The Amulet of Samarkand

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 dji

"What an exhibition," the dji

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 dji

"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 dji

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 Pi

"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 Pi

"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 dji

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 dji

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 dji

"My master thought it was the Resistance—people who hate magicians."

Bartimaeus gri

"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."