May 1817
Segundus awoke the next morning to the smell of pipe smoke and a familiar rustling sound that took him a moment to place. Once he did, he sat up and smiled at the sight of Childermass in his nightshirt hunched over the desk, pipe clamped between his teeth and a frown of concentration on his face. The curtains were still closed, and the room was dark enough that Childermass had to read by candlelight. "What do the cards tell you?" Segundus asked.
Childermass didn't look away from his cards of Marseilles spread out on the desk. "Nothing of particular use." He picked one up— Segundus couldn't quite see it in the dim light, but he thought he could make out a man riding a horse. "The knight of swords, reversed: beware a trickster." He snorted in derision. "I do not need reminding!" He swept the spread of cards into a pile and shuffled them back into the deck, irritation making his movements harsh and clumsy— so clumsy, in fact, that as he pushed back his chair and stood, five cards fluttered to the floor. He reached out his hand to pick them up but paused. "The five of wands, the four of coins, the Popess, the knight of swords— bloody reversed, of course— and the Emperor."
"What does that mean?" Segundus asked after Childermass was silent for several moments.
"It means there will be a struggle involving a trickster and a miser. They are one another's allies and my enemies. This—" here Childermass picked up the Popess card and held it so Segundus could see "—suggests that the trickster is a woman with many mysteries."
"Captain Oakes's informant?"
Childermass nodded. "I should think so. Aid of some sort will be given, and the struggle will be resolved. How, the cards do not say." He held up the Emperor card and laughed. "Unless, of course, I favor a more literal interpretation, which might indicate John Uskglass is working through my cards again."
"Do you?" Segundus asked. "Favor that interpretation, I mean?"
"I cannot say." Childermass looked at the cards for a moment more before scooping them up and adding them back into his deck. "I had thought to go back to the stone courtyard." He looked a little embarrassed. "Something about it calls to me, and I do not think it prudent to refuse. It is like an itch I cannot scratch, and I will not be satisfied until I investigate."
This explanation seemed perfectly sensible to Segundus, and he scrambled to get out of bed. "I shall go with you!"
"Stay, John, it is early yet."
A glance at the window confirmed this; what little light seeped in around the curtains was of the wan, grey variety. Segundus guessed it was just before sunrise. "Well, I am awake now. I do not believe I will be able to sleep any more." He paused. "Unless you do not want my company," he continued, a little uncertainly.
"Your company is very welcome. But we must hurry if we are to be there and back before Brandon awakes."
"Does he take issue with your method of reading?" Segundus cast about himself for the clothes he had shed rather haphazardly the previous night during a hasty, clumsy stumble across the room. (His clothes were intermingled with Childermass's, which made the difficulty of identifying his own articles all the greater.)
"I do not believe so, or if he has, he has made no mention of it to me." Childermass took a long draw from his pipe. "The cards say he has a growing obsession with Vinculus, or rather the letters on Vinculus's skin."
This news rather alarmed Segundus. "Will he make some sort of attempt to take Vinculus from you?"
Childermass shrugged. "The cards do not say. I suspect he has not yet decided one way or the other." He snuffed his pipe and they dressed hurriedly, with more than one Excuse me, have you seen my—? and several instances of Why, I believe this is yours and ending with a Give me that, you scoundrel! Even so, when all was done and they were on their way to the stone courtyard and its stone tree, Segundus realized that he was wearing Childermass's neck-cloth, and Childermass was wearing his own. It was too late to change now, but Segundus found that he did not mind.
"What I am wondering," Segundus said as they walked, "is, assuming the informant has some sort of inside information on the Johannites, why has she not told Captain Oakes? He did not seem to have any idea of the men's beliefs, even though they told us readily enough when we asked."
"Why indeed," said Childermass.
"It could be that she does not truly have any information," Segundus continued. "Or it could be that she is lying to the captain. Why would an informant lie?"
