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"You're pretty good at tracking down masters."
You look up from where you’re about to enter your abode, too used to interruptions to your routine coming from above to flinch at it anymore. The Urchin Formerly Known as Mr Dinners, Dinty to their friends, is leaning comfortably against the slant of the roof, precariously balanced against one of the little crenelations the Royal Beth liked to use to make itself look more royal.
You ask them to repeat themselves. Possibly you’re quite tired from your recent zee-trip.
"You're quite good at finding Masters," Dinty repeats, swinging their legs and looking down at you with many-layered eyes. "It didn't take you long at all. I think." they blink, and for a moment there was the the depth of a single lit candle in their gaze.
"Why?"
You shake your head, glancing around at other guests milling about.
"Come by my rooms, I'll tell you."
"Will there be cake?" Dinty asks, childish imperiousness underlined with something that echoed between stars.
"Always."
Some time later, you’re seated comfortably by the fireplace, tea and crumpets laid up in amounts plentiful enough to satisfy a child's stomach.
You ask how the others are handling the change, stirring your cup of gunpowder brew. Dinty shrug.
"It was just a game, to them," they reply, voice distant. "Like stealing hats, or seeing how many rubbery pies you can eat at once. It was a game we played, and now it's done, and that's that." They crunch on one of the ginger cookies with a contemplative air.
"You were a player, but just one of the longskanks that come 'round sometimes. I think Horace knew you, actually."
"Yeah, we've met," you agree, glancing out over the rooftops. Dinty look back at you.
"You knew just where to find them," they accuse. "How?"
You consider what to tell her.
"I've hunted Masters before," you say.Your hand touches the capehanging across the back of your chair, frosty against the warm wood. "In London, outside it, beyond the mirror." You look down into your cup, swirling the tea slowly. "It's why I came down here."
"To look for masters?"
"I didn't even know what they were," you reply, a small smile on your face. "I didn't know what I was looking for, just that I needed to find them."
"Why?"
Ah, the curiosity of youth. Nothing had changed on that front, at least.
"My wife was killed," You answer simply. "There was nothing for me up there."
You take a sip of your tea in the ensuing silence. It burns your throat.
"It took me years," you say after a moment. "Finding you, in that pocket of lost laws, was not all that much in comparison. Not when I knew what the consequences could be." You level a look at Dinty.
“So why did you ask?" A question for a question, that’s all.
Dinty stills. Still in the way of a child listening for danger, still in the way of a gaping void. Their voice, when they speak, is quiet as an en echo from far, far away.
"Will you keep looking?" they ask, and the fear is all child. "If you cannot find me."
"I will," You say. It is very much your specialty, finding what’s lost.
"If I go." A beat. "If it takes me."
"I will," You repeat. "I will find you."
Dinty sag into the chair, in something like relief, in something like grief.
"There's others who Seek," They say, the echo lost from their voice now. "I worry they'll find me, too. I wondered, if you could find everyone, maybe they also will."
"Maybe," you answer, voice soft but implacable. "Maybe."
Dinty takes another cookie.
"They're not right."
"Indeed."
"Will they stop?"
You shake your head. Dinty nods slowly.
"Guess I better keep you around, then. So you can find me."
You offer them another piece of spice cake.
"Sounds like it.”