“And that was the prophecy which you told to Strange and Norrell?”

Vinculus, who had been seized with a fit of coughing, nodded. When he was able to speak again, he added, “And also to the nameless slave.”

“Who?” said Childermass with a frown. “Who is that?”

“A man,” replied Vinculus. “It has been part of my task to bear his story. He began as a slave. Will soon be a king. His true name was denied him at his birth.”

Childermass pondered this description for a moment or two. “You mean John Uskglass?” he said.

Vinculus made a noise of exasperation. “If I meant John Uskglass, I would say so! No, no. He is not a magician at all. He is a man like any other.” He thought for a moment. “But black,” he added.

“I have never heard of him,” said Childermass.

Vinculus looked at him with amusement. “Of course not. You have lived your life in the Mayfair magician’s pocket. You only know what he knows.”

“So?” said Childermass, stung. “That is not so very trifling, is it? Norrell is a clever man – and Strange another. They have their faults, as other men do, but their achievements are still remarkable. Make no mistake; I am John Uskglass’s man. Or would be, if he were here. But you must admit that the restoration of English magic is their work, not his.”

“Their work!” scoffed Vinculus. “Theirs? Do you still not understand? They are the spell John Uskglass is doing. That is all they have ever been. And he is doing it now!”

68
“Yes.”

February 1817

In the silver dish of water the speck of light flickered and disappeared.

“What!” cried Strange. “What has happened? Quickly, Mr Norrell!”

Norrell tapped the water’s surface, redrew the lines of light and whispered a few words, but the water in the dish remained dark and still. “He is gone,” he said.

Strange closed his eyes.

“It is very odd,” continued Norrell, in a tone of wonder. “What do you suppose he was doing in Yorkshire?”

“Oh!” cried Strange. “I dare say he came here on purpose to make me mad!” With a cry of mingled rage and self-pity he demanded, “Why will he not attend to me? After everything I have done, why does he not care enough to look at me? To speak to me?”

“He is an old magician and an old king,” answered Norrell briefly. “Two things that are not easily impressed.”

“All magicians long to astonish their masters. I have certainly astonished you. I wanted to do the same to him.”

“But your real purpose is to free Mrs Strange from the enchantment,” Norrell reminded him.

“Yes, yes. That is right,” said Strange, irritably. “Of course it is. Only …” He did not finish his thought.

There was a silence and then Norrell, who had been looking thoughtful, said, “You mentioned magicians always wishing to impress their masters. I am reminded of something which happened in 1156 …”