Ptolemy's Gate

pharaohic wars. The people tended to ignore those too.

Ms. Piper wrinkled her nose. "You can have nothing worthwhile to say to him. Now please attend to your mission."
    I turned away from her; addressed the figure at the desk. "Hoi, Mandrake!" No answer. I repeated myself, only louder. The papers flapped and fluttered on his desk.
    The magician ran his hand through his short, cropped hair and looked up with a vaguely pained expression. It was as though he were being called upon to remember an old injury in a sensitive spot. He turned to his assistant. "Ms. Piper, please inform Bartimaeus that I'm not remotely interested in his complaints. Remind him that most masters would have punished him severely for his incompetence in battle and that he is lucky to be alive. That's all." He picked up his pen once more.
    Ms. Piper opened her mouth to speak, but I was faster. "Please inform that stubble-headed pipsqueak," I snapped, "that it is imperative he dismiss me on the instant. My powers, while still awesome, are somewhat reduced and need reviving. If he does not agree to this reasonable and just demand, I shall be forced to act, in desperation, against my interests and his own'.'
    She frowned. "What's that last bit mean?"
    I raised an eyebrow. "He knows." I turned to Mandrake. "You do know, don't you?"
    He glanced at me. "Yes, obviously."[3] With portentous deliberation, he set down his pen once more. "Ms. Piper," he said, "please point out to that pernicious demon that should a certain thought of betrayal even flicker across his mind, I will relocate him to the Boston marshes, where every day a dozen djinn are seen to perish."

[3] Too right he did. His birth name hung over his head like a naked sword.

"Tell him that this breaks no ice now, buddy. My defenses are so low that I'm liable to perish doing his shopping. What do I lose where it happens?"
    "Tell him that he surely exaggerates his weakness. This doesn't sound like the Bartimaeus who rubbed shoulders with Solomon."
    "And Faustus and Zarbustibal."
    "Faustus, Zarbustibal, whoever. I'm not giving a full list. However, tell him, Ms. Piper, that if he successfully completes the following mission I shall agree to his temporary dismissal for purposes of recuperation, and let him be satisfied with that."
    I sniffed disparagingly. "Tell him that this offer will only be acceptable if the mission is simple, swift, and utterly without danger."
    "Tell him—oh, for heaven's sake, just tell him what the mission is and have done!"With a flurry of papers and a squeaking of his leather chair, the magician returned to his work. Ms. Piper's head came to a standstill; it had been swiveling from side to side like a worried owl's. She rubbed her neck gingerly.
    "So get on with it, then," I said.
    She looked a bit hurt by my curt tone, but I was in no mood for niceties. Once again Mandrake had treated me with contempt and derision. Once again he'd ignored my threats and entreaties. For the thousandth time I vowed revenge. Perhaps I should just risk America, go out there and chance my arm in battle. I'd survived such things before. But not when I was anything like as weak as this. . . No, I'd have to recharge my strength first, and that meant agreeing to this "final" mission. I waited grimly. On the other side of the room I heard Mandrake's pen go traveling across the paper, scratching out more lies.
    Ms. Piper was evidently relieved that the confrontation was over. "Well," she said, smiling breezily, "I'm sure you'll find this very simple, Bartimaeus. We wish you to trail a minor magician named Clive Jenkins, keeping track of his every act and movement. Do not allow yourself to be seen or sensed. He is engaged in some kind of conspiracy against the government, and has been involved in murder. Furthermore, we know he is working for the fugitive scholar Hopkins."
    That aroused my interest in a vague sort of way. It had been years since we'd had a lead on him. But I kept Kittys face in sullen teenage mode.
    "Jenkins: is he strong?"
    She frowned. "I don't think so."
    My master looked up, snorted. "Jenkins? Hardly."
    "He works in Internal Affairs," Ms. Piper said. "Second level. Has an imp named Truklet. We know that he has been trying to corrupt other low-level magicians; it is not clear why. He is certainly in communication with Clem Hopkins."
    "That's the priority," Mandrake said. "Find Hopkins. Don't act or attack: we know you're as weak as a weevil, Bartimaeus. Just find out where