I was surprised that there would be two markets so close together. But when I rounded the corner, I discovered that the location he had sent me to was not an established market at all, but rather a narrow alleyway along the back of a church where a dozen or so people were clustered. I understood then. Czarny rynek meant black market, an unlicensed place where people sold goods that were forbidden or scarce for a higher price. I had heard of such places, but had not actually known they existed until now. The few sellers here had no stalls, but splayed their wares on old blankets or tarps on the ground, tenuous stands that could be picked up in an instant if one had to flee the police. There was a mix of everything, from hard-to-get foods like chocolate and cheese to a contraband radio and an antique gun so old I wondered if it would actually work.

I considered turning away. The black market was illegal and one could be arrested for buying or selling on it. But I could see a fruit seller halfway down the alley with considerably more produce than the actual market had. I started forward. Here there were dried cherries, at least some, splayed on a soiled tarp on the ground. I took all there were and paid the toothless proprietor, using most of the remaining coins my stepmother had given me. I popped one of the cherries into my mouth for good measure, trying not to think of the dirty fingernails of the merchant who had just handed them to me. The sour sweetness caused my jaw to tingle. I sucked on the pit as I walked, then spit it into a nearby sewer grate.

I stepped over the grate, taking care not to catch the heel of my shoe. From below there came a rustling that startled me. I jumped. Probably just a rat, I told myself, like the ones that came out at night to feast on whatever they could find. But it was daytime now, and I would not expect the vile rodents to be about.

The noise came again from below, too loud to be a rat. I looked down. Two eyes stared back at me. These were not the beady eyes of an animal, but dark circles ringed with white. Human. There was a person in the sewer. Not just a person—a girl. At first I thought I imagined it. I blinked to clear my vision, expecting the sight to have faded like some sort of a mirage. But when I looked again, the girl was still there. She was skinny and filthy and wet, staring up. She had stepped back a bit, as if afraid to be seen, but I could still make out her eyes in the darkness, searching. Watching me.

I started to remark aloud about her presence. Something stopped me, though, a fist that seemed to clench my throat, silencing my breath so that no sound would come. Whatever had forced her into that awful place meant that she did not want to be found. I should not, could not say anything. I gasped for air, willing the tightness to ease. Then I looked around, curious if anyone else had noticed, seen what I had just seen. The other passersby carried on heedlessly. I turned back again, wondering who the girl was and how she had come to be down there.