Hide Your Desires

Childermass arrives late, the sun nearly set despite the long July evening. As ever his arrival is unannounced save for Segundus’s growing awareness of his magical signature.

Segundus goes down to greet him when he feels Childermass crossing the pack horse bridge. Starecross is empty for the summer, the pupils and teachers not expected to return for another month and only a few servants remaining to keep the place in order, so when usually Childermass’s arrival would be greeted by a dozen eager faces, on this occasion is is only Segundus. He stops into the kitchen briefly to tell Mrs Hunt, the cook-housekeeper, of their unexpected guest, then hurries to the front door.

Childermass is in the process of dismounting from Brewer when Segundus steps outside. Both horse and rider are liberally coated with road dust – 1818 has been a dry summer. Childermass takes his time detaching his saddlebags, and Segundus uses the brief moment to take in the sight of him.

Far from the portent of bad fortune Segundus saw him as when Childermass came to close down the original attempt to open a school, Childermass is now an extremely welcome sight to Segundus’s eyes.

‘Mr Childermass,’ he greets him warmly. ‘I did not expect to see you so soon after your last visit.’ For indeed, it has hardly been three weeks since Childermass and Vinculus departed with a view to visiting an abbey near Norwich where some carvings had recently come to light that might pertain to the King’s Letters.

Childermass smiles slightly. ‘Do I take it that I am disturbing your peace?’

‘Not at all!’ Segundus hastens to assure him. ‘You are always welcome here. Indeed, I would be delighted for you to visit more often.’ He stops himself, trying not to babble, trying not to flush. Childermass always brings a sense of the nervous youth to Segundus, no matter how much he tries to keep his composure. Casting about for a change of topic, he realises the absence of the King’s Book. ‘Have you not brought Vinculus?’

Childermass snorts. ‘Vinculus decided that he needed a holiday. He is in York; I will collect him when I pass through on the way to Newcastle.’

‘You are not staying long?’ Segundus tries to hide the disappointment he feels at this news; it would not do to seem too down-hearted.

‘Not long,’ Childermass agrees. ‘I have people to see.’ He doesn’t elaborate further, and Segundus does not press.

‘Mrs Hunt is preparing your room,’ he says instead. ‘I will ask for some water for you to wash, if you care to.’

Childermass looks down at his dusty clothing with a slightly rueful cast to his face. ‘Truth be told, I have been riding since not long after sun up and the road was very hot. Swimming in the beck holds more appeal than a basin and ewer.’

‘O-oh,’ Segundus stammers, composure deserting him. He tries to gather it back up. ‘Well, I cannot imagine anyone would object – indeed, I have often seen the village children do the same, and it is late enough – the beck is low at the moment – though I would suggest you stay near Starecross – I will have someone bring you some linens – have you eaten?’ He grinds to a flustered stop.

Childermass’s sideways smile is broad on his face. ‘I stopped on the way for a bite. Linens would be welcome, though.’

Aware of how flushed he is, Segundus confines himself to a nod of agreement before turning and hurrying into the house. Inside, the air is cooler and the light dimmer, and he hopes his continuing flush will pass unnoticed until it dies. Accordingly, he lingers in the hall for a minute or two before going in search of Mrs Hunt.

It being Charles’s evening off and not wanting to send one of the maids, Segundus takes the linens down to the beck himself. This is perfectly reasonable, he tells himself. It would not be right to send a woman, and Peter is busy in the stable brushing down Brewer. Still, he feels the edges of a guilty conscience pushing at him – is he making excuses to gratify himself? Would Childermass much prefer one of the maids be sent rather than have Segundus see him undressed? He cannot imagine Childermass shewing much modesty, but were it himself in that position then observation would be an unwelcome prospect. Is Segundus putting his own furtive desires to see Childermass unclothed before the comfort of his friend?

These worries torment Segundus to the point that he decides to leave the linens some little distance from where Childermass is bathing and return immediately to the house, taking as much care as possible to avoid seeing Childermass unclothed. It would be a terrible betrayal of their friendship to look and lust selfishly when the very idea of him doing so is likely repugnant to Childermass.

Unfortunately, his well intentioned plans are spoiled when he comes close to the bank and finds Childermass standing up to his waist in the beck, clearly visible even in the darkening evening. It is all Segundus can do not to stare.

Childermass’s chest is roped with wiry muscles, skin pale against the tan of his face and forearms. The scar from Lady Pole’s bullet stands stark above the dark hair that covers the centre of his chest. Childermass has already ducked his head beneath the water; his hair hangs straight down his back, kinks and raggedness smoothed out.

All this Segundus sees in an instant before he controls himself and averts his eyes, heart pounding heavily. ‘Here are the linens,’ he manages to get out, placing them down by the heap of Childermass’s clothing and making to retreat.

‘Wait,’ Childermass calls, and Segundus halts, fear, hope and shame tangling queasily in his stomach. ‘It is not wise to swim alone in unknown water,’ Childermass tells him.

It takes a second, but Segundus grasps his meaning. ‘I will gladly wait for you to finish,’ he says, coming a little forward and seating himself on the ground. His heart is still thumping, this time with relief; he has not given himself away.

He keeps his attention on Childermass as much as he can without looking at him directly; indeed, it is difficult to persuade himself not to sit and stare. Childermass looks as at home in the water as he does on the moor or on Brewer’s back or even in the library at Starecross. ‘Did you learn to swim as a sailor?’ Segundus asks, as much to distract himself as to know.

Childermass stands up again, water running down his chest as he faces Segundus, and Segundus is forced to discretely pinch his own leg to keep himself from staring. ‘No,’ Childermass says, and it takes Segundus a minute to remember what he is saying no to. ‘Most sailors cannot swim,’ Childermass continues, and Segundus gives all his concentration to the conversation.

‘Where did you learn?’

‘In the Humber, and off the coast of East Riding when I was a lad.’ He doesn’t seem inclined to say anything more, but Segundus needs the conversation to continue as a distraction for himself.

‘You grew up in Hull?’

Childermass chuckles a little grimly. ‘I grew up all over East Riding. No one place to call home.’

Segundus doesn’t comment on that, how unsettling and uncomfortable it sounds. He himself has always liked to know where home is, and in the years since leaving his family home and settling in York, then eventually Starecross, that surety has been in short supply.

‘Is it very difficult to learn?’ he asks instead.

‘You can’t swim?’ Childermass sounds surprized.

Segundus shakes his head. ‘I was not always a well child, and my father was keen for me to focus on my studies. It left little time for other pursuits.’

‘I could teach you.’

The offer is startling enough that Segundus forgets his determination not to look at Childermass and instead stares at him in surprize. ‘Teach me? To swim? No, I couldn’t.’

‘It is quite easy,’ Childermass assures him.

That is not what Segundus is worried about. To stand in the water with Childermass, both of them undressed, and perhaps have Childermass place his hands on him - ‘No, Mr Childermass. Thank you.’

Childermass looks at him for a long minute, and Segundus does his best to look unconcerned. He isn’t certain he succeeds. Eventually Childermass shrugs.

‘As you like.’ He begins to wade out of the beck and Segundus drops his eyes quickly. His heartbeat sounds loud in his ears; is Childermass wearing anything? Childermass is coming closer, why is he coming closer? Segundus can see his bare feet now, and his calves.

The linens are right beside me he realises, and scrambles up with little dignity.

Childermass is wearing drawers. Soaked through, they do not leave much to the imagination.

Segundus turns his back as quickly as possible. He is flushing, again! Only Childermass brings this reaction out in him. How he wishes he could control it!

‘I will leave you to dress,’ he tells Childermass, over the sound of Childermass drying himself on the linens. He leaves before Childermass can reply.

The short walk back to Starecross is a torment. The image of Childermass clad in nothing but clinging drawers haunts him. Guilt stalks beside him. How poor a friend is he, to lust over Childermass this way! He wishes the weather were cold, cold enough to curb his reaction and leave him longing for the warmth of a fire rather than the warmth of Childermass.

This interest has to end, he repeats miserably. He must not destroy one of his two true friendships with unwanted attentions. Were Childermass to realise, he would leave and not return and Segundus would be left with nothing to blame but his own unhappy nature.

How glad he is that it is Charles’s night off! By the time he reaches his bedchamber, his breathing is uneven and his eyes moistening with distress. He undresses in haphazard distraction, trying to take his shirt off with his neckcloth still tied, and collapses onto the bed. Miserably he curls up and vows for perhaps the hundredth time to forget this attraction, to think of Childermass as he thinks of Mr Honeyfoot; a dear friend and nothing more.

Sleep is a long time coming.

In the year and a half since Lady Pole was freed from her enchantment and Hurtfew Abbey disappeared, Childermass has visited Starecross a dozen times.

Once was immediately after these events; Childermass riding up with an exuberant Vinculus, though Segundus did not at the time know of the writing on Vinculus’s skin. He brought the news of Hurtfew having vanished, and left the next morning taking Vinculus with him.

The second time was a month later, having presented Vinculus as the King’s Book to the Learned Society of York Magicians. Childermass appeared at Starecross the next day to say that with Mr Norrell no longer in England and he himself having no objection to a school of magic, Mr Segundus should feel himself free to return to his former plans.

Segundus had already had thoughts along these lines, and was not delighted to be given permission in such a high-handed manner. His reply was quite sharp, but Childermass did not take offence, just tipped his head and rode away again. The fact that he had not stirred himself to dismount in the first place only incensed Segundus more.

The third time Childermass visited, it was in response to a request from Segundus. Segundus wasn’t certain whether it was a result of the enchantment laid on Lady Pole or whether there was some magic in Starecross itself – being as it was an ancient building with parts dating back to the reign of the Raven King – or whether it was simply that Segundus himself was an inexpert magician, but something was interfering with the magic he attempted. Were it just a case of magic not working at all, Segundus would have taken the blame upon himself and renounced any idea that he could be a practical magician. The problem was that the spells he attempted worked, but came with unexpected effects. Naturally, if the problem were within Starecross itself and could not be mitigated, then plans for a school there would have to be abandoned.

When Childermass arrived – something Segundus wasn’t certain would happen – and requested Segundus shew him some magic, he was as surprized by the results as Segundus had been.

Segundus had attempted something simple; the spell to ascertain the location of an object or person. He had chosen as his focus Mr Honeyfoot, and the spell duly showed him to be at home in High-Petergate. That part worked as intended. However as the spell began, each time Segundus drew the lines of light, from the sides of the basin silvery tendrils grew. The tendrils flourished as the spell progressed until by the time Segundus had identified Mr Honeyfoot’s house, the room was awash with floating, ethereal wisps, branching and flowering and flowing together, all emanating from the basin. They took fully half an hour after the spell finished to dissipate.

Childermass bade Segundus to try more spells, all with the same results. Pale’s Restoration and Rectification, used on a broken teacup, caused the tendrils to emanate from the cup, and the cross made of tied together teaspoons sprouted wings and fluttered about the room.

Childermass, having watched this display impassively, requested Segundus to break the teacup again, and when the vines had fully disappeared and the teaspoons moulted, he attempted the spell himself. On his attempt the room remained free of vines, or indeed of anything magical at all, other than two magicians and a mended teacup.

‘I think that is your answer,’ Childermass informed him. ‘The vines are not a reaction to residual magic in Starecross but are your enthusiasm for practical magic making itself apparent.’

Mr Segundus was greatly embarrassed by this, and begged Childermass's pardon for bringing him all the way to York for something caused by Segundus himself.

Childermass only smiled slightly in response, and offered to help Segundus learn to curb his magical enthusiasm, or at least to remove the physical manifestations of it. Segundus said that he would not want to impose on Mr Childermass any more than he had, but if he could give Segundus some instruction it would be most welcome. Childermass asked if Segundus was sure he wanted to ‘take orders’ from one so ‘high handed and disagreeably authoritative.’ Segundus flushed, and told him that he did not regret his words on their last meeting but that in this he acknowledged Mr Childermass’s superior understanding and would welcome his advice.

Rather than taking insult and leaving, Childermass laughed a little and told Segundus that he would stay for a few days, if it would not be inconvenient, and they could investigate the problem together. To this, Segundus readily agreed.

This period marked the beginning of an easier understanding between them as they spent time working together, work that was at first occasionally then frequently interrupted by one or other of them musing on some aspect of English magic and the two of them falling into some fascinating tangent. To speak thus, and have his ideas considered and argued with without the bluster, obstinacy or patronising airs of the members of the Learned Society was a welcome change, Segundus found, and when Childermass declared that Segundus’s magic was as controlled as he could wish it to be and that Childermass now intended to take his leave, Segundus was more disappointed than he would have expected. But he said nothing of it and thanked Childermass for his help, inviting him to come again to Starecross should he be in the area.

The forth time Childermass visited it was with Vinculus. They had been travelling in the area and thought to drop in. Segundus welcomed them and offered them rooms for as long as they wished to stay. In the end, it was close to a week, during which time Childermass and Segundus worked together on the King’s Letters, and argued together on many other things. These arguments, however, were much more congenial in nature than one might suspect and left both participants in an excellent frame of mind.

Less time elapsed between that and the next visit, and Childermass and Vinculus arrived in high summer while Segundus was attempting to set spells to protect the roof from the worst of the rainfall and to direct pooled water from the garden into the beck. Childermass, who had some experience of setting magical flood barriers around the River Hurt, took it upon himself to do the same for the beck, much to the gratitude of the village.

As a result of this their evenings were largely spent by the fire in the library, both in wrappers to replace their damp clothes, either attempting to remember or attempting to create new weatherproofing spells. Childermass had initially planned only to stay for a few days, but when he learned of Segundus’s intention to bespell the houses in the village – those that wanted it – to be weatherproof as well, he decided to extend his stay until the work was finished.

Segundus could not adequately convey his gratitude for this assistance. With Mr Norrell’s habit of hoarding all magical books that could be found and then the disappearance of Hurtfew and the house in Hanover Square, actual spells were in short supply. Any English magician who wanted to achieve something out of the ordinary way had to more or less make it up as they went. Childermass had the advantage of having spent time in Mr Norrell’s libraries, but still much knowledge had been lost. The challenge of remaking these spells was one that occupied them both greatly, while Vinculus spent his days either sleeping or eating, and his evenings partially dressed in the library as Childermass and Segundus examined the King’s Letters.

This period was both a delight and a torment to Segundus. To work as an equal alongside another magician was everything he could have wanted, and he would have counted it as an unalloyed pleasure were it not for the dreams that began to plague him.

They started innocently enough – he and Childermass working together, frequently on some nonsensical task – but quickly grew more heated. Childermass, shirt soaked and clinging from the rain, looking at Segundus with hungry eyes. Childermass taking off his shirt. Childermass, in the library, removing his wrapper and letting Segundus look at him all over, letting him touch…

To Segundus, who had thought these desires to have been left behind in his school days, their return was an unwelcome and alarming sign. Too well did he remember the horrifically uncomfortable conversation with his housemaster about young men and their urges, the way Felson’s averted eyes and vicious comments had stripped away Segundus’s illusions, the ostracisation from his classmates. Were Childermass to learn of the direction of Segundus’s thoughts, how much worse would it be? It would not be put down to the folly of youth now.

But still, he could not bring himself to repulse Childermass’s friendship. He told himself that he would be stronger this time, that he would resist temptation and neither by word nor by deed let Childermass know of his thoughts. He would once again lay these desires to rest.

Unfortunately for Segundus, in the year since he first began to think of Childermass that way, he has been unable to forget it again.

At breakfast the morning after his arrival, Childermass declares his intent to go out on the moor for the day. ‘The heather is just beginning to bloom and it feels like I have been in towns for most of my life. A day under the sky would be welcome indeed.’

He invites Segundus to join him, and it is with no small regret that Segundus has to turn him down – there are accounts he must attend to, and provisions for the students to be made. ‘I have had a recommendation from a fine gentleman of a possible pupil in Nottingham, and I am inclined to write to them.’ He flicks a teasing glance at Childermass, who grunts in amusement.

