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When Gilbert Norrell first came to King's Roads, he was disappointed that the place that Hickman described as a vast house with infinite staircases and large canals with stone walls was not how he expected it to be. It took no small amount of courage to do something as ill-advised as stepping into the Raven King's realm. The least that the King's Roads could do for him was to look exactly like described by magicians of the past, to reassure him that he was in the right place.
It's not that he didn't see the similarities. There were infinite staircases here, that was true. He was descending one of them right now. But so far he had not come across a canal. Instead it seemed like the house sat on an ocean shore. Parts of it were not just next to, but in the water. Enormous halls, as far as eyes could see, stretched all the way to the horizon left and right. Some of them were completely submerged.
If there was one thing correct about this house was that it was vast. Norrell could hardly imagine such expansive architecture. He stopped expecting that he would come out to the other side. As he kept turning corners and discovering more and more halls, any such hope evaporated into salt-scented air.
No matter. He was following a pathfinding line, a product of the spell that creates a path between two beings. It stretched across the stone floors and glowed strong, showing him the way. The path through King's Roads was going to eventually lead him to Belgium, where Jonathan Strange was reported to be at the moment. It will take him to the nearest mirror in Jonathan Strange's vicinity.
Many steps below, on the side of the staircase, in the shadow of the high, massive stone railing, there was a shape that made him halt and peer at it, eyes narrowed, until he could be certain what it was. It looked like a sleeping man, curled up and facing the railing. Norrell agonized over how to proceed. He wanted nothing more than to avoid any encounter with beings who might live here. A creature one would meet on King's Roads could only be a fairy. But the pathfinding line was pointing to the bottom of the staircase, so Norrell had no way to avoid passing the sleeping man. He resumed tiptoeing down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible.
His effort was doomed. When he was much too close to turn around and sneak off, the man stirred. He sat up and gazed at Norrell with big, brown, startled eyes. Norrell halted and froze. The man quickly stood up, not taking his eyes off of the magician. His hair was black and oddly voluminous, the like of which Norrell had not seen. His skin was the color of milk chocolate. He had seen men like that as butlers and footmen in some of London's fashionable houses, but this one did not wear livery. Norrell did not know how to characterize his clothes, except as a very loose shirt and equally loose trousers. Maybe he was dressed for sleep. Or maybe he was a foreigner from the Orient or some other very warm part of the world. In any case he looked much too underdressed to be outside his bedroom.
Unless the staircase was his bedroom. After all, a walk through endless halls did not reveal anything that looked like living quarters.
"You are not the Prophet," the stranger stated without so much as a greeting. His big eyes showed a mild surprise.
That was an odd question that would not be out of place for a fairy to ask. But the man did not match Norrell's notion of a fairy. For one thing, his clothes were of indeterminate muddy grey. His eyes, however, radiated trust without a hint of apprehension in them, and the kind of serene contentment that was the domain of hermits and saints. Perhaps that's what he was.
"N-no," said Norrell in response. "I'm certainly not. I don't consider prophecies to be respectable magic," he added for good measure.
"Magic?" said the man. "You are talking about magic, just like Arne-Sayles! He talked about magic a lot. But Arne-Sayles did not object to being called The Prophet. I was almost expecting that you were him until I saw you up close."
"I do not believe I've heard the name of this gentleman," said Norrell.
"Then I'm a bit at loss as to who you are," said the stranger. "But that's alright. I should be able to figure it out, because the House loves me and wants me to be happy."
Norrell looked at him with alarm. This fellow was definitely eccentric. On the other hand, the notion that this house would have its own wishes, thoughts, or whims did not seem too outlandish to Norrell. Magicians' houses were reported to be like that, though Norrell, for now, reserved any judgement as to whether this man was a magician. But if he was, and this was his house, he might be even more powerful than the Aureates. Norrell's two houses suddenly seemed pitiful to him. They never expressed any thoughts; not that he, being neither an Aureate nor Argentine, expected it.
"If you are not from Arne-Sayles's research group, then perhaps you are not even looking for me?" said the stranger. "Everyone who I met in the House so far was looking for me. The me that existed in the outside world. But you don't seem to."
"No, sir, I am not. I don't even believe I know your name," Norrell replied.
