“She ain’t in,” said the valet.

“How you know that?”

“Cause she over there, looking at you.”

Denmark turned around casually. A White woman, a White man, and a Black servant girl were across the street, walking away.

“Who’s looking at me?”

“They was looking,” said the valet. “And I know she can tell you about that Calvin man.”

“How do you know that?”

“That be him.”

Denmark looked again. The White man was shuffling along like an old man. Empty.

Denmark grinned and gave another tuppence to the valet. “Good job, when you finally got around to telling me.

The valet took the tuppence, looked at it, and offered it back. “No, it be sixpence the White boss want.”

“I already paid the sixpence,” said Denmark.

The valet looked at him like he had lost his mind. “If you done that, why you be giving me more? This tuppence not enough anyway.” Huffily, he handed the coin back. “You crazy.” Then he was gone.

Denmark sauntered along, keeping them in sight. A couple of times the slave girl looked back and gazed at him. But he wasn’t worried. She’d know who he was, and there was no chance of a Black girl telling this White lady anything about the taker of names.

“That him,” said Fishy. “He take the names.”

Margaret saw at once in Denmark’s mind that he could not be trusted for a moment. She had been looking for him, and he had been looking for her. But he had a knife and meant to use it. That was hardly the way to restore Calvin’s heartfire.

“Let’s go down to the battery. There are always plenty of people there. He won’t dare harm a White man in such a crowd. He doesn’t want to die.”

“He won’t talk to you, neither,” said Fishy. “He just watch.”

“He’ll talk to me,” said Margaret. “Because you’ll go ask him to.”

“He scare me, ma’am.”

“Me too,” said Margaret. “But I can promise you, he won’t harm you. The only one he wants to hurt is Calvin here.”

Fishy looked at Calvin again. “Look like somebody done hurt him most all he can be hurt till he be dead.” Then she realized what she had said. “Oh.”

“This name-taker, Denmark Vesey, is quite an interesting fellow. You know that he isn’t a slave?”

“He free? Ain’t no free Blacks in Camelot.”

“Oh, that’s the official story, but it isn’t so. I’ve already met another. A woman named Doe. She was given her freedom when she became too old to work.”

“They turn her out then?” demanded Fishy, outraged.

“Careful,” said Margaret. “We’re not alone here.”

Fishy at once changed her demeanor and looked down at the street again. “I seen too many damn cobblestones in my life.”

“They didn’t turn her out,” said Margaret. “Though I have no doubt there are masters cruel enough to do so. No, she has a little room of her own and she eats with the others. And they pay her a small wage for very light work.”