Jonathan Strange And Mr Norrell Part 13

It was with some difficulty that Mr Norrell was able to convince Lord Hawkesbury and the Duke of Devons.h.i.+re that a school would take up far too much time and moreover he had yet to see any young men with sufficient talent to make the attempt worthwhile. Reluctantly his Grace and his lords.h.i.+p were obliged to agree and Mr Norrell was able to turn his attention to a far more agreeable project: that of destroying the magicians already in existence.

The street-sorcerers of the City of London had long const.i.tuted a standing irritation of his spirits. While he was still unknown and unregarded, he had begun to pet.i.tion members of the Government and other eminent gentlemen for the removal of these vagabond magicians. Naturally, the moment that he attained public eminence he doubled and tripled his efforts. His first idea was that magic ought to be regulated by the Government and magicians ought to be licensed (though naturally he had no idea of any one being licensed but himself). He proposed that a proper regulatory Board of Magic be established, but in this he was too ambitious.

As Lord Hawkesbury said to Sir Walter; "We have no wish to offend a man who has done the country such service, but in the middle of a long and difficult war to demand that a Board be set up with Privy Councillors and Secretaries and Lord knows what else! And for what? To listen to Mr Norrell talk and to pay Mr Norrell compliments! It is quite out of the question. My dear Sir Walter, persuade him to some other course, I beg you."

So the next time that Sir Walter and Mr Norrell met (which was at Mr Norrell's house in Hanover-square) Sir Walter addressed his friend with the following words.

"It is an admirable purpose, sir, and no one quarrels with it, but a Board is precisely the wrong way of going about it. Within the City of London which is where the problem chiefly lies the Board would have no authority. I tell you what we shall do; tomorrow you and I shall go to the Mansion House to wait upon the Lord Mayor and one or two of the aldermen. I think we shall soon find some friends for our cause."

"But, my dear Sir Walter!" cried Mr Norrell. "It will not do. The problem is not confined to London. I have looked into it since I left Yorks.h.i.+re . . ." (Here he delved about in a pile of papers upon a little table at his elbow to fetch out a list.) "There are twelve street-sorcerers in Norwich, two in Yarmouth, two in Gloucester, six in Winchester, forty-two forty-two in Penzance! Why! Only the other day, one a dirty female came to my house and would not be satisfied without seeing me, whereupon she demanded that I give her a paper a certificate of competence, no less! testifying to my belief that she could do magic. I was never more astonished in my life! I said to her, 'Woman . . .' " in Penzance! Why! Only the other day, one a dirty female came to my house and would not be satisfied without seeing me, whereupon she demanded that I give her a paper a certificate of competence, no less! testifying to my belief that she could do magic. I was never more astonished in my life! I said to her, 'Woman . . .' "

"As to the other places that you mention," said Sir Walter, interrupting hastily. "I think you will find that once London rids itself of this nuisance then the others will be quick to follow. They none of them like to feel themselves left behind."

Mr Norrell soon found that it was just as Sir Walter had predicted. The Lord Mayor and the aldermen were eager to be part of the glorious revival of English magic. They persuaded the Court of Common Council to set up a Committee for Magical Acts and the Committee decreed that only Mr Norrell was permitted to do magic within the City boundaries and that other persons who "set up booths or shops, or otherwise molested the citizens of London with claims to do magic" were to be expelled forthwith.

The street-sorcerers packed up their little stalls, loaded their shabby possessions into handcarts and trudged out of the City. Some took the trouble to curse London as they left, but by and large they bore the change in their fortunes with admirable philosophy. Most had simply settled it in their own minds that henceforth they would give up magic and become instead beggars and thieves and, since they had indulged in beggary and thievery in an amateur way for years, the wrench was not so great as you might imagine.

But one did not go. Vinculus, the magician of Threadneedle-street, stayed in his booth and continued to foretell unhappy futures and to sell petty revenges to slighted lovers and resentful apprentices. Naturally, Mr Norrell complained very vigorously to the Committee for Magical Acts about this state of affairs since Vinculus was the sorcerer whom he hated most. The Committee for Magical Acts dispatched beadles and constables to threaten Vinculus with the stocks but Vinculus paid them no attention, and he was so popular among London's citizens that the Committee feared a riot if he was removed by force.

