And the girl? Well, she just took in her surroundings with a scheming expression on her pretty young face.
Ambling over to the domicile doorway, Seven Skull Shield looked inside. A squared-off log had been set vertically in the floor to act as a stepping post leading down to the hard-packed subterranean floor. As his eyes adjusted he could see that the wall benches were in good shape and wide enough for two people to sleep side by side. A collection of pots—probably not worth the bother to transport back to Tunica—had been left behind. The central fire pit needed cleaning out. A pile of dried corncobs for the fire were stacked in the corner.
Two Sticks followed him in, stepping down to the floor. The Albaamaha Trader looked around as the Chikosi cautiously stepped down, muttering among themselves as they took in their new home.
Seven Skull Shield waited for a gap in the line and climbed up and out to make room. The girl was standing to one side, arms crossed under her pointed breasts, one foot forward.
As he ambled over, Seven Skull Shield read the distaste in her eyes. In Traders’ sign language, he asked, “Why the guards?”
Her hands quickly formed her reply. “Perhaps they are to protect me from leering men who think with their shafts instead of their heads. Why do you care?”
“And the leash?” he signed, before pointing to the strap tied to her ankle.
She just scowled in return, her expression promising violence.
“If you ran, where would you go?” he signed as he ignored her glaring hostility.
Thoughts raced behind her dark eyes, as if deciding how much to tell him. Her hands and fingers began to fly. “I would go home. Back to my husband. A man could make a small fortune in Trade in return for getting me back to Albaamaha country. My husband’s clan would be most grateful.”
She made the gesture for “but!” and her eyes narrowed. “When I find that man he will be an honorable warrior. Not a leering camp dog like you.”
Seven Skull Shield grinned down at Farts. “She thinks I’m a camp dog. Wonder what that makes you?” Signing back, he said, “When I find such a man, I’ll let you know.”
He gave her a wink and turned to Two Sticks, asking, “Now, why would a pretty young thing like this leave her husband and be brought all this way to marry the Morning Star?”
“My guess is that she disgraced her family. The Chikosi are prickly that way. Arrogant, stuck up, priggish—”
The girl barked something in Moskogee which made Two Stick’s fight a smile. “She doesn’t know your language, but she knows the word Chikosi. Sky Hand—even disgraced daughters—don’t like the word. This one is proud.”
Seven Skull Shield gave her another ribald wink, which brought a flash of angry color to her cheeks. “She thinks I’m a scoundrel.”
“You are a scoundrel.”
“Well, you’re a spy.”
“We both work for the Keeper. We’re both spies,” Two Sticks countered. Then he chuckled. “So what do you think?”
“The girl’s going to run first chance she gets.”
“But not yet,” Two Sticks decided. “Back at the Keeper’s the notion of starting an embassy was her idea. War Leader Strong Mussel was taken by surprise. Delivering the girl to the Morning Star’s bed isn’t working out quite like he anticipated. The warriors are grumbling, wanting nothing more than to get back to their canoes, shove them out on the river, and head home.”
Sharp-eyed as always, Seven Skull Shield noticed that Two Sticks kept glancing at the tattoo on the back of the girl’s right hand. It looked like some kind of stylized moth, recognizable only because of a long curling proboscis and spotted wings.
“What is that tattoo?”
“On her hand? Local design back home.” Two Sticks shrugged. “More of an affectation, really. Just art.”
He’s not telling me everything.
Which was curious, since he and Two Sticks both served the Keeper.
So, what game is Two Sticks playing?
Thirteen
“What’s the latest?” Blue Heron asked Columella after prayers were offered, black drink was brewed, the pipe smoked, and the afternoon break was called. She nodded a brief recognition as Slender Fox walked past and headed for the Clan House door.
The rest of the delegates looked irritated and hostile—on the verge of violence. For the last two days, messengers had been shuttling back and forth, some of whom Blue Heron’s spies had been able to shadow. Deals were being brokered.
Columella raised an eyebrow as she watched Slender Fox’s exit. “Outside of the she-bitch getting her sheath greased last night?”
