Ptolemy's Gate

Kitty saw a long, low stall studded with racks of wooden boxes, each filled with colored spice. A barrel maker sat cross-legged before an open door, fixing struts into a metal ring. Other images came and went: houses, painted white; goats milling among crowds; children fixed midrun; the chair again, its curtains shut.
    In the center of the market I spotted something moving on a roof up ahead. I gave my pole to Penrenutet, became a bird, rose up to check. Above the roofs I saw —
    He broke off. The fabric of the Other Place was black as syrup; it swirled angrily, slowly, lit by lightning flashes. An image lingered—rooftops stretching away, bleached bone-white by a dazzling sun. Across the sky dark figures hung in silhouette— great wings spread, long tails outstretched; here and there light glinted on armored scales. Now Kitty saw horrors: a snake's head, a wolf's snout, a skinless face with bared teeth grinning. The picture vanished.
    The Roman magicians had summoned many djinn. Afrits too. They came at us from all sides. We were four djinn. What could we do? We stood and fought. There in the street, among the people, we stood and fought for him. A final confusion of images, rapidly changing and out of focus—smoke, explosions, blue-green energies crackling up and down a narrow lane; humans screaming; the demon with the skinless face falling from the sky, clawing at a hole in the center of its torso. Other djinn too—one had a hippo's head, one an ibis's bill—standing close beside the curtained chair.
    Affa died first, the boy continued. Then Penrenutet and Teti. I threw up a Shield, snatched Ptolemy away. I broke through the wall, killed those who pursued me, fled across the sky. They came after us, like a swarm of bees.
    What happened? Kitty asked. The boy had fallen silent once again. No images appeared in the void.
    I was caught by a Detonation. Wounded. Couldn't fly. Broke into a little temple; barricaded us in. Ptolemy was in bad shape — worse, I mean, than he had been before. I think it was the smoke, or something. The enemy surrounded the temple. There was no way out.
    And then?
    I cannot speak of it. He gave me a final gift. That is the essence of the matter.
    The boy shrugged then. He looked across at Kitty's mannequin for the first time.
    Poor Ptolemy! He thought his example might help to reconcile our kinds. He was convinced the account of his journey would be read and followed down the centuries, and lead to a union of worlds. He told me so, right here! Well, for all his light and clarity, he was completely wrong. He died, and his ideas have been forgotten.
    Kitty's creature frowned. How can you say that, when I'm here too? And Nathaniel's read his book, and Mr. Button, and —
    The Apocrypha's only fragments. He never survived to write the rest. Besides, people like Nathaniel read, but they don't believe.
    I believed.
    Yes. You did.
    If you come back, and help save London, you will be continuing Ptolemy's work. Humans and djinn working together. That's what he wanted, isn't it?
    The boy looked out at the void. Ptolemy made no demands on me.
    I'm not making any demands either. You can do what you wish. I'm asking for your help. If you don't want to respond, that's fine.
    Well . . . The boy stretched out his thin brown arms. It's against my better judgement, but it would be nice to settle scores with Faquarl. We'd need the Staff, mind. Useless without the Staff. And I'm not staying long, especially if I'm cooped up in —
    Thank you, Bartimaeus! In a swell of gratitude, Kitty's mannequin leaned across and flopped its stick arms out around the boy's neck. The bulbous head rested briefly against his slim, dark one.
    All right, all right. Don't get soppy. You've made your sacrifice. Now I suppose it's my turn.
    Firmly, but with restraint, the boy extricated himself from the mess of limbs and stood upon the step.
    You'd better get back, he said. Before it's too late.
    The mannequin looked up, head twisted accusingly, then sprang to its feet in a fury.
    What do you mean, exactly? You keep saying this. What sacrifice?
    I thought you knew. I'm sorry.
    What? I'm going to thump you in a minute.
    How? You haven't any hands.
    Or — or — I'll push you off the edge. Just tell me.
    The truth is, Kitty, the Other Place is not conducive to humans. In the same way that my essence suffers on Earth, so your essence suffers here.
    Meaning?
    Meaning you have wilfully separated yourself from your body. Not for too