“What do you do?”
“I’m a slave.”
“They treat you all right?”
“You took that well. Not even a moment’s hesitation.”
“It was a distinct possibility.”
“Oh?”
“A woman your age is normally married, especially one doing work like hauling loads of firewood.”
“You’re an odd man for a Sky Hand.”
“As odd as they get.”
“So tell me, Trader, do you have any news of the Chahta?”
“Some.” They passed the Raccoon Clan palace atop its truncated mound, and the woman led the way to a large house just off the plaza.
In a controlled voice, she said, “I would hear it if you have time.”
They wound their way past the ramada and the pestle and mortar.
“I should look for my friend. But yes, I would tell you what I know.”
At that, a strikingly beautiful woman stepped out the door, glanced at Trader, and smiled. “Hello!”
“Hello yourself.” Lowering the wood, he rubbed his hands to clean them of the bark. “I am called Trader. I helped your slave carry her wood home.”
“She’s not my slave. I am Violet Bead, second wife to Smoke Shield.” She inclined her head to the house immediately south. “I live there.”
At that moment, Heron Wing ducked out—and stopped short in shocked recognition as her eyes met Trader’s.
“I should be going.” He glanced at the slave. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”
“Trader?” Violet Bead asked. “That’s no kind of a name. What is your clan?”
“Violet Bead,” Heron Wing said shortly, “the man is a river Trader. I am negotiating with him over Morning Dew’s value. Now go away.”
Trader tried to keep a straight face as Morning Dew turned her shocked gaze from Trader to Heron Wing, her lips parting in disbelief.
Violet Bead, however, was giving Trader a swift and thorough appraisal. “When you’re done here, Trader, come see what I have available.” Then she looked hard at his face. “Don’t I know you?”
“Can’t say that you do. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Split Sky City. Unless, well, did you spend any time with the Natchez?” He changed to that tongue. “You live dangerously for a woman of the Chikosi.”
Violet Bead shook her head, “Sorry, what?”
“Nothing. A Natchez joke.”
“Come see me,” she reminded, before turning and striding toward her house.
Trader arched a brow as he watched the saucy sway of her hips. “Is she always like that?”
“Unfortunately,” Heron Wing said in a dry voice.
“You’re Trading me?” Morning Dew cried.
“Shhh!” Heron Wing snapped, glancing after Violet Bead. Then, to Trader, “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for the Contrary. That’s when your slave’s wood strap broke. Two Petals is missing.”
“Gods!” Heron Wing cried, hands up. “This isn’t funny! Violet Bead is a terrible gossip.”
Trader considered that. The tall woman had paused, looking back from the ramada at her house. “So, what do we do?”
“Morning Dew,” Heron Wing ordered. “Go with him. Just get away from here. I’ll explain everything later. Help him find the Contrary. Go!”
Trader turned, amused at the burning glare that Morning Dew was giving him. If looks were sharp, this one was peeling his skin off. “So, you’re Morning Dew?”
Her eyes went molten, jaw muscles bunched.
He led her back out onto the plaza. Once out of earshot, he said, “Do me a favor—try and look slightly subdued instead of like you’re about to rip my testicles off.”
“You knew! What were you doing? Spying, determining the value of your Trade? That’s why you didn’t react when I told you I was a slave?”
He led the way back past the Raccoon Clan mound. “It wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but no.”
As the anger drained, her expression fell. “Gods,” she whispered, “I thought she was my friend.”
Trader stopped, pulling her, almost unresisting, behind the curve of the Raccoon Clan charnel house. Swimmer was trying to figure out why this had nothing to do with playing fetch. “She is. Look at me. Old Woman Fox asked us to Trade for your release. We didn’t know that Heron Wing had you until we arrived.”
She couldn’t suppress her amazement. “Old Woman Fox? My grandmother? She sent you here to Trade for me?”
“She did.” He glanced around. “But I wouldn’t shout that at the top of my lungs. Some here might not approve of the idea. Not with relations between the Chikosi and Chahta being what they are.”