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Oh, what a great book it was!
It wouldn't be entirely correct to say that Segundus's life was going to change tomorrow – the process of this change had begun more than a decade ago and culminated recently, but it's one thing to finally be able to wield magic and preparing for opening a school and a completely different thing to actually having to manage this school in its full functionality.
Tomorrow the first students were scheduled to arrive – no lessons yet, only a growing crowd of youths, which was something Segundus hadn't interacted with in a long while, and he was both terrified and optimistic.
In any case, today seemed to be the last day in the foreseeable future when he would have time to himself, and having made sure more than once that everything was ready, he sat in his favourite chair in the parlour (note that it was with its back to the windows of the room) and opened Tom Levy's long-awaited first book.
Segundus wasn't surprised by the quality of the writing – almost prose, if you will; the scholarly side was also commendable (in a way, a credit to Jonathan Strange). It was easy to get absorbed in it and lose any sense of reality (in a good way, of course), but Segundus was an anxious person (this is an understatement), and with the toll of the past and coming days, he snapped back at a single knock on the parlour window.
His immediate reaction was unexpectedly childish, absolutely unbefitting a soon-to-be professional, no-nonsense teacher and schoolmaster – to simply flow out of the chair and hide behind it. Crouching there, he thanked his laziness: for several weeks he had been thinking of moving the chair so it would face the windows instead and allowed for more light for reading, but he never did, and it proved to be an instance of clairvoyance.
But why would he hide to begin with? He simply wanted to be alone, in this perfect comfort of reading and nothing else (except, maybe, tea and a toast later). Even a thought of having a conversation right now was loathsome. But fate decided otherwise.
The book fell on the floor and Segundus's notes went flying, but he hoped it wouldn't look suspicious. After all, droughts existed, as well as wild magic, and if it came to this, he could blame – disrespectfully – the mystic nature of Starecross.
For that matter, he felt he had all the rights to avoid the interaction with a guest this rude – knocking on glass was just as childish since it was doors that were meant to be knocked on, not windows.
An unpleasant thought crossed Segundus's mind: what if it was one of the future students, and apart for magic, he would have to teach them more mundane things like etiquette? He himself was polite and expected the same of others, but would it be enough?
He was again brought back to reality – with another knock, on the same window again, then the third on the window closer to the front door. It was safe to assume based on this pattern that the door would be next. Some five minutes later, the assumption turned out to be correct but Segundus wasn't quite happy about it, because now, according to his own, albeit a tad strange rationalisation, the manners required him to leave his cover.
And he didn't want to.
He didn't move, hoping that the guest would either get tired of waiting and think there's no one home, or interpret the implication correctly, and leave.
However, as soon as he stood up in order to stealthily retreat deeper into the Hall and could finally at least straighten up – his limbs were just as displeased by the situation as the rest of Segundus – there was another blasted knock.
Segundus sighed so loudly it must've been heard outside and stood up. There wasn't the point in lingering any more, so he rushed to the knocked-on door and opened it.
In front of him were a lop-sided smile and its owner – whom Segundus first deduced then saw.
It, of course, was Childermass.
It explained the rudeness perfectly. Suddenly, Segundus didn't mind it at all (though in order to preserve his reputation, he grunted for a good measure).
"Good day, Childermass!" he said after the grunt.
"I haven't bothered you, have I?" the man asked instead of greeting Segundus back as was his habit, removed his hat and glided through the entrance.
"Not at all," Segundus lied (although, to be fair, it was more true than not at that point).
"Good," was the reply, and Childermass proceeded inside with the air of I Am Very Much At Home Here, which would be most vexing from any other person, but with time came to provoke affection only. Well, Mr Honeyfoot was the second exception to this rule, but he was very far from Segundus's thoughts now.
Childermass made no comment on Segundus's manner of avoidance, even when he noticed the book on the floor. He merely picked it up and looked at the cover.
"Ah," he nodded, "I would be rather glad to hear your opinion on it."
He put it on the coffee table, ignoring Segundus rapidly turning red for no particular reason, tsk-ed and moved the chair, only to settle in it with the same familiarity.
Surely, it would be absolutely natural for Segundus to be filled with indignation, to protest, and to remonstrate with his guest and this audacity – as he did in the past more than once. But why would he be mad if he was planning to do just that anyway? This and his other motives, known and understood by him only, resulted in a quiet laughter. He sat on the edge of the sofa, then cleared his throat, stood up to fetch his notes and sat down again.
"I haven't finished it yet," he said excitedly, "but I have some thoughts!"
Childermass hummed an invitation and provided his pipe from his inner pocket. He, again, didn't ask for permission, and Segundus, again, didn't mind, and surrounded by the light and savoury smoke, they began their stimulating discussion.