Ptolemy's Gate

came a high, shrill whine.
    "That's Devereaux's nexus alarm," Mandrake said. "Something's broken into the gardens from outside."
    She frowned. "His demons will intercept it."
    "Sounds like they're attacking the intruder. . ." From somewhere beyond the stained-glass window strange cries echoed in inhuman throats, together with great noises, like rolls of thunder rebounding off distant mountains. The two magicians stood quite still. Faintly they heard shouting in the garden.
    The sounds grew in volume. A man with dark glasses and a dinner jacket ran past, muttering an incantation as he did so. Dark orange plasms flared in his cupped hand; with his other hand he flung open the main door and disappeared outside.
    Mandrake made as if to follow. "We should go and see—"
    "Wait, John!" Jane Farrar's eyes were fixed upward, on the window. "It's coming this way. . ."
    He looked up, transfixed, at the panes of glass, which were suddenly illuminated into brief glories of varied color by a flash of light beyond. The noises escalated further. Now it was as if a hurricane bore down upon them—a screaming, whistling blast of madness and ferocity. Louder and louder it grew. They shrank back. Explosions sounded, and hideous yells. Another flash: and for an instant they saw outlined the silhouette of a giant, monstrous shape, all tentacles, wings, and scything claws, hurling itself toward the window.
    Mandrake gasped. Farrar screamed. They fell back, pawing at each other.
    A flash: the black shape filled the window. It collided with the glass—
    Plink! A small pane in the middle of the window, the one depicting the Prime Minister, burst into a thousand pieces. Through it came a tiny object, flashing emerald in the hall light, arcing through the air. It fell on the tiles before them with a soft, sad sound, bounced once limply and lay still.
    The two magicians stood dumbly looking at it. A lifeless frog.
    Outside the window, noises continued to be heard, but more faintly now, receding with each second. One or two flashes briefly lit the window, then the night was dark once more.
    Mandrake bent down to the crumpled frog. Its legs were bent and splayed, its mouth half open, its eyes tight shut. An odd colorless fluid spread slowly out upon the tiles around it. Heart pounding, he used his lenses: on all three planes the frog looked exactly the same. Nevertheless. . .
    "What is this hideous creature?" Jane Farrar's pale face was contorted with distaste. "I shall summon my djinni to view it on the higher planes, then we can dispose—"
    Mandrake held up a hand. "Wait." He bent closer, addressed the frog: "Bartimaeus?"
    Ms. Farrar frowned. "You mean this thing is—?"
    "I don't know. Be silent." He spoke again, louder this time, nearer the poor bent head. "Bartimaeus—is that you? It is I . . ." He paused, moistened his lips. "Your master."
    One of the forelegs twitched. Mandrake sat back on his haunches and looked up excitedly at his companion. "He's still alive! Did you see—?"
    Ms. Farrar's lips were a hard line. She stood a little apart, as if subtly detaching herself from the scene. One or two wide-eyed footmen appeared at the margins of the hall; with angry motions, she waved them away. "It will not be alive for long. Look at the essence draining off. Did you request it to come here?"
    Mandrake was not looking at her; he anxiously surveyed the body on the floor. "Yes, yes, I gave him an open-door injunction. He was to return when he had information on Hopkins." He tried again. "Bartimaeus!"
    Sudden interest flared in Farrar's voice. "Really? And from the sounds we heard, it seems he was pursued. Interesting! John, we have little time for the interrogation. Somewhere nearby Devereaux will have his pentacle chamber. It will be a close-run thing, but if we use sufficient force before the creature loses all its essence, we can—"
    "Silence! He is waking!"
    The back of the frog's head had become blurred and indistinct. The foreleg had not moved again. Nevertheless, one of the eyelids suddenly flickered; by minute increments it opened. A bulging eye looked forth, misty and unfocused.
    "Bartimaeus . . ."
    A tiny voice, as if from far away: "Who's asking?"
    "Mandrake."
    "Oh. Thought it was. . . worth waking up for a minute there." The head sagged, the eyelid drooped.
    Ms. Farrar stepped close and nudged the frog's leg with the toe of a pointed shoe. "Fulfill your mission!" she said. "Tell us about Hopkins!"
    The frog's eye opened a