The water spirit settled very happily into a small pond on the left side of the garden. Segundus laboured for most of that day till the pond was dug and he had laid a flat bed of stones for its base. Then he poured out the water from the teapot, and felt a very peculiar rush as the water spirit went with it. In a short time he had filled the rest of the pond as well, and it was bubbling contentedly as the snail investigated it.

That evening, as Segundus enjoyed a small glass of sherry and read a new magical journal that had just arrived from London— the journal endorsed making use of the principles of natural science to investigate and classify English magic; Segundus rather wondered what its editors would make of the water spirit, or indeed of cows wishing to go on holiday— he was startled to hear the unmistakable sound of a horse approaching in the lane.

Frowning and wondering if the village had experienced further magical trouble, Segundus left his comfortable dining room and went to the gate. He was astonished to see that the horse he had heard was Brewer, and that Childermass was astride him.

"Mr Segundus," said Chidermass forbiddingly.

"What are you doing here?" Segundus asked rather rudely.

"I heard there was trouble hereabouts," Childermass said. "I thought it best that I keep my eye on it."

"Well, there is no need for that," Segundus said. "I have resolved it already."

This seemed to give Childermass pause. "Did you now," he said at length.

"It may surprise you to learn that I have some small skill at magic, and also that I have other skills, many of them unknown to you, sir— many of them skills which you yourself are lacking!"

This gave Childermass even further pause. He peered at Segundus closely, looking very suspicious. "There is something different about you," he said. "What have you been up to?"

Segundus said, "I have been resolving magical problems, with a good deal of success. I have convinced the rosebushes to bloom, and instituted a number of reforms to my garden, and I have fed your slice of the cloudberry cake to a water spirit. He lives in the little pond to your right. He is a more congenial conversationalist than you have ever been."

"No; that is not it." Childermass frowned at Segundus some more. "Are you not going to invite me in?"

Segundus crossed his arms over his chest. "Why should I?"

"Because I have ridden a very long way."

For a moment, Segundus tried to summon up the strength to refuse him. He thought indignantly: no one asked him to ride a very long way! He did not bother to send word! It is his own fault if he sleeps in a field! But he was not the sort of man who could be so firm-hearted. He sighed heavily. "All right," he said. "You may come in. But I am not offering you any sherry!"

Childermass's mouth quirked in amusement, but he said nothing.

Once Brewer was in the stable, and Childermass had settled by the fire with a glass of sherry in his hand— "I have ridden a very long way," he had repeated, gazing with a certain profundity of sorrow at the sherry bottle, and Segundus had said, bad-tempered, "Oh, very well! But there will be absolutely no cake!"— Segundus discovered that in addition to his unpleasant demeanour and his dreadful habits, Childermass had brought a large number of magical magazines with him, including several from Edinburgh which Segundus had not known existed. The two of them therefore passed a very pleasant night reading quietly and drinking, occasionally offering observations on topics of mutual interest. With Childermass, there was no need to offer pleasantries, since he himself did not observe the art, and Segundus found this quite comfortable. From time to time, he caught Childermass staring at him a little fixedly, as though trying to perceive some unexpected dimension of him, but Childermass said nothing further on the topic of Segundus's apparent alteration.

Only, just before they both retired to bed, Childermass said, "I believe you are happy." His tone was one of accusation and displeasure.

Segundus considered this statement. "I cannot say for certain," he said at last. "I suppose I am."

In his dream that night, he was already naked, stretched out upon a rather sumptuous bed, which had wine-coloured sheets and more pillows than he thought were strictly necessary. He was thinking of Miss Absalom— how filthily she kissed him, how her long ginger hair tumbled down her back as she rode his prick, taking it inside her, letting him pierce her where she was hot and wet and tight— the loud cries she made whenever he pleased her, and how very demanding she could become, pressing herself down against him, greedy with desire... Before he knew it, he had taken himself in hand, and his breath was coming fast as he pleasured himself.

Then Miss Absalom, also naked, was crawling into the bed, giggling at his guilty look. "Oh, do not stop. Do not stop," she said, and gently placed his hand back on his prick. She did not remove her own hand, but guided him to continue touching himself in slow strokes. "Were you thinking about me?"

"Yes," he said fervently. "About— about being inside you. Pleasing you, while I—"

"Mm," she said, her eyes heavy-lidded. "While you fucked me. Is that what you were going to say?"

Segundus could feel himself flush, but he also felt his prick jump. He knew that Miss Absalom felt it as well, for she laughed low and delightedly. "Is that what you would like?" she asked him. She still had not moved her hand.

"Yes," he said, hoarse, gazing up at her.

"Then come and take me," she said, releasing him and lying back in a seductive pose. Against the dark red sheets of the bed, her skin looked especially soft and creamy, her body like something from a Botticelli painting, though it had also a quality of the English rose to it.