Word was that Slender Fox had slipped into War Duck’s bed sometime in the middle of the night. And sure enough, that morning he had come out in support of her nomination to the matron’s chair. Apparently his announcement came as a complete surprise to Round Pot, who had pretty well sewn up Horned Serpent House’s support after Robin Wing had been voted down by a mere two votes.
Through deft maneuvering Round Pot had built enough consensus during the talks that even Columella had been speaking in her favor. Blue Heron herself wasn’t sure that having her on the matron’s chair would be such a bad idea.
The betrayal had—for all intents and purposes—cut the legs out from under Round Pot. The expression on the woman’s face had been painful to see: half anger, half disbelief, and totally humiliated. Since her brother’s declaration, she’d sat stiffly, expression cast in stone, eyes focused somewhere beyond the room in a future that boded no good for her brother.
Columella laid a hand on Blue Heron’s shoulder. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
Blue Heron glanced over to where Wolverine had War Duck off to the side. The high chief of North Star House was smiling as he talked in low tones to his counterpart from River Mounds; one hand gestured intimately. No doubt Wolverine was sweetening whatever deal Slender Fox had sensually whispered while she used her sheath to milk away the last of War Duck’s resistance.
“I sure do. Morning Star House now has Round Pot’s vote. Anything to thwart Slender Fox and North Star House. From a three-way tie, we’re now at a two-way deadlock. Evening Star House, Morning Star House, and Round Pot against War Duck, Horned Serpent, and North Star Houses.”
Columella’s eyes narrowed to slits. “All you need is Robin Wing’s support, and it’s over. She has no love for Morning Star House, it’s true, but she may have even less for Slender Fox and her pernicious ways.” She paused. “Did you have a countermove in mind?”
Blue Heron nodded, lowering her voice. “If I withdraw Light Woman’s nomination, would you nominate Sacred Spoon?”
Columella hesitated, confused. “She’s not even Red Warrior’s … Oh, I see.” A subtle smile played at her lips. “My, you are indeed clever, aren’t you? She’s far enough removed from your brother’s lineage to still the critics’ claims of dynastic privilege, but still a close cousin.”
“And a very competent woman. Balanced. Thoughtful. She doesn’t play favorites, but will act for the good of the city and clan.”
Columella studied Blue Heron for a moment, as if trying to scry out what hidden motive she was concealing.
“Oh, stop that! Not everything I do is a superbly calculated trick. I actually believe she’s the best person for the job.”
Columella casually mentioned, “You know my son, Panther Call, is fifteen this year. He needs a wife. Sacred Spoon has a daughter who will become a woman soon.”
“White Frond. Sacred Spoon’s oldest daughter.” Blue Heron arched an eyebrow. It was an audacious request on Columella’s part. But then, the matron had never been anyone’s fool—except where her dead brother had been involved. “I’ll have to talk to Sacred Spoon. She’s no doubt made other plans for the girl. But if I can talk her into it, it works for me.”
Columella smiled her satisfaction. “Then, perhaps, while you finalize my son’s wedding to your cousin’s daughter, I’ll go have a little chat with Robin Wing and see
just what, exactly, Evening Star House could provide her in return for a vote for Sacred Spoon.”
Blue Heron sighed with relief. “We might be able to wrap the whole thing up by this afternoon. You know, woman, there are times when I’m so glad the Morning Star didn’t hang you up to die in a square after that nasty business with Walking Smoke.”
“I know,” Columella replied airily, “since, as I recall, you were going to be hung in the square right next to mine. Figured I’d never get a good night’s sleep out there with you moaning and screaming all night.”
Blue Heron pointed a suggestive finger at her friend. “Let’s just get this done. I want to be home in time for supper tonight.”
But it didn’t work that way. It was late, long after dark, when her litter bearers carried her up her staircase and deposited her on her veranda.
As she stood and waved them away, a shadow emerged from the darkness. “Keeper?”
“Oh, it’s you, thief.” She smiled bitterly, the last of the arguments from the Clan House still echoing inside her skull.
“We might have a problem.”
