Archive of Our Own ^beta

The children—there were quite a lot of them these days, between Chants and Pinhoes and a Montana and a griffin—were in the middle of breakfast when Mary came bustling in. “Surprise visit,” she said, tightening her apron fussily and correcting the pins in her hair. “Mr. Tesdinic is here from Series Seven.”

Julia let out a quite un-Julia-like squeal and threw herself out of the room. Cat stared. Roger got up too, rather more quickly than he was prone to moving. “Family friend,” Roger explained. “Come on! Conrad’s wonderful.”

Cat looked over to see what Janet thought and was shocked to see a horrible, almost Gwendolen-like expression on her face. He stared away hastily, over to Tonino, who was looking trusting and timid as usual. Tonino shrugged. Marianne wiped her mouth politely and nodded her head at Joe to get up. Klartch, who had been utterly focused on his minced beef until now, flapped off of his stool, interest glinting in his yellow eyes. Cat, unwilling to see that expression on Janet again, followed Julia and Roger. The rest of the children padded behind him.

They met Chrestomanci coming down the grand staircase. Julia was just leaping into the arms of a black-haired man in a casual but still obviously expensive gray suit. “Julia!” he cried, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead. “My dear, it is wonderful to see you. Why on Earth are you so tall? Will you ever stop growing?”

“Never, Conrad,” said Julia, hugging his midsection. “I’m so glad you’ve come! Why didn’t you tell us you were on your way?”

“Indeed,” said Chrestomanci, halfway down the steps.

Conrad looked up, his eyes bright. “Christopher!” Cat blinked. He didn’t think he had ever heard anyone call Chrestomanci that. Conrad put Julia politely aside and met Chrestomanci at the bottom of the stairs. They shook hands, grinning boyishly.

“I can’t think where Millie is,” said Chrestomanci. “I’m sure she’s—”

A door slammed nearby and Millie came hurrying out of a side room. “Conrad!” she cried, rushing up to Conrad and hugging him hugely. “Oh, my dear, it’s wonderful to see you! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” said Conrad. “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.” With raised brows, he surveyed the crowd of children behind Chrestomanci. “They seem to have multiplied, Christopher. I swear you only had two last I checked.”

Millie laughed. Chrestomanci turned to gesture the children forward, and they lined up more or less automatically. “Conrad, these are our wards Eric Chant and Janet Chant, and our guest students Tonino Montana, Marianne Pinhoe, Joseph Pinhoe, and… Klartch.”

“Hello,” said Klartch, waving a wing.

“It’s wonderful to meet all of you.” He smiled at each of them, and positively grinned at Klartch.

Chrestomanci said, “Children, this is Conrad G—Tesdinic.” He blinked rapidly and plucked at his sleeves. Conrad watched him flounder, grinning. “Excuse me,” murmured Chrestomanci. “Conrad is from Series Seven. He’s a photographer and my representative in that world.”

“Have you got any photographs for us?” Julia burst out. She came to stand beside Conrad and stared up at him, hangdog. “You said you’d bring some last time.”

“Julia, let him rest first,” Millie scolded. “Conrad, you’ve come such a long way, let me make you a cup of tea.”

“I did bring photographs, but Millie’s right, I’d like to sit,” said Conrad, smiling down at her. “I’ll show them to you later, yeah?”

“If you must. I’m glad you’re here,” Julia added.

“As am I,” said Conrad, leaning down and kissing her on the forehead again. Chrestomanci and Millie went off with Conrad between them, murmuring to each other.

“Come on back and finish breakfast,” said Mary behind them. “He brought enough luggage for a few weeks, Euphemia’s just told me, so you’ll have plenty of time to see him.”

=

Between stopping Klartch from tearing his texts, separating Joe and Roger from their aeroplane diagrams, taking fiction books away from Julia and Tonino, making Janet focus, and getting Cat and Marianne to speak up, Mr. Saunders had a hard time of it. The children were even worse the day Conrad came. Julia and Roger were telling the others all about him when Mr. Saunders came in and he had to let off a little explosion to get their attention. “I know we’ve just been invaded by outlanders, but let’s focus, shall we?” he said dryly. Cat, never good with sarcasm, had a second’s worry that Series Twelve really had been invaded. The explosion had rattled him. Muttering, the children settled in their desks. “What do any of you know about Series Seven?”

“Britain isn’t an isle,” said Julia automatically. “There are four major powers: the Teutonic States, Britain, France—”

“Someone who doesn’t know Conrad quite as well as you,” said Mr. Saunders, which quelled Roger as well.

“Aren’t there interesting machines there?” said Joe keenly. “That camera was a gem. More advanced than I’ve ever seen!”

“Yes, Series Seven is a bit ahead of Twelve in timeline,” said Mr. Saunders. He snapped his fingers and a book flew off one of the blue shelves on the wall and floated over to Joe’s desk. “Here’s a mechanical history of Seven for you.”

“Cool,” said Joe devotedly.

