Nathaniel flung the mattress aside. "Well?" he snarled.
The baby's face had big bags under the eyes and was now somehow unshaven. "Well," it said, "I've done the best I could. Can't ask for no more than that."
"Show me!"
"Here you go, then." The face vanished, to be replaced by a long—distance view across London. A silver strip that had to be the Thames wound across the backdrop between a dark gray mess of warehouses and wharves. Rain fell, half obscuring the scene, but Nathaniel easily made out the focus of the picture: a giant castle, protected by endless loops of high, gray walls. In its center was a tall, squared keep, with the Union Jack flying from its central roof. Black—sided police trucks moved below in the castle yard, together with troops of tiny figures, not all of them human.
Nathaniel knew what he was looking at, but he did not want to accept the truth. "And what's this got to do with Bartimaeus?" he snapped.
The imp was weary, heavy—voiced. "That's where he is, as far as I can reckon. I picked up his trail in the middle of London, but it was already faint and cold. It led here, and I can't get any closer to the Tower of London, as you well know. Far too many watchful eyes. Even from this distance, a few outriding spheres nearly caught me. I'm fair tuckered out, I am. Anything else?" it added, as Nathaniel failed to react. "I need a kip."
"No, no, that's all."
"First sensible thing you've said all day." But the imp did not fade. "If he's in there, this Bartimaeus is in trouble," it observed in a rather more cheery manner. "You didn't send him out there, did you?"
Nathaniel made no reply.
"Oh dear," said the imp. "Then, that being the case, I'd say you was in almost as much bother as him, wouldn't you? I 'spect he's probably coughing up your name right now." It bared its sharp, small teeth in a face—splitting grin, blew a loud raspberry, and vanished.
Nathaniel sat very still, holding the disc in his hands. The daylight in the room gradually faded away.
24
Bartimaeus
Put a scarab beetle, roughly the size of a matchbox, up against a four—metertall, bull—headed leviathan wielding a silver spear, and you don't expect to see much of a contest, especially when the beetle is imprisoned within a small orb that will incinerate its essence if it touches so much as a stray antenna. True, I did my best to prolong the issue by hovering just off the top of the pillar, in the vague hope that I could dart to one side as the spear crashed down—but to be honest my heart was—n't really in it. I was about to be squashed by a lummox with the IQ of a flea, and the sooner we got it over with, the better.
So I was a little surprised when the utukku's shrieking war cry was cut off by a sudden yelled command, just as the spear was about to descend upon my head.
"Baztuk, stop!"
Eagle—beak had spoken; the urgency in his voice was clear. Once it has made its mind up to do something, an utukku finds it hard to change tack: Bull—head stopped the spear's downward swing with difficulty, but kept it raised high above the orb.
"What now, Xerxes?" he snarled. "Don't try to rob me of my revenge! Twenty—seven centuries I've wanted Bartimaeus in my power—"
"Then you can wait a minute more. He'll keep. Listen—can you hear something?"
Baztuk cocked his head to one side. Within the orb, I stilled the humming of my wings and listened too. A gentle tapping sound… so low, so subtle, it was impossible to tell from which direction it came.
"That's nothing. Just workmen outside. Or the humans marching again. They like doing that. Now, shut up, Xerxes." Baztuk was not inclined to spare the matter another thought. The sinews along his forearms knotted as he readied the spear.
"It's not workmen. Too near." The feathers on Xerxes's crest looked ruffled. He was jumpy. "Leave Bartimaeus alone and come and listen. I want to pinpoint it."
With a curse, Baztuk stomped away from my column. He and Xerxes ranged around the perimeter of the room, holding their ears close to the stones and muttering to each other to tread more quietly. All the while the little tapping noise continued, soft, irregular, and maddeningly unlocatable.
"Can't place it." Baztuk scraped his spear—tip against the wall. "Could come from anywhere. Hold on…! Maybe he's doing it…" He looked evilly in my direction.
"Not guilty, your honor," I said.
"Don't be stupid, Baztuk," Eagle—beak said. "The orb stops him using magic beyond its barrier. Something else is going on. I think we should raise the alarm."
"But nothing's happened!" Bull—head looked panicked. "They'll punish us. At least let me kill Bartimaeus first," he pleaded. "I mustn't lose this chance."
"I think you should definitely call for help," I advised. "It's almost certainly something you can't handle. A deathwatch beetle, maybe. Or a disorientated woodpecker."
Baztuk blew spume a meter into the air. "That's the last straw, Bartimaeus! You die!" He paused. "Mind you, it might be a deathwatch beetle, come to think of it…"
"In a solid stone building?" Xerxes sneered. "I think not."
"What makes you an expert all of a sudden?"
A new argument broke out. My two captors faced up to each other again, strutting and shoving, roused to blind fury by each other's stupidity and by the occasional careful prompting from me.
Underneath it all, the tap, tap, tapping went on. I had long since located the source of it as a patch of stone high up along one wall, not too far from the single window. While encouraging the squabble, I kept a constant eye on this area, and was rewarded, after several minutes, by spying a discreet shower of stone—dust come trickling out between two blocks. A moment later, a tiny hole appeared; this was rapidly enlarged as more dust and flakes dropped from it, propelled by something small, sharp and black.
To my annoyance, after walking their way round the room in a flurry of girly slaps and yells, Xerxes and Baztuk had come to rest not far from the mysterious hole. It was only a matter of time before they would notice the spiraling dust—fall, so I decided I had to risk all in a final gambit.
"Hey, you pair of sand—eaters!" I shouted. "The moon shines on the corpses of your fellows! The jackals carry home the severed heads for their pups to play with!"[66]
As I had expected, Baztuk instantly left off tugging at Xerxes's side feathers and Xerxes prised his fingers out of Baztuk's nose. Both of them slowly turned toward me with murder in their eyes. So far, so good. I calculated that I had approximately thirty seconds before whatever was coming through the hole put in an appearance. Should it delay, I was dead—if not by the hands of Baztuk and Xerxes, then by the orb, which had now diminished to the size of a runty grapefruit.
"Baztuk," Xerxes said politely, "I shall allow you to strike the first blow."
"That is good of you, Xerxes," Baztuk replied. "Afterward, you may dice the remains to your heart's content."
Both hefted their spears and strode toward me. Behind them, the tapping suddenly ceased, and from the hole in the wall, which had by now grown quite large, a shiny beak poked out, sharp as an anvil. This was followed by a tufted jet—black head, complete with beady eye. The eye flicked rapidly to and fro, taking in the scene, then silently the bird behind it began to squeeze its way through the hole, wriggling forward in a distinctly unbirdlike way.
With a shake and a hop, an enormous black raven perched on the lip of the stone. As its tail feathers cleared the hole, another beak appeared behind it.
66
Well, this loses something in translation, of course. I shouted it in the language of Old Egypt, which both of them knew and hated. It was a reference to the time when the pharaoh sent his armies deep into the lands of Assyria, causing general mayhem. It is deeply impolite for djinn to bring up between themselves the memories of human wars (in which we are always forced to take sides). Reminding utukku of wars that they lost is both impolite and deeply unwise.