Drawlight reached into a pocket of his coat and brought out something wrapped in a dirty handkerchief. The handkerchief was tied into many wonderfully complicated knots to guard against the box coming open of its own accord. Drawlight gave it to Lascelles.

With a series of grimaces, expressive of extreme distaste, Lascelles set himself to undo the knots. When he had done so, he opened the box.

A moment’s silence.

“You are a fool,” said Lascelles and shut the box with a snap and put it in his own pocket.

“Oh! But I have to …” began Drawlight, reaching out ineffectually.

“You said that there were three messages. What is the other one?”

“I do not think you will understand it.”

“What? You understand it, yet I will not? You must have grown a great deal cleverer in Italy.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean? Tell me quickly. I am growing bored of this conversation.”

“Strange said that tree speaks to stone. Stone speaks to water. He said magicians can learn magic from woods and stones and such. He said John Uskglass’s old alliances still held.”

“John Uskglass, John Uskglass! How sick I am of that name! Yet they all rattle on about him nowadays. Even Norrell. I cannot understand why; his day was done four hundred years ago.”

Drawlight held out his hand again. “Give me back my box. I must …”

“What the devil is the matter with you? Do not you understand? Your messages will never be delivered – except for the one to Norrell and that I shall deliver myself.”

A howl of anguish burst from Drawlight. “Please, please! Do not make me fail him! You do not understand. He will kill me! Or worse!”

Lascelles spread his arms and glanced around, as if asking the wood to bear witness how ridiculous this was. “Do you honestly believe that I would allow you to destroy Norrell? Which is to say destroy me?”

“It is not my fault! It is not my fault! I dare not disobey him!”

“Worm, what will you do between two such men as Strange and me? You will be crushed.”

Drawlight made a little sound, like a whimper of fear. He gazed at Lascelles with strange, addled eyes. He seemed about to say something. Then, with surprizing speed, he turned and fled through the trees.

Lascelles did not trouble to follow him. He simply raised one of the pistols, aimed it and fired.

The bullet struck Drawlight in the thigh, producing, for one instant, a red, wet flowering of blood and flesh in the white and grey woods. Drawlight screamed and fell with a crash into a patch of briars. He tried to crawl away but his leg was quite useless and, besides, the briars were catching at his clothes; he could not pull free of them. He turned his head to see Lascelles advance upon him; fear and pain rendered his features entirely unrecognizable.

Lascelles fired the second pistol.