The Amulet of Samarkand

But he won't even let me try."
    "I don't know which is less attractive, Nathaniel—your boasting or your petulance. You should stop worrying about what you don't yet have and enjoy what you have now. This garden, for instance. I'm very pleased you thought of having our lesson out here today."
    "I always come here when I can. It helps me think."
    "I'm not surprised. It's peaceful, solitary... and there are precious few parts of London like that, so be grateful."
    "He keeps me company." Nathaniel indicated the statue. "I like him, even though I don't know who he is."
    "Him?" Ms. Lutyens glanced up from her sketchbook, but went on drawing. "Oh, that's easy. That's Gladstone."
    "Who?"
    "Gladstone. Surely you know. Doesn't Mr. Purcell teach you recent history?"
    "We've done contemporary politics."
    "Too recent. Gladstone died more than a hundred years ago. He was a great hero of the time. There must have been thousands of statues made of him, put up all over the country. Rightly so, from your point of view. You owe him a lot."
    Nathaniel was puzzled. "Why?"
    "He was the most powerful magician ever to become prime minister. He dominated the Victorian age for thirty years and brought the feuding factions of magicians under government control. You must have heard of his duel with the sorcerer Disraeli on Westminster Green? No? You should go and see. The scorch marks are still on show. Gladstone was famous for his supreme energy and his implacable defiance when the chips were down. He never gave up his cause, even when things looked bad."
    "Gosh." Nathaniel gazed at the stern face staring from beneath its covering of moss. The stone hand gripped its lightning bolt loosely, confidently, ready to throw.
    "Why did he have that duel, Ms. Lutyens?"
    "I believe Disraeli made a rude remark about a female friend of Gladstone's. That was a big mistake. Gladstone never let anyone insult his honor, or that of his friends. He was very powerful and quite prepared to challenge anyone who had wronged him." She blew charcoal from her sketch and held it up to the light critically.
    "Gladstone did more than anyone else to help London ascend to magical prominence. In those days Prague was still the most powerful city in the world, but its time had long gone; it was old and decadent and its magicians bickered among the slums of the Ghetto. Gladstone provided new ideals, new projects. He attracted many foreign magicians here by acquiring certain relics. London became the place to be. As it still is, for better or for worse. As I say, you ought to be grateful."
    Nathaniel looked at her. "What do you mean, 'For better or for worse?' What's worse about it?"
    Ms. Lutyens pursed her lips. "The current system is very beneficial for magicians and for a few lucky others who cluster all about them. Less so for everyone else. Now—let me see how your sketch is going."
    Something in her tone aroused Nathaniel's indignation. His lessons with Mr. Purcell came flooding into his mind. "You shouldn't speak of the Government like that," he said. "Without magicians, the country would be defenseless! Commoners would rule and the country would fall apart. Magicians give their lives to keep the country safe! You should remember that, Ms. Lutyens." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rather shrill.
    "I'm sure that when you have grown up you will make many telling sacrifices, Nathaniel." She spoke rather more sharply than was usual. "But in fact not all countries have magicians. Plenty do very well without them."
    "You seem to know a lot about it all."
    "For a humble drawing tutor? Do I detect surprise in your voice?"
    "Well, you're only a commoner—" He stopped short, flushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"
    "Quite right," Ms. Lutyens said shortly, "I am a commoner. But magicians don't have a complete monopoly on knowledge, you know. Far from it. And anyway, knowledge and intelligence are very different things. As you'll one day discover."
    For a few minutes they busied themselves with their paper and pens and did not speak. The cat on the wall flicked a lazy paw at a circling wasp. At length Nathaniel broke the silence.
    "Did you not want to become a magician, Ms. Lutyens?" he asked, in a small voice.
    She gave a small dry laugh. "I didn't have that privilege," she said. "No, I'm just an art teacher, and happy to be one."
    Nathaniel tried again. "What do you do when you're not here? With me, I mean."
    "I'm with other pupils, of course. What did you think—that I'd