People of the Morning Star(108)
He reached out with a foot and prodded her toes, saying, “It’s a nightmare, Lady.”
At his touch, she jerked, sucking a gasp. Coming awake she pawed the hair out of her face. Blinking, she sat up.
“Night Shadow Star,” he told her calmly, “it’s a bad dream.”
“What are…” She frowned up at him in the blackness. “Why are you here, Red Wing?”
“It’s only a dream, Lady. Cast it out of your mind, and go back to sleep.”
“A dream?” She shook her head. “There are no limits to my ability to disgust myself.”
“You’re safe tonight. Well-guarded. And with nightmares of my own to keep me awake, I’ll be sure to spot any Tula before they get to you.”
She ran slim fingers through the black fall of her hair, shaking her head. “Tula are the least of my nightmares, Red Wing. Now get out of my room. Blood and pus, if I thought the Tula could end this I’d help them slit my throat.”
* * *
Patience was often the key to opportunity. Those who took their time, concentrated on the world around them, and didn’t allow themselves to be distracted could discover the most interesting things. This morning Seven Skull Shield had dedicated himself to discovering facts about Frantic Lightning’s death that the Keeper, despite all her resources, could not. Blood and spit, the old gal had been too right about him. He just couldn’t turn down the challenges. The greatest, of course, was finding the accursed assassin. The pus-sucking maggot just couldn’t be that good at hiding his tracks.
The second—which would prove absolutely delightful—would be to watch the Clan Keeper’s expression as Seven Skull Shield laid out the information he’d come by.
But first there was the matter of breakfast. Prowling slowly past the farmsteads between Cahokia and River Mounds, he acted true to form: patiently watching for an opportunity.
It came in the form of two little boys, maybe three and five, tossing dirt clods at each other, laughing and giggling. Their mother crouched at the fire just outside the door of her farmstead. She was using a long stick to poke and rearrange the coals. Above them, slowly roasting pieces of turkey projected over the heat on willow-stem spits.
As soon as the screaming and laughing boys ran behind the woman’s house, Seven Skull Shield ambled over, and absently stated, “Um, just thought I’d let you know you’ve got two little boys climbing the latrine screen out back. Not to mention that one or both might end up in the pit, but they’re sure to tear the thing down.”
Her head had jerked up, her suddenly panicked gaze shooting toward the rear of the house. Even as Seven Skull Shield had taken a step in the other direction, she was sprinting for the rear.
He whirled, plucked the spit that propped one of the legs over the fire, and vanished between the houses before she could herd her troublesome little males back into view. Then, proceeding down the Avenue of the Sun, he let the meat cool.
At the conical burial mound, he took the beaten path north between the buildings, and past the residence where Frantic Lightning had been ambushed. Six Yellow Star warriors squatted on the veranda, talking softly, smoking, and gesturing. No doubt they were rehashing yesterday’s events, wondering about the future, and wishing they could get their hands on the culprit.
Seven Skull Shield could almost sympathize. To be foreigners so far from home, to have their war chief assassinated, the whole thing had to be unnerving.
As they fixed their hostile gazes on him, he circled wide and found the path where it skirted Cahokia Creek’s confluence with the lake. There he stopped and looked around. No one would have looked twice at a man trotting along with a bow. It was spring, after all, waterfowl were migrating. Huge Vs of ducks, geese, herons, and cranes were following the river flyway north. Out on breeze-rippled Marsh Elder Lake, several large flocks could be seen safely out from shore.
Turning, he studied the approaches from the east where the assassin would have come after hearing that Frantic Lightning was being summoned. The killer would have hurried to within sight of Frantic Lightning’s residence, then slowed, walked casually to avoid drawing attention to himself. He might have even slashed at the grass with his bow stave in a display of boredom as he eased up to the corner of the house.
Skulking along the back, he would have done the same thing Seven Skull Shield now did: listened to the occupants through the gap between the thatch and wall. Assuming he understood Caddo, he’d have known when Frantic Lightning was ready to leave.
But after the shot, where did he go?
West. Seven Skull Shield stepped back, looking at the lines of tracks through the spring grass. Too many people had walked here since. Back at the path, he followed it west along the lake shore. To feed Cahokia’s immense need, the cattails, willows, and reeds had been harvested long ago for building materials, matting, and baskets. Despite the size of the lake, he could probably count on one hand the number of fish that had avoided the nets, traps, and trotlines. Only the tiniest of minnows darted among the shallows. Even the killifish had been seined out of existence, destined as filler for the city’s stewpots.