After the men left, I paced the room. I hummed mindlessly to myself, an old wordless lullaby my mother used to like to sing. Looking out my window, I watched as my guard slept. Unfortunately, there were still too many soldiers wandering the village for me to make my escape now. I yawned, feeling utterly exhausted.

As I began to settle on the small cot pushed against the wall, Senhor Moringue came in. He slammed the door open and stood there with his fists digging into his hips.

“I hear you had some problems finding your husband’s body.” His eyes gleamed as he looked down on me.

“Yes, well, it’s hard to find something that isn’t there.” I sat up and arranged my skirts as I watched the color on his face change from white to red and back to white.

Senhor Moringue stepped toward me, puffing out his chest, trying to take up as much space in the room as he could. “That poncho you wear begs to tell otherwise.”

“My husband’s not dead.”

“I have fulfilled my side of the bargain. Now it’s your turn. Tell me what you know of the rebels.” Moringue’s eyelid twitched.

“I know you haven’t actually killed their captain.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Anita Garibaldi. I have my ways.”

“As do I,” I said, turning my head to the side. “There is nothing worse than a mouse who thinks he has bested a snake.”

Moringue raised a hand to strike me but thought better of it. “I never thought of you as a woman who would go back on her word.”

“I’m not. I said I would tell you everything I know, if I found my husband’s body.” I spread my arms out. “Clearly, I have not found him.”

He pointed a finger at me. “You are an infuriating woman!”

“I know, my husband tells me every day.”

“I’ll find out everything that you know, senhora, mark my words.” Moringue left the room with a huff. The sad little cot felt like the most comfortable bed in the world. I curled up, letting sleep overtake me, knowing I had a long journey ahead of me.

My usefulness was running out. At some point Moringue would tire of my games. If I continued to resist I would wind up like the poor souls that used to live in this village. I needed to escape.

*  *  *

The next day I paced around the meager room, with its drafty plain walls. As I moved, I took stock of what was around me. A small lumpy cot was shoved against the back corner. My fingers traced a bloodstain that splattered the wall, and I wondered what had happened to the previous occupant. The dresser, leaning to one side, shuddered as I ransacked it. Disappointed in its lack of treasures, I made my way to the lone window that looked out over the remains of the village.