Chapter Text
Mr. Norrell sent Childermass on a mission to uncover the nature and workings of the new magician in York, a one Mr. John Segundus. The man had moved recently from London- which is to say, he had moved from a considerably unmagical place to a much more magical one (even if the York of these days was greatly diminished in comparison to its former self). This was concerning to Mr. Norrell, who preferred to keep all the other (theoretical) magicians of the world in their ‘proper places’ (that is, in places that kept them from doing any magic or making any waves in the sphere of magical scholarship whatsoever). So, then came the job for Childermass- to uncover the intentions of this new magician, and lay the groundworks to destroy him if need be.
Childermass had read the few publications attributed to John Segundus already, without the knowledge of Mr. Norrell (though this was common- Childermass read a great many things without the knowledge of Mr. Norrell). There hadn’t been anything particularly radical or revolutionary about them, being for the most part histories and mild essays on interpretations of history. But Childermass had found he rather enjoyed them- though the material was not especially striking he had thought the voice of the writing to be light and pleasantly clever, outlining and then establishing points efficiently, without falling into the scholastic tendency towards plodding paces and dragging details, or long-winded self-importance. Indeed, in these bright and gently-worded little pieces, this Segundus had already surpassed Gilbert Norrell in a field which he had always wanted to excel in.
At the moment of his assignment, Childermass knew nothing of the man other than this- he was a theoretical magician from London, and he was a good writer. Everything else would come easy.
One cold morning Childermass waited in an alley outside the house where John Segundus was staying. Discovering the address had been a matter of paying the paperboy, who was also the landlady’s son, and had taken him all of ten minutes. Today, he would trail Mr. Segundus, see where he went and who he spoke to, and tomorrow he would speak to those people, and perhaps later in the week he would travel to London to see what his old acquaintances thought of him. This was the job at hand, and Childermass had done it many times.
There were things to be learnt even here, looking at the house- Mr. Segundus was poor, he had only rented a few rooms on the third floor, and he likely didn’t have much in the way of popularity because his arrival here had made no fanfare. Hardly a powerful opponent. Childermass yawned, for it was still early, and breathed on his gloved fingers to warm them. In his mind, he was picturing a plump and kindly old man, perhaps with white hair and beady eyes, not unlike the average magician from the York Society (all of whom Childermass kept regular tabs on, per Norrell’s request). He would be married to a similarly plump old woman, and perhaps they had a daughter or two who was already married off, or a son with a small but respectable business somewhere in London- yes, that made sense, a business that Segundus had run while researching magic on the side, and was now leaving to that son (who was perhaps recently married) in order to pursue his intellectual interests in a modest retirement.
Childermass was amused by this portrait, and so set on it that he was quite surprised when the real John Segundus appeared, not long after Childermass had finished constructing his fantasy. He left by the front door, said something to the landlady (who smiled very warmly at him) and paused on the side of the street after the door had closed behind her, as though catching his bearings. This, helpfully, allowed Childermass a moment to see him quite clearly.
Segundus was, in fact, a rather young man- perhaps younger than Childermass himself. He had a small and slender build (a contrast to what Childermass had been imagining) and very pale skin, the kind that seemed slightly translucent, exposing what lay beneath it easily. His hair was dark, curling in a whimsical way about his ears and forehead, and his eyes were large and thickly lined and seemed to take up a surprising amount of his otherwise rather delicately-featured face. Watching him stand there, staring almost absently down the street, Childermass was struck by the impression that he most greatly resembled some kind of deer, for he held himself with the same nervous tension and had the same sense of innocence in his wide, dark eyes.
Then he was off, and Childermass followed him.
He was a remarkably easy man to follow. He did not seem suspicious of his surroundings- nor indeed entirely aware of them, for more than once he bumped into bodies or packages on the street, apologizing to their owners quite profusely when he did so. Despite this, though, he walked with the purpose of a man who knows where he is going, which was very odd, for he clearly did not know York very well- rather, he seemed to know the direction of his destination, but not the actual path that led there. Childermass watched his dusty-looking tricorn hat move through the crowds that were beginning to warm up to a Saturday bustle, and thought that the state of the gentleman’s clothes also served as confirmation that he was rather poor. Poor, and without an inclination towards decadence or high-fashion, for all his clothes were in drab colours and out of style cuts and looked very practical. Well, Childermass could respect that.
