Alexandria: 124 B.C. 3 страница. Nathaniel stepped back in shock

Nathaniel stepped back in shock. Makepeace's body gave a sudden wriggle; it writhed, somewhat like a snake, as if all his bones were newly fluid. Then it steadied, stiffened. The playwright seemed to rally. For the briefest of instants a panicked look erupted in the eyes; the tongue managed to gabble out the words: "It is..."

A furious writhing drowned out the rest. Makepeace moved like a puppet on twisted strings.

The head jerked up. The eyes were staring, lifeless.

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

And the mouth laughed.

Standing all around him in their circles, Lime, Jenkins, and the rest of the conspirators joined in the laughter. Their bodies seemed to ape their leader's; they twitched and wriggled too.

Nathaniel stood transfixed as the noise erupted around him. It was not kind or pleasant laughter, nor was it particularly malicious, greedy, triumphant, or cruel. It would have been less distressing if it had been. Instead the sound was hollow, discordant and utterly alien. It contained no recognizable human emotion.

In fact, it wasn't human at all.

It was the soup that saved me. Fish soup, it •was, thick and creamy, filling the space of the silver tureen. At first, when I was pressed hard up against the silver walls, my essence dissolved rapidly away. But unexpectedly, things got better. Almost as soon as Faquarl left me, I lapsed into silver-induced unconsciousness, and that meant my crow guise fell apart. I subsided into an oily, fluid mass, not unlike dishwater, which floated within the soup, insulated from the silver by the liquid all around. I wouldn't say I was well off exactly, but my essence was now disintegrating a good deal slower than Faquarl would have expected.

Flickers of awareness came and went. One moment I thought I was far away in Egypt, talking with Ptolemy for the last time; the next I was watching fragments of cod and halibut drift by.

Occasionally Faquarl's declaration echoed in my mind: From tonight, we take revenge. Sounded ominous for somebody. Well, they were welcome to it. I was tired. I'd had enough. I was glad to be somewhere quiet, dying on my own.

And then, all of a sudden, the soup was gone; the freezing taint of silver likewise. I was freed from the tureen.

Good news, unquestionably. Trouble was, I was no longer alone.

My master—yes, that was predictable, I could just about cope with him. But then, when I rotated gloopily to check out the scene, who did I see next? Let's just say that when your archenemy's trapped you in a place of certain death, and you've

survived heroically against all the odds, the last thing you want to see, when you escape at last, is that same archenemy glaring down at you with an expression of annoyed distaste.1 Not only that—you're weak, look like a jellyfish, and smell of clam chowder. In such circumstances the wind kind of goes out of your sense of triumph.

1 Even a different archenemy would have been marginally better.

But that wasn't the half of it. As well as Mandrake and Faquarl, there were others in that room, Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

and I arrived just in time to see exactly what they were.

Five gates to the Other Place were open and my essence trembled with the onrush of activity.

Humans stood in five pentacles. On the first plane they seemed to stand alone. On the second and third, they were accompanied by billowing shadows of uncertain proportions; on the higher planes these shadows resolved themselves into hideous writhing masses, in which numerous tentacles, limbs, eyes, spines, and prongs kept uncomfortable proximity. As I watched, each mass compressed itself down and merged inside the waiting human. Soon even the most awkward leg or feeler was withdrawn from sight.

For the first few seconds the humans seemed to be in charge. They blinked, stirred, scratched their heads and, in the case of my old chum Jenkins, placed his glasses carefully on his nose.

Only the fact that their auras now glowed with extraordinary strength indicated that anything odd had happened. I wasn't fooled, of course. From what I'd seen of Faquarl and his treatment of Mr. Hopkins, I didn't think the humans would be on top for long.

And sure enough, they weren't.

A vibration in the planes behind me: I swiveled like an amoeba on a turntable and saw another human, a short, round man wearing an excessively frilly shirt. And this is when I got really worried: his aura was huge —it radiated out like a sunburst, vibrating with otherworldly colors and a malevolent vitality. I didn't need to be told that something had already taken residence in him.

