Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 1 (5 page)

for the camera bulbs flashing, I might have been back in Karnak. Bargains were being

struck, happy cries rang out, everyone was smiling. It was a timeless tableau of gullibility and greed.

[5] Particularly popular were shards of crystal that were purported to exude life-

enhancing auras. People hung them round their necks for good luck. The shards had no

magical properties whatsoever, but I suppose in one way they
did
have a protective function: people wearing them immediately advertised themselves to be magical

ignoramuses, and as a result they were ignored by the many factions of feuding

magicians. In London it was dangerous for a person to have had even the slightest

magical training: then one became useful and/or dangerous—and as a result fair game for other magicians.

But not everything in the square was trivial. Here and there rather more sober-

faced men stood at the entrance to small closed tents. Visitors were admitted to these one by one. Evidently there were artifacts of genuine value inside, since without exception small watchers loitered near each booth.

They came in various unobtrusive forms—pigeons mostly; I avoided going too

close in case they were more perceptive than they looked.

A few magicians wandered about amid the crowd. They were unlikely to be

buying anything here; more probably they were doing the night shift in the government

offices in Whitehall and had come out for a breather. One (in a good suit) had an

accompanying second-plane imp hopping at his heel; the others (more shabbily attired)

simply trailed the telltale odor of incense, dried sweat, and candle wax.

The police were present too—several ordinary constables and a couple of hairy,

hatchet-faced men from the Night Police keeping themselves just visible enough to

prevent trouble.

And all around the square, the car lights swirled, carrying ministers and other

magicians from their offices in Parliament to their clubs at St. James's. I was near the hub of a great wheel of power that extended over an empire, and here, with luck, I would

remain undetected until I was finally summoned.

Or possibly not.

I had sauntered over to a particularly tatty-looking stall and was examining its

fare when I had the uneasy feeling that I was being watched. I turned my head a little and scanned the crowd. An amorphous mass. I checked the planes. No hidden dangers: a

bovine herd, all of it dull and human. I turned back to the stall and absently picked up My Magic Mirror™, a piece of cheap glass glued into a frame of pink plastic and feebly

decorated with wands, cats, and wizards' hats.

There it was again! I turned my body sharply. Through a gap in the crowd directly

behind me, I could see a short, plump female magician, a bunch of kids clustered round a stand, and a policeman eyeing them suspiciously. No one seemed to have the slightest

interest in me. But I knew what I'd felt.

Next time I'd be ready. I made a big show of considering the mirror. ANOTHER

GREAT GIFT

FROM LONDON, MAGIC CAPITAL OF THE WORLD! screamed the label on

its back. MADE

IN TAIW—

Then the feeling came again. I swiveled quicker than a cat and—success! I caught

the starers eyeball to eyeball. Two of them, a boy and a girl, from within the gaggle of kids. They didn't have time to drop their gaze. The boy was in his mid-teens; acne was laying siege to his face with some success.

The girl was younger but her eyes were cold and hard. I gazed back. What did I

care? They were human, they couldn't see what I was. Let them stare.

After a few seconds they couldn't handle it; they looked away. I shrugged and

made to move off. There was a loud cough from the man on the stand. I replaced My

Magic Mirror™ carefully on his tray, gave him a cheesy smile, and went my way.

The children followed me.

I caught sight of them at the next booth, watching from behind a candyfloss stand.

They were moving in a huddle—maybe five or six of them, I couldn't be sure. What did

they want? A mugging?

If so, why pick me out? There were dozens of better, fatter, richer candidates here.

To test this I cozied up to a very small, wealthy-looking tourist with a giant camera and thick spectacles. If I'd wanted to mug someone, he'd have been top of my list. But when I left him and went on a loop through the crowd, the children followed right along too.

Weird. And annoying. I didn't want to make a change and fly off; I was too weary.

All I wanted was to be left in peace. I still had many hours to go before the dawn.

I speeded up; the children did so too. Long before we'd done three circuits of the

square, I'd had enough. A couple of policemen had watched us beetling around and they

were likely to halt us soon, if only to stop themselves getting dizzy. It was time to go.

Whatever the kids were after, I did not want any more attention drawn to me.

There was a subway close by. I hotfooted it down the steps, ignored the entrance

to the Underground, and came up again on the other side of the road, opposite the central square. The kids had vanished—maybe they were in the subway. Now was my chance. I

slipped round a street corner, along past a bookshop, and ducked down an alley. I waited a little there, in the shadows among the dumper bins.

A couple of cars drove past the end of the alley. No one came after me.

I allowed myself a brief smile. I thought I'd lost them.

I was wrong.

7

The Egyptian boy wandered off along the alley, made a couple of right-angle

turns and came out in one of the many roads that radiate from Trafalgar Square. I was

revising my plans as I went.

Forget the square. Too many irritating children around. But perhaps if I found a

shelter close by, the amulet's pulse would still be hard for the spheres to locate. I could hole up behind some bins until the morning came. It was the only option. I was too weary to take to the skies again.

And I wanted to do some thinking.

The old pain had started up again, throbbing in my chest, stomach, bones. It

wasn't healthy to be encased in a body for so long. How humans can stand it without

going completely mad, I'll never know.[1]

[1] Then again... maybe that explains a lot.

I stumped down the dark, cold street, looking at my reflection as it flitted across

the blank squares of the windows alongside. The boy's shoulders were hunched against

the wind, his hands deep in his jacket pockets. His trainers scuffed the concrete. His posture perfectly expressed the annoyance I was feeling. The Amulet beat against my

chest with every step. If it had been in my power, I would have ripped it off and lobbed it into the nearest trash can before dematerializing in high dudgeon. But I was bound by the orders of the child's command.[2] I had to keep it with me.

