Fifty-nine

Flat Stone Pipe, being a dwarf, was used to small spaces. That he now huddled under the sleeping bench, a snoring warrior sagging the mattress straps over his head, was disconcerting. This was far from the only time the little man had had to crawl beneath bed frames. He’d learned the art of pushing boxes and pots out of the way by bracing his back against the wall and shoving.

That didn’t mean he liked it. Too many critters lurked in the dark corners, especially spiders. Most were inoffensive creatures who were terrified when Flat Stone Pipe tore his way through their webs; they only wanted to get away without being crushed in the process.

But the occasional black widow or brown recluse was another story. Both were found in numbers in Cahokia, and longtime association meant that they received ample respect from the human population, which included dwarfs like Flat Stone Pipe.

And then there were mice. Not that they’d harm a person. But sticking his hand into one of their nests, having the squeaking and panicked little beasts run up his arms, sometimes scramble into his hair and scamper between his collar and shirt to scratch their way down his chest, back, or sides was always unsettling right down to the foundations of Flat Stone Pipe’s shivering souls.

And snakes. They loved slithering through the dark recesses beneath sleeping benches. Most were harmless, but then the occasional copperhead or even more rare rattlesnake …

No, don’t even think about it.

Flat Stone Pipe made a face.

Listened to the warrior snoring above his head. Then a break. The man shifted, the strapping that supported the cloth-and-straw mattress creaking and swaying over Flat Stone Pipe’s head. The man was big, overweight for a warrior, and of obvious low status given that he was in this particular bed.

The strapping held.

Flat Stone Pipe used his leverage against the wall, pushed with his hands, and managed to ease a large brownware pot out far enough that he could crawl up to the wooden poles that blocked any further progress.

Shifting, the dwarf pulled out his long-bladed quartzite knife and began sawing on the dried leather bindings. As he did, he matched each stroke to the snoring warrior whose body hung just above him.

This would have to be done judiciously. Carefully.

As he worked his blade back and forth, he considered the irony of his situation. He had been trained as an engineer, particularly in the construction of mounds. His parents had considered it appropriate training, given that being a dwarf would never allow him to serve as a warrior, Trader, farmer, or craftsman. His acumen had been recognized within the engineers’ society, which sent him all over burgeoning Cahokia as he learned the craft of mound building. Being the affable object of curiosity a dwarf usually was, he’d built an extensive network of contacts.

Contacts he had been able to develop after a fateful meeting with young Lady Columella. By chance he had been able to provide her with information that allowed her to cement her rise to the matronship of Evening Star House.

She had reciprocated with wealth and professional respect that had eventually led to her bed and a loving relationship that had spanned the years.

For most of that time, Flat Stone Pipe had spent his energies battling Blue Heron and the other Houses. At least until the abomination that was Walking Smoke had burst into their lives.

Now, in the aftermath of that disaster, here he was, an ally of the woman he’d spent most of his life trying to destroy, and beholden to a clanless, womanizing, and footloose thief.

The insanity of it brought a smile to his lips even as the first of the bindings parted. He shifted to the next and began sawing.

Only the intervention of Power could explain it. Blue Heron, who had spent her life keeping a lid on Evening Star House and blunting Columella’s plots, scheming, and struggle for supremacy, had just cemented his matron’s hold on her house. Coming through with more food stores than Columella had given out had silenced the critics.

But Blue Heron had pulled that coup off at her own expense. North Star House, Horned Serpent House, and River House knew who had forced them into giving out their dwindling stores and were fully aware of how that action had strengthened Evening Star House.

Granted, River House had called Blue Heron there, surrendered their stocks out of weakness, and in desperation. That was going to take some thought.

Three Fingers, especially if he ruled through Broken Stone, might not be an improvement on War Duck. Nor was he sure that Round Pot would fight War Duck’s replacement; she was still smarting that her brother had voted for Slender Fox for clan matron. War Duck had been firmly behind his sister until Slender Fox lured him into her bed during the negotiations. That wasn’t the kind of betrayal that could ever be atoned for.

One almost needed scoring sticks to keep track of the intricacies of Cahokian politics.

A second binding gave way. As it did, the hickory pole popped sideways with a thump.

Flat Stone Pipe held his breath. The warrior overhead didn’t awaken.

Craning his neck, Flat Stone Pipe noted that neither did Seven Skull Shield, though the burly thief looked a lot worse for wear.

Was he even still alive?

Ah yes. The faint rising and falling of his bruised shoulders could be seen.

Across the room, one of the warriors climbed to his feet, yawned, and headed for the door. In the dim light of the fire, the man was a mere shadow.

Flat Stone Pipe used his knife to attack yet another of the bindings, asking himself, Why in the name of pus am I here when I could be safely tucked away in Columella’s warm bed?

The answer, of course, was that if the situation were reversed and he were the one in a cage, being beaten and ultimately headed for the square, it would be Seven Skull Shield who would be risking his life.

So here he was, the whole world turned upside down. For the first time ever, Columella’s position was secure because her friend Blue Heron had made it so. Flat Stone Pipe was hiding in the new Keeper’s palace, sawing on Seven Skull Shield’s cage. He did it not just because the miscreant had saved several of Flat Stone Pipe and Columella’s children, but because the scurrilous thief was a friend. The kind of friend who would have put his own life second to Flat Stone Pipe’s.

Talk about convolutions, twists, and turns in what should have been a smooth and straight path.

Flat Stone Pipe gave a sigh of relief as yet another rawhide binding gave way.