"Perhaps to protect herself, or one of the Johannites." Childermass shook his head. "This speculation is pointless. We do not have enough information."
"No, I believe I may be on to something." Segundus's head spun as things arranged themselves in new orders— like puzzle pieces, or perhaps the tumblers of a lock. "Let us say the informant is lying to protect herself, or for her own personal gain. It is the only explanation that makes sense, because she is lying to both parties. That rules out Sarah Ainsworth, and by extent Mr. Goddard's wife. If she were the informant and wanted to buy leniency for her husband, she would not need to lie. In fact, lying might only make things worse for him in the end."
"I believe I see what you are getting at," Childermass said slowly. "The informant is not just protecting herself, she is trying to prevent Captain Oakes from conducting a proper investigation."
"Yes! The informant is double-crossing both the Johannites and Captain Oakes. Who would do such a thing?"
"Perhaps she did not want to be a spy but was blackmailed into it." Childermass rubbed a hand over his beard. "Or perhaps she agreed at first but changed her mind afterward. I don't think we can say for sure unless we asked her ourselves."
"We are assuming the informant is one of the Johannites, or someone close to them," said Segundus. "But what if she is someone we have not yet met?"
Childermass frowned. "No, I still do not believe that is correct. She has fed enough information to Oakes to make him feel as though he is progressing in his investigation, but she has not revealed anything truly incriminating. She must be quite familiar with one of the Johannites in order to know what to pass along to Captain Oakes and what to conceal. That is why I had thought the informant was Sarah Ainsworth, but you have convinced me that we must turn our attention to Miss Milly Greene. She is our only remaining suspect." Here, Childermass stopped dead in the street.
Segundus didn't notice at first, and he carried on for several more paces until realizing that the footsteps beside him had gone silent. "I say, are you quite alright?"
Childermass was quiet for a moment, then he threw back his head and laughed. "I believe you have asked the right question at last, John. Remind me to purchase a copy of Debrett's Correct Peerage when the shops open."
"Debrett's?" Segundus repeated. "Whatever for?"
"Because, as Maggie said, the owner of the mill is the Baron Segrave. As you may recall, Milly Greene denied any connexion to him, but we know she is a liar, so I would not take that for the truth."
"You believe she is related to the baron," Segundus breathed. "That explains why she would inform on the Johannites, but it does not explain why she would protect them from Captain Oakes's investigation as well. Why on Earth is she trying to play both sides?"
Segundus never did find out what Childermass thought of Milly's duplicity, for at that moment, Childermass uttered a curse so foul that Segundus gasped, and he took off into a flat-out sprint down the street.
Segundus followed as best as he could. He was not a physical man. He could not remember the last time he had had a cause to run as Childermass now did. His shoes were ill-suited for the exercise, and his necktie became a painful constriction that amplified the burning in his throat and lungs. He heaved in breath after breath as he pelted down the street. Underneath the normal town-smells, the smell of stove fires and horse-droppings, was a darker, more acrid stench. Segundus coughed. He spotted a plume of smoke, larger than what might come from a chimney, rising above the roofs of the sleepy town. Dread coiled in his stomach, and he redoubled his efforts to catch up to Childermass. Together, they sped toward the smoke.
They turned down a road off the main street into what Segundus would term the industrial district were the town large enough to properly be divided into districts. They passed by a tanner and a blacksmith opposite a row of brick-and-mortar tenements, and Childermass stopped dead in his tracks. Segundus nearly ran into him but managed to stop himself in time. "What—?" he asked, breathing heavily. Childermass shook his head, staring at the scene in front of them.
They had arrived at the source of the smoke: a short, squat brick building that sat solidly at the end of the lane. Yellow and orange flames danced within its walls and licked at the wooden shutters. Smoke poured from the chimney and from shattered windows. A great groaning sound came from within, followed by a creaking and a crashing as some wooden structure buckled and fell. The whitewashed sign bearing the name Greene had cracked and blackened in the heat and the smoke. As Segundus watched, an ember drifted up from a broken window and settled on the sign. A second later, a tiny flame flared into being. The air was hot on Segundus's face, and his eyes watered from the smoke.
