Chapter Text
There was once in the city of York a society of magicians. They met on the second Tuesday of every month to have long and dull conversations about the history of magic. They were all theoretical magicians, which is to say that not a single one of them has ever, by an act of magic, made one stone move, changed one hair upon a person’s head or done a service for anyone living or dead. Despite this, they were all of them convinced that they were doing a great service for their country by their existence alone.
On a Tuesday in the middle of December a new member joined their group. He came from the Manchester Society of Magicians and he introduced himself very timidly as Guang Hong Ji.
“Gentlemen, I cannot express what a great honour it is to be in your society,” he began, standing before them, “especially as I was hoping you would be able to answer a question I cannot.”
Several of the gentlemen in the room gave him a curious look. Nothing pleased them more than people showing them the respect that they thought was theirs by right.
Mr. Ji faltered a little upon noticing that everyone’s attention was on him. The man sitting closest to him gave him an encouraging smile.
“I wish to know why it is that I only learn about great feats of magic from books, but never see them done with my own to eyes. That is to say, I wish to know why there is no more magic done in England.”
A laughter passed through the room as various gentlemen exchanged mocking looks with their neighbours.
Mr. Ji’s cheeks turned a pale pink. “We are magicians, are we not?” he asked.
The president of the club gave the new member a haughty look. “What you ask is the wrong question entirely,” he declared. “We are gentleman magicians. Would you ask a botanist to create a new species of flower or an astronomer to make new stars in the sky? If you wish to see cheap parlour tricks or something of that sort, I dare say there is any number of yellow curtain magicians out in the streets who will show you what you wish to see.”
Mr. Ji sat down at the table, feeling humiliated and wishing more than anything that he had not come here at all.
The man who had given him an encouraging smile continued to give him a warm look. He waited for the discussion to turn to other topics before leaning towards the new member and confiding in a whisper, “I, too, have often wondered why no more magic is done in England and how we lost the language in which every book of magic is written.”
Several English linguists were studying the larger books of magic, but – as far as every theoretical magician was aware – no one had succeeded in translating any of them. The only information about the books that could be found in English was in letters which mentioned authors and names of books.
Guang Hong gave him a grateful look but remained silent, having no wish to spark an argument at the table.
When the society dispersed and went their separate ways Mr. Ji stepped out onto an old street with his new acquaintance at his side.
“My name is Leo de la Iglesia,” the man introduced himself, “and I propose that we join forces to find the answer to your question.”
Mr. Ji agreed readily and de la Iglesia invited his new friend to join him in his carriage and pay him a visit. Not wishing to offend his new friend, Mr. Ji accepted the invitation.
Mr. de la Iglesia came from a family of some means and, not cursed with an extravagant taste, lived comfortably in a house in the middle of York. Mr. Ji, on the other hand, had not been so fortunate and it was only his interest in magic that made him devote so much time to it. He had a fanciful nature, which was why, after an evening at his new friend’s house where they both imagined themselves as England’s best magicians, he set off home not in a carriage, but on foot.
The city of York has enough small streets to confuse any newcomer, no matter how carefully they tread. Snow fell thick and fast, covering the roads and making them slippery in some places. The city was full of dark corners that lay in wait for an unwary traveller to swallow them up. Candles burned in windows here and there, but the light remained in the houses as though it was too frightened to venture out of doors.
The two towers of the York Minster appeared up ahead, rising above all the houses. Mr. Ji directed his steps towards it, hoping that once he reached the minster he would be able to regain his bearings.
He had to make many turns before he arrived and by then he was so exhausted he regretted not taking a carriage home. He circled the minster, looking this way and that to see if any of the streets appeared more welcoming than others when he spotted an odd couple walking arm in arm together.
The wind blew snow in his face, making it very difficult to distinguish their features. All he could say with any certainty was that they were both male and of different heights. They walked like a married couple, arm in arm, leaning towards each other, but a few choice exclamations as well as their general air of merriment led Mr. Ji to conclude that they were both the worse for drink.
“You would not!” the taller of the two exclaimed.
The shorter one got indignant about this. “I would!” he insisted.
They carried on thus, laughing and making loud exclamations. Once they reached the tree before the minster they stopped under its branches to exchange a kiss with the air of two people who cared very little about who was watching.
