Chapter Text
"And now, Mr Lascelles, I can finally talk to you about the next issue of the Friends of English Magic," said Norrell when he and his two frequent companions, Lascelles and Strange, were in Norrell's coach, on the way back from yet another tedious, interminable dinner.
Lascelles tensed up. The next issue was supposed to go to the printers the next day, and he thought he had wrapped up all the loose ends and addressed all Norrell's requirements, among them some maddeningly contradictory ones. What else was there to talk about?
"I have finally read Mr Burnett's article on the history of labyrinth navigation spells. I didn't have time for it until today, since the Admiralty work took priority. I see a major error in it, Mr Lascelles, and I don't understand how it slipped past you."
Lascelles gave him a look of barely concealed horror. It was way too late to fix major errors.
"The article suggests that a De Chepe labyrinth can be navigated with the help of enchanted dragonflies. The author claims to have found indications of it in Vesolian's book on sympathetic bindings. Vesolian allegedly said that if one puts an Imprintum spell on dragonflies, the transparency of their wings will be transferred to the labyrinth walls, and the way through the labyrinth will become obvious. I have serious issues with this claim. First, Mr Burnett could not have gotten a hold of "Of One Substance, Of One Shadow", because there are simply no extant copies of it anywhere. He might have come across some excerpts from it in certain magic journals that were published in the first half of the last century, but their veracity is unreliable, as those excerpts themselves might have been copied from second-hand copies of the book. But that's not even my main concern. My main concern is that Mr Burnett thinks English magic once relied on the use of enchanted insects. Does Mr Burnett not realize that my goal is to free English magic from its unfortunate associations with the animal realm? I've been vocal about my disapproval of bird-based magic; he could have realized that this extends to insects. And so could you, Mr Lascelles, when you were preparing this article for publication. This will not do."
"I apologize that it slipped past me, sir," said Lascelles. "While dragonflies are obviously animals, I thought that the spell in question did not rely on their animal nature, but rather on their ability to engender transparency. But I'm afraid that we have nothing to replace the article with on such a short notice. The issue has to go to the printers tomorrow."
"You could fix the article," said Norrell. "I like the notion of navigating a labyrinth by making its walls sheer, but you need to think of a substitute magic source for transparency."
Lascelles was taken aback and wasn't sure how to explain that not being a magician he had no idea what to substitute it with.
"I'm sure Mr Strange can think of alternative spells that make the matter see-through," Norrell added. He glanced at his colleague. Strange, who so far showed no desire to weigh in on the discussion, returned his look skeptically. "Why don't you gentlemen spend another hour or two in my library, where you could consult some books if need be, and figure out a way to fix the article?"
Lascelles was beside himself with anger, as he had hoped to have one - one! - evening at home not consumed with work. Judging by the grimly set line of Strange's mouth, he had hoped for it too. Both men took care not to show it. Lascelles felt a brief rush of solidarity with Strange, all the more unexpected because he normally detested the young, arrogant upshot who had taken his place as Norrell's closest advisor.
No matter. He planned to leave it to the two magicians to dirty their hands with the nitty-gritty of magic texts and dig up some thaumatological arcana that was "respectable" enough for the article. With luck, he'll only have to write down the conclusions of their discussion. But his hopes for an easy way out were dashed when upon arrival to Hanover-Square Mr Norrell announced that he was getting a headache and thus had to regrettably retire to his room. He invited the other two gentlemen to stay at Hanover-Square as long as necessary and to make use of those books in his library that Mr Strange was approved to read. He also instructed his footman, Lucas, to ensure that the guests did not lack anything.
Upon that pronouncement Lascelles requested a glass of madeira from Lucas and downed it immediately to quench his incandescent anger. He then asked for another one. He saw Strange do the same. This brought him a tingle of satisfaction, as did any time when he saw Strange frustrated, irritated with or angry at his teacher. If there was any silver lining to be had here, it was that it brought Strange one step closer to losing his patience and breaking up with Norrell.
