“But Monsieur le Genius, not all knives are seen in advance.”
“I see 'em.”
“Nothing ever surprises you?”
Before Calvin could get farther than the first sound of the word nothing, Honor‚ slapped him on the back of the head. Calvin staggered forward and whirled around, holding his neck. «What the hell do you think that proved!»
“It proved that you can be harmed.”
“No, it proved you can't be trusted.”
«You see my point?» said Honor‚. «It is when you feel safe that you are most vulnerable. And since you are stupid enough to feel safe all the time, then you are vulnerable all the time.»
Calvin's eyes became narrow slits. “I didn't feel safe all the time. I felt safe with you.”
«But lately we have been together all the time.» Honor‚ grinned again. «You are safe from me. I am not the proud owner of any useful knack and I carry no weapon and I am too busy studying humanity to bother harming any individual human. But being safe from me does not mean you are safe with me.»
“Don't lecture me, you French fart.”
«You praise me too much. Garlic, wine, onion soup, rich cheese, these combine to make the fart fran‡aise the best of all possible farts. Voltaire said so.»
Calvin didn't laugh. “Look,” he said. “Look at that slave. Got nothing to do.”
“You have a sharp eye. He is waiting.”
“Is he your man?”
“I observe what men do. I do not pretend to be able to tell whether two Black men, one seen from behind, the other from the face, both from a distance, and their clothes identical to the costume of half the slaves in Camelot, are in fact the same man.”
“You saying it's him?”
Honor‚ sighed. «I say I cannot tell.»
“Then just say it. Don't get into those damned fancy orations.”
Honor‚ ignored him. Staggering and squinting, their backs bent, their eyes searching, the first Blacks were appearing on the deck. «It is a slave ship.»
“Well we knew that,” said Calvin.
“We 'knew' it about three other ships today that had no slaves aboard.”
“We knew this was a slave ship because look at the White men on the deck with padded sticks. They wouldn't need those to load crates.”
«If only I were as clever as you,» said Honor‚.
The Black they had been looking at before, who might or might not be the one Honor‚ had seen taking puppets, came forward with two buckets of water and a basket. His head down, so as not to look any of the White dockworkers in the eye, he said something to the dock foreman, who waved him over to the foot of the gangplank.
«No, you dumb buck!» The foreman's voice carried clear over to where Calvin and Honor‚ were waiting. «Wait back there! If you start backing them up on the gangplank then they crowd each other right off into the water! Stupid, stupid, stupid.» By the time he was through with his list of stupids, the Black man with the buckets had bowed and ducked his head long enough to get to the indicated waiting place.
«He knew,» said Honor‚.
“What did he know?”
«He knew where to stand,» said Honor‚. «He was already walking there before the man pointed.»
“Why would he get the foreman angry?”
«He got the foreman to think he was stupid,» said Honor‚.
“The foreman started out thinking he was stupid. They think all Black people are stupid.”
«Do they?» said Honor‚. «They think some are more stupid than others.»
The first slaves, hobbled and joined by ankle chains, staggered and clanked down the gangplank, then headed straight for the water. There was a great deal of spilling and quiet cursing from the waterboy. Calvin used his doodlebug to get a closer view. Sure enough, each slave was handing over some small item, made of scraps of cloth and splinters of wood and bits of iron.
“He's our man,” said Calvin. “But what made you think those were dolls they were handing over?” asked Calvin.
“I got a good look at only one. It was larger than the others. It was a doll.”
“Well the others aren't.”
“But they are something, am I right?”
“Oh, they're something all right. Wish I could ask them what it is. How they get powers into those things.”
“What are they, if they aren't dolls?”
“They're nothing. I mean they don't look like anything. Knotted cloth, strings, threads, iron, wood, bits of this and that. No two alike.”
“Ah, for the knack of your brother's wife.”
“We'll find out soon enough.”
“But is it not ironic that we spend all day watching and waiting, and now that we have found this man, we still have no idea what he's doing, but she already knows?”
“What makes you think she knows anything?” demanded Calvin.
“Because she can see into that man's heartfire. She has watched us all day, and the moment we saw him, she could hop over and look inside him and know it all.”
«Damn,» said Calvin, looking at Honor‚ with annoyance. «Don't go telling me you can feel when she's looking at you?»
«I didn't have to feel anything,» said Honor‚. «I knew she would because she was curious. She would see in our heartfires that we were going to search for this man, so she would watch us. Obvious.»
“To you.”
“Of course to me. I am the world's leading authority on the behavior of human beings.”
“In your opinion.”
“But you see, I am the kind of man who always thinks he is the best in the world at whatever he does. So are you. It is one of the ways we are alike.”
Calvin grinned. “Damn right.”
“The difference between us is that I am correct in that opinion.”
Calvin's eyes squinted again. “Someday I'm not going to pretend I think you're joking when you say things like that.”
“What will you do to punish me, make me wake up under a hedge with a terrible headache and my clothing covered with urine?”
The women were coming down now, naked to the waist and roped, not chained together, though the ropes had chafed their wrists and ankles enough to draw blood.
