Having no reason to fear she pushed it open but what she found on the other side made her cry out. It seemed to her that a thousand, thousand birds thronged the air, so that there was neither daylight nor darkness but only a great confusion of black wings. A wind seemed to come to her from far away and she had the impression of immense s.p.a.ce as if she had climbed up to the sky and found it full of ravens. The glovemaker's child began to be very much afraid, but then she heard someone say her name. Instantly the birds disappeared and she found herself in a small room with bare stone walls and a bare stone floor. There was no furniture of any kind but, seated upon the floor, was a man who beckoned to her and called her by her name again and told her not to be afraid. He had long, ragged black hair and strange, ragged black clothes. There was nothing about him that suggested a king and the only symbol of his magicianship was the great silver dish of water at his side. The glovemaker's daughter stayed by the man's side for some hours until dusk, when he led her down through the house into the city to her home.

2 See Chapter 33, footnote 3.

3 Perhaps the eeriest tale told of John Uskgla.s.s's return was that told by a Basque sailor, a survivor of the Spanish king's great Armada. After his ship was destroyed by storms on the far northern coasts of England, the sailor and two companions had fled inland. They dared not go near villages, but it was winter and the frost was thick upon the ground; they feared they would die of the cold. As night came on they found an empty stone building on a high hillside of bare frozen earth. It was almost dark inside, but there were openings high in the wall that let in starlight. They lay down upon the earth floor and slept.

The Basque sailor dreamt that there was a king who watched him.

He woke. Above him dim shafts of grey light pierced the winter dark. In the shadows at the farthest end of the building he thought he saw a raised stone dais. As the light grew he saw something upon the dais: a chair or throne. A man sat upon the throne; a pale man with long black hair, wrapped in a black robe. Terrified, the man woke his fellows and shewed them the uncanny sight of the man who sat upon the throne. He seemed to watch them but he never moved, not so much as a finger; yet it did not occur to them to doubt that he was a living man. They stumbled to the door and ran away across the frozen fields.

The Basque sailor soon lost his companions: one man died of cold and heartbreak within the week; the other, determined to try and make his way back to the Bay of Biscay, began to walk south, and what became of him no one knows. But the Basque sailor stayed in c.u.mbria and was taken in by some farm people. He became a servant at that same farm and married a young girl from a neighbouring farm. All his life he told the story of the stone barn upon the high hills, and he was taught by his new friends and neighbours to believe that the man upon the black throne was the Raven King. The Basque sailor never found the stone barn again, and neither did his friends nor any of his children.

And all his life whenever he went into dark places he said, "I greet thee, Lord, and bid thee welcome to my heart" in case the pale king with the long black hair should be seated in the darkness waiting for him. Across the expanses of northern England a thousand, thousand darknesses, a thousand, thousand places for the King to be. "I greet thee, Lord, and bid thee welcome to my heart."

4 A Faire Wood Withering A Faire Wood Withering (1444) by Peter Watershippe. This is a remarkably detailed description by a contemporary magician of how English magic declined after John Uskgla.s.s left England. In 1434 (the year of Uskgla.s.s's departure) Watershippe was twenty-five, a young man just beginning to practise magic in Norwich. (1444) by Peter Watershippe. This is a remarkably detailed description by a contemporary magician of how English magic declined after John Uskgla.s.s left England. In 1434 (the year of Uskgla.s.s's departure) Watershippe was twenty-five, a young man just beginning to practise magic in Norwich. A Faire Wood Withering A Faire Wood Withering contains precise accounts of spells which were perfectly practicable as long as Uskgla.s.s and his fairy subjects remained in England but which no longer had any effect after their departure. Indeed it is remarkable how much of our knowledge of contains precise accounts of spells which were perfectly practicable as long as Uskgla.s.s and his fairy subjects remained in England but which no longer had any effect after their departure. Indeed it is remarkable how much of our knowledge of Aureate Aureate English magic comes from Watershippe. English magic comes from Watershippe. A Faire Wood Withering A Faire Wood Withering seems an angry book until one compares it with two of Watershippe's later books: seems an angry book until one compares it with two of Watershippe's later books: A Defence of my Deeds Written while Wrongly Imprisoned by my Enemies in Newark Castle A Defence of my Deeds Written while Wrongly Imprisoned by my Enemies in Newark Castle (1459/60) and (1459/60) and Crimes of the False King Crimes of the False King (written 1461?, published 1697, Penzance). (written 1461?, published 1697, Penzance).