This made the daunting task a little easier to face.
"How are we going to do this, Mr Strange?" Lascelles asked, leaning back on the sopha and crossing his arms. He wanted to emphasize that his part in the "we" was going to be a distant second. He hoped that Strange would take the hint that he was the only one here capable of dreaming up the relevant magical arcana.
"Well," said Strange, "let us think. The dragonflies in the spell that Mr Burnett described served mostly to lend the diaphanous property of their wings to the labyrinth walls. Mr Burnett must have thought that a magician can isolate that translucency as some kind of abstract, detached quality, and overlay it on solid matter. Then the walls would become see-through. That would make it trivial to navigate the labyrinth."
"And did I understand correctly that Mr Norrell wants us to come up with another, non-animal-based spell, that makes the walls see-through?"
"That's right," said Strange.
"And do you know of any such spells, Mr Strange?" said Lascelles, suppressing his annoyance at needing to pull knowledge from the magician one sentence at a time.
"There are several types of magic that cause partial or full transparency," said Strange. "Some of them belong to the class of revelation spells. Intuitively speaking, one way of revealing something is to make all the matter that hides the thing from view, sheer."
"That's a great idea, sir," said Lascelles. "Do you happen to know the history of the revelation-powered transparency? I need to know that it will not provoke any further objections from Mr Norrell." He knew he would lose his will to live if next morning Norrell saw the last version of the article and decided that it too fell afoul of his standards of respectability. And with Norrell you could not expect that a looming deadline would cause him to relent.
"I happen to know a thing or two on this topic," Strange said. "The spell was said to have been discovered in 1400s by Russinol, who, although he is counted among the first Argentines, was a lot like an Aureate - you know, who used to venture into Faerie and had a collegiate relationship with the queen of a fairy kingdom called Pity-Me, Cindervine - that was not her real name, you understand, it was just how she pronounced it to Christians; her real name would sound to us like a burst of hiss and crackle - it was that Russinol. Are you following me, Mr Lascelles?" he asked, glancing briefly at Lascelles's frowning face.
Not waiting for an answer, or perhaps not recognizing that the deepening frown was the answer, he continued.
"The queen of Pity-Me tried to teach him to identify that which is hidden by naming that which he wanted to reveal. It was, alas, in a fairy language. Russinol didn't know it well. He tried to understand it the best he could, but he in fact interpreted the hiss-and-crackle burst in the opposite way than intended. That was an easy mistake to make, since there had not been fluent speakers of fairy languages since Doctor Pale. So instead of naming that which he wanted to reveal, Russinol really was naming the negative space, the matter around it. When he realized the catastrophic consequences that this may have, he scrambled to fix it in any way he could. So in his haste he erased the name of the matter he named - which is not a choice we would do in this day and age, with the gift of hindsight, but the venerable Russinol had to make an instant decision. It turned out to be a happy mistake! Two happy mistakes, in fact. For he made another interpretation error of the Pity-Me fairy language, and when he thought he was erasing the name, he was erasing a different, harder-to-categorize quality of the matter, and in the result it made the matter transparent."
Lascelles was hopelessly confused and infuriated. There was not a word of that convoluted story that he understood, let alone remembered. However, he could not let Strange know it. It might have been too late for that, since Strange's smug countenance showed that he achieved the exact expected effect on Lascelles, and was savoring the latter's frustration. He swallowed his pride and said:
"Mr Strange, would you bear with me and repeat this more slowly while I take notes?"
"I'm afraid I really need to go home," said Strange. "Mrs Strange must be waiting for me and she'll be worried. I think I gave you enough to start with, sir. As an editor of a magic journal, I'm sure you have enough experience to make sense of my explanation."
Lascelles was sure he was being baited into admitting that his knowledge was not nearly as encyclopedic as an editor of a magic journal was expected to have. But he would rather die than concede this. Instead he took a different tack.
