“But you do not know all the hidden powers this Black man might have. How do you know he won't catch your doodlebug and hold it captive?”

Calvin started to scoff at this idea, but then grew solemn. “You know, I'd be a fool to think he's not dangerous just cause he acts dumb around the foreman.”

“You are learning to be suspicious! I am proud of you!”

“But my doodlebug doesn't have to ride inside him or anything like that.”

«Good,» said Honor‚. But he could see that Calvin was worried now.

Every single one of the newly arrived slaves had something to give the man. The women were not as trusting as the men. They didn't have them in their hands or the scant clothing they wore– they spat these things from their mouths into the dipper. “Some of them have two,” said Calvin. “Two thingamajigs.” When there was something in the dipper, the waterboy always put it into the right-hand bucket. He was building up quite a collection in there.

Last in line were a dozen or so good-sized children, looking far more terrified and weak than the adults. None of them had anything for the waterboy.

«The women who had two,» said Honor‚.

“Yes,” said Calvin. “For the children.”

In the midst of serving them, the waterboy clumsily knocked over the right-hand bucket, spilling water over the hot boards of the dock. He served the rest of the children from the other one. When the last was served, they saw why he had spilled the important pail, for one of the sailors snatched up the bucket that still had water and dashed it onto the back of the last child. This was uproariously funny to the White stevedores. While they laughed, the waterboy knelt, scooped everything out of the other bucket, and tucked it into the small basket he carried.

He wasn't home free, though. The foreman stopped him just as he started away from the dock. “What you got in that?” he demanded, pointing at the basket.

“I don't know what my master put there,” said the waterboy.

“I know one thing he better put there,” said the foreman.

The two men looked at each other in grim silence for a long time, until finally the waterboy grinned and rolled his eyes and reached into the basket. “I so stupid, boss, I so stupid, I plumb forget.” He took out a coin and offered it to the foreman.

“Where's the rest?” asked the foreman.

“That all he give me,” said the waterboy.

“Come on, Denmark,” said the foreman.

«Ah,» whispered Honor‚. «We have learned his name.»

“Better be his name,” said Calvin. “He sure as hell ain't no Scandinavian.”

“Tell you what,” said the foreman. “I'll tell him you give me one penny and see what he says.”

“But I give you a shilling,” said Denmark.

“You think he'll believe that, if I tell him otherwise?”

“You get me a whipping, that don't get you no more money,” said Denmark.

“Get the hell off my dock,” said the foreman.

«You a kind man, boss,» said Denmark, bowing and nodding as he backed away. Then he turned his back and picked up the buckets again, but before he could stand up the foreman planted a foot on his backside and sent him sprawling on the dock. The stevedores and sailors laughed. But the slaves lined up for inspection by the customs officers, they didn't laugh. And Denmark himself, when he got up from the dock his face didn't show much amusement. But Calvin and Honor‚ could see how he composed himself, putting on a silly grin before he turned around. «You a funny man, boss,» said Denmark. «You always make me laugh.»

With exaggerated care, Denmark picked up the buckets without turning his back to the foreman. And he made a show of stopping and looking behind him a couple of times to make sure no one had snuck up to kick him again. His clowning kept the White man laughing even after he was gone.

Through it all, the newly arrived slaves didn't take their eyes off him.

«He is showing them how to survive here,» said Honor‚.

“You mean get a White man mad? That's smart.”

«He is not a stupid man,» said Honor‚. «He is a clever man. He shows the others that they must act stupid and make the White man laugh. They must make the White man feel amusement and contempt, for this will keep Whites from feeling fear and anger.»

“Probably,” said Calvin. “Or maybe he just gets his butt kicked now and then.”

«No,» said Honor‚. «I tell you I am the authority on human nature. He does this on purpose. After all, he is the one who gathers up their souls.»

“I thought you said these weren't their souls at all.”

«I changed my mind,» said Honor‚. «Look at them. The soul is missing now.»

They looked at the Blacks in their chains and ropes, while the customs inspectors prodded them, stripped them, checked their body orifices, as if they were animals. They bore it easily. The looks of fear that they had worn as they emerged into sunlight were gone now. Gone also was the intensity with which they had gazed after Denmark as he carried away their tokens, or whatever they were. They really did seem like animals now.

“They been emptied, all right,” said Calvin. “They all had heartfires getting off the boat, strong ones, but now they're all slacked back like a fire settled down to coals.”

«They knew,» said Honor‚. «The were ready before they got off the boat. How did they know?»

“Maybe that's one of the things Margaret can tell us later,” said Calvin.

«If she ever speaks to us again,» said Honor‚.

“She'll speak to us,” said Calvin. “She's a nice person. So she'll start feeling guilty about sticking us for the price of the meal last night.”

«They knew,» said Honor‚. «And they all consented. They gave away their souls into his hands.»

“What I want to know,” said Calvin, “is where he keeps them and what he does with them.”

“Then we must go to your sister-in-law and ask her, since you are certain she will speak to us.”

Calvin glared at him. “I'm already following him. He can't see my bug.”

«Or he does not show you that he sees,» said Honor‚.

“I been doing this longer than you have. I know.”

«Then why are you trembling?» said Honor‚.

Calvin whirled on him, backing him against the crates. “Because I'm barely stopping myself from making your heart… stop… beating.”

Honor‚ looked surprised. «Did you lose your sense of humor under the hedge?»

Calvin backed away, only slightly mollified. “One thing you ain't is funny,” said Calvin.

“But if I practice, perhaps I will become funny.”

«I'm the funny one,» said Calvin. He backed off, leaving Honor‚ room to stand without pressing his body against the crates. «Or did you lose your sense of humor under the hedge?»

«We are both funny fellows,» said Honor‚. «Let's follow the man with a basket of souls. I have to know what he does with them.»

“He's going through a door.”

“Where?”

“In Blacktown,” said Calvin. “There's junk hanging all over the place. Only one other heartfire in the house.” He whistled. “That's bright.”

«What's bright?» asked Honor‚.

Calvin didn't answer.

Honor‚ leaned closer to him. «It's not fair not to tell me.»

Calvin looked at him stupidly. “Tell you what?”

Margaret sat at her writing table, composing her daily letter to Alvin. She never mailed them. She could have, since she always knew where he was and where he was going. But why make him find post offices in every town he visited? Better to wait until the last hours before sundown. Whatever he was doing, he'd pause and let his thoughts turn to her. More to the point, he would send out his doodlebug to watch her. He could not read her thoughts, but he could see how her arms moved, her fingers; he could find the pen, the paper. She dipped it into ink only so that she could look back and see what she had written. She knew that he could see the words she formed on paper as clearly as if he were looking over her shoulder. She would ask questions; when they were half-formed, she would find the answer in his memory.