Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (91 page)

69
Strangites and Norrellites

February—spring 1817

Childermass Rode and Vinculus walked at his side. All around them was spread the wide expanse of snow-covered moor, appearing, with all its various hummocks and hills, like a vast feather mattress. Something of the sort may have occurred to Vinculus because he was describing in great detail the soft, pillowy bed he intended to sleep in that night and the very large dinner he intended to eat before he retired there. There was no doubt that he expected Childermass to pay for these luxuries, and it would not have been particularly surprizing if Childermass had had a word or two to say about them, but Childermass said nothing. His mind was wholly taken up with the problem of whether or not he ought to shew Vinculus to Strange and Norrell. Certainly there was no one in England better qualified to examine Vinculus; but, on the other hand, Childermass could not quite predict how the magicians would act when faced with a man who was also a book. Childermass scratched his cheek. There was a faint, well-healed scar upon it — the merest silvery line upon his brown face.

Vinculus had stopped talking and was standing in the road. His blanket had fallen from him and he was eagerly pushing back the sleeves of his coat.

“What is it?” asked Childermass. “What is the matter?”

“I have changed!” said Vinculus. “Look!” He took off his coat and opened his shirt. “The words are different! On my arms! On my chest! Everywhere! This is not what I said before!” Despite the cold, he began to undress. Then, when he was quite naked again, he celebrated his transformation by dancing about gleefully like a blue-skinned devil.

Childermass dismounted from his horse with feelings of panic and desperation. He had succeeded in preserving John Uskglass’s book from death and destruction; and then, just when it seemed secure, the book itself had defeated him by changing.

“We must get to an inn as soon as we can!” he declared. “We must get paper and ink! We must make a record of exactly what was written upon you before. You must search every corner of your memory!”

Vinculus stared at him as if he thought he must have taken leave of his senses. “Why?” he asked.

“Because it is John Uskglass’s magic! John Uskglass’s thoughts! The only record any one ever had of them. We must preserve every scrap we can!”

Vinculus remained unenlightened. “Why?” he asked again. “John Uskglass did not think it worth preserving.”

“But why should you change all of a sudden? There is no rhyme or reason in it!”

“There is every sort of reason,” said Vinculus. “I was a Prophecy before; but the things that I foretold have come to pass. So it is just as well I have changed — or I would have become a History! A dry-as-dust History!”

“So what are you now?”

Vinculus shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps I am a Receipt-Book! Perhaps I am a Novel! Perhaps I am a Collection of Sermons!” He was excessively diverted by these thoughts and cackled to himself and capered about some more.

“I hope you are what you have always been — a Book of Magic. But what are you saying? Vinculus, do you mean to tell me that you never learnt these letters?”

“I am a Book,” said Vinculus, stopping in mid-caper. “I am
the
Book. It is the task of the Book to bear the words. Which I do. It is the task of the Reader to know what they say.”

“But the last Reader is dead!”

Vinculus shrugged as if that were none of his concern.

“You must know something!” cried Childermass, growing almost wild with exasperation. He seized Vinculus’s arm. “What about this? This symbol like a horned circle with a line through it. It occurs over and over again. What does it mean?”

Vinculus pulled his arm away again. “It means last Tuesday,” he said. “It means three pigs, one of ’em wearing a straw hat! It means Sally went a-dancing in the moon’s shadow and lost a little rosy purse!” He grinned and wagged a finger at Childermass. “I know what you are doing! You hope to be the next Reader!”

“Perhaps,” said Childermass. “Though I cannot, for the life of me, tell how I shall begin. Yet I cannot see that any one else has a better claim to be the next Reader. But whatever else happens, I shall not let you out of my sight again. Henceforth, Vinculus, you and I shall be each other’s shadow.”

Vinculus’s mood soured upon the instant. Gloomily he dressed himself again.

Spring returned to England. Birds followed ploughs. Stones were warmed by the sun. Rains and winds grew softer, and were fragranced with the scents of earth and growing things. Woods were tinged with a colour so soft, so subtle that it could scarcely be said to be a colour at all. It was more the
idea
of a colour — as if the trees were dreaming green dreams or thinking green thoughts.

