My boots had been repaired, I saw, and cleaned, and there were new underthings draped on a rack in front of the fire so that they warmed my skin when I pulled them on.
I had never known such luxury. My old clothes were folded in a length of fabric beneath the new ones, I found to my relief. I didn’t want to lose them entirely.
When I had dressed, I smoothed my hands over the skirt, and felt it firm and soft beneath my fingers, the nap of the cloth springing back like new grass. I had never been so comfortable. I thought about what Cornelius had said about not wishing for velvet gowns. I suppose something—or someone—thought I really did need them.
I leaned over the edge of the bathtub to see my reflection in the water. The new clothes fit like the best tailor in the city had stitched them directly onto my body. The movement of the water blurred my face a little, and I almost didn’t recognize myself. I had a brief moment of vanity before I remembered I wasn’t a fancy lady, but a solidly built butcher’s daughter who had no business preening in front of her reflection.
“Is he doing this?” I asked, trying to tamp down the unreasonable flush of warmth and affection in my belly at the thought of the sorcerer caring for me.
The cat snorted. “No. At least, not in the way you mean.”
“How, then?”
“It’s complicated,” said Cornelius. “I’m still just a cat, whatever you and the House have done to me, and I don’t fully understand it myself.”
“Try to explain.”
“Well, him and the House are the same thing, but aren’t, if you follow me, as far as I can tell. We’re pretty good at seeing things that people don’t see, we cats, and I can see both all tangled up together. Like the House just grew up around him. They have the same scent, so to speak. So his magic might be the root of everything the House does, but it doesn’t mean the House consults him about all of its doings.”
“That is complicated,” I agreed.
“Told you.”
“Well, do you think I’ll be able to untangle it all somehow? Make sense of it?”
“Frankly, no,” said the cat.
“And does he have a name, this sorcerer?”
“He does,” Cornelius said, “but I can’t recall it right now. I don’t hear it that often, you see.”
“I see. And how does he normally arrange things for himself? Food and such, when there’s no one else here?”
“It arranges itself for him, I think. He’s in that big room most of the time, and sometimes he isn’t here at all, and it all seems to shake down well enough, no matter where he is.”
“Does he sleep here? Does he have a bedchamber?” I hated my blush.
“If he does, I haven’t seen it. I’ve never even seen him sleep.”
“And where do you sleep?”
“There’s usually somewhere. There are a few places I go back to, and they seem to have stayed hollowed out for me in the right shape, but the House doesn’t mind me trying somewhere new if I’m in the mood.”
“And the commode?” I asked, uncomfortably aware that I was going to need one before long.
Cornelius blinked.
“The loo. The toilet. Where you do your business.”
“Oh, I have a spot. It seems to clean itself up. It’s always clean when I go back there, at least.”
“That’s very accommodating. And for humans? Where does he go?”
“I don’t know,” said the cat. “I’ve never seen him use one. Maybe he doesn’t have to. But I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure one’ll show up when you need it.”
There were no needs more pressing than that particular need, certainly, if that was the way the House arranged itself.
I busied myself in the kitchen, trying to ignore the black stuff all around me—it still made me feel unsettled to be surrounded by solid magic, instead of wood or good, ordinary bricks—and settled to the tasks I knew: peeling potatoes, chopping up vegetables, and setting two pork chops in the oven to cook while I boiled water on the stovetop. Cornelius watched me.
