“Spells of concealment would be no protection against Strange!” declared Mr Norrell, angrily. “They would only serve to attract his eye! It would bring him straight to my most precious volumes! No, no, you are right.” He sighed. “Something more is needed here. I must think.”

Two hours after Strange’s departure Mr Norrell and Lascelles left Hanover-square in Mr Norrell’s carriage. Three servants accompanied them and they had every appearance on embarking on a long journey.

The following day, Strange, as whimsical and contradictory as ever, was inclined to regret his break with Mr Norrell. Mr Norrell’s prediction that he would never again have any one to talk to about magic continually presented itself to his mind. He had been rehearsing their conversation. He was almost certain that all Norrell’s conclusions concerning John Uskglass were wrong. As a consequence of what Mr Norrell had said he had developed a great many new ideas about John Uskglass, and now he was suffering all the misery of having no one to tell them to.

In the absence of a more suitable listener he went and complained to Sir Walter Pole in Harley-street.

“Since last night I have thought of fifty things I ought to have said to him. Now I suppose I shall have to put them in an article or a review – which will not be published until April at the earliest – and then he will have to instruct Lascelles or Portishead to write a repudiation – which will not appear until June or July. Five or six months to know what he would say to me! It is a very cumbersome way of conducting an argument, particularly when you consider that until yesterday I could simply have walked to Hanover-square and asked him what he thought. And I am certain now to get no sight nor smell of the books which matter! How is a magician to exist without books? Let someone explain that to me. It is like asking a politician to achieve high office without the benefit of bribes or patronage.”

Sir Walter took no offence at this peculiarly uncivil remark, but charitably made allowances for the irritation of Strange’s spirits. As a schoolboy at Harrow he had been forced to study magical history (which he had loathed) and he now cast his mind back to discover if he remembered any thing which might be useful. He found that he did not remember much – as much, he thought wryly, as might half-fill a very small wine-glass.

He thought for a moment or two and at last offered the following. “It is my understanding that the Raven King learnt all there is to know of English magic without the aid of any books – since there were none at that time in England – and so perhaps you could do the same?”

Strange gave him a very cool look. “And it is my understanding that the Raven King was the favourite foster-child of King Auberon, which, among other trifles, secured him an excellent magical education and a large kingdom of his own. I suppose that I could take to loitering in out-of-the-way copses and mossy glades in the hopes of being adopted by some fairy royalty but I rather think that they might find me a little tall for the purpose.”