The Amulet of Samarkand

"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…"

"Prague's decadent."

"Prague's magicians are decadent. And they no longer rule. Look over there…" In one area of the library, the rotting shelves had fallen away. The walls there were muraled with layers of graffiti and carefully drawn hierogylphs. "Old Kingdom curses," Bartimaeus said. "You get a more informed class of delinquent round here. 'Death to the overlords' that big one says. That's you, Natty boy, if I'm not much mistaken."

Nathaniel ignored this; he was trying to organize his thoughts. "It's too dangerous to go to the authorities about Lovelace," he said slowly. "So there is only one alternative. I shall attend the conference myself and expose the plot there."

The djinni coughed meaningfully. "I thought we mentioned something about undue risk… Be careful—that idea sounds suicidal to me."

"Not if we plan carefully. First we need to know where and when the conference is taking place. That is going to be tricky… You will have to go out and discover this information for me." Nathaniel cursed. "But that will take time! If only I had some books and the proper incense, I could organize a troop of imps to spy on all the ministers at once! No—they would be hard to control. Or I could—"

The djinni had picked up the newspaper and was flipping through it. "Or you could just read the information printed here."

"What?"

"Here in the Parliament Circular. Listen: 'Wednesday, December second, Heddleham Hall. Amanda Cathcart hosts the Annual Parliamentary Conference and Winter Ball. In attendance, among others, the Right Honorable Rupert Devereaux, Angus Nash, Jessica Whitwell, Chloe Baskar, Tim Hildick, Sholto Pinn, and other members of the elite. "

Nathaniel snatched the paper and read it through. "Amanda Cathcart—that's got to be Lovelace's girlfriend. There's no doubt about it. This must be it."

"Pity we don't know where Heddleham Hall is."

"My scrying glass will find it." From his pocket, Nathaniel drew the bronze disc. Bartimaeus eyed it askance.

"I doubt it. It's a poor piece if ever I saw one."

"I made this."

"Yes."

Nathaniel passed his hand twice across the disc and muttered the invocation. At the third time of asking, the imp's face appeared, spinning as if on a roundabout. It raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

"Ain't you dead?" it said.

"No."

"Pity."

"Stop spinning," Nathaniel snarled. "I have a task for you."

"Hold on a sec," the imp said, screeching to a halt suddenly. "Who's that with you?"

"That's Bartimaeus, another of my slaves."

"He'd like to think as much," the djinni said.

The imp frowned. "That's Bartimaeus? The one from the Tower?"

"Yes."

"Ain't he dead?"

"No."

"Pity."

"He's a feisty one." Bartimaeus stretched and yawned. "Tell him to watch it. I pick my teeth with imps his size."

The baby made a skeptical face. "Yeah? I've eaten djinn like you for breakfast, mate."

Nathaniel kicked a foot against the floor. "Will you both just shut up and let me give my command? I'm in charge here. Right. Imp: I wish you to show me the building known as Heddleham Hall. Somewhere near London. Owned by a woman named Amanda Cathcart. So! Be gone about your errand!"

"Hope it ain't too far off, this hall. My astral cord's only so long, you know."

The disc clouded. Nathaniel waited impatiently for it to clear.

And waited.

"That is one slow scrying glass," Bartimaeus said. "Are you sure it's working?"