He spoke; I wasn't listening. All of a sudden, his aura pulsed, just once, as if a door to a furnace deep inside him had been opened wide. And the short, round man lost his mind.

For all Faquarl's protestations to the contrary, the notion of bonding with a human is a pretty obnoxious one. For one thing you don't know where it's been. For another, mixing your essence with horrid heavy earthy flesh is an aesthetic no-no; it makes you queasy just thinking about it.

And then there's the small matter of control, of learning how to operate the human body.

Faquarl had had some practice at this with Hopkins. But the newcomers had not.

As one, the six magicians—the short, round man and the others in the circles—laughed, twitched, shook, stumbled, jerked their arms every which way, and fell over.

I looked up at Faquarl. "Oooh, scary. The revenge of the djinn begins."

He scowled, bent to assist his leader and was distracted by a movement near the door. It was another old friend—the mercenary. His face, which normally showed all the weakness and soft emotion of a granite slab, was wide-eyed with shock. Perhaps it was the sight of the magicians lying on their backs like upturned wood lice, arms and legs wriggling helplessly. Perhaps it was the realization that he was unlikely to get a fee. Whichever it was, he decided to depart. He moved to the door—

Faquarl sprang through the air; he landed by the mercenary. A single shrug of the spindly arms

—the mercenary was flung across the room to land heavily against a statue. He struggled to his Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

feet and drew a knife; Faquarl was on him in a flash. There was a blur of movement, the sound of multiple blows being struck; it sounded like a brawl in a saucepan factory. The scimitar spun across the floor. The mercenary slumped against the flagstones, gasping for breath. Faquarl straightened, adjusting Mr. Hopkins's tie, and strode back to the center of the room.

I'd watched with grudging approval. "Nice one. I've been trying to do that for years."

Faquarl shrugged. "The secret is to avoid magic, Bartimaeus. The fellow's resilience is excessive; it almost seems to feed off our energies. It helps to be encased in a mortal body. And don't think you're going anywhere either. I'll tend to you shortly." He trotted after the body of the short, round man, which was now rolling across the floor, uttering odd barks and cries.

Maybe it was a vanity thing, but I was a bit tired of remaining as a pool of glop. With a tremendous effort, I drew myself up into a pyramid of slime. Was that any better? No. But I was too far gone to try anything sophisticated. The slime looked about for Mandrake. If things were bad for me, they weren't too sunny for him either.

To my astonishment I saw him standing at a table with Kitty Jones.2

2. It was the Kitty Jones bit that was astonishing. Not the table. Though it was very nicely polished.

Now that took me by surprise. I couldn't fit her into the equation at all. What was more, Mandrake was busily trying to untie some cords binding her hands. Weird! If anything, this was odder than the Faquarl/Hopkins combo thing. Neither looked in very good nick, but they were talking avidly, peering toward the door. The mercenary's misadventure had not been lost upon them—they made no hasty move.

Slowly, as slime will, I set off across the floor toward them. But I hadn't gone far when the whole floor shook, flagstones cracked, and statues toppled against the wall. It was as if an earthquake had struck, or a mother roc had landed overhead. In fact, the culprit was the short, round man, who still lay upon the ground. He had managed to roll onto his side, but was now attempting to rise using his legs alone—an effort that made him rotate slowly in a clockwise direction. Whatever was inside him was growing frustrated; a hand slapped petulantly against the stones—with every slap, it shook the room.

Faquarl had hastened over and was seeking to haul him upright. "Press the feet flat against the ground, Lord Nouda. There! Let me take your weight.That's it. Steady yourself. Now you can rise. Success! We are vertical!"

