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In October of 1823, Segundus and Childermass stayed the night at an inn on Whitby's West Cliff.
They were there for the Conclave, the annual gathering of magicians who wanted to engage in frank, open discussion (i.e. have a blazing row) with the Reader of the King's Book about the translation he had published. Childermass had initiated this gathering some years before in an attempt to cut down on the number of magicians who came looking for him at Starecross, eager to point out any perceived errors on his part. He hoped that sitting down with a large number of these pugnacious individuals at once would give them the satisfaction of unburdening their hearts without disrupting the academic routine at the School for Magicians.
The idea proved more successful than he'd expected. Soon the Conclave had gone from an informal meeting to a highly-anticipated, well-attended event with a self-important name (not Childermass's doing - he called it "the Squabble"), featuring guest lecturers from all over Britain. The venue varied from year to year, depending on which inn was both large enough to accommodate forty to fifty magicians and willing to do so despite the risk of curious magical incidents taking place on the premises. This year's Conclave was at The Green Fiddle, an elderly but upright building presided over by the elderly but upright Mrs Morse, who ruled her domain with a rod of iron.
Every room was full, with two or three guests to each bed. Childermass, as the most important speaker (meaning the one that the most people were there to argue with), was accorded the honour of his own room. Granted, it was very small, and was located at the top of so many flights of stairs that it was technically in the attic, but it was a room - and he only had to share it with one other person.
"Not bad, is it?" said Childermass, as he and Segundus stood in the doorway, out of breath after the ascent.
Segundus took in the spotless floor (plain wooden planks, scrubbed and polished to a sheen that would be positively lethal if one did not step cautiously), the whitewashed walls, the small, bright fire in the grate, and the sea-facing window (its muslin curtain starched and pressed to a razor's edge). "Not bad at all," he agreed, going in and brushing his fingers across the precisely tucked counterpane. "Plain to the point of spartan, but beautifully clean. I find myself reluctant to do any thing as degenerate as sitting down."
Childermass, unburdened by such scruples, sat on the edge of the bed and bounced up and down experimentally. "Nonsense. Without us to clean up after, the staff would be out of a job. We're strengthening the local economy." He held out a hand. Segundus took it, letting himself be pulled in until he stood between Childermass's knees, looking down at his husband smilingly.
"What's the joke?" said Childermass, smiling back.
"We are."
"How's that?"
"Well, think about it - at home, we must keep our rooms separate, but here we are in Whitby, sharing a bed with the full knowledge of the landlady, the servants, and Lord knows how many other magicians, and no one cares a jot."
"You should come with me more often," said Childermass, working Segundus's coat off his shoulders. "We could share beds all over the country."
"Then why do you not ask me to accompany you more often?" said Segundus, untying Childermass's cravat.
"Because - d--n it - " Childermass struggled with a stubborn trouser button " - because I only ask when I know you are going to say 'yes.'"
"And how could you possibly know that?" said Segundus, removing one hand from its place in Childermass's hair to assist him. "Wait - do not tell me. Of course. The cards."
"You disapprove? I thought you would not want to be pestered unnecessarily."
"That's not the point, John. It's - it's an invasion of privacy."
"What invasion? All I did was see if I would get a favorable answer to a simple question."
"I'd rather you asked me yourself, that's all."
Childermass pressed the side of his face against the softness of Segundus's stomach. "All right, love. You have my word that from now on I will flood you with requests to join me every time I have to be away for more than a night or two. On that note - can you come with me to London day after tomorrow? I have to see Mr Murray about some corrections to the second edition. I'll be back home in a week."
Segundus grimaced. The first time he asks, and I must refuse! "Thank you for asking, but I'm afraid must get back to the school after the Conclave. I cannot stay away long this time of year."
"Just trying to shew willing."
"I appreciate it. Now I have a question for you, sir."
"Which is?"
"Why am I the only one standing here in my underthings?"
*
The night passed in pleasure and in peace, giving way to a grey morning and the scream of seagulls. Segundus, half asleep, watched Childermass remove the spell of silence that he had cast the night before, rebuild the fire, and dress himself.
"Are you going to stay in bed all day?" said Childermass.
"It is a tempting thought," said Segundus, as Childermass bent over to retrieve his coat from where it had been cast on the floor. "The view is incomparable."
"Fine. You lay there and dream about my arse while I go down and make sure every thing is in order for the first lecture. Don't dawdle too long, though, or there won't be much left in the way of breakfast, I'll wager." He lifted the bedclothes, gave Segundus a resounding slap on the rump, and was clattering down the stairs before Segundus could finish scolding him.
