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Childermass dismounted, tossed the reins to a footman, walked to the front door of the Hanover-square house with big, rushed strides, and continued on to the library. He didn't have any positive news to bring, but even the non-news had to be delivered with haste. Childermass knew Norrell could not wait another second for his arrival. The rumor of Mr Strange having been killed at war broke out just earlier this morning, and since then, with every passing hour, the magician of the Hanover Square descended into deeper dread.
To not be able to relieve his master's torment - at least not yet - was painful. An added sting was brought by a realization that his master would not have experienced this kind of anguish if it was Childermass who was rumored to be dead. But it was not too important, or so the man of business told himself. At any rate, the power to be able to bring relief when the time was right outweighed it.
When Childermass opened the library door, he saw Norrell standing near his desk by the window. Though it was a bright spring day, the sunlight did not reach into the room. In defiance of the sun's position in the sky, the desk was not lit by afternoon rays. It was drowning in twilight, and so was its occupant. Childermass could tell that the magician had been watching the street the whole time Childermass was gone. From this shadowy place, unseen by passers-by, he had peered into the crowd for a glimpse of his servant returning. It brought Childermass a twist of satisfaction to be so badly needed. Needed, even if not yearned-for.
"She doesn't know," he said, wasting no time on formalities. "Mrs Strange is quite distraught by the rumor. She hasn't been able to find out for sure."
Norrell sat down heavily on his chair, leaned on the desk and propped his head on his hands. He blended nearly completely into the murk that suffused the room.
Childermass knew that his master was just as distraught by the rumor as Mrs Strange, but, unlike her, he was forbidden by propriety to express it openly, even to Childermass. That wasn't necessary: Childermass knew. Childermass understood. This morning, when Drawlight reported the news of Mr Strange's presumed death, all the effusive, flowery words of regret could not quite hide the gleam of malice in his eye. Childermass saw Norrell freeze in shock. Moments later, Norrell muttered an unintelligible excuse and retreated to his study upstairs. It was left to Childermass to usher Drawlight out, which he did as fast as politeness permitted. Immediately after that he headed to the Stranges' house to find out if the news was true.
That proved fruitless. Mrs Strange, similarly mad with worry, barely managed to summon a few words, and they were just to say she didn't know anything. Hours ticked by. It was now late afternoon, and both the Hanover Square house and its master sank into deeper and deeper gloom. The titles on the spines of the books, all uniform in their silver lettering, appeared bent, like a spine of a mortal buckling under heavy weight.
There was nothing helpful Childermass could say or do, since the right moment has not come yet. So he settled down at his little desk, intending to continue with his usual work. It brought him low to see his master so undone by dread. He noticed that the mirrors that were inset into dark corners of the library did not reflect the street anymore. Most of them were dark altogether, and a couple of them emitted a faint greenish glow; what other worlds it could have emanated from Childermass could not begin to guess. He could only surmise that Norrell had employed magic to try to locate Mr Strange and find some clues about what state he was in. But that must have turned out unproductive.
From this he concluded that Norrell had not yet found the one real clue. He had to find it himself. Childermass could do no more than provide subtle guidance. He started thinking about how to do it.
Some time passed in silence. Finally Norrell muttered: "He never wrote to me."
Childermass turned and gave him a long stare. In other circumstances he might have been tempted to say "Perhaps that was too high a price to pay for 'The Mirrour of Lyf of Ralph Stokesey', even if two thousand guineas wasn't," and he could have gotten away with it. Sometimes Mr Norrell needed obvious things to be pointed out to him. But of course Childermass wasn't going to say this now, at the lowest point of Mr Norrell's life.
Meeting his gaze, Norrell must have sensed the implication because he proceeded to argue with it. "What? Do you think it's about the auction? Mr Strange would not take offense that I outbid his wife. He must have realized that I bought those books because books of magic should not fall into the wrong hands! Nobody should touch an unknown magic text. Not even Mr Strange. Not until I have read it and determined it's safe for him to read. And he... he would have been able to read that book here, in my library, if he... came back."
A few more minutes went by, until Norrell spoke again.
"The last few years have been like Watershippe in reverse, you know, Childermass?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?" Childermass asked.
"Do you know the story of Peter Watershippe? The magic that had left England in Watershippe's youth was returning lately. Mr Strange and I were on the way to bring it back. And now -- now it should all end this way."
"There is still hope that it's not true," said Childermass. "It has only been a rumor, after all."
