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The Beginning of the End [ Active / Semi-Open ]

Since his surprising loss at the election Gilbert Norrell has gone deep into hiding. Whispers say he rarely leaves his house, and yet more say he has been demanding a recount and investigation! That much, at least, is certainly true. A recount was done in a few territories, and at least one uncovered some suspicious vote meddling, but not anything they could pin on anyone. Nothing significant enough to change the result. Gilbert Norrell has lost, and after how certain his victory seemed it is a hollow thing indeed.

Tapping On The Glass

Yet Gilbert Norrell is not the only one to be suspicious of this sudden turn of events.

Childermass knows how hard Norrell campaigned, how much support he raised, how loud and forward his supporters were. Certainly after all the chaos with fae in the build up things seemed sure to fall in his favour. So, when Norrell instructs him (as he is wont to do) to investigate it is perhaps no surprise that he was planning to look into it anyway. Perhaps no surprise that he even found something, although the hows and whys are of course likely a surprise to Norrell.

The man is jumpy, perhaps more so than usual. Even at his best Gilbert Norrell held a distinct air of paranoia about him. Why should he not? He has a reputation, and one people should very much like to besmirch! They are jealous, of course, and he expects treachery at every turn! Oh, they would very much like to destroy him he is sure! Very much like to overturn his good work and bring the country to ruin!

The longer it goes on, the more convinced he becomes. His house is warded with as many spells as he can cast, and Norrell keeps to his library -- in a state of constant vigilance for intruders and betrayers while he researches. The world outside spins on, yet he takes little notice.

The knock startles Norrell in the quiet, and he stares down the doorway before Childermass stumbles in.

It takes him only a few short seconds to ascertain that he is not in good shape.

"Childermass!" he exclaims, "where on earth have you been? What has happened to you?" He rings a bell impatiently for someone else to come, frowning at the man as he stands and moves around the desk -- not quite willing to come too close but hesitantly uncertain if he should be helping. "I sent you out to find information, not involve yourself in a brawl!"

A Whisper of Treachery

Even so much as he is concerned about attacks on himself, about the poor state of things now he is no longer on the Night Council, he still does have time for his coven. That, of course, includes Elizabeth DeWitt. She may be an American, yet he has grown rather fond of her. She at least appears to listen to him, and while she is somewhat strong willed he knows she does have talent. If only she would just apply herself more to books...!

It is therefore pleasant of her to visit him for her tutelage still, and he has invited her into his library -- where tea and sandwiches have been served to help things along.

"Of course," he is saying while pushing some tea toward her, "I was as much surprised as you were. I am still quite certain that foul play was involved -- oh, very certain indeed! Yet it has become difficult to do anything about such a thing. The Night Council would not want it public such a thing is even possible, you see! Oh, no, they must be seen to be correct in all things! I am sure that is why they refuse to help me. I have written to them many a time, yet nothing has come of it. Childermass is looking into it, though. You will see. Childermass is good at these things."

Taking a sandwich he offers her a slightly forced smile and holds out a plate of them for her. How good it is to have someone to talk to who understands!

A Meeting of Witches

It is late when the knock at the door comes, and the summer storm rains so heavy against the glass he thinks it only that at first. Then, between the rumbles of thunder, he hears it again. A strange thing, too, since not many tend to visit Gilbert Norrell now he has less influence -- especially not at this hour. Yet the knocking is insistent, and after a moment he leans back and takes off his glasses, lofts an eyebrow at Childermass that suggests he go see to it.

The house is much heavier in its warding than it used to be, thick with magic to keep away fae largely, but his offer to Nancy of help in a time of need is one that will still stand -- and there is nothing to prevent a fellow witch coming near.

Especially not one who is invited it, and lead through the labyrinthine magic.

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It's late, late and raining, and outside Nancy thinks that it's the absolute perfect night for something like this. She'd walked from the nearest tube station to the home she now knew to belong to Gilbert Norrell. Instead of dressing sensibly, she'd dressed for work, trading in waterproof mascara for the sort that would run down her cheeks in the rain. Her usual makeup, other than her eyes, was foregone completely to appear pale and sickly. The glamours that kept the scars on her neck from being visible were removed, and she hadn't cast any sort of healing spell in the past few days. The idea was to look as pathetic and non-threatening as possible.

