[ Jonathan Strange, former magician at arms to the Duke of Wellington, a man permitted to perform magic on behalf of King George III, foremost scholar and magician of the age, is staring at his shitty little Mitsubishi minicab with a look of absolute confusion. There's a manual in his hand but from the completely overwhelmed expression on the man's face, he has no idea where to start.

The other man coming up and asking him a question serves as a wonderful distraction. Strange pats down his pockets, reaching in to his coat pocket to double-check...and winces slightly, before shaking his head. ]

I don't carry cigarettes normally, but I don't even have my snuff with me. Still, there should be something like that around here, right? This place might be... [ Confusing. Uncivilized. A bit scary. ] ...uncouth, but there should at least be a market here—or, as that gentleman said, one in the next town over.