Ptolemy's Gate

  He saw the danger, switched off the engine, fumbled with the door. As one, they left the cars and ran for shelter; seconds later the crowd engulfed the limousines, eyes wild, faces set in expressions of terror and despair. Many ran straight past; others, seeing in the sleek black vehicles stark symbols of the magicians’ rule, lashed out at them, kicking, screaming. A brick appeared from nowhere: a windscreen smashed; the crowd’s voice roared.

  Ms. Piper supported Kitty, who was shaking with the effort of their escape. “The commoners …” she whispered. “They’ve gone insane….”

  “They’re scared, they’re angry.” Kitty struggled to gather her strength. “Look at their injuries.They’ve escaped from the park. Now, are we all present?” As she looked down the straggling line of magicians, a thought struck her. “Those of you with imps, get them under your jackets!” she hissed. “If anyone with resilience spots them, you’ll be torn apart! Ready? Right—come on, we’ve no time to waste.”

  Without delay they continued up the street on foot, keeping to the margins as the flow of human traffic swept by. The first few side roads were choked with rushing bodies and proved impassable. Little by little they drew near to the sounds of fighting.

  A flash of light in the darkness. Silhouetted on a building, the outline of a man. Green fires billowed all about him. The light went out. In the street below, a small number of wolves were massing; they heard a high voice shouting orders, glimpsed a dark-haired form—

  “That’s Farrar,” one of the magicians said. “She’s got some wolves together. But what … what was that shape?”

  “One of the demons …” Kitty was leaning wearily against a wall and looking down a narrow alley. “This way’s clear. It’ll get us to the park.”

  “But shouldn’t we—?”

  “No. That’s just a sideshow. Besides, I don’t think dear Ms. Farrar would really want our help, do you?”

  The alley led, by circuitous twists and turns, to a quiet road running along the edge of the park. This they crossed, and from a small eminence, looked down upon the black expanse. A few fires burned here and there—in trees, in pavilions, in the pagoda down by the lake—but little movement could be seen. At Kitty’s suggestion, a number of imps were sent ahead to spy out the land. They returned in moments.

  “Terrible battle has been waged here,” said the first, wringing its webbed hands. “At intervals the ground is crisp and charred. Magical effusions hang over the ground like fog. But the battle has ceased everywhere, save in one place.”

  “Many humans have perished,” said the second, goggle-eyes blinking on their stalks. “Their bodies lie like fallen leaves. Some lie wounded; they cry for help. A few others wander without purpose. But most have fled. The park is empty of crowds, save in one place.”

  “The great spirits are likewise gone,” said the third, flapping its gauzy wings. “Their spilled essence hangs amid the echoes of their screams. A few survivors have fled across the city. But none remain in the park, save in one place.”

  “And what,” Kitty asked, tapping her foot gently, “is that place?”

  Wordlessly the three imps turned and pointed up at the lights of the great Glass Palace.

  Kitty nodded. “Why didn’t you say so? All right, let’s go.”

  * * *

  For ten hard and silent minutes they walked across the blackened ground. Kitty went slowly, forcibly completing each step against the shrill protests of her body. In the hours since her return, her strength had dripped back steadily. Even so, she longed to rest. She knew she was reaching the end of her endurance.

  The imps’ reports had been pithy, but the implication of them was clear, and fitted in with the glimpse in the crystal. Nathaniel and Bartimaeus had been here: it was they who had cleared the park and enabled many of the people to escape. Perhaps—the hope swelled inside her with each step—perhaps they would soon complete the process: perhaps she would see them coming toward her in triumph, with a group of grateful commoners in their train. Surely, with the Staff, it was only a matter of time….

  But while there was any doubt, she could not hold back. She could not leave them. At her neck the Amulet of Samarkand bounced gently with each faltering step.

  Five minutes passed. Kitty’s eyes grew heavy. Suddenly they blinked alert.

  “What was that?”

  “Magical blast,” Ms. Piper whispered. “By the eastern entrance.”

  They kept walking.

  Four minutes later, with the palace looming over them, they entered the ornamental gardens. As they did so, the ground shook; a piercing white light flashed upon the path before the building. The company stopped dead, waited. The light was not repeated. Nervousness crackled between them like an electric charge.