“If you go on insisting thus, then I will require some form of proof from you,” the taller man of the two declared once he broke free of the kiss. He stepped back, but went on holding his companion by the hands.
“Very well then,” the shorter one agreed.
He freed his hands and headed for the minster with determination in every step. He pulled open the door, muttering something under his breath. The taller one followed with a laugh.
Mr. Ji was growing more convinced with every passing minute that they had some sort of mischief in mind and saw it as his duty to interfere.
The York Minster is a formidable structure, a triumph of the stonemason’s craft. It housed some of the largest stain-glass windows in all of Europe and a long line of statues of the kings of England. That day, at that time it was very poorly illuminated so that the ceiling disappeared into the darkness overhead, creating an effect of great vastness, as if the minster rose all the way up to the heavens above.
Mr. Ji eyed his surroundings with a great degree of curiosity. Word had reached him of the wonders of this minster, but, until that moment, he had never set foot inside.
The men Mr. Ji was following made for the row of statues of kings. They had removed their hats upon entering the minster and now, finding themselves in the presence of a long line of kings, they bowed respectfully before them. Candlelight illuminated both of them, giving Mr. Ji a chance to see them clearly for the first time.
The shorter of the two had raven black hair which he wore short. All the features of his face were very handsome to look at. There was a softness in his eyes that spoke of a gentle character, even if the rest of his face still bore the cheery determination of a drunk.
His companion could easily rival him in looks. When Mr. Ji set eyes on the second man he felt his breath catch in his throat. The man’s hair shone with a pale silver light as if someone had woven moonlight into his locks. Despite his careless air, the hair was arranged very carefully on his head.
Both men gave each other looks that spoke very plainly of their great admiration for one another.
The raven-haired man raised his hands, closed his eyes and uttered words Mr. Ji did not hear.
For several seconds nothing happened and then a horrible scraping noise broke the expectant silence. Mr. Ji looked around himself as the sound echoed through the minster. It was as though someone was rubbing two stone slabs against one another. Then a harsh voice joined the grating sound.
Mr. Ji had to listen carefully before he could distinguish a single word of what was said.
The terrible voice was complaining about the person next to them. Just as he reached the end of a sentence a second voice joined it, and a third, and a fourth, until they formed a terrible cacophony that made distinguishing individual words impossible.
The raven-haired man made several steps across the floor before turning around and returning to his companion’s side. “You see now, dear heart?” He took the other man’s hand. “I am willing to grant any of your heart’s desires.”
Mr. Ji’s eyes then fell from the strange couple to the statues of kings behind them. To his great astonishment he discovered that they were all moving and speaking. More than speaking – they were arguing with one another! Like true kings they found the presence of other rulers with the same claims to power difficult to bear.
He walked around them, marvelling at this great feat of…
“Oh!” He rushed back to the odd couple.
“No, no, my love,” the tall man protested. “I am quite satisfied. I wish to retire for the night now.”
“Would you care to walk with me, dear heart?” The short one offered his arm.
The tall man laughed, putting his hand over his mouth. “I would walk anywhere you wished, even,” he paused and grinned wickedly, “even into Faerie itself!”
“Pardon my rude intrusion.” Mr. Ji stepped up to them. “A-are you…” he began and then stopped in some confusion, for what could he possibly ask? One did not, as a rule, march up to strangers and demand to know if they were magicians! “Are you… Were you the one who made the statues speak?”
The men turned to look at him.
“The spell will wear off in a few minutes,” the shorter man said defensively.
“My name is Guang Hong Ji,” he introduced himself, “and I have come to York with the great desire to discover what had befallen England’s magicians. I was under the impression that no more magic exists in England. I dared not hope that I would find a single practical magician, but to be so fortunate as to find two magicians!” He gestured, unable to express his joy in words.
“Oh no,” the taller of the two said with a laugh. “I am no magician. My husband is the one who deserves all of your admiration. I merely provide an impressed audience. I do my best in this regard, I will have you know! I am Victor Nikiforov-Katsuki and this is Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov.”
Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov protested that his husband did a great deal more than he claimed.
