Ptolemy's Gate (57 page)

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 scarcely 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.

Get him,
I said.
Get him NOW
.

We dropped down as fast as I could manage it, Nathaniel's jaw clamped tight shut with the speed of the descent. As we plummeted, Nathaniel lessened the constraints upon the entities of the Staff, opened it up as much as he dared. Their energies erupted, lanced down upon the wriggling body in a flower of light.

Keep it going,
I said.
Keep it going. Don't leave anything to chance.

I know.
I'm doing it.

Our descent slowed, slowed. We hovered in midair. Below, a milky-white inferno raged: Nouda and the carousel were deep within it. Heat plumed outward, cracked the glass on nearby panes, burned the air around us. I erected a small Shield to deflect the full ferocity. The vibrations of the Staff grew greater, ran up our arm and shook within our skull.

What do you think?
the boy thought.
Enough?

Must be … No, play safe. A little longer.

I can't hold it for much—Ah!

I'd seen the shadow rising, sensed the movement in the air. I'd flung us aside. But the Detonation caught us, broke my Shield apart, struck us on the side even as we spun away. The boy cried out and I cried with him—for the first and only time I shared a human's pain. Something in the feeling—perhaps it was the dull immobility of the flesh, the way it just sat there, accepting the wound—made panic ripple through my essence. The boy's mind teetered on the edge of consciousness. His fingers loosened on the Staff; its energies died back. I gripped it harder, spun it round, sent white fire lashing beneath the dome, to cut straight through the pursuing body of Rufus Lime. The halves dropped separately to earth. I sealed the Staff securely. We landed awkwardly amid a clump of palms and pot plants.

The boy was busy fainting. Our eyes were closing. I forced them open, and set my essence tingling through his system.
WAKE UP.

He stirred. “My side …”

Don't look at it. We're all right.

And Nouda?

Well … that's not so good.
Across the open space, beyond a number of scattered picnic tables and litter bins, the earth was broken, blistered. Where once the kiddies rode the carousel, a smoking crater split the earth. And in that smoke, something big and shapeless roared and stumbled, calling out my name.

“Bartimaeus! I order you, come here! I must chastise you for your impudence!”

It no longer looked anything much like a man.

“See how my strength grows, Bartimaeus, despite my pain! See how I shrug off this pathetic coat of flesh!”

Bartimaeus … my side … I can't feel it.

It's fine. Don't worry about it.

You're concealing something … That thought—what was it?

Nothing. I was thinking we have to get up; get away.

“Where
are
you, Bartimaeus?” the great voice called. “I shall add you to myself. It is an honor!”

My side feels numb … I can't—

Relax. I'll see if I can fly us out.

No, wait. What about … Nouda?

He's a big boy; he can fly himself if he wants to. Now—

We can't
go, Bartimaeus. Not if he's—

He'll keep. We're going.

NO.

I tried to exert my energies to fly, but the boy was actively resisting—the muscles tensed, his will wrestled with my own. We half rose, crashed back down among the ferns, ended up leaning against a tree. One advantage of this: it concealed us from the many eyes of Nouda, now a squatting blackness that scuttled on the crater's lip.

You
idiot,
Nathaniel. Let me take over.

There isn't any point.

What do you—?

Is there? I read your mind. Just now.

Oh … that. Look, I'm no medic. Forget it. I could be wrong.

But you're not, are you? Tell me the truth for once.

A surreptitious rustling in the leaves. I turned our head, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. “This'll cheer us up,” I said heartily. “Here's Kitty.”

H
er hair was matted and disordered. One side of her face was scratched. But Nathaniel was relieved to see that she seemed otherwise unharmed. Once again his relief revealed itself as anger. “What are
you
doing back?” he hissed. “Get away.”

A scowl. “We've got the commoners clear,” she whispered. “And it was no small task. Check out what one of them did to me.” She pointed at the scratch. “Nice bit of thanks that is. Anyway, I had to come back to see how you were … doing.…” Her eyes dropped to rest on Nathaniel's side; they widened. “What the hell?”

“According to Bartimaeus,” Nathaniel said blandly, “it's nothing to worry about.”

She bent close. “Oh, God. Can you walk? We've got to get you out.”

“Not yet.” After the first pain, the numbness had spread fast. Nathaniel felt a little light-headed, but provided he remained still, leaning against the tree, his discomfort was minimal. His mind was clear, or at least it would have been had the djinni not been messing with his thoughts, trying to block out knowledge of his injury, trying to influence his decisions. He spoke quickly. “Kitty—the attack with the Staff failed. The thing's too strong. I tried it at maximum controllable power, but it wasn't enough. Nouda absorbed the energy.”

“Well, then.” She bit her lip. “We get you out. Then we think again.”

“Bartimaeus,” he said. “What will happen if we leave Nouda now? Speak honestly.”

The djinni's answer was delayed by a colossal crashing and rending sound from somewhere behind them. “In time,” Bartimaeus said, speaking through Nathaniel's mouth, “Nouda will become bored with the manifold delights of the ‘One World Exhibition.' He will turn his attention to the rest of London. He will feed on its people, and so swell in size and power; this growth will further stimulate his hunger until either the city lies barren, or he bursts. That honest enough for you?”

“Kitty,” Nathaniel said. “I have to stop the demon now.”

“But you can't. You just said so. Even at full power, the Staff failed.”

“Maximum
controllable
power, I said. There's one way of getting more energy from it, and that's by removing Gladstone's safeguards—the spells that bind the Staff. All—no, wait, let me finish—
all
its power would be unleashed in one fell swoop.” He smiled at her. “I think
that
might give Nouda pause.”

The girl shook her head. “I don't buy it. Who's to say it won't just make him even stronger? Now, Bartimaeus; can't you—?”

“There is
one
other factor to be taken into the equation,” Nathaniel said. With some difficulty, he lifted the Staff and gestured toward the roof. “What's this building made of?”

“Glass.”

“And …”

“Ah,” the djinni's voice cut in at once. “You know, reluctant as I am to say it, he might actually have a point there.”

“Iron,” Nathaniel said. “Iron. And Nouda, being a spirit, is not protected against it. If the Staff is broken, and it all comes crashing down on him … What do you think, Bartimaeus?”