The Amulet of Samarkand

appealed to him. It was clear and simple; it helped block out the messiness of his conscience.
    He followed the hubbub to the entrance hall. The guests were arriving in droves now; the marbled pillars echoed with the noise of their chattering. Ministers of State shuffled through the open door, taking off gloves and unwinding long silk scarves, their breath hanging in the cold air of the hall. The men wore dinner jackets, the women elegant dresses. Servants stood on the fringes, accepting coats and proffering champagne. Nathaniel hung back for a moment, then, with his platter held high, dived into the throng.
    "Sir, madam, would you like...?"
    "Cheese-and-prawn things, madam...?"
    "Can I interest you in...?"
    He wheeled about, buffeted this way and that by a battery of outstretched hands that preyed on his dish like seagulls swooping on a catch. No one spoke to him or even seemed to see him: several times his head was struck by an arm or hand blindly reaching out toward the platter, or raising a canape to an open mouth. In seconds, the uppermost dish was empty save for a few crumbs and only a few desultory morsels remained on the lower. Nathaniel found himself expelled from the group, out of breath and with collar awry.
    A tall, lugubrious-looking servant was standing near him, filling glasses from a bottle. "Like animals, ain't they?" he mouthed under his breath. "Bloody magicians."
    "Yes." Nathaniel was barely listening. He watched the crowd of ministers, his lenses allowing him to see the full extent of activity in the hall. Almost every man and woman present had an imp hovering behind them, and while their masters engaged in smiling social chatter, talking over one another and fingering their jewels, the servants conducted a discourse of their own. Each imp postured and preened and swelled itself to ridiculous degrees, often attempting to deflate its rivals by surreptitiously prodding them in delicate places with a spiny tail. Some changed color, going through a rainbow selection before ending with warning scarlet or bright yellow. Others contented themselves with pulling faces, imitating the expressions or gestures of their rivals' masters. If the magicians noticed all this, they made a good show of ignoring it, but the combination of the guests' false grins and the antics of their imps made Nathaniel's head spin.
    "Are you serving those, or taking them for a walk?"
    A scowling woman, broad of hip and waist, with an even broader imp floating behind her. And at her side... Nathaniel's heart fluttered—he recognized the watery eyes, the fishlike face. Mr. Lime, Lovelace's companion, with the smallest, most maladroit imp imaginable skulking behind his ear. Nathaniel remained expressionless and bowed his head, offering up the dish. "I'm sorry, madam."
    She took two pastries, Lime took one. Nathaniel was staring at the floor meekly, but he felt the man's gaze upon him.
    "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" the clammy man said.
    The woman plucked at her companion's sleeve. "Come, Rufus; why address a commoner, when there are so many real people to talk to? Look—there's Amanda!" The magician shrugged and allowed himself to be pulled away. Glancing uneasily after them, Nathaniel noticed Rufus Lime's imp still staring back at him, its head turned at ninety degrees, until it was lost in the crowd.
    The servant beside him was oblivious to it all; the imps were invisible to him. "You've finished that lot," he said. "Take this tray of drinks round. They're as thirsty as camels. With worse manners, most of them."
    Some guests were drifting off down the hall toward an inner gallery, and Nathaniel was pleased to have an excuse to drift off with them. He needed to get away from the crowds to explore other regions of the house. So far, he had seen no sign of Lovelace, the Amulet, or any possible trap. But nothing would happen yet, since the Prime Minister had not arrived.
    Halfway along the hall, the woman from the library was standing in the midst of a small group, holding court. Nathaniel loitered nearby, allowing guests to swap empty glasses for the full ones on his tray.
    "You'll see it in a few minutes," she said. "It's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. Simon had it brought from Persia especially for this afternoon."
    "He's treating you very well," a man said dryly, sipping his drink.
    Amanda Cathcart blushed. "He is," she said. "He's very good to me. Oh—but it's simply the cleverest thing! I'm sure it'll set an