Childermass seemed just as thunderstruck as Segundus felt. He was frozen in place; not even his hair moved. His eyes were fixed on the burning mill, lips parted and eyebrows raised in an expression of astonishment. Segundus clutched at his wrist, heedless of who might see, but he didn't respond.
Somewhere in the distance, the clang of a bell sounded. The sleepy street slowly came awake as townsfolk poked their heads out of their windows and doors, and a growing murmur of alarm rippled up and down the street. It was a matter of minutes before the fire brigade arrived, bearing buckets of sand. They were followed by what appeared to be most of the militiamen. Segundus spotted Captain Oakes further down the street, gesticulating wildly with his hat askew over his blonde curls.
Childermass seemed to come back into himself. Segundus was glad of it; he did not think Childermass was a man who was easily shocked, and the sight of him standing as though struck dumb filled Segundus with unease. Militiamen and policemen made their way down the street, trying to dissuade the townsfolk from crowding. One of them was coming closer and closer to where Segundus and Childermass still stood.
"John, we must go," Segundus said.
"Aye," said Childermass, though he did not move. "This was ill-done."
"Yes, and we do not want to be caught in the middle of it. Come on."
Still Childermass did not move. "Those bloody idiots. I had not thought they would move so quickly. Damn and blast!" He finally tore his eyes away from the scene and turned to Segundus. "We must find Milly. We need to know how much she told Oakes. He may have no idea who burned the mill, or he may even now have full knowledge of the names and addresses of every last one of those fools."
Segundus nodded. "But why…" He was interrupted before he could finish his question.
Childermass held up his hand for silence as a gentle rain began to fall. That in and of itself would not have been remarkable for Derbyshire in May, and Segundus would normally have paid it no mind. This did not seem like an ordinary rain, however. It tingled of magic as it struck his skin, and Segundus could tell from one glance at Childermass's face that the other magician felt it too. "This is not your doing, nor mine," Segundus breathed. "Then who?"
Childermass did not answer him; he was too busy squinting at the ground. "Look, John," he said. "Someone is trying to send us a message."
Segundus stared at the dusty cobblestones. Indeed, the pattern of the raindrops as they fell upon the stone formed a watery filigree. It appeared as a foreign script to his eyes, though, and he could not make any sense of it. He narrowed his eyes slightly, and tilted his head, and looked beyond the stones and beyond the rain and beyond the rivulets left in the dust, and suddenly he could read the message.
"It is Mrs. Goddard!" he cried. "She is asking us for help."
"So she is," said Childermass darkly. "I confess I am not inclined to do as she asks. The Johannites have made their bed. Let them lie in it."
"You cannot mean that," Segundus protested. "You said it yourself. They will not have a fair trial, and their execution could very well provoke civil war."
"Aye, you are right again, John." Childermass stood silent for a moment. "Something must be done. They must confront Milly's treachery themselves. They will not believe it from our lips if they do not have proof, for they do not trust us."
Segundus nodded. "How are we to arrange this confrontation?"
"The militiamen are busy with the fire, but the fire will not burn forever," Childermass said. "We have a narrow window of opportunity. I need you to get word to Mr. and Mrs. Goddard to meet at Yew Tree Farm, then you go there yourself to warn the Ainsworths. I will speak with the women— I believe Maggie and myself can persuade Milly to come with us easy enough— and we will fetch Hastings as well on the way."
"How am I to reach the Goddards?" Segundus asked. "I do not know where they live."
"Are you or are you not a magician?" Childermass said impatiently. "Mrs. Goddard managed to get a message to us, and she has never even met us. Perhaps you ought to employ the same method."
"Certainly," Segundus said, hurt.
Childermass sighed. "I apologize. I spoke out of frustration, and I am sorry for it. But we must make haste, John."