On a bleak February day Vinculus was in his magician's booth beside the church of St Christopher Le Stocks. In case there are any readers who do not remember the magicians' booths of our child-hood, it ought to be stated that in shape the booth rather resembled a Punch and Judy theatre or a shopkeeper's stall at a fair and that it was built of wood and canvas. A yellow curtain, ornamented to half its height with a thick crust of dirt, served both as a door and as a sign to advertise the services that were offered within.

On this particular day Vinculus had no customers and very little hope of getting any. The City streets were practically deserted. A bitter grey fog that tasted of smoke and tar hung over London. The City shopkeepers had heaped coals upon their fires and lit every lamp they possessed in a vain attempt to dispel the dark and the cold, but today their bow windows cast no cheerful glow into the streets: the light could not penetrate the fog. Consequently no one was enticed into the shops to spend money and the shopmen in their long white ap.r.o.ns and powdered wigs stood about at their ease, chatting to each other or warming themselves at the fire. It was a day when any one with something to do indoors stayed indoors to do it, and any one who was obliged to go outside did so quickly and got back inside again as soon as he could.

Vinculus sat gloomily behind his curtain half frozen to death, turning over in his mind the names of the two or three ale-house-keepers who might be persuaded to sell him a gla.s.s or two of hot spiced wine on credit. He had almost made up his mind which of them to try first when the sounds of someone stamping their feet and blowing upon their fingers seemed to suggest that a customer stood without. Vinculus raised the curtain and stepped outside.

"Are you the magician?"

Vinculus agreed a little suspiciously that he was (the man had the air of a bailiff).

"Excellent. I have a commission for you."

"It is two s.h.i.+llings for the first consultation."

The man put his hand in his pocket, pulled out his purse and put two s.h.i.+llings into Vinculus's hand.

Then he began to describe the problem that he wished Vinculus to magic away. His explanation was very clear and he knew exactly what it was that he wished Vinculus to do. The only problem was that the more the man talked, the less Vinculus believed him. The man said that he had come from Windsor. That was perfectly possible. True, he spoke with a northern accent, but there was nothing odd in that; people often came down from the northern counties to make their fortunes. The man also said he was the owner of a successful millinery business now that seemed a good deal less likely, for any one less like a milliner it was difficult to imagine. Vinculus knew little enough about milliners but he did know that they generally dress in the very height of fas.h.i.+on. This fellow wore an ancient black coat that had been patched and mended a dozen times. His linen, though clean and of a good quality, would have been old-fas.h.i.+oned twenty years ago. Vinculus did not know the names of the hundred and one little fancy articles that milliners make, but he knew that milliners know them. This man did not; he called them "fol-delols".

In the freezing weather the ground had become an unhappy compound of ice and frozen mud and as Vinculus was writing down the particulars in a greasy little book, he somehow missed his footing and fell against the unlikely milliner. He tried to stand but so treacherous was the icy ground that he was obliged to use the other man as a sort of ladder to climb up. The unlikely milliner looked rather appalled to have strong fumes of ale and cabbage breathed in his face and bony fingers grabbing him all over, but he said nothing.

"Beg pardon," muttered Vinculus, when at last he was in an upright position again.

"Granted," said the unlikely milliner politely, brus.h.i.+ng from his coat the stale crumbs, gobbets of matted grease and dirt and other little signs of Vinculus having been there.

Vinculus too was adjusting his clothes which had got somewhat disarranged in his tumble.

The unlikely milliner continued with his tale.

"So, as I say, my business thrives and my bonnets are the most sought-after in all of Windsor and scarcely a week goes by but one of the Princesses up at the Castle comes to order a new bonnet or fol-de-lol. I have put a great golden plaster image of the Royal Arms above my door to advertise the royal patronage I enjoy. Yet still I cannot help but think that millinery is a great deal of work. Sitting up late at night sewing bonnets, counting my money and so forth. It seems to me that my life might be a great deal easier if one of the Princesses were to fall in love with me and marry me. Do you have such a spell, Magician?"

