“Just get us to the Roaring Water. You do know the way, don’t you?” But she changed her grip on the paddle, doing better.
“I believe so,” Pale Snake answered. For a moment, he sucked at his front teeth, then asked, “I realize that you’ve been hounded, hunted, and chased by just about everyone for the last half a year or so, but that obesn’t mean I have to like that tone of voice.”
“And what, pray tell, are you going to do about it?”
“I might just take old Stone Wrist’s advice and chuck you in the river. You and the Mask can float your way right back down to Robin and his little group of weasels.”
She half-turned, shooting an icy glare his direction. “Unlike most, you don’t seem to take a great deal of interest in the Mask.
I find that interesting … and not just a little suspicious.”
He chuckled, setting a strength-saving pace with his paddle.
“I guess you would. But then, I suppose that you’d find quite a bit about me interesting.”
“You have a rather high opinion of yourself.”
“It’s taken years to fully develop. I have to admit, I’m rather pleased with the results.”
Star Shell turned to gape. “Why on earth would the Magician ask me to seek you out? Of all the Traders headed north, you’d think he’d have found someone … reputable.”
“Oh, I’m about as reputable as they come—outside of my origins, that is. Origins are always a problem, and not necessarily one that you can do a whole lot about. Friends, you can choose. Now take me, for instance. You see, I never saw eye to-eye with my father. We were sort of on different levels. The result was that we fought all the time.”
“If that’s the case, I’m sure I’d like your father.”
“Can’t say. He was a despicable tyrant filled with his own importance, a scoundrel, a scheming thief, and a general pain in the nether portions.”
“I see that you’ve inherited all of his charming characteristics.”
Pale Snake chuckled. “I think I’m going to like you, Star Shell. You’ve got spunk right down where you need it.” He paused, aware of Silver Water’s unnerving stare as she studied him from her position behind her mother. “What do you think, Silver Water? Does your mother have spunk?”
“She doesn’t need spunk. She has the Mask.”
Pale Snake tried to smile, but the attempt dried on his lips.
“You’ve seen the Mask, haven’t you, Silver Water?”
The little girl wet her lips. Was it his imagination, or were those eyes trying to suck him in? In an almost hopeful voice, Silver Water asked, “You’re a sorcerer, too, aren’t you?”
At her daughter’s words, Star Shell spun around so quickly that the canoe bobbed and rocked. She peered at Pale Snake with her mouth slightly ajar. “A sorcerer? Is that why you have those snakes tattooed on your cheeks? Did the Serpent devour you, too, Trader?”
He shrugged. Star Shell’s paddle was dragging in the water, steering them inexorably into the tree-lined banks.
“Oh, he tried, Star Shell. He really did. The problem was, I just gave him a bellyache. Uh, would you mind either paddling or keeping the blade out of the water so we don’t crash into those trees?”
She helped him straighten out the canoe, her paddle waffling as she pulled it through the water.
Pale Snake avoided Silver Water’s eerie gaze. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you going to do with the Mask once you reach the Roaring Water? Poison the Mist Spirits?”
“I’m throwing it over the edge.”
“Poisoning the Mist Spirits!” Pale Snake noted the growing intensity in Silver Water’s eyes. Didn’t Star Shell see that?
Didn’t she understand what it meant?
He exhaled wearily. Under his breath, he said, “I should have pulled out of Buckeye in the middle of the night.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, Star Shell. Just looking forward to the trip.”
Otter watched the coastline pass endlessly along Wave Dancer’s
right side. Twice they were hailed by parties in canoes shouting: “Trade! Trade!” in pidgin. Most of these people were dressed in tailored skins with long fringes. They wore their hair loose, or braided with feathers, or held in place with shell hair clips.
The men had a smoky-eyed inscrutability that left Otter uneasy.
Long strands of black hair that looked very much like bits of scalp cut from human heads had been sewn to the shoulders of their tan shirts.
In both instances, they’d held up fish, for which Otter offered stingray spines, a hank of shell beads, or a bundle of hanging moss—the latter of which these Badger people had never seen before.