May 1817
Childermass was not in the room when Segundus awoke the next morning; he could tell before he even opened his eyes. He idly wondered where Childermass might have gone off to and why, exactly, he was so convinced that the man ought to be present. He tried to sit up, and all at once, the events of the previous day, momentarily forgotten in the haze that follows sleep (magically-induced or otherwise) came rushing back to his mind. He let out a pained groan as his back seized, and he collapsed back against the pillows. He lay there panting for some moments before he could gather the strength to roll onto his side and push himself into a sitting position. His boots were thankfully nearby, and he slid his feet into them without too much trouble, but he couldn't bend over far enough to lace them up properly.
Standing up straight was an ordeal, but Segundus managed it with the help of the chair, the desk, the wall, and, at several points, the curtains. He consoled himself with the fact that at least his legs could bear his own weight and he would not have to be half-carried and half-dragged back down through the inn. He had no need to dress, so he made his way over to the bureau where a basin of water stood and splashed his face. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, trying to comb it into a semblance of an orderly style, though he had left his mousse with the coach. He frowned at his reflection in the spotty mirror above the bureau. It would have to do. Fortunately, he would be able to keep it covered with a hat for much of the day.
A few bread rolls, a wedge of cheese, and a small pot of jam sat on a plate on the desk. Segundus was not sure if this was the remains of his uneaten dinner last night or if someone had come in to lay breakfast on the desk, should he want it. He did not like the thought of a maid or a footman coming into his room while he was in a magically-induced slumber. Not that he did not trust the maids and the footmen! He was sure they were decent, respectable young women and men. But it was the vulnerability of the thing. Perhaps Childermass had been the one to lay it, though. After all, Childermass was the one with the key. Segundus was not nearly as alarmed by the thought of Childermass laying out breakfast while he slept. In fact, the thought was rather enticing. It made Segundus feel warm in a sort of quiet, shivery way.
Segundus did not have long to ponder why Childermass might induce such feelings in him. The door unlocked and opened, and the man himself stepped quietly into the room as though he expected its occupant to be asleep. "You are standing," he said, astonished.
"I am," said Segundus. "It was no easy feat." He took stock of his visitor. Childermass's clothes— the same ones he wore yesterday— had some new patches of dirt that had not been present previously. He was not wearing a hat, and he hadn't yet tied his hair back. It hung around his face like sheets of rain. There was something yellow caught in it. Segundus frowned and reached for the offending item. "Straw?" he asked.
"Hay," said Childermass. He was watching Segundus with a wary look in his eye, as though he thought he might need to spring forward at any second to save him from collapsing. Normally, Segundus might have been offended that Childermass thought him to have such a weak constitution, but the events of the previous evening demonstrated that such a service might be necessary after all.
"Why do you have hay in your hair?" Segundus asked. He looked between the stalk of hay in his hand and Childermass's more-rumpled-than-usual appearance. "You did not—"
"I was seeing to the horses," said Childermass quickly.
"You slept in the stable!" accused Segundus.
"I had to make sure Bradshaw's horse was alright. He's getting it re-shoed now." There was an edge of desperation in Childermass's voice.
"Yes, alright, but you slept in the stable." Childermass opened his mouth, but Segundus didn't give him the chance to protest. "Do not deny it! Why in Heaven, Hell, and the lands beyond would you do such a thing?"
Childermass was beginning to get a mulish look about him. "You did not seem to want my company last night."
"I did not want you to act as my servant, sir," Segundus said. "That does not mean I wanted to send you from the room that you yourself paid for. That hardly seems fair!"
"Well, the thing is done now, so let us not make a fuss about it," said Childermass. He crossed his arms. "Do you want your breakfast?"
Segundus sighed. "I will eat it on the road, whenever Bradshaw gets back."
"Very well."
They looked at each other for a moment.
"What shall you do with Vinculus?" Segundus asked to fill the uncomfortable silence.
Childermass looked surprised. "I was not aware I ought to do anything with him."
"Surely you will not be keeping him from being studied while we investigate the Johannites," said Segundus. It dawned on him then that they were still stood rather awkwardly near the door to his room. "Might we sit, if you have no other pressing matters?"
