That insistent, quavering note in Nathaniel's voice might be the sort of thing to garner a little sympathy from most people. But not from a spirit. He's heard it all before of course. 'But Bartimaeus, we've always worked so well together!' 'You can't do this. I've been much kinder than most masters would be, you know.' 'Please, not the claws--!' No, all that trembling rationalization does is solidify his resolve. Magicians have a way of being convinced of their superiority right up until they could no longer be certain of anything else; expecting anything different is setting yourself up for disappointment. So sure, maybe from the top of the stairs he hadn't been entirely certain what he planned to do. But now?

He has a pretty good idea.

The figure on the stairs is getting taller, drawn larger by immeasurable degrees as it advances down the staircase. With one long swinging stride, the growing boy steps over the Marquis and--

Is distracted long enough by the sudden realization of a shape at the bottom of the staircase that he tramples on Nathaniel's foot instead of stepping smoothly down onto the step beside him.

"Took you long enough to notice," says one of the three dwarves loitering there. They all look like uniformly easy going, personable chaps up until the part where they're all decked in a variety of knives. One of them has a loaded crossbow pointed up the stairs at them. She waves cheerily.

"What?" says Bartimaeus. Then: "Oh, come on! We're a little busy here!"