In Beatrice's hand, the pen traced out the words dictated by her master in a series of elegant curves, fine letters flowing neatly and orderly onto the page. So effortlessly did she write that her thoughts were free to wander, tracing lines of their own on the canvas of her mind. Reality grew distant, and she didn't even realize what she was scrawling onto the page until after she had written the phrase “You realize this isn't meant to be a love letter, yes?”

“Ah!” she gasped, lifting pen from paper so quickly that you'd think she was trying to yank away the spent ink. Her cheeks flushed pink, then red when she noticed that she had put more on the page than just her master's words; scrawled into the margins were hearts and flowers. “So sorry, sir!” Beatrice grabbed another sheet of paper and began copying the contents of the first onto it. She avoided her master's gaze at first, but when she heard him chuckle she couldn't glance at him.

Jonathan the inchling stood as big as her thumb, perched atop a pile of books from which he could survey her script to his satisfaction. “Is something on your mind?” he asked, with a look at the other sheet. “Some lucky fellow catch your eye recently?”

“I hardly think it appropriate for a maid to discuss such things with her master,” she said coolly, though her heart still raced. She finished copying the relevant lines onto the fresh page, then folded up the previous one and dropped it in the trash bin. “Shall we continue, sir, or do you mean to keep giggling over it?”

“No, that's enough, I think,” he said, still grinning. “Where did we leave off? Ah, right.” He prattled on the rest of the message, his words reaching her loud and clear. As in so many other areas, Jonathan had adapted wonderfully to working with humans like Beatrice, speaking so clearly and confidently that one might forget they weren't speaking with one of their own.

It wasn't easy for an inchling to make it among humans. Most stayed away from human settlements, and and those who didn't were usually treated with a condescension more befitting a pet than a person. Jonathan, while he was hardly a titan of industry, was at least successful enough in managing a modest business that he could afford a maid like Beatrice to help him deal with the difficulties of living in a city not scaled for his kind.

Working as an inchling's maid wasn't the best paying job, much less the most illustrious. Beatrice had lost count of how many friends and acquaintances had teased her over working for an inchling, sometimes even suggesting she do something to “put him in his place”, as they loved to put it; by now she knew well enough to handle it with an eye roll and a change of topic.

Truth be told, Beatrice had shared that same attitude at first, even if she had more tact than to say so. But Jonathan had turned out to be a better master than any of her previous employers. He was kind and well-spoken, and he didn't try to grope her like some others had done. He showed her more respect than any of them had, and so had earned hers.

Beatrice worked without pause, if a bit more self-consciously than before, keeping reins on herself so she wouldn't scribe anything undue again. And, from time to time, she glanced at her little master, trying to guess at what passed through his mind.

The rest of the letter was written down without issue, then sealed in an envelope and put in her bag to be mailed later.

“Well, that's all regarding my work for the day. Thank you for your help, Beatrice,” Jonathan said.

“It's only my duty, sir. Shall I carry you to your room?” Though in a sense they were already in his room, Beatrice was referring to the little box in which were found her master's bed and clothes and other small amenities more appropriate for his size.

“Hm. You mentioned you'll be going out on errands now, isn't that right?

“That's so. I'll be mailing your letter and pick up some things we're running low on.”

“Then I wonder, if it's no trouble, might I come along with you?”

“You wish to go with me, sir?” Beatrice asked, caught off-guard by the unusual request.

“If you don't mind, otherwise it can wait until some other time. It's just I've been feeling a bit... cooped up, as it were, and I thought fresh air and fresh faces might do me good.”

In her year of service, Jonathan had never left the house nor asked to leave the house except for the occasional business meeting. For all his outward confidence in dealing with humans, Beatrice had noticed just how skittish he really felt around them, in contrast to how at ease he was with her. “I have no objection,” she answered. “Only, where do you propose to ride? I'll need the use of both my hands, you know.”

“Oh, your shoulder should do well enough, I think.”

“As you wish,” she said, holding out her hand for him. Her fingers were perfectly steady as Jonathan set foot on them, his tiny steps carrying him to the middle of her palm, where he held on to the thumb she offered for support while she brought him to her shoulder. It wasn't Jonathan's first time riding with her, and once her hand was in place he took a leap to land on her left shoulder. His hands seized on the white of her apron, then, crawling into position, he sat down and held himself secure with one hand gripping her clothing and the second a lock of her ginger hair.

As always she moved more carefully with him on her shoulder. Not that she didn't trust him to keep his balance on her, but better safe than sorry.

