Alexandria: 124 B.C. 2 страница

was my idea!" He chuckled. "Then came poor Duvall. He wanted power, but he hadn't a creative bone in his body. All he could do was follow advice. Through Hopkins I encouraged him to use the golem to spread unrest. And while the government was distracted"—he beamed at Kitty once again—"I nearly acquired the Staff. Which, by the way, I fully intend to take into my possession this very night."

To Kitty, most of this meant nothing; she gazed at the hateful little man in the great gold chair, almost quivering with fury. She saw, as if from far off, the faces of her dead companions—with every word, Makepeace defiled their memory. She could not have spoken.

By contrast, John Mandrake seemed to be becoming almost talkative. "This is all very interesting, Quentin," he said. "The Staff will certainly be useful. But how will the government be run? You have emptied all the departments. That is bound to cause problems, even with such titanic figures as these in your team." He smiled around at the sullen conspirators.

Makepeace made an easy gesture. "Some of the prisoners will be freed in due course, once they have sworn loyalty."

"And the others?"

"Will be executed."

Mandrake shrugged. "It seems a risky prospect for you, even with the Staff."

"Not so!" For the first time Makepeace seemed annoyed. He rose from his chair, tossed the remnants of the cigar aside. "We are about to augment our power with the first creative act in two thousand years of magic. In fact, here is the very man who will show you. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you—Mr. Clem Hopkins!"

A meek and diffident figure stepped into the room. Three years had passed since Kitty had last set eyes on him, sitting at a cafe table in the pleasant summer air. She had been little more than a girl; she'd drunk a milk shake and eaten an iced bun while he'd asked her questions about the stolen Staff. Then, when she'd failed to supply the information he required, Mr.

Hopkins had gently betrayed her once again—sending her to the house where Mandrake waited to entrap her.

So it had been. As the years had passed, and the scholar's features had faded from her memory, his shadow had grown inside her, spread like a contagion at the back of her mind. He sometimes taunted her within her dreams.

And now here he was, stepping quietly across the rugs of the Hall of Statues, a little smile on his face. His appearance seemed to awake a great excitement in the conspirators; there was a stirring of anticipation. Mr. Hopkins came to stand beside the table, directly opposite Kitty. He looked at Mandrake first, then at Kitty. His pale gray eyes surveyed her, his face expressionless.

"You traitor," Kitty growled. Mr. Hopkins frowned a little as if in some perplexity. He showed not the slightest hint of recognition.

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"Now then, Clem"—Makepeace clapped him on the back—"do not be put off by the presence of young Kitty here. It is just my little joke to remind you of your Resistance days. Don't let her get close, mind. She is quite the little vixen! How are the prisoners?"

The scholar nodded eagerly. "Quite safe, sir. They cannot go anywhere."

"And what about outside? Is all quiet?"

"There is still unrest in the central parks. The police go about their business. No one knows we have left the theater."

"Good.Then it is time to act. My friends, Hopkins here is a marvel, an absolute gem. He breathes ideas like you and I gulp air; he dreams 'em in his sleep, digests 'em with his dinner. It was he who first noticed the unique properties of the afrit Honorius. Isn't that right, Clem?"

Hopkins gave a little smile. "If you say so, sir."

"Hopkins and I immediately observed that the demon inhabited Gladstone's bones. It was not a mere guise, an illusion of essence: the skeleton was real.The demon had mingled with the actual bones. An ambitious idea occurred to us: why not summon a demon into a living body—

specifically, the living body of a magician? If the magician could control the demon, and use its power—what wonders he might perform! There would be no more need for pentacles, for fiddling about with runes and chalks, no more risk of fatal errors! Indeed, summoning itself would soon become unnecessary!"

Kitty had learned enough from Mr. Button to realize the radical nature of this proposal; she knew enough to share Mandrake's utter disbelief. "But the risks are far too great!" he was saying. "That commoner in your workroom—he heard the demon talking in his head! It would have driven him mad!"

"Only because he did not have the will to suppress the demon." Makepeace was impatient now; he spoke quickly. "With individuals of intelligence and strong personality such as us, the effect will be harmonious."