Nouda... The pyramid of slime tilted its apex. Had it heard correctly? Surely not. Surely not even the stupidest magician would have been so vain, so foolhardy, so plain ignorant as to invite a being like Nouda within them. Surely everyone knew his track record.3

3. Oh. Right. Well, it's like this. As I may have mentioned once or twice, there are five basic levels of spirit: imps (reprehensible), foliots (negligible), djinn (a fascinating class, with one or two absolute gems), afrits (overrated), and marids (dreadfully full of themselves). Above these levels exist more powerful entities, shadowy by nature, who are only occasionally summoned or even defined. Nouda was one such, and his rare appearances on Earth left a trail of blood and misery. Only the most unpleasant Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

regimes employed him: the Assyrians (during the battle of Nineveh, when Nouda devoured a thousand Medes),Timur the Cruel (at the sack of Delhi, during which Nouda stacked the heads of prisoners to a height of 50 feet), the Aztecs (a regular engagement for Nouda this; in the end he discovered an ambiguity in Montezuma's summons—as a reward, Nouda ravaged Tenochtitlan and left it defenseless against tne Spanish). He was a formidable customer, in other words, hungry and not sympathetically inclined.

It seemed not. Faquarl was ushering the twitching body forward like an invalid, encouraging it with soothing words. "Just a little farther, Lord Nouda. A chair awaits.Try moving the feet instead of the hands. That's it—you are doing splendidly."

From the man's sagging mouth came a great voice. "Who speaks?"

"It is I, Faquarl."

"Ah, Faquarl!" the great voice cried. "You did not lie. It is exactly as you said! What joy I feel!

No pain! No compulsion! I smell the human world and all the juicy bodies waiting. Oh, but my coordination vexes me. This you did not prepare me for."

"It takes a little time, a little time," Faquarl crooned. "You will soon acclimatize."

"So many peculiar muscles—I cannot make out their use! Joints that swivel so far and no more, tendons running every which way! The dull sloshing of the blood—how strange for it to be my own! I wish to tear the flesh apart and drink it down."

"I would curb that impulse, sir," Faquarl said crisply. "You might find it inexpedient. There will be plenty of other flesh to enjoy, fear not. Now, here: sit on this throne. Rest awhile." He stood back; the short, round body of Makepeace sank upon the golden chair. Its head lolled sideways, its limbs twitched. On the other side of the table Kitty and Mandrake shrank away.

"Where are my troops, dear Faquarl?" the great voice said. "Where is my army that you promised?"

Faquarl cleared his throat. "Right in this room, sir. They, like you, are just... coming to terms with their new status." He looked over his shoulder. Of the five magicians, three were still lying on the floor, one was sitting up and grinning inanely, while the fifth had actually risen and was stumbling randomly about the hall, with arms rotating like a windmill and feet tripping on the rugs.

"Looking good," I said. "One day they may even manage to conquer this room."

Faquarl turned purposefully. "Ah, yes. I'd forgotten about you."

Eyes rotated blindly in the limp round head. "To whom do you speak, Faquarl?"

"A djinni. Pay no attention. He will not be with us long."

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"What djinni is this? Is he a supporter of our plan?"

"It is Bartimaeus, a skeptic."

One arm rose, made a spasmodic movement that was probably meant to beckon. The great voice boomed. "Come here, djinni."

The pyramid of slime hesitated, but there was no help for it. I did not have the power to resist or flee. With all the verve of a wounded slug I squelched my way toward the golden chair, leaving an unpleasant trail behind. I bowed as best I could.

"It is an honor to meet a spirit of such strength and renown," I said. "I am but a wisp upon the wind; nevertheless, my power is yours."4

4. Note the absence of any jokes, sneers, or satirical content in these sentences. Despite Nouda's current indisposition, I didn't doubt that he could atomize me with a single glance. Best to be polite, I felt.

The limp head gave a jerk; with a wild swivel, the eyes discerned me. "Greater or less, we are all children of the Other Place. May your essence prosper."

Faquarl stepped forward. "Well, I wouldn't go too far," he said. "Bartimaeus is as fickle as a moonbeam and as flighty as a colt. And sarky with it. I was about to—"

The great spirit waved a plump little hand in what was probably intended to be a mild gesture; it swung out wildly and cracked the tabletop in two. "Be gentle, Faquarl. After centuries of slavery all our personalities distort a little."

"I don't know," Faquarl said doubtfully. "He's pretty distorted."

"Even so. We do not fight among ourselves."

The pyramid of slime nodded eagerly. "That's right. Hear that, Faquarl? Listen and learn."

