Work Text:
Even the steadiest relationships (which this one, fortunately, was) sometimes have peaks and downfalls of various nature. In this case, the nature of the peak was, fortunately as well, the most pleasant. But for the sake of privacy and for not betraying our heroes’ trust (which was not precisely reposed on us), we will not elaborate (if you have not yet made extrapolations from our cautiousness).
This story is to celebrate that no downfall occurred after the peak, and that both gentlemen (we would like to stress – both men and both incredibly gentle)...
But it is time to move to the story itself.
It was a tea party. A tea party of that kind where all the honourable people would gather and mostly enjoy the company of themselves rather than tea. This party was held on the day right after the end of the examination week, primarily, to demonstrate to the school’s patroness, Mrs Lennox that the school was a reputable establishment, and secondarily, to provide Mrs Lennox with an opportunity to demonstrate how reputable she was.
A good few of the guests had no interest in magic whatsoever, and it was rather a challenge for Mr Segundus to engage them in any kind of conversation, so he put much hope in Mr Childermass’s experience in making useful contacts among all social classes. Not that the upper class was very eager to communicate in any way with him when he officially was but a servant, but it all changed when he transitioned from a nobody to a highly respected magician (again, the reputation!) even though he had not troubled himself with adapting his ragged image to the taste of the nobles.
And so, Mr Childermass was entertaining the common folk (as he very much wanted to call them to their faces after all the tittle-tattle he had to listen to), and Mr Segundus (however wishing to engage in yet another discussion of King Raven’s Book, still, unfortunately, embodied in the form of Vinculus) was reporting to Mrs Lennox at a table by the window.
“...though I understand that the grades of my pupils cannot be adequately compared to those of pupils of non-magic schools, I can positively say that they are certainly comparable, at least on the same level regarding personal progress,” Segundus informed her quietly but firmly and put his cup of tea (which he enjoyed much more than did the company referred to above) to his mouth to make a sip and catch his breath for the next point. But doing that, he mindlessly raised his eyes and met the eyes of Mr. Childermass, who must have been bored to the brim and was more concentrated on reminiscing than on the lord in front of him (most probably, absolutely clueless that his words were not sucked in with awe).
And oh was there something to reminisce on. We would gladly share the particulars, but alas, we may not, as by that we would overstep the boundaries we explained in the beginning (and also due to our innate modesty).
We assume that at first, the memories swarmed in Mr Childermass’s head without control on his part, but as soon as he found an object that energized these thoughts even more (the object, obviously, being Mr Segundus), his lips could not help but form Mr Childermass’s signature cunning smile.
This alone was enough to trigger a peculiar reaction in Mr Segundus. Simply put, he froze up with his mouth slightly opened and ready to intake the hot liquid. (This said, we would like to promptly correct ourselves and admit that the reaction was not that peculiar as Mr Segundus was a very excitable man.)
Upon seeing it, the esteemed conversationalist said something to excuse himself out of the small talk, gave a curt bow and swiftly reached the table to join Mrs Lennox and Mr Segundus, who welcomed him gladly.
“Ah, Childermass!” They first heard and then saw Mr Honeyfoot hurrying up to join them as well. “And Segundus, my dear friend. Mrs Lennox, happy to see you.”
Mr Honeyfoot looked as if he had to breathe stuffy air for half an hour, but in fact he spent this time in a circle of several earls and such, and as a result became very tired of people who still considered magic a simple trick of hands and not a noble science it was. Mrs Lennox was not such shallow person (despite having no actual understanding of magical processes) and Mr Segundus and Mr Childermass were, of course, magicians, so the company at the table was much more pleasant for Mr Honeyfoot, and he fell onto the chair and relaxed in anticipation of an easy talk.
And, leaping a bit ahead, we should say that the talk that followed could not exactly be called an easy one.
“Mr Segundus,” said Mr Childermass casually, “I finally found time to read the draft of your new article you have sent me, and I must say (however distressing it is for me) that it surprisingly lacks evidence that I got used to seeing in your previous works.”
(“What article?” Mr Honeyfoot inquired, a bit hurt, because he was usually the first proofreader of Mr Segundus’s works, but no one reacted because there was no such article.)
Mr Segundus first narrowed his eyes, not understanding what Mr Childermass was devising, but it took him only two or three seconds to see the clear image.
