(eng) Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 03 by Ptolemy's Gate

Author:Ptolemy's Gate [Gate, Ptolemy's]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

20

“Er, chaps,” I ventured. “I think we should go carefully here.”

From his position in midair Mr. Hopkins tossed the cleaver high; flashing as it spun, it arced around a ceiling light and landed handle-first back upon his outstretched finger. He caught my eye and winked.

Ascobol was rattled, but he talked big to cover it. “So he can levitate,” he snarled. “And do juggling tricks. So can half the starving fakirs of India, and I never ran from them. Come on. Remember, we’ve got to take him alive.”

With an unearthly cry, he leaped down from his sink top. The crow-headed man held out a hand of caution. “Wait!” I said. “Something’s wrong here. His voice—”

“You coward, Bartimaeus!"The pangolin loosed a volley of darts that pattered into the floor beside my feet. “You fear for what remains of your essence. Well, hop on the nearest chair and squeal. Four proper djinn can handle this man.”

“But that’s just it,” I protested. “I’m not sure this is a man. He’s—”

“Of course I am.” Up on high, Mr. Hopkins tapped his chest proudly. “Planes one to seven, flesh and blood. Can’t you see?” It was true. He was human whichever way you looked at it. But it was Faquarl who spoke.

The giant lizard swung her tail in agitation; it caught against a cooker and sent it crashing on its side. “Hold on,” Mwamba said. “What language are we speaking?”1

“Erm … Aramaic, why?”

“Because he can speak it too.”

“So what? He’s a scholar, ain’t he?” In times of stress Ascobol could pulverize Semitic tongues.

“Yes, but it seems a little odd …”

Mr. Hopkins inspected his watch ostentatiously. “Look, I’m sorry to butt in,” he called, “but I’m a busy man. I have some important business this evening, which concerns us all. If you lot clear off now, I’ll spare you. Even Bartimaeus.”

Cormocodran had been resting his poorly essence against an eight-hob oven, but at these words he erupted into life. “You’ll spare us?” he roared. “For that piece of impudence I shall gore you, and not gently!” He pawed the ground with a hoof and started forward. The other djinn followed his example; there was a general rattling of horns, spines, scales, and other armored bits. Mr. Hopkins chucked the cleaver casually to his right hand and spun it around his fingers.

“Wait, you idiots!” the crow-man shouted. “Didn’t you hear? He knows me! He knows my name! This is—”

“It’s not like you to hold back on the edge of a battle, Bartimaeus,” Mr. Hopkins called cheerily, dropping down toward the advancing djinn. “You’re normally much farther away, cowering in a disused catacomb or something.”

“That catacomb incident has been grossly misrepresented!” I roared. “As I’ve explained countless times, I was guarding it against Rome’s enemies, who might well have chosen—” I stopped right there. That was the proof. No human knew where I’d loitered during the barbarian invasion, and precious few spirits either.2 In fact, I could only think of one djinni that still brought it up with metronomic regularity, whenever our paths crossed over the centuries.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.