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☆ Round One!
Welcome to the first round of the Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Kink Meme at jsmn_kinkmeme!
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Links:
☆ Current Prompt Post
☆ Mod Post
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☆ Discussion Post
☆ Misfire deletion requests
jsmn_kinkmeme!Below are some basic guidelines to get started. Please make sure you also check out our complete Rules & Guidelines to minimise any confusion.
Guidelines:
■ Anonymously comment with your request – a character/pairing/nthsome, and a kink or prompt.
■ Only one prompt per post.
■ Fillers please link your fills in the Fills Post!
■ Have fun! :)
Keep in mind:
■ Any kinks welcomed!
■ The fill/request does not need to be sexual or porny.
■ Multiple fills are allowed.
■ Fills can be any sort of creative work: fic, art, song, photomanip, etc.
■ Beware of spoilers! Prompters and requesters are encouraged to warn for spoilers, but this rule is not enforced.
■ Warning for non-con, dub-con, abuse, slurs/language, and other potentially disturbing subjects is encouraged but be aware we do not enforce this.
Links:
☆ Current Prompt Post
☆ Mod Post
☆ Fills Post
☆ Discussion Post
☆ Misfire deletion requests
Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-03 05:18 pm (UTC)(link)Childermass goes with him as he suspects Mr Norrell wouldn't last five minutes on his own.
Norrell having to do something without his books/improvise/use a spell he doesn't think is respectable because the alternative is probable death or at the least being sent back to England amid accusations of failure and uselessness.
Norrell and Childermass getting closer (friends or more) as the conditions they are living under takes its toll on them. Doesn't have to be Norrell/Childermass, but it would be much liked.
Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-03 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-03 06:29 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-04 03:48 am (UTC)(link)FILL 1/? Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 12:59 pm (UTC)(link)Leaving the solitude of Hurtfew Abbey with its extensive library of well cared for and correctly stored books had been a terrible error, of that Mr Norrell was increasingly sure.
He had been sure of it upon his arrival in London and then once again upon his introduction to what was termed polite society.[1] For a time matters had improved. His position with the Admiralty had been a source of pride and Mr's Lascelles and Drawlight had seemed only too willing in assisting him in securing the desired respectability of his position, while the arrival of Jonathan Strange and his engagement as his pupil had only seemed to confirm to Mr Norrell that his method of studying and using magic was becoming a recognised and respectable profession.
Indeed for a period of time through the summer and autumn of 1810 it had seemed that all he desired would occur and that the unfortunate consequences of raising Lady Pole to life would remain the only black spot upon his magical career. As beyond Lord Pole's entreaties to him to ease the madness of his wife there was only one other source of disquiet that intruded upon his newfound optimism: Childermass.
It has been Childermass who had guided his decision to confront the York Society of Magicians and to shew that magic had indeed returned to England and that he was its most eminent scholar and practitioner. It had also been Childermass who had informed it that coming to London and making acquaintance with Lord Pole and Mr's Drawlight and Lascelles would be of advantage to him.
Yet as Mr Norrell had secured his position Childermass seemed to grow more contrary in his behaviour to all those around him. His increasing lack in manners and irritability where Drawlight and Lascelles had become a source of unhappiness for Mr Norrell to the point where he had started to arrange for Childermass to be away when the other gentlemen were due to call.
Even this uneasy peace was not to last, as on a dreary morning when winter was beginning to tighten its grip on London and frost fairs were being planned within the month, that a surprizing event which was to set in motion significant changes to both Mr Norrell's and Childermass' lives occurred. [2]
"There is a letter from the Admiralty," Childermass said as he placed the letter bearing both the seal of Lord Liverpool and of the Admiralty itself on the breakfast table in front of Mr Norrell.
Letters from the Admiralty were both a source excitement, which he rarely allowed any to realised, and consternation, which me most frequently was most vocal about. It was a pleasing thing on one hand to know that his opinion was so highly valued in matters of such national importance, however the requests that they made of him had of late become increasingly difficult to accomplish while maintaining the gravity and respectability that he Mr Norrell felt magicians should be afforded.
This particular letter was the most startling so far and Mr Norrell read it three times with mounting horror before dropping it back onto the table and murmuring to himself, "It is quite impossible. I shall not have it."
Childermass who had spent this time leaning by the fire to chase the winter dampness from his clothes while watching his employer's reaction to the letter.[3] "Do they wish for more sea beacons or for you to replicate Mr Strange's feat of horses of sand?"
"Neither." Mr Norrell picked up the letter once more and shook it as if its mere presence offended him. "They wish me to serve General Wellington."
"That is not so terrible a thing, is it?" Childermass remarked as he approached so that he might read the contents of the letter for himself. "He has favour with the Regent and his friendship may open doors that would remain closed under Lord Liverpool."
Mr Norrell gave him a sour look before crumpling the letter and abandoning it to the table once more. Leaving his seat he began to pace in a distracted manner. "Service under the same conditions as they should not disturb me so. They wish me to serve him in person, Childermass. They wish me to go to Portugal. It is quite, quite impossible," he said with determination which fast changed to an almost childlike peevishness. "I shall not do it. I shall not. They cannot make me."
Turning his attention to his writing bureau, Mr Norrell seated himself and took out quill and paper determined to right the misapprehension under which the Admiralty laboured. He would inform them in no uncertain terms that he would be of most use to the country were he to remain in London and that he had no intention of being ordered around like a common tradesman.
Childermass did not acknowledge what his employer had said, rather using the opportunity to uncrease the offending missive and read it for himself. Had Drawlight or Lascelles been present at that moment they would have been most offended with the liberties that he took and been most vocal of the fact.
As Childermass read his frown deepened, confusion and apprehension uppermost in his mind. "I had not foreseen this," he thought to himself, greatly troubled by the fact. His cards had never yet given him false hope or fear, so he told himself that the reason this turn of events remaining unheralded was that nothing would come of it and the letter would be retracted.
