[Arry]

The cat was waiting at the bottom of the stairs as Ferdy walked down them. Curled up on an old rag braid rug, she lifted her head in the direction of his footfalls. Her milky eyes blinked seemingly at him and she let out a questioning miao as he sat on the last step for a moment to scratch her ears. Her pink and black piebald nose sniffed at his fingers, seeking an expected treat. Finding none, she turned round and round several times on the rug, settling herself in a little ball at last, her interaction with the stranger at an end in her opinion. Ferdy laughed and got up from the stair. ‘Well, it’s no wonder that Cook needs bins to keep out the marauding mice, Mistress Puss!’ The cat raised her head at the laughter and sneezed once as if to give her opinion, then rested her head on her paws, tail twitching once and coming up to cover her nose.

Ferdy lit the lantern that hung at the bottom of the steps on one of the support posts and made his way toward the wall at the right of the stairwell. Cook had had someone clear away what was stored there. And someone had cleared also a way to the fair-sized stack of lumber the Inn had kept from other such building projects. An old pair of sawhorses was resurrected from beneath the stairwell, the cobwebs brushed from them and a few new nails put in the cross pieces to keep them from being so wobbly. He glanced up to the small windows at the upper part of the cellar walls. They were grimy, the light from them made dimmer by the dirt on them. Dragging a small bench over to each one, he opened them up, letting fresh air and the brighter light from the outside pour in. In a short bit he had set up his work area and was busy measuring and sawing and hammering, punctuated, of course, by muttered curses when something went awry.

Through one of the open windows he could hear someone singing to herself a little ways away. It was a pleasant voice, he thought, and one that made the work lighter. He found himself singing along as he plied his tools. The cat, however, disapproved of all this commotion and the breeze ruffling her fur was the last straw. She stumped up the stairs in a feline huff, tail erect and twitching. Making her way carefully cross the kitchen, she darted in between the legs of the cook stove and settled in the warm darkness there. Cook’s feet slap-slapping along the floor as she went about her business lulled the old girl to sleep.