Ptolemy's Gate

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    Turn! He thought the order, relaxed his muscles, allowed the djinni to do the rest. As he spun, he spoke the word, directed the Staff. A bolt of white light beamed out—cut through the air, atomized the body of Clive Jenkins that came creeping up behind him. One minute the demon was there, clammy hand outstretched to deal a Flux, the next it had vanished, along with the subway entrance beyond it. Foul ash blew upon the molten pavement.
    Good thinking, that was, the djinni said. Didn't remember Naeryan being that sneaky.
    Nathaniel took a slow breath. He crossed to where the little group crouched beneath their Shield and waved a hand. Bartimaeus removed the sphere. The woman stood up quickly, clutching the children close. "Whitehall's the safest way," Nathaniel began. "The demons are gone from there, I think. Go that way, but do not fear, madam. I'll—" He halted; the woman had turned from him; face blank, eyes sullen and remote, she ushered the children away between the stalls.
    What do you expect? The djinni's voice cut in on his surprise. You and your kind got her into this mess in the first place. She won't be thanking you in a hurry, whatever you do. Don't worry, though, Nat. You're not totally alone. You've always got me. Laughter bubbled unbidden through his mind.
    For a few seconds Nathaniel stood where he was, head a little bent, looking out upon the desolation of the square. Then he set his shoulders, firmed his grip upon the Staff, rapped the heel of his boot once upon the ground—and was gone.

34

    Kitty located the prisoners far faster than she had expected. The slowest part was at the outset—as she geared herself up to leave the little room. When she first stood, every muscle in her body protested to the skies; she shuddered as if from extreme cold; her head felt light and watery. But she did not capsize.
    I've just got to relearn it, she thought. Remind my body what it can do.
    And it was true that with each shuffling step, her confidence grew. She made it to the cache of weapons piled beside the door. She grimaced, bent her knees, crouched, and held that position, wobbling and cursing, as she rummaged through the pile. Jolt-sticks, Inferno sticks, elemental spheres. . . familiar objects from the Resistance years. She had no bag, but tucked an Inferno and a jolt-stick in her belt. Two spheres, with difficulty, fitted in the tattered pockets of her jacket. (She removed Ptolemy's Apocrypha and set it, not without a certain reverence, on the floor. It had served its purpose well.) Among the magical objects lay a silver disc, smooth and razor-edged. Subduing a slight, unaccountable, aversion, she added it to a pocket. Then, supporting herself against the wall, she clawed herself back to her feet.
    Carefully, little by little, she set off out of the room, over the shattered fragments of the door, down the corridor, past the bleak expanse of the ruined Hall of Statues. She had a memory in her mind—of plaintive sounds coming from behind a door close to where Nathaniel and she had been imprisoned.
    As she went, Kitty was conscious of a strange division within her. Never had she felt so appallingly weak, so tentatively tied to earthly strength. Yet, by the same token, neither had she ever felt so wholly sure of herself as she did now. Often in the past she had been filled with reckless certainty, with joyful confidence in her youth and vigor. This was not like that. It was a calmer feeling, quieter, entirely unconnected with physical things, and lacking the edginess they tended to involve. It was a kind of implacable assurance; she felt it radiate from her as she shuffled along.
    Her first test did not dent this feeling in the slightest. At the point where the corridor broadened out, close to a set of stairs, Kitty encountered one of the demons. Probably it was the last to take possession of a body; certainly it had not mastered it with any great success. Its host had been a tall, thin man with blond and lanky hair, dressed in dark clothes of obvious expense. Now the clothes were ripped and torn, the hair disordered, the eyes opaque like sea glass. The legs stumbled from one side of the corridor to the other, the arms thrashing blindly. A feral growling issued from his throat, with—every now and then—angry words in an unknown language.
    The head turned; it caught sight of Kitty. A yellow gleam burned behind the eyes. Kitty halted, waiting. The demon's interest showed itself in a sudden wild