Mr Norrell said nothing of Childermass' reading his letter, so concerned was he at making his reply he scarce had noticed it. Finally, with the ink barely dry upon the paper, Mr Norrell said, "I wish you to deliver this to the Admiralty this very morning." He handed it to Childermass with a look of relief on his face, "They shall read it and realise that it I am not to be so ordered, and that shall be an end to this nonsense."
[1] Polite was to some extent a misnomer as while voices were not raised nor crude language used, slights, pointed remarks and even veiled threats were considered quite reasonable. This was particularly true when one or other of the parties were of such standing as to be near immune to any form of reprisal.
[2]
This surprizingly included Childermass himself whose focus had of late been directed so completely towards other matters, such as finding Vinculus, that he had not considered such a change in their lives.
[3] Childermass had been out of the house before dawn on one of his own ventures that took him into parts of London that were less than respectable.
A/N This might be rather longer than what usually gets posted on a kinkmeme (I'm not good at writing short things - plus this has grabbed my attention) so I am at the moment expecting this to run to around 10 parts of 1000 words each (and that may be an under estimation) It will eventually be Norrell/Childermass. I will try to update 2xweek. Wednesdays and Sundays.
Re: FILL 1/? Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-08 04:15 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL 2/10 Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-10 03:08 pm (UTC)(link)Before this in the months spanning the end of 1810 and into the chill new year of 1811 it had seemed that Mr Norrell's protestations that sending him to be Wellington's magical advisor would be successful. However, as February had progressed and news from the continent became evermore troubling Mr Norrell had received another letter from the Admiralty. It had been polite in the way that such official documents are wont to be, it was strongly worded nonetheless and it informed him that he would do as he was ordered or else he would find his services dispensed with immediately and in there entirety, and that they would then seek to employ Mr Strange in his stead as he appeared more amenable.
So it had been with great reluctance and not a little fear that Mr Norrell had found himself agreeing to their terms. The alternative, which was to been seen as a coward who turned his back on his own country in its hour of need was unthinkable. The thought of the lost of respect that such an action would bring gave him many sleepless nights, his mind filling itself with fears of the irrevocably damage it would have on peoples willingness to accept his methods.
Yet acquiescing came with its own perils. Mr's Lascelles and Drawlight had drawn back from their frequent visits as soon as they obtained the knowledge that he was to leave and instead turned their attentions towards Mr Strange, who was by turns both annoyed and a little flattered at their insistence that he was now of the great importance to British security. Despite their absence Childermass' demeanour and frequent disappearances into the city failed to improved, although none found they had the nerve to mention it.
This continued source of tension Mr Norrell found weighed as heavy on his as the idea of war, but he could not bring himself to leave Childermass behind to maintain his estate and Hurtfew or watch over his books in London. The idea of travelling foreign lands upset him greatly and to attempt it alone he was convinced would be would be utter folly. No, he had told himself, Childermass would have to come with him whether it pleased him to do so or not. [1]
Of the voyage from Dover to Lisbon there is little to be said. Mr Norrell was a poor a sailor as he had predicted he might be and had spent much of the time confined to his cabin in a miserable state of discomfort. Childermass had remained with him during this time and tried to offer what reassurances he could, although the effectiveness of such was rather diminished by the fact that he was suffering almost as greatly as his employer. [2]
It was late in the evening when the sun was turning the plaster and stone walls of the buildings that clustered densely on either side of the Tagus to a warm golden hue that the ship sailed into Lisbon. The docks were filled with the noise and bustle of both a working port and of a military camp. Dry goods, clothing, fish and other such necessities of life were unloaded to mingle with the soldiers and military equipment that were leaving both the ship that had bourn Mr Norrell and Childermass and two others that had recently docked.
Mr Norrell was one of the first passengers to disembark, eager to have solid ground under his feet once more, even if were not England. Looking rather drawn and uncertain of himself, he sat on a bale of sail cloth on the quayside while he waited for Childermass and their luggage.
He did not have to wait long as Childermass shortly joined him carrying the chest that contained the books that Mr Norrell had felt would be the most vital for his work aiding Wellington. Accompanying Childermass were two of the ships crew who carried the trunk containing Mr Norrell's belongings and an elderly canvas bag, such as that might have belonged to a seaman himself, which contained those of his servant.
The trunk was placed on the quay with rather less care than Mr Norrell thought was fitting, but such was his relief at being off the ship he decided not to call it to their attention. Childermass placed the chest of books down carefully beside it, and then said to Mr Norrell, "I shall secure us lodgings for the night. I have asked Pettiman," at this juncture he inclined his head towards the younger of the two seaman who had assisted in bringing out the luggage, "to remain with you incase you need anything while I am gone."
Norrell peered at the tanned and wind-burnt youth with suspicion, then without any thought to whether it would cause offence he said, "Is he to be trusted?"
"I have paid him," Childermass replied as if this should settle any argument. "And I have informed the bosun of what he is doing, and I believe he has greater fear of Mr Dobbs than any one on this Earth, including you or I."
Mr Norrell remained unconvinced that being left alone on the docks was in the best interest of either himself or his books. He looked warily at the slowly darkening and totally unfamiliar city that surrounded them. "How am I to find where you have gone?" he asked and then jumped at the sound of something being dropped further down the docks to splinter on the stones amidst the sound of animated shouting in what he decided must be Portuguese. More nervous than before he added, "I really think that we should remain together."
"If that is what you wish. I had not thought that you would want to be parted from your books," Childermass said choosing his words carefully to direct matters towards his preferred outcome. "If you trust Pettiman to care for them until our return then of course we shall search together."
"No, no," Mr Norrell said quickly. He left the bale of sailcloth to sit upon the edge of the chest of books, as if he somehow expected it to sprout legs and make its escape if he did not. "I shall stay with them. If they were to fall into foreign hands I can scarce imagine the consequences. No, I really must insist that I stay here."
