Page 23 - The Grotesque Children's Book

“Sold, yes, as soon as I opened the store yesterday morning. To the
Mayor. And he won't be sharing, you know he won't. He'll have burnt it all
now, without having made fire.”

Amelia didn't want to cry. That would not help. “If I just had one
chance. To talk to Fire. What am I going to do?”

Signore Vendiri fingered the pocket of his apron. He frowned, unsure.
“Listen, Amelia. I have one square left of my own charcloth. I was going to
save it until...until...well, I suppose until the very end, after I had given up all
hope, and use it to light a candle in the church just before I go. But, oh my
dear, my candlesticks aren't lighting, my oil lamps aren't lighting...so there's no
reason to expect that the church votive would light, now is there? So, oh dear,
it seems I have given up all hope. I'll -- I'll -- here, you take the last square of
charcloth, Amelia.” He pulled a single square of cloth out of the apron pocket
and held it out to her. A tiny square, about the size of your thumbnail.

“Thank you, Signore Vendiri,” she said, taking the square. “Here are my
three denari.”

“No, no, you keep those. For three denari you could buy five boxes of
charcloth. No, one single square doesn't have any value.”

“It seems to me that this one single square might be the most valuable
thing in all of Italy, Signore. Have my three denari.” But again the kind
merchant refused her denari, and shuffled her out the door and on her way.

It had been her intention to run straight home to Father, but as she
passed by the church, she heard what sounded like crying. Like the crying of a
little boy. A little girl? It was coming from around the back of the church.
Rather than keep on the path to home, Amelia, frozen though she was, thought
“I must help her!” and scurried behind the church.

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