The Amulet of Samarkand
claw. "As for my master, there ain't no secret about that. Simon Lovelace's the name. Perhaps you've seen him about."
This was a bit of a gamble, bringing the magician into the equation. But the foliot's manner had changed at the mention of the Amulet, and I didn't want to increase his suspicions by evading the question. Fortunately, he seemed impressed.
"Oh, it's Mr. Lovelace, is it? You're a new one for him, aren't you? Where's Nittles?"
"He lost a message last night. The master stippled him permanently."
"Did he? Always thought Nittles was too frivolous. Serves him right." This pleasant thought seemed to relax the foliot; a dreamy look came into his eye. "Real gent, Mr. Lovelace is, a perfect customer. Always dresses nice, asks for things politely. Good friend of Mr. Pinn, of course... So he was on about the Amulet, was he? Of course, that's not surprising, considering what happened to it. That was a nasty business and they've still not found the murderer, six months on."
This made me prick up my ears, but I didn't show it. I scratched my nose casually.
"Yeah, Mr. Lovelace said something bad had happened. Didn't say what, though."
"Well, he wouldn't to a speck like you, would he? Some people reckon it was the Resistance what did it, whatever that is. Or a renegade magician—that's more likely, perhaps. I don't know, you'd think with all the resources the State's got—"
"So what did happen to the Amulet? It got nicked, did it?"
"It got stolen, yes. And there was murder involved too. Grisly. Dear me, it was most upsetting. Poor, poor Mr. Beecham." And so saying, this travesty of a foliot wiped a tear from his eye.[5] "You asked me if we'd had the Amulet here? Well, of course not. It was far too valuable to be presented on the open market. It's been government property for years, and for the last thirty of them it was kept under guard at Mr. Beecham's estate in Surrey. High security, portals and all. Mr. Beecham used to mention it occasionally to Mr. Pinn when he came to see us. He was a fine man—hard but fair, very admirable. Ah, me."
[5] You could see how far he'd gone over to the enemy by the way he described the death of a magician as "murder." And was upset! Honestly, it almost makes you long for the simple aggression of Jabor.
"And somebody stole the Amulet from Beecham?"
"Yes, six months ago. Not one portal was triggered, the guards were none the wiser, but late one evening it was gone. Vanished! And there was poor Mr. Beecham, lying beside its empty case in a pool of blood. Quite dead! He must have been in the room with the Amulet at the time the thieves entered, and before he could summon help they'd cut his throat. What a tragedy! Mr. Pinn was most upset."
"I'm sure he was. That's terrible, guv'nor, a most terrible thing." I looked as mournful as an imp can be, but hidden inside I was crowing with triumph. This was just the tasty bit of information I had been searching for. So Simon Lovelace had indeed had the Amulet stolen—and he'd had murder committed to get it. The black-bearded man that Nathaniel had seen in Lovelace's study must have gone there fresh from killing Beecham. Moreover, whether he was working on his own, or as part of some secret group, Lovelace had stolen the Amulet from the Government itself, and was thus engaged in treason. Well, if this didn't please the kid, I was a mouler.
One thing was for sure: the boy Nathaniel had got himself into deep waters when he'd ordered me to pinch the Amulet, far deeper than he knew. It stood to reason that Simon Lovelace would stop at nothing to get the thing back—and silence anyone who knew that he'd had it in the first place.
But why had he stolen it from Beecham? What made him risk the wrath of the State? I knew the Amulet by reputation—but not the exact nature of its power. Perhaps this foliot could help me on the matter. "That Amulet must be quite something," I said. "Useful piece, is it?"
"So my master informs me. It is said to contain a most powerful being— something from the deepest areas of the Other Place, where chaos rules. It protects the wearer against attack by—
The foliot's eyes strayed behind me and he broke off with a sudden gasp. A shadow enveloped him, a broad one that swelled as it extended out across the polished floor. The tinkling bell sounded as the door to Pinn's Accoutrements opened, briefly allowing the din of Piccadilly traffic into the shop's comfortable hush. I turned round
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