He delivered a final benediction. The whole cadre of soldiers, artisans, farmers, and landlocked sailors sat speechless, eyeing one another with growing suspicion and fear. The governor crossed himself and began to eat but slowly, to avoid the impression that he had fallen prey to the sin of gluttony. The other men followed his example, eyeing one another uneasily while they ate. Which of you, Malcolm could practically read their thoughts, summoned the Evil One with his wickedness
Later, alone, Kit eyed him coldly. “Hope to hell you know what you’re doing.”
”You wanted them off balance. Next couple of days ought to be interesting.”
Kit just grunted and stomped off to bed. Kit’s plan to keep the men unsettled and tired was certainly working on Malcolm. He was numb with exhaustion.
”Good night,” Malcolm said quietly.
Kit’s only reply was a brusque, “Hope you sleep like hell, buddy.”
Malcolm held his tongue: He’d take Kit’s anger and swallow it raw. Consider it penance, Father Xabat. Malcolm did manage to fall asleep eventually; but his dreams were violent, waking him well before midnight. He rolled over in the darkness and stared at the invisible wooden ceiling.
How could he ever patch his friendship with Kit? Malcolm owed the retired scout more favors than he could ever repay, not the least of which was the trust Kit had placed in him to guard Margo. The knowledge that she huddled in the darkness, locked into a filthy cell with nothing more than a coarse shirt and a flea ridden blanket to cover her, when she needed medical treatment… He closed his fists in his own coarse blanket. Those wretched traders could have given her venereal diseases, could’ve gotten her pregnant