May 1817
Childermass's sister turned out to be a woman named Maggie. She did not give a last name, and Segundus did not ask. The few strands of hair that had escaped her bonnet were an ashy honey color, and her eyes were a cold sort of green. Her clothes, though neat, were nondescript— not fashionable, but not far enough out of fashion to be noticeable. She moved tentatively, Segundus saw as she crossed the public house that made up the bottom floor of the Bridge Inn. She moved like a rabbit crossing an open field, knowing that a hawk made its home in the trees nearby.
As she approached, Segundus stood from his seat in the booth next to Childermass. (Vinculus was not present— Childermass had purchased for him several bottles of wine in exchange for his promise that he would remain in his rooms for the evening. Segundus thought this was a wise maneuver.) Childermass remained in his seat, smiling around his pipe, and earned himself a scolding look.
"There is no need to stand," Childermass said. "It is only Maggie."
Segundus moved behind her chair to help her into it, and Childermass laughed openly. He did not feel like he was being mocked, though, so he did not mind it as much.
"You've found yourself quite the gentleman," Maggie said after introductions were made and Segundus settled into his own chair. "When you said you had a man with you, I thought you meant another one of us."
"No," said Childermass. "He is not one of us."
"I suppose I might speak for myself!" Segundus said. "Who is us, exactly?"
Maggie's eyes flickered between the two men. "I misspoke. I apologize."
"There's no need to apologize," Childermass said with a sigh. "Mr. Segundus, all she meant was that I have done some favors in the past for my siblings."
"You got me where I am, right enough," Maggie muttered.
Childermass nodded to her politely, but Segundus could read irritation in the lines of his face. "Fortune granted me a good position with Mr. Norrell. I had enough influence to share my luck with those who had less of it."
Segundus had a flurry of questions, but he decided to ask them later. Childermass would be more forthcoming in the privacy of their room. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Maggie."
"Likewise," Maggie said, though she still had a guarded look in her eye.
A waiter appeared, and Childermass ordered three meals of fried fish and white bread rolls, along with two ales and a glass of Madeira-wine for Maggie.
She raised her eyebrow at this request. "Must be a big favor you're asking of me."
"I can't buy my favorite sister a glass of wine?" Childermass said with an ironical smile.
"You've never had a favorite anything," said Maggie, but she accepted the wine happily when the waiter poured it. She looked Segundus up and down with calculating eyes. "And now, it seems, you have two."
Segundus froze at that, his blood running cold. He must have given himself away— a hitch of his breath, perhaps, or a clench of his hand— because Childermass's hand dropped below the table for an instant and squeezed his thigh. It was the merest suggestion of pressure, nothing that might be noticed by a casual observer, but it was reassuring nonetheless.
"You're right, I suppose, about the favor," Childermass said to cover the moment. "But I don't expect it to be an imposition. We just want a bit of information."
"About the Johannites?" Maggie asked.
Childermass frowned. "How did you know?"
"It's Duffield," said Maggie with a dark look. "What else would you want information on?"
Childermass gestured expansively to her with his mug of ale. "As you say."
"Alright, then," Maggie said. "There's three men, I've heard— craftsmen, of course— and at least one woman, though her influence is harder to figure."
"You know their names?" Childermass asked.
"Only two: Hastings and Ainsworth. They were the real troublemakers. Everyone else just got mixed up in it." She took a sip of her wine. "That's the story, at least."
"And why won't they leave off?" Childermass leaned forward in his seat, his eyes intent on Maggie's face. "Why do they keep trying to stir up a rebellion after the shootings last year?"
Maggie shrugged at that. "You'll have to ask them."
"I intend to. Do you know their addresses?"
Maggie took another sip of wine and gave it an approving sort of nod. "Hastings lives near the church. Ainsworth's staying at his family's farm now— it's called Yew Tree— but he used to live in the southern part of town." She watched Childermass for a moment, her cold eyes tracing along the lines of his face. "I'm not playing a part in the death of these men, am I?"
"Is that what you think of me?" Childermass asked. He filled his pipe with smooth, practiced movements, barely taking his eyes off the woman in front of him. Maggie didn't answer, and he sighed. "And after I bought you wine."
"Am I wrong?"
"Yes," said Childermass with a touch of impatience. He puffed his pipe, and the smell of smoke bit at Segundus's nose. "About this and many other things."
Maggie looked down, abashed. Her fingers trailed restlessly over the stem of the wineglass as though trying to memorize the whorls and ridges of the cut glass. "I barely know you as a magician, John," she said after a moment. "Not half so well as when you were a thief."
