So he was made to be a weapon, said the man from the fire.
He’s my protector, and my friend, his master said, in uneasy protest. But . . . yes. That, too. He . . . She winced; and in her mind Yossele saw the basement hallway, his own twisted face. Something happened, today. Some girls played a prank on me, and—But he didn’t hurt anyone! she protested, at their dawning alarm. He was going to, but Miss Levy stopped him. And it was my own fault anyway. I was so angry at them, I wanted him to—but I didn’t think—She began to cry again.
Yossele put his head in his hands. She blamed herself for what he’d nearly done!
Kreindel, the man said, how did Miss Levy stop him?
She had a . . . a necklace, Kreindel said. She showed it to him and then ran away, and he ran after her.
Her old locket, Toby’s mother said, looking to the man in surprise.
A newer one, he muttered.
Beside Kreindel, Toby said, What’s so special about it? Did it hypnotize him or something?
It has a command inside it, the man said. It can destroy a golem. He was watching Kreindel as he said it.
It can? Kreindel said, almost a whisper. Shock and relief burst inside her—followed by horror, guilt, and anguish—and suddenly she was sobbing. She turned and pressed her face to the boy’s shoulder. Yossele felt him jump a bit, in surprise; then the boy’s arms went around her, and he held Kreindel while she cried.
They sat Kreindel in a wooden swivel chair belonging to an old, incongruous rolltop desk, hidden beneath the lowest of the platforms. It was, it seemed, the only chair in the building. Toby gave her his pocket handkerchief—she wondered, briefly, if it had come with the uniform—and then went to help the man he’d called Mister Ahmad scoop buckets of murky water out of a long, high trough. Mister Ahmad seemed unsteady on his feet; at one point he stopped and leaned against the edge of the trough, the bucket sloshing in his hands. Seeing this, Toby’s mother went to his side. “You should sit,” she told him. “You won’t feel any better if you spill that all over yourself.”
“I will feel better,” the man said, irritated, “when the forge is relit.”
“Sit down, Ahmad,” Toby’s mother repeated, her voice firm. “Now. Keep Kreindel company. Toby and I will do the rest.” And she took the bucket, not waiting for his assent.
He stood there a moment, clearly perplexed; and then, throwing up his hands, left them to their work and came to where Kreindel sat, just outside the shadow of the platform. She began to stand from the chair, but he shook his head and sat down on the floor beside her, his back against the wooden desk, an elbow on one knee. He was tall enough that they were nearly eye to eye. There was an awkward silence.
“So,” he said after a moment, “when did you meet Toby?”
“This morning.” Could it have only been that morning? How had so much happened in a single day?
The man glanced at her in surprise, as though he, too, thought it improbable. “And . . . Miss Levy?”
“A few days ago. They put me in her cooking class.”
“I see. Is she a good teacher?” He said this with a studied nonchalance.
“I think she must be. Her students all love her.”
A pause; he arched an eyebrow. “Except for you?”
Briefly she considered lying, but then shook her head. “No. But I didn’t give her a chance, either. And I might like her better . . . now that I know.”
He considered this, then nodded.
“Has she always been a teacher?” Kreindel said.
“Chava? No, she was a baker, for years,” he said.
Kreindel frowned. “I thought her name was Charlotte.”
“‘Charlotte’?” She saw him wince, deeply. “That’s . . . new.”
Her hands fidgeted with Toby’s handkerchief. After a moment she said, “May I ask you a question? It might be rude.”
“Go ahead.”
“What are you?”
A wry chuckle. “Must I be something?”
She glanced upward, at the hollow building and its steel creation.
“Well, yes, there is that.” He seemed to debate with himself, and then said, “I am what you would call a jinni.” He glanced across at her. “Here,” he said, and took her hand in both of his. Within moments her skin was almost too warm to bear. He let go, quickly.
“Oh,” she said, rubbing her hand in surprise. Her mind filled with questions; but seeing the look on his face, she bit them all back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been hiding for years,” he said quietly. “And now . . . perhaps I don’t know how not to hide.”
She nodded: that made sense. “I never told anyone about Yossele, until today.”
“He watches you through your eyes?”
“Yes. And he knows what I’m thinking.”
He thought a moment. “Even when it’s about him?”
She nodded.
They fell silent, watching Toby and his mother work. She was aware of being hungry, and deeply tired. What time was it? Past lights-out, certainly. With a start she realized that this was the longest she’d gone in years without hearing the Asylum bell.
The front door opened, making both of them look up. A man and a woman slipped inside, both carrying wooden crates. The woman had large, dark eyes and curly hair streaked with gray. Something about the sight of her made Kreindel feel better at once, as though a kindly nurse had arrived at her bedside. The man closed the door quickly, as though afraid someone might see them.
Next to Kreindel, Mister Ahmad made a sound of minor outrage. “Yes, come in, why not,” he said under his breath. His eyes looked pleased, though.
The pair set down the crates—and then the woman caught sight of the building’s interior for what was clearly the first time. Her eyes widened; her mouth opened in shock.
Mister Ahmad, Kreindel saw, was smiling.
* * *
Sophia woke slowly.
She lay in a crisply made bed. The room was dark and empty save for a table and a chair, and smelled harshly of soap. A
