Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (108 page)

"After all, Lancelot," she said, "I have known
ou
very much the worse for wine. There was the time we dined with Mr Sixsmith and you insisted upon saying good night to all the chickens. You went out into the yard and pulled them one by one out of the henhouse and they all escaped and ran about and half of them were eaten by the fox. I never saw Antoinette so angry with you." (Antoinette was the Doctor's late wife.)

This was an old story and very demeaning. Dr Greysteel listened with mounting exasperation. "For God's sake, Louisa! I am a physician! I know drunkenness when I see it!"

So Frank was brought in. He remembered much more precisely what Strange had said. The visions he conjured up of Flora shut away in prison for all eternity were quite enough to terrify her aunt. In a very short space of time Aunt Greysteel was as eager as any one else to send Flora away from Venice. However she insisted upon one thing – something which had never occurred to Dr Greysteel and Frank: she insisted that they tell Flora the truth.

It cost Flora Greysteel a great deal of pain to hear that Strange had lost his reason. She thought at first they must be mistaken, and even when they had persuaded her that it might be true, she was still certain there was no necessity for her to leave Venice; she was sure he would never hurt her. But she could now see that her father and aunt believed otherwise and that they would never be comfortable until she went. Most reluctantly she agreed to leave.

Shortly after the departure of the two ladies, Dr Greysteel was sitting in one of the
palazzo
's chill marble rooms. He was comfort- ing himself with a glass of brandy and trying to find the courage to go and look for Strange, when Frank entered the room and said something about a black tower.

"What?" said Dr Greysteel. He was in no mood to be puzzling out Frank's eccentricities.

"Come to the window and I will shew you, sir."

Dr Greysteel got up and went to the window.

Something was standing in the centre of Venice. It could best be described as a black tower of impossible vastness. The base of it seemed to cover several acres. It rose up out of the city into the sky and the top of it could not be seen. From a distance its colour was uniformly black and its texture smooth. But there were moments when it seemed almost translucent, as if it were made of black smoke. One caught glimpses of buildings behind – or possibly even
within
– it.

It was the most mysterious thing Dr Greysteel had ever seen. "Where can it have come from, Frank? And what has happened to the houses that were there before?"

Before these or any other questions could be answered, there was a loud, official-sounding knock upon the door. Frank went to answer it. He returned a moment later with a small crowd of people, none of whom Dr Greysteel had ever seen before. Two of them were priests, and there were three or four young men of military bearing who all wore brightly coloured uniforms decor- ated with an extravagant amount of gold lace and braid. The most handsome of the young men stepped forward. His uniform was the most splendid of all and he had long yellow moustaches. He explained that he was Colonel Wenzel von Ottenfeld, secretary to the Austrian Governor of the city. He introduced his compan- ions; the officers were Austrian like himself, but the priests were Venetian. This in itself was enough to cause Dr Greysteel some surprize; the Venetians hated the Austrians and the two races were hardly ever seen in each other's company.

"You are the Sir Doctor?" said Colonel von Ottenfeld. "The friend of the
Hexenmeister
¹
of the Great Vellinton?"

Dr Greysteel agreed that he was.

"Ah! Sir Doctor! We are beggars under your feet today!" Von Ottenfeld put on a melancholy expression which was much en- hanced by his long, drooping moustaches.

Dr Greysteel said he was astonished to hear it.

"We come today. We ask your . . ." Von Ottenfeld frowned and snapped his fingers. "
Vermittlung
.
Wir bitten um Ihre Vermittlung. Wie
kann man das sagen?
" There was some discussion how this word ought to be translated. One of the Italian priests suggested "intercession".

"Yes, yes," agreed von Ottenfeld, eagerly. "We ask your intercession from us to the
Hexenmeister
of the Great Vellinton. Sir Doctor, we esteem very much the
Hexenmeister
of the Great Vellinton. But now the
Hexenmeister
of the Great Vellinton has done something. What calamity! The people of Venice are afraid. Many must leave their houses and go away!"

"Ah!" said Dr Greysteel, knowingly. He thought for a moment and comprehension dawned. "Oh! You think Mr Strange has something to do with this Black Tower."

