The Keeper | Page 6

direction of the village since the snow had
stopped. One had been wearing sealskin boots, of the sort worn by all Northfolk. The
others had worn Southron boots, with ribbed plastic soles. That puzzled him. None of the
village people wore Southron boots, and as he had been leaving in the early morning, he
had seen Yorn Nazvik's ship, the Issa, lift out from the village and pass overhead,
vanishing in the west. Possibly these were deserters. In any case, they were not good
people. He slipped the heavy rifle from its snow-cover, checked the chamber, and hung
the empty cover around his neck like a scarf. He didn't like the looks of it.
He liked it even less when he saw that the man in sealskin boots had stopped to examine
the tracks he and Brave had made on leaving, and had then circled the house and come
back, to be joined by his plastic-soled companions. Then they had all put down their
packs and their ice-staffs, and advanced toward the door of the house. They had stopped
there for a moment, and then they had entered, come out again, gotten their packs and
ice-staffs, and gone away, up the slope to the north.
"Wait, Brave," he said. "Watch."
Then he advanced, careful not to step on any of the tracks until he reached the doorstep,
where it could not be avoided.
"Bold!" he called loudly. "Bold!"
Silence. No welcoming whimper, no padding of feet, inside. He pulled the latchstring
with his left hand and pushed the door open with his foot, the rifle ready. There was no
need for that. What welcomed him, within, was a sickening stench of burned flesh and
hair.
The new lumicon lighted the room brilliantly; his first glance was enough. The slab that
had covered the crypt was thrown aside, along with the pile of deerskins, and between it
and the door was a shapeless black heap that, in a dimmer light, would not have been
instantly recognizable as the body of Bold. Fighting down an impulse to rush in, he stood
in the door, looking about and reading the story of what had happened. The four men had
entered, knowing that they would find Bold alone. The one in the lead had had a negatron
pistol drawn, and when Bold had leaped at them, he had been blasted. The blast had
caught the dog from in front--the chest-cavity was literally exploded, and the neck and
head burned and smashed unrecognizably. Even the brass studs on the leather collar had
been melted.
That and the ribbed sole-prints outside meant the same thing--Southrons. Every Southron

who came into the Northland, even the common crewmen on the trading ships, carried
some kind of an energy-weapon. They were good only for fighting--one look at the body
of Bold showed what they did to meat and skins.
He entered, then, laying his rifle on the table, and got down the lumicon and went over to
the crypt. After a while, he returned, hung up the light again, and dropped onto a stool.
He sat staring at the violated crypt and tugging with one hand at a corner of his beard,
trying desperately to think.
The thieves had known exactly where the Crown was kept and how it was guarded; after
killing Bold, they had gone straight to it, taken it and gone away--three men in
plastic-soled Southron boots and one man in soft boots of sealskins, each with a pack and
an ice-staff, and two of them with rifles.
Vahr Farg's son, and three deserters from the crew of Yorn Nazvik's ship.
It hadn't been Dranigo and Salvadro. They could have left the ship in their airboat and
come back, flying low, while he had been hunting. But they would have grounded near
the house, they would not have carried packs, and they would have brought nobody with
them.
He thought he knew what had happened. Vahr Farg's son had seen the Crown, and he had
heard the two Starfolk offer more trade-tokens for it than everything in the village was
worth. But he was a coward; he would never dare to face the Keeper's rifle and the teeth
of Brave and Bold alone. So, since none of the village folk would have part in so
shameful a crime against the moral code of the Northland, he had talked three of Yorn
Nazvik's airmen into deserting and joining him.
And he had heard Dranigo say that the Issa would return to Long Valley Town after the
trading voyage to the west. Long Valley was on the other side of this tongue of the
Ice-Father; it was a good fifteen days' foot-journey around, but by climbing and crossing,
they could easily be there in time to meet Yorn Nazvik's