The Golem's Eye

bubble's surface as if trying to break free.
    "If you'll just give me a minute to explain! I'm doing you a favor!"
    "A favor? Oh boy, this is going to be priceless! This I've got to hear."
    "In that case keep quiet for half a second and let me speak."
    "All right! Fine! I'll be quiet."
    "Good."
    "I'll be silent as the grave. Your grave, incidentally."
    "In that case—"
    "And we'll see if you can even remotely come up with an excuse worth hearing, because I doubt—"
    "Will you shut up!" The magician raised a sudden hand and I felt a corresponding pressure on the outside of the bubble. I stopped ranting sharpish.
    He took a deep breath, smoothed back his hair and adjusted his cuffs unnecessarily. "Right," he said. "I'm two years older, as you so correctly guessed. But I'm two years wiser as well. And I should warn you I won't be using the Systemic Vise, if you misbehave. No. Have you ever experienced the Inverted Skin? Or the Essence Rack? Of course you have. With a personality like yours, it's guaranteed. [2] Well, then. Don't try my patience now."
     
    [2] He was right, sadly. I'd suffered both in my time. The Inverted Skin is particularly vexing. It makes motion difficult and conversation almost impossible. Plays hell with your soft furnishings, too.
     
    "We've been through all this before," I said. "Remember? You know my name, I know yours. You fire a punishment at me, I fire it right back. Nobody wins. We both get hurt."
    The boy sighed, nodded. "True. Perhaps we should both calm down." He crossed his arms and gave himself over to a few moments' grim contemplation of my bubble. [3]

    [3] Which now hung dead still a few feet off the floor. The surface was opaque, the monster inside having vanished in a huff.
     
    I regarded him bleakly in my turn. His face still had the old pale and hungry look, or at least the bit I could see did, since half of it was curtained by a veritable mane of hair. I swear he hadn't been within a mile of a pair of scissors since I'd last set eyes on him; his locks cascaded around his neck like a greasy black Niagra.
    As for the rest, he was less weedy than before, true, but he hadn't so much gotten bulkier as been clumsily stretched. He looked as if some giant had grabbed his head and feet, yanked once, then gone off in disgust: his torso was narrow as a spindle, his arms and legs gangly and ill-fitting, his feet and hands quietly reminiscent of an ape's.
    The gangly effect was heightened by his choice of clothes: a swanky suit, so tight it looked as if it had been painted on, a ridiculous long black coat, daggersharp shoes, and a flouncy handkerchief the size of a small tent hanging from his breast pocket. You could tell he thought he looked terribly dashing.
    There were some cast-iron insult opportunities here, but I bided my time. I took a quick look around the room, which appeared to be some formal summoning chamber, probably in a government building. The floor was laid with a kind of artificial wood, entirely smooth, without knots or defects, evidently perfect for pentacle construction. A glass-fronted cupboard in one corner held an array of chalks, rulers, compasses, and papers. Another beside it was filled with jars and bottles of several dozen incenses. Aside from these, the chamber was completely bare. The walls were painted white. A square window high in one wall looked onto a black night sky; a drab cluster of bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling illuminated the room. The only door was made of iron and was bolted on the inside.
    The boy came to the end of his musing, adjusted his cuffs again, and furrowed his brow. He put on a slightly pained expression: he was either attempting to be solemn or had bad indigestion—exactly which was hard to say. "Bartimaeus," he said ponderously, "listen well. Believe me, I profoundly regret summoning you again, but I had little choice. Circumstances have changed here, and we will both benefit from renewing our acquaintance."
    He paused, seeming to think I might have a constructive remark to make. Not a chance. The bubble remained dull and motionless.
    "In essentials, the situation is simple," he went on. "The government, of which I am now a part, [4]  is planning a major land offensive in the American colonies this winter. The fighting is likely to be costly to both sides, but since the colonies are refusing to bow to London's will, there sadly seems little choice but to authorize bloodshed. The rebels are well organized and have magicians