Dally ‘read’ his message again, mumbling the words he thought were there.

‘Gov. Tannis Lyle still keeps a thrall, -‘

The space at the end was long; that’s where his name would go, as soon as he found his sale contract. After two weeks the words still looked like a forest of tiny scratches and dots. These marks were familiar, now, but if there was a reason these scratches went with these words he couldn’t figure what it was. He read it again.

Something in his chest clenched — he yanked the newspapers from under his mattress, and smoothed them out next to his own writing, already frantically scanning them again. His copied out words looked identical to the original, same as last time he checked. What if they weren’t, though? What if thralls just couldn’t tell the difference, and that’s why Dally couldn’t read? A human would know instantly.

But they looked identical.

Eventually Dally forced a breath, and shoved the newspapers away. His own message he carefully rolled up, and slid into his uniform sleeve. All he needed was a couple of minutes alone in Lyle’s office. No problem.

He was halfway to the door, when Hannock waved him over. A cigarette drooped from his lips. “Go on out the front,” he said, “you’re going hunting.”

“I — Hunting?” The message pressed against Dally’s wrist. “Master asked for me.”

“Eh. He said Jona gets you when he likes.” Hannock squinted at him. “I thought you’d be happy to get out for a bit?”

“...Sure. I mean, thanks boss.”

“Go on, then.”

Dally was almost there when he realised the message was still in his sleeve, and he was going to have to take off the uniform. In the alcove before the servants door he hesitated, rubbed hard at his neck. Maids and kitchen boys wandered past, staring sideways at him the whole time. Eventually Dally shrugged out of his jacket, but instead of hanging it away like he’d been told before he folded it around the message, over and over. He shoved the bundle in a corner behind the boot rack.

Outside the sun gleamed on melting snow, the wet flanks of Jona’s horse. Jona was staring out over the field, already mounted. He took one bored look at Dally before kicking his horse into a gallop. Dally had to follow, of course, which meant falling to run on all fours, scrambling over the frozen dirt. They went like that for too long before slowing at the top of a ridge. Dally doubling over, coughing. He wasn’t made to keep up with horses.

“How’s your chest,” Jona asked, smiling down at him.

“Healed. Master.”

“That’s good, I hope you learned something from it.”

Dally looked up at him, blank. He was imagining a maid back at the house pulling out his uniform jacket. The maid shook it flat, and a scrap of paper floated out. Gov. Tannis Lyle still keeps a thrall -

“A buck.” Jona pointed.

The deer turned, and crashed through a thicket into the deep woods. Dally bolted after it, but he was far behind. Ahead of him the deers shadow flickered between trees, getting smaller, until Dally lost it. The hiss and sqeak of breaking snow faded into silence. It was gone.

Dally stopped behind a ridge, his own breath loud in his ears. The woods were silent, except for the trickle of snowmelt under his feet. He turned, slowly, seeing nothing but trees in all directions. Sometimes sun flashed on water droplets, raining down from the melting icicles.

When Dally got back, they would send him straight to that back room with the chains. Dally’s hand crept to scratch at his chest, feeling his heart pounding through the skin.

He could still run. Right now. Probably his writing was no good anyway, right? Who did he think he was --

“Dally.” Jona’s voice was still far away, the crackle of the horse’s feet echoing.

Seconds passed, with Dally pressed against the wet rock ridge. He closed his eyes. An ice-cold drop of water landed on his shoulder, slid over the bare ridges of spines down his back. He forced another shuddering breath.

He was just scared to get burned, that was all. This was what happened, like the ink seeped into your blood and made you crazy. The note was fine. Probably. Dally only had humans to tell him thralls couldn’t write, and humans lied all the time. And if they found the note, he would... survive. Again. If he ran, he would be a dumb animal in the woods just like the deer, and some other thrall would be chasing him down.

Dally clambered back up the ridge, shaking off snow in a rattle of spines. The horse spooked, seeing him. It jerked sideways, eyes rolling, while Jona struggled to cling on.

“I lost it,” Dally said. “The deer.”

“Useless.” Jona yanked the horse around, and drove his heels in its flanks.

Jona only ran the horse around for another few minutes, before turning towards home. Once they got there Dally rushed for his uniform, still bristling with spines as he pushed open the door. When he got there though he froze, suddenly nauseous. The corner where he’d stashed the jacket was empty.

After two frantic circuits of the servant passages he found it, straightened out and pristine. Someone had brushed it down and carefully hung it on a wall rail. Dally yanked it off the hanger and pawed at every inch of navy blue fabric, turned the sleeves inside out, shook it. No paper fell out. He should have run.

He stood there for a while, with his fingers going white where they bunched up the fabric. Eventually he couldn’t think what to do except make himself put the jacket on, and walk out into the house.

Kit glanced at him as he passed, and made a small friendly sign with her hand. He echoed it, completely automatic, before turning at random down another corridor. He should be going to Lyle, or back to the ward, but it was like his body wouldn’t let him. It was cold. He kept tugging at the front of his shirt, trying to make the fabric not touch his chest.

On his fifth circuit of the house, a clay man stepped out in front of him, and set down a bucket of mop water.

“‘Scuse me,” Dally mumbled, moving to walk around. He got two steps before the homunculus stepped in front of him again, arms slowly stretching out.

Now Dally glanced up, watching it. After living here for eight months he could finally tell them apart, though all of them had the same filigree face, the same holes for eyes. Since he didn’t know their names he called this one Ajdin, like the hero in the song Ash and Rain. There was a mark on one of its feet, where the porcelain was stained with kiln smoke. They had rode on the car together a few times.

“Did they send you to get me?” Dally asked, dull.

A long moment passed. After a while Ajdin touched a hand to its chest, gently feeling around. The searching fingers tripped a latch, and the front of its body opened, unfurling like the petals of a clay flower.

Inside the homuculus glowed, like it was still hot from the kiln. There was strange twisting pipes, joining onto wet clay orbs. Everything pulsed, steaming, and as Dally leaned closer a furnace heat beat on his face. If these were its guts Dally didn’t understand them. Still he stared, helpless.

Then Ajdin reached inside, and Dally swore, flinching back. “Careful!”

Ajdin looked up at him, then went back to feeling — carefully — around. When it pulled its hand out there was something pinched between the thick fingers, fluttering in the heat. Ajdin held out the slip of paper and dropped it into Dally’s palm.

Dally swallowed, his whole body going stiff. “Thank you.”

The homunculus’ chest was already sealing itself closed. It stood in front of him for another second, totally still, and then turned and picked up its mop. That was it. It took Dally a second before he could move again, then he curled the message back up in his sleeve.

“Are you a human?” Dally asked. “Are you human inside there?”

Ajdin mopped. After a while Dally edged closer, hesitated, and put a hand on the clay shoulder. Ajdin’s shoulder was raw-fired, smooth and lukewarm. It didn’t look up, but for a second Dally thought the mopping slowed.

“I think you’re a person,” he went on. “You should try to get out, too.”

The homunculus sloshed more water on the floor.

Dally carefully skirted the wet patch, walking a lot slower than before. The message must be fine, he knew now. Why else did Ajdin save it for him, and hide it in his chest? The homunculus must be able to read. Thralls must be able to write.

All Dally had to do now was get in Lyle’s office alone. All he needed for that was the ring Lyle wore all the time. Fine. He could do that.