Segundus stared at her, breathing hard, his mouth dropping open. Then he was crawling towards her, frantic with desire, and draping himself against her, and pushing into her with his prick. It was so good— so good, to be tangled in that double embrace, the hot wet grip of her body around his prick, and the close sweet tangle of her limbs around his body as he pressed her back against the bed. She did not lie still, but instead was in constant motion: her hips rocking forwards to him so that on each stroke he was pushed as deep into her body as it was possible for him to go; her hands moving ceaselessly against his chest, his shoulders, his back, stroking in almost an inquisitive manner, as though investigating all the parts of him; even her toes trailed up and down his legs, the feeling of which had an odd power to arouse him. He, for his part, could not stop himself trying to kiss her, even as the coordination required to do so became so difficult that he was reduced to mouthing shakily at her jawline and neck.

He could have finished quickly, but he did not wish to. He wished to savour every slide of his prick inside her, the way her eyelashes fluttered when he pushed very deep, the short cries she uttered, the disarray of her hair like a cloud of copper silk floss around her head. He had to stop and move slowly, closing his eyes, pushing in very carefully, one stroke at a time. But this made her impatient, and she pulled him flush up against her, then pushed him forcefully over so that she was now astride him.

This robbed him of his breath. For she then kissed him passionately and immediately began to ride him, rolling her hips while keeping him pressed inside her, working him according to her own pleasure. She grew increasingly vocal, moreso when she reached her hand down to pleasure herself. "Oh," she moaned, sliding sharply up and down him, "yes, you feel perfect, so deep inside me..."

Segundus reached his hands up to touch her breasts, half to pleasure her, and half because he could not resist them. He loved the feel of her nipples hard between his fingers, the small swell of each breast under his hand. But his touch did pleasure her, and in a very short time she came to her climax upon him. He barely managed to hold off his own climax so long, and finished in fact perhaps a beat before she did, so that they shuddered through the aftermath more-or-less together, breathing hard and touching one another gently, given over to that small kind of flinch that arises after orgasm like the small shocks before sleep, perhaps marking one's transition between waking and dream.

Segundus stretched his arms out langorously, but was in no hurry to move her. He gazed up at her rather foolishly, feeling enormously happy and very comfortable. "That was lovely," he said. "I loved that. I—"

She kissed him very sweetly, lowering herself to lie curled beside him with her head upon his shoulder. "Yes," she agreed airily. "It was very lovely. I thought we were going to talk about spellwork. But then you showed up naked in my bed, and all thought of spells flew right out of my mind."

Segundus said dryly, "I do not believe you." He had a great deal of experience with what it means to be a magician.

"Well, most thoughts of spells flew right out of my mind. Quite a few. Perhaps half my thoughts of spells. A few remain. Shall I teach you a spell now?"

"Oh, I would like that!'

"All right. Hmm. Let me see." She drummed her fingers thoughtfully upon his thigh, which sent a pleasant shiver through him. "A spell to banish dust from your house? A spell to make a star tell you all that it is seeing? A spell to cause someone to speak in sonnets?"

Segundus was quite taken by the idea of causing Childermass to speak in sonnets, and for a moment he strongly considered it. However, he had a feeling that Childermass would not care to be enchanted, so with some regret he said, "Perhaps the first. It seems very practical."

"It is! But very complicated, because it involves every object in the house— every object past, present, and future. You must account for all of them." Miss Absalom launched into a long, complicated, and interesting theoretical explanation. It had to do with webs of obligation, which she called liege-cloths, for she was in the habit of picturing magic as weaving. Segundus thought a little drowsily that Childermass would be interested in this, and that he might see a way to use it upon the roof, which was prone to leaking in various places when rainstorms came.

He had just asked Miss Absalom what he thought was a fascinating question about obligations between the past the present when he had the strange sense that a bird was whistling directly into his ear, though there did not seem to be such a bird in the dream. He frowned and shook his head, but the birdsong was not silenced.

"Oh, bother," he said vaguely. "It is going to wake me up!"

Miss Absalom made a noise of complaint and nuzzled against him, stretching a leg across his body. "How inconvenient! I was almost going to propose that we go again!"

Segundus groaned aloud, for now he very much wanted this to happen. Her small hand was wandering towards his prick, which had begun to rise at the thought of having her once more. "Tonight," he said desperately. "Come back tonight, will you, please?"

He did not receive her answer, for he woke then. A chorus of birds was singing in extremely shrill tones outside his window. He did not recall ever having heard such a racket before. He dressed in a very bad temper as the birds went on singing, and thudded down to the kitchen in search of some tea.

Childermass was there, eating ginger biscuits. He had piled the kitchen table with library books. He turned a very suspicious gaze on Segundus, eyes following him about the kitchen. "Why is there so much magic in this house at night?" he asked.

Segundus turned an innocent look on him. "I've no idea what you mean."

"I have noticed it before. At night, the house fills up with magic."

"Why are you creeping about my house at night, making such measurements?"

"I am not," Childermass said, "creeping about your house at night. I—"

"It is a disturbing habit, this creeping about; do you also stand outside my bedroom door?"

"I do not creep about your house! Nothing about your bedroom is the slightest bit interesting to me." Childermass affected to return his attention to his book, ignoring Segundus, though he appeared a little flustered.

Segundus set himself to brewing tea. "It is a very magical house," he said at length. "It was Miss Absalom's, after all. I dare say you are only sensing the house itself."

"Perhaps," Childermass allowed. But he did not seem convinced. Over the course of the morning, he directed a number of sceptical looks at Segundus, which grew more and more confounded throughout the day.