"Yes," Segundus agreed. "Very well. I shall attempt to communicate with Mrs. Goddard, and I shall see you shortly at Yew Tree Farm."
Childermass nodded sharply and clapped Segundus on the shoulder. Without another word, he sped off in the direction of Duffield Hall. Segundus let out a shaky breath and focused his mind. He had never attempted a spell such as the one Mrs. Goddard had used, but he had heard of such things before. He did not even need to summon the rain, as it still fell pattering about him. He could not be sure whether it was a natural phenomenon or the consequence of Mrs. Goddard's spell, but either way, it would do for his purposes.
He did not know the incantation for the spell, but as he reached out to the rain with his magical senses, he found he did not need it. The rain was responsive, almost alive, and it bent easily to his will. For a glorious, dizzying moment, Segundus felt as though his head were truly in the clouds even while his feet remained firmly planted on the earth. He knew of everything the rain fell upon— every blade of grass, every shingled roof, every blossom in every country garden, even miles and miles out onto the moor. It was a simple matter to direct it to fall on Mrs. Goddard's kitchen window in a pattern of his choosing.
Segundus withdrew from that heady power, slightly breathless, and swayed on his feet. The rain felt cool on his face and the back of his hands. He took a moment to compose himself before making his way through town toward Yew Tree Farm. The sky darkened further as he walked, a thick bank of clouds lying low over the town. He passed by a bookstore and remembered Childermass's request, but the doors were still locked. By the time he reached the farm, a light drizzle, not conjured by magic but the natural product of England in late spring, began to fall. He shivered as a few of the fine droplets made their way beneath his collar.
Ainsworth was in the yard tending to the chickens when Segundus arrived. He straightened from his work and glared.
"I expect you know why I am here," Segundus said wearily.
"I don't regret it," said Ainsworth. "None of us do. We needed to show our defiance, and we did, but we left no evidence to tie it back to us. The captain will be none the wiser who was involved, so if you've come to make threats, I won't hear them."
Segundus shook his head. "Captain Oakes had an informant, one who knows your names and addresses. He will be here minutes after the fire is dealt with."
"An informant?" Ainsworth repeated. "Have you proof?"
"I do," Segundus said. "You shall hear it from the informant's own lips."
Ainsworth did not have the chance to reply. Segundus heard a pair of footsteps approaching the farm; he spun around in alarm to see Goddard being dragged along by the elbow by a short, dark-haired woman who could only be Mrs. Goddard. Both seemed to have dressed hurriedly, and their hats were askew.
"Mr. Segundus, I presume?" Mrs. Goddard said as soon as she was within speaking distance. Her eyes flashed with suppressed anger. "I came as soon as I got your message."
"That is well," said Segundus. "Mr. Childermass is gathering the others. They will arrive shortly. Measures must be taken to ensure your safety."
"There is no need for you to interfere!" said Goddard hotly.
Segundus felt a headache coming on. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "There is every need," he said as evenly as he might. "You have been double-crossed. One of your number has betrayed you to Captain Oakes; this I know for certain, though I do not know the severity of the betrayal."
"Who?" Goddard demanded.
"All shall be revealed shortly," said Segundus.
Goddard spat. "Bloody magicians."
"It's those bloody magicians who will save your arse after your stunt!" Mrs. Goddard hissed. "You didn't even consider that a traitor might be hiding in your midst, did you?"
Goddard was silent, but he adopted a slightly wounded air.
Mrs. Goddard, not to be deterred, rounded on Ainsworth. "Don't think I don't blame you for this! If you and Mr. Hastings hadn't filled his head with revolutionary drivel, he'd have had the sense to stay well clear of this mess."
"If you believe that, you don't know your husband half so well as you ought," Ainsworth growled. "He needed no convincing."
