The Dollmaker spoke to Brandt the following morning as they ate breakfast together at the café next to the shop. Most of the other tables were empty; no one but a German could afford to go to a café now. The poets and artists had long since put their pens and paper away out of self-preservation. Many of them had been arrested for the extraordinary things they made. The German occupation was crushing for anyone who tried to resist the invaders.

“You want to go into the ghetto?” asked Brandt when the Dollmaker had finished explaining the situation he and Karolina had invented. “It’s an unusual request, but I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult to allow you in.”

“I’d be extremely grateful,” the Dollmaker said. “I really do want that dollhouse back.”

Brandt chuckled. It was not a particularly nice laugh, and Karolina sank deeper into the Dollmaker’s pocket. “You take your craft much more seriously than I ever did. I admire your dedication.” He picked up the tiny silver spoon beside his teacup and dipped it into the sugar bowl.

Karolina thought the worst part about Brandt was how his desire to be near the Dollmaker and his magic made him look hungry. She feared that given enough time, the witch might become a fairy-tale witch and gobble up the Dollmaker. The amount of sugar Brandt was mixing into the Dollmaker’s tea made Karolina believe the German might well be fattening her friend up to do just that.

“Then you’ll help me?” asked the Dollmaker.

“Yes,” Brandt said. “I can arrange it. After all, we’re only talking about a dollhouse. I don’t mind doing you a favor. You and I…I believe we’re going to be good friends. It was practically destiny that we met each other.” He gave the Dollmaker’s upper arm a good-natured tap with his fist like a schoolboy. If Karolina hadn’t known about the corrosive black hatred that wove its way through each of Brandt’s thoughts and deeds, she would have felt guilty that the Dollmaker was deceiving him.

“Yes,” the Dollmaker said. “It does feel like fate, doesn’t it?”

The Dollmaker went for a walk every day after that, hoping to see Jozef among the workers laying the stones for the new road. On the fourth day, he was rewarded for his efforts. This time, he removed his hat and let the wind take it to Jozef.

“We’re coming for Rena,” the Dollmaker said as he took the hat back from his friend, who looked as gaunt and weary as an old man. “And if you can convince any of your friends to let me take their children out of the ghetto, bring them to your apartment on Thursday evening. I can help a dozen escape.”

Jozef nodded, the bob of his head almost imperceptible.

But the Dollmaker’s words made his eyes burn with hope, and for that, Karolina was glad.

Brandt arrived in a sleek black car on Thursday evening. It had been polished to a mirror gloss; he must have chosen it to impress the Dollmaker. Little did he know that no car, however well maintained, could alter the Dollmaker’s opinion of him.

“Thank you again for helping me. I appreciate it,” said the Dollmaker as Brandt drove through the city.

“I still wish you had let me or one of my men retrieve the dollhouse for you,” Brandt said. “It’s filthy in the ghetto. You shouldn’t have to see how these Jews live. It’s a disgrace.”

Karolina placed her hands on her narrow hips. She’d decided on a pink dress for love and for luck that day, but now she regretted not choosing a fiercer color. Who could be intimidating in a pink dress, of all things? “You shouldn’t blame them—they’re not the ones who wanted to leave their old homes and go live there,” Karolina said tersely.

The Dollmaker placed a hand on Karolina’s head. “Forgive Karolina—she doesn’t mean it. As for the dollhouse, I do need to speak to the carpenter in person,” he said to Brandt. “It’s been over a year since I commissioned it from him, and I don’t want to wait any longer for it.”

“You’re a wise man,” said Brandt. “Who knows how much longer there will even be Jews in Kraków?”

The car stopped in front of the ghetto’s awful tomb-shaped gates, and Brandt stepped out, followed by the Dollmaker.

The German guards barely glanced at the papers the Dollmaker gave them. As Brandt’s guest, there was no need to inspect him too closely.

Beyond the tombstone gates, the world seemed to dim. It was as if the sun itself had been ordered not to shine behind the ghetto walls.

A group of men and women roasting small, withered vegetables over an open flame drew away as Brandt and the Dollmaker passed, hiding their meager dinner behind their backs. Karolina remembered all too well what it was like to be afraid that what little she had would be ripped away from her. And she had seen many dolls wear the same expressions as these men and women as they’d struggled to live beneath the iron rule of the rats.

