Free A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge

still there listening. She was in a hell of self-hate, and barely heard the whispers from the cart.
    ‘No,’ Zouelle was hissing, ‘ listen to me. This fits. This fits. This girl wants to go and find Madame Appeline. We want somebody to present the Wine to her. So you help smuggle her in, by stealing her an invitation or something, and she helps us out. Stop whimpering, now. Put on a clean Face. I’m going to talk to her.’
    Neverfell only started paying attention again when she heard the crackle of gravel underfoot. She looked up and found that Zouelle was walking towards her, carefully, as if afraid of startling a
wild animal. The blonde girl was wearing her amused smile, her eyes twinkling and expectant.
    ‘It’s all right,’ she said, in much the same tone Neverfell had used on the rabbit. ‘It’s all going to be all right. We’re going to help you.’
    Neverfell looked up into her smiling face and thought that she looked like an angel.

 

The Imposter
    After all the blows and upheavals of the day, Neverfell was very glad to have found somebody who could make a plan for her. She was even happier to have somebody to understand
the plan for her, since try as she might she could not follow the musical fluting of Zouelle’s explanation. There was something to do with an audition, and a misunderstanding, and something
that had happened to the two girls the day before, but it was explained so rapidly that the details slipped sand-like through the clutches of her dazzled brain.
    ‘Do you understand?’ the older girl asked again, yet more slowly and patiently. Once more Neverfell answered by moving her head in a joggle that started in a nod and ended in a
shake.
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said the older girl in the kindest voice in the world. ‘Just remember the bits you have to do, and it’ll all be fine.’ She gave a brief
but significant glance at her portlier companion before returning her gaze to Neverfell. ‘So . . . we’re going to put you in a new dress. All right? Can you take off that
mask?’
    Neverfell responded with a muffled screech, and a panic-stricken clutch at her mask to hold it to her face. If these girls saw how hideous she was, they would flee again, and she would be back
where she started.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Zouelle cooed soothingly. ‘That’s fine . . . leave it on. Are you burnt or something under there? It doesn’t matter – you don’t
have to tell me. If anybody asks you why you’re wearing it, just say that you’re protecting your complexion. Now, you will be going up to Madame Appeline’s door, and when somebody
answers you say that you’ve been sent by the Beaumoreau Academy, and you’re there to audition as a Putty Girl. Can you remember that?’
    Neverfell nodded.
    ‘That’s really good.’ A beautiful smile. ‘That should get you inside Madame Appeline’s domain. Now, you see this?’ A little cut-glass bottle full of
seething purple liquid was waved in front of her face for the tenth time. ‘Do you remember what you do with this?’
    ‘I . . . give it to the servants?’
    ‘That’s right. You tell them that it’s a gift for Madame Appeline, to thank her for the audition. That’s all we need you to do. After that, if you want, you can slip away
from the other girls attending the audition, and find your way to the storerooms or wherever she keeps her new deliveries, and take back your cheese. It’s not stealing after all, is
it?’
    ‘Shouldn’t I just talk to Madame Appeline?’ This was the part of the plan that Neverfell was less comfortable about. ‘She had a nice Face—’
    ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Zouelle said gently. ‘If you do, the plan won’t work. She won’t give you back your cheese, Neverfell. Why would she? It’s useful
to her. And if she knows you’re not a real candidate she won’t drink the Wine.’
    Neverfell gazed down at the little bottle. ‘It won’t do anything bad to her?’
    ‘Oh no, of course not!’