The Amulet of Samarkand

security."
    "If Underwood had been any good he'd have survived! He'd have fought Lovelace off—raised the alarm!"
    "You don't believe that. Let's face it, you killed them both."
    Nathaniel's face twisted in fury. "I was going to expose Lovelace! I was going to trap him with the Amulet—show the authorities!"
    "Who cares? You were too late. You failed."
    "Thanks to you, demon! If you hadn't led them to the house none of this would have happened!" Nathaniel seized on this idea like a drowning man. "It's all your fault and I'm going to pay you back! Think you're ever going to be freed? Think again! You're staying permanently. It's Perpetual Confinement for you!"
    "Is that so? In that case—" the counterfeit boy stepped forward and was suddenly very close—"I might as well kill you myself right now. What have I got to lose? I'll be in the tin either way, but I'll have the satisfaction of breaking your neck first." Its hand descended gently on Nathaniel's shoulder.
    Nathaniel's skin crawled. He resisted the overpowering temptation to shy away and run, and instead stared back into the dark, blank eyes.
    For a long moment, neither said anything.
    At last Nathaniel licked his dry lips. "That won't be necessary," he said thickly. "I'll free you before the month is up."
    The djinni pulled him closer. "Free me now!"
    "No." Nathaniel swallowed. "We have work to do first."
    "Work?" It frowned; its hand stroked his shoulder. "What work? What is there to do?"
    Nathaniel forced himself to remain quite still. "My master and his wife are dead. I must avenge them. Lovelace must pay for what he did."
    The whispering mouth was very near now, but Nathaniel could feel no breath against his face. "But I've told you. Lovelace is too powerful. You haven't a hope of besting him. Forget the matter, as I do. Release me and forget your troubles."
    "I cannot."
    "Why so?"
    "I—I owe it to my master. He was a good man—"
    "No, he wasn't. That's not the reason at all." The djinni whispered directly into his ear. "It isn't justice or honor that drives you now, boy, but guilt. You can't take the consequences of your actions. You seek to drown out what you've done to your master and his wife. Well, if that's the way you humans choose to suffer, so be it. But leave me out of the equation."
    Nathaniel spoke with a firmness he did not feel. "Until your month is up you'll obey me if you ever want your freedom."
    "Going after Lovelace practically amounts to suicide in any case—yours and mine." The boy smiled nastily. "That being so, I still don't see why I shouldn't kill you now...."
    "There will be ways to expose him!" Nathaniel could not help himself; he was speaking far too fast. "We just need to think it through carefully. I'll make a bargain with you. Help me avenge myself on Lovelace and I'll set you free immediately afterward. Then there can be no doubt about our positions. It's in both our interests to succeed."
    The djinni's eyes glittered. "As always, a laudably fair arrangement, dictated from a one-sided position of power. Very well. I have no choice. But if at any time you place either of us at undue risk, be warned—I shall get my revenge first."
    "Agreed."
    The boy stepped back and released Nathaniel's shoulder. Nathaniel retreated, eyes wide, breathing hard. Humming gently, the djinni wandered to the window, reigniting the fire casually as it passed. Nathaniel struggled to calm himself, to regain control. Another wave of misery washed through him, but he did not succumb. No time for that. He must appear strong in front of his slave.
    "Well then, master," the djinni said. "Enlighten me. Tell me what we do."
    Nathaniel kept his voice as level as he could. "First, I need food, and perhaps new clothes. Then we must pool our information on Lovelace and the Amulet. We also need to know what the authorities think about... about what happened last night."
    "That last one's easy," Bartimaeus said, pointing out of the window. "Look out there."

32
     
    "Times! Morning edition!"
    The newspaper boy wheeled his handcart slowly along the pavement, stopping whenever passersby thrust coins in his direction. The crowd was thick and the boy's progress was slow. He had barely made it as far as the baker's by the time Nathaniel and Bartimaeus sidled out from the alley beside the derelict library and crossed the road to meet him.
    Nathaniel still had in his pocket the remnants of the money he had stolen from Mrs. Underwood's jar a few days before. He