Bad Cast gave him a hesitant nod, clearly showing his fear. Then he shuffled across the plaza, stepped wide around the kiva roof, and lowered himself beside the ladder leading to the upper stories.
“He’s worthless,” Whistle continued. “A meek chickadee instead of a man.”
“They all are,” Burning Smoke replied, taking one last look to where the sun’s rays burned through the smoke in the west. Already, the Evening Star gleamed in the darkening east.
“Where have you been?” Burning Smoke asked cautiously. “Word is that you deserted us.”
Whistle chuckled. “A man thought disloyal has a great deal more freedom in his dealings with the Blessed Sun’s enemies.”
Burning Smoke fingered his chin. “I see. Didn’t Cone say the same thing once?”
“He did. And if you will recall, he was more loyal to his people than the witch Snake Head proved to be in the end.” Whistle sighed. “Webworm is no Snake Head.”
“True.” Burning Smoke was peering in the half-light, trying to read Whistle’s expression. “We received no word of a messenger coming.”
“Because none was sent.” Whistle braced his hand on his war club. “I am here to learn of your plans to ensure the safety of the Blessed Sunwatcher, Blue Racer, and his entourage.” He paused. “Is there a place we can talk? I must see the Priest and Matron Larkspur as well.”
“Come. This way.”
The original Pinnacle Great House had consisted of a v-shaped three-story structure open to the southeast. Later, a second addition had been constructed on the west, giving the building the appearance of an F with its top to the west. It was to the older section that Burning Smoke led Whistle. They climbed a short ladder that led to the old section roof, passed the room block that divided the great house, and skirted the Red Lacewing kiva before climbing onto the second story. There, T-shaped doorways opened to the third-story rooms on the north wall.
Two old women sat beside a glowing fire bowl as they shelled corn from dry cobs. They didn’t look up as Burning Smoke and Whistle passed.
At the middle doorway, Burning Smoke called, “Matron? A messenger has arrived from the Blessed Sun. May we enter?”
“Come.”
Burning Smoke led the way through the T-shaped doorway. A crackling fire illuminated a white-plastered room decorated with images of colorful dragonflies. Fine buffalo robes were piled to one side. Beautiful Straight Path pottery lined the walls, some brimming with turquoise, jet, and red coral jewels.
A trim young woman dressed in a bright blue skirt and wearing a bloodred macaw-feather cloak over her shoulders was seated beside an old Priest dressed in white. The man’s thinning hair looked like loosely blown snow. His face was thin, hawkish, with protruding brown lips. His old eyes immediately fastened on Whistle.
“Ah,” Burning Smoke said. “Deputy Sunwatcher, you’re here.”
“A messenger?” the young woman asked.
Whistle took a moment to study her. A delicate beauty, she had that familiar triangular face of the First People, spirals tattooed on her chin. Her eyes were large in her face and luminous as she took in his muscular frame.
“Matron.” Whistle bowed.
“This warrior is Whistle,” Burning Smoke said by way of introduction. “He was once one of the Blessed Sun’s greatest warriors. He tells me he has been doing special duty for Webworm.” To Whistle, he added, “I present to you Matron Larkspur, of the Blue Dragonfly Clan, and Deputy Sunwatcher Water Bow.”
“What duty is this?” Water Bow asked.
“Put in the simplest of terms,” Whistle said, “I’m a spy. I serve the Blessed Sun by going places, hearing some things, seeing others. For the moment, I am here to see what steps are being taken to ensure that the coming Moon Ceremony is safe for the Blessed Sun’s servants.”
“Do they doubt me?” Larkspur asked, an amused smile on her lips. “Or does my cousin’s husband think me simple because of my age?”
Whistle gave her a grim smile. “Neither, Matron.”
“What does Webworm wish to know?” Burning Smoke asked.
“What are the feelings of the locals? Can they be trusted?”
“Can you trust a camp dog?” Larkspur asked. “Of course not. Can you keep him at bay and fearful of your presence? Most assuredly we can.”
“We have the situation here under control.” Burning Smoke clasped his hands together. “The people will be no threat. The harvest looks good for this year. Bellies will be full for the most part, even after tribute is paid.”
“How many warriors are under your command?”