The Golem's Eye

of their own, some with power. To defeat them, we are sending out a large force of magician warriors, with their djinn and lesser demons in tow."
     
    [4] Here he smoothed back his hair once more. This act of pompous preening reminded me vaguely of someone, but I couldn't quite think who.
     
    I stirred at this. A mouth opened in the side of the bubble. "You will lose the war. Have you been to America? I dwelled there, off and on, for two hundred years. The whole continent is a wilderness—it goes on seemingly forever. The rebels will retreat, draw you into an endless guerrilla campaign, and bleed you dry."
    "We will not lose, but you are right that it will be difficult. Many men and many djinn will perish."
    "Many men, certainly."
    "The djinn fall just as fast. Has it not always been so? You've been in enough battles in your time. You know how it goes. And this is why I'm doing you a favor.
    "The Senior Archivist has been through the records and has tabulated a list of demons that might be useful for the American campaign. Your name is among them."
    A great campaign? Lists of demons? Sounded unlikely to me. But I trod carefully, tried to draw more out of him. The bubble twitched, an action not unlike a shrug. "Good," it said. "I liked America. Better than this hog-pit of London you call home. No foul urban mess—just great tracts of sky and grassland, with whitepeaked mountains rising up forever..." To emphasize my satisfaction, I made a happy buffalo face appear inside the bubble.
    The boy gave that old familiar thin-lipped smile that I'd known and disliked so heartily two years before. "Ah. You've not been to America for a while, have you?" The buffalo eyed him askance. "Why?"
    "There are cities there too now, ranged along the eastern seaboard. A couple even approach London in size. That's where the trouble is. Beyond the cultivated strip is the wilderness you refer to, but we're not interested in that. You'll be fighting in the cities."
    The buffalo studied a hoof with feigned indifference. "Doesn't bother me none."
    "No? Wouldn't you rather work here for me? I can get you off the war list. It would be a fixed term, just a few weeks. Bit of surveillance duty. Far less dangerous than open warfare."
    "Surveillance?" I was scathing. "Ask an imp."
    "The Americans have afrits, you know."
    This had gone far enough. "Oh please," I said. "I can handle myself. I managed to get through the battle of Al-Arish and the Siege of Prague without you there to hold my hand. Let's face it, you must be in big trouble, or you'd never have brought me back. Especially given what I know—eh, Nat?"
    It seemed for an instant as if the boy was going to explode with fury, but he mastered himself in time. He blew wearily through his cheeks. "All right," he said. "I admit it. I haven't summoned you here just to do you a favor."
    The buffalo rolled its eyes. "Well now, there's a shock."
    "I'm under pressure here at home," the boy went on. "I need results fast. If not"—he clenched his teeth hard together—"I may be... disposed of. Believe me, I'd love to have summoned a de—a djinni with better manners than you, but there's no time for me to research one properly."
    "Now, that has the ring of truth," I said. "That American story is complete cobblers, isn't it? Trying to earn my gratitude in advance. Well, tough. I'm not falling for it. I've got your birth name and I intend to use it. If you've got half a brain, you'll dismiss me pronto. Our conversation is at an end." To emphasize this, the buffalo head raised its muzzle skyward and swiveled haughtily inside the bubble.
    The boy was hopping with agitation. "Oh, come on, Bartimaeus..."
    "No! Beg all you like, this buffalo's not listening."
    "I'll never beg you!" Now his anger was unleashed in all its fury. Boy, it was an awesome torrent of petulance. "Listen closely," he snarled. "If I don't get help, I'll not survive. That may not mean anything to you—"
    The buffalo looked over its shoulder, eyes wide. "Such powers! You read my mind!"
    "But this just might. The American campaign does exist. There's no list, I admit, but if you don't help me and I lose my life, I'll make sure before I go that your name is recommended to the troops out there. Then you can blab my birth name far and wide for all the good it'll do you. I won't be around to suffer. So those are your options," he concluded, folding his arms once more, "a simple bit of surveillance or exposure to battle. Up to you."
    "Is that