5 Lord Liverpool's London home, a quaint, old, rambling mansion which stood by the Thames.

40.

"Depend upon it; there is no such place."

June 1815 THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON Buonaparte had been banished to the island of Elba. However His Imperial Majesty had some doubts whether a quiet island life would suit him he was, after all, accustomed to governing a large proportion of the known world. And so before he left France he told several people that when violets bloomed again in spring he would return. This promise he kept.

The moment he arrived upon French soil he gathered an army and marched north to Paris in further pursuit of his destiny, which was to make war upon all the peoples of the world. Naturally he was eager to re-establish himself as Emperor Emperor, but it was not yet known where he would chuse to be Emperor of of. He had always yearned to emulate Alexander the Great and so it was thought that he might go east. He had invaded Egypt once before and had some success there. Or he might go west: there were rumours of a fleet of ships at Cherbourg ready and waiting to take him to America to begin the conquest of a fresh, new world.

But wherever he chose, everyone agreed that he was sure to begin by invading Belgium and so the Duke of Wellington went to Brussels to await the arrival of Europe's Great Enemy.

The English newspapers were full of rumours: Buonaparte had a.s.sembled his army; he was advancing with appalling swiftness upon Belgium; he was there; he was victorious! Then the next day it would appear that he was still in his palace in Paris, never having stirred from there in the first place.

At the end of May, Jonathan Strange followed Wellington and the Army to Brussels. He had spent the past three months quietly in Shropshire thinking about magic and so it was hardly surprizing that he should feel a little bewildered at first. However after he had walked about for an hour or two he came to the conclusion that the fault was not in him, but in Brussels itself. He knew what a city at war looked like, and this was not it. There ought to have been companies of soldiers pa.s.sing up and down, carts with supplies, anxious-looking faces. Instead he saw fashionable-looking shops and ladies lounging in smart carriages. True, there were groups of officers everywhere, but none of them appeared to have any idea of pursuing military business (one was expending a great deal of concentration and effort in mending a toy parasol for a little girl). There was a great deal more laughter and gaiety than seemed quite consistent with an imminent invasion by Napoleon Buona-parte.

A voice called out his name. He turned and found Colonel Manningham, an acquaintance of his, who immediately invited Strange to go with him to Lady Charlotte Greville's house. (This was an English lady who was living in Brussels.) Strange protested that he had no invitation and anyway he ought to go and look for the Duke. But Manningham declared that the lack of an invitation could not possibly matter he was sure to be welcome and the Duke was just as likely to be in Lady Charlotte Greville's drawing-room as anywhere else.

Ten minutes later Strange found himself in a luxurious apartment filled with people, many of whom he already knew. There were officers; beautiful ladies; fashionable gentlemen; British politicians; and representatives, so it seemed, of every rank and degree of British peer. All of them were loudly discussing the war and making jokes about it. It was quite a new idea to Strange: war as a fashionable amus.e.m.e.nt. In Spain and Portugal it had been customary for the soldiers to regard themselves as martyred, maligned and forgotten. Reports in the British newspapers had always endeavoured to make the situation sound as gloomy as possible. But here in Brussels it was the n.o.blest thing in the world to be one of his Grace's officers and the second n.o.blest to be his Grace's magician.

"Does Wellington really want all these people here?" whispered Strange to Manningham in amazement. "What will happen if the French attack? I wish I had not come. Someone is sure to begin asking me about my disagreement with Norrell, and I really do not want to talk about it."