A cluster of children so thin they made Karolina think of the strings of Jozef’s violins sat on a nearby curb, their gazes blank and unfocused. Only a few of them had shoes; the others had tied rags around their feet to protect the soles from the rough cobblestones. When was the last time they had eaten a warm meal? When had they last had the strength to play or laugh?

Karolina mouthed a hello at a girl a little older than Rena, hoping to coax a smile from her. But the girl did not gasp in surprise or greet her; she only continued to stare at an unknown point in the distance, lost.

“The children look so hungry,” Karolina said. “Where are their parents?”

“Most of them are orphans,” Brandt said offhandedly as he continued to guide the Dollmaker through the streets. “We’ll be sending them away shortly. They’re a nuisance. The Jewish council constantly complains that there’s not enough food for them. But they’re always complaining about something. The cold, the water, the sanitation…They should feel lucky we let them stay in Kraków at all.”

The Dollmaker struggled not to let his distress over the state of the children show; he knew how avidly Brandt was watching him. But he was unable to hold his tongue entirely. “They’re only children,” he said. “What harm would there be in helping them?”

“They won’t be children forever,” said Brandt. “One day, they’ll be a threat to Germany, just like their parents were. They need to be dealt with. The Führer has a plan that will take care of the Jewish problem. The ghetto is already less crowded than it was.”

Brandt took a pad of paper from the pocket of his uniform and flipped it open, scanning the words he had scrawled there. “Trzmiel…Trzmiel…” He stopped in front of a building to the right, which leaned slightly to one side, as if the wind had forced it to bow to an invisible king. “Your Jewish carpenter lives on the third floor. Apartment Thirty-Two.”

Karolina groaned. The third floor? She hadn’t considered that the Dollmaker might have to carry the dollhouse. The last time he’d made a climb like that, times had been better—and he had been younger.

“Thank you,” the Dollmaker said.

“You have twenty minutes,” Brandt replied. “After then, you’ll have to leave. I’m doing this as a personal favor. But even you must follow the rules.”

The Dollmaker tensed. He and Karolina had known they wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the ghetto for very long, but how could Brandt give them only twenty minutes? “I think I need more time than that to speak to Mr. Trzmiel,” the Dollmaker said.

“Why?” said Brandt. “You’re going upstairs to get a dollhouse from this Jew, not to build one.” He smiled at his own joke, making Karolina loathe him all the more.

“I know, but—” said the Dollmaker.

Brandt held up a hand. “If you continue to argue with me, I’ll begin to think you aren’t grateful,” he said. “I can come upstairs to speed up the conversation if you prefer.” His fingers brushed against his pistol.

The Dollmaker closed his mouth. “My apologies,” he said. “I’m very grateful, and I don’t want to make trouble for you. I’ll see the man alone.”

The argument was at an end, and Brandt had won.

Karolina was afraid that twenty minutes was not enough time to accomplish a miracle. But it would have to do.

Her friend did not look back at Brandt as he walked inside the building and started up the stairs. As they climbed, the Dollmaker and Karolina passed a woman with night-dark eyes and rosy cheeks that were damp with tears. She did not look up as her shoulder brushed up against the Dollmaker’s, nor did she greet him. Her thoughts were elsewhere, perhaps lingering on whatever had made her cry in the first place.

As she watched the woman, Karolina thought that everything in the ghetto seemed to be forged from pain.

The Trzmiels, who had once lived in an airy, open apartment that always smelled of the flowers Rena brought home from the park, now shared a gloomy, cramped space with four other Jewish families. The main source of light was the single window overlooking the street; the other, which faced the city, had been bricked up. There were only two real beds and a few lumpy mattresses pushed up against the walls.

A number of children sat on the mattresses, all wearing the same strained and fearful expression. But two of them smiled at the Dollmaker as he nudged the door open: Rena and her friend Dawid.

“Mr. Brzezick! Karolina!” Rena sprang up and raced across the room—which did not take her long, for there was not much to cross. She had lost weight, and with it, the doll-like roundness of her face. She was much taller than she had been, too. When she hugged the Dollmaker, she came almost to his shoulders.

How long had it been since they had last seen Rena? Almost two years? It hurt Karolina to think about.

“Hello, Rena,” said the Dollmaker. “You’ve grown so big, haven’t you?” He swallowed, trying not to cry.

