People of the Mist(98)
“Yes, I know,” the Panther replied softly. “I wonder if it would match the holes in Red Knot’s head?”
Eighteen
Flat Willow was working on a clam rake when The Panther and Sun Conch finally located him the following morning. The young hunter sat on an overturned canoe down at the landing. As water lapped at his feet, he bent over his work. A thoughtful frown etched his forehead as he concentrated on lashing a wooden peg to his rake. Beside him lay a roll of flax cord and a supply of sharpened clamshells for woodworking.
The day was gray and cloudy, and a north wind drove white-capped chop into the inlet. Despite the weather, Flat Willow wore only his loincloth and a feather cloak. A thick layer of grease protected the rest of his body from the chill. He’d pulled his hair up tight on the right side of his head and held it in place with a slender deer-bone hairpin cut from the length of a cannon bone.
The rake itself consisted of a thin pole cut from a sapling twice the height of a man. Finger-thick branches as long as a man’s arm had been attached to the bottom in a fan shape and braced with a crosspiece. The resulting tool would claw clams and oysters loose from the muddy inlet bottoms, and scoop them into the canoe:
“Going out for shellfish, I see,” Panther said.
The young hunter barely glanced up, nodded, then realized who had spoken. Startled, he muttered, “I, uh, yes. I’m about ready for a change from chasing deer.” His smile died when he met Sun Conch’s bland gaze. “Hello, old friend.”
“It is good to see you, Flat Willow.” Sun Conch smiled thinly, clearly uncomfortable. Panther gave Flat Willow his most unsettling grin—the death’s-head one he’d long practiced.
Flat Willow glanced at him uneasily and twirled the shaft of the clam rake in his hand. “I was missing a few teeth on the end.” He pointed absently. “Had to replace them.”
“Bound them up with cordage, I see. You don’t use sinew?”
“No, Elder. No one does. I mean, well, in the water the sinew loosens. Cordage is much better.”
“It will be a cold day out there. The water’s rough.” Ranks of waves marched across the inlet. “You’re not going out into Salt Water Bay itself, I take it?”
“No, Elder, Fish River will be rough enough. Even then I expect to be cold. I imagine I’ll ship enough spray to put out my fire.” He indicated a slim dugout across from the one he sat on. A charred wooden bowl was set amidships in the floor. Fishermen built fires in the hardwood bowls for warmth, and for attracting fish to their nets at night. If the fire was cared for properly, a fisherman never had to-build a new one, but could nurse the coals over long distances, and cook fish and fowl as he traveled.
“I hear that you were the one who found poor Red Knot’s body.” Panther pulled his old fabric blanket tightly about his shoulders. He wished they’d done this next to the fire in the long house rather than down here on the exposed beach.
“That’s right, Elder. I tracked High Fox back up to where her body was hidden in the leaves.” He shot a quick glance at Sun Conch, his expression pained, as if in guilt.
“Oh, fear not,” Panther said mildly. “I know that Sun Conch and you have been friends from a long time back.”
Flat Willow nodded, lips tight as if biting off words.
“And you and High Fox, you used to spend a lot of time together as children. Best of friends when the clans came visiting here, or you went to Three Myrtle.”
Flat Willow nodded.
Panther gestured again at his companion. “Yes, Sun Conch has told me a great deal about you and High Fox. She also told me that you wanted to marry Red Knot. That you, too, fell in love with her.”
Flat Willow glowered at Sun Conch, reddening as the anger of betrayal was stifled by clamped jaws. “My friend seems particularly loose of tongue these days.”
“Why, my good hunter, if tongues don’t loosen, we will never understand just what happened to Red Knot.” Panther stepped closer, using his aggravating smile to mock Flat Willow. “It must have bothered you to hear that lovely young Red Knot was marrying Copper Thunder.”
Flat Willow took a deep breath and lowered his eyes, fingers tracing the grain of the wooden handle. “I do my duty, Elder. She was the Weroansqua’s daughter. We all knew that. Everyone but High Fox.” His lips quirked. “He liked to live dangerously.”
“That’s a curious way to put it. When I met High Fox, he was fairly well subdued, scared half out of his skin.”
“Was he? Ask your friend there. Go on, Sun Conch, tell him. High Fox figured he could get away with anything. He was Black Spike’s son. He could take chances with the Weroansqua’s granddaughter!”