John Franklin straightened his sore back and leaned on his hoe for a short rest. His captors were not harsh masters, but they didn’t put up with any extended laziness. Life had changed since Torquay’s sacrificial death; young Sidmouth was now rabbit quiet with eyes that wanted to cry, but didn’t. Even Wallace had changed. He now assumed Torquay’s old role and saw to the younger boy, making sure he ate and helping him with his chores. John looked over his shoulder toward Nodoroc and saw that the ever-present funnel-cloud was still that evil, dark blue. They were not safe.