Childermass's mouth quirked into a tiny smile. "And if I do?"
"Then I will sit," Segundus said with a touch of annoyance. "And you may carry on about your business."
"I have no other business," Childermass said after a brief pause. "Would you like to sit here or in the public house below?"
Segundus considered. The room was pleasant enough (if one could ignore the wallpaper) but it felt stifling without a window, and he would rather get the pain of going downstairs over with. "Downstairs, I think," he decided. "These walls are making me ill."
Childermass glanced at the walls, still smirking. "You have only had to look at them for ten minutes altogether."
"And that has been quite enough for me," Segundus said.
The journey down the stairs was less painful than the one going up it had been. Segundus wasn't sure if it was because his muscles had relaxed somewhat— it certainly did not feel like that was the case— or if the motions were simply easier for his stiff and sore legs to complete. He did not have to lean so heavily on Childermass, but he did require the use of the banister.
"I apologize for the inconvenience," he said as Childermass deposited him in a low, comfortable armchair near the roaring fire downstairs.
Childermass let out a soft huff of laughter. "You do not weigh so much. I have carried far heavier burdens for Mr. Norrell. I do not mean to say that you are a burden, sir," he said as Segundus opened his mouth to apologize once more. "Only that it is no inconvenience." He sank down into the armchair opposite Segundus and propped his feet up on the low wooden table that separated them. A passing footman frowned, but Childermass didn't seem to notice. "You asked what I intend to do with Vinculus," he said slowly. "I had not given it much thought."
"Is there a magical society in Duffield?" Segundus asked.
"There is not," said Childermass. "The nearest one is in Derby, I believe, and I would not want to be so far from him." He grimaced. "He is under my care, and he makes that difficult enough as it is."
"We might invite some of the Derby Society, or whatever they're called, to examine him in Duffield. I would not want to stifle magical scholarship."
"No one could accuse you of wanting to stifle magical scholarship," Childermass said with a small smile. It was not the one he had given Segundus before; it was warmer, somewhere between teasing and fond. It was not an expression that Segundus had often seen him make, and he found that he wanted to see more of it in the future. "I shall consider it."
Bradshaw appeared through the inn's front door. "Ah, there you are, sirs. I've got me 'orse shoed again."
"Right," said Childermass. "I will go fetch your things, Mr. Segundus."
"You are not a servant," Segundus insisted.
"As you keep telling me, but please, allow your sense of propriety to make room for convenience." Childermass raised one heavy eyebrow. "Unless you would rather walk up the stairs again?"
"No," said Segundus. He leaned back in his armchair. "I suppose I would not."
"There you have it." Childermass stood. "Can you make it to the coach on your own?"
Segundus stood with some difficulty and made his way to the coach waiting outside. He had to be helped into the coach, but he supposed that most people did (after all, that was why one's footman often travelled with one's coach, was it not?) so it was no great blow to his pride.
Vinculus, once again, sat in the footman's seat by Bradshaw, so Segundus was quite alone inside. He wasn't sure if this state of affairs was better or worse than having Vinculus for company. At least he did not feel quite as trapped as he had on the first day of the journey, he mused. He still would have preferred to be out under the open sky, riding next to Childermass and speaking, perhaps, of magical matters, but being alone in the coach was an acceptable state of affairs for the time being.
Yorkshire, clad in bright greens and yellows, unwound itself beneath the grey ribbon of the road, and the sky lay heavy above. There was something to the moors that he didn't remember being present further south in England. The land seemed more alive; it was one of the things that had drawn him to Yorkshire in the first place. It was an area full of wildness and wonder, of mystery and magic. There was meaning here, and substantiality, and— above all— a history that was quite unique. People had traditions that went back to the time of the Raven King, or even before. They had taken to the return of magic with great aplomb. Much more so than in the Southern counties, Segundus had heard, where some still debated if this version of the Raven King was, in fact, the genuine article or merely another pretender.
