Ptolemy's Gate

behind I got you with, back in Heidelberg in 'thirty-two"—I hesitated—"which I see you didn't know was me. Um, and all the rest. So—many thanks, and if you could just remove this cleaver, I'll be on my way."
    The bland-faced man did not remove the cleaver. Instead he bent close to the crow. "I didn't say I was sparing you, Bartimaeus. Just that I'm not going to eat you. The idea of it! Simply looking at your essence gives me indigestion. But nor am I going to let you go. This very night you shall die horribly—"
    "Oh. Great."
    "In as painful and long-drawn-out a fashion as I can contrive."
    "Look, you needn't put yourself out over this—"
    "But first I want to tell you something." Hopkins's grinning face came close. "I want to tell you that you were wrong."
    I pride myself on my swift wit and keen intelligence, but this one had me stumped. "Eh?"
    "Countless times," Faquarl continued, "I have held out to you the hope that djinn would one day be free. Djinn like you and me. Why do we fight? Because we are set against each other by our cursed human masters. Why do we obey them? Because we have no choice. Countless times I have speculated that these rules might be challenged; countless times you have told me I was mistaken."
    "I didn't put it quite like that. I said you were a complete—"
    "You said that we had no chance of ever breaking free of the twin problems, Bartimaeus. The problems of free will and pain. And I see that certainty in your squinty little eyes again! But you are mistaken. Look at me now—what do you see?"
    I considered. "A murderous maniac in human form? A hideous amalgam of the worst of man and djinn? Erm—I'm going out on a limb here—a former foe looking at me with unexpected pity and good fellowship?"
    "No, Bartimaeus. No. I'll tell you. You see a djinni without pain. You see a djinni with free will. I'm not surprised you don't understand: in five thousand years there has never been a marvel like it!" He held out a very human hand and gently ruffled my head feathers. "Can you imagine it, you poor wounded creature? No pain! No pain, Bartimaeus! Ah," he sighed, "you can't think how clearheaded that makes me."
    No pain. . . In the back of my tired, befuddled mind, I saw a sudden image: Gladstone's skeleton, leaping, prancing. . . "I met an afrit once," I said. "He said something like that too. But his essence was trapped in human bones and he went mad. In the end he embraced extinction rather than live on."
    Faquarl shaped Hopkins's face into the approximation of a smile. "Ah, you speak of Honorius? Yes, I have heard of him. The poor fellow has been most influential! My essence is protected, just as his was, and like him I have free will. But mark this, Bartimaeus— I shall not go mad."
    "But to be in this world, you must have been summoned," I persisted. "So you must be doing someone's bidding. . ."
    "Hopkins summoned me, and I have done his bidding. Now I am free." For the first time I thought I saw something of the djinni hidden within the man: deep inside the eyes a little flash of triumph, almost like a flame. "You may recall, Bartimaeus, that in our last conversation I spoke with optimism about the recklessness of certain London magicians, men who might one day give us our chance."
    "I remember," I said. "You were talking about Lovelace."
    "True, but not only he. Well, it so happens that I was right. Our chance has come. First, Lovelace overreached himself. His coup failed, he died, and I was—"
    "Freed!" I cried. "Yes! Thanks to me, that was. You owe me one there, surely."
    "—submerged in an offshore safe, thanks to a stringent after-death clause in my summoning. I spent my time cursing whoever killed Lovelace."
    "Ah, that would be my master. I told him it was a hasty act, but did he listen—?"
    "Luckily I was released soon afterward by one of Lovelace's
    friends, who knew of me and my talents. I have since been working with him."
    "This would be Hopkins," I said.
    "Well, as a matter of fact, no. Which reminds me"—Faquarl looked at his 'watch—"I cannot stand gossiping with you all evening. Tonight the revolution begins, and I must be there to witness it. You and your idiot friends have delayed me far too long."
    The crow looked hopeful. "Does this mean you won't have time for that painful long-drawn-out death you promised me?"
    " I won't, Bartimaeus, but you'll have all the time in the world." His hands reached out, grasped me around the neck and plucked the cleaver from