“I’m twelve now. Soon I’ll be as tall as Papa,” said Rena. “I’m so happy to see you!” She pulled Karolina out of the Dollmaker’s pocket and whispered as reverently as if she were sharing her deepest secret, “I missed you, Karolina.”

“I missed you too,” said Karolina. For all she loved the Dollmaker, he was still an adult. Being loved by a child like Rena was very different—and special.

“I couldn’t keep her at home,” said the Dollmaker, winking at Rena. “You know how she is.”

“Mysz is the same way. He hates when I leave him here!” She reached into the pocket of her worn dress and pulled out the mouse toy.

Mysz stood up on the spread of her palm and saluted the Dollmaker. The mouse finally looked the part of a warrior; he wore an earth-colored uniform whose brass buttons gleamed in the dull light and had a small leather scabbard hanging at his side. “Sir,” Mysz said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“You’re in a real army now?” asked Karolina as she looked over his uniform.

“Dawid gave the uniform to me. It used to belong to one of his toy soldiers,” explained Mysz. He pulled a slim silver sword from the scabbard and slashed at the air with it, sending his invisible enemies fleeing in all directions. “He duels with me too, so that I can practice.”

“The sword is really a sewing needle,” said Rena. “Dawid’s is a pencil. Sometimes we have to use it to sew, just like we have to borrow the pencil to write with. But Mysz has gotten good at sword fighting.”

Having heard the Dollmaker’s arrival, Jozef appeared in the doorway leading to one of the adjacent rooms. He looked less frail than the last time Karolina had seen him, as if hope had strengthened him for the occasion.

“Cyryl,” he said. This time, there was no handshake; he embraced the Dollmaker, thumping him on the back. “It’s so good to see you again,” he said. “How are you? How is Karolina?”

“Both of us are just fine,” said the Dollmaker. “I only wish I could stay longer.”

“How long do you have?” Jozef asked him.

“Twenty minutes,” the Dollmaker said. “Less by now.”

Jozef may have wished otherwise, but he must have known from the beginning how short the visit would be. “What do you need?”

“You still have Rena’s old dollhouse, don’t you?” asked Karolina.

It came as no surprise to her that Jozef asked, bewildered, “The dollhouse?”

“I have to leave with it. Please say you still have it,” said the Dollmaker.

“Yes, we’ve still got it. I thought about selling it, but no one has any money to buy it. We’ve been smuggling food in through the gaps in the ghetto wall just so we don’t starve.”

“Is that safe?” said Karolina.

“No,” Jozef said quietly. “But what else can we do? There’s no other way to survive.” Not wanting to frighten Rena with tales of his dangerous exploits, he quickly said, “I’ll get the dollhouse for you.”

That trust, Karolina thought, was more precious than any gold ring or fistful of jewels. Jozef was not just placing his own life in the Dollmaker’s hands, but Rena’s. And his beloved daughter was his most valuable treasure of all.

The children, who had been as timid as rabbits when the Dollmaker had first entered, now looked almost eager to know what his plan was. Jozef and their parents would have told them that they were leaving the ghetto, and all but the smallest child—a boy no more than two, with a mop of corkscrew curls—were no doubt aware of the dangers an escape posed.

“I remember you. You’re the toy maker from the main square, aren’t you?” a girl in a bold red cap said to the Dollmaker as Jozef retreated into the other room. Karolina flinched at the sight of the hat, thinking it made her a target for wolves. But it was the girl’s dark eyes that struck her. They resembled the eyes of the crying woman on the staircase, and suddenly, Karolina knew why the woman had been so upset. She was this girl’s mother, and she had left her daughter behind to find a new and safer home.

“I am,” the Dollmaker said.

“Mr. Trzmiel promised our parents you would take us somewhere safe,” Dawid said. He was cradling a girl Karolina thought must be his younger sister, and she felt proud of him for being so calm.

“I’m going to keep that promise,” the Dollmaker said. “But we need to move quickly if I’m to do that. First, I’m going to need to know your names.”

None of the children rushed to provide him with one. Revealing one’s name was dangerous for any Jewish child in Kraków; there was safety in silence. Karolina could sympathize, but she also knew how little time there was.

Dawid spoke up, saying, “I’m Dawid, and this is my sister, Danuta.” He picked the little girl up and rested her on his hip. She waved shyly, and then her thumb returned to her mouth. She sucked at it aggressively.