"You don't mean you're all going to take this risk?" Mandrake protested. "Surely not! The effects might be catastrophic! You don't know what might happen."

"Oh, but we do, we do. Hopkins summoned a demon into himself two months ago, John. He has suffered no ill effects. Isn't that right, Clem? Tell them."

"That's right, sir."The scholar seemed embarrassed to be the focus of attention. "I summoned quite a powerful djinni.When it entered, I felt a certain struggling, like a living worm inside my head. But I merely had to concentrate and the demon accepted the inevitable. He is thoroughly quiet now. I hardly know he's there."

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"But you are able to call on his power and knowledge, aren't you, Hopkins?" Makepeace said. "It is really quite remarkable."

"Show us!" the female conspirator whispered.

"Yes, show us! Show us!" Around the table the plea was taken up, over and over. Each face shone with furious, avid hunger. To Kitty they seemed wicked, but also helpless, like nestlings waiting to be fed. She was filled with a sudden repulsion; she longed to get away.

Makepeace's eyes were glittering slits; he nudged the scholar's arm. "What do you think, Hopkins? Show them a little, just to whet the appetite?"

"If you think it appropriate, sir." The scholar took a step back, bent his head in concentration.

Then, without apparent effort, he rose into the air. Several of the conspirators gasped. Kitty glanced at Mandrake; he was watching openmouthed.

Hopkins rose six feet above the floor, then drifted off, away from the table. When he was some way distant, he raised a hand, pointing it at an alabaster statue on the far side of the hall. It showed a bald, stocky magician smoking a cigar. There was a flash of blue light—the statue exploded in a shower of sparks. The ginger-haired magician whooped with excitement; the others stood and clapped, or banged the table in wild joy. Mr. Hopkins rose higher, toward the ceiling.

"Show them something else, Hopkins!" Makepeace called. "Put on a show!"

Everyone's eyes were craning upward. Kitty took her chance. Slowly, slowly, she backed away from the table. One step, two... No one had noticed; all were watching the scholar perform acrobatic feats high against the ceiling, trailing gouts of flame from his fingertips....

Kitty turned and ran. At the end of the hall the double doors were open. Her feet were noiseless on the thick, soft rugs. Her hands were tied, which made the running awkward, but in seconds she was through—out into a corridor of stone, with oil paintings on the wall and glass cases with ornaments of gold----She headed right; the corridor ended at an open door.

Kitty plunged through. She halted, cursed. An empty room, perhaps an official's study: a desk, a case of books, a pentacle on the floor. It was a dead end.

With a gasp of frustration, she turned, ran back the way she had come—along the corridor, past the double doors, around another corner—

—and collided full pelt with something hard and heavy. Thrown to the side, she instinctively tried to break her fall with an outstretched hand—but her arms were bound, she could not do so; she landed heavily on the flagstones.

Kitty looked up and caught her breath. A man stood over her, framed against the ceiling globes; a tall man, bearded, dressed in black. Bright blue eyes considered her, black brows runkled in a frown.

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"Please!" Kitty gasped. "Please, help me!"

The bearded man smiled. A gloved hand reached down.

In the Hall of Statues Mr. Hopkins had returned to earth. The faces of the conspirators were filled with wonder; two of the men were pulling rugs away from the center of the room. As Kitty was brought in, half choked, hanging suspended by her collar from the bearded man's upraised grip, they stopped and dropped the rugs again. One by one, everyone turned to look at her.

A deep voice spoke at Kitty's shoulder. "What about this girl? I caught her making for the street."

The ginger-haired man shook his head. "Blimey. Didn't even notice she had gone."

Mr. Makepeace stepped forward, a petulant frown upon his face. "Ms. Jones, we really have no time for such distractions...." He scowled, shrugged and turned away. "At first her presence amused me, but to be frank she interests me no longer. You may kill her."

Nathaniel saw the mercenary dump Kitty on the rug; he saw him fling back his cape, reach into his belt, and draw forth a long knife, curved like a scimitar. He saw him reach out to clutch her hair, lift up her head, expose her throat...

