Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 1 (25 page)

magical connections. Djinn such as yourself, perhaps; conjured by enemy magicians. It's possible."

This Resistance again. Simpkin had mentioned them too. He'd guessed they'd

stolen the Amulet.

But Lovelace was responsible for that—perhaps he was behind this latest outrage

as well.

"What sort of attack was it?"

"An elemental sphere. Futile, haphazard."

Didn't sound quite Lovelace's cup of tea. I saw him as more of a stealth-and-

intrigue man, the kind who authorizes murders while nibbling cucumber sandwiches at

garden parties. Also, his note to Schyler had suggested they were planning something a little farther ahead.

My musings were rudely disrupted by a guttural snarl from my old friend Sholto.

"Enough of this! It will not tell you of its own free will. Reduce the orb, dear

Jessica, so that it squirms and speaks! We are both far too busy to loiter in this cell all day."

For the first time, the thin-lipped slash that was the woman's mouth extended

outward in a kind of smile. "Mr. Pinn is impatient, demon," she said. "He does not care whether you speak or not, as long as the orb is put to work. But I always prefer to follow the proper procedure. I have told you what we require—now is the time for you to talk."

A pause followed. I'd like to say it was pregnant with suspense. I'd like to say that

I was wrestling with my conscience about whether to spill the beans about Nathaniel and my mission; that waves of doubt poured dramatically across my delicate features, while my captors waited on tenterhooks to know what my decision would be. I'd like to say

that, but it would be a lie.[8] So it was in fact a rather more leaden, dreary, and desolate kind of pause, during which I tried to reconcile myself to the pain that I knew would be forthcoming.

[8] And I m scrupulously honest, as you know.

Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to stitch Nathaniel up good

and proper. I'd have given them everything: name, address, shoe size—I'd even have

hazarded a guess about his inside-leg measurement if they'd wanted it. I'd have told them about Lovelace and Faquarl too, and precisely where the Amulet of Samarkand was to be

found. I'd have sung like a canary—there was so much to tell. But... if I did so, I doomed myself. Why? Because: 1. There was a good chance they'd just squish me in the orb

anyway, and 2. Even if they did let me go, Nathaniel would then be killed or otherwise inconvenienced and I'd be bound for Old Chokey at the bottom of the Thames.

And just the thought of all that rosemary made my nose run.[9]

[9] Thoughtful persons might at this point object that since Lovelace had stolen

the Amulet and was thus working against the Government, it might have been worth a

gamble to tell them about his crimes. Perhaps both Nathaniel and I might have then been let off for services rendered. True, but unfortunately there was no knowing who
else
was involved with Lovelace's plot, and since Sholto Pinn himself had been lunching with

Lovelace the previous day, there was certainly no trusting
him.
All in all, the risks of coming clean far outweighed the possible benefits.

Better a quick extinction in the orb than an infinity of misery. So I rubbed my

delicate chin and waited for the inevitable to begin.

Sholto grunted and looked at the woman. She tapped her watch.

"Time's up," she said. "Well?"

And then, as if written by the hand of a bad novelist, an incredible thing

happened. I was just about to give them a last tirade of impassioned (yet clever) abuse, when I felt a familiarly painful sensation in my bowels. A multitude of red-hot pincers were plucking at me, tugging at my essence....

I was being summoned!

22

For the first time ever I felt grateful to the boy. What perfect timing! What a

remarkable coincidence! I could now disappear from under their noses, dematerialized by the summons, while they gawped and gulped like startled fish. If I was quick, there would just be time to thumb my nose at them too before departure.

I gave a rueful shake of the head.
"So
sorry." I smiled. "I'd
love
to help you, really I would. But I have to go. Maybe we can pick up the torture and captivity again sometime soon. Only with a small alteration. I'll be out there and it'll be
you two
cuddling up inside the orb. So you'd better start dieting big time, Sholto. Meanwhile, you can both—ouch!—

go boil your heads and—Ahh!... Oooh!" It wasn't my most fluent repartee, I'll admit, but the pain of the summoning was getting to me. It felt worse than normal, somehow—

sharper, less healthy....

