Even to think of doing what he now did made him physically sick. Nevertheless he managed it, little by little, step by dragging step. Out from behind the door, across the landing, along toward the study stairs… Down the stairs, one at a time…
With every step, his common sense screamed at him to turn and flee, but he resisted. To run would be to fail Mrs. Underwood. He would go in there and tell the truth, come what may.
The door was open, the fiery hex defused. Yellow light spilled from inside.
Nathaniel paused at the threshold. His brain seemed to have shut down. He did not fully understand what he was about to do.
He pushed at the door and went in, just in time to witness the moment of discovery.
Lovelace and Underwood were standing by a wall cupboard with their backs to him. The cupboard doors gaped wide. Even as he watched, Lovelace's head craned forward eagerly like a hunting cat's, and his hand stretched out and knocked something aside. He gave a cry of triumph. Slowly, he turned and raised his hand before Underwood's corpse—white face.
Nathaniel's shoulders slumped.
How small it looked, the Amulet of Samarkand, how insignificant it seemed, as it hung from Lovelace's fingers on its slender gold chain. It swung gently, glinting in the study light.
Lovelace smiled. "Well, well. What have we here?"
Underwood was shaking his head in confusion and disbelief. In those few seconds, his face had aged.
"No," he whispered. "A trick… You're framing me…"
Lovelace wasn't even looking at him. He gazed at his prize. "I can't imagine what you thought you could do with this," he said. "Summoning Bartimaeus on its own would have been quite enough to wear you out."
"I keep saying," Underwood said weakly, "I don't know anything about this Bartimaeus, and I know nothing about your object, nor how it got there."
Nathaniel heard a new voice speaking, high and shaky. It was his own.
"He's telling the truth," he said. "I took it. The person that you want is me."
The silence that followed this statement lasted almost five seconds. Both magicians spun round on the instant, only to stare at him openmouthed in shock. Mr. Underwood's eyebrows rose high, sank low, then rose again, mirroring his utter bewilderment. Lovelace wore an uncomprehending frown.
Nathaniel took the opportunity to walk farther into the room. "It was I," he said, his voice a little firmer now that the deed was done. "He knows nothing about it. You can leave him alone."
Underwood blinked and shook his head. He seemed to doubt the evidence of his senses. Lovelace remained quite still, his hidden eyes fixed on Nathaniel. The Amulet of Samarkand swung gently between his motionless fingers.
Nathaniel cleared his throat, which was dry. What would happen now he dared not guess. He had not thought beyond his confession. Somewhere in the room his servant lurked, so he was not entirely defenseless. If necessary, he hoped Bartimaeus would come to his aid.
His master found his voice at last. "What are you gibbering about, you fool? You can have no idea what we discuss. Leave here at once!" A thought occurred to him. "Wait—how did you get out of the room?"
At his side, Lovelace's frown suddenly fractured into a twitching smile. He laughed quietly. "A moment, Arthur. Perhaps you are being too hasty."
For an instant, a fleeting glimpse of Underwood's irascibility returned. "Don't be absurd! This stripling cannot have committed the crime! He would have had to bypass my fire—hex, for a start, not to mention your own defenses."
"And raise a djinni of the fourteenth level," murmured Lovelace. "That too."
"Exactly. The notion is abs—" Underwood gasped. Sudden understanding dawned in his eyes. "Wait… perhaps… Can it be possible? Only today, Lovelace, I caught this brat with summoning equipment, and Adelbrand's Pentacle chalked out in his room. He had sophisticated books—The Mouth of Ptolemy, for one. I assumed he had failed, was over—ambitious… But what if I was wrong?"
Simon Lovelace said nothing. He never looked away from Nathaniel.
"Just this past hour," Underwood went on, "I caught him spying on me in my study. He had a scrying glass, something I have never given him. If he is capable of that, who knows what other crimes he might attempt?"
"Even so," Lovelace said, softly, "why should he steal from me?"
Nathaniel could tell from his master's behavior that he had not recognized the Amulet for what it was, and realized that this ignorance might yet save him. Would Lovelace believe the same was true of Nathaniel, too? He spoke up quickly, trying to sound as much like a child as possible. "It was just a trick, sir," he said. "A joke. I wanted to get back at you for hitting me that time. I asked the demon to take something of yours, anything at all. I was going to keep that thing till I was older, and, erm, till I could find out what it was and, how to use it. I hope it wasn't valuable, sir. I'm very sorry for putting you to any trouble…"
He trailed off, excruciatingly aware how weak his story was. Lovelace just gazed at him; he could make out nothing from the man's expression.
But his master, for one, believed him. His full fury was unleashed. "That is the last straw, Mandrake!" he cried. "I will have you up before the court! Even if you escape prison, you will be stripped of your apprenticeship and turned out into the street! I will cast you out! All jobs will be closed to you! You will become a pauper among commoners!"
"Yes, sir." Anything, if only Lovelace would leave.
"I can only apologize, Lovelace." Underwood drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "We have both been inconvenienced—he has betrayed me and from you he has stolen a most powerful treasure, this amulet—" He glanced toward the small gold oval dangling from Lovelace's hand and in that sudden, fatal, instant realized what it was. A short, suppressed intake of breath sounded against his teeth. It was a small noise, but Nathaniel heard it clearly enough. Lovelace didn't move.
The color drained from Underwood's cheeks. His eyes darted toward Lovelace's face to see if he had noticed anything. Nathaniel's eyes did likewise. Through the blood pounding in his head, he heard Underwood struggling to continue where he had broken off: "And… and we shall both see him suitably punished, yes we will; he will regret the day when he ever thought to—"
The other magician held up his hand. Instantly, Underwood was silent.
"Well, John Mandrake," Simon Lovelace said, "I am almost very impressed. Yes, I have been inconvenienced; the last few days have been difficult for me. But see—I have my prize again, and all will now be well. Please do not apologize. To summon a djinni such as Bartimaeus at your age is no mean achievement; to control him over several days is even more surprising. You left me frustrated, too, which is a rare event, and Underwood ignorant, which is somewhat less unusual. All very clever. Only at the end have you fallen down. What possessed you to own up to your action? I might have dealt quietly with Underwood and left you alone." His voice was soft and reasonable.
Underwood urgently tried to speak, but Lovelace interrupted him. "Quiet, man. I want to hear the boy's reasons."
"Because it wasn't his fault," Nathaniel said, stolidly. "He knew nothing. Your quarrel was with me, whether you knew so or not. He should be left out of it. That's why I came down." A sense of the utter futility of his action weighed down upon him.
Lovelace chuckled. "Some childish concept of nobility, is it?" he said. "I guessed as much. The honorable course of action. Heroic, but stupid. Where did you get that notion from? Not from Underwood here, I'll bet."
"I robbed you because you wronged me," Nathaniel continued. "I wanted to get back at you. That's all there is to it. Punish me if you want. I don't care." His attitude of surly resignation concealed a growing hope. Maybe Lovelace did not realize that they knew about the Amulet; maybe he would administer some token punishment and go.