Stephen could make very little of this. Was the gentleman speaking of one of the Princesses at Windsor Castle? It was well known that the King had gone mad when his youngest and favourite daughter died. Perhaps the gentleman with the thistledown hair supposed that the loss of another Princess might actually kill him, or loosen the wits of some other members of the Royal Family.

“Now, my dear Stephen,” said the gentleman. “The question before us is: how may we fetch the lady away without any one noticing – particularly the magicians!” He considered a moment. “I have it! Fetch me a piece of moss-oak!”

“Sir?”

“It must be about your own girth and as tall as my collar bone.”

“I would gladly fetch it for you immediately, sir. But I do not know what moss-oak is.”

“Ancient wood that has been sunk in peat bogs for countless centuries!”

“Then, sir, I fear we are not very likely to find any in London. There are no peat bogs here.”

“True, true.” The gentleman flung himself back in his chair and stared at the ceiling while he considered this tricky problem.

“Would any other sort of wood suit your purposes, sir?” asked Stephen, “There is a timber merchant in Gracechurch-street, who I dare say …”

“No, no,” said the gentleman, “This must be done …”

At that instant Stephen experienced the queerest sensation: he was plucked out of his chair and stood upon his feet. At the same moment the coffee-house disappeared and was replaced by a pitch-black, ice-cold nothingness. Though he could see nothing at all, Stephen had the sense that he was in a wide, open place. A bitter wind howled about his ears and a thick rain seemed to be falling upon him from all directions at once.

“… properly,” continued the gentleman in exactly the same tone as before. “There is a very fine piece of moss-oak hereabouts. At least I think I remember …” His voice, which had been somewhere near Stephen’s right ear, moved away. “Stephen!” he cried, “Have you brought a flaughter, a rutter and a tusker?”

“What, sir? Which, sir? No, sir. I have not brought any of those things. To own the truth, I did not quite understand that we were going any where.” Stephen found that his feet and ancles were deep in cold water. He tried to step aside. Immediately the ground lurched most alarmingly and he sank suddenly into it up to the middle of his calves. He screamed.

“Mmm?” inquired the gentleman.

“I … I would never presume to interrupt you, sir. But the ground appears to be swallowing me up.”

“It is a bog,” said the gentleman, helpfully.

“It is certainly a most terrifying substance.” Stephen attempted to mimic the gentleman’s calm, uninterested tone. He knew only too well that the gentleman set a great value upon dignity in every situation and he feared that if he let the gentleman hear how terrified he was, there was every possibility that the gentleman would grow disgusted with him and wander off, leaving him to be sucked into the bog. He tried to move, but found nothing solid beneath his feet. He flailed about, almost fell and the only result was that his feet and legs slipped a little further into the watery mud. He screamed again. The bog made a series of most unpleasant sucking noises.