“Yes. I think you told me about him.” Childermass studied the people in the square a moment longer and then he said, “Unlikely as it seems, one of them must be performing some sort of magic. I need to go down and see. Come. I cannot do this without you.”

In the square the magic was stronger than ever. The sad bell tolled inside Childermass’s head. Behind the curtain of snow the two worlds flickered back and forth, like images in a magic lantern – one moment Hanover-square, one moment dreary fields and a black writing upon the sky.

Childermass held up the wine-glass in preparation to saying the words of the spell, but there was no need. It blazed with a soft white light. It was the brightest thing in the whole of that dark winter’s day, its light clearer and purer than any lamp could be and it threw curious shadows upon the faces of Childermass and Lucas.

The sky spoke to him again. This time he thought it was a question. Great consequences hung upon his answer. If he could just understand what was being asked and find the correct words in which to frame his reply, then something would be revealed – something that would change English magic for ever, something that Strange and Norrell had not even guessed at yet.

For a long moment he struggled to understand. The language or spell seemed tantalizingly familiar now. In a moment, he thought, he would grasp it. After all, the world had been speaking these words to him every day of his life – it was just that he had not noticed it before …

Lucas was saying something. Childermass must have begun to fall again because he now found that Lucas was grasping him under the arms and dragging him upright. The wine-glass lay shattered upon the cobbles and the white light was split across the snow.

“… the queerest thing,” said Lucas. “That’s it, Mr Childermass. Up you come. I have never known you taken like this. Are you sure, sir, that you don’t want to go inside? But, here is Mr Norrell. He will know what to do.”

Childermass looked to the right. Mr Norrell’s carriage was turning into the square from George-street.

The ink-seller saw it too. Immediately he approached the gentleman and two young ladies. He made them a respectful bow and spoke to the gentleman. All three turned their heads and looked at the carriage. The gentleman reached into a pocket and gave the ink-seller a coin. The ink-seller bowed again and withdrew.

Mr Marston, the dark young man, did not need any one to tell him that this was Mr Norrell’s carriage. As soon as he observed its approach, he stood away from the railings and moved forward.

Even the fashionably dressed lady had turned and was walking back towards the house, apparently with the intention of looking at England’s Foremost Magician.