Chapter Text
There was a key on the desk, right in the middle, on the top of the newly arrived and yet to be read mail, and Segundus could clearly see it, even though the candles kept flickering.
"I think I've seen you before," he muttered, "though I can't quite place where."
The key didn't reply, naturally. It simply lay there. If it could have talked, however, it would have said something like, "So you found me, silly magician, now use me! Do you not know what keys are for?", which is rather rude, even for an inanimate object (or even more so?)
But that was precisely what the problem was: not the lack of etiquette, of course, but the function. Keys are for locking and unlocking things, and Segundus for the life of his wasn't able to remember any door or lid or drawer that couldn't be with the keys that had already been accounted for – despite Starecross having plenty of locks (almost too many). Apparently, it wasn't true, now that the key was there, in Segundus's hand.
However, it was not in his hand yet, it was still on the desk, pressing down the letters with its weigh, so Segundus reached out for it.
But that feeling of having seen it already took a little bite at his thoughts and he put his hand into his pocket instead to take out the set of keys he, as the custodian of the not-an-asylum-any-more-not-a-school-yet, had to carry on his person at all times. He wanted to compare the new key (if you might say that about this particular one, which looked almost ancient and made using an old-forgotten process) to the ones he had, and even if it would be easier if he held it, his mind decided on the wrong order of action.
And it was wrong indeed because when Segundus's eyes returned to the desk, there was nothing there, except for a pile of envelopes he really should have attend to.
"Hm," he said, in a full voice this time, "what was I doing?"
The keys dinged on the ring.
"Ah, of course."
Segundus found one of the smallest keys and opened the top drawer of the desk, where he kept his more expensive stationery safe from potential invasion of rodents. Then he sat down and started going through the mail, wincing at the candles from time to time.
"I should definitely ask Mrs Lennox for better ones," he said to himself again, sure that she wouldn't approve this expense, considering the limbo situation he and Starecross were now. "And I really need someone real to talk with."
Both of these wishes came true: Mrs Lennox was generous enough to send a package because she knew that money would be put aside to be spent on something more useful; and Segundus found himself in the company of one of the best conversationalists he had the honour to be acquainted – or even being friends – with. The latter happened much sooner than the former, which was good because there were several candles in Segundus's stock and absolutely no one to speak to.
The conversationalist in question was Childermass, and this unlikely title, when shared with others, earned Segundus several dismissive ha!-s from people he was supposed to respect and didn't any more. Mr Honeyfoot, however, was inclined to agree with him, though he was still wary of Childermass, but wariness was better than disdain, according to its object himself.
Whatever was the reason – the unwillingness of the magicians of The York Society to speak with someone they thought to be beneath them or Childermass's lack of any desire to entertain them in any way – didn't really matter because Segundus was rather content to have his former adversary all to himself. The wording made him blush, both the first time when Childermass used it (putting his feet up on the tea table, which was undeniably rude but quickly forgiven for reasons Segundus had only recently come to terms with) and all the other times he would turn them in his mind over and over.
"Oh, welcome," he said to the guest, who entered Starecross together with a large portion of November rain that had been fighting its way inside through the roof and walls since the early morning.
There was no greeting in response, only a crooked smile and a little, almost ironic bow. Childermass took off his hat, shook the water off it and put it in Segundus' hands, then shook himself like a dog. The hat protected Segundus's face from the droplets (whether it was given to him for this purpose remains a mystery) while the rest of him was showered with them, although no objections were voiced whatsoever. Instead, Segundus only giggled.
"Come on in," he continued. "You might be starving. I'll try to find something in the kitchen."
"Vinculus is in the stables," Childermass informed him, and Segundus gathered from the roughness of his voice that at least the last stretch of the trip was made in silence.
"Then Charles will let him in."
"He won't be very happy."
"But then who would?" Segundus shrugged. "I'm joking, of course. He is always as welcome here as you are."
"I can't prove that you have an ulterior motive for it," Childermass said, hanging his overcoat. "But I don't mind either way. Did you say something about food?"