Make Norrell think he had nothing to fear from the waterlogged girl.

Heels in hand, Nancy knocked at his front door, her eyes red from a vicious rubbing she'd given them earlier. She was choosing to go into this deliberately without any sort of magic on her, if she could help it. And sometimes, she knew, mundane tricks could often appear to have the same effects as magic, yet undetectable. Everything was deliberately chosen, to keep him off her scent. To bolster his ego, because he was right all the long.

Help me, Mr. Norrell, you're my only hope.

Childermass glances at Norrell before rolling his eyes slightly and stiffly making his way out through the magic of the labyrinth to see who it might be at the front door.

The way that she looks is haggard it is true but Childermass is generally a man without pity, especially so when he is dealing with what can only be described as being stabbed through the shoulder with a trident. It makes his patience thinner than usual as well as he gazes down at her from in the doorway and speaks up to ask, in as neutral a tone as he can,

"What do you want?"

This was it.

When the door was opened, she didn't expect to be let warmly inside. Childermass disliked her, just as she disliked him- it still made her sick, too think how he had seemed quite content watching her approach Norrell under the impression she was hired for him. That entire night made her sick, but she swallowed the memories down.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Norrell," she told him, her voice high and tight. "He said he could help me."

Childermass looks rather unimpressed with this idea. He knows that there are those in the city at the moment who have it out for Mr Norrell. Which is why the other man has upped their security and is now effectively hiding away inside his library. Nancy has hardly been a friend, nor has Norrell treated her as such. There are so many reasons why such a meeting would not be a good idea...

"Help you with what?" he asks, staying right where he is in the doorframe and keeping her right where she is outside of it.

Of course he wouldn't be letting her in easy. But Fagin had always said she was a lovely little actress.

"My father," she says, but not before glancing over her shoulder, drawing away from the dark streets. "Fagin." The reason she'd been brought before Norrell before. "he was the staircase- he's gone too far. Mr. Norrell promised he would help me. You've got to let me in." If he didn't, she'd find a way in past him. She was small and fast.

Childermass frowns. Would Norrell have done something like that? Well, he knows that Norrell does have a bit of chivalry in him, when the mood suits. And he knows that he's probably something of a bleeding heart for a damsel in distress. Childermass isn't certain that he buys it himself. But if he's wrong and his suspicions are for nothing, if she really is coming to Norrell for so innocent a reason, then what will the other man say. Then again, if he's right...

He stares her down for another long moment before heaving a sigh and tilting his head towards the lobby as he lets her step in out of the rain. "You will stand there," he says, "while I make certain that he has made the offer you say he has." Reaching for his mobile to call Davey to bring the phone in to Norrell himself. God knows Childermass doesn't expect the man to answer it otherwise...

He keeps a solid eye trained on Nancy herself as he waits. Trying not to let on how stiffly he's holding himself as he does. Only a fool would let on such a weakness.

Almost there.

Nancy steps in when bid, with a heavy "Thank you. Thank you- I've got to see him."

Inside, Nancy stands still at the center of what she's sure is a very, very nice rug that she's dripping all over. She has no doubt that Norrell will accept her, now that she's here. What sort of man would turn a young woman in distress away? Well, perhaps Childermass.

He seems more temperamental than usual, she does notice. More gruff- they'd almost had a decent conversation back at Abby's anointing. She had every reason, of course, to think it was just his own mood. Her was letting a Midnight witch into the home of a former government official who happened to dislike Midnight witches very, very much. Childermass had a reason to be suspicious and be in a dour mood.

Hopefully, Norrell can be softened.

Norrell would never answer his own phone, that is what he hires people for.

He is snippy on the phone, impatient at having been interrupted and wanting to know whatever is it that Childermass is calling him for! At the confirmation that it is Nancy, however, that she is all soaked through and in trouble with Fagin -- oh, that gets his attention! Why is she still down there, then! Bring her up, so she can dry out by the fire! Bring her some towels and a hot drink! Be quick about it, of course! Oh, if she is in such a state she is sure to be in need of help! She is just a girl, Childermass, he is sure you can handle her!

