2.1

Nina was slightly unnerved by Gregor's quietness. He had been sitting in the library when she awoke in a dark blue chair in a corner full of shadow. On seeing her, he had immediately stood and scooped her up and taken her down to the kitchen.

Now she stared at the bowl of cereal before her, bewildered. He wouldn't even look at her. He just sat there, at the opposite end of the table, staring at the wall. She wondered if she had done something to upset him.

"Eat," he said, making her jump.

The cereal was soggy and unappetizing. She looked at him with a frown. His face was dark, and Nina grew afraid. They sat watching each other.

"Nina. Eat," he said again, more firmly.

Something in his voice made her itch to get away. This was not the Gregor who had read her to sleep and carried her to bed. She didn't like this side of him.

In frustration, Gregor slammed a fist on the table.

"Eat!" he barked.

Immediately Nina slipped out of her chair and ran, terrified. She slammed through the double doors and took off down the hallway to her left, more afraid of Gregor than of losing her way.

Back in the dining room, Gregor sat stunned.

"Nina?" he called. He jumped up and took two steps to the door before he fell. The bones in his leg were suddenly lava, the world behind his eyes was white with pain and he screamed.

Down the hall, Nina heard the scream and ran faster. He must be furious. Her heartbeat fluttered in her ears like a panicked bird. In her fear she paid no attention to the twists and turns of the halls around her.

She came to the end of a hallway. Before her was a long stairway leading down. She was beginning to realize how hopelessly lost she was, and this reaffirmed it. She had not seen stairs in the house before.

Behind her she thought she heard a crack. She gasped and began to descend the stairs.

Gregor came to clutching his knee. He blinked away little silvery lights and sat up, getting his bearings. The pain had abated, now only the normal dull throb. He clutched at a chair nearby and used it to lever himself up. Where was his cane? There, by the kitchen door. Slowly, wobbling, he retrieved it.

A bowl of mushy cereal sat on the table.

Something clicked in his mind.

"Nina!"

He moved quickly into the hallway, but she had been out of earshot long ago. Still he called for her, stumping up and down passageways. He knew the labyrinthine corridors well after all these years, but it was too big to have any hope of finding her. The house only went up two stories, but it went down another four, and each level alone was large enough to get lost in.

"Nina," he whispered, leaning against the doorframe of yet another empty room.

Four levels directly below him Nina sat curled up on a dusty pile of blankets. The bare bulb above her turned her skin a sickly, jaundiced yellow. The room was one of many she'd found full of old boxes and broken furniture. There was an occasional treasure—she had chosen this room to rest in for the bookshelf full of tiny, intricately carved animal figurines—but for the most part, it was all forgotten junk. She sneezed.

Nina had long since stopped trying not to panic, panicked, and calmed down. She had been stupid, but here she was now.

If I got hungry I could live on the dust down here for years, she thought.

She stood and brushed herself off, though the dust clung to her stubbornly. She was sure she'd find herself permanently gray-coloured if she ever managed to see daylight again. Aimlessly she wandered out into the hall and away. She supposed there was a chance, if she just kept moving, she could find a stairwell that led back up. She was oddly unconcerned with it for the moment. Lost and alone as she was, in this maze of forgetfulness and dust, nothing felt quite real to her. She felt like a ghost.

She came to the end of the hall. A door was set in front of her. After the endless pattern of rooms filled with junk, it was hard to be curious, but she felt too tired to turn back and retrace her path. Besides, it was unusual enough that the door was closed—not a single of the others she'd come across had been. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Automatically she reached for a light switch, but stopped when she realized the room was already lit up with a soft, natural glow.

It was a large room. The floor was black and glossy, and the walls matched. She stepped inside and realized that unlike every other room and hall she'd seen on this level, there was no dust on the floor. It was smooth and clean, and she almost regretted walking on it, dirty as her feet must be. The walls stretched up farther than she could see, and the light—she could have sworn it was sunlight—seemed to come from somewhere up there.

