The Amulet of Samarkand

like damp tissue from her shoulders shook her head. "It happened too fast." Several of the others nodded.
    "Some object, came from behind..."
    "Through a portal, perhaps, a renegade magician—"
    A white-haired man with a whining voice cut in. "They say someone entered by the terrace...."
    "Surely not—what about security?"
    "Excuse me, sir..."
    "This Resistance, do you think they—?"
    "Lovelace, Schyler, and Pinn have sent tracker demons downriver."
    "Sir—"
    "The villain must have jumped into the Thames and been swept away."
    "Sir! I saw him!"
    Underwood turned to Nathaniel at last. "What? What did you say?"
    "I saw him, sir. The boy on the terrace—"
    "By heaven, if you're lying..."
    "No, sir, it was just before he threw it, sir. He had a blue orb in his hand. He ran in through the doors and chucked it, sir. He was dark-haired, a boy, a little older than me, sir. Thin, with dark clothes on; he had a coat, I think; I didn't see what happened to him after he threw it. It was an elemental sphere, I'm sure, sir, a small one; so he didn't need to be a magician to break it...."
    Nathaniel paused for breath, suddenly conscious that in his enthusiasm he had revealed a far greater knowledge of magic than was appropriate in an apprentice who had yet to summon his first mouler. But neither Underwood nor any of the other magicians seemed to notice this. They took a moment to absorb his words, then turned away from him and began chattering away at breakneck speed, each talking over the others in their eagerness to proclaim their theories.
    "It has to be the Resistance—but are they magicians or not? I've always said—"
    "Underwood, Internal Affairs is your department. Have any elemental spheres been registered stolen? If so, what the hell's being done about it?"
    "I can't say; confidential information...."
    "Don't mutter into what's left of your beard, man. We've a right to know!"
    "Ladies, gentlemen..." The voice was soft, but its effect was immediate. The clamor ceased, all heads turned. Simon Lovelace had appeared on the fringes of the group. His hair was back in place. Despite his broken glasses and bruised forehead, he was as elegant as ever. Nathaniel's mouth felt dry.
    Lovelace looked around the group with his quick, dark eyes. "Don't bully poor Arthur, please," he said. For an instant, the smile flicked across the face. "He isn't responsible for this outrage, poor fellow. The assailant appears to have entered from the river."
    A black-bearded man indicated Nathaniel. "That's what the boy said."
    The dark eyes fixed on Nathaniel and widened slightly with recognition. "Young Underwood. You saw him, did you?"
    Nathaniel nodded dumbly.
    "So. Sharp as ever, I see. Does he have a name yet, Underwood?"
    "Erm, yes—John Mandrake. I've filed it officially."
    "Well, John." The dark eyes fastened upon him. "You're to be congratulated; no one else I've spoken to so far got much of a look at him. The police may want a statement from you in due course."
    Nathaniel prised his tongue free. "Yes, sir."
    Lovelace turned back to the others. "The assailant left a boat below the terrace, then climbed up the river wall and cut the throat of the guard. There's no body, but a fair bit of blood, so he presumably lowered the corpse into the Thames. He too seems to have jumped into the water after the attack and allowed himself to be swept away. He may have drowned."
    The black-bearded man tutted. "It's unheard of! What was Duvall thinking? The police should have prevented this."
    Lovelace held up a hand. "I quite agree. However, two officers are speedily on the trail; they may find something, though water won't help the scent. I've sent djinn out along the banks too. I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more at this point. We must all be grateful that the Prime Minister is safe and that no one important was killed. Might I humbly suggest that you all head home to recuperate—and perhaps treat yourselves to a change of clothes? More information will no doubt come your way at a later time. Now, if you'll forgive me..."
    With a smile he detached himself and walked away to another knot of guests. The group looked after him, open-mouthed.
    "Of all the arrogant—" The black-bearded magician stopped himself with a snort. "You wouldn't think he was only Deputy Minister for Trade. He's going to find an afrit waiting for him one of these days.... Well, I'm not hanging around, even if you lot are." He stomped away; one by one, the others followed