Ptolemy's Gate

side of his breakfast table. "Have you eaten?"
    "Yes, sir." She sat. She wore a dark blue skirt and jacket with a crisp white shirt. Her straight brown hair was scraped away from her forehead and clipped at the back of her head. She settled the briefcase on her lap.
    Mandrake speared a forkful of curried egg. "Forgive me if I keep eating," he said. "I was up until three, responding to the latest disturbance. Kent, this time."
    Ms. Piper nodded. "I heard, sir. There was a memo at the ministry. Was it contained?"
    "Yes; as far as my globe could tell, at any rate. I sent a few demons down. Well, we shall see presently. What have you got for me today?"
    She unclipped the briefcase and drew out some papers. "A number of proposals from the junior ministers, sir, regarding the propaganda campaigns in the outlying regions. For your approval. Some new poster ideas. . ."
    "Let's see." He took a gulp of coffee, held out a hand. "Anything else?"
    "The minutes of the last Council meeting—"
    "I'll read that later. Posters first." He scanned the topmost page. " 'Sign up to serve your country and see the world'. . .What's that supposed to mean? More like a holiday brochure than recruitment. Far too soft. . . Keep talking, Piper—I'm still listening."
    "We've got the latest frontline reports from America, sir. I've ordered them a little. We should be able to make another story out of the Boston siege."
    "Stressing the heroic attempt, not the abject failure, I trust. . ." Balancing the papers on his knee, he smeared some gooseberry conserve upon a piece of toast. "Well, I'll try writing something later. . . Now then, this one's okay—'Defend the mother country and make your name' . . . Good. They're suggesting a farm-boy type looking manly, which is fine, but how about putting his family group—say, parents and little sister—in the background, looking vulnerable and admiring? Play the domestic card."
    Ms. Piper nodded eagerly. "Could show his wife too, sir."
    "No. We're after the single ones. It's the wives who are most troublesome when they don't come back." He crunched on his toast. "Any other messages?"
    "One from Mr. Makepeace, sir. Came by imp. Wonders if you'll drop by and see him this morning."
    "Can't. Too busy. There'll be time later."
    "His imp also dropped off this flyer...." With a rueful face, Ms. Piper held up a lilac-colored paper. "It's advertising the premiere of his play later this week. From Wapping to Westminster, it's called. The story of our Prime Minister's rise to glory. An evening we will never forget, apparently."
    Mandrake gave a groan. "If only we could. Put it in the bin. We've got better things to do than discuss theater. What else?"
    "Mr. Devereaux has sent a memo around too. Owing to the 'troublesome times,' sir, he's placed the nation's most important treasures under special guard in the vaults of Whitehall. They will remain there until he says otherwise."
    Mandrake looked up then, frowning. "Treasures? Such as what?"
    "He doesn't say. I wonder if it'll be—"
    "It'll be the Staff and the Amulet and the other grade-one items." He hissed briefly through his teeth. "That's not what he should be doing, Piper. We need them used''
    "Yes, sir. There's also this from Mr. Devereaux." She brought out a slender packet.
    The magician eyed it grimly. "Not another toga?"
    "A mask, sir. For the party this evening."
    With a cry, he indicated the envelope in the rack. "I've already got the invitation. It beggars belief: the war's going badly, the Empire's teetering on the brink, and all our Prime Minister can think about is plays and parties. All right. Keep it with the documents. I'll take it along. The posters seem okay." He handed back the papers. "Maybe not snappy enough. . ." He thought for a moment, nodded. "Got a pen? Try 'Fight for Freedom and the British Way.' Doesn't mean anything, but it sounds good."
    Ms. Piper considered it. "I think it's rather profound, sir."
    "Excellent. Then the commoners'll snap it up." He stood, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and tossed it down upon the tray. "Well, we'd better see how the demons have been getting on. No, no, Piper, please—after you."
    If Ms. Piper regarded her employer with more than a little wide-eyed admiration, she was by no means alone among the women of the elite. John Mandrake was an attractive young man, and the scent of power hung about him, sweet and intoxicating, like honeysuckle in the evening air. He was of medium height, slender of body, and