As soon as the rift appeared, the changes had begun.
The lectern on the podium altered: its substance turned from wood to clay, then to an odd, orange metal, then to something that looked suspiciously like candle wax. It sagged a little, as if melting along one side.
A few blades of grass grew up from the surface of the podium.
The crystal drops of the chandelier directly above it turned to water droplets, which hung suspended for a second in position, shimmering in many colors, then fell to the floor as rain.
A magician was running toward a window. Each line of the pinstripe on his jacket undulated like a sidewinder.
No one noticed these first minor changes or a dozen similar others. It would take the afrit's fate for them to cotton on.
Pandemonium filled the room, with humans and imps squeaking and gibbering in all directions. As if oblivious to this, Lovelace and I watched the rift. We waited for something to come through.
42
Bartimaeus
Then it happened. The planes close to the rift suddenly went out of sync, as if they were being pulled sideways at varying speeds. It was as though my focus had gone haywire, as it does after a blow to the head—I suddenly saw the windows beyond seven times over, all in slightly different positions. It was most disconcerting.
If whatever Lovelace had summoned was strong enough to disrupt the planes like this, it boded ill for all of us inside the pentacle. It must be very close now. I kept my eye on the rift in the air…
Amanda Cathcart passed us, screaming, her bob a fetching blue. A few more changes had been noticed by all and sundry: two magicians, who had strayed too near the podium in a vain attempt to attack Lovelace, found their bodies elongating unpleasantly; one man's nose also grew to a ridiculous length, while the other's vanished altogether.
"What's happening?" the boy whispered.
I did not answer. The rift was opening.
All seven planes distorted like stirred syrup. The rift widened and something like an arm thrust through. It was quite transparent, as if it were made of the most perfect glass; in fact, it would have been wholly invisible were it not for the twisting, swirling convulsions of the planes around it. The arm moved back and forth experimentally: it seemed to be testing the odd sensations of the physical world. I glimpsed four thin protuberances or fingers at the end of the arm: they, like it, had no substance of their own, and were only given form by the rippling disturbances in the air about them.
Down below, Lovelace stepped back, his fingers nervously feeling between his shirt buttons for the Amulet's reassuring touch.
With the distortion of the planes, the other magicians began to see the arm for the first time.[115] They emitted assorted cries of woe that, from the biggest, hairiest man to the smallest, shrillest woman, covered a range of several octaves. Several of the bravest ran into the center of the room and coerced their attendant djinn into sending Detonations and other magics galore in the direction of the rift. This turned out to be a mistake. Not one single bolt or blast made it anywhere near the arm; all either screamed off at angles to smash into the walls and ceiling, or dribbled to the floor like water from a dripping hose, the energy taken out of them.
The boy's mouth hung so low and loosely, a rodent could have used it as a swing. "That th—thing," he stammered. "What is it?"
A fair enough question. What was it, this thing that distorted the planes and disrupted the most powerful magic, when only one arm had actually come through? I could have said something dramatic and eerie like, "The death of us all!" but it wouldn't have got us very far. Besides, he'd only have asked again.
"I don't know exactly," I said. "Judging by its caution in coming through, it has rarely been summoned before. It is probably surprised and angry, but its strength is clear enough. Look around! Inside the pentacle, magic is going wrong, things are beginning to change form. All normal laws are being warped, suspended. The greatest of us always bring the chaos of the Other Place with them. No wonder Lovelace needed the Amulet of Samarkand to protect himself."[116]
As we watched, the giant, translucent arm was followed by a brawny, translucent shoulder, more than a meter long. And now something like a head began to emerge through the rift. Once more it was only an outline: seen through it, the windows and the distant trees showed perfectly; around its edge, the planes shuddered in a new frenzy.
"Lovelace can't have summoned this on his own," I said. "He must have had help. And I don't just mean that old scarecrow you killed, or the clammy one at the door. Someone with real power must have had a hand."[117]
The great being pulled itself through the gap. Now another arm appeared, and the suggestion of a torso. Most of the magicians were clustering against the periphery of the room, but a few near the windows were caught in a ripple running through the planes. Their faces changed—a man's became a woman's; a woman's a child's. Maddened by his transformation, one magician ran blindly toward the podium—in an instant, his body seemed to become liquid: it slewed in a corkscrew motion up into the rift and vanished from sight. My master gasped in horror.
Now a great, translucent leg emerged, with almost feline stealth and poise. Things were really desperate. Nevertheless, I'm an optimist at heart. I noticed that the ripples emanating from the being changed the nature of every spell they hit. And that gave me hope.
"Nathaniel," I said. "Listen to me."
He didn't answer at first. He was transfixed at the sight of the lords and ladies of his realm running about like demented chickens. After all the events of the previous few days, I had almost forgotten how young he was. Right at that moment, he did not look like a magician at all, but just a terrified small boy.
"Nathaniel."
A faint voice. "Yes?"
"Listen. If we get out of this Stricture, do you know what we have to do?"
"But how can we get out?"
"Don't bother about that. If we escape, what must we do?"
He shrugged.
"I'll tell you, then. We need to accomplish two things. First—get the Amulet off Lovelace. That's your job."
"Why?"
"Because I can't touch the Amulet now that he's wearing it: it's absorbing everything magical that comes near him—and I don't wish to be included accidentally. It's got to be you. But I'll try to distract him while you get close."
"That's kind."
"The second thing," I said, "is that we must reverse the summons to drive our big friend away. That's your job."
"My job again?"
"Yes—I'll help by stealing the summoning horn from Lovelace. It needs to be broken if we're to do the job. But you'll have to round up some of the other magicians to speak the Dismissal Spell. Some of the stronger ones are bound to know enough, providing they're still conscious. Don't worry—you won't have to do it yourself."
The boy frowned. "Lovelace intends to dismiss it on his own." He said this with a touch of his normal vigor.
115
They could only see the first three planes clearly, of course, but that was enough to get the outline.
116
The entity trapped inside the Amulet had to be at least as powerful as this newcomer if Lovelace was to withstand its force. Even as a long—suffering djinni, I still had a grudging admiration for the ancient Asian people who had managed to capture and compress it.
117
This being was greater by far than all the various marids, afrits, and djinn that magicians normally summon. A strong magician can summon an afrit on his own; most marids require two. I was calculating a minimum of four for this one.