Rincewind and the redskins - 6

Rincewind awoke to a new day. He felt refreshed, although he was uncomfortably aware the animal skins he had fallen asleep on were…. well, a bit whiffy… and contained a lot of lesser livestock, some of which had industriously migrated their homes and extended families to the inside of his wizarding robes.

Ah well, he'd had worse, and at least nobody was talking about killing him any more, which was a distinct improvement. He scratched, then got up and cautiously opened the flap of the tent. Nobody he knew was about, so he took a cautious stroll, looking for… yes, there it was. A smaller tepee behind the main one, which in accordance with the laws of universal humour and purpose-identification had a half-moon window cut out of the flap. Gratefully, he used the facility, and left feeling even more bucked up.

He met One-Man-Bucket, who nodded a morose good morning.

"What do people do for breakfast around here?" Rincewind inquired. Bucket shuddered.

"Anana's fixing something up. But don't hold your hopes up."

Rincewind found himself looking dubiously at two long strips of dried meat. They didn't seem any more appetising than the rawhide straps he'd lately been tied up with.

"Pemmican, friend. Or biltong. Dried buffalo meat. Apparently they can go a long time in between kills, and there's a lot of us out here."

Rincewind tried to chew the stuff, looking out over the sheer expanse of what now was not so much an Indian village as an Indian city. His gaze was caught by the toothless Anana Ogg, who was cheerfully sucking hers into submission. It was an arresting sight.

One-Man-Bucket sighed, gloomily.

"What I wouldn't give right now for a potato" he said. "Chips, for preference."

Rincewind sighed. This was, in one important respect, a man after his own heart.

"Chips are OK. But mashed. With a sprig of mint and rosemary. And a knob of butter melting into it."

The two men sighed and went into a shared reverie. Rincewind noticed the Luggage sidling up to him. If an item of travelling baggage could be said to look modest and smug at the same time, this summed up the Luggage at that moment.

"This your medicine pouch? Bloody big pouch!" observed One-Man-Bucket.

Then its lid opened. Revealing potatoes. Lots of potatoes.

"Cor, bloody hell!" breathed One-Man-Bucket, suddenly covetous. "Now that's medicine!"

Anana Ogg paused in sucking her biltong, as Rincewind shovelled potatoes out onto the ground.

"Ask if she can get water. And start a fire. We need a pot!"

Bucket fired a steam of Latoka at the old lady, who grinned and went off to organise. Meanwhile, Rincewind picked something up. A small black cube, about eight inches on a side, with writing crayoned on it. The writing said

Rincewind! Press button B. Stibbons.

Rincewind shrugged, and pressed the marked button. He heard familiar voices.

-Is this dratted thing on, Stibbons? followed by two loud drumming noises.

-Try not to hit it like that, sir! And yes, it is on. (pause) Rincewind. Listen carefully. We know where you are in time and space. We are going to rescue you. Stay calm and remember to replace this box in the Luggage. It's the tracking device we are using to locate you and hopefully pull you back to the University. It is vitally important that you replace it in the Luggage. Stay calm, and stand by for further instructions. Stibbons out.

"Out where, exactly?" muttered Rincewind, replacing the tracker box in the Luggage.

Bucket and Anana Ogg nodded, appreciatively. Voices out of nowhere were heap big medicine.

"How would you like your potatoes, friend?" he inquired. Then he drew closer to Rincewind and asked

"I don't suppose your box can do firewater, can it? I'm dying for a decent drink!"(1)

______________________________________-

The advancing army column sent out cavalry patrols in front of it and out to its flanks, like spores from a virulent fungus. Captain Jeremy Quirke, commanding F Company on an extended reconnaissance, tapped his Scalbie Indian scout on the shoulder. Fastidiously wiping his hand on his trousers, he asked

"What's that on the horizon?"

"Latoka Sioux smoke signals, kemo sabie" said the Scalbie.

"Can you read them?"

The Scalbie went into a huddle with his tribe. This was slightly embarrassing: while most Indians were taught from birth to read smoke signals as a universal language, the Scalbie had evidently been nicking off school that day, and largely remained illiterate. Fortunately, a couple of scouts had acquired a smattering of smoke-language. They huddled, picking out the message in much the same painful way a troll can only read if he uses his index finger.

{{No, no, that's short-puff before long-puff except after medium-length grey puff. Grammar, see?}}

{{Shut up, will you… C—O—M—E space B—A—C—K space T—O space M—A—I—N space C—A—M—P… B—G—H—O—R—N message repeats.. got it, we can tell old kemosabie now.}}

Quirke, an arrogant officer with a reputation for bullying, was pleased.

"A general signal advising all scattered Indian clans to make their way to a main encampment on the Big Horn River, you say? And a replying signal from somewhere over there? So there's an Indian group on its way in? "

Quirke thumped his thigh in excitement.

"Send a signal back to the General, would you?" He had served alongside Rjuister for a long time and could not bring himself to call his commanding officer "Colonel".

