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“You think she’s lying about who she is?” I asked.

“How can I? She’s hardly told us enough to lie.”

“She’s not a liar. She’s scared. Whoever hurt her might even be looking for her.” I stepped closer and whispered, “She’s kept your secret, hasn’t she?”

Alma sighed. “Yes. You’re right. She does seem like a decent sort of person. It’s just… I find it all so odd.”

“I do as well, but she needs our help, not our judgement.”

Alma’s face softened. “You’re a good person, Selma. You always were. I know that better than anyone. Helena does too.”

My uncle strolled in from the workshop. His face was in a book, and he almost crashed into the corner of the counter. The book had a marbled blue cover, and I recognized it as one of what he called his “archive books.” In there he drew sketches of the objects he bought and sold, noted down details such as price, origin, and material.

When he saw me, the smile that reminded me so much of my father spread across his face. “Selma, good morning. I was just going to come see you.”

“What for?”

“Remember the symbols on the doll you asked about? I think I’ve found something similar.” He put down the book and tapped the page. “I sold it ten years ago, but there’s a certain likeness, isn’t there?”

I moved closer and studied the sketch. It showed what looked to be a wooden box, beautifully carved but unlike anything I had seen before. Not an inch of the wood remained flat. Instead, it was covered with carved symbols. Next to it, he had drawn some of these symbols in detail. They did look quite a lot like the etchings on the doll.

While his drawing skills were very good, his writing was worse than crow’s feet, and I squinted at the notes. “Where did you buy it?”

“Falun, but the seller insisted it was from further north. Up in the mountains.”

Falun was the biggest city in Koppabergs Län to the north and one my uncle went to frequently on business.

“Did he tell you what they were, these symbols?”

“He called them dalruner as far as I recall.”

“That makes sense,” Alma said. “If it’s from Dalarna.”

“But what do they mean?” I asked.

My uncle shook his head. “That he didn’t know.”

“Probably the doll is from Dalarna then,” Alma said. “It would make sense. The region is known for its skilled artisans.”

I felt how a frown settled on my face. The Dalarna carpenters and woodcraftsmen were skilled. It was just that the doll was nothing like their usual wares. Neither was the chest in my uncle’s book.

“You don’t think so?” Alma asked because she could read me as well as I could read her.

“I’ve never seen a doll like mine from Dalarna. And how did it end up in Stockholm?”

“Same way as anything we sell ends up anywhere—by trade.”

The doll was indeed beautiful. For someone to try to sell it to some aristocrat’s daughter made sense.

“Do you remember,” I said, “the necklace you gave me for my confirmation? The amber heart?” They both nodded. “It has the same symbols carved in the surface.”

My uncle’s face lit up like lights on a Christmas tree. “You’re right. I do remember now.”

“Amber’s from the coast,” I said. “From the ocean. Dalarna is landlocked.”

Alma placed a finger across her lips. “I’ve never seen amber objects from Dalarna. They’re quite rare, especially shaped ones.”

“Where did you get the heart?” I asked my uncle.