Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (107 page)

But Arabella would not be persuaded to walk away just yet. She continued to gaze at Strange in the same odd way; it was as if she were looking at a picture of him, rather than the flesh-and-blood man. She said, "I know you do not put a great deal of faith in what men can do, but . . ."

"I put no faith in them at all," interrupted the unknown woman. "I know what it is to waste years and years upon vain hopes of help from this person or that. No hope at all is better than ceaseless disappointment!"

Strange's patience was gone. "You will forgive my interrupting you, madam," he said to the unknown woman, "though I observe you have done nothing but interrupt since I joined you! I fear I must insist on a minute's private conversation with my wife! Perhaps if you will have the goodness to retire a pace or two . . ."

But neither she nor Arabella was attending to him. They were directing their gaze a little to his right. The gentleman with thistle- down hair was just at his shoulder.

Stephen pushed through the crowd of dancers. His conversation with the gentleman had been most unnerving. Something had been decided upon, but the more Stephen thought about it, the more he realized he had not the least idea what it was. "It is still not too late," he muttered as forced his way through. "It is not still too late." Part of him – the cold, uncaring, enchanted half – wondered what he meant by that. Not too late to save himself? To save Lady Pole and Mrs Strange? The magician?

Never had the lines of dancers seemed so long, so like a fence barring his way. On the other side of the room he thought he saw a head of gleaming, thistle-down hair. "Sir!" he cried. "Wait! I must speak with you again!"

The light changed. The sounds of music, dancing and conversa- tion were swept away. Stephen looked around, expecting to find himself in a new city or upon another continent. But he was still in the great hall of Lost-hope. It was empty; the dancers and musicians were gone. Three people remained: Stephen himself and, some way off, the magician and the gentleman with the thistle-down hair.

The magician called out his wife's name. He hastened towards a dark door as if he intended to dash off into the house in search of her.

"Wait!" cried the gentleman with the thistle-down hair. The magician turned and Stephen saw that his face was black with anger, that his mouth was working as if a spell were about to explode out of him.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair raised his hands.
The
great hall was filled with a flock of birds. In the blink of an eye they were
there; in the blink of an eye they were gone.

The birds had struck Stephen with their wings. They had knocked the breath out of him. When he recovered enough to lift his head, he saw that the gentleman with the thistle-down hair had raised his hands a second time.

The great hall was full of spinning leaves. Winter-dry and brown they
were, turning in a wind that had come out of nowhere. In the blink of an eye
they were there; in the blink of an eye they were gone.

The magician was staring wildly. He did not seem to know what to do in the face of such overwhelming magic. "He is lost," thought Stephen.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair raised his hands a third time.
The great hall was full of rain – not a rain of water, a rain of
blood. In the blink of an eye it was there; in the blink of an eye it was gone.

The magic ended. In that instant the magician disappeared and the gentleman with the thistle-down hair dropped to the floor, like a man in a swoon.

"Where is the magician, sir?" cried Stephen, rushing to kneel beside him. "What has happened?"

"I have sent him back to Altinum's sea colony,"
⁷
he said in a hoarse whisper. He tried to smile, but seemed quite unable. "I have done it, Stephen! I have done what you advised! It has taken all my strength. My old alliances have been stretched to their utmost limit. But I have changed the world! Oh! I have dealt him such a blow! Darkness, misery and solitude! He will not hurt us any more!" He attempted a triumphant laugh, but it turned into a fit of coughing and retching. When it was done he took Stephen's hand. "Do not be concerned about me, Stephen. I ama little tired, that is all. You are a person of remarkable vision and penetration. Henceforth you and I are no longer friends: we are brothers! You have helped me defeat my enemy and in return I shall find your name. I shall make you King!" His voice faded to nothing.

"Tell me what you have done!" whispered Stephen.

But the gentleman closed his eyes.

Stephen remained kneeling in the ballroom, grasping the gentleman's hand. The tallow candles went out; the shadows closed about them.

