People of the Mist (30 page)

 
          
Nine
Killer said, “What can I do for you this morning?”

 
          
She
stopped, breathing hard. “The Panther requests your presence in the Weroance’s
Great House, War Chief. He asks that you come and discuss some matters with him
before we depart for
Flat
Pearl
Village
.”

 
          
Relief
stirred Nine Killer’s soul. The problem of Stone Cob wasn’t solved, but at
least he didn’t have to deal with it this instant. “Very well, Sun Conch, I’m
ready.” To Stone Cob, he said, “I’ll be back as soon as I deal with The
Panther. Your fate will be decided then.”

 
          
Stone
Cob nodded and seated himself by the cold fire pit. When Nine Killer looked
back, he could see Stone Cob pulling his blanket tight against the chill.

 
          
Just
be gone when I come back, old friend. That would be best for the both of us.

 
          
Whatever
Stone Cob had done, he had done it from an overwhelming sense of honor. And if
Nine Killer told him to drown himself in the bay in penance, Stone Cob would do
so. There would be no easy solutions, for either of them.

 
          
The
Panther scratched and considered his night. The faint glow of morning shone
through the smoke holes, like shining eyes through the soot. Low voices could
be heard from the other room as the slaves went about preparing food for the
day. Above him, the pole frame curved ever inward, like a rude webbing held
together with dried roots. The wood had browned with age, trimmed knots
swelling like old knuckles beneath the thatch.

 
          
Similar
to a big basket, he thought. And considered it an oddity that he’d never seen a
long house from that perspective before. He shifted, feeling Sun Conch’s bottom
cuddled against him. The girl’s warmth comforted him. He reached out and patted
her gently, his soul oddly at peace.

 
          
What
curious need did another human body fill when it lay close like this? He
absently fingered a strand of her shining black hair, and watched as her chest
rose and fell with gentle breathing. Not sexual, not at his age—and definitely
not for an immature moonstruck girl like Sun Conch. This was some elemental
craving, an emptiness that lurked in the center of the human soul. A need to
touch, to hold, to feel another person close. It soothed-partially filled the
gaping wound that had been torn in him so long ago.

 
          
Panther
patted Sun Conch again and pulled back the musty deer hide smelling of smoke,
human, and must. The overhead light cast square beams through the smoke holes,
blue and hazy in the smoke. The guard, a different man now, watched him with suspicious
black eyes.

 
          
Panther
had accepted Black Spike’s hospitality in hopes that he might have a word with
the old slave woman. Now, with the morning fires crackling and spitting sparks
at the roof, he’d had no word with her, and worse, he’d had to listen’ to High
Fox whine. How was he supposed to sneak over to the old woman when he and Sun
Conch had been watched by guards the whole night through? The observation
hadn’t been subtle, either. An armed warrior had stood within feet of their
sleeping platform, a strung bow in one hand, and a studded war club in the
other. When Big Noise had started to yawn and blink, another, freshly awakened
and vigilant, had replaced him.

 
          
In
the coming years Panther would no doubt derive some amusement from it, but for
now, he groused over the affair. In all of his life, he’d never tried to sleep
with an armed, suspicious, and hostile man staring at him through hard black
eyes and an expressionless face. How could a man sleep when the idea that the
unconscious twitch of a lip, or the wrong gasping snore, might be the trigger
for getting his head caved in?

 
          
Witchery
definitely had downsides.

 
          
“I’ll
get a full night’s sleep in
Flat
Pearl
Village
,” he mumbled to himself, and rubbed his
face with callused hands. Sun Conch stirred as Panther crawled over her and
stood to stretch. She blinked awake, looked up at him, and smiled with innocent
eyes.

 
          
“Girl,
I want you to go and find Nine Killer. Tell him I would speak with him here.”

 
          
“Yes,
Elder.” She yawned, stretching, her petite fists knotted. Gathering a blanket,
she started for the doorway.

 
          
“And,
come right back.”

 
          
“Yes,
Elder.”

 
          
Immediately
after she left, Black Spike ducked through the door flap having seen to his
morning duties. The Weroance settled himself on the matting across the fire.
“Our breakfast should be ready soon. My slaves are heating the remains of last
night’s feast.”

 
          
“There
didn’t seem to be much left, from the empty bowls I saw.”

 
          
“Those
Flat Pearl men, they eat like bears in fall. They always have.” Black Spike
arched an eyebrow and then allowed himself a satisfied smile. “Actually, I’m
just as happy to have fed them. Much happier, in fact, since I’d be brooding
today had we killed them yesterday.”

 
          
“Is
that an admission that Nine Killer’s head is better off on his shoulders than
on a stick before your Great House?”

 
          
“Yes,
I think so.” Black Spike gave him a sober look. “Thank you for this chance.”

 
          
“I
just helped you to do what your heart wanted to in the first place. But,
Weroance, we’ve still to cut our way through this mess. The mist obscuring this
matter is as thick today as it was yesterday. In clearing our sight, we may
well find ourselves faced with equally distasteful situations.”