The girl who had recognized the Dollmaker came next, emboldened and encouraged by Dawid. “I’m Roza,” she said. “And this is my cousin Sara.” She nudged the blond girl, her hair plaited in two braids, beside her. Sara’s lip jutted out in what looked like a permanent pout, and she crossed her arms over her chest in silent refusal to say more.

One by one, the rest of the children told the Dollmaker their names, laying them at his feet like the treasures they were. There were Eliaaz and Aron, Michel and Rubin, Razka and Leja, Perla and Gilta. Last came Rena—but of course, she needed no introduction.

Jozef returned with the dollhouse in his arms just as the introductions were finishing up. He set it down on the floor and waited as the Dollmaker repeated the names of the children under his breath, again and again, until they sounded to Karolina like a poem.

Once he had memorized them, the Dollmaker rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and told the children, “You’re going to leave the ghetto in the dollhouse, and that means you are going to become very small and be very, very quiet.”

Jozef raised a brow at this. “How will you do that, Cyryl?”

“Magicians can do lots of things, including making people the right shape to fit inside a dollhouse,” Karolina said.

“I believe you,” said Jozef, bobbing his head in agreement.

Mysz leaped from Rena’s hands onto the floor. It was a jump he could never have made as an everyday mouse, but he had been much more fragile in those days. The little soldier drew his sword and passed it to Karolina. “I don’t want to scare them,” he said. “Please keep it for now, Lady Karolina.”

Karolina nodded and held on to it, keeping its sharp tip pointed downward.

“Line up and stay totally still, please,” Mysz said. He did not appear worried, and therefore, neither did the children; they followed his instructions swiftly and silently.

“You can do this,” Karolina said to the Dollmaker, once the children were lined up.

“I hope to God that I can,” the Dollmaker said, and closed his eyes.

Karolina tried not to think about how each second that crept by was a second that was lost to them forever. The Dollmaker had never attempted magic like this before, but couldn’t he hurry? Brandt could come charging up the stairs at any moment, and then what would happen to the children and Jozef?

“Please,” the Dollmaker said as light engulfed the children. “Please.” Was he asking his god to grant him power, or was he begging his own strength not to give out? Karolina thought he might be praying for both.

The light grew brighter and brighter until Karolina had to narrow her eyes. Did the children feel any different, glowing with the Dollmaker’s magic? They had to, but none of them dared to open their eyes.

As the light finally receded, Karolina saw that the thirteen figures standing in the center of the room were not children, but a set of little wooden dolls made of pine and yarn and cloth. Yet they looked remarkably like their human selves. The Dollmaker and his magic had captured the depth of Rena’s eyes perfectly, and not a single strand of Sara’s braids had come undone during her transformation.

“Huzzah!” Mysz cried. “You did it!”

Panting, the Dollmaker slumped against the door frame, trying to catch his breath. He dabbled at the sweat pouring from his brow with his sleeve, then crossed himself. “Thank God. Thank God it worked,” he whispered.

Jozef was at a complete loss for words. He stared first at his daughter, then at the Dollmaker. It was Rena herself who spoke up.

“Look, Papa!” she said, holding her arms out to the sides. “I’m like Karolina now.”

Jozef picked up his doll daughter, kissed Rena’s wooden cheek twelve times, and made twelve promises to find her. “Even if I’m so old that my bones are as brittle as chalk, I’ll find you. Even if there is an ocean between us, I will find you,” he told her.

The oaths he had sworn would be difficult to keep, but Rena showed no sign of disbelieving her father as she bade him farewell. If Jozef said he would come back for her, then he would fight to do just that.

As Rena and Jozef made their goodbyes, the Dollmaker picked up each of the other children and put them inside the dollhouse. Like Karolina, they were the perfect size for the little furniture, but it took them a moment to decide where to sit.

“Don’t pose,” Karolina advised them. “You’ll get awfully stiff if you do, and then you’ll end up moving.”

“Yes. I need you all to move as little as possible,” said the Dollmaker. “Our safety depends on it.”

Mysz climbed up into the house and sat down beside Aron, the littlest boy. He put his plush claw up against his stitched smile, then gently placed it over Aron’s mouth. The little boy nodded as Mysz withdrew his claw. Even he understood the need for silence.

Rena gave her father one final hug, then let him set her in the living room of the dollhouse. She sat between Roza and Sara, taking both their hands in her own. “You can’t make any noises, even if you’re scared,” she reminded them.

