It took several minutes to clean the mess, and the whole time Credence fought the vomit rising to her throat, and the trembling in her knees that threatened to buckle her.

The death had not been quick. An echo of Wonda's screams remained in Credence's ears long after the masked man had posed triumphantly over the corpse, his foot hovering above what once had been a head and neck.

She didn't look up as the stage was hastily cleared and what was left of Wonda was smeared over the wooden planks and brushed off the edges with mops, while the masked man entertained the crowd with a song.

Credence felt she might fall to the ground and wail from the anger and terror of it all.

As mean as Wonda had been, the world had been far crueler to her. In the short time Credence knew the girl, not one kind word had been spared for her. No one cared about her, Wonda admitted that herself.

"No' kin or stranger..."

Credence was ashamed for treating the girl with spite and disgust. She should have noticed that Wonda needed a friend, she should have comforted her in some way...

Although the masked man had given what he claimed were just causes for execution, Credence believed the only reason Wonda was dead was because people didn't like her.

And after all the blood spilled, there was still more to come. As Rose had said, there was always a show before the Auction and after. The towns confused Credence, with all its secret winks and whispers and words she couldn't understand—

But most of all, it disgusted her. Filled her with hatred.

There's no kindness here, she realized.

Even Rose had befriended Credence for her own gain, as a gift to Mistress Cinder, whom Rose had run away from because of mistreatment. A cycle of lies and cruelty, that was the true rhythm of the towns.

Credence closed her eyes and felt tears fall. She needed to escape, needed to break free—

She thought to focus her energy and unleash whatever spell came forward, hoping it might tear the towns apart and crumble every last stone and plank to the ground.

A finger brushed across her cheek. Credence opened her eyes to find the Headmaster staring at her with a perplexed look, studying her discomfort with his finger hovering to catch a tear.

"Tender thing, aren't you," he mused. "Such a gentle heart. Beautiful."

The masked man gave a signal and shouts of joy rose from the crowd.

Credence frowned at them. No matter how powerful she might be, she knew she was no match for the whole of the towns.

Lilith's voice echoed in her mind, repeating a warning: In a swarm humans are deadly.

Even if Credence managed a magical attack, she would most likely be subdued before escaping, and would certainly face the Chopper. It would be better to wait and plan a path out of this wretched place before attempting anything.

A devastating truth came to her: Pa was right.

Now minstrels were playing cheerful tunes, turning the mob's bloodlust towards whimsy. Credence should have been relieved by the turn in mood, but instead she was miserable, and she knew there was nothing in the towns that would ever pull her from it.

Pa was right.

She looked at her purchaser, the Headmaster, whose hand was still latched onto her shoulder. He had the same amused look on his face, the one that had remained fixed throughout the killings. Careless about the monstrous world around him. Credence tapped his hand to draw his attention.

"Must we stay for the whole Auction, Headmaster?"

The Headmaster threw an unimpressed glance her way, but his grip softened.

"I told you before I'm in need of domestics. But if you're a good girl, we'll leave once I find what I'm looking for."

"I'll be good," Credence promised.

The Chopper was gone from the stage, and a line of elder men and women who Credence recognized as once having an orange stripe were standing in wait. They had been washed and dressed in gray robes, and they looked both frightened and endlessly tired. 

The orange stripe portion of the Auction proved far less interesting to the crowd than the execution of black stripes, but the masked man kept things moving swift and pleasant as he went from one person to the next, listing their attributes as, "Tender and devoted," or, "Still some muscle left," or, more bluntly, "Not long for death, so a cheaper price will do."

Credence was thankful to see the violence ended, but this didn't seem much better, as sums were called out from the audience, with the highest number winning the prize of a human life. When an orange stripe was bought, as Credence quickly realized was happening, they were taken off the stage and brought into the crowd, where a quick exchange of coins found them led away by a leash around their neck. They disappeared into the mass of people, all of them struggling under their aged, shuffling gait to keep pace with their owners.

The Headmaster did not bid on any of them, and Credence began to wonder why. When the bidding began on the final orange stripe—a frail, shivering woman with a missing eye—the Headmaster remained silent. From the way he shifted on his feet and frowned, Credence knew he was frustrated. Whatever he'd been looking for hadn't been found, and Credence had a fear he might be the sort of person to vent his anger on her.

