The Burning City (44 page)

“Well, we can work that out, then,” Kettle Belly said. “How old is the boy?”

“Sixteen, I think,” Whandall said.

“Little young,” Kettle Belly said.

“Starfall's only fifteen,” Greathand growled. “If the damn fool hadn't made such a big thing about not being able to harness that mare, maybe—anyway, Starfall's all excited, so I guess it's got to be. Whandall, we'll talk when we're over the pass, discuss arrangements, where the kids want to live, what it takes to set up a ropewalk. You tell Carver he's a damn lucky boy.” The blacksmith went away, still muttering under his breath.

Whandall frowned at Kettle Belly. “I saw Carver and Starfall go off together, but they weren't the only ones last night!”

“They're the only ones that all of a sudden can't harness one-horns,” Kettle Belly said. He grinned. “I always thought you were putting me on, but you really don't know!” He laughed at his enormous joke. “Whandall,
everyone
knows it! Nobody but a virgin can harness a one-horn. Yesterday Carver could harness the mare and Starfall didn't have any trouble with the stallions. This morning—”

“I've been stupid.” Many cryptic things were becoming plain.

“Doesn't work that way in the Valley of Smokes, then?”

“No.” Whandall thought about it. “Ponies are smaller, don't have real horns. It surprised us when ours grew those big horns. Magic! Kettle Belly, what happens now?”

“Well, you heard. Greathand will have to come up with another kind of dowry. I don't know if he can afford a ropewalk—he's got Fawn to marry off too—but he'll do what he can. Carver have any shares in your stock?”

Whandall nodded. “He's not poor. This is all new to me. What happens if they don't want to marry?”

“Come on—they knew there were one-horns in the wagon train!”

“Carver didn't know what that means.”

“Starfall did,” Kettle Belly said. “You trying to tell me that it's different in the Valley of Smokes?”

Whandall remembered Willow's story of what happened to Dream-Lotus. “No. Not for kinless,” he said. Carver must have known what he was getting into. Whandall remembered incidents with Fawn and Rutting Deer, chances he had, things he might have done.

It was different here, because there weren't Lordkin here, and he could never explain that. “No,” he repeated.

Kettle Belly squinted up at the rising sun. “Burning daylight,” he said. “We have to get moving. Whandall, you'd better explain this to Carver.”

“Yes. Does he have any choices?”

“Well, he can take a wagon as dowry, if he wants to learn this life. Being married to Greathand's daughter won't hurt him a bit.”

“What if he runs away?”

“He'd better run damn far from the Hemp Road. Forever.”

They made camp in a boulder field. Large rocks helped form a natural rectangular fortress, nothing so refined as the place the Spotted Coyotes had built. Wagons filled in gaps among the big rocks. Whandall watched their placement—all wagons in sight of each other. They'd traveled until near sunset to find such an open place… an easy trek down the gorge to the river… but wouldn't any bandit know just where wagons would stop? And the boulders and the rising and falling ground around them could hide all of Serpent's Walk and Bull Pizzle together.

But Hickamore drank strong hemp tea and sang, and when he came out of his trance was satisfied. There were bandits near, but they only watched. They had no plan, no purpose, only their envy.

The sun had set, but the west was still red and orange. Whandall sent two of the Miller children to keep watch outside the wagon circle. “Stay very still, and if you hear anything, shout and run under the wagon. But yell first!”

Then he had Willow, Carver, Carter, and Hammer sit down around the fire.

“We need to talk,” Whandall said. “Carver, you knew what was expected when you went off with Starfall.”

Carver looked very solemn. “Yes. Well, I knew it in my head,” he said. “I wasn't thinking much, though.”

“Starfall was,” Willow said.

“How are you so sure?” Carter demanded.

She shrugged. “Girls always are. In Tep's Town you might get away
with being careful, but it's a big risk. Out here—believe me, Starfall knew what she was doing. So did you, I think.”

“It's so—permanent,” Carver said. “That's what I'm having trouble with.”

Carter nodded in sympathy.

“So what do you want to do?” Whandall insisted. “I think I'm supposed to negotiate for you. Where do you want to live?”

“I can make rope,” Carver said. “Well, if Carter will help. Carter, I'll teach you my part if you'll teach me yours.”

“Greathand can't afford a ropewalk,” Carter said.

They all looked at the wagon. Then they looked at Whandall. No one said anything.

Whandall grinned. “Depends on Willow,” he said.

“Me! I don't have anything, except the dress you bought me. I don't have anything at all!”

And she was near tears. Dowries. Was that the problem? “The wagon. The ponies. Willow, they're all yours.” He'd been thinking how to say that. He'd waited too long.

“One of the ponies is mine!” Hammer protested.

Whandall shrugged. “Argue that with Willow,” he said. “But Kettle Belly says one pony is worth a team of bison, so Willow has a wagon and team.”

“And the mare?” Carver demanded.

