Chapter 5

In the candlelight, he looked more human than Grace had ever seen him. In daylight he looked normal enough, perhaps a little too intelligent and handsome for this era, all clean-shaven and lively, but very outwardly human. It was the spark in his eyes that really set him apart. Everything excited him. He looked at the world like it was all new to him, when she suspected he had seen it this way a hundred times before. He seemed to know everything, so every look also carried a deep wisdom, perhaps a memory.

But in the candlelight that was stripped away. She could just see the edges of his cheeks, the planes below his dark brown eyes, the deep thought going on behind them. He looked a little afraid, a little concerned, a little fascinated, and very empathetic toward his conversation partner.

It was human.

Grace and the Doctor were in the back corner of the town hall, where the slaves had been allocated. She was glad the Doctor wanted to be here, because the others made her nervous – she was reminded of her family in this life, and of the upper levels of the dome in the corrupted reality. People like that were all the same.

The Doctor was talking to Henry, who was a big man, almost midnight-skinned. He had a daughter named Polly, who was tucked up against his side, eyes as wide as saucers.

She and Grace had a lot in common.

Polly had never seen anything like this before, either.

"Do you go to school?" Grace asked her.

Polly looked up at the question, her little lip trembling. She looked perplexed as she shook her head. Grace realized it was a silly thing to ask. She only had to look at the difference between this kid and the others in the building. Polly was wearing rags. Her knees, elbows, and hands were dirty and calloused.

"Oh," Grace grasped for something else to say. Polly had a little wooden horse clenched in her hand. "Do you like animals?"

Polly held the figure out in her palm.

It reminded Grace of the little animals her father had carved before he went missing – tiny horses, remnants of creatures he would never see in the flesh.

What would he think of this place?

"I like dogs," Polly told her.

"I like dogs, too."

"I don't like the ones out there."

"Me neither. Can I look at that?" Polly handed it over. Grace twisted it around, admiring the craftsmanship. "My dad used to make little animals for me. Did your dad make that?"

"No, my brother did."

Grace twisted her lips, finding another dead-end in this conversation. She met eyes with the Doctor, who had taken to wandering the room with Henry, and found his troubled. What was he thinking about? Hopefully, he was coming up with a way to stop the stampede of ravenous dogs outside.

"I'm bad at talking to people," Grace admitted to the girl. "I guess because nobody ever talks to me. Except him. It's easy to talk to him."

"He saved daddy from the smoke."

"Yeah, he did. I think that's his thing. Saving people."

"Did you have a dog?"

Grace took her eyes off of the Doctor, watching the little girl making her little wooden horse walk across the floor between her legs. "No. I never got the chance. Did you?"

"Yeah. Her name was Lovely." Polly looked up briefly, frowning. "She died."

"I'm sorry." Grace felt strangely for this child. She could usually keep herself distanced from people – with the Doctor as the exception – but there was something about this kid that really spoke to her. It might have been the figurine. Or perhaps it was the loneliness the girl seemed to be harboring. Perhaps no one really spoke to her, either.

Polly went on, her voice low and sad. "Mister John shot her, 'cause she bit him. But she was just protectin' me, 'cause he hit me."

"Why did he hit you?"

Polly shrugged. "I talked back."

John must have been distantly related to her step-father.

"Well, I think you should always talk back." Grace settled in beside the girl, combing down her hair with her fingers and picking out the little pieces of straw. It looked like she had fallen when the crowds panicked earlier. "People like to lie, and if you never talk back they never admit it. Who made them so special, anyway?"

Polly paused her figure, frowning. "But what if they get mad at me?"

"So what if they do?"

"They might shoot me."

"You can shoot back."

"But daddy says we have to do what God wants, and treat others like we want to be treated."

"Sometimes that doesn't work on people. Sometimes it takes more than that." Grace thought of the people she had hurt, and sometimes killed, in the corrupted world, where the streets were as dark as the dome over them, and life was worth less than a loaf of bread. It was fuzzy like a dream, but the feelings were still there. "You have to use your judgement."

"Did you ever shoot anybody?"

"Yes."

"Were they bad?"

"Yes. And they didn't deserve to live. People like that, and people like John, are dangerous, and if you're strong enough, it's your job to stop them so they don't hurt someone who's not strong enough. It's just how the world works."

Polly nodded, running her hand over her eye. "I wish Lovely was here."

Grace looked up at the Doctor again. He was sitting on the stage.

And he was staring at her. He wore a deep frown, as if he had heard every word she said.

Grace was unnerved, but she went on, keeping her eyes on the Doctor, "My friend says everything lives and dies for a reason, and with a purpose, but I think it's nonsense. Sometimes bad people kill innocent people, and dogs, for no reason, and then they just go on living like it's their right."

Polly shifted to look up at her. "But they deserve to die, too, 'cause God says you shouldn't ever kill anybody."

"Uh, right. I guess."

"Did somebody shoot your dog, too?"

Grace smiled. "No. But when I was little like you, somebody shot my dad. He got better, but it took him a long time. He had to go through a lot, just to go back to work. And they never caught the bad guy. It always bothered me."

Polly was a smart kid. "Do you go to school?"

She brought the conversation full circle.

"I do."

"Do you have a big house? And a mommy and daddy?"

"Sort of. I have my mom, and she got married to someone who's not my dad."

"Do you like him?"

"No. Not very much." Grace focused wholly on the girl, aware that the Doctor was still focused on her. Was he really listening, or was she just paranoid?

Polly wiped a tear away, wincing.

She had a lump on her cheek, a puckered up bruise.

"Is that where he hit you?" Grace asked.

The girl nodded.

Grace glanced around, satisfied that the Doctor wasn't looking. "Here, see this?" She pulled her dress away from her collar, showing Polly a bruise that traced the bones on her shoulder. "When I talk back, I get hit, too. But I keep doing it."

Polly had big, wide eyes. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yeah, but I think it's worth it. It's better than shutting up." She slid back into her seat. "Nothing hurts worse than not being heard."

Polly smiled, finally, and lost the distressed sheen in her eyes. She looked like a little girl again, instead of a sad painting. Grace watched her play, and swore her to secrecy, and repeated a few stories the Doctor had told her to keep her entertained.

And she watched him across the room, with his planning and theorizing. She thought if they could get out of this mess, she would ask him not to take her back home.