A crash of thunder echoed in Silas' small office. The slight, sable-furred cat looked up from his book to see people scurrying away from the evening storm, women in their bustles and petticoats, men in their tweed vests and slacks. Hardly any of them had an umbrella, which Silas found amusing. He had a special distaste for true mortal suffering, but momentary discomfort was a luxury of the living, and was to be savored as much as any home-cooked meal or quiet discussion with friends. And how long had it been since he'd been able to enjoy those?
Not that agents of Death needed to eat, strictly speaking. He was eternal now, having passed during the Renaissance several hundred years ago, along with his sister, Bridget. They had both eagerly accepted the opportunity of being given a chance at eternity on Earth in exchange for their services. Most mortals thought of Death as a singular being, with the great scythe and the cloak and the skeleton. Of course, the truth was more complex. Silas was one of thousands of Collectors, the beings who harvested souls after death and ushered them to the afterlife. Unfortunately for him, he was a collector in charge of the violent deaths of innocents, which meant that while he didn't get a lot of work, his souls weren't usually too eager to stick around and share their time with Silas. Rather, they were usually either vengeful, which wasn't in his purview, or they were distraught, needing comfort before immediately moving on.
Tonight was boring. Most nights were when you'd been around for hundreds of years. Although mortals were doing some rather interesting things with the theater, Silas thought; perhaps he'd go see something. Casting his eyes around his office, he sighed. He really ought to get some furniture in here, or at least a rug. The newly constructed building matched the rest of the little Victorian row houses, all red brick with white windows and chimneys all in neat little rows. The streetlamps were those new electric ones, but although his home had electric lights as well, Silas preferred the old oil lamps that flickered and danced their light across the room. His office was dusty, little motes drifting around the chimney of the lamp that sat on his similarly outdated Georgian mahogany writing desk. He sat up in his chair, noticing the parquet floor desperately needed sweeping and mopping. But that meant he either needed to do housework, or hire a maid. Since he didn't enjoy cleaning, or company, he supposed the cobwebs would just keep piling up, and that suited him just fine. It's not like people liked him anyway, and he didn't fraternize with the mortals how other Collectors did. Attachments meant inevitable loss and grief. Who had the time for that? Not Silas, he was certain.
The bell on his front door jingled as someone stepped into his house. "Excuse me? Delivery for Silas Ambrose?" a bright, youthful voice called out.
With a grunt, Silas levered himself up out of his aged wooden desk chair and collected his straight, silver-handled cane. He exited his office on the first floor, padding silently to the entryway to see a young grey mouse, dripping wet, barefoot, and in rags. She shifted uncomfortably on the dusty floor, and when Silas cleared his throat, she jumped, then flinched back at his imposing figure. "Oh, m'sorry, sir! Would you be Mr. Silas Ambrose? Collector, Second Class?"
"Yes," the dark feline rasped. When the mouse blinked expectantly, Silas sighed, and hoarsely added, "And you?"
"Yes, sir! I'm Charity Dunkirk, sir! Just joined the messenger division!" The little mouse beamed up at him.
Silas' heart ached. The messengers delivered their collection orders, and like all the Collectors, every single one of them had died before their time. Such unfortunates served the collectors, if willing, in capacities ranging from being a collector's personal servant to working directly for the organization. Since they could live forever, they sometimes even achieved the position of Collector, although this hadn't occurred in hundreds of years. This poor waif couldn't be over twelve, and the feline wondered what tragedy had befallen her. "I'm sorry, child." Silas' voice came out thick and choked, even more than his usual rough rasp.
"You're sorry? What did you do?"
"Nothing. Nevermind. Why are you here?"
"Oh! Yeah! Here you are, sir!" Charity handed him a white envelope sealed with green wax.
Turning it over, he immediately recognized the seal; a hawk's head with two crossed arrows underneath it. This was a collection order. A sigh escaped his lips. He hated this part. Collection orders meant a murder, and either a furious or distraught soul to collect. Sometimes both. He cracked the seal and scanned the contents of the letter idly. "Thank you, child." Silas addressed the mouse. "You may go."
