At that Crazy Frog chuckled. “No, I imagine not. Do I have your word that this Keeper of theirs will remember me fondly when this is all over?”
“My word may not be what you should be depending on when it comes to Four Winds politics and decisions, but my growing understanding of the Keeper is that yes, she’ll be most generous with her gratitude. Assuming, that is, that this whole thing can be brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Our charming Lord Walking Smoke has managed to turn Morning Star House upside down, and the Keeper would like to put it back up right before clans are turned against clans, and there’s rioting, burning, looting, and other unpleasant mayhem.”
Crazy Frog shook his head, sighing. “Of all the people in the world, who would have thought you would turn out to be a hero?”
“Heroes usually have to suffer terrible hardships and sacrifices before they die in most unpleasant ways.” He made a pained face. “So let’s agree I’m no one’s hero, all right?”
Crazy Frog chuckled dryly. “I hold your Keeper to your promise.” Then he glanced off to the side, saying, “What do you think?”
Seven Skull Shield cocked his head as a dwarf stepped out from the shadows behind a large seed pot. The little man was dressed in expensive fabrics. An iridescent raven-feather cloak hung over his narrow shoulders; his hair coiled in a tight bun atop his head, pinned with a conch-shell columella.
“So this is the thief we’ve all been hearing about,” the dwarf said, his voice wary and high-pitched. “My old adversary, the Keeper, has taken a peculiar twist in the selection of her agents.”
“But then,” Crazy Frog told him dryly, “so have you.” He paused, then gestured grandly. “Seven Skull Shield, I give you Flat Stone Pipe the dwarf. A small man of large—”
“Yes, yes,” Seven Skull Shield waved it away. “The Evening Star matron’s famous little spy and bed toy. But, tell me, spy, what are you doing here?”
“Apparently, the same as you, thief. Trying to stop Walking Smoke and save people who are important to me.”
“It may not be easy explaining your involvement in this to the Keeper, little man.”
Flat Stone Pipe absently fingered the extraordinary reliefs of cosmic spider carved into the side of the storage chest beside him. “Oh, I doubt that. Your Lord Walking Smoke captured Evening Star House this morning. His Tula warriors control the palace. He has lady Columella, that dolt High Dance, the lady Lace, and all the Four Winds children captive inside. He’s sent a messenger summoning Lady Sun Wing, and I imagine he’s laid additional traps and snares around the city to trip up any potential adversaries.”
Seven Skull Shield narrowed his eyes as he thought this through.
Crazy Frog noted, “He has what? Less than twenty Tula warriors? He won’t be able to hold out if the Four Winds squadrons are called up to assault the palace.”
Flat Stone Pipe’s expression pinched. “So far, no one knows he controls the palace outside of those held captive inside, and those of us here. I’m hoping Walking Smoke will keep quiet long enough for us to act.”
The dwarf glanced up at Seven Skull Shield. “I said that because as soon as Walking Smoke thinks he’s running out of time, he’s going to start cutting the throats of every man, woman, and child he’s holding in there. And as he pours out their blood in sacrifice, he’s going to begin the ritual to call Piasa into his body.”
“Assuming it actually works,” Crazy Frog mused, eyes distant.
“Whether it works or not”—Flat Stone Pipe pointed a stubby finger—“it makes no difference if you’re one of the hostages having your throat sliced open. Either way people I care for are going to end up dead.”
Fifty-six
This can’t be happening to me … to us.
The thought kept running around and around Columella’s souls like some sort of worried rabbit. She sat on the eastern bench, fingering the rattlesnake’s head carved in the upright post that supported the cross pieces in the frame. She had watched, stunned, as the barbaric Tula ripped down wood carvings of the Morning Star, Bird Man, and the curled Four Winds Clan insignia. They stripped off the copper, tossing it into a growing pile. They didn’t bother with the shell inlay, giving up after shattering most of the pieces they tried to pry out of the inset. The immaculately carved reliefs and sculpture were broken up and thrown into the central fire. The trophy weapons and shields had come down to burn; the skulls and long bones of Evening Star House’s long-conquered foes had been tossed into the flames where they splintered, whitened, and cracked.