Mr. Ji watched them, feeling his heart fill with affection for these two strangers. In those rare times when he had allowed his imagination run away unchecked he pictured a magician as an elderly gentleman who put on airs of importance, thinking himself above the rest merely because he could do magic.
Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov was a very different sort of man. He was humble and quick to assure Mr. Ji that being a magician did not merit a great deal of praise.
There was a little argument over this between the two men from which Mr. Ji learned the following: both men spent a great deal of effort and money to obtain books of magic. Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov then passed many hours in the study of the contents of these books. This only added to the list of his accomplishments: not only could he do magic, but he could also read the old language! Mr. Ji did his best to emphasize the importance of both accomplishments to Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.
To his surprise, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov waved the speaking statues off as a mere trifle and boasted that, should the desire take him, he could make the whole minster get up and move around. Mr. Ji did not doubt the truthfulness of his claim.
The spell lost its effectiveness and, one by one, the statues grew silent. Still the three men continued to talk. Finally, remembering the lateness of the hour Mr. Ji apologized for keeping them here so long and offered to accompany them back to their lodgings.
It was evident to Mr. Ji that the effect of drink had yet to wear off completely and both men would fare better with a chaperone who kept all his wits about him.
Both men agreed to this and on their walk back Mr. Ji learned that they had rooms at an inn not far from where Mr. Ji himself stayed.
“We came to York on personal business,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki explained. “Yuuri learned from a friend that one of the booksellers here has a copy of a book by Belasis.”
Jacques Belasis was a sixteenth century magician, who lived at a time when acts of magic were becoming rarer with every passing year. His most famous work, The Instructions, was believed to have been lost. To hear that a bookseller in York had a copy filled Mr. Ji, quite understandably, with a great deal of excitement.
Mr. Ji prepared to ask them if they succeeded in getting a copy of the book when Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov lost consciousness. To his great luck, they were a few steps away from the inn and his husband succeeded in catching him before he could hit the ground. Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki had no objections to carrying him the rest of the way.
“Please forgive my husband for his sorry state,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki said. “We will both be very glad to receive you tomorrow.”
They bade each other farewell. Despite the fact that he was supporting his husband’s weight with both hands, Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki bowed respectfully and left.
Mr. Ji returned to his lodgings and found himself unable to sleep for a single minute. He examined the events of the day from this angle and that, struggling to believe that they had really happened and had not been merely a product of his imagination. Was it possible that on the same day he had posed his question to the society of magicians fate herself contrived to find a way to give him an answer? Such a coincidence was truly remarkable!
As soon as the sun rose he got out of bed and made his inquiries about the two men not so much out of curiosity, but because he needed some proof that everything he had been witness to the night before had really happened and had not been a mad dream or hallucination.
Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki and Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov were indeed staying at a nearby inn. They had arrived the previous morning from a small town north of York. Try as he might, the innkeeper could not remember its name, but he was certain that it was in Yorkshire and not in Scotland. That was the end of his information about the two.
Mr. Ji thanked him for these answers and consulted his pocket watch. Was it too early to pay them a visit? Knowing he would be unable to do or think of anything else until he saw them again, he sent a servant to enquire if either of the men was willing to receive him.
The servant girl returned several minutes later, saying that Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov was awake and willing to receive visitors.
Mr. Ji followed her up the staircase.
The inn was old and the staircase that led to the upper floors turned in such sharp and unexpected ways that it seemed to fold in on itself. It was poorly lit and full of corners that were in complete darkness. Mr. Ji stumbled several times along the way. By the end he couldn’t shake the feeling that instead of ascending he had actually descended into some unknown place.
The servant girl opened the door that led to a small sitting room where Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov stood by the window.
“Guang Hong Ji, sir,” she announced with a curtsey.
He turned at the sound of her voice and thanked her.
Mr. Ji stepped inside the room and the servant girl closed the door behind him.
“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov greeted him and motioned for him to take the chair opposite. “Honoured as I am by your visit, I find myself at a loss to find a reason for it.”
Of all the words Mr. Ji had expected to hear upon the renewal of their acquaintance these were the very last. He sank into the chair offered to him, feeling his heart sink even deeper.
“I do not believe we ever had the pleasure of meeting each other,” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov went on, “and so I could not imagine what business you could have with me. Are you one of my husband’s friends? Or do you have some business to conduct with him?”