«Your brother's wife already knows the name of this bringer of water, and where he lives, and what he had for breakfast,» said Honor‚.
“Yeah, well, we'll know soon enough.”
“Do you think he won't notice two White men following him?”
Calvin grinned wickedly. “Like I said, I can do everything that needs doing. I can follow him without him seeing us or knowing he was followed.”
“Using your doodoobug?”
“Doodlebug.”
“But you do not know all the hidden powers this Black man might have. How do you know he won't catch your doodlebug and hold it captive?”
Calvin started to scoff at this idea, but then grew solemn. “You know, I'd be a fool to think he's not dangerous just cause he acts dumb around the foreman.”
“You are learning to be suspicious! I am proud of you!”
“But my doodlebug doesn't have to ride inside him or anything like that.”
«Good,» said Honor‚. But he could see that Calvin was worried now.
Every single one of the newly arrived slaves had something to give the man. The women were not as trusting as the men. They didn't have them in their hands or the scant clothing they wore– they spat these things from their mouths into the dipper. “Some of them have two,” said Calvin. “Two thingamajigs.” When there was something in the dipper, the waterboy always put it into the right-hand bucket. He was building up quite a collection in there.
Last in line were a dozen or so good-sized children, looking far more terrified and weak than the adults. None of them had anything for the waterboy.
«The women who had two,» said Honor‚.
“Yes,” said Calvin. “For the children.”
In the midst of serving them, the waterboy clumsily knocked
over the right-hand bucket, spilling water over the hot boards of the dock. He served the rest of the children from the other one. When the last was served, they saw why he had spilled the important pail, for one of the sailors snatched up the bucket that still had water and dashed it onto the back of the last child. This was uproariously funny to the White stevedores. While they laughed, the waterboy knelt, scooped everything out of the other bucket, and tucked it into the small basket he carried.
He wasn't home free, though. The foreman stopped him just as he started away from the dock. “What you got in that?” he demanded, pointing at the basket.
“I don't know what my master put there,” said the waterboy.
“I know one thing he better put there,” said the foreman.
The two men looked at each other in grim silence for a long time, until finally the waterboy grinned and rolled his eyes and reached into the basket. “I so stupid, boss, I so stupid, I plumb forget.” He took out a coin and offered it to the foreman.
“Where's the rest?” asked the foreman.
“That all he give me,” said the waterboy.
“Come on, Denmark,” said the foreman.
«Ah,» whispered Honor‚. «We have learned his name.»
“Better be his name,” said Calvin. “He sure as hell ain't no Scandinavian.”
“Tell you what,” said the foreman. “I'll tell him you give me one penny and see what he says.”
“But I give you a shilling,” said Denmark.
“You think he'll believe that, if I tell him otherwise?”
“You get me a whipping, that don't get you no more money,” said Denmark.
“Get the hell off my dock,” said the foreman.
«You a kind man, boss,» said Denmark, bowing and nodding as he backed away. Then he turned his back and picked up the buckets again, but before he could stand up the foreman planted a foot on his backside and sent him sprawling on the dock. The stevedores and sailors laughed. But the slaves lined up for inspection by the customs officers, they didn't laugh. And Denmark himself, when he got up from the dock his face didn't show much amusement. But Calvin and Honor‚ could see how he composed himself, putting on a silly grin before he turned around. «You a funny man, boss,» said Denmark. «You always make me laugh.»
With exaggerated care, Denmark picked up the buckets without turning his back to the foreman. And he made a show of stopping and looking behind him a couple of times to make sure no one had snuck up to kick him again. His clowning kept the White man laughing even after he was gone.
Through it all, the newly arrived slaves didn't take their eyes off him.
«He is showing them how to survive here,» said Honor‚.
“You mean get a White man mad? That's smart.”
«He is not a stupid man,» said Honor‚. «He is a clever man. He shows the others that they must act stupid and make the White man laugh. They must make the White man feel amusement and contempt, for this will keep Whites from feeling fear and anger.»
“Probably,” said Calvin. “Or maybe he just gets his butt kicked now and then.”
«No,» said Honor‚. «I tell you I am the authority on human nature. He does this on purpose. After all, he is the one who gathers up their souls.»
“I thought you said these weren't their souls at all.”
«I changed my mind,» said Honor‚. «Look at them. The soul is missing now.»
They looked at the Blacks in their chains and ropes, while the customs inspectors prodded them, stripped them, checked their body orifices, as if they were animals. They bore it easily. The looks of fear that they had worn as they emerged into sunlight were gone now. Gone also was the intensity with which they had gazed after Denmark as he carried away their tokens, or whatever they were. They really did seem like animals now.
“They been emptied, all right,” said Calvin. “They all had heartfires getting off the boat, strong ones, but now they're all slacked back like a fire settled down to coals.”
«They knew,» said Honor‚. «The were ready before they got off the boat. How did they know?»
“Maybe that's one of the things Margaret can tell us later,” said Calvin.
«If she ever speaks to us again,» said Honor‚.
“She'll speak to us,” said Calvin. “She's a nice person. So she'll start feeling guilty about sticking us for the price of the meal last night.”
