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Updated: Jan 10, 2021
Please note that this is a Magical Alternate Universe fiction. While characteristics and style in this story are pulled from Great Expectations, situations, relationships, and various other details have been altered from the original novel. Additionally, the physical characteristics of the characters have been altered, in some cases drastically, to dramatize and emphasize various facets of their personality.
“Mr. Jaggers is in the parlor.”
It was strange to me that the butler’s voice would be so calm. Herbert’s arm looped softly through mine.
Mr. Jaggers’ name typically elicited an emotion. Fear was the most common, followed by awe and admiration. But strangely, the man’s voice was dry and empty. I resolved to bring him a glass of water on my way out.
Satis House was, as always, silent, watching the ruined grounds with the sad gaze of an estranged grandparent, and searching, desperate for one square meter of unsullied ground. But in vain. Miss Havisham’s influence was powerful enough to corrupt even the bricks that lined the ruined garden—they were encrusted in black fungus, which seemed to curl out of the mortar and grip the walls with matted threads.
Herbert and I entered and I noticed, not for the first time, that he immediately inscribed a sigil in the air. His fingers danced in a circle twice, then across it once. Protection. He was afraid.
I could hardly blame him, as I myself was uncertain of what we were here for, and I felt his grip on my arm tighten, so I smiled at him and led the way through the atrium.
My name is Pip, and I am a middling wizard of no great repute. Miss Havisham was a wizard as well, and I had studied under her in my childhood. This connection was more coincidence than anything, as I lived in a town rather nearby to Miss Havisham’s estate. A relative of mine, an uncle I believe, had introduced me to her on a whim, and she had brought me to work as her apprentice. I had met Estella on the same day, but I did not know her well. She had already begun to establish her abilities in witchcraft, proving incompatible with Miss Havisham’s traditional wizard tutelage.
I understood Jaggers to be a sorcerer of great power. He had established an enormous reputation, broader even than his shoulders, of adhering so perfectly to the laws of the fey that they could not help but grant him a place in The Court. It had not taken him long, and he had become The Court’s primary advisor, holding debates entirely with himself (if the rumors were to be believed).
Mr. Jaggers was, as announced, waiting in the parlor. I recognized him immediately, as he seemed to fill any room he occupied despite the typically slight stature of the elven race. His skin was the same dark oak as the panels in the walls, but his glittering purple eyes stood out like chips of amethyst.
Herbert and I sat together on a dusty couch, and I began to look around the room at all those present.
With us was Estella, a witch of some renown, and though I didn’t personally know her well, I knew her well by reputation. I believe she was a niece of Miss Havisham, or perhaps an adopted daughter. They bore no resemblance, which was fortunate for the younger and rather unfortunate for the elder.
Estella was there with a man whom I knew personally, though I fear that coincidence was of the unfortunate variety. His name was Drummle, and I can safely say I looked forward to greeting him less than any other person in the room. He was short in stature and demeanor and had no small penchant for angry outbursts. I knew him to be an assistant of the fickle type, likely following Estella for as long as it benefitted his own selfish ends. I had employed him during a rather unfortunate series of events ending in his sacking, and all subsequent interactions between us had been terse, to put it lightly.
The Pockets were also present, Herbert and Miss Havisham’s mutually rejected family, likely hoping for the scraps of Miss Havisham’s monetary and magical fortune. I fear they sat there largely in vain.
It occurs to me that I had not yet addressed the most important person in the room, a largish man with orcish features, but still, in my eyes, the comeliest person in the room. Abel Magwitch.
He stood with his back to the corner, as was his wont, arms crossed. The permanent scowl stamped onto his face was gone, replaced now with a soft gaze. He was looking at Estella.
Before I could consider this further, a tiny door in the wall opened, and a small toad entered the parlor. He was holding in his mouth a glass orb with flowing script all over it. Mr. Jaggers coughed, and then spoke.
“This creature is in my employment and is to be called Wemmick.”
Wemmick hopped to Jaggers’ side and gave him the orb.
Upon closer inspection, the telltale signs of a shapeshifter showed through the pallid green skin. I wondered briefly whether, when he was human, his mouth was as wide and thin as it was now.
Before I could speculate further, Jaggers turned his eyes to the ceiling and continued. “I have in my hand, as you can all clearly see, this crystal, which contains, to the extent of my knowledge and ability, a sending from Miss Havisham, a client of mine, which concerns most,” he said, with a pointed glance at the Pockets, who shifted uncomfortably and in unison, “of those who are, to the extent of my knowledge and ability, present.”
