Ptolemy's Gate (40 page)

Good news, unquestionably. Trouble was, I was no longer alone.

My master—yes, that was predictable, I could just about cope with him. But then, when I rotated gloopily to check out the scene, who did I see next? Let's just say that when your archenemy's trapped you in a place of certain death, and you've survived heroically against all the odds, the last thing you want to see, when you escape at last, is that same archenemy glaring down at you with an expression of annoyed distaste.
¹
Not only that—you're weak, look like a jellyfish, and smell of clam chowder. In such circumstances the wind kind of goes out of your sense of triumph.

But that wasn't the half of it. As well as Mandrake and Faquarl, there were others in that room, and I arrived just in time to see exactly what they were.

Five gates to the Other Place were open and my essence trembled with the onrush of activity. Humans stood in five pentacles. On the first plane they seemed to stand alone. On the second and third, they were accompanied by billowing shadows of uncertain proportions; on the higher planes these shadows resolved themselves into hideous writhing masses, in which numerous tentacles, limbs, eyes, spines, and prongs kept uncomfortable proximity. As I watched, each mass compressed itself down and merged inside the waiting human. Soon even the most awkward leg or feeler was withdrawn from sight.

For the first few seconds the humans seemed to be in charge. They blinked, stirred, scratched their heads and, in the case of my old chum Jenkins, placed his glasses carefully on his nose. Only the fact that their auras now glowed with extraordinary strength indicated that anything odd had happened. I wasn't fooled, of course. From what I'd seen of Faquarl and his treatment of Mr. Hopkins, I didn't think the humans would be on top for long.

And sure enough, they weren't.

A vibration in the planes behind me: I swiveled like an amoeba on a turntable and saw another human, a short, round man wearing an excessively frilly shirt. And this is when I got
really
worried: his aura was
huge
—it radiated out like a sunburst, vibrating with otherworldly colors and a malevolent vitality. I didn't need to be told that
something
had already taken residence in him.

He spoke; I wasn't listening. All of a sudden, his aura pulsed, just once, as if a door to a furnace deep inside him had been opened wide. And the short, round man lost his mind.

For all Faquarl's protestations to the contrary, the notion of bonding with a human is a pretty obnoxious one. For one thing you don't know where it's been. For another, mixing your essence with horrid heavy earthy flesh is an aesthetic no-no; it makes you queasy just thinking about it. And then there's the small matter of control, of learning how to operate the human body. Faquarl had had some practice at this with Hopkins. But the newcomers had not.

As one, the six magicians—the short, round man and the others in the circles—laughed, twitched, shook, stumbled, jerked their arms every which way, and fell over.

I looked up at Faquarl. “Oooh, scary. The revenge of the djinn begins.”

He scowled, bent to assist his leader and was distracted by a movement near the door. It was another old friend—the mercenary. His face, which normally showed all the weakness and soft emotion of a granite slab, was wide-eyed with shock. Perhaps it was the sight of the magicians lying on their backs like upturned wood lice, arms and legs wriggling helplessly. Perhaps it was the realization that he was unlikely to get a fee. Whichever it was, he decided to depart. He moved to the door—

Faquarl sprang through the air; he landed by the mercenary A single shrug of the spindly arms—the mercenary was flung across the room to land heavily against a statue. He struggled to his feet and drew a knife; Faquarl was on him in a flash. There was a blur of movement, the sound of multiple blows being struck; it sounded like a brawl in a saucepan factory. The scimitar spun across the floor. The mercenary slumped against the flagstones, gasping for breath. Faquarl straightened, adjusting Mr. Hopkins's tie, and strode back to the center of the room.

I'd watched with grudging approval. “Nice one. I've been trying to do that for years.”

Faquarl shrugged. “The secret is to avoid magic, Bartimaeus. The fellow's resilience is excessive; it almost seems to feed off our energies. It helps to be encased in a mortal body. And don't think
you're
going anywhere either. I'll tend to you shortly.” He trotted after the body of the short, round man, which was now rolling across the floor, uttering odd barks and cries.

