As Erik grew older, and so did his nurse. Spry as she was, Hannah was in her mid-seventies and her heart had begun to fail. As would any good son, little Erik did his best to make her last days comfortable. He read to her, talked with her, and -most effectively- sang to her. His pure, flutelike voice had always remained their secret. Hannah often would laugh and joke that an angel had flown down his throat one day and gotten stuck. Now, as she spent more and more of her time confined to her four-poster bed, it became her one joy.

"Erik, do you know what is happening to me?" she asked quietly, after he'd finished reading one of her favorite stories.

"You are sick. You need to rest. Would you like more tea?" He was always quiet and polite in manner. Having never romped with children his age, he'd never learned to be a child.

"I'm dying, Erik. I don't think I will live much longer." He only stared at her, blinking slowly, his hand motionless on the handle of the teapot. "When I have died, you must tell your mother what has happened."

"You cannot die." Erik's voice was flat. It was a command, not a plea.

Hannah laughed as hard as her failing heart would allow. "It is not something I can do anything about, child."

"Who will care for me when you are gone?"

"You'll be fine, I think. But I'll warn you – wear that mask your mother gave you until you grow out of it, then get yourself another."

The boy reached up and touched the silk that draped his face from forehead to jaw, leaving only his lips and chin visible. "Why, Hannah? Because the servants think I am evil?"

"Because you don't look like other people, and other people aren't likely to understand that."

"What do I look like?" His insatiable curiosity forced the question; he had tried to discover the truth for himself, but Hannah had outfoxed him every time.

"Never you mind, child." Hannah patted his cheek softly. "You don't need a beautiful face. You have a fine mind and only Mary and the Saints could have gifted you with such a voice. So just never you mind what you look like."

In the middle of his seventh year, six months later, Erik brought in their breakfast tureen from the hall. Hannah had not called him to bring her dressing gown and slippers yet and he was loath to disturb her rest. He dished out portions of oatmeal for each of them and got cups of water from their pump. He carefully set up a tray and carried it into Hannah's bedroom. She lay quietly on the bed with the covers pulled tightly under her chin.

"Hannah, wake up. I have brought your breakfast." He waited, then gently patted her shoulder. "Hannah? They remembered the treacle this time." He waited a little while longer. Fear nosed its way into his heart. "Hannah." He shook the old woman, trying to get her to wake, but she did not move at all. She's dead. He thought. His mind, normally keen, went blank. "She's dead," he whispered, and dissolved into tears.

When he had finished weeping over her, he did something he had never dared to do in all seven years of his existence. He walked alone through the great double doors that separated "his" wing of the house from everything else.

A servant saw the child wandering through the halls and dropped the load of laundry she was carrying as she swiftly made the sign of the evil eye to protect herself against him. He simply walked over to her and asked, "Where's the Duchess? My nurse has died."

The terrified woman pointed down the hall and gave him stammering directions to the Lady's sitting room. Erik stared at her for a moment, cataloguing in his perfect memory the way fear made the servant pliant, biddable. After putting this knowledge away for future use, he walked sedately to his mother's sitting room and opened the door.

She was sitting on a divan, reading a thick book. He recognized the title as one of the very few that Hannah had forbidden him. Those books were not for little boys, she had said. Under her breath she had murmured, "They aren't for fine ladies, either." After a moment, the lovely woman looked up, starting slightly at the unexpected sight of her offspring.

"What are you doing here?" she cried, setting her book down and swiftly standing to tower over her son. "Get back to your rooms, thing!"

Erik stood his ground. His news was important; it was critical that his good nurse receive a prompt and respectful burial. His mother's cruelly flashing eyes were breaking his fragile world into little pieces. Some small, naive part of him had foolishly hoped that his mother would finally act like one and comfort him in this worst of times.

"Mother," he began weakly, "Hannah has died, and I'm frightened."

"Don't ever call me that," she hissed. Then, his announcement registered. "Died? What have you done to her?" the accusation rang in the air.

Erik looked at his feet, ashamed that he had not been able to save the old woman. "I read to her, I talked to her, I sang to her, but she was so sick and tired…she said it was time for her to go. When I took her breakfast in this morning…I guess she had gone." This said, he reached up and took off his mask. "Kiss me, please, I'm sad."

It was the most childlike thing he had done in a long time. Erik lifted his face and closed his eyes, truly expecting a kiss.

The slap that sent him whirling to the floor taught him a new lesson, one Hannah had never had the heart to teach. He was alone in the world now. There was no one left he could trust, no one who cared whether he lived or died.

His 'mother' leaned over him and hissed, "Put your mask on!" And then she was sweeping out of the room, calling for servants and hurrying to the back wing.

Erik lay sprawled on the floor for a moment – it seemed like a safe place. His face had never had full sensation in the twisted skin of his cheeks, so the slap barely stung. His head was pounding from the force of the blow and from the bubbling thoughts that sunk nasty claws into his heart. He wanted to cry, but denied himself that luxury. He understood now that he was on his own, and that he would have to be very careful from now on.

There was no way he could have known that his mother was already plotting to get rid of her burdensome secret. As long as Nurse Hannah had seen to the boy, there was no need to worry about word of him getting out. As of this morning, that was changed. She had her reputation to look after. The boy couldn't stay in the house; the servants would eventually talk, and the secret would destroy her family name. She had born no more children over the years, but that didn't mean there would not be any more when her husband returned from his diplomatic mission.

The duchess found the answer she sought in the gossip of the servants. A traveling circus was in town, and the circus had a freak show. It wasn't the best arrangement she could imagine, but it was expedient and it was certain to get the little monster out of her life and away from her precious name, forever. Barely an hour later, she summoned him to the dining room, signaling that he should sit across from her and eat.

Erik hesitated for a moment, unsure of what he should do. He had never been allowed to eat even with the servants before. It seemed suspect that his mother should invite him to dine with her so soon after knocking him to the ground. More than anything else, he wanted to slink back to his rooms and continue reading his battered old volume on Roman history. The Duchess's angry glower made his mind up for him. He took a seat and tried his best to eat with good manners.

As dessert was served, his mother finally spoke. "You will be leaving this house tonight. I will take you to a place where they will give you a chance to earn your keep."

Her tone was cold, distant. It grated on Erik's ears and clanged discordantly in his mind. This was not a mother's voice, and he didn't trust her to take him anywhere. But what choice did he have? When she motioned for him to follow, he obediently marched behind.