Ptolemy's Gate

died by violence, or succumbed to bodily frailty. Mention is made in an Alexandrine manuscript of a sudden deterioration in his health following a "difficult journey," though this is at odds with other records that state he never left the precincts of the city. He is definitely recorded as dead by the time of his uncle's funeral and his cousin's accession to the throne (116 B.C.), so is unlikely to have reached his twenties.

His papers remained at the Library for over three hundred years, during which time they were studied by Tertullian and other Roman magicians. Part of his writing was published, in Rome, as the famous Eye of Ptolemy. The original archive was destroyed in the great earthquake and fire of the third century; surviving fragments have been collected as his Apocrypha. Ptolemy is a figure of historical interest, since he is credited with the invention of several techniques, including the Stoic Incision and the Mouler Shield (both used during summonings until the days of Loew) as well as unusual speculative fantasies, such as the "Gate of Ptolemy." All this despite his extreme youth; if he had survived to maturity, he would surely have ranked among the great. His demons, with whom he is said to have had an unusual bond, included: Afia,† Rekhyt or Necho,‡ Methys,† Penrenutet.†

† demise recorded
‡ fate unknown

Mr. Button smiled absently when Kitty brought in the tea. "Did you find what you wanted?"
    "I don't really know, sir, but I do have a question. Is it common for demons to take on the appearance of their masters?"
    The magician put down his pen. "You mean to taunt, or befuddle them? Certainly! It is an ancient trick, one of the oldest in the book, and one guaranteed to unman the inexperienced. Nothing is more unsettling than facing a phantom of oneself, particularly when the creature uses it to perform provocative contortions. Rosenbauer of Munich was so distressed, I believe, by an accurate depiction of his many affectations that he threw down his pomade and rushed sobbing from his circle, with melancholy results. I myself have been forced to witness my own body decaying slowly to a rotting corpse, complete with hideous sound effects, while I tried to question it on the principles of Cretan architecture. It is to my credit that my notes made any sense at all. Is that what you mean?"
    "Well, actually. . . no, sir." Kitty took a deep breath. "I wanted to know whether a djinni ever took on its master's appearance out of... respect, or even affection. Because they were comfortable with it." She made a face; on hearing it, the idea sounded quite ridiculous.
    The old man wrinkled his nose. "I hardly think so."
    "I mean, after the magician was dead."
    "My dear Lizzie! Perhaps, if the magician in question was unusually hideous or deformed, the demon might employ his shape to startle others. I believe Zarbustibal of Yemen did reappear for a time following his demise. But out of respect? Goodness! The notion presupposes a relationship between master and slave that would be quite unprecedented. Only a comm— forgive me—only someone as inexperienced as you would come up with such a quaint conceit! Dear me, dear me. . ." He tittered to himself as he stretched a hand toward the tea tray.
    Kitty had set off for the door. "Thank you, sir; you've been very helpful. By the way," she added, "what was the Gate of Ptolemy?"
    From the middle of his sofa, among his mess of papers, the old magician groaned. "What is it? A ridiculous notion! A myth, a figment, a barrel of moonshine! Save your questions for subjects of value. Now I must work. I have no need for the witterings of foolish assistants. Be off with you! The Gate of Ptolemy, indeed . . ." He winced, waved her pettishly away.
    "But—"
    "Don't you have a job to go to, Lizzie?"
    Forty minutes later Kitty alighted from a bus upon the Embankment road. She wore a thick black duffel coat and chewed intently at a sandwich. In her pocket were the documents confirming her second false identity—Clara Bell.
    The sky was blackening, though a few low clouds still glimmered a dirty yellow with the city's reflected glow. Below the tide wall the Thames lay distant, shrunk and withered. Kitty passed above a great gray mud-bank, where herons stalked amid the stones and flotsam. The air was cold; a strong breeze blew toward the sea.
    At a bend in the river the pavement took a sudden ninety-degree turn away from the Thames, its route blocked by an extensive building