Charity looked saddened. "I... was told to talk to you a while, too?"
"By who?" the feline asked, eyes narrowing.
"L-Lady Ambrose, sir."
Silas relaxed, rolling his eyes. "Tell my sister not to meddle. You may go."
The mouse nodded. "Very well, sir - "
"Silas. Just Silas." The feline pinched the bridge of his nose delicately. "I dislike talking. It hurts. Please leave."
"Sorry, Silas! I'll let you be." Charity made to move towards the door, but the feline put a paw on her shoulder.
"Wait. It's raining. Stay till it passes - " Silas dissolved into a coughing fit, wincing. When he straightened, he rubbed at his throat, covered by a high-necked white shirt. "Ah, but stay. There's a fire in my office. Please"
"Oh, I couldn't! It's just a little water - "
Silas raised a paw to silence the child, then tapped his cane on the floor. A white four-pointed star appeared on his forehead, and motes of white light swirled around the cane, flowing down from the silver handle to the floor and then traveling up the cat's legs, torso, and finally illuminating his face, giving him a gaunt, haunted look. When he spoke again, his voice was still rough, but resonant and warm. "Child, how many nights did you spend warm by the fire when you were alive? Or even, since you joined our service?"
"I, uh, don't remember, sir - Silas!" Charity blinked at his transformation, jaw dropping. The corner of Silas' mouth twitched up; his transformation to Collector was flashier than most, and he preened under the attention.
"Child - no, Charity. You were deprived of that which makes life worthwhile. Comfort is a privilege of the living, and you have been denied that. Go, sit by my fire. Have a biscuit. I even have some tea, though it may be cool now... entertain yourself. It would make me quite happy if you enjoyed yourself tonight, even a little." His throat ached, but the cat gave a warm smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners. People were, on the whole, something he could take or leave, but he'd always had a soft spot for children.
Charity smiled shyly and gave him a sidelong glance. "You're not anything like what Lady Ambrose said you were, you know."
"And what does my sister think of me, I wonder," he said dryly. Without waiting for an answer, he drew on a wool cape and fished an umbrella out of a stand by the door. "I need to go; if you leave before I return, lock the door. You can return this later." He handed Charity a key, nodded briskly, then swirled his cape as he turned to leave. He smirked under Charity's awestruck gaze, hoping he wasn't laying it on too thick. Stepping out into the dim light of a blue-grey dusk, he forged his way through the rain.
...
Harvey Fairfax clasped his sister, Evelyn, around her shoulders, keeping her drawn to him as rain poured down on the pair. The labradors had just gotten dinner from a local church; one of the gentry had sent a warm pot of soup as charity, and the sermon they had to sit through had almost been worth it. Whatever lord or lady sent it had used a bit of lamb, and the morsels of meat were a rare delicacy. Now, the brother and sister were sharing Harvey's cape as they wound their way through London's cobblestone back alleys, back to the small room they shared. Electric streetlamps lit the major roads, but the vacated path Harvey had to take was dark, entirely unlit by anything except dim and rapidly fading sunlight.
Evelyn shivered in the chill rain, the warmth of the soup and the church's fire long gone. "Harvey, how close are we to home? I'm soaked through!"
"Almost there, Evie. I'm sorry, we'll get you a cape as soon as I get a new job. I - "
A clacking noise, followed by the sound of guttural laughter behind him, caused Harvey to stop short. He and Evie stilled, and he drew his sister tighter to him as an instinctive growl rose in his throat. He looked around, seeing nothing out of place, but the sheets of rain pouring down made visibility poor. He was a laborer, working down on the docks, and he could defend himself. But protecting Evie while he did so was something he really didn't want to be forced to do. Another clack of something hard on cobblestone, and he cried out, "We don't have any money! Please, we're just trying to get home!"
