People of the Mist (40 page)

 
          
“The
two dents in the skull. What if they weren’t two separate blows, but one. A war
club can have two heads. The larger usually goes on the end of the club,
correct?”

 
          
“That’s
right,” Sun Conch said as her gaze measured the frightened Rosebud.

 
          
“Oh,
hold still!” Nine Killer cried, grabbing his sister just before she turned to
run. “Do you want to help us, or not?”

 
          
“Not
if it means standing in for a murdered woman!”

 
          
“We
could tie her up,” Panther pointed out. “Hang her from the rafters so that we
can make the height just perfect… even if she’s on tiptoes.”

 
          
“You
wouldn’t!” Rosebud wriggled in Nine Killer’s grasp. Since his sister was taller
than him, he had to look up at her, but she was no match for his thick muscles.

 
          
“Red
Knot’s ghost won’t mind, Rosebud. I promise you.” The Panther stood, and gave
her his best fatherly look. “She’s as anxious as we are to have her murderer
exposed.”

 
          
Rosebud
relented, her hard eyes shooting poison at Nine Killer. “Just this once, I’ll
do it. What do you want me to do?”

 
          
Panther
walked over and squinted at the left side of her head. ‘About here.” Rosebud
flinched as his finger touched the side of her head. “And here. Can we mark
those spots?”

 
          
Sun
Conch scooped up two gobs of yellow squash and dabbed them on the side of her
head. “Like that?”

 
          
“Yes,
just.” Panther nodded.

 
          
Nine
Killer extended his club, lining it up with the two dots, and determined that
he needed to raise his hand but little to match the arc of the swing. “A short
man?”

 
          
“Beware,”
Panther warned. “The head is the most active part of the body. Even if she
didn’t have time to lift an arm to ward the blow, she still might have jerked
her head at the last-minute.”

 
          
“Look
at the angle,” Sun Conch noted. “She couldn’t have been struck from behind. Not
unless the attacker was above her.”

 
          
“Or
exceedingly tall,” Nine Killer noted. “No, I’ve been all over that ridgetop.
It’s flat—unless the assassin hung from a tree.”

 
          
“So,”
Panther concluded. “She was facing her attacker, and yes, given the way the
skull broke, it was most likely a double-headed war club.” He pulled at his
chin. “Most interesting. All we need to do now is determine who has a
two-headed war club, someone that Red Knot would allow close to her.” “Then
that excludes the Mamanatowick’s warriors. Winged Blackbird couldn’t have done
this to Red Knot.” Nine Killer shook his head. “I’d rather it was him. I’d much
prefer to take it out of his hide than someone here.”

 
          
“You
can’t discount him!” Sun Conch declared adamantly. “How do you know that he
didn ‘t do this? If not on his own, then perhaps he used someone here to do his
work for him?”

 
          
“Used
how?” Nine Killer demanded. “The Mamanatowick doesn’t just say “Have someone
kill Red Knot’ and have one of our people jump to his pleasure.”

 
          
“No,”
Sun Conch countered, “but it could have been more subtle. The Mamanatowick has
a great many of our people from the Independent villages captive. What if word
came to one of your people that a slave was to be freed? Perhaps someone’s
mother, father, or child? That would be a pretty strong motivation for murder.”

 
          
“Never
discount the Mamanatowick,” The Panther agreed. “He hasn’t kept his alliance of
Weroances without a great deal of cunning and intelligence. Were he an idiot,
he’d have been replaced years ago.”

 
          
“And
Copper Thunder, or Grass Mat, as you call him?” Nine Killer asked, reading the
wary look in The Panther’s eyes.

 
          
“He,
too, is worthy of your most careful attention, War Chief. He was always bright,
but forever impetuous. If he has learned patience to complement that intricate
mind of his, he would be a most challenging adversary.”

 
          
“He
was here, you know.” Nine Killer crossed his arms, trying to sift all the
information through his mind. An element of clinging doubt was tangled up
somewhere in the bottom of his soul. They were missing something, some vital
bit of knowledge that would make all the pieces fit together.

