CHAPTER 1: A Duel of Wits
Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is the Property of Jonathan Stroud. Cyrano de Bergerac was written by Edmond Rostand, but technically since it's in the public domain it belongs to all of us. ^^
A/N: The bare-bones plot from this story was shamelessly stolen from my favourite play, Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand. I've always thought Bartimaeus was a bit like Cyrano, and couldn't help but write this once the idea bit. Be warned that this is totally AU. And there will be at least one major character death! Betaed as always by the fantastic Lady Noir (A Evans on ffnet).
"I dunt like this one bit," whined the grating imp at my elbow for the seventeenth time this morning.
The complaint was beginning to loose its effect. When we'd set out on this mission three hours earlier I'd agreed with him whole-heartedly, but by this point I was more interested in shoving him into the nearest mud puddle.
"Yeah, yeah, you don't like it then take it up with the boss."
The imp crossed its arms petulantly, then promptly lost balance atop the armoured car's radio antenna and tumbled into the street. The two of us still left on the roof watched impassively as he shambled frantically after the moving vehicle.
"Remind me again why the Master sent that idiot along with us?" asked the lemur at my side, casually flicking a wasp from her fur.
"Beats me."
The imp was growing more distant, apparently too brain-dead to remember to use its wings to catch up. It flailed its arms wildly in an apparent signal to wait up, and then shrieked as it promptly disappeared down an open manhole.
I sighed in despair. "We should stop for him."
"Bartimaeus…" There was a stern warning in Queezle's voice. We had strict orders to proceed with this delivery without any interruption. As a rule, magicians like to adorn their commands with adjectives like urgent, crucial or the eternally popular top secret. These assignments rarely live up to their self-important monikers. [1. I still remember Nathaniel's desperate need for a critical sandwich post haste. I sure wrapped a lot of beetles in his bologna for that one.] But in this case, the tension surrounding the task was entirely justified. The mere thought of what lay safely enclosed in the vehicle beneath us was enough to make any spirit's scaly skin crawl, and it was putting all of us on edge.
Nonetheless, if Stoggles didn't make it back to finish our escort job, Mandrake would finish him. I leaned down and poked my head in through the open driver's side window.
"Hello," I chirped. The human driver's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. "We've got a man overboard. If you could pull over here for a minute, buddy?"
The driver ducked his head obediently and hit the breaks.
Queezle and I waited in silence for our wayward passenger to make his way back to us. I stretched Ptolemy's arms out over my head and flexed his toes – clinging to the roof of the armoured car was putting a cramp in my essence. Queezle's tail was tapping out an anxious rhythm that reverberated through the metal plating. The enormous reservoir of nervous energy coursing through the normally stoic djinni surprised me, and I wondered if she feared attack.
"Stop following me!" The sound of nearby conflict drew my eye. Across the road, a pretty dark-haired girl was facing off against a tall, leathery skinned spirit who wasn't even bothering to disguise himself on the first plane.
"Did he tell you to watch over me today? Well, tell him if he wants to follow me around like a lovesick puppy then he can do it himself instead of sending some mangy, clod-headed demon after me!"
The spirit loomed over the girl with a leering grin. "Oh ho! Such a temper from Makepeace's pretty little tart! The Master wouldn't like hearing you talk like that; no he wouldn't."
Queezle nudged my shoulder. "You're on duty, don't get distracted," she muttered under her breath. I ignored her warning wholeheartedly.
"Are you threatening me?" the girl growled, "I rather doubt your Master would approve of that, either."
"You gonna tell him if I rough you up a bit? I'll just inform him of his darling commoner's shocking escape attempt. And you don't want that, do you, Kitty? If he didn't trust you, he might not let you go on any more of these innocent little outings." The spirit was cornering the girl, forcing her toward the bland whitewashed wall at her back. She had a hand shoved down into her coat pocket, fist clenched around something unseen.
"Ah, there he is." Queezle's relieved voice barely registered in my brain. The lemur reached out a paw to help the drenched imp clamour aboard, but my eyes were fixed on the drama across the road.
The spirit sauntered closer, his knifelike fingers clenching over the girl's thin shoulders.
"Let's go home, shall we?" The girl made several attempts to wrest herself from his grip. To my surprise, I found myself involuntarily hopping to my feet and shouting obnoxiously at the tableau across the road.
"Hey, idiot! The girl said beat it, so beat it!"
The girl, Kitty, glanced up at me. She had sharp, quick eyes that assessed and moved on with lightning speed. In their cunning expression I could see she had street smarts, and she immediately proved it by kicking at the spirit's knees and disappearing into the labyrinthine housing complex behind her. The surprised spirit grasped at thin air, then turned to glare at me.
"Who are you?" it shouted rudely.
"Oi, let's get outta 'ere mate," Stoggles said as he bounced nervously at my elbow, "We don't need to be pickin' fights!"
"Just a good Samaritan," I called back, shoving the little imp out of the way, "Who likes to keep big louts like you from bothering pretty girls."
The spirit was swaggering toward the car, which was good from the point of view of the dark-haired girl, but not such a positive development for us. Queezle was looking a bit pale beneath all the black and white fur.
"You're going to get us in trouble, Bartimaeus," she said in a low tone. "Stand down and let's finish the mission."
The lemur yelled in frustration as I leapt off the roof and met the challenger with arms folded casually across my chest.
"You know," I said lightly as the spirit towered over me, "I've been feeling a bit stiff lately. I could use a spot of exercise, and thrashing you should just do the trick."
"Bartimaeus, stop being an idiot!" Queezle yelled.
The spirit leered, showcasing a mouthful of jutting yellow teeth that smelled like old limburger cheese soaked in sewage. "What, you gonna take me all by yourself, Shorty?"
