Old White watched the warrior approach and smiled up at him. “Greetings. Come to Trade?”
The warrior was a young man, his tattoos those of the Skunk Clan. A large white shell gorget engraved with an image of Flying Serpent hung on his chest. He had his hair pulled up in a bun; a new war club hung from the thick belt of his breechcloth. He might have passed nineteen summers, spare of body, with a slightly offset jaw. Stickball player, if Old White was any judge.
“Something was taken from the Men’s House last night. The woman back there said you are foreign Traders.”
“That we are. Down from the north.” Old White indicated the white shell gorget. “That’s a nice piece. Excellent craftsmanship. Would you part with it?”
He reached up reflexively, hand cradling the shell. “My brother made this for me. It was his gift when I was initiated to the Men’s House. It isn’t for Trade.”
“Come on inside,” Old White invited. “Let me show you our goods. I’ll bet you’d Trade that for a mica effigy. I have a nice falcon . . . comes straight from Cahokia.”
The suddenly nervous warrior followed Old White into the interior and stared around at the packs and benches. “Do you have a wooden box?”
“Lots of them. But you’re going to need more than just that gorget.” Old White bent to his packs, seeing the warrior drop to his knees, eyes on the wooden pack Old White carried. “That one’s mine. I’ve carried it across most of the country.”
“Wrong decorations.”
Old White slipped his fingers through the goods until he found the mica effigy of Falcon with its long, folded wings. The warrior took his time inspecting each of their wooden boxes. His gaze lingered on the Chaktaw box Old Woman Fox had given them to Trade for Morning Dew. He tilted it, finding no holes for shoulder straps.
I wonder what he’d say if he knew he was standing on top of the legendary Sky Hand war medicine box and a wealth of copper?
“Here.” Old White handed the piece over. “As you can see, it’s already drilled at the top, ready to be strung on whatever kind of cord you prefer.”
The warrior took the piece, turning it in his hands. He held it up to the light coming through the door and watched it flash. “This really came from Cahokia?”
“On the Power of Trade, it did.” Old White made a gesture. “A lot of pieces are being Traded around today that are supposed to have come from Cahokia, but that is the real thing. Here, let me show you this.”
He fished around for one of the remaining weasel hides. “Ever seen a white weasel before? They only turn that color up in the far north. Makes it harder for the hawks and owls to see them against the snow.”
“You would trade the mica for my gorget?”
“I would. That’s an extraordinary piece. I could get a bale of these weasel hides for that one gorget up north. Since the Trade has slowed, they don’t get as much shell up there.”
The warrior fingered the Falcon effigy, and Old White clearly read the desire in his eyes. Finally, the man shook his head. “I’m sorry. I cannot. My brother made this. It was a special gift.”
“I understand completely.” Old White clapped his hands to his thighs and stood. “But, perhaps you might know where another gorget—just as large and well made—might be? I don’t have to Trade you out of your brother’s gift. But another, equally fine, would do.”
The warrior smiled. “I may see you later.”
“We’ll be here. It is our hope to spend some time in Sky Hand City.” Old White smiled. “It gives people time to bring us the best.”
He followed the warrior out into the sunlight. “Now, about this missing box: If we see it, how do we recognize it?”
“Do you know Chahta designs?”
“We do. Like you saw inside.”
“This one is a war medicine box, with straps. The engraving is very fine, with pearls and shell inlay. It has Falcon on it, and the triangles with lines that the Chahta like so much.”
Old White nodded. “You know, it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to Trade a stolen object. If anyone brings such a thing to us, one of us will stall him while the other slips away to the Men’s House with the news.”
The warrior gave him a suspicious sidelong glance. “Why would you do that? The box would bring you a fortune among the Chahta.”
Old White gave him a fatherly stare. “Warrior, you saw that staff in there?”
“The Trader’s staff?”
“That’s right. We are here under the Power of Trade. Do you know what would happen to us if we abused it?”