‘No fine gentleman am I.’

‘No, I apologise, ‘fine fellow’ were your words.’

Childermass snorts a little and stands from the table. ‘She’s a good lass and would fit in well here. She has eight brothers too, so she won’t have any problem with the boys.’

Segundus nods. ‘I will write and see if she is interested. Ask Mrs Hunt for a luncheon to take with you,’ he calls to Childermass’s retreating back, shaking his head fondly over the casual disregard for manners Childermass shews.

The miserable longing of the night before has settled into the background once again with the domesticity of the day. Segundus tries not to dwell on it, but the first night when Childermass arrives is frequently the hardest, Segundus being so pleased to see him and being struck once again by the physicality of his presence. Though to be fair, Segundus’s awareness never fully leaves him, and most of his time around Childermass is spent keeping a close watch on his own reactions so as not to shew too much. Despite this, Segundus does genuinely regret that he cannot join Childermass on the moors today – his attraction to Childermass is not going to diminish if he spends less time around him, so why forbid himself the pleasure of the company of a friend he is trying so hard to keep? It would be foolish indeed, in Segundus’s opinion, to avoid a friend to protect their friendship, only to lose that friendship in the process. Besides, he has successfully hidden his shameful thoughts for a year now. Why should he not continue to manage it?

Resigned now to catching up on his correspondence, Segundus leaves the table and makes for his study. Perhaps if he manages to complete his work today, tomorrow he will be free to go to the moors with Childermass.

Accounts finished, letters set aside for posting in the morning, Segundus leaves his study for the garden, stopping briefly in the library for a couple of books and in the kitchen to request a tea tray. He settles on the stone bench set among the roses on the south facing wall, where it is shaded enough not to give him a headache with the light. Susie, one of the maids, arrives soon after with the tea. Thanking her and pouring himself a cup, he opens the copy of Hether-Grey’s Theory of Discourse with Trees and begins to re-read the chapter on protections and help from woodlands.

He is in the middle of an interesting train of thought about the possibility of having trees alert for intruders when the book is plucked out of his hands and set aside.

‘I have been here for quite five minutes without your noticing,’ Childermass tells him with an amused half-smile.

Segundus looks up at him. ‘I do apologise, I was quite lost in thought. Would you care for some tea?’ He makes the offer instinctively before realising there is only one cup, his own, and the tea in the pot has gone cold.

‘No,’ Childermass says, sitting on the bench too, amused now by Segundus’s confusion at the discovered lack of tea. ‘I am fine. But I will have some cake.’ He helps himself to a slice.

‘You did not ask Mrs Hunt for a luncheon, did you?’ Segundus asks with resignation. ‘Well, eat as much as you can. Mrs Hunt always gives me cake and looks disapproving if I do not finish it.’

Childermass looks askance at the four slices on the plate, and Segundus colours slightly. ‘She thinks I need feeding up, and Mrs Honeyfoot encourages her. It is Mrs Honeyfoot’s recipe for parkin.’

Childermass swallows the first large bite, half a slice gone in one mouthful. ‘It is too early for parkin,’ he remarks, taking another bite. ‘It should not be eaten til bonfire night,’ he continues, when the other half of the slice has been swallowed.

Segundus, seeing all possibility of cake rapidly disappearing before his eyes, breaks the edge off a slice to nibble on. ‘I would not complain if I were you,’ he comments. ‘Mrs Hunt is quite likely to refuse you any more.’

Childermass responds to this threat by taking the last slice.

‘How was the moor?’ Segundus asks. ‘Is the heather out?’

‘Aye,’ Childermass swallows the last of the cake, and looks longingly at the untouched half slice by Segundus. Segundus pushes it over, amused. ‘The cross leaved heather and the bell heather are out, but it is too early for the ling heather yet,’ he continues, the last of the cake vanishing. ‘It was grand to be out there on a day like today. London stinks in this heat, though it is good to have a summer after the rain.’

Segundus agrees. ‘Do you have plans for your visit?’ He hopes Childermass does not, or nothing too strict, and can be enticed into debates on magical theory and experimental sessions of practical magic.

‘Nothing much,’ Childermass tells him, raising Segundus’s hopes. ‘I thought to speak to Miss Redruth about her work on the King’s Letters – she wrote to me with some interesting ideas on the translations. But there is no hurry, apart from not leaving Vinculus so long in a tavern that he becomes completely pickled.’

‘You are always welcome to bring him here,’ Segundus interjects. ‘There is plenty of room, and less trouble for him to cause.’

‘You say that,’ Childermass returns darkly. ‘But anyway, if he may have a holiday, surely I may have one too?’ He does not state it as a question, but Segundus still feels the need to hastily agree, conscious the whole time of how warm it makes him feel, that Childermass should chuse to visit Starecross on his holiday.

‘Have you heard from Lady Pole while you were in London?’ he asks instead of incoherently stuttering about how welcome it is to have Childermass here.

‘Not myself,’ Childermass answers, giving a twisted grin and pulling out his pipe. ‘She is still writing letters, and I have heard rumours that she is involving herself in the reforming of the Cinque Dragownes with a view to non-magicians being included in the proceedings, a sort of moral reminder.’ He lights the pipe and leans back against the wall, half looking at Segundus and half concentrating on bringing his tobacco to a smooth burn.

‘That just because it can be done, does not mean it should be done?’ Segundus asks, and Childermass nods.

‘Aye. I have a mind that it should not be such a bad idea.’

Segundus agrees with this, and says so. Since the restoration of English magic there have been unscrupulous individuals taking advantage of non-magical folk, and who need to be judged with a magical eye. There are others who chuse to believe the gift of magic leaves them answerable to no higher power and that they should try any experiment they have a mind to, purely to stretch the boundaries of known magic, regardless of the outcome and the willingness of the participants. In these cases, frequently other magicians become so involved in the theory and possibilities of the work that they neglect to pay equal attention to the ethics of the situation.

‘I wonder if she would be inclined to give a lecture on the ethics of modern magic?’ he wonders, only half serious. He cannot see her willingly returning to Starecross, especially in its current state as a house of magicians.

‘She might,’ Childermass answers thoughtfully, releasing a cloud of fragrant smoke into the air. ‘Or she may know someone who could deliver it for her. Why? Do you intend to teach on the moral aspects?’

‘I think it would be lax of us not to talk of it at all,’ Segundus muses. ‘Surely we have some duty to consider the feelings of others in our work. Mr Norrell behaved abominably,’ he directs a half defiant glance at Childermass, who quirks his lips but does not argue, ‘and I feel certain that, though he did great work in the war, the Spanish would have much preferred it if Mr Strange had at least put their countryside back to rights when he finished.’

Childermass laughs a little. ‘I suspect you are right. Well, you can but write to her. She has sent you letters since she left, has she not?’

‘One or two,’ Segundus admits, half shrinking at the thought of writing to request such a thing of her, but bolstered up by Childermass’s thoughts on the subject and his own duty to his pupils. ‘I hope it does not come over as too impertinent, though.’

‘I am sure she would not find it so, and would think it very important that the next generation of magicians does not behave so callously as the previous one,’ Childermass assures him, and Segundus is both relieved and a little saddened by his faintly soothing tone. Does he present himself as such a pathetic object, that Childermass must flatter and coax? It is a wonder that Childermass can put up with him, though the part of Segundus that squirms at the thought of putting himself forward in such a way is grateful for the support. He half nods and changes the subject.

‘Have you read Hether-Gray’s Theory of Discourse with Trees?’ he asks. Childermass looks a little surprized at the change of topic but goes with it, telling Segundus that he has.

‘I thought perhaps to see if the trees by the west edge of the garden could be persuaded to grow wider and block the wind a little, but I also had a thought about warning of trespassers.’

Childermass looks thoughtful. ‘Aye, I could see that being useful. What trees boarder the western edge?’ They fall into the discussion, and a little part of Segundus basks in the warm weather and good company, and wishes with all its heart that Childermass were around always to talk to like this.

Maybe tomorrow we will spend the day together, it whispers hopefully.

Segundus’s hopes of spending the day with Childermass are thwarted by the arrival of a letter the next morning. Since the founding of Starecross as a school, it has become common practise for those in the North of England seeking magical assistance to apply there for help. Frequently Segundus is forced to write back that no assistance can be given – the most often penned request is for relatives to be brought back to life, and though there are very few things Segundus agrees with Mr Norrell on, after his experience with Lady Pole he refuses to summon a fairy. Occasionally and more happily the request is something solvable and he is able to offer the name of a local practical magician to aid them, or even to go himself. A few times, when the problem has been interesting and Childermass visiting, Childermass has undertaken to go.

The letter that arrives requests help with a large rock in the middle of a town on the moor, which has in the last week begun to sing long battle songs from the era of the Raven King. Segundus hands it over to Childermass with only a small internal sigh of regret; sure enough, Childermass immediately decides to go himself. ‘I know the village.’ He looks thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs. ‘It will not take long to get there. I will likely be back tonight.’

Heartened by the indication that Childermass doesn’t intend to cut his visit short, Segundus bids him goodbye and good luck, and decides to spend his day in the garden.

He doesn’t see Childermass again that day, not exactly an unexpected occurrence. He warns Mrs Hunt that Childermass might be back late and requests that she leave out a supper for him. He spends the evening in the library researching herb lore and listening with one ear for Childermass’s return. He doesn’t hear it, nor does he feel the approach of Childermass’s magic, something he can usually sense from just beyond the edge of the village. Likely he has stayed late, or stopped for the night on the moor somewhere, Segundus rationalises.

Or, whispers a nasty voice in his mind, he has a sweetheart in the village, or even in Starecross village, and will spend the night between her sheets.

And what of it? he replies fiercely. Childermass has every right to have a sweetheart and to visit her. It would certainly explain his frequent visits to Starecross, and Segundus can hardly find fault with someone finding Childermass very much to her tastes. He tries to banish the thought from his mind and takes himself off to bed.

When Charles lays out his breakfast the next morning he mentions that Mr Childermass did not come for his supper the night before, and is he due back today? Segundus replies that he expects so.

When night begins to draw in and Childermass still does not appear, Segundus begins to worry. Half apprehensive, he checks Childermass’s room and is relieved to find his belongings still there. Segundus did not seriously expect him to have left without bidding farewell, but there could have been some pressing matter. On this thought he also checks the stable where he is surprized to find Brewer contentedly eating hay. A question to Peter gives him the information that Brewer has been here since Mr Childermass arrived.

At this, Segundus begins seriously to worry. The village Childermass was heading to is a good ten miles away and Segundus would have expected him to ride there, especially if he intended to return the same day. Has something gone wrong? Did something happen in the village or on the moor? He rushes back to the house to find his silver basin.

The spell initially shews Childermass on Earth, then in England, then the north, then Yorkshire, North Yorkshire, the moors, then Starecross. Part of Segundus finches from continuing at this point – he does not wish to find Childermass with a lover – but he cannot stop until he knows Childermass is safe. The next iteration of the spell tells him that Childermass is within Starecross Hall. After that, it can go no further.

Segundus sits back, puzzled and still worried. Has Childermass arrived back without telling him? He empties the basin and refills it, trying this time a spell for visions such as the one Mr Strange described using at London parties. This has no effect whatsoever, the water remaining blank, which worries Segundus a great deal more. He leaves his study and once again goes to Childermass’s room. It is still empty of life. He then goes to find Mrs Hunt to enquire as to whether anyone has seen Mr Childermass.

‘Not since yesterday, sir,’ she tells him.

Starecross hall is old and labyrinthine, and Segundus knows he could wander round it for days and still miss Childermass. ‘Mr Childermass is somewhere in the house,’ Segundus tells her. ‘I am worried something has happened to him. We need to organise a search party and go through the Hall as systematically as we can.’ Mrs Hunt looks at him a little oddly but doesn’t comment.

‘The maids have left for the day,’ is all she says. ‘Only yourself, Charles, Peter and I are still here.’

Part of Segundus wants to protest that they need more people, but it would be a pointless waste of time. ‘Very well. Ask Peter to search the stables and the outbuildings. Charles can search the second floor attics, and Mrs Hunt, will you take the first floor rooms. I will search the ground floor.’

The house is searched from top to bottom and no sign of Childermass is found. Segundus knows Mrs Hunt is eyeing him a little strangely, but she was hired after Lady Pole’s enchantment was broken and has no experience of serious enchantment. Charles is much more ready to believe there could be something happening in the house that he cannot see.

Segundus tries the location spell again, and again it tells him Childermass is within Starecross. Segundus wonders whether there was something missed in a room that he did not check. It is entirely possible that Charles or Mrs Hunt could have missed some signs of enchantment. He resolves to check them himself. Having already checked the ground floor he begins with the first floor and them moves on to the attics. He finds no signs of anything amiss, and in a state of rising agitation goes back to the rooms he first searched.

The ground floor holds the kitchen and pantry as well as the dining and breakfast rooms, library, parlour, Segundus’s study and the two principle classrooms of the school, along with a number of empty rooms so far unused. Segundus plans for them to be more classrooms and teacher’s studies, as well as possibly studies for older students eventually, but the school is not yet at a size to require them. The frequently used rooms are all as Segundus left them. He makes a more careful examination of the library, being the room most used by Childermass and himself when doing magic, but there is nothing to suggest enchantment. The empty rooms he examines less thoroughly – they are kept clean but rarely entered. The china cheese-moulds and odd cassocks have been removed, and the emptiness makes it much easier to see all parts. The room with the doll’s house is the last place to re-check on this floor, and is once again as empty as the others. The doll’s house, the exact copy of Starecross Hall, standing alone in the middle of the dark room looks uncomfortably abandoned. Segundus makes a note to have it moved into the parlour. It may not be of interest to the pupils, but it should not be left to languish here.

The blank windows of the replica house feel like eyes on his back as he leaves the room.

Having completely searched the Hall himself, Segundus has to admit defeat. The spell must be malfunctioning in some way. There is no trace of Childermass anywhere in the building. Scrying still produces no results, and the only thing he can think of now is to try summoning Childermass. He has the spell Mr Strange used at the Shadow House when they first met, and all he needs to perform it is a candle stub and something of Childermass’s as an envoy.

He decides to try the spell in the library – a comfortingly familiar room to the both of them. From Childermass’s room he takes Childermass’s comb to act as the envoy, and he chuses the road to Starecross, the road Childermass has travelled many times as the path to bring him. From the kitchen he takes three of the early ripening apples as the handsel, knowing of Childermass’s fondness for the fruits.

With everything gathered he lights the candle stub with some trepidation – what if it should fail like the scrying spell? Segundus pushes on regardless. He recites the words, naming the envoy, the path and the handsel as well as the candle flame’s end as the time Childermass should appear. Then he waits for the candle to burn down.

In this endless minute, with the candle stub the only light in the room, Segundus wishes he was still spilling his enthusiasm out with the spell, so he might at least know that some magic were happening. It is a fruitless wish, but never the less -

All at a once, the candle goes out.

Segundus holds his breath in the absolute darkness. For an instant, if feels as though something in the house has changed, just on the edge of his consciousness, as though a door that was open has closed or a ticking clock has stopped. But as the seconds drag on and Childermass fails to materialise, the feeling fades under the disappointment and renewed worry. Where can Childermass be, that he cannot be summoned? Or did he feel the summoning and refuse it? Or was it simply that Segundus performed the spell incorrectly? How can he know what went wrong?

He feels for the edge of the table where he left a fresh candle and a tinderbox, but his fingers miss it. Taking an instinctive half-step forwards, his step echoes on bare floorboards.

The library floor is covered by a large Turkish rug. There should be no bare wood beneath his feet.