"Wait!" Nathaniel stepped forward; he spoke with as much authority as he could muster. "Don't touch her! I want her alive."

The mercenary's hands paused. He looked up at Nathaniel with his steady pale blue eyes. Then, slowly and very deliberately, he continued to pull Kitty's head back and bring the knife around.

Nathaniel cursed." Wait, I said."

The conspirators were watching with some amusement. Rufus Lime's pale, damp face grimaced.

"You're hardly in a position to be so lordly, Mandrake."

"On the contrary, Rufus. Quentin has invited me to join your company. And after seeing Mr.

Hopkins's remarkable demonstration, I'm delighted to agree to that proposal. The results are most impressive. That means I'm one of you now."

Quentin Makepeace had been busy unbuttoning his emerald frock coat. His eyes were narrowed, calculating; he looked at Nathaniel askance. "You have decided to fall in with our little scheme?"

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

Nathaniel met his gaze as calmly as he could. "I have indeed," he said. "Your plan is an act of genius, a masterstroke. I only wish I'd paid more attention to you when you showed me that commoner the other day. But I intend to rectify that now. In the meantime, strictly speaking, the girl is still my prisoner, Quentin. I have... plans for her. No one touches her, save me.

Makepeace rubbed his chin; he did not answer. The mercenary adjusted the knife a little in his hand. Kitty gazed sightlessly at the floor. Nathaniel felt his heart thudding against his chest.

"Very well." Makepeace moved suddenly. "The girl is yours. Put her down, Verroq. John, you have spoken well and have confirmed my good opinion of you. But take heed: words are easy—

actions are better! In a moment we shall free you and watch as you bond with a demon of your choice. But first I shall prepare for my own summoning! Burke! Withers! Clear those rugs away!

The pentacles must be readied!"

He turned to issue further orders. Without expression, the mercenary loosened his grip on Kitty's hair. Nathaniel, conscious of hostile eyes upon him—-Jenkins and Lime in particular were watching with undisguised suspicion—did not hasten to her side. She remained where she was, slumped on her knees, head lowered, hair hanging over her face. The sight pierced him.

Twice now that evening Kitty Jones had nearly died, and all because of what he'd done. Because he'd found her, because he'd wrenched her out of her quiet new life and brought her with him, just to satisfy his selfish curiosity.

When, in the theater, the Inferno struck her, Nathaniel had thought her dead. Sorrow had overwhelmed him; he had been almost unmanned with guilt. Despite the mercenary's harsh warning, he had flung himself beside her, and only then realized that she breathed. For the next hour, while she remained unconscious, his sense of shame had slowly grown. Little by little he began to recognize his folly.

Already, in the last few days, he had begun to detach himself from the name of Mandrake, from the role that for years had become a second skin. But only with the events in the theater did that detachment become a true separation.The two key certainties that governed him—his belief in the invulnerability of the government and in the essential virtue of his motives—were dashed from him in a matter of moments. The magicians were overpowered. Kitty was struck down.

Both came at the hand of Makepeace, and it was with horror that Nathaniel recognized, in that callous, indifferent hand, a reflection of his own.

At first the enormity of Makepeace's crime almost blinded him to its nature: the theatrical panache of the coup, the bizarre perversion of the demons within the body, all the silly talk of genius and creativity helped divert attention from the banal reality of the truth. It was nothing but another cold, ambitious little man playing for power. No different from Lovelace, or Duvall or

—and at this thought Nathaniel felt a chill upon his spine—from Nathaniel's own musings that very evening, as he sat in the car and dreamed of seizing the Staff and putting an end to the war. Oh, yes, he'd told himself it was for the right reasons, to help the commoners and save the Empire, but where did such idealism end? With bodies like Kitty's lying on the floor.

How naked and obvious Nathaniel's ambition must have been! Makepeace had seen it. Farrar, too. Ms. Lutyens had understood it and walked away.

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No wonder Kitty had treated him with such disdain.... As he had watched over her body in the Hall of Statues, he had come to share her contempt.

But then she had woken, and with his relief came new determination.