"I shall return within the hour," Childermass said, and then with a smile at gaining his own way upon his lips he disappeared into the thronging masses on the quay and into the city itself.
TBC
[1] Were the truth to be told accompanying Mr Norrell to Portugal was not something that Childermass wished to do, at least insofar as he didn't like the idea of either of them leaving England. His place however, and of this he was certain, was at Mr Norrell's side. So when he had been informed that his employer was of the same opinion he had made no complaint. Plans were another matter, Childermass always had a plan.
[2] He was a great deal more stoic about it, as shewing any form of weakness which might lead to him becoming the object of anyones pity was something Childermass found far more discomforting that any sickness he had yet to endure.
Re: FILL 2/10 Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-10 03:33 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL 3/10 Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-12 05:25 pm (UTC)(link)“I had begun to think that you had abandoned me,” Mr Norrell said as Childermass halted beside the chest. “You are very nearly late.”
Well used to his employer’s shortness of temper over such matters and aware that Mr Norrell would have spent the time imagining in increasingly great detail what calamities might befall them, he said, “I see nothing occurred while I was away. Mr Pettiman did his job.”
“If his job was to look sullen and remain uncommunicative then he fulfilled his role excellently.” Both Childermass and Pettiman refrained from mentioning that such a description might just have easily been applied to Mr Norrell himself in the present circumstances.
“You would not have wished conversation,” Childermass replied with a familiarity that Mr Norrell rarely allowed any other to have with him. He then handed Pettiman, who looked surprized and not a little discomforted at the previous exchange, another coin and bid him to be on his way. It was something that young Pettiman did rapidly and with great relief as he had found being in the company of a real magician most alarming.
After Childermass had loaded the cart with their belongings, Mr Norrell relinquished his seat on the chest of books to allow that to be place with them. “The lodgings,” he began rather uncertainly, “They are secure I trust? and free of damp and vermin? and dare I hope respectable?”
“They are well enough,” came the reply.
“I shall not find myself humiliated to tell Wellington where any correspondence should be sent?” Mr Norrell asked, finding this of the upmost concern in case it should reflect badly on him.
“They will not,” Childermass reassured him, then paused to lift the heavy chest onto the cart. “Although we shall not remain there many nights.”
“Why do you say that? The war is not closer to the city that we were lead to believe? We are not in any danger are we?” He looked fearfully into the dark shadows that filled the corners of the alleys and windows of the buildings as if expecting Napoleon himself to leap and accost them.
“It is not.”
“Must you be so obtuse,” Mr Norrell said irritably, then with a sharp look of disappointment added, “I have told you that I shall not have you consulting those cards of yours like some yellow tented charlatan. Can you not see how poorly such a thing would reflect upon me should your dabblings become known?”
A look of weary annoyance briefly crossed Childermass’ face as he leant against the cart. “I have not had the opportunity for such, I have had barely a moment not in your company this past week. I enquired with the inn keeper as to where Wellington or his agent in this city may be found. It is common knowledge here that Wellington left Lisbon some four weeks past and none know if he is like to return.”
“Then how are we to find him?” Mr Norrell fretted. “It really is most vexing,” at his point a look worry crossed his face as he continued, “Do you believe he has slighted me deliberately, that he does not believe magic to be of use here? Perhaps Lord Liverpool and Lord Pole did not stress strongly enough that I was willing aid him to the very best of my abilities.” He looked at Childermass in mute appeal for reassurance as he often did in things that concerned interacting with other people, before added with a hopefulness that bordered on the pathetic, “He surely has heard of my sea beacons?”
“I doubt there is a soul within his Majesties forces that has not,” Childermass said with wry amusement as was his way with such things.
“You are mocking me,” Mr Norrell exclaimed, hurt that he would have done such a thing. “Please do not. Not you of all people. I am quite aware how unappreciative the Admiralty have been thus far and I wonder daily what more they could possibly expect of me.” Unhappy with this he seemed to shrink into himself, making him appear a smaller and more uncertain figure than he usually presented to the world. It was with misery in his voice he added quietly enough so that only Childermass should hear, “Now I fear I am to disappoint them again and they shall never forget nor forgive me for it.”
Childermass listened impassive. He did not apologise for it, nor as was his way did he feel any pity over it. [1] It had not however been his intention to distress Mr Norrell who he well knew was currently of a weaker constitution and emotion than usual following his prolonged encounter with seasickness.
“Wellington is a busy man,” he said with a kindness he knew his employer needed unless he was to become more fretful and peevish than usual, which was not a happy state for anybody near him to have to endure. “He will have had no plan to offend you, only a more pressing need to make sure the French are kept at bay.”
“I am sure you are right,” Mr Norrell replied, comforted for now, although any that knew him, which was suprizingly few in reality, would know that it would be unlikely to last for any great length of time.
“Come then,” Childermass said, taking the rope that had been looped through the mules bridle as means of a rein, “It is only a short walk and then you can take supper and rest.”
The inn itself was a well appointed three storey structure of white plastered walls and tiled roofs. Built around two sides one of the many small squares that seems so common in Lisbon it appeared well maintained and orderly. A fountain splashed in the squares centre and doves clustered so thickly on the roofs as to look like a sudden, strange and feathery snow fall.
There were a number of officers, British by uniform, sat inside by one of the open ground floor windows, drinking and playing cards, which did seem to lend an air of security to the establishment. Certainly more so, Mr Norrell decided, than it it had merely been ordinary soldiers who were billeted there.
“It does look well enough,” Mr Norrell conceded as he considered it, then as was his way immediately sort to find fault. “You have not told anyone here what the trucks contain. A foreigner, even a Portuguese who should be grateful to us, should not be trusted as an Englishman would.”
“I have not,” Childermass said and then he waved over a young boy of about ten to take the mule while he unloaded the cart. “And for you peace of mind, sit, our host is a retired Captain from Hessle. He is a fellow Yorkshireman.[2]”
Mr Norrell brightened at this information and in one of his rare moments of honest gratitude said, “I should not have doubted you, I cannot think of a time you have played me false.”