Segundus drew a sharp breath with the intention of coming to Childermass's defense, but a warning glance from Childermass silenced him. Still, he couldn't help but seethe. What right did this woman have to name Childermass thief? He, of course, was perfectly entitled to think of Childermass in that manner, for Childermass had stolen magic from him more than once, but that didn't mean he wanted the fellow's good name (such as it was) to be slandered by this unknown entity. He was slowly becoming aware that his feelings toward Childermass were not entirely rational.
"I forgive you," said Childermass, and Maggie huffed a breath of laughter.
"Oh, well, that's very kind of you," she said.
"This rebellion, then. How far has it gone?"
Maggie shrugged. "Not very. No machines have been broken here, and I've not heard of any talk of burning down the mill. The whole thing's mostly driven by hot air and ale. Hastings and Ainsworth may have said some unwise things, but nowt to get themselves tried for treason." She sighed. "If the likes of you and the soldiers would stop fanning the flames, I'd wager it'd all die down in a month or so."
"Soldiers?" Segundus repeated, alarmed.
Maggie gave him an odd look. "Militiamen, aye, led by some young captain who struts about the town as though he owns the place. You didn't see them when you came into town?"
"Now that you mention it…" said Segundus. He did remember seeing several men in red uniforms strolling around. "But I thought they were off-duty, perhaps on a tour or a leave of absence."
Maggie exchanged a glance with Childermass. You've picked up a rather dull blade, haven't you? her gaze seemed to say. Segundus couldn't read Childermass's answer from his position at his side, but he supposed it was along the lines of yes, he's a tiresome fellow indeed, but he has his uses.
"They're here to keep the peace," Maggie said dismissively. "Though they're the ones disturbing it, the great louts."
"They're not harassing anyone?" asked Childermass with a faint air of alarm.
"No, nothing like that." Maggie tilted her head to the side. "But they're a disruption, y'see?"
Childermass nodded. "I do, indeed."
Their dinners arrived, and they ate mostly in silence. Segundus did his best to mimic the rougher style of his dining companions; he had the sense that the refined manners that had been forced into him would only mark him as even more of an outsider than he already obviously was.
Afterward, Maggie raised her glass to Childermass and drank the remaining wine in one swallow. "I've told you all I know. I should go before I'm spotted."
"You've got a decent, respectable position," Childermass said, so quietly Segundus couldn't hear. "There's no need for fear."
Maggie scoffed at that. "Is that what you tell your gentleman?"
Childermass's expression turned mulish at that point, but he still gave her a polite kiss on the cheek when she stood to leave. "You really are my favorite, you know," he said.
"Aye," Maggie said. "You as well." She left shortly after without a backward glance.
Segundus knew that he ought to take her seat across from Childermass, now she had gone. There was little sense in remaining in the booth next to him; they could not properly converse. But every now and then, some part of Childermass would brush up against his body— Childermass's elbow against his side, or Childermass's fingers against the back of his hand— and Segundus would feel a spark of heat dance across his skin. He wanted to keep feeling those tiny sparks, though whether they were magic or his own imagination he couldn't say.
Childermass breathed a sigh (of relief, Segundus suspected) as Maggie left and refilled his pipe. "Always nice to catch up with old friends."
"I suppose so," Segundus said doubtfully. "Why did she call you a thief?"
Childermass looked at him sideways and exhaled slowly. The smoke wound around his head in thin rivulets. For a second, it almost seemed to take on the texture of feathers, but the effect was gone in an instant. "That is a conversation that ought to be had with an ale in hand," he said, his voice smoke-roughened.
Segundus noticed the invitation for what it was and nodded. A minute later, he and Childermass each had another ale, and the air around their booth smelled pleasantly of tobacco-smoke from Childermass's pipe.
Childermass drank deeply from his mug with the air of a man fortifying himself before a difficult encounter. "She called me a thief," he began, "because I was one, as was she."
"She had no right to judge you, then!" Segundus said indignantly. He realized that the level of his outrage perhaps did not match the offense, as Childermass himself had just admitted to being a thief, but it seemed unimportant at the time.
"She was not judging me," said Childermass. "She only said the truth. We were pickpockets, as children. All of us were."
Us again. Segundus sat back in his booth and took a long draught of his ale. He wasn't used to the taste (he tended to drink wines or sherries, when he drank at all) and he coughed at the bitterness that filled his mouth. Childermass laughed and thumped him on the back. The unceremonious touch, brief and rough though it was, warmed him more than the ale. He marvelled at the ease with which Childermass touched him, despite— or perhaps because of— its casual nature. Segundus was not a person who was used to touch. He would have thought Childermass was similar, but perhaps the ale (Childermass had already finished his second mug) loosened his sensibilities.
