The remaining items in Ferla’s pockets included her identification papers, a leather wallet wrapped with a cord, and a pen nib that scratched Lovisa. She’d never seen the wallet before. Quickly, she unwound the cord. The wallet popped open, for it was crammed tight with candies, of all things—hard, black, northern candies, called samklavi, that tasted like ammonia and burning and that no one in the world liked, except, inexplicably, her mother and Katu. Lovisa hated samklavi so much that she wound the wallet closed and shoved it back into her mother’s pocket in disgust.

She reached into the next pocket. Finally, her fingers closed over the large, sharp key that she knew, from a childhood of punishments, opened the door to the attic room.

Pulling a small box from her own pocket, Lovisa opened it, noting with relief that it was just big enough for her purposes. Each half of the box contained wax, for making impressions of keys. Mari had given it to her as a present when they were children, heroically offering to rescue her from the attic room when necessary, if she would only make a key. They’d worked out a way to communicate with flashes of light from a candle held to the attic room window. Two flashes meant “Stand by,” three flashes meant “Rescue me at midnight,” four meant “I’m on the verge of starvation.” It was why they’d broken that lock, so that Mari could climb the tree and the trellis, sneak in and rescue her. But it had been a game, a fantasy. Lovisa had never actually attempted to replicate her mother’s key until now.

After making wax impressions of both sides, she checked the key for signs of wax and, finding none, slipped it back into her mother’s pocket. She also returned the money that would have been her excuse had she been caught. Then she snuck out. On the way back to her own room, she encountered no fox and no guards.