She and Grace had spent the first few days in a dingy hotel in the backstreets of Terranova, sweltering in the damp heat, while Zoltan waited for his transport to arrive. They hadn’t been allowed to leave the room and one of Zoltan’s men kept watch outside the door 24 hours a day.

At first they passed the time by playing cards, practising their French and fighting off the mosquitoes, but Grace had slowly become more and more depressed until she just sat in the corner all day, hugging her knees and sobbing. In the end Amy had had enough of it and let fly at Grace, telling her that they had to be strong and look after each other. Feeling sorry for themselves wasn’t going to help.

That seemed to snap Grace out of it. She dried her tears, washed her face and got busy around the small room, tidying and cleaning and trying to create some sense of normality. Then one evening Zoltan had come to the room and told them they were leaving in the morning.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Amy sneered. ‘To market? To be sold?’

‘No,’ said Zoltan.

‘I told you my grandfather would never pay you the ransom,’ said Amy.

‘He will pay,’ said Zoltan. ‘But it will take a little more time.’

‘What about me?’ wailed Grace. ‘My family’s not rich. They can’t pay for me.’

‘Be quiet, Grace,’ said Amy, softly. ‘You’ll be all right. We won’t be sold like cattle.’

‘I have brought you something to wear,’ said Zoltan, dropping some packages on to the bed. ‘In the morning I want you to be clean and dressed. There is everything you will need here, including…’ He stopped and blushed slightly. ‘Other clothes. To go underneath.’

‘I don’t want them,’ said Amy. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

‘You get rid of those filthy clothes you are wearing and put this on,’ said Zoltan, angrily tearing open one of the packages and pulling out a frilly yellow dress. ‘But first you will wash. There is soap here. Use it. You smell.’

‘I won’t wear that dress,’ said Amy. ‘It’s ugly.’

‘It is all I could find here in Terranova.’

‘I don’t care. I’m not wearing it.’

Zoltan grabbed Amy and thrust her in front of the mirror. ‘Look at yourself,’ he said. ‘You have been wearing these same clothes for weeks.’

Amy looked, but hardly recognised the person she saw reflected in the mirror. Her face was pale and grimy, her hair had grown into an untidy tangle and her borrowed clothes were now grey and ragged.

‘We are going to the house of a wealthy man who has a hatred of dirt,’ said Zoltan. ‘I am going to sell him some of my treasures, and I do not want to do anything that might make him angry.’

‘And am I one of your treasures?’ said Amy.