It was at moments such as this that Childermass felt an affection for his employer than few thought Mr Norrell could engender in anybody and which even fewer still would have thought Childermass would be capable of feeling. Despite his long years of service he had yet to decide if it was something unwanted, a weakness that he should seek to remove or something so precious that he wish this and more to happen with far greater frequency than it currently did.
"I hope that to always be the case," he replied wishing it as dearly as he had anything in his life.
TBC
[1] As a youth, before securing employment with Mr Norrell Childermass had endured many things, few of which he would ever share with a living soul. Pity for his often destitute state had been one of these things, and as such he found little to like about such an emotion. Pity was, to his way of thinking, merely a salve for the conscience of those doing the pitying and of little help or use to the one being pitied.
[2] While it was true that George Allcorn was a captain, he was not, as Childermass knew and Mr Norrell did not, a military or naval man. He had been a fisherman who having grown tired of his wife (who was herself tired of his gambling) had made a new life for himself in Libson rather more by luck than judgement.
Re: FILL 4/10 Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-15 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)What would bring this happy state end was to be their meeting with one of Wellington’s representatives in Lisbon, a Quartermaster who was charged with getting fresh supplies and new troops that had been sent from England to where they were needed. Childermass, knowing that this information would be required had left the inn a little before dawn, slipping through the quite shadows of the city as it started to wake for the day.
He had returned having gained what he had sought [1] in time to ready Mr Norrell for the day ahead. It was a job for which most men of Mr Norrell’s standing would have employed a valet to aid him in getting dressed, shaved and presentable. It had however long fallen to Childermass to accomplish this task, as the last servant to have held that position had left Mr Norrell employ many years earlier claiming that he was the impossible man work for.
On the occasions when Childermass was away on business the task fell to either Davey or Lucas as the male servants of the house. They took turns on who it should be out of the fact that neither relished the experience any more than they did catching a cold. For his part Childermass had grown not to mind this being one of his many jobs. This had become even more true since they’d taken residence in London, as it become one of the only times when he was able to talk to Mr Norrell openly and without the disdainful gaze of Mr Lascelles lighting upon him for daring such familiarity.
Once given the news Mr Norrell had fretted that his best clothes were too warm for the climate, for the morning despite being well before noon was already as hot as a summer day in Yorkshire, and that the current humidity from the rain that had fallen during the night would render his wig frizzy and uncomfortable. Propriety however was of the upmost importance, he decided, and consequently he had dressed to appear respectable rather than comfortable.
They walked, for the Quartermaster and the building which in which he could be found was close enough that it should have taken them longer to secure a carriage than to do have gone on foot. The property was an imposing structure three storey structure with a red tiled roof and a wide colonnaded front which offered shade from the bright sun.
At the door they were met by a young ensign who, after being shown their papers from Lord Liverpool, escorted them to where the Quartermaster had his office. Woolicombe, for that was his name, was currently occupied there in with a number of ledgers and reports. He was a tall man with an imposing build, his scarlet uniform stretched tight about his barrel chest.
“So you are the magician who has been sent to help us,” he said in booming voice more fitted to a parade ground than the narrow confines of an office. Mr Norrell was not what Woolicombe had expected, not that he had any clear idea of what an actual magician should look like, nor really the imagination to speculate upon it. However, if he had been been pressed to answer he would not have said a nervous mouse of man in grey wig and clothes that had long fallen from fashion. He held out his hand. “I confess I have little idea what a fellow such as yourself need or what use you may be, but I shall endeavour to help where I may.”
“I am Mr Norrell, yes,” Mr Norrell replied, finding his nerves at dealing with such situations were quite a bad they always were and as such he horribly concerned that his handshake would be be both weak and clammy, so that he nearly forgot to shake hands at all. “I am here to assist General Wellington in whatever way I am able. I have been lead to believe that you may know where I might find him.”
“He is to be found in the Lines, sir.”
“Then that is where I shall go,” Nr Norrell replied. He then glanced towards Childermass to see if he were in agreement with that decision and if perhaps he knew what The Lines were likely to mean. Childermass did not reply, but gave a slight nod that indicate he believe that this was the correct course of action. So it was with a little more confidence that Mr Norrell continued by saying, “If you could give us directions we shall be on our way.”
“Directions would serve you poorly, it is not a place easily found. However, you are in luck, sir,” Woolicombe said brightly. “There are reinforcements for the Lines due to leave at first light tomorrow. You may ride with them if you wish, for I cannot guarantee that I could spare any other for some time.”
“Tomorrow?” Mr Norrell said in great surprize as he had not expected things to occur so rapidly.
Woolicombe however took this exclamation as eagerness to serve his country and so he said, “Your eagerness does you credit, sir, it truly does. If you wish it I shall not seek to prevent you from riding out this afternoon. But I caution you that it is a hard ride, a full thirty miles and you would lose the light long before you reached the Lines or Torres Vedras.”
At this point Mr Norrell gave Childermass a look of scarce contained panic at the thought of such a journey. Knowing that Woolicombe would wish for an answer, Childermass quickly replied in his master’s stead, “We arrived near dark last night, we have no horses or supplies for such a journey.”
“Those can be supplied. Two horses and a mule should be sufficient for your needs,” Woolicombe replied with the briskness of a man who is well used to being obeyed without question. “I shall write you a docket and you may take it to Sergeant McCullough at the stables. He will furnish you with what you need.”
“You have Mr Norrell’s and my gratitude, sir,” Childermass said, for if the truth were to be told he had not wished to spend the rest of the day seeking out a horse trader and then undoubtably getting poor quality mounts at an inflated price, which was all too frequently the consequence bargaining in a foreign land whilst being unable to speak the native tongue.