"Have I shocked you, sir?" Childermass asked after Segundus had stopped coughing.
"Were you trying to?" countered Segundus.
Childermass muttered something indistinct under his breath. "Perhaps a bit. Did it work?"
Segundus shrugged. "Not really."
"Well then." Childermass leaned back against the booth, and his knee nudged Segundus's under the table. "You know my story, now. There are not very many who do."
"It is an honor," Segundus said, at which Childermass broke out in laughter. Segundus didn't know why; it certainly was an honor for Childermass, usually so guarded, to entrust such information to Segundus.
"Well," Childermass said after he settled down. "Now we know where to begin looking— Hastings and Ainsworth." He pulled his deck of cards from the pocket of his coat and shuffled them. Segundus watched in fascination as he methodically laid them out on the table.
"What question did you put to them?" asked Segundus as Childermass turned over the first card.
Childermass frowned down at the cards as he turned them over. "I asked after Hastings' motives. I expected self-interest, perhaps justice if he were a man concerned with righteousness, but this shows me pride."
"Pride?" Segundus repeated. "I suppose that makes sense. A humble man would not believe he could lead a revolution."
Childermass didn't look up, so absorbed was he in his reading. "No, the cards do not mean pride in that sense. Hastings is a man of strong ideals who, once committed to a goal, will strive toward it ceaselessly."
"He is stubborn, then."
"Yes, perhaps that is a better word for it." Childermass smiled at Segundus, fast and bright as a flash of lightning. "Now for Ainsworth." He turned the cards over one by one, and his disgruntled expression cleared. "Yes, that's more like it. Ainsworth is angry. He believes his cause is just, and he's willing to see it through to the end." He raised an eyebrow at something he saw in the cards. "It doesn't look like it will be a pleasant one."
"He will not achieve his goals?" Segundus asked.
"The cards don't say," said Childermass absently. He picked up a card and tapped its edge against the table. "Either way, it won't end well for Ainsworth."
"What a marvellous thing," Segundus said. "To be able to read the future in the cards."
"Aye, marvellous." Childermass didn't look as though he found it particularly marvellous.
Segundus was beginning to feel the effects of his second ale. His head felt light and woozy, not unlike the sensation of magic being worked nearby. He remembered the time a few days ago (had it really been only a few days?) when Childermass had cast a spell to grant him a deep and restful sleep. What a clever spell it had been! How light it had made him feel, and how well he had slept afterward! Perhaps Childermass might be persuaded to cast the spell again. Although, Segundus reflected, it might not be prudent to combine the effects of alcohol and sleeping spells. And he couldn't ask Childermass to cast a spell in such a state as he was in, with the color rising high on his cheeks and his hands unsteady on his cards.
"You seem to be affected by your drink," Childermass said, his amusement apparent in his voice.
Segundus realized that he had leaned against Childermass so that his arm, from his shoulder to his elbow, was pressed up against Childermass's own. "Perhaps I am, sir."
"Then would it not be wise, sir, if I were to guide you to your room?" Childermass's voice was low and warm against his ear.
"It is your room too," Segundus informed him.
Childermass huffed a laugh. "It is indeed."
They made their way up the stairs, stumbling against one another. Segundus was careful not to let his hands wander anywhere improper, at least until they were behind the safety of a locked door.
"You are insatiable, sir," Childermass said with a breathless sort of laugh.
"Am I?" Segundus suddenly felt shy, and he withdrew his hands— or, at least, he tried to, until Childermass caught them and held them fast. This was all so very new to him. Had he overstepped a boundary? "I do not mean to be."
"It was not meant as a criticism," said Childermass. He pressed a series of kisses along Segundus's jaw, and Segundus's knees went weak.
"It is only that I have—" Segundus's voice broke off as Childermass bit at the hollow of his throat. "You see, I have never really—" He made a keening noise of discontent as Childermass pulled away.
"You have never really what, sir?" Childermass asked. His voice wasn't cold, exactly, but it had a careful sort of control to it that hurt Segundus to hear.
"Oh, I do hope I have not offended you!" Segundus hesitated. He had the sense that his next words might shatter Childermass, if they were the wrong ones. What a strange sensation! He was used to being the brittle one, the one who might break at a single wrong word. He had never considered that Childermass might be as fragile as him, given the correct circumstances. "It is only that I am… inexperienced, as I am sure you have already divined for yourself."
Childermass paused. "But this is something you want? I am not… taking advantage?"
