Ptolemy's Gate

the Mystic Tent of Prophecy and exploded in a burst of iridescent light.
    Where's Lime? Nathaniel thought. Can't see him.
    Don't know. Look at Nouda. He's our problem now.
    Whether or not spurred to action by my coruscating wit, or simply through displeasure at seeing the remnants of his army slain, Nouda had suddenly exerted himself. Great green wings erupted from his back. Slowly at first, laboring under the disadvantages of his grotesque asymmetry, he stumbled to the lip of the carousel roof, hesitated like a fledgling on its maiden flight, then stepped off. The mighty wings beat once—too late. He'd already landed spread-eagled on the ground.
    Get him, I said. Get him NOW.
    We dropped down as fast as I could manage it, Nathaniel's jaw clamped tight shut with the speed of the descent. As we plummeted, Nathaniel lessened the constraints upon the entities of the Staff, opened it up as much as he dared. Their energies erupted, lanced down upon the wriggling body in a flower of light.
    Keep it going, I said. Keep it going. Don't leave anything to chance.
    I know. I'm doing it.
    Our descent slowed, slowed. We hovered in midair. Below, a milky-white inferno raged: Nouda and the carousel were deep within it. Heat plumed outward, cracked the glass on nearby panes, burned the air around us. I erected a small Shield to deflect the full ferocity. The vibrations of the Staff grew greater, ran up our arm and shook within our skull.
    What do you think? the boy thought. Enough?
    Must be. . . No, play safe. A little longer.
    I can't hold it for much — Ah!
    I'd seen the shadow rising, sensed the movement in the air. I'd flung us aside. But the Detonation caught us, broke my Shield apart, struck us on the side even as we spun away. The boy cried out and I cried with him—for the first and only time I shared a human's pain. Something in the feeling—perhaps it was the dull immobility of the flesh, the way it just sat there, accepting the wound—made panic ripple through my essence. The boy's mind teetered on the edge of consciousness. His fingers loosened on the Staff; its energies died back. I gripped it harder, spun it round, sent white fire lashing beneath the dome, to cut straight through the pursuing body of Rufus Lime. The halves dropped separately to earth. I sealed the Staff securely. We landed awkwardly amid a clump of palms and pot plants.
    The boy was busy fainting. Our eyes were closing. I forced them open, and set my essence tingling through his system. WAKE UP.
    He stirred. "My side . . ."
    Don't look at it. We're all right.
    And Nouda?
    Well. . . that's not so good. Across the open space, beyond a number of scattered picnic tables and litter bins, the earth was broken, blistered. Where once the kiddies rode the carousel, a smoking crater split the earth. And in that smoke, something big and shapeless roared and stumbled, calling out my name.
    "Bartimaeus! I order you, come here! I must chastise you for your impudence!"
    It no longer looked anything much like a man.
    "See how my strength grows, Bartimaeus, despite my pain! See how I shrug off this pathetic coat of flesh!"
    Bartimaeus ... my side. . . I can't feel it.
    It's fine. Don't worry about it.
    You're concealing something. . . That thought — what was it?
    Nothing. I was thinking we have to get up; get away.
    "Where are you, Bartimaeus?" the great voice called. "I shall add you to myself. It is an honor!"
    My side feels numb. . . I can't —
    Relax. I'll see if I can fly us out.
    No, wait. What about. . . Nouda?
    He's a big boy; he can fly himself if he wants to. Now —
    We can't, Bartimaeus. Not if he's —
    He'll keep. We're going.
    NO.
    I tried to exert my energies to fly, but the boy was actively resisting—the muscles tensed, his will wrestled with my own. We half rose, crashed back down among the ferns, ended up leaning against a tree. One advantage of this: it concealed us from the many eyes of Nouda, now a squatting blackness that scuttled on the crater's lip.
    You idiot, Nathaniel. Let me take over.
    There isn't any point.
    What do you —?
    Is there? I read your mind. Just now.
    Oh. . . that. Look, I'm no medic. Forget it. I could be wrong.
    But you're not, are you? Tell me the truth for once.
    A surreptitious rustling in the leaves. I turned our head, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. "This'll cheer us up," I said heartily. "Here's Kitty."

    Nathaniel

    Her hair was matted and disordered. One side of her face was scratched.