He made a sound deep in his throat that said he understood.

Ben turned into a narrow street and Hannah followed him, drawing up short when he made a gesture that asked her to wait while he went into a small cottage with shuttered windows. A tabby cat sat on the porch blinking at Hannah until Ben came back. He had a man with him, by his dress and bearing a free man of color, someone of considerable standing in his community. He was wearing strong boots and a traveling cloak and he carried a battered portmanteau.

“Hannah Bonner,” Ben said. “May I introduce Hyacinth Rousseau. You are both doctors and surgeons.”

In her surprise Hannah stumbled a little. “Dr. Rousseau. My pleasure.”

He was smiling at her, a man of at least sixty, with a bald head like a speckled brown egg. The doctor took the hand Hannah offered and his grasp was firm and dry and cool. His eyes were sharp, but not unkind in their appraisal. He spoke English to her, with the local French accent.

“Dr. Bonner. I’ve heard good things about you. You’ve won the approbation of Maman Zuzu, which is something I have not managed in more than fifty years.”

Hannah said, “It would have happened sooner if you were a woman, no doubt.”

His whole face contorted around his smile. The doctor took the hat from under his arm and fit it carefully to his head. “Shall we go?”

There were many questions Hannah would have liked to ask, and she might have even made the attempt, if not for the noise of the bugles and drums.

They came to the levee and climbed it by means of the stairs hacked into the turf. The wide brown river, pockmarked with rain, was higher than the land around it, like a pulsing artery pushing up to run along ridges of muscle. The river was full of boats of every type and size. Hannah saw a large schooner, a good hundred feet in length and heavily armed. Its decks crawled with men out of uniform, the kind of rough sailors she had become familiar with in the year that they had been searching for Jennet. Among them were a few sailors in the dark blue jackets of the American navy.

“The Carolina,” Ben said.

They trotted along the levee until they came in sight of an open field to find what must be, it seemed to Hannah, every soldier, militiaman, marine, and sailor in the entire southern United States. Army regulars, backwoodsmen, pirates, farmers, shopkeepers, cabinetmakers, bankers, and lawyers. Two dozen Choctaw, a battalion of free men of color. A total of some two thousand men, many with no experience in battle at all. Some still without weapons.

Downriver, the very best of the British empire—the military force that had defeated Napoleon—waited.

Beside her Dr. Rousseau said, “May the good Lord keep them, every one.”

On the far side of the field Hannah picked out General Jackson, surrounded by staff and officers, on the Levee Road that overlooked the field. The troops had begun to march, one company at a time, in formation. The officers were mounted, and the sun glinted on epaulettes and bridles and the telescope that Major General Jackson was using to study the river.

“Where are we going?” she asked Ben.

“The DuPré plantation.”

“We had best get moving,” said Dr. Rousseau. “It will be dark in another hour.”

He was not young, but the doctor proved himself capable enough when speed was called for. It seemed he also had questions, and wouldn’t wait to ask them. Ben told what he knew, and none of it was good. The British had got a foothold on a plantation just south of the city, and that without a battle.

“A poor start,” said Dr. Rousseau. “But not yet time to despair.”

Conversation slowed and then stopped as the road became clogged with men, on foot and on horseback, wagons and caissons, handcarts and wheelbarrows. Hannah let herself be swept along, and kept her eyes on Ben.

She thought of the men she didn’t know yet, the Choctaw warriors who would be in her care, and how little she would be able to do for a serious wound to the head or gut. She could bind gashes and extract bullets if they hadn’t penetrated the abdomen. She could amputate. She had good instruments, perfectly honed; she had medicines. There was even laudanum, though there might not be time to use it. She had the power of her mind and the sustaining memory of all her teachers over the years, who stood behind her. And she wasn’t alone. She was comforted by the presence of Dr. Rousseau.

An hour out of the city, they left the main Levee Road and cut down through the fields, and Hannah realized that they had caught up with Juzan’s company of Choctaw warriors. When they came to a stand of trees, they were waiting. Among them was her brother.

Luke grinned as he came to her. His face was smeared with mud and his hair was hidden under a turban, so that at first glance he might have been another Choctaw.

He said, “Jennet insisted.”

“Of course she did,” said Hannah. “I have this idea that together Jennet and Ben could set even the government to rights.”

Luke looked first surprised, and then pleased. “You’re right, they are alike in some ways.” And then: “I’ll have his back, as much as I’m able.”

Hannah didn’t know what to say to this, and so she only squeezed her brother’s arm and turned back to the other men.

One of the warriors, older than the rest, was talking to Ben. Most probably this was some relative of his, but she would have to wait for an explanation: In many ways the southern tribes were no different from her own people; it would be rude to interrupt the exchange of information that was part of such a reunion.