Chapter Text
There was nothing unusual about John Childermass’s presence at Starecross.
It was four years since the Black Tower and the subsequent disappearance of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. England, like a startled cat, had licked its wounded pride, stretched, and resettled itself, all the while maintaining the affectation that it had never been frightened at all, thank you very much, and that it was rather rude of you to believe otherwise. Societies gathered, papers were written, and magic was done, albeit in smaller, quieter ways. Governments were more wary, though no less divided. The Raven King had come and gone, and Starecross was busy.
It was no longer the sole school of magic in England, and nor was it the only one that had requested Childermass’s presence, but it was the one Childermass had chosen. This choice had little to do with Starecross’s reputation, though it was certainly the most esteemed institution of its kind, having had the advantage of an early start and a headmaster who was irrevocably associated with the mysterious events surrounding Lady Pole. Nor had Childermass selected it because its location was convenient, or because its pupils were particularly keen to learn, though both these things were true.
In fact, Childermass had quite different reasons for spending time at Starecross. He had never spoken of these to anyone, and most of the time tried not to dwell on them even in the privacy of his own thoughts. Thoughts, however, have a tendency not to care whether they are wanted or not, and on the hazy morning of the last day in March 1821 Childermass had woken early, with his head full and his heart heavy. In an effort to believe that this was due only to being tired, he had headed into the garden, where he settled on a rock close to the kitchen door and busied himself with the task of cleaning his pipe.
It was a strange, cumbersome sort of morning. Though the temperature was mild, a mist had come over the hills like a sigh during the night, and the air was dank with unshed water. Still, Childermass didn’t mind the promise of rain any more than the sparrows, the chitters of which were almost like company as the sun struggled through the fog.
The kitchen door creaked. A jackdaw looked up, then flapped, disgruntled, into the boughs of a nearby crab-apple tree.
‘Mr Childermass.’ Charles had a smile on his face and a bucket in his hand. ‘A warm morning.’
Childermass hummed, tapping the pipe on his knee to loosen the ash. ‘Like to mizzle later.’
Charles sniffed the air. ‘And we only just arrived at spring – it seems a pity for April to bring her showers a day early.’
Childermass only blew along the stem of his pipe, sending up a puff of tobacco dust. Charles set the bucket down, briefly stretching his arms. Somewhere in the house, a snatch of a nursery rhyme was being sung by one of the maids on her way to see to the fires.
‘I had better hurry,’ Charles said, when the jackdaw, deciding there was no danger, had returned to the ground to peck for twigs, moss, and other nesting things. ‘Or Cook will have my hide.’
Starecross’s cook, Mrs Gillett, was a formidable presence. A necessity, with so many mouths to feed, not to mention the added complications that came with magic, such as the accidental turning of cakes into pinecones not a half-hour before supper was due to be served. But though she hurled threats into conversation as easily as pepper into a stew, Childermass had never seen her carry one out.
Charles stooped to reclaim the bucket, then straightened. ‘Oh – I almost forgot. Mr Segundus is looking for you.’
Childermass’s grip tightened on his pipe. ‘Is he?’
‘Apparently he has had some message, or a letter, I’m not certain what about. He’s in his study.’
Childermass nodded his thanks. Charles, not seeming to notice that Childermass’s knuckles had gone white, set out across the garden with the bucket swinging at his side. Childermass gave the pipe another tap against his knee, though he knew the remaining ash was too firmly engrained to be dislodged. Only when Charles was out of sight did he get to his feet.
He knew that the message Segundus had received must carry some urgency – though an early riser, Segundus didn’t usually conduct business before breakfast. And it must involve magic, for why else would he require Childermass’s presence?
Starecross’s hallways were drowsy. Mist pressed against the windows, giving the false impression that dawn had not yet broken, and the night-smell of candle smoke lingered like a familiar friend on the narrow staircases. The old house was often difficult to navigate, though this was now due simply to its eccentricities, rather than the presence of fairy curses, but Childermass was no stranger to it. Even in the poor light he found his way to Segundus’s study without great concentration. This was fortunate, for he no longer had the birdsong or his pipe to change the direction of his thoughts.
