Floorboards groaned and creaked with age as a solitary figure swept over them, striding purposefully down the dank and dark hallway were they were placed. Torches flared at odd, seemingly random intervals along the hall, their lights shining on the rough stone walls, but the glaring firelight seemed to shrink back from the figure, as if afraid of being swallowed by the darkness that shrouded and emanated from it.
A ways behind the figure scuttled a spider along the wall. Spiders were common and expected in such a place, but this spider in particular was different. It seemed to be following the figure in a secretive way, careful to stay just the right amount of distance away from it, as if it too did not wish to be swallowed by the darkness.
Bartimaeus had to admit, he'd had more difficult tasks when he was working under Nathaniel. But nonetheless, he had to do as he was bid. He just wished the girl who had summoned him (another stripling like Nathaniel had been that time with the Lovelace incident) was a bit more specific. "Go spy on someone wearing a black cloak" was hardly descriptive enough. Another bad thing was that Bartimaeus had no idea where he was, as far as country goes. That bugged him. He'd been around for over five thousand years, and yet he's never seen such a place before. And the girl's nationality was impossible for him to discern. He would assume British, but her accent was off.
'Does that girl realize how many people in this country-whatever it's called- wear black cloaks? Jeez.' Bartimaeus thought, annoyed. There was nothing he could do. When he'd prodded the girl for a better description, she couldn't come up with any. No scents, no telltale limps, nothing. So Bartimaeus did what he could and picked the most suspicious one he could find; the one he was tailing right now.
What really perplexed the djinni was the fact that there was literally nothing form the Other Place for security at all in this place. Not an imp in sight. And yet the place reeked with magic; all of which was irritatingly alien to him. Where the heck was he that he couldn't even pick out magicians? He figured there had to some. The magic he sensed had to come from somewhere. But while he was out on the streets of this strange place, all the people he saw gave off no telltale auras that they were of the magical influence.
Bartimaeus shook his spider-head. He'd worry about it later. The figure was getting ahead of him.
He scuttled along to make up the ground he had lost as he was caught up in his thoughts, and not a moment too soon. The hall had come to a T-intersection and he almost missed seeing his suspect disappearing down the right hand hall. Bartimaeus quickly shot out some web and swung around the corner, his momentum carrying him right along after his suspect. He picked up the pace as the figure pulled open a door and slipped inside, slow enough to allow Bartimaeus to slip in on the figure's heels.
Once inside Bartimaeus was overwhelmed by a particularly powerful surge of magical energy. Quickly, rather alarmed, he checked all the planes, fearing that something from the Other Place had shown up at last. He was wrong. All the planes remained clear. He had no time to ponder where the magic came from as the figure began to speak.
"You summoned me, Master?" The voice sounded feminine and reminded Bartimaeus of cold artic winds. The voice that answered, however, was worse:
"Yes. Come closer." The voice was frosty enough to send chills down a dead man's spine. The figure obeyed, stepping closer to the back of a high-backed chair where Bartimaeus assumed her master sat. The room was too dark for him to see much; he could barley make out the figure's form and that of the chair's. He figured what was within in the room was of no business to whoever served the woman's master, whose voice sounded male.
"What is it that you wish of me, Great ones?" Okay, so maybe there were two masters. Bartimaeus had this point proven almost immediately as another voice answered.
"We need you to look into the summoning of Blayce the Gallan. He might be a pathetic little creature, but he does have some cunning in that acne-prone head of his." The voice was a girl's, young and childish, as if its owner were no more than a little eight year old.
"So we will not be summoning Roger of Conte?" The figure inquired. A little girl's laugh echoed around the room.
"He will be summoned in due time. We need the Gallan first, so he can handle the necromancy jazz for us. We've already got Thom of Trebond in captivity, so we'll force him to work with Blayce." The man's voice explained.
"About Thom, Great ones… He grows more and more resisting every passing day. What will you have me do?" the figure asked. A moment of silence ensued, the two masters thinking.
"I think a good shock or two ought to weaken him up good and proper. He didn't react too well to them last time, so it's safe to say they'll work again." The little girl's voice answered at last.
"As you wish. I shall see to it now." The figure said, rising and bowing. As she left, Bartimaeus swept off after her. He had committed every word to memory. Didn't make any sense to him, but it should satisfy the girl.
