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It was just plain fate, so far as he could see.

That had been his exact thought the evening he'd met the first of the witches of Karres. As the weeks passed and he'd spent more time with Maleen, Goth, and the Leewit, there had been many occasions when he'd had many more thoughts. More colorful thoughts. And colorful words to go with them.

If his hands had been free, Pausert would have slapped his own forehead. Hard. He and he alone had made the choice to return to Porlumma and he had known better. Even Goth had warned against making the journey here. "It was just plain fate," the Captain whispered into the darkness.

Two years had passed since he had last been in this jail. The smell had not improved in the least. Moldy and pungently sweet at the same time. Like fruit gone bad but with something biological living inside. All rotting. With enthusiasm. Pausert's pulse quickened at the thought. He hadn't seen so much as a glimmer of light since returning to consciousness and for all he knew, the smell belonged to a body hanging on the wall next to him. The darkness gave up no clues except the cloying stench of – something. An author that legend said came from long ago Yarth had said, "Forgiveness is the smell that lavender gives out when you tread on it." "Definitely not lavender in here," Pausert spoke to the darkness. "And I don't forgive you. Why, oh why, did I ever come back to Porlumma?" The darkness seemed to know the question was rhetorical and didn't answer.

The Captain sighed, letting his legs sag until the manacles holding him to the wall supported his weight. He didn't need to ask how he'd ended up here, he knew exactly who was to blame for this fiasco. The communique had carried the Seal of the Empress, and that the only reason he and Goth had even considered reading the contents. Medical supplies were needed urgently on Porlumma and the Venture was the only ship in the area that could get there in time. After the first read, he had chucked the message across the control room of the ship, almost hitting the Leewit, but the young girl's reflexes worked perfectly and she had ducked without looking around. There had been a video tab, of course, proof of the epidemic and the crucial need. Captain Pausert, kicking his own behind, had agreed to make the emergency run. Goth, who had also volunteered to kick his behind, had added the proviso that emergency teams would meet the ship and that she and the Captain would not set foot on the soil of Porlumma. All was agreed and the supplies had arrived and been loaded aboard. The run to the planet had been made without incident and the required teams had offloaded the supplies and rushed them away to a nearby hospital. That's when it had all gone bad.

As the Venture was being readied for takeoff, the Yard Supervisor had announced that an emergency inspection had to be done because a problem had been noticed on the exterior of the ship. "Should have hit the "blast off" button then and there. But no, I don't seem to learn," Pausert moaned into the darkness.

The Captain had formed an emotional attachment to the once old but remodeled ship, so as her commander, he had to go outside and see for himself. That's when the lights had gone out and he woke up hanging from a wall next to this smell. Pausert exhaled sharply through his nostrils, making an odd snorting noise of derision to mock himself. And the smell.

His last experience with the planet Porlumma had been when he had freed three 'slave' children from masters who were very anxious to see the last of them. The Leewit, spelled with a "the", age 6 or thereabouts; the enigmatic Goth, probably 11 then but possessing a mental maturity greater than his own; and Maleen, 15 pushing 20. Goth had made the startling announcement that she was going to marry the Captain when she grew up. Pausert had laughed. When he had returned the three rescued girls to their parents on Karres, his Great Uncle Threbus, Goth's father, had warned him not to treat his daughter's announcement lightly. "I laughed when her mother Toll told me the same thing. Now see," he gave Pausert a whimsical look. Pausert did laugh. All the way to his ship.

Leaving Karres behind, the Captain had returned to what he thought would be a 'normal' life. But he had a stowaway aboard the old Venture; Goth. One of the many strange gifts that had earned the citizens of Karres the nickname "witch" was precognition and whatever passed for a Council on Karres had determined that his future and Goth's were deeply intertwined with the well-being of the planet itself. For that reason, they had strongly suggested that the two should remain together for the time being. When he'd asked for an explanation, no one seemed to be able to give one. Worse, Threbus and Toll didn't seem the least concerned about their daughter's safety. So, the two had formed a deepening bond of friendship and gone hopping about the galaxy earning a living by running "special errands" – a whisker's breadth from smuggling – with the Venture, refurbished and renamed The Early Bird. The new name fit well with the registry documents but not in the crew's mind. To them, she was the Venture and always would be.

"# &$% !" was a curse that Pausert reserved for special occasions and he took the opportunity to spit it into the dark.

Somewhere an iron door banged open, the sound reverberating through the stones at his back, and light approached. Then came the sound of a key in the door, followed by a loud, rusty squeak. Light spilled into the cell making the Captain's eyes water. He turned his head, hesitating briefly, but there was no body hanging on the wall next to him, only a dank and smelly hole in the floor. "Oh, that's bad," Pausert gasped as the smell grew suddenly worse.

A very large, sweaty man wearing a badly stained undershirt pushed a wheeled iron cart into the cell. The hopper on the cart was filled with glowing red coals. The man smiled at Pausert and worked a large set of billows, forcing the coals to grow hotter until almost white. "These be for you," the man smiled. "I still has a scar from when you was last here," the man said, one hand rubbing his more than ample backside.

The Captain shrugged. That had been Goth's doing, but she'd meant well at the time. Speaking of which, his little witch friend should be showing up soon. He looked at the glowing hot coals and swallowed a lump growing in his throat. "Any time now," he mumbled.