The Amulet of Samarkand

way and the boy another. He landed heavily, cutting his face.
    Not far away, the great translucent head was slowly turning.
    "Nathaniel!" I shouted. "Get up!"
    Nathaniel
     
    His head rang with the force of the explosion and he felt something wet against his mouth. Close by, amid the strident clamor of the hall, a voice called out his birth name. He stumbled to his feet.
    The being was fully present now: Nathaniel sensed its shape, towering high against the ceiling. Beyond it, in the distance, a crowd of magicians huddled helplessly with their imps. And there in front of him stood Simon Lovelace, shouting orders to his slave. One hand was pressed against his chest; the other was outstretched, still holding the summoning horn.
    "See, Ramuthra?" he cried. "I hold the Amulet of Samarkand, and I am thus beyond your power. Every other living thing in this room, be it human or spirit, is yours! I command you to destroy them!"
    The great being inclined its head in acceptance; it turned toward the nearest group of magicians, sending shock waves out across the room. Nathaniel began to run toward Lovelace. A little way off, he saw an ugly fly buzzing low along the ground.
    Lovelace noticed the fly; he frowned and watched its weaving, darting progress through the air—first it came close to him, then it drew back, then it came close again—and all the while, Nathaniel was sneaking up behind.
    Closer, closer...
    The fly made an aggressive dart at Lovelace's face, the magician flinched—and at that moment, Nathaniel pounced. He gave a spring and leaped on the magician's back, his fingers wrenching at his collar. As he did so, the fly became a marmoset that snatched at the horn with clever, greedy fingers. Lovelace cried out and gave the marmoset a buffet that sent it spinning, tail over snout; then, bending his back, he tossed Nathaniel over his head to land heavily on the floor.
    Nathaniel and the marmoset sprawled side by side, with Lovelace standing over them. The magicians glasses hung crookedly from one ear. Nathaniel's departing hands had ripped his collar half away. The gold chain of the Amulet of Samarkand was exposed around his neck.
    "So," Lovelace said, adjusting his spectacles and addressing Nathaniel, "you rejected my offer. A pity. How did you elude Maurice? With the help of this thing?" He indicated the marmoset. "Presumably that is Bartimaeus."
    Nathaniel was winded; it pained him when he tried to rise. The marmoset was on its feet and growing, altering in outline. "Come on," it hissed to Nathaniel. "Before he has a chance to—"
    Lovelace made a sign and spoke a syllable. A hulking shape materialized at his shoulder; it had a jackal's head. "I hadn't meant to summon you," the magician said. "Good slaves are so hard to find, and, man or djinni, I suspect I shall be the only one walking out of this room alive. But seeing as Bartimaeus is here, it seems wrong to deny you the chance of finishing him off." Lovelace made an easy gesture toward the gargoyle that now crouched low and ready at Nathaniel's side. "This time, Jabor," he said, "do not fail me."
    The jackal-headed demon stepped forward. The gargoyle gave a curse and darted into the air. Two red-veined wings sprouted from Jabor's back; they flapped once, making a cracking noise like breaking bones, and carried him off in pursuit.
    Nathaniel and Lovelace were left regarding each other. The pain in Nathaniel's midriff had subsided a little, and he was able to get to his feet. He kept his eyes fixed on the glint of gold at the magician's throat.
    "You know, John," Lovelace said, tapping the horn casually against the palm of one hand, "if you'd had the luck to be apprenticed to me from the start, we might have done great things together. I recognize something in you; it is like looking into a mirror of my younger days—we share the same will to power." He smiled, showing his white teeth. "But you were corrupted by Underwood's softness, his mediocrity."
    He broke off at this point, as a howling magician stumbled between them, his skin shining with tiny iridescent blue scales. From all across the room came the confused, unsettling sounds of magic distorting and going wrong, as it met the shock waves emanating from Ramuthra. Most of the magicians and their imps were piled up against the far wall, almost one on top of the other in their effort to escape. The great being moved toward them with lazy steps, leaving a trail of altered debris in its wake: transformed