The Amulet of Samarkand

was watching Lovelace. His eyes were locked on Nathaniel, and I caught doubt and anger flashing across them before he slowly turned back to his speech. He coughed, waiting for the magicians' chattering to die down. Meanwhile, one hand edged toward the hidden shelf in the lectern.
    The boy was panicking now; he lashed out weakly at the rubbery walls of the Stricture.
    "Keep calm," I said. "Let me check it: most Strictures have weak links. If I can find one I should be able to break us out." I became a fly and, starting at its top, began to circle carefully across the Stricture's membranes, looking for a flaw.
    "But we haven't time...."
    I spoke gently to quieten him. "Just watch and listen."
    I didn't show it, but I was worried myself now. The boy was right: we really had no time.
    Nathaniel
     
    "But we haven't time—" Nathaniel began.
    "Just shut up and watch!" The fly was buzzing frantically around their prison. It sounded decidedly panicked.
    Nathaniel had barely enough room to move his hands, and nowhere near enough to do anything with his legs or feet. It was like being inside a mummy's case or an iron maiden. As he had this thought, the terror of all constricted things bubbled up within him. He suppressed a mounting urge to scream, took a deep breath and, to help distract himself, focused on events around him.
    After the unfortunate interruption, the magicians had turned their attention back to the speaker, who was acting as if nothing had happened: "In turn, I would like to thank Lady Amanda for the use of this wonderful hall. Incidentally, may I draw your attention to the remarkable ceiling, with its collection of priceless chandeliers? They were taken from the ruins of Versailles after the French Wars, and are made of adamantine crystal. Their designer..."
    Lovelace had a lot to say about the chandeliers. All the delegates craned their necks upward, making noises of approval. The opulence of the hall ceiling interested them greatly.
    Nathaniel addressed the fly. "Have you found a weak point yet?"
    "No. It's been well put together." It buzzed angrily. "Why did you have to get yourself caught? We're helpless in here."
    Helpless, yet again. Nathaniel bit his lip. "I assume Lovelace is going to summon something," he said.
    "Of course. He's got a horn for that purpose, so he doesn't have to speak the incantation. Saves him time."
    "What will it be?"
    "Who knows? Something big enough to deal with that afrit, presumably."
    Again, panic struggled in Nathaniel's throat, wrestling to be loosened in a cry. Outside, Lovelace was still describing the intricacies of the ceiling. Nathaniel's eyes flicked back and forth, trying to catch the gaze of one of the magicians, but they were still absorbed in the marvelous chandeliers. He hung his head in despair.
    And noticed something odd out of the corner of his eye.
    The floor... It was difficult to be sure with the lights glaring in the glass, but he thought he could see a movement on the floor, like a white wave rapidly traveling across it from the far wall. He frowned; the Stricture's membranes were getting in the way of his vision—he couldn't be sure what he was actually seeing. But it was almost as if something was covering the carpet.
    The fly was wheeling about near the side of his head. "One crumb of comfort," it said. "It can't be anything too powerful, or Lovelace would have to use a pentacle. The Amulet's all very well for personal protection, but the really strong entities need to be carefully contained. You can't afford to let them go running loose, or risk total devastation. Look what happened to Atlantis."
    Nathaniel had no idea what had happened to Atlantis. He was still watching the floor. He had suddenly become aware that there was a sense of movement all across the hall—the whole flooring seemed to be shifting, though the glass itself remained solid and firm. He looked between his feet and saw the smiling face of a young female magician move quickly past beneath the glass, closely followed by a stallion's head and the leaves of a decorative tree.
    It was then that he realized the truth. The carpet was not being covered. It was being drawn back, quickly and stealthily. And no one else had noticed. While the magicians gazed gawping at the ceiling, the floor below them changed.
    "Erm, Bartimaeus—" he said.
    "What? I'm trying to concentrate."
    "The floor..."
    "Oh." The fly settled on his shoulder. "That's bad."
    As Nathaniel watched, the ornately twining