Before I knocked on the door of her hut, I took a deep breath. It wouldn’t be fun to confess I’d eavesdropped on her thoughts back earlier.

“Hello,” I called. “Helena?”

“Come in...” Her voice sounded soft and uncertain. I opened the door slowly.

She was alone, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at her hands. They dripped with brown blood.

“Alex was just in here,” she said quietly. “He had one of those little animals, you know, the parrots? Only it was dead. Crushed. Someone had stepped on it; I could see boot treads on its body. The poor thing was all broken bones and blood, and Alex... he smeared it on my hands. Just wiped it all over...”

Her voice trailed off.

I shuddered.

She looked up at me sharply. “Did you say something?”

“Clean the blood off,” I said quickly, grabbing her by the elbow and moving her toward the sink. Our camp was supposed to ration water, but I turned the hot tap on full and pushed her hands into the flow, keeping myself clear of the splash. Stringy bits of parrot meat washed down the drain, and the basin turned brown, with the blood rinsing off her fingers. Even so, her palms stayed discolored with dark stains. I poured soap onto her hands and said, “Scrub. Scrub.”

“How can you be saying two things at once?” She made no effort to use the soap. “You’re saying scrub but you’re also afraid I’m going to hear...” She looked at my face, and her eyes focused on my mouth. “You aren’t talking,” she said in surprise.

I stared back at her for a moment, then turned off the water and quietly walked out of the hut. I really couldn’t say what I was thinking or feeling at that moment; but I was sure Helena knew.

The parrot was no longer on the dressing table in my hut, but there was an ugly wet smear on the floor. I could guess where the Singer found the parrot that he’d used on Helena. He must have come back after taking me to Roland, then ground the poor beast under his heel.