The gentleman pulled off Vinculus’s coat, shirt and neckcloth. “Yes, there it is!” he said in mild surprize. He scratched with one nail at a little circle on Vinculus’s right shoulder to see if it would come off. Finding it did not, he lost interest.

“Now!” he said. “Let us go and cast a spell upon Lady Pole.”

“A spell, sir!” said Stephen. “But why would we wish to do that?”

“Oh! So that she will die within a month or two. It is – apart from any thing else – very traditional. It is very rare that any one released from an enchantment is permitted to live long – certainly not if I have enchanted them! Lady Pole is not far away and the magicians must be taught that they may not oppose us with impunity! Come, Stephen!”

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.”