A/N: I know, another Nix oneshot. Ever wondered where Cassiel's Bells came from, and why they disappeared so long ago? Well, now you know!- Riddle x
Cassiel's Big Blunder
Cassiel, forty first Abhorsen, was rather renowned for his forgetfulness. In fact, it was his defining trait. At dinner parties, or banquets at the Royal Palace, or the Ambassador's Ball, he was guaranteed to have every single blunder he had made (and there were rather too many for his liking) since he had come into the public eye at the age of eleven, made the butt of public jokes.
The King's personal favourite- Dunstyr always had a rather strange sense of humour- was the time he forgot which message-hawk was which and sent a rather long rant on the state of international affairs to his befuddled wife, and an extremely inappropriate description about what he was going to do to her after he returned from the Red Lake to the Ancelstierran ambassador, his sister-in-law, who had promptly travelled all the way to Abhorsen's House to give him a piece of her mind. The conversation had become rather explosive, with her even blowing apart a magnificent statue that stood in the centre of one of the lawns, rupturing and bending one of the water-pipes so badly that Cassiel commissioned a fountain to cover it, and named it after the hot-headed Ambassador.
Then, of course, favoured by the Clayr, there was the disastrous incident with the Paperwing. Halfway up the Ratterlin, on the way to the Clayr's Glacier, Cassiel had forgotten the Charter Mark for a constant wind and gone plunging into the river, floated unconscious downstream for two days, where he probably would have gone over the Great Waterfall had the Clayr not foreseen what was going to happen and sent a Ranger out to pick him up. He had never seen Ellazora the Head Ranger laugh until that happened, and now it happened far too often!
The story most often told over dinner at Abhorsen's House, that could always bring a chuckle to his wife and four children, was what they liked to call "The Ballerina Incident", after the dances that young Fyenne loved to see when she accompanied her Aunt Alliel on diplomatic missions to Ancelstierre. Tired out after a long journey pursued by many of the Dead, Cassiel couldn't remember which bell opened the door at the base of the Long Cliffs- and took a chance on Kibeth. Walker certainly didn't open the door, but She did give Cassiel another way home. He pirouetted all the way up the steps, along the cliff, and over the stepping stones, unable to regain control of his legs and watched from the Observatory by his hysterical wife, who had not let a day go by without recounting the tale since.
Oh, yes. Cassiel was definitely forgetful.
He managed surprisingly well, though, especially in the later years of his term as Abhorsen. He had taken the title at a young age, and served during the awful years after the death of the Queen. He had spend a decade and a half constantly on the move between Abhorsen's House, the Glacier, Belisaere and Roble's Town, his nephew Joelan doing jobs he couldn't manage. His wife and four daughters lived in the seclusion and safety of the Clayr's Glacier, returning only in the first year of the reign of Regent Berella, to receive her at the House as was traditional.
Suanne was not happy.
"Look what you've done to it!" was her anguished whisper as she walked in the front door. The House was a tip. Damp clung to the walls, muddy armour lay in heaps on the floor, books and papers were everywhere but on the bookshelves, which were crammed with weapons and other paraphernalia, the curtains and ornaments were dusty, and fifteen year's worth of crap lined the floors of the House.
In all his years as Abhorsen, Cassiel had never been as terrified as he was when his wife advanced on him, her mouth set and eyes, usually twinkling with good humour, flashing with fires eerily similar to those that burned in the sockets of the Greater Dead.
"YOU ARE CLEARING UP THIS MESS, CASSIEL!" she exploded. "Or, Charter save me, I will call my sister to help me destroy you! I- am- not- living- like- this!"
Suanne was at least eight inches shorter than her husband, but he cringed as she advanced on him, his bells and sword no match for her tasselled handbag.
"Suanne! Suanne, calm down! I'll tidy up!" needless to say, it took an hour and several large glasses of mulled wine to calm her down enough to speak coherently, and her voice was still about an octave higher than usual.
"How?! How did this? What happened? What happened to the sendings?"
"You don't know how annoying they get when there are two hundred with nothing but you to focus their attention on" growled Cassiel.
"Excuse me?" hissed his wife, and he stepped back a pace. "I gave birth four times with two hundred sendings attending me!"
"Point... point taken" said Cassiel weakly.
"Cassiel" she said sternly "Where are the sendings?"
"Err... locked in the cellar. I'll go and let them out" but Suanne smiled dangerously at him.
"Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. They aren't coming out yet"
"But you just said I have to clean-"
"Yes" she said with a smirk. "You have to clean it up. I'll be in the orchard if you need me"
And his wife practically skipped out of the room, followed by her two youngest daughters. Only six and twelve years old, both had learnt at an early age to support the winning side in an argument between their parents. Fyenne shook her head in exasperation at her father.