Segundus tried to roll over and go back to sleep - mainly to prove a point - but he was thoroughly awake by now, and soon abandoned the attempt. Not wishing to ring for a servant (the amount of stairs really was prohibitive, and any water that was not spilled on the way up would surely be cold by the time it arrived), he poured water from the jug on the windowsill into the basin that stood beside it and heated it by magic.
When he had completed his toilet, he stood by the window, soaking in the quiet of the pewter-colored sky and sea before joining the throng below. He sighed, turned, and took another look around the tiny room. It was very nearly as tidy as it had been yesterday, but for a piece of dirty paper protruding from under the bed. He went over and stooped to investigate.
It was one of Childermass's cards. No, it was the whole deck, come loose from the piece of twine that usually held it together. They must have fallen out of his coat last night and gotten kicked under here, thought Segundus. They look like rubbish on that gleaming floor. If the housemaid sees them she's sure to throw them away. He gathered them up and stood in the warm spot before the fire, trying to smooth the wrinkled cardboard and square the edges. To his horror, several of the cards slipped from his grasp and fluttered into the grate, where they began to burn merrily.
"D--n!" Segundus dropt to his knees and tried to snatch the fugitives to safety, but all he succeeded in doing was burning his fingers and setting his right sleeve to smouldering. Anger at himself for dropping the cards, anger at the pain in his fingers, anger at the damage to his best coat, anger at Childermass for using the cards to discover things about him, anger at the cards themselves - it all fused together in a flash of fury, huge and hot. For the space of a breath he was capable of monstrous crimes and passionately longed to commit one.
So he did.
When the red rage faded away, it left Segundus still kneeling in front of the fire, watching as the rest of the deck flared, blackened, and turned to ashes.
*
Somehow Segundus made it through the day without disgracing himself. His inexplicable, despicable action was sealed off into a separate compartment of his mind, allowing him to devote his attention to the scheduled lectures and debates (and the even more lively unscheduled ones). He even gave a short talk of his own on the process of translating the King's Book from the perspective of an observer. It was not until that night, after the evening meal and a great deal of talk around the common room fire, when he and Childermass once again climbed the long staircases to their room in the sky, that he felt the first true pangs of guilt and shame.
As soon as they entered the room Segundus's glance flew to the fireplace. He was terrified that there would be some evidence of his deed. But all was well - the servants had been there to build the fire up and sweep every hint of cinder from the hearth. Childermass, knowing nothing of the tempest concealed within Segundus's narrow breast, stretched and groaned.
"Ahhh! No duels this year, and only three fist fights; a successful Squabble, wouldn't you agree?"
"Oh, absolutely, yes," said Segundus, glad that his voice sounded normal. "I was pleasantly surprized by the general willingness to hear you out, if not agree with you. Perhaps our fellow magicians are coming to accept your position of authority."
Childermass chuckled darkly. "That'll be the day."
They were too tired to do more than remove their shoes and outer garments and tumble into bed, where they lay back to back under the quilt. Presently Childermass spoke:
"John - you haven't seen my cards about, have you?"
Segundus's stomach twisted. "Your cards?" he repeated, stalling for time.
"Yes. They were in my coat yesterday, but I can't find them now. I thought they may have fallen out in here somewhere, but..."
"I really couldn't say." Oh G-d. He knows. Does he know? How could he know? Should I speculate or drop the subject? If I was innocent, what would I say? "Perhaps they fell out some time during the day. Might you ask Mrs Morse if any one has turned them in?"
"Good idea. I will do so in the morning. Sleep well, love."
*
Segundus did not sleep well. He lay awake for hours, listening to the soft rhythm of Childermass's breathing and mentally flaying himself for his hateful action, which he was now compounding by his silence. After a long time he fell into uneasy dreams. He woke feeling exhausted and worried, with the beginnings of a tremendous headach.
Childermass noticed, of course. "You don't look well, John. Are you feeling all right?"
"Quite," said Segundus shortly, his husband's concern making him feel even worse. "A headach, no more than that. I am sure some tea will help."
"I could have a tray sent up if you like."
"No! I mean - no, thank you. I think I will do better with people about to take my mind off my own small discomforts."
Childermass did not look entirely convinced, but he let the matter rest there.
After breakfast there was a general meeting - the last official event of the Conclave. Then those magicians who needed to return to their homes and places of work did so, either by the King's Roads or by horse, and those who had the leisure to do so remained to carry on conversations and arguments for a while longer.