Childermass is exasperated with Norrell's response, glancing over at Nancy dripping on the carpet and knowing that he, having spent decades in the other man's service, had come to him bleeding -- that he could very well have been dying -- and he would not have warranted such hospitality as the Midnight witch standing before him. He knows that has much to do with the fact that she is a woman, that Norrell thinks he has something to prove here, a chance to better himself (through the efforts of others, it should be noted, for Norrell will certainly not be offering the towels or the drinks).

He puts up something of a protest but he's no match for the other man's insistence. And he is but a servant. Whatever his protests, if he wants to keep his job he knows he is to follow orders. So it is that he turns to Nancy with a scowl.

"He wants to see you," he says, obviously not happy about it. He'll get to the towels later. He doubts she'll accept the drink so why bother. "Come." He steps forward. He doesn't have time for this, and he certainly doesn't have time to wait for her if she decides to dawdle.

Nancy can make out Norrell on the other side of the line. She only allows relief to cross her face as some weight fades from her shoulders. He'll see her- he meant his offer of sanctuary.

"Thank you!" She tells Childermass breathlessly. the facade must be held in front of all tonight. She'll follow him, through the large home, trying to memorize the way. she has no idea when this knowledge will come in handy, but she is sure it will.

She'll wait to be let into the study.

Childermass shoots her a glance over his shoulder that clearly states he would not be doing this if he didn't have to. "Don't thank me," he says, turning to face forward as he begins to lead her through the labyrinth of the spell to get to the library where Norrell has been hiding out. "This is all on him."

As he walks, there's an unnatural stiffness to his movements that he can't hide no matter how hard he tries. He's favoring his one side more than he should, but anyone would if they'd been stabbed recently and been allowed very little recovery time.

The entrance-way to the house, and the stairs up to the second floor, are all very traditional -- beautiful wooden floors and a winding staircase, expensive rugs. It's easy enough to memorise. On the second floor, however, her sense of the magic in the house will begin to strengthen. The furniture is all old fashioned, elegant, and as Childermass opens a doorway and begins to lead Nancy in her sense of direction will falter. It seems almost an impossibly long walk, longer than it should be, with so many twists and turns -- was it left there? Was it a right?

The Labyrinth spell is impossible to return through without a guide, so she may need to find another way out -- or else be very persuasive.

Once clear of it they step through into what is more a private library than a study. The very high ceilings of Norrell's Mayfair house mean he can have very intimidatingly tall book cases, and those line most of the walls. They are of a dark, elegantly carved in a French style -- something perhaps distantly amusing to anyone conscious of how often Norrell talks about English magic. A soft, warm light seems to fill the room -- although it is impossible to say where it comes from as nothing is lit. Norrell himself is sat at a desk under the high, wide mirror. The curtains to the vast windows are pulled shut against the storm, and he writes quickly.

For a few moments he ignores them, busying himself, before he looks up and frowns.

"Well!" he says, "help her get dry then! Where are the towels I asked for? Childermass, light the fire will you!"

It's easy to ignore Childermass' suffering when she's trying to memorize the way to Norrell's library. But the way gets jumbled, and she knows whatever magic is here is strong. This is going to be complicated. But if anyone can figure it out, it's Eames.

She's been in the library before- that same desk she leaned over. But now, she knows, really, what she's here for. She stands in the middle of the floor still, no longer dripping, but certainly water-logged. A chill has set in, and she draws her arms around her.

"Thank you, Mr. Norrell," she says after he orders Childermass about. "I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me." Nancy sniffles. "But I had nowhere else to go." He doesn't know about her living situation, her Enfield flat, how she's hardly spoken to Fagin since their fight. All the more power to her.

In a situation like this, the more she had, the better.

Childermass shoots the girl a look to say that he is most certainly not pleased with this, before he sets about doing as he's told. Stepping aside Childermass rings for another servant, quickly asking for them to bring up a set of towels for the lady -- and no, he doesn't sound very pleased even to be asking another to do such a thing for him either.

Once that is done he sets to work building up the fire in exactly the way he knows Norrell to like it, his movements stiff and stuttered as he bends to go about his work. Making certain to keep an ear to the conversation as he does. He's not about to leave the pair of them alone. Not unless he is outright dismissed. And Mr Norrell would never do so foolish a thing in such company. Would he...?

