Ptolemy's Gate

on here. Here's a tip: your real legs aren't quite that thick. Not around the ankles, anyway.
    Tough, Kitty thought. It's the best I can do.
    Give yourself a face, at least, and for heaven's sake make it a nice one.
    Kitty strove hard and succeeded in forming a couple of piggy eyes, a long witchlike nose, and a mouth crooked in a wonky smile.
    Well, you're no Leonardo.
    A brief image flickered on and off close by—a bearded man staring at a wall.
    It would help, Kitty thought savagely, if I had something to look at other than all this mess. With an extreme effort, she made her surrogate body jerk an arm out at the swirling matter all around.
    Some of the curling tendrils recoiled in mock horror.
    You humans are so inconsistent. You claim to love stability and order, but what's Earth if not one big mess? Chaos, violence, dissent, and strife whichever way you look. It's far more peaceful here. But maybe I can help you out. Make things a little easier. Keep control of that lovely body of yours, now. I wouldn't want those arm things to fall off- — that would ruin its perfection.
    As Kitty watched, nearby regions of the flowing matter underwent a transformation. Flickering wisps of light elongated, broadened, solidified into planes; coils and spirals grew straight and tall, branching out at right angles, joining others and re-dividing. In moments the semblance of a room had formed around her body: a glassy floor; squared pillars on all sides; beyond them, steps leading, down to a lip, then nothingness. Above was a simple flat roof, also translucent. Beyond the roof, between the pillars, below the floor, the relentless movement of the Other Place continued unabated.
    The illusion of a physical space made Kitty suddenly fearful of the void around; her mannequin cowered in the center of the room, as far from the verges as possible.
    How's that?
    It's. . . okay. But what about you?
    I am here. You do not need to see me.
    But I would prefer it.
    Oh, very well. I suppose I am the host.
    From between the pillars at the end of the little hall a figure stepped—the boy with the ageless face. Where he had been attractive on Earth, here he was resplendently beautiful; his face radiated joy and calm, his skin shone with light and color. He stepped silently across the floor and came to a halt facing Kitty's wobble-headed, stick-chested, trunk-thighed form.
    Thanks, Kitty thought bitterly. That's made me feel a lot better.
    It's not actually me, any more than that's you. In fact, you're as much part of this form as I am. There aren't any divisions in the Other Place.
    It didn't feel that way before you came. They told me I wasn't wanted, said I was a wound.
    Only because you keep trying to impose order on us — and order means limitations. There should be no limitations here: nothing definite, nothing defined. Whether it's a clumsy stick figure or a floating ball — or a "house" like this —the boy waved a careless arm— it's alien, and cannot last long. It pains us to be restricted in any fashion.
    The boy stepped away from her and looked out between two pillars and the rushing lights. Kitty s surrogate tottered after him.
    Bartimaeus —
    Names, names, names! Now they're the ultimate restriction. They're the worst curse of all. Each one is a sentence of slavery. Here we are one — we have no names. But what do the magicians do? They reach in with their summons; their words draw us out, piece by screaming piece. As each piece passes through, it is defined: it gains a name and powers of its own, but is separated from the rest. What happens then? Like performing monkeys, we do tricks to please our masters, lest they hurt our fragile essence. Even when we return here we are never safe. Once a name has been bestowed we can be called again, and yet again, until our essence is worn away.
    He turned and patted Kitty's semblance on the back of its bulbous head.
    You're so disturbed by the connectedness of things here that you prefer to cling to something as unappetizing as this monstrosity—no offense I'm sure — rather than float freely with us at will. For us, on Earth, it is the reverse. Suddenly we are cut off from this fluidity, left alone and vulnerable in a world of vicious definition. By changing shape we get a little solace, but it never keeps the pain away for long. No wonder some of us become resentful.
    Kitty had ignored the monologue. She so disliked the crudeness of her creature that she had been stealthily adjusting