“Sir…” Mr. Ji began, but was at a loss as to how to continue.
Had they not met the night before? Was this not the magician who had so astounded him with his abilities? His features were all just as Mr. Ji had remembered them and, yet, the man regarded him as one does a person they are meeting for the first time.
Finding him so confused, Mr. Ji wondered if the events of the night before had been a dream after all. Perhaps, he reasoned with himself, he had spotted the man and his husband in the street before returning to his rooms and his imagination had made use of real people to create a dream that showed him his deepest desires?
He opened his mouth to say that a mistake had been made and that the man need not trouble himself when a door opened and Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki entered the room.
In the light of day the man’s features were even more striking. He was well-dressed and had his long hair coquettishly arranged on his head in a way that complimented his face. When he crossed the room he walked with all the grace of a prince. His first look was for his husband who he greeted with all the joy of an adoring spouse. His second was for their visitor.
“Good morning, Mr. Ji!” he exclaimed and shook the man by the hand like one does when meeting an old friend. “I am so very glad to see you here! Now that we have time to speak properly, I wish to hear more about you. Have you travelled far? Or have you always lived in York? What do you know about magic?”
So many questions poured out of him all at once that Mr. Ji was quite at a loss as to how to answer them all.
“Oh, forgive me,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki apologized. “I fear I let my enthusiasm get the better of me.”
“Then you know each other?” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov asked, looking from his husband to Mr. Ji.
“My love,” Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki said, taking his husband by the hand, “you know him too. We both met him last night. If you would cast your mind back, I am certain it will come to you. Of course, it was very dark and I dare say that after meeting someone in darkness recognizing them in broad daylight becomes rather difficult, almost impossible.” He gave his husband a look, but as he was facing away from Mr. Ji, the man did not catch it or its meaning.
“Yes, of course, that must be it,” Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov agreed. “I hope you will pardon the sudden lapse in my memory, Mr. Ji.”
They were both so kind and welcoming to him afterwards that Mr. Ji thought no more of it, puzzling as it was. The men spoke of the book that had brought them to York and were more than happy to show it to their visitor.
Normally the mere idea of laying his eyes on a book of magic was enough to excite Mr. Ji, but this time, finding himself in the presence of who he thought was England’s sole magician, he set the book aside to bestow all his attentions upon the man before him.
They spent a pleasant morning together during the course of which Mr. Ji had ample time to ask many questions. To his surprise, he got a straightforward answer to all of them. He had read many accounts of magicians being secretive and guarding all their knowledge with a great degree of jealousy. Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, on the other hand, spoke plainly.
The facts Mr. Ji learned were the following. Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov had not been studying magic for long. He had started a little before his marriage to Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki. At the time he had searched for a suitable profession and chance itself had caused him to stumble upon a book of magic in his father’s study. Now Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov performed all his magic for the benefit and amusement of his husband.
Mr. Ji stared in amazement at the man who was in complete command of England’s sole magician. Was the man aware of all the power at his disposal? What would befall those who had the misfortune of becoming his enemy? The world was filled with many desperate people who would go to great lengths to obtain such power and here was a very elegant and very beautiful man who could doom whole countries with a single frown.
As the conversation went on Mr. Ji noted how devoted both men were to each other and he gained enough of an understanding of Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki’s character to realize that he was not the kind of person who would abuse the power he commanded.
“This is all so very remarkable!” Mr. Ji exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. “You will permit me, I hope, to write about it in the papers?”
Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov coloured and mumbled something about it being a mere trifle and not worth writing about, much to the credit of his modesty.
Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki, on the other hand, was delighted by the idea. “Yes, of course!” he agreed. “You must write about Yuuri! Everyone must know about his accomplishments!” He turned to look at his husband. “You will forgive me, I hope, but I have no wish to continue being selfish like this. I know my duty as the magician’s husband is to share you with the world.”
Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov looked downcast at this. Something weighed heavily on his mind, but the next minute he was doing his best to smile and agree. He was sure, he said, that Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki was right.
Pleased with this and eager to start at once, Mr. Ji took his leave of the men, wishing them a pleasant day and promising to call on them at a later time.
