The Amulet of Samarkand

Underwood who entered, bringing a small bowl of tomato soup on a tray. She placed it on the table and stood regarding him. Nathaniel could not bring himself to look at her.
    "Well," she said, in a level voice, "I hope you're satisfied with yourself. From what Arthur tells me, you have been very bad indeed."
    If his master's torrent of anger had merely numbed him, these few words from Mrs. Underwood, laced as they were simply with quiet disappointment, pierced Nathaniel to the marrow. His last vestiges of self-control failed him. He raised his eyes to her, feeling tears prickle against the corners.
    "Oh, Nath—John!" He had never heard her so exasperated. "Why couldn't you be patient? Ms. Lutyens used to say that this was your abiding fault, and she was right! Now you've tried to run before you can walk, and I don't know if your master will ever forgive you."
    "He'll never forgive me. He said so." Nathaniel's voice was faint; he was holding back the tears.
    "He's extremely angry, John, and rightly."
    "He said my—my career was ruined."
    "I shouldn't be surprised if that wasn't exactly what you deserved."
    "Mrs. Underwood!"
    "But perhaps, if you are open and honest with him about what you've done, there is a chance that he will listen to you when he returns. A very small chance."
    "He won't; he's too angry."
    Mrs. Underwood sat down on the bed beside Nathaniel and put her arm round his shoulder. "You don't think it's unheard of, do you, for apprentices to try too much, too soon? It often marks out those with the most talent. Arthur is livid, but he is also impressed, I can tell. I think you should confide fully in him; throw yourself on his mercy. He will like that."
    Nathaniel gave a sniff. "You think so, Mrs. Underwood?" As always, the comfort of her presence and her calm common sense reached past his defenses and soothed his pride. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should tell the truth about everything....
    "I will do my best to appease him too," she went on. "Heaven knows, but you don't deserve it. Look at the state of this room!"
    "I'll clean it right away, Mrs. Underwood; right away." He felt a little comforted. Perhaps he would tell his master, own up to his suspicions about Lovelace and the Amulet. Things would be painful, but simpler that way.
    "Drink your soup first." She got up. "Make sure you have everything ready to tell your master when he comes back."
    "Why's Mr. Underwood gone to the ministry? It's a Sunday." Nathaniel was already picking up some of the garments and stuffing them back into the drawers.
    "Some emergency, dear. A rogue djinni has been caught in central London."
    A slight shiver ran down Nathaniel's spine. "A djinni?"
    "Yes. I don't know the details, but apparently it was masquerading as one of Mr. Lovelace's imps. It broke into Mr. Pinn's shop and caused no end of damage. But they sent an afrit and caught it soon enough. It's being interrogated now. Your master thinks the magician that sent the djinni may have some link to these artifact thefts that have been so bothering him—and perhaps to the Resistance too. He wants to be there when they force the information out. But that's not really your prime concern now—is it, John? You need to be deciding what to say to your master. And scrub this floor till it shines!"
    "Yes, Mrs. Underwood."
    "Good boy. I'll look in for your tray later."
    No sooner had the door been locked than Nathaniel was running to the skylight, throwing it open and reaching under the cold wet tiles for the bronze disc. He drew it in and shut the window against the lancing rain. The disc was cold; it took several minutes of escalating inducements before the imp's face reluctantly appeared.
    "Blimey," it said. "It's been a while. Thought you'd forgotten me. You ready to let me out yet?"
    "No." Nathaniel was in no mood to play around. "Bartimaeus. Find him. I want to see where he is and what he's doing. Now. Or I'll bury this disc in the earth."
    "Who's got out the wrong side of bed today? There's such a thing as asking nicely! Well, I'll have a go, but I've had easier requests in my time, even from you...." Muttering and grimacing with strain, the baby's face faded out, only to reappear again, faintly, as if from afar. "Bartimaeus, you say? Of Uruk?"
    "Yes! How many of them can there be?"
    "You'd be surprised, Mr. Touchy. Well, don't hold your breath. This may take some time."
    The disc went blank. Nathaniel hurled it onto the bed, then thought better of it and stowed it