There were also clues that suggested he was unmarried- the skewed way his cravat was set about his neck, the raggedness of the ends of his sleeves. Yes, Childermass would be surprised if he learned there was a lady staying in those small apartments with him (though he would check to be sure).
Segundus’ first stop was at a small bookseller’s. Childermass supposed he should have guessed. He knew this shop very well himself, and made a note to return tomorrow to bother the bookseller about what Segundus asked for- but Childermass could well assume. To his own surprise, he felt a slight frown touch his face. Segundus would not find what he was looking for, and whose fault was that?
Segundus left the bookseller’s a quarter of an hour later, looking a little confused, but not dispirited. Childermass followed him to another bookstore after that, and waited, and then another after that, and then another after that, and then another after that. Each time Segundus stepped out he looked a little more perturbed, his disquiet manifesting itself as a blush that glowed under his pale skin, the pink becoming a little deeper with each frustrated attempt.
After leaving the last store still empty-handed Segundus stopped next to the door to gather himself once again. He appeared to be thinking something quite vexing, frowning down at his boots, the blush having spread far enough to touch the end of his nose and the tips of his ears.
Childermass then found himself thinking a wholly unwelcome thought, and it was the following: Segundus was rather pretty, wasn’t he?
Now, with his unassuming stature and general smallness he was far from an Adonis, and perhaps the slightly peculiar way in which his features settled on his face disqualified him from the high looks of a traditional ‘beauty’ one might see in statues or paintings (or, very rarely, in real life). But Childermass could not deny that there was something very...pleasantly attractive about him, with his pale skin and soft eyes, and this sense was only amplified by the flush at his cheeks and the furrowing of his dark brows.
Segundus stood there on the step, wholly oblivious to the vaguely improper eye he was receiving, wringing his hands close to his chest- then he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, looked at it for a moment with an inquisitive turn of his head, and then put it away again with what appeared to be a frustrated sigh.
Damn. Pretty and cute.
Childermass rolled his eyes at himself and looked away, letting out something of a frustrated sigh of his own. It didn’t do anyone any good to be thinking indecent things, himself least of all. He had work to do, and work that could only lead to misfortune for the pretty-and-cute Mr. Segundus. And it wasn’t like Childermass to have his head turned by any sweet thing on the street. No, he had better be putting such foolishness aside.
So he did. With a renewed sense of professional distance Childermass resumed his stalking of Mr. Segundus. Over the rest of the day he went to lunch in a small pub, and then proceeded to a few more shops- the last and grubbiest bookstores in York, which took a bit of walking to reach, and then when his search was made futile even there a few shops of curiosity or oddity. Perhaps he was looking for magical artifacts, where books were none.
In the end, though he visited a good many places, Segundus returned to his home for dinner without having purchased anything. Childermass watched him slip back inside, a slightly dejected slant to his shoulders, and ignored the part of himself that felt poorly at the sight. It shouldn’t- it didn’t- matter to him what discouraged the spirits of some stranger would-be magician. Indeed, this aspect of his work had never bothered him in the slightest before- he had never felt sympathy for any of the men Norrell had ruined...nor any of the ones he had ruined, or stolen from, or fought, or slept with.
Perhaps it was because Segundus was so expressive, even without hearing him say a single word Childermass knew what he had been feeling over the course of the day...ah, but here lay thoughts Childermass had no business thinking, so assuredly he quieted them and went on his way, the day’s work complete.
He certainly didn’t reread Segundus’ publications when back at Hurtview, imagining those slender, anxious hands scribbling the words down upon the page, or those wide, dark eyes caught in candlelight, brown-black curls set askew. No, he didn’t do that, and if he did it meant nothing in particular.
The next day Childermass returned to York, tracing Segundus’ path as he had planned, inquiring as to his queries at the bookstores and curiosity shops. As expected, the man had been looking for books of magic. As expected, he hadn’t found a single one.
Within the week Childermass supposed he should prepare for a trip to London. He didn’t think there would be much to find in Segundus’ past, but if there was he would find it.