He turned to hurry down the alley, but a strange - was it a word? It didn't sound like English, or French, or any of the other languages he heard at the docks - a strange word sounded, and it was like his feet lead weights, rendering him unable to move. He pushed at his sister, panic rising. "Evie, run! Something's wrong, I - "
The breath was driven out of him as a sharp pain bloomed on his left side, right between his ribs. Harvey made a huffing sound as he fell to his knees. "Evie... r-run..." he choked, collapsing to the ground. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness, over the sound of the rain, was his sister's scream.
...
Silas hurried along the streets, expertly navigating the labyrinthian mess of alleys and roads. He predated Victorian London, of course, so he'd long since memorized the layout of the city. At least he didn't have to take a carriage this time; this collection was close, only a few blocks from his home. "Convenient," he muttered, dodging a drunk stoat that nearly stumbled into him. Just as well, too; this one was a double collection. Harvey and Evelyn Fairfax, nineteen and seventeen, respectively. No living relatives, and Harvey hauled freight down at the docks, according to the briefing he'd scanned. Nobody to miss them, apparently. Silas' face fell into a sour frown as a twinge of discomfort flitted through him. Nobody to miss you, and so young, he thought. How terribly tragic.
The feline ducked down a darkened alleyway, and his eyes, sharpened by his Collector powers, highlighted two bodies laying on the ground at the end of the alley. After confirming that nobody else was around, he strode up to the pair. Labradors, he confirmed. Quite winsome ones, too, or at least they had been. Silas thought that such beauty, taken before its time, was a tragedy. In the girl's case, before she'd even found a husband. He tapped his cane against the girl's forehead, and a glowing, pale blue mist spilled from her ears, snout, and muzzle. It coalesced into a facsimile of the girl's physical form, and she looked around frantically. Silas made a soothing motion with his hands. "It's all right, Evelyn. There's no more pain. You're safe with me, now. Listen to me - "
Well, that line never worked. Why did he even try? Evelyn's shade screamed, "There's no time! Save him! You've got to save him!"
"Save who? Your brother? Evelyn, I'm sorry, but he's dead. Just like you. There's nothing I can do except help you find peace."
"Not true! He's alive! Save him! Save him!"
Silas let out a gusty sigh. "Your perception is clouded, my dear. He's quite dead by now; I'll prove it to you." The dark-furred cat took his cane and tapped it on Harvey's forehead.
Nothing happened.
Puzzled, Silas tapped again, harder this time, and Dog twitched, letting out a choked moan. The feline jumped, stumbling back, tripping over his cape and landing squarely on his rump. Pain shot through him - Pain! Why am I in pain? I don't feel pain! - and he scrambled back to his feet, the rain coming down in a deluge now. Soaked through, Silas turned to the ghost of Evelyn. "He's alive!" he stated dumbly.
"Yes! Now hurry and help him, or he'll be dead for real." Evelyn pointed at her brother emphatically.
"You're surprisingly lucid - "
"Less talk, more saving, please!"
"And loud." Come to think of it, she hadn't spoken in anything less than a shout since he'd pulled the shade into the waking world. Oh, well. "Look, I'm a Collector. I take in dead souls and usher them into the Afterlife. I'm not in the business of saving lives. Besides, my report says that both of you died tonight. It... must've just gotten the times wrong."
"Save him!"
"I can't - " Silas was cut off by a gurgling sound, followed by a wet, hacking cough. He looked over to see Harvey coughing up blood, and for a moment, their eyes locked. Silas looked deeply into his deep sapphire eyes, full of pleading and desperation, and the feline's breath hitched. Guilt twisted at his heart, and he snarled. No Collector had ever stopped a death before; Silas wasn't even certain anyone had even done so before. And yet - here was a chance. The chance to prevent a death, to allow a mortal to have those small, glorious moments of pain and joy that made up life. It was old magic, forbidden to those who worked in death; The Collectors were all skilled Necromancers, manipulating the dead. But it came with the opposite side of the coin, too...
Silas knelt in the mixture of water and blood pooling beneath the labrador. He set his cane down, putting one paw over the dog's heart and one on his forehead. Chanting softly, his hoarse voice inaudible over the thunder booming in his ears, he entreated Harvey's body to heal itself, pressing life back into it. A bolt of lightning flashed overhead, but Silas refused to stop, even as his paws began shaking and his nose began bleeding.