Immediately, the conversation Segundus so longed for continued from the place it stopped the last time Childermass visited.
While the guest was scanning the pantry for something out of which he could muster a quick stew, Segundus provided his keys to lock the drawer where the silver was stored (a preventative measure against Vinculus's vices).
A thought sparked in his mind at the sight of them and was instantly forgotten, like the glitter of a shiny object on sand is lost in the movement of water.
"I wanted to show you something," he said, frowning, and turned a key in the lock. "Or ask you about something. But I don't remember. I will surely find it in my notes anyway."
"How many notes have you made since my last visit?" Childermass asked.
He lit up the stove and then his pipe on the same flame.
"Useful? Less than five pages, I'm afraid," Segundus sighed and took a potato to help peel it but stared at it instead, a little lost. "I've been terribly busy. But you've also not been away for too long, which is a good thing."
And came back here.
"I'm glad you think so," Childermass huffed warmly and took the potato from him.
The stew was a success and Childermass clearly appreciated all the compliments that Segundus eagerly gave.
"It's been awfully lonely here," Segundus confessed on their way upstairs to the library. "After Lady Pole and her staff left. Mr Honeyfoot rarely comes, since there's no need for his presence, and... I have to admit I miss the correspondence with Mr Strange. What, a year had passed? I should have gotten used to it already, but..."
"I can write to you more often," Childermass suggested in a queer voice, and Segundus tripped.
"Oh my," he gasped and clutched the banister, "I'm sorry."
"Are you alright?"
"Perfectly fine," Segundus nodded, trying to pretend that the pink colouring his cheeks was simply the result of this sudden exertion. "Starecross is stubborn sometimes. Once in a while, I feel it wants to tell me something. To watch my step, most likely."
Childermass laughed quietly, but not at all condescendingly.
"I share this feeling," he said. "Maybe, we should try and listen."
They froze. No sound came, only muffled voices from the kitchen.
"Next time, then," Segundus said, a little disappointed. "Do you remember any relevant spells?"
Childermass shook his head, and they proceeded to their destination.
At the door, Segundus realised that his notes were in his desk in the study, so he left Childermass to settle and start the fire and went on this detour.
There was a big key there on the desk, right in the middle, next to the pens.
Segundus hummed. He had no recollection of putting it there, only that he'd seen it before. But he didn't want to waste time, so he put the key into a pocket and grabbed the notes.
By the time he stepped out of the room, the key disappeared from his mind as if it were never there.
You definitely, at least once had an experience similar to the one Segundus had that evening: despite being warm and cosy and happy with the company, the excitement brought by the very same things destroyed all his hope for falling asleep easily, and he wasn't very eager to go to bed just now. The guests, however, were rightfully exhausted, so he swallowed the reluctance and suggested he and Childermass retire if, of course, it was agreeable.
Childermass confirmed that it was with a nod immediately followed by a yawn, finished his brandy and put the papers that he was holding on the tea table. It was a mess of the notes – both those Segundus made in the meantime and Childermass's own copies of the King's Letters, perfectly enough for two days of discussion, and who knows what digressions they might've brought for a curious mind.
But for now, curiosity had to wait.
The way to the bedrooms was a bit more treacherous than the route the friends followed earlier: a step creaked under Segundus's foot like it was about to break despite being in a perfect condition for a house this old, and there was a shadow and a glisten in a portrait on the wall that made Childermass mistake it for a mirror.
"It does this once in a while," Segundus said. "I haven't discovered yet whom it belongs to. Mrs Lennox has no idea, and I couldn't find any information."
"We can make up a spell," Childermass suggested.
Anything could be solved with the help of a spell now, it seemed, and wasn't that the best thing?
"We absolutely should," Segundus grinned.
The corridor with the bedroom doors was a trial in its own right, but not due to any magic whatsoever. Segundus always dreaded the moment he had to give Childermass his key, and he would gladly simply run away if his feet weren't turned to metaphorical stone. He knew this awkward, charged silence well, as well as the dangers and joy that might come out of it should any of them break it with something more significant than a goodnight. But no one had — at least yet — and it meant safety, both from the danger and the joy.
