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lowered his arm and came closer to us, and I saw that it was not Frere, but a man of a different build entirely, shorter, thinner, slighter than Frere, that it was in fact a man called Proctor, a Belgian sergeant who fulfilled in this Station the role played by Bone in our own.
    My disappointment was evident to Bone, who said, ‘See, you aren’t so clever,’ and then jumped from the boat and waded ashore ahead of me, stirring up clouds of silt in his wake.
    *   *   *
    The two men greeted each other.
    The boatman pushed his oar ahead of us and the keel scraped us to a standstill. Both the old man and the crouching boy waited for me to rise and climb out before leaving the canoe themselves and pulling it free of the water.
    I went to where Bone and Proctor stood together. Proctor held a bottle, which he offered to Bone, and from which Bone drank in long swallows. My boots were filled with water and I raised my feet in an unsuccessful attempt to let this run free.
    Proctor was in command of the gaol where Frere was being held, and whatever else happened that morning, I would need his support to ensure decent treatment for Frere. I approached the two men and held out my hand to Proctor. He made a point of ignoring the gesture. Bone watched me over the neck of the bottle. I had encountered Proctor before and there existed some animosity between us. Two months earlier he had insisted on having one of our porters flogged for petty theft. The man had afterwards died of his wounds and I had made a formal complaint to the Belgians concerning this. Nothing had come of my approach, but I later heard that the dead man’s family had been compensated in some small way, and that Proctor had been either reprimanded or made to contribute towards this payment.
    â€˜Been waiting three days,’ he said to me. ‘Your Mister Frere is not in a good way, not a good way at all. Fact, he might already be dead for all I know. Saw him last –’ he paused and rubbed his chin for effect – ‘must have been this time yesterday. Crying like a baby, he was. He can’t believe you’d leave him up there to rot like this. Especially you, his so-called friend.’ He added a cold emphasis to the word. The man’s face and forearms were covered with the waxy fingerprint scars of some old affliction, keeping his skin pale and glossy, and giving it the appearance of being easily broken. Cornelius said it was the scarring pattern of syphilis.
    â€˜He has yet to be charged with any crime,’ I said, regretting the remark immediately.
    â€˜But he stands accused of more than a fair few,’ Proctor said. ‘You wouldn’t believe the tales we’re hearing. How long was he gone? And nobody going after him. Surprising what a man can get up to in that length of time, him lost, the sun on his head, and with that taste in his mouth.’
    â€˜I’m sure everything will be noted,’ I said.
    â€˜They keep on coming in every day, his accusers, adding a little bit here, a little bit there, to the stories.’
    It was clear to me that he knew as little as we did, and that if he did know more, then he was not prepared to divulge it to me.
    â€˜Am I to be allowed to visit him?’ I asked him.
    His grin fell for an instant, and I knew in that unguarded moment that I would not be prevented from seeing Frere, that the senior officers at the Station had already briefed Proctor on the course of the events ahead.
    Bone nudged Proctor.
    â€˜Bone here has asked me nicely,’ Proctor said.
    â€˜Then I am grateful to you both,’ I said, entering this charade of petty responsibilities and untested authority.
    â€˜He’s grateful to us both,’ Proctor said, mimicking my voice.
    Unwilling to indulge them any longer, I walked past the two men in the direction of the gaol. They ran to join me, one on either side.
    The gaol stood some distance from the main buildings of