I was still inside the orb. The two magicians were right there, grinning at me from beyond the walls of my prison.
No way to make this look good. Grimly, with a thousand residual aches, I straightened, stood up, stared back at them implacably. Sholto was chuckling quietly to himself. "That was worth the price of admission on its own, dear Jessica," he said. "The look on its face was simply exquisite."
The woman nodded. "Such good timing," she said. "I'm so glad we were here to see that. Don't you understand yet, you stupid creature?" Her flagstone shifted a little nearer. "I told you; it is impossible to leave a Mournful Orb, and that includes by summoning. Your essence is locked inside it. Even your master cannot call you from it."
"She'll find a way," I said, then bit my lip as if I regretted saying it.
"She?" The woman's eyes narrowed. "Your master is a woman?"
"It lies." Sholto Pinn shook his head. "An obvious bluff. Jessica, I am weary; also I am overdue for my morning's massage at the Byzantine Baths. I should be in the steam room this moment. Might I suggest that the creature needs further encouragement, and that we leave him to it?"
"An admirable idea, dear Sholto." She clicked her nails five times. A hum, a shudder. Time to downsize, pronto! I poured what remained of my energy into a hasty transformation, and as the flickering lines of the orb closed in on me, shrank myself into a new form. An elegant cat, hunched and sinuous, shying away from the lowering walls of the orb.
In a matter of seconds, the orb shrank to about a third of its former dimensions. The humming of its obscene energy was loud in my feline ears, but there was still a healthy gap between me and the walls. The woman snapped her nails, and the rate of shrinking slowed dramatically.
"Fascinating…" She spoke to Sholto. "In a time of crisis, it becomes a desert cat. Very Egyptian. This one's had a long career, I think." Now she turned back to me. "The orb will continue to shrink, demon," she said. "Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Eventually it will reach a single point. You will be observed continuously, so if at any time you wish to speak, you need only to say so. Otherwise, farewell."
In reply, the cat hissed and spat. That was as articulate as I could get right then.
The flagstones turned and descended to their original positions. Sholto and the woman returned to the arch and were swallowed by the portal. The seam closed up and the wall was as before. Eagle—beak and Bull—head resumed their marching. The deathly white lines of the orb hummed and glowed and closed in imperceptibly.
The cat curled on the top of the column and wrapped its tail around itself, tight as it would go.
Over the next few hours, my situation grew ever less comfortable. The cat lasted me well at first, but eventually the orb had shrunk so much my ears were down beneath my whiskers and I could feel the tip of my tail beginning to fry. A succession of changes ensued. I knew I was being watched, so I didn't do the obvious thing and just become a flea straight off—that would only result in the orb's shrinking really fast to catch up with me. Instead, I went through a series of furry and scaly variations, keeping just ahead of the shimmering prison bars each time. First a jack—rabbit, then a marmoset, then an undistinguished vole… Put all my forms together and you'd have a pretty decent pet shop, I suppose, but it wasn't exactly becoming.
Try as I might, I couldn't come up with any great plan of escape either. I could gain a reprieve by spinning some long, complex lie to the woman, but she'd soon find out I was fibbing and finish me off all the quicker. That was no good.
To make matters even worse, the wretched boy tried summoning me twice more. He didn't give up easily, probably reckoning he'd made some kind of mistake the first time, and ended up causing me so much discomfort I nearly decided to turn him in.
Nearly, but not quite; no point giving up just yet. There was always the chance something might happen.
"Were you at Angkor Thorn?" Bull—head again, still trying to place me.
"What?" I was the vole at this point; I did my best to sound grandly dismissive, but voles can only do peeved.
"You know, the Khmer Empire. I worked for the imperial magicians, me, when they conquered Thailand. Were you something to do with that? Some rebel?"
"No."[65]
"Sure about that?"
"Yes! Of course I'm sure! You're confusing me with someone else. But forget about that for a minute. Listen…" The vole dropped its voice nice and quiet, and spoke from under a raised paw. "You're obviously a clever fellow, you've been around the block a few times, worked for a lot of the most vicious empires. Look—I've got powerful friends. If you can get me out of here, they'll kill your master for you, free you from your bond."
If Bull—head had possessed more brains, I'd have sworn he was looking at me skeptically. Nevertheless, I plowed on regardless. "How long have you been cooped up here on guard duty?" I said. "Fifty years? A hundred? That's no life for an utukku, is it? You might as well be in an orb like this."
The head came close to the bars. A shower of nose—steam jetted all over me, leaving sticky droplets in my fur. "What friends?"
"Erm, a marid—a big one—and four afrits, very powerful, much stronger than me… You can join us…"
The head retreated with a contemptuous growl. "You must think I'm stupid!"
"No, no…" The vole gave a shrug. "That's what Eagle—beak over there thinks. He said you wouldn't join our plan. Still, if you're not interested…" With a wriggle and a half—hop, the vole turned its back.
"What?" Bull—head hastened round to the other side of the column, holding his spear close to the orb. "Don't you turn your back on me! What did Xerxes say?"
"Oi!" Eagle—beak came hurrying from the far corner of the room. "I heard my name! Stop talking to the prisoner!"
Bull—head looked at him resentfully. "I can talk if I want to. So, you think I'm stupid, do you? Well, I'm not, see? What's this plan of yours?"
"Don't tell him, Xerxes!" I whispered loudly. "Don't tell him anything."
Eagle—beak made a rasping noise with his beak. "Plan? I know no plan. The prisoner's lying to you, Baztuk. What's it been saying?"
"It's all right, Xerxes," I called, brightly. "I haven't mentioned… you know."
Bull—head brandished his spear. "I think it's me who should be asking the questions, Xerxes," he said. "You've been plotting with the captive!"
"No, you idiot—"
"Idiot, am I?"
Then they were off: muzzle to beak, all posturing muscles and flaring crest feathers, shouting and landing punches on each other's armored chests. Ho—hum. Utukku always were easy to fool. In their excitement, I had been quite forgotten, which suited me fine. Ordinarily, I would have enjoyed seeing them at each other's throats, but right now it was scant consolation for the mess I was in.
The orb had become uncomfortably tight once more, so I downsized again, this time to a scarab beetle. Not that there was a great deal of point in this; but it delayed the inevitable and gave me room to scurry back and forth on the top of the pillar, flashing my wing—cases in rage and something like despair. That boy, Nathaniel! If ever I got out, I'd wreak such revenge on him that it would enter the legends and nightmares of his people! That I, Bartimaeus, who spoke with Solomon and Hiawatha, should go out like this—as a beetle crushed by an enemy too arrogant to even watch it done! No! Even now, I'd find a way…
65
True, as it happens. That would be eight hundred years ago. In those days I was mostly in North America.