The man's placid face became momentarily flustered. "Please forgive my manners! I have lived here alone for quite a while. At least I think so. I should have started with introductions. My name is..." he hesitated. "You can call me Piranesi. That's what some people call me."
It was bizarre that the fellow did not immediately recall his name. Regardless, Norrell replied: "I'm Gilbert Norrell. Pleased to meet you. As to why I'm here - I'm just passing through on my way to Belgium. As a shortcut," he added after the stranger blinked at him in polite incomprehension.
"A shortcut!" said Piranesi. "This place you just mentioned - I didn't catch its name - is that a place outside of the House?"
"Belgium? Yes, it is. It's a country," said Norrell, wondering just how big a knowledge gap between him and this fellow was. If Piranesi was a fairy, he knew even less than was typical for their race. Fairies at least knew the names of notable Christian countries.
"So you believe you will be able to find an exit into this country?"
"I should be able to," said Norrell and unfocused his eyes so that the pathfinding line could reappear in his peripheral vision. The faint glowing trail was still there, though not that easily distinguishable from the pure whiteness of the marble stairs. But something else about it disturbed him. He did not want to stop and think about it, so as not to lose his certainty that he'll get to the other side. "I have a friend in Belgium, and he has used this, uh... place, this... house as a shortcut to other places."
Piranesi looked perplexed by this. "And you are sure that your friend found the exit?"
"Oh, certainly. I talked to him after he came back."
Norrell finally identified what was so odd about the pathfinding line. From where he stood he saw that the giant staircase ended right at the edge of the ocean, and the pathfinding line was leading straight into the water. This made no sense.
"In that case I must believe you," said Piranesi. "But I am still quite surprised to hear that people have been strolling through the House as a shortcut to some other place. Because you see, Mr Norrell, some people had entered the House, but not all were able to leave. I found their bones."
"Bones?" said Norrell, suddenly queasy. He leaned against a marble column whose shade he was standing in, and found comfort in its simple, firm, smooth roundness. It was as if the house offered itself to steady him. But it clearly did not exhibit the same benevolence to everyone who came here.
"Yes! Beautiful bones and beautiful skulls," said Piranesi. "I have quite a collection of them. Would you like to see it?"
"Thank you, but I really think I should be on my way," said Norrell, suddenly realizing this conversation was not going anywhere helpful. He hoped he had answered everything that the stranger wanted to know about him, and there was no reason to spend any more time chatting. "I... really, my purpose of taking this shortcut is to reach my..." he nearly stumbled, "... my good friend in Belgium. I'm carrying an urgent message to him."
This was as good an explanation as he could provide without going into details. The real reason he needed to reach Strange was that there was a battle brewing near the town of Waterloo. Childermass's cards showed it, and since it concerned Strange, Norrell took them seriously. The cards were quite unambiguous: the battle was going to be especially bloody. He was dead-set on reaching Strange and telling him about new spells he discovered since their parting that would help Strange to protect himself. He really needed to go.
He glanced at the pathfinding line again. It was still leading into the ocean.
"Ah. A good friend," said Piranesi wistfully. "That's a treasure. I'm so happy for you that you've had such a meeting of minds."
Norrell squirmed painfully. Those words might have described what he and Strange had been several years ago, before Strange went to war and strayed from his guidance. Sometimes, looking back, he could not be sure that even in those early years their friendship wasn't one-sided.
"Me, I... I just lost a friend," said Piranesi. "My only friend. Who was also, as I just found out... who was also my enemy."
Norrell flinched. This cut even more painfully. Ever since their parting, Norrell was told over and over that he should consider Strange his enemy. Lascelles never missed an opportunity to drive it home. Norrell's heart rebelled at the notion, but what authority did it have against Lascelles' superior knowledge of the world?
For a few moments Piranesi stared off at the flocks of squawking seagulls in the distance. Then he snapped out of his reverie. "Forgive me, sir, I do not want to delay you any longer. I'm happy that you and your friend have each other."
As Piranesi turned to go, Norrell realized he could not let him leave. The pathfinding line dead-ended in the water. His spell must have failed. He needed to find another way out of this House. But Piranesi was about to abandon him here. Suddenly he wanted to hang onto this eccentric fellow with all his might.
