"Only two floors."

"And he's deaf in one ear. He never hears anything."

"His missus—"

"Shut up. I'm thinking. You did something then, both times… What was it…?"

He snapped his fingers. "My name! That's it! You used it to deflect my spells, curse you."

I studied my fingernails, eyebrows raised. "Might have, might not. It's for me to know and you to find out."

The kid stamped his foot again. "Stop it! Don't speak to me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you just did! You're speaking like a child."

"Takes one to know one, bud."

This was fun. I was really riling him. The loss of his name had made him lose his cool. He was seconds away from another attack, I could tell—he had the stance and everything. I adopted a similar, but defensive pose, like a sumo wrestler. Ptolemy had been exactly this boy's height, dark hair and everything,[36] so it was nice and symmetrical.

With an effort, the kid controlled himself. You could see him flicking through all his lessons, trying to remember what he should do. He had realized that an ordinary quick—fire punishment was out of the question now: I'd just send it back at him.

"I'll find another way," he muttered darkly. "Wait and see."

"Ooh, I'm really scared," I said. "Watch me shiver."

The kid was thinking hard. There were big gray bags under his eyes. Every time he made an incantation he wore himself out further, which suited me just fine. Some magicians have been known to drop dead simply from overexertion. It's a high—stress lifestyle they have, poor things.

His thinking went on for a long time. I gave an ostentatious yawn and made a watch appear on my wrist so that I could glance at it wearily.

"Why not ask the boss?" I suggested. "He'll help you out."

"My master? You must be joking."

"Not that old fool. The one who's directing you against Lovelace."

The boy wrinkled his brow. "There's no one. I don't have a boss."

Now it was my turn to look blank.

"I'm acting on my own."

I whistled. "You mean you really summoned me on your lonesome? Not bad… for a kid." I tried to sound suitably sycophantic. "Well then, let me give you a tip. The best thing now is for you to let me go. You need a rest. Have you looked in a mirror recently? One without an imp inside, I mean? There are worry lines there. Not good at your age. It'll be gray hairs next. What will you do then when you meet your first succubus?[37] Put her right off, it will."

I was talking too much, I knew, but I couldn't help it. I was worried. The kid was looking at me with a calculating expression that I didn't like.

"Besides," I said, "with me gone, no one will know you have the Amulet. You'll be able to use it in complete secrecy. It's a precious commodity—everybody seems to want it. I didn't tell you before, but some girl tried to jump me for it when I was hanging around in town."

The boy frowned. "What girl?"

"Search me." I neglected to mention that this was pretty much what the girl had succeeded in doing.

He shrugged. "It's Simon Lovelace I'm interested in," he said, almost to himself. "Not the Amulet. He humiliated me, and I'm going to destroy him for it."

"Too much hate is bad for you," I ventured.

"Why?"

"Um…"

"I shall tell you a secret, demon," he went on. "By dint of my magic,[38] I saw how Simon Lovelace came by the Amulet of Samarkand. Some months ago, a stranger—swarthy, black—bearded and cloaked—came to him in the middle of the night. He brought him the Amulet. Money was exchanged. It was a furtive meeting."

I snorted. "What's surprising there? It's how all magicians trade. You should know that. They thrive on unnecessary secrecy."

"It was more than that. I saw it in Lovelace's eyes and in the eyes of the stranger. There was something illegal, underhand about it… The man's cloak was stained with fresh blood."

"I'm still not impressed. Murder's part of the game for you lot. I mean, you're obsessed with revenge already, and you're only about six."

"Twelve."

"Same difference. No, there's nothing unusual in it. That bloke with the bloodstains probably runs a well—known service. He'll be in the Yellow Pages, if you let your fingers do the walking."

"I want to find out who he is."

"Hmm. Black—bearded and cloaked, eh? That narrows our suspects down to about fifty—five percent of the magicians in London. Doesn't even exclude all the female ones."

"Stop talking!" The kid seemed to have had enough.

"What's the matter? I thought we were getting along well."

"I know that the Amulet was stolen. Someone was killed to get it. When I find out who, I shall expose Lovelace and see him destroyed. I will plant the Amulet, lure him to it and alert the police at the same time. They will catch him red—handed. But first, I want to know all about him and what he gets up to. I want to know his secrets, how he does business, who his friends are, everything! I need to discover who had the Amulet before and exactly what it does. And I must know why Lovelace stole it. To this end, I charge you, Bartimaeus—"

"Wait just a minute. Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"I know your true name, Natty boy. That means I have some power over you. It's not all one way anymore, is it?"

The kid paused to consider.

"You can't hurt me so easily now," I went on. "And that limits your room for maneuver in my book. Throw something at me, and I'll throw it right back."

"I can still bind you to my will. You still have to obey my commands."

"That's true. Your commands are the terms on which I'm in this world at all. I can't break out of them without your unleashing the Shriveling Fire.[39] But I can sure as hell make life difficult for you when I carry out your orders. For example, while I'm spying on Simon Lovelace, why shouldn't I grass you up to some other magician? The only thing that stopped me doing that before was fear of the consequences. But I'm not so worried about them now. And even if you explicitly forbid me to grass you up, I'll find some other way to do you a nasty. Let slip your birth name, maybe, to acquaintances of mine. You won't be able to sleep in your bed for terror of what I might do."

He was rattled, I could see that much. His eyes flicked from side to side, as if hunting for a flaw in my reasoning. But I was quietly confident: entrusting a mission to a djinni who knows your name is like tossing lit matches into a fireworks factory. Sooner or later you're going to have consequences. The best he could do was to let me go and hope no one else called me up while he was alive.

Or so I thought. But he was an unusually clever and resourceful child.

"No," he said slowly, "I can't stop you if you want to betray me. All I can do is make sure you suffer along with me. Let's see…"

He rummaged through the pockets of his shabby coat. "There must be something in here somewhere… Aha!" His hand emerged holding a small battered tin, on which the words Old Chokey were ornately inscribed.

"That's a tobacco tin!" I exclaimed. "Don't you know smoking kills?"

"It doesn't contain tobacco anymore," the boy said. "It's one of my master's incense pots. It's full of rosemary now." He lifted the lid a fraction; sure enough, an instant later, a waft of the hellish scent reached me and made the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Some herbs are very bad for our essence, and rosemary is one of these. In consequence, magicians can't get enough of it.[40]

"I'd turf that out and fill it up with some honest baccy," I advised. "Far healthier."