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Segundus was quite mad at himself for being careless and for not thinking about it earlier.
He cherished each and every book in the Starecross library. Those that weren't his own children (five of them, some in several copies, because they were textbooks) – oh, how proud he was that they found the way out of his head and entered the world more beautiful than he ever imagined! (at least the reviews said so) – those, that weren't his own, were his dear stepchildren. All of them received biannual inspections, weekly dusting and daily adoration.
And now one of them1 was lying in a puddle of water in the middle of his desk.
Thankfully, he was doing this experiment alone, so no student heard him swearing – rather loudly, above all else, absolutely not characteristically of him.
And if he recalled correctly, the last time he swore, he was in a similar situation, but twenty-odd years ago.
He managed to catch his silver basin before all the water was spilled, or he would kick it across the room.
He made five deep breaths. Usually, when students were irritating, two were perfectly enough, but again, he was mad at himself, for stupidity and clumsiness and short-sightedness and carelessness and stupi… He made another three breaths.
His notes were ruined, obviously, but Segundus didn't care.
He gingerly picked the book up, holding it half-opened, so the wet pages wouldn't be pressed against each other.
The anger gave its place to despair. A muffled sob left Segundus's throat.
At that very moment, the door to the library banged open.
The schoolmaster jumped up and let out another swear word.
Childermass (for it was he) froze on the threshold in astonishment.
"I haven't heard such things since I was at sea," he said, punctuating the joke with his signature smile, but it seemed to not reach Segundus's ears and provoke the reaction he hoped for.
"What's the matter?" he asked carefully, and Segundus held out the book, his eyes just as wet.
"Oh, John," Childermass whispered, "that's fine."
He found a quill on the desk, muttered an incantation2, touched the tome with the feathery tip of the quill, and it immediately went to its normal dry condition.
"God," Segundus took a ragged breath, still a tint of tears in his voice. "I forgot that there are spells for this."
Childermass looked around, assessing the situation.
"I spilled water from the basin," Segundus explained from behind the shelf where he was putting the book back and hiding. "Not on purpose, obviously."
Childermass touched the notes with the quill too. The paper dried up, but ink stayed in swirls and blotches.
"I'm sorry I couldn’t save your notes," he said, when Segundus came back to the desk, still shaking. "I think, brandy might help?"
"Yes!" Segundus yelped unusually enthusiastically – or desperately – and almost fell into his chair next to the fireplace (unlit due to the time of the day).
After two glasses, he sank into the chair and lay for several minutes with his eyes closed, not moving. The only thing that betrayed his still awakened state was a tiny smile that crawled onto his face occasionally and demonstrated that he was well aware of Childermass's concerned and adoring gaze.
"You know," Segundus said in a while, "I made a couple valuable conclusions from, erm, this.”
He sighed heavily.
“The library is one of the places in this house where magic is the strongest, would you agree?”
“Aye, indeed.”
“It inspires me, in a sense. But I would never think of doing magic in the red attic room3 or next to the raven fountain4 or in Emma’s room,” he shuddered at this memory. “Or in our secret room5, thought it can be considered a part of the library.”
“That is very reasonable,” Childermass said with a hint of question in his intonation, because he still couldn’t see where Segundus was going.
“Well, the attic and other places might interfere with our spells, etc, and that’s the reason they don’t seem suitable. But the library gives me comfort and support. And I…” Segundus’s voice started to shake again, “I almost destroyed it.”
“It was just one book, and we fixed it. It’s fine,” Childermass countered softly.
“I don’t mean just today. We did so many experiments here, with unproven spells, artefacts and rituals… Even old trusted spells can go wrong, and I still kept doing it here!”
Childermass hummed.
“I wish,” Segundus continued, a little calmer, “I wish I thought of it sooner, but we should build a laboratory. For students to use, too. Some simple spells could still be done in classrooms, but anything even remotely risky should belong in a dedicated space.”
“This is brilliant!”
Segundus wrinkled his nose in disbelief, as he often did when anyone appraised his ideas, but made no comment.
“There have to be protections there.”
“A big window in case of a fire or smoke, for example,” Childermass said.
“Stone walls for the same reason.”
“We should also try padding them, so no one gets hurt if something blows up and sends them in all directions.”
Segundus looked at Childermass, terrified.
“Maybe we should perform such experiments outside.”
Childermass shrugged.
“Well, I think we will come up with more suggestions in a discussion with Mr Honeyfoot and the others.”
“I would also ask the staff and the students. Forty heads are better than six.”
“We will set to it tomorrow,” Segundus proclaimed. “I’m too exhausted now, thank god I don't have lessons today.”
“A some sort of magic protection screen for this fireplace would do well too,” Childermass added, and Segundus went completely white at realisation of catastrophes avoided by fortune.
