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will be far more difficult if he is frightened,” says a deep voice Modesto does not recognize, and these words are followed by a confusion of scuffling and more panicked protestations from his mother. The door to the street is opened—a blurt of sound from outside—and then closed.
    Sofia and Giulia are awake now, and the three children listen silently to what is happening below them. Male voices rumble indistinctly. Giulia holds Modesto’s hand. Her grip tightens as the chamber door opens. Their father stands in silhouette and says, “Modesto, get up and put some clothes on. You are needed downstairs—some people have come especially to see you.” His voice is stiff and sounds unfamiliar.
    Fear congeals in Modesto’s throat as he dresses and follows his father; the cold lump of it swells when he sees three unknown men in long black clothes in the room at the bottom of the stairs. They all turn toward him expectantly, but they do not smile when they see him.
    â€œIs this the boy, Giuseppe?”
    Modesto sees his father nod.
    â€œHow old?”
    â€œTen, Father.” One of the men crouches stiffly and speaks to Modesto in a strange accent he does not recognize. “We have been told what a beautiful voice you have, boy. Do you like singing?”
    Modesto nods.
    â€œYours is the voice of an angel, they tell me. Now, would it not be a shame to lose that divine gift? In a few years’ time, your voice will change, will it not? If God has given you a voice like this, should you not do everything you can to make sure you take care of it? It would be a sin to risk its disappearance as you grow up…”
    Modesto nods.
    â€œWe can help you to make sure that you keep your beautiful voice all your life. What we must do is not difficult, and it will not take long. Come now.” And the man takes Modesto’s hand. He holds it too tightly, and Modesto wriggles his fingers to try to free them, but the man is too strong; when the man and his two companions leave the house, Modesto has no choice but to go with them.
    ***
    Modesto shivered and pulled the covers up and over himself, tucking them in snugly around his neck with one hand. Pulling his knees up toward his chest, he pushed his other hand down between his legs and held his empty scrotum protectively. The unwanted pictures poured in as though a dam had ruptured, and he pressed his head against the pillow, clamped his thighs around his wrist, and let out a soft noise of distress.
    ***
    There is a huge tub in front of the fire. Made of wood, in slats like a barrel, it has a sheet draped over it, and it seems to be almost filled with water. A woman is turning from the fire with a steaming jug in her sacking-wrapped hands. She adds the water to the tub, puts down the jug, and leaves the room, staring at Modesto as she goes. He does not like the expression on her face.
    â€œSit down, child,” says one of the men in black clothes.
    Modesto sees a chair near the tub of water. He sits on it.
    â€œHere,” says one of the tall men. “Drink this.” He holds out a glass to Modesto, who stares up at him and does not move. “Come on, child, drink it.”
    Modesto shakes his head.
    â€œIt is part of our plan to help keep your marvelous voice safe for you.”
    Another shake of the head.
    â€œI am not offering you a choice, boy—drink it.” The voice is suddenly sharper and more urgent, and Modesto is very frightened. The man pushes the glass into the hands of one of the others, takes Modesto by the wrist, and pulls him to his feet. In one swift movement, he pulls Modesto in toward him so he is standing with his back pressed against the stranger; the man’s arm is holding him in tightly, wrist still held firm. With his other hand, he holds Modesto’s hair and pulls it backward, turning his face up. Modesto sees someone else’s fist holding the glass up in front of him, tilting it toward