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.