A/N: I've been dreadfully sick for the past week...and now my soprano voice is dreadful, even though I've got auditions for the POTO medley in chorus this coming week. But at least I'm updating.

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or anything related to it.

Chapter Three

"There is a performance at four o'clock, Abby. Would you like to attend?" She nods eagerly.

We have just finished lunch. For about an hour before we ate, I attempted to gauge the extent of her knowledge. Because of her time in the circus, her numerical sense is not nearly as advanced as most children her age. Her only true skills are in language and music. However, these are very advanced. I leave her at the organ, smiling.

I sit down to write a note to Antoinette for when she checks the box after the show. Because of the trouble with the chandelier, the performances are still rare. She wouldn't mind if I gave her a few little errands to run. So I list the basic things for Abby: a few dresses, possibly some thread so I can fix my clothes in case she prefers them. I also ask her to see about finding some quality meat so Abby can understand the good offerings of Paris. My final request is for appropriate books for a child her age, but still advanced enough to satisfy her. I have plenty of music for her to play, and my mathematical knowledge should be sufficient. I enclose four hundred francs, more than enough to cover the cost, because I know Antoinette has struggled since the chandelier's destruction lowered her pay. I owe her some form of compensation, the one woman decent enough to help me.

By the time I have finished, it is three o'clock. Abby has snuck in behind me, and watches as I seal the letter. CAN WE GO? she writes on a scrap of paper, her eyes pleading.

I sigh. "Fine." She runs off, beaming as she grabs the small jacket I gave her. I watch her, wondering what it feels like to be a child. Abby escaped the circus before her best years were over. Possibly, once she enjoys herself enough with meaningless play on her own, she might allow me to indulge in the fun.

I lead her on a meandering path through my tunnels, up into the box. She's still smiling, and bounces in her seat as we wait the final few minutes. While she's distracting herself, I read Antoinette's note. She says to pick her up in exactly twenty-four hours in Box Five, since it's an easy place for both of us to find. I put my note in its place, then turn and sit with Abby on my lap. She settles down quickly enough once the show has begun.

After a few minutes, however, she looks at me questioningly. I have her trace the letters of her sentence into my palm.

What is it called?

"Il Muto."

Translate, please. I barely know other languages still. And how do you spell it?

"I, L, M, U, T, O. The Mute."

Should end with an R. Sounds better.

I laugh silently. "Oh, Abby." We watch more of the performance, but at intermission, Abby coughs. Three coughs. One patron in the audience who turns to the box. Ten seconds before I hear someone at the door.

I scoop up the child in my arms and run to the hidden doorway. Closing it most of the way behind us, I put her down and look back at the managers in the box. I silently shut the door the rest of the way before helping Abby stand.

Sorry, she traces into my palm while walking.

"There is no need to apologize, child. I have sneezed in there countless times. It is fine." She nods, apparently unconvinced.

As we make our way back down to the lair, Abby continues to cough. I resort to carrying her for the second half of our journey. Our arrival back at dinnertime doesn't seem to elicit any response from her, so I lay her down in my bed as I boil water for soup. Adding some of her rat meat and a few breadcrumbs, I step in again to see her.

"Abby? Are you hungry?" She nods weakly, smiling. I offer her a half-filled bowl, which she accepts gratefully. Slowly, she eats, coughing in between bites.

"Are you sick from your swim, or something else?" I ask. She holds up a single finger in response. I sit next to her, rubbing her back gently as she finishes the small meal.

"Sleep, child. I will be just outside." Abby smiles at me, snuggling down beneath the blankets.

I walk to my desk, thinking of the music I could teach her. Looking over to the score of Don Juan Triumphant, I smile. I sit for only a minute before scribbling down another song.

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