"Oh, you have not delayed me, I am in no great hurry." He was lying, but the prospect of being left alone here with no way out was terrifying. He could not think of a quick excuse to entice the man to stay, but necessity was the mother of invention. He vaguely remembered that bereaved people liked to talk about their dearly departed ones, and latched onto that notion. "If you would like to tell me about your friend, I can stay and listen."
"That's most kind of you," said Piranesi. "My friend - I'll start with his name. Valentine Ketterley. What else? He... he sought great and secret knowledge."
"Mine did too, in his own way," said Norrell. "Still does, I think."
"But I doubt that there is any great and secret knowledge to be had," said Piranesi. "It's all plain to see for anyone who wants. The House, its beauty and kindness is the knowledge. But it eluded him. It's sad, but that's just who he was. What kept him from seeing it was the same major flaw that made him turn against me."
That last sentence sunk its claws into Norrell. Having long buried his heart in the dark wood under snow, its ache now flared up brightly.
"People have said something similar about my friend. Some tried to make me see that he was my enemy," he said.
"Oh! So you understand me, don't you? Someone can be your enemy and still be your only friend."
"I can't see him as an enemy," said Norrell. The cover of snow over the pitt where he buried his heart turned out to be a thin scab. A slightest scratch threatened to turn it all bloody.
"Precisely, sir!" said Piranesi. "I can say the same about my friend. I have all the evidence that he meant me ill, but my heart refuses to accept it."
Norrell gave him a barely perceptible, tight-lipped nod.
Piranesi sighed and said: "I need to pay my last respects to him. Would you be so kind as to come along?"
Norrell had no desire to do so. More than anything he needed to ask Piranesi to show him an exit from the house. Any exit, whether to Belgium, to England or any other Christian country. Perhaps then Norrell could review what went wrong with his pathfinding spell and try entering the King's Roads again. But a rudimentary social instinct whispered to him that it would be very insensitive to bring up his needs at the moment when the other man seemed overcome with grief. Norrell had to go along and do what the fellow requested of him.
"You want to give him a proper funeral?" said Norrell.
"I want to make him beautiful in death the way he wasn't in life," said Piranesi. "I will lay him out in the halls on the edge of the water, where the fish and the birds will strip away all his broken flesh. He will become a handsome skull and handsome bones. More beautiful than he was in life."
Norrell frowned at him uncomprehendingly. He was no longer sure that this Piranesi-fellow wasn't actually a fairy, with his gruesome notion of last rites.
"First I will just need to extricate his body from where it is wedged in a corner of a staircase, in the water," said Piranesi. "He died in a flood. The waves bashed his head against the stone."
Norrell fought off a wave of nausea. Piranesi did a double take at him, those gentle eyes unfailingly perceptive.
"You must understand why I want to do that. You would do this if this was your friend, surely?"
Norell was silent. No, he thought, he would never want to see Strange in death. He would never want his last memory of Strange be with his skull cracked. Wasn't it right to hold on to the last memory of your friend brimming with youth and strength, with wit and charm? Wasn't it right to not let it be overshadowed by an image of a broken, bloodied body?
No, that was just his cowardliness speaking. Odd how the presence of this guileless creature, the inhabitant of the King's Roads' house, reflected back at him the ugliest innermost motivations of his psyche. If he wasn't a coward, maybe he would have gone with Strange to seek the Raven King. If he wasn't a coward, maybe Strange would not have left. A brave person would honor his friend in death too, not just in life; bravery would be to pay the last respects to your friend even when all that was left of him was a cold, broken, mutilated corpse.
And yet he could not overcome revulsion at the thought of seeing some unlucky stranger's wretched remains.
Piranesi must have noticed his terrified expression. "Well, sir, you don't have to come along if you would rather not," he said with a polite smile that did not quite successfully hide his disappointment.
"No, no, it's not that," said Norrell, his fear flaring up at the realization that if he turned Piranesi down, the man would just depart and leave him here all alone. To find out how to get out of this giant house he first needed to indulge his new acquaintance. "I am more than happy to come with you and pay the last respects to your friend."
Piranesi smiled the most disarming smile. "I really appreciate it! Let's go!"