Also, it was taking longer.

I abandoned all pretence of a cheekily insolent posture, and writhed about on the

top of the column, willing the boy to get on with it. What was his problem? Didn't he

know I was in agony? It wasn't like I could writhe properly either—the orb's force-lines were far too close for comfort.

After two deeply unpleasant minutes, the vicious tug of the summoning lessened

and died away.

It left me in an undignified posture—crouched in a ball, head between my knees,

arms over my head.

With the slow stiffness of accumulated agony, I raised my face a little and

gingerly brushed the hair back from my eyes.

I was still inside the orb. The two magicians were right there, grinning at me from

beyond the walls of my prison.

No way to make this look good. Grimly, with a thousand residual aches, I

straightened, stood up, stared back at them implacably. Sholto was chuckling quietly to himself. "That was worth the price of admission on its own, dear Jessica," he said. "The look on its face was simply exquisite."

The woman nodded.
"Such
good timing," she said. "I'm so glad we were here to see that. Don't you understand yet, you stupid creature?" Her flagstone shifted a little nearer. "I told you; it is impossible to leave a Mournful Orb, and that includes by summoning. Your essence is locked inside it. Even your master cannot call you from it."

"She'll find a way," I said, then bit my lip as if I regretted saying it.

"She?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Your master is a woman?"

"It lies." Sholto Pinn shook his head. "An obvious bluff. Jessica, I am weary; also I am overdue for my morning's massage at the Byzantine Baths. I should be in the steam room this moment. Might I suggest that the creature needs further encouragement, and

that we leave him to it?"

"An admirable idea, dear Sholto." She clicked her nails five times. A hum, a shudder. Time to downsize, pronto! I poured what remained of my energy into a hasty

transformation, and as the flickering lines of the orb closed in on me, shrank myself into a new form. An elegant cat, hunched and sinuous, shying away from the lowering walls of

the orb.

In a matter of seconds, the orb shrank to about a third of its former dimensions.

The humming of its obscene energy was loud in my feline ears, but there was still a

healthy gap between me and the walls. The woman snapped her nails, and the rate of

shrinking slowed dramatically.

"Fascinating..." She spoke to Sholto. "In a time of crisis, it becomes a desert cat.

Very
Egyptian.

This one's had a long career, I think." Now she turned back to me. "The orb will continue to shrink, demon," she said. "Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Eventually it will reach a single point. You will be observed continuously, so if at any time you wish to speak, you need only to say so. Otherwise, farewell."

In reply, the cat hissed and spat. That was as articulate as I could get right then.

The flagstones turned and descended to their original positions. Sholto and the

woman returned to the arch and were swallowed by the portal. The seam closed up and

the wall was as before.

Eagle-beak and Bull-head resumed their marching. The deathly white lines of the

orb hummed and glowed and closed in imperceptibly.

The cat curled on the top of the column and wrapped its tail around itself, tight as

it would go.

Over the next few hours, my situation grew ever less comfortable. The cat lasted

me well at first, but eventually the orb had shrunk so much my ears were down beneath

my whiskers and I could feel the tip of my tail beginning to fry. A succession of changes ensued. I knew I was being watched, so I didn't do the obvious thing and just become a flea straight off—that would only result in the orb's shrinking really fast to catch up with me. Instead, I went through a series of furry and scaly variations, keeping just ahead of the shimmering prison bars each time. First a jack-rabbit, then a marmoset, then an

undistinguished vole... Put all my forms together and you'd have a pretty decent pet shop, I suppose, but it wasn't exactly becoming.

Try as I might, I couldn't come up with any great plan of escape either. I could

gain a reprieve by spinning some long, complex lie to the woman, but she'd soon find out I was fibbing and finish me off all the quicker. That was no good.

To make matters even worse, the wretched boy tried summoning me twice more.

He didn't give up easily, probably reckoning he'd made some kind of mistake the first

time, and ended up causing me so much discomfort I nearly decided to turn him in.