Swallowing a little, Segundus strains his ears for any noise. His breathing sounds unnaturally loud in the silence, but still he cannot hear anything. Half under his breath, holding out a cupped hand, he mutters a spell for light. The light grows from his palm, spilling over the sides and between his fingers, as though a ball of sunlight has materialised in his hand. In the retreating gloom, Segundus recognises the doll’s house in front of him.

The rest of the room is still empty. There is no sign of Childermass.

But the magic has brought him here, so there must be some element of Childermass in the room to draw him to it. The only place to look is in the doll’s house itself.

The short crossing to the house is full of horrible, half-formed imaginings. The three paces feel as though he covers half a mile of uncertain ground. When he reaches out the hand not filled with light to open the front of the doll’s house, the hairs stand up all along his arm.

The inside of the doll’s house, therefore, is rather an anticlimax.

In the rooms of the miniature Starecross the smartly dressed dolls are still going about their frozen life. Casino is still being dealt, cakes baked, instruments played and children taught. To Segundus, who did not know at all what he might find, this ordinary miniature existence is both disarming and alarming.

He carefully examines the house room by room. The miniature Starecross is as convoluted as the original, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, and to check every tiny room feels to him as though it takes as long as it did to search the full-sized house.

Segundus is looking for something out of place, some token or talisman of Childermass’s, something that clearly doesn’t belong in the house. Therefore it is not until he feels the faintest possible sense of Childermass’s magic that he takes more note of the things that look as though they should belong. When he does, the answer is staring him in the face.

Seated beside the wooden casino players is a four inch tall John Childermass.

Segundus can’t help but give a little cry at the sight. The Childermass doll, for it clearly is a doll, is a perfect miniature representation down to the ragged black hair and faint scar on his cheek.

Flinching a little, Segundus carefully reaches in and removes the doll. The painted face shows none of Childermass’s expressions and the clothes are less worn, but otherwise it is identical. Holding it, Segundus can feel the trace of Childermass’s magic that he felt before, slightly stronger.

He examines it as best he can in the difficult light. It is identical to any other doll, though made more finely. Could it be an enchanted Childermass? How can Segundus restore him? His first instinct is to use Pale’s Restoration and Rectification, though that is perhaps not appropriate. Still, it can do no harm.

Cradling the doll carefully in his free hand he nudges the doll’s house closed with the other and leaves the room. The hallway is just as dark and he cannot dismiss the light spell just yet, so holding his two burdens carefully in front of him, he makes his way back to the library. There he gently places the Childermass doll on the table and lights candles enough to see by, nearly spilling wax on the rug in his renewed haste. He makes the cross for the spell from two needles he keeps for this purpose and stands over the doll.

As he feared, the spell does nothing. Refusing to give up hope, he turns to Ormskirk’s Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds, where there is a spell for ‘The Discernment of the True Shape of Persons or Objects Under Enchantment’. Like the majority of Ormskirk, the spell does not work in its original form, but Segundus has become adept at adjusting to effect a result and by changing the hawthorn to rowan from the bundle kept in the library, and apple pips for cherry stones from the kitchen and then again for rose-hips from the garden, he has a working spell.

The spell is supposed to shew the true shape of the object or person under enchantment by outlining it in light. Clearly the spell works, but it does not give Segundus the results he hoped – only the doll is outlined, no larger shape of Childermass himself.

Segundus will not let himself descend into fearful despair, but it is very tempting to do so. Fatigue is creeping up on him, the long hours of worry and activity after a day spent outdoors again is beginning to drain him. He wishes fervently Childermass were here to help him – between them, they have solved many magical puzzles and Segundus is afraid this one may be beyond him alone. But he is the only one here, and he will not fail his friend from lack of confidence.

Of the few magical books in the Starecross library he cannot think of any that might hold useful information. Never the less he pages through them all, starting with Ormskirk and picking out words that may help, then discarding them when they prove to be unrelated. Only one book in the library mentions dolls, but as a mouthpiece to speak to someone far away.

Still leafing through the books, Segundus slips into a doze, head propped up on his fist. Confused half dreams whirl around him – he is reading a book and the book speaks with Childermass’s voice and tells him of the doll Segundus’s sister had as a child, and how it faired after she died. Then the doll’s house appears, larger and even more like Starecross, but the writing in all the books is reversed and the mirrors do not show the rooms but instead vast, shadow drenched passages, reminiscent of those seen under Lady Pole’s enchantment. Segundus tries to look away, but now the mirror is growing too and the passage is coming closer and -

He wakes up as his head hits the desk. In his mind is the clear image of the gigantic mirror rising before him, and he could kick himself for his stupidity. Childermass must have taken the King’s Roads out of Starecross, and obviously something has befallen him and he cannot return. The doll must be a request for help, perhaps based on the spell Segundus read about. Perhaps if Segundus tries the location spell while on the Roads, he may have more success.

Segundus does not know by heart the spell to enter the King’s Roads; Childermass has written out for him the version he was told by Mr Strange, but Segundus has had neither the call nor the desire to use it. He knows Childermass makes use of the Roads on occasion, and they have spoken on the theory and history of them, but Segundus has no first hand experience.

He keeps his copy of the spell in his study rather than in the library, conscious that curious pupils might attempt it without proper precautions. It takes only a matter of minutes to fetch it but he cannot help hurrying there and back, fearing to delay any more than necessity. Half way back to the library he curses and changes direction, then curses and changes back – the library has no large mirrors in it, and though Childermass has assured him that a pocket mirror can be used Segundus would feel more certain with a larger one such as the mirror in the entrance hall, but he has forgotten in his haste the basin for the location spell.

Setting spells into another overarching spell is not something he has had much practise of, but he understands the principle well enough. For a spell of dissolution he uses the one that Mr Honeyfoot and he developed in the winter to deal with ice on the roads. It seems to work; the mirror’s surface gives a faint shiver, like a breath of wind over a still pond. The reflection of Segundus, the front hall and the candle and basin at his feet vanishes, and instead there is a sense of vast distances dimly concealed by the shadows. When Segundus picks up the basin and touches the mirror surface he expects it to feel like water, but there is nothing to feel at all, not even the faintest hint of resistance. Taking an instinctive deep breath, he steps over the mirror frame and onto the King’s Roads.

Immediately the temperature drops. The hallway is made of stone, gigantic blocks and flagstones that hold the air still, cold and silent. Light pierces unevenly through but it has an odd, dispelled quality that makes it seem as though it is coming through water, just as Childermass has described to him. The air feels as though it should be damp, but that time has stolen any moisture from the place. In the distance Segundus thinks he can see an opening, though whether is is an intentional one or where the hallway has collapsed he could not say. The silence is so absolute as to seem as though Segundus’s senses have been muffled in wool. His own breath sounds loud enough to bring forth anything lurking to investigate the racket.

Instinctively Segundus tries to assess which direction he is facing but there is a curious directionlessness to this place. On the edge of his mind is the thought that he has experienced this before, in some place at some time, but he cannot catch hold of where. He shivers slightly and pushes the thought away. This is not the time for half-formed recollections.

Part of him wishes that he had put on a coat before leaving but he will not turn back now. Resolute, awkwardly grasping the basin in the crook of his arm, he attempts to draw the first lines of the location spell but finds he has already begun to shiver steadily and the water is too disturbed. Accordingly he crouches down to set the basin on the floor. From this perspective the vast gloomy passage is even more alarming, soaring away into the heights so immense that the roof cannot be made out. Childermass has told him of the blocked and flooded passages in some parts of the Roads, and he cannot help but glance apprehensively at the stonework. It seems sturdy enough, but who can tell what might disturb this place? He hurries to begin the spell.

As before, the basin tells him Childermass is on Earth, in England, Yorkshire, Starecross. Then nothing. Frustration bites hard at Segundus. Why will this not work? How can he find Childermass?
In his growing helplessness he considers simply shouting for Childermass, but ultimately discards the idea. Who knows what lurks in the darkness here and what harm his shouting might do to this ancient place? He could venture out on the Roads to the village Childermass was visiting, but the spell does not indicate Childermass is there. Segundus’s best recourse must be to return to Starecross and find another way to locate Childermass.

Mind made up, he half gladly and half apprehensively turns his back on the dark halls to return the way he came. The Roads are so still and silent and other that he half expects the way to have vanished and to find himself lost here, but there is a dark doorway behind him. It feels friendlier than the indifferent passage. Another part of him wonders what might appear behind his turned back. Telling himself not to be so imaginative, he speaks the spell for dissolution and, grasping the basin tightly, steps forward and through the door.

For a dizzy moment he finds himself in Starecross, but Starecross the wrong way round. The door to the parlour is on the right rather than the left, the stairs turn the wrong way and the portrait of the elderly gentleman in a wig has reversed itself. Then, in a blink, Starecross is the right way round again and he is stepping out of the mirror frame and onto the tiled floor. The candle that he left by the mirror cannot have burned down more than a quarter of an inch – Segundus has only been gone for five minutes.

At this point, Childermass has been gone for nearly two full days.

The Childermass doll is exactly where Segundus left it when he returns, disheartened, to the library. It has not moved a jot. Any hope that it might have been affected by the magic seems to be at an end. Not that it was a strong hope in the first place, Segundus thinks.

Never the less he takes it with him to his study where he goes through every paper he has that pertains to magic. Many of them are jottings in Childermass’s hand; fragments of spells remembered from Mr Norrell’s library, suggestions for modifications to existing useless spells, notes on variants for specific purposes. There is also the odd letter from other magicians, and Segundus spends long minutes pouring over the letter from Mr Strange that describes the location spell, wondering if there is something he has missed.

Worry is making him more frantic now. Childermass could be deep into fairy by now, having taken a wrong turning somewhere; he could be lying hurt on the roads, or trapped by some misadventure.
He could also be sitting quite happily at an inn somewhere, unaware of Segundus’s attempts to find him using a malfunctioning spell, but Segundus does not think so. Whenever he sets his mind to Childermass there is a sense of magical foreboding and darkness, both like and unlike Lady Pole’s enchantment. And there is also the doll to consider.

Following this thought, he picks it up again. It really is finely made; certainly a magical construct. He can still feel the faintest sense of Childermass’s magic about it. Acting on instinct, he cups the doll in his hands and focusses completely on the trace of magic. It doesn’t seem to be coming from the doll itself, rather it seems to be part of a trail that the doll is the end point of. But no matter how Segundus concentrates, he cannot follow the trail more than a couple of inches before it disappears into thin air.

A vanishing trail…

Suddenly energised, Segundus scrabbles around in his papers again. There is something… not by Childermass or by Mr Strange, but with a feel of Mr Strange about it…

Here! A letter from Mrs Strange, in reply to Segundus’s letter expressing pleasure at her return.

…a path of light, she wrote, which lead me from Lost-hope to Padua. I could not say if it felt like the magic of Mr Strange, but I knew in my heart it would take me out of that wretched place, which was what I most desired…

A path to take you to your heart’s desire. If anything can be thought to be his heart’s desire, Segundus reflects, then it is Childermass. But where to get such a spell? He has never heard of anything like it. Doubtless Hurtfew’s library could have supplied him with a dozen versions, but there is no point grousing about that. Like so many other spells since the restoration of English magic, Segundus will have to construct it himself.

He doesn’t bother with florilegia; Childermass has told him of the variations of spells he has seen that do not contain it and how they were as helpful or as useless as any other, and occasionally the florilegia muddied the outcome. Segundus has begun to leave them off when constructing his own spells. In his estimation, the spell will require three parts – a path, a guide and a destination, with perhaps an epitome of protection. He uses the basic gestures and construction of the locations spell for the destination, names the doll-Childermass as his guide, and to make a path in the first place he modifies the dissolution spell. There is perhaps a small worry that in using it Segundus might damage Starecross in some way, but the possibility is negligible against the certainty that Childermass is in danger. He will take any penalty on himself if it brings Childermass back safely.

With the spell prepared, Segundus sits in his study, heart beginning to beat harder. Should he take anything with him? He has a bureau full of various things useful for spells but unless he knows what he will be facing he would have to take almost everything with him for it to be realistically useful. With this in mind, all he decides to take are two lengths of red wool tied round his wrist and his two needles for Pale’s Restoration and Reunification, threading one so as to be sure to have something to tie them together with. The he speaks the words, makes the gestures and hopes with all his heart that the spell works as intended.

The first indication that it has is when the Childermass doll rises gently from the table and, as though carried by an invisible hand, begins to move towards the door. Initially astonished and elated, Segundus has to scramble to follow it, almost tripping over his chair as he rises, grabbing his candle at the last second. The doll floats towards the door and, without pausing in the slightest, floats straight through it.

Segundus, following, reaches unthinkingly for the door handle but his hand passes through it as though through thick fog. The dissolution aspect is working, and Segundus spares a second to hope that he has not permanently dematerialised the door to his study before pressing on through.

In the hallway beyond the doll is still leading the way, heading towards the front hall. Relieved that it does not seem to be going back to the doll’s house Segundus hurries to catch it, slowing to match its pace when it is only a foot or so in front of him. It floats almost majestically down the hall, unhurried and stately, and Segundus cannot help but wish it would proceed a little faster. It takes far longer than necessary to reach the entrance hall.

In the entrance hall the doll heads straight for the large mirror. Segundus cannot see any indication of the King’s roads beyond the glass, and indeed there seems to be nothing out of the ordinary about the mirror. He watches the reflection of the doll and keeps pace with it right up until the doll touches the glass. Then the doll proceeds through and for a second Segundus sees it receding into the reflection as if it were a continuation of the same room, before he too plunges into the glass-house.

This is the mirror-Starecross he glimpsed when coming off the King’s Roads, he realises. His suspicions of Childermass using the King’s Roads must have been correct. But there is no time for Segundus to stand marvelling at this. for the doll is continuing on up the reversed stairs and Segundus will not risk losing it.

As he climbs, part of Segundus is focussed on the doll and the strange reversal of the house he knows so well, but the other part is distracted by the feeling of the place. Curiously, it has the same sense of no-direction as the King’s Roads, but there is a deeper, even more unsettling feeling. On his first visit to Starecross, when he met Mrs Lennox, the building had an abandoned air that slowly dispelled as Segundus began to restore it. When Lady Pole was resident it felt cold and open and decayed as Lost-hope bled through. Since opening as a school the atmosphere has been much warmer, a sense of life and busy purpose present even during the holidays. It feels welcoming, and to Segundus it feels like home.

This version of Starecross feels clammy, like clothing too-long lived in, with a sickly malcontent awareness to it. Like a diseased fungus, Segundus thinks with a shudder. He climbs faster. It cannot be good to stay here long, and Childermass has already been here for over a day at least.

In the upstairs passageway Segundus expects the doll to lead him to Childermass’s room, but instead it stops three doors down at the room Segundus uses in his Starecross. Again it does not pause but floats straight through the closed door. Not daring to stop now, Segundus follows as quietly as he can.

Inside the room the atmosphere is less unpleasantly close, though the sickliness has not dispelled completely. It feels like the cloying dreaminess of laudanum, with a hint of dark places too long covered. There is also light in the room, and the light from Segundus’s candle is lost among the flames of the others. But while Segundus’s beeswax candle gives off a warm yellow light, the candles in the room give off a greenish-white florescence reminiscent of marsh lights. They do little to improve the feeling of the room.

Other than the light and the atmosphere however, the room looks exactly like his own in the real Starecross, right down to the framed cross stitch of ivy, a present from Mrs Honeyfoot, hanging on the wall by the bed. The sight of this false normality gives Segundus a deeply uneasy feeling.

Meanwhile, the doll has reached the bed and is hanging in the air above a shape under the blankets. As quietly as possible, Segundus makes his way over. If this is Childermass then he should have little to worry about, but if it is Childermass then why is he here rather than in the room he habitually uses? And what is keeping him here rather than in Starecross proper?

It is only as he gets closer to the bed that be realises that the shape under the blankets is not one person but two.