Childermass, Segundus mused, was as wild as the heather. He had a remoteness about him that spoke of ancient magics lost to the ravages of time. He reminded Segundus of fairy-roads, of King's Roads, of going on a journey across the moor and finding oneself in an entirely unexpected location. It wasn't all down to magic, though. Segundus certainly didn't think such things of Tom Levy, for example, or Miss Redruth, or Mr. Thorne. There was something about Childermass that was particularly alluring, like standing at the edge of a dark and shadowed forest. He wanted to wander beneath its branches and see what he might find.
Between these thoughts, the books he had taken with him, and the magical periodicals that he had not yet had the chance (or the focus) to read, Segundus passed an almost-pleasant morning alone in Bradshaw's coach. When they stopped at a public house in Chesterfield for luncheon, he was surprised that time had passed so quickly.
"We have made good progress," Childermass said over their light luncheon of bread and cold meats.
"Will we make it to Duffield this evening?" asked Segundus.
Childermass took a swig of his ale. "I do not believe so, no," he said. "Not unless we push the horses quite hard." Bradshaw took a breath, but Childermass continued before he could protest. "Which is not something I am inclined to do."
"Very good, sir," Bradshaw said.
Segundus supposed that the afternoon might pass as quickly as the morning, but he was quickly proven wrong. The feeling of being trapped within the coach returned, and he longed to be out under the sky that lay low above the land. He tried to distract himself with study and periodicals and even a few attempts at a tricky spell to call lost memories to one's mind. Still, no matter how hard he tried to be productive, his attention wandered every few minutes. It was a frustrating sensation. He wanted to study, to turn his thoughts to scholarly topics, but every time he tried, it was as though his mind went wandering down a fairy-path and ended up in an entirely unexpected location. By the time they stopped in the mid-afternoon to feed and water the horses, Segundus had grown quite agitated.
"You were trying to do magic," Childermass said as Brewer munched noisily from his feed-bag.
"Oh, yes, I was," said Segundus. He adjusted his hat. "I hope I was not disturbing you. That sort of thing affects you even more than it does me— I did not even think. Please forgive me."
"No disturbance at all." Childermass paused. "Were you successful?"
"Alas, no. I cannot seem to get the shape of it quite right." Segundus smiled as best as he could. "I was never a very good theoretical magician, let alone a practical one."
Childermass sighed. "You already know what I think of your abilities," he said quietly. "I shall not repeat myself."
Segundus felt heat rise to his face. "Surely you didn't mean… Surely you were just flattering me."
Childermass looked at him for a long moment. "Have you ever known me to be a flatterer, sir?"
"No, I suppose not," said Segundus.
They stood for a moment in near-silence, listening to Brewer chewing and Bradshaw's and Segundus's horses slurping noisily from the nearby brook. The sky promised rain later that evening, and Segundus didn't suppose they would be spared a second time.
"We ought to get on," Bradshaw called. "That is, if you still plan on stopping in Ambergate for the evening."
"Aye," Childermass said. He moved to help Bradshaw with the horses, but Segundus, acting entirely on impulse, reached out to grab his elbow.
Segundus was so surprised by his own reflex (he would never have been so bold if he had thought it through) that whatever he was going to say flew right out of his mind. "Sit with me," he said instead. "In the coach."
Childermass looked at him in surprise. "Why?"
In truth, Segundus could not explain why, even to himself. It was not only that he wanted a travelling companion— he wanted Childermass, specifically. He almost lost his nerve when he thought of how much he had wanted Childermass just a few days ago. This has nothing to do with that sort of thing, though! he protested. This is irreproachable. We are both magicians and scholars. "I thought we could talk."
"Why?" Childermass said again.
"You were happy enough to talk yesterday," said Segundus. He allowed a hint of irritation to creep into his voice. "Have I done something since then to offend you?"
"I do not believe you have ever caused anyone more than a momentary offense," Childermass said. He paused, his face thoughtful. "I thought I might have offended you with my talk about the Greeks and the Romans yesterday."
"The Greeks and the Romans?" Segundus repeated. "What have they got to do with anything? Why should that offend me?"