"He might want to see action with us".

________________________________________-

Rincewind spent three almost-enjoyable days with the Indians. One of his few talents was a gift for languages: with Bucket, his brother Two-Dogs and Anana Ogg to teach him, he was soon able to communicate in a broken mixture of Morporkian and Latoka.

Two-dogs was doggedly, stubbornly, learning how to be a warrior: he spent most of his time in the saddle.(2) Something must have clicked, as he gradually fell off less and developed more confidence on a horse. One-Man-Bucket, on the other hand, remained a reluctant rider who spent as much time flat on the ground as he did on a pony.

Then Chief Bull turned up again.

"We want you to see this" he said. "Normally it's taboo and instant death for white man"

"Naturally" Rincewind said. He hadn't expected anything else.

"But in the circumstances…well, come on. And bring your medicine pouch with you."

"It normally brings itself"

The Indian chief nodded, and led the way. They walked through the encampment, past respectful and just inquisitive Indians, until the reached a clear space. In the middle was….

"Our totem pole. Very holy place, this".

Rincewind nodded, and looked up, There was something familiar about the wood… it had been carved, or shaped, at sometime into the likeness of totem animals. An eagle at the top, a wolf, a bear, a mountain lion a… weasel? And here, yes, a bloody coyote…

The coyote carved into the wood winked at Rincewind and said "G'day, Rinso, mate!" Rincewind didn't reply. Then Coyote appeared to step out of the carving.

"No worries, Rinso" he said. "You're the only one seeing this. Nice likeness of me, don't you think? Very devotional. Anyway, art appreciation. May I draw your attention to this part of the design?"

Rincewind followed where the God was indicating. Right at the bottom the animal that seemed to be effortlessly supporting all the rest was a porcupine, with a suspiciously Ogg-like look of dirty-minded insouciance on its face. And in its turn, it was sitting on…

Rincewind boggled. The base of the totem pole was a very regular, un-Indian looking rectangular block, with a smoothly rounded top. At its base, what might once have been roots gave the impression of hundreds of little legs along each long side…

"Oi. Coyote. Bugger off!." said Anana Ogg. "He's not the only one seein' you!"

"Grandmother Ogg." Coyote said, with smooth charm. "How nice to see you again. Will you explain, or shall I?" She glared at her God.

"Be my guest" Coyote said, and melted back into the pole. "I'll be around. Watching."

"That thing at the bottom's always been a bugger." Anana Ogg said. "It baffled us, I don't mind tellin' you. But now your medicine box has shown up, we believe a Moment of some sort is nigh. Signs and portents, that sort of stuff. " She nudged him.

"What's it doin'… oh my!"

The totem pole and the Luggage appeared to be aware of each other, in some indefinable way. In a manner Rincewind had last seen on some of the more ornate and powerful wizards' staffs, it appeared that all the carvings were crowding round on one side of the staff to regard the Luggage. As with wizards' staffs he'd known, it made his eyes water.

Chief Bull spoke. With assistance from One-Man-Bucket, Rincewind pieced together what was being said.

There had once been a tree standing there. A tree of power made out of the Living Wood, which Rincewind gathered was something over and above ordinary wood. Latoka had prayed and made offerings here for many moons of moons. One day, sensing the need of the Latoka, the Tree had sacrificed itself and shed its foliage, and the Great God Watan Tanka had turned it into the totem pole they saw before them.

"Of course, there are some as won't leave well alone" Anana Ogg said, reflectively. "One of our artists come here once with a hammer and chisel, right, thinkin' he'd just tidy up and improve on some of the carvin's."

"Oh dear." Rincewind said. " Let me wonder out loud here. The moment he lifted the chisel, yes, there was a great big flash, and all they ever found of him were his moccasins.."

"With smoke signals comin' out of them. You got it."

"And what did the smoke signals say?"

She shrugged.

"Help, help, I've just been blasted into the netherworld without any moccasins?"

Rincewind looked at the totem pole again, And at the Luggage. And realised. The Living Wood.

"That totem pole is made out of sapient bloody pearwood!"

No wonder it and the Luggage were making friends…

Anana Ogg grinned and pushed Rincewind forward.

"Madam, I really must.."

The second push threw Rincewind up against the totem pole. He reflexively extended his hands to cushion his landing, and realised.

He was effectively holding onto a bloody great reservoir of natural magic. The largest wizard's staff in the world. And made out of sapient pearwood.

"Oh, shiiiiii……"

Rincewind felt his body filling with magic. His hair stood on end. His eyes bulged. But he was holding it…

He blanked out for a second, lying flat on the ground, then stood up, eyes blazing with new purpose. But what the hell do I do with this magic?

__________________________________________--

Colonel Rjuister himself rode out with Captain Quirke in pursuit of the Indian village. They found it….

________________________________________=

1 (1) As One-Man-Bucket was to learn later in life, never was a truer word spoken… see Reaper Man.

2 (2) Or rather the blanket, as Indians spurn saddles.