“What you want to talk about?” Denmark asked her, keeping his head downcast. But in the tone of his voice she could hear his hostility toward her.

“You're looking for me,” she said.

“Am not,” he said.

“Oh, that's right. It's Calvin you're looking for.”

“That his name?”

“His name won't give you any power over him greater than what you already have.”

“I got no power over nobody.”

Margaret sighed. “Then why do you have a knife in your pocket? That's against the law, Denmark Vesey. You have other hidden powers. You're a free Black in Camelot, doing account books for– let's see, Dunn and Brown, Longer and Ford, Taggart's grocery–”

“I should have knowed you been spying on me.” There was fear in his voice, despite his best effort to sound unconcerned. “White ladies got nothing better to do.”

Margaret pressed on. “You found out where I lived because the valet at Calvin's former boardinghouse led you. And you have a woman at home whose name you never utter. You nearly drowned her in a sack in the river. You're a man with a conscience, and it causes you great pain.”

He almost staggered from the blow of knowing how much she knew about him. “They hang me, a Black man owning a slave.”

“You've made quite a life for yourself, being a free man in a city of slaves. It hasn't been as good for your wife, though, has it?”

“What you want from me?”

“This isn't extortion, except in the mildest sense. I'm telling you that I know what and who you are, so that you'll understand that you're dealing with powers that are far out of your reach.”

“Sneakiness ain't power.”

“What about the power to tell you that you have it in you to be a great man? Or to be a great fool. If you make the correct choice.”

“What choice?”

“When the time comes, I'll tell you what the choice is. Right now, you have no choice at all. You're going to take me and Calvin and Fishy to the place where you keep the name-strings.”

Denmark smiled. “So they still some things you don't know.”

“I didn't say I knew everything. The power that hides the names also hides from me your knowledge of where they are.”

“That be the truth, more than you know,” said Denmark. “I don't even know myself.”

Fishy scoffed aloud at that. “This ain't no White fool you can play games with.”

“No, Fishy,” said Margaret, “he's telling the truth. He really doesn't know. So I wonder how you find your way back?”

“When it time for me to go there, I just wander around and pretty soon I be there. I walk in the door and then I remember everything.”

“Remember what?”

“How do I know? I ain't through that door.”

“Powerful hexery,” said Margaret, “if hexery it be. Take me there.”

“I can't do that,” said Denmark.

“How about if I cut off your balls?” asked Fishy cheerfully.

Denmark looked at Fishy in wonder. He'd never heard a Black woman talk like that, right out in public, in front of a White.

“Let's hold off on the mutilation, Fishy,” said Margaret. “Again, I think Denmark Vesey may be telling me the truth. He really can't find the place unless he goes there alone.”

Denmark nodded.

“Well, then. I think we have no further business together,” said Margaret. “You can go now.”

“I want that man,” said Denmark. He glanced at Calvin.

“You'll never have him,” said Margaret. “He has more power than you can imagine.”

“Can't be that much,” said Denmark. “Look at him, he's empty.”

“Yes, he was taken by surprise,” said Margaret. “But you won't hold him for long.”

“Long enough,” said Denmark. “His body starting to rot. He be dying.”

“You have till the count of three to walk away from me and keep on walking,” said Margaret.

“Or what?”

“One. Or I'll call out for you to take your filthy paws off of my body.”

Denmark at once backed away. There could be no charge more sure of putting Denmark on the end of a rope without further discussion.

“Two,” said Margaret. And he was gone.

“Now we lost him again,” said Fishy.

“No, my friend, we've got him. He's going to lead us right where we want to go. He can't hide from me.” Margaret made a slow turn, taking in the view. “Today, I think it's worth it to splurge on a carriage ride.”

Margaret led Fishy and Calvin to the row of waiting carriages. It took Margaret lifting his foot and Fishy pulling him up to get Calvin's uncaring body into the coach. The moment Calvin was settled in his seat, Fishy started to get down.

“Please, stay inside with me,” said Margaret.

“I can't do that.”

As if he were part of their conversation, the White driver opened the sliding window between his seat and the interior of the carriage. “Ma'am,” he said, “you from the North, so you don't know, but around here we don't let no slaves ride in the carriage. She knows it, too– she's got to step out and walk along behind.”

“She has told me of this law and I will gladly obey it. However, my brother-in-law here is prone to get rather ill during carriage rides, and I hope you understand that if he vomits, I am not prepared to hold a bag to catch it.”

The driver considered this for a moment. “You keep that curtain closed, then. I don't want no trouble.”

Fishy looked at Margaret, incredulous. Then she leaned over and pulled the drapes closed on one side of the coach while Margaret closed them on the other. Once they were closed off from public view, Fishy sat on the padded bench beside Calvin and grinned like a three-year-old with a spoon full of molasses. She even bounced a little on the seat.

The window opened again. “Where to, ma'am?” asked the driver.

“I'll know it when I see it,” Margaret said. “I'm quite sure it's in Blacktown, however.”

“Oh, ma'am, you oughtn't to go up there.”

“That's why I have my brother-in-law with me.”

“Well, I'll take you up there, but I don't like it.”

“You'll like it better when I pay you,” said Margaret.

“I'd like it better iffen you paid me in advance,” said the driver.

Margaret just laughed.

“I meant to say half in advance.”

“You'll be paid upon arrival, and that, sir, is the law. Though if you'd like to throw me out of your carriage, you are free to summon a constable. You can ask him about having a slave seated in your carriage, too, while you're at it.”

The driver slammed the window shut and the carriage lurched forward, quite roughly. Fishy whooped and nearly fell off her seat, then sat there laughing. “I don't know how come you White folks don't ride like this all the time.”

“Rich people do,” said Margaret. “But not all White people are rich.”

“They all richer than me,” said Fishy.

“In money, I'm quite sure you're right.” And then, because she was enjoying Fishy's delight, she also bounced up and down on her seat. The two of them laughed like schoolgirls.

Denmark felt the knife in his pocket like a two-ton weight. It was a terrible thing he'd been planning to do, killing a helpless man like that, and it was made all the worse by the fact that White lady knew he meant to do it. He was used to being invisible, White people paying him no mind except now and then to give him a little random trouble. But this woman, her idea of trouble was specific. She knew things about him that nobody knew, not even Gullah Joe. She scared him.

So he was glad to get away, glad to wander the streets of Blacktown until he came upon a door and suddenly he knew this was the one, though he couldn't have said how he knew, or why he didn't remember it from before. He set his hand on the knob and it opened easily, without a key. Once he was inside and the door shut behind him, he remembered everything. Gullah Joe. The struggle over the name-strings. No wonder he was supposed to kill that White man! The thing he did, unraveling some poor slave's name and cutting it loose to wander who knows where…