Red Seraphim: Now, I've decided to write for Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, and I decided that I am going to thrust poor Mr. Black to say the disclaimer.
Stephen: Why are you doing this, sir? It serves no purpose at all.
Red Seraphim: If it served a purpose, Mr. Black, then I believe that I would not think to try it.
Stephen: Very well. (RS hands him a piece of paper. He looks at it for a moment, then turns it right side up.) "Red Seraphim does not own Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, because if he did, there would be more books and more things about the Raven King."
Jonathan Strange sat at his desk in his study, his face not two inches from the page that he was scribbling on. He cursed as his ink splattered, since his pen had worn down to almost flat, unable to write any longer. As he began to sharpen his pen again, he heard a distant ringing, like a far off bell. It was a sadding, mourning sound, like a dirge sung for the dead. Strange, however, only realized that the bell continued far after the time and would not stop. He looked out of the window, and, although he could only just glance at them, could see that the bells that told the time.
He called for Jeremy, one of his menservants, and asked him to bring a silver dish and some clean water. He drew the magic lines in the dish, and then he quartered them. He looked at the dish concentrating and muttering the spell under his breath. He then looked through it and could see only the bells that he had looked at only a moment or two before hand.
He went huffily downstairs, with good reason for his bad mood because the bells had yet to cease. After another few minutes, he called in Jeremy once again.
"Jeremy, is there not something odd about these bells with their constant ringing?" He asked the manservant.
Jeremy looked a little puzzled. "What bells, sir?" He inquired.
"The bells that keep ringing. You can hear them quite clearly." Jonathan replied, fixing his servant with a cool look that said that he was ill amused that his manservant was playing a joke on him.
"Sir, the bells sounded half an hour ago, declaring it to be noontime." Jeremy answered.
"Yes, I heard those too-but…" And there he ended, realizing that his manservant could not hear the persistent ringing that was filling his brain, slowing making room for itself by removing his sanity.
He dismissed Jeremy, and then picked up a book, as if he could read this insanity away. But he found that he could not. He again trudged up to his study, the distant and sorrowful ringing of the bells perusing him.
He suddenly got an idea. He had discussed with Mr. Norrell once about a spell against enchantment, or indeed, any sort of spell. He recalled how to perform it, and began to mutter the spell to himself.
Arabella, Strange's wife, was in a store, buying some fabric for some curtains that she wanted to be put up in the parlor of their home.
"2 guineas, ma'am." The kindly old shopkeeper informed her.
She was about to hand the money over when she suddenly froze. She could not move another inch. One would think that the shopkeeper would ask why she was hesitating, but he did not.
The entire city of London had frozen, not one of it inhabitants moving the slightest millimeter. This including not just people, but also dogs, cats, and even leaves on the trees in parks. Everything was frozen, as if in a suspended animation.
The man with the thistle-down hair suddenly appeared before Stephen. "Come, come!" He said, then, not waiting for Stephen's answer, blinked once, and then they were in a dark and ominous hallway.
Stephen was slightly startled at the abrupt change of scenery. "Why did you do that, sir, if I may ask?" Stephen asked politely.
"Ah, Stephen, I came to rescue you from the magicians magic! I had cast an enchantment on him that would force him to hear the bells of Lost-Hope for awhile!" The man with thistle-down hair replied. "And in retaliation, he used a spell that would bind you to where you sat forever! But alas! He fumbled it and has frozen everyone else, including himself! Laugh with me Stephen! Let us rejoice in his downfall!
A figure walked down a strange road at a very rapid pace, as if it had some extremely important destination to arrive at and it was dreadfully late. It stopped a moment, then shook its head and waved its hand, then continued on its way.
Jonathan Strange suddenly could move again. He felt his limbs released from the spell. He glanced at the author's title of the book that he was holding, then hurriedly put on his coat, drove in his carriage to Mr. Norrell's residence, and met with him. He threw the book down at Mr. Norrell's feet and stomped a foot on it.
" I hope that we have something to say about de Chepe in the next article of "The Friends", and I hope it is extremely negative! He is useless!" Strange said in a huffed manner, then he walked away, ignoring the weeping sound that was made by Mr. Norrell, as he knelt down and went into the fetal position, crying over the slight indent made in his precious book.
RS: That…was horrible.
Stephen: Especially.
RS: Shut up!