"No!" declared von Ottenfeld. "It is not a Tower. It is the Night! What calamity!"

"I beg your pardon?" said Dr Greysteel and looked to Frank for help. Frank shrugged.

One of the priests, whose English was a little more robust, explained that when the sun had risen that morning, it had risen in every part of the city except one – the parish of Santa Maria Zobenigo, which was where Strange lived. There, Night continued to reign.

"Why does the
Hexenmeister
of the Great Vellinton this?" asked von Ottenfeld, "We do not know. We beg you go, Sir Doctor. Ask him, please, for the sun to come back to Santa Maria Zobenigo? Ask him, respectfully, to do no more magic in Venice?"

"Of course I will go," said Dr Greysteel. "It is a most distressing situation. And, though I am quite sure that Mr Strange has not done this deliberately – that it will prove to be all a mistake – I will gladly help in any way I can."

"Ah!" said the priest with the good English, anxiously, and put up his hand, as if he feared that Dr Greysteel would rush out to Santa Maria Zobenigo upon the instant. "But you will take your servant, please? You will not go alone?"

Snow was falling thickly. All of Venice's sad colours had become shades of grey and black. St Mark's Piazza was a faint grey etching of itself done on white paper. It was quite deserted. Dr Greysteel and Frank stumped through the snow together. Dr Greysteel carried a lantern and Frank held a black umbrella over the Doctor's head.

Beyond the Piazza rose up the Black Pillar of Night; they passed beneath the arch of the Atrio and between the silent houses. The Darkness began halfway across a little bridge. It was the eeriest thing in the world to see how the flakes of snow, falling aslant, were sucked suddenly into it, as if it were a living thing that ate them up with greedy lips.

They took one last look at the silent white city and stepped into the Darkness.

The alleys were deserted. The inhabitants of the parish had fled to relatives and friends in other parts of the city. But the cats of Venice – who are as contrary a set of creatures as the cats of any other city – had flocked to Santa Maria Zobenigo to dance and hunt and play in the Endless Night which seemed to them to be a sort of high holiday. In the Darkness cats brushed past Dr Grey- steel and Frank; and several times Dr Greysteel caught sight of glowing eyes watching him from a doorway.

When they reached the house where Strange lodged it was quiet. They knocked and called out, but no one came. Finding the door was unlocked, they pushed it open. The house was dark. They found the staircase and went up to Strange's room at the top of the house where he did magic.

After all that had happened they were rather expecting some- thing remarkable, to find Strange in conversation with a demon or haunted by horrible apparitions. It was somewhat disconcerting that the scene which presented itself was so ordinary. The room looked as it had upon numerous occasions. It was lit by a generous number of candles and an iron stove gave out a welcome heat. Strange was at the table, bending over his silver dish with a pure white light radiating up into his face. He did not look up. A clock ticked quietly in the corner. Books, papers and writing things were thickly scattered over every surface as usual. Strange passed the tip of his finger over the surface of the water and struck it twice very gently. Then he turned and wrote something in a book.

"Strange," said Dr Greysteel.

Strange glanced up. He did not look so frantic as he had the night before, but his eyes had the same haunted look. He regarded the doctor for a long moment without any sign of recognition. "Greysteel," he murmured at last. "What are you doing here?"

"I have come to see how you are. I am concerned about you."

Strange made no reply to this. He turned back to his silver dish and made a few gestures over it. But immediately he seemed dissatisfied with what he had done. He took a glass and poured some water into it. Then he took a tiny bottle and carefully tipped two drops of liquid into the glass.

Dr Greysteel watched him. There was no label upon the bottle; the liquid was amber-coloured; it could have been any thing.

Strange observed Dr Greysteel's eyes upon him. "I suppose you are going to say I ought not to take this. Well, you may spare yourself the trouble!" He drank it down in one draught. "You will not say so when you know the reason!"

"No, no," saidDrGreysteel in his most placating tone – the one he employed for his most difficult patients. "I assure you I was going to say nothing of the kind. I only wish to know if you are in pain? Or ill? I thought last night that you were. Perhaps I can advise . . ." He stopped. He smelt something. It was quite overpowering – a dry, musty scent mixed with something rankand animal; and the curious thing was that he recognized it. Suddenly he could smell the room where the old woman lived: the mad old woman with all the cats.