"A strong cup of tea will help," he assures her. "I often find my nerves are settled much better with some tea! Come, tell us what happened," he says, and flutters about for something for her to sit on which will not suffer with the wet. The hesitation as he tries to find something is clear -- he has some sympathy, but not quite enough to let her ruin good furniture. Or sit on a chair he likes. Eventually he grabs a small wooden stool (one in reality used for stepping on to reach high shelves) and offers it to her with a fixed grimace of a smile.

Nancy nods pathetically, and once the towels arrive, she bundles herself in one of them, making a big show about how soft the fabric is.

The large towel wrapped around her like a cloak, Nancy sits on the stool. She didn't expect Childermass to be here. But if he must be, she won't make a fuss of it. She has nothing he cannot hear.

She takes a few moments, to wait, to settle into the stool, and build the atmosphere back again, that she is suffering. Blinking her wide eyes, she avoids looking at either man, the picture of pathetic and pitiful. "You were right, Mr. Norrell," she tells him. "The fae- my father- I thought the hospital was the worst of it, but I was wrong. I was so bloody wrong!" She allows herself to burst into tears, holding herself tightly.

Edited 2016-06-27 02:24 (UTC)

Childermass would have to be a fool to leave the pair of them alone, and Childermass is no fool. Not when he can help himself, at least. He watches them, moving to lean back against one of the shelves out of the way of their conversation but still remaining close enough to be able to watch and hear everything that is being said and done. Norrell is not naive per se, but that is not to say that the other man is not suggestible. Especially not when in the hands of such a one as Nancy.

He waits for the tea to arrive and takes it from the other server, thanking them quietly and saying he'll do it himself before stepping forward to set the tray down on the table beside the young woman. "Drink some tea," he says. "Calm yourself." In a manner to suggest that he still has no intentions of believing her story until he sees concrete proof of the validity of it.

(ooc: apparently when you reply from email and have the thread tracked by another journal IT REPLIES WITH THAT JOURNAL OOPS...)

Her father? The fae? In truth, Norrell had not really known her real relationship with Fagin -- so he looks a little confused and surprised at her dramatics. Still, there is enough for him to get some idea. At the core of it, she has been wronged by fae! That is not a surprise. He stands awkwardly a moment, hands wringing, until Childermass speaks and he seems to jump back to life -- latching onto that.

"Yes, yes, the tea!" he repeats, and gestures at it encouragingly. Perhaps then she might be settled enough to speak more clearly!

Nancy isn't sure exactly how she expected this to go down, but she's certain hemming and hawing wasn't it. but she wasn't surprised in the slightest by Norrell's reaction.

Or Childermass' for that matter. He would never trust her. Good- she would never trust him, either.

She accepts the tea, and takes a careful sip at their bidding. Keeping her eyes low, the picture of humility, she bows her head. "thank you- I'm sorry." she looks at the door. "I keep imagining he's going to barge in here any minute and kill me- I can't shake the feeling tonight of all nights. My entire way here, the word murder stood out on every tube advertisement- I can't help but think it's an omen." Maybe it was- but not for her.

"Between Fagin and the vampires, I won't last the year. They'll kill me, one way or another. I should have listened!" She struggles to hold tears back as the tea is nearly forgotten.

Childermass can't help but think that it's all very dramatic. This show that she's putting on for Norrell. And there has to be something more to it than just the audience that she has managed to receive with the man now. There has to be something else. But he doesn't sense anything about her, and Nancy isn't strong enough on her own to be able to take on the both of them. So why this? Why all of this?

"Do you have proof of this?" Childermass cannot help but ask. "What has he done to lead you to believe such things?" Certainly, her Faigin has treated her poorly in the past and it's never sent her scrambling into the protective arms of Norrell, of all people.

Norrell hesitates at Childermass and his harsh chiding, feeling peculiarly cowed himself by the tone, then rallies and offers Nancy an awkward attempt at an encouraging smile.

"It is understandable," he says, "the fae are master manipulators. You were lead to believe they would protect you! It is a shame it came to this, but perhaps now your example will help others understand!"

Of course, Nancy would be a wonderful martyr for Daybreak to use. A Midnight witch, driven into the arms of a Daybreak High Priest! Fleeing from her terrible fae tormentors!