[2] There have been cases where a spirit has attempted to refuse a command. On

one notable occasion, Asmoral the Resolute was instructed by his master to destroy the djinni Ianna. But Ianna had long been Asmoral's closest ally and there was great love

between them. Despite his master's increasingly severe injunctions, Asmoral refused to act. Sadly, though his willpower was equal to the challenge, his essence was tied to the irresistible tug of the magician's command. Before long, because he did not give way, he was literally torn in two. The resulting matter explosion destroyed the Magician, his

palace, and an outlying suburb of Baghdad. After this tragic event, magicians learned to be cautious of ordering direct attacks on opposing spirits (opposing magicians were a

different matter). For our part, we learned to avoid conflicts of principle. As a result, loyalties among us are temporary and liable to shift. Friendship is essentially a matter of strategy.

I took a side street away from the traffic. The massed darkness of high buildings

closed in on either side, oppressing me. Cities get me down, almost as if I am

underground. London is particularly bad—cold, gray, heavy with odors and rain.

It makes me long for the south, for the deserts and the blank blue sky.

Another alley led off to the left, choked with wet cardboard and newspapers.

Automatically I scanned through the planes, saw nothing. It would do. I rejected the first two doorways for reasons of hygiene. The third was dry. I sat there.

It was high time I thought through the events of the night so far. It had been a

busy one. There was the pale-faced boy, Simon Lovelace, the Amulet, Jabor, Faquarl.... A pretty hellish brew all round. Still, what did it matter? At dawn I would hand over the Amulet and escape this sorry mess for good.

Except for my business with the boy. He'd pay for it, big time. You didn't reduce

Bartimaeus of Uruk to dossing in a West End back alley and expect to get away with it.

First I'd find out his name, then—

Wait...

Footsteps in the alley... Several pairs of boots approaching.

Perhaps it was just coincidence. London's a city. People use it. People use alleys.

Whoever was coming was probably just taking a shortcut home.

Down the very alley that I happened to be hiding in.

I don't believe in coincidences.

I shrank back into the doorway's shallow well of darkness and cast a Concealment

upon myself.

A layer of tightly laced black threads covered me where I sat in the shadows,

blending me into the murk. I waited.

The boots drew nearer. Who might it be? A Night Police patrol? A phalanx of

magicians sent by Simon Lovelace? Perhaps the orbs
had
spotted me, after all.

It was neither police nor magicians. It was the children from Trafalgar Square.

Five boys, with the girl at their head. They were dawdling along, looking casually

from side to side. I relaxed a little. I was well hidden, and even if I hadn't been, there was nothing to fear from them now that we were out of the public gaze. Admittedly, the boys were big and loutish looking, but they were still just boys, dressed in jeans and leathers.

The girl wore a black leather jacket and trousers that flared wildly from the knees down.

There was enough spare material there to make a second pair for a midget. Down the

alley they came, scuffling through the litter. I realized suddenly how unnaturally silent they were.

In doubt, I checked the other planes again. On each, everything was just as it

should be. Six children.

Hidden behind my barrier, I waited for them to go past.

The girl was in the lead. She drew level with me.

Safe behind my barrier, I yawned.

One of the boys tapped the girl's shoulder.

"It's there," he said, pointing.

"Get it," the girl said.

Before I had a chance to get over my surprise, three of the burliest boys leaped

into the doorway and crashed down upon me. As they touched the Concealment wisps,

the threads tore and dissolved away into nothingness. For an instant I was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of distressed leather, cheap aftershave, and body odor. I was sat upon, punched, and smacked about the head. I was bundled unceremoniously to my feet.

Then I reasserted myself. I am Bartimaeus, after all.

The alley was illuminated by a brief discharge of heat and light. The bricks of the

doorway looked as if they had been seared on a griddle.

To my surprise the boys were still holding on. Two of them gripped my wrists,

while the third had both arms tight round my waist.

I repeated the effect with greater emphasis. Car alarms in the next street started

ringing. This time, I confess, I expected to be left in the charcoally grip of three charred corpses.[3]

[3] Despite what some would say on the subject, many of us have no particular

interest in harming ordinary humans. There are exceptions, of course, of which Jabor is one. However, even for mild-tempered djinn such as me, there is such a thing as being

pushed too far

But the boys were still there, breathing hard and holding on like grim death.

Something was not quite right, here.

"Hold it steady," the girl said.

I looked at her, she looked at me. She was a little bit taller than my current

manifestation, with dark eyes, long dark hair. The other two boys stood on either side of her like an acned guard of honor. I grew impatient.

"What do you want?" I said.

"You have something round your neck." The girl had a remarkably level and

authoritative voice for someone so young. I guessed she was about thirteen.

"Says who?"

"It's been in full view for the last two minutes, you cretin. It fell out of your T-shirt when we jumped you."

"Oh. Fair enough."

"Hand it over."

"No."

She shrugged. "Then we'll take it. It's your funeral."

"You don't really know who I am, do you?" I made it sound damn casual, with a side helping of menace. "You're not a magician."

"Too right I'm not." She spat the words out.

"A magician would know better than to trifle with one such as me." I was busy cranking up the awe-factor again, although this is always fairly tricky when you have a brawny half-wit clasping you round your waist.

The girl grinned coldly. "Would a magician do so well against your wickedness?"

She had a point there. For a start, a magician wouldn't have wanted to come

within a dog's bark of me without being protected up to the hilt with charms and

pentacles. Next he would have needed the help of imps to find me under my

Concealment; and, finally, he would have had to conjure up a fairly heavyweight djinni to subdue me. If he dared. But this girl and her boyfriends had done it all on their own, without seeming particularly fussed.