The Amulet of Samarkand

while he was alive.
    Or so I thought. But he was an unusually clever and resourceful child.
    "No," he said slowly, "I can't stop you if you want to betray me. All I can do is make sure you suffer along with me. Let's see...."
    He rummaged through the pockets of his shabby coat. "There must be something in here somewhere.... Aha!" His hand emerged holding a small battered tin, on which the words Old Chokey were ornately inscribed.
    "That's a tobacco tin!" I exclaimed. "Don't you know smoking kills?"
    "It doesn't contain tobacco anymore," the boy said. "It's one of my master's incense pots. It's full of rosemary now." He lifted the lid a fraction; sure enough, an instant later, a waft of the hellish scent reached me and made the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Some herbs are very bad for our essence, and rosemary is one of these. In consequence, magicians can't get enough of it.[8]
     
    [8] There's big business in protective herbal aftershaves and underarm deodorants for magicians. Simon Lovelace, for instance, positively reeked of Rowan-tree Rub-on.
     
    "I'd turf that out and fill it up with some honest baccy," I advised. "Far healthier."
    The boy closed the lid. "I am going to send you on a mission," he said. "The moment you've gone, I shall cast the spell of Indefinite Confinement, binding you into this tin. The spell will not take effect immediately; in fact I shall make it start up a month from today. If for any reason I am not around to cancel this spell before a month is up, you shall find yourself drawn into this tin and trapped there, until such time as it is opened again. How'd you like the idea of that? A few hundred years encased in a small tin of rosemary. That will do wonders for your complexion."
    "You've got a scheming little mind, haven't you?" I said glumly.
    "And in case you're tempted to risk the penalty, I shall bind this tin with bricks and throw it into the Thames before the day is out. So don't go expecting anyone to release you early."
    "I won't." Too right—I'm not insanely optimistic.[9]
     
    [9] The Indefinite Confinement spell is a bad 'un, and one of the worst threats magicians can make. You can be trapped for centuries in horrid minute spaces, and to cap it all, some of them are just plain daft. Matchboxes, bottles, handbags... I even knew a djinni once who was imprisoned in a dirty old lamp.
     
    The kid's face now bore a horribly triumphant look. He looked like an unpleasant boy in a playground who'd just won my best marble.
    "So, Bartimaeus," he said, sneering. "What do you say to that?"
    I gave him a beaming smile.
    "How about you forget all that silly tin business and just trust me instead?"
    "Not a chance."
    My shoulders sagged. That's the trouble, you see. No matter how hard you try, magicians always find a way to clobber you in the end.
    "All right, Nathaniel," I said. "What exactly is it that you want me to do?"

 
     
     
     
    Part Two

15
     
    Nathaniel
     
    No sooner had the djinni transformed itself into a pigeon and flown from his window than Nathaniel closed the fastener, drew the curtains, and sank down upon the floor. His face was corpse-white and his body shook with exhaustion. For almost an hour, he remained slumped against the wall, staring at nothing.
    He had done it; yes, he had done it all right. The demon was bested, was under his control again. He only had to work the binding spell on the tin, and Bartimaeus would be forced to serve him for as long as he desired. It was all going to be fine. He had nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
    So he told himself. But his hands trembled in his lap and his heart pounded painfully against his chest, and the confident assertions he tried to conjure fell from his mind. Angrily, he forced himself to breathe deeply and clasped his hands together tightly to suppress the shaking. Of course, this fear was only natural. He had ducked the Stimulating Compass by a fraction of a second. It was the first time he had come near death. That sort of thing was bound to cause a reaction. In a few minutes he would be back to normal; he could work the spell, take the bus to the Thames....
    The djinni knew his birth name.
    It knew his birth name.
    Bartimaeus of Uruk, Sakhr al-Jinni of Al-Arish... He had allowed it to uncover his name. Mrs. Underwood had spoken, and the djinni had heard; and in that moment the cardinal rule had been broken. And now Nathaniel was compromised, perhaps forever.
    He felt the panic welling up in his throat;