In lieu of an answer, Segundus grabbed Childermass by the hair and kissed him. He had the sensation of surrendering himself, of giving himself over, and he moaned into Childermass's mouth in a manner that made him blush.
Childermass, for his part, seemed as enthusiastic as Segundus, and they fell into bed in short order.
May 1817
"I can't believe you didn't tell us!" Hastings not-quite-yelled. His voice was too loud for the cozy kitchen of Yew Tree Farm. "You've put us all in danger."
"There was no time," Maggie insisted. Her hands curled into fists around the folds of her skirt. "I had to meet my brother."
"You could have sent a note."
"You would have tried to stop me."
"I certainly would have! I don't know what you intend to happen, but you should have consulted the rest of us before giving out our names."
Maggie rested her head in her hands, her elbows propped up on the dining room table and the Johannites assembled before her like a jury. "That would have taken too long. I could not have put John off or arrived late, or he would suspect something was amiss."
Hastings paced the length of the kitchen. "I still don't like this." Judging by the others' frowns of consternation, they agreed with the sentiment.
"I did not give him all of our names," Maggie said to the table. "Only Mr. Hastings and Mr. Ainsworth. I kept my own involvement secret as well."
"That may be worse than if you had named each of us and given him our addresses," said Hastings.
Maggie looked up in irritation. "You do not know my brother like I do. He must be directed with a careful hand so he does not notice he is being managed. My choices were deliberate."
"Then please, tell us your reasoning," Ainsworth said quietly. "I would like to know why you have betrayed us to your brother."
Maggie was so overcome with anger at the accusation of betrayal that for a moment she could not speak. When she did, her tone was harsh and low. "I have betrayed nobody. My brother would never have believed that I was entirely ignorant of any whispers of Johannite activity in town. If I suggested as such, I would have only cast even more suspicion on myself. I gave him two names, each with a purpose. Mr. Ainsworth, John was a servant for many years. He is a good man and a loyal follower of the Raven King. I believe he may be persuaded to join our cause, and there is no one better equipped to do so than yourself."
Ainsworth raised an eyebrow. "Not even you? I would think that brotherly affection would go a long way to endearing our movement to him."
"Nay, he is too mindful now of the danger. He spoke of last year's shootings. If I had given my name, he would have refused out of principle to protect me, the foolish man. I don't doubt he would try to convince me to leave off as well."
"It is not foolish to want to protect those you love," Milly said. Maggie looked at her in surprise, as she had been very quiet throughout the whole meeting, and she shrugged (a bad habit that Maggie thought Milly might have picked up from her). "I do not have many family members left to me, though I am sure any one of them would behave similarly. It is a perfectly rational reaction to learning your sister is a Johannite, though perhaps not the one that you might wish for."
Maggie flashed her a small smile of gratitude.
"That explains Ainsworth," said Hastings. "What about me?"
Maggie lifted her chin in a challenge. "John has many ways of getting what he wants. He is an adept trickster and manipulator and, at times, a bully. You, my dear Hastings, I trust above all of us, including myself, to stand up to his techniques."
Goddard spoke for the first time since the meeting had begun a quarter of an hour ago. "What is the most desirable outcome of all this?"
"That my brother joins us," Maggie said. "He would be a powerful ally in our fight. As I said, he knows how to get what he wants, and if his goals align with ours, well. So much the better for us."
"And if he refuses?"
"That he leaves us alone, with as little knowledge of our activities as possible."
"A tall order, to be sure." Goddard sat back in his chair. "Well, chaps, I can't say I envy your positions."
"John is a busy man, what with the return of magic," said Maggie. "He is a magician in his own right, and another magician accompanies him. I doubt we rank highly on his list of priorities. So long as you keep your heads and do not reveal anything about the rest of us, he will either join us, in which case we may trust in his loyalty for the rest of our lives, or he will leave to attend to matters elsewhere, and we will be free to operate as we see fit."
Hastings sat down heavily and rested his head in his hands, the mirror of Maggie's pose not long ago. "I still don't like this. I wish you had sent a note."
"The only people who could name us as Johannites are in this room, or are our wives," Goddard said.
Milly coughed at this, but when Maggie turned to her, Milly waved her concern away. It appeared that her tea was hotter than she had expected, and she had scalded herself.
"As I was saying," Goddard continued after the interruption subsided, "nobody in the town could identify us. The soldiers have been here for over a month and they've done nothing. The only way Mr. le Roy could know who we are is if Hastings or Ainsworth lets something slip. I, for one, trust them to hold their tongues."