Trying to make her movement seem as casual as possible, Beatrice ran a hand through her hair above her ear, brushing a few wavy locks over her shoulder to help serve as cover for Jonathan. Then, gathering her bag, Beatrice left her master's home. First she stopped at the post office to mail the letter, and from there she headed to a nearby marketplace. It wasn't the one she usually shopped at, but that was for the best.

Though it was inevitable that people would notice Jonathan, by itself that was no problem. There was nothing unusual in people of just about any age being seen carrying some inchling or another with them—“friends of the family” they were called, which in practice meant “pets”—but if he was noticed by someone who knew her, that would bring them too much unwanted attention.

For all that Jonathan had said he wanted to see some fresh faces, he was sure trying to avoid them seeing him. He was uncharacteristically quiet the whole trip, and sat still behind the curtain of her hair whenever someone passed too close. At other times, however, she could feel him moving, tugging softly on her hair for balance as he leaned this way and that and turned to look all around. Beatrice started worrying that he might fall off. He'd survive the fall, she knew, but maybe not being stepped on. She wanted to bark at him to sit still once and for all, but it was hardly appropriate for a maid to berate her master like that.

Once they reached the market place, all his fidgeting stopped and he shrank back, sidling closer to her neck. The crowds were thicker there, and everywhere was heard the murmur of voices and the clopping of shoes against cobblestone. Mostly there were women, alone or in groups, with only the occasional man aside from those manning the stalls.

Fruits and grains and freshly-caught river fish were some of the first things to meet her eyes, but aside from one bag of salt it wasn't food she was after. She found what she'd come for, not among the stalls but in the shops behind them: paper and ink for her master's work, candles and matches to light the growing nights, and a fresh bar of soap were LL weighing down her carrying bag towards the end of her shopping.

She was all set to head back after leaving the chandler shop, but Jonathan tugged at her hair, and when she stopped he stood and spoke into her ear. “Could we visit that shop if you have the time?” Beatrice glanced at her shoulder and followed his pointing finger over to a shop a little ways into an alley, with a sign above the entrance that read “Wilson's Tiny Clothes & Accessories”. This request seemed especially strange to Beatrice, and she waited briefly for an explanation that never came before making her way to the storefront.

Inside, an older woman sat behind the counter, fiddling with something small. She looked up at their entrance. “Good afternoon. Oh! And good afternoon!” she said again as she spotted Jonathan. “I don't believe I've seen your faces before. Are you new customers? How may I help you? Are you here to shop, or to place an order?”

“An order?” Beatrice asked, crossing the little room to speak with the woman.

“Yes, for inchling clothes. Shirts, trousers, dresses, pantaloons, bodices, vests, shoes, hats, slippers, anything you please. Though, it looks like your little one already has a good set of clothes,” she said, looking Jonathan over while he held Beatrice's hair in front of him. “A little shy, isn't he? Well, that's alright. He looks about the same size as my Tom. I can ask him to come out and model for you if you're interested in any clothes you see.”

Beatrice waited for some indication from Jonathan as to what he had asked her to come here for. But as he didn't answer and the awkward silence dragged on, she felt forced to give an answer of her own. “I... simply came to look around. I hadn't seen this place before.”

“By all means look around then, miss! Let me know if you have any questions.”

Beatrice thanked her and walked over to the shelves, looking over the various little trinkets and other such things that lined the shelves. There were some pieces of clothing on miniature mannequins, both male and female, for children and adults. She glanced at Jonathan as she looked it all over, but he seemed to be busy staring at the shelves. She still didn't understand what he had wanted to come here for, or even if he wanted to stay, and she was worried that she was making a fool of herself.

Beatrice slowly rounded the store just looking at everything, waiting for Jonathan to tell her what he wanted. When she came back around to the counter a couple minutes later, he still hadn't said a word. “Anything catch your eye, miss?” the woman asked her.

If Jonathan didn't want anything then there was no point in staying here, but leaving just like that would be too awkward. Without thinking, Beatrice reached out and snatched a small pouch from the shelf—a carrying bag for inchlings. “How much for this?” she asked. The woman quoted a price. “I'll take it.” She pulled out some coins and handed them to the woman. “Thank you, and good day.” Stuffing the purchase into her bag, she strode out the building and back into the alley, practically away, not to the house but just to somewhere a bit quieter.

“Would you mind telling me what in the world that was all about?” she muttered once they were alone.