If I am to be frank, and I believe that I must, I add that I held then and hold now no great feelings about Miss Havisham. She had taught me, of course, but I did not feel beholden to her in any way. Nor, I must clarify, do I feel that she wronged me. In effect, I felt that other than age and ability, we were equals. Though now, I suppose, I should consider myself her better. Or otherwise strive to become so. Before I continue with the narrative, I suppose I should explain the occasion which caused everyone to gather in Miss Havisham’s parlor without her true presence.
Miss Havisham was dead. I say was, in past tense, as I have no knowledge of the current status of her soul. Perhaps she still is, or perhaps she found what she was looking for, and escaped the afterlife. I suppose it is a cruel irony that the subject on which she worked in order to avert death ended up causing it. To put it simply, she believed that the trapping of other souls to use as a sort of power source could sustain her own soul.
Necromantic magic, even in the carefully controlled art of wizardry, is an unstable, dangerous, and somewhat explosive activity. According to the most accurate report (her own notes), she had attempted to use a cow in order to revitalize her own soul. In classic fashion, the strain of having two souls where one is designed to go burned her body from the inside out. A diviner had found that her soul had escaped nearly entirely unscathed, but unfortunately, her body was toast, to put it lightly.
So, as magical law demands, any spellcaster who dies in a magical accident has their possessions given away in the way designed by their last will and testament. Even if said spellcaster could return later. Why was experimentation not better regulated, and instead posthumous methods put in place, you ask? The answer, though grisly, is quite simple. Without the occasional eccentric wealthy spellcaster willing to pay a great deal of gold for very little result, society would be far too stable for anyone’s liking. A few deaths here and there were not just expected, but in some ways required.
I digress, and I now return to the scene at hand.
Miss Havisham’s sending had already appeared, and her ghastly form (though no more transparent and horrible for being dead) hovered in the center of the parlor.
Then it spoke, saying, “This message, being viewed by my lawyer and all others it concerns, is my last will and testament, which, in the event of my death, will become effective immediately.
“The property which I own, including all buildings and other established physical things which I own, go to my daughter, Estella.
“All magical supplies, including but not limited to the contents of my workshop, are excluded from this and go, instead, to Abel Magwitch.
“All monetary funds are to be given also to Estella, barring five hundred thousand gold, which will be divided evenly between Pip and Herbert.”
The sending then retreated into the orb which Jaggers held in his hand, and for a few moments, all was silent.
A Pocket, sitting hotly in the corner, and whom I am rather glad to say I do not know the name of, stood and began to speak. Jaggers placed the orb back into Wemmick’s mouth, and cut them off.
“That is the extent, as far as my knowledge and ability are concerned, of the will and testament that, according to my knowledge and ability, we are all gathered here to view today. It must, then, be assumed that no further provisions are included, and anyone excluded from the sending just viewed was done so with intent, and without accident.”
On that, the Pockets simultaneously stood and left, seeming, to the last, unabashedly offended.
It was then that I caught the eyes of Abel Magwitch.
I had stated before that he was the most important in the room, and I say this again for these reasons: Mr. Jaggers was his lawyer, as well as being Miss Havisham’s; Estella was his blood relation (in what way I was no longer sure, given Miss Havisham’s declaration of Estella as her daughter, and the unlikelihood of their both being her parents); and his being my longtime friend and mentor, and by extension, a friend of Herbert’s. He was the most important in the room purely because of his universal significance. How he was connected to Miss Havisham, I have no knowledge.
Wemmick, Estella, Drummle, Abel, Herbert, and I dined together that night, reflecting on the life that we had just split among us like so many apples. Drummle spoke a lot, but had very little to say; a dangerous combination for someone with his expansive intellect.
I learned, too, that Wemmick’s broadness of face did not keep when he shifted into his human form, though I do believe he maintained a bit of the frog in the way he carried himself and ate. He spoke loudly and seemed to nod at us as he chewed.
The dinner was of little consequence, but Herbert and I went home, five hundred thousand gold wealthier. The evening itself had nothing more interesting in it than a warm fire and a good book. As we settled into bed, and I blew out the light, I felt his gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Do you wonder what will happen, now that she’s dead?” he asked, and our eyes met in the thick darkness.
“At the risk of being rude, I rather hope nothing will.” I rolled over and ceded some of the blanket to him.
“I would agree, although I can’t help but wonder.”
“I suppose Satis House will stay much the same, but for Estella being its mistress instead of Miss Havisham.”
His hand reached out and found mine.
“I hope so,” he said.
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