Maybe it was a vanity thing, but I was a bit tired of remaining as a pool of glop. With a tremendous effort, I drew myself up into a pyramid of slime. Was that any better? No. But I was too far gone to try anything sophisticated. The slime looked about for Mandrake. If things were bad for me, they weren't too sunny for him either.

To my astonishment I saw him standing at a table with Kitty Jones.
²

Now
that
took me by surprise. I couldn't fit her into the equation at all. What was more, Mandrake was busily trying to untie some cords binding her hands. Weird! If anything, this was odder than the Faquarl/Hopkins combo thing. Neither looked in very good nick, but they were talking avidly, peering toward the door. The mercenary's misadventure had not been lost upon them—they made no hasty move.

Slowly, as slime will, I set off across the floor toward them. But I hadn't gone far when the whole floor shook, flagstones cracked, and statues toppled against the wall. It was as if an earthquake had struck, or a mother roc had landed overhead. In fact, the culprit was the short, round man, who still lay upon the ground. He had managed to roll onto his side, but was now attempting to rise using his legs alone—an effort that made him rotate slowly in a clockwise direction. Whatever was inside him was growing frustrated; a hand slapped petulantly against the stones—with every slap, it shook the room.

Faquarl had hastened over and was seeking to haul him upright. “Press the feet flat against the ground, Lord Nouda. There! Let me take your weight.That's it. Steady yourself. Now you can rise. Success! We are vertical!”

Nouda
…The pyramid of slime tilted its apex. Had it heard correctly? Surely not. Surely not even the stupidest magician would have been so vain, so foolhardy, so plain
ignorant
as to invite a being like Nouda within them. Surely
everyone
knew his track record.
³

It seemed not. Faquarl was ushering the twitching body forward like an invalid, encouraging it with soothing words. “Just a little farther, Lord Nouda. A chair awaits. Try moving the feet instead of the hands. That's it—you are doing splendidly.”

From the man's sagging mouth came a great voice. “Who speaks?”

“It is I, Faquarl.”

“Ah, Faquarl!” the great voice cried. “You did not lie. It is exactly as you said! What joy I feel! No pain! No compulsion! I smell the human world and all the juicy bodies waiting. Oh, but my coordination vexes me.
This
you did not prepare me for.”

“It takes a little time, a little time,” Faquarl crooned. “You will soon acclimatize.”

“So many peculiar muscles—I cannot make out their use! Joints that swivel so far and no more, tendons running every which way! The dull sloshing of the blood—how strange for it to be my own! I wish to tear the flesh apart and drink it down.”

“I would curb that impulse, sir,” Faquarl said crisply. “You might find it inexpedient. There will be plenty of other flesh to enjoy, fear not. Now, here: sit on this throne. Rest awhile.” He stood back; the short, round body of Makepeace sank upon the golden chair. Its head lolled sideways, its limbs twitched. On the other side of the table Kitty and Mandrake shrank away.

“Where are my troops, dear Faquarl?” the great voice said. “Where is my army that you promised?”

Faquarl cleared his throat. “Right in this room, sir. They, like you, are just … coming to terms with their new status.” He looked over his shoulder. Of the five magicians, three were still lying on the floor, one was sitting up and grinning inanely, while the fifth had actually risen and was stumbling randomly about the hall, with arms rotating like a windmill and feet tripping on the rugs.

“Looking good,” I said. “One day they may even manage to conquer this room.”

Faquarl turned purposefully. “Ah, yes. I'd
forgotten
about you.”

Eyes rotated blindly in the limp round head. “To whom do you speak, Faquarl?”

“A djinni. Pay no attention. He will not be with us long.”

“What djinni is this? Is he a supporter of our plan?”

“It is Bartimaeus, a skeptic.”

One arm rose, made a spasmodic movement that was probably meant to beckon. The great voice boomed. “Come here, djinni.”

The pyramid of slime hesitated, but there was no help for it. I did not have the power to resist or flee. With all the verve of a wounded slug I squelched my way toward the golden chair, leaving an unpleasant trail behind. I bowed as best I could.

“It is an honor to meet a spirit of such strength and renown,” I said. “I am but a wisp upon the wind; nevertheless, my power is yours.”
⁴

The limp head gave a jerk; with a wild swivel, the eyes discerned me. “Greater or less, we are all children of the Other Place. May your essence prosper.”

