“You’re good with a knife,” he told her. “And you’ve got quick hands. Cut along this tendon here and you might earn a few coins for your trouble. Wash your hands under the pump first. And for the gods’ sake, don’t touch your nose!”

She sliced and sorted while the butcher sold his cuts. He chatted affably with the men and women of the neighborhood, all the while pointing out his little helper for the day. She smiled and preened and cut, and before she knew it, the sun was low in the pinking sky.

The butcher grinned as he packed up his knives.

“Here.” He tossed her a few coppers. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of them, so shiny in her blood-caked palm. “And you can have this as well.” He handed her a package wrapped in waxed cloth. She squeezed it, feeling bone and meat.

“Really?” She could hardly believe it. All of this, just for her and Mama?

“You earned it. You did a hard day’s work, Patience. Hard work is the most important thing.” He patted her on the head, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t let the other kids nick that off of you. It’s good meat!”

She sped home, little legs beating the ground hard, kicking up clouds of dust behind her. Sure, Mama had said not to come back until an hour after sunset, but she couldn’t wait to display her prize. Besides, the longer she stayed out in the streets, the higher the risk of the other children stripping her of her coin and her dinner.

Mama will be so proud, she thought as she ran. Mama did hard work and so did I. And tonight we’ll have a feast.

She skidded to a stop outside the little shack. Through the cracked window, she could see the flickering of a candle—the good, wax one that Mama never let her light. Moans and cries floated from inside the house, setting Patience’s little heart to racing. Was that Mama? Was she in trouble? Was somebody hurting her?

The door was locked, but the wood was soft enough. With the mighty force of her tiny leg, Patience kicked the door open and bounded inside, dropping the package of meat at her feet to free her hands, which had already curled into fists.

“Mama! Are you all right? Is someone hurting you?”

The look on her mother’s face was nothing short of murderous.

“What did I tell you?” Mama hissed, reaching for her robe. She was naked. Why was she naked? “Get out of here! Now!”

There was a man on Mama’s shabby hay-stuffed mattress. His face was purple with rage, and he grabbed out for clothes far finer than anything Patience or her mother had ever worn.