They stopped in front of a door. "This will be your room," she said. He noticed that it was within sight of the plain wooden door with her name on a wooden plaque which was nailed to the door. She was keeping him well within her sight. "You will have a roommate, Tarrin. We are not treating you any differently than any other Novice. Right now, he's probably in class." She opened the door. Inside the surprisingly large room were two narrow beds, both neatly made, with a strong, sturdy chest at the foot of each bed. Each bed also had a stand to the side of it, and there was a small writing table, with one chair, between them against the far wall. There were two pegs on the wall on each side of the room, and on the right side, one peg was occupied with a plain wool robe, and the other had a brown cloak hanging from it. Tarrin saw that hanging on the wall on the right side were pieces of paper with very elaborate sketches. Many of them were the towers and buildings of the compound, but there were also several sketches of people. One of them, he saw, was Elsa. And it was remarkably well done. Whoever had done them had a natural talent for art. "See how clean this room is?" she asked. "It had best stay this way. Now then, let's go see the Quartermaster and get you clothing."

The Quartermaster was on the second level, in a large room that was filled with shelves, those shelves holding assorted items and articles. The Quartermaster himself was a small wiry man, approaching his golden years, with a bald pate fringed with gray hair. His face was drawn, as thin as he was, but Tarrin saw that he moved with a spry step that belied his advanced years. he wore a simple brown coat over a white shirt, with brown trousers, and he had several stick pins stuck to the sleeves of his coat. He had several Novices and similarly young people with colored shirts or dresses rather than white. Those, he'd managed to deduce, were Initiates, in the step above the Novices. "Madam Elsa," he greeted in a scratchy voice, eyeing Tarrin warily. "What can I do for you?"

"This boy needs Novice's clothing," she said, jerking her thumb at Tarrin.

"Ah, this could be a challenge," he said, studying Tarrin. "Is he always so thin?"

"He should fill out a bit," Elsa said.

"Turn around," the man told Tarrin, and he did so. "That tail is going to cause a problem," he said. "I'll have to put a button in the back for it. I'll just have to cut holes in the underclothing."

"Do you have anything just for now?" she asked.

"We could put him in a robe until I get his pants sewn," he offered.

"That's a good idea," she agreed.

"Do you commonly wear shoes, Novice?" he asked.

"No sir," he said, holding up a leg and letting him see the rough pads on the bottom of his feet. "My feet do well enough for me."

"Good, I don't have any shoes big enough for those feet," he said, "and those claws would cut them up pretty quickly anyway.

"Let me measure you, and then I'll get to work on some pants," he said, taking a knotted cord out of his pocket, the knots tied at regular intervals along its length. "Go behind that screen and take off the shirt and pants." The affair took about ten minutes, for the wiry Quartermaster was quite adept at what he was doing. He would wrap that knotted cord around some part of Tarrin's body, and then write down the resulting measurement on a slate board he'd taken off a table. Tarrin was a bit antsy when the man casually wrapped that cord around the base of his tail to measure its width. He was unaware of how sensitive that particular place was, but Tarrin didn't do anything. He just stayed still and let him get it overwith. In a very short time, he had Tarrin thoroughly measured, and had taken reference measurements from Tarrin's current pants. The man gave him an old, worn out robe to wear, for he adamantly refused to give back the filthy, ripped clothing Tarrin had been wearing. "I'll be sure to leave room for him to fill them out," he told Elsa. "From his current clothes, I have a good idea of how much that's going to be. He can wear that old frayed robe to the bathing pool, and he can wear this one until he gets these clothes." He pointed at a folded garment that had been placed on a table by a Novice.

"When will they be ready?" Elsa asked.

"I can have them for you tomorrow morning," he replied.

"Very good. Come along, Tarrin, we'll get you clean."

They went down into a basement, and he was quite surprised. In the basement was a huge pool of water, one end of it steaming, and it was occupied by a surprising number of people who were bathing. Both men and women. There were many chairs set around the bathing pool which were filled with clothing and towels, and there were several Novices scurrying about tending the baths. The water smelled heavy to his nose, and he realized that it was minerals in the water, the minerals of a natural hot spring. A most ingenious way to build a communal bath and keep the water hot.

"Surprised?" she asked.

"A bit, ma'am," he responded.

"There's just the one pool, and since we all don't have the same hours, it would be impossible to divide the time. Don't worry, you'll get used to it. It takes some people longer than others, but you will. Everyone uses this pool. You, me, the Novices, Initiates, Sorcerers, guards, servants, and visitors. Even the Keeper herself bathes here."

Tarrin felt absolutely no reservations about undressing, he realized. The time with Jesmind had indeed changed him, in more ways than one. Or maybe the time with her had allowed him to come more into contact with the Cat within him. Either way, he realized soberly in that instant that he was changing, he was adapting to his Cat instincts. And, in some ways, they were starting to have a serious influence on his views and mannerisms.

He unbelted the robe immediately, and pulled it off his shoulders, then draped it over the back of a chair. She laughed richly. "That didn't take very long," she said as he stood beside her nude.

"I'm not human, Mistress Elsa," he reminded her gently. "My idea of modesty isn't the same as yours."

"Point taken," she acceded. "Is there anything else I should know? Anything special you'll need?"

"No," he replied. "I don't need anything special, ma'am. My blood is dangerous to humans, but let me be the one to worry about that problem."

"Yes, you would be the best to deal with it," she agreed. "And telling everyone that you're contagious may not endear them to you."

"I can do without that added stress, ma'am," he told her, giving the hot water a longing look.

"I'll leave you to your bath now," she told him. "I'll send someone to take you back to your room."

"I can make it back on my own, ma'am," he replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, ma'am," he said. "I can find it. I'd like to walk around and see things after the bath, anyway."

"Alright then," she said. "Just don't get lost."

"No chance of that, ma'am," he told her. "I can follow my own scent trail back if I don't know where I am."

"Your nose is that sensitive?"

He nodded.

"Interesting. Have a good bath. Don't get waterlogged."

She left him as he lowered himself immediately into the water. It was tepid, and he discovered that it got hotter as one moved towards the far end of the pool. He waded in the waist deep water until he reached a delightfully hot temperature, then picked up a cake of soap that was sitting on a tray between the outer and the inner lip of the pool. He saw that there were two edges to the pool, the upper one and a lower one near the water level, that was just below the surface of the water. The water poured over that edge in a very thin stream, then was channeled away to a drain that removed the excess. He noted that that skimmed the soap foam and dirt out of the water and carried it away, keeping the water clean for other bathers. A very clever design.