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language based on Choctaw. He guessed Mobilian, and spoke in that tongue. “You speak this?” he asked.
    “As if born speaking it,” the fellow answered, with an accent so thick it was nearly incomprehensible.
    “What about English?”
    “A few words.”
    “French?”
    “I speak French good,” he replied, in French. It was better than his Mobilian.
    “Hey!” Tug said. “That In’yun is speakin‘ French!”
    “You speak French, yes, Tug?”
    “Good enough’t‘ buy rum and tell lies’t’ a whore.” To prove it, he switched to the language. “Hey, you, what the hell you doin‘ tied up so?”
    “Improving my character,” the man answered cheerfully.
    “Then you wouldn’t have us cuttin‘ y’ loose?”
    “I’m of the opinion that my character is improved by now.”
    “Who did this?” Red Shoes asked.
    “People who didn’t think much of my character. Will you free me?”
    “Should I? Did enemies do this or your own people?”
    “How should I know? It was dark.”

    EMPIRE OF UNREASON
    “Good-bye,” Red Shoes said. “I wish you luck with your character.” He started off.
    “Wait!” the fellow called. “Not that it’s your business, but it was a simple misunderstanding involving a woman.”
    “Woman?” Tug perked up.
    “Yes. The wife of a chief, if you must know. A family matter—the chief is a cousin of mine.”
    “Ah. Why didn’t they cut your nose off?” That was the usual punishment for adultery.
    “They might in another day or so. Come, release me and I can be useful to you.
    You’re a long way from home, yes? You could use fresh horses—some food maybe?”
    Red Shoes shrugged. “Horses, yes. And we could use a guide, someone who knows the languages of the plains.”
    “I’m the perfect guide. I was a tracker for the Frenchmen that came this way a few years ago. I speak a little of every language.”
    Red Shoes considered, noticing as he did that the fellow’s eyelids were tattooed blue. It made him look like a raccoon when he blinked. Hadn’t he heard the Wichita were marked like that?
    Red Shoes nodded at Tug. “Cut his bonds.”
    The one-time sailor did so. The young man sat up, rubbing his wrists and ankles. “Thank you,” he said. “As the French say, I am at your service. Now, where do you need guided to?”
    Red Shoes pointed.
    “Northwest. Good. But where?”

    EMPIRE OF UNREASON
    “I’m not sure. A great distance. Maybe another few weeks travel. Maybe more.”
    “You’re looking for someone, or something?”
    “I don’t know.”
    The fellow blinked, and a wary expression came over him. “Is this shaman business?”
    “Yes.”
    “Wonderful.” He rolled his eyes.
    “You’re still willing to guide us?”
    “Will it give me something good to talk about? Will it make a good story?”
    “Almost certainly.”
    “Well, then. It’s probably best I’m not seen around here for a while anyway.”
    He considered again. “My name is Tahanitsiaskase,” he told them.
    “An‘ my name is Abakabakadakabar,” Tug retorted. “I can’t say that.”
    “Ah—in French, ”Flint Shouting,“ ” the Wichita said.
    “When will you be ready to leave, Flint Shouting?” Red Shoes asked.
    The fellow looked at the sun, then glanced a little nervously southward. “The sooner, the better,” he replied.
    As they moved north, Flint Shouting shed his nervousness like a snake rubbing out of a skin.
    “They should have known better!” he said. “I can’t be caught, and when I am caught, I always escape.”

    EMPIRE OF UNREASON
    “It may be that Tug and I are due some credit,” Red Shoes said dryly.
    “The Dreams love me,” Flint Shouting said. “If they hadn’t sent you to release me, they would have sent someone else.”
    “Dreams?” Tug grunted.
    “The Frenchman I guided didn’t know about dreams either. Do none of the white people know about the Dreams?”
    Red Shoes shrugged noncommittally. He didn’t know much about the Wichita, and though he