"Nonsense!" Manningham whispered back. "No one cares about that here! And anyway here is the Duke!"

There was a little bustle and the Duke appeared. "Ah, Merlin!" he cried as his eye lighted upon Strange. "I am very glad to see you! Shake hands with me! You are acquainted with the Duke of Richmond, of course. No? Then allow me to make the introduction!"

If the a.s.sembly had been lively before, how much more spirited it became now his Grace was here! All eyes turned in his direction to discover whom he was talking to and (more interesting still) whom he was flirting with. One would not have supposed to look at him that he had come to Brussels for any other reason than to enjoy himself. But every time Strange tried to move away, the Duke fixed him with a look, as if to say, "No, you you must stay. I have need of you!" Eventually, still smiling, he inclined his head and murmured in Strange's ear, "There, I believe that will do. Come! There is a conservatory at the other end of the room. We will be out of the crowd there." must stay. I have need of you!" Eventually, still smiling, he inclined his head and murmured in Strange's ear, "There, I believe that will do. Come! There is a conservatory at the other end of the room. We will be out of the crowd there."

They took their seats amid the palms and other exotic plants.

"A word of warning," said the Duke. "This is not Spain. In Spain the French were the detested enemy of every man, woman and child in the country. But here matters stand quite differently. Buona-parte has friends in every street and in a great many parts of the Army. The city is full of spies. And so it is our job yours and mine to look as if nothing in the world were more certain than his defeat! Smile, Merlin! Take some tea. It will steady your nerves."

Strange tried a careless smile, but it immediately turned itself into an anxious frown and so, to draw his Grace's attention away from the deficiencies of his face, he inquired how his Grace liked the Army.

"Oh! It is a bad army at best. The most miscellaneous Army I ever commanded. British, Belgians, Dutch and Germans all mixed up together. It is like trying to build a wall out of half a dozen materials. Each material may be excellent in its way, but one cannot help wondering if the thing will hold together. But the Prussian Army has promised to fight with us. And Blucher is an excellent old fellow. Loves a fight." (This was the Prussian General.) "Unfortunately, he is also mad. He believes he is pregnant."

"Ah!"

"With a baby elephant."

"Ah!"

"But we must put you to work straightaway! Have you your books? Your silver dish? A place to work? I have a strong presentiment that Buonaparte will appear first in the west, from the direction of Lille. It is certainly the way I would chuse and I have letters from our friends in that city a.s.suring me that he is hourly expected there. That is your task. Watch the western border for signs of his approach and tell me the instant you catch a glimpse of French troops."

For the next fortnight Strange summoned up visions of places where the Duke thought the French might appear. The Duke provided him with two things to help him: a large map and a young officer called William Hadley-Bright.

Hadley-Bright was one of those happy men for whom Fortune reserves her choicest gifts. Everything came easily to him. He was the adored only child of a rich widow. He had wanted a military career; his friends had got him a commission in a fashionable regiment. He had wanted excitement and adventure; the Duke of Wellington had chosen him to be one of his aides-de-camp aides-de-camp. Then, just as he had decided that the one thing he loved more than soldiering was English magic, the Duke had appointed him to a.s.sist the sublime and mysterious Jonathan Strange. But only persons of a particularly sour disposition could resent Hadley-Bright's success; everyone else was disarmed by his cheerfulness and good nature.

Day after day Strange and Hadley-Bright examined ancient fortified cities in the west of Belgium; they peered at dull village streets; they watched vast, empty vistas of fields beneath even vaster prospects of watercolour clouds. But the French did not appear.

On a hot, sticky day in the middle of June they were seated at this interminable task. It was about three o'clock. The waiter had neglected to remove some dirty coffee-cups and a fly buzzed around them. From the open window came the mingled odours of horse-sweat, peaches and sour milk. Hadley-Bright, perched on a dining-chair, was demonstrating to perfection one of the most important skills of a soldier that of falling asleep under any circ.u.mstances and at any time.