1 The last English magician to enter Faerie willingly before Strange was Dr Martin Pale. He made many journeys there. The last was probably some time in the 1550s.

2 See Chapter 54, footnote 4.

3 Italian party.

4 Presumably John Uskglass's
Sidhe
name.

5 A particular problem in mediaeval England was the great abundance of
cowans
. It is a term (now obsolete) properly applied to any unqualified or failed craftsmen, but here has special application to magicians.

6 Several authorities have noted that long-lived fairies have a tendency to call any substantial period of time "four thousand years". The fairy lady simply means she has known the
brugh
time out of mind, before any one troubled to reckon up time into years, centuries and millennia. Many fairies, when asked, will say they are four thousand years old; they mean they do not know their age; they are older than human civilization – or possibly than humankind.

7 Meaning Venice: Altinum was the city on Italy's eastern coast whence came the first inhabitants of Venice.

56
The Black Tower

3rd/4th December 1816

D
R GREYSTEEL WAS asleep and dreaming. In his dream someone was calling for him and something was required of him. He was anxious to oblige whoever it was and so he went to this place and that, searching for them; but he did not find them and still they called his name. Finally he opened his eyes.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"It's me, sir. Frank, sir."

"What's the matter?"

"Mr Strange is here. He wants to speak to you, sir."

"Is something wrong?"

"He don't say, sir. But, I think there must be."

"Where is he, Frank?"

"He won't come in, sir. He won't be persuaded. He's outside, sir."

Dr Greysteel lowered his legs out of the bed and drew in his breath sharply. "It's cold, Frank!" he said.

"Yes, sir." Frank helped Dr Greysteel on with his dressing-gown and slippers. They padded through numerous dark rooms, across acres of dark marble floors. In the vestibule a lamp was burning. Frank pulled back the great iron double doors and then he picked up the lamp and went outside. Dr Greysteel followed him.

A flight of stone steps descended into darkness. Only the smell of the sea, the lap of water against stone and a certain occasional glitter and shifting-about of the darkness gave the observer to understand that at the bottom of the steps there was a canal. A few houses round about had lamps burning in windows or upon balconies. Beyond this all was silence and darkness.

"There is no one here!" cried Dr Greysteel. "Where is Mr Strange?"

For answer Frank pointed off to the right. A lamp bloomed suddenly under a bridge and by its light Dr Greysteel saw a ondola, waiting. The
gondoliero
poled his boat towards them. As it approached, Dr Greysteel could see there was a passenger. Despite all that Frank had said, it took a moment or two for Dr Greysteel to recognize him. "Strange!" he cried. "Good God! What has happened? I did not know you! My . . . my . . . my dear friend." Dr Greysteel's tongue stumbled, trying to find a suitable word. He had grown accustomed in the last few weeks to the idea that he and Strange would soon stand in a much closer relationship. "Come inside! Frank, quick! Fetch a glass of wine for Mr Strange!"

"No!" cried Strange in a hoarse, unfamiliar voice. He spoke rgently in Italian to the
ondoliero
. His Italian was considerably more fluent than Dr Greysteel's and Dr Greysteel did not under- stand him, but the meaning soon became clear when the
gondoliero
began to move his boat away.

"I cannot come inside!" cried Strange. "Do not ask me!

"Very well, but tell me what has happened."

"I am cursed!"

"Cursed? No! Do not say so."

"But I do say so. I have been wrong from start to finish! I told this fellow to take me a little way off. It is not safe for me to be too close to your house. Dr Greysteel! You must send your daughter away!"

"Flora! Why?"

"There is someone nearby who means her harm!"

"Good God!"

Strange's eyes grew wider. "There is someone who means to bind her to a life of ceaseless misery! Slavery and subjugation to a wild spirit! An ancient prison built as much of cold enchantments as of stone and earth. Wicked, wicked! And then again, perhaps not so wicked after all – for what does he do but follow his nature? How can he help himself?"