Cassiel stood, open mouthed, facing the hallway he was in. How was he ever going to clean this up? The Kingdom would be overrun by the Dead before he finished! He would be an old man! He let out a little moan.
"Dear me, Abhorsen. Twenty-two years of fighting the Dead single-handedly, and a little spring cleaning gives you a nervous breakdown" snickered a voice beside him.
"Shut up" scowled Cassiel, giving Mogget, as he was now known, an evil look. "Now, you're going to help me"
"Not likely" said the little man, wrinkling his nose at the smelly remains of what had once been a fine silken surcoat. "I will advise and direct, as is only proper. From a safe vantage point" and with that, the man turned into a pure white cat and leapt onto Cassiel's shoulder.
"First" said the cat "Gather up anything on the floor of use and carry it to the Great Hall". It was easier said than done, and took Cassiel three and a half hours. Eventually, however, the table was groaning under the weight of books, weaponry, clothes and all manner of other things. Next, Mogget directed him to use the Charter to burn some of the more toxic clothes. Cassiel was sweating heavily by this time, and stripped off his bells and surcoat, dumping them in a corner with a sigh.
"What now?"
"We put all the useful things where they belong. All the other stuff, we hide."
"Where?" said Cassiel nervously. Space was rather limited in Abhorsen's House.
"Just let the sendings do it" said Mogget. "You hide it all in a spare bedroom, and they'll tidy it away themselves. At least your wife won't be guilty of manslaughter"
"Alright" said Cassiel. "She won't think to check the spare bedroom. I'll do it"
He combed the entire house, grabbing everything off the floor and just about managing to fit it all into the largest spare bedroom, then shutting and locking the door. Another three hours replacing papers, books, ornaments, weapons, toys, tools and all manner of other things in the correct places and the House looked rather more respectable. Cassiel went in search of his wife.
"Hmm" said his wife with a frown as she entered the House. "Much better, but still not great. You're forgiven. Go and let out the sendings, and we'll go and sit on the roof terrace while they finish off, it won't take long. I hope you've learnt your lesson"
"Yeah" said Cassiel with a smile. "We need to live in separate houses"
"Or rather" said Suanne, laughing "you need to be supervised by a responsible adult at all times" Cassiel looked guilty enough for his wife to smile, and she went to fetch the girls while he went to get some wine from the kitchen.
The four of them spent a very pleasant evening talking and laughing, and the sun was sinking below the horizon when they entered the House again. Cassiel thanked the Charter and the Shining Ones for the invention of sendings, as the servants, probably working off fifteen years of boredom, had left the house gleaming. Floors shined, rugs washed, walls repainted, ornaments dusted and books were sorted in alphabetical order. Leaving his wife to help the sendings with dinner, Cassiel risked a quick trip to the spare bedroom.
"You have a lot to thank me for" said Mogget, looking unbearably smug. He was still in his cat-form, Cassiel noticed, but for once the man didn't really mind the creature's sarcastic interruptions. All the junk in the room had magically vanished. Cassiel guessed that the sendings had stowed it all methodically away in all their mysterious nooks and crannies, to be brought out if an Abhorsen was in dire need.
"I rather do, Mogget" he said, with a relieved sigh. "Perhaps you would like a nice juicy freshwater tuna?"
"That would be wonderful" said Mogget, with a sophisticated, disdainful sort of mew. "Of course, a songbird or two would be more appropriate, but as I am bound to serve, I should probably take what I can get"
"You should indeed" said Cassiel, leaving the room and snapping the door shut behind him.
It was a quiet autumn, with lots of rain, and therefore a brief lull in trouble from the Dead and Free Magic creatures. Cassiel was rather enjoying a well-earned break, when he received a summons from Qyrre- a pack of Dead Hands were preying on the outer reaches of the city. A normal enough job for an Abhorsen, and Cassiel estimated he would be back before nightfall.
"Right" he muttered to himself. "Have I got everything... hmm... surcoat, gethre, bells... BELLS!" He combed his bedroom, the study, the armoury, the Observatory, the library, the reading room... they where nowhere to be seen. Then suddenly, he yelled a most unsavoury swearword. An image flashed through his mind- his surcoat and bells on the floor of the corridor, where he had left everything he didn't need...
"Oh, Abhorsen" said Mogget, with a sigh, looking at the stricken look on his face. "You didn't"
A/N: He did indeed! The sendings have tidied Cassiel's Bells away to some long-forgotten storecupboard, and there they are to remain, until the sendings see fit to bring them out again, two hundred years later, for Lirael! In case you want to know, Cassiel reverted to the spare set of bells, which would eventually be passed on to Terciel and Sabriel. What do you think?- Riddle x