The conspirators were busy. Back and forth across the room they scampered, bringing out the paraphernalia of summoning: candles, bowls, herbs, and flowers. In the center of the hall the heavy rugs had been pulled clear and unceremoniously dumped to one side. Several pentacles were revealed beneath, beautifully inlaid in mother-of-pearl and lapis lazuli. Makepeace stood within one, stripped down to his shirttails, pointing, pouting, issuing shrill commands.

Kitty Jones still crouched as before.

Nathaniel strolled forward, bent at her side, and spoke softly. "Kitty, get up." He extended his bound hands."Come on. That's it. Sit over here." He pushed aside a heavy chair of redwood, and helped lower her down. "Rest there. Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Then wait. I'll get you out of this."

"How's that exactly?"

"Trust me." He leaned against the table, appraising the situation. By the door the mercenary stood, arms folded, gazing implacably toward them. No possibility of escape there. The conspirators themselves were feeble; it was easy to see now why Makepeace had recruited them. He had chosen the weak, the unpreferred, those eaten away with jealousy and malice, who would seize the opportunity but never be a threat to him. The playwright was a different matter, a formidable magician. Without his demons, Nathaniel was helpless.

Makepeace... He cursed again his own stupidity. For years he had suspected the presence of a traitor high in government,

someone connected to both the Lovelace and the Duvall plots. Four magicians had been needed to summon the great demon Ramuthra back at Heddleham Hall—the fourth had never been seen, save for a fleeting glimpse in an open-topped car— a flash of goggles, a red beard...

gone. Makepeace in disguise? Easy to imagine now.

During the golem affair Nathaniel had been surprised how easily the playwright had discovered the location of the fugitive Kitty: that must have been Hopkins, then—Makepeace's contact with the Resistance. Nathaniel ground his teeth. How swiftly Makepeace had won him over, used him as an ally, played him for a fool. Well, the matter wasn't over yet.

Stony faced, Nathaniel watched Mr. Hopkins hurrying past to obey his leader's orders. So this was the mysterious scholar he had sought so long! A demon's power coursed through the villain's body—of that there was no doubt. But the meek little man would hardly be a match for Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

Cormocodran, Ascobol, and the others if Nathaniel could only bring them to his side. Yet while Hopkins worked his mischief here, the incompetent djinn were a mile away, waiting vainly for him at the Ambassador Hotel!

Nathaniel's brows knotted with frustration. He fidgeted with the cords that bound his hands. All he could do was wait until Makepeace freed him and let him step within a pentacle. Then he could act. In an instant his servants would be summoned and the traitors brought to account.

"My friends, I am ready! Come, Mandrake, Ms. Jones—you must join the audience!" Makepeace was standing in the nearest circle, shirtsleeves rolled up, collar undone; he had adopted a heroic pose: hands on hips, pelvis thrust forward, legs wide enough to straddle a horse. The conspirators congregated at a respectful distance; even the mercenary showed sufficient interest to stalk a little closer. Together, Nathaniel and Kitty approached the pentacle.

"The time has come!" Makepeace cried. "The moment toward which I have worked for so many years. Only the thrill of anticipation, my friends, keeps me from bursting with my pent emotions!" With a dynamic flourish, he removed a lacy handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed at his eyes. "How much sweat, how many tears have I shed to get so far?" he cried. "Who can tell? How much blood—?"

"Secretions aside," Rufus Lime interjected sourly, "hadn't you better get on with it? Some of those candles are burning low."

Makepeace glared at him, but returned his hanky to his pocket. "Very well. My friends, following the success of Hopkins here in subduing a demon of moderate power"— Hopkins gave a little smile, which might have meant anything—"I have decided to apply my more considerable ability to the taming of a greater entity." He paused. "This very evening Hopkins located in the London Library a volume listing the names of spirits from ancient Persia. I have decided to make use of a name he found there. My friends, here and now, before your very eyes, I shall summon into myself the greater demon known as... Nouda!"

Nathaniel uttered a small exclamation. Nouda? The man was mad. "Makepeace," he said.

"Surely you're joking. This procedure is risky enough without trying something so powerful."