Neither Dr Greysteel nor Frank could make any thing of this.

"You are ill, sir," said Dr Greysteel. "You have a fever. Come inside. Frank can make you a soothing drink to take away these evil thoughts. Come inside, Mr Strange." He drew away slightly from the steps so that Strange might approach, but Strange took no notice.

"I thought . . ." began Strange, and then stopt immediately. He paused so long it seemed he had forgotten what he was going to say, but then he began again. "I thought," he began again, "that Norrell had only lied to me. But I was wrong. Quite wrong. He has lied to everybody. He has lied to us all." Then he spoke to the
gondoliero
and the gondola moved away into the darkness.

"Wait! Wait!" cried Dr Greysteel, but it was gone. He stared into the darkness, hoping that Strange would reappear, but he did not.

"Should I go after him, sir?" asked Frank.

"We do not know where he has gone."

"I dare say he has gone home, sir. I can follow him on foot."

"And say what to him, Frank? He would not listen to us just now. No, let us go inside. There is Flora to consider."

But once inside Dr Greysteel stood helpless, quite at a loss to know what to do next. He suddenly looked as old as his years. Frank took him gently by the arm and led him down a dark stone staircase into the kitchen.

It was a very small kitchen to service so many large marble rooms upstairs. In daylight it was a dank, gloomy place. There was only one window. It was high up on the wall, just above the level of the water outside, and it was covered by a heavy iron grille. This meant that most of the room was below the level of the canal. Yet after their encounter with Strange, it seemed a warm and friendly place. Frank lit more candles and stirred the fire into life. Then he filled a kettle to make them both some tea.

Dr Greysteel, seated in a homely kitchen chair, stared into the fire, lost in thought. "When he spoke of someone meaning harm to Flora . . ." he said at last.

Frank nodded as if he knew what came next.

". . . I could not help thinking he meant himself, Frank," said Dr Greysteel. "He fears he will do something to hurt her and so he comes to warn me."

"That's it, sir!" agreed Frank. "He comes here to warn us. Which shews that he is a good man at heart."

"He is a good man," said Dr Greysteel, earnestly. "But some- thing has happened. It is this magic, Frank. It must be. It is a very queer profession and I cannot help wishing he were something else – a soldier or a clergyman or a lawyer! What will we tell Flora, Frank? She will not want to go – you may be sure of that! She will not want to leave him. Especially when . . . when he is sick. What can I tell her? I ought to go with her. But then who will remain in Venice to take care of Mr Strange?"

"You and I will stay here and help the magician, sir. But send Miss Flora away with her aunt."

"Yes, Frank! That's it! That's what we shall do!"

"Tho' I must say, sir," added Frank, "that Miss Flora scarcely needs people to take care of her. She is not like other young ladies." Frank had lived long enough with the Greysteels to catch the family habit of regarding Miss Greysteel as someone of exceptional abilities and intelligence.

Feeling that they had done all that they could for the present, Dr Greysteel and Frank went back to bed.

But it is one thing to form plans in the middle of the night, it is quite another to carry them out in the broad light of day. As Dr Greysteel had predicted, Flora objected in the strongest terms to being sent away from Venice and from Jonathan Strange. She did not understand. Why must she go?

Because, said Dr Greysteel, he was ill.

All the more reason to stay then, she said. He would need someone to nurse him.

Dr Greysteel tried to imply that Strange's illness was contagious, but he was, by principle and inclination, an honest man. He had had little practice at lying and he did it badly. Flora did not believe him.

Aunt Greysteel scarcely understood the change of plan any better than her niece. Dr Greysteel could not stand against their united opposition and so he was obliged to take his sister into his confidence and tell her what had happened during the night. Unfortunately he had no talent for conveying atmospheres. The peculiar chill of Strange's words was entirely absent from his explanation. Aunt Greysteel understood only that Strange had been incoherent. She naturally concluded that he had been drunk. This, though very bad, was not unusual among gentlemen and seemed no reason for them all to remove to another city.