Mrs. Goddard sputtered in indignation, and her husband leapt to his own defense. Their words fell over and over each other into a swirling morass until Segundus couldn't make heads nor tails of it. His head was spinning again, and he leaned against the wall heavily. His confusion, his desperation, shot from his head to his heart and down through his hands into the low stone wall. He scarcely meant to do it— he didn't even know the proper spell for it— but the earth rolled and buckled beneath the men's feet like a wave in the sea. They stumbled (Ainsworth pitched forward, and only Goddard's quick reflexes prevented him from ending up face-down in the muck) and stared at Segundus in amazement.
"Now is not the time for arguments, gentlemen, madam," he said through gritted teeth. "You must be each other's allies, for very soon you will have no others."
The rebels looked at one another with mixed emotions: sheepishness, and guilt, and no small amount of irritation. But they nodded, and Ainsworth offered his hand to the others in turn.
Fortunately, Segundus was spared any further peacekeeping duties by the arrival of Maggie and Milly, with Childermass and Hastings not far behind. As Childermass approached, Segundus was able to make out the outline of a book in his coat pocket. The two women went to join the gaggle of men, but Childermass paused beside Segundus. "De Chepe, do you think?" he asked, glancing back at the yew-lined lane he had just traversed.
It took Segundus a moment to work out what Childermass meant. "I am afraid I have no experience with labyrinths, sir, save the one in Hurtfew."
"No matter. I remember the form of it well enough." Childermass strode to the mouth of the lane and stared down it for almost a full minute, muttering under his breath. The yew trees shivered and trembled, and again there was a sense of rushing water. It did not come from Childermass, but rather it seemed to flow through him, as though he were the conduit for a power too vast to be contained within his own skin.
The lane twitched and settled, like a crouched cat wrapping its tail around its paws, and the spell was done.
Childermass did not return to Segundus's side, however. Instead, he remained at the mouth of the lane, pulled the book from his coat pocket, and began to flip through it with no small urgency. Segundus cast a glance at the gathered Johannites, but they paid him no mind. They were agitated, but Maggie had taken charge of the meeting to stave off panic. He thought he heard Maggie explaining the particulars of the labyrinth spell Childermass had just employed (and more importantly, how it would protect them for the time being) and decided to leave them to it. He noticed that Ainsworth and the Goddards— the ones whom he had told about the informant— eyed the others a little warily.
Segundus was still a little unsteady on his feet as he made his way across the yard, but Childermass did not seem to notice. He peered down at the book in Childermass's hands. "Debrett's?" he asked, though he could see quite plainly that it was indeed the first slim volume of Debrett's Correct Peerage of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Childermass answered him only with a rough nod.
It didn't take Childermass long to find what he sought. "There," he said with a dark satisfaction. "Lord William Greene, Baron of Segrave in Leicestershire. One daughter, Amelia Greene."
"So it's true," Segundus said. "She is the traitor."
"Aye," said Childermass. He did not look up from the book. "Now here is an oddity I did not foresee. Greene had a sister who married below her station to a Mr. Charles Oakes. Their son, Simon Oakes, is Greene's heir."
Segundus looked from the crisply printed words to where Milly stood with the other Johannites. "That explains why she betrayed the others," he said, "but not why she hindered the captain's investigation."
"I suspect we will not know until we ask her," said Childermass. He strode purposefully toward the little group of Johannites. "Miss Amelia Greene!"
She looked up at him, then at the book in his hand. Her face went through a complex transformation: shock followed by panic, then guilt and resignation side by side. She took several steps toward him, away from the Johannites, as though she might divert Childermass or spare the others the knowledge he carried; a futile effort, Segundus knew. "Go on, then," she said. She pressed her lips together in a thin line.
"Miss Greene, you fed information about the Johannites to Captain Oakes, your cousin," Childermass said, his voice heavy and solemn. "I can only speculate about your motives, though I expect financial gain was involved. Your father owns the textile mill in town. The Johannites represent a threat to his profit. You set out to… nullify that threat."