"Proof-" Nancy closes her eyes, looking away from these men. When she opens her eyes again, she's looking at Childermass "I come to you in need and you ask for proof-! Of course you would not believe me. Who could believe a girl like me? A whore you've hired..." Childermass wants proof. Childermass will get proof, and if she's lucky, a good dose of realizing how big of a dick he is. He's the threat to her operation, and she needs him to let his guard down.

Nancy closes her eyes again, pressing her lips together and reaches up and pulls back her curtain of ginger hair, revealing her neck. There, without any sorts of glamours or makeup, are a good number of puncture wounds from the vampires that have fed off of her for the past few years. Following suit, she shows him her wrists, covered in the same marks.

"There are others, too..." she shifts uncomfortably. She's not going to show them the rest of her body.

She sniffles and nods, and turns from Childermass, back to Norrell. "I was promised-he was so good to me for so long. I should have known-" she wraps her arms tightly around herself.

"They have nearly drained me dry, every night. I never wanted this." She didn't. She never had. But it was the life she lead, and it was hers to live. "Please, Mr. Norrell- you must help me. I've no where else to go."

Childermass doesn't particularly approve of the implications that he doesn't believe her because of what she is. He grew up on the streets, he was raised by women just like her. But he doesn't feel particularly driven to correct her either. Let her think what she likes of him, it doesn't really matter to him one way or the other her opinion of him. So long as it doesn't interfere with their conversation.

As for Nancy's 'proof', Childermass doesn't know what to make of it. He knows what she does for a living. He knows that this is part of what she does, for that matter, offering herself to vampires. She is suggesting that she had never wanted it -- he can believe that. Why would anyone want to offer themselves thus. The question still remains --

"Why now?" he has to ask. Why is she here now? What has pushed her over the edge thus? There must be some reason she is here. Seeking out Norrell, of all people.

Norrell makes a fussy sort of flapping motion at Childermass, as if to silently communicate yes, yes, we'll get to that part.

"Can you not see the girl is distressed!" he declares, before moving on to the important (in his opinion) part. "Do you think they will come looking for you here? They cannot enter -- none of us would give them permission, of course! We do not allow their kind here!" Vampires, fae, all the distasteful sorts. "But it will be... difficult, if they linger."

Give a bad sort of impression to anyone who notices. Make it hard to leave if they haunt every doorway. His reputation may well suffer if his house is seen to be surrounded at all times by less than respectable folk!

Of course, it may suffer for harbouring a midnight witch too, but this has good reason! It is for a greater good!

Sorry, Childermass. You may have grown up in the gutters and the streets, but Nancy remained there, and likely would until her death. Death that she knew would come for her sooner rather than later. She wouldn't kid herself to think she'd live a long life. Such beliefs only helped her performance. She nearly rose to her feet however, to explain how obvious it should be as to why she was here. But she remained seating, pulling her towel closer around her like a shield.

Ignoring Childermass, she focused again on Norrell. "no- that's why I came here. They'll look for me with my friends. You're the last person they'd believe I'd come to." Let them believe she'd told no one of his offer.

"if anyone can help me, it's you, Mr. Norrell." She looks like a child, no makeup save that which runs down her cheeks as she looks up at the man who shall believe he is her savior.

Childermass knows that he's being dismissed, ignored by Nancy, but he's having none of it. He wants to know the meaning of this because as far as he's concerned it's more than a little suspicious.

"So what would you have of him?" he asks Nancy, before turning to Norrell as well. "You know of her allegiances. If she says that these people are after her... Simply having her here is a threat in and of itself, sir." He knows he is stating the obvious, but he hopes he is stating it in such a way that will get across the point of the matter. Do you really want to be involving yourself in other people's problems like this? Especially at such threat to your person? It's certainly not Norrell's usual style, all things considered.

It's true, everything Childermass says is true and Norrell knows it. He is, in truth, horrified by the sight of Nancy -- it makes his delicate sensibilities twitch and curl inwards. Yet Norrell is not without heart, and perhaps if he helps her quickly he might get rid of her quickly too.

