People of the Weeping Eye(66)

For fuel, Trader used the roof fall, breaking it up into lengths. Now he enjoyed the reflected heat, extending his hands to the cheery warmth. Swimmer lay curled next to the packs, his nose on his paws as he watched Trader through curious brown eyes.

Evening had deepened into night, the sky partially obscured by high clouds. In the open patches stars blinked and shimmered. The land was only slightly illuminated by the sliver of moon to the east. Trader had a duck spitted over the flames, and the skin was just beginning to brown. Swimmer watched it, dividing his interest between the bird and Trader’s preoccupation with the copper.

“If I can peel off more of this stone,” Trader told him, “it will make this a lot easier to lug around.”

He propped the heavy slab against his left leg and studied the stone. Rot it all, he wasn’t an expert on working copper. On the other hand, he’d spent enough time in the copper lands to know the procedure. They used granite mallets to crumble the softer rock around the metal. It was time consuming, and one didn’t want to hammer the stone into the malleable copper.

Trader began tapping away with a river cobble he’d picked up in the north. He had to be careful. The only rock along the river was sandstone, limestone, or shale; none of it durable enough for his purposes.

“There,” Trader cried as a piece chipped away. “See? Another couple of moons, and we’ll have a clean slab of copper worth a high minko’s palace.”

Swimmer gave him a skeptical look.

Trader had just repositioned the stone when Swimmer leaped to his feet, staring down toward the creek. A low growl grew in his throat.

“What is it?” Trader let the slab fall and reached for his bow and arrows where they lay to one side.

Swimmer’s growls grew louder.

“Shhh!” Trader gestured for silence, but Swimmer, for once, didn’t seem inclined to obey.

“To the right!” came a voice from down the creek.

Trader dropped to his knees and clamped a hand around Swimmer’s muzzle. The dog squirmed in his arms.

“This is madness,” a man’s voice announced. “We should have stopped in the daylight.”

“Don’t want to camp here.” The voice was a girl’s.

“That’s what I was afraid of. I can’t see a thing.”

“To the left.”

“Now we’re grounded,” the old man complained from beyond the willows.

“I said left. Left, left, left,” the girl chortled.

“All right, to the right it is.” A pause. “At least we’re moving again.”

“Now right.” The voice came from the darkness just beyond where Trader had pulled his canoe up in the rushes.

“But that’s the bank.”

“Don’t want to land here. Not the right place for us.”

“If you say so.”

Water sloshed. The man’s voice declared, “I’m probably going to step into quicksand and sink out of sight.”

“Drown here, you will,” the girl insisted.

“Huh, footing’s good enough. But why I let you talk me into splashing around in the darkness is beyond me. We could have sunk ourselves fooling around like this. And who knows what kind of trouble we’re getting into.”

“The worst,” the girl assured.

Trader could hear the rushes bending and rasping on clothing. Swimmer might have had eight legs as he wiggled in ten directions at once. Trader managed to keep the worst of his growls and woofs muffled.

“There’s a canoe here!” the man called, surprised. “Birch bark from up north. Just a moment. Bottom’s wet. It’s been in the water recently.”

“No one here that we want to see,” the girl added firmly.

“Now why doesn’t that reassure me?”

Trader sighed, letting Swimmer go. The dog barked anxiously, bounding down toward the commotion in the rushes. Trader hesitated. Did he go after Swimmer in hopes he could keep the dog from a swinging war club, or try to hide his copper?

“Who’s there?” the man’s voice called.

Trader made a face, glancing back at the flickering glow of his fire. No, too late. “I’m called Trader. Don’t hurt my dog.”

“As long as he doesn’t hurt us,” the man answered. “We’re friendly. I travel under a Trader’s staff.”

Another Trader—the situation was growing worse. He’d recognize the copper immediately, and he’d know its value.

I could kill them.

He nocked an arrow, calling, “Come on in.” At least he’d see what he was up against.

The rushes parted, Swimmer backing away, his tail wagging as he barked and bounced around. In the half-light of his fire Trader made them out: An old man, white haired, holding a Trader’s staff, was followed by a slender young woman.