Nearly, but not quite; no point giving up just yet. There was always the chance

something might happen.

"Were you at Angkor Thorn?" Bull-head again, still trying to place me.

"What?" I was the vole at this point; I did my best to sound grandly dismissive, but voles can only do peeved.

"You know, the Khmer Empire. I worked for the imperial magicians, me, when

they conquered Thailand. Were you something to do with that? Some rebel?"

"No."[1]

[1] True, as it happens. That would be eight hundred years ago. In those days I

was mostly in North America.

"Sure about that?"

"Yes! Of course I'm sure! You're confusing me with someone else. But forget

about that for a minute. Listen..." The vole dropped its voice nice and quiet, and spoke from under a raised paw.

"You're obviously a clever fellow, you've been around the block a few times,

worked for a lot of the most vicious empires. Look—I've got powerful friends. If you can get me out of here, they'll kill your master for you, free you from your bond."

If Bull-head had possessed more brains, I'd have sworn he was looking at me

skeptically.

Nevertheless, I plowed on regardless. "How long have you been cooped up here

on guard duty?" I said. "Fifty years? A hundred? That's no life for an utukku, is it? You might as well be in an orb like this."

The head came close to the bars. A shower of nose-steam jetted all over me,

leaving sticky droplets in my fur.
"What
friends?"

"Erm, a marid—a big one—and four afrits, very powerful, much stronger than

me... You can join us...."

The head retreated with a contemptuous growl. "You must think I'm stupid!"

"No, no..." The vole gave a shrug. "That's what Eagle-beak over there thinks. He
said
you wouldn't join our plan. Still, if you're not interested..." With a wriggle and a half-hop, the vole turned its back.

"What?" Bull-head hastened round to the other side of the column, holding his spear close to the orb. "Don't you turn your back on me! What did Xerxes say?"

"Oi!" Eagle-beak came hurrying from the far corner of the room. "I heard my name! Stop talking to the prisoner!"

Bull-head looked at him resentfully. "I can talk if I want to. So, you think I'm

stupid, do you?

Well, I'm not, see? What's this plan of yours?"

"Don't tell him, Xerxes!" I whispered loudly. "Don't tell him
anything."

Eagle-beak made a rasping noise with his beak. "Plan? I know no plan. The

prisoner's lying to you, Baztuk. What's it been saying?"

"It's all right, Xerxes," I called, brightly. "I haven't mentioned... you know."

Bull-head brandished his spear. "I think it's me who should be asking the

questions, Xerxes," he said. "You've been plotting with the captive!"

"No, you idiot—"

"Idiot, am I?"

Then they were off: muzzle to beak, all posturing muscles and flaring crest

feathers, shouting and landing punches on each other's armored chests. Ho-hum. Utukku

always were easy to fool. In their excitement, I had been quite forgotten, which suited me fine. Ordinarily, I would have enjoyed seeing them at each other's throats, but right now it was scant consolation for the mess I was in.

The orb had become uncomfortably tight once more, so I downsized again, this

time to a scarab beetle. Not that there was a great deal of point in this; but it delayed the inevitable and gave me room to scurry back and forth on the top of the pillar, flashing my wing-cases in rage and something like despair. That boy, Nathaniel! If ever I got out, I'd wreak such revenge on him that it would enter the legends and nightmares of his people!

That I, Bartimaeus, who spoke with Solomon and Hiawatha, should go out like this—as a

beetle crushed by an enemy too arrogant to even watch it done! No!

Even now, I'd find a way....

I scurried back and forth, back and forth, thinking, thinking....

Impossible. I could not escape. Death was closing in steadily on every side. It was

hard to see how the situation could possibly get any worse.

A froth of steam, a roar, a mad, red eye lowered to my level.

"Bartimaeus!"

Well, that was one way. Bull-head was no longer squabbling. He had suddenly

remembered who I was. "I know you now!" he cried. "Your voice! Yes, it
is
you—the destroyer of my people! At last! I have waited twenty-seven centuries for this moment!"