“With that Moskogee girl?”
“No. I ran into an old friend this morning. He had an interest in that Quiz Quiz that stole the Bundle. I was supposed to meet him earlier tonight, but he didn’t show up.”
“Pus and blood, the last thing I want to hear about is that Quiz Quiz! He’s hung in a square, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then forget it! It’s the Surveyors’ problem.”
“I think Winder is going—”
“I’m not listening to this.” She clapped her hands to her ears and bulled her way through the door. “I’m going straight to bed, and if you don’t want to find yourself hanging in a square beside that accursed Quiz Quiz, you’ll drop it now, thief. I told you to keep track of that Moskogee girl, so please, just do so!”
And to her immense satisfaction, Seven Skull Shield nodded, shrugged his thick shoulders, and left her to her bed and nightmares.
Fourteen
With a coarsely woven cloth, Fire Cat wiped the sweat from his face and took stock of his performance. He had been smooth on his launch, fluid in the bowling of his black stone, and had shifted the lance from his left to right hands with complete economy. But something in the timing of his stride and the release of his lance had been out of step.
As he sucked at his lips and stared down the chunkey court, he wondered if it wasn’t time to return to River Mounds City again and play a couple dozen matches under Crazy Frog’s watchful eye.
Who’d think it? The key to keeping the edge in chunkey comes not from propitiating Power and the gods, but from playing under a gambler’s keen eye.
He glanced past the crowd of observers lining the chunkey court to where the throng of hangers-on waited at the Four Winds Clan House. Bless Piasa’s hanging balls, Fire Cat was thankful that Night Shadow Star wasn’t involved in that mess, or he’d be there, guarding her back.
And she had enough problems to deal with as it was, given her entanglements in the Spirit World.
He made a clucking sound to express his worry as he collected his stone, lance, and cape. Then he waved at the people who’d gathered to watch his practice, turned, and started for Night Shadow Star’s palace.
“Red Wing?” one called. “Any chance you’ll play the Morning Star?”
“Is it true that Lady Night Shadow Star forbids it?” called another.
“When will you play for the public again?” yet another demanded.
“Yes! Play an opponent again,” came an almost desperate cry from still another.
“I serve at my lady’s pleasure,” he called back. “I wish you all a fine day.”
He ignored their entreaties, pasting an inoffensive smile on his lips as he plodded the short distance to Night Shadow Star’s clay-capped black mound, its sides packed and smooth. He couldn’t help but note the crowd paralleling his direction on the Avenue of the Sun, pointing, watching with reverent or excited eyes, but not daring to set foot into the forbidden Four Winds Plaza.
Why can’t they just leave me alone?
Of all the repercussions because of his actions on Night Shadow Star’s behalf in their battle against the Itza lord and his Natchez allies, the last thing he would have feared was celebrity. Now, up past his eyebrows in it, he absolutely hated the adulation. This was nothing like he’d known as a lauded war chief, or as a Red Wing noble. This was worship by strangers, and it upset him down to the core of his souls.
Glancing up at the Morning Star’s high palace, he thought for the first time that he actually had something in common with Chunkey Boy—a suffocating loss of privacy and self.
He hurried along the north side of Night Shadow Star’s mound, wishing he could run to escape the fans who’d followed him from the court, but unwilling to demean himself so.
And as he approached the avenue another crowd—this time of Earth Clan folk, commoners, and dirt farmers—formed to greet him.
“When are you going to play the Morning Star?” a Duck Clan warrior asked. “Do you think you could beat him?”
“Yes, we want a match,” another—Deer Clan from his apron—insisted.
“I’d bet my life on you,” a woman shouted from the back.
“I serve at the will and pleasure of my lady,” Fire Cat repeated as he waved them back. “Let me pass, please.”
For the most part they stepped back, beaming delight. A couple of them, however, pressed forward, reaching out, some brushing fingers on his arms as he passed. A little boy ran up, slapped a hand on Fire Cat’s lance, and giggled as he darted back to his proud father.
“Hey!” a young woman called, brazenly matching step with him, reaching for his arm. “What are you doing tonight? You need company? I’d give you a shell necklace.”