  Kitty’s eyes strained in the dark. The glow from the palace cast the night into even greater shadow. It was hard to be sure…. But—yes—there upon the path, a figure standing. As she watched, it moved and was silhouetted against the glass.

  Kitty hesitated just a moment. Then she stumbled forward, calling.

  At the sound of the voice Nathaniel stopped dead. It barely even carried to his brain, what with his ears buzzing from a hundred Detonations and with the vibrations of the thirsty Staff humming near at hand, but the little call did what all the demons across the park had failed to do: it set his heart racing.

  Throughout the battle he had moved with demonic speed and efficiency, avoiding death without much effort and exerting, through the Staff, destructive energies greater than many djinn possessed. It was an experience that had been desired by most magicians through the centuries, and certainly by Nathaniel himself in idle daydreams. It was the feeling of consummate superiority, the delight of power wielded without peril. He danced beneath the dark night sky, smiting down his enemies. And yet, with all his nimbleness and guile, with all the adrenaline pumping through him, deep inside he was curiously inert. He felt aloof, disconnected, and alone. If his hatred for the demons that he had killed was dull and almost matter-of-fact, so was his sympathy for the people whose lives he saved. The woman in Trafalgar Square had shown what he could expect from them. They would regard him with fear and distaste, and rightly so. He was a magician. It was thanks to him and his kind that London was in flames.

  Pride spurred him on—that, and the djinni talking inside his head. Yes, he would seek to end the destruction. But after that … Actions were one thing, expectations another. He had no idea what he would do.

  And then, on the path outside the great Glass Palace—

  The djinni’s thought drifted through his mind. That’s Kitty’s voice, that is.

  I know. You think I don’t know?

  It’s just, you’ve gone all limp and heavy. Like wet cardboard. Thought you’d had a seizure out of fear.

  It’s not fear.

  So you say. Your heart’s going like the clappers. Eeuch, and you’ve gone a bit sweaty. Sure it isn’t a fever?

  Quite sure. Now will you shut up?

  Nathaniel watched her coming slowly through the garden. Across the seven planes her aura lit the ground like day. A group of people straggled close behind.

  “Kitty.”

  “Nathaniel.”

  They looked at each other. Then his mouth opened with a wrenching noise something like a belch. “And me! Don’t forget me!” Nathaniel swore and clamped his mouth tight shut.

  Kitty grinned. “Hello, Bartimaeus.”

  An entirely unconnected anger suddenly rose within Nathaniel. He frowned at her. “I thought I told you not to come with us. You’re too weak. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Since when have I ever listened to you? What’s the situation?”

  Nathaniel’s mouth opened of its own accord; Bartimaeus spoke. “We’ve destroyed most of Nouda’s army, but he himself is still at large. In there”—Nathaniel’s thumb jerked back over his shoulder—“with seven other spirits and maybe a hundred commoners. And we’re—”

  “About to deal with him,”
Nathaniel finished.

  “—in serious trouble,” the djinni said.

  Kitty blinked. “Sorry, which … ?”

  Nathaniel shifted the Staff; thin bands of energy pulsed and crackled around his hand. He felt a surge of joyful impatience—he would destroy Nouda, rescue the commoners, and return to Kitty. Beyond that, everything could wait.

  But the djinni was cutting across his thoughts, speaking urgently to Kitty. “Nouda is growing in strength all the time. He’s not reacting like the others. He may not be as susceptible to the Staff as we thought.”

  Nathaniel interrupted angrily. “What do you mean? It’ll be fine.”

  “That’s not what Faquarl said.”

  “Oh, and you believed him.”

  “Faquarl didn’t tend to lie. That wasn’t his style.”

  “No, his style was trying to kill us dead—” Nathaniel broke off. He had caught sight of a ring of silent listeners, watching him seemingly argue with himself. Among several magicians that he recognized was his personal assistant.

  He cleared his throat. “Hello, Piper.”

  “Hello, sir.”

  Kitty held up a hand. “Bartimaeus—there are many prisoners in there and we have little time. Do we have any alternative to the Staff?”

