“Power works in mysterious ways.”
The way the Trader said it, it galled. He appeared to think that it was all right to load up, travel across the known world with a lunatic—and hope to live through it!
I’m not stuck with two maniacs, am I?
Black Skull pointed at the Trader with his war club. “I want you to help me keep him under control, Trader. I want this to be as orderly as we can make it. I want to get up there, find that place, and -see if any Mask is floating there. If so, we’ll grab it and get back here. I don’t want trouble. Do you understand?”
Otter tensed but didn’t break his easy stance—the insolent foot still propped on the canoe hull. “Let’s get something straight, Black Skull. When we’re on the river, I give the orders.
When we’re dealing with other people, I give the orders. When it comes to fighting, you can give them. Otherwise, when you’re in my boat and among people I know how to deal with, you do as I say.”
Cool anger stirred in Black Skull’s breast. Through clenched teeth, he hissed, “Do you know who I am?”
“Everyone in this part of the world has heard of the Black Skull. You could kill me before I could blink. That doesn’t change the fact that in my boat, you do as I say. Among people whose customs you don’t know, you’ll act as I tell you to. If you can’t agree to that, right here, right now, we’ll go see the Clan Elders and let them decide.”
Black Skull controlled the urge to slap the man alongside the head with the flat of his war club. Insolence, sheer audacious insolence. Black Skull’s soul thrilled. The heady tranquillity of combat pumped in his blood as his mind cleared.
Otter remained calmly propped on the canoe, his fingers still laced together.
For that instant, Black Skull balanced on the edge of murder, fully aware that before the Trader could raise so much as an arm, his skull would be splintered, his body dead before it hit the ground. Nevertheless, Otter waited patiently, evincing only the slightest tightening of the eyes, a faint pressing of the lips.
In the floating clarity, Black Skull could see the artery in the Trader’s neck pulsing.
Discipline! Black Skull took a cautious step back and willed himself into relaxation. Drawing a deep breath, he stilled his anxious soul, quieting the deadly natures within. A warrior must maintain his control, prove his discipline. This was not the time.
“You are a very brave man, Trader.” With a flick of the wrist, Black Skull flipped his war club up to rest on his shoulder.
“We will still see the Clan Elders about who gives orders on your boat. If they tell me I must, I will do as you say.”
Otter nodded carefully and straightened. The trembling of his legs betrayed just how terrified he had been. He walked off awkwardly, the way a man did when he couldn’t trust his knees not to buckle.
I may end up having to kill him, but at least he’s a man worthy of respect.
Black Skull followed Otter up the steep trail, intuition telling him the Clan Elders were going to side with the Trader.
To his chagrin, they did.
Otter glanced around as he made the last trip from the storage house. Catcher dashed back and forth in zigzags, his tail wagging furiously and uncontrollable squealing sounds uttering from his throat.
High clouds had moved up from the south to obscure the sun.
The wind had risen, blowing the chill off the choppy water with enough strength to lance it through blankets and coats. Gusts moaned in the naked gray branches of the trees and whimpered along the thatch siding of the buildings. Here and there, the wind played curiously with the last of fall’s leaves where they had piled in nooks and sheltered recesses.
The familiar clan grounds now elicited a sense of sorrow, as they had on previous departures. Trails had been beaten into the flattened brown grass. The clan house, with its weather-beaten thatch, looked gray and dingy in the morning light.
Around the rectangular mound, prayer offerings had been tied to the guardian posts that stuck out at an angle from the ground.
The offerings danced in the cold wind, carrying their messages to the Spirit World. Pleas for him and his party. He’d seen Blue Jar placing one as he’d entered the grounds after his confrontation with Black Skull.
He hefted the coarsely woven fabric bag that held his few personal possessions: an atlatl, his flute, a bola, a platform effigy pipe, a small ceramic jar of earth taken from the burial mound, and his fire sticks. He had already packed an ax, an adze, several coils of rope, a neatly folded net, and the two dozen long darts for his atlatl. Another clay jar neatly stowed in Wave Dancer contained cord and fishhooks crafted from bone. The rest of the cargo consisted of the clan’s Trade goods: tobacco, conch and marginella shell, bolts of fabric, several pieces of copper plate, palmetto matting, sharks’ teeth, yaupon, and the other items he’d