Lor led her down a side lane she had never used, past a row of shuttered stalls and a wall covered in old posters, and out through a gap in a fence onto a patch of bare, packed earth about the size of a courtyard.
It was the vendors' dumping ground.
Broken crates leaned against the walls. A cracked barrel rolled slowly in the breeze.
There were bent tin pots, a tangle of old rope, a stack of rotten planks, a chair with three legs, and a heap of splintered cart wheels.
Nothing in the place was worth stealing, and nobody was there.
The air smelled of damp wood and old metal.
Lor walked to the middle, turned around, and looked at her.
"This should work," he said.
Nellie nodded. She was confused why they were here, but she trusted Lor.
His shoulders loosened. His head tilted back slightly. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped, and his eyes had lost focus, and he seemed to be looking at something far behind her.
"Nellie."
