Nathaniel closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Please."
"Much better." A small spark leaped and ignited a pile of wood nearby. Nathaniel shuffled over and huddled beside it, his hands inches from the flames.
For a few minutes the djinni remained silent, pacing here and there about the room. The feeling slowly returned to Nathaniel's fingers, though his face stayed numb. At length he became aware that the djinni had come close again, and was sitting on its haunches, idly stirring a long sliver of wood in the fire.
"How does that feel?" it asked. "Melting nicely, I hope." It waited politely for an answer, but Nathaniel said nothing. "I'll tell you one thing," the djinni went on, in a conversational tone, "you're an interesting specimen. I've known a fair few magicians in my time, and there aren't many who are quite as suicidal as you. Most would think that popping in to tell a powerful enemy you'd pinched his treasure wasn't a terribly bright idea. Especially when you're utterly defenseless. But you? All in a day's work."
"I had to," Nathaniel said shortly. He did not want to talk.
"Mmm. No doubt you had a brilliant plan, which I—and Lovelace, for that matter—completely missed. Mind telling me what it was?"
"Be silent!"
The djinni wrinkled its nose. "That was your plan? It's a simple one, I'll say that much. Still, don't forget it was my life you were risking too back there, acting out your strange convulsion of conscience." It reached into the fire suddenly and removed a burning ember, which it held musingly between finger and thumb. "I had another master like you once. He had the same mulish obstinacy, seldom acted in his own best interests. Didn't live long." It sighed, tossed the ember back into the flames. "Never mind—all's well that ends well."
Nathaniel looked at the djinni for the first time. "All's well?"
"You're alive. Does that count as good?"
For an instant, Nathaniel saw Mrs. Underwood's face watching him from the fire. He rubbed his eyes.
"I hate to say this," the djinni said, "but Lovelace was right. You were totally out of your depth last night. Magicians don't act the way you do. It was a good thing I was there to rescue you. So—where are you going now? Prague?"
"What?"
"Well, Lovelace knows you've escaped. He'll be looking out for you—and you've seen what he'll do to keep you quiet. Your only hope is to vanish from the scene and leave London for good. Abroad will be safest. Prague."
"Why should I go to Prague?"
"Magicians there might help you. Nice beer, too, I'm told."
Nathaniel's lip curled. "I'm no traitor."
The boy shrugged. "If that's no good, then you're left with getting a quiet new life here. There are plenty of possibilities. Let's see… looking at you, I'd say heavy lifting's out—you're too spindly. That rules out being a laborer."
Nathaniel frowned with indignation. "I have no intention—"
The djinni ignored him. "But you could turn your runtlike size to your advantage. Yes! A sweep's lad, that's the answer. They always need fresh urchins to climb the flues."
"Wait! I'm not—"
"Or you could become apprentice to a sewer rat. You get a bristle brush, a hook and a rubber plunger, then wriggle up the tightest tunnels looking for blockages."
"I won't—"
"There's a world of opportunities out there! And all of them better than being a dead magician."
"Shut up!" The effort of raising his voice made Nathaniel feel his head was about to split in two. "I don't need your suggestions!" He stumbled to his feet, eyes blazing with anger. The djinni's jibes had cut through his weariness and grief to ignite a pent—up fury that suddenly consumed him. It rose up from his guilt, his shock, and his mortal anguish and used them for its fuel. Lovelace had said that there was no such thing as honor, that every magician acted only for himself. Very well. Nathaniel would take him at his word. He would not make such a mistake again.
But Lovelace had made an error of his own. He had underestimated his enemy. He had called Nathaniel weak, then tried to kill him. And Nathaniel had survived.
"You want me to slink away?" he cried. "I cannot! Lovelace has murdered the only person who ever cared for me—" He halted: there was a catch in his voice, but still his eyes were dry.
"Underwood? You must be joking! He loathed you! He was a man of sense!"
"His wife, I mean. I want justice for her. Vengeance for what he has done."
The effect of these ringing words was slightly spoiled by the djinni's blowing a loud raspberry. It rose, shaking its head sadly, as if weighed down by great wisdom. "It isn't justice you're after, boy. It's oblivion. Everything you had went up in flames last night. So now you've got nothing to lose. I can read your thoughts as if they were my own: you want to go out in a blaze of glory against Lovelace."
"No. I want justice."
The djinni laughed. "It'll be so easy, following your master and his wife into the darkness—so much easier than starting life afresh. Your pride is ruling your head, leading you to your death. Didn't last night teach you anything? You're no match for him, Nat. Give it up."
"Never."
"It's not even as if you're really a magician any more." It gestured at the crumbling walls. "Look around you. Where are we? This isn't some cushy townhouse, filled with books and papers. Where are the candles? Where's all the incense? Where's the comfort? Like it or not, Nathaniel, you've lost everything a magician needs. Wealth, security, self—respect, a master… Let's face it, you've got nothing."
"I have my scrying glass," Nathaniel said. "And I have you." Hurriedly, he sat himself back beside the fire. The cold of the room still pierced him through.
"Ah yes, I was coming to that." The djinni began clearing a space among the debris of the floor with the side of its boot. "When you've calmed down a bit, I shall bring you some chalk. Then you can draw me a circle here and set me free."
Nathaniel stared at him.
"I've completed my charge," the boy continued. "And more, much more. I spied on Lovelace for you. I found out about the Amulet. I saved your life."
Nathaniel's head felt oddly light and woozy, as if it were stuffed with cloth.
"Please! Don't rush to thank me!" the boy went on. "I'll only get embarrassed. All I want is to see you drawing that pentacle. That's all I need."
"No," Nathaniel said. "Not yet."
"Sorry?" the boy replied. "My hearing must be going, on account of that dramatic rescue I pulled off last night. I thought you just said no."
"I did. I'm not setting you free. Not yet."
A heavy silence fell. As Nathaniel watched, his little fire began to dwindle, as if it were being sucked down through the floor. It vanished altogether. With little cracking noises, ice began to crust onto the scraps of wood that a moment before had been burning nicely. Cold blistered his skin. His breath became harsh and painful.
He staggered upright. "Stop that!" he gasped. "Bring back the fire."
The djinni's eyes glittered. "It's for your own good," it said. "I've just realized how inconsiderate I was being. You don't want to see another fire—not after the one you caused last night. Your conscience would hurt you too much."
Flickering images rose before Nathaniel's eyes: flames erupting from the ruined kitchen. "I didn't start the fire," he whispered. "It wasn't my fault."
"No? You hid the Amulet. You framed Underwood."
"No! I didn't intend Lovelace to come. It was for security—"
The boy sneered. "Sure it was—your security."
"If Underwood had been any good he'd have survived! He'd have fought Love—lace off—raised the alarm!"
"You don't believe that. Let's face it, you killed them both."