As I went along I regularly wrote passages – occasionally as long as whole chapters – that I later realised didn't work. Sometimes this was because the plot had changed, sometimes because I altered the structure of the narrative; sometimes they were just too long or a bit slack.

The following is a bit of a weird fragment – written very early on. It comes from Amulet chapter 14, when Bart and Nat have one of their confrontations. In later versions of this scrap, Nat hits Bart with the Systematic Vice and Stimulating Compass, but here he goes for the big one: the Shrivelling Fire. But there are some odd details here: Simon Lovelace goes by the (rather less glamorous) name of Simon Palmer; and the plot is different – Palmer/Lovelace has already come to visit Underwood to reclaim his Amulet, and when Underwood's cabinet is opened, the Amulet is gone. Nat thinks Bart has hidden the treasure elsewhere, which is why he's using the Shrivelling Fire. But Bart is innocent, and the Fire fails to work. Neither Nat or Bart know who's taken the Amulet. (The answer was going to be Kitty and the Resistance!)

This plot was getting far too complex, so I eventually changed it to the existing version: Lovelace visits much later, finds the Amulet himself and destroys Underwood's house.

Cut sequence 1: The Shrivelling Fire

Suddenly his face lit up.

"The Shrivelling Fire," he said. "That'll finish you. You can't counter that. Then I'll be rid of you for good, Bartimaeus."

"Ooh, I'm really scared," I said. "Watch me shiver."

With a great effort and in a stentorian* voice, he began the fifty-six line chant that creates the terrible Shrivelling Fire. It's a tricky one this, for magicians, since it utilises five languages, three of them in very obscure dialects that have to be pronounced just right. It takes all of ten minutes to complete, so I sat myself comfortably while I was waiting. It was quite a performance. On and on the boy went, his eyes lifted heroically to the sky, emphasising each line with a dramatic gesture like some old luvvie on the stage. The room grew dark and hot as the nineteen curses that make up the Fire were slowly completed, one by one. Sweat poured off the boy's face. My fingers tapped a silent tune out on my knees.

With a triumphant flourish the boy completed the final line. He closed his eyes tightly to shield them from the apocalyptic burst of flame he knew would come…

Nothing happened.

It was kind of embarrassing. I broke the silence with a loud belch.

The kid opened one eye, then the other. He saw me sitting cross-legged on the floor, grinning at him. He gave a gasp, swayed, then collapsed on his backside and sat there staring at me in disbelief, sweat still trickling down his forehead. He looked exhausted.

"So," I said, after a delicate pause. "Here we are."

"I don't understand," the boy said.

"Well, it didn't work, did it?"

"But it should have. I did everything right."

"All but the most important bit."

"Which is what?"

"Getting your facts straight first."

The boy looked at me in an uncomprehending sort of way. I took pity on him.

"You said it very well. Congratulations, you'll get a star. But you didn't take into account the fact that the Shrivelling Fire can only be applied to me if I've deliberately disobeyed my charge. And I haven't. I got your amulet for you. I put it where you said. I came to find you as you asked. It isn't my fault I happened to overhear your secret, was it? So – no Fire for me."

This fine explanation didn't seem to cheer the kid. He shook his head.

"You've tricked me somehow."

"I wish I had, but no. I did what you forced me to do, no more, no less. Call me traditional, but that's generally how it has to be."

He frowned. "So who took the amulet?"

"Don't know, don't care. I'm surprised you weren't watching me do my job through that glass of yours."

He shrugged wearily. "I would have done, but that wretched imp inside claimed it was too tired. Then it said it was going on strike. Then it persisted in showing me next door's toilet, claiming my master had redecorated his study. By the time I persuaded it to change its mind I was being called downstairs."

I shrugged too, in imitation. "Well, I say you're lucky. You've come out of it alive, haven't you? No one's rumbled you."

He grimaced. "It could hardly have worked out worse. Both Underwood and Palmer are still alive. Neither of them's killed the other. The only good thing is that Palmer's lost the amulet. That must have weakened him."

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