«They knew,» said Honor‚. «And they all consented. They gave away their souls into his hands.»
“What I want to know,” said Calvin, “is where he keeps them and what he does with them.”
“Then we must go to your sister-in-law and ask her, since you are certain she will speak to us.”
Calvin glared at him. “I'm already following him. He can't see my bug.”
«Or he does not show you that he sees,» said Honor‚.
“I been doing this longer than you have. I know.”
«Then why are you trembling?» said Honor‚.
Calvin whirled on him, backing him against the crates. “Because I'm barely stopping myself from making your heart… stop… beating.”
Honor‚ looked surprised. «Did you lose your sense of humor under the hedge?»
Calvin backed away, only slightly mollified. “One thing you ain't is funny,” said Calvin.
“But if I practice, perhaps I will become funny.”
«I'm the funny one,» said Calvin. He backed off, leaving Honor‚ room to stand without pressing his body against the crates. «Or did you lose your sense of humor under the hedge?»
«We are both funny fellows,» said Honor‚. «Let's follow the man with a basket of souls. I have to know what he does with them.»
“He's going through a door.”
“Where?”
“In Blacktown,” said Calvin. “There's junk hanging all over the place. Only one other heartfire in the house.” He whistled. “That's bright.”
«What's bright?» asked Honor‚.
Calvin didn't answer.
Honor‚ leaned closer to him. «It's not fair not to tell me.»
Calvin looked at him stupidly. “Tell you what?”
* * *
Margaret sat at her writing table, composing her daily letter to Alvin. She never mailed them. She could have, since she always knew where he was and where he was going. But why make him find post offices in every town he visited? Better to wait until the last hours before sundown. Whatever he was doing, he'd pause and let his thoughts turn to her. More to the point, he would send out his doodlebug to watch her. He could not read her thoughts, but he could see how her arms moved, her fingers; he could find the pen, the paper. She dipped it into ink only so that she could look back and see what she had written. She knew that he could see the words she formed on paper as clearly as if he were looking over her shoulder. She would ask questions; when they were half-formed, she would find the answer in his memory.
It was a lopsided arrangement, she knew. She could see his inmost thought, even the feelings he was scarcely aware of himself. She could see his choices unfold before him, could see them narrow again as he chose. He had no secrets from her. She, on the other hand, could keep anything secret that she chose, except for the condition of her body. He could reassure her that the baby was doing well; he could worry about her working too hard. But her thoughts remained closed to him. It hardly seemed fair.
And yet Alvin didn't mind– honestly didn't mind at all, never even seemed to notice. She knew there were several reasons for this. First, Alvin was an open fellow, not given to keeping secrets. He could keep them, of course, but once he trusted someone, he told the whole story, leaving nothing out, whether it reflected badly on him or not. Sometimes it sounded to others like boasting, when the things he had done were quite remarkable. But it was neither boasting nor confession. He simply reported what was in his memory. So it was no burden to him to have her see into his heartfire so readily.
A second reason for his lack of resentment, however, tr
oubled her: He simply didn't care. He didn't mind that she knew his secrets, and he also didn't mind that he didn't know hers. He might be more inquisitive! Did this mean he didn't love her? Did it betray some fundamental selfishness? No, Alvin was generous of spirit. He simply wasn't all that curious about the minutiae of her thoughts. He was content to know what she told him. He trusted her. That's what it was, trust, not a lack of love.
The third reason, and probably the most important, was also the least satisfying. Alvin accepted everything about Margaret as a given, as part of the natural world around him. Though he didn't learn of it till later, she had watched over him through his entire childhood and saved his life many times. She had taught him, disguised as an older spinster schoolmarm. As the sun had shone on him every day, so had her care for him. He took her for granted. Having her inside his mind was as natural as breathing.
I am not even the weather in his life. I am more like the climate. No, more like the calendar. There are holidays, but the rest of the time he loses track, knowing the days will pass one by one whatever he names them.
Mustn't think that way. Write.
Dearest Alvin, I miss you now more than ever. Calvin is such an unpleasant boy, the opposite of you, and yet when I hear his voice it reminds me of yours.
Only the letters were not really written out so nicely. As soon as she saw that he understood, she would cease writing a word and skip ahead. The letter really began more like this: DA, I miss now mor. C is such an unpl boy, the opp of y&yet wh I hear hi voi it rem me of yo.
It was hard to imagine anyone else making sense of these scraps of words, scrawled in a child's printed hand instead of Margaret's elegant script, since printing was easier for Alvin to detect from a distance.
She kept writing: I think you're a fool to stay in that jail a single night. Walk out of it, gather up your companions, and come home. I don't much care for Mistress Purity. She has some good futures but they're not likely, and there's great harm possible, too, if you stay and win her away from New England.
His question: So it can be done?
Yes, but…
Does she hang if we don't take her?
Margaret knew that a truthful answer would leave Alvin no choice but to stay.
Death isn't the worst thing in the world, she wrote. We're all going to do it, and if she's hanged as a witch it has a very good chance of leading to the repeal of the death penalty for witchery, and a much higher standard for conviction. So her death does much good.
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