Five Fists stood beside the central hearth in Blue Heron’s palace. His muscular arms were crossed on his chest, his lopsided expression grim.
That Five Fists had come personally was proof of how seriously the living god took the incident.
Smooth Pebble dabbed at Blue Heron’s sore face with a damp cloth. The rest of her household looked nervous, glancing uneasily at the Morning Star’s scarred warrior, or speculatively at the door leading to Blue Heron’s personal quarters.
Night Shadow Star paced anxiously before the hearth, her worried gaze taking in the benches and wall hangings. She kept whispering as if arguing with herself.
Or with Piasa.
One never knew with Night Shadow Star.
Only Dancing Sky, the old Red Wing Clan matron, and her daughters, White Rain and Soft Moon, so recently come to the Keeper’s household, appeared unshaken. But then, to them, any misfortune that befell the Four Winds Keeper would seem a just retribution.
“Ouch!” Blue Heron cried as Smooth Pebble poked too hard against her swollen nose.
“Oh, stop it,” Smooth Pebble chided too quickly, her disquiet barely hidden. “You’d have my hide if I let you outside with bits of dried blood on your face.”
“What bothers me,” Five Fists declared, “is that the assailant got past the guard and made it all the way to your personal quarters without anyone hearing or seeing him.”
Blue Heron told him, “Since Walking Smoke met his end, people have gotten lax. Given how the thief seems to slip in and out of here as if he were a ghost, why should I be surprised? Even after threatening to cut Clay Bell and Fire Temper’s balls off, nothing seems to have improved.”
The two warriors in charge of her personal security were no doubt wincing where they stood outside her door. She would have to tend to them personally and immediately.
“The thief? You are sure it wasn’t him?” Five Fists asked. He’d never liked Seven Skull Shield—had despised him from the moment he’d first seen him. But then, the thief had been dancing around naked, swinging his unnaturally large penis around as if it were a section of overstuffed buffalo gut. Not the finest of first impressions.
“It wasn’t the thief.” She waved Smooth Pebble back. “In the first place, he doesn’t need to steal from me. Our deal is that he can have anything he wants. In the second, he wouldn’t have struck me. It just…” What? Wasn’t right?
She smiled. “I know what you think of him, Five Fists. And yes, he’s a clanless, insolent, and no-account bit of human driftwood. But even if you hung him in a square, he’d die before admitting that he lives by an inviolate set of rules. His own rather tortured code of honor.”
Five Fists snorted his disbelief. “Then who?”
“The Natchez. If it wasn’t Swirling Cloud it was one of his warriors.”
“Why? What could possibly tempt them to ruin everything by sneaking into your palace, getting caught, and inciting a potential disaster between our two Nations?”
“The Morning Star’s cloak,” she told him. “The one gifted to the Little Sun at the conclusion of the Busk. The one Swirling Cloud stole from him the night the old Little Sun was murdered.”
The room went silent, all eyes on the Keeper, but Night Shadow Star’s. She appeared oblivious, preoccupied with the voices in her head.
“You found the cloak?” Five Fists asked.
“The thief did. He lifted it out of one of the Natchez’s storage boxes the night of Thirteen Sacred Jaguar’s welcoming feast.”
“Does the Morning Star know this?”
“He does.”
“Well … where is it?”
“I sent it off with Notched Cane yesterday. Call it a hunch, but it worried me to have it here. I just didn’t think they’d come after it in this fashion.” She prodded tenderly at her swollen nose.
Five Fists sighed. “Tell me where Notched Cane went. I’ll send warriors to retrieve the thing before anything else happens to it.”
Blue Heron winced as she stood, feeling the bruises and stiff joints from her fall. She was too old to take this kind of abuse. Nevertheless, she walked up to look Five Fists in the eyes. “You’re too late. I had Notched Cane give it to an Anilco Trader the thief recommended. It’s going—”
“You did what?”
“Old friend, you must trust me with regard to this. It’s a deeper game than even the Morning Star thinks. Or, if he’s playing this many layers down in the blankets, he’ll understand what I’ve done and why.”
Five Fists worked his lips back and forth, frown lines deepening. “Second-guessing the Morning Star can be a most dangerous—”
“I haven’t forgotten when you rounded us all up last spring. If you’ll remember”—she held up her thumb and forefinger, a tiny gap between them—“I came this close to hanging in a square. And someday, that’s where I’ll probably end up. But for now, I’m doing what I think best.” She paused. “Or, if the Morning Star would prefer, Tonka’tzi Wind can name someone else Keeper.”
“You take risks.”
Still holding his gaze, she laughed bitterly. “Living in the shadow of the Morning Star? By Piasa’s swollen balls, we all do.”
“The Keeper has my protection,” Night Shadow Star stated from the side. “Whatever she’s done with the cloak, she has my approval … and Piasa’s.”
Five Fists growled under his breath and scuffed a nervous toe across the new matting. He still hadn’t grown used to the notion that Night Shadow Star now wielded such Power and authority in opposition to the living god. Taking a breath, he said, “That still leaves the problem of someone sneaking in and striking the Keeper. This cannot be tolerated. Not after last spring.”
Blue Heron made a face as she fingered the scar on her neck. In all of her life—even during the worst of relations with ex-husbands—she’d never been so much as threatened. Now in a matter of moons, she’d been attacked in her sleep by two midnight invaders.
Night Shadow Star said cryptically, “The battle is just being joined.”
“What battle?” Five Fists gestured with an open hand. “Who are we fighting? The Natchez? We could sweep them away with three squadrons.”
“Which is why the battle is being fought in a more cunning way,” Night Shadow Star told him with a smile. “In order to win, they have to weaken us, one by one. Eat away at our strength. Distract us and turn us against each other.”
“That’s nonsense.” Five Fists shot her a distrusting glance. “How can a bunch of foreigners do that?”
At that moment, Clay String uncharacteristically burst through the door, a panicked look on his face. He dropped to his knees, touching his forehead as he glanced anxiously at Blue Heron, then raised pleading hands to Night Shadow Star.
“Lady?” he asked plaintively. “I’m sorry, but…”
“Yes?”
“It’s Fire Cat, Lady. I’ve never seen him like this. It was the Natchez. The one they call the Little Sun. He beat Fire Cat at chunkey. Took his clothes. Mocked him all the way to the palace steps.” He swallowed hard. “If you don’t come I’m afraid Fire Cat’s going to kill himself.”
For a heartbeat Night Shadow Star didn’t seem to understand. Then, spinning on her heel, she started for the door, moving in long strides as she tossed her thick hair behind her.
Blue Heron turned her attention back to Five Fists, asking dryly, “You were saying?”