“I pulled him out of the river. He was half-drowned, clinging desperately to a raft of driftwood.” He reached down, managing a single pat on the shoulder before Swimmer wiggled away, taking another position to alternately watch him and the stick.
“I’ve made squash bread,” she said, beaming proudly.
“I’m still stuffed from breakfast.” He sniffed, catching the odor of it over that of the city. “But I’d share some.”
Needing no other invitation, Squash Blossom seated herself in the Sky Hand fashion, knees together. She was a little heavy, probably because all she did was cook. Her husband, Trader had learned, was a stone carver who left early each morning and returned late. Maybe to keep from blowing up like an overinflated fish bladder? They had three children, two boys and a little girl who peeked shyly around the house at him.
Trader took a piece of the hot squash bread, ripping it from the loaf and juggling it to keep from burning his fingers. He blew on it for the space of several heartbeats, and managed to pop it into his mouth without frying his tongue.
“Excellent,” he said between chewing. “I can’t tell you the times on the river when I would have given anything for bread like this.”
“I thought all you Traders lived well,” she remarked, smiling with satisfaction.
“At times, yes. I’ve enjoyed some spectacular feasts. The ones among the Natchez are best. I think it’s because the Great Sun rules completely. He orders something and his people comply. If he says to empty the granaries for a feast, they do it. Right down to the last corn kernel.”
“You must have seen some remarkable things.”
“And some miserable ones, too.” He ripped off another piece of bread. “Days alone on the river, the weather foul, and at every campsite the wood is wet. Sometimes a meal is whatever is in a jar. I’ve stooped to chewing raw cornmeal and washing it down with cold water.”
“Is that why you’ve come here? For the food?”
“Well . . .” He took a bite of the bread, chewed, and tossed Swimmer’s stick. “That wasn’t the original plan, but I could live with it.”
“What was the original plan?”
“The Trade,” he said, swallowing. “Split Sky City is away from the Father Water. Old White and I thought we’d give it a try. You see, in Trade, we look for special items.”
“What’s special in Split Sky City?”
“Woodwork for one.”
“And our stone carving?”
He could see her apparent interest. “Among the best. Especially paint palettes. The Sky Hand stonecutters have developed better saws for cutting the slabs.”
“And our stone statues?”
“If you promise to keep bringing me bread like this, I’ll let you know that as good as the Sky Hand work is, the Caddo are better.” He winced. “But it’s hard to beat the Ockmulgee. They do things with granite you’d have to see to believe.”
She nodded. “My husband says the same thing. About the Ockmulgee, that is.”
“I don’t know, though. If all the men march off to war, it may close the northern routes. We were thinking of heading back up through the Tenasee.”
She shrugged. “There’s Trade in the south.”
“We’d have to save some of our goods.”
She glanced at the door, lowering her voice. “That bald-headed man, is he mute?”
“Because he never speaks?”
She nodded.
“No. He’s my partner’s slave. We may Trade him off here.”
She whispered, “You could do better. Koasati make much better slaves.”
“That’s what he is,” Trader said, feeling relief. Since Koasati spoke the same language as the Albaamaha, when she did hear Paunch speak, it wouldn’t make her suspicious. “We got him downriver from some Pensacola.”
She considered that. Voice still low, she added, “I hope you didn’t give much for him.”
“You’d be surprised,” Trader said dryly. Then he asked, “What kind of slaves would be available here?”
“We have lots of different kinds. Our warriors are among the best. They can take captives from anywhere.”
“So I heard. I even heard that you captured some Chahta ones recently.”
“Someone killed the men. Walked up in the middle of a foggy night and stabbed them right in the squares.” She shook her head. “There was a terrible squabble about that.”
“I’m sure. What about the women?”
“They’re around. One was killed when she ran. Another had her tendons cut.”
“Was that Morning Dew?”