Jonathan Stroud - The Amulet of Samarkand

"Well done," I said. "I reckon you made about five centimeters there. Keep going." He made another Herculean effort. "Another centimeter! Good try! You'll get your hands on me soon." To encourage him, I stuck a cheeky foot in his direction and waved it in front of his face, just out of reach. He snarled and tried to swipe, but now the essence was curling away from the surface of his limbs and being drawn into the rift; his muscular tone was visibly changing, growing thinner by the instant. As his strength ebbed, the pull of the rift became stronger and he began to move backward, slowly first, then faster.

If Jabor had had half a brain he might have changed into a gnat or something: perhaps with less bulk he might have fought free from the rift's gravitational pull. A word of friendly advice could have saved him, but dear me, I was too busy watching him unravel to think of it until it was far too late. Now his rear limbs and wings were sloughing off into liquid streams of greasy gray—black stuff that spiraled through the rift and away from Earth. It can't have been pleasant for him, especially with Lovelace's charge still binding him here, but his face showed no pain, only hatred. So it was, right to the end. Even as the back of his head lost its form, his blazing red eyes were still locked on mine. Then they were gone, away into the rift, and I was alone, waving him a fond adieu.

I didn't waste too much time on my good—byes. I had other matters to attend to.

"An amazing thing, the Amulet of Samarkand." Whether from fear, or from a cruel delight in reasserting his control, Lovelace persisted in keeping up a one—sided conversation with Nathaniel even as Ramuthra stalked remorselessly toward them. It seemed he could not bring himself to shut up. Nathaniel was retreating slowly, hopelessly, knowing there was nothing he could do.

"Ramuthra disrupts the elements, you see." Lovelace continued. "Wherever it treads, the elements rebel. And that ruins the careful order on which all magic depends. Nothing any of you might try can stop it: every magical effort will misfire—you cannot hurt me, you cannot escape. Ramuthra will have you all. But the Amulet contains an equal and opposite force to Ramuthra's; thus I am secure. It might even lift me to its mouth, so that chaos raged upon me, and I would feel nothing."

The demon had halved the distance to Nathaniel and was picking up pace. One of its great transparent arms was outstretched. Perhaps it was eager to taste him.

"My dear master suggested this plan," Lovelace said, "and, as always, he was inspired. He will be watching us at this moment."

"You mean Schyler?" Even on the threshold of death, Nathaniel couldn't restrain a savage satisfaction. "I doubt it. He's lying dead upstairs."

Lovelace's self—possession faltered for the first time. His smile flickered.

"That's right," Nathaniel said. "I didn't just escape. I killed him."

The magician laughed. "Don't lie to me, child—"

A voice behind Lovelace: a woman's, soft and plaintive. "Simon!"

The magician looked back; Amanda Cathcart stood there, close at hand, her gown torn and muddied, her hair disheveled and now slightly maroon. She limped as she approached him, her arms out, bafflement and terror etched upon her face. "Oh, Simon" she said. "What have you done?"

Lovelace blanched; he turned to face the woman. "Stay back!" he cried. There was a note of panic in his voice. "Get away!"

Tears welled in Amanda Cathcart's eyes. "How could you do this, Simon? Am I to die too?"

She lurched forward. Discomforted, the magician raised his hands to ward her off. "Amanda—I—I'm sorry. It… it had to be."

"No, Simon—you promised me so much."

Sideways on, Nathaniel stole closer.

Lovelace's confusion turned to anger. "Get away from me, woman, or I will call on the demon to tear you to shreds! Look—it is almost upon you!" Amanda Cathcart made no move. She seemed past caring.

"How could you use me in this way, Simon? After everything you said. You have no honor."

Nathaniel took another shuffling step. Ramuthra's outline towered above him now.

"Amanda, I'm warning you—"

Nathaniel leaped forward and snatched. His fingers rasped against the skin on Lovelace's neck, then closed about something cold, hard, and flexible. The Amulet's chain. He pulled at it with all his strength. For an instant the magician's head was jerked toward him, then a link somewhere along the chain snapped and it came away free in his hand.

Lovelace gave a great cry.

Nathaniel fell back from him and rolled onto the floor, the chain's links colliding against his face. He scrabbled at it with both hands, clasping the small, thin oval thing that hung from the middle of the broken chain. As he did so, he was conscious of a weight being removed from him, as if a remorseless gaze had suddenly shifted elsewhere.

Lovelace had reeled in the first shock of the assault, then made to pounce upon Nathaniel—but two slender arms pulled him back. "Wait, Simon—would you hurt a poor, sweet boy?"

"You're mad, Amanda! Get off me! The Amulet—I must—" For an instant he fought to extricate himself from the woman's desperate grip, and then the towering presence directly above him caught his horrified eye. His legs sagged. Ramuthra was very close to all three of them now: in the full power of its proximity, the fabric of their clothes flapped wildly, their hair blew about their faces. The air around them shivered, as if with electricity.

Lovelace squirmed backward. He nearly fell. "Ramuthra! I order you—take the boy! He has stolen the Amulet! He is not truly protected!" His voice carried no conviction. A great translucent hand reached out. Lovelace redoubled his entreaties. "Then forget the boy—take the woman! Take the woman first!"

For a moment, the hand paused. Lovelace made a great effort and ripped himself from the woman's grasp. "Yes! See? There she is! Take her first!"

From everywhere and nowhere, came a voice like a great crowd speaking in unison. "I see no woman. Only a grinning djinni."

Lovelace's face froze; he turned to Amanda Cathcart, who had been gazing at him with a look of agonized entreaty. As he watched, her features slowly altered. A smile of triumphant wickedness spread across her face from ear to ear. Then, in a flash, one of her arms snaked out, plucked the summoning horn from Lovelace's slackening grip and snatched it away. With a bound, Amanda Cathcart was gone, and a marmoset hung by its tail from a light fixture several meters away. It waved the horn merrily at the aghast magician.

"Don't mind if I have this?" it called. "You won't need it where you're going."

All energy seemed to depart from the magician; his skin hung loose and ashen on his bones. His shoulders slumped; he took a pace toward Nathaniel, as if halfheartedly trying to reclaim the Amulet. Then a great hand reached down and engulfed him, and Lovelace was plucked into the air. High, high, higher he went, his body shifting and altering as it did so. Ramuthra's head bent to meet him. Something that might have been a mouth was seen to open.

An instant later, Simon Lovelace was gone.

The demon paused to look for the cackling marmoset, but for the moment it had vanished. Ignoring Nathaniel, who was still sprawled on the floor, it turned back heavily toward the magicians at the other end of the hall.

A familiar voice spoke at Nathaniel's side.

"Two down, one to go," it said.

I was so elated at the success of my fine trick that I risked changing into Ptolemy's form the moment Ramuthra's attention was elsewhere. Jabor and Love—lace were gone, and now only the great entity remained to be dealt with. I nudged my master with a boot. He was lying on his back, cradling the Amulet of Samarkand in his grubby mitts as a mother would her baby. I set the summoning horn down by his side.