The magic flooded Silas' senses, giving him a dearth of information about Harvey's failing body. Harvey showed signs of the early stages of dysentery, dehydration, malnutrition, and he had pushed his admittedly powerful body to the point of exhaustion. Oh, yes, and the great stab wound in his back, puncturing his lung. Ah, there's the problem. The feline focused his mind, zeroing in on the lung first, re-inflating it and clearing the blood from it as he sealed the wound. Then, he forced the hole in the dog's back to close, and finally burned all traces of sickness from the Harvey's body. The exhaustion, well, that was curable with a few night's rest, and Silas knew he was running out of energy. He jerked away from the dog, who bolted upright and started coughing violently. The dark-furred feline wiped a paw against his bloody nose, grimacing. He turned to Evelyn. "There! Now, will you stop shouting at me - "
Silas' vision blurred, and he felt his head spin. He looked down, vaguely noticing that blood soaked his previously fine black wool vest, jacket, and trousers. "O-Oh. I don't - Wha...?" He mumbled, swaying side to side before collapsing, his vision going dark. The last thing he felt before everything went black were two burly, furred arms catching him before he hit the ground.
...
Everything ached. Harvey blazed back to consciousness, his breathing rapid and shallow, his muscles tense and burning like he'd been hauling freight all day. When the dog's lungs spasmed, he coughed, a deep hacking sound that brought a wet tang to his tongue. He swiped a paw across his lips, turning to look at the feline who had just saved his life. Harvey's eyes widened at the sight: a wire-thin cat with black fur, a white star blazing on his forehead, soaked from the torrential downpour that still beat down around them. His face was defiant, his posture ram-rod straight and his chin tilted up to expose his neck. "There!" he shouted. "Now, will you stop shouting at me - "
Harvey watched as the cat's eyes fluttered as he swayed back and forth, mumbling something the dog couldn't quite hear before he pitched forward. Instinctively, Harvey reached out to catch him, and felt the wet squelch of the finely dressed feline's soaked clothes against his own. He sat frozen, his thoughts racing. What in the hell is going on here?! I - I was dying. I'm certain I was! And this little cat... did he save me, somehow? Harvey hefted him experimentally in his arms. God, he weighs almost nothing. What do I do now? I - Oh God! "Evie!" he cried, glancing around frantically for his little sister. When he saw her unmoving form, he set the cat down quickly and crawled over to her. "Evie! Evie, please wake up! Oh, God, you can't be gone, please let him have saved you too. Evie..."
She was already going cold. Harvey tilted his muzzle to the sky and let out a howl, tears streaming from his eyes to mix with the rain. He cradled her waifish body to his chest, rocking back and forth, sobbing. After their parents died, he'd sworn to protect her, and tonight he'd failed completely. "Evie... Oh, Evie..."
"Okay, that's enough of that. Get up! You have work to do." Evelyn's voice demanded from behind him.
A jolt of electricity shot down Harvey's spine, causing him to bolt upright and look around frantically. "E-Evie? Evie, what's going on? Why can I hear you?"
"I'm not sure. Something that Silas did. Turn around. And put me down; I'm dead, but I'm not gone. Apparently."
Harvey slowly lowered his sister back to the ground, and stood, turning to face behind where he'd been kneeling. Floating just off the ground was a... well, it was a ghost. Had to be. See-through, floating, an apparition that looked exactly like his dead sister, right down to the wound in her chest that had killed her. "Evelyn! What happened? And... wait, who's Silas?"
She pointed at the unconscious feline laying on the ground. "That's Silas. I don't understand how I know that, but I'm certain that's his name. Silas Ambrose. I am also unhelpfully certain that he takes his tea with cream and sugar, prefers cocoa biscuits, and sleeps with the windows open, even in Winter. And we can trust him, I think? I trust him. And - " she gritted incorporeal teeth, grinding them noiselessly. " - And I don't know why! It's maddening. But we must get him home. He's... unwell? I can't explain it, but he's not safe here. And neither are you."