He had found falling in love with John Segundus a little like tripping over an uneven step – a mildly surprising event, but one with perfectly ordinary, even understandable, origins. The initial surprise had come two years before at the York Society, when he and Segundus had been in conversation about some small, unimportant matter. Segundus’s attention had been diverted by one of the other attendees, and Childermass had felt a shiver of something tart and melancholy, like the first noticeable shortening of daylight in September. Later, he had turned that feeling over a half-dozen times, until he had realised simply that the headmaster of Starecross was clever and diverting, that he loved magic fiercely, but without ambition or pride, and that he was kind – and for these reasons Childermass desired his conversation and company, and perhaps other, less intellectual, pastimes.
Ah, was all he had thought in the end. I suppose that explains it.
He had said nothing, of course. What seemed quite logical to him certainly wouldn’t appear so to Segundus, let alone anyone else.
The passage outside Segundus’s study was empty on that misty morning, and Childermass paused outside the door to straighten his collar and cuffs. Such fretting was foolish, for Segundus took small notice of appearances. Even if he had, fussing would hardly hide the fact that Childermass’s shirt was old and worn and abundant with loose threads, but he couldn’t help himself. It was only a very small indulgence.
He knocked. ‘Mr Segundus? It’s-’
‘Come in, come in!’
Childermass allowed himself a smile – just a small one, a wrinkle in the corner of his mouth – at Segundus’s enthusiasm so early in the morning. Another indulgence, but two was not so many, even if it was before breakfast.
The door creaked as he pushed it open. Segundus was always neat in his personal appearance, but his study often leaned towards a state of untidiness, its surfaces scattered with books, papers and inkpots. Not disarrayed, but certainly well-used. Segundus had seemed embarrassed by this the first time Childermass had visited, rearranging the papers into stacks and books into piles, but these days he seemed more at ease with Childermass seeing the room for what it was – simply as busy as the rest of Starecross.
‘Did Charles find you?’ Segundus waved a hand before Childermass could reply. ‘Of course, he must have, for you to come. Take a seat.’
Childermass chose the surface with the least obstruction, transferring two envelopes from a stool to a nearby stack of books before sitting. He regretted his choice immediately, for the stool was lower than he had expected, and his knees bent almost to his chest.
If Segundus noticed this, he was too kind to comment on it. ‘I have had a letter,’ he said, plucking a piece of paper from his desk and holding it out. ‘It is the third regarding Gorse Hollow.’
Childermass took the note. Gorse Hollow lay three miles west of Starecross over the moor, and for the past week it had been cloaked in rumours of odd noises and unsettling sensations. Only yesterday, a farmer had paid a visit to Starecross to report more of them, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he spoke.
It’s not so much, sir, what it looked like that I could describe – only how it made me feel. Have you ever seen a rabbit when a fox has had it? It made me think as if…as if someone had taken my insides and put them back in the wrong places. And the wife, she said the same.
Childermass turned his eyes briefly over the note. A child, missing – his heart sank – but then found again. She had lived on the moors all her life, yet had somehow lost her way near Gorse Hollow. When found, she had said the music of the thorns had led her astray.
He handed the paper back to Segundus. ‘You do not think we should wait for Mr Purfois and Miss Redruth.’
Segundus nodded. ‘I think that we must go today.’
Childermass was wary. The magic affecting Gorse Hollow sounded unpleasant at the very least, and it was likely that the work would require a magician who was less sensitive to magical activity than himself or Mr Segundus. Mr Honeyfoot had been ill for two weeks with a cold, and Mr Hadley-Bright was in London with Mr Levy. Miss Redruth and Mr Purfois had recently departed for Hull to make a purchase of books for the school and were not due to return for two days.
Two days now seemed like a long time. Word was spreading about the magic, but not everyone would heed the warnings – some might deliberately ignore it – and there was always the possibility of an unsuspecting traveller being led astray. Not to mention that fairy magic, if that was indeed the cause, was like to spread if left unchecked.
Childermass sighed. ‘You’re right, though it worries me.’
‘We must at least visit.’ Segundus turned the note over in his hands, worrying its edges with his fingertips. ‘And I suggest we bring Mr Vinculus with us. He may be of some use, and certainly a third pair of eyes and ears would do no harm. Do you think you can persuade him? We will have to walk – the ground thereabouts is too wild for horses.’
‘Vinculus doesn’t mind a little walking.’
Segundus glanced through the window, where the mist crouched thick as smoke over the moor. ‘It may rain,’ he said, tapping the letter nervously against his lower lip. ‘I’m afraid that I will be putting you to an inconvenience. You don’t mind setting out before breakfast?’
