Sitting below the windows, Nathaniel let the paper drop. His head sank against his chest; he closed his eyes. Seeing in cold, clear print the confirmation of what he already knew struck him like a fresh blow. He reeled with it, willing the tears to come, but his grief remained pent up, elusive. It was no good. He was too tired for anything. All he wanted was to sleep…
A boot nudged him, not softly. He started and awoke.
The djinni stood over him, grinning. It carried a paper bag from which steam curled promisingly. Raw hunger overcame Nathaniel's dignity—he snatched the bag, almost spilling the polystyrene cup of coffee on his lap. To his relief, beneath the cup were two neatly wrapped greaseproof paper parcels, each containing a hot steak sandwich. It seemed to Nathaniel that he had never eaten anything half as good in his entire life. In two straight minutes, both sandwiches were gone and he sat nursing the coffee in his chilblained fingers, breathing heavily.
"What an exhibition," the djinni said.
Nathaniel slurped the coffee. "How did you get this?"
"Stole it. Got a delicatessen man to make it all up, then ran off with it while he was at the cash register. Nothing fancy. The police were summoned."
Nathaniel groaned. "That's all we need."
"Don't worry. They'll be looking for a tall blond woman in a fur coat. Speaking of which"—it pointed to a small mound amid the debris of the floor—"you'll find some better clothing there. Coat, trousers, hat, and gloves. I hope they'll fit you. I picked the scrawniest sizes I could find."
A few minutes later, Nathaniel was better fed, better clothed, and partially revived. He sat beside the fire and warmed himself. The djinni crouched nearby, staring into the flames.
"They think I did it." Nathaniel indicated the newspaper.
"Well, what do you expect? Lovelace isn't going to come clean, is he? What magician would do a stupid thing like that?" Bartimaeus eyed him meaningfully. "The whole point of starting the fire was to hide all trace of his visit. And since he couldn't kill you, he's set you up to take the rap."
"The police are after me."
"Yep. The police on one side, Lovelace on the other. He'll have his scouts out trying to track you down. A nice little pincer movement. That's what he wants—to keep you on the run, isolated, out of his hair."
Nathaniel ground his teeth. "We'll see about that. What if I go to the police myself? They could raid Lovelace's house—find the Amulet…"
"Think they'll listen to you? You're a wanted man. I use man in the broadest possible sense there, obviously. Even if you weren't, I'd be cautious about contacting the authorities. Lovelace isn't acting alone. There's his old master, Schyler—"
"Schyler?" Of course—the wizened red—faced old man. "Schyler is his master? Yes… I know him. I overheard them discussing the Amulet at Parliament. There's another one, too, called Lime."
The djinni nodded. "That may just be the tip of the iceberg. A great many search spheres chased me when I stole the Amulet that first night—they were the work of several magicians. If it is a wide conspiracy, and you go to the authorities, you can't trust anyone in a position of power not to tip him off and kill you instead. For example, Sholto Pinn, the artifact merchant, may be in on it. He is one of Lovelace's closest friends, and in fact was having lunch with him only yesterday. I discovered that shortly before I was unavoidably detained at Pinn's shop."
Nathaniel's anger flared. "You were far too reckless! I asked you to investigate Lovelace, not endanger me!"
"Temper, temper. That's precisely what I was doing. It was at Pinn's that I found out about the Amulet. Lovelace had it taken from a government magician named Beecham, whose throat was cut by the thief. The Government badly wants it back. I would have learned more, but an afrit came calling and took me to the Tower."
"But you escaped. How?"
"Ah, well, that was the interesting thing," Bartimaeus went on. "It was Lovelace himself who broke me out. He must have heard from Pinn or someone that a djinni of incredible virtuosity had been captured and guessed at once that I was the one who stole the Amulet. He sent his djinn Faquarl and Jabor on a rescue mission—an extremely risky enterprise. Why do you think he did that?"
"He wanted the Amulet, of course."
"Exactly—and he needs to use it soon. He told us as much last night. Faquarl said the same thing: it's going to be used for something big in the next couple of days. Time is of the essence."
A half—buried memory stirred in Nathaniel's mind. "Someone at Parliament said that Lovelace was holding a ball, or conference, soon. At a place outside London."
"Yep, I learned that too. Lovelace has a wife, girlfriend, or acquaintance named Amanda. It is she who is hosting the conference, at some hall or other. The Prime Minister will be attending. I saw this Amanda at Lovelace's house when I first stole the Amulet. He was trying very hard to charm her—so she can't be his wife. I doubt they've known each other very long."
Nathaniel pondered for a moment. "I overheard Lovelace telling Schyler that he wanted to cancel the conference. That was when he didn't have the Amulet."
"Yes. But now he's got it again."
Another surge of cold rage made Nathaniel's head spin. "The Amulet of Samarkand. Did you discover its properties?"
"Little more than I have always known. It has long had a reputation for being an item of great power. The shaman who made it was a potent magician indeed—far greater than any of your piffling crowd. His or her tribe had no books or parchments: their knowledge was passed down by word of mouth and memory alone. Anyway, the Amulet protects its wearer from magical attack—it is more or less as simple as that. It is not a talisman—it can't be used aggressively to kill your rivals. It only works protectively. All amulets—"
Nathaniel cut in sharply. "Don't lecture me! I know what amulets do."
"Just checking. Not sure what they teach kids nowadays. Well, I witnessed a little of the Amulet's powers when I was planting it in Underwood's study for you."
Nathaniel's face contorted. "I wasn't planting it!"
"Of course you weren't. But it dealt with an admittedly fairly poor fire—hex without any trouble. Absorbed it just like that—gone. And it disposed of Underwood's lame attack last night too, as you may have seen while dangling under my arm. One of my informants stated that the Amulet is rumored to contain an entity from the heart of the Other Place: if so, it will be powerful indeed."
Nathaniel's eyes hurt. He rubbed them. More than anything else, he needed sleep.
"Whatever the Amulet's exact capacity," the djinni continued, "it's clear that Lovelace is going to use it in the next few days, at that conference he arranged. How? Difficult to guess. Why? Easy. He's seizing power." It yawned. "That old story."
Nathaniel cursed. "He's a renegade, a traitor!"
"He's a normal magician. You're just the same."
"What? How dare you! I'll—"
"Well, not yet, maybe. Give it a few years." The djinni looked a little bored. "So—what do you propose to do?"
A thought crossed Nathaniel's mind. "I wonder…" he said. "Parliament was attacked two days ago. Do you think Lovelace was behind that too?"
The djinni looked dubious. "Doubt it. Too amateur. Also, judging by Lovelace's correspondence, he and Schyler weren't expecting anything that evening."
"My master thought it was the Resistance—people who hate magicians."
Bartimaeus grinned. "Much more likely. You watch out—they may be disorganized now, but they'll get you in the end. It always happens. Look at Egypt, look at Prague…"