I left soon after Erik injected the morphine. He did not tell me who or what he had meant when he declared someone had cried for him; however, I still was certain that it had been Kizzy Ferko, considering she had been the last person to see him before me.

I was suspicious of Kizzy for another reason: she had asked to meet Erik. Clearly, she was curious about him; no excuse of apologizing could cover for that. Though it could have been that she was doing it for Schneewittchen.

Yet Schneewittchen did not seem the sort to cry, certainly not about physical imperfections. Yes, Schneewittchen had a pretty face, but the utter snow whiteness of her features took so much away that one would never notice the classic contours there. I was certain she rarely was subject to anything besides gawking stares.

So Kizzy Ferko was the only person I could think of. It certainly wasn't the sultana; that would have been laughable.

But why, I wondered? And who was this Marie Stavo?

I knew the answers would be long in coming.

---

The next day, I spotted Schneewittchen, the white-haired girl, walking with one of the Spanish boys. There was no hope of telling Jorge and Hugo apart, and I was certain Moses Bazzi did not specify on purpose. Surely he thought I would be embarrassed, or at least confused.

The latter would be far worse— to be confused in Mazanderan Court is to be dead. So I decided it would be better to not address the pair at all.

Schneewittchen, however, had other plans.

"Daroga!"

She ran towards me, her face slightly pinched and her eyes lined in kohl, for reasons I had no idea of. Her unearthly voice was trembling, and it sounded as though she were about to collapse within herself. She stopped before me, the Spanish boy hovering by her as though he feared she might fall. It seemed to be a perfectly reasonable concern, by my account.

"Daroga," she said. "Daroga, please help me. I do not want to be an angel. Please."

Schneewittchen spoke in Arabic, and the Spanish boy pulled her to him and stroked her hair, whispering in Spanish into her ear. She ignored him, only staring at me, frightened. I could only assume it had been the sultana who had unnerved her so.

"What is wrong with being an angel, child?"

"It was an angel that brought death upon the firstborn, was it not?" She was frantic now, her chin trembling and her hands fisted together. "An angel of death. I am not an angel!"

I merely watched as she burst into sobs, the Spanish boy pulling her closer and humming a soothing tune into her ear. She sniffled into his shoulder, and tried to join him. I wondered what her singing voice sounded like, and strangely I found myself placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Please, do not be distressed. Everything will turn out for the best."

She seemed surprised by my sentiments, and in truth so was I. The Spanish boy looked curiously at me, and I think he realized I was quite far from being in charge. After a moment he whispered something to Schneewittchen, who made a little 'o' with her mouth and turned back to me.

"Daroga, may I request something of you?" she said.

"I cannot promise the request will be granted."

"Please, please, just let me say it."

I nodded.

"Tell Erik— tell him I am sorry."

---

I left the Court for the remainder of the day, and found myself wandering back to where I'd first met the group of performers.

Afshin, the man who had been ordered to fetch the group from As Samawah where they had last been before venturing to Mazanderan Court, had left them waiting for me at his parents' inn. The inn was not very large, nor was it anywhere close to the grandeur at Court, but it was an honest place. No bloodshed from this little lodging.

I saw a cart outside that had been there when I had been there last. He seemed to be having a good time, chatting with Afshin. I overheard him say "Moses Bazzi", and I moved towards him as a hawk.

"Daroga!"

Afshin was shocked to see me, and bowed low. I had my eyes on the vendor.

"You know Moses Bazzi?"

He nodded, frowning. "He has been making trouble at the palace? He's too big for being so little." Noting my quizzical expression, he explained in not so many words that Moses Bazzi had pride. Too much, it seemed, for it to be natural.

I was reminded of Erik, and the comparison startled me. Moses Bazzi— I'd met him once, only once! Yet he demanded that power, that respect that Erik did. Yet was it in him to do what Erik did?

And in all this, I remembered the fascination of Kizzy Ferko's of Erik. I was suddenly not so surprised that she was drawn to him, if that was what it was.

"— and so you must be quite shocked by them, eh?"

I was drawn back from my musings by the vendor's question. I nodded, nodded my head curtly at him, and left.

What sort of web was that group weaving themselves into?

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Schneewittchen

The sun in Persia was so very bright, so much brighter than it had been in Berlin. I am from Berlin, you know, and I am not really named Schneewittchen. My name is Rosamaria Zölestine Dreher and I am an albino.

