The guards escorted us back toward our cell. Jeffy shuffled his feet, looking shocked, and for once I found I didn’t have much to say either. After they’d locked us in, I flopped on my cot and curled up to think.
Hangman drank, cupping water from the sink with his hands, then sat in the far corner and closed his eyes. He seemed unbothered by our trial. In fact, I thought as I watched through half-slitted eyes, he looked asleep. Perhaps he had the right idea; he had nothing to do at the moment. If we needed to make a break, best to have him fresh.
Jeffy began pacing, motions jerky and nervous. “Well?” he demanded after a minute of this, voice too high, too shrill. “What are we going to do, s***h?”
“Sleep,” I told him. “It’s been a long day, Jeffy. Get some rest.”
“But s***h—”
“Do it!”