“I’m not afraid,” said Roza. Perhaps she was telling the truth, but Karolina noticed that she did not pull her hand away from Rena’s.

As the Dollmaker prepared to leave, Jozef held the door to the apartment open with his foot. His boot, like all of his clothing, had seen better days. “Let me help you down the stairs,” he said.

“I’ll manage,” the Dollmaker insisted. “I don’t want Brandt to see you.”

“If you try to do it by yourself, you’ll fall, and the dollhouse will break, and that will be the end of the plan,” said Karolina. She alone remained outside the dollhouse, poking out of the Dollmaker’s pocket and clutching Mysz’s sword against her chest.

The notion of failing Rena and the children made the Dollmaker relent. He allowed Jozef to take one side of the dollhouse, and he took the other. The two men carefully maneuvered it down the winding stairs, Karolina squirming inside the Dollmaker’s pocket. They must have been in Jozef’s apartment for more than a quarter of an hour, and Brandt was surely suspicious.

She was dismayed to find that she was correct. The witch captain met Jozef and the Dollmaker halfway down the stairs. “It’s been twenty-five minutes. I was about to go upstairs and see if you were having any problems, Herr Birkholz,” he said, pointing to a fine gold watch on his wrist.

Karolina was sorry to realize that she recognized that watch; it was the same one that Brandt had taken from the professor’s son so long ago.

Brandt’s blue eyes met Jozef’s dark ones over the dollhouse’s chimney, and there was no mistaking the mutual disgust that passed between them. Men like Brandt were the architects of Jozef’s many sorrows. And Brandt, in turn, falsely believed that Rena’s father and his people were the reason for Germany’s past suffering.

“I’m sorry that it took me so long,” the Dollmaker said, trying to dispel the tension. “My leg doesn’t do very well with stairs, I’m afraid.”

Brandt pocketed the watch. In a tone that indicated he had been greatly inconvenienced by the extra five minutes, he said, “Pity.” He jerked his head in Jozef’s direction. “Give the dollhouse to Herr Birkholz and get out of here. Now!”

“Yes, Hauptsturmführer,” said Jozef.

Karolina felt a swell of anger rise up in her chest. How could Jozef stand to behave as if the witch captain was better than he?

Karolina realized, however, that a loving father would do anything for his daughter’s sake.

Gingerly, Jozef adjusted the dollhouse so that it rested in the Dollmaker’s arms alone. Thirteen children and the tiny mouse inside held their breath.

Once his hands were free, Jozef stepped back and saluted Brandt, as he was required to do. He stared at the dollhouse for a moment longer, then turned and marched back up the stairs.

Karolina wondered when Jozef would be able to see his daughter again…or if he ever would. She did her best to cast the thought away.

But despite her efforts, it lurked in the back of her mind like the spider Brandt had made.

“I’ve seen toy animals in your shop that look a little like the mouse, but the clothes the dolls are wearing are shabby compared to your usual work,” Brandt commented as he and the Dollmaker walked back through the ghetto. He reached inside the dollhouse and fingered the corner of Sara’s dress as he made this accusation.

“These are old dolls,” the Dollmaker said quickly. “Karolina will help me make them new clothing. I can’t really do the stitching anymore—my hands are too stiff.”

“She seems like a great help to you,” Brandt said, though he did not take his eyes from the doll children. What if one of them blinked?

“I am,” Karolina said, hoping to distract him.

Brandt grunted in acknowledgment and shoved Sara away. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to drive you back to the shop. I’ve been called away,” he said to the Dollmaker.

“It’s quite all right,” said the Dollmaker. Karolina hoped that his relief did not seem too obvious to the witch captain. “I can take the tram. Thank you for your help today.”

“You’re welcome,” said Brandt. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other. I would love to take a closer look at the house.” He tipped down the bill of his cap, giving the Dollmaker and Karolina a clear view of the silver skull pin, and the Dollmaker smiled. Careful not to jostle the dollhouse too much, the Dollmaker turned in the direction of the main square. But before he could stray too far, Brandt reached out…and plucked Karolina from his pocket.

She tried to cry out, but Brandt’s thumb settled over her mouth before she could, and Karolina was forced to watch as the Dollmaker walked farther and farther away from her. The top of the dollhouse bobbed up and down like a white cork in the crowd of people returning to their homes after a long day of work.

“You,” Brandt said to Karolina as the Dollmaker finally vanished from sight, “are coming with me.”