Morning sunlight filtered into Merlin's attic room, highlighting tiny motes of dust dancing in the warm glow. He lay half-awake in his narrow bed, aware of Cinder curled up beside him, purring softly. The kitten's warmth and gentle breathing reminded him how quickly life had changed in subtle, comforting ways. Only yesterday he had ventured out for clothes and unexpectedly adopted this small, furry companion. Now, Cinder's presence made the room feel a bit less solitary.
He rose quietly, careful not to disturb the kitten. Dressing in one of his new shirts—a cream linen that felt softer than his old garments—he examined himself in the mirror. The improved fit, along with his new vest, gave him a slightly more polished appearance. Perhaps the guests would notice, perhaps not. But he felt more confident, and in this world, small comforts mattered.
He gently lifted Cinder and set the kitten on the bed, scratching behind its tufted ears. "I'll bring you something to eat," he whispered. Cinder blinked sleepily, then began grooming one paw.
Downstairs, the boarding house hummed with gentle activity. Annabelle had returned from her sister's visit, looking refreshed, and Bertha had returned from her flour run full of energy. Mistress Halewick stood by the parlor window, scanning the street for a promised delivery of fresh linens. Betram rummaged in a chest of tools, muttering about a squeaky hinge he intended to fix today. The air smelled faintly of honeyed pastries cooling in the kitchen.
Merlin found Bertha pulling a tray of scones from the oven. "Morning," she said, voice warm. "Hear you've got a cat now. Good. Might keep any mice from nibbling at our grain sacks." She winked, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Bring it a bit of leftover roast scraps after lunch. Cats love that."
Merlin nodded, grateful. He fetched a small saucer of milk from the pantry—just a little treat—and carried it back upstairs. On the way, he passed Annabelle, who paused, curious. "For the kitten, I assume?"
He smiled. "Yes, Cinder, I've named it. Cute little thing. Very calm."
Annabelle's eyes lit up. "Cinder—lovely name. Maybe I can visit later and see it?" Merlin agreed easily, and Annabelle continued on her way, humming softly.
In his attic room, he set the saucer on the floor. Cinder hopped down from the bed and approached, sniffing. After a tentative lick, the kitten lapped eagerly at the milk. Merlin watched, remembering his old life's conveniences—ready-made cat food, grocery stores at every corner. Here, feeding a kitten meant making do with what was at hand. Strangely, he found this more personal and satisfying.
With Cinder taken care of, Merlin returned downstairs. Wintrell, dressed in a crisp vest and trousers, stood near the door scanning a slim journal. The scholar's brows rose at Merlin's improved attire and the faint hint of satisfaction in Merlin's posture. "New clothes suit you," Wintrell remarked. "You look more the part of a proper attendant."
Merlin offered a small bow. "Thank you, Master Wintrell. Just making sure I present myself well."
Wintrell nodded thoughtfully. "This morning, I'll need you to pick up a parcel from the scribe's hostel at midday. A contact has left me a sealed envelope—small, but potentially useful." He paused, lowering his voice. "Be discreet and don't linger if you see anyone watching. We've attracted enough interest."
"Understood," Merlin said. Another errand, another chance to observe the city's subtle tensions. He wondered if this envelope might hint at the strange references he'd overheard: Lexicon fragments, runes, secrets he still didn't fully grasp. He kept his face neutral, masking any curiosity.
As midday approached, the household's daily rhythm unfolded gracefully. Betram spent the morning oiling door hinges and adjusting a few loose boards. Annabelle polished the dining table, humming a lullaby-like tune while occasionally glancing at the staircase—eager, no doubt, to see the kitten. Bertha prepared a simple lunch: vegetable soup, fresh bread, and a wedge of cheese. Mistress Halewick oversaw it all, maintaining a calm but firm presence that assured the guests of quality service.
After serving lunch to the guests, Merlin slipped upstairs to check on Cinder again. The kitten dozed on his pillow, tail curled around its tiny body. Merlin crouched by the bed. "I'll be out for a bit," he murmured, as if the cat might understand. He scratched gently behind its ear. Cinder gave a sleepy blink, yawned, and settled back into rest.
Outside, the day was mild. Merlin headed toward the scribe's hostel near the library district. Horse-drawn carriages and mechanical vehicles shared the roads, and he navigated between them with practiced ease. He passed a corner where a performer strummed a stringed instrument softly, drawing a small audience. A pair of scribes discussed something animatedly in low tones, and a city watch patrol strolled by, exchanging nods with passersby.
At the hostel—a sturdy building of plaster and wood—a clerk in ink-stained sleeves handed Merlin a small, flat parcel, sealed with black wax. "No questions," the clerk said softly, eyes darting down the hall. Merlin merely nodded, slipping the parcel into his vest's inner pocket. He thanked the clerk and left quickly, aware of a slight tension in the air. Was he being watched? He felt no eyes on him, but the city's hush seemed a fraction heavier.
Returning to the boarding house, he found Mistress Halewick in discussion with a traveling merchant guest, finalizing room rates and payment. Davren, the merchant who had arrived some days ago, seemed pleased with the boarding house's service. Merlin passed by quietly. In the parlor, Annabelle dusted a shelf of decorative plates. She glanced over, tilting her head in silent invitation. Merlin understood at once and motioned for her to follow him upstairs.
In his attic room, he opened the door gently. Cinder raised its head, ears perked. Annabelle stepped in, soft footsteps muffled by the rug, and crouched down with a delighted smile. "Oh, just look at you," she cooed, extending a careful hand. Cinder sniffed, then leaned into her touch. Annabelle's laughter was quiet, heartfelt. "This cat is a real treasure, Merlin. Good choice."
Merlin felt a small warmth in his chest at her approval. "I'm glad you like Cinder. I think we all could use a friendly presence around here."
She nodded. "So much tension in the city lately. Rumors, strange sightings… a gentle creature is a blessing." She rose, adjusting her apron. "I must finish downstairs, but thank you for showing me."
After she left, Merlin sat on the bed, the parcel pressing lightly against his side. Soon he would deliver it to Wintrell. He wondered what it might contain—a clue to Wintrell's research, a map, a coded note. The city was a puzzle, each piece fitting into place slowly. He was content to let it unfold, step by step.
That evening, after performing his usual tasks and helping Bertha tidy the kitchen, Merlin fetched a small bowl of roast scraps and carried them upstairs. He set them down beside Cinder, who approached eagerly, tail upright and flicking happily. While the kitten ate, Merlin changed into his newer vest and jacket, admiring the fit one more time. He felt more at home here than ever before—an assistant, a guardian of a small life, a watcher of subtle mysteries.
Outside, lamplights flickered on. Betram's footsteps passed in the hall, going to check that all doors were secured. Annabelle's hum drifted faintly from below. Mistress Halewick spoke quietly with a guest, ensuring their comfort. Wintrell waited in his room, no doubt anticipating the parcel's arrival. Merlin would give it to him soon. First, a quiet moment with Cinder, stroking soft fur and listening to the cat's purr resonate gently through the attic's dim calm.
The world beyond was complicated, layered with secrets and shifting alliances. But here, in the boarding house, a gentle balance held. Merlin would navigate both worlds—servant and observer, caretaker and curious mind—and do so with steady patience.