In the center of the room, and in the center of the light, was a glossy black piano. This, too, was free of dust. A stack of music lay on the bench. Mystified, she sat.

The keys were bright and clean and inviting. She wrestled with her conscience, pitting the tempation to touch the beautiful, creamy ivory against the admonition never to touch what's not yours without permission. This internal war waged for what seemed like hours.

If it's anyone's, it's Gregor's, she thought finally. And he said I'm free to do as I like.

Reverently she laid her dusty fingers on the keys. She hesitated, then pressed one down gently. A tiny note, little more than the ghost of an echo, sounded. She pressed the same note again, more forcefully. The note rang out clearly. She marvelled at the way the room caught the note and held it long after the piano stopped singing. She tapped a few more keys.

Soon the room was echoing with clashing notes as she giggled silently.

Four floors up, Gregor heard the echoes of the piano carried up to him behind the wall. His heart leapt. He knew exactly where she was.

He rushed off down the hall.

1.5

Gregor noticed that Nina was beginning to drowse. As he'd read she had moved closer and closer, finally curling up next to him and closing her eyes to listen. She had been completely enraptured by the story. Now, though, it was getting late—he could see a silver crack of the moon in the window that faced out over the porch. Carefully he slipped a sheath of paper from his pocket into the book to mark their place and flicked a switch behind him to turn the light off. Nina stirred slightly as he lifted her up, but calmed again as he started to hum softly. Bright moonlight guided him as he carried her into her room and tucked her in.

He closed the door behind him as gently as he could. He heard no sound from behind the door—but of course, that didn't mean anything. He stood in the dark hallway for a long moment, thinking and listening.

Three minutes later, he was moving down the path with unnatural swiftness. His cane barely touched the ground. In another minute and a half he was closing the gate behind him, and in thirty seconds he was in the car and gone with the touch of a button.

He reached the city at midnight.

A small, secluded alley hid the car from sight, and Gregor hobbled away, moving slowly and leaning often on his cane. He avoided streetlights.

He came to a bar two blocks away, tucked in the pocket of a little side street. The windows were blackened and dusty. There was no sign on the bar, but none was necessary. If you came to the Black Widow, you knew where you were going.

Gregor pushed open the door and moved into the dim red light inside. The sound of his cane was amplified on the scuffed black tile floor. Tiny, delicate, wrought-iron tables dotted the room. The chairs around them appeared to be made of the same fragile black spiderwebs as the tables. Gregor was never comfortable sitting down in the Black Widow.

He was mostly alone in that, considering the crowd. Three old men huddled around a table in the corner farthest from the lights. A younger couple leaned against a wall, watching the room impassively. A handful of loners were strewn around. All regulars, of course. The girls by the wall glanced up sharply as the door closed, then smiled to see him. The shorter blonde took her arm from around the taller girl to blow Gregor a kiss. He smiled a brief acknowledgement to them.

Painfully, he hobbled to the bar. The stools here were far more reassuringly sturdy than the witchy little chairs; they had come with the building and were built into the floor. He sat slowly, his knees cracking. He leaned his cane against the underside of the bar and waited.

After a minute, a tall figure emerged from beyond a dark red curtain behind the bar. She glanced at Gregor and began to pour a drink. She handed it to him unsmilingly.

"Hello, Stella," he said softly.

"You're troubled," she answered. "You don't come straight to the bar without talking to anyone unless you have troubles, and I didn't hear a word once your cane started click-clicking in here."

Gregor sighed.

"Perhaps I'm just thirsty tonight."

Stella snorted. After another moment of his silence, she shrugged and disappeared behind the gossamer curtain again.

Gregor stared morosely at his drink. If he could put his finger on what exactly was troubling him, it may have helped. As it was, he was beginning to regret coming all this way. Everyone in the room was as depressed or lost as he, or more so. He really shouldn't have left a little girl alone like that, either, even if there was no one for miles. He'd never had trouble, living out there by himself all these years. But no, he had found one burglar on his land one morning almost six years ago...