"Fetch her some hot water!" he snaps, and waves quickly at Childermass. If they argue much longer he will get a headache. Perhaps if he removes Childermass a moment they will both calm down. Nancy is just a girl, after all, what could she do? "And a cloth! Let her clean herself up a little before you question her."

It's odd- usually she's in Childermass' position. People barking at her to do something, be of more help. She always did all she could, willingly and often without being told, but sometimes it wasn't enough. Sometimes, you just wanted your voice to be heard.

But both she and Norrell were hearing Childermass loud and clear.

"I don't know what I want," she admits. "I know how this looks, and I'm sorry. I'm so bloody sorry." She closes her eyes again, against the world. "I don't even think there's anything anyone can do for me. I made my bed fourteen years ago. It's high-time I lied in it." She wipes at her eyes.

"You have every right to refuse to help me. Most good men would. But please, let me have safety tonight."

Childermass looks between the two, taking in the look of Nancy and the pathetic way she is selling herself to them, unable to tell in truth whether it's a lie or not. Perhaps because he knows there is some truth to the matter, he just doesn't know how big of a part that is. He glances back at Norrell, letting him know as best he can in his gaze that he's not happy about this, that he doesn't trust her. Before he does as he's told. He can't keep ringing for another servant to come for him, after all. Not without raising more questions. Not without potentially getting more of them involved.

"Do not make the mistake of trusting her," Childermass warns, glancing at Nancy once more before disappearing out the door to fetch what he has been asked to. At least if there is trouble, he has confidence that Norrell will let him know. Barring that, the security spells will.

Norrell waits until Childermass has left, frozen awkwardly slightly cringed away from Nancy until he finally moves -- turns to pick up a tin of biscuits and hesitantly opens it and offers one to her.

"Perhaps something to eat might steady you?" he offers, a little hopeful that at some point all the crying might stop. Norrell is not particularly good with displays of emotion, or much good with women at all to be quite honest. His only understanding is what he knows of himself -- that a drink and a biscuit sometimes helps him calm down!

Unfortunately sometimes such a cure does not scale to larger problems.

"Thank you." She's breathless, and she reaches for the biscuit. She holds it in one hand, but doesn't move to eat it. How could she, with Childermass' words echoing in her ears?

"I made a mistake in coming here," she settles with. "I should have known-" she won't let herself finish, shaking her head, auburn curls slowly drying in the heat from the fire.

She should have known she wouldn't be welcome here. That's what she'll say if bidden.

She takes a long, shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Norrell. If there's some way you could offer me shelter, but only for the night. Or- help me get out of London...? I would be so grateful. Midnight would never do such a thing for me." They would. If she needed it.

If Childermass had it in himself to be exasperated with the other man's reaction he probably would be. But it's taken most of what he has to get himself moderately patched up and across town back to the house itself. So he merely grunts as he shuts the door behind himself and then wearily makes his way to the first chair he can find that isn't upholstered. He knows better to bleed on the furniture.

"You know me better than to involve myself in a common brawl, sir," he protests, shifting the hand pressed to his shoulder slightly, hissing, and then pressing it back down. It's still bleeding. That's probably not a good sign. But he can still breathe and walk and talk so at least it could have been worse. "I think I may have found the answer you have sought." That should at least get his attention, if nothing else.

"Answer?" Norrell says, and indeed Childermass has his full attention now. "Then tell me! What is it you have found? The vote?" he prompts, because always it is about the vote now. Almost as much as the fae. It is a sore point, and Norrell holds a grudge better than anyone can. He will not let go of this loss, not if he can do something to overturn it.

Childermass sighs. The least he could do is offer him a glass of water? Though the fact that he's rung for help is something at least, he supposes. He wonders who will come, and whether they will have enough sense to care what sort of condition he's in.

"Yes, the vote," he growls, because what the hell else could he be talking about. He knows what sort of reaction this reveal is going to draw out in the other man and he has more than a bad feeling about it. "Mr Norrell, you mustn't continue to go looking for these people," he says, evading the truth of the matter. "They are dangerous. Following down this line will bring you nothing but trouble."

"Dangerous!" he exclaims, "trouble?! I already have nothing but trouble! I have been slandered, cheated of my position, now my servants are being attacked -- what would you have me do? Stand by and let this continue? Until it is me they attack? No! I will not let this rest --"

He rings the bell angrily, and a second later the door opens a fraction.