Mr Norrell, who had grown more agitated as the conversation had progressed, then interjected, “Is…is there not a carriage that runs there?” He gave Woolicombe a hopeful look. “I should be willing to wait if there were.”
“There is not, sir,” Woolicombe said glancing at the clock on the mantle with the look of a busy man who is aware there are not enough hours in the day to meet all his responsibilities. “I doubt you should be able to hire one, the local drivers seem adverse to such things when it means going so close to the French. Quite apart from that the roads are so poor that once you leave Lisbon it likely to impractical. You may of course attempt it if you wish, but I should say it would be both a waste of time and money, sir.”
“Oh,” Mr Norrell said, any hope that he might have held about the journey being made in some degree of comfort disappearing like morning mist on a hot summers day. “I should thank you for your honesty, sir,” he said presently, feeling that a mere exclamation of surprize and disappointment might be construed as rude or ungrateful, which was not a reputation that he wished to acquire.
Woolicombe then wrote them the promised docket for McCullough and then called for a same young ensign who had brought them to him to escort them to the stables and the aforementioned Sergeant.
The stables were arranged around a courtyard at the rear of the property and appeared almost as busy as the port had the previous evening, as there was much bustle as dispatch riders moved too and fro and a large group of mules were loaded and lead away by their drivers. The wiry figure of Sergeant McCullough stood at the centre of this making certain all occurred as it should while simultaneously talking to one of the stable hands about cleaning the water troughs.
A Scot by birth McCullough had served the English for many years and was well thought of despite his origins. What he thought of the English or most others was seldom repeatable in polite conversation, indeed he preferred the company of his horses far more than that of people. The ensign introduced them and then returned to carry out the next task Woolicombe had for him.
McCullough considered both Mr Norrell and Childermass with startlingly blue eyes that glared out from under prodigious ginger eyebrows. “You ride,” he said to Childermass, before turning to Mr Norrell, “and you do not. ”
“I rode in my youth,” Mr Norrell said defensively as he did not like McCullough attitude towards him in the slightest [2]. “We have authorisation from your Quartermaster, Woolicombe, to chuse two horses as I have important business with General Wellington.”
“I meant no offence,” McCullough replied, although this was said more out of reflex from years of dealing with officers as it was from any real measure of sincerity. “I was merely speaking aloud to decide best which to give you.” He then had the stablehands bring out three horses; a bay, a chestnut and a dappled grey.
Mr Norrell watched the creatures with equal parts suspicion and fear, before he said, “Do you not have any that are perhaps a little smaller?”
McCullough shook his head. “Unless you wish to ride one of the pack mules, sir, I do not.”
Childermass who had also been watching their prospective mounts, although with a more friendly eye than his employer. “We should take the light brown one and the grey.” He turned to Mr Norrell, and continued, “The grey seems good natured enough, you should not have trouble with her.”
Mr Norrell remained unconvinced, but McCullough voiced his agreement that they bay and the dapple were good choices for them and arranged for the horses as well a mule to be brought to their lodgings later that day. Suitable tack would be included, although all other things such as they might require for the journey they would need to furnish for themselves.
The walk back to their lodgings following this meeting was a silent one, both men deeply occupied in thoughts about what should await them in the morning and beyond.
TBC
[1] This was not the only information which Childermass had discovered as there was a great deal of talk on the street about the war, much of which was troubling and related to recent French victories in the north of the country and the fear that they would once more move south and seek take Lisbon. Childermass did not share this with Mr Norrell as he was well aware of the effect such news would have on him. Indeed Childermass greatly subscribed to the idea that what Mr Norrell did not know could not hurt him, and perhaps more importantly it could not cause him to become so fretful that he was unable to take any sensible action on anything more taxing that deciding what to have breakfast.
[2] This was new information even to Childermass who had been in Mr Norrell’s service for a great many years. The truth of the matter was that Mr Norrell seldom had left Hurtfew before he had gone to London, and on the rare occasions that he had done so it was always by carriage. However, as a young man, whilst his father had been alive, Mr Norrell had been required on occasion to ride, hunt and take part in a number of social functions, all of which he had found wearying in the extreme, and as such after the death of his father he avoided them entirely.
A/N Ensign is no longer used as a rank in the British army, it was renamed as 2nd Lieutenant after 1871.
Re: FILL 4/10 Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-17 04:16 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL 5/10 Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-23 07:52 pm (UTC)(link)Mr Norrell looked even more unhappy once upon his horse than he had when he had first realised he was to have to ride. He rode every part as poorly as Childermass had feared he might and no suggestions or observations that he had made had caused Mr Norrell to sit easier on his mount. Indeed he managed to look both hunched and painfully stiff in the saddle at one and the same time as they made their way through the quiet streets, him clinging to the reins as if he feared the docile grey might suddenly run wild.
The common soldiers who would make the journey to the Lines on foot had already departed from where they had been garrisoned by the time Mr Norrell and Childermass arrived. A small group of officers remained, although they were now readying themselves to leave.
“My word, what have we here?,” said a young captain by the name of Westerton, who swung himself easily into the saddle of his grey, who was much larger beast than Mr Norrell’s own. “Do not tell me Lord Liverpool has sent another of his bean counters to discern the cost of this war.”
“He is the magician, Mr Norrell,” said Westerton’s friend, a stocky fellow called Lieutenant Philpps. “Woolicombe spoke of him at dinner.”
“Woolicombe spoke of little else,” the third officer, whose name was Mountford remarked with amusement backed up by the firmly held self-belief that he was exceedingly witty. “I had thought he had exaggerated. But I see he was quite correct, and in his view of the servant too.”
“Tell me, sir. How do you usually travel?” Philpps asked as he trotted his horse over to Mr Norrell. “Does a man of your abilities really need such a mundane thing a horse? Surely a flying carpet or perhaps a magic door that opened wherever you wished should be more suitable.”
“If he has such a door he may give it to me,” Mountford remarked, “For I have been without my wife more than two months now, and I greatly need a visit.”
