Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [58]
Kahless must have been surprised by Majjas’s feat as well, because he grunted approvingly. “I see the stories about you are true,” he remarked. “Majjas, son of Eragh, is as canny a warrior as ever served on a Klingon shipand your blindness has not changed that.”
Of course, Picard mused, the old man would have had warning of their visit. Kurn would have seen to that before he took them off Ogat in his private vessel. But still, to know each of them by their footsteps-or perhaps their scent-was certainly an accomplishment.
Majjas chuckled. “The Mogh family is coming up in the world,” he jibed, “to be traveling in such distin guished company.” Leaning closer to Kahless, he added: “For the record, I do not care in the least whether the scroll is authentic. I, for one, will always believe in the Kahless of legend. Now,” he continued, leaning back in his chair, “what sort of impulse has brought you to my humble abode?”
No sooner had Majjas completed his question than a quintet of females emerged from a back room, carrying trays full of decantered drink and brazen goblets, and writhing gagh in bowls of supple, red mressa twigs.
The captain couldn’t help noticing how beautiful they were. In a savage way, of course.
“My daughters, was said the old man, his smile broadening-though from his tone of voice, it was clear even to Picard that Majjas would have liked a strong son to go with them.
As one of the trays was placed in front of him, the captain poured himself a goblet full of black Klingon wine-but declined when offered the gagh. He had eaten on the way here, after all.
Worf was the one who finally answered Majjas’s question. “You have been a friend of my family for years,” he told his host. “Since before Kuru and I were born.”
“Since before your father was born,” the old man interjected. “And a difficult birth it was.”
Worf grinned. “I stand corrected, honored host. Since before ourfather was born.” He paused. “I remember my father saying no one knows armaments like Majjasregardless of whether they are daggers or disrupter cannons, phasers or photon torpedoes.”
“Your father did not lie,” the old man agreed. “That’s what comes of serving on a Bird-of-Prey all one’s life.”
As Picard looked on, Worf s smile disappeared. “I am glad to hear that,” the lieutenant said. “We need such expertise on our side.”
“Your side?” Majjas echoed. “Then am I to understand you’re at odds with some other House?”
“With someone, was Kahless interjected. “Though it may be a great deal more than a simple conflict between Houses.” He glanced meaningfully at the old man’s wife, a slight woman with sharp features. “Perhaps this is something you alone may wish to hear, Majjas.”
Their host shook his white-maned head. “My wife and my daughters-young as they are-are more than ornaments in this hall. You will not have occasion to regret your trust in them.”
Kahless inclined his head, to show his compliance with Majjas’s terms. If the old man couldn’t see him, at least his wife could. Then the clone went on to describe all they’d learned-starting with his observations at Tolar’tu and ending with the bloodshed at the academy on Ogat.
By the time he was done, Majjas was scowling in his wispy, white beard. “You are dealing with cowards,” he concluded, “and worse. But I see what you mean-this is more than a feud between Houses.” The muscles in his temples worked, evidence of his determination to help.
“What service may I perform for you, my friends?”
The captain watched as Worf opened the pouch on his belt and removed its contents, then placed them in their host’s hands. Examining the metal fragments with his fingertips, Majjas harrumphed.
“Pieces of a bomb casing,” he announced. “No doubt, from one of the firebombs your enemies set off at the academy. And what is it you wish to know about these pieces?”
“We were hoping,” said Picard, “that you could provide us with some clue as to their manufacture. Preferably, something that might lead us to our enemies.”
Our enemies, thought the captain.