This was monstrous. Everyone knew what coal was and where it came from and what it was for. Everyone knew that automatons couldn’t move without a lump of coal in their metal innards—or, in Horace’s case, several tiny lumps of fish-heart coal. That was bad enough. To heat your house on a rainy day with coal, when any piece of wood would do just as well, was a monstrous thing.

Rownie noticed that Jansin didn’t squeak or flinch or turn away. Instead he drew himself up to stand more stiffly, and clenched his fist a few times.

“Now, one slave girl witnessed
The Lady take hearts,
And that girl wisely feared for her own.

She crept up to the mirror,
The tall, witchworked mirror,
And then was no longer alone.”

The little puppet reached through the picture frame and pulled out a twin.

“The day was still young,
The reflections as well,
And each one of them reached for another.

Their hands passed through glass,
And they clasped other hands
Till the girls had a gang of each other.”

The puppets made more and more of themselves. Then the Lady returned with several slave-selves behind her.

They all fought. Puppets flew everywhere, tossed back and forth. When the fight was over, only three of them still stood—two rebel girls and the Lady. One of the girls pinned the Lady’s arms behind her. The other girl reached into the lady’s puppet chest and took out her large heart. They tossed the heart into the fireplace, where it burned briefly, and then went out. All the other little stage lights dimmed with it.

Rownie noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Essa and Thomas were quietly returning the mule to its wagon hitch. The dead tree had been hauled aside. The road was clear.

Semele’s song came to an end.

“Treat well your young selves
Or they’ll rise up inside you,
And your heart will be overrun.

So good night to you all,
For the curtain must fall
On this tale, which is over and done.”

There was silence. Then the little crowd began to cheer. “Blood and guts! Blood and guts!” said the smallest one, jumping up and down and clapping both hands together.

Jansin did not cheer or clap.

“My family takes hearts,” he said. He did not shout, but his voice carried. It silenced the applause around him. “We take hearts from traitors and criminals and people who deserve it. We make them into coal. We should rip out your goblin hearts, but they probably wouldn’t even burn.”

Jansin took one step forward, and then Rownie kicked him hard in the back of the knee. Nobody deserves to be made into coal, he thought, but didn’t bother saying so aloud.