Ptolemy's Gate

guise merely as a mask, a costume, one illusion among many. Now, while acknowledging that still to be true, she could not help but sense the ancient presence. That the demon was reproducing the boy accurately she had no doubt: for the first time she noticed two moles on the thin brown neck, a little pale scar running beneath the chin, a particular boniness of the elbows on the slender arms. There was a devotion to detail here that could only come with genuine affection, or perhaps even with love.
    This knowledge gave her confidence to proceed.
    "Okay," she said, "I'll tell you. But first I want to repeat—I am not going to enslave you. Whatever your response, I'll set you free."
    "That's mighty big of you," the boy said.
    "All I want is for you to listen fairly to what I have to say."
    "Well, if you actually get on with it, I might give it a try." The djinni folded its arms. "I'll tell you one thing that's in your favor, though," it went on ruminatively. "In all the centuries of my burden, not one single magician has been interested enough even to ask about this guise. Why should they? I'm a 'demon,' and therefore willfully perverse. I have no motives but wickedness and temptation. Through general fear and a desire for self-preservation, they never ask me anything about myself. But you have done so. You've found things out. I wouldn't say it was clever, because you're human, but it wasn't a bad effort, all in all. So, then"—it waved a regal hand—"fire away."
    "Right." Kitty settled herself comfortably. "I don't know whether you've noticed, but things have been going from bad to worse in London. The magicians are starting to lose control. Commoners are being sent off to fight, trade's being disrupted. There's a lot more poverty and that's led to disruption— there've even been riots in some towns. And there's a lot of resentment about. . . demons."
    "It's as I predicted when we last spoke," the djinni said. "People are starting to notice spirits and uncover their own resilience too. They'll explore the possibilities, then begin fighting back."
    Kitty nodded. "But the magicians are responding— the police are cracking down, there's violence, people being arrested and spirited away, worse things even than that."
    "It happens," the boy said.
    "I think that the magicians will be prepared to carry out terrible deeds," Kitty went on, "in order to remain in power. There are many secret commoners' groups, but they are weak, divided. No one has the strength to oppose the government."
    "That will come," the djinni said. "In time."
    "But how much time? That's the issue."
    "You want a rough guess?" The boy tilted his head, thinking."! reckon another couple of generations will do it. Say fifty years. That'll allow resilience to build up to the required levels for a successful revolt. Fifty years isn't too bad. With luck you might see it happen when you're a sweet, old granny, dandling big fat babies on your knee. Actually"—he held up a hand, interrupting Kitty's cry of protest—"no, that's wrong. My projection is incorrect."
    "Good."
    "You'll never be a sweet old granny. Let's say, 'sad, lonely old biddy' instead."
    Kitty banged her fist against the floor. "Fifty years isn't good enough! Who knows what the magicians will have done by then? My whole life will have gone by! I'll probably be dead when the revolution comes."
    "True," the boy said. "But I'll still be here to watch it. I'll be exactly the same."
    "Yes," Kitty snarled. "Aren't you lucky?"
    "You think so?" The boy looked down at his cross-legged form. He was sitting straight-backed, legs folded neatly in the manner of an Egyptian scribe. "It's two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine years since Ptolemy died," he said. "He was fourteen. Eight world empires have risen up and fallen away since that day, and I still carry his face. Who do you think is the lucky one?"
    Kitty made no answer. At length she asked, "Why do you do it? Take on his shape, I mean."
    "Because I promised myself," the djinni said. "I'm showing him how he was. Before he changed."
    "But I thought he never grew up," Kitty said.
    "No. That's right. He didn't."
    Kitty opened her mouth to ask a question, but shook her head instead. "We're getting off the point," she said firmly. "I can't afford to wait and watch while the magicians do more wicked things; life's too short. Action is needed now. But we—the people, the commoners—can't unseat the government on our own. We need help."
    The boy