Ptolemy's Gate

since 1914! And where are our forces? Thousands of miles away! I am telling you, we will lose Europe if we are not careful!"
    Now Mortensen was raising his voice too. He half rose from his chair. "Oh, and perhaps you have a solution, do you?"
    "Certainly I do. We pull out from America and bring our forces home!"
    "What?" Mortensen turned to the Prime Minister, face dark with fury. "Do you hear that, Rupert? That is nothing but rank appeasement! It borders on treachery!"
    A blue-gray glow erupted around Jessica Whitwell's clenched fist; the air hummed with a surge of unearthly force. Her voice was suddenly quiet. "Would you be so good as to repeat that, Carl?"
    The War Minister remained rigid, fingers locked around the armrests of his redwood chair, eyes flicking to and fro. At last he sank back into a position of furious repose. The glow upon Ms. Whitwell's fist flickered and went out. She waited a few seconds more, then sat with victorious care.
    According to their allegiance, the other ministers smirked or scowled. Mr. Devereaux studied his cuticles; he looked a little bored. John Mandrake stood up. Affiliated to neither Mortensen nor Whitwell, he felt a sudden urge to wrest back the initiative, to take a gamble, throw off his inertia. "I'm sure neither of our excellent ministers intended to give offense, nor was so childish as to receive it," he said. "Clearly both are in the right: Jessica's anxiety is prudent, since the situation in Europe is becoming unfortunate; Carl's refusal to admit defeat is also laudable. We cannot leave America in the hands of criminals. I would like to suggest a solution to the problem."
    "Which is?" Ms. Whitwell was unimpressed.
    "Withdrawing troops is not the answer," Mandrake went on coldly. "That sends out quite the wrong message to our enemies worldwide. But we must bring this conflict to an end. Our demons are not enough and nor—saving Mr. Mortensen's pardon—are the common soldiers. We need a decisive weapon that the Americans do not have. Something with which they cannot contend. Simple. We use Gladstone's Staff."
    He had expected the barrage of noise that greeted his proposal; he did not attempt to speak further, but with a thin smile, sat himself down. Jane Farrar met his gaze and raised a quizzical eyebrow; the faces of the others were variously indignant.
    "Impossible!"
    "A foolish fancy!"
    "Quite out of the question!"
    The noise subsided. Mandrake stirred. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't quite understand your objections."
    Carl Mortensen made a dismissive gesture. "The Staff is untried, untested."
    "It is hard to control," Helen Malbindi said.
    "A highly dangerous artefact," Jessica Whitwell added.
    "But that's the point" Mandrake said. "With the Staff, Gladstone conquered Europe. It will do the same to Boston easily enough. Our friends in Paris and Rome will hear about it and duck down behind their parapets again. Problem solved. Once it has crossed the ocean, the whole thing would take no more than a week. Why keep the Staff under lock and key when it's the solution to our difficulties?"
    "Because," a cold voice said, "I do not choose to use it. And my word goes."
    Mandrake turned to face the Prime Minister, who had swiveled in his chair and drawn himself upright. Devereaux's face had become hard and lined, the flabbiness less obvious. The eyes were dull, opaque. "You may perhaps have received a memo this morning, Mandrake," he said. "The Staff, and other items, have been removed to the Room of Treasures in this very building. They are surrounded by a range of high-level magical safeguards. They will not be used. Do you understand?"
    Mandrake hesitated; he thought of standing his ground. Then he remembered the fate of Ms. Harknett." Of course, sir," he began. "But I must ask why—"
    "Must? You must do nothing!" The face was suddenly twisted, contorted, the eyes wild and staring. "You will know your place and not seek to destabilize this Council with your inane theories. Now be silent and think before you speak again! And be careful lest I suspect you of having an agenda of your own." The Prime Minister turned away. "Mortensen—bring out the maps. Give us a firmer update on our position. I understand we have pinned the rebels in an area of marshland. . ."
    "That was a little rash," Jane Farrar whispered, as she walked with Mandrake in the corridor an hour later. "Whoever has the Staff holds true power. Devereaux s frightened of what that person'll do to