 
          
“I
suppose, but you’ll be finding them in Flat Pearl lands. Not here.”

 
          
“Probably.
Speaking of which, where is High Fox this morning?”

 
          
Black
Spike reached into the pouch at his side and pulled out his clay pipe. From a
bark container, he poured tobacco into the bowl and lit it with a burning twig
from the fire. Puffing a blue cloud, he exhaled and considered The Panther. “I
sent him out to one of the outlying houses beyond the fields. I thought his
presence there would be better for relations last night. Why wiggle your
fingers before a snapping turtle’s nose?”

 
          
“A
wise decision,” Panther said, and suddenly understood why the boy had come
sneaking in last night. He wasn’t supposed to be there. “For the future, I want
you to keep him here, inside the palisade at all times.”

 
          
“Is
that necessary?”

 
          
“Did
he kill Red Knot?”

 
          
“No,
of course not. You already know that.”

 
          
“Then,
Weroance, keep him here, in sight and accompanied by a guard, so that all may
see him.”

 
          
Black
Spike sucked deeply on his pipe, thoughtful eyes on Panther. “You have a reason
for this, don’t you? Planning something again.”

 
          
“Of
course. An innocent man doesn’t run, for he has nothing to hide. And, if you
will pardon my use of your own words, there are times when wiggling your
fingers in front of a snapping turtle’s nose can produce the most exciting
results.”

 
          
“What?
Getting your fingers bitten off?”

 
          
“Only
if you are slow of reflex. That’s why High Fox must be protected at all times.
An armed guard to accompany him everywhere, even out to squat in the fields
when he relieves himself. In the meantime, his being under guard will allow me
to produce him upon request, a fact soothing to certain suspicious parties who
still believe he killed the girl.”

 
          
“Were
you always this clever?” Black Spike grinned. One of his incisors appeared chipped.

 
          
“No,
Weroance, for most of my life, I made a fool of myself in one way or another.
For now, promise me you will keep him close.”

 
          
“Very
well, he will stay here under close guard. If anyone tries to harm him, I will
send word immediately.”

 
          
“And
let me know who, that is the most important thing of all. By dangling our bait,
we seek to discover exactly who the snapping turtle is. That in turn will take
us to the murderer.”

 
          
“As
you wish.”

 
          
Old
Moth entered the house, followed by several younger women, each carrying a
wooden trencher brimming with food. The old woman artfully avoided Panther’s
eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but age and the terrible
scar had changed her features. The younger women placed the round-bottomed cooking
pots beside the fire to heat, and added wood to the blaze. Panther stoked his
own pipe and puffed contentedly.

 
          
Only
after the slaves had handed Panther a wooden plate heaped with mashed pumpkin
and a bowl of hominy did they step back to their small fire by the doorway.

 
          
“The
old woman,” Panther asked as he put down his trumpet-shaped pipe and dipped
pumpkin from the trencher with his fingers. “You’ve always had her?”

 
          
“She
was my brother’s originally. Monster Bone captured her from the Mamanatowick many
Comings of the Leaves ago. She was quite the beauty once. You’d scarcely know
it now with her teeth knocked out and that burn scar.”

 
          
Panther’s
heart skipped, a sudden coldness chilling his -heart. From the Mamanatowick?
Blessed Ohona, no, it couldn’t be! “And that burn on her face?”

 
          
“Her
husband was the Mamanatowick’s brother. Monster Bone captured him at the same
time he took her. We used pine slivers to burn him. As the fire consumed him,
she broke loose, actually ran into the flames to hug him one last time. Monster
Bone was so impressed with her devotion that he kept her alive, but the ordeal
broke her soul. She’s been deranged ever since.”

 
          
“Poor
woman,” Panther whispered, the sound of his voice coming as if from a long
distance.

 
          
“Some
are stronger than others.” Black Spike shrugged. “But beware of what she says.
Moth will tell you the most curious stories.”

 
          
“Moth?”

 
          
“That’s
what we call her. For the time she flew into the flames.”.”

 
          
Black
Spike studied Panther’s ashen face. “Elder, are you ill?”

 
          
“No—no,
I was just…” He shook himself, forced an easy smile to his lips, and said, “The
chill. Foggy days like this always send the cold right through my bones.”

 
          
Sun
Conch, followed by Nine Killer, ducked under the door flap and crossed the room.
Panther took a deep breath and flogged his brooding memories back into the dark
corners of his mind where he kept them hidden. He nodded as the War Chief
settled cross-legged beside of him.

 
          
Sun
Conch crossed, and competently rolled their blankets. These she secured with a
cord before collecting the rest of their belongings. How Jong had it been since
someone had cleaned up after him? Panther drove the thoughts away, knowing they
would add to his melancholy.

 
          
“Good
morning, War Chief,” Black Spike said, “I hope you slept well,.”

 
          
Nine
Killer gave him a smile. “I’m getting old. When I was young, I could sleep in
the snow with only a blanket. Now, in a heavy frost, my teeth chatter.”