As Gregor decided it was time to go back home and check on Nina, a hand clapped his shoulder. Its twin took the drink from in front of him and deposited it in the mouth of a very large man standing behind Gregor.

"Ugh!" he grunted. "How do you stand this stuff?"

"I don't," said Gregor. "You always drink it for me."

"Then start ordering something better."

Gregor shrugged. "I like gin."

"Then drink it before I have to next time."

Stella emerged from hiding again, a relieved smile apparent on her face. She never knew how to handle Gregor by herself.

"Stella!" boomed the large man. He heaved himself over the bar and landed with surprising lightness. He wrapped the thin, wispy woman in a bear hug that would have crushed a normal man. She giggled in delight.

"Hello, Tomas," she said, beaming.

Gregor watched them with a small smile. Sixteen years married and they were still constantly delighted by each other. They made an odd pair, him tall, broad-shouldered and rugged, with ruddy skin and fluffs of untameable red hair, and she, long and thin and dark, with smoky eyes and sleek black hair. Stella poured Gregor another gin under Tomas' patiently disapproving eye, then drew a tall mug of beer for her husband.

Around the room, light chatter started up.

Tomas drained his mug, kissed his wife, and set about cleaning behind the bar as his wife started gathering empty bottles and glasses.

Stella was the bar's heart and soul, but Tomas was what gave it life.

"So!" he barked once the bar was looking cleaner. "What's wrong with my dear old friend this time?"

"This time?" murmured Gregor with a smile.

"As opposed to every other time you've come in here with a scowl and thunderclouds stuck in your ears and not drank a drop of your gin."

Gregor shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it in front of the whole crowd. He knew Tomas would get the hint.

"Suit yourself, then," said Tomas. He continued wiping down the bar, until it shone like new wood. Stella came out from the back with a tray of freshly washed glasses and set it on the bar to be put away. Tomas winced at the splatter of water across the counter. He took a deep, sad breath, and turned to Gregor.

"Fancy a smoke with me a minute?"

Gregor paused a moment, then nodded. Tomas came out from behind the bar—through the door, this time—and together they walked outside. They stopped a few feet away from the door and stood, their breath steaming in the cold.

Neither of them smoked.

"What is it, Gregor?" asked Tomas.

"Well...yesterday, I bought a young girl," began Gregor. Tomas exploded.

"What? You never! You wouldn't dare! I oughta—"

"Tomas!" snapped Gregor. "Really, you know me better than that. I don't want her for...that."

Tomas took deep breaths, calming himself. To Gregor he sounded like a winded bull. He waited a minute for Tomas to regain his composure.

"You know I've lived in that house in the country for...years, now. All alone."

"And we've been begging you to move in town, if you'd just listen—"

"No. You know me better than that too. No, I love it out there, but it gets so lonely. There's no noise in that house at night. Not a cricket, not a creaking board. I've never been...good with women, you know, and I'm getting old. I just wanted a daughter to care for, to keep me company."

Tomas looked at Gregor quietly. His expression was unreadable.

"Well, what do you want?" snapped Gregor. "If I hadn't gotten her, she would have been snapped up by one of those filthy bastards you hate so much and they would have raped her and used her and—and killed her innocence! And..." here his tone changed, softened, "and she is so innocent. She's fascinated by the flowers outside. She ate a ham sandwich like it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. I read her to sleep, today, and her face glowed." Tomas wondered if Gregor realised he was glowing himself.

"Then I suppose it sounds like you saved a girl from a horrible life and found a delightful companion to see you to old age. What's the problem?"

"She's...God, I hate to say it. She's mute."

Tomas stared at him for a long time.

"Well?" Gregor said impatiently.

"So?" said Tomas.

"So?" echoed Gregor incredulously. "What do you mean, so? She's mute! She can't talk! Not a single noise!"

"So?" repeated Tomas. "She sounds sweet and pleasant and one little flaw doesn't ruin anything."

"One little flaw," muttered Gregor with a laugh. "Little flaw—I yearn for conversation, Tomas. A...a small mind to teach, to shape, to ask me questions and tell me confidences...now, this..."