“I'm not too sure, but I think you just bought a carrying pouch for me,” Jonathan coolly replied. “The question is, why?”

“I don't know! I thought we went in there because you wanted something, but you left em out to dry. I had to do something to make it less awkward.”

“So you bought a bag for me?”

“What was I supposed to do? Honestly, sir! I don't want to overstep my bounds here, but I really could use an explanation.”

“I know, I know! I'm only poking fun.” Jonathan chuckled. “The truth is, I wanted to see if I might find someone I knew in that shop. I suppose I got lost in thought when they weren't there. Sorry, Beatrice; I should have said something. Can you forgive me?”

After hearing his explanation, Beatrice wished she could take back her little outburst. “Already have, sir,” she answered softly, and started heading back for the house, following her sense of direction through the unfamiliar streets.

“Thank you.” Jonathan sat at ease on her shoulder now, holding tight to her hair. “I have to ask, though, how did it feel being taken for my master?”

“How did it feel? Awkward, to say the least.”

“Really? Haven't you ever wished our roles were reversed so things could be more in line with 'the natural order of things', as you humans say?”

“No. Not since I started serving you.”

“Hm. And here I thought you bought that pouch of all things to play with the thought of me as your pet.”

“Sir!”

“Relax! I know you're not like that at all. That said, whatever your reasons for buying it, I'm glad you did. It's getting chilly out, and a bit of cover would be welcome right about now.”

Beatrice eyed him askance, wondering if he was joking again. “As you wish,” she said at last. There was a park nearby, and she went to set down her bag on one of is benches so she could take out the carrying pouch. Jonathan hopped on her palm when she offered it, and from there went into the bag when she held it next to him. After disappearing inside it for a moment, he poked his head back out and asked that she pull on the drawstrings just enough to keep too much air from coming in.

“Comfortable sir?” she asked once she'd put the bag over her neck like a necklace, letting it hang down over her chest.

“Very.” Jonathan looked up and grinned. It almost made her smile to see him so happy. “And... sorry if this is too much, but do you think we could stay out here a while longer? Walk around the park, watch the sunset... It's been so long since I left the house, I'd really love a chance to see it. Ah, but I've asked a lot of you already. You don't have to do it today if you don't want to. Maybe we could find some other time.”

“It's no bother at all, sir. I could use a walk myself. Let me know when you want me to take you home,” Beatrice replied, and started walking around the park.

The day was getting dark, and though there was still some time before sunset, it wouldn't be long before the lamplighters were out and about. Still, the weather was nice, and she could see many couples in the park at this time—young men and women or old married couples walking side by side, enjoying the last hour of sunlight under the trees with their reddening leaves. Strange to say, but walking here with Jonathan, she felt a certain kinship with them.

Despite all the worrying and the awkward moments, Beatrice was glad for this opportunity to spend time with Jonathan. She only hoped there would be many more like this to come.

Winter had come early this year—so Beatrice discovered on that chill November morning. At first the young maid sought to keep it out by hiding in her sheets, but not a minute later she was wide awake and out of bed, shivering in her nightgown even as she hurried out of her room and down the hall to her master's, slippers shuffling rapidly over the wooden floor. She slowed only once the door came in sight,and calmed herself down before quietly opening the door.

Inside she found the bed empty, as it always was—the thing was far too big for an inchling, and though Jonathan did sometimes like to climb on it and make of the pillows his bed for a while, in the evenings he always preferred to sleep in his own room—the one sitting by the window on the dresser, a tiny thing like a dollhouse that held just about everything an inchling needed to be comfortable. Beatrice stopped beside it to peer into the little windows, but the curtains were drawn tight and she could see nothing through them. “Master, are you awake in there?” she whispered, and waited for a response, pulling her nightgown tightly over herself and holding her legs together to stop the cool morning air from blowing between them. A second later she heard a quiet shuffling inside, then the door opened up and Jonathan appeared with his blanket wrapped around him, shivering but grinning all the same. “G-good morning, Beatrice,” he stammered out before sitting down in the doorway. “S-seems it's time to b-break out the candles.”

Beatrice pursed her lips, but kept her opinions on the most appropriate warming methods to herself. She pulled open a drawer and grabbed one of the many short and stout candles that filled it, setting the little glass jar down on the dresser near her master. While Jonathan shuffled closer to the candle, she grabbed a matchbox from that same drawer and struck it, setting the candle alight and then shaking the match to put it out. Then, Beatrice stripped the case from a human-sized pillows and it them up around the candle, so that Jonathan could climb up on them and lie against the glass to bask in the warmth of the soft flame. He still shivered for a while, but less and less frequently until a few minutes later he stopped altogether. Beatrice almost sighed in relief, though she herself still was still shivering a bit.