Segundus might have expected Milly to lie, but her guilty face gave away all. Evidently, she was not a practiced liar. How, then, had she come to be embroiled in such a web of half-truths and subterfuge?
"That was not my original intention," Milly whispered.
Childermass snorted. "You cannot expect me to believe you joined the Johannites out of goodwill."
"Believe it or not. I suppose it does not matter." Milly crossed her arms unhappily. "I wish to leave now, sirs. I should not have allowed you to lead me here in the first place."
Childermass shook his head. "Not just yet. They deserve to know, and they should hear it from you." He stared at her, his expectation like a heavy weight on her shoulders. She didn't quail beneath his gaze, but there was no question of whether she would obey— as was Childermass's way, he demanded things, expected things, and they happened. She was no more able to resist than Segundus had been.
Still, she smoothed gloved hands over the folds of her morning dress. "I do not know if I can."
Maggie had taken notice of the little confrontation, and she approached. "Milly, what's this about?" she asked. She moved to stand beside her friend and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"This woman is not who you think she is," Childermass said, his voice low.
Maggie looked from him to Milly to Segundus in confusion. "What's going on?"
Milly took a deep breath and visibly steeled herself. "He speaks rightly," she said, her voice tremulous. "I have told you the most abominable lies." She seemed overcome with emotion then and pressed a hand to her lips.
Maggie took the woman's hands in her own. "What on Earth do you mean?" She looked at Childermass. "John, what—?"
"I do not suppose you remember," said Milly, "but several months ago, when I first met the men, your Mr. Hastings asked if I were related to the Mr. Greene who owns the mill. The Baron of Segrave."
"Certainly I remember," Maggie said slowly. "You are not, of course, not in any significant way. As you said."
Milly stood stock-still, miserable and silent. She looked as though she were bracing for impact.
Maggie inhaled sharply. "You are not, are you?"
Milly shot the trio of men a guilty glance and nodded once. "He is my father," she whispered.
Maggie frowned, and Segundus could almost see her putting the pieces together in her head. Realization slowly dawned, and Maggie stared at Milly in horror. "Did you get them handed their walking papers?" she demanded. "Did they lose their livelihoods because of you?"
"No," said Milly, her tone pleading. "I swear to you, Maggie, I had nothing to do with that."
But Maggie wasn't listening. "I thought you believed in the cause. You talked to me about women's struggles. How unfair it is that we have nothing while they— while you— have everything. Oh, and I suppose your newfound faith in the Raven King was just another lie, wasn't it? You said our turn is next, once John Uskglass frees the craftsmen from poverty and ruin, but you don't care about any of that, do you?"
Milly wrung her hands helplessly. "Maggie, please, I'm your friend, I only—"
Her words were cut off by a stinging slap. She stared at the ground, mouth open in shock, and a red handprint bloomed on her face.
"You lying, traitorous whore," Maggie spat. She clutched her hand to her chest, turned on her heel, and stomped toward the farmhouse. Hastings tried to stop her, but she shook him off and slammed the door behind her. The Goddards shared an uneasy glance, and Mrs. Goddard followed Maggie inside.
"What in God's name—" Ainsworth said. He stepped forward, but Childermass gestured for him to remain where he was, a forbidding look on his face.
Milly's breath hitched with every inhale as though she were trying very hard not to cry, but her face held a blank, calm expression that Segundus was sure could shatter at any moment. When she spoke, her voice was even and controlled. "I could not allow my family to sink into financial ruin," she said to the assembled Johannites. "I do not expect you to sympathize, or even to understand. Think ill of me if you wish. You could not think worse of me than I do myself."
Hastings looked from Milly to Childermass and back again. "What is going on?"
"We were betrayed," Goddard said quietly. He jerked his chin in Milly's direction but did not seem to be able to look her in the eyes. "She has been passing information to Captain Oakes of the militia."