 
          
“And
he was out in the night,” Rosebud stated. “My daughter White Otter saw him come
through the palisade gate just at dawn. She said his leggings were wet, as if
he’d been out in the fields.”

 
          
“White
Otter?” Nine Killer called. “Come tell us about this.”

 
          
She
was the eldest of Rosebud’s daughters, and his favorite of her five children.
Whip thin, with shining black hair, she had a narrow face that accented large
brown eyes. She’d be a beauty in a few more years, and no doubt a heartache for
her mother to marry off.

 
          
“This
is true, Uncle.” White Otter gulped at being the focus of such serious adult
eyes. “Mother sent me out for water for the morning stew, knowing that we would
have to provide something for the Weroansqua’s house. She was feeding all of
those guests. I was on my way toward the palisade with that big clay jar over
there. He came through the opening, looked around, and walked right toward the
Weroansqua’s Great House.”

 
          
“Did
you see anyone else?” Nine Killer asked. “No one was with him, or followed him
into the palisade?”

 
          
White
Otter shook her head. “No one. Well, people were about, you know. It was first
light, after all. I didn’t think much of it. Just that he’d gone out to relieve
his night water. The only thing odd was his wet leggings. I wouldn’t have
noticed if it hadn’t been Copper Thunder. “

 
          
“Thank
you.” Nine Killer reached out and patted her fondly on the shoulder. “If you
think of anything else, you be sure to come tell me. All right?”

 
          
“Yes,
Uncle.” But she didn’t give him the usual smile.

 
          
“My,
my, so our old friend Grass Mat was up and about.” Panther narrowed an eye as
he stared at the fire. “Now, isn’t that a coincidence?”

 
          
“You
know, the Great Tayac has a war club headed with stone, and just below that is
a copper spike.”

 
          
“Yes,
I know,” the Panther replied softly. “I wonder if it would match the holes in
Red Knot’s head?”

 
          
Flat
Willow
was working on a clam rake when The Panther
and Sun Conch finally located him the following morning. The young hunter sat
on an overturned canoe down at the landing. As water lapped at his feet, he
bent over his work. A thoughtful frown etched his forehead as he concentrated
on lashing a wooden peg to his rake. Beside him lay a roll of flax cord and a
supply of sharpened clamshells for woodworking.

 
          
The
day was gray and cloudy, and a north wind drove white-capped chop into the
inlet. Despite the weather, Flat Willow wore only his loincloth and a feather
cloak. A thick layer of grease protected the rest of his body from the chill.
He’d pulled his hair up tight on the right side of his head and held it in
place with a slender deer-bone hairpin cut from the length of a cannon bone.

 
          
The
rake itself consisted of a thin pole cut from a sapling twice the height of a
man. Finger-thick branches as long as a man’s arm had been attached to the
bottom in a fan shape and braced with a crosspiece. The resulting tool would
claw clams and oysters loose from the muddy inlet bottoms, and scoop them into
the canoe:

 
          
“Going
out for shellfish, I see,” Panther said.

 
          
The
young hunter barely glanced up, nodded, then realized who had spoken. Startled,
he muttered, “I, uh, yes. I’m about ready for a change from chasing deer.” His
smile died when he met Sun Conch’s bland gaze. “Hello, old friend.”

 
          
“It
is good to see you, Flat Willow.” Sun Conch smiled thinly, clearly
uncomfortable. Panther gave Flat Willow his most unsettling grin—the
death’s-head one he’d long practiced.

 
          
Flat
Willow
glanced at him uneasily and twirled the
shaft of the clam rake in his hand. “I was missing a few teeth on the end.” He pointed
absently. “Had to replace them.”

 
          
“Bound
them up with cordage, I see. You don’t use sinew?”

 
          
“No,
Elder. No one does. I mean, well, in the water the sinew loosens. Cordage is
much better.”