"I don't see the problem," Tomas said with finality. "Teach her to communicate some other way. She's still a sweet child, and now she's yours. It seems straightforward to me. Goodnight, Gregor."

Tomas turned and went back into the bar. Gregor stood and stared at the sky for a long time, his fist clenched around the handle of his cane in anger. Tomas didn't understand. He had no idea what it was like out there, alone, in the quiet night with only your thoughts and nightmares to keep you company. A small, sweet voice was all he'd wanted—a small ray of light in the dark loneliness of the country. And he'd been cheated.

Slowly he hobbled away towards his car. Of course Tomas didn't understand. He had a wife, two children. There was nothing more in the world Tomas could want for.

Gregor drove home in silent darkness.

1.4

When they were finished, Gregor cleared away the tray and led her back down the hallways, twisting and turning until they had reached the first long hall she'd met him in. He took her into a room close to the library, close enough that she could smell a hint of leather from just inside the doorway.

"This is your room, Nina," he said. It was sparsely furnished and simply decorated, but sizable. There were no paintings on the wall, and only a bed and nightstand in the far corner. The window was large and had a sill big enough to sit on and look out.

"Don't worry, you can bring more furniture in as you like. Anything you like is yours. Pick whatever you want."

Nina barely heard him. She had clambered over to the window and climbed up. She was delighted to discover that she could see the flower beds from her room. An oak kept the window shaded from the piercing sun. There was a small pond beyond the oak, and if she looked long enough she could see the movement of fish traced out on its surface.

Gregor watched her silently. He didn't want to interrupt. The simplest things seemed to make her happy. It was good, in a way, because of course there was no way for her to let him know what else she may want. He'd have to search for something to write with. Maybe she could be persuaded to explain her wishes in letters. For now, though, she seemed content, and he was content to watch her. Now she was watching a bird that had settled on the lawn, her eyes shining.

She certainly did not seem to act like she was eleven. Maybe, he thought, her lack of speech hindered her maturation. Her parents certainly didn't seem too fussed over her, he doubted if they'd have risen to the challenge of helping her learn to manage around it.

He was scared. A daughter of his own was hard enough, after years of living alone. He hadn't been careful enough, hadn't done enough research. The desperate loneliness had hit its peak and he took the first offer he found and brought her home and now he was faced with a problem he had no idea how to handle.

She turned around and found Gregor brooding, staring at the floor. She slipped off the windowsill and walked to him. Gently she took his hand and tugged. He blinked at her, surprised. With a soft smile she led him out of the room, through the hall and into the library at the front of the house. She let go and pointed at the bookshelves, a questioning look on her face.

"These? Oh, these books are all very hard, you wouldn't under—"

She was frowning again. The closed-off look was returning to her face. In a panic, he backpedaled.

"Well, here...come sit. We can learn them together."

He slid a book out of the shelf and sat on the large, comfy couch, patting the cushion next to him for her to sit. She settled in, wriggling out a comfortable spot for herself. Windchimes chanted softly somewhere in the distance as Gregor began to read.

"Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do..."

1.3

When she awoke, the fog was clear. The sky above was a flat, hot blue, and the landscape shimmered. From inside the car, however, she felt no heat. It took her a moment to realize the car had stopped; obviously, they had arrived. She turned away from her own window and saw that on the other side of the car was a long black gate, beyond which a dusty path wound its way up to a house, too far away to see clearly. She could not see Gregor from where she lay. Blinking away sleep, she shuffled herself into a sitting position. There he was, outside by the gate. She realized he meant to walk the rest of the way to the house and sighed, thinking painfully of her worn-out sandals. Resigned, she popped the side door open with a button and slipped out. In an instant he was by her side.

"Good morning, Nina."

Startled, she pressed back against the car. Gregor knelt down and held out a hand.

"Do you want to walk all that way, or do you want to ride on my shoulders? I should imagine it wouldn't be a pleasant walk for your young feet."

