The other officer made the hopeful suggestion that perhaps it was not corn that the French had found in the sacks, but something else altogether less useful. Gold or silver, perhaps?

Lord Wellington eyed him coolly. “The French soldiers took the sacks to the windmills. The sails were going round in plain view! Perhaps you think they were milling gold? Dalziel, complain to the Portuguese authorities, if you please!” His gaze, darting angrily about the room, came to rest upon Strange. “Who is that?” he asked.

The officer called Dalziel murmured something in his lordship’s ear.

“Oh!” said Lord Wellington and then, addressing Strange, he said, “You are the magician.” The faintest note of inquiry pervaded his remark.

“Yes,” said Strange.

“Mr Norrell?”

“Ah, no. Mr Norrell is in England. I am Mr Strange.”

Lord Wellington looked blank.

“The other magician,” explained Strange.

“I see,” said Lord Wellington.

The officer called Dalziel stared at Strange with an expression of surprize, as if he thought that once Lord Wellington had told Strange who he was, it was rather ill-bred of him to insist on being someone else.

“Well, Mr Strange,” said Lord Wellington, “I fear you have had a wasted journey. I must tell you frankly that if I had been able to prevent your coming I would have done so. But now that you are here I shall take the opportunity to explain to you the great nuisance which you and the other gentleman have been to the Army.”

“Nuisance?” said Strange.

“Nuisance,” repeated Lord Wellington. “The visions you have shewn the Ministers have encouraged them to believe that they understand how matters stand in Portugal. They have sent me a great many more orders and interfered to a far greater extent than they would have done otherwise. Only I know what needs to be done in Portugal, Mr Strange, since only I am acquainted with all the circumstances. I do not say that you and the other gentleman may not have done some good elsewhere – the Navy seem pleased – I know nothing of that – but what I do say is that I need no magician here in Portugal.”

“But surely, my lord, here in Portugal magic is liable to no such misuse, since I shall be wholly at your service and under your direction.”

Lord Wellington gave Strange a sharp look. “What I chiefly need is men. Can you make more?”

“Men? Well, that depends on what your lordship means. It is an interesting question …” To Strange’s great discomfort, he found he sounded exactly like Mr Norrell.

“Can you make more?” interrupted his lordship.

“No.”

“Can you make the bullets fly any quicker to strike the French? They fly very quickly as it is. Can you perhaps upturn the earth and move the stones to build my Redoubts, Lunettes and Other Defensive Works?”

“No, my lord. But, my lord …”