Margaret grimaced. “I did try to get my husband to change his life. You see, on every path where he doesn’t get killed sooner, he ends up dying because of the betrayal of his own brother.”

Fishy took only a moment to realize the connection. “Be maybe you don’t mean this brother?”

“No, I do mean this brother.”

“Then why you not let that name-taker man cut his throat?”

“Because my husband loves him.”

“But he going a-kill him!”

Margaret smiled wanly. “Isn’t that the strangest thing?” she said. “Knowing the future doesn’t change a man like my husband. He does what’s right no matter where the road leads.”

“He always do what’s right?”

“As much as he understands it. Most of the time he tries to do as little as possible. He tries to learn, and then teach. Not like Denmark Vesey. He’s a man who acts.” Margaret shuddered. “But not wisely. Cleverly, yes, but not wisely, and not kindly, either.”

“He squatting under that tree yonder.”

“Now is the time, Fishy. Go to him, tell him I want to talk to him.”

“Oh, Miz Margaret, you sure he don’t hurt me?”

“He’ll think you’re pretty.” Margaret touched her arm. “He’ll think you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.”

“You joking now.”

“Not at all. You see, you’re the first free Black woman he’s known.”

“I not free.”

“He bought a slave once. Hoping to make her his wife. But she was so ashamed of being owned by a Black man that she threatened to expose his ability to read and write and tell the authorities that he’s a free Black in Camelot.”

“What he do?”

“What do you think?”

“He kill her.”

“He tried. At the last moment he changed his mind. She’s still his slave, but she’s crippled. Mind and body.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that story,” said Fishy. “I wasn’t going to let him talk love to me. He scare me too bad.”

“I just thought you should know.”

“Well, you know what? It take away some of my scared, knowing that about him.”

It stabbed Margaret to the heart, watching the smiling girl change before she turned around and walked among the Whites promenading on the battery. The smile fled; her eyelids half closed; she bent her shoulders and looked down as she made her way, not directly toward Denmark, but off at an angle. After a short time she doubled back and came to him from another way. Very good, thought Margaret. I didn’t think to tell her to do that, but it keeps it from being obvious to onlookers that I sent her to fetch Denmark.

Fishy handled it deftly. My mistress want a-talk to you. What about? My mistress want a-talk to you. No matter what he said, she answered like a parrot. Maybe he knew she was pretending or maybe he thought she was stupid and stubborn, but either way, it got him up and walking, following Fishy’s roundabout course as she walked two paces ahead of him. They couldn’t walk side by side, or it would seem to White folks that they were promenading, and it would be taken as outrageous mockery. Instead it was obvious she was leading him, which meant they were on an errand for their master, and all was well with the world.