|| Wythe's Hidden Attic

Wythe's Hidden Attic occupies the long-abandoned loft space above Scurf's Cutlers, located at 6 Plout Strang in St. Lawrence’s Quarter, Cabinet. The district, among the oldest in the city, retains a medieval street plan—dense with overhanging wynds, blind alleys, and haphazard vertical additions. The building sits along Cloffering Alley and was constructed on a narrow burgage plot: timber-framed with a rubble stone base and irregular floor levels stacked vertically. The ground floor houses the forge and grinding room for cutlery manufacture; above are dry storage rooms used for workshop items and occasionally rented to itinerant tradesmen. The attic itself was a later vertical addition from the mid-18th century, tacked on during an economic upturn to increase capacity, but never integrated into daily use.   Access to the attic was originally via a steep interior ladder that rose from the top storeroom. This was removed around 1820, after post-fire guild regulations required improved fire containment in workshops. By then, the loft had already fallen into disuse—its entrance sealed and boarded by a former merchant tenant who had sought to insulate against winter drafts and prevent rodent incursions—and the ladder appeared to “go nowhere, anyways.” As ownership changed repeatedly through the post-Napoleonic crash, knowledge of the attic completely faded. By the time Simon Scurf purchased the property during the canal boom, it was considered a two-storey premises.   Wythe discovered the space in 1838 while contracted under Porter Shaftesbury's sweep rotation to clean chimneys in the district. During a routine sweep, he noticed that the flue’s length and heat gradient suggested more vertical space than expected. After surveying the rear of the structure, he identified a small circular gable vent—roughly 45 by 45 centimetres—its muntins warped and soot-streaked. Using his smoke-form, he infiltrated the hidden space and quickly recognized its potential.

The interior is dry but degraded. Oak floorboards are warped and uneven, scattered with residual charcoal, rat droppings, iron dust, and disused cloth packing. Though clearly neglected, Wythe has attempted to maintain a system of cleanliness. He sweeps the center aisle regularly with a fireplace brush and organizes his possessions. Any spoiled or damaged item is discarded. He uses lye-water and charcoal to remove biological remnants, particularly from items sourced off bodies, and stores scented cloths in brass tobacco tins to preserve smell. In the attic, where he is happy to play pretend rich, any discrepancy (e.g a rat, stains) will cause him to lash out violently.   Wythe prioritizes comfort and affectation. He prefers plush upholstery, perfume, satin textures, and soft, dry linens. A collection of stolen pillows—from parlours, chaise longues, and beds—serves as his nest, stacked high and flanked by folded blankets and fine sheets. He chooses only those without stains, tears, or excessive wear. Bedding is turned and rotated. A cracked vanity mirror, looted from a middle-class townhouse, sits propped against the vent side wall, despite showing no reflection. He dislikes that it’s cracked, but it was the only one he’s encountered slim enough to fit through the gable vent.   The attic air is humid in summer and stifling year-round due to rising forge heat from below, even at night after Scurf has vacated the premise. He frequently strips nude to cope, but it’s tolerable since his body temperature is naturally colder. Scents from Blether Tavern drift upward when the wind blows westerly—beer yeast, roast drippings, and stale pipe smoke—blending with the metallic tang of hot steel and scorched grindstone.

Due to the size constraints of the vent, no mattress or plush seating could be transported into the attic. Instead, Wythe has built a bedding mound from a dozen upholstered pillows, stitched covers, and collected blankets. Softer, higher-quality materials are layered closest to his skin, and linen sheets are rotated to reduce body smell. On cold nights, he burns scavenged tallow in a broken pewter teacup. He refuses to use straw or sacking. He has no need to sleep, but will sometimes just lay there, smiling.