But I am not a ghost! I am not an angel, either, although the sultana told me I was. I do not believe her. I did not kill any children of Egypt. How can I be the angel of death? And how can there be more than one angel of death at a time?

I do not know any answers to my questions.

I know that the other angel of death is Erik. That's his name, I think, or that is was Kizzy told me it was. And she had learned it from the Daroga himself. She must have been right, then.

To tell the honest truth, I do not know why I fainted when I first saw him, only his mask was very, very white. It reminded me of my own face, and I thought he had skin as pale as mine. My eyesight is not very clear, so I could not tell he had it on until he had to move back. I do not know why he was afraid of me. I am quite harmless.

Carmen thinks that I am not so harmless, though. She says Jack White is so much in love with me that it will break his heart if I refuse him. But I do not love him. I told her so, and she laughed and said that I should tell Jack White the same thing.

I do not know if I should tell Jack White. He would be very unhappy, and we are all so very full of tension now that I think it would be a mistake to tell Jack White. He is not very good at being told he is wrong. He was very angry when Kizzy told him alcohol was forbidden to Moslems. Jack likes wine, but he never is influenced by it. I wonder why he likes it, but it is always better not to ask, or to have someone else ask. If I ask, they will think I am like them for wondering, and I do not want everyone to feel I am like them.

I do not mind if Kizzy and the triplets know I am like them, on the inside. Kizzy knows everything, about everybody, and everything. She is very perceptive. I think it comes from always looking for something to throw at. Kizzy throws knives, you know, and she is very good at it. Much better than I am at anything.

And the triplets? Jorge, and Carmen, and Hugo, they are so good. Such good people. I will not be able to stand being away from them, if I ever must be away from them. If Jack White is like my lover, Jorge and Hugo are like brothers. And Carmen, she is so wonderful to me. I cannot explain why, because she has so much more in common with Kizzy than me.

Carmen makes me laugh a lot. She always says what she thinks, and she is not very good at making people hear what they want to. She says what she wants to say, and that is why she does not talk very much when we are near strangers. Carmen has a very pretty voice also. It is very deep, almost like a boy's.

I never know what Kizzy thinks, because she is always hiding things in her eyes. She knows so so much, but she hides it. I wonder if she knows more about Erik, the angel of death, than she said. I do not know, but I would like to know everything about him.

Kizzy said she lied to the sultana about Erik when we were there. I do not know why the sultana wanted to see Kizzy Ferko, because Kizzy did not do very much with her knives. They only had me stand against a wall, moving slowly, and Kizzy threw knives in a perfect circle on the wall with rays.

That is nothing for our Kizzy. She could make a portrait with her knives. She has before, of Moses Bazzi. He kissed her when he saw it.

I wonder what kisses feel like. No one has ever kissed me, except on the cheek and hand and forehead. My father used to kiss my nose, and I would laugh.

Kizzy is very surprised that Jack White has not kissed me, since he loves me. But I realized that I do not want Jack White to kiss me. Kissing him would be wrong. I do not love him, so how could it be right?

I would kiss Erik. I do not know him, but he is like me, and two angels can kiss, can't they? Carmen says she has seen two angels kiss, in a dream. They were both very beautiful, but I am an angel, says the sultana, even though I am not beautiful. And Erik is not beautiful, not all of him. His face is like melted wax or a clay figure molded by a child who was not very good at molding clay. It is hard to describe.

But Erik has a voice! Oh, from the very first moment I was stunned by its beauty. And he speaks German as well! German never sounded so lovely, in all my years I have never heard it sound so pure.

If I was different, and normal, I would say to be ugly with a pretty voice is not natural. But I am what I am, so I know it is fate being kind when we stricken people have gifts.

I know I have a gift, but I do not know what it is yet.

---

The day after I was spoken to by the sultana, unkind woman that she is, I was walking with Hugo when we saw the Daroga, and I ran to him, calling out his name, or at least saying, "Daroga! Daroga!"

I told the Daroga I did not want to be an angel, not an angel of death, at least. I cried, and Hugo hummed a Spanish lullaby in my ear. It was Ay Mi Palomita, Oh My Little Dove. And the Daroga did something strange.

He comforted me, and put his hand on my shoulder, like a father.

And then I asked him to help me, because I felt very bad that I had taken Erik's mask away from him. I think I did it for Kizzy, because I think Erik does not like Kizzy. I understand him, because Kizzy pleased the sultana, and not Erik.

The Daroga said he would do so, and then he left.

He is a curious man. I think he does not know so much as people think.