She was still too groggy to care. She took his hand and clambered up onto his shoulders. Painfully he rose to his feet, shifting her weight for a moment before clutching his cane and hobbling forward. Nina felt guilty. She had forgotten the cane, forgotten the crack of his knees whenever he bent. It was a far walk, but she should not have been so selfish. She squirmed slightly and made as if to slip off his back.

"Hold still, now, I don't want to drop you," he said. She tugged lightly on his ear to get his attention. He turned his head slightly to look back at her as she pointed to his cane, then started to slide off his shoulders again.

"Nevermind that, you," he grunted. Nina was startled by the sudden harsh note in his voice. "Just stay there and stop wiggling." Cowed, she stayed as still as she could manage. Gregor opened a door in the iron gate and stepped through, closing it behind him. They began to walk up the path, slowly.

"We'll move faster as we go," he said. "It takes me a few minutes to get up to speed sometimes." Nina herself was stiff from the long car ride. She could not imagine how his legs must feel. Cautiously, gently, she patted him on the head. He stiffened for a moment, then laughed.

True to his word, Gregor moved faster as they went. Nina realized that had she decided to walk on her own, she could not have kept up with him, despite his injury. She was also beginning to enjoy the ride. True, it was hot, but there was a gentle breeze in her face and the air smelled sweet and clean, and Gregor began to hum as he walked. The length of the path was nothing compared to the endless waiting with no goal in sight she'd experienced in the car. As they got closer, she tried to pick out details on the house. From far away it had looked black, but as they came closer she saw it was a soft, dark brown. Large windows glistened in the sun, and she envisioned spacious rooms with patches of sunlight highlighting soft rugs and flowers. Closer still, and she could make out flowerbeds by the trees surrounding the house. The dirt path turned to cobbled stone beneath Gregor's feet and the grass surrounding the path grew denser and richer. She could smell the flowers by now.

"Welcome to my home, Nina," he said. She was slightly surprised that he was not out of breath. "I hope you can come to think of it as your home, too."

Nina frowned. She already had a home. This place was lovely, but Gregor was not her father and he could never be. Her loyalty was to her parents, however misplaced it may have been.

They made their way into the cool shade of the trees in the front yard. Gregor knelt down slowly and allowed her to slip off his back to the ground. He took her hand as he stood and led her to the front porch. He opened the door, and together they went into the darkness.

Nina blinked as her eyes adjusted to the transition. It took her a moment to realize Gregor was no longer by her side, and the door was closed behind her. She listened for a long moment. There was no noise but the soft whisper of wind outside the door. Somehow, she was alone.

The room was cool and dark and smelled of good leather and old books. The walls were obscured by various kinds of bookshelves, but between them she could see faded wood panelling. Scattered around the room were armchairs of different styles and patterns, with a single large couch against the back wall. They all were old, obviously well-used, but still looked comfortable and soft. Mismatched end tables sat by some of the chairs. Looking down, she saw hints of dark hardwood flooring beneath overlapping rugs, no two alike. The room felt haphazard and schizophrenic. It was undeniably comfortable, but the only things in the room well-kept and organized were the hundreds of books lining the walls. Nina walked closer to the shelves and peered at the books nearest her eye level. There was no dust on any of the books. She tilted her head and marvelled at the intricate lettering on the spines. She was used to simple books of arithmetic and history at school, and had seen nothing like the thick, colourful volumes of Gregor's collection.

Keeping her hands prudently clasped behind her, she moved from shelf to shelf, reading off titles. A sharp crack startled her, and she jumped. She looked around quickly, calming when she reassured herself she was still alone in the room. The noise must have come from further in the house. She found the door and went on into the hall beyond.

The hallway was darker than the library had been. Stray beams of light found their way through an occasional open doorway, but there were no windows in the hall itself. The crack sounded again, further down the hall. She kept walking.

The hallway was far longer than she'd expected. The house hadn't looked quite so large from the pathway. She stopped, uncertain. What if the crack had been her imagination? Or, if it were real, what if she'd already passed the source of the noise? She couldn't call out. She began to rap her small fists against the wooden wall, loudly as she could manage.