Harvey's jaw worked. "We're not safe...? Wait, Evie! You're dead! We have to tell the police - "
"No!" Evelyn shouted. "You can't tell the police! What will you do, tell them you magically survived a murder, unharmed, and oh, by the way, this fancy man and my sister are just covered in blood. I swear I didn't do it! Seriously, big brother, think this through!"
Harvey thought, and then slowly nodded. "I guess I'll get him home. But wait - I don't know where he lives!"
"Just follow me. I'm pretty sure I do."
"You... do?" Harvey slung Silas' arm over his shoulder and wrapped an arm around the cat's dainty waist. "Oh! How are we going to get there? You're right, we're both covered in blood."
"Just follow me. Nobody's going to notice you as long as you keep hold of Silas, and I'm a ghost; I actually don't know why you can see me, but nobody living should be able to."
"Okay..." Having no choice but to accept this bizarre turn of events, Harvey placed his faith in his sister and began trekking through the streets of London, as the rain finally slackened to a fine mist.
...
Silas' eyes slitted open as he found himself... in his bedroom? What in the world... how did I get here? His body ached, his mouth was cottony and dry, and his throat was throbbing with sharp stabs of pain. With a groan, he sat up, but a strong paw pressed him back into his soft bed.
A warm bass voice rumbled next to him. "No! Please, stay there! Evie says you're sick. Here, let me get you some tea."
Evie... Evelyn? ...The collection! Silas' eyes shot open, and he reached for his cane instinctively, only to find it wasn't there. Instead, he grabbed a pawful of warm, thick thigh muscle. When Silas looked over, he saw a tall, brawny, male golden labrador, young and disheveled, in nothing but his small-clothes. He stood frozen, like a statue, with a blush creeping over his cheeks. Silas released him immediately, but still bristled at the intrusion into his home. "What the hell is going on?! How did you get into my home? And - " the feline's voice hitched, and he began coughing.
"Uh. Ask Evie. Evelyn! I need you in here now, please!" The labrador backed away swiftly, then hurried down the stairs, mumbling something about fetching tea.
Silas moved to fling the covers off himself, but found that he was too weak to muster the strength to do so. With a strangled cry of frustration, he flopped back onto the pillows, grumbling.
"You're going to hurt yourself if you keep fighting this, you understand, right?"
The feline turned his head to see the ghost of Evelyn Fairfax floating where her brother stood moments before. In a hoarse voice, he growled, "What are you still doing here? I saved your brother, so move on already!"
"Mmm... no. I have questions first. Also, my brother isn't out of danger yet. I can sense it. Oh! That's my first question. How do I know that he's not safe? It's like this... feeling, that I can't quite shake."
"I don't know! Nobody's ever stuck around before. I can send my sister a letter, perhaps she'll be able to tell us." Silas coughed weakly, his voice strained from overuse. He cursed his ancient injury and rubbed a paw along the exposed scar on his throat. Wait... I'm not wearing my shirt? Or... The cat wiggled experimentally under the blankets, then buried himself beneath them. "Why in God's name am I naked?!"
Evelyn grinned. "You were soaked to the bone! And we couldn't find your dressing gowns, so Harvey just put you to bed. Don't worry; I doubt you have to concern yourself with propriety. Harvey's a sweetheart, and I'm dead. Which is a genuine pity, because you're just my type. But I digress; relax."
Harvey re-appeared in the doorway, carrying a teak tea tray loaded down with biscuits, a fresh pot of tea, and three porcelain teacups. Silas stared as the still-undressed canine slid into the room, moving with what he thought was a surprising grace; his movements were fluid, almost like a dancer's. Not at all what he'd expected from someone who did manual labor all day, that was certain. Harvey spoke with a stammer as he set the tray down on a nearby table. "S-Sorry, sir, I c-couldn't quite tell where everything was. Evie helped me earlier, but I forgot where she said the biscuits were, and it took me a while to find them."
Silas chuckled at the bizarre situation. "Your concern is touching, but unnecessary. I am quite immune to mortal ailments, and I - Atchoo!"
