards. It was apparent that circus security, aided by the local wisent-herders, were engaged in battle royal with Marshi's thugs. Without functioning blasters, the thugs were finding this was not a happy place to be, since the Leewit's whistle hadn't done any harm at all to the wisent-herders' simple slug-throwers. But there were a lot of them.
Goth led them down and away from the props store a little so that the Leewit could do some whistling—and then she had to reluctantly lead them away from the sight of Dame Ethy leading a contingent of actors armed with broken bleacher-backs into the fray. Looking at her, hearing her battle-cry—straight from one of those ancient operas that Himbo had simply refused to contemplate them putting on—Goth felt sorry for the attackers if Himbo Petey had more than a flesh wound. And moreover, she relled vatches. She could imagine that they'd be less than happy about having their portable supply of fascinating dreams hurt or damaged!
The props store was locked, but she still knew the combination, and soon they were inside the old hulk, insulated from the battle that raged outside. And not knowing exactly where to start. Sorting through it all could take several touring seasons, and they didn't have that kind of time. Heaven knew what numbers Marshi had available to commit to the task, but it seemed she wasn't shy to use them all. The Agandar's pirate fleet had numbered at least ten thousand pirates strong. This, Hulik had said, was a more powerful force still. Goth simply had to find the box and get out, and then Sheewash away from Marshi's grasp.
She closed her eyes and felt for it with her mind . . . and then it occurred to her. The box didn't weigh more than a couple of pounds, and she knew exactly what it looked like.
She 'ported it into her hands—and then dropped it. She'd forgotten how unpleasant it felt.
"Got it. I just need a bag for it," said Goth, looking around.
Pausert bent down and picked it up. "I could just carry it." Plainly, the box did not affect him in the same way!
"I guess you could," said Goth, unsettled by her contact with the alien device. "Let's go."
They left the shelter of the hulk that was the second props store and Manicholo and Goth's favorite hideout. Out in the lattice-tent, it was plain that between the locals, the circus-folk and the vatches, the criminals from the inner cities of the Empire that Marshi had shipped in were losing. Goth saw Himbo Petey and Ketering mounted on fanderbags, chasing several of them down.
The temptation was to join in. Common sense, however, said to get the alien box out of there and onto the
Venture
. Reluctantly Goth decided that was the better course to choose.
So, still invisible, they left the synthasilk of
Petey, Byrum and Keep
and headed toward the
Venture—
suffering, of course, from the inevitable problems of invisibility in a crowded environment.