For a second he wants to close his eyes, shake his head, deny he has seen this. Childermass with a lover – what could be more painful? Segundus has never fooled himself that Childermass would look at him twice, or even once, and a part of him has even resigned itself to the expectation that one day Childermass will find a lover and, like as not, settle down somewhere to marry. But to see it with his own eyes – that he was not prepared for.

But then, interjects a different part of him, if he has a lover, why is he meeting her here? And why is the atmosphere so unhealthy? Do not leap to conclusions, it warns.

Segundus swallows and forces himself to take the last few steps to the bed. He can see Childermass’s hair, recognisable from the ragged way it spreads over the pillow. The head next to his is turned away, though there is something familiar about it…

All of a sudden, the other person sits up, and Segundus steps back with a sharp inhalation.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the other person in the bed is a mirror version of Segundus himself.

The mirror-Segundus smiles at real-Segundus. It is not an expression Segundus recognises on his own face. It looks more mocking than Segundus has ever thought to be.

‘Oh dear,’ mirror-Segundus sing-songs. ‘How shocking. How your little heart must weep to see the man you want in bed with another. Oh, pity you!’

Frantically, Segundus looks to Childermass. Surely he will have woken to the sound of voices, and what will he make of this declaration?

Seeing his look, mirror-Segundus waves a casual hand. ‘Do not worry, he will not wake until morning. He has not heard a word. But I am so glad you have arrived.’ Mirror-Segundus climbs out of the bed, wearing, a remote part of Segundus is indignant to note, Segundus’s nightgown. ‘Yes,’ continues mirror-Segundus, ‘it is most useful. For I have had him here a week now and he has not yet given me his heart.’

‘H-his heart?’ Segundus stammers.

‘Yes, it is most vexatious. Here I am, giving him the best of my hospitality and he will not give me anything in return. Why, I have not met a guest so rude in many a year.’ Mirror-Segundus tucks his arm through Segundus’s in the manner of a close friend and begins to draw him away from the bed. ‘But now you are here and you will give me your heart, and I will use that to get his.’ As mirror-Segundus talks, his eyes are getting larger and further apart, turning rounder as they do. His mouth is also widening, teeth becoming longer and more prominent.
Segundus pulls his arm away sharply. ‘No sir! I will not give you my heart or let you use me to entrap that man.’

‘Will you not?’ The fairy, for Segundus assumes he must be so, looks at him with mocking concern. ‘But only think! What use is it you you? You keep it for a man who does not notice you, who beds others and leaves you alone. He thinks nothing of your concerns and spends weeks at a time away from you. He does not want your heart; it is of no use to you; why should I not have it?’

‘It is mine,’ Segundus tells him thickly. His tongue seems slow and heavy, words falling from them like thick honey, sticky and drawn out. ‘You cannot have it.’ The last word is slurred into incoherence, and Segundus finds to his horror that he cannot move his tongue at all now.

The fairy tuts. ‘Dear me, what rude guests I do seem to have. You will give me your heart eventually, just as he will give me his. I only hope that by the time you do it is not too broken for me to use.’ Here he pushes Segundus, forcing him through the door and out into the corridor, and when Segundus desperately tries to pass through the door again, and then to use the door handle to open it he finds the way barred to him.

After the less unpleasant atmosphere in the bedroom the feeling in the hallway hits Segundus like a rotting blanket, clinging and foul. He curls in on himself a little, trying to present as small a target as possible – though the fairy may be occupied with Childermass, there is still something unpleasantly aware about the building.

Angry at the fairy’s words, definitely scared for Childermass, he turns and bangs on the door with as heavy a fist as he can make but even to his ear the noise sounds blank, as though it has been muffled in heavy fabric, and Segundus has no doubts that on the other side of the door it can hardly be heard at all. In the end he decides to conserve energy and ceases his knocking.

He tries to speak, but still the enchantment on his tongue remains. Fumbling with his wrist he unties one of the lengths of red wool and places it on his tongue; immediately it feels freer to move. Not a strong enchantment then. An experiment with removing the wool leaves his tongue unusable again, so despite the horrible texture he leaves the wool in his mouth.

He thinks briefly about leaving and coming back with reinforcements, but he does not want to leave Childermass alone here, especially if, for Childermass, a week has already passed. He also doubts his ability to return – the Childermass doll is in the room with the fairy and without his guide, would he manage to find the path?

Not wanting to miss Childermass when he leaves the room, Segundus seats himself on the clammy stone floor, repressing a shudder, and hunches over to preserve as much warmth as he can.

Now he just has to wait for morning.

Morning is heralded by a pale light filling the passageway. It does not look quite right; there is a feeling as though it should be reflecting off snow, but when Segundus goes to a window he can see nothing through the glass, the glow interrupting his vision. Despite this, Segundus, who has not managed more than the lightest of dozes and who had to blow out his candle to preserve it, welcomes it with a great feeling of relief. Night here is not something he wishes to experience again. He stamps his feet and stretches cramped muscles, and hopes Childermass emerges soon. Segundus is light-headed with tiredness; he has not slept properly since the night before and it feels like a very long time ago. Most of his time since he was forced out of the room has been taken up with trying to remember the spell in Ormskirk’s Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds, the one Mr Strange used to end an enchantment and subsequently wrote to him about. Segundus is not certain if Childermass will need it, or indeed if it would have any effect, but the more he can remember of it the better. Unfortunately he does not seem to be able to remember past the third section.

During the night he found that if he tucked the red wool into his cheek it still kept his tongue free but made it much easier to speak without risking swallowing the wool. If he can remember the rest of the spell, he will at least be able to say it.

In the end it is more than an hour after the dawn that Childermass finally comes out of the room, proceeded by the fairy. The fairy looks as he did when Segundus first saw him; that is to say a perfect mirror copy. Childermass looks as he always does, apart from his eyes. His eyes are blank reflections, showing shadows and light and none of his always forceful personality.

‘Mr Childermass!’ Segundus exclaims urgently, and Childermass looks at him in confusion. Segundus reaches out to grasp his arm, and the fairy watches with amused contempt.

Childermass looks at Segundus’s hand on his arm with a complete lack of interest, then back to his face. ‘Who are you, sir?’ he asks.

Segundus’s stomach fills with flutters of panic. ‘It is I, John Segundus, your friend. You came to stay at Starecross and vanished after going out on the King’s Roads.’

Childermass slowly shakes his head. ‘You are not Mr Segundus. Mr Segundus is here.’ He nods to the fairy. His expression, voice and movements still shew his utter lack of curiosity.

The fairy comes closer and takes Childermass’s arm, beginning to pull him down the passage. ‘Come, my dear, it is time for breakfast.’ He throws a brief, gloating look at Segundus, revelling in his panic and helplessness.

A spasm crosses Childermass’s face. ‘I do not think I want breakfast,’ he tells the fairy. Segundus feels a spring of hope at this, a feeling that is strengthened when the fairy gives Childermass a chiding glance and pulls him faster along the passage.

‘Now, Mr Childermass, you have not eaten in a week! Surely you must be hungry.’

‘No,’ Childermass refutes, disgust clearly read on his face, and Segundus pushes himself into motion, quickly catching up with the pair.

‘Mr Childermass, remember who you are! This person is not Mr Segundus, this place is not Starecross!’ He grabs again at Childermass’s arm and desperately tries to think of something he can say to convince Childermass. ‘Remember the day you went out on the moor? The heather was blooming, and you told me about it when we sat in the garden, and you ate all the parkin? You said it was the wrong time of year for parkin, and we talked about magical ethics.’

A confused frown crosses Childermass’s face, deeper than any of his previous expressions. Seeing this, the fairy takes tighter hold of his other arm.

‘Do not listen to this man, my dear,’ he murmurs to Childermass, shooting Segundus a look of hate. ‘Remember last night, when we lay together in bed? Remember when you promised to look at none but I? When you kissed me and promised never to leave?’

A mix of revulsion and pain fills Segundus; to think of this creature getting his hands on Childermass, touching him, kissing him! And Childermass, so ensorceled that he does not know what he is doing.

‘Do not listen to him!’ Segundus says, as fiercely as he can. ‘Remember the night you arrived and swam in the beck, and offered to teach me to swim. Remember the time you tried to teach me to read your cards of Marseilles!’ That is a thought. ‘Where are your cards? Read them, they will tell you what is real!’

Childermass pulls at the arm the fairy is holding, reaching instinctively for the cards. The fairy resists, holding his arm with more strength and shaking his head. ‘No! You do not need the cards. You do not need this man. I am real, you know I am. Think of our bed together – what could be more real than that?’

Childermass looks unsure, glancing between Segundus and the fairy, but he is still pulling against the fairy’s hold, still trying to reach for the cards, and Segundus thinks this is the best opportunity he has.

‘Place the moon at his eyes,’ he begins, ‘and her whiteness shall devour the false sights the deceiver has placed there.’

The fairy shouts, and lets go of Childermass to reach for Segundus. Segundus ducks out of the way as best he can, still keeping hold of Childermass’s arm.

‘Place a swarm of bees at his ears. Bees love truth and will destroy the deceiver's lies,’ Segundus continues, raising his voice now to be heard above the fairy’s shouts. He risks a glance at Childermass, who is shaking his head as though he has something lodged in his ear. His eyes look clearer and darker than they did before.

Segundus speaks the next part. ‘Place salt in his mouth lest the deceiver attempt to delight him with the taste of honey or disgust him with the taste of ashes.’

More life comes back to Childermass’s expression, but he still stands in place and shews no inclination to turn against the fairy, who now has hands on Segundus and is attempting to pull him away from Childermass. Segundus is sure that of he were to finish the spell, it would free Childermass. Unfortunately he still cannot remember the last two sections.

The fairy, seeing that Segundus has stopped and Childermass does not seem inclined to help him, gives a scream of mocking laughter, like a cat with its tail stood on. In his fury some of his likeness to Segundus has slipped, and his eyes are rounder and his mouth wider than they should be. ‘See, magician,’ he crows, mouth opening like a wound with each word. ‘Who are you to speak for this man? He has already given me his lips and his eyes, now I will takes his hands and his heart, all the most worthy parts, the parts touched by the Raven King. He does not want you; he will stay with me. You have lost.’ He crows with laughter again, and Segundus watches in horror as Childermass stops shaking his head and his eyes film over again, mirrors replacing the deep brown.

A great upsurge of despair grabs him and he wants to shout it out along with his fury at the fairy. How dare he trap Childermass here and force him to act as his lover? Well, Segundus may not be able to break the enchantment but he’s damned if he’s going to leave Childermass with the fairy. There must be some way to bring Childermass back to himself and then back to Starecross; Segundus just has to convince Childermass to listen to him.

He takes hold of Childermass’s arm again, intending to pull him away from the fairy. Childermass does not resist but the fairy is not so calm. ‘You have lost, magician! He is mine!’ So saying, he grabs Childermass and pulls at Segundus’s arm with enough strength to tear his grip free and throw him into the wall. Segundus’s back hits the stone, knocking the breath out of him and off balance he loses his footing, twisting and falling to the floor, teeth jarring into the side of his mouth as he lands. Blood seeps into his mouth from the small wound, hitting his tongue with the taste of iron.

Iron nails...

The fairy grabs Childermass after pushing Segundus away and with the grip on his arm is now pulling him down the hall towards the stairs, speaking to him in a low voice and caressing his hand as they go. Segundus doesn’t wait to get up, doesn’t want Childermass to move out of earshot.

‘Place the moon at his eyes,’ he says, as loudly as he can with the little breath he has, ‘and her whiteness shall devour the false sights the deceiver has placed there.’

The fairy pulls Childermass away faster, but Segundus climbs to his feet, breath returning, and follows.

‘Place a swarm of bees at his ears. Bees love truth and will destroy the deceiver's lies,’ he calls, louder this time. Childermass is beginning to slow.

‘Place salt in his mouth lest the deceiver attempt to delight him with the taste of honey or disgust him with the taste of ashes.’ Childermass stops, and does not continue despite the fairy’s tugging.

‘Nail his hand with an iron nail so that he shall not raise it to do the deceiver’s bidding.’ Childermass screams in pain and the fairy screams in rage but neither of them drowns out Segundus’s last words.

‘Place his heart in a secret place so that all his desires shall be his own and the deceiver shall find no hold there.’

Childermass abruptly stiffens, looking at his surroundings. Segundus quickly catches up with him; the fairy is looking murderous and still has a hold on Childermass’s arm, even as his features become less and less like Segundus’s. Segundus can see that his nails have begun to lengthen as well, less like claws and more like spikes of bone. Childermass notices too and tears his arm away with an oath. Segundus can see rents in his shirt where the spikes have torn through. Instinctively he grabs at Childermass, pulling him back, but Childermass flinches away from him too and even at this moment the action hurts Segundus, though it does not surprize him.

Segundus lets go as quickly as he can. ‘Mr Childermass, please, come with me!’

Childermass takes one look at him and one at the fairy, who’s features have distorted completely from Segundus’s own to something monstrous, with tight, shiny skin to go with the gaping-wound mouth and wide-spaced circular eyes. A second later Childermass is turning and running down the passageway, following Segundus’s lead. They clatter down the reversed stairs, Childermass faster than Segundus, until they reach the entrance hall and Childermass stops, looking around him in confusion. Segundus, mindful not to grab him again, calls him to the mirror before facing it and reciting the dissolution spell as quickly as possible. Childermass hesitates when Segundus gestures him through the mirror so reluctantly Segundus goes first, glancing over his shoulder as he does. The fairy does not seem to have followed them.

Segundus bursts out of the mirror into the entrance hall of Starecross, the real Starecross, and Childermass is only a second behind him. The feeling of being in Starecross washes over him; home, purpose, warmth and safety, a complete reversal of the mirror-Starecross.

Segundus knows from their conversations that Childermass does not feel the atmosphere of a place as strongly as Segundus does, but he too seems to be feeling the change in atmosphere and taking heart. At least that’s what Segundus thinks until Childermass collapses onto the flagstones.

Segundus cries out and falls to his knees, hands hovering over Childermass but reluctant to touch. Frantically, he looks to Childermass’s chest and gasps in relief when he sees that he is still breathing. Clattering feet behind him announces the arrival of someone but he does not take his attention from Childermass, instead overcoming his reluctance to touch him and fumbling for Childermass’s wrist. His own heartbeat is so fast he cannot find a pulse. Charles appears beside him and Segundus pulls him down. ‘Please! I cannot find his pulse!’

Charles takes up Childermass’s wrist and after a few seconds turns reassuringly to Segundus. ‘His pulse is steady, sir. What happened?’

Segundus is distantly surprized to find his hand is shaking as he passes it over his face. ‘In the mirror – there was a fairy – he was trapped...’ he cannot say any more. Charles does not press him.
‘You are exhausted, sir,’ he tells Segundus. ‘With your permission, I will get Peter to help me carry Mr Childermass to his room and send Susie to fetch the doctor.’ He hardly waits for Segundus’s nod before sending Susie off and telling Anne to find Peter

Segundus catches Charles’s wary glance at the mirror and though he wants to stay by Childermass’s side he forces himself to stand. What can he do to prevent the fairy following them? ‘Godbless’s Warden,’ he mutters to himself. He will need a thistle, a wasp and a piece of chalk.

By this time, more people have arrived, including Mrs Hunt, Peter, Anne and Penny, the third of the maids. Segundus turns to them. ‘Peter, will you help Charles bring Mr Childermass up to his room. Anne, can you bring me a thistle and Penny, can you find me a wasp? It doesn’t need to be alive,’ he adds when she gives him a wary look. ‘There may be a dead one by the beehives or caught in a spider’s web in the garden. Thank you,’ he finishes, and turns to watch Charles and Peter lifting Childermass between them. Torn, he wants to follow them, stay close to Childermass and not let him out of his sight but he is the only one who can ward against the fairy and so he must stay here until he has set the spell. He turns to Mrs Hunt.