The playwright pursed his lips fretfully. "I'm not joking, John, just ambitious. Mr. Hopkins has assured me that control is simplicity itself—and I am very strong-willed. I hope you don't mean to imply that I'm not up to this."

"Oh no," Nathaniel said hastily. "Not at all." He leaned close to Kitty. "The man's a fool," he whispered. "Nouda is a terrible entity; one of the most fearsome recorded. It left Persepolis in ruins...."

Kitty leaned over, whispered back. "I know. Destroyed Darius's own army."

"Yes." Nathaniel nodded.Then he blinked."What? How did you know?"

"John!"Makepeace's voice was tetchy."Enough canoodling! I need silence now. Hopkins—if you Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

see anything go amiss, reverse the process; use Asprey's Overrule. Right. Quiet, all."

Quentin Makepeace closed his eyes, bent his head toward his chest. He flourished his arms and flexed his fingers. He breathed deeply. Then he lifted his chin, opened his eyes, and began to declaim the incantation in a loud, clear voice. Nathaniel listened hard: as before, it was a simple enough Latin summons, but the strength of the oncoming spirit meant that it had to be reinforced with multiple word-locks and tortuous subclauses doubling back on themselves to shore up the binding. He had to admit that Makepeace spoke it well. Minutes passed—his larynx never faltered, he ignored the perspiration running down his face. There was a hush in the chamber: Nathaniel, Kitty, the conspirators—all watched, transfixed. Most avid of all was Mr.

Hopkins—he was leaning forward with his mouth open; he had a slightly hungry look.

On the seventh minute the room grew cold. Not slowly, but in an instant, as if a switch had suddenly been pressed. Everyone began to shiver. On the eighth minute came the sweetest of fragrances, that of meadow flax and celandine. On the ninth minute Nathaniel detected something in the pentacle with Makepeace. It was there on the third plane—something hazy, fluctuating, sucking in the light—a dark, horned mass, now tall, now broad, with arms that spread out and pressed against the pentacle. Nathaniel looked down; he thought he saw the inlaid boundaries of the circle bulge out a little in the floor. The features of the newcomer could not be seen. It towered over Makepeace, who spoke on, quite oblivious to his new companion.

Makepeace came to the climax of his command, the moment when he bound the demon inside himself. With a cry, he spoke the final words: the dark figure vanished, like blinking.

Makepeace stopped. He was quite still. His eyes looked out beyond his audience, as if at something far away.

Everyone watched, frozen to the spot. Makepeace did nothing; his face was blank.

"Hopkins," Rufus Lime said hoarsely. "Dismiss it... Quick!"

With a great cry, Makepeace sprang into life. It was quite without warning. Nathaniel cried out, everyone jumped; even the mercenary stepped back.

"Success!" Makepeace leaped from the circle. He clapped his hands, capered, hopped, skipped, and twirled. "Success! Such triumph', I cannot begin to tell you..."

The conspirators inched closer. Jenkins peered out above his glasses. "Quentin... is it true? How does it feel...?"

"Yes! Nouda is here! I feel it within! Ah—for a moment or two, my friends, there was a struggle—

I admit it.The effect was disconcerting. But I commanded it most strictly, with all my power. And I felt that demon shrink back and obey. It is subservient within me. It knows its master! What is it like? Hard to describe.... It is not painful exactly.... I sense it like a hard, hot coal within my head. But when it obeyed—I felt such a surge of energy! Oh, it cannot be imagined!"

With this, the conspirators erupted into raucous celebration; they squealed and jumped for joy.

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"The demon's power, Quentin!" Lime shouted. "Use it!"

"Not yet, my friends." Makepeace held up his hands for calm; the room fell silent. "I could destroy this room," he said, "turn all of it to powder if I chose. But there shall be time enough for fun once you have followed me. Go to your pen-tacles! Summon your demons! Then we shall set about our destiny! We shall seize the Staff of Gladstone and take a stroll through London. I believe some commoners are busy demonstrating. Our first task will be to put them in their place."

