Ptolemy's Gate

"Don't they just? They're all the same basic shape, got the same number of limbs and heads. . . Mind you, there's a few bits that vary. If you look at—"
    Mandrake held up his hands hurriedly. "Indeed. Fortunately, Bartimaeus has encountered Hopkins and will be able to guide you."
    I gave a start. "Wait a minute! That's not on. You said I was to go free when I told you what happened."
    "Agreed. But your description of Hopkins was rudimentary, incomplete. I cannot act on it. Go with the others, point out Hopkins. That's all. I don't expect you to tackle him in your condition. When you get back, you will be dismissed."
    He turned to the others and began giving additional instructions, but the lioness heard nothing. My tufted ears were buzzing with rage; I was so furious I could barely stand. The arrogance of it! He was happy to renege on a vow so recent its echoes were still resounding through the room! Very well, I'd go. I had little choice. But if he ever got within my power, Mandrake would rue the times he'd cheated me.
    The magician finished. "Any further questions?"
    "Are you not coming with us?" Hodge inquired. He was shifting and adjusting his great stickleback-skin coat.
    "No." Mandrake scowled. "Regrettably, I must attend the theater. What remains of my career depends upon it. Also"—he glanced at me; I couldn't read the meaning in his eyes—"perhaps I have another appointment too."
    The lioness regarded him implacably. "You'll be making a big mistake:" I looked away. "Come on then," I said to the others. "Follow me."

18

    Throughout the day Kitty had been out of humor. She was surly, withdrawn, and prickly, even short-tempered, when challenged by her master. She completed her tasks dutifully but without enthusiasm, slamming doors, stomping about the villa's rooms, and once, thanks to a hasty maneuver in a tight space, knocking over two high columns of carefully ordered books. Her master grew quite irritable in his turn.
    "Have a care, Lizzie," he cried. "My patience is wearing thin!"
    Kitty halted opposite the sofa. Her forehead was creased with the blackest frown. "Am I not giving satisfaction, Mr. Button?"
    "Indeed not! All day you have been out of sorts, galumphing like a rogue elephant around my house, face as ugly as an afrit! When I address you, you answer rudely, without respect. I am shocked by your insolent vulgarity! And that tea you brewed me was as insipid as gnat's piss. This cannot go on. What is the matter with you, girl?"
    "Nothing."
    "Sullen again! I warn you, if it continues, you shall be out on your ear."
    "Yes, sir." Kitty sighed. It was, after all, not Mr. Button's fault that Bartimaeus had failed her. "I'm sorry, sir. I've had. . . a spot of trouble."
    "Trouble?" The lines of vexation on the old man's face softened. "My dear, you should have said. Tell me. Perhaps I can help."
    A flicker of anxiety crossed his brow. "It is nothing financial?"
    "No, sir. Nothing like that." Kitty hesitated. She could hardly tell him the truth, that her whole purpose in assisting him had, in the early hours of the morning, been rendered futile. After almost three years Mr. Button relied upon her; despite his brisk manner, she knew he valued her highly. But he was still a magician. "It's my evening job, sir," she said. "You know I work at an inn. We had a demon raid two days ago. One of my colleagues was killed."
    "A raid?" Mr. Button frowned. "What for?"
    "The usual stuff, sir—trying to uncover dissent, people prepared to act against our leaders." She took a spice cake from the plate in front of him and bit into it listlessly.
    "Well, Lizzie, you must understand that it is the right of any government to protect itself. I am not sure you should be frequenting that inn, if it is such a hotbed of subversion."
    "But it isn't really, sir. That's the point. All the commoners ever do is talk—about the war, the police, restrictions on their freedom. Just talk. They're powerless to do anything about it, as you must know."
    "Mmm." Mr. Button gazed out of the grimy window at the blank October sky. "I can hardly blame the commoners for their unhappiness. The war has gone on far too long. I fear Mr. Devereaux is not acting as, he should. But what can we do? Even I, a magician myself, am helpless! Power is concentrated with the Council, Lizzie. The rest of us must watch and hope for better times. Well, well, I can understand your distemper if a friend of yours was killed. I am sorry for your loss. Have another