‘Mrs Hunt, would you be so good as to fetch me a piece of chalk from my study? There are some lengths in the second drawer of the bureau.’ Mrs Hunt sniffs, but nods and quickly returns with a piece. Segundus begins drawing the sigils required for the spell, first round the mirror frame and then on the flagstones. Mrs Hunts watches him with a slightly disapproving look.

‘Mr Segundus,’ she says presently. ‘Do you mean to say that you went chasing off after a fairy without leaving word at all? When was the last time you had anything to eat?’ Segundus does not answer her, still busy with the sigils, and she sniffs reprovingly. ‘I thought so,’ she continues. ‘I will bring tea and toast up to Mr Childermass’s room, and I expect you to eat it.’ She sweeps out, and Segundus is guiltily glad to see her leave. The last of the marks are drawn, and he waits impatiently for Anne and Penny to return.

Anne arrives first with the thistle, and Segundus places it on the floor to the left of the mirror, making sure that its reflection can be clearly seen. It feels like an age before Penny appears with a wasp, found apparently by the scullery window. ‘It was the only one I could find with both its wings,’ Penny explains, and Segundus takes a moment to thank her for thinking of that before he busies himself with positioning the wasp and finishing the spell.

Penny and Anne watch at a slight distance as Segundus stands in the middle of the sigils, thistle on his left and wasp on his right. He stretches his arms out as far as he can, pushing aside his self-consciousness at being watched and putting all his focus into completing the spell quickly but correctly. He asks the thistle to form a barrier as thick as it can and stop any from passing through. He asks the wasp to form an army and harry any who try to pass through so they turn back. He puts as much certainty and force of intention behind it as he can, so much so that he feels a sudden chill as the magic leaves his body, and his head feels light enough to float away. His arms feel as though they are being pulled down, draped in iron chains, and he has to struggle to keep them outstretched. Still he stays in the middle of the sigils until he can see a dense barrier of thistles in the mirror with wasps buzzing thickly among them. Only then does his drop his arms and step out of the spell, stumbling slightly but determined to go to Childermass as quickly as possible. ‘Do not touch any of this,’ he warns Anne and Penny, who are peering curiously into the mirror. He does not wait for their response before he heads for the stairs, climbing as fast as he can despite his exhaustion.

It feels like it takes him an hour to reach the top and make his way along the passage to Childermass’s room, though in truth is cannot be more than a few minutes. Still, Segundus has to support himself with one hand on the wall as he goes; he feels that all his energy has drained out of him and left him barely able to stand upright.

When he finally reaches Childermass’s room, he forces himself to take note of the mirror first and is reassured to see the thistles and wasps in it – no good only warding one mirror. Free to turn his attention to Childermass, he finds Charles and Peter have taken it upon themselves to change Childermass into his nightgown. Segundus wishes fervently that they had not; he cannot imagine Childermass will be comfortable with the idea of someone undressing him without his consent so soon after he was forced to play lover to a fairy.

Charles, seeing his evident exhaustion, solicitously brings him a chair and he sinks into it gratefully. He wants to sleep but he does not know why Childermass collapsed and cannot rest until he does. Hopefully the doctor will be here soon and will pronounce Childermass simply exhausted or suffering from lack of nourishment, but Segundus cannot rule out the possibility that it could be something magical. He is trying to bring together enough magical energy to do something, anything, when Mrs Hunt comes in with a tea tray.

‘You will eat all of this, sir’ she tells him severely. ‘We don’t want you collapsing as well.’ She sets the tray on the bed in front of him and Segundus takes a slice of toast to placate her. He finds the effort of chewing to be more difficult than it has every seemed before. Halfway though his first mouthful he suddenly finds the red wool from his cheek tangling with half-chewed toast on his tongue, and the sensation is so unexpected he spits it into his napkin without thinking. He takes a sip of tea to wash out the unpleasant woollen feeling, and in the process discovers how parched he is. The tea is slightly too hot but he gulps it down anyway, and under the watchful eye of Mrs Hunt, forces down the rest of the slice of toast. A second slice proves impossible – his stomach is too knotted with worry for it to sit comfortably.

The tea does something to revive him and after a few minutes Segundus finds he is a little more alert and can do more than fruitlessly worry. Accordingly he looks Childermass over as carefully as he can, half expecting to see a rose or brambles or some other sign of fairy enchantment. He cannot see anything, which is a great relief, but still there is something…

At this moment the doctor arrives, shown in by Susie. Mrs Hunt excuses herself, taking Susie with her as Segundus greets him. Doctor Sykes is a long, thin, lugubrious man who seems to have been made of some weighty substance. Certainly every movement looks to be a great effort and is performed very slowly. As he examines Childermass in his painfully ponderous way, Segundus has to bite his lip to prevent himself requesting him to please hurry up!

Eventually, Dr Sykes stands back from the bed and pronounces Childermass ‘well enough, though he could do with a few good meals.’ He cannot offer any explanation for Childermass having collapsed and suggests leaving Childermass to sleep and summoning him again if Childermass shews any other symptoms. Segundus thanks him and lets Charles shew him the way out; meanwhile, he returns with renewed determination to his magical examination.

Childermass’s magic feels the same, both in strength and in resonance. There is no feeling of the mirror-Starecross about him and when Segundus checks his discarded clothes there is no trace there either. Maybe it is just exhaustion.

Segundus returns to his chair by the bed. If it is just exhaustion, he could rest too. No one would think twice if he just leant forward and rested his head on the bed, close enough to Childermass to feel any change…

But something is still nagging at him. He doesn’t believe there is no magical cause. Childermass has persisted through much greater exhaustion, far greater pain, and to just collapse like that from escaping a fairy’s enchantment – Segundus cannot believe it.

Shaking himself to clear his head, Segundus reapplies himself to his examination of Childermass. Closing one eye, he observes Childermass with all his senses. Sight still shews no enchantment, and he cannot hear anything in the still room beyond his and Childermass’s breathing and the faint sounds of the garden beyond the window.

Half dizzy from the impropriety of the action, uncertain as to whether it will be of any use, he leans forward and takes a deep breath. Childermass smells as he has always done whenever Segundus has caught a hint of it; pipe smoke, sweat and the outdoors. How he comes to smell like the moor is a mystery, but it ties in with the feel of his magic – wide open spaces, cold wind, rock and plant and peat. Segundus wishes he could lean closer, keep inhaling the scent of Childermass, let it fill his lungs and his head, but that would be wrong, would be taking a liberty that Childermass has not agreed to. Segundus will not do that.

The next sense is taste... whispers a little voice in his head, and Segundus rocks back at the thought. The temptation to taste Childermass’s skin… no, he cannot even think of it. Childermass would be horrified, disgusted, completely repulsed if he knew the direction of Segundus’s thoughts. Were he to do so it would be just to gratify himself with no thought to Childermass’s feelings. How could he even consider it?

The last sense is touch, but that too presents problems. Segundus will not soon forget the way Childermass flinched away from him and he will not now force this on him. But touch is surely one of the more useful ways to determine any anomalies. Perhaps if he passed his hands above Childermass and used his magic to sense for problems?

Segundus feels he is relying on technicalities here, but he is sure there is something magically wrong with Childermass and he cannot think of another way to find the cause. So, fingers spread wide, he brings his hand to lie an inch or so above Childermass’s stomach, moving it gently across his body and pushing out a small pulse of magic to test Childermass’s aura.

His stomach feels fine, but there is a slight tingling in Segundus’s index finger and thumb that suggests there is something not right higher up Childermass’s body. Accordingly, Segundus moves his hand up towards Childermass’s chest, making sure to rise and fall with his diaphragm so as not to touch him while still keeping close. Moving his hand over the base of Childermass’s ribs the feeling grows stronger, a numb sensation like incipient frostbite. When Segundus reaches Childermass’s sternum the feeling has engulfed his whole hand. A little bit higher and Segundus snatches his hand away, recoiling with a gasp.

Where Childermass’s heart should be there is a hole in his aura.

After a minute of staring in confusion and shock Segundus puts his hand back, forcing himself to reach out with his magic and analyse the area. It feels numb against his skin, a deeply unsettling sensation as he knows it comes off a living person. It is a perfect hole about the size of his fist, but he can only feel it strongly for a few inches around the area; further away it just feels like a slight tingling. He can get no understanding of it other than blankness.

Bringing his hand back, he reaches again for Childermass’s wrist. This time he can feel the pulse, his own heartbeat not so overwhelming. Hesitating a little, darting a quick glance at Childermass’s unconscious face, Segundus reluctantly lays his hand on Childermass’s chest, right over the numb area. He cannot feel anything, not heat, not heartbeat. Checking Childermass’s pulse again, it feels slow but reassuringly strong, and Segundus breaths a little easier for the knowledge. Still, it cannot be a good sign to have a magical hole when the heart should be.

Could it have been the fairy? Segundus gets no sense of that, but he was very interested in Childermass’s heart. Though the fairy seemed to want the heart given to him rather than just taken by magic, and Childermass did not agree to give his heart to him. On top of that, Segundus’s spell should have removed any want Childermass had to follow the fairy’s orders…

The spell. Did something go wrong with the spell?

Segundus rises quickly, intending to find the letter in his study, but finds that the earlier effort leaves him still drained, and he is obliged to sink back into his chair so as not to fall over. Frustrated, he reaches for the bell-rope. Charles arrives within a minute, and Segundus surmises he must have been waiting for a call.

‘On my desk, there is a bundle of letters. Could you bring them up to me?’ Segundus asks him. Charles nods but looks concerned.

‘Would you be more comfortable in your room, sir? I could bring them to you there.’

The idea of leaving Childermass so soon after getting him back is deeply unpleasant. ‘Thank you Charles, I am quite well here.’ Charles doesn’t protest, but he does give the tea tray a pointed look as he leaves. Segundus, a little guiltily, pours himself another cup of tea and half-heartedly wonders about spells to bring tea back up to temperature and make uneaten toast disappear so as not to upset one’s servants.

Charles looks gratified to see Segundus drinking tea when he returns with the letters, though if he could see how quickly Segundus abandons it when the door closes behind him he might not be so pleased.

Segundus grabs the letters as soon as the door closes, rifling through them as fast as he can to find the one in which Mr Strange mentioned using the spell. The word Ormskirk jumps out at him and he grabs the corresponding sheet. It is the letter he is after.

...the bees especially were most unpleasant, though the iron nail was certainly the most painful. Placing my heart in a secret place proved the least difficult. I put my patient’s heart there as well. I could not say where he would have thought a safe place to be, but I would not have placed much store by it. As a cure for lunacy the spell is useless, but as a protection against enchantment it is capital!

I did not specify a place for Childermass’s heart, Segundus realises, stricken. What if he left it in the mirror house? Surely not. Segundus cannot believe anything there would have seemed safe to him.

But why then is he suddenly missing his heart? Certainly Mr Strange suffered no ill effects from the spell.

Gripping the arm of the chair firmly, Segundus pushes resolutely to his feet. He pauses for a second to find his balance then sets off across the floor. After the first few steps it gets easier and he continues out of the room and down to the library. Much as he would like to stay and watch over Childermass while he works it will be much easier to find the references he needs if he works downstairs rather than constantly requesting someone bring him this or that book.

In the library Segundus first pulls out Ormskirk’s Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds to check the original text. There is nothing there to help or that he has missed. Would the spell I used to find Childermass work? he wonders. Or perhaps the location spell? It is worth trying at least. And Childermass, with his habit and history of travelling, could have chosen almost anywhere to be his safe place.

The basin is, if he remembers correctly, in his study. He quickly checks the library to be certain; one of the maids could have moved it whilst dusting. He cannot see it, but he does find Childermass’s copy of Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds, left on the side table that sits between the chairs he and Segundus habitually occupy when working together. Childermass has an appalling habit of scribbling his thoughts into the margins of books when his memorandum book is not to be found quickly – Segundus has chided him for it on several occasions, and wondered aloud what Mr Norrell thought of the habit. The image never fails to bring a slightly guiltily satisfied feeling to Segundus and a secretive smile to Childermass’s face.

Segundus smiles as he thinks of this, and picks up the book to see if Childermass has had any thoughts on the spell. He has not. Never the less Segundus takes it with him to the study. It feels somewhat comforting to have this small piece of Childermass with him.

As soon as Segundus sits down at his desk, he feels it. Childermass’s magic; somewhere close by. Focussing all of his magical attention, he follows the trail to the second draw of his desk. Deeply puzzled, Segundus opens it. There is nothing in there but some spare pens and writing paper, and a small leather folio Childermass presented to Segundus on his last visit but one. The folio contains several loose sheets of vellum, illuminated in the Gothic style and containing two short legends, an account of a miracle performed by a saint and a story about an unnamed Christian, the first part of which is missing.

These papers hold no magical significance whatsoever, but Segundus prizes them above almost anything else; the study of old documents is a pastime he loves almost as much as magic, though it is rare that he has the opportunity to satisfy it. When Childermass presented him with the documents, written in old Latin, Segundus could hardly speak with pleasure. Childermass shrugged off his incoherent thanks, claiming them to have been given to him as payment for magical assistance rendered but of no use to him. When Segundus, hardly bearing to put voice to it, told him how much they would be worth to a collector and begged him to consider the value of the gift he was giving, Childermass only said they were doing as much good here as they would be in the collection of anyone else, and Segundus could not bring himself to tell him a second time.

The folio now is fairly pulsing with Childermass’s magic, and Segundus pulls it out with trembling fingers. When he opens the flat package, inside are the documents, safe as ever they were. Sitting on top of them, however, is a tiny gorse bush, not more than three inches in size but perfect in every way. The buds on it are just coming in to flower, and its roots are wound around a piece of weathered limestone.

‘Oh,’ Segundus says faintly. There is no doubt at all that this is Childermass’s heart.

Tenderly he picks it up, hardly daring to breath on it lest it disappear. It does not feel like a heart at all – it feels like a rock and a bush, both so full of Childermass’s magic that picking it up is like shocks of static electricity, or the air before a storm.

What was it doing in there? Segundus wonders distantly, too busy marvelling at the astonishing thing in his hands to give the question more than the slightest attention. As carefully as he can he stands up, using both hands to cup the fragile wonder rather than risk dropping it. Taking one hand away to open the door feels like the most dangerous thing he has ever done; putting his hand back the greatest relief he has ever felt.

Walking through the house as carefully as he possibly can, he makes his way to the room where Childermass is lying, waiting to be reunited with his heart. He passes Anne on the way, and the odd look she gives his cupped hands tells him that she cannot see what he carries – something he is selfishly grateful for. This is Childermass’s heart. It to too precious for just anyone to see.

Childermass is exactly as Segundus left him, chest still rising and falling steadily. Carefully, Segundus places the stone and gorse bush in the centre of the numb patch on Childermass’s sternum and steps back.

Nothing happens.

Frowning with confusion, Segundus gingerly extends a finger and tests the numb patch. It does not feel numb any more – the hole in Childermass’s aura is filled by the stone and the gorse bush. Yet they are still clearly not at one with Childermass’s body, and Childermass still hasn’t woken up.

The only thing Segundus can think of is to use Pale’s Restoration and Reunification. He pulls the needles out of the lapel of his coat where he had placed them when, so long ago, he went through the mirror to find Childermass. Tying them together and holding them above Childermass’s chest, he recites the spell.

Nothing happens.

Still confused and now beginning to be alarmed, Segundus wonders what else he can try. The dissolution spell is out of the question. It might harm Childermass and that is the last thing Segundus wants.

Segundus does not know what to do. There are other spells for joining, but Pale’s is the most common and most successful – if it does not work, then it is unlikely anything else will. His first instinct is to go and search through his books, but on this occasion he is not sure books will help him. This feels more elemental. The only other option is to try and do it himself, without help, without a spell. Pure willpower.

Segundus hesitates. This sort of thing is more Childermass’s area than his own. He works best from books, from a solid framework. He has never been the type to force his will onto others and to try and start with Childermass, possibly the most stubborn man in Yorkshire… He is not certain he is up to the task.

