Ptolemy's Gate (48 page)

Kitty looked out at the flashes of light and the infinity of moving essence.

What do you actually do here?
she asked.

It's not about doing. It's about being. Don't expect to understand it: you're a human—you can only see surfaces, and then you want to impose yourself upon them. And Faquarl and Nouda and the rest have been twisted in your image. They define themselves now by their hatred—it's so strong, they actually want to be apart from this, providing they can take revenge. In a way it's a final capitulation to the values of your world. Hey—you're getting better at manipulating that thing….

Shielded from the full energies of the Other Place, Kitty was finding it easier to make her mannequin move about. It strutted to and fro about the little hall, swinging its arms and moving its balloon head jerkily from side to side as if acknowledging an audience. The boy nodded with approval.

You know; it's almost an improvement on your real self.

Kitty ignored this. The mannequin stopped at the boy's side.

I've done what Ptolemy did,
she thought.
I've proved myself to you. And you answered my call—you've acknowledged it. Now I need your help to stop what the de—what Faquarl and Nouda are doing.

The boy smiled.

Your sacrifice is indeed great, and in Ptolemy's memory I would be pleased to return the gesture. But there are two problems that prevent it. First you'd have to summon me back to Earth, and that may be beyond you now.

Why?
Kitty asked. The boy was looking at her with a gentle, almost kindly expression. It unnerved her.
Why?
she asked again.

The second problem,
the boy went on,
is my unfortunate weakness. I haven't been here long enough to rebuild my energies fully, and Faquarl—let alone Nouda—has more power in one of his big toes than I do right at this moment. I'm disinclined to enter into slavery that is guaranteed to be fatal. I'm sorry, but there it is.

It won't be slavery. I told you that before.
The mannequin stretched out an arm toward the boy in a hesitant gesture.

But it
would
be fatal.

Kitty's mannequin lowered its arm.
Okay. What if we had the Staff?

Gladstone's? How? Who'd use it? You couldn't.

Nathaniel's trying to get hold of it right now.

All very well, but could he use—Wait a minute!
The radiant features of the boy contorted, slipped out of true, as if the controlling intelligence had drawn back in shock; an instant later they were as perfect as before.
Let's get this straight. He told you his
name?

Yes. Now—

I like that … I
like
that! He's been giving me gyp for years, simply because I
could
have spilled the beans, and now he's telling any old broad he meets, free of charge! Who else knows? Faquarl? Nouda? Did he deck his name out in neon lights and parade it round the town? I ask you! And I never told anyone!

You let it slip last time I summoned you.

Well, apart from that.

But you could have told his enemies, couldn't you, Bartimaeus? You'd have found a way to harm him if you'd really wished it. And Nathaniel knows that too, I think. I had a talk with him.

The boy looked thoughtful.
Hmm. I know all about those talks of yours.

Anyway, he's gone for the Staff; I went to find you. Together—

The long and the short of it is that none of us are up to a fight. Not anymore. You won't be, for starters. As for Mandrake, last time he tried to use the Staff he knocked himself out. What makes you think he'll have the strength to do it now? He was exhausted last time I saw him…. Meanwhile, my essence is so shot I couldn't maintain a simple form on Earth, let alone be useful. I probably couldn't even withstand the pain of materializing in the first place. Faquarl's got one thing right. He doesn't have to worry about the pain. No, let's face facts, Kitty—A pause. What? What's the matter?

The mannequin had tilted its bulbous head and was regarding the boy with an air of quiet intentness. The boy became uneasy.

What? What are you—? Oh. No. Absolutely no way.

But, Bartimaeus, it would protect your essence. You wouldn't feel any pain.

Uh-uh. No.

And if you combined your power with his, maybe the Staff—

No.

What would
Ptolemy
have done?

The boy turned away. He crossed to the nearest pillar and sat down on the steps, looking out over the swirling void.

Ptolemy showed me the way it
might
have been, he remarked at last. He thought he would be the first of many—but in two thousand years you, Kitty, are the only one who's followed him. The only one. He and I conversed as equals for two years. I helped him out from time to time; in return he let me explore your world a little. I wandered as far as the Fezzan oasis and the pillared halls of Axum. I floated over the white crests of the Zagros Mountains and the dry stone gulches of the Hejaz deserts. I flew with the hawks and the cirrus clouds, high, high over earth and sea, and took with me memories of those places when I returned home.

As he spoke, little flickering images danced beyond the pillars of the hall. Kitty could not make them out, but she had little doubt they showed fragments of the wonders he had seen. She sent her mannequin to sit beside him on the step; their legs dangled out over nothingness.

The experience
, the boy continued,
was exhilarating. My freedom echoed that of my home, while my interest was roused by what I saw. The pain I felt was never too pressing, since I was able to return here when I wished. How I danced between the worlds! It was a great gift that Ptolemy gave me, and I have never forgotten it. I knew him for two years. And then he died.

How?
Kitty asked.
How did he die?

At first no answer came. Then:

Ptolemy had a cousin, the heir to the throne of Egypt. He feared my master's power. Several times he attempted to get rid of him, but we—the other djinn and I—stood in his way.
Out among the swirling matter Kitty glimpsed recurring images of more than usual clarity: figures crouching on a window ledge, holding long curved swords; demons flitting over nighttime roofs; soldiers at a door.
I would have taken him from Alexandria, particularly after his journey here had rendered him more vulnerable. But he was stubborn; he refused to go, even when Roman magicians arrived in the city and were housed by his cousin in the palace citadel.
Brief flashes in the void: sharp triangular sails, ships below a lighthouse tower; six pale men in coarse brown cloaks standing on a quay.

