riddleofthebelow

"It was not unpleasant at all," says Wei Wuxian with a faint laugh. The tears have backed down by now; he studies the room with avid interest, grinning bright. "I will visit wherever you lead, Tom-gongzi. Show me as much as you wish!"

The library is from the 1970s, a decade Tom's pretty okay with not having actually lived through his first time round. It's a large rectangular room lined along the walls. It may not be as diverse as the library at Milliways but there are many works representing many worlds on the shelves and in the stacks that reach from the floor to the highest shelves.

They do not reach the ceiling! Tom has gotten so much better about that!

Children's books, both Muggle and magical, are scattered about on the squashy avocado green sofas that make the shape of a u in the middle of the room. They are also stacked on the floor. Portico and Egress are learning terrible book handling habits from their father.

The magical section takes up two large shelves, but the oldest and most interesting (or nefarious) tomes are in Tom's personal study, which has its own painting on the wall that may be chimed.

"Here we are. Oh. Erm. Please excuse the mess. We make use of this room on a regular basis."

He takes out his wand and waves it to straighten at least a few of the stacks into less haphazard towers.

"Not to worry," Wei Wuxian is quick to reassure him. "My room is often not fit for visitors, either. In a week's time, the walls will be more talisman than wood, I am sure!"

With a keen interest, he watches Tom charm the books back into place, then turns his attention to the shelves, hands folded behind his back. Many of the bindings are thicker, more rugged than other books he's seen, with prominent labels and no exposed sewing; as always, he waits patiently until the inn works its magic, the text blurring as if smudged by water and reforming in a legible language.

Lan Zhan would love this, he catches himself thinking.

A title catches his eye. Curious, he pulls A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration from the one of the shelves housing the magical books and flips it open.

"Oh, yes, that's an excellent choice," he says. "You can borrow it, if you like. There ought to be ways to make theories represented here work with written word instead of spoken."

He's pretty sure he's going to ask Wei Wuxian if he'd like access to the House of Arch once they go back to Milliways. He'll key him to this room in a heartbeat.

"You do not mind?" he asks, looking up in surprise.

Everyone who knew Wei Wuxian during his studies at Cloud Recesses would have no idea what to make of the eager light in his eyes. The difference, of course: Cloud Recesses was boring. Why read book after book about rules and tradition and every speck of minutiae when you could be learning about a whole new cultivation system?

"The books here are meant to be read, and I'll gladly share them with another inquisitive mind. That's the only way you keep learning, become more skilled. If you limit yourself, well."

He shrugs, because every book is a useful book, even the darkest ones, the ones that scream when you open them. So long as you treat them with respect and carry the darkness, instead of letting it carry you.

"It doesn't serve you, in my experience. I have even more magical content in my study. It's more restricted than what's on view here, because children and guests don't necessarily need access to it."

"Ah, Tom-gongzi," he sighs. "I wish more of my teachers had been like you."

He snaps the book closed.

"I will content myself with these for now, but if you deem me worthy to look at the restricted material as well, I would consider it a great honor."

"Yours were narrow-minded and tradition bound, too?"

He laughs. "Come and see."

Walking over to the painting, he offers an elbow to Wei Wuxian once again. When they step through the portal, they are in his 50's era study, in a room with stone walls and a view out the window into a cold winter morning long past. This room is no tidier than the library, from the stacked shelves containing the oldest books and scrolls to the blocky wooden desk that is covered in quills and parchments, open books with notes scribbled in the margins. But there is an organized chaos here; Tom knows exactly where everything is.

There's a sofa in the cozy space as well, and Tom's collapsed on it more than one evening researching here when he could no longer evade sleep.

His white owl, Galatea, perches on her post by the window, preening her feathers. There's a crackling fire in the hearth.

"I hope it's warm enough. We keep the fire going because this rooms tends to stay cold." He prefers it. It keeps his mind sharp.

It's more lived-in, more ornate than Wei Wuxian's own room -- only to be expected, considering he arrived at Milliways a mere month ago -- but the organized chaos is so familiar that it warms his heart.

"It is fine," he says. His eyes light up with wonder at the owl; cautiously, he approaches the perch. "Is she yours?"

A true owl for company, not the dire owl of the Wen clan -- this is fascinating.

Galatea dips her head, regards the visitor with care, and then huffs out a friendly hoot. Tom pulls open a desk drawer and hands Wei Wuxian a pouch of owl treats from Diagon Alley.