"A love spell? Certainly. But it will be expensive. I generally charge four s.h.i.+llings for a spell to catch a milkmaid, ten s.h.i.+llings for a seamstress and six guineas for a widow with her own business. A Princess . . . Hmm." Vinculus scratched his unshaven cheek with his dirty fingernails. "Forty guineas," he hazarded.

"Very well."

"And which is it?" asked Vinculus.

"Which what is what?" asked the unlikely milliner.

"Which Princess?"

"They are all pretty much the same, aren't they? Does the price vary with the Princess?"

"No, not really. I will give you the spell written upon a piece of paper. Tear the paper in two and sew half inside the breast of your coat. You need to place the other half in a secret place inside the garments of whichever Princess you decide upon."

The unlikely milliner looked astonished. "And how in the world can I do that?"

Vinculus looked at the man. "I thought you just said that you sewed their bonnets?"

The unlikely milliner laughed. "Oh yes! Of course."

Vinculus stared at the man suspiciously. "You are no more a milliner than I am a . . . a . . ."

"A magician?" suggested the unlikely milliner. "You must certainly admit that it is not your only profession. After all you just picked my pockets."

"Only because I wished to know what sort of villain you are," retorted Vinculus, and he shook his arm until the articles he had taken from the pockets of the unlikely milliner fell out of his sleeve. There were a handful of silver coins, two golden guineas and three or four folded sheets of paper. He picked up the papers.

The sheets were small and thick and of excellent quality. They were all covered in close lines of small, neat handwriting. At the top of the first sheet was written, Two Spells to Make an Obstinate Man leave London and One Spell to Discover what My Enemy is doing Presently Two Spells to Make an Obstinate Man leave London and One Spell to Discover what My Enemy is doing Presently.

"The magician of Hanover-square!" declared Vinculus.

Childerma.s.s (for it was he) nodded.

Vinculus read through the spells. The first was intended to make the subject believe that every London churchyard was haunted by the people who were buried there and that every bridge was haunted by the suicides who had thrown themselves from it. The subject would see the ghosts as they had appeared at their deaths with all the marks of violence, disease and extreme old age upon them. In this way he would become more and more terrified until he dared not pa.s.s either a bridge or a church which in London is a serious inconvenience as the bridges are not more than a hundred yards apart and the churches considerably less. The second spell was intended to persuade the subject that he would find his one true love and all sorts of happiness in the country and the third spell the one to discover what your enemy was doing involved a mirror and had presumably been intended by Norrell to enable Childerma.s.s to spy upon Vinculus.

Vinculus sneered. "You may tell the Mayfair magician that his spells have no effect upon me!"

"Indeed?" said Childerma.s.s, sarcastically. "Well, that is prob-ably because I have not cast them."

Vinculus flung the papers down upon the ground. "Cast them now!" He folded his arms in an att.i.tude of defiance and made his eyes flash as he did whenever he conjured the Spirit of the River Thames.

"Thank you, but no."

"And why not?"

"Because, like you, I do not care to be told how to conduct my business. My master has ordered me to make sure that you leave London. But I intend to do it in my way, not his. Come, I think it will be best if you and I have a talk, Vinculus."

Vinculus thought about this. "And could this talk take place somewhere warmer? An ale-house perhaps?"

"Certainly if you wish."

The papers with Norrell's spells upon them were blowing about their feet. Vinculus stooped down, gathered them together and, paying no regard to the bits of straw and mud sticking to them, put them in the breast of his coat.

1 Robert Banks Jenkinson, Lord Hawkesbury (17701828). On the death of his father in December 1808 he became the Earl of Liverpool. For the next nine years he would prove to be one of Mr Norrell's most steady supporters.

21.

