Seven Skull Shield blinked awake, his left side aching where he slept on the cane-mat floor. Something heavy lay on his leg. The sound of snoring men was accompanied by the faint creaking of the beds that supported them.
Shifting, Seven Skull Shield winced and flipped the blanket off. The dog—who’d been sleeping with his head on Seven Skull Shield’s leg—yawned, then sat up to scratch behind his ear.
Pulling himself into a sitting position, Seven Skull Shield rubbed his eyes. Night Shadow Star’s palace was dark. From long habit, he’d awakened a couple of fingers of time before dawn.
At the pattering sound of water, he winced, took a swipe at the dog, but the beast was peeing on the floor just beyond his reach.
“If you don’t learn, you’re going to be stew meat by the end of the week, beast. And I might be the one to smack you in the head and throw you in the pot.”
Rising, he folded the blanket, careful to avoid the wet spot. Slurping sounds indicated the dog had found one of the stew pots.
It had been a most interesting evening. Dressed as Seven Skull Shield was, the Natchez had had no idea he was the same infamous thief for whom Horn Lance had offered a fortune. Nor had they cared that he tagged along at the rear of the wedding party. He’d enticed Wet Bobcat out onto the veranda and out of sight with a bottle of blackberry juice.
“Well, there it is,” Seven Skull Shield had told Wet Bobcat as they seated themselves on the step. “Itza and Cahokia, joined shaft and sheath. Wouldn’t it have been better if the White Woman had married the Itza? As it is, you’re sort of a small stone caught between two big rocks.”
The Natchez, delighted to have a Cahokian “lord” hanging on his every word, had talked the night away. And what a wealth of information the Natchez squadron first had been.
In the morning stillness, Seven Skull Shield veered wide of where Horn Lance slept. Fire Cat huddled before Night Shadow Star’s door. Still dressed in his armor, head bowed under the weight of the helmet, the copper-bitted ax laxly gripped, the Red Wing looked about as comfortable as a catfish crammed into a clam shell.
Seven Skull Shield squinted in the dim light, located the black chunkey stone and lance, and used the lance tip to prod Fire Cat awake.
The Red Wing started, muttered, and almost toppled as his blood-starved and cramped limbs betrayed him.
“Shhh.” Seven Skull Shield placed a finger to his lips. “If you can get up without collapsing in a heap, we have work to do. Let’s go.”
“Thief?” Fire Cat whispered questioningly.
Seven Skull Shield grinned to himself and started tiptoeing toward the door.
Glancing back, Fire Cat was following on wobbly, blood-drained legs and making faces as his circulation was restored.
Outside, Seven Skull Shield paused between the guardian posts at the head of the landing, breathing deeply of the smoky and damp air. The familiar smells of the city carried on the muggy dawn.
“What are you doing?” Fire Cat asked, glancing up at the guardian posts as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the other cradling the war ax.
“Now that you’ve had your fill of the Itza, it’s time you set about beating them.”
“You still talking that foolishness about going to River Mounds City?”
“I had a long conversation with the Natchez last night.” He lifted the chunkey lance and stone. “Swirling Cloud isn’t just a good chunkey player. He’s the best anywhere on the southern river. Maybe good enough to beat the Morning Star himself. The miracle is that he only beat you by five that day.”
“How do you know all this? Why are you still dressed like a noble? Why are you even here? If Horn Lance had seen—”
“I know why you got beat at chunkey. I know how to fix it. But you’ve got to come with me.”
“I can’t leave her! Not now!”
“Did nothing I told you yesterday sink into that bone-thick head of yours? You want to stand around like a miserable grieving log with tears running down your face? That’s Red Wing honor? Fine, I’ll tell her you refused. No, you tell her you refuse. I want to see the look on her face when you do.”
“She’s surrounded by enemies.”
“And you’re the only man who can defeat Swirling Cloud. But you’ve got to do it my way. Right now. Make your decision, Red Wing.”
Fire Cat shifted his uncomfortable armor, glanced worriedly back at the palace, and said, “I can’t just leave her.”
“Your choice. Can’t say I didn’t try.”
Seven Skull Shield set the chunkey lance and stone on the top step and started down toward the avenue below. Behind him, the dog’s oversized paws thumped on the wood as he bounded in pursuit.
With each step he shook his head, muttering, “All right, Piasa, it’s all up to you now. Night Shadow Star better be smarter, trickier, and tougher than we all think she is.”
Grinding his teeth, he turned west down the Avenue of the Sun, glancing north toward the Keeper’s, wondering if he should drop in on her, fill her in on everything the Natchez had spilled.
Or did he dare venture to Wooden Doll’s? She hadn’t accompanied Horn Lance to Night Shadow Star’s, no doubt having been dismissed as an unnecessary complication for the evening.
But who knew what sort of valuable information she might possess? Horn Lance didn’t strike Seven Skull Shield as the kind of man who’d consider Wooden Doll more than a convenient and temporarily useful tool. Men were continually underestimating Wooden Doll—a trait she’d learned to exploit for her own benefit.
Decision made, he hastened his steps to the west, figuring he could be at her house just before mid-sun. Still dressed as a noble—though his face paint was smeared—not even Slick Rock would give him a second look.
The chatty Natchez, flush with the heady feeling of success, had talked way too freely. Now, if Seven Skull Shield could just learn where Horn Lance’s vulnerabilities were, he could bring him down, too.
And then there was the Tortoise Bundle’s keeper to consider. The old woman had claimed that she’d appear with the bundle when the time was right.
“And we’re to believe that?” Seven Skull Shield wondered as he glanced at the ungainly dog trotting beside him. “Right. And you’re a Spirit dog, too, huh?”
The beast, its tongue already lolling, wagged its thick, whip-like tail.
The pounding of feet on the packed clay avenue caused him to turn: Fire Cat emerged from the pre-morning gloom. The chunkey lance and stone were in the Red Wing’s hand, the ax hanging at his belt.
“You can really tell me how the Natchez beat me? You know how I can win?”
Seven Skull Shield chuckled under his breath. “Me, no. But I know the man who can.”
“A priest? Some sorcerer who can fill me with Power?”
“Never trust a priest or sorcerer to do what a scoundrel can do better. And when it comes to scoundrels, Crazy Frog is the best. But if you can be fixed, he’ll know how.” He paused. “Got to make a quick stop at the Keeper’s for a bit of Trade. Then we’ll be on our way.”
For the first time, Seven Skull Shield felt a glimmer of hope. He looked down at the dog, the beast having fixed its curious blue and brown eyes on his. “You know, dog, if this works, we might just have a chance.”