“Because he looks like her thimble,” added Gen, holding his claw in her hand.
“That’s an excellent name,” smiled Silas. “I’m Silas, Silas Gray. You’re very lucky to have a tickerkin, you know. They are getting quite scarce these days.”
“Why?”
“Good question,” replied Silas, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I think the main reason is that tickerkins are very clever. And everybody wants one in their homes for all kinds of things. Sometimes there just aren’t enough of them to go around.”
“They are trustworthy and make good friends as well,” added the unlikely-named ‘Miss Smith.’
“Very true. I have a tickerkin myself, and we’ve known each other since...well, since I was not much older than you.”
“Does yours have a name?” Gen peeped up at Silas, her little face curious.
“Of course. All friends have to have names, don’t they? Otherwise, how would they know when they’re needed?” He smiled. “Mine came to me from my father, who named him Nelson. Apparently, there was a brave admiral with the same name, and my father loved the sea.”
“How charming,” said Dorothea quietly, her eyes on his face. “And do you still have him? Your tickerkin, not your father...”
“Yes, to both, as a matter of fact.” He slowed his steps and turned to his right, opening a wrought-iron gate and beckoning to them both to follow. “This is my home, so you will meet Nelson, Miss Gen. I hope your Thim will not mind being a guest, rather than a manager.”
“Tickerkins are adaptable, sir. As I’m sure you must know.”
The gentle rebuke amused him. “Indeed, Miss Smith. You’ve the right of it.” He stopped on his front doorstep, standing on asoft mat and reaching upwards with his right hand. He tapped in his private code onto the gear panel just below the portico, and with a faint hiss the door swung open onto darkness.
“Nelson,” he said quietly. “We have guests.”
A rumbling sound emerged from within, and suddenly brilliant light shone out, silhouetting a figure which resembled a large cat.
“Good evening, Mr Silas and guests. Please enter.”
“Your tickerkin’s a talking cat?” Gen gasped.
“Why not?” grinned Silas. “They come in all shapes and sizes, you know.” He watched Nelson as Thim rumbled over the doorstep and into the house with its humans.
To his relief, Nelson completely ignored it.
“Well, here we are. Please be comfortable for a few moments, and then I’ll show you to the PCE.”
“Thank you,” answered Miss Smith quietly. “Your kindness is much appreciated.”
He nodded, then took himself off to hang up his leather apron and quickly change his shirt. While he did so, his mind turned over his conversation with this odd little group.
If that young woman’s name was “Smith”, he’d eat his antique gear collection. Hmmm...it might be interesting to find out who she really was. The fact that he’d always had a “thing” for blue eyes had nothing to do with it, of course...
*~~*~~*
He was devastatingly handsome, thought Dorothea, trying not to let her awe show. He had none of the superficial airs and graces so loved by the upper levels, but his natural charm and politeness were evident. He was intelligent, his speech betrayingnone of the Undercroft accent or expressions she might have expected.
Tall, with long dark hair tousled from a day’s work, a muscular body typical of someone with a very physical job, and brown eyes that glinted gold in lamplight.
Those eyes twinkled at her as he returned with a little plate of sweet treats. “I’ve turned on the steamer, so a cup of tea will be forthcoming.” He looked at Gen. “Do you like tea, Miss Gen?”
She shook her head as her eyes drifted to his tray. “No, but I like biscuits.”
“Perhaps a small mug of milk if you have any,” said Dorothea. “Pairs well with biscuits.”
His laugh was warm and genuine, and although she didn’t want to admit it, quite charming.
“Coming right up.”
