Ptolemy's Gate

me!" The pity of it was that the boy's voice was desperately faint and growing fainter. I could barely hear it, let alone Nouda. But he finished up with a very effective extra, namely a bolt offeree from the Staff that jabbed Nouda sharply in the rear. The great spirit responded with a roar; he rose up, limbs twitching, bulb eyes questing. All at once he saw us and sent multiple bolts crashing all around. His aim was lousy. One or two landed a few meters distant, but we stood firm. We did not budge.
    The great voice: "Bartimaeus! I see you. . ."
    The boy whispered something in reply, too weak to hear. But I read his mind, spoke the words for him. "No! I am Nathaniel! I am your master! I am your death!"
    Another burst of white energy pricked Nouda's essence. He hurled a stuffed bear aside and turned in ponderous wrath. He came crawling toward us—a colossal shadow, alien to this world, sundered from the other, blocking out the light.
    Now that's what you call a proper goad, Nathaniel thought.
    Yeah, it wasn't bad. Right, wait till he's on top of us, then we break the Staff.
    The longer it takes, the better. Kitty —
    She'll get out, don't worry.
    The boys' strength was failing, but his resolution was undaunted. I felt him summon his remaining powers. Steadily, calmly, muttering under his breath, he loosed the bonds restraining Gladstone's Staff until, all at once, the hopes of the entities trapped inside were raised: they pushed, strained, pressed against the remaining loops of magic, desperate to be free. Without my assistance, Nathaniel could not have controlled them— they would have instantly broken through. But Nouda was not yet where we wanted him. I held the Staff in place. There was nothing now to do but wait.
    According to some,[2] heroic deaths are admirable things. I've never been convinced by this argument, mainly because, no matter how cool, stylish, composed, unflappable, manly, or defiant you are, at the end of the day you're also dead. Which is a little too permanent for my liking. I've made a long and successful career out of running away at the decisive moment, and it was with some considerable regret, as Nouda bore down upon us, in that soaring tomb of iron and glass, that I realized I didn't actually have this fallback option. I was bound to the boy, essence to flesh. We were going out together.

[2] Generally those who don't have to do it. Politicians and writers spring to mind.

The nearest I'd ever come to this dubious last-stand business before was with Ptolemy—in fact, he'd only prevented it with his final intervention. I suppose, if my old master could have seen me now, he'd probably have approved. It was right up his street, this: you know—human and djinni united, working together as one, etc, etc. Trouble was, we'd taken it all a bit too literally.
    Bartimaeus . . . The thought was very faint.
    Yes?
    You've been a good servant. . .
    What do you say to something like this? I mean, with death bearing down and a 5,000-year career of incomparable accomplishment about to hit the fan? The appropriate response, frankly, is some sort of rude gesture, followed up by the loudest of raspberries, but again I was stymied—being in his body made the logistics too cumbersome to bother with.[3] So, wearily, wishing we had some kind of maudlin sound track, I played along. Well, um, you've been just dandy too.

[3] Well , try giving yourself a rude gesture. It just doesn't work, does it?

I didn't say you were perfect . . .
    What?
    Far from it. Let's face it, you've generally managed to cock things up.
    WHAT? The bloody cheek! Insults, at a time like this! With death bearing down, etc. I ask you. I rolled up my metaphorical sleeves. Well, since we're doing some straight talking, let me tell you, buddy —
    Which is why I'm dismissing you right now.
    Eh? But I hadn't misheard. I knew I hadn't. I could read his mind.
    Don't take it the wrong way . . . His thought was fragmented, fleeting, but his mouth was already mumbling the spell. It's just that. . . we've got to break the Staff at the right moment here. You're holding it in check. But I can't rely on you for something as important as this. You're bound to mess it up somehow. Best thing is. . . best thing is to dismiss you. That'll trigger the Staff automatically. Then I know it'll be done properly. He drifted. He was having trouble keeping awake now—the energy was draining unhindered from his side—but with a final effort of will, he kept