“I have a claim,” Whandall said. “I helped catch her. The hemp and tar too—part of that's mine. I won't claim it, though. Willow can have my share.”

“Why?” Willow asked. “It's very nice of you, Whandall, but why?”

“I know why,” Carver said. “Don't you?”

She didn't answer, but she had the same vague smile that had appeared when Whandall said she owned the wagon and ponies. She looked quickly at Whandall, then looked away again.

“Don't forget, the wagonmaster gets a tenth,” Whandall said. “Now about the gold.”

“Morth gave that gold to you,” Carter said. And Carver said, firmly, “Yes.”

Whandall nodded. “I'll share. I needed you to move it for me. Still do. There's enough for your ropewalk, I think, if you and Carter stay together. I keep half. You, all of you, share the rest any way you decide.” Half would still be a lot. “Half after the wagonmaster gets his share.”

“Kettle Belly doesn't know about that gold,” Carver said. “No way he could know.”

“We could hide it,” Carter said eagerly.

“No.”

“Whandall—”

“No,” he repeated. “We tell the wagonmaster.”

“Why?” Carter demanded. “He doesn't know—he can't know.”

Whandall tried, but words came slowly. “I said. I promised.”

“A Lordkin's promise,” Carter said. “Made to a thief!”

“Kettle Belly's not gathering,” Whandall said. “He's—he's working with us.”

Carter looked to the others. Some understanding flowed among them. Carver said, “All right,” and shrugged.

Whandall felt like an outsider. There was a long silence. Finally Whandall got up and left the wagon. No one spoke until he was too far away to make out words, then Carter and Carver began speaking excitedly.

“Come in,” Kettle Belly said in invitation. “Have some wine.”

“No, thank you,” Whandall said. “I have something to show you.”

“Yes?”

“Not here. At Willow's wagon.”

Kettle Belly frowned at the setting sun. “Time to set the watch,” he said. He began pulling on his boots. “Willow's wagon, you said? Not yours?”

“Hers after her father died,” Whandall said. “In the Burning.”

“Makes sense,” Kettle Belly said. “I keep forgetting about the one-horns.”

“The ponies are hers too.”

“Well, of course.” Kettle Belly tied off his boot laces and held out his hand for Whandall to help him up. They set off at a brisk pace with two of Kettle Belly's nameless sons following. “Good. Let's go. You and Willow getting along all right, then?”

Whandall didn't answer.

“And it is my business,” Kettle Belly said. His tone was serious now. “Everything that happens in this wagon train is my business until we get to Paradise Valley.”

“Pelzed used to say things like that.”

“Who's Pelzed?”

“Someone I used to know. I think we ought to hurry.”

Kettle Belly was taking two steps to Whandall's one and didn't have breath for an answer.

“Leave that alone,” Willow shouted.

“Why?” Carver demanded.

“Because—”

“Hello, Willow,” Kettle Belly said.

Carver turned quickly. He was holding a gold nugget in both hands. It was pulling him to the ground.

“That's what we wanted to show you,” Whandall said. “We have gold.”

“I see that,” Kettle Belly said. “More than that?”

“What's in the wagon.”

The wagon bed was open, and Kettle Belly looked. He said, “That's a lot of gold.”

“I know. It's refined gold too.”

“Where did you get it?” The shaman's voice. They turned to see Hickamore come out of the shadows.

“
Damn
that lurking spell!” Whandall shouted.

Hickamore grinned. “I wondered if you would tell the wagonmaster.” He turned to Kettle Belly. “Now, Black Kettle, behold the skill of your shaman and the value of our bargain. Dowries for all your daughters in your share alone!” Hickamore cackled. Suddenly he stiffened. He went past Carver and reached into the false compartment of the wagon, now open.

“Stop that!” Carter shouted.

Hickamore ignored them. His skinny arms lifted, holding two nuggets both as big as his head, as if they floated up under his palms. “Refined, you said. A wizard absorbed its power. Morth? Is that who you meant? He didn't take it all, boy!” The old man's voice had gained in timbre and volume: it must have been audible throughout the camp. “Here.” He handed a nugget to Carter (who dropped it) and one to Hammer (who staggered), took the nugget Carver was holding, and lifted it high. His face twisted in joy. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he stood entranced.

“Now what have you done?” Kettle Belly demanded of Whandall. His two sons stared at the shaman. In the shadows were Bison folk who had followed Hickamore's voice toward possible entertainment.

Carver and Carter had given over shouting at Kettle Belly. They watched the shaman. Willow ignored Hickamore to stare at Whandall, looking at him in a way she never had before, not unfriendly, certainly not angry, but as if she'd never really seen him. Before Whandall could speak to her, Hickamore recovered. He grinned wildly. “More gold calls. It's kin to this,” he said.

“We're a long way from the river,” Whandall said.

“Yes, yes, it was washed down to the river from above,” Hickamore said. “The hills are alive with its music; I feel the power of it calling me. We must find it.”