Childermass was to continue to London on horseback, while Segundus, Honeyfoot, and Purfois returned to Starecross by coach. Segundus, in no mood for talk, tucked himself into a corner of the carriage and pretended to go to sleep. It required some effort, for all that he was frankly exhausted; keeping his face relaxed was difficult when his mind kept returning to his painful parting from Childermass.
"As my cards have yet to be found, I must ask you again - are you sure you won't join me?" Childermass had said, as they stood in the stableyard of the Fiddle. "It would be no trouble to hire a horse for you."
"I cannot, sir. My classes - and my correspondence - I have already neglected them for three days now, and - "
"Be calm, my dear sir. I understand. I will see you in a week." Childermass had held out his hand. Segundus shook it without saying any thing, hoping that his tongue-tied state would be attributed to his inability to say what he wished to say where they might be overheard. The real reason was that he realized that, for the first time in many years, he was glad that Childermass was going away, and the knowledge had choked him.
It is too much, he thought now, as the carriage rolled out of the yard, Honeyfoot leaning out of the opposite window and shouting farewells. I cannot stand this any longer. I will tell him. I must. However angry he may be, it cannot be worse than having this barrier of lies and pretense between us.
Segundus felt his heart lighten as soon as he arrived at this conclusion. He now felt able to attend to the conversation of his fellow travellers, hoping that it would soon lull him to sleep in reality. They were currently discussing Father Shaw.
Father Shaw was a short, round priest whose round eyes blinked out at the world from behind round spectacles. His appearance and profession had not encouraged the magicians to welcome him with open arms, but courtesy (however artificial) had prevailed and he had not been prevented from attending the Conclave. This turned out to be a good thing, for the little man had had a number of interesting insights into the nature of prophecy.
"I do not see why the Church and magicians should be at odds," he had said. "Indeed, a careful and intelligent reader of the Bible should be more willing to accept the miraculous than any other person." He had gone on to point out that Christians were one of the only groups of people in the modern world who still took prophetic writings seriously. "Speaking as someone who has devoted much of his life to scholarly study of prophesy, I would be more than happy to offer any small wisdom that I have acquired."
Some had scoffed at this ("Small, indeed!"), but others - Childermass included, rather to the surprize of Segundus, who had never known him to have much use for organized religion - had encouraged him to speak.
"I was intrigued by what he had to say about the duality inherent in many prophecies," Honeyfoot was saying, as the carriage jolted its way out of Whitby.
"You mean the way that some have a meaning both in the present and the future?" said Purfois. "Yes, I was intrigued as well - though it does not simplify things in any way to think of multiple interpretations, all equally valid in different ways! I often wish we could be given a straight answer. What would be the harm in that? Why all the riddles?"
"Perhaps it's meant to keep us busy."
"It does that, certainly."
The talk meandered on from there, touching on topics magical and mundane, and Segundus was finally beginning to doze when the mention of Childermass's name brought him sharply back to full wakefulness.
"...hadn't found them by the time we left?" That was Purfois.
"Sadly, no," came Honeyfoot's voice. "I asked him about it after I heard him talking to the landlady, and he said he fears the cards might be gone for good."
"It's not such a catastrophe, surely? Can he not get another deck in any magical shop?"
"I said as much to him, but he gave me one of his funny looks - you know the one, where it's impossible to tell if he's laughing at you or not? - and said that after so much time using his hand-drawn set, he didn't fancy a printed one. 'Too impersonal,' he said. So I imagine he'll be copying himself another deck."
"I've got one I could give him."
"Oh? I didn't know you dabbled in tarot!"
"I do not. I mean, I tried it, last year, but I didn't have the knack. Mr Childermass was most kind about my sad inability - said it's not every one's cup of tea."
Segundus's eyelids twitched with the effort of staying closed. He schooled his expression to remain that of a man napping in transit, and even let his mouth fall open slightly. Behind this facade, however, his thoughts were racing. A plan had that very moment arrived in his head, fully formed and ready to be carried out. It's perfect! he thought, exultant. I must just ask the coachman to stop in York so I can get what I need. It won't make up for what I've done - I do not know what can - but it will be a start.
*
Childermass ran the curry-comb along the long sweep of Brewer's back, humming half to himself and half to the horse. His business with the publisher complete, he was on his way back to Yorkshire, and had stopt for the night at a village a day's ride out of London. Despite the chill of the evening outside, it was warm in the stable - warmer than the inn to which it belonged. Smells better, too, thought Childermass, who preferred the scent of manure and hay to the odor of poorly-cooked food and sour beer that permeated the inn. He preferred it so strongly that he was seriously considering sleeping in the stable loft.