He led the way up the staircase. Norrell followed, struggling to keep up. Piranesi glanced back just once, saw Norrell falling behind a couple of steps, and immediately slowed down. Say what you will about this man's eccentricities, he did not lack consideration. The man slowed down even more as Norrell was getting more and more out of breath. As worried as Norrell was about wearing out his host's patience, the man's reserves of it seemed endless, his serenity as unperturbable as a statue's.
They walked through a hall after a hall, filled with marble columns and lined with giant statues. None of those could have been the likeness of John Uskglass, in contrast to what Strange had told him when he ventured out onto King's Roads. Some portrayed non-human beings. Neither was the House full of weathered, cracked stone or crumbling masonry, like Strange recounted. Norrell wondered if he somehow managed to get into a very different part of the King's Roads' house than the one Strange visited.
In the corner of his vision, the pathfinding line flickered and solidified into a steady glow. Norrell nearly gasped with excitement, but needed to be more sure that this is not an illusion and won't suddenly disappear. This presented a dilemma. If he went where Piranesi wanted, he wouldn't be following the pathfinding line. But he gave a promise to Piranesi, and it would not be gentlemanly to withdraw it.
They walked silently while Norrell pondered the best course of action, and he found it increasingly puzzling that Piranesi was leading them along the pathfinding line. They turned corner after corner, entering one hall after another, and then Norrell realized: the glowing trail was actually following Piranesi. It would have been too much of a coincidence otherwise. Thus, the spell of finding a path between two beings actually relied on this peculiar fellow to show Norrell a path to Strange!
Despite being increasingly out of breath, Norrell was glad that he decided to come along with Piranesi.
"Here it is," said Piranesi, indicating that they finally arrived. Norrell did not see a dead body at first. Then Piranesi pointed out something that looked like a lump of rags in the water, wedged in an angle of a giant staircase (another one; there must have been quite a few staircases in this vast house, just like Hickman described). "Oh," said Norrell, turning away before he could get an involuntary glimpse of the dead man's injuries. The only dead people he had seen had been cleaned up and dressed in their funeral clothes and laid out for viewing. He had not seen a corpse in a raw state of death, let alone mangled in a violent accident. He suppressed a rising nausea.
"I will have to extricate him," said Piranesi. "You do not have to watch if you don't want to. I can manage it alone. I'll let you know when he's ready to be seen."
Norrell sat down on the edge of a low pedestal of an immense statue, facing away from Piranesi. There were shuffling and splashing sounds behind his back, as well as some subdued grunting. Clearly, Piranesi was lifting something heavy. Norrell waited very quietly to be told to turn around. But an invitation did not come. Piranesi started murmuring, but it did not seem to be addressed to Norrell. It was a quiet humming. It resolved into strains of an unrecognizable melody: small, minimalistic and simple. A lullaby, perhaps. Norrell cautiously glanced over his shoulder, hoping this wouldn't give Piranesi an idea to involve him in whatever mourning ritual he was performing.
His new acquaintance, however, did not even look up. There was a man lying on the ground, and his head was in Piranesi's lap. That had to be the deceased person, Valentine Ketterley. Norrell turned away again, queasy at the thought of handling a dead body in such an intimate manner. Would he hold Strange like that if this was Strange, dead? His insides twisted.
The humming broke off as a deep sigh, and Piranesi spoke. "Your good looks are gone," he said in a soothing voice. Norrell startled. Piranesi wasn't looking at him. Apparently he was addressing the corpse as he leaned over it.
"But you mustn't worry about it. This unsightly condition is only temporary. Don't be sad. Don't fear," Piranesi continued. He had closed the corpse's eyes and was gazing into the immobile face. "I will place you somewhere where the fish and the birds can strip away all this broken flesh. It will soon be gone. Then you will be a handsome skull and handsome bones."
Piranesi brushed a strand of hair off of the dead man's face tenderly. Norrell realized that yes, he would do it to Strange. Even in death.
"I will put you in good order and you can rest in the Sunlight and the Starlight. The Statues will look down on you with Blessing. I am sorry that I was angry with you. Forgive me."