But there is no one else.

Do the magic, Mr Segundus. Childermass’s words on the day they removed Lady Pole’s enchantment. Segundus swallows. He will do the magic.

Gathering magical focus seems to take more effort this time. He is still feeling the effects of putting so much power into the warden spell. He starts small, uncertain how much persuasion will be required to convince Childermass’s heart to return to its rightful home. He essays a small push of magic. The gorse bush sits quite contentedly where it is. A slightly larger push has no effect either, so he begins amassing more. It gets harder as he goes but he keeps gathering and gathering, keeps going even as he begins to shiver, as his eyesight begins to dim and the room seems to fill with shadows. He keeps going until every breath feels like a painful surge in his lungs and he cannot hold himself straight. Then he leans forwards and gently, so gently, as gently as possible, feeds the first tendrils of magic into the rock, into the gorse bush, telling them firmly to get back into place, back into Childermass’s chest and merge once more into a whole. He keeps feeding magic in as the rock begins to sink from view, fading as it does. Segundus keeps up the magical feed until he can see only the brightest part of the very tip of the last bud, and as that slips into Childermass’s chest, the last of his energy leaves Segundus and darkness slips over him.

Segundus wakes in his own bed, in his nightgown and with a headache to rival any of his worst. Somewhere in the back of his mind is the thought that there is something he should be worried about but it is buried under the pain and currently inaccessible. Grateful for the darkness in the room, he turns his head back to the pillow and tries to fall back asleep.

When he wakes again light is edging in around the shutters, the nauseating pounding in his head has receded to a manageable throb and he remembers what he was so worried about.

Getting out of bed makes the pounding in his head worse. Ignoring it, he pulls his wrapper on over his nightgown and hurries out of the room. The room Childermass uses is only three doors along, and Segundus has to stop himself from bursting in without knocking. His knock goes unanswered.

Uncertain, Segundus pushes open the door. Did restoring Childermass’s heart work and he is out, or is he still lying unconscious?

Out, appears to be the answer. The room is empty of life, but Segundus can see Childermass’s coat thrown over a chair. He has not left entirely then.

Relief worsens the pounding in Segundus’s head, and he retreats back towards his room. Childermass is awake and well and Segundus can see him for himself as soon as he gets dressed. Unfortunately for this plan, Mrs Hunt catches him before he can reach his room and attempts to convince him back to bed, telling him that after working himself to the bone and sleeping for a day and a night he is in no fit state to be running about yet. It is only with a great deal of effort that he manages to convince her that he is perfectly well and able to eat in the dining room. She gives him an extremely disbelieving look but Segundus will not give in and she is forced to agree to put out luncheon downstairs.

Segundus dresses as quickly as possible and rushes down to find Childermass. Checking the library and study provides no hint of him, nor does the parlour, breakfast or dining rooms. Segundus is bracing himself to go out in the too-bright sunlight to search the garden when Childermass appears in the doorway.

‘I thought you were up,’ he comments, a little cryptically. ‘Is that Godbless’s Warden in all the mirrors?’

‘It is still working?’ Segundus asks, a little anxiously. He did not even stop to check, so keen was he to find Childermass.

‘It looks to be,’ Childermass replies, coming closer and peering at Segundus in an unfamiliar way. ‘Might I ask why you felt the need to drain yourself putting it in place?’

Segundus is sure his surprize must be written large on his face. ‘You do not remember the fairy?’

‘Aye, I remember it,’ Childermass looks grim. ‘Or I remember bits of it. How long was I trapped? Charles tells me I was not gone above two days, but it felt like much longer.’

‘The fairy said a week,’ Segundus tells him, feeling once again the repulsion he felt at the fairy’s doings. Childermass nods.

‘Have you eaten?’ he asks Segundus abruptly. Segundus makes to wave the question off but Childermass does not drop it. ‘You must have something to eat, or at least some water. I can see you have a headache.’ He does not wait for Segundus to reply but leads the way into the dining room. Reluctant to lose sight of Childermass just yet, Segundus follows.

Childermass is putting together a plate of bread, cheese and cold meat with his customary efficiency. Segundus goes to make a plate of his own when Childermass shakes his head and pushes him towards a seat, placing the food in front of him. ‘Eat,’ he tells Segundus gruffly.

‘Will you not join me?’ Segundus asks, not touching the food. Despite his stomach’s loud protests, if Childermass is going to work elsewhere, Segundus is bound and determined to follow him.

Childermass nods and begins to assemble a plate of his own and Segundus begins to eat his food. There is silence for a few minutes as Segundus assuages the worst of his hunger, but eventually he pushes his plate aside and turns to Childermass. ‘What do you remember?’

Childermass, who has been barely picking at his own food, pushes his plate away too. ‘I used the King’s Roads on the way out without problem, the same on the way back until I got to Starecross. The door to the mirror in the entrance hall lead to a different place, like Starecross but reversed. I tried to get back onto the Roads but something stopped me. It was probably the fairy. I did not notice his magic until too late. He looked like you, but there was something off...’ Childermass pauses, and Segundus wonders what he is remembering. Childermass continues before he can ask. ‘He must have been using strong magic, because after a day or so it seemed perfectly natural to be there and I did not think of using my own magic at all. I do not know what he wanted.’ Childermass falls silent, and Segundus knows well enough what the fairy wanted to fill in that pause, but he is uncertain as to whether the knowledge would be welcome.

‘I was not really aware of time passing,’ Childermass continues. ‘I began to forget how things should be. Then you appeared and suddenly the fairy seemed less -’ he breaks off, and part of Segundus would love to hear what word Childermass intended. Real? Pleasant? Attractive? But there are less pleasant words that could be put in the sentence too, and perhaps it is best for it to end where it does. ‘How did you find me?’ Childermass asks, breaking into Segundus’s thoughts.

Segundus takes a deep breath and begins to tell Childermass about it; the location spells first when Childermass did not return, the attempts to find him by visions or by searching. The summoning spell which lead to the discovery of the doll, at which Childermass snorts. ‘You tried to summon me to you, and instead it took you to a version of me? That is a peculiarly you thing to do.’ Childermass is very interested in the doll and poses many questions that Segundus is unable to answer. Then the King’s Roads, and Childermass is somewhat put out that Segundus was not caught by the fairy. Segundus is not surprized. I make a much less attractive prey. He does not voice this thought. Finally Segundus describes the path to heart’s desire, not quite phrasing it in that way. ‘I followed the trail attached to the doll,’ he explains, ‘and it lead me through the mirror and up to you.’

Childermass frowns. ‘I do not remember this. I would have liked to examine the doll.’

‘You were asleep when I arrived,’ Segundus tells him, not mentioning where he was asleep. ‘The fairy told me you would not wake and forced me out of the room.’

Childermass doesn’t reply to this, head turned away, and Segundus can feel his stomach tightening. He does not like that I know what the fairy did to him.

I will not say anything unless he does first, Segundus vows. Childermass is not a man to willingly shew weakness or vulnerability and if he knew that Segundus had seen it would make things decidedly awkward between them.

‘When you came out in the morning,’ Segundus carries on as though he has not noticed Childermass’s uncomfortable demeanour, ‘I tried to speak to you but you did not recognise me. In the end it was the spell to end enchantment in Ormskirk that freed you.’

‘I remember that,’ Childermass agrees. ‘It was not a pleasant way to wake. And I remember coming back through the mirror, but nothing after that.’ He shoots Segundus a sideways look and Segundus swallows. Should he tell Childermass about his missing heart? He probably should.

‘I made a small mistake with the spell,’ he admits. ‘I did not specify where the heart should be hidden, and I think in your… eagerness to be free of the fairy, perhaps more of your heart went than should have.’ He swallows again. ‘There was a hole, in your aura.’ It is difficult to say. What if he had not happened to find Childermass’s heart again? ‘I found it in my desk drawer.’ His voice is so quiet as to be almost inaudible, but clearly Childermass hears it. There is a stricken look on his face, hidden very quickly. Does he blame me for not taking more care? Segundus wonders unhappily.

Neither of them speaks for long minutes.

‘What do you intend to do about the fairy?’ Childermass asks at long last. Segundus, grateful for the topic change, tells him he has no idea.

‘I did not think beyond setting the ward. I was too worried about...’ he trails off, wanting to kick himself for bringing it up again. He hurries on. ‘Have you any ideas?’

Childermass is good enough not to say anything about Segundus’s blunder. ‘I do not know anything at present, but there may be something we can use among our papers.’

Segundus is grateful beyond measure that Childermass does not intend to disappear off on his own. So soon after his being trapped, Segundus thinks he would be forced to sit in his room with scrying spell to ensure Childermass didn’t vanish again if Childermass decided he did not want Segundus’s help. ‘I will fetch my papers and join you in the library, if that pleases you?’

Childermass nods and Segundus hurries from the room, intent only on finding a way to deal with the fairy and putting the whole mess behind them.

His headache has receded mostly into the background by the time he joins Childermass, the lessening in tension helping immensely. They settle down to work, occasionally reading something aloud or making a suggestion or observation. Presently Childermass sets his book aside.

‘What I wonder,’ he comments, pulling out his pipe and apparently talking to it, ‘is what the fairy wanted with me? I remember something about staying with him but I cannot believe I am that congenial a companion.’

Segundus’s first instinct is to leap to Childermass’s defence: you are indeed a congenial companion! I can think of none better! But this must very much remain something he keeps to himself. Especially considering what he now has to tell Childermass.

‘He wanted – he was intending to take… your heart,’ Segundus finally manages to get out. Across from him, Childermass is suddenly very still. Segundus forces himself to finish what he has to say. ‘He said you had given him your eyes and your – your lips,’ Segundus can feel himself flushing vividly but pushes on, ‘and that he wanted your heart and hands, that they were the parts touched by the Raven King.’ In fairness, Segundus thinks he should add that the fairy intended the same for himself. ‘He wanted my heart as well, though it was -’ too late he remembers that the fairy wanted his heart in order to snare Childermass’s, and how he taunted Segundus that Childermass did not want him. ‘- Was not his primary interest,’ he finishes awkwardly.

Childermass does not say anything to this, and Segundus waits in an agony of expectation until he turns back to the book he was reading. ‘Not very helpful,’ is all Childermass says.

Segundus continues to examine books and papers for another hour or so, but the return of his worry has also brought the return of his headache and eventually Childermass tells him to go to bed. ‘You are no use to me like this,’ he tells Segundus, and Segundus, disheartened, agrees and leaves him to it. He feels of very little use to Childermass in general. It will surely not be very long before he calls an end to this stay, Segundus thinks with resignation as he climbs the stairs. I doubt he will stay to the end of the week. I have made things very awkward for him.

Everything feels far more difficult than it should do, as though he is weighted down with iron chains. Despite his tiredness, it is a long time before Segundus manages to calm his mind enough to sleep.

Habit, expectation and the knowledge that hiding under the bedclothes has never worked before are the only things that get Segundus out of bed the next morning. The heaviness of spirit that he felt the night before still persists.

Childermass comes to the breakfast table with an open memorandum book. ‘Draoidheil-uadhag,’ he begins with. ‘There was a passage on it in Holgarth and Pickle’s Curiose Observations upon the Anatomie of Faeries that I had taken notes on. I found it last night once I knew what to look for.’ He passes the book over without Segundus needing to ask.

Childermass’s handwriting is beautifully legible. A draoidheil-uadhag will inhabit any magical place it can, unless driven out by spells. Drawing power from its surroundings, it will capture and feed from any unwary magician. Deprived of a food source it has little power of its own and will often take on the shape of something dear to the magician to entice him in. Once the magician is caught the draoidheil-uadhag will attempt to remove by persuasion the chief magical centres of the body, these being the hands, eyes, lips and heart, and consume them.

Segundus pushes the book away, feeling a little faint and sick. He knows what the fairy intended to do; he does not need it spelled out.

‘I believe I have also found an explanation for the place I was trapped in,’ Childermass adds with a kind of grim offhandedness, passing another book to Segundus. This is a book Segundus has noticed once or twice in the Starecross library; a history of Starecross that he has only skimmed.

The book talks about a magician in the Argentine age who was frustrated by visitors constantly arriving in the house by the King’s Roads without warning, and set up a waiting room for them to stay in until they were collected by a member of the household. He created the doll’s house as a way of letting people know someone had arrived – a doll of them appeared when they were in the mirror house.

‘Apparently Starecross recognises you as its master,’ Childermass comments. ‘That would explain why you were not trapped too.’

‘I am not the master of Starecross,’ Segundus protests. ‘Mrs Lennox should surely be the one -’

‘I doubt Starecross responds solely to property deeds,’ Childermass interjects dryly. ‘You after all are the one living here and working magic in it.’

‘Still,’ Segundus says, genuinely distressed, ‘it is not right.’

Childermass looks at him unreadably. ‘I would suggest we undo the spell,’ he comments. ‘It would be a poor idea to leave it up for a pupil to become trapped in.’

‘Oh indeed!’ Segundus agrees. He had not even thought of that yet. ‘Do you think it can be done?’
Childermass nods. ‘We will need to remove the draoidheil-uadhag first.’

‘Yes,’ Segundus echoes. The thought fills him with dread. Could the fairy entrap Childermass again? Will it say something to him that would shew him Segundus’s regard is more than friendly? But he cannot leave Childermass to do this alone. He will have to go too. He rallies. ‘Have you any ideas?’

Childermass shrugs. ‘Godbless’s warden seems to be keeping him from following us; something of that nature I think. I suspect Starecross, even a mirror copy, will give you some assistance.’

Segundus feels once more his helpless ignorance of much of the magic done by the Aureate magicians. ‘I do not know much of Godbless’s magic,’ he confesses. ‘There was an article in a periodical, I forget which, that talked about his Warden, but I have not seen more than passing references.’

‘Aye,’ Childermass agrees. ‘I have read some, but I do not think he wrote a book, or if he did I have not seen it. But he placed great importance on a correspondence between the magician and nature. An entreaty to the stones might work.’

‘That is more your magic,’ Segundus says ruefully. ‘You have an affinity to the magic of the earth and the moors – the stones will listen to you more than me. But would they not feel some loyalty to the fairy?’

‘I do not think so,’ Childermass says, with some consideration. ‘I was only truly aware of the atmosphere for a short time, but I could feel the unhealthiness in the air. I do not think any part of Starecross likes him.’

Segundus, on reflection, finds himself agreeing. ‘Then an appeal to the stones, but I cannot think that will be enough. Is there anything else to appeal to? I do not think there was anything else alive there to ask.’

‘Improvise then,’ Childermass shrugs. ‘Something for closing and binding, and an epitome of repulsion. There is a spell for keeping mice out of a larder that we can use. It is not Godbless but I think it will work.’

‘That sounds perhaps a little weak,’ Segundus ventures doubtfully. ‘A draoidheil-uadhag has more strength than a mouse.’

Childermass gives him his familiar twisted smile and Segundus feels a knot in his chest loosen at the sight. Things are easing, Childermass is falling back into his usual attitude. He is not dismissing Segundus completely. ‘I think,’ Childermass tells him mock sincerely, ‘that the two of us are more than a match for one fairy.’

Segundus is not so sure, but he will follow Childermass’s lead and do everything he can to keep Childermass out of the fairy’s grasp.

Building the spell to remove the fairy is simple enough, but finding a basis for use in dispelling the mirror-Starecross is more tricky. Childermass believes something along the lines of a spell for banishing illusions would work, where as Segundus thinks that the mirror house is too long established and that a spell for unpicking bindings would be of more use. However, as neither of them knows such a spell they begin with the illusion spell. Both agree that something of folding and closing should be inserted, but neither can agree on a specific form. Segundus also feels they should put in an epitome of healing into the construction, while Childermass thinks it pointless and wants instead something to assist with merging. Segundus most emphatically does not want the mirror-Starecross to merge with the real one, but Childermass intends to merge it with the King’s Roads. Segundus thinks this will not please the Raven King. There are no two points that they can agree on, and the debate gets heated.

