A week in which Elias grew sicker still of eggs and foul tea and his little hut. A week in which he stewed on his discovery that Jonah must be a runaway, a fugitive slave. He’d heard Stephen and Mat pass by often enough, their voices echoing as they guided tours, but they’d not collected Elias to go exploring with them again. Nick had been around some, hauling water or firewood for Lillian, and he sat with Elias a little, learning a couple of knots when he had time. Elias filled his days tying knots and reading—having at last swapped books back with Miss Nedra—and trying to stay awake in case Jonah came by. He’d missed him at least once, awakening to find another of Sarneybrook’s sorghum cakes sitting on his windowsill. As good as it smelled, he didn’t eat it; instead he broke it into crumbs and let Bedivere peck the bits up from his palm. He began to wonder if, since the bird was clever enough to be trained to fly home, could he be taught to do other things? He’d taught Charger to fetch, stay, and shake hands.