  “No. Unless this crowd is all magicians of the thirteenth level.”

  “Right. Then we’ve got to go for it, better or worse. Nathaniel,” Kitty said, “you’ll have to do what you can. If you deal with the demons, we’ll evacuate the commoners. Where are they?”

  “Close by. In the center of the palace.” In the past her presence disconcerted him; now it filled him with renewed purpose and self-belief. He spoke swiftly, with his old authority. “Piper, when you get inside, you’ll see a path running to the right between the palms. It leads behind the carousel to an open area. That’s where the demons and the captives are. If you wait down that path, in cover, I’ll attack from the opposite side. When the demons follow me, try to lead the prisoners out and as far away as possible. Anyone with imps, use them to help you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Kitty—you should wait outside.”

  “I should, but I won’t. I’ve got the Amulet, remember?”

  Nathaniel knew better than to argue. He turned toward the entrance to the palace. “Absolute silence when we’re in. I’ll give you a minute to get into positions.”

  He held open the door. One by one, with wide eyes and pale, strained faces, the company of magicians trooped past and disappeared up the path. Several were accompanied by their imps, who wore identical expressions of unease. Last to go through was Kitty. She paused for a moment on the step.

  “Well done,” she whispered, gesturing back toward the empty park. “You and Bartimaeus. I should have said.”

  Nathaniel grinned at her. Impatience tugged within him. The Staff sang. “It’s almost over,” he said softly. “Go on. After you.”

  The door shut quietly behind them.

  There are times when even a near omnipotent djinni knows to keep his mouth shut, and this was one of them. I wouldn’t have got anywhere.

  Trouble was, neither of them was in a mood to listen to my doubts. For one thing they smelled success too strongly: him with the Staff held casually in his hand; her with the Amulet warm against her breast. Such trinkets breed confidence. And besides, they’d done too much already to imagine any stumbles now.

  But the main problem was the way they played off each other. Simply put, their mutual presence spurred each other on. Trapped as I was inside Nathaniel, I could certainly see how the girl inspired him.1 Perhaps I can’t vouch for Kitty so much, but in my vast experience, strong characters of their sort tend to gravitate together. Pride has a part to play in it, and other emotions too. Neither wishes to fail; each redoubles their efforts to impress. Things get done—but not always the right things, or not always the things expected.2 And there’s not much you can do to stop it.

  It has to be said, however, that in the present instance there really wasn’t any viable alternative to Nathaniel’s plan. Nouda was far too powerful for the (rather lackluster) remnants of the government to destroy. So the Staff was the only option. But Faquarl’s phrase rang uneasily in my mind: He would welcome your attack and feed off it. And call me pessimistic, but that struck me as a mite ominous.3

  But it was too late to worry about that now. The Staff had flattened cities. With luck, it would stand us in good stead.

  Kitty and her ragtag company went one way through the palms; Nathaniel and I went the other. We ignored the stairs this time, kept to ground level. Away to our right we heard roars and screams. So that was all right: Nouda hadn’t gone anywhere.

  What’s the plan? My thought flitted through Nathaniel’s mind.

  We need to draw Nouda off, get him away from the commoners before we attack. How can we do that?

  I recommend goading. Goading usually works.

  I’ll leave that up to you.

  The other spirits need to be dealt with too, I thought. Before or after?

  Before. Or they’ll kill the commoners.

  You control the Staff. I’ll keep us moving. I warn you, we’re going to have to be pretty mobile for this.

  He made a dismissive gesture. I can cope with a few leaps and bounds.

  Ready, then?

  The others will be in position. Yes, let’s g—Oooooh—

  I hadn’t tried flying up to now, since it took a lot of energy, but this was the big one, this was where everything counted. And Faquarl had seemed to manage it well enough. So without further ado, I lifted us off the path, up beside the palms. For a nasty moment I thought the boy was going to drop the Staff. For an even nastier moment I thought he was going to be sick. But he held on to one and held in the other.

  What’s the matter with you?

  Never … never flown before.

