My next visitor wakened me in what I thought were early-morning hours.

A tall man with bloodshot eyes breathed brandy fumes into my cell as he gripped the bars of the little window in my cell door and shook it on its hinges. “You great fat bloody coward!” he slurred at me. “I ought to drag you out of there and rip you limb from limb for what you did to my beautiful wife. You desecrated the most gentle and honorable woman the good god ever made! You filthy dog! You unspeakable filth!” He shook the barred window again, working the heavy door against its hinges and the stout bolt that locked it. I wondered if he had a gun with him. I wondered if I would move out of range of its muzzle if he did. When he had spent his fury shaking the door, Captain Thayer suddenly slammed his head against the wood of it. He rested it there, leaning on my door and breathing harshly. Then his breath caught. His ragged breathing gave way to the heart-wrenching sounds of sobs ripping out of him. Into the lesser noise of his weeping, I foolishly spoke.

“I did not dishonor your wife, sir. I did not touch her. Carsina was a walker; she roused from what we thought was death but was only a coma.

I gave her tea and cold water. I was on my way to fetch you when—”

You lying scum!” My words had kindled him to fresh fury. “Don’t you dare say her name so familiarly, you piece of filth! Hanging is too good for you!

You should have to suffer as you’ve made me suffer!” He thrust his hand and arm between the bars and made groping motions, as if it could somehow stretch across the room and throttle me. It would have been humorous if his murderous intent had not been so sincere.

“Captain Thayer! Sir! Captain, please, sir! You should come away now.”

The guard who addressed him had a thin reedy voice. Thayer turned his head to stare at him. “Please, sir. You have to come away. I shouldn’t have let you in at all. He’ll come to trial soon, and you can confront him there.

Sir.” Thayer seized the bars again and tried vainly to shake the door. The guard let him. When he finally gave up his vain effort, he sagged against the door, breathing hoarsely.

“Come away, sir. Justice will be done. Come away now.” And with that, the guard led him away.

I suspected I had burned away whatever magic I’d had left. I ate the prison food, but the sophistication of taste that had allowed me to take pleasure in even the simplest of foods had fled my palate. It was a bowl of slop each day, with a hunk of hard bread and some water. I ate it only because I was constantly ravenous. As if to make its mockery of me complete, the magic that had kept me fat even in far more dire circumstances now failed. My clothing hung looser on me every day, and my skin began to sag. When I slept, I only slept. The dreams I had were fragmented nonsense or ominous nightmares of hanging. After the initial burst of healing that had kept me alive, my recuperation from the bucket blow was slow. My jaw ached and my head hurt most of the time. Sudden motion as simple as turning my head toward a sound produced dizziness.