 
          
“It
will be a cold day out there. The water’s rough.” Ranks of waves marched across
the inlet. “You’re not going out into
Salt
Water
Bay
itself, I take it?”

 
          
“No,
Elder,
Fish
River
will be rough enough. Even then I expect to
be cold. I imagine I’ll ship enough spray to put out my fire.” He indicated a
slim dugout across from the one he sat on. A charred wooden bowl was set
amidships in the floor. Fishermen built fires in the hardwood bowls for warmth,
and for attracting fish to their nets at night. If the fire was cared for
properly, a fisherman never had to-build a new one, but could nurse the coals
over long distances, and cook fish and fowl as he traveled.

 
          
“I
hear that you were the one who found poor Red Knot’s body.” Panther pulled his
old fabric blanket tightly about his shoulders. He wished they’d done this next
to the fire in the long house rather than down here on the exposed beach.

 
          
“That’s
right, Elder. I tracked High Fox back up to where her body was hidden in the
leaves.” He shot a quick glance at Sun Conch, his expression pained, as if in
guilt.

 
          
“Oh,
fear not,” Panther said mildly. “I know that Sun Conch and you have been
friends from a long time back.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
nodded, lips tight as if biting off words.

 
          
“And
you and High Fox, you used to spend a lot of time together as children. Best of
friends when the clans came visiting here, or you went to Three Myrtle.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
nodded.

 
          
Panther
gestured again at his companion. “Yes, Sun Conch has told me a great deal about
you and High Fox. She also told me that you wanted to marry Red Knot. That you,
too, fell in love with her.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
glowered at Sun Conch, reddening as the anger
of betrayal was stifled by clamped jaws. “My friend seems particularly loose of
tongue these days.”

 
          
“Why,
my good hunter, if tongues don’t loosen, we will never understand just what
happened to Red Knot.” Panther stepped closer, using his aggravating smile to
mock Flat Willow. “It must have bothered you to hear that lovely young Red Knot
was marrying Copper Thunder.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
took a deep breath and lowered his eyes,
fingers tracing the grain of the wooden handle. “I do my duty, Elder. She was
the Weroansqua’s daughter. We all knew that. Everyone but High Fox.” His lips
quirked. “He liked to live dangerously.”

 
          
“That’s
a curious way to put it. When I met High Fox, he was fairly well subdued,
scared half out of his skin.”

 
          
“Was
he? Ask your friend there. Go on, Sun Conch, tell him. High Fox figured he
could get away with anything. He was Black Spike’s son. He could take chances
with the Weroansqua’s granddaughter!”

 
          
“Take
chances?” Panther’glanced skeptically at Sun Conch, and then at Flat Willow.
“I’m afraid Sun Conch never mentioned that.”

 
          
“Of
course not, she is covering for her friend. She’s particularly fond of him, you
see. She thinks she loves him, will forgive him anything. They’re in it
together. Or hadn’t you figured that out yet, Elder? Are your witch’s Powers
that limited that you can’t tell when you’re being lied to?”

 
          
Sun
Conch’s hand dropped to her war club, but she said nothing.

 
          
“Lied
to? Me?” Panther gave him a startled look, then jerked a thumb toward Sun
Conch. “By Sun Conch? That’s ridiculous.”

 
          
“Ridiculous?”
Flat
Willow
mimicked his tone of voice. “I’ll tell you
about being ridiculous. High Fox was the ridiculous one. Did you know he was
lying with Red Knot? As long ago as last summer? What was that? Six moons
before she became a woman?”

 
          
Sun
Conch took a half step forward, clutching her club, her face stormy. Panther
tugged her back with a restraining hand, muttering, “Easy, there.”

 
          
“Oh,
yes, easy, Sun Conch, you silly grouse. Or didn’t you know he was wetting
himself in her sheath?”

 
          
“If
you knew this, why didn’t you say something?” Sun Conch growled. She allowed
Panther to drag her back.