“Ah, Mr Childermass, I am, in turn, surprised that you did not experiment with the spells provided in the article, or else you would be satisfied with the practical side of this work, sir.”
(“New spells?” exclaimed Mr Honeyfoot, ignored once again. Mrs Lennox, on her part, was becoming bored.)
“Ah,” Mr Childermass drawled, putting his chin on his twined fingers, “you are talking about experiments, Mr Segundus.”
“Yes, I am, Mr Childermass,” Mr Segundus replied with dignity, having successfully fought down the blush.
(Mr Honeyfoot now looked completely confused, both because of the mysterious article and because this short discussion, quite aggressive at this point already, reminded him about early meetings of the restored York Society, when Mr Segundus had not yet managed to finally forget the villain side of Mr Childermass. Since then the two, long familiar, cast away the Mr-s and sir-s, and seeing them going back to the formal titles disturbed Mr Honeyfoot a great deal. Meanwhile, Mrs Lennox looked immensely bored.)
“I suggest, sir, we take a few minutes and continue our discussion away from the parlour, so we do not spoil Mr Honeyfoot the joy of absorbing new information,” the air of conspiracy around Mr Childermass could be easily cut with a knife.
“Oh why, sir,” Mr Segundus nodded with a tint of contempt (which made Mr Honeyfoot even more anxious).
“I am aware of your injury, Mr Segundus, but it seems to me a matter of great importance to guarantee you see my point,” Mr Childermass smiled even more viciously, which seemed impossible.
“What injury?” cried both Mr Honeyfoot and Mrs Lennox, and this time it was absolutely impolite to continue ignoring them, so Mr Segundus winced and murmured:
“I was unfortunate enough to strain my knee in the morning.”
(We should note that it was indeed only this minor injury and nothing more, and definitely nothing of the nature you might have assumed from our hints about the pair’s occupation in the most recent past.)
In a second, Mr Childermass was already in front of Mr Segundus, offering his hand as if asking for a dance. The schoolmaster took it and, despite the pain and discomfort, stood up quite gracefully.
“Oh, I should not have, then, make you rise to greet me,” Mrs Lennox said, but Mr Segundus only waved this aside.
“It is nothing, Mrs Lennox. It is the least I can do to show you how thankful I am for your support,” Mr Segundus elegantly bowed, still leaning on Mr Childermass’s arm. He then noticed Mr Honeyfoot, disoriented and distressed, and felt extremely guilty.
“My dear friend, I only left you aside with this article,” he lied, “because it is a direct development of our discussion with Mr Childermass, and I wanted to polish it before giving it to your review.”
Mr Childermass huffed. If he had a moustache, he would have been able to hide his smile, but with only stubble to employ, he did not care at all about how insolently it looked.
“And it turns out,” Mr Segundus reacted to the huff, rolling his eyes, “the article needs much more than simply polishing.”
“Oh don’t you worry!” Mr Honeyfoot reassured him. “I will be waiting patiently for you to finish it.”
(Mr Segundus was not actually reassured by this promise.)
“We will not make you wait for long,” he promised. “In the end, I am the host.”
The pair of magicians left the room. In the corridor, Mr Childermass pulled his colleague (rather rudely, and making him hiss) into an oh-so-convenient alcove, then cast shadows without the blink of an eye, and stared at Mr Segundus. No matter the difference in height, he always managed to hover over any person he would pin to the wall, as if intimidation was another spell for him to cast (which did not alarm Mr Segundus at all, and was, truth be told, even to his liking).
Mr Segundus stared back. No magic was discussed and as it seemed to be, was ever supposed to be discussed. Instead, they stood in silence with their faces awfully close to each other (which once was thought impossible and unbearable). Finally, Mr Childermass huffed and said, fixing his friend's neckcloth just like he did in the morning:
"You are stubborn, Mr Segundus."
"And you have not lost your taste for vexing, sir."
"I enjoy this interaction very much, I have to say."
"So do I, but you do not have an article to write now," and Mr Segundus poked Mr Childermass in the chest to show his irritation.
"I have an idea or two," the culprit hummed, even closer, so close that the vibration of his voice made Mr Segundus's eyelashes flutter, and then they went silent again (we should face away now because privacy is what we value the most).
"I do have some ideas for the article," Mr Childermass coughed in a minute or two, dispelling the shadows and offering a helping elbow for Mr Segundus to lean on.
They returned to the parlour and to their responsibilities as the host and the host deputy.