Jonathan curled up with his blanket. “Thank you, Beatrice. You may go now,” he said. Beatrice bowed her head and left for her room. A few minutes later, she was out and warmly dressed in a thick woolen dress, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast and some tea.

Meals in Jonathan's household were by and large a simple matter. Beatrice cooked for both of them, which in practice meant she cooked for herself and picked out some morsels to share with Jonathan. Since she was the only servant in the household, there was little time to spare on making rich and elaborate meals. Breakfast today, for instance, was an egg with some sausages on the side and a couple slices of lightly-toasted bread. Simple, but tasty and filling enough.

Once it was ready, she left a kettle heating on the stove and visited Jonathan's room, where her master still lay by the candle. At first she thought he might be sleeping again, but at her approach he turned to look at her through half-closed eyes.

She told him that breakfast was ready, and waited to hear if she should carry him to it. “Do you still have that carrying pouch that you bought last month?” he asked instead. Beatrice had to think back for a moment before she remembered the one he meant of. Yes, she still had it. “Bring it over, will you? Stuff it full of something warm and carry me in it.”

Back in her room again, Beatrice found the pouch in question at the very back of her sock drawer. The sight brought back memories of the day she'd bought it, and for a moment she held it tenderly against over her chest for a moment as though it still contained her master.

She headed back after stuffing a sock inside it, and held it open for him. Once he'd climbed inside, she put it on around her neck and left for the kitchen, where the kettle had already started whistling.

Beatrice quickly got everything in order, setting down a plate and a cup of tea for herself before letting her master down on the table, next to the smaller, inchling-sized one that stood near her seat. There he had his own plate and utensils, and when she presented him with some choice morsels from her plate he picked them out of her spoon and served them on his plate. At the same time, she moved her cup of tea closer to him so that its heat might help keep him warm, though not so close to be uncomfortable. Jonathan thanked her for the meal and started eating. She was delighted to see him growing hale and hearty again with each new bite he took.

“It occurs to me,” he said a while later, his voice finally back to its usual tenor, “that I didn't thank you properly for your help this morning. You didn't have to hurry over so early for my sake me, but you did. I'm really grateful for your service, Beatrice.”

A light blush spread over her cheeks, but she kept a straight face and tried to hide it with a sip from her teacup. “If you really wish to thank me, you ought to listen to me this winter instead of brushing me off like you did last. There are better ways to keep you warm than the candles and fireplace.

Jonathan winced. “Now, you know you can't always be there to help with something like that. You have your work and I have mine. It wouldn't be comfortable for you to spend all day tending to me, and I wouldn't feel right asking you to do it either.”

“You're certainly right about that, sir. I don't propose that you stop using the candles and the fireplace altogether. But you shouldn't rely on them exclusively if you can make use of something else.”

“Ha! That's quite a way for a maid to speak to her master.”

“Now, you know it's not like that at all, sir. I don't mean any harm by it; I simply worry for you. Can't one even be allowed that much?” Beatrice kept her voice level, but there was an edge to her tone. She noticed it, and cut herself off at once before continuing in a more appropriate voice. “Besides, you remember what the doctor told you after last winter. You know what all that smoke does to you.”

“You're right, of course. Don't feel sorry, I know you're only worried about me,” he sighed. They both resumed eating in silence, and it was a few more bites of their meals before Jonathan spoke again. “Speaking of last winter, do you still remember the idea I floated by you back then?”

Beatrice took her time to chew before answering. “You mean the shelter idea, sir?” Jonathan nodded. “I take it that means you want to go through with it still?”

“I reckon that's up to you, Beatrice. I can't hire anyone else for this. It would be more work for you, but I'd raise your salary to compensate. And it would only be for the winter months, of course. You don't have to give your answer right away, but–”

“No, it's quite alright, sir. I'll do it.”

“You will? Excellent! I really must do something to thank you, Beatrice.”

“I believed I already mentioned how you might thank me, sir.”

That took care of Jonathan's grin very quickly indeed. Had he really thought she'd forget just because he tried to change the topic? “Well... I suppose I can try it at least once, and see how it goes. Mind, I make no promises I'll agree to try it again. Remind me on my next day off and I'll try and make some time for it. Does that satisfy you?”

Beatrice smiled. “Very much so.”