Ptolemy's Gate

shake, as if forcibly flinging the subject from his mind. "Bartimaeus," he said, "I stated to you the other day that I would dismiss you if you completed your mission, and—despite the endless provocation— I stand by my word. Tell me what happened when you followed Jenkins, and I will let you go."
    The lioness's brawny arms were folded. She looked down on him from a great height. "Permanently?"
    His eyes flicked to the side. "I never said that."
    "But I am. Unless I'm much mistaken, my information's the only thing that might prevent you from going to the Tower. Correct?"
    He gritted his teeth. "I believe that Hopkins is engaged in some conspiracy. If I can foil it, my position will probably be safe, yes."
    "So then, how about it? It's good info I've got here. You won't be disappointed."
    His voice was practically inaudible. "All right. . . If it's good enough."
    "It is. Good, that's more like it. A sensible agreement, just like the old days. You know, Mandrake," the lioness said musingly. "Things were better when you were little. You had more sense then."
    He glowered at his feet. "So I'm told. Well, get on with it."
    "All right." The lioness linked her paws together, cracked her knuckles and began. "I followed Jenkins all across London. He's got a network of magicians involved in his schemes; seven in total, all a bit like him: low-level, embittered, weak in strength—nothing to be afraid of, on the face of it, for someone tough like you."
    "Any names?" The magician was listening intently, absorbing it all.
    "Withers and Burke. Nope, didn't mean anything to me either. But you'll know this one: Lime."
    Mandrake's eyes opened wide. "Rufus Lime? Lovelace's friend? That's more like it. Is he still—?"
    "Yep. As fish-faced as ever. Just got in from Paris, apparently."
    "And their plans—what details did you get?"
    "Nothing concrete, to be frank. They're all busy choosing demons for it, whatever it is. But they're magicians—that's what you'd expect them to do. There was much talk about ropes and chains. Oh, and vans."
    He wrinkled his nose. "Vans?"
    "Go figure. They mentioned something about an experiment too. They wanted proof it had been successful. No idea what though." I scratched an ear. "What else. . . ? Oh, Jenkins said there were seven of them because it was 'one for each chair.'"
    Mandrake grunted. "The Council. There are seven of us. They plan rebellion."
    "As usual."
    "Well, it's interesting, but rather short on specifics." Mandrake looked quizzically at me. "For this you expect dismissal?"
    "There's more. Jenkins didn't just visit some downbeat friends; he met someone else. I'll give you three guesses."
    "Who?"
    "Go on, guess. Oh, you're no fun. I'll give you a clue. Beard. Oh, well done."
    "I didn't give an answer."
    "No, but I can tell you've got it right from the color you've gone.[5] Yep, the mercenary's back in town, and his brows are even more beetling than you remember. With utmost bravery and cunning, I attached myself to his seven-league boots and followed him to the park, where he met a man I can only assume to be the elusive Hopkins. No, I didn't hear a word they said. That's when their djinn spotted me. You know the rest. I left half my essence between there and Richmond."

[5] For the record, it was an interesting yellow-white. Sort of custardy.

"All very well," Mandrake snapped, "but what good is this to me? I can't act on any of it! I need something if I'm to survive the trial tomorrow. . . Hopkins: he's the key. Can you describe him?"
    The lioness scratched her nose. "Funny. It's hard. . .He's sort of undistinguished looking. A bit stoop-shouldered, maybe; plain face, unshaven. . . mousy hair, I think . . . um . . .Why are you holding your head in your hands?"
    He cast his face to the ceiling. "Ahh! It's hopeless! I might have known not to give this task to you. Ascobol could have done a better job."
    That needled me. "Oh, really? So he'd have found out where Hopkins lived, would he?"
    "What?"
    "He'd have got the exact address, would he? I can see it now, a big fat cyclops in a raincoat and trilby, sidling up to Jenkins and the mercenary in the cafe, ordering a coffee, trying to listen in. . . Oh yes, very inconspicuous."
    "Never mind all that. You know where Hopkins is? Tell me!"
    "He's staying at the Ambassador Hotel," I said. "There. Just a little something I picked up, when I wasn't being chased to within a spoonful[6] of my life. Now, I—Wait, what are you doing?"

[6] Technical