Disclaimer: Of courseI don't own it, so n-yaah. Hey, wait a minute...

My apologies, you lot. A2 work is far harder than I anticipated, more in reorganizing my schedule than anything else. Also I've been working hard on another fan-fiction project, and hoping I do well in it. Fingers crossed!

In the meantime, here's another 'up-top' chapter. At last, relief to the cliff-hanger I so cruelly left you hanging by the skin of your teeth to. (Imagine if you could actually peel teeth…)

"Why is he your enemy?" asked Arabella.

"I have not the least idea."

"Do you owe him money, perhaps?" asked Ar. Redmond.

"I do not think so."

"He could be a banker. It looks a little like a counting house," suggested Arabella.

Strange began to laugh. "Well, Henry, you can cease frowning at me. If I am a magician, I am a very indifferent one. Other adepts summon up fairy-spirits and long dead kings. I appear to have conjured the spirit of a banker."

Jonathon Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke

Let the circle be unbroken

Carlotta clutched her rosary, stolidly counting out the beads and muttering her prayers under her breath, trying not to look at whatever was going on inside that circle. If she didn't look at it, she didn't have to acknowledge it; if she concentrated only on her prayers she didn't have to hear it.

Holy mother of God, protect me. Holy mother of God, defend me from evil. Holy mother of-

But no matter how hard she tried, she could not ignore that sound of Raoul's voice as he spoke, the strain in his words showing that he obviously shared her horror. "Defarge…what is this?"

"This, Vicomte, is a fairly old friend of mine. He has aided me in many matters, and I believe that he can help us now."

"If I am able to help," the disembodied, harrowing voice added, "then believe that I shall try to, sir, in whatever shape or form I can."

Cecile's muffled squeal made her look up against her will, and she had to make use of all her self-reserve and pride not to mimic the maid; though, since there now seemed to be a severed head hanging in midair in front of Defarge, she would have had a very good excuse to do so.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee…

On closer inspection though, the man's head was not apparently severed, but appeared rather as if an artist had drawn the shape of his face, his swarthy features, his beard and his neck in great detail, and then simply abandoned the effort before beginning the rest of the body. Now this apparition hovered in front of Defarge like something straight out of a nightmare; like the ghosts in stories that had haunted the nights of her childhood.

But she wasn't a little girl now, frightened by her vicious younger sister. She was strong, and brave, and she had an indomitable faith that this would not cow her.

So she kept her gaze upon the green eyes of the spectre, and did not cringe over her rosary but sat up as straight as ever. Still caressing the beads with her right hand, she reached up with her left to grasp Cecile's behind her where it still rested on the chair back – the sounds of the maid's own dry terror had been getting to her - and was secretly gratified to feel the other girl's fingers clasp tightly around her wrist, and make an effort to stop shaking.

Blessed art thou among all women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…

"That is very reassuring to know," Raoul was saying, "but that still does not explain what – who, rather, you are." He sounded embarrassed, even though both versions of the question seemed fair to her. "What kind of witchcraft is this, Defarge?"

"It is no witchcraft, Raoul," Defarge said calmly, sitting back slightly, though not releasing the tension that infused him. "As far as I recall, you do not use witchcraft to keep in touch with distant relations."

"Relations?" Meg asked incredulously from her seat on the floor, but to Carlotta it was already perfectly clear. Why else would he remind her so much of her homeland – and the people who had once lived there?

"I see that perhaps it is not the sun that makes your skin so dark after all, Pastor?" she stated smoothly.

"You are correct, mademoiselle." She flinched, though almost imperceptibly she hoped, to be addressed by the head, which had somehow swivelled around to face her; but still she held its gaze coolly. "Darius is my descendant. Together we have reckoned that he is my great grandson."

"Really?" She couldn't believe that Meg sounded so calm. Why does she sound so calm? Why even interested? "Apart from the skin colour, I truly cannot see much resemblance."

"Two generations apart often means that, mademoiselle. However, I like to think that he takes after my wife."

"Your great grandson?" Raoul by now was sounding more than a little lost, and she could not blame him. "How can that be? Defarge is a Christian pastor and you, sir, appear to be nothing of the sort. Who are you? What are you?" He appeared to have forgotten the awkwardness of his earlier version of the same question.

"For one thing, he speaks well for a ghost." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she worked hard not to cringe as both pastor and his apparent ancestor turned their respective gazes upon her.

"Nadir is not a ghost, mademoiselle."

"He looks like a ghost to me."

"Nevertheless, I am not," the head cut in.

She glared at it. Stupid thing. It was floating, it was disembodied, it had appeared in some sort of magic circle, it was an apparent ancestor; therefore, it was a ghost. "Then what are you?" she challenged it.

The head sighed, if it was physically possible for something that presumably had no lungs to sigh. "I see I must tell something of my nature, then."

"Nadir, I don't think we have time for this," Defarge cut in. "You're using up my blood quite quickly as it is."