Soon, all the tea was consumed, small talk put through a few loops and reputation proved. The highlight of the party was a performance of the three most distinguished pupils who demonstrated blooming and flame illusion spells. After that, Mr Segundus and Mr Childermass (who, by the way, was only here for two weeks to help with the examinations) saw the guests out (one can say they insisted on everyone leaving).
Exhausted, they sank into their favourite chairs in front of the library's fireplace. Tired of speaking and listening, they simply stared at the flames for a good thirteen minutes (not that we counted). Finally, Mr Segundus gave out a satisfied sigh and rose from the chair. This movement was quite reckless as he completely forgot about his knee, and the next sound he made was another sigh, this time not so satisfied. He rejected with a gesture Mr Childermass’s effort to get up and help, and limped towards his desk (after all, the injury was not that serious; if it was, the magicians would have promptly reached for a doctor’s help). It was dark now in that corner, the fire in the fireplace being the only source of light in the room, so Mr Childermass could perceive none but the rustle of paper. Finally, he heard something more – a loud “Hm!” from Mr Segundus. The professor then came back to his chair, sat down with a bit of clumsiness (which Mr Childermass would find adorable if it were not caused by pain) and sighed again.
“I have a small present for you. Not connected to any of the… recent events,” he coughed. “I think it is not exactly right to thank a person for giving something that can not be given by definition… no, not that… for giving… against compensation… no, this is even worse… for being one part of creating something togeth…”
Mr Segundus looked as if he was lost in a forest of concerns ever unvoiced, and Mr Childermass, once again, offered his helping hand; both literally and figuratively: with his left hand he covered Mr Segundus’s right one (clasped in a flush of anxiety), and said gently:
“Please do not torture yourself. You do not have to express your gratitude out of obligation only. Especially to such a scoundrel as me.”
Since Mr Segundus was given permission not to express gratitude, he felt free to express his righteous anger.
“You are not a scoundrel, John, we discussed it a million times!”
Mr Childermass assessed Mr Segundus’s frown and smirked.
“And what if I want to be one? In certain circumstances, of course.”
The professor froze up again, just like in the middle of reporting to Mrs Lennox, with his mouth half-open in the similar way (the only difference was that he had no tea cup in his hands and was not risking burning himself).
A loud laugh from the other chair brought Mr Segundus to his senses. He frowned again, partially in jest, and held out a small and neat silvery snuffbox.
“I know that you prefer your trusty pouch to carry tobacco. But this one is not for tobacco (at least, in my design) but for your cards. I think they will fit perfectly.”
Without a word, Mr Childermass took the box and carefully inspected it. The lid was covered with a small flower pattern, and in those grooves the material was darker than the rest that was polished with time and wear. He had neither vinegar nor chalk to test if it was real, but we will assume that it was, indeed, silver (niello or just patined, all the same). And did it even matter?
Fortunately, Mr Segundus was accustomed to how Mr Childermass’s amusement and gratitude manifested themselves – most times, it could only be seen deep in the eyes – and the owner of the eyes took much effort in hiding them in shadows; and if there was no shadow to use, he would create his own with his brows – and in smoothing of the wrinkle between those brows. The professor saw it all this time, and smiled in content.
“I hope you did not spend a fortune on this?” Mr Childermass asked plainly.
"Oh, it is not at all expensive... It cost me nothing, actually. I found it here, in Starecross," Mr Segundus breezily answered.
"Now? Perhaps, some annoying lord has lost it, and we should return it?"
The schoolmaster shook his head, "No, some weeks ago. It was hidden behind a painting in the library (and do not ask me why I even thought of looking behind the paintings)."
With the visible strain of mind, Mr Childermass made a few steps back in the dialogue.
"It is a very thoughtful gift. Thank you."
“Well, since I might have been the reason for you to use the cards more often than usual...” Mr Segundus smiled shyly and cunningly at the same time (we will dare to call this smile 'flirtatious').
“Mr Segundus, this is a rather bold presumption on your part.”
“Well, Mr Childermass...”
“But I can not deny it is true.”
They checked how well the cards fitted into the box (perfectly indeed), considered an idea of drinking another pot of tea (dismissed), and talked about the article which at that moment was supposed to be at least started (discussion postponed until the morning). Finally, Mr Childermass stood up and helped Mr Segundus out of his chair. After that, they left the library in the suspiciously similar direction (but who are we to judge?)