The cards of Ma.r.s.eilles February 1808

THE ALE-HOUSE WAS called the Pineapple and had once been the refuge and hiding-place of a notorious thief and murderer. This thief had had an enemy, a man as bad as himself. The thief and his enemy had been partners in some dreadful crime, but the thief had kept both shares of the spoils and sent a message to the magistrates telling them where his enemy might be found. As soon as the enemy had escaped from Newgate, he had come to the Pineapple in the dead of night with thirty men. He had set them to tear the slates off the roof and unpick the very bricks of walls until he could reach inside and pluck out the thief. No one had seen what happened next but many had heard the dreadful screams issuing from the pitch-black street. The landlord had discovered that the Pineapple's dark reputation was good for business and consequently he had never troubled to mend his house, other than by applying timber and pitch to the holes, which gave it the appearance of wearing bandages as if it had been fighting with its neighbours.

Three greasy steps led down from the street-door into a gloomy parlour. The Pineapple had its own particular perfume, comwondered pounded of ale, tobacco, the natural fragrance of the customers and the unholy stink of the Fleet River, which had been used as a sewer for countless years. The Fleet ran beneath the Pineapple's foundations and the Pineapple was generally supposed to be sinking into it. The walls of the parlour were ornamented with cheap engravings portraits of famous criminals of the last century who had all been hanged and portraits of the King's dissolute sons who had not been hanged yet.

Childerma.s.s and Vinculus sat down at a table in a corner. A shadowy girl brought a cheap tallow candle and two pewter tankards of hot spiced ale. Childerma.s.s paid.

They drank in silence a while and then Vinculus looked up at Childerma.s.s. "What was all that nonsense about bonnets and princesses?"

Childerma.s.s laughed. "Oh, that was just a notion I had. Ever since the day you appeared in his library my master has been pet.i.tioning all his great friends to help him destroy you. He asked Lord Hawkesbury and Sir Walter Pole to complain to the King on his behalf. I believe he had an idea that His Majesty might send the Army to make war upon you, but Lord Hawkesbury and Sir Walter said that the King was unlikely to put himself to a great deal of trouble over one yellow-curtained, ragged-a.r.s.ed sorcerer. But it occurred to me that if His Majesty were to learn that you had somehow threatened the virgin state of his daughters, he might take a different view of the matter."1Childerma.s.s took another draught of his spiced ale. "But tell me, Vinculus, don't you tire of fake spells and pretend oracles? Half your customers come to laugh at you. They no more believe in your magic than you do. Your day is over. There is a real magician in England now."

Vinculus gave a little snort of disgust. "The magician of Han-over-square! All the great men in London sit telling one another that they never saw a man so honest. But I know magicians and I know magic and I say this: all magicians lie and this one more than most."

Childerma.s.s shrugged as if he would not trouble to deny it.

Vinculus leaned forward across the table. "Magic shall be written on the faces of the stony hills, but their minds shall not be able to contain it. In winter the barren trees shall be a black writing but they shall not understand it."

"Trees and hills, Vinculus? When did you last see a tree or a hill? Why don't you say that magic is written on the faces of the dirty houses or that the smoke writes magic in the sky?"

"It is not my prophecy!"

"Ah, yes. Of course. You claim it as a prophecy of the Raven King. Well there is nothing unusual in that. Every charlatan I ever met was the bearer of a message from the Raven King."

"I sit upon a black throne in the shadows," muttered Vinculus, "but they shall not see me. The rain shall make a door for me and I shall pa.s.s through it."

"Quite. So, since you did not write this prophecy yourself, where did you find it?"

For a moment Vinculus looked as if he would not answer, but then he said, "It is written in a book."

"A book? What book? My master's library is extensive. He knows of no such prophecy."

Vinculus said nothing.

"Is it your book?" asked Childerma.s.s.

"It is in my keeping."

"And where did you you get a book? Where did you steal it?" get a book? Where did you steal it?"

"I did not steal it. It is my inheritance. It is the greatest glory and the greatest burden that has been given to any man in this Age."

"If it is really valuable then you can sell it to Norrell. He has paid great prices for books before now."

"The magician of Hanover-square will never own this book. He will never even see it."

"And where do you keep such a great treasure?"

Vinculus laughed coldly as if to say it was not very likely that he would tell that to the servant of his enemy.

