Ptolemy's Gate (58 page)

“It might work. But there's one small flaw.”

Kitty made a face. “Exactly. How do you break the Staff without being harmed? And what about the roof-fall?”

Nathaniel stretched; his neck felt cold and stiff. “Leave that to me. We'll be all right.”

She looked at him. “Okay … Fine. I'll do this with you.”

“No, you won't. Bartimaeus's protective Shields won't extend to you as well.
Will
they, Bartimaeus?”

“Um … no.”

“We'll be all right,” Nathaniel said again. His mind drifted a little; he felt the djinni prompting him. “Look,” he said, “I've got seven-league boots on. We'll catch you up. Just get out now and keep on running.”

“Nathaniel …”

“Better go, Kitty. Nouda will leave the palace soon, and the chance will be gone.”

Kitty stamped her foot. “No way. I'm not going to allow this.”

Her defiance warmed him. He grinned at her. “Listen—I'm the magician. You're the commoner.
I'm
the one who orders
you
about, remember?”

She scowled. “Sure you'll be able to use the boots?”

“Of course. No problem.”

“So I'll see you both outside? Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. Now—
go.”

She turned slowly, with reluctance; then spun back to him, grasping at her neck. “The Amulet! It'll keep you safe!” She held it out, spinning on its chain. The jade stone glinted softly.

Nathaniel felt a great weariness. “No. That won't be any good for me.”

Tiny glints of light shone in the corners of her eyes. “Why—why not?”

“Because,” Bartimaeus's voice broke in, “it's so powerful a charm. It might absorb too much of the Staff's energy and enable Nouda to escape. The best thing you can do is take it, and wear it, and go now.” His voice echoed silently in Nathaniel's head.
How's that?

Not bad.

He looked at Kitty. She had halted with the Amulet outstretched; her eyes searched Nathaniel's face. He saw her aura shining all about them, picking out everything in clear, unblemished detail—the tree bark, the veins upon the leaves, the stones and grass about their feet. He felt himself bathed within it. His weariness departed.

He pushed himself away from the tree, tapped the Staff upon the ground. It flared into life. “See you later, Kitty,” he said.

She lowered the Amulet around her neck and smiled. “See you.You too, Bartimaeus.”

“Good-bye.”

Then she was gone among the trees, away toward the eastern entrance, and Nathaniel was turning away from her, feeling the djinni's energy supporting his, turning to look across the great expanse at where the monstrosity shambled in its loneliness, tearing and sundering and crying out for food.

What do you think, Bartimaeus?
he thought.
Do we go for it?

I suppose we might as well. Got nothing better to do.

Exactly.

K
itty was almost at the entrance when she heard the sound of a voice raised loud behind her, in a tone of imperious command. The answering roar the demon gave made the gravel rattle across the path and set the glass panes shivering in the dome. Then she was shoving open the door and falling out into the cold night air.

Her legs shook with the effort; her arms were as weak and ineffectual as in a dream. Down the steps she went and away through the ornamental garden, stumbling through tilled soil, veering wildly round low hedges, until she reached the open expanse of park.

The light from the great Glass Palace shone on her back; she saw her shadow stretching out ahead of her upon the illuminated grass. Away, away … if she could get beyond the lights, into the darkness, perhaps then she would rest. She drove herself on, slowing all the while, as her breathing became ever shallower and her muscles ever more labored, until finally, despite her fury and desperation, she came to a limping halt.

At that same moment she was conscious of a noise, of a dull bulb of sound that seemed almost to swallow itself, flaring and subsiding on the instant. The grass she stood on rose and fell in a little tremor that passed away into the dark. Kitty turned toward the Glass Palace, sinking to her knees; she was just in time to see its orange glow eaten from within by a dazzling swell of whiteness, which rose up and outward, through the margins of the dome, shattering each and every pane of glass so that the shards exploded into the night. The whiteness hid the palace; it streamed on across the ornamental gardens, ate away the remaining distance and engulfed Kitty, knocking her backward with its force. The Amulet of Samarkand fell hard against her face; dimly she saw it glowing, drawing in the raging energies. All about her was a fearful rushing. All about her, grass burned.

Then, with equal suddenness, the buffeting ceased, the air was raw and still.

Kitty opened her eyes; with some difficulty, she propped herself upon her elbows.

It was very dark. Somewhere, at an unknown distance, a great fire was burning, orange red. Outlined against it was a complex mess of metal, twisting, bending, fragile as a net of wire. As she watched, it crumpled in upon itself, growing dense and darkly packed. With the faintest of sighs, it subsided into the flames, which rose up to meet it, licked against the sky and gradually fell back.

Kitty lay there, watching. By and by tiny flecks of glass came tumbling silently out of the night. Within minutes the earth was glittering like frost.

37

A
t nine-thirty in the morning, precisely two days and five hours after the explosion in St. James's Park, the Interim Council of the British government gathered for an emergency meeting. They occupied a pleasant committee room in the Ministry of Employment, which had been largely undamaged by the Whitehall fires. Pale sunlight filtered through the windows; tea, coffee, and sweet biscuits were in substantial supply. Ms. Rebecca Piper, who presided, directed proceedings with crisp efficiency. Certain matters were immediately attended to: the provision of funds for the care and treatment of the injured, and the annexation of two military hospitals for the same purpose. A subsidiary committee, with direct access to the Treasury, was then established to begin restoration work on the city center.

