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parched throat, and he gulped thirstily.
    Bigun refilled the glass. “I regret I took so long to hear you. I was distracted by an event below.” He moistened a cloth
     and pressed it to Saber’s brow.
    Saber closed his eyes. “No matter.”
    They had first met on the ship back to England. The dour Indian had tended the English lord in his almost constant delirium.
     At his own request, once ashore Saber had been transferred to Devlin North’s care. It had been some months before Saber encountered
     Bigun again. On that occasion he’d saved Bigun from a crippling penance.
    Coincidence had placed Saber on the same ship for his second trip to India. Bigun, too, was aboard, but this time another
     Englishman recognized the Indian as a fugitive from justice. Some matter of filching leftover food from the English officer’s
     kitchens for beggars at the door. Evidently the paltry theft and the devastating punishment to which Bigun had been sentenced
     was all that concerned the pompous officer.
    Bigun’s wrist had been upon a block, a sword raised to ensure payment for crusts, when Saber intervened. Cousin to a duke,
     an earl in his own right, Saber’s rank had “persuaded” the other Englishman to relent. Afterward the Indian insisted he must
     spend the rest of his life repaying the debt.
    He looked critically at Saber now. “You will sicken, my lord,” he said, wringing out the cloth. “Let me help you dress.”
    Saber shook his head. Still naked, he stretched out on the mattress and rested the back of a forearm over his eyes. He preferred
     to sleep without clothes—when he slept.
    “There was the event,” Bigun said.
    “Hmm?” The answer might be to abandon sleep entirely. Only in his sleep did the specters rise.
    Bigun cleared his throat. “The event. Below.”
    Saber slid his arm to the pillow above his head. “What are you talking about, man? Event below? Another of your damnable riddles.”
    The Indian drew himself up to his full, diminutive height. “A visitor.”
    “A visitor?” Saber peered through the dim light. “At… what? Two in the morning?”
    “Well past four. Now.”
    Past four? Saber pushed to his elbows. “The devil you say. Who is it?”
    Silently, Bigun produced a folded sheet of paper from a pocket in his tunic.
    Glancing from his servant to the paper, Saber took it and turned on his side. A flood of sickness swept through him and he
     fell back.
    “My lord!” Anxiety raised Bigun’s voice.
    “It’s nothing. It passes—when the memory passes.” There were few secrets between master and servant. Bigun had learned the
     nature of Saber’s demons when he’d first tended him.
    Saber rose to an elbow again, unfolded the paper, and held it beneath the candle:
    “My dearest Saber,”
he read.
“I will not ask you to forgive my little masquerade last night. You would not agree to see me, so I found a way to see you
     without your permission.”
    He arched his neck backward. “Bigun, do not tell me there is a female somewhere in this house—other than our incomparable
     housekeeper?”
    Bigun shuffled his feet and said nothing.
    Saber moistened his dry lips. “I see. There is another female in this house.”
    He read on:
“Once you said you were my friend. You told me you would never deny me if I was in trouble. I am in trouble, Saber. I need
     you.”
    He made a fist on his thigh. Yes, he had told her he would never deny her, but that had been when he was still a whole man,
     when he had dreamed of making her his, his beautiful bride—his wife, the mother of his children.
    All gone.
    “My lord?” Bigun said tentatively.
    Saber grunted and continued reading:
“Tomorrow evening there is a soiree at the Eagletons’. No doubt you are also invited. Please relent from the solitary sentence
     you have assigned yourself—and me—and come.
Please,
Saber. But first, will you see me now? Just for a moment? So that I may look upon you and know peace? With affection,