It pleased my master
, the boy went on,
to be carried about the city most mornings, to let the scents of the markets drift over him—the spices, flowers, resins, hides, and skins. All the world was present in Alexandria, and he knew it. Besides, the people loved him. My fellow djinn and I carried him in his palanquin.
Here Kitty caught the suggestion of a curtained chair, suspended on poles. Dark slaves supported it. Behind were stalls and people, bright things, blue sky.

The images winked out; the boy sat silent on the step.

One day,
he continued,
we took him to the spice market—his favorite place, where the scents were most intoxicating. We were foolish to do so; the streets were narrow, clogged with people. Progress was slow.
Kitty saw a long, low stall studded with racks of wooden boxes, each filled with colored spice. A barrel maker sat cross-legged before an open door, fixing struts into a metal ring. Other images came and went: houses, painted white; goats milling among crowds; children fixed midrun; the chair again, its curtains shut.

In the center of the market I spotted something moving on a roof up ahead. I gave my pole to Penrenutet, became a bird, rose up to check. Above the roofs I saw—

He broke off. The fabric of the Other Place was black as syrup; it swirled angrily, slowly, lit by lightning flashes. An image lingered—rooftops stretching away, bleached bone-white by a dazzling sun. Across the sky dark figures hung in silhouette—great wings spread, long tails outstretched; here and there light glinted on armored scales. Now Kitty saw horrors: a snake's head, a wolf's snout, a skinless face with bared teeth grinning. The picture vanished.

The Roman magicians had summoned many djinn. Afrits too. They came at us from all sides. We were four djinn. What could we do? We stood and fought. There in the street, among the people, we stood and fought for him.
A final confusion of images, rapidly changing and out of focus—smoke, explosions, blue-green energies crackling up and down a narrow lane; humans screaming; the demon with the skinless face falling from the sky, clawing at a hole in the center of its torso. Other djinn too—one had a hippo's head, one an ibis's bill—standing close beside the curtained chair.

Affa died first,
the boy continued.
Then Penrenutet and Teti. I threw up a Shield, snatched Ptolemy away. I broke through the wall, killed those who pursued me, fled across the sky. They came after us, like a swarm of bees.

What happened?
Kitty asked. The boy had fallen silent once again. No images appeared in the void.

I was caught by a Detonation. Wounded. Couldn't fly. Broke into a little temple; barricaded us in. Ptolemy was in bad shape—worse, I mean, than he had been before. I think it was the smoke, or something. The enemy surrounded the temple. There was no way out.

And then?

I cannot speak of it. He gave me a final gift. That is the essence of the matter.

The boy shrugged then. He looked across at Kittys mannequin for the first time.

Poor Ptolemy! He thought his example might help to reconcile our kinds. He was convinced the account of his journey would be read and followed down the centuries, and lead to a union of worlds. He told me so, right here! Well, for all his light and clarity, he was completely wrong. He died, and his ideas have been forgotten.

Kitty's creature frowned.
How can you say that, when I'm here too? And Nathaniel's read his book, and Mr. Button, and—

The
Apocrypha's
only fragments. He never survived to write the rest. Besides, people like Nathaniel read, but they don't believe.

I believed.

Yes.You did.

If you come back, and help save London, you will be continuing Ptolemy's work. Humans and djinn working together. That's what he wanted, isn't it?

The boy looked out at the void.
Ptolemy made no demands on me.

I'm not making any demands either. You can do what you wish. I'm asking for your help. If you don't want to respond, that's fine.

Well …
The boy stretched out his thin brown arms.
It's against my better judgement, but it would be nice to settle scores with Faquarl. We'd need the Staff, mind. Useless without the Staff And I'm not staying long, especially if I'm cooped up in—

Thank you, Bartimaeus!
In a swell of gratitude, Kitty's mannequin leaned across and flopped its stick arms out around the boy's neck. The bulbous head rested briefly against his slim, dark one.

All right, all right. Don't get soppy. You've made your sacrifice. Now I suppose it's my turn.

Firmly, but with restraint, the boy extricated himself from the mess of limbs and stood upon the step.

You'd better get back
, he said.
Before it's too late.

The mannequin looked up, head twisted accusingly, then sprang to its feet in a fury.

What do you mean, exactly? You
keep
saying this. What sacrifice?

I thought you knew. I'm sorry.

What? I'm going to thump you in a minute.

How? You haven't any hands.

Or—or—I'll push you off the edge, Just
tell
me.

The truth is, Kitty, the Other Place is not conducive to humans. In the same way that my essence suffers on Earth, so
your
essence suffers here.

Meaning?

Meaning you have wilfully separated yourself from your body. Not for too long, which is to your advantage. Ptolemy stayed far longer, asking questions, always asking questions. He was here twice the time that you have been. But …

But? Come
on.

The mannequin leaped forward, arms outstretched, head thrust out aggressively. The boy stepped back to the final step, teetering on the edge of the void.

Don't you see how good you're becoming at maneuvering that thing? You were hopeless at first. Already you're forgetting your earthly ties. When Ptolemy got back, he'd forgotten almost everything. He couldn't walk, could barely use his limbs…. Took him all his strength even to summon me again. And that's not all. While you're here, back on Earth your body's busy dying. Can't really blame it, can you? It's been abandoned. Better get back fast, Kitty. Better get back fast.

—But how?
she whispered.
I don't know how.

Fear flooded her; her mannequin, her bubble-headed creature, stood disconsolate on the step. The boy smiled, stepped forward and kissed it on the forehead.

That's easy,
Bartimaeus said.
The Gate's still open. I can dismiss you. Relax. Work's over. You've done your bit.

He stepped away. The mannequin, the boy, and the pillared hall exploded into wisps and trails. Kitty burst across the maelstrom of the Other Place, among the lights and whirling colors. She drifted, drifted. All around her was the weightlessness of death.