The Amulet of Samarkand

him.
    "I was for killing you straightaway," Schyler said, "but Simon is more farsighted than I am. He suggested we make you a proposition."
    "Which is?" Nathaniel was looking at the next display table—it carried a few small, dull cubes of metal, wrapped in faded paper strips.
    The magician followed his gaze. "Ah—you are admiring Miss Cathcart's collection? You will find nothing of power there. It is fashionable among rich and stupid commoners to have magical items in their houses, though quite unfashionable to know anything about them. Tcha! Ignorance is bliss. Sholto Pinn is always being pestered by society fools for trinkets like these."
    Nathaniel shrugged. "You mentioned a proposition."
    "Yes. In a few minutes the hundred most powerful and eminent ministers in the Government will be dead, along with our sainted Prime Minister. When Simon's new administration takes control, the lower magical orders will follow us unquestioningly, since we will be stronger than they. However, we are not numerous, and there will soon be spaces, vacancies to fill in the higher reaches of the Government. We shall require talented new magicians to help us rule. Great wealth and the relaxations of power await our allies. Well now, you are young, Mandrake, but we recognize your ability. You have the makings of a great magician. Join with us, and we shall provide you with the apprenticeship you have always craved. Think about it—no more experiments in solitude, no more bowing or scraping to fools who are scarcely fit to lick your boots! We will test and inspire you, we will draw out your talent and let it breathe. And one day, perhaps, when Simon and I are gone, you will be supreme...."
     
    The voice trailed off, left the image hanging. Nathaniel was silent. Six years of frustrated ambition were etched into his mind. Six years of suppressed desire—to be recognized for what he was, to exercise his power openly, to go to Parliament as a great minister of State. And now his enemies were offering it all to him. He sighed heavily.
    "You are tempted, John, I see that. Well, what do you say?"
    He looked the old magician directly in the eye. "Does Simon Lovelace really think I will join him?"
    "He does."
    "After everything that has happened?"
    "Even so. He knows how your mind works."
    "Then Simon Lovelace is a fool."
    "John—"
    "An arrogant fool!"
    "You must—"
    "After what he has done to me? He could offer up the world and I'd refuse it. Join him? I would rather die!"
    Schyler nodded, as if satisfied. "Yes. I know. That is what I told him you'd say. I perceived you as you are—a silly, muddled child. Tcha! You have not been brought up correctly; your mind is fogged. You are of no use to us."
    He took a step forward. His shoes squeaked on the shiny floor.
    "Well, aren't you going to run, little boy? Your djinni is gone. You have no other power. Would you not like a head start?"
    Nathaniel did not run. He knew it would be fatal. He flicked a look at the other tables, but couldn't see clearly what objects they displayed; his enemy blocked the way to them.
    "Do you know," the old man said, "I was impressed the first time we met—so young, so full of knowledge. I thought Simon was very harsh on you; even the affair with the mites was amusing and displayed an enterprising nature. Ordinarily I would kill you slowly—that would amuse me further. But we have important business in a few moments and I cannot spare the time."
    The magician raised a hand and spoke a word. A shining black nimbus appeared, glimmering and fluctuating around his fingers.
    Nathaniel threw himself to one side.

39
     
    Bartimaeus
     
    I hoped the boy could keep out of trouble long enough for me to reach him. Getting in was taking longer than I thought.
    Up and down the wall the lizard scuttled; round cornices, over arches, across pilasters, its progress ever more speedy and erratic. Each window it came to—and there were plenty of them in the mansion—was firmly shut, causing it to flick its tongue in frustration. Hadn't Lovelace and Co. ever heard of the benefits of fresh air?
    Many minutes went by. Still no luck. Truth was, I was loath to break in, except as a last resort. It was impossible to tell whether the rooms beyond had watchers who might respond to the slightest untoward noise. If I could only find a crack, a cranny to sneak through.... But the place was too well sealed.
    There was nothing for it: I would have to try a chimney.
    With this in mind I headed