"Mr Strange, it is in your own interests to help me in a more substantial way. If Friends of English Magic does not go to the printers tomorrow, it will damage the magazine's reputation, and, by extension, that of English magic. Can you imagine how upset Mr Norrell will be with us?"
Strange's ironic expression indicated that this argument held no sway over him. Lascelles understood the game Strange was playing. Mr Norrell will definitely be upset, but much more with Lascelles than with Strange. The greatest thing at risk here was Lascelles's position as the editor of Friends.
"Oh, it does not have to come to that," Strange said. "I'm not your only resource. Childermass is here. You couldn't tell by looking at him, but his knowledge of magic history is vast. If you ask him nicely, he might consult you."
Lascelles saw red. He had no doubt that Strange was mocking him, and cursed his manners that kept him from grabbing Strange's lapels and shaking him. "That fellow," he said, fists curling. "That fellow needs a good whipping to know his place. My father whipped servants who spoke out of turn."
"Did he, indeed?" said Strange. "Well, then he and my father could have traded some tips on keeping servants in check. You see, my father tried to kill his valet for disobedience. Unfortunately, that poorly thought-out scheme turned against him. He was the one who ended up dead. He would advise your father and yourself, if he could speak from beyond the grave, to underestimate servants at your peril." Strange sniggered without any tinge of regret or filial piousness.
And then Lascelles understood that Strange, while outwardly a decent gentleman, was capable of the same depths of cynicism as himself. That meant he was capable of other extremes too, if pushed to the limit. Upon that realization he wanted nothing more than to push him, to see how far he could go.
"Mr Strange," he said, after taking a few deep breaths to master himself, "perhaps I was foolish to think that if we fail the deadline, Mr Norrell will be equally upset with both of us." Seeing Strange respond with a skeptical smirk he took a step he would not have dared to take until now. "But I doubt Mr Norrell could be really angry at you no matter what you do. He practically eats out of your hand."
"Oh, you think so?" Strange laughed dryly. "You've seen him vexed with me when I'm late."
"And yet he gets into better spirits as soon as you arrive," said Lascelles. "No use denying it, I've seen it myself. Everybody has. He'll forgive you everything just to keep you close."
"You overestimate my powers," said Strange, his laughter growing uneasy. He made a motion to get up.
"No, sir, I'm simply talking about something that everyone has observed. Mr Norrell is softer on you than he's ever been on anyone else. Don't you dare to say you haven't noticed it. And don't you dare to say that you have never... benefited from it."
"I do not take your meaning," said Strange icily, "and neither do I want an explanation. Goodbye, Mr Lascelles."
He got up and looked around for a bell to call a footman to see him out. Instantly Lascelles sprung to his feet and interposed himself between Strange and the bell.
"Do not tell me you don't know how besotted the old man is with you," said Lascelles. "It's ridiculous. The only reason you are denying it is because you have been exploiting his infatuation." He enjoyed the way Strange flinched as if from a blow. "Or I could be wrong about that as well. Maybe it's mutual between you two, and you just don't want anyone to find out. Now, I can't imagine what a young fellow like you would see in Mr Norrell, but then, you two are magicians. Who knows what you see in each other. Maybe you have enchanted one another."
Strange's eyes grew very wide as he stared at Lascelles, dumbstruck. Lascelles relished that gaze, the floundering look of a man that had his footing kicked out from under him.
"Very well, Mr Lascelles," said Strange with unexpected calm. "You wanted me to help you, although it would be more accurate to say you wanted me to do your work for you. Very well. I'm ready to help."
So that worked! Lascelles rejoiced. His instincts were right. Strange did have something secret and unsavory going on with Norrell. Lascelles's gamble paid off: not only Strange was going to help him, he made himself exploitable to a much higher degree. His secret was worth more than just a one-time help with a deadline. So much more. Lascelles hoped to milk it for days, months, and years to come.