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The Actions of a Great Magician [ OPEN ! ]

A) An Audience with Norrell

Gilbert Norrell describes himself as having a scholar's love of silence. There are few things he dislikes so much as crowds, as people gossiping about nothing. Norrell's love is for his books, and for writing.

So it is that most days Norrell secludes himself in his offices, planning and reading and writing letters of discontent -- although it could be said that perhaps the letters of discontent take up most of his time, followed by the reading, followed last by the planning.

The rising of his rank is a thing that pleases Norrell, but he is wary of it all the same. There is another person he must work with, a woman, and he is at a loss for how to handle her. The women of Daybreak, on the whole, are stronger in temperament than he is used to. It gives him something of a headache.

Still, as both a High Priest of Daybreak and Coven Leader he has been forced to make an effort to be more accommodating. So it is that he ensures he has a few days set aside in each month to speak to anyone who wishes a moment of his time. It is begrudging, a thing that involves him pursing his lips a great deal and perhaps not being the most tactful of souls, but the grand building that is the Norrellite Coven -- all respectable yet elegant black and white frontage -- is allowing in people to speak with the High Priest himself for short appointments.

Of course, they are asked to identify themselves first, and Norrell does not meet them alone. He is more than aware that people may be jealous of his new position and wish his downfall! So it is that guards flank the room his heavy desk occupies, and Norell himself awaits those who wish to speak to him with palpable impatience.

B) A Visit to Westminster

Norrell's greatest wish, aside from of course to generally be recognised for the great man he is, is to be recognised by the Night Council. The Night Council, to him, is the best place a man can be to ensure the restoration of English magic to greatness! They have the power to make the laws, and so through them -- well! Through them so much could be done! The Fae driven back entirely, Midnight put a stop to, magic made respectable once more and London made a safe place!

So it is that regularly Norrell can be found in Westminster, trying to get an audience with the Night Council or a message to them. It is unfortunate that he has yet to be given a place on it, but Childermass has assured him these things never happen quickly. That soon they will see him for his greatness, it may just take time. Until then, he should of course associate with all the right people and make his voice heard.

This is made difficult when it is so obvious to him that Sylvia Redbright is entirely envious of his success and sees him as a threat. She, he is sure, is the reason why he cannot get an audience nor be heard!

He sits in the waiting area a while, lips pursed in discontent, before finally deciding he cannot wait any longer and rising to leave. Busy indeed! How could they be too busy to see him, High Priest of Daybreak? The man who made peace in Lambeth? It will not do! His time is precious, and cannot be wasted waiting at the Night Council's convenience! So flustered is he that he nearly barges into a person on his way out. Immediately his demeanour changes from one of silent fury to unease and nerves.

"Oh!" he manages in surprise, and lifts his hands up a little as if in defence.

C) Book Store

Most of the time Gilbert Norrell will either request delivery of a book or send a person to pick it up for him.

This time, however, his impatience has gotten the better of him. Childermass is busy, Lucas has time off and he simply cannot wait. Someone might attempt to steal the book away, they might sell it to another if he waits too long to pick it up, all sorts of problems might arise!

That, and it's the only copy he's found so far. Norrell is eager to see what condition it is in and begin reading it and making a copy.

He paces impatiently in the book store, waiting for his order to be fetched. The books around him are, largely, regarded with disdain for they are fiction. Norrell has little interest in fiction, almost as little interest as he has in continuing to be in this book store! He has so much work to be getting done, and yet they insist on keeping him waiting!

Any other patrons he spots are regarded with looks of disinterest, dislike or irritation simply because they are there. He only hopes they do not try and strike up idle conversation with him.

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He scowls at the question, settles back into his chair more comfortably and looks away from Childermass -- hands clasped together.

"I do not know his name. When I went to retrieve my book from Chaucer's he approached me to ask if I was there for something else. I could sense magic on him, Childermass, I am quite sure he was there to spy on me -- or worse! It is a blessing I was not alone with him for longer before the shop keeper returned, when there are other witches out to ruin me! Out to destroy me! You have seen them yourself, coming in here and questioning me! Challenging me!"

"Aye, sir, I do," Childermass agrees, because it is easier to agree with the man than argue against him, even if he has less of a reason to worry than he thinks he does. Still, he has risen in the ranks, and he does need to keep an eye out. He's hardly making an attempt to gain friends, as it is.