...
Harvey rushed to plump up Silas' pillows as he dissolved into a sneezing fit. "Sir! Oh, you've caught a chill. Here, let me pour you some tea."
The labrador remembered what his sister had told him, and he poured a generous amount of cream and sugar into the cup along with the tea, placed a pair of biscuits on the plate, and hurried to hand the feline his drink. Silas moved to take it slowly, his paws trembling, and his mouth hanging open in shock. "I... I don't... I don't sneeze. What on Earth...?" Absently, the feline took a sip of tea and sighed. "Oh, that's absolute perfection. Are - are those cocoa biscuits?"
The canine nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir! Evie said they were your favorite, and I wanted to give you something comforting."
Silas nodded quietly, then turned his head to face Evie. "Evelyn? How did you know I liked these?"
The ghost shrugged. "Same way I know Harvey's in trouble still. I just... do. It's like I've known you all your life. Though there are some things I can't tell. Like, how you got that scar." She pointed at his throat, where a knot of pink scarring marred the otherwise sleek and unbroken black fur.
"I - " Silas winced, his ears folding back tight against his head and his whiskers drooping. "I don't like to talk. About that, or in general."
Evie put her hands on her spectral hips. "Well, you owe us some answers! Take some responsibility; you're the one who saved Harvey, after all!"
"Because you were screaming at me!" Silas rolled his eyes and sighed before taking another appreciative sip of tea. "This really is quite good, by the way."
Harvey scuffed his bare foot against the rug that lay beneath Silas' bed. "Ah, think nothing of it, sir - "
"Silas," the cat interrupted.
"Pardon?"
"I don't like honorifics. And my sister is the noblewoman, not me. Well, I am, but I never use my title. Just call me Silas."
"Yes sir, Silas, sir." The dog kept his gaze down-turned, but his tail waved slowly behind him. "Here, let me get you another cup of tea."
Silas grumbled something about doing it himself, but let Harvey take care of him as another fit of sneezing overcame him. When the canine handed the cup back, two more biscuits on the saucer, his thick fingers brushed against Silas' delicate ones, and a shiver ran through him. Evie... For ten years, you were the only thing I focused on; I tried to keep you safe, tried to get you a job at a suitable house. I never had time to think about what I wanted, but this man... Why do I feel so warm around him? Is it because he saved my life? That must be it. I wonder... "Silas, sir? Can I ask you a question?"
"You do certainly seem able to ask questions, yes. But you may ask me a question, if you stop calling me sir."
Harvey flinched. "S-Sorry, sir - Silas! Sorry, Silas. I'll try. Um... so, do you think it's safe for me to go back to the boarding house? No-one's ever tried to kill me before..." His voice trailed off into a weak chuckle as he rubbed the back of his head with a paw.
"No. Your sister was right; I'm responsible for you now. I've no clue what I'm going to tell the board. If they find out that I saved your life, I could be sanctioned." Silas swallowed the last of his second cup of tea, then frowned. "You brought three teacups. Why?"
"Oh!" Harvey's eyes fell to the parquet floor again. "Well, it's habit. I had to help Evie learn how to be a lady-in-waiting so she could get on with a good family, so I learned along with her. Manners, serving, cooking, dancing - "
Silas' back straightened, and his eyes sparkled. "So you dance! I wondered, the way you were moving earlier. Ah, that's going to make things easier."
The canine raised a cautious eyebrow. "Make... what easier, sir?"
The cat pulled a sour face. "Well, we'll work on that. No, I've come up with an idea. Technically, we may bind the spirits of the restless dead to their bodies and take them on as servants. I'll explain more later - " Silas yawned toothily, stretching, " - but for now, consider yourself hired. Just, if anyone asks, you died in that alleyway. Well, anyone from my organization."
"Sir?" Harvey asked, concern touching his voice. "You're talking an awful lot. Doesn't that hurt?"
...
"You're talking an awful lot. Doesn't that hurt?"
