It should have been no surprise to Henrik at all that young Master Harry Duffins rolled in through an open window, landing on the worn rug of his sitting room with only enough noise to alert the occupant that he’d, in fact, arrived. He was dressed in “street finest,” as Merri had once put it, the disreputable rags he typically wore when he needed to rejoin his mates in the Flit, but the blond hair, freckles, and grin were undeniably Harry.
“Oi,” he said by way of greeting. “I was to see yer alone, and not `enaged wif ovver persons over ovver mattuhs’.” It was an amusingly good reproduction of Merri’s accent, even if some of the words were mispronounced. “An’ since yer not, that I c’n see anyways, Merri says I should ‘and you this note…”
[[He’s patting down his pockets for it, if Henrik would care to speak… :)]]