"Yes, owls are familiars in the Wizarding world, and carry our mail and messages. Do you have familiars? That is, animals that are magically significant companions?"

He laughs, accepting the bag from Tom. "Yes," he tells the owl cheerfully, "you do not have to warn for the dead. I am here."

Wei Wuxian fishes out a treat and offers it to the owl between pinched fingers.

"We do not have companions like these. Our messengers are spiritual constructs. One of the Great Sect leaders had a dire owl, but it was to a living owl as the moon is to the sun."

Oh, Galatea approves of this visitor. She takes the treat with a dainty nibble of her beak. She hoots again, and she shifts her weight from one talon to the other in anticipation of another nibble.

"She's carried messages between worlds and dimensions for many years now. She's quite exceptional."

His snakes are his true familiars, but he's very proud of his owl.

"A very good bird indeed. Aren't you," he croons to Galatea, and scratches the back of her head as one would fuss over a cat.

(To encourage her to put up with this indignity, he also gives her another treat.)

She will allow this. Because she is a very good bird, indeed, and she appreciates the fuss. And the treats.

"Yes, and she's clearly starved and deprived of any attention ever," he deadpans.

He's about to begin a run down of his current research, just in case Wei Wuxian might be even a little bit interested, when he's stopped by a movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Blast and damnation", he mutters under his breath as a rat with a message tied around its neck crawls out from under the corner of his desk.

"Excuse me for a moment, please. While the Wizarding world uses owls for messengers, rats or pigeons are the conveyance in the Underside. Duty calls."

He's not as fluent in his understanding of pigeon or rat speak as he'd like, and he's relieved when this rat sticks to formalities he can easily track - a quick series of squeaks followed by it rearing up on its haunches and watching Tom expectantly. He removes the message - which appears to be written on the back of a long grocery store receipt - from around its neck, reads it, and frowns.

"Well, this is a spot of bother."

As Tom tends to the messenger-rat -- Wei Wuxian wonders, briefly, if the rats of the Underside are the same as the rats who occasionally serve food and drink at the inn -- he continues to fuss gently over Galatea, murmuring cheerful praise and feeding her more treats. He smooths a hand over her white feathers and chuckles when she squinches her eyes shut in pleasure.

When Tom speaks, though, he glances up in mild concern.

"What is it?" he asks.

Before Tom can speak, the rat chitters out what can only be described as a pompous and demanding series of squeaks. Tom's smile freezes on his face and he stares into the mid-distance for a moment as his fists clench at his sides. He takes a breath as he reminds himself that the Rat Speakers are vital allies who must be placated and then he nods to the rat.

"Yes, Duke Longwhiskers, I understand the urgency. Please tell Lord Rat Speaker that I am on my way."

His lips press into a thin line once the rat scuttles back under the desk and on its way. He takes another deep breath and congratulates himself for not blasting the impertinent rat with a hex.

Then he turns to Wei Wuxian, and the conflict has passed; his face is cheerful once more.

"I have a situation I need to take care of immediately, I'm told."

He could leave the younger man here in the study. This will neither take long nor be much of a problem. Leaving someone in a room they can't escape when no one else knows they are there would be... a really, really bad idea. Of course he could also take the few minutes to return Wei Wuxian to Milliways, but where would the fun be in that?

"How would you feel about going with me on a quick errand into London Below?"

His whole face lights up. "You would not mind?"

In his excitement, he stops scritching Galatea for a moment. (Poor Galatea.) It is true that Milliways has provided ample opportunity for Wei Wuxian to keep himself busy -- especially since Lan Zhan has arrived -- but in the end, it is a single inn that does not even provide a chance to go to a nearby village for a time. A change of scenery does not sound unwelcome at all.

"Do you have talismans to use, should you need them? And, I know this may sound like an odd question from one magic user to another, but would you like a weapon? The Underside is not a place for the faint of heart, at the best of times."

While Tom is absolutely sure that he can handle anything that comes at them, there's always a risk of unpredictable danger when you take a step into London Below. It's better to be prepared.

"I have blank talismans," he says, touching a hand to the front of his robes. "My cultivation will let me write quickly without ink, if necessary. And I have my flute, if there is enough resentful energy in the Underside for me to make use."

The fact that he must even ask that question! Sigh.

"Brilliant."

He moves to the wall and presses his hand against the stone, closing his eyes and feeling for the door. Chalk Farm ought to be an easy, one way trip, but-

Not today.