 
          
“Because,
old friend, I figured that in time, events would catch up with him. I just
never thought he’d kill her.” Flat
Willow
looked away, the wind teasing loose strands
of black hair out of the bun on the side of his head.

 
          
“You
must have really hated him,” Panther said softly. “And her, too.”

 
          
Flat
Willow
shot him a sidelong glare. “No. Not her. I
thought she was a fool for letting High Fox pump himself dry inside her, but t
never thought she’d suffer for it. He was a man! Blackened in the Huskanawl By
blood and bone, a man does not couple with a child! Not among our people.”

 
          
“You
didn’t try to protect her? To drive him off?” Panther chided. “For what?” Flat
Willow
cried. “She’d have hated me for it! Hated
meShe… she thought she loved him!”

 
          
“And
you loved her?” Panther countered. “Indeed, if that’s love, you’re—”

 
          
“How
would you know?” Flat
Willow
leapt to his feet, throwing down the clam rake. “You come in here,
stick your old nose in our business! What do you know of love, old man? About
the burning in my breast when I’d look at her? How my guts went watery when I
knew that she was with him, letting him drive that pitiful penis of his into
her when I… I…” He clenched his fists, and turned away.

 
          
Panther
watched the thick muscles in Flat Willow’s chest knot and writhe, then said,
“So you would have done anything to get her.”

 
          
“That’s
right,” he grated, struggling to control himself. “It must have been terrible
for you when she was going to run off with High Fox. Your plan hadn’t worked.
No one had discovered that High Fox was lying with a girl. He wasn’t disgraced
and punished, and Red Knot’s status hadn’t been diminished enough that you, a
lowly hunter, could hope to marry her. All of a sudden she was a woman, running
off with the man you hated. They were free. On their way. She was out of your
life completely, and you couldn’t stand it, so you picked up a club, and beat
her brains in.” Flat
Willow
, eyes glazed, stepped toward Panther. “Killed her? Beat her … No. No! I
never!”

 
          
“If
you couldn’t have her, then neither could any other man!”

 
          
“No!
How dare you!” Drawn with rage, Flat Willow stood face-to-face with Panther.
“If you only knew what lengths I was willing to go to. What I’d sacrificed to
…”

 
          
But
he stopped short. His mouth gaped, as if he was struggling for breath—and then
he chuckled nervously. MOh, you’re very clever, Panther. You thought you’d get
me to admit to something, make me lose my sense and tell you …”

 
          
“Tell
me … what?” Panther prodded.

 
          
“Why,
about Red Knot’s death, that’s what.” Flat
Willow
folded his arms across his chest. “Sorry,
old man. Take your tricks and games to the Weroansqua. I’ve told everyone what
happened up there. I was hunting deer and High Fox came running down the trail.
We had words. He had blood on his hand, and he ran off, jumped in his canoe,
and paddled away like a madman. I was curious; I backtracked him and found Red
Knot.”

 
          
“And
what did she say to you?”

 
          
“She
was dead. Had been for a long time.”

 
          
“How
do you know?”

 
          
“I’m
a hunter, Elder. A body loses heat quickly on a cold day like that one. She was
stone cold. She’d started to stiffen, and her eyes were dried. Even the urine
that leaked out had started to dry.”

 
          
“Any
sign of a struggle?”

 
          
“No.
None. And she hadn’t been with a man, either. There would have been stains.”

 
          
“But
her body had been dragged from the middle of the ridge, to the side, and
covered with leaves?”

 
          
“That’s
right.” He studied Panther with half-lidded eyes. “High Fox did that. Tried to
hide his crime. He thought that scattering a few leaves would keep her from
being discovered.”

 
          
“Indeed?”
Panther nodded slowly. “Do you carry a war club, Flat Willow?”

 
          
“Sometimes.
What business is it of yours?”

 
          
“Do
you have it with you today?”

 
          
“I
do. I could show you how it works.” His eyes narrowed. “In fact, I think I’d
get a great deal of enjoyment out of doing just that.” He squinted at Panther’s
skull, as if judging just where to land the blow.