The head – Nadir – simply turned to look at him. Whatever silently passed between then was enough to make Defarge sigh, in a way that made her think that perhaps the two were not so dissimilar after all, and pick up the razor again. "Very well. But let us keep in mind that I do not have an unlimited supply of blood, shall we?"

"Of course." The head swivelled back to look at her. "Now; when I was alive, I was a faithful follower of Islam. But when I married, I chose a chaste Christian woman to be my wife, as my faith allows; and I loved her so well that I could not bring myself to make her give up her faith in place of mine. Instead, we compromised between our faiths, so that neither of us feared that our mate would spend the rest of eternity burning in the fires of Hell when they died."

"Is that allowed?" Cecile muttered from behind her, her fear apparently forgotten.

Nadir chuckled, and the darkness in it made her shiver. "Apparently not, at least judging by the way I met my end. You must understand that I was an important official in my land; to be seen deviating from Islam in any form or manner was an act of treason against the authority of man as well as of God. I had to be removed. So one night assassins crept into my house, and cut my throat from ear to ear."

"Oh." Carlotta could not help her whimper. Unbeliever or not, nobody deserved to die like that – just as she had thought two weeks earlier, with that man with half a face in the story. But this appeared to be real.

"What happened to your wife?" Meg asked quietly.

Nadir sighed again. "For the longest time I did not know. It was only when Darius here summoned me for the first time that I was able to learn of my wife's fate. I knew at least she did not die at the same as I did, otherwise we would have gone down to the Land of the Dead together."

"The Land of the Dead?"

"But she managed to escape, heavily pregnant with my grandmother," Defarge took over, ignoring Raoul's outburst. "She fled to Eastern Europe, and raised her child as a Christian – a potentially sore point with Nadir, but we try not to mention it. I was able to tell him what happened, because he knew I was a descendant of his – this ritual summons the soul of a deceased relative." He smirked, but there was little humour in his smile. "I remember that the first time I attempted it, I thought there had been a mistake, until I went back through the family records."

Carlotta had to admit that he did have a point. As Meg had pointed out, aside from the similar colour of their skin there really was very little to suggest that the two were related at all, let alone the fact that Nadir was, to say the least, exotic looking. But never mind that! If Nadir had come from the Land of the Dead, then he was a ghost! So there! She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly Raoul was sitting forward, his eyes shining now with new excitement rather than trepidation.

"Wait! You said that you reside in the Land of the Dead?"

"Yes-"

"A moment. I must refresh the ritual." She quickly looked away as Defarge cut his wrist again, and did not look back until the pastor had put down the razor again, a sign that the nick he had made was mended. Her blood ran cold at the brutality of it – at the requirement of the blade, and the price of the blood itself. What man of God would condone these actions, let alone perform them? She clutched her holy beads close, as she wished she could clutch her friends so that they might be safe.

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our…d-death…

"Now, Nadir, the pleasantries are over. Can you tell us what we wish to know?"

"Perhaps if you told me what you desired, then I would be able to supply an answer," the spirit stated with perfect simplicity.

Defarge looked for a moment as if he were arguing with himself, and then looked very irritated. "Raoul, then, if you would?" he said shortly, placing his hands on his knees and closing his eyes.

It seemed as if nothing now would hold Raoul back. He slid off the bed and onto his knees and hands, his fingers nearly brushing the edge of the circle as he leaned in towards the spirit, though still remembering to keep his distance.

"Nadir…sir…"

Carlotta found, even in the midst of her mix of intense fear and stern disapproval of the whole proceedings, that Raoul's attitude, his voice, echoed that of Buquet's imitation of when he had been a little boy, begging for stories – but then again, this wasn't an echo, but an actual performance. She watched as he tentatively began to reach out a hand but then apparently thought better of it, and went hastily on. "Please, can you tell me…I have asked Defarge, but he has no answer…can you tell me…"

"Yes?" Nadir asked patiently.

"Can a living person marry a dead one?"

Nadir's lips parted in a gasp that was swallowed but still noticed, as was the widening of his eyes. A new tension came into the room. Raoul's own eyes gleamed in triumph.

"What do you know of such a matter?" Nadir spoke more cautiously than before, staring keenly at the vicomte.

"The woman I love, my fiancée, she has been kidnapped! Abducted by something which wears a human shape, but clearly no longer lives! Her name is-"

"Christine."

To hear that precious, treasured name spoken by something like this was very horrible indeed to Carlotta. It was terrifying.

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now…

But none of the others appeared to feel the dull horror that was even now clawing at her heart, like stomach ache. Both Cecile and Meg muffled their own gasps of surprise, Defarge's eyes shot open again, and Raoul surely would have grabbed hold of Nadir's head and pulled it close to him, had he dared to break the circle – which he didn't. Instead he blurted out, "How do you know that?"

"I have seen her." Again, nobody appeared to be aware of the deep unhappiness Nadir's voice was now laden with; they all now looked overjoyed.

"You've seen her?" Meg squealed. "Is she safe? Is she all right?"