“I’ve read that they have limited wildlife,” Marianne put in. “Edgar Cloistia says Seven has a different climate history, which has severely cut down on the number of independent species in that world.”

“Quite right,” said Mr. Saunders. “Anyone else?”

“No griffins,” sighed Klartch. Everyone laughed.

“Yes, sorry about that, Klartch,” said Mr. Saunders. “Seven isn’t a world with naturally occurring griffins. They have a few dragons—well, we all do—and some interesting beasts called macrophages, but it’s mainly humans, of course.”

They spent the rest of the day learning about Series Seven. Cat found himself watching Janet, whose alarming expression had been replaced with a mildly irritated one. She kept glancing over Julia at with storms in her eyes. Cat wondered. They hadn’t seemed mad at each other before breakfast. But now he thought, Julia didn’t seem mad at Janet. In fact, she was ignoring Janet altogether. Which was odd, considering how they were generally thick as thieves.

Cat and Tonino rushed down to see Syracuse between lunch and afternoon lessons. Cat was gratified that Tonino shared his interest in horses and even more pleased that Syracuse seemed to like Tonino quite a lot. At least, Syracuse let had let Tonino trot around the yard on him once, which for Syracuse was tantamount to adoption.

Joss sent them through to the stables, where they found they weren’t alone. Conrad was kneeling on the dirty ground, heedless of his expensive slacks, taking a photograph of Syracuse, who was peering curiously out of his box. Conrad turned when he heard Cat and Tonino come in.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly. “I hope you don’t mind, Cat. I’ve heard Syracuse is yours. He’s gorgeous.”

“I only mind if he minds,” said Cat.

“He hasn’t so far,” said Conrad. He stood up and came over to shake hands with Cat and Tonino without brushing off his knees. “It really is wonderful to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, dear,” said Tonino.

Conrad laughed. He had an open, handsome face and a scar down his jaw, from his ear to his chin, that stretched when he moved his mouth. “Tonino Montana, right?” said Conrad. “Christopher went on and on about your magic to me in letters for a month. I had to tell him to shut up after a while. I feel as if I already know you.” He turned to Cat. “And of course, the famous Cat Chant,” he said. “Glad to see you’re settled in here. Christopher tells me your magic is stronger than his, and I’ve seen him turn an army into a plague of locusts.”

“Really?” said Cat interestedly. “He hasn’t told me about that.”

“Well, he ought,” said Conrad. “I’ll get him to, no worries.”

They talked until Tonino realized that they were late for afternoon lessons. Cat transported them hastily back to the Castle. Mr. Saunders taught a magic theory lesson that Cat dozed lightly through. He could not wait until dinner.

=

Almost everyone wanted to sit next to Conrad. Since the table was long, there were five spaces—two next to him and three across—that were optimal for conversation, and Julia, Roger, Cat, Tonino, and Joe got them. Marianne and Janet, who were great friends these days, kept Klartch company down table. Chrestomanci and Millie sacrificed themselves to Bernard, who was on about Art again now that an Artist was at the table. “Do you,” he called importantly to Conrad down the table, “hold with Adams’s ideas about coloration and the grid process?”

“No, Adams can stuff it,” Conrad called back. “Come bark at me about posh post-modernists any other time, Bernard. They make me sick at dinner.”

Between salad and main, Conrad passed around a packet of photographs. “Have you lot heard about my magic?” he asked Cat, Tonino, and Joe. “It’s quite specialized. I can see things that others can’t, and my camera can capture those things. If I were a painter I could probably paint them, or a writer—you get the idea. I’m only average with magic but it’s a nicely unique talent.”

Cat stared at the photograph he was holding. It was of a frumpy, fat young woman with thick glasses and a petulant expression. There was something strikingly beautiful about her, though Cat could not quite understand what it was. He tilted the photograph. A bramble of thorns appeared around her head in a sort of halo, and there was a scepter in her hand. She looked royal—no, imperial. The thorns were on fire, burning up, disappearing. Determination and stubbornness shone out of her eyes.

“That’s an empress I’ve met,” said Conrad from beside him. “Those thorns and that scepter—they weren’t there when I took the photo. And you can see how gorgeous she is, can’t you? But she doesn’t exactly—look it. Quite an inner beauty, that one.”

“I cannot decide if I would want you to take my picture or not,” said Tonino, staring at another photograph. “It might say too much.”

“It’s a real concern,” said Conrad. “I’ve had plenty of customers unhappy about their portraits. So I try to do freelance work these days. You’ll like this one, Cat. I’ve just developed it.”

Cat put the photograph of the empress down and took the paper Conrad offered him. It was Syracuse, leaning his neck out of the stall. Cat smelled peppermint. Syracuse’s eyes blinked intelligently, and scars formed briefly on him, scars that glowed with old, angry magic. His coat was gleaming. Cat had never seen him look so perfect.

“You can have it, if you’d like,” said Conrad.

Cat simply nodded, overwhelmed. Conrad seemed to understand.