"There you are! Can you not see this man is bleeding? Fetch the doctor! And some water and a cloth!"

With what little extra Childermass has left to spare for it, he rolls his eyes at the other man. Oh, he's very happy to ring a bell for help but to lift a finger on his own, to get his own hands dirty? Even in such a moment as this?

"They know that I was after them," he says. "They know that I will tell you. God only knows where they will take this next. You must be ready," Childermass warns the other man, although how he should be ready he cannot say for certain. He has to say, he's having more than a little difficulty keeping his head from spinning and his train of thought. Perhaps it has something to do with the blood loss...

"I will strengthen the wards," Norrell says, "nobody would dare come in here! I will not allow it. The coven will help, of course --"

A small, slightly ruffled and worried looking servant takes one look at Childermass and begins to pale. The snap of Norrell's temper sends him scattering again quickly, and the man thins his lips. Childermass can probably imagine the various irritable thoughts about lazy servants running through his mind.

"What did you find?" he continues on. "You must have found something! You would not be in this state, otherwise!"

'This state' being bleeding, generally, something Norrell is aware of but does not deem worthy of stopping an interrogation.

Childermass glances over in the direction that the servant disappeared and sighs slightly. He'd like nothing more than to be anywhere but here. Possibly in hospital. Or at least laying down somewhere. Maybe if he had made his way to the kitchen first before through to here then some of the ladies who'd be working there at this time of the day would have at least done something. More than Norrell and his demands, at any rate.

"I followed the trail that I had uncovered, which led me to the fae. And then one of them became upset with my questions and decided to stab me. With a trident," Childermass grinds out at the other man. Is this what he wants to know? There really isn't that much more than that.

"A trident!" Norrell echoes, clearly horrified now. "Whatever was it doing with a trident!"

Clearly the important question. Who uses a trident these days?

Childermass raises his eyebrows at the other man at the question. "Using it to stab other people with, apparently," he responds. "Where it came from, considering we had just come from the inside of a crowded club your guess is as good as mine, sir. No doubt there was some sort of fae magic involved."

The important part of this is that the pointy ends had gotten shoved into Childermass' shoulder. All three of them, at that. And it hurt more than anything, although he knows that if he'd been more injured then he'd probably have lost consciousness somewhere between here and there. "If it's any consolation, I don't think the fae intended to kill me," Childermass adds, a bit self-deprecatingly. Otherwise it would have likely done so.

Fae magic! Tridents! Norrell feels increasingly distressed by all this news, and it shows as his face begins to furrow deeper into discontent.

"Well what if they followed you here! What if it was a trap!" Since for all his confidence in his wards five minutes ago, the prospect of fae with tridents coming to his house is suddenly making him uneasy. He lunges for a book, begins to flick through for something uneasily. "Did they give you anything, Childermass? Slip something into your pockets? Why would they not kill you?"

A trap, surely! A way to bypass his wards!

Childermass shakes his head. He can't remember being slipped anything. He can't remember the fae getting that close, certainly not after he had gotten shifty about him. Not unless you counted the whole stabbing incident. Besides, he has half a mind to protest that isn't being stabbed threat enough? Perhaps they had missed.

"They tried to trick me into a promise," he replies. "To try and keep me quiet. No doubt so that they would not have to worry about whether I lived or not."

"A promise!" Norrell echoes, voice rising further with consternation. "Now you are getting into deals with fae! Is this how things are to be now?"

'Tried' somewhat passed him by, for so disturbed is Norrell by the closeness of all these troubles to his person that nothing but worst-case scenarios occur to him. Attacks, spells, deals. All of this fae involvement is much outside his comfort zone!

Childermass rolls his eyes slightly at the other man. "I promised them nothing," he insists. "I pulled what tricks I was able to get out of there as fast as I could before they were able to exact anything from me and came straight here." Instead of to hospital or anywhere he probably should have headed before coming straight to Norrell.

"They've painted a target on you, Mr Norrell. And now they know my association with you as well. You need to guard yourself. I would not be surprised if that election were only the beginning, given recent events." Being stabbed for prying and all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Beginning of the End [ Active / Semi-Open ]

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Tapping on the Glass

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