Norrell didn't look comforted by that. He stood up and went to a bookshelf where he kept his notebooks. He pulled out a file with loose papers in it, and started rummaging through it. Childermass tensed up. This could portend a need for a long, serious explanation in the near future, and he didn't even need the cards to know that.
"I can't find the list of the books Mr Strange had borrowed," said Norrell. "Where is it?"
"I have copied all those titles off of Mr Strange's note into the library inventory notebook," said Childermass.
Norrell blinked at him, his eye twitched. "But where is the note?" he said.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I might have disposed of it after I was done copying," said Childermass.
"You... You did what? How could you..."
Norrell clenched his fists, then collapsed back into the chair and leaned on the desk, clutching his head. Childermass knew that as long as his master was going to pretend this was about the books Strange had borrowed, he would find no excuse to berate him for disposing of the note. It was plain to Childermass that this was not about the book list. But Norrell was never going to openly admit the real reason: the note was the last piece - perhaps the only piece - of Jonathan Strange's handwriting he possessed.
It was also why that note had been so useful to Childermass. It was also why he had decided to sacrifice the only memento of Strange that Norrell had, no matter how much grief it was going to cause his master.
* * *
The dinner bell sounded, and Norrell went to his solitary meal. There was no Drawlight or Lascelles to keep him company. After getting rid of Drawlight earlier today, Childermass gave the servants strict orders not to admit those gentlemen if they happened to come by.
This created a brief window of time for Childermass to put his plans in action. His master needed more obvious clues. He doubted Norrell had much appetite today and could hardly be expected to take the usual time at dinner, so he had to work fast. Childermass returned to the library and headed to a certain bookshelf. He found the book he was looking for, "Chains of Accord", opened it to the key page, and placed it on Norrell's desk among other, overlapping, open books, where the magician could "accidentally" find it. Luckily, Norrell always had so many books on his desk that if another one appeared, he would probably think he brought it here earlier and forgot.
Indeed, Norrell returned before long, eyes downcast and footsteps heavy, and sat down at his desk, looking somewhere off in the distance with an unseeing stare. Within minutes, though, he was focusing on something. He was reading a book he had pulled out from the pile. It was the book Childermass had planted there.
"Childermass!" Norrell called after a while.
Childermass looked up. Norrell waved him over.
"Do you know a fairytale about two brothers and a rusting knife?" he asked in the same matter-of-factly manner as asking whether Childermass had looked at the bank accounts recently.
Childermass made a show of looking at him with surprise, as though the question caught him off guard. He scrunched his face as if trying hard to remember, secretly rejoicing that he had nudged his master towards the right line of thinking.
"Oh, the one where two brothers stuck a knife into a tree, and if either side started to rust, that meant one of the brothers was in trouble? Or dead?"
"Yes, the same one," said Norrell. "There is an entire class of spells in Sutton-Grove, called entwined pair spells, that are loosely related to this story. It seems that this fairytale is a distant echo of a certain type of magic, preserved in folk memory. Mr Sutton-Grove dedicated a chapter to them, but he did not believe that the procedure of such a spell survived to his day."
Childermass listened to this spontaneous lecture with satisfaction. Norrell seemed to be in his usual element again. Childermass secretly thanked the deities he didn't believe in, and the Raven King, who he did believe in, for that. Apparently, a prospect of new-to-him magic was enough to bring Norrell out of his dark place, even if temporarily.
"So how odd it is that I found a book on my desk, opened on a page that speculates about the rusting knife spell, and the entwined pair spells in general! I must have started reading it sometime before dinner, and completely forgot. My mind is going," he said, and rubbed his eyes.
"Sir, you need to try to take your mind off of all this," said Childermass. "It does no good to drive yourself into despair. You won't be able to go on like this."
"To go on?" Norrell sneered, his voice barely above a hiss. "If Mr Strange is gone, how am I supposed to g..." He swallowed. "... get my books back?"
Childermass choked off an involuntary snicker. That was a quick pivot at the last moment. Yes, his master made it about the books. He had no choice, Childermass thought with bitter sympathy. Some truths could never be spoken, and Childermass knew all about that.
"This book says that it's not just two sides of a knife that can be entwined in a spell." Norrell pointed to a page. "Any two objects that are each other's counterparts can be thus entwined to represent two people who are apart. But their relationship somehow has to be turned inside-out. I wonder what that means."
His eyes widened. "I got an idea! But... If only I had thought of it before Mr Strange left. Because I may just have something like that right here."