"No, it's - " Silas froze. His throat didn't hurt anymore! Or rather, it did, but it was more of a dull ache than a stabbing pain. When did that happen? He hadn't been able to speak so freely in centuries, and a giddy excitement welled up in him. He laughed, and instead of a wheezing rasp, his voice came out only a little rough. The high warm tenor filled the room, although at the end it perhaps sounded a little unhinged. His merriment soon gave way to confusion, though. "I-I don't understand. This scar... it's permanent. It's plagued me for an eternity, ever since - well. That's a story for another time, I think."
Silas looked back at Harvey, eyeing the retriever. He was certainly handsome, if young. Silas had stopped aging at twenty-six years old, but his true age practically made him a fossil compared to the man in his late teens that shivered in the corner. He's shivering? "Harvey, is it not warm enough in here for you?"
"Ah, I might have caught a touch of fever. It's nothing, I'm used to it; can't afford to be sick when you're poor as Evie and I."
Silas shook his head. "Go pour yourself a cup of tea and sit by my fire. Warm yourself. And perhaps put on some clothes?"
The canine looked down at the floor. "I have nothing to wear, sir. My clothes were torn and covered in blood. I can mend them well enough, perhaps, but I don't know about the stains, and I haven't had time to do any of the washing yet. If I can get to the boarding house, I have some clothes there that I can use, but these were my best set."
"Those rags were your best?!" Silas took a haughty tone, a slight sneer crossing his face. "No, no, that won't do at all. Tomorrow, I'll have something tailored for you. You'll need a uniform if you're going to work for me while we figure out who killed you two."
Harvey blinked rapidly. "S-Sir? You mean it? You... you want me to stay? And work for you?"
The feline glanced around at his filthy domicile. "Honestly, I could use the help. And don't worry, you'll be adequately compensated for - "
"I won't have to go back to the docks? I'll be a servant?" Harvey interrupted.
"Well, no? You seem capable enough, and - oof!" The golden-furred retriever cut Silas off as he tackled him, squeezing him tightly enough to knock him back on his pillows. The feline's - fortunately empty - teacup nearly fell from his hand, but he hung on long enough to place it on his nightstand as Harvey sobbed.
"T-Thank you! Oh, thank you sir! You won't regret it; I promise I won't be a bother. I'll do all the cooking and cleaning and I'll do your shopping and - "
Silas' cheeks flushed, and he wriggled in Harvey's iron grip. "Enough!" he yelped, and Harvey gave him a pained look. Silas grumbled, and awkwardly patted the dog's back between his shoulder blades. "That's quite enough... hugging. Seriously, man, where did you learn your manners?"
Harvey released the feline from his hold quickly, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry, sir, got carried away. Can't promise it won't happen again, though." And then he gave Silas a cheeky smile that caused the cat's heart to beat faster in his chest.
Silas opened his mouth to speak, but a yawn overcame his faculties of speech. Already mostly lying down, he fell back on his pillows. "Harvey, I'm going to sleep now. Get some rest. We've a lot to do tomorrow."
...
"Get some rest. We've a lot to do tomorrow."
Harvey nodded. "Yes, sir! Uh... where should I sleep?"
But it was too late. Silas was already snoring softly into his pillows. Harvey smiled, a warm fondness for this gruff but caring feline growing in the pit of his stomach. He'd given him a job! A real one, where he wouldn't have to do backbreaking labor all day. And they were going to investigate Evie's killer, too, or so it sounded like. Harvey turned to talk to his sister, but she had vanished from the room at some point when he wasn't looking. He poked around the townhome until he came upon an empty room on the first floor near the kitchen. It was bigger than the one he and Evie had shared at the boardinghouse, though only a quarter as big as Silas' room. Dust layered the otherwise pristine wooden floor, and the fireplace was cold.
Gathering some logs, he lit the fire and swept the floor as the room warmed. He retrieved his dirty coat, curling up by the fire and draping the garment over his shivering body. As he rested his head on his biceps, he hunkered down and allowed sleep to overtake him.
I hope he doesn't regret helping me. And that he doesn't get in trouble. He seems... nice...
...
Zzz...