A shocked silence followed this proclamation. Milly did not react in any way. She stood stock-still, her eyes distant as though she were gazing at an object on the far horizon. Segundus supposed that Childermass had not warned Hastings during the walk to the farm— of course he could not have done, not with Milly present, or he would have given up the game. Ainsworth wore a rapidly-darkening expression of anger, though Goddard was more guarded.
"Is this true?" Hastings asked.
Milly nodded once, silently.
Hastings was quick of wit; Segundus could see him putting the pieces together in seconds. "So you have been lying to us this entire time."
Another silent nod.
"How does the captain figure into this?" Ainsworth asked. "Or is he just another pawn for you to push about?"
Milly did not seem inclined to answer, so Segundus spoke up. "He is Miss Greene's cousin."
Milly finally reacted; she let out a mirthless laugh. "My fiancé as well, if I am telling all anyway. I do not suppose it matters, at this point."
"That explains some things," said Childermass, "while obscuring others even further. Why this rigmarole?"
"My family has many debts," Milly replied, not looking at him. "During the war, Papa's businesses suffered. I must do what I can to ensure my family's livelihood." She glanced at the men, who glared back at her. "It is almost like a tragedy, is it not? I have taken advantage of their ruined livelihoods in order to secure that of my family."
"Mm." Childermass did not offer his opinion on the matter. "That is not what I meant."
"I know." Milly glanced at the farmhouse into which Maggie had disappeared, then back at Childermass with a tiny, rueful smile on her face. It was the sort of smile one showed when one's heart was breaking and there was nothing to be done about it.
"How much did you tell the captain?" Childermass asked.
"Everything," said Milly. She addressed the assembled Johannites. "He knows your names. Your addresses. Your plans. I believe he was preparing to arrest you even before you struck."
Hastings curled his hands into fists, and Goddard lay a hand on his shoulder. "We trusted you," Goddard said, his voice weary.
"And I betrayed you." Milly sounded just as exhausted as he did. "Do not think I do not feel the weight of my sins, sirs. I did not want things to end this way."
"What other ending did you imagine?" asked Ainsworth.
"It does not matter. We shall not see it." Milly sighed. The blank expression on her face cracked a little, and Segundus caught a glimpse of a complex mix of emotions: sadness, certainly, but also resignation, and no small amount of anger— though in which direction the anger was turned, he could not say. But then Milly's carefully-controlled expression slid back into place, concealing whatever might lie beneath. "Any other questions?" she asked. "Or may I face the rest of my caged life with a shred of dignity, sirs?"
Childermass indicated the lane to town. "Go. The labyrinth will not hinder you."
She gave the rebels a tremulous curtsey. "Gentlemen, it was a pleasure knowing you. Believe me or not, I joined your cause as a true believer. I made my choices out of duty and loyalty."
Ainsworth spat on the ground at his side. "Don't you dare speak of loyalty. You don't know the meaning of the word."
Milly winced and forced a smile onto her face. "I do not believe we will have the honor of meeting again. Be well." And with that, she turned and strode down the lane away from Yew Tree Farm.
"You are just going to let her go?" Hastings demanded.
"What do you suggest we do?" said Childermass. He leveled his most quelling glare at the men. "She has not broken any laws, unlike the rest of you. If you do not wish to swing, or to spend the rest of your lives behind bars, something must be done."
"A spell of some sort?" Goddard asked. "I am not well-informed on the topic, but my wife has an interest in magic."
Childermass scoffed. "Oh, yes, a spell to render the lot of you unnoticeable for the rest of your natural lives. That should be easy enough." He shook his head. "No, you cannot remain here. You must leave town as quickly as possible."
The three remaining Johannites stood silently for a moment as they absorbed this information, then all began shouting at once.
"You cannot possibly think—!"
"—my farm, my wife—"
"—raving mad if you think we're going to leave!"
