Journal,
I can see that it has been a few days since last I wrote so I shall try to bring you quickly up-to-date on all the goings-on since last I put pen to paper.
Since last I wrote you I have had hardly a moment when I haven’t been watched. Pip is practically my shadow. When he isn’t in the house chatting with me and taking his meal, he’s (seemingly) asleep on the roof. When I go somewhere he is not long in following and then stands near me. The odd thing is that it isn’t upsetting. Pip is sweet and somehow when he is around it’s as if he has always been there in the first place. It takes a forceful reminder to myself that he is working for Underby and, however pleasant he is, he must be there because he must have been told to be, despite his claims that the ocean makes him uneasy.
I caught Gill rattling my door the other night to see if it was unlocked and discovered that he’d been turned out by Underby and was looking for something to eat. Naturally I hotted up some supper and insisted he stay the night in the house, setting him up with blankets and pillows and stoking the fire for him so he’d be warm. Before he went to sleep I did discover that he has been having dreams quite similar to mine of late (meaning lots of fire and old memories and, oddly enough, horses) and I remembered that Tinus had mentioned he’d been having rough nights as well. Perhaps there is something in the water?
With a little help from Mr. Mornington I hung my New Babbage Bunting up. Macbain house now looks filled with Civic Pride, which is a nice change, since it usually just looks to be full of secrets and cold air. I was feeling so pleased it brought out a bit of the cat in me, so I snuck out the side passage and slipped away from Mr. Pip’s watchful eye to Mr. Blackberry’s birthday party (though ,naturally, Pip found me later). To my surprise Lo was there. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her properly (that is to say, not through the eyes of my other half) and I was taken aback by how small she was, so very delicate. Something about her tugs at memories best forgotten. I, of course, couldn’t help myself, I let her know that my offer of shelter to Gil extended to her and that there was plenty of room.
Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve gone from being alone almost constantly to being surrounded by the city’s castaways! Soon I’ll have to convert the lower room into a bunk-room if I keep this up.
When I returned home from the party (slightly ahead of the others, Pip seemed quite happy to see Lo and they were having a lovely time when I left) I discovered a telegram had been delivered, tucked neatly into the crack of my front door. It was from Father Moonwall, of all people. He wants to meet to discuss a “small man.” I’ve only ever had very brief encounters with Father Moonwall and none of them left me with a favorable impression of the man. Still, I went to the telegraph office (it is so handy living so close to the train station) and sent a reply indicating that I would be willing to meet with him, though not going so far as to suggest a time or place.
Nearly forgot to mention that I had a most odd encounter with Mr. Tenk (does he have a first name? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it mentioned, I should ask next time I see him…). I’d rather not go into the full details (I’m still sorting through them myself) but I will say that it ended with us sitting before the fireplace and me telling him stories, though I was so surprised at his request I found my tongue was quite tied. He left abruptly, and, of course, as soon as he was gone my tongue untied and I remembered a hundred more I could have told. The most important thing, I think, is that he said that crows were pulling gears out of his clocks.
Certainly explains his sudden dislike of them.
My hand feels like lead tonight, I think I shall finish for now.
~S.MacB.
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