Unbelievable! Rap stared down at him, speechless. What alternative could possibly be worse than what he was asking for? High Raven had colored in fury and he glared up at Rap. “You bring shame upon the clan! You disappoint our guests!”
“It is not the way of my people!” Rap protested, glaring back. He had long ago discovered that sometimes the only way to handle old Honinin was to use that glare-stubborn. It did not work on High Raven, though.
“We are your people! The Raven Clan!”
“Also I have another people.”
The chief was almost foaming with rage. “Insult! Renegade! You will leave this house. Go! Take trash with you!”
Rap thought of the arctic night waiting outside and the flimsy buckskins he had been given. He wondered if he would be allowed to take even those, or would just be driven out as he was. “I am your guest! I wore good furs. You send a guest away, keep his furs?” He knew what had happened to those furs.
So did High Raven, but he did not know that Rap knew. He scowled and glanced around. “Furs will be found. You will go tomorrow.” He looked down at the groveling Little Chicken, who was wailing and rubbing his face in the dirt. ”And take trash.” The audience was muttering with disapproval and disappointment, but it sounded as if Rap would be allowed to depart safely, and also that he had just acquired a companion-a companion who would have every incentive to break his neck at the first opportunity.
But Little Chicken was harder to convince than his father. He rose to his knees and raised clasped hands in a last desperate appeal to Rap. “Flat Nose! Do not leave me in shame! I make good show! Never cry out! Long, long pain!”
His distress seemed so real and so intense that for a moment Rap hesitated. He had certainly played foul in the testing, cheating Little Chicken out of what should have been an easy victory. Was it fair now to cheat him out of the lingering death he dearly wanted? Little Chicken, it seemed, would not be able to live with himself . . . but Rap had to live with himself, also, and he had been. the winner. He shook his head.
The burly goblin threw back his head and wailed a long, long howl of lament. Then he clambered to his feet and slunk away, doubled over with shame, hiding his nakedness now with his hands.
From the look in High Raven’s eye, Rap was no longer welcome in the place of honor. He was about to leave when he saw his gifts still lying on the platform. Thinking he might persuade Little Chicken to accept them, he gathered them up quickly, then walked away. The crowd parted to let him through, glaring contemptuously.
High Raven raised his arms to the company. “Raven Totem does not disappoint guests! More food! More beer! Cheep-Cheep, Fledgling Down—come forward.”
Rap’s knees quivered in a sudden surge of horror—he had just condemned one of the younger boys to take Little Chicken’s place on the butcher block. He thought that Little Chicken deserved it more, but then he remembered that it was only his arrival and betrayal by Darad that had prevented either Cheep-Cheep or Fledgling Down being there anyway, so really nothing had changed. Not his fault.
He reached the back of the crowd and stopped, baffled. Some of the spectators were still turning to send angry glares in his direction. He had no friends in that place, but now he was probably not eligible to sleep in the boys’ house, so he would have to stay. Then a hand fell on his shoulder like a falling tree. He was spun around to face Little Chicken.
He had found a loincloth, but his face was still filthy with the dirt from the floor, streaked by tears. It also wore an expression of urgency. “You come!” He moved toward the door.
Rap dug in his toes and tried to resist the pull. Go out into the night with Little Chicken? Instant suicide!
The young goblin seemed puzzled by Rap’s reluctance, then he guessed the reason. He smiled bitterly. “Flat Nose frightened of trash?”
Rap squared his shoulders and went. Little Chicken did not saunter this time. He dashed through the unbearable dark cold. Rap ran at his heels, bare feet rapidly going numb in the snow. They arrived at the boys’ house and plunged in.
It was empty and dark, the fire shrunk to embers. Little Chicken scooped up an icy rug and draped it around the quivering Rap, who dropped his bundle of gifts to huddle the fur tight about him. His companion set to work at the hearth, blowing and poking and stirring life into it. Soon he had flames leaping again. Then he looked up to study Rap-who was shivering mightily inside his robe. Little Chicken squatted in nothing but a leather apron, yet apparently at ease in the freezing temperature.
“Not go tomorrow. Go now!”
“Why?” Rap’s mind screamed at the thought.
“Dark Wing, Raven Claw. My brothers follow us.”
They would want revenge? But a man who had so recently begged for death should not be suddenly eager to escape it. Rap was suspicious still.
“I need my furs,” he said.
Little Chicken scowled. “Furs bad! Buckskins better. I show you.”
“You stand the cold better than I do.” That remark was not enormously tactful, and the goblin heaved a sigh of regret.
“Yes. But I look after you now.”
“Why should I trust you?”
Little Chicken jumped up and stamped his bare foot furiously.
“I look after you!” he shouted. Apparently Rap had discovered yet another way to humiliate him. He was dark-faced and breathing hard, and his big fists had clenched until the bones showed white. Rap kept a puzzled silence.
Little Chicken grunted. “I am your trash-slave. My duty to look after you. Where we go?”
“South. Across the mountains.”
Little Chicken nodded as if that were two doors down the street and not weeks away. “I take you. We go now.”
The fire was starting to flame up noisily and brightly, but Rap was still shivering. Then his fur robe was snatched away and Little Chicken began slapping big handfuls of grease on him, spreading it in a disgustingly thick layer.
“Here, I can do that,” Rap protested, trying to take the bucket.
Little Chicken knocked his hand away and kept on working. In a few moments Rap discovered that the grease did seem to keep the cold out, when it was thick enough. Then he was being helped into the new buckskins, his protests completely ignored. They fitted surprisingly well, yet Little Chicken fussed and adjusted ties and straps on waist and ankles and wrists, taking a long time to dress his new master to his satisfaction. Then he said, “Sit!” and began greasing himself. Rap tried to help and got shouted at, but was grudgingly allowed to coat his slave’s back for him. For trash, Little Chicken was remarkably lacking in respect. He donned his old buckskins, which had been lying in lonely neglect by the door. Then he said, “Stay! Back soon,” and vanished out into the moonlight.
Rap’s farsight traced him automatically, discovering then that the whole horde of goblins was pouring out from the big house. The boys were ready, and a bonfire had been lighted to brighten their coming contest. Little Chicken dodged around the far side of the stable, made a quick dash to the women’s house, and headed for the food store.
Cheep-Cheep and Fledgling Down were led out in fur robes. Now Rap tried desperately not to watch, but apparently farsight could not be turned off at will—not, at least, when there was something of interest happening. He tried to distract himself by inspecting the horses in the stable, for the visitors had brought twenty or more of the scrawny ponies with them and he must be sure to select the best for his escape . . . but in spite of himself, he was a spectator. He knew how the youths staggered as they took the strain of the load, how they began to tremble when the cold ate into their exposed flesh. They did not push and pull as Little Chicken had done; they just stood and stared doggedly at each other and tried to endure. They lasted much longer than Rap had, but then Cheep-Cheep buckled without warning. Fledgling Down was wrapped up and rushed off into the lodge again. The spectators followed, two of them dragging the unconscious Cheep-Cheep. Then Little Chicken returned. He carried a very small backpack, most of which seemed to be occupied by a wallet of bear grease. It also contained fire-making equipment, a couple of knives, a little food, and much cord, which might be for trapping or fishing. From somewhere he had obtained two short bows and two quivers of arrows. Rap was a sorry archer, but he decided he could carry his set as a spare for Little Chicken to use.