I laughed. "Good for him. You stay here. I'll heat something up for us."

"I can – "

"Lucas, for God's sake, stay there. It's not exactly a chore."

"There's canned soup in the pantry," he called after me, as I shut the door to keep the living room's heat in. The kitchen was still cold, but not the icy-frigid it had been when I came in. I put the milk away in the fridge.

There was soup in the pantry, but not much else. I put it on the stove to heat and then poked around curiously for as long as I could justify. There wasn't much to see. When the food was ready I poured it into bowls and returned to the welcome heat of the living room.

"Well," I said. "You're just about out of everything. I'll send the boy up with some food for you – he wants to see you anyway. You're in no condition to be wandering around in the snow."

"Snow?" Lucas asked, looking alarmed.

"Probably this evening. I doubt it'll be very much, but they don't exactly plow your road."

He ate a spoonful of soup, hissing when it burned his tongue.

"Tell him I'll pay commission," he said, when he'd swallowed.

"He'll like that, but you don't have to."

"I want to. I should pay you too – by the time you get back your whole day will be wasted."

"I don't think it's wasted. And even if it were, it's my choice," I said. "Besides, I got to see your workshop. All these masks – they don't make you nervous at all?"

He glanced around. "No. But I made them, so..." another shrug. "Do they scare you?"

"I wouldn't say scare, but I wouldn't sleep in here. There's just...a lot of them. They are beautiful, though," I added, picking up Dottore again and admiring the thin wire glasses and the high cheekbones.

"I don't suppose you want one," Lucas said. I looked over the edge of the mask at him.

"You're really determined to pay me, huh?" I said.

"I just think you should have something."

"Can I have this one?"

He looked at Dottore nervously.

"Wouldn't you rather have Arlecchino, though? I have some good ones..." he stood, still carrying his bowl in one hand, and reached up to a high shelf. The mask he took down had bulging cheeks and an intricate copper-and-white design, with a large knob on the left side of its forehead. "The clever clown," he said with a grin.

"If you'd rather not give me Dottore, that's all right..."

"No...I just thought you might prefer this one," he said hastily. He didn't seem to regret giving up the mask itself – there was no possessiveness in his gaze. It was more that he didn't want to give it to me. But, whatever mask fit Lucas best, I was no doubt destined for the educated fool.

"I'll wrap it for you," he added, taking a piece of cheap white muslin from the workbench and tucking it around the mask carefully, padding the eyes with little folds of the cloth before tying the corners into a thick knot in the concave hollow at the back. While he was working I sat down and began eating, so that when he was finished he could join me without too much discomfort.

There was plenty to look at, as we ate. Long flats of thin leather lay in a pile next to a pot on a complicated-looking hot plate. Nearby, a wooden upright had a wire structure built around it faintly resembling a face, and next to that were several dried lumps of clay that could be assembled into a nose, mouth, forehead, even ears if you squinted the right way. I caught myself glancing back at Lucas as he ate, studying the shape of his nose, the way the lamp cast little triangular shadows below his eyes.

When the wind began to howl in the eaves I realized that I should be heading homeward if I didn't want to become a house-guest for the night. He saw me to the door through the now-warm kitchen.

"I hope you feel better," I said, carefully shouldering the bag with the mask inside it. I put my boots on, the dried mud cracking off here and there and falling onto the mat.

"I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days," he answered. "I'll come to see you soon."

"Well, don't push yourself, get well first. If you start to feel worse, the Culligan farm's closest – head south where the asphalt starts, they'll drive you in to see Dr. Kirchner."

"Thanks, Christopher," he said, and gave me a smile before he closed the door behind me.

Outside it was still cold and the clouds were turning the light blue, making the wet earth look almost black beneath the grass. Snow began to fall while I was still walking, and by the time I reached the edge of the village I was dusted lightly with white flakes. Children were out and running around in it, scraping the thin layers of snow off the pavement and hurling it at each other. The boy was among them, in fact, and I waved him over to where I stood on the opposite side of the street, avoiding the snowball-fight.

"You come from The Pines?" he asked. "How is he?"

"He's been sick. I want you to take him some food tomorrow, when you go up for tutoring. He says he'll pay you."

His chest puffed out proudly. "I'll do it. You think the snow will stick?"

"At least for a day or two. Ask the grocer to fix up a package of food for the man at The Pines and put it on Christopher Dusk's account. Butter, eggs, some canned soup, bread, some vegetables. Tell Lucas he can send the payment back to Dusk Books with you, or settle next time he's in town. Matters of high finance, now. Are you certain you're up to it?"