Norrell stood up and looked towards the far corner of the library where there was a mirror. It was the same one where Strange had put a book into when he performed a spell of switching the book with its mirror image on his second meeting with Mr Norrell. The book's reflection still floated in the air on this side of the mirror. The table on which it originally sat had been moved, so the reflection lay in the air, unsupported by anything. He pointed in that direction.
"This is what I mean. The book and its mirror image. They are inseparable and inverted, so they could be used for this spell. One of these two objects could be bound to Mr Strange, and the other to me. If only I had thought about it before he left. And also assuming that he agreed," he added uncertainly.
Muttering "why haven't I thought of it in time" he headed to the mirror nevertheless. He stopped and stared at it.
Childermass walked up and stood right beside him, meeting Norrell's eyes in the mirror. "Look at this!" Norrell whispered, and pointed at the book behind the glass.
Childermass had long stopped noticing both the book in the mirror and its reflection inside the room. They both had become invisible fixtures, part of the background, like bookcase carvings or candleholders. But this morning, when he was in the library alone, he took the first serious look at that book in years, as he was scheming how to guide Norrell's mind to draw the right conclusions. At that time the book looked unchanged.
Not anymore. Now the book in the mirror looked significantly faded, as if it was only halfway real. In contrast, the colors of the furniture reflected in the mirror appeared normal.
Norrell's hand was shaking. "Can this spell happen spontaneously? Were these two objects bound by the spell from the moment Mr Strange switched them? Because look. The book has faded." He stared at Childermass with growing fear. "If this book and its reflection really are two parts of an entwined pair spell, then... then you can see what this means."
He was correct in that it looked as if the book was fading. It was as though the mirror could not bear supporting this book for much longer, and was giving up on it. He was incorrect about what it meant.
Childermass knew that, but could not say it outright. With equal measure of pity and satisfaction he remembered that moment a year ago when he made the handwriting from Strange's note unravel and merge with the reflection of the book. The entwined pair spell required to blend something from the two people. The two brothers from the fairytale blended their blood, which they poured into the steel from which the knife was forged. The two magicians had only blended their thoughts. Thoughts were not material, but the writing in which they were expressed, was.
Childermass took a big risk on that day - the day Jonathan Strange left for war. Childermass knew his deed could be found out, and would probably be found out some day. But that only intensified the thrill with which he passed his hand over Strange's note, muttering the spell. The letters on it strained and flapped like laundry on the clothesline in the wind, losing their shape, bulging and flattening, until they tore loose from the page, rose into the air and dissolved in the book's reflection.
The risk has paid off now.
"I don't think it means what you think it means, sir," said Childermass, taking Norrell's shaky hand and squeezing it between his both hands. "See, if the book in the mirror represented Mr Strange, and if something... happened... to Mr Strange, it would not be fading just now. It would have faded the moment it happened. And this morning the book looked fine."
Norrell blinked incredulously, as if wishing Childermass explained this better. The man-of-business proceeded to do so.
"Rumors don't travel instantly," said Childermass. "If Mr Strange was, say, seriously injured, the book would have started to fade at the time of the incident, but the rumor would take a while to reach us. But the book looked fine this morning. So it is not an indicator of anything that had happened to Mr Strange."
"If the book does not represent Mr Strange's state of wellbeing, then who does it represent?"
"You, sir," said Childermass.
"But then why has it faded?"
"You have been really unwell since you heard the rumor. And that caused the book to fade," said Childermass.
"Ah," said Norrell. He turned towards the reflection, floating in mid-air. "So the reflection belongs to Mr Strange?"
Childermass confirmed.
"But how could this spell have happened spontaneously?" Norrell asked. Childermass shrugged. "I will need to dig deeper into my books," said Norrell. In the meantime, he looked around hesitantly and turned his attention to the reflection of the book, floating in midair. "The image seems unchanged, so that's... good news regarding Mr Strange?" he said uncertainly.
He reached out towards the illusion and passed both hands through it, as if wanting to scoop it up and examine its essence up close. This was impossible, of course: you could not scoop up an immaterial image any more than you could do so with dappled tree leaf shadows on a sunny day. But that didn't stop him. He was muttering something under his breath. Performing some kind of spell, Childermass realized.
This made him uneasy. He had not considered that there were spells that would let a magician look inside a reflection of an object, if that's what Norrell was doing. If he was successful, Childermass might need much more creative explanations.
"What is this?" Norrell asked, pointing to black squiggles on his hand, projected by the reflection. "It looks like written words!"
"It must be the inscription you made before you gave the book to Mr Strange," said Childermass. "The one where you admonished him to commit himself to study."
