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"Go in my place. But keep away from the Grog. One blood contest a season is enough."
* * * *
The Wildcats fell back from their side of the field as they crossed, Valentine holding the basketball up as though it were a torch per Zak's instruction.
A huge legworm, longer than the one Valentine had ridden into the Bulletproof camp, led six unreined worms onto the contest field. Valentine watched them pull up soil, weeds, and hay stubble like plows.
Three riders sat astride the broad back, in the "flying carpet" sidesaddle-seat Valentine was beginning to recognize.
"That's Tikka, she's the reiner," Zak said.
Tikka had sun-washed, caramel-colored hair, plumed into a lusher version of the foxtail her brother wore, and the tan, wind-burned face of a woman who seldom knew a roof. The man behind her was shirtless, with bandages wrapped around his midsection. The third rider, a beefy, gray-haired woman, evidently kept the tradition of the third rider being older.
"Watch the whiskers on the unreined legworms," Zak advised Valentine. "Tikka! Look at the trouble you caused," he called.
She dismissed him with a wave. "Talk to the herd."
Zak turned to Valentine. "The Dispatcher won't allow us to ride together. Too many brawls."
"I thought it was cousins who liked to fight in these parts."
Zak winked. "Fight... or kiss. Fact is, I don't feel guilty about either. I'm adopted."
* * * *
Valentine spent the day mildly worried. Duvalier had tucked a note in his pack
Checking out the other camp
Back tonight
-Meeyao
and had not returned.
Valentine found himself a minor celebrity in the camp. As he limped around on his sore ankle, Bulletproof children came up and bumped him with their fists and elbows. He explored the camp with Price, trying to stave off the coming stiffness by keeping his muscles warm. He looked at some of the carts and sledges the legworms towed. Many held loads of fodder, or sides of meat, but one, under guard near the Dispatcher's tent, had a generator and racks of military radio gear.
"There'll be a party tonight," Price said. "Weather's nice and the herders will disperse."
"The little contest this morning," Valentine said. "Does anyone ever not pay up when they lose?"
"That's why they bring together as much of the tribe as they can. Sort of like wearing your gun at a poker game."
Valentine and Ahn-Kha did laundry at the washtubs. The other Bulletproofs doing washing insisted on giving them soap flakes and the outside lines for drying their clothes. A woman carrying six months of baby under her tie-front smock hinted that Valentine would be getting some new clothes that night. "They're going round for donations," she said.
By nightfall a raucous throng of legworm herders surrounded the barn like a besieging army. Their rein-pierced mounts stood along the road ditch in lines, eating a mixture of grains and hay dumped into the ditch.
Valentine didn't feel much like joining. His legs had been filled with asphalt, his ankle had swelled, and his shoulder blade felt like a chiropractor had moved it four inches up. He stayed out in the warm night and ate beans from a tin plate, scooping them onto a thick strip of bacon, and watched Ahn-Kha make a new pack for Bee out of a legless kitchen chair the Golden One had traded for somewhere.
"Everyone wants to see you," Zak said, coming out of the darkness. "Dispatcher himself asked for you."
"I'm tired, reiner."
"Just for a moment. You're Bulletproof now. You've got to have a sip."
"A sip?"
"It's where we get our name. What did you think it meant, Kevlar? We've got some char-barrel-aged Kentucky bourbon."