Childermass let out a peal of laughter. "Ah, sir," he said between chuckles. "I keep forgetting."
"Forgetting what?" asked Segundus, bemused.
"Never mind." Childermass smiled at him, though there was an undercurrent of sadness despite his laughter the previous moment. Segundus thought there might be something significant to that sadness, but he couldn't think what. "Yes, I will sit with you. Just let me tie Brewer to the coach."
Segundus settled himself in the coach with Bradshaw's help. It was a great relief to sit down, though he hadn't been standing for very long. It was strange, he thought to himself as he pushed aside his books to make room for Childermass. When he had been sitting all day, he wanted nothing more than to stretch his legs and walk about, but once he had done that, his legs hurt so badly that he was obliged to sit some more. Childermass joined him before too long, though he raised an eyebrow at the pile of books that took up most of Segundus's seat.
"You did not pack light," he said.
"Was I supposed to?" asked Segundus. "You did not say."
"Peace, sir." Childermass settled himself on the seat opposite Segundus and rapped his knuckles against the roof of the coach. "It was not a requirement."
The coach trundled into motion, and for a moment, they just looked at each other.
"Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?" Childermass asked.
"Oh! I suppose so," said Segundus. He must have had something in mind when he made the suggestion, but now that Childermass was actually in front of him, he couldn't remember. "It is very odd to see you inside a coach."
"I often rode with Mr. Norrell," Childermass said with a crooked smile. "Is that what you had in mind to discuss?"
"No, I would rather not speak of that horrid man at all."
"Well, then."
A tiny bit of sadness clung to the edges of Childermass's eyes, the curve of his lips. Segundus suddenly had the impulse to reach out and brush it away, to feel Childermass smile beneath his fingers, to touch Childermass's face while he laughed. He wanted to feel how happiness changed Childermass's weathered features. This need— for it was not a want, but a need he was sure he couldn't do without, now he had thought of it— was so foreign to him that he didn't know what to do with himself. He was familiar with more carnal desires (shame surged within him) but he was certain that he had never felt anything quite like what he felt for Childermass in that moment.
"Tell me more about the Johannites," he said. His voice sounded thin and high to his ears. "I am not as familiar with the situation as I ought to be."
"Right." Childermass settled back in his seat and took his hat off. His hair was mussed from the wind, and Segundus had to restrain himself from running his fingers through it to put it back in order. "They are craftsmen, as you know, who have been put out of work by new machinery."
"And you intend to convince them to quit their mission?"
"I am not quite sure what I intend to convince them of," Childermass said with a sigh. "And I suspect I won't know until I've spoken with their leaders, such as they are."
Segundus was surprised. He didn't think he had ever heard Childermass express doubt in such a way. He always seemed as unwavering as stone and as certain as the sunrise. "You do not mean to put an end to things, then?" he asked.
"I fear I must," said Childermass. "But first, I mean to see what they want with the Raven King and if they have any real chance of attracting his attention."
"And if they do?"
Childermass gave him a dark look. "Then I mean to make sure they understand the consequences of such a course."
"What right do you have to investigate?" Segundus asked.
"It is not illegal to ask questions," said Childermass.
"Of course." Segundus fumbled with his words for a moment. "I only meant… will you not be stepping on some toes? Suppose they do not want us to interfere."
Childermass was silent for the space of a few breaths. "The last time a full-scale rebellion broke out, it ended in workers being shot. These men are heading in the same direction, and they'll end up the same way if no one interferes."
"I think it is admirable for you to protect them," said Segundus.
Childermass smiled, no more than a quick twitch in the corner of his mouth, but a smile nonetheless. "I suspect you would find it less admirable if I told you that I care less about their individual lives and more about keeping peace in the land." He took his eyes off Segundus, who felt the loss keenly, and stared instead out the window of the coach. "The next few years will bring many disruptions. Magic has returned, and yet we have no books of it, save the one. The Raven King has returned, but who could say what his motives are? Mark my words, sir, we are at the beginning of a period of great unrest, and England can only take so much of it. If all this happened at a different time, I might have been a Johannite myself."
"You think their movement might grow out of control?"
