AN/ This takes place at the end of the Amulet of Samarkand. This is kinda just Bartimaeus's thoughts but I made it into a poem. Just a quick little piece that sucessfully helps me procrasinate my frigging hard math problem which I absolutly cannot get! (Sorry.) And I know this fic is kinda repetitive, but oh well. I didn't make this to be perfect, just to temporarily avoid one math problem.

In London, England, the great Empire of the world;

The place where all the magicians have all the money and pearls;

The place where the elite is surrounded by luxury and power;

And if you object to it you get carted off to the infamous tower;

In the government, everyone is inviting and smiling;

But the real atmosphere has such a coldness to it that's really piling;

People can only feel three kinds of emotion for you;

It's either fear or scorn, but they can be nice if they are using you;

Everyone squabbles to be in their superior's favor;

And they rely on our work because they don't want to be any braver;

Nothing makes them happy, and they only want acclaim and wealth;

Unless they're weak, then they are just paranoid, and only seek their personal health;

Us spirits are always treated with derision, loathing, and something to be hated;

But it's our power with what you use for your silly squabbling, it gets us frustrated;

Nathaniel, what are you to become;

These people you have an idiolatry for are scum;

You're an ambiguous fellow, with your raw magician ambition versus your conscience;

I just wonder what path you'll take, but I hope you'll take your own, I'll tell you with persistence;

But that's if you summon me again, which I hope you don't;

I told you your birth name is safe with me, if you won't.

Think of that as a compliment, I usually don't make deals with your kind;

But out of all the magicians, even if you're no Ptolemy, you're a rare find;

Keep your promise and I'll do it too;

Or else I'll make sure you get chopped up and boiled in stew;

I hope you one day realize just how horrible most magicians are;

Simon Lovelace was not the worst by far;

I just hope it won't be too late, and your morality would have already died;

These creatures can crush all goodness from you, I have not lied;

See Nathaniel, you are pure, innocent, and sort of noble for now;

But by the way you're living, it might only last as long as a rabid cow;

So you better let your ambitions pass;

Or else I come over and kick your sorry ass;

See, Nathaniel, I don't know weather to like or hate you;

I'll just have to wait and see what happens to your virtue;

Alas, fare well, goodbye, I'm gone;

To go back to the Other Place, if I'm not wrong.