The Amulet of Samarkand

cab waiting.
    A wooden door opened in one side of the arch and a man came striding out. At my side, the boy gave a slight shiver. I glanced at him. Pale as he was, he'd just gone paler. His eyes were round as dinner plates.
    "What is it?" I hissed.
    "It's him... the one I saw in the disc, the one who brought the Amulet to Lovelace."
    There was no time to answer, no time to act. Strolling casually, smiling a little smile, the murderer approached the van.

36
     
    So here he was—the man who had stolen the Amulet of Samarkand and vanished without a trace, the man who had cut its keepers throat and left him lying in his blood. Lovelace's hireling.
    For a human, he was sizeable, a head taller than most men and broadshouldered. He wore a long buttoned jacket of dark cloth and wide trousers in the Eastern style that were loosely tucked into high leather boots. His beard was jetblack, his nose broad, his eyes a piercing blue beneath his heavy brows. For a big man, he moved gracefully, one hand swinging easily at his side, the other tucked into his belt.
    The mercenary walked around the bonnet toward my side window, his eyes on us all the while. As he drew close, he looked away and waved dismissively; I glimpsed our escort ghuls vanishing back toward the fields.
    I stuck my head partway out of the window. "Good morning," I said cheerily, in what I hoped was a suitable London accent. "Ernest Squalls and Son, with a delivery of groceries for the Hall."
    The man stopped and considered us silently for a moment.
    "Squalls and Son..." The voice was slow, deep; the blue eyes seemed to look through me as he spoke. It was a disconcerting effect; at my side, the boy gave an involuntary gulp; I hoped he wasn't going to panic. "Squalls and Son... Yes, you are expected."
    "Yes, guv'nor."
    "What have you brought?"
    "Groceries, guv'nor."
    "Namely?"
    "Um..." I hadn't a clue. "All sorts, guv'nor. Would you like to inspect them?"
    "A list will suffice."
    Drat. "Very well, guv. Um, we've got boxes, we've got tins—lots of tins, sir— packets of things, bottles—"
    The eyes narrowed. "You don't sound very specific."
    A high voice sounded at my elbow. Nathaniel leaned across me. "He didn't take the list, sir. I did. We've got Baltic caviar, plovers' eggs, fresh asparagus, cured Bolognese salami, Syrian olives, vanilla stalks from Central America, freshly made pasta, larks' tongues in aspic, giant land snails marinated in their shells, tubes of freshly ground black pepper and rock salt, Wirral oysters, ostrich meat—"
    The mercenary held up a hand. "Enough. Now I wish to inspect them."
    "Yes, guv'nor." Glumly I got down from the cab and led the way to the back of the van, devoutly wishing that the boy hadn't let his imagination run away with him quite so much. What would happen when some completely different groceries were revealed I did not care to think. But it could not be helped now. With the mercenary looming impassively at my side, I opened the rear door and inched it open.
    He surveyed the interior for a few moments. "Very well. You may continue up to the house."
    Almost in disbelief I considered the contents of the van. A crate of bottles in one corner caught my eye: Syrian olives. Half hidden behind them, a small box of larks' tongues, sheets of wrapped pasta... I shut the door and returned to the cab.
    "Any directions for us, guv'nor?"
    The man rested a hand on the lip of my open window: the back of the hand was crisscrossed with thin white scars. "Follow the drive until it splits, take the right fork to the rear of the house. Someone will meet you there. Carry out your business and return. Before you go, I shall give you a warning: you are now entering the private property of a great magician. Do not stray or trespass if you value your lives. The penalties are severe and would curdle your blood."
    "Yes, sir." With a nod, he stepped back and signaled us to pass. I revved the engine and we passed slowly under the arch. Soon afterward we crossed beneath the protective domes; both made my essence tingle. Then we were through, and following a sandy, curving driveway between the trees.
    I regarded the boy. His face was impassive, but a single bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "How did you know all the items?" I said. "You only had a couple of seconds looking in the back."
    He gave a thin smile. "I've been trained. I read fast and remember accurately. So, what did you think of him?"
    "Lovelace's little assassin? Intriguing. He's