Free Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 1 by The Amulet of Samarkand 2012 11 13 11 53 18 573 Page A

bristles and pale flesh. Nathaniel made a face. His master considered him.

    "What would you say this was, boy?" he asked.

    "A rat, sir."

    "What kind?"

    "A brown one. Rattus norvegicus, sir."

    "Good. Latin tag too, eh? Very good. Completely wrong, but good nevertheless. It
    isn't a rat at all. Put on your glasses and look again."

    Nathaniel did as he was told. The spectacles felt cold and heavy on his nose. He
    peered through the filmy pebble-glass, taking a moment or two to focus. When the bottle swam into view, he gasped.

    The rat was gone. In its place was a small black-and-red creature with a spongy
    face, beetle's wings, and a concertina-shaped underside. The creature's eyes were open and bore an aggrieved expression. Nathaniel took the spectacles off and looked again.
    The brown rat floated in the pickling fluid.

    "Gosh," he said.

    His master grunted. "A Scarlet Vexation, caught and bottled by the Medical
    Institute of Lincoln's Inn. A minor imp, but a notable spreader of pestilence. It can only create the illusion of the rat on the material plane. On the others, its true essence is revealed."

    "Is it dead, sir?" Nathaniel asked.

    "Hmm? Dead? I should think so. If not, it'll certainly be angry. It's been in that jar for at least fifty years—I inherited it from my old master."

    He returned the bottle to the shelf. "You see, boy," he went on, "even the least powerful demons are vicious, dangerous, and evasive. One cannot withdraw one's guard
    for a moment. Observe this."

    From behind a bunsen burner, he drew a rectangular glass box that seemed to
    have no lid. Six minute creatures buzzed within it, ceaselessly butting against the walls of their prison. From a distance they seemed like insects; as he drew closer, Nathaniel
    observed that they had rather too many legs for this to be so.

    "These mites," his master said, "are possibly the lowest form of demon. Scarcely any intelligence to speak of. You do not require your spectacles to see their true form. Yet even these are a menace unless properly controlled. Notice those orange stings beneath their tails? They create exquisitely painful swellings on the victim's body; far worse than bees or hornets. An admirable method of chastising someone, be it annoying rival... or disobedient pupil."

    Nathaniel watched the furious little mites butting their heads against the glass. He
    nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir."

    "Vicious little things." His master pushed the box away. "Yet all they need are the proper words of command and they will obey any instruction. They thus demonstrate, on
    the smallest scale, the principles of our craft. We have dangerous tools that we must
    control. We shall now begin learning how to protect ourselves."

    Nathaniel soon found that it would be a long time before he was allowed to wield
    the tools himself. He had lessons with his master in the workroom twice a week, and for months he did nothing except take notes. He was taught the principles of pentacles and the art of runes. He learned the appropriate rites of purification that magicians had to observe before summoning could take place. He was set to work with mortar and pestle
    to pound out mixtures of incense that would encourage demons or keep unwanted ones
    away. He cut candles into varying sizes and arranged them in a host of different patterns.
    And not once did his master summon anything.

    Impatient for progress, in his spare time Nathaniel devoured the books in the
    library case. He impressed Mr. Purcell with his omnivorous appetite for knowledge. He
    worked with great vigor in Ms. Lutyens's drawing lessons, applying his skill to the
    pentacles he now traced under the beady eye of his master. And all this time, the
    spectacles gathered dust on the workroom shelf.

    Ms. Lutyens was the only person to whom he confided his frustrations.

    "Patience," she told him. "Patience is the prime virtue. If you hurry, you will fail.
    And failure is painful. You must always relax and concentrate