The squiggles really did look a bit like handwriting, but they were too indistinct to make out the letters. Thank goodness. If Childermass's understanding of the spell was correct, the two samples of writing - one from each person who were to become entwined - merged and formed a third entity, different in appearance from each of its predecessors.
"It does not quite look like my hand, but I can't be sure. It's too blurry," said Norrell. "In any case the reflection has not faded!"
He looked more cheerful now. Since there was nothing else to be gained from the investigation, he returned to reading. Childermass settled down to his own work, and the library sank into quiet concentration, as it usually did when the magician and his man of business were working there in silence.
"Childermass?" Norrell said after a while.
"Yes, sir?"
"As I'm reading about the entwined pair spells, I'm drawing a conclusion that they can't happen on their own. The spell had to be cast by someone."
So he did figure it out. Childermass braced himself for the conversation that may follow, and waited to hear what Norrell said next. He never found out, because there was a knock on the door. It was late at night, nearly ten o'clock, and there was no reason for anyone to visit.
"I'll get the door," said Childermass, and ran out of the room. He returned carrying an envelope. "For you, sir," he said, extending the envelope to Norrell.
Norrell reached towards it and saw the name of the sender in the upper left corner: "Arabella Strange". His hand shook too much to grasp the paper.
"Would you like me to open it for you, sir?" Childermass asked. The magician nodded, and Childermass opened it. "Would you like me to read it for you as well?" he asked, seeing Norrell's faraway, unfocused stare.
Norrell nodded. Childermass quickly scanned the letter. "He's alive," he said. "Mrs Strange says she got the news just tonight, and sent a letter to you right away."
Only then with great effort Norrell transferred his gaze on Childermass, and reached towards the letter. He took and read it a few times, then sank back into the sopha. The magician sat there with his eyes closed, while Childermass sat nearby, watching. He was never going to be missed as terribly as Strange. But he had a power Strange didn't: to make things right for his master, at least sometimes.
"So you were correct," Norrell said eventually. As if this acknowledgement wasn't startling enough, he followed this up with a smile, however tight and pained. For a moment Childermass forgot what he was about to say. "I wonder if the book in the mirror is now restored back to normal," said Norrell.
"I bet it is, sir," Childermass replied.
Norrell got up and went to check the mirror. He returned looking much relieved. "It really is." Then he looked at Childermass intently, pondered something for a few moments. "Tell me the truth, Childermass. It was you who put the "Chains of Accord" on my desk."
"You are right, sir. It was me."
"And you didn't tell me!"
"I thought you would find it more believable if you discovered it yourself."
"But how did you know that there was an entwined-pair spell that bound the book and its reflection?" Norrell asked, returning to his old, suspicious self.
Instead of replying, Childermass composed a guilty face. Not because he felt guilty, but to keep guiding Norrell to the desired conclusion. The magician looked more suspicious by the moment, which was typically never good news - except now it was part of Childermass's plan.
"You must have known about it, haven't you? You and Mr Strange were both in on this. Because it was he who cast it before he left." Norrell looked more agitated with every sentence. "Of course it was him, because who else could it be? The night before he left, Mr Strange was here and we had dinner with him and Sir Walter. I was so distraught about the impending loss of my books, I might not have been paying full attention to all that Mr Strange was doing."
Childermass was relieved that Norrell followed that chain of logic. Strange would be very surprised to hear that he had done such a thing, but he wasn't here now, and it may be a long time until he comes back, and even then Norrell might never get the nerve to ask him.
"But why did he tell you about it, and not me?" said Norrell.
"He didn't want you to worry about - you know - everything that can happen in a war," said Childermass. "He didn't want you to check the mirror every day and wonder if the reflection has started to fade even a tiny bit. Which is exactly the kind of thing you would do."
Which was exactly the kind of thing Norrell was going to do every day now, perhaps several times a day, Childermass thought with an inward sigh.
Norrell appeared to be satisfied with the answer, at least for now. Childermass realized that the truth may come to light eventually, but that may be much later. You had to leave the future to worry about itself. Back when Childermass made this choice, it was to protect his master's sanity, and it was still the right choice. To see his relief made up for any punishment that lay ahead.
Norrell stared at the table for a good few seconds, and then said in a small, tremulous voice: "Mr Strange was actually concerned about all that? About how I would feel if he... did not come back?"
His voice betrayed a fear. Childermass knew exactly what his master feared: revealing too much. But the man of business had a handy answer.
"Of course! He knew how much you worried about your books."