“It is Paunch, Elder. I have news.”
“Paunch?” the voice asked in surprise. “One moment.”
Old White could hear shuffling sounds inside the house. A moment later, the wooden door was opened and an old man peered out. He stared for a moment at Paunch. “Is that you?”
“Of course!”
“What happened to your hair?” He looked past him, voice hardening. “And who are these people?”
“Just let us in!”
Old White stepped forward. “We need to talk, Elder.”
“Come back later.”
“No,” Trader said forcefully, stepping forward. “We will speak now. In private. I think you would prefer that to having this discussion before the entire Council.”
Old White nodded to himself. The timbre in Trader’s voice brooked no refusal.
“Paunch,” the old Albaamo growled, “so help me, when this is over . . .”
“He is doing only what we ask him to,” Old White said in Mos’kogee, glancing around. “But I would suspect that the longer we stand out here discussing it, the sooner someone is going to get suspicious.”
The door opened, the old mikko reluctantly making way.
Old White followed Two Petals inside to find a doubled hanging of thick fabric. Just the sort of thing to let a man slip out without flashing the light from inside.
The room was neat, the matting clean. Benches lined every wall. The fire was burning brightly, illuminating wall paintings of the Albaamaha World Tree, the Long-Tailed Man, and other culture heroes.
On the floor, no less than six plates lay, food partially eaten. Cups, half-full of liquid, stood beside the plates.
Old White glanced at the doorway leading into the back room. So, were five or six hiding back there? And, more to the point, were they armed and waiting to spring out and kill the intruders?
“Paunch,” the old man cried, “what are you doing here?”
“You must be Amber Bead, the Albaamaha representative to the Council.” Old White stepped forward. “And if we hear correctly, the leader of the Albaamaha resistance against the Chikosi.”
The man’s ashen expression was answer enough. Old White saw the door hanging to the back room sway the slightest bit. He gestured. “The rest of you need not interrupt your suppers. If you are part of Amber Bead’s conspiracy, we would speak with you also.”
“In Abba Mikko’s name,” Amber Bead almost pleaded, “who are you?”
“Ah! Yes. Poor manners on my part.” Old White pointed as he spoke. “This is Trader, and this is Two Petals, the Contrary. As for myself, I am known as Old White.”
“The Seeker,” Paunch added reverently.
Amber Bead’s frown deepened. “I’ve heard something of a man called the Seeker.”
“I am he.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Power has sent us. But we need a little more information.” Old White seated himself calmly on a bench, lacing his fingers around his left knee. “Specifically, we need to understand how relations have grown so bad between the Albaamaha and Chikosi that people are considering open revolt.”
“I’ll tell you,” a sharp voice came from the back room. A woman burst through the doorway, her hair shorn in mourning. Behind her, four muscular men, each with a knotted wooden club in his hands, followed. Nothing in any of their expressions boded for a peaceful evening discussing politics.
Old White reached out, laying a restraining hand on Trader as he started forward. Paunch had crouched down, looking anything but happy.
With his other hand, Old White fished in his belt pouch, producing a small cloth sack. This he held out over the fire, saying, “Easy now. You don’t want me to drop this.”
“What is it?” the woman demanded.
“Poison ivy. It’s nasty stuff when it burns. Within moments, everyone in this room will be hacking and coughing. In some people—as I’m sure you know—it makes the throat swell shut. It would be a shame, but Amber Bead’s house would be uninhabitable for a time. People would wonder why he moved out after so many people ran gagging from here.”
All eyes went to Old White’s sack.
“Now,” he said pleasantly, “we’ve just arrived here. The last we heard, poor Paunch and Whippoorwill were being hounded through the forest like driven deer. So why don’t you introduce yourselves and fill us in on all the events that have transpired since?”
The woman glared, a boiling anger behind her eyes. This one, Old White decided, was going to be trouble.
Amber Bead threw up his hands. “Who are you people?”
“Traders,” Trader said simply. “But very important Traders.” He gestured. “Please, have a seat. We need to know all there is about Split Sky City politics. Then, as a gesture of good faith, we’ll be happy to leave Paunch here with you.”