The silence lasted no more than two seconds because Segundus had already clutched the keys in his pocket even before he put his foot on the last step. He pulled them out.
"Well, I bid you good—"
There was a key on his palm, which didn't belong anywhere he could remember.
"How peculiar," he said.
He looked up at Childermass in hope he, perhaps, recognised it, but instead of a sign of recognition, there was a frown. It didn't seem grave, but Segundus still wanted to smooth it with the tips of his fingers.
Why are you frowning, he wanted to ask, but then the cause reminded him about itself, heavy on his palm.
"This is a very strange key," he said. "It's like it disappears entirely when I'm not looking at it."
They glanced at each other again and forcefully back at the key.
"Indeed," Childermass nodded. "I don't trust it."
Segundus inspected the object more closely.
"I think it's iron," he said and gave it to Childermass. "So it's unlikely it's something fey."
"It raises other questions, then," Childermass rubbed his forehead. "I'm sure I've seen it. Or its lock, rather."
Nervously, Segundus immediately provided him with the full inventory of the locks in Starecross. The longer he spoke, the more shadows of memories came back to him, and by the end of the list he was confident he'd seen the key at least five times.
"I'm not sure when it happened last," he hummed. "But not that long ago. Yesterday, perhaps?"
"But it disappeared, right? What if it does it again?"
"From the desk, yes. But it stayed in my pocket."
"Alright then," Childermass said and hitched the key on his cross chain. "Hope it stays there until morning."
Thankfully, it did, providing Childermass with a rather confusing surprise.
"I'm already tired of this effect," Segundus grunted into his tea when Childermass presented the key to him. "What shall we do?"
They discussed their few options and decided to make etchings of the key first, so each of them would have a sort of a copy of it, which definitely helped with the unpleasant feeling of having forgotten something.
There were more mysterious symbols in Segundus's life now than he ever expected to see – though it didn't make encountering them any less intriguing.
The selection of these particular ones seemed easier to decipher compared to the array that covered Vinculus's skin, and Segundus had high hopes. And, even if they didn't get that they meant, there were other means to explore the key's magical properties (something that Childermass either considered blasphemous in case of the Letters or simply too dangerous).
The results of an hour of work were these: an infinity symbol on the blade (self-explanatory), tiny protruding triangles (possibly, alchemical symbols of Earth), two shapes that reminded either downward arrows or open books (to be determined); a pair of teardrops – or raindrops, that was up to debate, but tears were what both of the magicians thought of first, and you can't distrust your intuition when magic is concerned,
On the top middle of the bow there was a symbol that caused the most disagreement: a thunderbolt, or a snake, or simply a very mortal S.
"Ah," Segundus said, completely missing a stare directed at him when Childermass suggested the latter option. "How very silly of me."
They pondered a little on the most obvious explanation – that the key belonged at, or to, Starecross, after all.
Then, the post came, with an envelope (not the candle parcel yet) from Mrs Lennox among others, concerning this and that school-related, and not the parts Segundus liked.
"Finances," he wrinkled his nose, and Childermass didn't need any elaboration.
He offered his help – not for the first time, and Segundus declined, like all the times before, for several reasons: starting from mere politeness, to unwillingness to exploit the skills which were used in Childermass's, so to say, past life in case he might be reminded of his former position.
"What use will I be as a schoolmaster if I'm unable to do my direct duties? And you are a guest here," Segundus said, "enjoy some rest, use the opportunity to continue to Read in peace. Or try to remember where you might have seen the lock."
"I doubt," Childermass laughed, "that anything involving Vinculus might ever be done in peace, but I do like the other idea."
"Don't get lost, though," Segundus said. "I still haven't mastered finding my way out of the attic every time, and it's been years."
"I trust you to find me if I indeed get lost, but I'll do my best anyway."
So Childermass left to explore the building and Segundus stayed at his desk fighting an army of numbers.