Leather Hand could follow the spatters of blood where the body had been borne back into the room. “They killed him outside, it would seem.”
Thorn added, “He heard them. It was the middle of the night.”
Leather Hand looked up. “You were here?”
Thorn nodded, swallowed nervously, and gestured to the rear, where a ladder jutted from the entrance to the room below. “I was there. Sleeping.”
“You sleep here often?”
“I am servant,” Thorn replied. “I do as told.”
Leather Hand glanced at Seven Stars. The Priest gave a slight shrug. Perhaps Thorn provided other services in addition to just fetching and carrying?
“Tell me what you know.”
Thorn took a nervous breath. “It was the middle of the night. We heard a crash, a pot being broken. Ri—my master almost ignored it, then on second thought, pulled on his robe, and climbed the ladder. He said that he heard voices and was going out to see.”
Thorn closed his eyes, as if seeing it all again. “I heard him call, ‘Who are you? What are you doing?’ And a moment later, there was a thump as he fell. I started up the ladder, and had just stuck my head up when men came into the room. The first one had his back to me, and didn’t see me as he carried my master’s body. A second man bore the feet.”
With a deep breath, Thorn stilled his nervous fidgeting. “I ducked down, clinging to the ladder. They couldn’t see me.”
Leather Hand considered. “So you saw them?”
“Yes, War Chief.”
“Did you know them?”
“No, War Chief. They were not from here. But I have heard their language before. It was the tongue of the Dust People from down south.”
“Conditions are very bad down there,” Seven Stars said thoughtfully. “It is said that the drought has led to starvation. Some people have taken to sifting dung for seeds. Whatever they can find.” He hesitated. “Starvation drives people to desperation.”
Leather Hand lifted an eyebrow. He’d seen the small farmsteads down below Thunderbird Mountain. The Dust People were from a clan that had originally been displaced from the foothills of the Bearclaw Mountains to the south. They had staked claims on the flats below Thunderbird Mountain, using the washes leading down from the high country for a water source. They were called “Dust People” because of their often threadbare appearance, their relative poverty, and the usual condition of their domestic circumstances.
“You’re sure they were Dust People?”
Thorn nodded, but the certainty didn’t extend to his eyes. “I just had a glimpse, War Chief. They wore filthy rags, and they smelled strongly of sweat and dirt. They had a wild look about them. Like animals.”
“Then what happened?”
“They took several bags of jewelry and emptied that pot over there of the ritual jewels Ri—my master wears during the ceremonials. Then they left, went through the door.” He pointed. “I heard voices, and then after a while, nothing.”
“You didn’t walk out and shout the alarm?” Leather Hand asked, eyes on the youth’s.
Thorn made a face, obviously shamed. “No, War Chief. I was afraid. I had just watched my … my master killed before my eyes. I was terrified, clinging to the ladder, imagining them coming back to kill me. It took a long time before I could nerve myself to climb out and see if he was really dead.” A tear leaked out the side of his eye and traced down his cheek.
“I see.” Leather Hand took a deep breath, standing. He looked at Seven Stars and gestured to the corpse. “What of the body?”
“He was born of the First People, a distant cousin of the Blessed Matron, Desert Willow. We shall take him to the kiva, prepare for our friend’s journey to the Sky Worlds. His breath-heart soul must be propitiated and shown the greatest of respect from this point on.” Seven Stars’s eloquent stare made the point. “Do you understand?”
He glanced at Thorn, who was waiting, head bowed. Oh yes, Priest. I understand fully how dangerous this could be for us.
He stood then, walked to the doorway, and ducked out into the sunlight.
“So, we find the fruit of the Blessed Sun’s sowing,” a brittle voice said softly.
Leather Hand cast a glance at Matron Husk Woman’s shadowed doorway. “I find your tone of voice insulting, considering one of the First People was murdered just down from your door.” He fought to keep his face straight. “It should be a warning, Matron.”
“Ah, but you will keep us safe? Is that it, Deputy? You will charge forth, raining death and terror on the Dust People? And after that, as you stand over those poor wretches’ bleeding bodies, peace, grace, and justice shall have been preserved.”