"Especially," the great voice continued, "when the djinni is as pitiable as this. Look at him! A baby's burp could disperse his essence.You have been poorly treated, Bartimaeus.Together we shall locate your oppressor and devour his flesh."

I glanced surreptitiously at my master, who was steadily backing away toward the door, shepherding Kitty with him.5 "That's a generous offer, Lord Nouda."

5. His treatment of her seemed... well, let's put it this way: it was hard to tell exactly how it was self-serving. No doubt there were ulterior motives aplenty, if you only knew where to look for them.

Faquarl looked a little peeved. "The problem," he said, "is that Bartimaeus does not approve of our scheme. He has already referred to my occupation of this vessel"—he pointed to Hopkins's Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

chest and paused dramatically—-"as 'icky.'"

"Well, look at you," I snapped. "Trapped inside a horrid—" I controlled myself, conscious again of Nouda's fearsome aura. "To be honest, Lord Nouda, I am not sure exactly what your scheme is. Faquarl has not explained fully."

"That is easily remedied, little djinni." Nouda seemed aware that his jaw muscles were somehow associated with speaking. As he spoke, the mouth opened and closed at random, sometimes wide, sometimes not; in any event, it was entirely out of sync with his words. "For centuries we have suffered pain at human hands. Now it is our turn to impose that pain on them. Thanks to Faquarl, and to the foolish magician whose body I now wear, our chance has come. We have entered the world on our own terms—and it is for us to decide what to do with it." His teeth clacked together twice in a hungry sort of way. This spasm looked quite intentional.

"But with all due respect," I ventured, "there are only seven of you, and—"

"The hard part has already been done, Bartirnaeus." Faquarl smoothed down his coat. "By me.

It has taken years to lure Makepeace to his doom. His ambition was always unwieldy, but it wasn't until the appearance of Honorius in Gladstone's bones that I saw how best to use it.

Makepeace's weakness was his vainglorious desire for innovation, for the reckless creative act.

After Honorius, he and Hopkins became interested in summoning a spirit into a living body. By subtle insinuations, I encouraged them. In due course Hopkins volunteered for the experiment, and I was the djinni summoned. After that, things were easy. I destroyed Hopkins's mind but concealed this from Makepeace. Now he has also sacrificed himself and several of his friends."

"There are seven of us now," Nouda said, "but we can soon get reinforcements. All we need are more human vessels."

"And thanks to Makepeace we have plenty," Faquarl added.

The great entity seemed surprised. "How so?"

"The entire government lies in a nearby chamber, gagged and bound and ready.You have devoured the magician's memory, Lord Nouda.You would not recall."

Nouda gave a wild laugh that knocked over a nearby chair. "True—there is no point sharing these brains... So—all is well! Our essences are protected! We have no bonds! Soon we shall roam in hundreds about the world and feed, feed, feed upon its people!"

Well, I suppose I didn't think it was going to be simple tourism. I was watching Mandrake and Kitty; they were almost at the door. "One question," I said. "When all the killing's done, how will you get back?"

"Back?" Nouda said.

Faquarl echoed him. "What do you mean, back"?"

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"Well..." The pyramid of slime attempted a shrug, with scant success. "Back to the Other Place. When you've had enough of it here."

"That is not part of the plan, little djinni." Nouda's head rotated toward me in a sudden rush.

"The world is big. It is varied. It is ours now."

"But—"

"Our hatred has grown so long, it cannot be healed even in the Other Place. Think of your own experiences. For you too it must be.so."A sudden outcry. Nouda jerked confusedly in his chair, splitting the back panel down its center. "What disturbance is this?"

Faquarl grinned. "Bartimaeus's master, I believe."

Shouts, screams... Sure enough, with the incompetence that was his trademark, Mandrake hadn't reached the door. Instead he and Kitty had been apprehended by the body of Jenkins, which was beginning to move with some coordination. Evidently the spirit inside it was a fast learner.

Nouda's voice held interest. "Bring him here."