"Bloody buggering fuck," he curses, absolutely done with this task and it's barely started. He just wants to sit down and talk magical research with his new friend, but noooooo, Lord Rat Speaker has to abuse his privilege, as usual, and come running for aid.

"We can't go straight there. I could do it, but it wouldn't be a safe path if I have someone with me. We'll get there in two phases."

He takes out his wand, holding it in his left hand at the ready. There are probably other warnings he should provide, but, Temple and Arch, it will be fine. There hasn't been a mysterious disappearance or unpredictable fatal event in Tom's presence in at least a year.

"Take my elbow again, and do please don't let go. For any reason. I'll let you know when we're there."

Edited 2020-09-15 02:29 (UTC)

He nods assent, says, "All right," and grasps Tom's arm.

Moments later, with another rush of magical energy, they land in a long, echoing tunnel.

He is surprised at first by just how much it echoes; the thump of their landing reverberates like thunder, rippling forward and back down the space. It seems infinite, in the dim light, though of course it cannot be. They stand on a platform covered with smooth ceramic tile. Next to them is a long trench laid with metal tracks. More colorful tiles, far smaller, dot the curving ceiling like stars.

And around them --

There are plants, softly glowing. Green splotches of lichen, blue mushroom caps, ivy of brilliant yellow fanning across the walls. They paint the tiles a deep, shadowy kaleidoscope of color; they stain his dark robes with purples and indigos. It is like a temple fallen to seed, but the traces of spiritual energy it left behind light the way even now.

Wei Wuxian's eyes are round with wonder, an awed smile on his face as he turns (without letting go of Tom's arm) to take it all in. He almost -- almost -- wants to step away and peer closer. Surely there would be no harm in it?

But he does not know all the dangers of this place, and so he does not let go.

Tom is relieved by this! It makes things so much simpler in the "not having your companion devoured by an Underside entity by mistake" department.

He presses his hand to a tile that is mostly free of fauna, and says "One more door."

They step from the verdant platform into the gloaming of a twilight from long ago. Chalk Farm in London Above has no naturally occurring chalk, as one might assume. It's name comes from the family who held the land for hundreds of years.

In London Below, Tom and Wei Wuxian now stand at the base of rolling hills interspersed with patches of bright white in their cliffs. They are not nearly as tall and dramatic as the White Cliffs of Dover, as there are bushes, trees, and grasses interspersed throughout the sheltered valley. The path under their feet glistens white where the grass doesn't grow.

"Right, things should be fine now; this is a fairly stable area. Don't wander out of sight, though. That's never a good idea here."

Tom looks around and hears raised voices coming from down the path where the land flattens out beside a fast running brook.

"Have you heard of hags? They are harbingers of bad tidings, usually." He grins. "As owls are often said to be. That's what we're dealing with here."

"I haven't heard of them by that name," says Wei Wuxian thoughtfully. He returns the grin. "But I know of spirits and omens of bad luck. Shall we see what bad tidings we can avert?"

Tom nods. He really likes this young man.

"The situation is that this bit of the Underside housed a tiny fiefdom, but they've been absorbed into a larger barony. The Rat Speakers are moving in, and the hag, even though she was here first, has to be relocated because of complex and annoying politics. She's not going to be willing to go anywhere, but hags are easy to subdue."

They round a curve on the path and before them is a crowd of angry people yelling - at a safe distance - at a hag shrouded in gray tatters and brandishing a laundry bat. Bloodstained clothes from all different eras are laid out to dry on the bushes behind her.

The hag screeches, and Tom approaches her as the Rat Speakers mutter things like "It's about time" and "He'd better get this sorted" and "Lady Door's father was much better with this kind of thing".

Tom ignores them, practiced diplomatic smile plastered on - but only just - and turns all his attention to the angry creature standing in the shallow water.

"Madam Hag," he says, and the politeness and charm he conveys her way is genuine. "I'm afraid I must ask you to come with me now."

Edited 2020-09-16 00:46 (UTC)

Well, this is all dreadfully unfair! She was here first, after all, and she would not be causing trouble to anyone if they simply left her alone, would she? But now that the crowd has agitated her into resentment, he supposes suppression has become the only option. Sigh.

Pulling the bamboo flute from his belt, he folds his arms and cocks his head as he surveys the situation. The hag shrieks again and swings her laundry bat, causing a few onlookers to gasp and leap back a few paces.

Without taking his eyes off the creature, Wei Wuxian leans to the man next to him and asks in an undertone, "How long has this been going on?"

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