"Nina?" She heard. The voice was close. She knocked faster.

Gregor stepped from a room down the hall from the way she'd come. He was smiling.

"How do you like my home, Nina?"

She glowered at him. She was not amused, being left alone and afraid in a big, dark house. Nina crossed her arms angrily. Gregor forced his smile away with great trouble, composing his face into a semblance of apology. He knelt down, and there was the crack again.

"I'm sorry, little one. I've been alone out here so long, I do love my games. I mean no harm by them. Forgive me?"

She continued to frown. He looked down for a moment and sighed. After a moment he brightened.

"Hungry?"

Nina hesitated. She certainly didn't want him to think he was off the hook, but she was, in fact, ravenous. She nodded slowly, still frowning disapprovingly. Gregor clapped his hands and smiled. He took his cane from behind the door, took her hand, and led her down the hall. He turned right, then left, then left again, straight at this junction and left at the next—she would never be able to find her way back alone. How could the house possibly be so large?

Finally they reached a set of double doors. Gregor pushed them open and beckoned her through. In the room beyond was a large empty table, a fireplace behind it, with a dozen chairs seated around it neatly. On the walls were dusty old paintings. She followed him to the table where he pulled a chair out for her. She sat, and he was gone, disappeared into a door opposite the one they came through. Some time later he returned, bearing a plate of sandwiches, a bowl of grapes, and two tall glasses of lemonade on a tray. He set the tray on the table in front of Nina and took a chair next to her. She fidgeted. It was impolite to start eating first.

Gregor picked up a sandwich and held it out to her. She hesitated for only a moment more before taking it with an unconscious smile. As she ate, she was oblivious to his stare.

He was glad to see her happy, finally. Her face was lit up with a simple joy. He scolded himself for not feeding her sooner. In recent years, he had forgotten to eat most days, only seeking the kitchen when his head ached and his muscles were hollow and empty of energy. Now that he had a child to care for he'd have to remember to feed her regularly.

I'm thinking of her like a pet, he thought, slightly alarmed.

Nina finished her sandwich happily and began to reach for the grapes. She stopped mid-motion, realizing she'd not been given permission. She glanced at Gregor nervously. Gregor laughed.

"Go ahead, dovelet, eat as much as you like. You're free to do as you please, you know."

She grasped a handful of grapes with a small, grateful smile to him. Gregor felt his face light up in return. Making her happy must be his highest priority.

Nina picked up a sandwich and held it towards him. He took it reluctantly and ate, more for her sake than to sate his own hunger.

They ate in contented silence.

1.2

Nina remained silent on the long drive to Gregor's house. She could no longer ignore the fact that she had been sold, and her life was starting over. With a pang she realized she'd probably never marry Toby Wilkins like she'd promised, and he'd forget about her and court that snobby blonde Maria from his music lessons. Nina managed to mope about that for a full ten minutes before growing bored and staring out the window.

The fog was lifting slowly, making wispy skeletons out of the trees that rushed past. Old telephone lines fell and raised in her window as they sped on, dotted with the silhouettes of sleepy birds. The car was quiet, only the soft whisper of the hover-generating engines providing a soft background noise. Gregor was silent.

Nina watched him cautiously out of the corner of her eyes. He did not move. His eyes were closed and his hands rested, folded, in his lap. The cane lay in the backseat. Growing more bold, Nina turned her head to stare at him openly. He was not a handsome man, but she could not quite call him ugly. She had never seen a face like his in her life. Every feature appeared to have personality of its own. His nose was long and stern, humpbacked, the kind of nose you would expect to scold you for laughing too loudly. Conversely, his mouth was soft and gentle, a latent humor hovering at the corners even in sleep. His cheeks were sunken and forlorn, his ears crooked and mismatched. She could not remember what his eyes looked like, she had not been courageous enough to look straight into them. Nina could not decide whether she liked the looks of Gregor.