"He had magic, you say? Fae magic?" Vengeance, he had said. "What did he do?" Norrell seems fine now. Other than angry, of course, which is rather par for the course. "What did he say to you?" A more likely story, all things considered.

"Fae magic, I am sure of it, but it was not strong. He must have been sent by another. A strong fae. The minion of a lord or lady, maybe, out to bring me down to impress the king and queen. They know I am a threat. They have seen it. They are sizing me up, judging me."

The questions, it seems, are less important for now than Norrell's own theorising. After all, in truth what Reynard did was little -- but what it represents in Norrell's mind is proof of everything he fears. Reprisal for his actions.

Well, that's one question that Childermass had asked answered. He sees that he's going to have to approach this one question at a time if he would like to get many more direct responses, though. At least he can believe Norrell when he says that he detected the presence of fae magic from a person that he met in the store. Norrell is a powerful witch, and he would be able to sense these things, especially being on the alert for them as he is. He wonders what it was so urgent that he could not wait for an escort before making the trip to the shop, but he will get to that in time, no doubt.

"What did he say to you?" he tries again. Surely he must have said something. The presence of fae magic alone would not have been enough to work him up into such a state. Would it?

What did he say to him? Norrell scowls at the question, as if somehow the actual words are deemed unimportant.

"He was asking me about a book. A trick, I am sure of it. A book of great potential, he said, seemingly fiction. I have never heard of such nonsense, and the author is not familiar to me. It is a trick, I know it. A fae trick, designed to make a fool of me. I will not have it."

Ah. Again, this too is plausible, although not something that would outright suggest everything that Norrell claims of the man. The fae are by nature a rather tricky sort -- he need not have had reason to play Norrell for a fool. The other man made himself a target for it, and honestly would be a rather satisfying mark as well, all things considered. Childermass is suddenly wondering if maybe he should ask Norrell whether he's checked his pockets since, to find whether anything has wound up missing since such an ordeal as well.

"There you have it," Childermass says, sitting back in his chair. "If you have not heard of the author of such a book, then it is very unlikely he was telling you the truth. Who would know better than you regarding such matters after all, sir?" he asks, knowing that it is not a bad idea to stroke the other man's ego a little, certainly if he wants him to calm down out of this tirade and use some common sense.

"It isn't possible," Norrell declares, yet there is a degree of uncertainty to it. As if he fears being wrong, fears there might yet be some mystical book he does not know of. "James, he said the author was. James! I have not heard of any James writing some great book, certainly not one disguised as a fiction. Who would do such a thing!"

Such a thing is a nonsense! Hiding a book as fiction. Norrell despises mysticism, despises such puzzles and vagueness. Clarity is what he values, and is of course the opposite of most everything the fae do.

"James," Childermass repeats, though the name means little more to him than simply that -- a name. "James who? What sort of book is it that he is to have disguised? Disguised in what fiction, for that matter?"

If this is truly the discovery of a lifetime, he will do what he can to get Norrell a copy of the book, as he no doubt desires. But Childermass sincerely doubts the story is as it appears, nor that this fae man was telling anything resembling the truth when he spoke to Norrell. It's easy to rile the other man up, he knows, and even a stranger would be able to recognize that much. With very little prodding, for that matter.

He sneers at that, irritated as much by the question as the fact that he does not know the answer.

"I do not know what manner of fiction! The shopkeeper recognised the title. It was a ploy to make me look a fool, no doubt." He sighed, clearly agitated too, then went on. "Perhaps I should see it," he adds, "to be sure. What if it is right? Others might be curious. They might get it into their minds to read it, to find out what is hidden. What if he recommends it to others, too? Tells them of its secrets? No, I must see it to be sure Childermass."

Chldermass sighs softly. Typical Norrell, to make up his mind on one thing and then keep picking at the idea nonetheless. "If it was a ploy to make you look a fool as you say, then you need not see the book at all, sir. I will fetch it for you if you like. But if such is the case then you will be falling right into his trap."

He sits back in his chair at last, crossing his arms over his chest, wondering if he could get himself a coffee somehow. Maybe something stronger to add to it as well. "If you tell me the name then perhaps I will recognize it," he suggests. Because Norrell still has yet to share any real information about the experience with him one way or the other, save for that the author's name is James, and that it apparently is an actual piece of literature, for better or worse.

