Work Text:
Some stories are the best when told by the fire, some – to a bigger audience, and some are perfect either way. This particular one is of the latter, though Segundus is still rather disappointed he missed its premiere to the first class of the finally opened school.
"I could hear them applauding you even through the window," he grumbles when Childermass helps him take off his snow-dusted overcoat. "Why didn't you wait for me?"
"You know yourself how hard it is to resist their demand for new knowledge."
Segundus sighs, both in agreement and because he's exhausted.
"You look like you could use some brandy," Childermass suggests. "And I need a pipe or two. I'm still not used to public appearances, especially when most of the attention isn't directed at Vinculus."
"I think you do brilliantly."
Childermass tips an imaginary hat — and he wouldn't be able to tip his real one even if they weren't inside, since it's paying an overdue visit to a milliner (an actual one) on behalf of Segundus as the main sponsor.
"I didn't expect that the job came with so many travelling!" the schoolmaster complains, still shivering a little. "All these business trips instead of sitting at the desk in the warm study!"
"I can help you with that."
"Oh, no. I must decline. This is my cross to bear," Segundus says courteously, and there is less frustration in his voice he would prefer it to show.
After a brief consideration, the storyteller and listener settle by the library fireplace. One of the reasons for this choice is the experience, gained from more than one instance of Segundus jumping out off his chair in the middle of the conversation to rush to a bookcase (and out of the room if they were in the parlour or Segundus's study) in order to check a fact or find more details regarding the topic discussed at the moment, and it is, naturally, much easier to do when it's only several feet away.
Another reason is that it proved to allow much more intimacy, which is undoubtedly important if you consider the nature of their conversations that are not altogether similar to discussions in their form.
Finally, the brandy is poured in glasses, the tobacco is stuffed expertly into the pipe, and the story is about to begin for the second time this day.
"Let me tell you about the time I met the kraken," Childermass starts with a well-practiced intonation, and the crackling of the firewood and swirling of the snow seem to subside in their volume as if to give place to his voice.
But there's another sound, a rather unexpected one – a scoff from Segundus, and the first words of the next sentence hitch in Childermass's throat.
"What do you mean?" he asks, shocked by this interjection. Such a thing has never happened before.
"I don't believe in krakens," Segundus shakes his head patronisingly.
"Even with all of this?" Childermass raises his brow and gestures widely at everything that surrounds them: the walls of Starecross that tend to misbehave lately, warping and creating new locked doors in them; the flowerbed right under the library window which sprung flowers last week that broke through snow and released pollen that dyed anything it touched in beautiful yet almost unremovable vermilion; the general potent air of magic that came back; and Childermass's own unremovable memories of the impending black cloud.
"No," Segundus replies stubbornly. "Some things are still only tales."
"Then allow me to finish my tale, and we will see if it could change your mind."
There's still scepticism in Segundus's narrowed eyes, but he nods for Childermass to carry on.
"It was a miracle that I survived," Childermass continues warily, prepared for another display of disbelief, but Segundus, after all, is the politest person to ever live and tactful enough not to interrupt any more. "I can't tell for sure where it was, but certainly far enough from the shores of England for it to be a fruit of some fairy's cruel imagination – many boundaries are erased in the sea, and the border with Fairie might as well have been too, even before the Restoration. But, again, it was far away from here. It had been dead calm for a week or so, and some of us had secretly prayed for a storm so we could move, at least an inch towards home."
The light of the fire diminishes without losing its warmth, the flames of the candles are on the brink of expiring, and it's now dark enough for Childermass's face to be only illuminated by the glow of his pipe.
"But instead of a storm, Nature – or Fate, whatever you find more probable – presented us with something much different and much more violent. At first, our navigator thought it might be an islet, or a particular tall sandbank, appearing and disappearing again on the horizon. But at some point, it did something no land could do: it noticed us. In a matter of minutes it had been upon us, and we saw what it really was – first, a horrid tangle of limbs, the colour of rotting meat, and the smell of sea salt so strong and pungent you couldn't help but start coughing; then an eye, yellow like pus, piercing, paralysing. We stood there, on the deck, unable to move, to run to hide – which would be no use anyway. The monster's beak was studded with countless crooked teeth, as if it needed any when it could squeeze the life out of a man and crush his perished body into mash. Then, it raised one of its tentacles and—"
Segundus gasps.
"I thought you don't believe in krakens," Childermass smiles.
Segundus composes himself and attempts to roll his eyes, but it doesn't look convincing whatsoever.
"It doesn't mean I wouldn't be worried about you," he says.
"It's nice to hear, my love," Childermass responds, a corner of his mouth crawling higher. "But I'm here, aren't I? So, it aimed at us, and swiftly struck the ship, shattering the smaller mast into splinters. But when they rained on us, cutting our faces, fear suddenly left me and didn't come back even when the kraken grabbed and picked one of my crewmates up by his leg. It all looked just like the cards that would turn up for the past several days in my spreads: the Tower, the Hanged Man and the Strength."
"Where a woman overpowers a lion."
"Exactly. And, at the snap of one's fingers, the kraken lost all interest in us, for a motive that will never be understood. It released the sailor, almost unharmed, and simply left. In a few hours, the calm was finally over as well, allowing the ship to flee as far away as she could from that godforsaken spot."
The light slowly returns to the room, and Childermass murmurs a spell to reignite his pipe.
"It was indeed a miracle," Segundus says, barely hiding the fact he is impressed, then clears his throat. "Would be, I mean, if it all were true."
"You are, of course, entitled to your opinion," Childermass laughs. "But this is just as true as the fact that you are holding a glass right now."
Segundus immediately puts his glass on the table.
"Next thing I know you will tell me that you've met sirens too."
"Oh, I have," Childermass says, unperplexed.
"Well, this certainly can't be true!"
"Everyone says it. Apart from my fellow sailors, of course. Aye, sirens themselves might not exist, but their call definitely does. Its effectiveness varies depending on the person, but it's a pull, akin to one you surely felt at least once, like when you do especially powerful magic."
Segundus's attentive stare is now devoid of doubt, and his hand momentarily jerks in the direction of the pocket where he always carries a notebook.
"You know I have no reason to lie to you," Childermass says.
"Well, to impress me, for one."
"Am I not impressing enough as it is, then?"
"Of course you are," Segundus exclaims, then, in contradiction to this, yawns deeply. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Childermass shrugs and gets up to fetch him a blanket, tucked in one of the desks' locked drawers precisely for such situations. Segundus takes it with a smile and pulls Childermass into a soft kiss.
"I can tell you some of my less exciting stories," Childermass offers.
"Oh, it will be marvellous."