“I cannot and will not make such things,” Norrell replied horrified that they should suggest such a thing. “It would be unseemly and so dangerous that I cannot even begin to imagine the circumstances under which one would attempt such a thing. Although there was an instance of an enchanted door in one of the Durham Chronicles which I think illustrates perfectly why one should have nothing to do with such vulgar magic.”
“Take no heed of them,” Childermass said, knowing that a lengthy lecture on the peculiarities of magical transportation was imminent and that it would do little to endear Mr Norrell to them. “They do not know you or magic.”
The three young officers, all of whom were in possession of newly purchased commissions and had in reality had little more idea of the rigours of war than Mr Norrell himself continued in this vein both about Mr Norrell and a number of other people they felt worth of jest, until a more senior senior joined them.
The man was one of Wellington’s most carefully chosen exploring officers, Major Colquhoun Grant who had been in Lisbon on a pressing matter for his General. He looked at Mr Norrell with rather less surprize or amusement, but a deal more resignation. He was polite, and made introductions to them all.
“If you are quite ready, sirs,” he said to the young officers, “We shall be off.”
“You may wish to sit a little easier, sir,” he said to Mr Norrell as he trotted his horse past them, ready to lead them from the gate. “Or otherwise sitting maybe prove somewhat uncomfortable later.”
They first broke their ride around two hours after they had left Lisbon to rest and water horses. It had not been an unpleasant thus far, the road wide and relatively well maintained as it cut a dusty path through the farm land. Fields of pale green shoots of spring wheat, vineyards with their regiments rows of vines and groves of gnarled olives trees made a patchwork landscape, amongst which was dotted farm houses and the occasional windmill.
It was at this point, a little over ten miles from Lisbon that they joined with the soldiers were to reinforce the 58th foot on the Lines. The Lines themselves were a most remarkable construction, which had been ordered by General Wellington himself and brought to life by the talents of Sir Richard Fletcher. Constructed in ten short months, the three lines of ravelins, redoubts, cannon emplacements and blockhouses had provided an near impenetrable barrier to the French. Childermass looked at the sharp, jutting outcrops that were crowned at frequent intervals by forts and semaphore towers with wariness. Magic was a far greater part of his life than even Mr Norrell was permitted to know and being so close to these new technologies seemed to drive magic further into the past in a way that made him worry for the future of it.
Mr Norrell did not look at them at all, as by this point his thoughts had narrowed to only two things, staying on his horse and the utter discomfort of being in the saddle for hours when one is unused to such things.
Wellington's headquarters on the Lines at Pero Negro was a most unremarkable building, but so grateful was Mr Norrell at the prospect of finally ending the journey he found it a most welcoming sight.
“I feel bruised to the bone,” Mr Norrell complained as Childermass easily dismounted and made his way over to him. “How is it that you seem no worse for it?”
“I am used to it,” Childermass replied as he approached him. “Today’s ride was far less than the distance I travel from London to Hurtfew on your business. You will grow used to it in time.”
“I do not wish to become accustomed to this,” Mr Norrell said a definite whine in his voice. “I hurt in places I dare not even mention. This has been intolerable and I refuse to travel in this way ever again."
Childermass gave him an exasperated look, but did not share his thoughts that Mr Norrell would indeed have to get used to riding for he would have little choice about it unless he wished to return to England with the admission that he could be of no use. Admitting that he had made a mistake was not something that Childermass had ever seen or heard his employer to do. Neither did he have any great wish to see Mr Norrell return home in defeat, so despite the irritations that remaining would bring he had already decided that He would see to it that Mr Norrell would return to England a welcome and respected figure for the magics he had done.
Getting Mr Norrell down from the horse, who regarded him with look that suggested it was as happy to be rid of him and he was of it, proved difficult. Finally he all but fell sideway off the horse to be caught by Childermass, who mostly by luck managed to keep his feet and not be tumbled to the ground with Mr Norrell on top of him.
The proved to be of great amusement to a group of young ensigns, who laughed and pointed until Childermass glared at them and Mr Norrell was quite red with embarrassment. After this they were shewn into what had at one point been the drawing room and asked if there was anything that they might require while they awaited Wellington’s return.
The wait was rather longer than Mr Norrell thought was polite and he was considered whether to send Childermass to find out what was happening when the door opened and Wellington and a group of officers, none below the rank of Major and some much above, entered the room.
“I do not wish to be told that you cannot follow a simple order,” Wellington said sharply to a Colonel, who looked as travel weary as they. “I need solutions to problem, not further problems.”
He looked at Mr Norrell and then at Childermass. “And who may you be, sir? I have no need for an accountant.”
Stiff and sore, Mr Norrell stood as straight as he could and said, “I am Mr Norrell, sent by the Admiralty. I am to be your magician.”
“I have no need of one,” Wellington said, voice short as his day had been wearisome and filled with the kind of news that those in command find most troubling. “What I need is more men, more horses and more cannon and the means to get them to where I need them to be and to feed them while they drive the French before them. Tell me, sir, can you do any of those things?”
“No, but I do have some ideas,” Mr Norrell said quite taken aback at Wellington's curtness of tone.
“Well let’s have them, man,” Wellington said. “I do not have the luxury of time to spend guessing what passes through the mind of a modern day Merlin.”
Flustered and not a little overawed by Wellington’s commanding presence, Mr Norrell replied, “I believe given time I could replicate my sea beacons to form a similar warning system on land.”
“I already have that by way of the lines, the semaphore towers there on have proved far more reliable than conjuring tricks.” Wellington turned his back on Mr Norrell and moved to inspect the large map that had been placed by Major Grant onto the table in the centre of the room.
“I could make it rain on the French,” Mr Norrell suggested even more uncertain of himself now that his best idea had been dismissed out of hand. “It would be most disheartening to be wet every day and quite ruinous to health one should think given enough time.”
