Ptolemy's Gate

side, a process that caused the nose to wobble alarmingly. "Not so. When she comes alone, I moderate my features. I reserve the full horror for those I consider morally vicious."
    "But you just looked that way to me!"
    "The contradiction being. . . ?"
    Mandrake took a deep breath, passed a hand across his eyes and gestured. The face retreated into the metal to become the faintest of outlines; the door swung open. The grea t magician drew himself up and, ushering Ms. Piper along before him, walked into his study.
    It was a functional room—high, airy and white-painted, lit by two windows looking out upon the square. It had no excess decoration. On this particular morning thick clouds covered the sun, so Mandrake switched on the ceiling lights as he entered. Bookcases ran along the entirety of one wall, while the opposite side was bare except for a giant pin board, covered in notes and diagrams. The wooden floor was smooth and dark. Five circles were inscribed upon it, each with its own pentacle, runes, candles, and incense pots. Four of these were of a conventional size, but the fifth, nearest the window, was significantly larger: it contained within it a full-size desk, filing cabinet, and several chairs. This master-circle was joined to the smaller ones by a series of precisely drawn lines and rune-chains. Mandrake and Ms. Piper crossed into the largest circle and sat behind the desk, spreading out their papers before them.
    Mandrake cleared his throat. "Right then. To business. Ms. Piper, we will deal with the ordinary reports first. If you would activate the presence indicator."
    Ms. Piper spoke a brief incantation. Instantly the candles around the perimeters of two of the smaller circles flickered into life; wisps of smoke rose to the ceiling. In the pots beside them, flakes of incense stirred and shifted. The other two circles remained quiet.
    "Purip and Fritang," Ms. Piper said.
    The magician nodded. "Purip first." He uttered a loud command. The candles in the leftmost pentacle flared; with a queasy shimmering, a form appeared in the center of the circle. It was shaped like a man and respectfully dressed in a sober suit and dark blue tie. It nodded briefly in the direction of the desk and waited.
    "Remind me," Mandrake said.
    Ms. Piper glanced at her notes. "Purip has been observing the response to our war pamphlets and other propaganda," she said. "Watching the commoners' mood. "
    "Very well. Purip—what have you seen? Speak."
    The demon bowed slightly. "There is not much new to report. The people are like a herd of Ganges meadow cattle, half-starved but complacent, unused to change or independent thought. Yet the war presses on their minds, and I believe discontent is spreading. They read your pamphlets, just as they buy your newspapers, but they do so without pleasure. It does not satisfy them."
    The magician scowled. "How is this discontent expressed?"
    "I detect it in the careful blankness of their features when your police draw near. I see it in the hardness of their eyes as they pass the recruitment booths. I watch it pile up silently with the flowers at the doors of the bereaved. Most will not declare it openly, but their anger at the war and at their government is growing."
    "These are just words," Mandrake said. "You give me nothing tangible."
    The demon shrugged its shoulders and smiled. "Revolution is not tangible—not to begin with. The commoners barely know the concept exists, but they breathe it when they sleep and they taste it when they drink."
    "That's enough riddles. Continue with your work." The magician snapped his fingers; the demon sprang out of the circle and vanished. Mandrake shook his head. "All but useless. Well, we'll see what Fritang has to offer."
    Another command: the second circle flared into life. In a cloud of incense a new demon appeared—a short, fat gentleman with a round red face and plaintive eyes. It stood blinking agitatedly in the artificial light. "At last!" it cried. "I have terrible news! It cannot wait another moment!"
    Mandrake knew Fritang of old. "As I understand it," he said slowly, "you have been patrolling the docks, hunting for spies. Does your news have anything to do with this?"
    A pause. "Indirectly . . ." the demon said.
    Mandrake sighed. "Go on, then."
    "I was carrying out your orders," Fritang said, "when—oh, how the memory appall s me!—my cover was blown. Here is my account. I had been conducting inquiries in a wine shop. As I exited, I found