Aching, shivering, wet to the core, Seven Skull Shield slopped his way down the route that led to Crazy Frog’s. Lightning crisscrossed the sky, weaving irregular patterns through the clouds and turning the torrential rain silver as it illuminated cascades of water streaming from thatch and split-cane roofs.
In their rage, the Thunderbirds blasted the world as they pursued their war against the Tie Snakes and the Underworld. At the same time Seven Skull Shield could believe they were trying to either drown the world, or confuse the water serpents into thinking they could swim up into the very air—and right into the blasting thunderbolts.
If so, even the Spirit World was made up of trickery and subterfuge.
Thankfully, the raging ache in his head had ebbed to a slight annoyance, irritated only by the incessant battering of raindrops on his skull.
Making a face, he sloshed through a low area between warehouses, knowing full well that every latrine in the city was flooded and overflowing into the pathways. Come morning the flies and stench would be nose-clogging.
A ragged pattern of lightning Danced in different parts of the sky and cast the house, ramada, and yard in strobes of blue-white. The central fire pit looked like a gleaming black eye that wept streaks of floating charcoal and ash. Rivulets of water shot from the edges of the thatch to spatter in pools of runoff that sheeted across the yard. The roar of the pounding rain and the booming crash of thunder devoured any other sound.
Seven Skull Shield trudged around the corner of the house, slipped between closely spaced walls, and slammed the flat of his wet hand against the dark plank door.
“It’s Seven Skull Shield!”
Moments later, a shadowy figure lifted the door to one side, saying, “We wondered if you’d been washed away.”
“It’s raining so hard I watched a school of fish swim up out of the river. They almost made it to Black Martin’s cord-making workshop before a bolt of lightning cooked them through and through. I’d have brought you one, but a baby Thunderbird snapped them up before I could grab one.”
“Inside. He’s waiting for you.”
Seven Skull Shield slipped past the hangings and into the lamplit interior. Crazy Frog was perched atop a thickly folded buffalo robe, a beaded record mat in his hands. He looked up from where he peered closely at the patterns and colors of beads. “Won this in a match today. I wonder what it says. Now I’m going to have to Trade something to a recorder to tell me. Probably cost me a Split Sky City pot just to find out how many jars of corn some colony raised seven seasons ago.”
“Or it might be a secret treaty between the Oneota and the Caddo declaring war on the Morning Star and announcing their armies will arrive here in ten days—a fact that will make you so rich you can buy High Chief War Duck and rule River Mounds City from the background.”
Crazy Frog’s expression didn’t change when he said, “What makes you think I don’t already?”
“Me? Think? That’s not my reputation, so don’t start spreading it around. It would be too much effort to live up to.”
“The Red Wing beat the Natchez.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I missed it. Didn’t so much as have a clue it was coming. When you see your friend, tell him I’m displeased. Very displeased. He owes me. Since you brought him here, you owe me. I’ve heard that it was the most remarkable match ever played. Tied. Right up until the last cast, when the Red Wing not only hit the Natchez’ stone but broke it. Then while the Natchez was pleading to the Itza god to save him, Fire Cat struck his head off with one blow. Can you imagine?”
“I, uh—”
“The greatest chunkey match in years, and I missed it. This disturbs me, thief. Really, deeply, burns me right down to the hollow between my souls. You understand, don’t you?”
Seven Skull Shield crossed his shivering and wet arms, head cocked. “And how would you have bet at the start? For or against the Red Wing?”
Crazy Frog’s irritated expression leavened slightly. “All right. Against. Your Red Wing was making progress. He was listening, improving. Another week and I would have figured he might have a chance against the Natchez.”
“So you’d have bet wrong.”
“I could have covered if I’d been there!” He jabbed a hard finger at Seven Skull Shield. “You and the Red Wing owe me.”
“You were paid to instruct him. And handsomely. Just because—”
“You really are a stone-headed lump of shit, aren’t you?” Crazy Frog shook his head, eyes raised as if imploring the Sky World for understanding. “It’s not the winnings, you idiot. It’s that I didn’t get to see it!”
Seven Skull Shield wondered if Crazy Frog was on the verge of tears. “You have my word. When I see the Red Wing, I’ll make rotted sure he understands your disappointment.”
A sly smile hid behind Crazy Frog’s normally uninspiring lips. “But everyone does know that I trained him. There’s no little satisfaction in that.”
“Since your man was expecting me, that means Flat Stone Pipe’s runner was here?”
“He was.” Crazy Frog laid the beaded mat to one side and pointed. “Over there, next to that big wooden box. Lift up the blanket.”
Seven Skull Shield crossed the room, wincing at the muddy tracks he left. He reached down to lift the split-feather blanket.
“Been thinking about you,” he told the huddled figure, then glanced back at Crazy Frog. “I know Flat Stone Pipe already gave you something in Trade. I’ll add my own appreciation as soon as I can.”
Then Seven Skull Shield bent down, grunting with the pain as he picked up Slick Rock’s tightly bound body. Every muscle screaming, each joint and sinew aching, he tossed the wiggling man over his shoulder and turned.
“One down, two left to go.” As he headed for the hanging, he said, “Give my love to your first wife.”
Slick Rock was screaming into the cloth gag tied over his face as Seven Skull Shield stepped out into the rain and storm.
The Spirit Beasts understood retribution.
And so would Slick Rock.