It took a while; Jenkins's legs were not yet bending at the knees. But finally two disheveled humans stood before the golden chair, Jenkins's hands around their necks. Both Mandrake and Kitty looked haggard and defeated. Their shoulders slumped, their clothes were ripped; Kitty's coat had been burned right through. Unnoticed, the pyramid of slime gave a small, short sigh.

Nouda experimented with a ghastly, half-baked smile; he twitched and wriggled excitedly where he sat. "Meat! I smell it! What a blissful flavor."

A light of defiance glimmered in Mandrake's eyes. "Bartimaeus," he croaked, "I am still your master. I order you to help us now."

Faquarl and Nouda laughed heartily at this; I did not. "That time is past," I said. "You would do well to keep silent."

"I order you—"

A deep feminine voice emerged from Jenkins's mouth. "Is that you, Bartimaeus?"

The slime gave a start. "Naeryan! Haven't seen you since Constantinople!"

"Listen to me! I order—"

"What's with the slime, Bartimaeus? You're looking peaky."

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"Yeah, been better. How about you, though? Ginger hair, glasses, just two legs... bit of a comedown, isn't it?"6

6. This was true: Naeryan's normal form involved an inky blue-black torso, three piercing eyes placed at random intervals, and a multitude of spiderlike limbs. Okay, that guise was an acquired taste, but it was a lot more dignified than Jenkins.

"I order you to... to..." Mandrake's head dropped. He said no more.

"It's worth it, Bartimaeus!" Naeryan said. "You can't imagine what it's like. The body is dreary, but it gives such freedom! Will you join us?"

"Yes!" Nouda's great voice put in. "Join us! We shall find you an appropriate magician. We will force him to summon you forthwith."

The slime drew itself as tall as it could. "My thanks to you both.The offer is courteous and kind.

But I fear I must decline. I have had enough of this world, and everything in it. My essence hurts me; my only wish is to return to the peace of the Other Place as fast as I can."

Nouda seemed a little put out. "This is an odd decision."

Faquarl spoke eagerly. "It is as I said—Bartimaeus is both fickle and perverse! He should be destroyed with a Spasm!"

A great growl came from Makepeace's throat; the air quivered with heat haze. The clothes on Faquarl's body crackled into flame. Nouda sucked the air back in.The flames went out.

Makepeace's eyes glittered.7 "Beware, Faquarl," the great voice said, "lest your good advice becomes officious.The djinni is free to go."

7. Somewhere deep inside those eyes I glimpsed the fearful energies of the Other Place, swirling, swirling. I couldn't help but wonder how long the mortal body would survive the strain of such an inhabitant.

The slime bowed. "My gratitude is undying, Lord Nouda. If it pleases you to hear me further, I have one last request to make."

"On this triumphant day," Nouda said, "when my earthly reign begins, I shall grant the wishes of even the weakest, most insignificant of my fellow spirits. And that's you, without a doubt. I shall permit your request, if it lies within my power. Speak on."

The slime bowed lower still. "Spare the lives of these two humans, Lord Nouda. The world, as you say, is big. There are many others to devour. Spare these."

That got a bit of a reaction. Faquarl gave a snort of disgust, Naeryan tutted with surprise. As for Nouda, he clashed his teeth together with such force that several cherubs fell off his chair. His eyes flashed fire, his fingers gouged the tabletop like butter. I'd say he wasn't overly pleased. "I have given my word, djinni, and I cannot break it," the great voice said. "But this is ill done. I Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

need some ballast in my belly. I was looking forward to these two, particularly the girl. The boy looks sour and sinewy—I believe his flesh would taste like candle wax—but she is edible beyond doubt. And you would have me spare them! It seems that Faquarl was right.You are perverse."

That was pretty rich coming from someone who had purposefully trapped himself within the human world, but I didn't argue. I just bowed lower.

"Tcha!" Nouda was working himself into a strop; with sudden rough coordination, Makepeace's body half rose from his seat. "To have a bond with a human... Ah, you are a corruption! A traitor! I itch to destroy you.... But no, I cannot break my promise. Go from here! Be gone from my sight!"

