The Amulet of Samarkand

exact same time as I had. But working that out could wait: the boy's future—and consequently, mine—depended on my reacting quickly to whatever happened now.
    Underwood sat himself in his customary chair and put on a forced smile. "So," he said. "Are you sure you won't sit down?"
    "No, thank you."
    "Well, at least tell that imp of yours to quit its jiggling. It's making me feel quite ill." He spoke with sudden waspish asperity. Simon Lovelace made a clicking sound with his tongue. The imp hovering behind his head instantly became rigid, holding its face in a deliberately unfortunate posture, midway between a gawp and a grin.
    Underwood did his best to ignore it. "I do have a few other matters to take care of today," he said. "Perhaps you might tell me what I can do for you?"
    Simon Lovelace inclined his head gravely. "A few nights ago," he said, "I suffered a theft. An item, a small piece of some power, was stolen from my house while I was absent."
    Underwood made a consoling sound. "I'm sorry to hear that."
    "Thank you. It is a piece that I hold especially dear. Naturally, I am eager for its return."
    "Naturally. You think the Resistance—?"
    "And it is in connection with this that I have called on you today, Underwood...." He spoke slowly, carefully, skirting round the issue. Perhaps even now he hoped he would not have to make the accusation directly. Magicians are always circumspect with words; hasty ones, even in a crisis, can lead to misfortune. But the older man was oblivious to the hint.
    "You can count on my support, of course," Underwood said equably. "These thefts are an abomination. We have known for some time that a black market for stolen artifacts exists and I for one believe that their sale helps to fund resistance to our rule. We saw yesterday what outrages this can lead to." Underwood's eyebrows lifted with something like amusement. "I must say," he went on, "I am surprised to hear that you have fallen victim. Most recent thefts were perpetrated on—may I be frank?—relatively minor magicians. The thieves are often thought to be youths, even children. I would have thought your defenses might have coped with them."
    "Quite." Simon Lovelace spoke through his teeth.
    "Do you think it has any connection with the attack on Parliament?"
    "A moment, please." Lovelace held up his hand. "I have reason to suspect that the theft of the—of my item, was not the work of the so-called Resistance, but that of a fellow magician."
    Underwood frowned. "You think so? How can you be sure?"
    "Because I know what carried out the raid. It goes by the unseemly name of Bartimaeus. A middle-ranking djinni of great impudence and small intelligence.[1] It is nothing special. Any half-wit might have summoned it. A half-wit magician, that is, not a commoner."
     
    [1] At this point someone with excellent hearing might have heard a spurt of webbing being shot furiously into the ceiling in the corner of the room Fortunately, the imp was busy trying to intimidate Underwood by changing its frozen expression very, very slowly. It didn't hear a thing .
     
    "Nevertheless," Underwood said mildly, "this Bartimaeus got away with your item."[2]
     
    [2] I felt a sudden surge of affection for the old fool. Didn't last long. Just thought I'd mention it.
     
    "It was a bungler! It allowed itself to be identified!" Lovelace controlled himself with difficulty. "No, no—you are quite right. It got away."
    "And as to who summoned it..."
    The glasses flashed. "Well, Arthur, that is why I am here. To see you."
    There was a momentary pause while Underwood's brain cells struggled to make the connection. Finally, success. Several emotions competed for control of his face, then all were swept away by a kind of glacial smoothness. The temperature in the room grew cold.
    "I'm sorry," he said, very quietly. "What did you say?"
    Simon Lovelace leaned forward and rested his two hands on the dining table. He had very well manicured nails. "Arthur," he said, "Bartimaeus has not been keeping a low profile lately. As of this morning, it was imprisoned within the Tower of London, following its attack on Pinn's of Piccadilly."
    Underwood reeled with astonishment. "That djinni? How—how do you know this? They were unable to learn its name.... And—and it escaped, this very afternoon...."
    "It did indeed." Lovelace did not explain how. "After its escape, my agents... spotted it. They followed Bartimaeus across London—and back here."[3]
     
    [3] Oops. It