The Amulet of Samarkand

been a public building. The room was cavernous, bare and empty, with whitewashed walls stained yellow and green with mold. All along each wall stretched row upon row of empty shelves, covered in dust, dirt, and bird droppings. Disconsolate piles of wood that might once have been tables or chairs were tucked into a couple of corners. Tall windows looked out over the street and wide marbled steps led downstairs. The place smelled of damp and decay.
     
    "Do you want me to help you with the cold?" the boy said, looking sideways at him. "You have only to ask."
    Nathaniel did not respond. His breath frosted in front of his face.
    The djinni came a bit closer. "I could make a fire," it said. "A nice hot one. I've got plenty of control over that element. Look!" A tiny flame flickered in the center of its palm. "All this wood in here, going to waste... What was this place, do you think? A library? I think so. Don't suppose the commoners are allowed to read much anymore, are they? That's usually the way it goes." The flame grew a little. "You have only to ask, O my master. I'd do it as a favor. That's what friends are for."
    Nathaniel's teeth were chattering in his head. More than anything else—more even than the hunger that was gnawing in his belly like a dog—he needed warmth. The little flame danced and spun.
    "Yes," he said huskily. "Make me a fire."
    The flame instantly died out. The boy's brow furrowed. "Now that wasn't very polite."
    Nathaniel closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Please."
    "Much better." A small spark leaped and ignited a pile of wood nearby. Nathaniel shuffled over and huddled beside it, his hands inches from the flames.
    For a few minutes the djinni remained silent, pacing here and there about the room. The feeling slowly returned to Nathaniel's fingers, though his face stayed numb. At length he became aware that the djinni had come close again, and was sitting on its haunches, idly stirring a long sliver of wood in the fire.
    "How does that feel?" it asked. "Melting nicely, I hope." It waited politely for an answer, but Nathaniel said nothing. "I'll tell you one thing," the djinni went on, in a conversational tone, "you're an interesting specimen. I've known a fair few magicians in my time, and there aren't many who are quite as suicidal as you. Most would think that popping in to tell a powerful enemy you'd pinched his treasure wasn't a terribly bright idea. Especially when you're utterly defenseless. But you? All in a day's work."
    "I had to," Nathaniel said shortly. He did not want to talk.
    "Mmm. No doubt you had a brilliant plan, which I—and Lovelace, for that matter—completely missed. Mind telling me what it was?"
    "Be silent!"
    The djinni wrinkled its nose. "That was your plan? It's a simple one, I'll say that much. Still, don't forget it was my life you were risking too back there, acting out your strange convulsion of conscience." It reached into the fire suddenly and removed a burning ember, which it held musingly between finger and thumb. "I had another master like you once. He had the same mulish obstinacy, seldom acted in his own best interests. Didn't live long." It sighed, tossed the ember back into the flames. "Never mind—all's well that ends well."
    Nathaniel looked at the djinni for the first time. "All's well?"
    "You're alive. Does that count as good?"
    For an instant, Nathaniel saw Mrs. Underwood's face watching him from the fire. He rubbed his eyes.
    "I hate to say this," the djinni said, "but Lovelace was right. You were totally out of your depth last night. Magicians don't act the way you do. It was a good thing I was there to rescue you. So—where are you going now? Prague?"
    "What?"
    "Well, Lovelace knows you've escaped. He'll be looking out for you—and you've seen what he'll do to keep you quiet. Your only hope is to vanish from the scene and leave London for good. Abroad will be safest. Prague."
    "Why should I go to Prague?"
    "Magicians there might help you. Nice beer, too, I'm told."
    Nathaniel's lip curled. "I'm no traitor."
    The boy shrugged. "If that's no good, then you're left with getting a quiet new life here. There are plenty of possibilities. Let's see... looking at you, I'd say heavy lifting's out—you're too spindly. That rules out being a laborer."
    Nathaniel frowned with indignation. "I have no intention—"
    The djinni ignored him. "But you could turn your runtlike size to your advantage. Yes! A sweep's lad, that's the answer. They always need