  This is nothing. You should try looping the loop on a carpet. That would really make you green.4 Okay, enemy’s coming in sight. Staff at the ready …

  We soared up over the palm trees. Electric lights shone down upon us. All around stretched the great glass dome; beyond it was the greater dome of night. And there ahead—the open space, with huddled prisoners and spirit guards much as before. Perhaps there were slightly fewer prisoners this time; it was hard to tell. But surprisingly little had changed. The reason for this stood writhing on the roof of the carousel.

  Poor Nouda was having a terrible time with his host. Makepeace’s body just wasn’t up to scratch. From almost every surface, protuberances of one sort or another were zealously poking, carving the clothes to ribbons. There were horns, spines, wedges, flanges, wings, tentacles, and polyps of a dozen hues. Other bulges remained beneath the skin, deforming it into rippling crests and valleys, so that the human contours were almost entirely blurred. The old legs had been joined by three others, of varying stages of development. One arm seemed to have gained a second elbow joint—it swung to and fro in complex agitation. The face was contorted like a puffer fish’s. Small barbs extended from the cheeks.5 The eyes had disappeared in gouts of flame.

  The mouth, which now swept round from ear to ear, let out a piteous roaring. “The pain of it! All around me is the pinch of iron! Bring Faquarl here! Bring him here before me. His advice has been most—ah!—most unsatisfactory. I wish to reprimand him.”

  The spirit in the body of Rupert Devereaux spoke cringingly from below. “We do not know where Faquarl is, Lord Nouda. He appears to have departed.”

  “But I gave the strictest instructions—he is—ah!—to attend me while I feed! Oh—there is such an ache inside my belly—a void that must be quenched. Bolib, Gaspar—bring me another brace of humans, that I might distract myself.”

  It was at this moment that Nathaniel and I, flying down from on high, with the air buffeting against us and our coat billowing in our wake, shot three spirits with a triple blast. We did it so fast, so precisely, that the humans trembling nearby sca
rcely noticed they had gone.

  The other spirits looked up. The ceiling lights dazzled them: their retorts went wide, arcing out harmlessly beneath the glass. We swooped low. The Staff flared, once, twice—another two hybrids vanished. A turn—so sharp that Nathaniel was, for an instant, horizontal in the air; a sudden gut-churning drop as a Disembowelment flittered overhead. Another shot—this one missed the target. Gaspar, the spirit with the unenviable fate of occupying Rufus Lime, had himself taken to the air. He climbed toward us, firing Detonations. We banked, flew behind a knot of trees; as we emerged above them, their canopy burst into livid flames. Below us, the humans were suddenly possessed by panic; they split in myriad directions. Out of the corner of our eye we saw Kitty and the magicians breaking from the trees.

  Up on the roof of the carousel Nouda was swaying from side to side in some annoyance. “What is this intrusion? Who besets us?”

  We flew past at a cheeky distance. “Bartimaeus here!” I called. “Remember me?”

  A sudden twist high toward the dome; Rupert Devereaux’s body had risen to meet us—blue fire gusted from his hands. Nathaniel’s thought protruded. THAT was your goading? “Remember me?” I could do better than that.

  I can’t goad properly when I’m … concentrating on something else. We had risen almost to the ceiling glass; we saw stars glinting peacefully, far away. Then I dropped us vertically, like a stone. Devereaux’s Spasm shattered the pane above; it arced out into the night. Nathaniel fired the Staff: it caught Devereaux a glancing blow upon the legs, setting them aflame.Tumbling and flailing, he spiraled down in a trail of smoke, plunged into the Mystic Tent of Prophecy and exploded in a burst of iridescent light.

  Where’s Lime? Nathaniel thought. Can’t see him.

  Don’t know. Look at Nouda. He’s our problem now.

  Whether or not spurred to action by my coruscating wit, or simply through displeasure at seeing the remnants of his army slain, Nouda had suddenly exerted himself. Great green wings erupted from his back. Slowly at first, laboring under the disadvantages of his grotesque asymmetry, he stumbled to the lip of the carousel roof, hesitated like a fledgling on its maiden flight, then stepped off. The mighty wings beat once—too late. He’d already landed spread-eagled on the ground.