Ptolemy's Gate

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, Bartimaeus." 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"?"
    "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."
    "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