Childermass waited until the noise died down to speak. "If you wish to stay and face the law," he said forbiddingly, "that is your choice. I will not drag you behind my horse. But if you choose to remain here and die, I will make every effort to ensure you do not become martyrs. England is not ready for a civil war, and I personally will make certain that your deaths are not the spark that sends her up in smoke. You will not be remembered as heroes for the cause, gentlemen, but as the last few agitators who refused to make way for progress."
Ainsworth looked sickened. "Is it not your cause as well?"
"It is," said Childermass, "and if you come with me now, we may still have a chance to save it."
A flurry of quiet communication passed between the three men, going on for several moments. Childermass watched silently, though Segundus could sense a growing impatience. Finally, after almost a minute of muttered words and wild gesticulations, Hastings nodded. "Aye," he said. "We will take our families and go. Damnit." Goddard laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.
"Shall I fetch a carriage?" Segundus asked.
"Nay, too slow, and too much opportunity for discovery." Childermass thought for another moment. "We shall have to take the King's Roads."
The King's Roads! Segundus had never been upon them himself, though he had pored over their descriptions in the letters Jonathan Strange had written him. Strange had been flowery with his prose, and he had included a few copies of the engravings done by M'sieur Minervois and M'sieur Forcalquier, so Segundus's imagination had no trouble running wild with the images of strange staircases that led to nowhere, dark canals filled with brooding black water, stone halls filled with ancient discarded shoes, and— carved into the banisters, looking up from the canals, hung upon the stone walls— the likeness of John Uskglass, the Raven King. The thought of stepping through a mirror to Other Lands filled Segundus with dread and awe and excitement all at once.
Childermass seemed unaware of Segundus's heightened emotional state. "Nor can we bring their families here," he was saying. Segundus had the impression that he had missed a portion of Childermass's musings. "We shall have to go into the King's Roads and fetch each family member individually." He sighed in irritation, then turned to the rebels. "We'll smuggle the lot of you out of town on the King's Roads," he explained. "Your families, too. You—" here he jabbed a finger at Ainsworth "—go inside and catch the women up to speed. Pack a few suitcases, light enough to carry with you for some distance."
"Where will we go?" Hastings asked as Ainsworth hurried toward the farmhouse. "I cannot just take my daughters from their home without knowing where we will end up."
"We will take you north," said Childermass, "to the village of Starecross."
"Starecross?" Goddard repeated. "Where on Earth is Starecross? I have never heard of such a place."
"It's in Yorkshire, not half a day out of York. Mr. Segundus has plans to open a school in the hall there. It'll do for now, until I find a better place for you all to settle."
Segundus frowned; he did not like the casual way in which Childermass had offered up Starecross Hall— without consulting him!— for the use of people Mrs. Lennox did not know. There were more pressing matters at hand, so he did not object, but he had it in mind to have words with Childermass later.
"We cannot walk all the way to Yorkshire!" Goddard objected. "We will have luggage— children—"
"Certainly not," said Childermass. "We will walk a ways on the King's Roads until we are a safe distance from town, and then we will find a carriage or two. You two, start planning what you'll want to take," Childermass said to the remaining rebels. "We'll get your families along the way."
"You will be welcome at Starecross Hall," Segundus said as kindly as he could, "for as long as you wish to stay. My hospitality may not be what you are used to—" here he caught himself, for these were not gentlemen who were used to banquets and finery and servants waiting on them night and day "—whatever the case may be, you will have good food and comfortable beds."
Ainsworth emerged then, a suitcase in each hand, trailed by his wife, who looked angry, and Maggie, who looked lost. Her eyes were red and her face was blotchy, but she carried herself with resolve.
"Do you have a mirror, Mr. Ainsworth?" Childermass called to him.
"Aye, inside."
"We will need to make use of it, if you are quite ready."
Ainsworth nodded, a quick, jerky motion. "Best be off."
o they followed him back into the farmhouse, and Childermass spoke a spell of revelation and another of dissolution, both part of a larger spell of pathfinding, and one by one, the magicians and the Johannites stepped through the mirror and onto the King's Roads.