Jack, who had never in her life been allowed to stay dirty for more than a few minutes, shuddered. She looked at her food, and saw only butter, grease, and other things that would add to the mess she was already wearing. She slid out of the bed, leaving the food where it was.

Jill frowned. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m going to eat.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.” Jill pointed to the door. “Tell Mary you’re done, and maybe she’ll let you get a bath. Or she’ll let you talk to your new doctor friend. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like the bath more,” said Jack. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m going to steal all your toast,” said Jill serenely, and Jack realized two very important things: first, that her sister still thought this was an adventure, something that would only last until she was tired of it and would then go mercifully away, and second, that she needed to leave as soon as possible. The Master—how she hated that she was starting to think of him that way!—struck her as the sort of person who wanted little girls to be decorative and pretty, toys lined up on a shelf. He hadn’t talked about keeping them together because sisters needed to be together; he’d talked about keeping them together so he’d have a matching set.

If she couldn’t get Jill out of there, she couldn’t stay, because if she stayed, she would be better at being decorative. She would show Jill up. They wouldn’t match, no matter how much they tried. And the Master …

She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that he wouldn’t like that. He would be displeased. She didn’t think either she or Jill would enjoy his displeasure.

Her dress was stiff and her tights stuck to her legs like bandages as she stepped out into the hall. Mary was waiting there, as she had promised, along with the two serving men.

“All done?” she asked.

Jack nodded. “Jill’s still eating,” she said. “I can wait here with you until she’s done.”

“No need,” said Mary. “The Master doesn’t care for dawdling. If you want him to choose you, you’d be well served by heading down now.”

“What if I don’t want him to choose me?”

Mary paused. She looked at the two dead-eyed men, assessing. Then she looked around the hall as a whole, seeming to search every crack and corner. Finally, when she was sure that they were alone, she returned her attention to Jack.

“If you don’t want to be chosen, you run, girl. You go down to that throne room—”

“Throne room?” squeaked Jack.