In short, it is a most enjoyable afternoon.

By the time they come to an agreement and make the spell it has grown full dark. Childermass and Segundus check the ward together and seeing that it is holding firm, decide to wait until it is light. Segundus has to try hard to conceal the relief he feels at the delay; he is still not comfortable with the idea of confronting the fairy. There is too much that could go wrong.

‘Might I suggest keeping something red on our persons?’ he proposes to Childermass. Childermass nods.

‘Aye, a good idea. Anything else you suggest?’

Segundus gives it some consideration. ‘Not really. It is difficult to plan without knowing what may happen, and -’

‘And it would be pointless to bring things without a planned use,’ Childermass agrees. ‘Very well. Something red is simple enough.’

‘I used red wool before,’ Segundus offers, and Childermass looks at him curiously.

‘You did not say that.’

‘Oh.’ Segundus thinks back. In hindsight, he may have left out telling Childermass about the red wool on his tongue as it was too close to telling him all the fairy said. He certainly cannot specifically recall saying it. ‘Well,’ he continues, rallying, ‘I said some things that the fairy did not like, and he spelled my tongue still. I put red wool in my cheek to counter it.’

Childermass looks highly amused. ‘You? Insulted a fairy? Well, this is unexpected. I did not think you had it in you.’

The teasing is light-hearted, but Segundus cannot help but feel a slither of shame at the words. It is true that he is not a bold person, caring naught for the opinions of others and speaking as he pleases. To someone as plain-spoken and uncaring as Childermass, he must seem a very paltry fellow indeed.

Something of his thoughts must shew on his face for Childermass pauses. ‘I did not mean anything by it,’ he says, a little gruffly. ‘I know very well you can speak your mind when called to. I remember the words you had for me when I told you Mr Norrell would not allow you a school here, and again when I told you that you might start one. You only do not lose your temper over every slight thing, and that is not a fault.’

Segundus nods, a little diffidently still, but Childermass does not stop. ‘I am very thankful you found me there. Someone with no courage would not have tried. Insulting a fairy is the least of your feats.’

Segundus does not feel that this was a very courageous act; more desperation. He is not sure how he could cope without visits from Childermass. Certainly he would be exceedingly unhappy. Things seem much more dull without him around. Segundus cannot imagine Childermass considers him nearly so important in return, but Segundus considers Childermass one of his dearest friends. Not to find him would have been unthinkable.

Childermass must sense that Segundus is discomforted by this proclamation and changes the subject. Tipping his head towards the library, he asks if Segundus can spare him some more time. ‘I have an article I would like your opinion on, if you would.’

Transparent though this is, Segundus does not hesitate to agree. Any time he can spend with Childermass is welcome. ‘Gladly,’ he tells him. ‘And if you will, I would like your thoughts on an idea for an article I had.’

Childermass smiles. ‘Let us return to the library then. What is your idea?’ He leads the way, Segundus telling him about the article he is planning, and they settle back into their customary chairs, papers and books piled around for easy reach. In due course they migrate to the dining room then back to the library as time slips away under the pleasure of resumed magical debate.

It is not until the clock strikes eleven that Childermass calls an end. ‘We must be up early tomorrow to deal with the fairy. I do not like leaving him any longer than we must.’ He makes for the door. ‘Are you coming?’

‘In a minute,’ Segundus says, not looking up from his book. He wants to go over the spell again, just to make sure. If they get it wrong, and the fairy gets his hands on Childermass’s heart… well, Segundus does not know what he will do.

Childermass gives him a long look. Segundus can feel the weight of his regard even without seeing it. ‘Go to bed, Mr Segundus,’ Childermass tells him at last. ‘The spell is as good as we can make it, and you will be of more use tomorrow if you are rested than if you yawn in the middle.’

Abashed, Segundus glances up automatically. Childermass’s smile, when he catches his gaze, is really quite kind.

‘Very well then,’ Segundus agrees, and stands from his chair. Childermass stays where he is, watching him, and his eyes still feel heavy on Segundus. He shivers a little, tries to conceal it as he crosses the room. When Childermass looks at him like this, attention fully on him, Segundus can almost fool himself into thinking there is more to Childermass’s gaze. Interest, desire, maybe even affection…

But he is fooling himself if he thinks that. Childermass does not look at him that way, and even if he might have once, his recent experience with the fairy will have soured any thoughts of that nature. And so Segundus will go up to his room and his empty bed and pretend that he does not selfishly wish Childermass would join him there, even if just for one night. He puts the thought from his mind, passes by Childermass without allowing himself to inhale his scent or pay any more attention to the closeness of his body, how warm it seems, how his hands might feel if they let go of the door and instead gripped Segundus’s jaw, turned his face to meet Childermass’s lips… He does not think of any of these things. Not in the slightest bit.

The walk up the stairs to his bedchamber seems immensely long with Childermass at his back.

Morning finds Segundus heavy-eyed. Restless dreams broke his sleep too often, alternating images of Childermass’s hands tormenting him pleasurably with images of Childermass and the fairy, and thoughts of Childermass lying unconscious on the floor as the fairy eats his heart.

All in all, it was not the most restful of nights.

Childermass looks at him with some concern when he comes in to the breakfast table but he does not make any comment. Segundus is grateful for this; he is not in a state to have Childermass doubting him. His stomach is alive with nerves, and he simultaneously wants to get it finished as soon as possible and delay it indefinitely. The spell is beside him on the table and he reads over it again surreptitiously as Childermass fills his plate.

He is startled when a plate is set down on top of the spell and his reading is interrupted by rolls and butter. He looks at Childermass questioningly.

‘Eat,’ Childermass tells him sternly. ‘I do not want to be doing this and worrying that you will collapse in the middle.’

A little stung but more worried that Childermass will decide to go without him, Segundus manages to nibble his way through a plain roll. Later, if they manage this, he will be exceedingly hungry, but nerves steal his appetite and anything more than this at the moment will only make him nauseous. Childermass does not look satisfied with this meagre amount but he does not protest and all too soon Segundus finds himself standing in the entrance hall facing the mirror.

Part of yesterday’s preparations involved working out a way for both of them to step through the mirror and into the mirror-Starecross. It was decided that Segundus, as the unofficial master of Starecross, should read the spell, a modification of the dissolution and path-finding spell for the King’s Roads but with a different destination in mind. Accordingly, Segundus stands in front of the mirror and stares at his own reflection. By his feet, the thistle has wilted greatly though the wasp is unchanged. In the mirror the barrier of thistles is still standing strong and Segundus looks as if he is standing at the front of a field of thistles and haloed by wasps.

He first dismisses the ward spell, thanking the thistle and the wasp for their service and promising to bury them with honour and thanks. Then he speaks the spell and, when the mirror gives its minute shiver, steps forward and presses through, Childermass at his heels.

Inside the mirror-Starecross the light still has the same pale look as before though the hour is later. The entrance hall feels as unhealthily clammy and close as on the previous occasion, but this time the unwholesome atmosphere is not what Segundus focusses on. His attention is arrested by a shape on the floor in front of him. It reminds him uneasily of a growth, though there is still a suggestion of humanity about it.

Behind him, Childermass steps out of the mirror and immediately comes to stand beside him, attention directed to the lump as well. Segundus does not think he imagines the slight shiver of revulsion Childermass betrays before controlling himself and stepping forward.

As he does, the shape on the floor quivers, then lurches sideways and finally staggers upright, shewing it to be the draoidheil-uadhag. The fairy looks nothing like Segundus now. ‘You came back,’ he croaks. There is a feeling of chittering on the edge of his voice, on the edge of hearing. ‘Have you come to make a bargain?’

Childermass and Segundus both look at him in matched confusion and disgust. The fairy ignores Childermass and speaks only to Segundus. ‘I will bargain with you, if you like,’ he tells Segundus. ‘Give me his heart and you can have his body.’

Segundus lurches backwards in panic and horror. The fairy takes a step towards him, ignoring Childermass completely. ‘I have seen you,’ the fairy whispers across the space between them. ‘At night, in your room, I watched you through your mirror. You lust for him. I have seen you, taking yourself in hand and crying out his name when you think there is no one to hear. Let me have his heart, and you can have him in your bed for as long as you desire.’

Segundus feels sick and weak and horrified, filled with shame and stripped bare. Childermass is hearing all this. A distant part of him cannot believe his fears are coming true; the rest of him is trying not to be sick, or faint, or turn to Childermass and beg him not to listen. ‘No...’ he protests weakly, swallowing back the nausea. ‘I do not want him like that...’ It does not sound convincing. The fairy takes another step forward.

‘All I want is his heart,’ he says, coaxing and chittering. Segundus finds his voice.

‘Never! You will not have him!’ He swallows again and begins the words of the spell. After a beat Childermass’s voice joins his, strong and harsh against Segundus’s. The fairy cringes back, holding out entreating hands to Segundus, but it is too late. The last words of the spell are spoken and the fairy writhes, shrivelling in on himself and beginning to fade. With a last cry - ‘Just his heart!’ - he vanishes.

Segundus swallows. ‘I cannot feel it any more,’ he manages, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Childermass nod. Segundus cannot bring himself to look at Childermass, does not think he can bear the disgust he will see. He turns and makes his way to the mirror, speaking the dissolution spell and stepping through. He does not wait for Childermass but rushes to his study and collapses at his desk, breathing hard to try and keep the nausea in check.

Behind him, the door opens, and Segundus stills. He can feel Childermass, feel his aura and magic, but does not want to hear him speak. There is a long pause.

‘We need to dismantle the mirror trap,’ Childermass says at last. Segundus breaths out shakily and nods, standing. He walks to the door, still making sure not to look at Childermass directly. Childermass backs away before Segundus reaches him, and pain claws at Segundus’s chest. It will be this way then. As he expected.

‘You don’t have to help,’ Segundus tells him dully. ‘I can do it alone.’

‘I will finish this,’ is all Childermass says before he walks away down the passage. After a second, Segundus forces himself to follow.

Removing the mirror-Starecross is done in absolute silence, the only words spoken those of the spell. When they finish, Childermass begins the spell for entry to the King’s Roads, and Segundus speaks up for the first time to stop him.

‘I will check,’ he insists, and doesn’t wait for Childermass to argue. In any case there is no disagreement. Segundus completes the spell that would allow him into the mirror house and steps through the mirror. He comes out onto the King’s Roads, which are the same as they were before. There is no feeling of the mirror-Starecross about them and the empty, solemn stillness is welcome after the taught silence in the hall. For a minute Segundus allows himself to feel the full weight of his misery and loss. This is the end of his friendship with Childermass. Childermass cannot bear to speak to Segundus; Segundus cannot bring himself to look at Childermass’s face and see his disgust. Childermass will leave, by the end of the day most likely. It is exactly what Segundus feared.

He gives himself another minute to lean his head against the cold stone of the Roads and simply breathe, locking back all emotion, before he forces himself upright and back out through the mirror. He pays close attention but there is no sign of the mirror-Starecross. ‘It is gone,’ he informs the buttons on Childermass’s waistcoat when he steps out of the mirror.

The buttons retreat a few steps. Segundus uses the small distance to rush forward and past, fleeing to the sanctuary of the library. He sits first in his chair but it is too close to the chair he considers as Childermass’s, and the papers they looked at together the night before are scattered about between them. The sight of them pricks holes in his chest and he has to swallow back a great surge of unhappiness.

The door creaks open and Segundus is torn as to whether or not to look. Should he face Childermass while he takes his leave?

‘Sorry sir,’ Penny’s voice comes from the doorway. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb.’

‘Do not worry,’ Segundus tells her. ‘I was just leaving.’ He wants to be alone, and there may be things in here that Childermass wishes to collect before he leaves. Segundus will go out to the garden where there will be some measure of privacy and much less chance of Childermass appearing.

The bright sun grates on his unhappiness, but as he makes his way deeper into the garden the busy sounds of nature are welcome after the awful silence of the house. There is a spot to the back of the gardens, secluded and shaded, that Segundus has occasionally used to find some balance within himself after a long day. It will not provide the much needed serenity today, but it has the advantage of being unknown to Childermass, and Segundus can hide here.

It would be a good place to bury the thistle and the wasp, he notes absently. That is a task for later though. There is no rush.

He takes a seat on the grass. The dew has long since burnt off and the ground is dry and hard from the long weeks with little rain. The shade of the trees overhead is very welcome and he lets his eyes slip closed. He will not cry – past experience has taught him there is no point, and the thought of sitting here snivelling is faintly loathsome.

There are possible consequences he has not yet considered, beyond Childermass’s disgust. There is no evidence other than the fairy’s words and Segundus’s reaction to them, so prosecution is unlikely, but there are other possibilities. If Childermass writes to Mrs Lennox… Segundus does not know whether Childermass would, but he cannot discount it.

He does not want to dwell on what is to come or on the uncomfortable thoughts of what has happened and so he suppresses everything unpleasant, pushes it down with practised discipline until he is left with blank emptiness. When he opens his eyes again the internal unrest has quieted somewhat but the control is tenuous at best.

He is not sure how long he sits there before boots appear at the edge of his vision, and Segundus realises the time has arrived. ‘You are leaving,’ he says, trying to sound composed about it.

The boots do not move. Segundus nods, filling in the other side of the exchange well enough. ‘Goodbye then, sir. If I might… ask something of you,’ he continues, more than a little awkward, ‘I would ask you to keep what you have heard to yourself.’

There is still silence.

‘I promise you, I would never… the pupils are… you need not worry about them,’ he finishes, rushed and unclear. He waits for Childermass’s verdict, distress rising again. If Childermass thinks he could…

From above him, he hears a long sigh. The boots move, and Childermass settles on the ground in front of Segundus. Steeling himself, Segundus looks up at Childermass’s face. He expects disgust, perhaps anger or even pity, but Childermass’s face is expressionless. Segundus says nothing and waits for Childermass’s verdict.

Childermass sighs again. ‘I would not believe a fairy if they told me that John Uskglass was the Raven King. Why do you think I would believe this one?’

Segundus looks at him in shock. ‘Have you not noticed how I look at you?’ bursts out before he can stop it. He claps a hand over his mouth, horrified. Here Childermass is, giving him the benefit of the doubt, and Segundus has thrown it away!

‘I-I mean...’ he stammers, trails off. How can he reverse this?

Childermass sighs for a third time, and leans back on his hands, staring up at the trees above. ‘Many men,’ he says, apparently addressing the leaves, ‘live their whole lives never admitting their inversion. Some men accept it and seek others of their own kind. Neither of these things makes a man wicked unless they push their attentions on the unwilling, nor does it make them any more inclined to prey on children.’ Still looking at the trees, he finishes with; ‘Do you understand me?’

Segundus breaths out a shaky breath of relief. ‘Thank you,’ he manages horsely. ‘I swear, I will not speak another word of it to you.’

Childermass looks frustrated. ‘There is no harm in two men finding companionship together, as long as both are willing.’ He places more emphasis on the last few words and Segundus looks at him in some confusion.

‘I take your meaning, sir. You will not find yourself troubled.’

Childermass closes his eyes in a look of extreme exasperation, then suddenly pushes himself upwards and lunges forward. His lips collide with Segundus’s in a moment of startled confusion, and Segundus finds himself kissing Childermass, quite unexpectedly fiercely. He pulls away with a cry of distress. ‘Sorry, I – I am sorry, sir!’ he gasps, horrified at his behaviour.

Childermass leans forwards again as Segundus scrambles back. What is he doing? shrieks a hysterical part of Segundus’s brain.

Childermass sits back as well. ‘If you do not want this,’ he says, voice devoid of inflection, ‘then simply say. As I said, there are many men who do not admit to their inversion and nothing should happen if both are not willing.’