The attic serves as Wythe’s sole unsupervised sanctuary. Unlike the basement at Shaftesbury's Soot-House in Burnside, which sees him subject to curfews, monitoring, and inventory checks, this space permits absolute autonomy. Here he is allowed to extend the part of the feed he enjoys most, the after—mimicry, dress-up, fantasy reenactments—without risk of discovery or interruption. He uses it as a rotating cache for loot, temporary housing, and a theatre for private compulsions.   Its location in || St. Lawrence’s Quarter—midpoint between his hunting grounds in Broomvale District and Trivet Heights and his assigned residence in Burnside District—allows efficient transport of stolen goods. He can do fasters trips to and from the kill site and the stash, and this also increases the quantity of his loot. The fact that cutlers (including Scurf and co.) do not typically live above their workshops means that Wythe can move about after dark without alerting occupants.   While St. Lawrence hosts vice industries similar to Burnside—brothels, gin shops, and gambling rooms—it does not contain the same overflow of vagrancy. There is no such thing as ‘abandoned’ in Burnside because the homeless underclass will actively seek out and squat in any available liveable area. The attic’s inaccessibility via normal human means, combined with the general lack of interest in old lofts or void spaces by the quarter’s transient underclass, ensures that it remains untouched.

The loot stash in Wythe’s hidden attic exists out of necessity—both personal and communal—because Porter Shaftesbury retains control over all officially recovered valuables from feedings, donating them publicly to preserve their cover while leaving the crew in relative deprivation. Despite their vampiric condition, Griggs' former sweeps live in continued material scarcity under Porter's regime, lacking financial autonomy and enduring surveillance. Wythe’s private hoard counters this, serving as insurance against punishment, exile, or collapse of Porter's system, especially with the Stokers posing a new threat. It ensures that, if exposed, expelled, or otherwise having their safety jeopardized, he and others might still access tools, disguises, or coin critical for escape or survival.   Wythe hoards compact valuables and tradeable goods suited to pawning, as well as cold, hard currency. His cache includes silver flatware, snuffboxes, silks, cameos, ivory-handled razors, embroidery scissors, brass buttons, and hand-painted porcelain lids. He collects paste jewelry rather than fine gemstones—flashier to his eye (he is born underclass, and cannot distinguish truly tasteful or valuable items) and more readily found on the middle class. Pocket watches and spectacles are frequent prizes, especially those with initials engraved. From children’s rooms he’s taken dolls, combs, and once a silver baby rattle.

Over time, Wythe's collection reached a small fortune that assured him of || Griggs' Crew's security, and while he continues to add to the loot, he's also begun stealing for self-gratification. Wythe has an unspoken but deeply entrenched subconscious aspiration towards wealth and the happiness he feels it represents, which has always been denied to him and those he cares about most. After venting his grievances on kill victims, he will take and repurpose their belongings to daydream about an eventuality wherein he and those closest to him can supplant these dead victims and assume their fulfilling lifestyles.   Wythe’s collection of undergarments, waistcoats, scented handkerchiefs, and perfumed ribbons is selected meticulously. He favors items that carry evidence of their owners’ hygiene, including shaving kits, rouge tins, cologne flasks, hair oil bottles, beeswax sticks, or perfumed blotting paper. Anything with personal embossing or scent is favored. Many objects are associated with a kill and stored with context. He files women’s gloves in a tobacco box lined with blue silk. A boot brush taken from a constable’s flat still bears flakes of polish. Each item is catalogued internally, now on paper.

After feeding, he strips the victim of clothing, selects items for transportation, and will do multiple rounds of ferrying until daylight to haul as much cargo into the stash as possible. He’s patient enough to wait until another day to mimic their postures, speech, or imagined routines once inside the attic. He eats their food if possible beforehand and masturbates using their possessions. Sometimes, he sings pub songs overheard from Blether Tavern or recalls lines of theatre dialogue. He never soils his nest or keeps bloodied items; all clothes are cleaned with lye before storage.

There is no lock. The attic remains secret due to its physical inaccessibility and its obscurity within the chaotic tangle of the St. Lawrence wynds. Wythe uses smoke-form exclusively for entry and exit, and the gable vent remains untouched to the casual eye. Only when transporting larger stolen items does he widen the access temporarily. No one knows of the attic. No one suspects it exists.