A week later, Segundus entered the library to get himself a book to read before sleep6.
He reached the shelf he wanted, touched book spines absent-mindedly and suddenly turned around, driven with a suspicion.
Quickly, he found Statues, examined it thoroughly, put it on his desk and sighed.
He was uncertain whether he even should do it or not, and it would be easier to delegate such a decision to Childermass, but a tiny part of his brain really wanted to make this achievement – if any – his own.
Another part of his brain, thankfully, was talking a little louder, so Segundus picked the book up again, drank the water from his cup that was on the desk since yesterday morning, winced and left the library.
The cup of water was what Segundus needed for this experiment, but he decided that it would be safer to conduct it in the laboratory (because it was exactly what they built it for). He also made a detour to the kitchen to get another cup.
Finally, he was able to start the experiment.
He didn't need a cup of water per se, he needed water, china not included. He couldn't say at the moment, if a cup was the necessary volume, but time would tell.
"Alright," Segundus exhaled. "Alright."
He braced himself as much as he could and poured a drop of water on the book. Nothing.
He poured a little more, around a spoonful. Nothing.
Segundus groaned. Obviously, not every experiment must end successfully or even have any type of result, he knew that from the cradle. In lectures, he would often say, "Imagine a teacup, or a saucer, or a teapot that exists in a plane, or in several planes, and is invisible to an eye and insusceptible for being perceived in any other way; but you can't tell for sure it doesn't exist."
Perhaps this magic he was trying to discover now wasn't a teapot, but he wouldn't be satisfied without more attempts.
"I should've taken a sandwich too on that detour," he sighed, confidently opened the book and poured another spoonful of water on the now naked pages.
The book started to glow.
Segundus immediately forgot all about sandwiches.
He jumped up several times, clapping hands like a girl7, then muttered Simon’s Cantrip. The glowing subsided.
He took a bell from one of his pockets, ringed three times, considered it for a couple seconds and ringed twice more.
First Childermass, then Honeyfoot came to the laboratory.
Segundus looked at them mysteriously, invited their attention to the open book with a gesture and emptied the rest of the cup right into it.
The other magicians gasped in horror reflectively, even though they knew perfectly that the incantation will help.
"It's fine," Segundus said, a bit smug.
Honeyfoot exclaimed, "Oh lord, it glows!"
The expression on Childermass's face was something in between "how didn't I notice it myself that time?" and "what a discovery!".
"What a discovery!" he said, and Segundus clapped his hands again with the wildest smile.8
_______________________________
1. Statues by an unknown author, leather-bound and with parts of a broken lock. It was found under vestiges of a building in Wales. The owner of the building was also unknown. — Back
2. Simon’s Cantrip, a spell that was half-recovered from the Hurthew library through Childermass’s memory and half-restored by one of the Starecross students, James Simon, who took a particular interest in chemistry, both magical and common. — Back
3. The red attic room contained an unlockable cupboard with a tea set that was only visible at new moon and was considered cursed, because it emanated an aura that can only be called dark. — Back
4. The raven fountain had, predictably, a relation to the Raven King. It was discovered not long after the opening of the school in the farthest corner of the garden, hidden under the branches of various shrubs (parts of all of them were preserved and stored in the collection room under several locks). The fountain had an eerie effect on those who came to it closer than two feet: they felt dizzy, and upon leaving this area, forgot everything that happened at least half an hour ago. — Back
5. More on this here. — Back
6. More often than not, “before” meant “instead”. Segundus had to thank Childermass for his healthy sleep, because he usually stayed late, went to bed an hour later than the schoolmaster and spent there a minute berating him for this bad habit. Sometimes, however, the book carried them both away, and at breakfast they only yawned instead of talking. — Back
7. One could try and say that it was not a proper behaviour for a gentleman of Segundus's age and status, but then this one would be awarded with a glance from Childermass who was known as a master of intimidation well buttressed by facts. — Back
8. This is the end of the story event-wise, but we must add this dialogue:
“I’m a bookworm, a book soul,” Segundus once said, lying in Childermass’s embrace in the darkness of a winter’s night. “Sometimes I think I will turn into a pile of tomes after I die.”
“I’m a Reader, after all,” Childermass replied, wincing at the mention of death. “Sometimes I can read you like a book even now.”
Segundus chuckled quietly.
“What soul am I?” Childermass asked.
“I think reading fits you the most in this sense, actually. Insightful. Observant. Fingers perfect for turning pages,” and Segundus drew a meaningless sigil on Childermass’s chest with the tip of his own finger.
Childermass huffed, but then said, serious, “We suit one another, don’t we?”
“Oh yes.” — Back