Alexandria: 124 B.C. 5 страница

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.

5. N.B. I'm still talking about the face here.

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 cring-ingly from below. "We do not know Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

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, Caspar—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. Caspar, 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.

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

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.

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"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, 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.

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

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."

Nathaniel

Her 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."

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"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?"

"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?"

"Urn... 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."

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

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?

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

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

Exactly.

Kitty

Kitty 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.

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

37

At 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 Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

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?"

Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

"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."

Kitty shut the atlas cover; spirals of dust rose up and drifted in the light. "You are very kind, but that door's closed to me now. My studies were always directed toward summoning one particular..." She paused. "I had one particular objective in mind. And two nights ago Nathaniel accomplished it for me. In all honesty, I wouldn't know how to follow on from that."

There was silence in the room. All at once Ms. Piper looked at her watch and gave a little cry.

"Recess is almost over! I must go. Heaven knows whether we can make any headway this afternoon." She sighed heavily as she stood. "Ms. Jones, after a single morning I am already close to throttling the commoners' entire delegation. A single morning! And we are barely started.The outlook could hardly be worse. I really don't believe we shall be able to cooperate at all."

Kitty smiled and sat back in her chair. "Keep trying," she said. "It's possible. Not easy, but it's possible. You'll be surprised what you manage to achieve."

38

Dying was the simple part. Our main problem was catching Nouda's attention.

We stood, the two of us, in our single body, directly beneath the middlemost dome. This was the place to lure him to, the epicenter, the place of maximum iron. But Nouda was too big, too noisy, too confused and desolate to be easily lured. Back and forth he lurched on his mess of limbs, trampling stalls and kiddies' rides and stuffing trees at random into his gaping mouth. He undertook this serious work with admirable conviction, and none of his eyes were turned our way.

Flying was out for us now. Even bounding would be a stretch. It took most of my remaining energies to keep the boy upright. Left to his own devices, he'd have crumpled to the floor.

So we stopped where we were, and shouted instead. Or at least I did, with the kind of cry that triggers Tibetan avalanches.1 "Nouda! It is I, Bartimaeus, Sakhr al-Jinni, N'gorso the Mighty and the Serpent of Silver Plumes! I have fought a thousand battles and won them all! I have destroyed far greater entities than you! Ramuthra fled before my majesty. Tchue cowered in a Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

crack in the earth. Hoepo the Thunder Snake ingested his own tail and so swallowed himself rather than taste my fury! So then, I challenge you now. Come face me!"

1. When shouted from Nepal. That's how loud it was.

No answer. Nouda was busily munching on some of the exhibits in the Grotto of Taxidermy. The boy ventured a tentative thought. Does that count as a goad? It was essentially straightforward boasting, wasn't it?

Listen, a goad's anything that provokes or incites an enemy, and — Oh, look, it didn't work, did it? We're running out of time. Another few steps and he'll break outside.

Let me have ago. The boy cleared his throat."Cursed demon! You have met your end! The Shivering Fire awaits you! I shall spread your vile essence across this hall like... um, like margarine, a very thick layer of it...." He hesitated.

Ye-es... I'm not sure he'll pick up on that analogy. Never mind, keep going.

"Cursed demon— attend to me!" The pity of it was that the boy's voice was desperately faint and growing fainter. I could barely hear it, let alone Nouda. But he finished up with a very effective extra, namely a bolt offeree from the Staff that jabbed Nouda sharply in the rear. The great spirit responded with a roar; he rose up, limbs twitching, bulb eyes questing. All at once he saw us and sent multiple bolts crashing all around. His aim was lousy. One or two landed a few meters distant, but we stood firm. We did not budge.

The great voice: "Bartimaeus! I see you...."

The boy whispered something in reply, too weak to hear. But I read his mind, spoke the words for him. "No! I am Nathaniel! I am your master! I am your death!"

Another burst of white energy pricked Nouda's essence. He hurled a stuffed bear aside and turned in ponderous wrath. He came crawling toward us—a colossal shadow, alien to this world, sundered from the other, blocking out the light.

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