Faquarl stepped forward. “Well, I wouldn't go too far,” he said. “Bartimaeus is as fickle as a moonbeam and as flighty as a colt. And sarky with it. I was about to—”

The great spirit waved a plump little hand in what was probably intended to be a mild gesture; it swung out wildly and cracked the tabletop in two. “Be gentle, Faquarl. After centuries of slavery
all
our personalities distort a little.”

“I don't know,” Faquarl said doubtfully. “He's pretty distorted.”

“Even so. We do not fight among ourselves.”

The pyramid of slime nodded eagerly. “That's right. Hear that, Faquarl? Listen and learn.”

“Especially,” the great voice continued, “when the djinni is as pitiable as this. Look at him! A baby's burp could disperse his essence.You have been poorly treated, Bartimaeus. Together we shall locate your oppressor and devour his flesh.”

I glanced surreptitiously at my master, who was steadily backing away toward the door, shepherding Kitty with him.
⁵
“That's a generous offer, Lord Nouda.”

Faquarl looked a little peeved. “The problem,” he said, “is that Bartimaeus does not approve of our scheme. He has already referred to my occupation of this vessel”—he pointed to Hopkins's chest and paused dramatically—“as ‘icky.'”

“Well,
look
at you,” I snapped. “Trapped inside a horrid—” I controlled myself, conscious again of Nouda's fearsome aura. “To be honest, Lord Nouda, I am not sure exactly what your scheme
is.
Faquarl has not explained fully.”

“That is easily remedied, little djinni.” Nouda seemed aware that his jaw muscles were somehow associated with speaking. As he spoke, the mouth opened and closed at random, sometimes wide, sometimes not; in any event, it was entirely out of sync with his words. “For centuries we have suffered pain at human hands. Now it is our turn to impose that pain on them. Thanks to Faquarl, and to the foolish magician whose body I now wear, our chance has come. We have entered the world on our own terms—and it is for us to decide what to do with it.” His teeth clacked together twice in a hungry sort of way.
This
spasm looked quite intentional.

“But with all due respect,” I ventured, “there are only seven of you, and—”

“The hard part has already been
done
, Bartimaeus.” Faquarl smoothed down his coat. “By me. It has taken years to lure Makepeace to his doom. His ambition was always unwieldy, but it wasn't until the appearance of Honorius in Gladstone's bones that I saw how best to use it. Makepeace's weakness was his vainglorious desire for innovation, for the reckless creative act. After Honorius, he and Hopkins became interested in summoning a spirit into a living body. By subtle insinuations, I encouraged them. In due course Hopkins volunteered for the experiment, and I was the djinni summoned. After that, things were easy. I destroyed Hopkins's mind but concealed this from Makepeace. Now he has also sacrificed himself and several of his friends.”

“There are seven of us now,” Nonda said, “but we can soon get reinforcements. All we need are more human vessels.”

“And thanks to Makepeace we have plenty,” Faquarl added.

The great entity seemed surprised. “How so?”

“The entire government lies in a nearby chamber, gagged and bound and ready. You have devoured the magician's memory, Lord Nouda. You would not recall.”

Nouda gave a wild laugh that knocked over a nearby chair. “True—there is no point sharing these brains … So—all is well! Our essences are protected! We have no bonds! Soon we shall roam in hundreds about the world and feed, feed, feed upon its people!”

Well, I suppose I didn't think it was going to be simple tourism. I was watching Mandrake and Kitty; they were almost at the door. “One question,” I said. “When all the killing's done, how will you get back?”

“Back?” Nouda said.

Faquarl echoed him. “What do you mean,
back
?”

“Well …” The pyramid of slime attempted a shrug, with scant success. “Back to the Other Place. When you've had enough of it here.”

“That is not part of the plan, little djinni.” Nouda's head rotated toward me in a sudden rush. “The world is big. It is varied. It is ours now.”

“But—”

“Our hatred has grown so long, it cannot be healed even in the Other Place. Think of your own experiences. For you too it must be so.” A sudden outcry. Nouda jerked confusedly in his chair, splitting the back panel down its center. “What disturbance is this?”