Ptolemy's Gate

need more cars. Who here can drive?"
    "I can't. My man does that."
    "Nor me—"
    At the door, a harsh, forced cough. Ms. Farrar's face was haggard, her hair tangled and disheveled, her mouth a thin-lipped slash. White hands pressed hard against the door frame on either side. Her arms were bent, her shoulders slightly hunched—the posture gave her a faint resemblance to an inverted bat. Her gaze spat venom. "Not one of you," she said, "is anything better than a junior minister. Most of you are scarcely even that —-just secretaries and desk-hands. Your knowledge of magic is painfully limited; your judgement, it seems, is even worse. The commoners will look after themselves. Some have resilience—no doubt they can repel a few Detonations. There are, in any case, many of them. We can afford to lose a few. What we cannot do is stand around dithering while our capital is under attack. What, we're going to leave it up to Mandrake? How good a magician do you think he? I'm going for my wolves. Any one with any remaining ambition will follow me."
    She pushed herself back from the door frame, and without a backward glance, set off down the corridor. Uneasy silence. After a pause three of the young men, heads lowered, brows scowling, pushed their way past Kitty and departed. Several others wavered, but remained.
    The young woman with mousy hair shrugged; she turned to Kitty. "We're following you, miss. . . um, sorry, what is your name?"
    Clara Bell? Lizzie Temple? "Kitty Jones," she said. Then, more faintly: "Can anyone get me something to drink?"

    While Kitty rested, while she sipped cool mineral water from the Council's own supply of bottles, the junior magicians set about their work. Some ventured around the Whitehall chambers: they returned trembling and wan, with reports of bodies piled in side rooms, of pentacles slashed and ruptured, of such devastation as none had ever dreamed. Carnage like this was generally visited on enemies at a distance. It was troubling for the magicians to experience it first hand. Others crept to the front of the building and peered forth into Whitehall. Buildings were on fire; corpses lay in full view—what was most unsettling was the utter absence of the people. Ordinarily, even in the small hours, buses and taxis continued to pass that way, together with the comings and goings of night staff in the ministries, and patrols of police and soldiers. The machinery of government, beheaded by the treachery of Makepeace and surprised by the appearance of Nouda, had for the moment ceased altogether.
    The destruction of the pentacles was a setback, but it soon became clear that the ferocity of the demons exceeded their efficiency, and here and there circles were found that had been overlooked and spared. A few small imps set forth on reconnaissance; meanwhile, in a chamber close to the Hall of Statues, a giant crystal ball, formerly employed by the Council, was located and brought to the room where Kitty sat. The magicians congregated, hushed and somber. Without preamble, the strongest individual present—a junior minister from the Fisheries—summoned the djinni trapped within the ball. In ringing tones it was directed to its task: to reveal the position of the renegade demons.
    The ball went smoky, dark. . . Everyone leaned closer.
    Lights within the crystal! Red and orange. Leaping flames.
    The focus cleared. Raging fires, near and far; lanterns among dark trees. In the distance, a giant humpbacked glow of light. . .
    "The Glass Palace," someone said. "That's St. James's Park."
    "The commoners were demonstrating there."
    "Look!" In the foreground, hundreds of running forms, wheeling, scattering like fish shoals through the trees.
    "Why don't they get out?"
    "Surrounded." Here and there, bursts of magic, corralling the panic-stricken crowds, redirecting them back upon themselves. Glimpses of unnatural movement on the margins—great bounds and leaps, sudden rushes. Hopping, prancing figures, human in their shape, inhuman in their gleeful capering, active on all sides. One loped into clear view beneath a lantern; it spied a cluster of men and women fleeing in its direction. It bent its back, prepared to spring—
    A shaft of white light—a tremendous explosion. The loping creature vanished—in its place a smoking crater. A figure passed beneath the lantern out of sight, going with steady strides; it held a long staff in its hand.
    Kitty placed her mineral water carefully on the floor. "Summon