“Why, Jamie,” Jennet said, forcing her voice into playfulness. “Did ye think I'd leave the lads go off without me?”

The work parties had been brought back early, which was both a fortunate thing—the women had set them to hauling water so that all the men could wash—and an unfortunate one. Tempers were frayed and the heat was intense, and more than once it had fallen to Jennet to stop hard words from escalating into something far more dangerous.

The only men who had taken the news calmly were the worst off, those few who would not survive the journey.

Jennet turned now to look at the far spot the men called the hospital corner, where the unfortunates had been segregated away. Hannah was there, as she had been most of the afternoon, and so were Daniel and Blue-Jay. They were arguing, Jennet saw that by the tense line of Hannah's back and the way Daniel held his head.

“At least that lot have a choice,” said one of the men in a low, dissatisfied tone. “They don't have to go if they don't care to go.”

“Aye, they can die here or die there. Is that a choice you'd care to make, Harry Flynn?” Jennet spoke more harshly than she meant to, and saw that she had succeeded only in angering the old militiaman.

“We'll die there anyway, won't we? How many men ever leave one of them prison ships whole? Might as well put a bullet in my head now.”

“At least that would shut you up,” said another man. “Would I had the bullet to give you.”

There was uneasy laughter, and Jennet took that opportunity to pick her way across the room.

Hannah arguing with her brother was nothing unusual, but just now Jennet didn't like what she heard as she came closer. Daniel, flushed the color of ripe plums with sweat on his brow, as angry as she had ever seen him.

In a hoarse whisper he said, “You'll leave it to us, sister, and see to your patients.”

Blue-Jay looked unconcerned, which was a small comfort. He sent Jennet one of his cheerfully enigmatic half-nods, and then he said something in Kahnyen'kehàka, his voice pitched so low that no one else could hear them. Daniel flinched, and Hannah looked away, her irritation plain to read.

“What is it?” Jennet asked.

“I intend to stay behind with the men who are too sick to travel,” Hannah said.

“Well, that's no surprise,” Jennet said. “Did you think she'd run off from her patients?”

“She wants me to stay behind too,” Daniel said, batting furiously at the flies that circled his head. “But I'll carry her out of here on my back if I have to, hogtied and gagged.”

“Ah.” Jennet saw Hannah's closed expression, and Blue-Jay's watchful one. She leaned in very close so that their four heads made an uneven circle.

“Don't you think we should wait to see what Luke and Runs-from-Bears have planned before we go rushing off on our own?”

That earned her a rare full grin from Blue-Jay. “That's just what I told them, but you know it's impossible to talk sense to the Bonners when they've got their blood up.”

Jennet did not often have the chance to spend time with Blue-Jay, something she regretted. If she were ten years younger, she would have fallen in love with him with no encouragement at all, for his clear, clever way of looking at things, his generosity of spirit, and not least, she admitted to herself, for his striking looks. He had his father's height and build and his mother's beauty.

“We can't just bloody sit here and wait for Luke to rescue us,” Daniel hissed. “How do we get word to him? Do you intend to march over there and demand an explanation?” He rocked on his heels and Jennet realized that he had not had any laudanum for hours, and must be in terrible pain.

She forced herself to concentrate on his face. “As a matter of fact, cousin, that's just what I plan. The colonel sent word that I'm to dine with him and his visitors, don't you know.”

“Would you have time to stop by the hospital and ask for laudanum?” Hannah asked.

“I'll make time,” Jennet said. She paused, feeling their eyes on her. “I'll go right now.”

Outside the stockade it seemed that there was no trouble in the world at all: no war at the doorstep, no trouble ahead; not even the blackfly or the heat could dampen the grim good spirits of every soldier she saw. They were looking forward to spilling more blood, and on top of that, the paymasters had come.

When Jennet came back from the followers' camp, scrubbed and combed and made as presentable as she could be in this place, she heard the details from the guards: in the morning the paymasters would set up their tables in the shadow of the colonel's blockhouse and the soldiers would line up to get their due.

“Before we—” Uz Brodie began and then stopped himself.

“Before you sail south,” Jennet finished the thought.

He ducked his head. “You'll be safe away. Nothing to concern you, Mrs. Huntar.”

Blood and money, yes. The whole garrison hummed with it. Even the small, plump French doctor who greeted her in the hospital was in a generous mood. He gave her the medicines she wanted to help the prisoners on their way to Halifax, like an indulgent uncle who could refuse a favorite niece nothing at all. Jennet watched the cadet make his way toward the stockade with the box and then she took a deep breath, once and twice and three times, before she went to join the colonel's supper party.

In the cooling evening breeze she paused to look at the garrison that had been her home these many months. Gulls wheeled and screeched overhead against a cloudless high-summer sky. Troops drilled on the parade ground, coatees of scarlet, buff, green, navy, aglitter with brass and pewter and silver, gleaming badges on tall felt shakos. Somewhere a sergeant was screaming at some unfortunate soldier who had proved his unworthiness yet again. One of the washerwomen went by, her back bowed over the basket she carried, her dark face blank.