“This wouldn’t have happened if you were doing your job, Henry,” Roman said, briefly betraying his own contempt. Henry lowered his head in shame. Roman ignored him, focused his attention on the kneeling man. “I already know what I’m going to do.”

Henry waited for an answer but Roman refused to elaborate. He asked to be left alone and then Henry left. He wouldn’t be able to see what would happen next. Bill stood, awkwardly.

“You can leave too now.”

“What about the money? You said if I caught you this one you’d give me the money for the land.”

“You’ll get your money. Leave me be.”

After they were gone, Roman walked over to the table, paused at each of the devices. The slave continued sitting on his knees, shoulders hunched, his body in clear pain.

“Jeffrey, I know you can’t help running away. I’ve heard of Cartwright’s theory. That it’s an illness. A type of madness. Annabelle seems to believe this too, which is why she treats you all the way she does. ‘They’re like children’ she tells me, ‘they can’t help themselves.’ She’s always carrying on, and I was inclined to believe her, but a child wouldn’t do this. A child wouldn’t do what you’ve done.”

Mira looked at Jeffrey’s face. She recognized his panicked look. She wished she could do something, but she remained frozen in the straw, watching in horror as Roman mused over each of the tools on the table.

“On a trip to Philadelphia, I saw a man with the finest shoes. They were a lustrous black and didn’t creak when he walked, and I was so curious about them that I stopped the man in the street and asked him what shop they came from so as to make a purchase for myself. Would you believe”—he paused for effect—“would you believe me when I say that he told me they came from the skin of Negroes? He told me that and I laughed because it sounded preposterous.”

Jeffrey squirmed on the ground. He wrestled with the rope, trying desperately to loosen the bind. He didn’t try to plead with Roman, nor did he apologize for the revolt in the hope Roman would show some sort of leniency. He laid all his hope on the dim possibility of escape.

“They tied it tight, didn’t they?” Roman asked. He appeared unconcerned with Jeffrey’s efforts, instead picked a thin blade from the table. “Turns out he was correct. There’s a whole market for human leather, and not just for shoes.”

“That’s what you did to the others, isn’t it?” Jeffrey muttered. “I heard the stories, but I didn’t think they were true, but they are, aren’t they?”