Ptolemy's Gate (55 page)

Look at
Nouda, Nathaniel thought.
What's
happened
to him?

I had no answer. Up on the roof of the merry-go-round, perhaps twenty meters ahead and as many below us, the old body of Quentin Makepeace was standing. When we'd last set eyes on it, Nouda had been having a little trouble getting to grips with the limitations of his host. Now, belatedly, he seemed to have got the hang of it. The legs were firmly planted, the arms loosely folded, the chin high—he had the exact posture of a successful general, mid-campaign.

He also had horns.

Three black ones, to be exact, poking from his forehead at irregular angles. One was long, the other two mere stubs. And that wasn't all. Some kind of dorsal spine had split the back of his shirt; a gray-green flange protruded from his left arm. The face was waxy and irregular, swollen with internal pressure. The eyes seemed living flames.

That's unexpected,
I thought.

His essence is breaking out of the body.
It was Nathaniel's boundless capacity for stating the obvious that made him so charmingly human.

As we watched, the horns, spine, and flanges shrank back into the skin, as if by a stern effort of will. A quivering, a shaking: a moment later they sprang back, bigger than ever. From the open mouth the great voice came roaring. “Ah! The discomfort! I feel the old burning! Faquarl!
Where
is Faquarl?”

He's not happy,
Nathaniel thought.
His power must simply be too great. The fabric of his host is breaking apart and he's lost its protection.

Can't help that he's been wolfing down humans since he got here. That must have swelled his essence.
… I surveyed the commoners cowering below him.
Looks as if he's still hungry too.

This ends now.
All Nathaniel's unhappiness and dissatisfaction had coalesced into cold, hard fury. His mind was a piece of flint.
Think we can pick him off from here?

Yes. Aim carefully. We'll have one chance only. Better make it a strong one.

Now
who's stating the obvious?

We were still crouched, peering through the ornate iron railings that bounded the gantry. As Nathaniel composed himself to stand, I erected a precautionary Shield. When the strike was done, the other spirits would no doubt seek revenge. I scanned the possibilities…. First an evasive leap, either to the palm tree, or backward onto the sushi bar roof. Then down to the floor. Then—

That was enough forward planning.

Nathaniel stood. We pointed the Staff at Nouda, spoke the words—

A tremendous explosion, as expected.

Only, not around Nouda, but all around
us.
My Shield just about held firm. Even so, we were blown sideways down the gantry and through the glass wall of the palace in a shower of crystal fragments, to go spinning out over the entrance steps and down to the darkness of the ornamental gardens far below. We landed heavily, our fall only partially buffered by the Shield. The Staff, torn from our grip, clattered distantly on the path.

Our dual consciousness was shaken apart by the impact; for a few seconds we vibrated separately in a single head. As we lay there, groaning independently, the body of Hopkins came drifting out through the shattered aperture high above. It floated down to the steps and approached on foot, at a calm and steady pace.

“It's Mandrake, isn't it?” Faquarl said, in conversational tones. “I must say, you're a persistent little fellow. If you'd had any sense you'd have been a hundred miles away by now. What on earth's got into you?”

If he only knew. We lay on the soil, trying hard to focus. Slowly our vision steadied, our intelligence realigned.

“The Lord Nouda,” Faquarl continued, “is a little fractious at the moment and needs careful handling. His temper would not be improved by being stung by your toy.”

“Stung
?” Nathaniel croaked. “It'll wipe him out.”

“Do you really think so?” The voice was tired and amused. “Nouda is greater than you can guess. He is ravenous for energy; he absorbs it like a sponge. See how he grows already! He would welcome your attack and feed off it. I
would
have let you try it, but I am tired of unnecessary disruptions. However, in a moment I shall take the Staff for my own use.” He raised a languid hand. “So then, farewell.”

Nathaniel opened his mouth to scream. I hijacked it for a better purpose. “Hello, Faquarl.”

The hand started; its baleful energies remained unreleased. Behind Hopkins's eyes, twin points of bright blue light flared in wonder and confusion. “Bartimaeus … ?”

“Little me.”

“How—how … ?” Here was a thing. For the first time in three dozen centuries Faquarl's impregnable assurance was shaken by my arrival. He was at a loss for words. “How can this be? Is this a trick … some voice projection … an illusion … ?”

“Nope. It's me in here.”

“It
can't
be.”

“Who else would know the truth about the death of Genghis? Those little poisoned grapes we slipped into his tent under the noses of his djinn … ?”
⁷

Faquarl blinked; he hesitated. “So … It
is
you.”

“My turn to deal out the surprise, old friend. And I might just mention that while you and Nouda play around in there, most of your army has already been killed. By me.”

As I spoke, I felt Nathaniel squirming. He didn't like lying helpless on the ground—a natural instinct of self-preservation made him desperate to get up. I quelled him with a single thought:
Wait.

“Ah, you
traitor
…” Faquarl had been in Hopkins's body for a long time; he licked his lips just as a human might. “I care nothing for that loss—the world is crammed with humans, and there are spirits enough to fill them all. But as for
you
… To murder your own kind, to defend your old oppressors … No, it sickens my essence to think of it!” His hands were clenched; his voice was high with emotion. “We have fought each other many times, Bartimaeus, but always because of chance, because of our masters' whims. And now, when
we
are the masters at last, and should celebrate together, now you choose to carry out this rank betrayal!
You
, Sakhr al-Jinni himself! How can you justify your actions?”