Childermass nodded at that, his gaze still fixed on the countryside. "Any one of them what dies for the cause now will become a martyr— not just for the Johannites but for all those loyal to the Raven King. Any conflict could escalate into widespread violence. There are some who want Uskglass to retake the North. If things get out of control, England could be ripped apart by a civil war."
"So if we fail," Segundus began haltingly. "That is to say, if our investigation is unsuccessful and we cannot persuade the Johannites away from open rebellion…"
"We may be one of the causes for war in England," Childermass finished. "Aye. You are familiar with the tales of the Raven King's first conquest?"
Segundus nodded. "The better-known ones, at least. The exsanguination of the maid of Allendale, the rather short final battle, and so forth."
"It would not be fast if it started tomorrow," said Childermass. His eyes flicked briefly to Segundus's. "It would not only be fairies conquering Christians. A great number of North Englishmen would join the Raven King's cause. Both sides would have magic and magicians, not to mention the many machines of war that have been developed since the twelfth century."
Segundus suddenly felt very small. There was a real possibility that the future of England rested upon himself and Childermass. He could not imagine a pair less likely to succeed. "Do you really believe I am up to the task?"
"If I did not, do you think you'd be here?" Childermass said with a touch of impatience. "The time for self-doubt is over, sir. Put it behind you."
"I do not know if I can. I have never been without it." This was not something Segundus had admitted to anyone, not even Mr. Honeyfoot. He couldn't look at Childermass while he said it; his gaze was fixed out the window, on the clouds above that seemed to stretch over the land like an embrace. Their presence, strangely, comforted Segundus. He did not think he could make such a confession to the very heavens. "I do not suppose you have ever doubted yourself."
Childermass laughed at that; it had an unpleasant edge to it. Segundus felt like he was being mocked, and he shrank back in his seat. "You suppose a great many things about me." It was not quite the answer that Segundus had wanted, but Childermass seemed to notice the effect of his laughter. "Come now, sir," he said in a more conciliatory tone. "If doubt is something you must carry with you whither thou goest, as it were, then allow me to lighten your burden."
Segundus stared at him, puzzled.
"I have great faith in your abilities," Childermass said. His tone was quite unfamiliar to Segundus. It had an insistent sincerity to it, as though he wanted to convince Segundus of his candor, yet was infinitely gentle. "Whatever esteem you lack for yourself, know that I have it. Many things I may doubt, but you are not one of them."
Heat rushed to Segundus's face, and he found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from Childermass's. How could he possibly respond to such a declaration? "I… thank you, sir," he stammered. "That is very… heartening to hear." Suddenly, the weight of Childermass's gaze became too much for him to bear, and he had to look away. "Might we speak of happier topics?"
"Certainly." Childermass's voice had gone back to its usual rough drawl, though the edges of his words were still colored with tenderness. "Do you have anything in mind?"
Segundus cast about himself for a neutral topic. For once, he did not want to talk about magic. It would only remind him of his own inadequacy, which in turn would remind him of Childermass's strange revelations, and he could not bear to think about those right now. They had a weight to them that necessitated taking them out in solitude and quiet contemplation beneath the shelter of the sky and looking them over very carefully. No, they must talk about something entirely unrelated. "Tell me about the Greeks and the Romans," he said desperately. It was the first topic that had come to mind— something Childermass took interest in, but with which he himself was entirely unfamiliar. Something he had no connexions to.
Childermass raised an eyebrow. "What do you want to know about them?"
"You said you were interested in them. Their mythology. What interests you so?"
"Why do you want to know?" Childermass watched Segundus with something close to wariness, which was not at all the reaction Segundus wanted.
He shrugged, trying to feign a nonchalance that he didn't feel. "Because it is something you're interested in."
That at least brought a smile to Childermass's face, and a hint of the sadness that had been there before. "Mr. Segundus, if you were any other man, I would believe you had an ulterior motive. But yes, all right." He settled back in his seat. "I am interested in… their societies. Their ways of life. They had some magic, of course, but it was so poorly recorded that no one's got any idea of the shape of it."
