Spink reddened at the man’s insubordination. But he kept his calm. “Do you have any hard evidence, Sergeant? A witness?”

“No, sir.”

“Then there is no reason to hold this man prisoner.” Spink turned suddenly on me, and the anger on his face was convincing. “You, soldier.

Take yourself out of town. Innocent or guilty, tempers are hot over this, and I judge it best that you isolate yourself until these rumors are resolved. I’ll speak to the mess hall, and have some supplies sent out to you. And I warn you, behave in an exemplary manner. I’ll take it on myself to check up on you from time to time. You’d best be where I expect you to be. Now go. Now!” I looked from Spink to the mob. It would only take one wrong word to ignite them. But I couldn’t just slink away like a kicked cur.

I came to attention and looked only at Spink. I spoke, trooper to lieutenant, but I made sure that my voice carried to the crowd. “Sir. I did not speak rudely or suggestively to the lady. And as to Fala’s fate, I do not know what became of her. I am innocent of both these things.”

An ugly muttering rose from the gathered folk. I feared I had pushed them too far, as did Spink from the expression on his face. He spoke sternly for their benefit. “I hope in the good god’s name that you are speaking the truth, trooper, for I will be looking into this personally. And if you have lied to me, you will find the punishment I extract for a lie will be the equal of the other two offenses. Now go!”

I obeyed him, my cheeks burning and resentment simmering in my heart.

I felt that all of Gettys stared at me as I walked to where I’d left Clove tethered. It took all my self-control not to look back over my shoulder to see if I would be followed. As I mounted up and rode out of town, I wondered if I’d chosen the wrong world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

TWO WOMEN

What are you doing here?”

It was not the kindest greeting I could have given her, nor the one I would have preferred if I’d had the luxury of thinking what I’d say to her. But the shock of seeing Amzil sitting at the table inside my cabin when I opened the door jolted the words out of me.

She took it better than I had a right to expect. “Mending your shirt,” she pointed out, holding up the offending item. “Half the buttons are off this.

These ones won’t match, but at least you’ll be able to button it. I took them off that old shirt there. It looks little better than a rag, so I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Her literal answer to my question left me gaping. She seemed to find that amusing, for a smile twisted her mouth. She looked gaunt and weary and more threadbare than the last time I’d seen her. Yet her hair was tidied and put up in a roll on the back of her head, and she wore a dress with a skirt made from the fabric I’d sent her, almost as if she were trying to put her best foot forward for me. I came cautiously into my own cabin, feeling oddly displaced by seeing her sitting at my table. All my clothing had been sorted into heaps around her. Her smile grew more anxious in my silence.