“
Me,
the traitor?” To begin with, I had just been keeping him talking, waiting till our strength recovered from our fall, but now I was too incensed to think. My voice rose to the old wendigo roar that echoed through the pinewoods and kept the tribes cowering in their teepees. “
You're
the one who's turned his back forever on the Other Place! How much more of a traitor can you be—to desert your home, to encourage fellow spirits to abandon it forever by becoming squatters in these bags of bones? And for what? What do you get from this benighted wasteland?”

“Vengeance,” Faquarl whispered. “Vengeance is our master here. It keeps us in this world. It gives us purpose.”

“‘Purpose' is a
human
concept,” I said quietly. “We never needed that before. This body of yours isn't just a disguise anymore, is it? It isn't just a barrier against pain. It's what you're busily becoming.”

The fire behind the eyes flared indignantly, then dwindled suddenly, grew dull. “Perhaps so, Bartimaeus, perhaps so …” The voice was soft and wistful; the hands patted the front of the rumpled suit. “Between ourselves, I will admit to feeling a certain
discomfort
in this body that I had not anticipated. It is not like the old sharp pain we have long withstood; rather, it's a dull itch that nags at me, a hollowness inside that no amount of slaughter can quite ease.
So far
, at any rate.” He gave a rueful grin. “I intend to keep trying.”

“That hollowness,” I said. “It's what you've lost. The tie to the Other Place.”

Faquarl gazed at me. For a moment he did not speak. “If that is true,” he said heavily, “then you have lost it too. You are just as much a squatter as I, Bartimaeus, cooped up in that young magician of yours. Why did you do it, if you despise the notion as you claim?”

“Because I have a way out,” I said. “I haven't burned my bridges.”

The blazing eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “How so?”

“The magician summoned me in. The magician can dismiss me.”

“But his brain—”

“Is whole. I share it with him. Which is tough, admittedly. There's not much to go round.”

Nathaniel spoke then: “It is true. We work together.”

If Faquarl had been surprised when I first spoke, he was now dumbfounded. The possibility simply hadn't occurred to him.

“The human retains his intelligence?” he muttered. “Who then is the master? Which of you has dominance?”

“Neither of us,” I said.

Nathaniel concurred. “It is an equal balance.”

Faquarl shook his head, almost as if in admiration. “Remarkable,” he said. “As a perversity it is unique. Or almost so: that brat from Alexandria you were always going on about at one time, Bartimaeus. He'd have approved, wouldn't he?” His lip curled a little. “Tell me, do you not feel soiled by such an
intimate
association?”

“Not particularly,” I said. “It's no more intimate than yours, and it's a lot less permanent. I'm going home.”

“Oh, dear. What makes you think that?” Faquarl moved his hand; but I'd anticipated him. Our long discussion had given us a chance to recover from the fall; our energies were rekindled. Nathaniel's fingers were already pointed in his direction. The green-gray Spasm hit Faquarl's Shield directly; though uninjured, he spun round—his Detonation struck the earth well clear. Meanwhile, I exercised our limbs. With a scattering of soil, we launched from the ground, soared above the path, landed right beside the Staff. Nathaniel scooped it up; we turned, quick as a striking krait.

Faquarl stood on the path, not distant, hand half raised. Light from the Glass Palace cut across him, blending with the shadow. Fast as we'd been, he was still faster. I sometimes wonder if he could have got us in the back, as we bent beside the Staff, before we'd got it in our hand. But maybe our Spasm had shaken him, put him off his stride. It's difficult to say. For a second we gazed at each other.

“Your discovery is remarkable,” Faquarl said. “But it comes too late for me.”

He made some movement or other with his fleshy body; I don't remember what. I did nothing, but I was conscious of the boy's immediate command. A stab of pure white light—it faded, vanished, scoured Faquarl from the Earth.

We stood alone on the path beneath the palace.

Shake a leg
, the boy thought.
People are coming, and we've got a final bit of work to do.

36

I
t was fortunate for Kitty that most of the magicians in her company were from the very lowest ranks, since this meant that several of them could drive. Limousines were located in the lot beneath Westminster Hall; the Chauffeurs' Mess provided a choice of keys. By the time six vehicles arrived, revving, in the deserted street outside, Kitty and the others had retrieved what weapons they could, negotiated the summoning of a number of imps, and were waiting at the door. Without ceremony, they bundled in, four to a car, and with the demons hovering in their wake, proceeded in procession up the road.

They did not get far. Halfway up Whitehall, they found the way blocked by rubble from a toppled war memorial. Progress was impeded; laboriously the convoy turned, retreated to Parliament Square, and turned right toward St. James's Park.

If Whitehall had been empty, the streets to the south of the park were anything but. Not far ahead came explosions, reflected lights, and the sound of howling wolves. Closer still, as if a human dam had burst, hundreds of people surged from the side roads, swamping the thoroughfare and pouring down toward the limousines.

Kitty was sitting in the lead car, beside the driver. Sudden fear lurched in her. “Get out!” she snapped. “It isn't safe!”

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.”