Strange glanced at his map and chose a spot at random. In the water of his silver dish a quiet crossroads appeared; nearby was a farm and two or three houses. He watched for a moment. Nothing happened. His eyes closed and he was on the point of dozing off when some soldiers dragged a gun into position beneath some elmtrees. They had a rather businesslike air. He kicked Hadley-Bright to wake him up. "Who are those fellows?" he asked.

Hadley-Bright blinked at the silver dish.

The soldiers at the crossroads wore green coats with red facings. There suddenly seemed to be a great many of them.

"Na.s.sauers," said Hadley-Bright, naming some of Wellington's German troops. "The Prince of Orange's boys. Nothing to worry about. What are you looking at?"

"A crossroads twenty miles south of the city. A place called Quatre Bras."

"Oh! There is no need to spend time on that!" declared Hadley-Bright with a yawn. "That is on the road to Charleroi. The Prussian Army is at the other end of it or so I am told. I wonder if those fellows are supposed to be there?" He began to leaf through some papers describing the disposition of the various Allied armies. "No, I really don't think . . ."

"And what is that that?" interrupted Strange, pointing at a soldier in a blue coat who had appeared suddenly over the opposite rise with his musket at the ready.

There was the merest pause. "A Frenchman," said Hadley-Bright.

"Is he he supposed to be there?" asked Strange. supposed to be there?" asked Strange.

The one Frenchman had been joined by another. Then fifty more appeared. The fifty became two hundred three hundred a thousand! The hillside seemed to be breeding Frenchmen as a cheese breeds maggots. The next moment they all began to discharge their muskets upon the Na.s.sauers at the crossroads. The engagement did not last long. The Na.s.sauers fired their cannons. The Frenchmen, who appeared to have no cannons of their own, retreated over the hill.

"Ha!" cried Strange, delighted. "They are beaten! They have run away!"

"Yes, but where did they come from in the first place," muttered Hadley-Bright. "Can you look over that hill?"

Strange tapped the water and made a sort of twisting gesture above the surface. The crossroads vanished and in its place appeared an excellent view of the French Army or, if not the whole Army, a very substantial part of it.

Hadley-Bright sat down like a marionette whose strings have been cut. Strange swore in Spanish (a language he naturally a.s.sociated with warfare). The Allied armies were in entirely the wrong place. Wellington's divisions were in the west, ready to defend to the death all sorts of places that Buonaparte had no intention of attacking. General Blucher and the Prussian army were too far east. And here was the French Army suddenly popping up in the south. As matters stood at present, these Na.s.sauers (who amounted to perhaps three or four thousand men) were all that lay between Brussels and the French.

"Mr Strange! Do something, I implore you!" cried Hadley-Bright.

Strange took a deep breath and opened wide his arms, as though he were gathering up all the magic he had ever learnt.

"Hurry, Mr Strange! Hurry!"

"I could move the city!" said Strange. "I could move Brussels! I could put it somewhere where the French will not find it."

"Put it where?" cried Hadley-Bright, grabbing Strange's hands and forcing them down again. "We are surrounded by armies. Our own armies! If you move Brussels you are liable to crush some of our regiments under the buildings and the paving stones. The Duke will not be pleased. He needs every man."

Strange thought some more. "I have it!" he cried.

A sort of breeze rushed by. It was not unpleasant indeed it had the refreshing fragrance of the ocean. Hadley-Bright looked out of the windows. Beyond the houses, churches, palaces and parks were mountain-ridges that had not been there a moment ago. They were black, as if covered with pine trees. The air was much fresher like air that had never been breathed before.

"Where are we?" asked Hadley-Bright.

"America," said Strange. And then by way of an explanation he added, "It always looks so empty on the maps."

"Dear G.o.d! But this is no better than before! Have you forgotten that we have only just signed a peace treaty with America? Nothing will excite the Americans' displeasure so much as the appearance of a European city on their soil!"

