The Amulet of Samarkand

vibrated, distorted wildly, and finally snapped along that line.[5]
     
    [4] Unless they noticed a faint gray smudge along the line of the rift. This was where light was draining away, being sucked off into the Other Place.
     
    [5] It was the old chewing-gum principle in action. Imagine pulling a strip of chewed gum between your fingers: first it holds and stretches, then gets thin somewhere near the middle. Finally a tiny hole forms at the thinnest point, which quickly tears and splits Here, Lovelace's summoning had done the pulling. With some help from the thing on the other side.
     
    As soon as the rift appeared, the changes had begun.
    The lectern on the podium altered: its substance turned from wood to clay, then to an odd, orange metal, then to something that looked suspiciously like candle wax. It sagged a little, as if melting along one side.
    A few blades of grass grew up from the surface of the podium.
    The crystal drops of the chandelier directly above it turned to water droplets, which hung suspended for a second in position, shimmering in many colors, then fell to the floor as rain.
    A magician was running toward a window. Each line of the pinstripe on his jacket undulated like a sidewinder.
    No one noticed these first minor changes or a dozen similar others. It would take the afrit's fate for them to cotton on.
    Pandemonium filled the room, with humans and imps squeaking and gibbering in all directions. As if oblivious to this, Lovelace and I watched the rift. We waited for something to come through.

42
     
    Bartimaeus
     
    Then it happened. The planes close to the rift suddenly went out of sync, as if they were being pulled sideways at varying speeds. It was as though my focus had gone haywire, as it does after a blow to the head—I suddenly saw the windows beyond seven times over, all in slightly different positions. It was most disconcerting.
    If whatever Lovelace had summoned was strong enough to disrupt the planes like this, it boded ill for all of us inside the pentacle. It must be very close now. I kept my eye on the rift in the air....
    Amanda Cathcart passed us, screaming, her bob a fetching blue. A few more changes had been noticed by all and sundry: two magicians, who had strayed too near the podium in a vain attempt to attack Lovelace, found their bodies elongating unpleasantly; one man's nose also grew to a ridiculous length, while the other's vanished altogether.
    "What's happening?" the boy whispered.
    I did not answer. The rift was opening.
    All seven planes distorted like stirred syrup. The rift widened and something like an arm thrust through. It was quite transparent, as if it were made of the most perfect glass; in fact, it would have been wholly invisible were it not for the twisting, swirling convulsions of the planes around it. The arm moved back and forth experimentally: it seemed to be testing the odd sensations of the physical world. I glimpsed four thin protuberances or fingers at the end of the arm: they, like it, had no substance of their own, and were only given form by the rippling disturbances in the air about them.
    Down below, Lovelace stepped back, his fingers nervously feeling between his shirt buttons for the Amulet's reassuring touch.
    With the distortion of the planes, the other magicians began to see the arm for the first time.[1] They emitted assorted cries of woe that, from the biggest, hairiest man to the smallest, shrillest woman, covered a range of several octaves. Several of the bravest ran into the center of the room and coerced their attendant djinn into sending Detonations and other magics galore in the direction of the rift. This turned out to be a mistake. Not one single bolt or blast made it anywhere near the arm; all either screamed off at angles to smash into the walls and ceiling, or dribbled to the floor like water from a dripping hose, the energy taken out of them.
     
    [1] They could only see the first three planes clearly, of course, but that was enough to get the outline.
     
    The boy's mouth hung so low and loosely, a rodent could have used it as a swing. "That th-thing," he stammered. "What is it?"
    A fair enough question. What was it, this thing that distorted the planes and disrupted the most powerful magic, when only one arm had actually come through? I could have said something dramatic and eerie like, "The death of us all!" but it wouldn't have got us very far. Besides, he'd only have asked again.
    "I don't know exactly," I said.