"They must have lived very differently from ourselves," said Segundus. "I am afraid I do not know much about them. I wasn't allowed books on the Greeks or the Romans when I was growing up. My father thought they might prompt bad habits in me." Childermass gave a quiet cough at this, but he waved for Segundus to continue. "I understand many artists these days are fascinated with their architecture and sculptures, and many philosophers with their… well. Their philosophies."
"Indeed." Childermass's voice had a wry tone. "They seem to be interested in very specific customs and ideas but not in others."
"What do you mean?"
"For all their talk of preserving the knowledge of the past, many historians are more keen to put forth an idea of history that is… palatable, shall we say, to modern tastes."
Segundus frowned. "I am well aware of the practice of historical revisionism. It makes piecing together the timeline of English magic uniquely frustrating."
Childermass nodded once, sharply. "Several of the Mediterranean peoples of antiquity had some customs that scholars would prefer to expunge from the historical record."
"Because they are distasteful? How frustrating. Surely lost knowledge does more harm than good."
"I agree. I don't care for coddling the sensibilities of gentlemen."
"I have never known you to coddle, sir," Segundus said. He felt an odd pang somewhere behind his ribs. "What sort of customs would scholars of ancient Greece and Rome prefer to forget?" he asked to cover his discomfort. "Or have those customs already been forgotten?"
"Many of them have, I'm sure," said Childermass. "But I could not answer your question. Unlike the ancient peoples, you are quite without sin, sir. I will not be the cause of your corruption."
"Oh, I would not say that," Segundus muttered. His blood turned to ice in the next instant. He clapped his hand over his mouth as though he could pluck the unwise words out of the very air and force them back down his throat.
Childermass sat back in his seat, looking thoughtful. "No?"
Segundus's hopes that his slip-up might go unnoticed were lost to the expression of dark calculation on Childermass's face. His hand shook as he lowered it, and he cursed his own thoughtlessness. Had he ruined himself with one foolish remark? Surely Childermass now knew the depths of Segundus's shame. Surely Childermass would hate him forever— even though Segundus forgave himself for his inclinations, he knew full well the direction of public opinion.
He couldn't bear to look at Childermass. He cast his gaze out the window once more. Now, though, the heavy clouds didn't appear to embrace him, but to stifle and imprison him, and he had to fight the urge to jump out of the moving carriage and flee. Perhaps Childermass thought that Segundus had feigned his pain from horse-riding in order to trick him. What if Childermass reacted with violence? It would not be unheard of. He was not sure if he could defend himself against an attack, either physical or magical. And even if Childermass did not attack him, his life was surely over. He would be the laughingstock of the county; Mrs. Lennox would abandon him and any plans they had for Starecross. He would never publish again. He would fall into ruin and disrepute.
"I can hear you fretting from where I sit, sir," said Childermass. His voice carried an undertone of amusement and something darker that Segundus couldn't identify. "Allow me to set your mind at ease." He crossed the middle of the coach in a blur of motion and sat on the bench beside Segundus. After a moment of hesitation, he carefully took Segundus's face in his hands as though lifting something precious out of peril. His touch was as delicate as the first hint of spring.
Segundus drew in a shaky breath at the sensation of Childermass's hands on him once more, and his eyes were inexorably drawn to Childermass's face. There was none of the sorrow he had seen earlier, only a guarded sort of smile. He couldn't stop himself from leaning closer, too close for propriety.
"The Raven King has returned, Mr. Segundus." Childermass brushed a lock of hair out of Segundus's face. "You are in his country, and you are as much a North Englishman as I. You need not fear. You need not be ashamed."
Segundus raised a trembling hand to Childermass's hair. He ran his fingers through it as he had been wanting to do, his gaze holding steady with Childermass's. His hand brushed down the side of Childermass's face, tracing the faint silvery scar there, and came to rest at the back of Childermass's neck. He felt the delicate ridges of vertebrae, and his fingers tangled in the fine hairs. Childermass shivered at his touch.
Segundus wasn't sure which of them pulled the other to himself. In one instant, their lips were separated by words and air. In the next, they were separated by nothing at all.