She rubbed the penny in her hands restlessly. How long would they keep driving? She was beginning to grow hungry. The neverending line of trees and telephone lines looming out of the fog, combined with Gregor's motionlessness, gave her the illusion that time had stopped. Drowsy with boredom, she did not notice at first that Gregor's eyes had opened. He was watching her impassively, unmoving save an occasional blink. Slowly it dawned on her that she was not, after all, alone in the car. Guiltily she realized she had been staring rudely. She dropped her eyes in shame, to be met by a peal of laughter. Blinking in confusion, she looked back up. He had turned to face her and was smiling warmly.

"Do I scare you, little dove?" he asked.

Nina thought for a moment—it would be so rude to say yes, but it was ruder still to lie. Hesitantly, she nodded.

"That's very good. You should never trust a stranger. Particularly not one as odd as I. Soon we will be good friends, and you will not be afraid. But for now, dovelet, fear me. It might do to tremble a bit."

Baffled, Nina tried to force a shiver. Gregor was laughing at her again.

"You are a delight, aren't you, little one?"

Realizing she was being made fun of, Nina frowned and turned to face the window. Gregor was still chuckling softly.

"Don't you talk, child?"

At this she blushed. She kept her face firmly pointed at the window.

"Nina? Nina, answer me."

Nina remained silent and motionless. Gregor took her chin in his hand and gently turned her face towards his. He saw tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

"Can't you talk, dovelet?"

Her lip trembling, Nina shook her head. He let go of her face, shock apparent on his. Quietly, she began to cry.

Gregor watched her for some time. When she had finished crying, she curled up into a ball, clutching her penny tightly, and dozed. He should have been angry. He had, after all, been cheated—a girl-child with a disability should have been sold for far less—but Gregor did not become angry. Instead, he remained thoughtful, watching her sleep. They sped on into the growing day.

1.1

A penny lay glistening in the gutter. It was clean and bright, obviously new, shiny with moisture that could have been the early morning dew or last night's rainfall. Nina knew she should pay attention to her parents' conversation, it was clear she was the subject of discussion, but she could hear frogs rumbling somewhere out in the foggy park, and the wind was crisp and chill, and the penny glittered in the gutter.

"Fifty dollars," said the man with the gnarled cane. "My final offer."

"Surely she's worth at least seventy," said Nina's father, a jolly man in suspenders, his cheeks rosy in the cold. "Young, slim, no diseases—her teeth are—"

"Don't be a fool."

"Mikael," Nina's mother whispered, "just take the deal."

Mikael looked at Nina for a long moment. She was not their only child, nor was she a particular favorite of his. Still, he couldn't help but feel he could get a better price for her if they kept her on the market. His wife was impatient, however, eager to get out of the chill, damp weather and home to a warm breakfast. He sighed.

"Fifty, then. Throw in the clothes she's wearing."

"I should hope so," said the man with a wry smile. He pulled a small book out of his coat pocket and handed a wad of paper to Nina's father. Mikael took it and stuffed it in his trouser pocket, not bothering to count it out of both politeness and impatience. He and the tall man shook hands.

Nina, oblivious, began to reach out for the penny. Her mother slapped her hand.

"Nina! Stand still!" she hissed.

"I'll thank you not to touch my daughter, ma'am," the man said.

"Your dau—" she began incredulously. Mikael grabbed her arm and tugged forcefully backwards.

"It's been a pleasure, sir, we'll be on our way now—come now, Clara," he snapped. They moved away into the gray mist, and Nina and the tall gentleman were alone.

Smiling softly, he knelt down with a crack. Nina watched him uncertainly. She was not entirely sure what had just happened or where her parents had gone, and wondered when they would return. The man made her uncomfortable.

"Hello, Nina," he said gently. Shyly, she glanced away, her eyes automatically finding the amber glint of the penny again. He reached a gloved hand down into the gutter and scooped it up. He took her small white hand and pressed the penny to her palm, closing her fist around it.

"My name is Gregor. We're going to be friends."