“What?” Fire Cat demanded, shying away as she tried to press herself against him. He’d reached the guards now, thankful that they were hurrying forward, shooing people out of the way.
She was maybe twenty, muscled like a stickball player, with high breasts and a well-defined stomach. A skirt hung low on round hips, and she struck a suggestive pose, one leg forward. A gleam of anticipation shone in her eyes as she flipped back thick black hair.
“Tonight!” she called. “You come get me at the foot of the stairs. I’ll put a squeeze on your shaft that you’ll never forget!”
“Go on! Get back!” Squadron First War Claw growled, pushing the woman to one side.
As if to leave no doubt about her intent, she pulled up her skirt to expose her womanhood, then undulated her hips suggestively.
“Pus and blood.” Fire Cat started up the steps.
“Oh yes,” War Claw growled behind him. “She’s been down there waiting. Says she’s between moons. That a man’s seed will take. That she wants you to sire her child.”
Fire Cat bowed his respects to the Piasa and Horned Serpent guardian posts at the top of the stairs and slowed, glancing at the squadron first. “Why are you here? I doubt it’s to keep me from being mauled by some desperate woman.”
War Claw chuckled. “That one down there, from the looks of her, could have any man she wanted. Offered myself, I did. Said she wanted you, and only you, to plant a child in her.” The squadron leader waved it away. “Must be a tough job, satisfying all those swooning women. Better you than me. But no, I’m here because of her.”
Fire Cat followed War Claw’s pointing finger. A woman knelt on the veranda, knees together, back bent, arms tucked close. Wild black hair spilled down to hide her face.
Fire Cat walked cautiously forward. War Claw wasn’t just any squadron first, but commander of the Morning Star Squadron, the elite force of warriors who guarded not only the Morning Star himself, but the high-ranking Four Winds Clan nobles who lived around the Great Plaza.
Fire Cat dropped to a knee on the veranda and took in the fine texture of the woman’s skirt, her beaded cloak. “Lady?”
“Hear the whispers?” a weak voice asked. “She’s calling, you know. Hear … Oh, yes … yes … yes … Father of Waters flows so rich…”
Fire Cat reached down, lifting the woman’s head and parting her hair. She blinked, eyes staring vacantly. It took a moment for him to recognize her thin face. “Sun Wing?”
A quiver of a smile died as her lips began to soundlessly recite. A frown deepened in her forehead.
Like all of Red Warrior’s offspring, she was an attractive woman, her features so like Night Shadow Star’s. Her gaze flickered from side to side, and she seemed to pause in a half-formed thought. “He who loves is lost and gone,” she whispered. “Render of the fair heart’s song…”
“Lady Sun Wing!” Fire Cat gave her shoulders a shake. “What’s wrong? How can I help you?”
“Crazy, you know,” War Claw muttered from the corner of his mouth. “Hasn’t stirred from that house the Morning Star put her in until today. She just busted out the door and started across the plaza like a woman with a purpose. People were everywhere. Six Fletching was in charge. Didn’t want to make a scene by picking her up and hauling her back. The gossips have enough to wag their tongues about. So he sent a runner for me and followed along to keep her out of trouble, and she came here. Climbed up the stairs, and stopped right where she is.”
“Did she say anything? Call for Night Shadow Star?”
“No. Just hunched down here spouting this nonsense. When I got here, I asked for Lady Night Shadow Star, but Winter Leaf said the lady couldn’t be disturbed.”
“Sometimes Winter Leaf doesn’t have the sense the Creator gave a rock. Help me. Let’s get her inside.”
Fire Cat laid his chunkey gear to the side and got an arm under Sun Wing’s arm, lifting her as War Claw took her other arm. Sun Wing’s lips curled into a slight smile, her eyes half-lidded as she walked along complacently. “Feathers colored, the dead are laid … logs across and dirt is made.…”
“You ever heard this before?” War Claw asked as they guided Sun Wing inside and Fire Cat led the way across the floor to one of the wall benches in the back of the room.
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