Wellington considered this briefly before answering, “And where should this deluge go? Into the rivers that I must cross to rout the French from the cities they have taken? Should it continue to fall while our own troops advance, soaking our powder and turning the ground to mud? No, no, I do not see the use of this at all, sir.”
“I could shew you what Napoleon is doing at this very moment. I should just need my polished bowl and some clean water,” Mr Norrell said increasingly desperate to prove that he and his magic could be of practical use. “I can have Childermass bring them to us.”
“It is late. I should suspect that he is sleeping or with his wife or mistress; sights I have no wish to see or hear,” Wellington said with a finally that those who knew him meant any further suggestions would be less than well received. There was a murmur of agreement and a muffled laugh from the officers who had come in with him.
“You should not be able to hear it, one can only view such things,” Mr Norrell said. He looked then at Childermass in a mute appeal for help, before turning his gaze to the floor, uncomfortable both in body from the ride and in mind from the dismissive attitudes of those around him.
“Then that is quite useless to me unless you are also proficient in reading minds or at very least lips,” Wellington replied, his mind already in other far more pressing matters such as the how best get Colonel Beresford to Badajoz, lay siege to it and take control of it back from the French and thereby secure the Portuguese border with Spain, while still having enough troops to take walled city Almeida and to keep the Lines defended. He shook his head dismissively and said, “I confess I have no idea what to do with you, although Lord Liverpool will not take kindly to me returning you to England upon the first available ship, and Lord knows I need the support and goodwill of those in the Admiralty if I am to beat the French. So Mr Norrell, you will stay and perhaps in time I may find use for you, until then do try to stay out of the way.”
So shocked at this treatment Mr Norrell found he could not even form the words to reply and nodded forlornly. At this point Childermass intervened, and after telling Wellington that Mr Norrell was exhausted and would be able to better answer question tomorrow, he escorted his employer away.
TBC
A/N sorry for the delay, this part got so long that I've had to split it in two, so here his 2000 words now and hopefully the next 2000 in a day or two as it is mostly just editing to be done on it.
Re: FILL 6/10 Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-07-26 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)There was little accommodation to be had, but after Childermass had impressed on an ensign that Mr Norrell answered only to Wellington and Lord Liverpool himself, and should therefore be regarded with respect, a room was quickly found and their luggage taken to it.
It was not the kind of room that Mr Norrell was used to staying in. It was sparsely furnished, with little more than a bed, a desk and a chair, while the walls were roughly rendered with white plaster and the single window bore a wooden shutter rather than glass. The lack of even a single bookcase he found terribly upsetting and made up his mind to ask one to be found first thing in the morning. For Childermass himself he was given the option of billeting with the soldiers or taking a straw pallet and making a bed for himself in the corner of Mr Norrell room. He little liked either option, but Mr Norrell had insisted that he stayed with him as it would cause him great inconvenience should not be able to find him when he required something.
“Wellington does not want me here,” Mr Norrell said unhappily, as he eased himself down to sit on his bed, a look of discomfort crossing his face. “I do not know why he has taken so against me. What have I ever done to him to deserve such treatment?”
Childermass knelt to remove his employers shoes and stockings. “He will come to see your uses in time.”
Mr Norrell did not look at all comforted or convinced of this. “I wish that I could believe you were right.”
“I have never told you falsely before,” Childermass replied, “I should not begin now.” It was something of a half truth, as while he had never answered a direct question from him with an outright lie, it had to be said that he was very often economical with the truth.
Mr Norrell had then asserted that it was certainly too late for him to eat or else he would not be able to sleep. Although, he had added miserably, he did not believe he would be able to sleep for he could not find a position that did not after a few short minutes cause his legs and back to ache intolerably.
There was, Childermass was certain, some exaggeration on his employer’s part, for Mr Norrell coped poorly with any form of discomfort whether it be from cold, heat or stiff and tender muscles caused by a long ride. Despite the knowledge that a great deal of his employer’s troubles could have been avoided had he taken Major Grant’s or his own advice about how to sit and to take frequent breaks to walk along side his horse, he had no wish to see him remain in discomfort. [1] So after readying Mr Norrell for bed, Childermass sought out the kitchens, before returning to him.
“What is this?” Mr Norrell asked suspiciously and peered into the mug as if expecting to see some vision of doom it.
“Warmed milk with a little brandy,” Childermass said placing it into Mr Norrell's hand. There was rather more than a little in it and while he was well aware than his employer usually eschewed harder spirits and even wine on most days and as such his tolerance for drink was embarrassingly low, he was of the opinion that tonight it would do him far greater good than it ever it had at parties [2]. “It will help easy the soreness and you will sleep a little easier.”
“Or give me indigestion I shouldn’t wonder.” Despite this complaint Mr Norrell drank it as he had long trusted Childermass to help him in such things. It occurred to him later that he should be left wanting for a great many things were he not to have his man of business there to attend to him. For all Mr Lascelles had complained of Childermass and his rough ways, Mr Norrell remained of the opinion that he couldn’t have found a finer man to have in his employ and as such he would never replace him for he should never be able find another who understood his needs so thoroughly.
As Childermass took the empty cup from him and placed it on the desk, Mr Norrell asked, “Will you sleep now also?”
It had been a long and wearisome day, but Childermass knew where his next course of actions lay and he said. “No, I have other business to attend to.”
Surprized and a little hurt by what he saw as his servant’s desire to leave him at the first opportunity, he said sharply, “And what business may that be? Has some maid caught your eye?”
Childermass gave him a disbelieving look. “You know I do not trouble myself with such things. No, it is your business as ever. If Wellington wishes you to be of use then you must know what he needs and know it before he realises he requires it. So I shall do as I have always done, I shall seek out that information for you,” at this point he paused to pick up his hat and coat, “I shall speak to the common soldiers, maybe a sergeant or two and find out what it is they know and what they might need.”
Mr Norrell did not feel reassured by this and said, “How should they know better than a General what is needed in this war?”