Piranesi fell quiet. He seemed to have forgotten about Norrell. Finally the magician scraped together enough words to say: "That was a beautiful eulogy." That word was not entirely accurate for a speech that promised to give the dead man's body to vultures, but in this strange place he had to grasp for words in any awkward way he could.
"Ah, thank you," said Piranesi in a distant voice. "And thank you for being here with me."
Norrell finally dared to broach the subject he both needed and feared to bring up. "I should take leave of you now so you could have as much time with your friend as you need. But would you kindly tell me where the exit from this place is?"
Piranesi looked up at him in surprise. "I thought you knew it. You came here from outside, after all."
"My spell initially showed me a path through the house, or so I thought," Norrell said. "But it turned out that my path is tied to you. It goes where you go. This means only you can show me the exit."
Piranesi's face turned apologetic. Norrell didn't like that at all. It filled him with deepening dread.
"I do not know the way out of the House," said Piranesi. "And why would I? I have no desire to leave. I am the Beloved Child of the House, and this is where I belong."
"But I... I... I don't belong here," Norrell stammered helplessly. "I need to get to my friend. Or if that's not possible, then back to England. It would not do anyone any good if I died here!"
His voice quavered. He saw the pathfinding line again, stretching across the stone floor and leading to the water. The line was no longer tied to Piranesi! It was, as before, telling him to go into the ocean, which was impossible.
"You will not die here, sir, I assure you," said Piranesi with a beatific smile. "The House provides for and protects its Children."
Norrell barely refrained from yelling that he didn't want a pitiful life like Piranesi's, fighting seagulls for scraps of fish and sleeping on hard stone staircases. But the other man might have guessed Norrell's unsaid part, because his smile turned a little wounded. Still, he continued patiently.
"I do not mean just the bare necessities of survival. I mean, it will give you what you request. You seek the exit, so it will give you clues where to find it. Perhaps it already did. You just need to know how to read them."
"And how would I read them?" cried Norrell in a voice as harsh as a seagull's.
"Let's think about it, sir. Perhaps you can tell me how exactly you entered the House? The clues might lie in your method of arrival."
"Oh," said Norrell, not putting much stock in his ability to describe King's Roads or Faerie to this fellow who certainly had no idea about English magic. "I'm not sure you would find it believable if I explained it."
"Likewise, my friend! If I told you how I got here, I don't think you would find it believable either! Let's see which of us has a more fantastic story. For me, someone performed a magical ritual to bring me here. Can you top that?"
Norrell gave a startled laugh. "What a coincidence! I myself performed magic to come here."
"What kind?" said Piranesi.
"I stepped through a mirror."
"Oh my, that's even more bold than what Valentine Ketterley did to me. So let's see. Maybe for you, the way out of the House lies in the way you entered?"
Norrell pondered it. It was not a bad idea. A mirror took him into King's Roads, and a mirror could take him out. If only there was one to be found. Judging by Piranesi's disheveled hair, he did not check his reflection often. "Do you have a mirror, sir? If so, I suppose I could try stepping into it."
"Unfortunately, no. Such things may exist outside the House, but not here. But I'm pretty sure the House will provide something adequate, if you really need it."
He looked around, then went to the edge of the floor that bordered the water.
"Look, sir!" He motioned to Norrell. "Look at the water surface. Is it not a mirror?"
Norrell came closer. He saw his and Piranesi's figures reflected in the slight ripples of clear, nearly still water. Marble pillars and giant statues around them stretched into infinite depth. The glowing pathfinding line led into the water, into his mirror image.
"You must be joking," he said. But a mounting dread inside told him Piranesi was right.
"Not at all. It's a perfect, serviceable mirror. It might require just... a little bit of courage."
Norrell had never met anyone who seemed more sincere than this fellow. With greater certainty than he ever had about anyone's intentions, he knew that this man wasn't making fun of him or leading him into the trap. It was horrifying, but he could be right. This was the only mirror in the House, and his only path to Jonathan Strange.
"Your friend needs you to be brave. So be brave," said Piranesi and patted his hand.
Before Norrell's determination could waver, he started reciting the revelation spell. He followed it by the dissolution spell to melt the mirror's surface: the usual procedure. The last thing he heard before he took that step into the world reflected in the water was Piranesi's voice.
"Remember, the House loves you. The House will provide."