I did not show my anger. "We do have a bond of sorts," I said quietly, "but for the present there are limits to it. Which is why I take my leave." The pyramid of slime rotated to face Mandrake, who had been listening, white-faced. "Dismiss me."

It took him several seconds to respond, and only then when Kitty nudged him sharply. When he spoke, he stumbled three times and had to begin again. His voice never rose above a whisper; he did not look in my direction. By contrast—as I rose, flickered, faded, vanished—Kitty never took her eyes off me.

My last sight was of them cowering together, two hunched and fragile forms, alone among the djinn.What did I feel? Nothing. I'd done what I could. Nouda's word was his bond; he would spare their lives. Beyond that, it wasn't my business what happened to them. I was getting out, and about time too. I was lucky to escape with my life.

Yes, I'd done what I could. I didn't need to think about it any more. I was free.

Free.

Look, even at full strength I'd still have been a speck of insignificance compared to Nouda. What else could I have done?

For Kitty, the moments following Bartimaeus's departure were the bleakest and most terrible of all. The last fragment of hope departed, and with it, the focus of her captors immediately changed. Hopkins's head turned; in the golden chair, the glassy eyes of Makepeace rolled around to stare at her. She felt the ferocity of the demons' gazes, of the cold intelligences hidden behind the waxy faces. She knew what it was to be a lump of meat upon a butcher's slab.

The great demon seemed to be gaining control of his human body—its twitches and shaking had diminished; it sprawled quietly across the chair. Elsewhere in the room, by a similar gradual process, the bodies of the conspirators had risen to their feet, and in a spirit of experimentation Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

were hobbling about the room in little jerks and scampers. Their arms swung, they jumped, crouched, spun on the spot. Their mouths were open: the room was full of the gabble of languages, of triumphant laughter, and animal cries. Kitty shuddered; it was a parody both of everything that was human and of the dignity she had previously observed in spirits—even the most grotesque.

At her back the demon in Jenkins's body spoke. She did not understand the words. Hopkins nodded, replied, turned to the great demon sitting in the chair. A long conversation ensued.

Kitty and Mandrake stood dead still, waiting.

Then Hopkins's body moved; the suddenness made Kitty jolt with fear. It turned to them and beckoned. With stiff movements and rigid limbs they followed it across the hall, among the gamboling demons, past the bearded man crouching silently in a corner, and out into the corridor. They took the passage to the left, around numerous twists and turns, above a broad stone staircase leading underground, into an area of many doors. Kitty thought to hear moaning coming from behind the first they passed. The demon continued on; in due course he halted, flung open a door, and gestured for them to enter. It was an empty, windowless room, lit by a single electric light.

The demon's voice was harsh. "Thanks to Lord Nouda's unbreakable oath, we are obliged to be merciful. You"—it indicated Kitty—"are not a magician, so you shall become an ordinary servant.

However, you" —this to Mandrake—"are due a greater honor.You shall become a host to one of our number before dawn. Do not look so glum. Think of all the spirits you have enslaved! This judgment upon you has a pleasant symmetry. Until then you shall remain here. It is not seemly for you to observe us in our current state." The door closed, a key turned. Footsteps receded.

Kitty could feel her body shaking with suppressed shock and fear. She bit her lip, forced the feeling down. No good— they hadn't time for that. She looked at Mandrake, and to her surprise saw flecks of tears in the corners of his eyes. Perhaps, like her,.he was almost overwhelmed. He was speaking quietly, as if to himself: "Demons have entered the world... without restraint. It is a catastrophe...."

No. They hadn't time for that. "A catastrophe?" she said. "Funny, the way I see it, things are looking up."

"How can you say—?"

"The demons plan to use me as a slave. Not good, true. But half an hour ago your friend the fat magician was going to have me killed. I look on that as a marked improvement."

John Mandrake blew out his cheeks. "Makepeace was not my friend. He was insane, a reckless, arrogant madman. And I wouldn't get too optimistic," he went on dully. "Nouda may have promised not to kill you, but that doesn't mean one of the others won't. I'm surprised they haven't spotted that. It's the kind of ambiguity they normally pounce on.Yes, they'll eat you soon enough, take it from me."

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