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.[20]

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.[21] I had to keep it with me.

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.[22]

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.

I should have let fly a full—strength Detonation or something, but I was too tired for anything fancy. I fell back on empty bluster.

I laughed eerily. "Hah! I'm toying with you."

"That's empty bluster."

I tried another tack. "Despite myself," I said, "I confess I'm intrigued. I applaud your bravery in daring to accost me. If you tell me your name and purpose, I will spare you. In fact, I might well be able to help you. I have many abilities at my command."

To my disappointment, the girl clamped her hands over her ears. "Don't give me your weasel words, demon!" she said. "I won't be tempted."

"Surely you do not want my enmity," I went on, soothingly. "My friendship is greatly to be preferred."

"I don't care about either," the girl said, lowering her hands. "I want whatever it is you have round your neck."