Instead, his demeanor shifted into weary disappointment.

"Nothing to pay coin for tonight, I'm afraid," he said and turned Credence around to march her forward. "You've been a good girl, so my promise holds. We'll leave now."

The Auction was far from over, but Credence was grateful the Headmaster honored his word. They made their way through the mass of bodies, pushing against the townsfolk and receiving a fair bit of jostling in return. Credence noticed more than a few stares cast her way, so she lowered her eyes to the ground and tried not to attract more attention.

At the edge of the crowd the air became chilly and Credence was finally able to draw a breath that didn't taste like sweat and skin. They walked wordlessly through empty streets, passing several shops and houses that had been abandoned for the Auction. It was unsettling how quiet everything was, how like an endless row of graves the towns became without people to clutter it.

They stopped before a brown brick building surrounded by a stone wall with an ironwork door. A sign hung near the door, reading, "School for Youths, Inquire Headmaster Within".

In her limited knowledge, Credence knew the word school had something to do with learning. Her parents had taught her and Josiah all they knew, though most of their lessons had been focused on keeping safe in the woods. Credence wondered what sort of things might be taught within the Headmaster's walls. She could already read and write her letters, and she could add simple sums with her fingers. She knew how to make a fire and scavenge for food. What else was there to know?

They entered through the gate door, into a courtyard split in half by a pathway of stones. On one side of the pathway were a handful of wooden tables and pews, and on the other was a cluster of trees, a small orchard bearing no fruit. They walked the path to the front door of the building, and the Headmaster withdrew a golden key from his pocket to unlock the it. He opened it with a grand gesture, welcoming Credence inside.

"Are you my keeper now?" Credence asked, still not entirely sure what that meant.

"No," the man replied, "I am your Headmaster and nothing more. You must remember that."

"Oh. Yes, Headmaster."

"It's my charge to oversee your education, so you can be ready for a keeper. For Mistress Cinder."

"How long will I be here?"

"A pointless question. You will remain here until I deem you fit to leave. Not a day over or under." He motioned with his hand. "This way."

There were lamps inside, but not enough light to see beyond a few steps. The Headmaster led her up a long flight of stairs and down an even longer hallway. He stopped before a door with a carving of a rabbit on its face.

"Your room," he announced softly. "We'll find you an empty bed—everyone is asleep now, so please remain quiet."

Credence nodded and the Headmaster turned the doorknob.

Row after row of beds filled a massive space, and in each one they passed lay a sleeping child. Some were much younger than Credence, some years older, and several around her own age. There were no lamps or torches within, so the Headmaster lit a candle to guide their way as he searched for an unoccupied bed. Credence had thought she would sleep on the floor, and wasn't prepared for the comforts offered here.

It took several minutes to find a bed, but at last the candle lighted upon an empty mattress fitted with a starched sheet and blanket. There was a small chest at the foot of the bed, from which the Headmaster withdrew a folded nightgown. He placed it on the bed.

"Your clothes will be kept in here," he said, "unless it is washing day. Everything will be explained to you, but for now, change and sleep."

He turned and left, taking the candle with him, and Credence watched his form grow smaller as he made his way through the room. When he closed the door behind him, Credence pulled the blue gown over her head and dressed herself in the nightgown, a clumsy task when done in complete darkness. She couldn't risk conjuring fire in her hand, no matter how small the flame, lest she was being watched. She had to assume that in the towns privacy was a rare, or nonexistent, luxury. The nightgown was thin and itchy, like it had been washed too many times.

It belonged to someone else, Credence realized with a trickle of worry, which immediately prompted the question, What happened to the previous owner?

She slipped beneath the blanket and closed her eyes, trying to guess what the morning would greet her with. The conversation between the Headmaster and Mistress Cinder repeated in her mind, and Credence accepted with a deep dread that her stay at the school might not be long.

One day, though she couldn't guess when, Mistress Cinder would become her keeper and bring an entirely new set of troubles upon Credence's shoulders. Credence vowed she would not be beaten by the woman. After Lilith, no one would ever raise a hand to her without a fierce fight returned, black stripe be damned.

Of course, that was if Credence was still there for Mistress Cinder to collect.

She may believe I belong to her, Credence thought with a smile, but I'll be gone from this vile place long before that happens.