People of the Thunder(140)

“No.”

“Like as not, we’d get out on the river and Horned Serpent would capsize us. Traders don’t abuse Power.” He paused. “Not and get away with it.”

The warrior nodded, and then he smiled. “I understand.” He touched his gorget. “I do want that mica piece. I’ll be back.”

Old White sighed as the young man walked to the next house, calling out to the occupants. He seated himself, rearranged his legs, and found Swimmer waiting for him with a partially chewed stick in his mouth. Old White reached down and tossed it as Squash Blossom came over, a contrite look on her face.

“Isn’t this a better day?” she said by way of greeting. “That wind was terrible.”

“It was indeed.” Trader smiled up as he continued to sand his lance.

She shifted from foot to foot. “I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble.”

“No trouble,” Old White said amiably. “You did us a service. That nice young man is going to Trade us a fine shell gorget next time he comes.”

She glanced off toward the east. “So, someone took the White Arrow war medicine.” She shook her head. “So many things don’t make sense anymore.”

“How’s that?” Trader asked.

“If it had to do with the White Arrow raid, something always goes wrong. That’s what people are saying. First the captives were mysteriously killed, and now the war medicine just vanishes. You know what the rumor is?”

“No.” Trader squinted up into the sun.

“That it flew out of the Men’s House in the middle of the night. My cousin, he’s a warrior; he was there last night. That room was full of men. Many of them maintained some sort of vigil all night. Warriors do that. It courts Power. No one saw that medicine box vanish.”

“Maybe something really was wrong with that raid,” Old White said evenly. “Maybe whoever led it had the Power wrong.”

“That would be Smoke Shield.” She shook her head. “If Power’s wrong, he’s at the bottom of it.” Then a horrified look crossed her face, as if she’d said too much. “I’ve work to do,” she called with forced joviality and headed quickly home.

Old White considered that as he reached for his pipe where it lay in his pouch. “That brother of yours seems to be . . .”

“Elder?” a cautious voice called.

Old White turned to see Stone peering around the corner of the house. “Stone? What are you doing over here?”

The little boy slipped around the corner of the house, eyes lighting when Swimmer trotted over with his stick. He bent down, running his fingers through Swimmer’s furry mane. “Mother sent me. She wants the Seeker to come. By himself.”

Old White glanced at Trader, who gave him a nod. “All right.” He rose, then considered. “Maybe a wise man would take a Trade pack with him?”

“And you’re always wise.” Trader gave Stone a wink.

“Can Swimmer come?” the little boy asked.

“Maybe another time,” Trader told him. “We’re in the middle of a stick game.”

Old White grabbed a sack of fine milky gray chert blanks that had come from the legendary quarries south of Cahokia and gestured to the little boy. “After you.”

They had walked out to the plaza before Old White asked, “Did your mother say what this was about?”

“She’s upset.”

“Did she say why?”

“I think it’s because of Violet Bead. My father beat her this morning. He cut her nose and ears off.” Stone looked up, wide-eyed. “He almost killed a Crawfish Clan man who was at Violet Bead’s house. He hit him in the head with a stone.”

“I see.” Old White hurried along.

Violet Bead’s house had a forlorn look, and it took a moment for Old White to realize why. All the personal effects: the mortar, the bowls, jars, and other items that normally lay close at hand, were missing.

He followed Stone to Heron Wing’s door, and the boy ran inside, calling, “Mother? I’ve brought the Seeker.”

Heron Wing stepped to the door, and Old White raised a questioning white brow. “What happened to your face?”

She gave him a frightened look, glancing this way and that before stepping out. “Stone? Could you run down and ask Uncle Pale Cat if he needs help mixing the salves?”

Stone looked uncertainly up at his mother, worry evident in his face. “Father won’t kill the Seeker, will he?”

“No,” she chided. “It’s not like that. Go on. The Seeker’s just here to Trade.”

They watched as a reluctant Stone turned and started off, but he paused often and long to cast anxious glances over his shoulder.