Spring returned to England, but Strange and Norrell did not. The Pillar of Darkness covered Hurtfew Abbey and Norrell did not come out of it. People speculated upon the probability of Strange having killed Norrell, or Norrell having killed Strange, the different degrees to which each deserved it, and whether or not someone ought to go and find out.

But before any one could reach a conclusion concerning these interesting questions the Darkness disappeared — taking Hurtfew Abbey with it. House, park, bridge and part of the river were all gone. Roads that used to lead to Hurtfew now led back upon themselves or to dull corners of fields and copses that no one wished to visit. The house in Hanover-square and both Strange’s houses — the one in Soho-square and his home in Clun
¹
— suffered the same queer fate. In London the only creature in the world who could still find the house in Soho-square was Jeremy Johns’ cat, Bullfinch. Indeed, Bullfinch did not appear to be aware that the house was in any way changed and he continued to go there whenever he wished, slipping between number 30 and number 32, and everyone who saw him do it agreed that it was the oddest sight in the world.
²

Lord Liverpool and the other Ministers said a great deal publicly about their regret at Strange and Norrell’s disappearance, but privately they were glad to be relieved of such a peculiar problem. Neither Strange nor Norrell had proved as respectable as they once had seemed. Both had indulged in, if not Black Magic, then certainly magic of a darker hue than seemed desirable or legitimate. Instead, the Ministers turned their attention to the great number of new magicians who had suddenly sprung up. These magicians had performed scarcely any magic and were largely uneducated; nevertheless they promised to be every bit as quarrelsome as Strange and Norrell themselves, and some means of regulating them would quickly have to be found. Suddenly Mr Norrell’s plans for reviving the Court of Cinque Dragownes (which had seemed so irrelevant before) were found to be of the utmost pertinence.
³

In the second week of March a paragraph appeared in the
York Chronicle
, addressed to former members of the Learned Society of York Magicians, and also to any one who might wish to become a member of that society. It invited them to come to the Old Starre Inn on the following Wednesday (this being the day upon which the society had traditionally met).

This curious announcement offended at least as many of the former members of the York society as it pleased. Placed as it was in a newspaper, it could be read by everyone who possessed a penny. Furthermore the author (who was not named) appeared to have taken it upon himself to invite people to join the York society — something which he clearly had no right to do, whoever he was.

When the interesting evening came the former members arrived at the Old Starre to find fifty or so magicians (or would-be magicians) assembled in the Long Room. The most comfortable seats were all taken and the former members (who included Mr Segundus, Mr Honeyfoot and Dr Foxcastle) were obliged to take their places upon a little dais some distance from the fireplaces. The situation had this advantage however: they had an excellent view of the new magicians.

It was not a sight calculated to bring joy to the bosoms of the former members. The assembly was made up of the most miscellaneous people. ("With scarcely,” observed Dr Foxcastle, “a gentleman among them.”) There were two farmers and several shopkeepers. There was a pale-faced young man with light-coloured hair and an excitable manner, who was telling his neighbours that he was quite certain the announcement had been placed in the newspaper by Jonathan Strange himself and Strange would doubtless arrive at any moment to teach them all magic! There was also a clergyman — which was rather more promising. He was a clean-shaven, sober-looking person of fifty or sixty in black clothes. He was accompanied by a dog, as grey-haired and respectable as himself, and a young, striking-looking, female person in a red velvet gown. This seemed rather less respectable. She had dark hair and a fierce expression.

“Mr Taylor,” said Dr Foxcastle to an acolyte of his, “perhaps you would be so good as to go and give that gentleman a hint that we do not bring members of our family to these meetings.”

Mr Taylor scurried away.

From where they sat the former members of the York Society observed that the clean-shaven clergyman was more flinty than his quiet face suggested and that he returned Mr Taylor quite a sharp answer.

