There might be spirits out there too high and mighty to know when someone's serving what they're dishing up right back at them, but let it be known that Bartimaeus of Uruk, Sakhr al-Jinni of Al-Arish, Wakonda of the Algonquin, the spirit who placed the very cornerstones of Solomon's grand temple and defeated no less than three consecutive masters with use of the Hermetic Quibble isn't one of them. Look kid, he knows a thing or two about playing dumb just long enough to slither out through the nearest side exist. He also knows exactly how much trouble it can be when someone takes you at your word.

"Why then, consider me overjoyed to give you an opportunity to rehone your skill!" With what is a pretty deft move if he says so himself, Bartimaeus spins the lad around by the shoulders so he can steer him bodily closer toward the splatter of viscera and shattered wood stinking up the courtyard. He thrusts the broom into his helpless hands and--

Wait, no he doesn't. The brooms are both right where he left them a few paces away. He'd meant to unthinkingly make himself an extra limb to fetch one of them up with on the way, but these things take concentration and effort now so instead he finds himself empty handed. Literally. There's an embarrassingly half-shriveled third arm hanging bonelessly from under the dark skinned boy's left armpit.