Norrell frowns over at Childermass, thinking. Of course, in this he is forced to admit Childermass is right. If he tells him to fetch the book he is doing the very thing the fae want him to do. Yet at the same time he is uneasy at the thought that there may be a book he does not have, one containing some degree of secrets. He wrings his hands, eyes averting for a moment before he collects himself.

"Something about grey," he says finally, "shades of grey. The book keeper knew it right away. Perhaps it is a popular work of fiction?"

"Shades of grey," Childermass repeats, just to be sure that he has heard the other man right. A popular work of fiction, written by a James, titled that? He should have known. Childermass lets out a long breath and raises a hand to run over his face, in an attempt to hide the fact that he may or may not be quietly laughing at the other man from him as best he can.

"Mr Norrell," he says, his voice slightly choked and certainly muffled, as it stands. "Whatever that man has told you about that book, you do not want me to be picking it up for you, and you certainly do not want to be reading it. It does not contain any long-lost magic or forgotten spells, believe me, sir."

"You know it?" Norrell prompts, immediately focused in on this -- ready to wring Childermass for information. "You have read it, then? And you believe there is nothing else to it? No hidden patterns, nothing woven into the writing? No spell upon it disguising the words?"

Already Norrell is quietly going through spells he knows that might fit such a thing, perhaps trying to think if Childermass would recognise any of them.

Childermass raises his eyebrows at Norrell, a little disbelieving of the situation he has found himself in. "I have not read the book itself," he confesses. "But I know of it, and yes, I have seen it for myself. And I would be very surprised indeed if there had been much thought put into such a work at all, if you will pardon me saying so. There is no magic to its pages, and given its popularity, I should think if someone were to hide a spell within a book one would do it on a novel a bit less... Sensational than such a one, sir."

He crosses his arms across his chest. "I can procure you a copy if you would like, but you would not find anything, nor would you approve of its contents. The book is little more than smut."

Smut?! Smut! A book of smut!

The look Norrell gives Childermass is one of scandalised horror. His figure tenses, lip curling a little in distaste before he scowls finally and stands to step away from his chair, pacing to stand behind it and lean his weight onto it.

"They mean to make a fool of me," he says finally. "They mean to undermine me in this."

Childermass tips his head slightly to the side at that, not exactly a nod, not exactly a shrug, but somewhere in between the two. "They have certainly had their fun, to be sure," he says. After all, suggesting that Norrell read through a novel of bondage fiction is rather an amusing image. But making such an enemy of Norrell is not exactly wise.

"Might you be able to pick him out in a crowd? Can you describe this man? This fae?" Childermass asks. Perhaps Childermass has encountered him before. Perhaps he is the dangerous personage that Norrell believes him to be. Perhaps he may not even be fae at all, though he will at least give Norrell the benefit of the doubt on that for now.

Pick him out? Norrell thinks a minute, nods fractionally before moving to sit again and grab a pen.

"Blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, lighter facial hair. Pale. Thin."

He begins writing, for of course now that Childermass has brought up this topic he means to have him find the fae. Investigate him, and if possible run him out of town.

Childermass nods in response to the other man's words, entirely not surprised by the writing. He had a mind that Norrell might send him after the man, given the way that he had reacted even at the first. But it is curious. And if this description should match the same man that Childermass is thinking... Of course, it could have been glamour during either meeting. While just as like it could not.

"You wish for me to seek him out," he says, not phrasing it as a question. Anticipating Norrell's next move even before he should give the order.

He rips off the piece of paper from the pad with a flourish, waves it impatiently at Childermass.

"Find him," he confirms, "I want him gone." At the very least out of Daybreak territory, at best banished from London entirely. "I will not sit idly by while these creatures plot to bring me low."

Childermass sits forward in his seat, taking the piece of paper from the other man and eyeing it over, before folding it and tucking it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"You will not need to worry about him again," he says to Norrell. Which is to say, he will deal with it, in his own way, in his own time, on his own terms, but it will be done. He must get a feel for who he is and what he wants first, though. Assess whether he is truly a threat or he is simply a fool, picking on Norrell as he has. Childermass will make his decisions from there.

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The Actions of a Great Magician [ OPEN ! ]

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