Gotham's early spring was far less gentle than it was in the wilderness. Even in this season when all things came to life, cold winds still howled through the night.
But the wind outside could not drown out the roar of the blazing fireplace. Merkel, still carrying a chill from outdoors, added the firewood he had just brought from the storeroom into the hearth.
The flames stretched his shadow long. In the unlit hall, the outlines of every piece of furniture flickered in and out of view amid the firelight.
Footsteps came from the stairs. Merkel stood and turned around, then quickly walked toward Schiller, who had just come downstairs. He took a coat from the nearby rack, and after Schiller put it on, he picked up a black umbrella from the stand.
Merkel lowered his head to check his watch and said, "Sir, tonight's opera does not begin until nine. Do you have an appointment with someone?"
"That's right. Someone invited me to dinner at the restaurant beside the Grand Theater. He called the school directly, so you did not know." Schiller adjusted his tie in the mirror. Merkel took up a duster and brushed the dust from the hem of his coat. "Sounds like a modern gentleman. He invited you to dinner and called the school directly."
"Yes. After all, it was already 1990. New year, new beginnings. Many old orders should have stepped down."
With that, Schiller walked out the front door and got into the car arranged in advance. Through the window, he saw exceptional prosperity all along the way. The West End manor district, which had once declined, was once again ablaze with lights.
As Gotham's logistics industry developed better and better, the supporting service industries grew alongside it. The food business in the East