"Childermass," Maggie corrected absently. She didn't realize her mistake until all eyes at the table turned to her, and she blushed. "My brother's name is not le Roy, it is Childermass."
Milly frowned. "Why would his name—"
"A strange naming convention in the North," Hastings interrupted. "Particularly popular among families who have followed the Raven King for generations. Occasionally children are named for the King, rather than take the patronym. I myself could never make heads nor tails of it when Miss le Roy told me about it, but I am given to understand it's common enough in Yorkshire that it poses no difficulties."
Maggie smiled gratefully at him, and he winked. "Yes, precisely," she said. "And I agree, Mr. Goddard. So long as Mr. Hastings and Mr. Ainsworth do not provide my brother with anything he might use to discover our identities, we are quite safe, and he will soon be called away with more pressing concerns. He is a magician, not an investigator. He will turn his attention elsewhere if we can but wait long enough and keep our mouths shut."
"You do not fear you have put us in the path of violence?" Hastings asked without raising his head from his hands.
Maggie scoffed. "John may use the implication of violence to get what he wants, but he will never initiate it. He is too clever. You can count on that, sirs."
"Well." Hastings looked up. "I cannot say I like the situation we are in, but you have allayed the worst of my fears."
"You will speak with him, then? And you, Mr. Ainsworth, you will speak with him?"
"Aye," Hastings said, and Ainsworth echoed him a moment later. "I will do my best to put him off, and I will not betray any information to him."
Maggie winced slightly at the echoed accusation from earlier, but surely he meant nothing by it. He seemed to realize it a moment later, for he looked at her a little guiltily.
Milly pressed for a word-for-word account of Maggie and John's conversation, which Maggie gave as accurately as she was able. She did not know how much to tell the company about the small, quiet magician who accompanied her brother, and she certainly would reveal nothing of what she suspected the nature of their relationship to be. Fortunately for her, John Segundus had not been much involved in the conversation, so she was able to sidestep most of the questions about him. "He was a gentleman, to be sure," she answered honestly. "Rather shabby, if I may say so, and he said very little. John has never mentioned him to me in any of his letters, but if they travel together, then my brother must trust him. He does not seem like the troublemaking sort."
"I suppose that is reassuring," Milly said doubtfully. "I wonder why they travel together, if he is less of a rogue than your brother is."
Maggie fought to keep her face straight. "I'm sure I couldn't guess."
"When may we expect a visit from Mr. Childermass?" asked Hastings.
"If I had to guess, I'd say he'd call on you here tomorrow, Mr. Ainsworth." Maggie shot him a guilty smile. "I told him the name of the farm. As for when he might speak with you, Mr. Hastings, I cannot say. I told him you live near the church, nothing more, but I expect he will track you down within a few days."
"Not exactly a comforting turn of phrase," Hastings grumbled. "I don't like being compared to prey."
"Aye, fair enough. I'm sorry."
"No matter." Hastings sighed heavily. "Well, what's done is done. We can only move forward and hope for the best. It's getting late, and Ainsworth and I must be up early. Ladies, will you allow me to escort you back to town?"
Maggie and Milly acquiesced, and the gathering broke apart soon after that. The walk back to town was quiet, the only sounds being the faint hummings of insects and the plod of their boots over the cobblestone. Maggie did not mind the lack of conversation, for she had talked and listened and deflected and defended herself quite enough for one day, and she thought she deserved a reprieve. She bade quiet goodbyes to Hastings, then Goddard, then Milly, and finally she was as alone as a housemaid could ever be. And in the near-silence of her room, broken only by the faint murmurings of an ancient house around her and her roommate's soft sleep-sighs, Maggie finally allowed herself to feel all the tumult she had been holding within herself since a letter from her brother had appeared in her pocket earlier that day.
Oh, damn him for turning up as he did! To hardly keep in touch for years, even after securing her a position, to barely give away anything in the few letters he did send, only to show up at the most inopportune moment! And to demand information of her that could certainly damn her and her friends. It was hardly to be borne. Maggie wanted to scream into her pillow with frustration. The one thing she had ever done in her life to have a positive impact on the world, and naturally John Childermass must appear like a harbinger of bad fortune to ruin it. Oh, she so hoped she hadn't smothered the little rebellion's spark before it ever truly caught flame.
The terror and frustration and panic welled up inside her like a great wave that threatened to pull her under. For a moment, she worried she might drown in it. She took a deep breath, and on the exhale, she allowed the wave to pass over her and through her, and Maggie remained. There was no going back, only forward without fear. She took another breath, and another, and soon she was calm enough to sleep.