Segundus cannot think. This is all too sudden. His world has turned inside out then inside out again all in the space of an hour or two. ‘Please, let me think,’ he pleads weakly. Childermass looks at him for a minute then nods.

‘Very well. I will be in my room if you want to speak to me. If you do not, we need never refer to this again.’ He does not wait for Segundus to speak, standing and walking away almost before Segundus has understood his words.

Segundus collapses back onto the grass, head whirling. He closes his eyes against the dizziness but it does not help. What is going on? Why did Childermass say those things? Could he possibly be... interested in Segundus?

Do not be ridiculous, he chides himself sharply. A man like Childermass? Even if he is inverted, which Segundus now accepts could have some possibility to it, a man like Childermass could easily find a lover far more prepossessing than John Segundus.

Why then would he have said those things? Segundus racks his brain and comes to the sickening realisation that he can think of only one reason: gratitude. Childermass feels he owes Segundus a debt for releasing him from the mirror-Starecross, and with the fairy’s words he now feels he should repay it in this way, no matter how distasteful the thought may be. Willing does not necessarily mean enthusiastic.

And Segundus cannot believe the thought to be anything other than distasteful, given that it was Segundus’s guise the fairy wore when he forced Childermass to play his lover.

A low moan of distress breaks out of Segundus’s throat before he can stop it. Childermass, forced through magic into relations with the fairy, then forcing himself to offer the same to Segundus. No! cries out everything in Segundus. To make him do that; it is monstrous! He pushes himself unsteadily to his feet and hurries to the house. He cannot leave Childermass fearing that any longer than he can help.

He does not meet any of the servants as he hurries through the house; a mercy for which he is grateful, as he does not think he could disguise his distress from them. Knocking on Childermass’s door, he hardly waits to be bidden to enter before he bursts through.

Childermass is in the act of rising from the chair as Segundus enters; a brief look of surprize and the beginnings of a smile cross his face before he registers Segundus’s expression. Then all emotion is hidden.

Segundus is too agitated to wait for Childermass to speak first. He hurries across the room, careless of the door slamming behind him, hand half outstretched in entreaty, and is about to grasp Childermass’s arm before he thinks better of it. ‘Mr Childermass, please, I beg of you, give no thought to any debt you feel you owe me! There is nothing owing! You need not make yourself do anything against your will – indeed, I ask you most sincerely not to even think of it!’

Childermass’s expression, initially blank, has grown perplexed over the course of Segundus’s speech. Now he looks down at Segundus, searching his face as if checking for something. Segundus contrives to look as sincere as possible.

There appears to be a slight lightening to Childermass’s features, though Segundus cannot think why that should be. ‘Do I take it then, sir, that you find my proposal to be of interest?’ Childermass asks slowly. ‘That you would be interested in a liaison with me?’

‘No!’ Segundus cries, horrified, and Childermass’s face turns stony and expressionless once more.

‘My mistake,’ he says, voice devoid of inflection, and Segundus realises in a wild moment that he and Childermass are talking at cross-purposes.

‘Wait, sir,’ he forces out, and Childermass waits. ‘I meant – it is my fault – I do not want to force myself on you – do not feel obliged – after your ordeal,’ he manages to get out eventually, ‘how can you look upon me without disgust?’

Now Childermass looks faintly puzzled behind his mask of indifference. ‘Why should I look on you with disgust?’

‘The fairy – draoidheil-uadhag – looked like me, and he tricked you – forced you...’ he cannot finish the sentence.

Childermass, however, seems to get the meaning of it, and his face clears. ‘He did not force me,’ he informs Segundus almost gently. ‘I do not think he had the strength, or else it was part of the magic that he could not. And I...’ he looks a little grim. ‘I did not want to. There was something about him that revolted me even through the magic, and I could not bring myself to touch him. We did nothing together.’

‘But I saw you,’ Segundus protests in confusion. ‘In the mirror house, you were in bed together. In the room like mine! And he said you gave him your eyes and lips!’

‘Ah,’ Childermass says, looking at Segundus searchingly. ‘You did not mention this earlier. When you saw this, did he say anything to you?’

‘He-he said he would use my heart to entrap yours,’ Segundus murmurs, hope and confusion warring in him. ‘He said I had no need to keep mine,’ he adds quietly.

Childermass nods thoughtfully. ‘And if he had eaten your heart, he would have felt to me more like you, and I might have believed him to be you.’ He stops, and looks a little abashed, an unusual expression for him. ‘When I was first trapped and he appeared, I thought him to be you, and kissed him.’ He looks discomforted. ‘He must have been using a lot of magic to appear so, but even so immediately after I realised there was something not right.’

Segundus’s stomach turns a little at having the fairy be mistaken for him. ‘Why did you think to kiss him?’ he asks, hardly daring to speak the words. Childermass gives him a slightly disbelieving look.

‘As you said, I have noticed how you look at me.’

Segundus’s cheeks flame red and Childermass continues. ‘He made advances at first, and further advances after the kiss, but nothing happened beyond a kiss. You do not need to worry.’

‘I was only worried for you,’ Segundus informs him. Childermass looks at him in a way that could possibly be described as fond.

‘Of course. And I was initially in your bedchamber in the hopes that I might find some way to contact the real you. After a time, when I had forgotten much, it just felt right to be there. It is very possible the fairy knew you had arrived and tried to sow disharmony by appearing in the bed with me. I certainly would not have invited him in. There was nothing between us, and you do not need to worry for me.’

‘So you do not want to kiss me out of gratitude?’ Segundus asks with mounting hope.

‘Not at all,’ Childermass assures him. ‘And I do not associate you with the fairy.’

‘I am exceedingly glad for that,’ Segundus assures him back.

‘So,’ Childermass says, ‘With that resolved, what are your thoughts on my proposal? If you want more time to consider, only say,’ he adds.

Segundus thinks about it. On the one hand, Childermass is who you have thought of for months. On the other, when he leaves and finds someone else, you will be left broken-hearted.

But would it be worth it, to have him for a long as it lasts? he asks himself.

‘Why me?’ He doesn’t realise he has asked the question until he hears it aloud. Immediately he wants to take it back, but it is an important consideration. There is ‘as long as it lasts’, and there is ‘you are convenient’. The latter, Segundus does not think he could cope with.

Discouragingly, Childermass retreats behind indifference again, and Segundus feels his heart start to sink. This is not promising.

Childermass shrugs a little. ‘If it is not to your chusing, sir, there needs to be nothing more said.’
‘I did not say that,’ Segundus informs him, a trifle indignantly. ‘I simply wanted to know your reasoning.’
Childermass looks at him searchingly, dark eyes difficult to read. Segundus holds his breath for the response. ‘Is there a particular answer you would like to hear?’ Childermass asks slowly.

Frustration rises in Segundus, frustration and the beginnings of distress. ‘Why do you not give me a straight answer?’ he replies stubbornly.

Childermass’s eyes flicker calculatingly. ‘A deal then, sir. I will answer you clearly if you answer me in turn.’

Segundus hesitates for only a fraction of a second. If nothing he has heard of me today has so far turned him away, what is there to risk but some embarrassment? ‘You have a deal, sir.’

Childermass nods. ‘Very well. To answer your question; why you? I would say why not you? You are healthy and interested, handsome in your way, and we have friendship enough to make things pleasant. You also have no wife nor lover to betray, nor any business between us to turn sour.’ Childermass shrugs, as if to finish what more could there be?

Segundus can hardly swallow for disappointment. There is also hurt lurking deep, but he does not acknowledge it. What did he expect? That Childermass would profess to love him, would say that he was interested only in Segundus? It is convenience, as you feared.

‘Very well, sir.’ Segundus’s voice come out a little hoarse, and he tries again to swallow. There seems to be something stuck in his throat, a lump of sorrow made physical. ‘What is your question in turn?’

‘My question remains as before; what are your thoughts on my proposal?’

‘Oh.’ Segundus does not know what to say. Everything seems muted below a thick blanket of unhappiness. What does it matter any more to try and hide his feelings? ‘I would have to decline. I fear my heart is engaged and to have you in the purely physical sense would be more than I could bear.’

Childermass, for a blinding moment, looks astonished. Segundus is too miserable to appreciate the rarity of the sight. He swallows once more. ‘I think I will go out to the garden for a while. I will perhaps see you at dinner.’ He turns away, but a hand on his arm stops him.

‘Wait.’ Childermass sounds as though he is being choked. Despite his unhappiness, Segundus still heeds him.

‘I fear I have done you a disservice,’ Childermass says. Segundus can find no energy to respond. Childermass continues regardless. ‘I gave you a straight answer but I did not give you an honest one.’ He stops for a second but Segundus still has nothing to say, though he does turn towards Childermass.

‘You asked why you,’ Childermass says. His eyes are anywhere but Segundus’s face, never resting for more than a second. Discomfort is written large across him. ‘The answer should have been ‘who but you?’ Now painful honesty joins the discomfort. ‘I am not a man who cares easily, but you care so completely that I found I was drawn in despite myself. I called you ‘handsome in your way.’ I find everything about you pleasing.’ Childermass looks away completely, so Segundus cannot see his face. ‘I think that if you did have a lover, I would be half sick with jealous envy.’ There is something darkly bitter in his voice, something that contrasts strongly with the sudden lightness Segundus is experiencing.

‘Oh.’ Once more Segundus does not know what to say; this time for far more pleasurable reasons.

Childermass finally faces him fully. For the first time in their history, Segundus sees Childermass look afraid. For a man so inured to hardship, Segundus realises, he has an amazingly tender heart.

Segundus finds his voice. ‘I do not have a lover. I have not wanted one for many years, and I did not expect to want one again. And then I met you.’ He does not know how to continue beyond this. ‘I-I found myself thinking of things, longing for things I had thought forgotten.’ He cannot bring himself to be more specific but it does not matter. Childermass has lost his dark look, his astonished look, his look of fear. Almost without thinking, Segundus reaches out, finds his hand tangling with Childermass’s, the two of them drawing closer together.

Childermass leans down, head close to Segundus’s. ‘Do you want this, John?’

Hearing his name on Childermass’s lips sends a shiver across Segundus’s skin. ‘Yes. Very much so. But it has been a long time.’ He ducks his head a little, indulges in the temptation to explore Childermass’s hands, the rough nails and patches of hardened skin, the creases where the skin folds and the knobs where the knuckles thrust up. Childermass has long fingers, and Segundus has some vague recollections from his youth that suggest such things will be a pleasurable advantage. ‘You will have to remind me,’ he finishes, a little breathlessly.

Childermass growls a little and his free hand comes to tilt Segundus’s face up to meet his mouth. Their kiss this time is less ferocious than their first; Segundus’s lack of panic also adds to it greatly. Childermass’s lips are slightly chapped, the firm pressure sending jolts through Segundus’s body. Tentatively, he parts his own lips, allows his tongue to play against the skin of Childermass’s, and the response this gains from Childermass sends his mind whirling, no thoughts beyond the slick heat and taste of Childermass. It is several minutes before he has the wherewithal to reluctantly draw back for air.

Childermass looks as affected by the kiss as Segundus feels, something that sends warmth flowing through Segundus. Childermass, when he speaks, sounds pleasingly hoarse. ‘Was that to your liking?’

‘Very much so,’ is all Segundus can say in reply, and deciding he has got his breath back enough for the moment, kisses Childermass again.

Some time later, by mutual agreement, they surface. Childermass’s waistcoat is unbuttoned, his neckcloth cast somewhere on the bed beneath them. Segundus still has his on, but his shirt is free of his breeches and exceedingly crumpled.

‘I have a new proposal to offer,’ Childermass says from beside Segundus. Segundus, idly running his fingers across Childermass’s chest through the neck of his shirt, moves a little to look at him.

‘And what proposal is this?’ Despite the last half-hour, there is still a small amount of apprehension in him. What is Childermass going to suggest?

‘A liaison between us. I find you exceedingly pleasing, in all kinds of ways -’ here Childermass raises his head a little and gives Segundus a long smirk. Segundus blushes. ‘- And I would very much like to have a partnership with you. Beyond just the physical.’ Childermass looks a little awkward to be speaking of this, but pushes on. ‘I propose that it continue for as long as either of us chuses, but I warn you that I may chuse this for a very long time.’ His expression conveys just how long this will be, and Segundus has to stop himself from beaming with happiness. I would not have thought… but apparently I was wrong. John Childermass could find a lover anywhere, but the lover he wants is me.

‘Does this meet with your approval?’ Childermass asks.

‘Very much so,’ Segundus tells him again. ‘But I have a term of my own.’

‘Oh?’ Childermass looks wary but not guarded, and Segundus does not stop the impulse to lean down and press a kiss on the skin of his chest.

‘Yes. You said that if I had a lover it would make you sick with jealous envy.’ He takes a fortifying breath. ‘I think I would feel the same if you had a lover.’ He tries to sound firm, but it comes out as a whisper. ‘I do not think I could share you without resentment.’

Childermass’s arm snakes around and pulls him tight against Childermass’s body. ‘I am not a man who shares, or who has many lovers at a time. This is an exclusive proposal.’

Segundus relaxes back onto the bed. ‘That suits me perfectly,’ he says happily. Childermass hums in satisfaction.

A period of silence ensues, both lost in their own thoughts. Segundus cannot remember being so happy and content in a long time.

‘We will have to be careful,’ he says eventually. If someone were to discover them, the law would not be kind.

‘Of course,’ Childermass replies. ‘We will take every precaution. And I cannot be here always – the King’s Letters will keep me on the road for much of the time.’

‘Yes,’ Segundus sighs. He has been deliberately not thinking of this.

Childermass turns slightly to look at him sideways. ‘Do not worry,’ he says, twisted smile in full view. ‘We banished a fairy, discovered and dismantled ancient magic and invented several new spells along the way. I think we can probably use some of what we have learned to our advantage.’
Segundus looks at him curiously. ‘What do you have in mind?’

Childermass looks very pleased with himself. ‘I thought perhaps a room, big enough for a bed and perhaps a sopha – for I have had thoughts about you on a sopha -’ he says, giving Segundus an extremely lascivious look. ‘It could have two entrances, tied to something small and portable and overlooked. Such as a pocket mirror.’

It doesn’t take Segundus more than a second to grasp the meaning. ‘And no matter where either of us went, we could still use the mirror to enter the room.’ He examines the thought and though initially he is a little inclined to caution, the scheme is very appealing. ‘How long do you think it would take to make?’

‘Not too very long,’ Childermass replies. ‘And I am certain Vinculus would not complain about a small extension to his holiday if it took longer.’

‘It is an excellent idea,’ Segundus tells him. ‘We shall start on it first thing tomorrow.’

Childermass raises an eyebrow. ‘Tomorrow, sir? Have you plans for today?’ Despite his outwardly serious demeanour, Segundus can see the wicked glint of humour in his eyes.

‘Very much so,’ Segundus assures him. ‘You have thoughts of me on a sopha – I have had many thoughts of you in my bed.’

‘Intriguing.’ Childermass sits up, causing Segundus to frown at the loss of access to his chest. ‘Do you want to remove there now, or should we wait until after luncheon?’

Segundus glances at his pocket watch. It is still an hour until luncheon, but that is not long enough to his mind. ‘I think it will have to wait,’ he says reluctantly. There is no use tempting fate.

‘Do not look so downcast,’ Childermass tells him, doing up the buttons of his waistcoat and reaching for his sadly crumpled neckcloth. ‘The sopha is not the only place I have thought of.’

‘Where else?’ Segundus asks, intrigued, as he sits up and attempts to right his shirt.

‘Well, it is a recent addition,’ Childermass admits, ‘but there is a lovely secluded spot I know of in the garden, if you chuse.’

‘It sounds ideal,’ Segundus says, smiling at him. ‘Perhaps our mirror-room might have a small garden too.’

‘An excellent idea,’ Childermass replies, leaning down to kiss him approvingly.

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