"What d'you think, lad?" he said. "Shall we share a roof tonight, or should I risk death by fleas?" Brewer swung his long face around and lipped at his master's hair.
A high-pitched chiming noise suddenly issued from the pocket of Childermass's coat, which he had left draped over the stall door while he worked. "That's odd," he muttered, striding over. "He doesn't usually call unless it's really important. I hope - ah." After fumbling through various pockets, he found the palm-sized oval mirror which was the source of the chiming. He held it close to his face and said a few words in Latin. Segundus's face appeared in the glass.
He looks anxious, but nothing worse, thought Childermass. "What is it, John?" he said, knowing that although Segundus could not hear him, he could read lips well enough to understand simple words and phrases. In reply, Segundus held up a piece of paper on which he had written in large, clear script: I need to see you. May I come through?
Various responses filled Childermass's head - No, I don't want you on the Roads by yourself, I'll come to you - tell me what is wrong - why do you look so worried? - but he firmly quashed them all, knowing that the swiftest way to get answers was to speak to Segundus in person. He nodded into the mirror and beckoned.
Segundus's face dissolved, leaving him to stare at his own reflection. He scowled and smoothed down the place where his hair had been teased into a crest by his horse's affection. Thanks so much, Brewer. Just what I wanted - to look like an idiot in front of my husband. Not that he said a word about it...which is suspicious in itself. Normally he would have at least cracked a smile at a coiffure like that.
He set the mirror face up on the floor, well out of the way of Brewer's feet, and went back to his grooming.
Childermass had gotten as far as polishing Brewer's flanks with a twist of straw, and was starting to wonder if he should go looking for Segundus on the Roads, when the man himself came out of the mirror, breathing hard.
"Made it all right, I see," said Childermass. He tried not to shew the extent of his relief lest Segundus take it as a slight against his capabilities.
"Yes - I am sorry for the delay. I had a bit of trouble in one place where the stones of a bridge had turned themselves into a flock of winged terrapins, but I managed to convince them to re-form long enough to let me cross."
Childermass could not help grinning at the mental image this presented, and Segundus gave him a small smile in return. Then, apparently noticing their surroundings for the first time, Segundus said: "Why are you in the stable? No room at the inn?"
"Nothing so biblical. This place has an ostler but no stable-boys, and the ostler is ill - which, judging by the number of empty bottles lying about, means 'too drunk to stand up' - so I came to see to Brewer myself. I might spend the night up there," he added, pointing to the loft. "If the beds are any thing like the rest of the establishment, it'll be by far the cleanest choice."
Segundus leaned out over the stall door to peer up the ladder and into the dim, sweet-smelling area overhead. "Do you often - er - "
"Sleep rough? When it's a better choice, yes, I do. The innkeepers don't care as long as I cough up for the privilege." He watched Segundus pick up a handful of clean straw, plait it, and being working on Brewer's other side. "So - was there a reason you came over the Roads, or did you just miss my charming company too much to wait another day or two?"
Segundus did not meet his eyes, but continued running the wisp over Brewer's smooth coat, burnishing it to a satisfying shine. Childermass, aware that further prompting would be both rude and counterproductive, held his tongue. Finally Segundus said:
"I came to say that I am sorry."
"For what?"
"For the loss your cards."
Childermass raised an eyebrow. "I thank you for your sympathy, but why come all the way here to tell me that?"
Segundus rested his forehead against Brewer's side. "Because. Because I burned them."
Childermass stared, his facility for quick speech deserting him utterly. Behind his stunned expression, his mind was putting together a hundred disparate pieces - observations he had made without knowing their significance - he slept badly that night - he looked unhappy when he thought I did not see - he did not tell me to hurry home... Even with all that, he could not believe what he had just heard. Both his natural disposition and a lifetime of training had made him sharp-eyed and suspicious, with an extremely low opinion of humanity as a species - yet with all that, it had never occurred to him that John, his John, had any thing to do with his missing cards. Of all the things that he could have said right then, the only one that made it as far as his mouth was, "For the love of G-d, why?"
Segundus started babbling. "I don't know. I don't know! I found them on the floor that morning, I picked them up, some fell in the fire, and I burnt myself when I tried to pull them out - and I was so angry, only for a moment, at all sorts of things, far angrier than I had any reason to be - and then it was done, and I have hated myself ever since. I know how much the cards meant to you. I humbly ask your pardon, though I do not deserve it, and - " the flood of penitent speech checked as he drew something out of his coat, then came around the front of Brewer to stand before Childermass " - you do not have to use these, Mr Honeyfoot told me what you said about preferring the ones you made yourself, but it was the only thing I could think of to shew how truly sorry I am, and - here."
