One of the new magicians shouted out to know if Strange were coming. Another wished to know if Norrell were coming.

“No, gentlemen,” said Childermass. “They are not. You must make do with me. I do not think Strange and Norrell will be seen again in England. At least not in this generation.”

“Why?” asked Mr Segundus. “Where have they gone?”

Childermass smiled. “Wherever magicians used to go. Behind the sky. On the other side of the rain.”

One of the Norrellites remarked that Jonathan Strange was wise to remove himself from England. Otherwise he would have certainly been hanged.

The excitable young man with the light-coloured hair retorted spitefully that the whole pack of Norrellites would soon find themselves at a grave disadvantage. Surely the first principle of Norrellite magic was that everything must be based upon books? And how were they going to do that when the books had all disappeared with Hurtfew Abbey?5

“You do not need the library at Hurtfew, gentlemen,” said Childermass. “Nor yet the library in Hanover-square. I have brought you something much better. A book Norrell long desired, but never saw. A book Strange did not even know existed. I have brought you John Uskglass’s book.”

More shouting. More uproar. In the midst of all of which Miss Redruth appeared to be making a speech in defence of John Uskglass, whom she insisted upon calling his Grace, the King, as if he were at any moment about to enter Newcastle and resume the government of Northern England.

“Wait!” cried Dr Foxcastle, his loud, important voice gradually overpowering first those nearest him, and then the rest of the assembly. “I see no book in this rogue’s hands! Where is it? This is a trick, gentlemen! He wants our money, I’ll be bound. Well, sir?” (This to Childermass.) “What do you say? Bring out your book – if indeed it exists!”

“On the contrary, sir,” said Childermass, with his long, dark, one-sided grin. “I want nothing of yours. Vinculus! Stand up!”