"Oh, probably! But there is no need for concern, I a.s.sure you. We are a long way from Washington or New Orleans or any of those places where the battles were. Hundreds of miles I expect. At least . . . That is to say I am not sure where exactly. Do you think it matters?"1 Hadley-Bright dashed outside to find the Duke and tell him that, contrary to what he might have supposed, the French were now in Belgium, but he, the Duke, was not.

His Grace (who happened to be taking tea with some British politicians and Belgian countesses) received the news in his customary imperturbable fashion. But half an hour later he appeared in Strange's hotel with the Quartermaster General, Colonel De Lancey. He stared down at the vision in the silver dish with a grim expression. "Napoleon has humbugged me, by G.o.d!" he exclaimed. "De Lancey, you must write the orders as quickly as you can. We must gather the Army at Quatre Bras."

Poor Colonel De Lancey looked most alarmed. "But how do we deliver the orders to the officers with all the Atlantic between us?" he asked.

"Oh," said his Grace, "Mr Strange will take care of that." His eye was caught by something outside the window. Four hors.e.m.e.n were pa.s.sing by. They had the bearing of kings and the expressions of emperors. Their skin was the colour of mahogany; their long hair was the shiny jet-black of a raven's wing. They were dressed in skins decorated with porcupine quills. Each was equipped with a rifle in a leather case, a fearsome-looking spear (as feathered as their heads) and a bow. "Oh, and De Lancey! Find someone to ask those fellows if they would like to fight tomorrow, would you? They look as if they could do the business."

An hour or so later, in the town of Ath twenty miles from Brussels (or, rather, twenty miles from where Brussels usually stood) a Chateau Chateau took a batch of little cakes from the oven. After the cakes had cooled he drew a letter upon each one in pink icing a thing he had never in his life done before. His wife (who knew not a word of English) laid the cakes in a wooden tray and gave the tray to the took a batch of little cakes from the oven. After the cakes had cooled he drew a letter upon each one in pink icing a thing he had never in his life done before. His wife (who knew not a word of English) laid the cakes in a wooden tray and gave the tray to the sous-Chateau sous-Chateau . The . The ous-Chateau ous-Chateau carried it to the Head-quarters of the Allied Army in the town, where Sir Henry Clinton was issuing orders to his officers. The carried it to the Head-quarters of the Allied Army in the town, where Sir Henry Clinton was issuing orders to his officers. The sous-Chateau sous-Chateau presented the cakes to Sir Henry. Sir Henry took one and was about to carry it to his mouth when Major Norcott of the 95th Rifles gave a cry of surprize. There in front of them, written in pink icing on little cakes, was a dispatch from Wellington instructing Sir Henry to move the 2nd Division of Infantry towards Quatre Bras with as little delay as possible. Sir Henry looked up in amazement. The presented the cakes to Sir Henry. Sir Henry took one and was about to carry it to his mouth when Major Norcott of the 95th Rifles gave a cry of surprize. There in front of them, written in pink icing on little cakes, was a dispatch from Wellington instructing Sir Henry to move the 2nd Division of Infantry towards Quatre Bras with as little delay as possible. Sir Henry looked up in amazement. The sous-Chateau sous-Chateau beamed at him. beamed at him.

At about the same time the general in charge of the 3rd Division a Hanoverian gentleman called Sir Charles Alten was hard at work in a Chateau twenty-five miles south-west of Brussels. He happened to look out of the window and observed a very small and oddly behaved rainstorm in the courtyard. It shed its rain in the centre of the courtyard and touched the walls not at all. Sir Charles was curious enough to go outside and look more closely. There, written in the dust with raindrops, was the following missive:

Bruxelles, 15th June, 1815 The 3rd Division to move upon Quatre Bras immediately. The 3rd Division to move upon Quatre Bras immediately. Wellington Wellington

Meanwhile some Dutch and Belgian generals in Wellington's Army had discovered for themselves that the French were at Quatre Bras and were on their way there with the 2nd Netherlands Division. Consequently these generals (whose names were Rebecq and Perponcher) were more annoyed than enlightened when a great ma.s.s of songbirds alighted in the trees all around and began to sing:

The Duke's ideas let us expound At Quatre Bras the French are found At Quatre Bras the French are found All his troops must gather round All his troops must gather round To the crossroads all are bound To the crossroads all are bound

"Yes, yes! We know!" cried General Perponcher, gesturing at the birds to shoo them away. "Be off, d- you!" But the birds only flew closer and some actually settled upon his shoulders and horse. They continued singing in the most officious manner possible:

There reputations will be made The Duke commands: be not afraid! The Duke commands: be not afraid!All the army's plans are laid Go quickly now with your brigade! Go quickly now with your brigade!

The birds accompanied the soldiers for all the remainder of the day, never ceasing for a moment to twitter and cheep the same aggravating song. General Rebecq whose English was excellent managed to catch hold of one of them and tried to teach it a new song, in the hopes that it might return to Jonathan Strange and sing it to him:

The Duke's magician must be kicked From Bruxelles to Maastricht From Bruxelles to Maastricht For playing tricks on honest men For playing tricks on honest men To Maastricht and back again To Maastricht and back again2

At six o'clock Strange returned Brussels to European soil. Immediately those regiments which had been quartered inside the city marched out of the Namur Gate and down the road that led to Quatre Bras. That done, Strange was able to make his own preparations for war. He collected together his silver dish; half a dozen books of magic; a pair of pistols; a light summer coat with a number of unusually deep pockets; a dozen hard-boiled eggs; three flasks of brandy; some pieces of pork pie wrapped in paper; and a very large silk umbrella.

The next morning, with these necessaries stowed in various places about his person and his horse, he rode with the Duke and his staff up to the crossroads at Quatre Bras. Several thousand Allied troops were a.s.sembled there now, but the French had yet to shew themselves. From time to time there was the sound of a musket, but it was scarcely more than you would hear in any English wood where gentlemen are shooting.

Strange was looking about him when a songthrush alighted upon his shoulder and began to chirrup:

The Duke's ideas let us expound At Quatre Bras the French are found . . . At Quatre Bras the French are found . . .

"What?" muttered Strange. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to have disappeared hours ago!" He made Ormskirk's sign to disperse a magic spell and the bird flew off. In fact, rather to his consternation, a whole flock of birds took flight at the same moment. He glanced round nervously to see if any one had noticed that he had bungled the magic; but everyone seemed busy with military concerns and he concluded they had not.

He found a position to his liking in a ditch directly in front of Quatre Bras farmhouse. The crossroads was on his immediate right and the 92nd Foot, the Highland Regiment were on his left. He took the hard-boiled eggs out of his pockets and gave them to such of the Highlanders as thought they might like to eat them. (In peacetime some sort of introduction is generally required to make a person's acquaintance; in war a small eatable will perform the same office.) The Highlanders gave him some sweet, milky tea in return and soon they were chatting very companionably together.

The day was intensely hot. The road went down between the fields of rye, which seemed, under that bright sun, to glow with an almost supernatural brilliance. Three miles away the Prussian Army had already engaged with the French and there were faint sounds of guns booming and men shouting, like the ghosts of things to come. Just before noon drums and fierce singing were heard in the distance. The ground began to shake with the stamping of tens of thousands of feet, and through the rye towards them came the thick, dark columns of French infantry.

The Duke had given Strange no particular orders and so, when the fighting began, he set about performing all the magic he used to do on Spanish battlefields. He sent fiery angels to menace the French and dragons to breathe flames over them. These illusions were larger and brighter than any thing he had managed in Spain. Several times he climbed out of the ditch to admire the effect in spite of the warnings of the Highlanders that he was liable to be shot at any moment.

He had been diligently casting such spells for three or four hours when something happened. Out on the battlefield, a sudden a.s.sault by the French Cha.s.seurs threatened to envelop the Duke and his staff. These gentlemen were obliged to wheel round and ride pell-mell back to the Allied lines. The nearest troops happened to be the 92nd Foot.