"My wife is alive," said Strange. His voice was hoarse and thick. "Ha! There! You did not know that!"

Dr Greysteel turned cold. If there was any thing Strange could have said to alarm him even more, this was probably it.

"They told me she was dead!" continued Strange. "They told me that they had buried her! I cannot believe I was so taken in! She was enchanted! She was stolen from me! And that is why I need this!" He waved the little bottle of amber-coloured liquid in the doctor's face.

Dr Greysteel and Frank took a step or two backwards. Frank muttered in the doctor's ear. "All is well, sir. All is well. I shall not let him harm you. I have the measure of him. Do not fear."

"I cannot go back to the house," said Strange. "He has expelled me and he will not let me go back. The trees will not let me pass. I have tried spells of disenchantment, but they do not work. They do not work . . ."

"Have you been doing magic since last night?" asked Dr Greysteel.

"What? Yes!"

"I am very sorry to hear it. You should rest. I dare say you do not remember very much of last night . . ."

"Ha!" exclaimed Strange with bitterest irony. "I shall never forget the smallest detail!"

"Is that so? Is that so?" said Dr Greysteel in the same soothing tone. "Well, I cannot conceal from you that your appearance alarmed me. You were not yourself. It was the consequence, I am sure, of overwork. Perhaps if I . . ."

"Forgive me, Dr Greysteel, but, as I have just explained, my wife is
enchanted
; she is a prisoner beneath the earth. Much as I would like to continue this conversation, I have far more pressing matters to attend to!"

"Very well. Calm yourself. Our presence here distresses you. We will go away again and come back tomorrow. But before we go, I must say this: the Governor sent a delegation to me this morning. He respectfully requests that you refrain from performing magic for the present . . ."

"Not do magic!" Strange laughed – a cold, hard, humourless sound. "You ask me to stop now? Quite impossible! What did God make me a magician for, if not for this?" He returned to his silver dish and began to draw signs in the air, just above the surface of the water.

"Then at least free the parish from this Unnatural Night. Do that at least, for me? For friendship's sake? For Flora's sake?"

Strange paused in the middle of a gesture. "What are you talking about? What Unnatural Night? What is unnatural about it?"

"For God's sake, Strange! It is almost noon!"

For a moment Strange said nothing. He looked at the black window, at the darkness in the room and finally at Dr Greysteel. "I had not the least idea," he whispered, aghast. "Believe me! This is not my doing!"

"Whose is it then?"

Strange did not reply; he stared vacantly about the room.

Dr Greysteel feared it would only vex him to be questioned more about the Darkness, and so he simply asked, "Can you bring the daylight back?"

"I . . . I do not know."

Dr Greysteel told Strange that they would come again the next day and he took the opportunity once more to recommend sleep as an excellent remedy.

Strange was not listening, but, just as Dr Greysteel and Frank were leaving, he took hold of the doctor's arm and whispered, "May I ask you something?"

Dr Greysteel nodded.

"Are you not afraid that it will go out?"

"What will go out?" asked Dr Greysteel.

"The candle." Strange gestured to Dr Greysteel's forehead. "The candle inside your head."

Outside, the Darkness seemed eerier than ever. Dr Greysteel and Frank made their way silently through the night streets. When they reached the daylight at the western extremity of St Mark's Piazza, both breathed a great sigh of relief.

Dr Greysteel said, "I am determined to say nothing to the Governor about the overturn of his reason. God knows what the Austrians might do. They might send soldiers to arrest him – or worse! I shall simply say that he is unable to banish the Night just now, but that he means no harm to the city – for I amquite certain he does not – and that I am sure of persuading him to set matters right very soon."

The next day when the sun rose Darkness still covered the parish of Santa Maria Zobenigo. At half past eight Frank went out to buy milk and fish. The pretty, dark-eyed peasant-girl who sold milk from the milk-barge in the San Lorenzo-canal liked Frank and always had a word and a smile for him. This morning she handed him up his jug of milk and asked, "
Hai sentito che lo stregone inglese é
pazzo
?" (Have you heard that the English magician is mad?)