“Well, dear heart, are you satisfied now?” Yuuri asked. “I know how often you wished you could write about me yourself and here we are.”
“I only wish for you to get the recognition you deserve, dear Yuuri,” Victor said. Now that there was no one to see them, he planted a gentle kiss on his husband’s cheek.
“The only recognition I wish to receive,” Yuuri said, “is yours. I have little use for any other kind.”
Victor was very flattered by this admission and said as much, but he had a very romantic nature and would not part with the hopes of seeing his husband do some great service for the government and getting knighted for it.
Victor was not the kind of person who desired the elevation of rank merely to make others feel inferior. No, he had a fanciful nature and, to his mind, nothing could be better than to be married to Sir Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov. There was, as well, not doubt in his mind that his husband was worthy of the honour.
“Did we really meet Mr. Ji last night?” Yuuri asked, as if he had some difficulty believing the fact.
“Oh, yes.” Victor regarded his husband with interest, curious to see how he would bear these words.
“I have not the smallest recollection of our meeting,” Yuuri admitted. “Whatever must he think of me?”
“I do believe, my love, that he was a great deal impressed. He spoke in tones of awe of the magic you had done. He was especially impressed with your boast that you could make the entire minster get up and walk about as if it were a great beast.”
“My goodness!” Yuuri exclaimed, holding his hands up to his face.
It must be admitted that for all his excellent qualities, Yuuri had one very unfortunate flaw in his character: whenever he had the misfortune to drink more than it was wise, his memory became very fickle and refused to supply him with the details of his activities during that period.
He blushed now as his husband recounted all the details of the previous night.
“No more!” Yuuri pleaded once his husband finished the tale of the moving kings.
Mr. Ji called upon them that evening to further his acquaintance with England’s only magician.
After an hour or so of conversation, during the course of which Mr. Ji caught more than one embarrassed glance thrown by the magician in his direction, he said, “What you must do, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, is go to London. Think of the use His Majesty’s government could have for a magician!”
There was no argument either of the men could make against that and, so, Mr. Ji made them both promise to make haste to the capital.
Mr. Ji spoke of going to London with such urgency as if he believed that a great catastrophe might befall His Majesty’s kingdom if the magician did not go there at once and both men accepted this as an undeniable fact without stopping to question it.
A move to London is no simple affair. First one must find and purchase a house. Next, one is required to find some furnishings for it, at the very least enough to settle there comfortably for the first little while.
Both the magician and his husband were well aware of this. Victor made inquiries among his friends before settling on a part of London he thought was best suited to satisfy his taste. He wrote to every person in that part of the city who had some property they were selling.
After several months of such correspondence, Victor was able to make his choice at last.
“Listen to this, my love,” he said one morning over breakfast. He held the letter before him and read it aloud.
Yuuri looked up from his copy of The Instructions, his finger marking the spot where he had stopped reading. A fond smile appeared on his face as he listened to details of a house with spacious rooms and windows that let in a lot of light.
“What will you say to that?” Victor asked once he finished. He set the letter down on the table and gave his husband a charming smile. “Is it suitable for a magician?”
“Dear heart,” Yuuri began, placing a hand over that of his husband and forgetting that it was the very same hand which he had used to mark his spot, “I fully trust your choice in the matter. As for me – a place where I can continue my studies of magic as well as one where we can be together is enough for me.”
Victor coloured at this show of affection. “We will take it, then?” he asked, as if the matter was still not settled.
Yuuri gave a slight nod of his head. He closed his book and slid it aside, keeping his eyes fixed on Victor’s.
Victor looked away. “Do not stare at me so, Yuuri,” he pleaded softly, “or I shall be unable to keep my countenance. You know I am no good at controlling my emotions!”
Yuuri pressed a kiss to Victor’s hand and rose from his seat. “I will retire to the library for a while,” he said. “Give me an hour or so and after that I hope I can count on your company for a walk through the grounds.”
“I will look forward to it,” Victor promised in a whisper and watched his husband leave the room. He stared at the door for a while, as if unable to move. At last he shook off his stupor and rang for the maid. He left her to clear the table as he retired to his study to compose a suitable response.
A month later England’s only practical magician and his husband moved into a house in Hannover Square.