Childerma.s.s called to the girl to bring them some more ale. She brought it and they drank for a while longer in silence. Then Childerma.s.s took a pack of cards from the breast of his coat and shewed them to Vinculus. "The cards of Ma.r.s.eilles. Did you ever see their like before?"

"Often," said Vinculus, "but yours are different."

"They are copies of a set belonging to a sailor I met in Whitby. He bought them in Genoa with the intention of using them to discover the hiding places of pirates' gold, but when he came to look at them, he found that he could not understand them. He offered to sell them to me, but I was poor and could not pay the price he asked. So we struck a bargain: I would tell him his fortune and in return he would lend me the cards long enough to make copies. Unfortunately his s.h.i.+p set sail before I was able to complete the drawings and so half are done from memory."

"And what fortune did you tell him?"

"His true one. That he would be drowned dead before the year was out."

Vinculus laughed approvingly.

It seemed that when Childerma.s.s had made the bargain with the dead sailor he had been too poor even to afford paper and so the cards were drawn upon the backs of ale-house bills, laundry lists, letters, old accounts and playbills. At a later date he had pasted the papers on to coloured cardboard, but in several instances the printing or writing on the other side shewed through, giving them an odd look.

Childerma.s.s laid out nine cards in a line. He turned over the first card.

Beneath the picture was a number and a name: VIIII. L'Ermite VIIII. L'Ermite. It shewed an old man in a monkish robe with a monkish hood. He carried a lantern and walked with a stick as if he had come near to losing the use of his limbs through too much sitting and studying. His face was pinched and suspicious. A dry atmosphere seemed to rise up and envelop the observer as if the card itself were peppery with dust.

"Hmm!" said Childerma.s.s. "For the present your actions are governed by a hermit. Well, we knew that already."

The next card was Le Mat Le Mat, which is the only picture card to remain numberless, as if the character it depicts is in some sense outside the story. Childerma.s.s's card shewed a man walking along a road beneath a summer tree. He had a stick to lean upon and another stick over his shoulder with a handkerchief bundle hanging from it. A little dog skipped after him. The figure was intended to represent the fool or jester of ancient times. He had a bell in his hat and ribbons at his knees which Childerma.s.s had coloured red and green. It appeared that Childerma.s.s did not know quite how to interpret this card. He considered a while and then turned over the next two cards: VIII. La Justice VIII. La Justice, a crowned woman holding a sword and a pair of scales; and The Two of Wands The Two of Wands. The wands were crossed and might among other things be thought to represent a crossroads.

Childerma.s.s let out a brief burst of laughter. "Well, well!" he said, crossing his arms and regarding Vinculus with some amus.e.m.e.nt. "This card here," he tapped La Justice La Justice, "tells me you have weighed your choices and come to a decision. And this one," he indicated The Two of Wands The Two of Wands. "tells me what your decision is: you are going wandering. It seems I have wasted my time. You have already made up your mind to leave London. So many protestations, Vinculus, and yet you always intended to go!"

Vinculus shrugged, as if to say, what did Childerma.s.s expect?

The fifth card was the Valet de Coupe Valet de Coupe, the Page of Cups. One naturally thinks of a page as being a youthful person, but the picture shewed a mature man with bowed head. His hair was s.h.a.ggy and his beard was thick. In his left hand he carried a heavy cup, yet it could not be that which gave such an odd, strained expression to his countenance not unless it were the heaviest cup in the world. No, it must be some other burden, not immediately apparent. Owing to the materials which Childerma.s.s had been compelled to use to construct his cards this picture had a most peculiar look. It had been drawn upon the back of a letter and the writing shewed through the paper. The man's clothes were a ma.s.s of scribble and even his face and hands bore parts of letters.

Vinculus laughed when he saw it as though he recognized it. He gave the card three taps in friendly greeting. Perhaps it was this that made Childerma.s.s less certain than he had been before. "You have a message to deliver to someone," he said in an uncertain tone.

Vinculus nodded. "And will the next card shew me this per-son?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Ah!" exclaimed Vinculus and turned over the sixth card himself.