Ptolemy's Gate

the size of the head, channeling some of the matter down to plump up her spindly torso. She'd reduced the nose a little too, and made the mouth smaller and less lopsided. Yes. . . it was markedly better.
    The boy rolled his eyes.
    This is exactly what I mean! You can't get your mind away from the notion that this thing is in some way you. It's nothing but a puppet. Leave it alone.
    Kitty gave up her attempt to draw out some hair from the back of the creature's head. She turned her full attention on the radiant boy, whose face was suddenly grave.
    Why have you come here, Kitty?
    Because that's what Ptolemy did. I wanted to prove myself, show that I trusted you. You said that after he managed it, you'd have been happy to be his slave. Well, I don't want slaves, but I do need your help. Which is why I've come.
    The boy's eyes were black crystals full of stars.
    In what way do you wish my help?
    You know why. Those de — those spirits that have broken free. They plan to fall on London, kill its people.
    Haven't they yet? the boy remarked casually. They are being slow about it.
    Don't be cruel! In her agitation, Kitty's creature swung its stick arms above its head and lurched forward across the hall. The boy stepped back in surprise. Most of the people in London are innocent! They don't want the magicians any more than you do. I'm asking you on their account, Bartimaeus. It's they who are going to suffer when Nouda's army gets loose.
    The boy nodded sadly.
    Faquarl and Nouda are sick. It's what happens to some of us when we're summoned many times. Slavery corrupts us. Our personalities become brutalized, dull, vindictive; we dwell far more on trivial indignities suffered in your world than on the wonders and pleasures of this place. Hard to believe, but true.
    Kitty looked out at the flashes of light and the infinity of moving essence.
    What do you actually do here? she asked.
    It's not about doing. It's about being. Don't expect to understand it: you're a human — you can only see surfaces, and then you want to impose yourself upon them. And Faquarl and Nouda and the rest have been twisted in your image. They define themselves now by their hatred — it's so strong, they actually want to be apart from this, providing they can take revenge. In a way it's a final capitulation to the values of your world. Hey — you're getting better at manipulating that thing. . .
    Shielded from the full energies of the Other Place, Kitty was finding it easier to make her mannequin move about. It
    strutted to and fro about the little hall, swinging its arms and moving its balloon head jerkily from side to side as if acknowledging an audience. The boy nodded with approval.
    You know, it's almost an improvement on your real self.
    Kitty ignored this. The mannequin stopped at the boy's side.
    I've done what Ptolemy did, she thought. I've proved myself to you. And you answered my call — you've acknowledged it. Now I need your help to stop what the de — what Faquarl and Nouda are doing.
    The boy smiled.
    Your sacrifice is indeed great, and in Ptolemy's memory I would be pleased to return the gesture. But there are two problems that prevent it. First you'd have to summon me back to Earth, and that may be beyond you now.
    Why? Kitty asked. The boy was looking at her with a gentle, almost kindly expression. It unnerved her. Why? She asked again.
    The second problem, the boy went on, is my unfortunate weakness. I haven't been here long enough to rebuild my energies fully, and Faquarl — let alone Nouda — has more power in one of his big toes than I do right at this moment. I'm disinclined to enter into slavery that is guaranteed to be fatal. I'm sorry, but there it is.
    It won't be slavery. I told you that before. The mannequin stretched out an arm toward the boy in a hesitant gesture.
    But it would be fatal.
    Kitty's mannequin lowered its arm. Okay. What if we had the Staff?
    Gladstone's? How? Who'd use it? You couldn't.
    Nathaniel's trying to get hold of it right now.
    All very well, but could he use — Wait a minute! The radiant features of the boy contorted, slipped out of true, as if the condoling intelligence had drawn back in shock; an instant later they were as perfect as before. Let's get this straight. He told you his name?
    Yes. Now —
    I like that. . . I like that! He's been giving me gyp for years, simply because I could have spilled the beans, and now he's telling any old broad he meets, free of charge! Who else knows?