Next came issues of Security. A junior minister gave his report. Four demon hybrids were known to be still at large; all had been driven from the urban areas into rural zones beyond. Imps kept track of their wandering and went ahead to organize evacuations where necessary. Soon expeditionary forces would be assembled to remove the threat. This response was complicated by the near total destruction of the Night Police and the disappearance, presumed death, of its leader, Ms. Farrar. The junior minister hoped that a new, fully human, police force might presently be established, and requested authority to begin recruitment, ideally from among the commoners.

At this the commoners' representatives interrupted the discussion to demand resolution of an equally important issue—the return of the troops from America. They cited, as support for their position, the imminent likelihood of rebellions among the occupied states of Europe, and the strong possibility of renewed attacks on London. They hinted that failure to accede to their request would result in widespread strikes and rioting, which would hit the interim government hard. Their air of grim truculence aroused the passions of several magicians, who had to be physically restrained. Ms. Piper, banging her gavel repeatedly upon the table, restored order only with the help of the acting Secretary, Mr. Harold Button. He added his voice to the commoners' cause, giving, at length, several historical examples where faltering empires had been saved by their loyal troops.

After heated debate Ms. Piper put the issue to a vote. By a tight margin, authority was given to order the withdrawal of troops from America. At this the commoners' representatives asked for a recess, that they might give the news to the people waiting in the street outside. Permission was given; the Interim Council disbanded, and Mr. Button ordered himself more tea.

Kitty, who had watched all this from a chair beside the window, stirred and escaped into the corridor. The heat of variant opinions had given her a headache.

She had declined Ms. Piper's offer, the previous morning, of a seat among the Council. Quite apart from the strangeness of the notion, of sitting with magicians as an equal, she knew she did not have the energy required. If the endless debates she'd witnessed back at the Frog Inn were anything to go by, anyone wishing to take part in a more open system of government would need qualities of supreme patience and endurance. Kitty, for the present, had neither of these in great supply. But she did put forward Mr. Button's name, as a surviving magician with a broader view of things than many. Through her contacts at The Frog she was also able to suggest several prominent commoners whose presence might give the Interim Council more validity. After that she had requested a private room, and retired for sleep.

Late in the afternoon she had woken and made her way back to St. James's Park. She pushed through the temporary barricades and entered the dead zone, where purple threads of residual magic hung above a vast circle of hard, black ground, crisp as burned carpet. Glass crunched beneath her shoes. The air was foul. Only with the Amulet held tightly in her hand could Kitty feel entirely safe.

At the center of the zone the remnants of the palace hulked dark and tangled against the autumn light. A few spurs of iron protruded; most were molded together in a complex weft, like giant brambles—choked and impassable. Magical vapors clung low about them, motionless, as if fused to earth. Their acrid taint made Kitty cough.

She stood there quietly for a time.

“So much for your promises,” she said at last.

No answers sounded from the ruins. Nothing stirred. Kitty did not linger. With slow steps, she returned to the living world.

At one o'clock, when the Council broke for its lunchtime recess, Ms. Piper went in search of Kitty. She discovered her sitting alone in the ministry library, intermittently flicking through an atlas and staring into space.

The magician flopped down opposite, her face heavy with vexation. “Those delegates are being quite
impossible
,” she cried. “Impossible! Not content with forcing through the American motion, by tactics tantamount to blackmail, they have just informed me that they now object to us using imps for surveillance of the ports. Though it is manifestly in the national interest! They say it ‘contravenes the rights of the workers there,' whatever
that
might mean.” She gave a little pout. “It is blatant posturing! Mr. Button has just thrown a bun at them.”

Kitty shrugged. “Security's important, but so's the trust of the people. Spies, vigilance spheres—all that's going to have to change. As far as the ports go, you'll just have to argue it out with them, I suppose.”

“Are you
sure
we can't persuade you to take part?” Ms. Piper said. “You would be a perfect intermediary between us and the more … extreme factions.”

“Sorry,” Kitty said. “I'm tired. I'd just get stroppy. You'd be packing me off to the Tower by nightfall.”

“I hardly think so!” Ms. Piper seemed suddenly thoughtful. “Mind you, some of those delegates … The idea
is
tempting …” She shook her head. “What am I saying? So then, Ms. Jones, I see you have an atlas out. Does this indicate your plans?”

“I don't know,” Kitty said slowly. “I think, maybe, when things calm down a little on the Continent, I'll go abroad for a while. I've got a friend to visit in Bruges, and after that I'd like to travel a bit, see the world. I hope it will help me regain my health.” She pursed her lips; looked toward the window. “Perhaps I'll go to Egypt. I've heard a lot about it. I don't know. It all depends.”

“You wouldn't care to continue your magical studies here? Mr. Button speaks highly of your aptitude, and we have a conspicuous lack of talent in the government. We could recommend some tutors.”