66
Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell

Mid February 1817

Mr Norrell turned and looked back along the corridor which had once led from the library to the rest of the house. If he had had any confidence that it could take him back to Lascelles and the servants, he would have gone down it. But he was quite certain that Strange’s magic would simply return him to this spot.

There was a sound from within the library and he gave a start of terror. He waited, but no one appeared. After a moment he realized that he knew what the sound was. He had heard it a thousand times before – it was the sound of Strange exclaiming in exasperation over some passage in a book. It was such a very familiar sound – and so closely connected in Mr Norrell’s mind with the happiest period of his existence – that it gave him the courage to open the door and go inside.

The first thing that struck him was the immense quantity of candles. The room was full of light. Strange had not troubled to find candlesticks; he had simply stuck the candles to tables or to bookshelves. He had even stuck them to piles of books. The library was in imminent danger of catching fire. There were books everywhere – scattered over tables, tumbled on the floor. Many had been laid face-down on the floor, so that Strange should not lose his place.

Strange was standing at the far end of the room. He was a much thinner person than Mr Norrell remembered. He had shaved himself with no extraordinary degree of perfection and his hair was ragged. He did not look up at Mr Norrell’s approach.

“Seven people from Norwich in 1124,” he said, reading from the book in his hand. “Four from Aysgarth in Yorkshire at Christmas in 1151, twenty-three at Exeter in 1201, one from Hathersage in Derbyshire in 1243 – all enchanted and stolen away into Faerie. It was a problem he never solved.”

He spoke with such calm that Mr Norrell – who was rather expecting to be blasted with a bolt of magic at any moment – looked round to see if someone else was in the room. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“John Uskglass,” said Strange, still not troubling to turn around. “He could not prevent fairies stealing away Christian men and women. Why should I suppose that I might be capable of something he was not?” He read a little further. “I like your labyrinth,” he said conversationally. “Did you use Hickman?”

“What? No. De Chepe.”

“De Chepe! Really?” For the first time Strange looked directly at his master. “I had always supposed him to be a very minor scholar without an original thought in his head.”

“He was never much to the taste of people who like the showier sorts of magic,” said Mr Norrell, nervously, uncertain of how long this civil mood of Strange’s might last. “He was interested in labyrinths, magical pathways, spells which may be effected by following certain steps and turns – things of that sort. There is a long description of his magic in Belasis’s Instructions …” He paused. “… which you have never seen. The only copy is here. It is on the third shelf by the window.” He pointed and discovered that the shelf had been emptied. “Or it might be on the floor,” he offered. “In that pile.”