Childermass looked down at the thing Segundus pushed into his hand.
It was a deck of cards.
He turned it over, feeling the thickness of the good pasteboard, the sharpness of the edges, the precisely rounded corners. Fanning them out, he saw clean, pure colors - black, yellow, red, blue - and the familiar figures and symbols, seeming to call out to him gladly in their brightness. They were not machine-printed, either, but hand-drawn and inked. "You made these," he said.
"Well - yes - I mean, it was a joint effort, really - every one thought I was simply doing it as a kind gesture - Mrs Honeyfoot cut the cards out, and Mrs Levy lent me her paint box, and Mr Purfois lent me his cards to copy, and Mr Honeyfoot took my classes for a few days so I had time to do the drawing - but yes, I made them." Segundus stopt talking and stood there, twisting his fingers together, waiting for a response.
Childermass, too, waited for a response. He waited for his shock to fade, waited to feel anger, betrayal, disgust - but it did not come. He felt incredulity, yes, but more than that he felt relief. Glorious, happy, heart-swelling relief. He put the cards in his pocket, stept up to Segundus (who did not flinch but stood stiff as a poker, awaiting his fate), took his hands in his own, and raised them to his lips.
"Wh - what are you doing?" said Segundus, high-pitched.
"Thanking you," said Childermass, kissing each knuckle in turn.
"Why on earth would you thank me?"
"You have given me something to forgive. I do not think you have ever done any thing to wrong me before, in all the years I've loved you. You have had to forgive me for so many things...it has weighed on me, John. I shall cherish this instance of petty irrationality and cling to it when I feel that you are too good to be human, and that one day I will wake to find that you have returned to the realm from whence you came - "
Segundus pulled his hands free. "You are making fun of me."
"I am not. Forgive me if I sound foolish, but you must believe me. I feel as light as a bird! Come with me and we shall make a nest. I want to take a closer look at these cards."
Abandoning Brewer to the rest of his supper, they climbed into the loft, bringing a lantern with them. After casting the usual spells of silence, ward, and watch to ensure their privacy (filling the musty space with cascades of ghostly roses and startling the stable cat very much), Childermass spread his greatcoat over a loose heap of hay and they sat upon it. Then, to Segundus's intense discomfort, he went through the whole deck a card at a time, praising every thing from the color choice to the sureness of the lines. When he got to the Hanged Man, he paused, arrested by a familiar look on the upside-down face.
"Is that - good Lord, is that Vinculus?"
"Oh - he may have come out a trifle Vinculus-ish - I was thinking of him while I copied it, you see, and that story you told me of how you once found him hanged."
Childermass shuffled through the rest of the cards with new interest. He found well-known faces every where - Mr and Mrs Honeyfoot holding hands as the Lovers, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell peering out of a window in the House of God (black as a pillar of midnight), Segundus's own face topped by the Fool's cap and bells, Lady Pole as Justice, Brewer and Tuppence pulling the Chariot - and who was this on the Emperor's throne? At first glance he took it to be the Raven King, but a closer look revealed a certain unshaven quality to the chin, a certain largeness of the nose, a certain weariness about the eyes...
Me. That's me.
Segundus was pretending not to watch him, but Childermass could tell by the rising color in his thin cheeks that he knew exactly what card had caught his attention. "I do not know whether to congratulate you on your skill or warn you against using it too freely," said Childermass.
"What do you mean?"
I mean that not every one takes kindly to having their whole personality laid out for all the world to see with a few strokes of a pen. You have a gift for caricature, sir."
"It was not intentional," said Segundus, "but so many of the cards reminded me of people and places that I know, and it somehow carried over into the drawings - I did not even know I had done it until I was looking them over at the end. Will it be too distracting? I will not be offended if they are unusable. I meant them as proof of my remorse and nothing more."
"How could I keep from using them, when you have flattered my vanity by crowning me Emperor? I did not realize you thought of me so highly!"
"You are laughing at me again."
"Only a little, my dear. But I can tell how much time and care have been put into each and every card. Using them will be a great honour. And they feel good in my hands."
Segundus was an alarming shade of red by now. "Oh!"
"And speaking of things that feel good in my hands..." Childermass moved closer to his husband, intent on demonstrating the depth of his thankfulness.
"You'll bend the cards," protested Segundus.
"I shan't - see, I will put them down just there, out of the way. Now, sir, be honest with me - have you ever had a proper roll in the hay?"
FIN