Nathaniel's face twisted in fury. "I was going to expose Lovelace! I was going to trap him with the Amulet—show the authorities!"
"Who cares? You were too late. You failed."
"Thanks to you, demon! If you hadn't led them to the house none of this would have happened!" Nathaniel seized on this idea like a drowning man. "It's all your fault and I'm going to pay you back! Think you're ever going to be freed? Think again! You're staying permanently. It's Perpetual Confinement for you!"
"Is that so? In that case—" the counterfeit boy stepped forward and was suddenly very close—"I might as well kill you myself right now. What have I got to lose? I'll be in the tin either way, but I'll have the satisfaction of breaking your neck first." Its hand descended gently on Nathaniel's shoulder.
Nathaniel's skin crawled. He resisted the overpowering temptation to shy away and run, and instead stared back into the dark, blank eyes.
For a long moment, neither said anything.
At last Nathaniel licked his dry lips. "That won't be necessary," he said thickly. "I'll free you before the month is up."
The djinni pulled him closer. "Free me now!"
"No." Nathaniel swallowed. "We have work to do first."
"Work?" It frowned; its hand stroked his shoulder. "What work? What is there to do?"
Nathaniel forced himself to remain quite still. "My master and his wife are dead. I must avenge them. Lovelace must pay for what he did."
The whispering mouth was very near now, but Nathaniel could feel no breath against his face. "But I've told you. Lovelace is too powerful. You haven't a hope of besting him. Forget the matter, as I do. Release me and forget your troubles."
"I cannot."
"Why so?"
"I—I owe it to my master. He was a good man—"
"No, he wasn't. That's not the reason at all." The djinni whispered directly into his ear. "It isn't justice or honor that drives you now, boy, but guilt. You can't take the consequences of your actions. You seek to drown out what you've done to your master and his wife. Well, if that's the way you humans choose to suffer, so be it. But leave me out of the equation."
Nathaniel spoke with a firmness he did not feel. "Until your month is up you'll obey me if you ever want your freedom."
"Going after Lovelace practically amounts to suicide in any case—yours and mine." The boy smiled nastily. "That being so, I still don't see why I shouldn't kill you now…"
"There will be ways to expose him!" Nathaniel could not help himself; he was speaking far too fast. "We just need to think it through carefully. I'll make a bargain with you. Help me avenge myself on Lovelace and I'll set you free immediately afterward. Then there can be no doubt about our positions. It's in both our interests to succeed."
The djinni's eyes glittered. "As always, a laudably fair arrangement, dictated from a one—sided position of power. Very well. I have no choice. But if at any time you place either of us at undue risk, be warned—I shall get my revenge first."
"Agreed."
The boy stepped back and released Nathaniel's shoulder. Nathaniel retreated, eyes wide, breathing hard. Humming gently, the djinni wandered to the window, reigniting the fire casually as it passed. Nathaniel struggled to calm himself, to regain control. Another wave of misery washed through him, but he did not succumb. No time for that. He must appear strong in front of his slave.
"Well then, master," the djinni said. "Enlighten me. Tell me what we do."
Nathaniel kept his voice as level as he could. "First, I need food, and perhaps new clothes. Then we must pool our information on Lovelace and the Amulet. We also need to know what the authorities think about… about what happened last night."
"That last one's easy," Bartimaeus said, pointing out of the window. "Look out there."
32
"Times! Morning edition!"
The newspaper boy wheeled his handcart slowly along the pavement, stopping whenever passersby thrust coins in his direction. The crowd was thick and the boy's progress was slow. He had barely made it as far as the baker's by the time Nathaniel and Bartimaeus sidled out from the alley beside the derelict library and crossed the road to meet him.
Nathaniel still had in his pocket the remnants of the money he had stolen from Mrs. Underwood's jar a few days before. He glanced at the cart: it was piled high with copies of The Times—the Government's official paper. The newspaper boy himself wore a large, checked cloth cap, fingerless gloves, and a long dark coat that reached almost to his ankles. The tips of his fingers were mauve with cold. Every now and then he roared out the same hoarse calclass="underline" "Times! Morning edition!"
Nathaniel had little experience of dealing with commoners. He hailed the boy in his deepest, most assertive voice. "The Times. How much is it?"
"Forty pence, kid." Coldly, Nathaniel handed over the change and received the newspaper in return. The paperboy glanced at him, first incuriously, and then with what seemed a sudden intense interest. Nathaniel made to pass on, but the boy addressed him.
"You look rough, chum," he said cheerily. "Been out all night?"
"No." Nathaniel adopted a stern expression, which he hoped would discourage further curiosity.
It didn't work. "Course you ain't, course you ain't," the paperboy said. "And I wouldn't blame you for not admitting it if you had. But you ought to be careful with the curfew on. The police are sniffing about more than usual."
"What curfew's this?" the djinni asked.
The paperboy's eyes widened. "Where've you been, mate? After that disgraceful attack on Parliament, there's an eight o'clock curfew each night this week. It won't do nothing, but the search spheres are out, and the Night Police too, so you'll want to hole up somewhere before they find you and eat you. Looks to me like you struck lucky so far. Tell you what—I could find you a good place to shelter tonight, if you need it. It's safe, and the spot to go"—he paused, looked up and down the street, and lowered his voice—"if you've got anything you might want to sell."
Nathaniel looked at him blankly. "Thank you. I haven't."
The boy scratched the back of his head. "Suit yourself. Well, can't hang about chatting. Some of us have got work to do. I'm off." He took up the poles of his handcart and moved away, but Nathaniel noticed him look back at them over his shoulder more than once.
"Strange," Bartimaeus said. "What was that about?"
Nathaniel shrugged. He had already dismissed it from his mind. "Go and get me some food and warmer clothes. I'll go back to the library and read this."
"Very well. Do try to keep out of trouble while I'm gone." The djinni turned and headed off into the crowd.
The article was on page two, sandwiched between the Employment Ministry's monthly request for new apprentices and a short report from the Italian campaign. It was three columns in length. It noted with regret the deaths in a severe house fire of the Internal Affairs Minister Arthur Underwood and his wife, Martha. The blaze had started at approximately 10:15 P.M. and had only been fully extinguished by fire crews and emergency service magicians three hours later, by which time the whole building had been gutted. Two neighboring houses had been badly affected, and their occupants evacuated to safety. The cause of the fire was unknown, but police were keen to interview Mr. Underwood's apprentice, John Mandrake, aged twelve, whose body had not been recovered. Some confused reports had him being observed running from the scene. Mandrake was rumored to be of an unstable disposition; he was known to have assaulted several prominent magicians the year before and the public was told to approach him with caution. Mr. Underwood's death, the article concluded, was a sad loss to the Government; he had served his ministry ably all his life and made many significant contributions, none of which the paper had space to describe.