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FILL: "Red Matilda, or The Fairy Ancestress" 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

This next part is broken up a little strangely, due to character limits. Sorry for any inconvenience!

__

Early March 1817

“You look well,” Childermass said. His low voice somehow carried over the din of voices in the Long Room of the Old Starre Inn.

“Do I?” Mr Segundus said, only half attending to him. The room was in quite an uproar over Vinculus’ recent disrobing: thankfully a most un-erotic act, rather like corn being shucked. “Thank you.”

“Certainly better than when I saw you last,” Childermass said. “From what I heard, you did not look well when you returned to the world, either.”

“Yes, thank you for that, too,” Mr Segundus said with a sigh. “I suppose Lady Pole wrote to you?”

“She did,” Childermass said. It had not been a very cordial letter, or even a very civil one, and it had taken some time to reach him. That was one difficulty attendant on having no settled home. Childermass counted himself lucky that the letter reached him in one piece, battered as it had been. Mr Segundus had purportedly spent several days abed, only intermittently conscious, upon his return to Starecross. The thought of this bothered Childermass more than he would have expected. Not that he was ordinarily unmoved by suffering -- it was only that he had no particular attachment to Mr Segundus to warrant how the news affected him. Perhaps it was the weight of shared history: all those little links between them, though they had not met one another above a handful of times, to the absent Messrs Norrell and Strange.

“Lady Pole was kind enough to stay for a few days, though I do not remember most of that time very clearly,” Mr Segundus said. “I know Mr Honeyfoot and his wife were there. I was well looked-after.” This seemed to be all he wished to say about it. “Lady Pole has gone to the Continent,” he said after a pause. “Though I suppose she told you that, in the letter.”

“To find Mrs Strange,” Childermass agreed. He was obliged to break off the conversation at this point and intervene in an altercation between Vinculus and Mr Taylor. (It must be said, in the defence of both men involved, that it was the result of a misunderstanding rather than any ill will. Vinculus was particularly ticklish just under his left ribs, and Mr. Taylor had gotten closer than intended when pointing out a cluster of symbols there. Vinculus’ response to being prodded in that exact spot was entirely involuntary. It was merely some flailing of limbs that caught Mr Taylor unaware.)

The evening progressed as well as any evening that involved the public revelation of the Raven King’s Book on the body of a notorious vagabond could have hoped to. Which is to say, no one suffered any permanent damage, except possibly to the ego. Vinculus enjoyed himself immensely -- Childermass, somewhat less. By the time the Society was beginning to disband, Vinculus had stored up enough amusement at the proceedings to regale the barmaids of all the inns in Yorkshire. Childermass was content with seeing to it that Vinculus was clothed enough not to cause an uproar in the street by the time they left. More than anything else, he was looking forward to some quiet and a mug of spiced ale once they had retired to their lodgings for the night.

“We should visit him,” Vinculus said, gesturing toward Mr Segundus, who was lingering by the door waiting for Mr Honeyfoot to finish arguing with Dr Foxcastle.

“You seem sure he would welcome it,” Childermass said doubtfully.

“I’m sure he would like to have a look at me without this much competition,” Vinculus said. “And I would rather be looked at by someone more likely to make sense of my Book than the rest of these dullards.” Some of the remaining dullards in question, who were close enough to hear the remark, looked peevishly at him. Vinculus looked right back, raising his eyebrows ironically. He and Childermass only seemed to magnify one another’s propensity for ironic looks the longer they spent in one another’s company. It did not endear them to anyone.

“I will write to him and ask,” Childermass said solemnly, with perhaps just a hint of exasperation.

“Or you could skip the writing and ask him now,” Vinculus said. Childermass demurred. “Well, then, I have a mind to ask myself.” He had gotten halfway across the room before Childermass realized he was serious in saying so. When he moved to interpose, Vinculus ducked rather acrobatically under his arm and continued on his merry way. He was, after all, quite difficult to pin down. It had been his saving grace on more than one occasion.

“Good evening,” Mr Segundus said, a little warily.

“Oh, no need to stand on ceremony,” Vinculus assured him. “Seeing as you’ve seen me in my smalls.” Mr Segundus coloured slightly, but did not seem overly shocked by Vinculus’ manners. “I mean to ask if you would mind a visit from us.”

“‘Us’?” Mr Segundus repeated, looking past Vinculus to where Childermass stood, wearing a thunderous expression.

“Your residence is very near to the place where I was hanged,” Vinculus said. Mr Segundus’ flush ebbed completely, leaving him whey-faced with horror. “I have a fancy to see it again.”

“That is a very morbid fancy, sir,” Mr Segundus said.

“And you might examine the King’s Book at your leisure,” Vinculus said. He raised his eyebrows in a way that way probably not intended to be lascivious, but nonetheless made him seem to be leering at Mr Segundus.

“You would both be welcome at Starecross Hall, I am sure,” Mr Segundus said with deliberate politeness. “Only please let me know when you mean to come so that I can inform the housekeeper.” His gaze kept wandering away from Vinculus, past Childermass. Looking for Mr Honeyfoot and an excuse to make his exit, no doubt. Childermass supposed he must have succeeded in catching Mr Honeyfoot’s attention by force of will alone because that selfsame scholar joined them almost as soon as Mr Segundus had extended his invitation. (Or, more accurately, given his assent to Vinculus’ bold choice to invite himself.) Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot took leave of them with perfect cordiality -- even affability, on Mr Honeyfoot’s part.

“I am still obliged to write to Mr Segundus,” Childermass said to Vinculus, once the gentlemen had left. His severity had by then softened to mere chagrin. “Though now it is to ask his forgiveness rather than his permission.”

“That is how I have always preferred to go about things,” Vinculus said approvingly.