"The…last time I saw her, she was reasonably contented. But that was a good deal of time ago, and the place where she is being kept changes constantly."

"Kept?" Raoul's voice was now strained.

"Yes. Kept. I will not lie to you, Raoul; you were correct when you stated that Christine was kidnapped. She was. As far as I know, she was snatched in the night, and dragged beneath the earth."

"Beneath the earth?" Cecile whispered, and her hand was so tight upon Carlotta's now the Spanish girl was sure her skin was completely white with the pressure.

"That is where the Land of the Dead lies."

"So she has been stolen by something dead." Raoul sat back on his heels, curiously satisfied, knowing he just had been proved right. "Something that holds her in thrall?"

"Sometimes it seems to me as if it is the other way around – but yes, she is somewhat at his mercy."

His mercy? she wondered, and Meg seemed to be thinking along the same lines as she asked "And who is it who has trapped her? The corpse Raoul says he saw?"

"I believe-" Nadir's voice suddenly died away, and his form began to blur. Raoul swore loudly with a oath that seemed to shock even Meg, while Defarge hurriedly leaned forward and once more opened his wrist, openly wincing now as his blood splashed onto the boards, sending colour and sound back into the floating head. As he drew back again it apparently took longer for his wrist to heal this time, leaving it a sore and angry red, and he was muttering some distinctly unholy things under his breath.

Nadir continued speaking as if the interruption had not come, although his slightly shaken expression bore testimony to the shock he must have felt. "-you are referring to Erik."

At once the Vicomte's head jerked up from where it had bowed in contemplation of the new gift of blood. "Is that his name? Who is this 'Erik'?"

Nadir groaned, and closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Erik is many, many things. A genius, a dreamer, a tortured soul... But that would mean nothing to you. For now, let us simply say that he is in love with Christine…deeply, passionately…I fear fatally."

"And Christine?" she forced herself to say. "How does she react to all this love? To his proposal?"

But already Raoul was leaning forward again, eager once more, but now for something different – or perhaps just to avoid hearing about how much his rival loved his fiancée. "Then tell me how I may rescue her!"

There was silence. All the living occupants of the room hardly dared to breathe; the head looked seriously at the glowing face of the youth, really just in truth a boy.

"You would go that far?" he asked solemnly.

Raoul exploded into a snarl, making even Nadir's head shy away

"What do you think I should do? Abandon her to rot beneath the earth? Cast her away so she will shrivel into nothingness? Leave her with…that? I would never do that! Do you think me so faithless as to back away from this?"

"I was not suggesting this at all," the spirit said smoothly. "I was just wondering that perhaps your passion comes more from the fact that you are enraged at my companion's theft of-"

Cecile squeaked as Raoul slammed his hands down hard upon the floor. She herself heard rather than truly registered her breath coming in a hiss, as she saw the change in Raoul's face. His breath came in hisses as well, as he evidently tried to control himself and his anger.

"That…is…one reason," he managed. "But it is…nothing when I think of…her. I…will be angry later. For now…" He struggled, and won, in managing to make himself calmer. "For now, all I can think of is her. She's trapped. She needs my help. And I will not leave her there, do you understand me, Persian?"

Once again, there was silence.

Pray for us sinners…

"I understand you, Raoul. But I must warn you, if you seek to pursue this endeavour, then you will assuredly invoke the extreme ire of my companion. A dead man's rage is all the more terrible, for he has nothing to fear anymore, save for that which you would do to him in this case. Are you willing for that?"

Raoul's smile was heartbreaking. "I think I already have his irrevocable hatred, judging by what he has already done, Nadir. Taking Christine back would do nothing to alleviate it, I am certain; so let us not think of it. I think of her, above all else, and I'm willing to risk the world itself to save her. Tell me what I must do."

The very words, and his expression, brought tears to her eyes.

The spirit looked at him a moment longer, and then nodded. "Very well. I will aid you as well as I can."

Raoul nodded in turn, and repeated, softly, his face now making her now wish to unleash the tears that had already come, "Tell me what I must do."

I know, I know. Darius Defarge. It makes me cringe as well, I assure you! It's like Clark Kent, Peter Parker, Lois Lane, Scott Summers. What was it with comic books and alliterating names? Thank goodness that went out long ago, along with spandex. Though there's still Fred Flintstone. And Mickey Mouse. And Donald Duck and oh the horror.

Nadir's marriage was actually allowed, even in the rather violent times he lived in – in the Qu'ran, it says that Muslim men can take a Jewish or Christian woman to wife, provided of course that she is morally clean and good, and that she converts to Islam. Muslim women, of course, just get stuck with Muslim men.

Yes, Carlotta's doing the rosary again. It's sort of a comfort thing for her. And yay! Show of the heroic Raoul, everybody! Ain't it so sweet? Then again, you lot who don't like him can just say he's thinking 'I'm screwed anyway, might as well go the whole hog and sail to Hell in a hand basket!'

Or something like that.

Review, you lot! I'm leaving for Mongolia on Tuesday! Let the half-Irish seamstress feel the love!