Mr Taylor came back with the following message. “Mr Redruth begs the society’s pardon but he is not a magician at all. He has a great deal of interest in magic, but no skill. It is his daughter who is the magician. He has one son and three daughters and he says they are all magicians. The others did not wish to attend the meeting. He says that they have no wish to consort with other magicians, preferring to pursue their studies privately at home without distractions.”

There was a pause while the former members tried, and failed, to make any sense of this.

“Perhaps his dog is a magician too,” said Dr Foxcastle and the former members of the society laughed.

It soon became clear that the newcomers fell into two distinct parties. Miss Redruth, the young lady in the red velvet gown, was one of the first to speak. Her voice was low and rather hurried. She was not used to speaking in public and not all of the magicians caught her words, but her delivery was very passionate. The burden of what she had to say seemed to be that Jonathan Strange was everything! Gilbert Norrell nothing! Strange would soon be vindicated and Norrell universally reviled! Magic would be freed from the shackles that Gilbert Norrell had placed upon it! These observations, together with various references to Strange’s lost master piece,
The History and Practice of English Magic
, drew angry responses from several other magicians to the effect that Strange’s book was full of wicked magic and Strange himself was a murderer. He had certainly murdered his wife
⁴
and had probably murdered Norrell too.

The discussion was growing yet more heated when it was interrupted by the arrival of two men. Neither looked in the least respectable. Both had long, ragged hair and wore ancient coats. However, while one seemed to be nothing more or less than a vagabond, the other was considerably neater in his appearance and had about him an air of business — almost, one might say, of authority.

The vagabonding fellow did not even trouble to look at the York society; he simply sat down upon the floor and demanded gin and hot water. The other strode to the centre of the room and regarded them all with a wry smile. He bowed in the direction of Miss Redruth and addressed the magicians with the following words.

“Gentlemen! Madam! Some of you may remember me. I was with you ten years ago when Mr Norrell did the magic in York Cathedral. My name is John Childermass. I was, until last month, the servant of Gilbert Norrell. And this,” he indicated the man sitting on the floor, “is Vinculus, a some-time street sorcerer of London.”

Childermass got no further. Everyone began speaking at once. The former members of the York Society were dismayed to find that they had left their comfortable firesides to come here and be lectured by a servant. But while these gentlemen were unburdening themselves of their indignation,most of the newcomers were affected quite differently. They were all either Strangites or Norrellites; but not one of them had ever laid eyes on his hero and to be seated in such proximity to a person who had actually known and spoken to him wound them up to an unprecedented pitch of excitement.

Childermass was not in the least discomfited by the uproar. He simply waited until it was quiet enough for him to speak and then he said, “I have come to tell you that the agreement with Gilbert Norrell is void. Null and void, gentlemen. You are magicians once more, if you wish to be.”

One of the new magicians shouted out to know if Strange were coming. Another wished to know if Norrell were coming.

“No, gentlemen,” said Childermass. “They are not. You must make do with me. I do not think Strange and Norrell will be seen again in England. At least not in this generation.”

“Why?” asked Mr Segundus. “Where have they gone?”

Childermass smiled. “Wherever magicians used to go. Behind the sky. On the other side of the rain.”

One of the Norrellites remarked that Jonathan Strange was wise to remove himself from England. Otherwise he would have certainly been hanged.

The excitable young man with the light-coloured hair retorted spitefully that the whole pack of Norrellites would soon find themselves at a grave disadvantage. Surely the first principle of Norrellite magic was that everything must be based upon books? And how were they going to do that when the books had all disappeared with Hurtfew Abbey?
⁵

“You do not need the library at Hurtfew, gentlemen,” said Childermass. “Nor yet the library in Hanover-square. I have brought you something much better. A book Norrell long desired, but never saw. A book Strange did not even know existed. I have brought you John Uskglass’s book.”

More shouting. More uproar. In the midst of all of which Miss Redruth appeared to be making a speech in defence of John Uskglass, whom she insisted upon calling his Grace, the King, as if he were at any moment about to enter Newcastle and resume the government of Northern England.