“I’m not.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Kamet—”

“I swear.”

“Kamet. I’m not worried.” His eyes closed briefly, but he forced himself awake. “Did he tell you that you are too weak to be a free man?”

“He’s a fool,” I said.

“So are you, if you believe him.” His certainty was almost enough to convince me. He said, “If it were Nahuseresh lying on this bed, would you still be here?”

Instinctively I looked to the rock pile. I could see it through the open doorway. If it were Nahuseresh who stood between me and my chance of escape, I might very well smash his head in, as Godekker demanded. If it were Nahuseresh, though, I’d be long gone and Godekker be damned.

I looked down at the Attolian, whose smile was fading as he drifted back to sleep.

Huh. I’d meant for him to eat some of the vegetables as well as drink the broth, but that would have to wait.

The Attolian slept more comfortably that night while I stayed awake to listen for any sounds of Godekker leaving the yard. I heard nothing to alarm me. In the morning, the Attolian was awake and I was dozing when we heard heavy footsteps in the passageway. It could have been anyone approaching until we heard the distinctive sound of a metal breastplate scraping against stone.

“Godekker,” I said, and rushed out to the courtyard, where Godekker was nowhere in sight. A ladder propped against the low roof of the stable told me how he had gotten away without alerting me. I kicked myself for telling him that the Attolian was valuable. I’d hoped Godekker would think it worth his while to keep us safe, but instead, he’d thought it worth the risk to his own freedom to betray us.

As a squad of enforcers came into sight, I threw myself at the gate, shaking it as hard as I could without actually causing the rusted chain to loosen and drop off.

“It’s not the plague!” I shouted. “I swear! I swear!”

The men in front stopped dead in their tracks. Others, stuck behind them, tried to push forward.

“Please,” I begged, twisting my entire body as if with desperation. “Please, it’s not the plague!”

There was some very directed swearing, and the men nearest me popped forward a few reluctant steps to allow their leader room to pass, and there beside him, oh, heavenly graces, was Godekker himself, looking as trustworthy as a rat out of a sewer.

“Godekker,” I shouted, as if surprised to see him, “tell our master that Noli is getting better. It wasn’t the plague! We can come home now!” I pushed my face against the gate. “Master only said to sell us if Noli got worse, and he isn’t getting worse. He’s better, Godekker, I swear.”

Well, that put the cat among the pigeons.

The officer in charge of the enforcers stared down his nose at Godekker, who threw his hands up in protest, looking like nothing so much as an unscrupulous slave palming off his master’s plague-infected property for reward money before the disease became obvious. While Godekker shouted that we were runaways and that they should drag out the “foreigner,” and I sobbed dramatically, the officer was doing his own share of shouting, accusing Godekker of trying to get him and the entire squad infected with the plague and insisting there was no way he or any of his men was stepping into that courtyard.

Finally, Godekker, maddened with frustration, crossed a line.

“Coward!” he screamed. “There’s no Noli, it’s a foreigner! And he’s Kamet! I tell you, Kamet!”

“Coward?” The guard leader stared at him, and Godekker fell silent.

“No offense, kind sir,” he said quickly, “no offense.” But it was too late. With a single blow across the face, the officer knocked him down and when he was down kicked him.

“You like the plague?” the guard leader said. “Why don’t you go in then?”

I fell silent and backed away as they lifted the protesting Godekker and threw him bodily over the high gate to land at my feet with a dull crack of his head on the pavement.

He lay unmoving as the guard leader looked me over through the bars.

“We’ll come back in a few days. If you’re still here and still alive, we’ll sort out who you are.”

Then he ordered his men about, and they left, squeezing one by one down the passage.

When they were gone, I bent over Godekker. He was still breathing and his head didn’t seem to be broken, so I pulled his shirt off and tore it into strips to tie his ankles and wrists. The Attolian leaned at the doorway to watch, but I waved him back inside. Then I slowly dragged Godekker across the courtyard and into the shed.

“Better give him the bed,” said the Attolian.

“He can have the floor,” I said.

I made the Attolian lie back down to rest and made more broth with the last of the water and some carrots while we waited to see if Godekker was going to wake up or die. He’d begun to groan and pull against his bonds, but it was still some time before he opened his eyes and knew where he was. What he said then was impolite. I could believe he’d been a field-worker.

“I have enough left of your shirt to put a gag in your mouth,” I said, unsympathetic.

Now that Godekker was tied up, I could do what hadn’t been safe before. I unwrapped the chain from the gate and went out to buy better food and bring back skins full of fresh water. I went down to the docks to see if there was an Attolian ship but couldn’t pick one out in the inner harbor. There was a vendor selling skewers of grilled meat, though, so I bought three and went back to the courtyard.

Godekker watched with silent hate as I put the small sack of barley and the basket full of provisions down by the hearthstones. I could almost see his mouth watering as I handed the Attolian the skewer of meat, and I thought his eyes would jump out of his head when I handed him one of his own. He held it in his still-tied hands. He looked at it and then at me. His eyes dropped, and he began to cry.

I’d been angry enough to beat Godekker myself when I heard the enforcers of the peace coming, but my heart was swept again by pity. That didn’t make me untie him. Eventually he stopped sniffling and wolfed the meat off the skewer. I made the Attolian a decent soup with barley and vegetables and shared that with Godekker as well. I didn’t expect an apology, and he didn’t offer one. When he was done eating, he turned his face to the wall and ignored us.

The next morning I asked the Attolian if he thought he was well enough to travel. With Godekker still tied up and glowering in the background, we couldn’t discuss our plans. All I could say was that we had no idea when the enforcers might be back, so we should move on at the earliest opportunity, and the Attolian agreed.

We shared one last potful of soup, and then we left the shed. We’d been there so long I felt I should have something to pack, but there was nothing. The Attolian paused in the doorway to look back into the dark where Godekker sat. I had retied one hand to the bed frame with a multitude of knots. He would get himself free once we were gone, but not quickly—we would be well away by the time he did. The Attolian held out a hand, and I gave him our purse. He tipped it upside down and then leaned to pour a handful of coins into Godekker’s lap.

Once we had emerged from the dead-end passageway, I asked, “How much did you give him?”