The fair grounds were choked with pressing, dirty crowds, strong smells, and loud noises. To a small child who had never been outside his home before, it was entirely overwhelming. To a small child who was also a budding artist and a lover of all things ethereal, it was intolerable. He knew what a fair was, though, from books he had read. Like any other little boy his age, he was entranced by the shouting vendors and their colorful displays. Everywhere he looked there were people of all ages playing games of chance. Though they rarely seemed to win, they were ever-eager to spend another coin trying.

The strange sights and sounds passed behind them. At the edge of the thick crowd, Erik saw a little girl with a huge tray of pastries in her hands. He watched several people buy her wares, though she did not shout like the other vendors. She looked up from her tray and her black eyes caught his for a moment before he was jerked along and the crowd closed between them. His mother strode purposefully towards the back of the fairgrounds, not slowing for anything. Her steps only slowed as they approached a large tent behind the exotic animal show. The faded sign proclaimed, "FREAKS! FREAKS! FREAKS!" in red and gold letteringThere were color paintings of women with beards, impossibly fat men, and strange animals. Instead of trying to enter through the lines out front, his mother grabbed his hand and dragged him around back, where a travelling wagon stood in the dark. A sloppy, stinking man lounged outside the wagon, smoking a nasty smelling cigar and sipping from a huge bottle. He leered at the attractive and well dressed woman as she approached, no doubt thinking how he could fleece her.

Having committed herself to this course of action, Margot approached the man boldly.

"I believe I have a deal you will be interested in." Her voice was cultured and refined, which had the effect of making him put out his cigar and put down his bottle.

The nasty man offered a dirty hand, thought better of it, wiped the hand on an even dirtier handkerchief, and then offered it again.

"Name of Herroux," he grunted. The hand was ignored, so he thrust it in the front of his stained, threadbare dress coat. "You said you got a deal. What is it?"

She pushed the trembling boy forward, and pulled the white mask off his face. Erik threw his hands up, trying in vain to hide his disfigurement. It was too little, too late. Herroux had seen enough to pique his curiosity. He reached down with and roughly yanked the small hands away, revealing the death-masque beneath. The Duchess continued as though nothing was happening.

"It's this. The boy's a burden to me, and I haven't anything else to do with him. I figure you can pay me down for him now, and then make a profit off him for years. You make me an offer, and we'll see."

Herroux could hear money clinking in his pockets already. A face like that would draw customers far and wide. His beady eyes appraised the milk-white skin and erect bearing of the woman before him. She was obviously wealthy, possibly quite powerful as well. She wanted to be rid of the boy, not to make a profit. Any financial exchange would be purely symbolic.

He nodded. "It does look like something I could use. How's a hundred sound? I ain't got more'n that, but it'd be a real pity for you to have to leave out with the same baggage you come in with."

Margot cast him a bored glance and nodded dismissively. The Duchess knew he was trying to get out for a ridiculously small amount of money, but she also knew that the largest sum this man had to offer wouldn't equal the amount she'd make from her smallest holdings in a week.

She nodded her consent. "The less said of this deal, the better. No one will ask, but if they do, you found him wandering on the road. Understand?"

Herroux harrumphed and lumbered into his wagon. He returned soon after, the hundred wadded up in his hand. In exchange for the moist bills, Margot thrust the boy's hand into Herroux's.

"Hold onto him now. He's a smart one, and might run." With that she spun on her heel and left. On her way out, she bought a piece of pastry from a little girl with a tray and ate it with a light heart and a clean conscience. After all, she hadn't killed the boy at birth as many women might have done, she had paid for his care for seven years as few fine ladies would have, and now she'd put him in the way of earning his own keep. She left the fair and never spared another thought to the child she'd left behind.

Erik, on the other hand, knew his troubles had just begun. Herroux wasn't holding his hand so much as he was crushing it. The big man said not a word to the child, but dragged him roughly into the wagon where he thrust him to his knees on the gritty floor of a stinking sty of a bedroom.

"Move from that spot and I'll beat the life out of you." Erik sat on the sticky floor and hugged his knees, refusing to look up at his captor. A hairy hand grabbed his chin and turned his face up. "You hear me, you ugly waste of rat-crap? I'll make you wish you was never born!"

You're too late for that, thought Erik, casting his gaze to the floor. He listened to Herroux's heavy footsteps receding in the distance. His mother was right; if he could have run, he would have, but there were no windows, and his seven year old strength was not enough to break down the door. He thought of his kind old Hannah dying peacefully, and ardently wished he had gone with her. He curled back over his knees and pressed his hands over his eyes, shutting out the dark and some of the stink.