“How you do that?” asked Piruusi. Could Pehto have been right, old fraud or no? Was there some kind of power in this odd man with the one eye and the old spear?
He felt the broken necks of his darlings, his treasured speed beasts, and asked again, “How you do that?”
“I did not do that,” said Shef. “But you see, I have friends in these woods. Friends you cannot see, friends you do not want to meet. Have you heard of such things?”
Evidently the Finn had, for he was looking round nervously now as if at any moment some creature might appear behind him and put fingers round his neck. Shef reached over and tapped him with the butt of his lance.
“No more shooting,” he said. “No more tricks. We want fire, food. Give gold, silver. Go on to Jarnberaland. You know Jarnberaland?”
There was recognition in the man’s eyes, as well as doubt. “I show you Jarnberaland,” he agreed. “First we drink together. Drink of…” he seemed to have trouble finding a word. “Drink seeing-drink together. You, me, Pehto.”
Not understanding, Shef nodded agreement.