‘Not at all.’ Even aside from the fact that Childermass would go through a great number of disrupted breakfasts in order to spend time with John Segundus, he couldn’t help but feel they had delayed too long about Gorse Hollow already. ‘Mrs Gillett will set us up nicely if you’re the one to ask her.’
Segundus flushed. When Mrs Gillett had first come to Starecross, Segundus had been at the most hectic stages of opening the school, and she now refused to let him miss so much as a cup of tea, let alone an entire meal. ‘She’s very efficient.’
‘Terrifying, more like. Wellington would have won the war in half the time, if he had had a dozen like her.’
Segundus’s answering smile warmed Childermass like an ember in his belly.
Vinculus didn’t want to be found.
Unlike most of the residents of Starecross, Vinculus had no permanent room, preferring to spend the colder months placing himself wherever he might get the most underfoot, and in the summer sleeping in the garden, or under hedges around the village. He said this was because he wished to be beneath the stars, though Childermass had the suspicion he liked startling unsuspecting passers-by a great deal more than watching the skies.
In springtime, Vinculus often spent his nights in the stable, which was where Childermass went after he had scoured the house, without luck. The hay-smell was damp and woody in the dense morning air, the horses quiet in their stalls. Brewer greeted him with a soft huff, but Vinculus was in none of his usual nooks – not amongst the sacks of feed, or in the snug corner stall where the one-eared tabby the pupils had christened Ormskirk had its domain. The cat in question raised its head as Childermass peered in, giving him a contemptuous look, but there was no sign of Vinculus.
As a last resort, Childermass went to the ladder by the door and scrambled towards the balk. The rungs were damp underfoot, and the scar on his left shoulder ached.
‘Vinculus!’ he called, keeping a firm grip on the ladder as he peered into the tightly packed haybales. ‘Where are you hiding?’
When this elicited no response, he hauled himself over the top of the ladder. The balk was low and narrow; his head brushed a beam, shaking down dust and hayseed.
‘Don’t pretend that you can’t hear me,’ he growled. ‘We must be away – Mr Segundus has a task for us.’
He trod heavily amongst the bales, hoping to unearth Vinculus somewhere amongst them, but in vain. Vinculus was not in the stable.
Childermass descended the ladder and made a quick search of the gardens, but with no more success. Perhaps Vinculus was sleeping in the village after all, despite the promise of rain. It was odd, though – no matter his talk of stars and ravens, Vinculus was not averse to the comforts of Starecross, and it was no more trouble for him to sleep in the stable or in the house’s grounds.
Unless Vinculus had some notion of what Childermass was to ask of him and, not liking the idea of a long walk, had made himself absent. How he could have known, when Segundus had only decided to make the journey less than an hour beforehand, Childermass didn’t know – but Vinculus had an uncanny knack of hearing and knowing most of the Hall’s goings-on.
He sighed, shook the hayseed off his collar, and went to meet Segundus.
‘You couldn’t find him?’ Segundus said as Childermass approached the gate. He had a blue scarf hooked over the lower half of his face – the mist was beginning to do its work, and the morning was chiller than it had been before – but he pulled it down as Childermass approached. The tip of his nose was pink and appealing.
‘No sign.’ Childermass realised that he was covered in pieces of straw, and hastily brushed the worst away. ‘Perhaps he’s the village, though it’s more likely that he isn’t inclined to be useful today.’
‘I can’t say that I blame him.’ Segundus glanced at the sky, which was cobwebbed with dark clouds. ‘Nevertheless, I do not think we can delay any further.’
Childermass sighed. He was more irritated that Vinculus had run away from him than he was concerned that they would truly need him. The King’s Book was a useful thing to study, but there was nothing to stop them observing Gorse Hollow and using the book once they returned to Starecross. Besides, between Childermass’s travels and the flurry of activity at the school, their opportunities for talk had been fewer at late, and he couldn’t deny that the thought of being alone with Segundus appealed to him. Vinculus’s presence tended to dampen conversation, even when he refrained from singing.
‘Come,’ Childermass said. ‘Let’s see how far we can get before the rain catches up to us.’
He opened the gate, gesturing Segundus ahead of him. Segundus darted through with a breathless noise which might have been ‘thank you’. Childermass took a moment to pluck another piece of straw from his sleeve, then stepped after him. The gate banged behind them, the sound muffled by the creeping mist.