Like eager children, the conspirators scampered to their circles. Nathaniel grasped Kitty by the arm, drew her to one side. "In a moment," he hissed, "I will be called upon to join this madness.

I will pretend to do so. Do not be alarmed. At the last minute I shall use the pentacle to summon a troupe of the strongest djinn.With luck they will destroy Makepeace and these other fools. At the very least we shall have the opportunity to escape!" He paused triumphantly. "You don't seem overly impressed."

Kitty's eyes were tired, red-rimmed. Had she been crying? He hadn't noticed. She shrugged. "I hope you're right."

Nathaniel swallowed his irritation; in truth, he was nervous too. "You'll see."

Across the hall the summonings began: Rufus Lime, eyes tight shut, fish-mouth open, intoning his words in a muttered croak; Clive Jenkins, glasses removed from his little nose and held anxiously between his hands as he spoke in a rapid monotone. The others, whose names Nathaniel could not remember, stood in solitary postures, hunched, erect, shaking, stammering out their incantations, making the necessary gestures. Hopkins and Makepeace walked approvingly among them.

"John!" That was Makepeace; with a trill of delight, he bounded over."Ah! Such energy! I could leap to the stars!"His face went serious. "Not holding back on us, are you, boy? Why aren't you in a circle?"

Nathaniel raised his hands. "Perhaps if I was untied?"

"Ah, yes. How discourteous of me. There!" A snap of the fingers; the cords burst into lilac flames. Nathaniel shook himself free. "There is an empty pentacle in that corner, John,"

Makepeace said. "What demon have you chosen for yourself?"

Nathaniel chose two at random. "I was debating between two djinn from Ethiopian texts: Zosa and Karloum."

"An interesting, if modest, choice. I suggest Karloum. Well, off you go."

Nathaniel nodded. He took a quick sidelong glance at Kitty, who was watching him intently, then strode toward the nearest vacant pentacle. He hadn't much time: through the corner of his eye he saw strange, contorted shadows flittering above Jenkins and Lime. Heaven knew what the Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

idiots had summoned, but with luck it would take a while for them to control their internal slaves. Before that happened, Cormocodran and Hodge would make short work of them.

He stepped inside his circle, cleared his throat and looked around. Makepeace was watching him intently. Doubtless he was suspicious. Nathaniel grinned bleakly to himself; well, those suspicions were about to be confirmed in the most dramatic possible way.

A final moment of preparation—he would need to work swiftly when his djinn arrived, give precise and urgent orders— then Nathaniel acted. He made an ornate gesture, cried out the names of his five strong demons and pointed at the neighboring circle. He steeled himself for the explosions, the smoke and hellfire, the sudden appearance of straining, hideous forms.

With a miserable squelch, something small and insubstantial struck the center of the circle, spattering outward like a fruit dropped from on high. It had no discernible shape, but gave off a strong smell of fish.

A bulge rose in its center. A small voice sounded. "Saved!" The bulge rotated, appeared to notice Mr. Hopkins. "Oh."

Nathaniel gazed at it wordlessly.

Quentin Makepeace had seen it also. He stepped close, inspected it. "How peculiar! It seems to be some kind of uncooked meal. With added sentience. What do you think, Hopkins?"

Mr. Hopkins approached; his eyes glittered as they glanced at Nathaniel. "Nothing so innocent, I am afraid, sir. It is the remains of a pernicious djinni, which earlier this evening attempted my capture. Several other demons, who accompanied him, I have already slain. I fear that Master Mandrake was hoping to catch us unawares."

"Is that so?" Quentin Makepeace straightened sadly. "Oh dear. That rather changes things. I always had such high hopes for you, John. I really thought we might work well together. Still, never mind—I have Hopkins and my five loyal friends to count on." He glanced round at the conspirators who, having finished their summonings, stood quietly in their circles. "That is enough. Our first pleasure will be to watch you and your creature die— Ulp!" He put his hand to his mouth."Excuse me. I fear I— hic! —have indigestion. Now then—" Another gulp, a gasp; his eyes bulged. "This is most curious. I—" His tongue protruded. His limbs shook, his knees sagged; he seemed about to fall.

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