“They are the ones fighting and dying. They will know.” He stood Mr Norrell's bedside, a tall dark figure next to his employer’s slight, seated and nightshirt clad form. “Do you have need of anything more from me before I go?”
There were a great many things which Mr Norrell wanted, but he found himself unable to give voice to a single one. It was not that his requests would have been startling or even particularly inappropriate, rather that he did not wish to appear weak, foolish or ungentlemanly asking for such things as advice on how to easy the burn in his legs and back or how he did not feel at all safe in this strange, bare little room it the French just a few short miles away and how more than anything he really didn't want to be left alone. Cross with himself for feeling this way and Childermass for not spontaneously knowing what he needed, he said with tired irritability, “Do not remain out late and do not wake me on your return, you know I find it terribly difficult to sleep again if I am wakened.”
“I shall be like a shadow, sir. Have no fear.”
Leaving Mr Norrell to rest, Childermass left their accommodation and made his way to where fields of tents stood in regimented rows, the white canvas as pale as oddly angular ghosts in the dark night.
Although he was not familiar with the art of warfare it seemed to Childermass that there were a great many soldiers present for such a small place, even if it were General Wellington's head quarters. Some looked fresh and bright in their scarlet coats, new recruits lately arrived from England. Others were travel worn, their clothes dulled and much repaired after months of service in the harsh conditions of an Iberian winter. They were being gathered there, of that much Childermass was certain, although for what purpose he could not be certain. However, what he had seen and knew of Wellington he suspected that they may soon be taking the war to the French rather than defending against their advance.
It made the need to gather information all the more pressing and Childermass moved in the shadows listening to the common soldiers, seeking out those who looked most worn by campaign.
“Speak and be recognised,” called a private, a musket held ready in his hands as Childermass approached.
“A fellow Yorkshireman, in search of a little warmth on a cold night,” Childermass said, moving a little closer, knowing that he had chosen well who to approach. Voice lower, he said, “By bird and book, I offer no harm.”
“You’re him, the wizard’s man,” Private Greenwood said, rather in awe of what was happening on an otherwise unremarkable night. Greenwood then called over his Sergeant, who after looking at Childermass had confirmed that he was welcome to warm himself at their fire, provided he in return gave them news of England.
There was something about the flickering of the firelight, the sharp tang of woodsmoke and the songs of love, longing and home the men sang that that resonated with him. It was something that echoed down the ages, these men were as those that had come across the sea in ages past, bringing names and myths with them in their longships, they were as those who served the barons and marcher lords when England warred with itself and the Raven King held the North under his protection. They were soldiers of King George as he was, in his way, one for the Raven King.
There was a common ground between them and soon he was information flowed to him as letters from home that the men couldn't read were proffered, drink was shared, news of England related and tales were told. All that was said Childermass’ suspicions that they troops were being mustered to leave were confirmed, and although none of the men knew to where they would be sent all were certain that it would happen soon and that it would be a hard and bitter war, which would be fought as much with the French as with the landscape of jagged peaks, wide rivers and tangled woods that lay in front of them.
It was late when Childermass returned, although none saw or heard him as he silently slipped through the still and dark passages of the house like a wraith, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of woodsmoke, tobacco and rum.
Mr Norrell was asleep when he softly left himself into their room. Curled tightly under the coverlet, a nightcap pulled firmly over his shortly trimmed hair, he snuffled in his sleep like a hedgehog seeking its way in a darkened garden. Childermass had always found it fitting that his employer should sound like such a small and prickly creature, and one whose defence in life was to turn inwards and hide in the hope that what troubled them would considered them not worth bothering with and go away. With a faint smile, that contained rather more fondness than he would have allowed to be seen had Mr Norrell have been awake, he lit himself a small stub of candle and placed it by his bed.
It had been an illuminating evening, if a little concerning that they might soon be forced to travel once again. Now that he had information and suspicions about what would happen he turned to his cards for greater understanding. They had served him well in the long years since they came into his possession, and although he would never admit it he found a comfort in holding their worn forms that he rarely encountered elsewhere.
Tonight however they were far from comforting, the answers they gave him seemed a nonsense as they were contradictory even between one card and the next. Concerned that perhaps the questions he was asking of the were too imprecise, although it was not a problem he had thereto encountered, he tried to discern the best course of action Mr Norrell should take. Instead the answers it gave him were by turns both deeply unnerving and utterly preposterous when applied to Mr Norrell.
Childermass looked at the last two cards he had turned, The Lovers and the Ace of Cups and sighed before pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. There surely were not more unlikely cards to relate to any aspect of Mr Norrell future. It could not be correct, he thought, deciding that he would gather more information in the morning and try again when weariness was tugging at him like a particularly large and persistent dog on a lead.
Placing the cards under his pillow, Childermass lay in the dark, feeling more uncertain about the future than he was accustomed to. Despite his body's need for rest his mind remained unquiet and it was deep into the small hours of the morning with the sound of rain falling heavily outside and the hedgehog snuffles of Mr Norrell in the far corner of the room that he finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
[1] For not only would Mr Norrell fail to learn from the experience he would remain in a disagreeable mood for sometime afterwards. And from experience Childermass knew that he was most likely claim that it was all the fault of the advice he did not followed that it had been the cause of his discomfort in the first place.
[2] There had been a small number of occasions soon after Mr Norrell’s arrival in London, when needing to secure a reputable image he had been required to attend a number of social functions, all of which he had found most taxing. A drink to steady his nerves became three or four, and he then found himself quite able to talk at considerable length about a great many things relating to the history and practice of respectable magic with fear of what people might think. It was a topic which seemed to bore his hosts immensely, which once he realised it made him require another drink to ease his nerves and for Childermass to have to assist him out to his carriage.
Parts 7+ Re: Norrell sent to Penninsula war instead of Strange
(Anonymous) 2015-08-21 09:56 pm (UTC)(link)http://archiveofourown.org/works/4298031