It was an amateur insult if ever I heard one, but nonetheless I was wearing Ptolemy's form and felt the odd urge to defend its honour. I shook my head slowly at the offending spirit.
"Really? Really? You have my entire accumulation of flaws at your disposal and you go with Shorty? That's pretty sad. Even if you had to go with height, there's a hundred more creative ways to go about it. Let me help you out. How about the threatening method? 'Watch it, or you'll be crushed under someone's shoe!' Or exaggerated: 'I swear a flea could carry you off!'"
"Shut up!"
I rolled behind the armoured car and managed to save myself from being barbecued by a nasty Inferno from the irate spirit.
"You could try being dramatic," I called helpfully from my hiding place as I began wrapping a bit of fabric from my shirt around my palm. "'Great heavens! Someone call the hospital! It's a half a man!'"
Another wild burst of magic shattered the windshield, and I reached under the car and snapped off a long iron rod from the chassis. The poisonous metal felt hot, even through the thick layer of cloth in my hand.
"No? Then how about the curious variant? 'How's the view from down there? I imagine you must be getting well-acquainted with my knees!'"
The spirit leapt over the car, sailing between my two stunned companions and landing nimbly right in front of me.
"En garde," I said, striking an artful fencing pose with my makeshift sword. Without taking his eyes off me, the spirit reached behind his back and broke a windshield wiper from the still-smoking vehicle. He strode toward me in slow, calculated steps, stripping the rubber from the blade in one long peel.
When he was less than a foot away he paused, looming over me with a smoldering expression. I tensed and waited for the blow.
He struck in one sudden fury, nearly knocking me off my feet as I parried. The guy was massive. [2. Didn't have much finesse with a blade though. I could tell he hadn't been dueling many musketeers in his career; he was going more for the smash-it-till-it's-dead technique. Here we had your classic battle of skill and finesse versus pure dumb muscle.]
"You could be violent," I continued, swiping low at his feet, "For example: 'They must have pruned you back with hedge clippers to keep you that short.' Or cavalier: 'Cheer up buddy, I'm sure you'll hit a growth spurt!'" Or pedantic: 'It's tragic how your deplorable situation could have been avoided with nothing more than a timely injection of concentrated human growth hormone.'"
With each new suggestion, I drove him back a little more, keeping close so that he couldn't use his longer reach against me. Sweat rolled down his brow and he stumbled back a few steps.
"Irritating fool!" The spirit clasped his knees and panted hard.
I doffed my cap and bowed low. "Charmed. And I am Bartimaeus of Uruk."
"You impertinent thing!" he charged in again and sparks exploded as iron met iron. The creature had biceps like watermelons, and with each blow he was driving me back up the street into oncoming traffic. Cars swerved and screeched to a stop around us, and angry drivers blared their car horns and shouted out of windows.
"How about feigned simplicity?" I suggested, "'What a sweet little child! Shall I take you home to your nursemaid?' Or helpful: 'I have a dictionary you could use as a booster seat.' Rustic: 'It's much too small to be a spirit. An egg or a parsnip perhaps.' Practical: 'If only I had ten spirits like you, I could provide the entire city with chimney sweeps!'"
The spirit was red-faced and furious. With a wild, frantic swing, he twisted the iron rod from my hand and sent it smashing through a shop window. I found my palms suddenly empty and spoke with doubled speed.
"That's what you might have said if you had a shred of intelligence, but we all know who wins the game of brains versus brawn, right mate?"
The spirit tipped his blade up and prepared to run me through.
"Bartimaeus!" Queezle shouted.
I flicked my wrist. A look of subtle confusion was the last expression to grace the creature's face before it was completely incinerated by the strongest Detonation I could muster.
Oily smoke bubbled up from the charred ashes on the sidewalk. Drivers, pedestrians, my spirit companions: everyone stared silently at the dark smear on the pavement and the general chaos around it. Broken windows, smashed fenders, shattered glass like a blanket over the road…the magicians would be hearing about this one.
I bowed to my imaginary applause.
That seemed to break the spell. The lemur collapsed in relief as the busy bustle of the street returned to normal.
"Let's get out of here, you moron," she said fondly.
I groaned. With the way that Inferno had mangled the front of the armoured car, I doubted the driver would manage to get the car going again.
"Are we going to have to push?" I asked meekly.
"We're going to have to push," Queezle confirmed.
Whether what happened next was a blessing or a curse, you'll have to decide. A sound like a shot rattled through the street and a bank of spurting smoke obscured my vision. The poor already-terrorized citizens of London were once again crying out and apparently tripping over each other. In the haze, I managed to get a hold of something fuzzy.
"Ow!" Queezle yelped, "That's my eyebrow!"
"Never mind your eyebrow," I said, "Can't you see? Someone's after the weapon!"
Trying not to look frantic, we stumbled toward the vehicle.
"Um…" the armoured car didn't seem to be where we'd left it.
"Bartimaeus, you imbecile! This is the wrong way! Over here!" The djinni yanked my arm, causing us to collapse over a fire hydrant. Ptolemy's face was unceremoniously squashed against the cement, carving out a nice gash in the centre of his forehead. Not that it mattered, seeing as current visibility was approximately zero.
"Enough of this," I said, releasing a Hurricane. The blast of air shot down the sidewalk, peeling away smoke in an instant.
"Queezle…"
"I see it."
Ten or twenty masked figures were crawling over the wreckage of the car like monkeys on a banana tree. Already they had pried back part of the metal roof with some kind of hydraulic metal cutting tool. One black-clad interloper disappeared inside and returned with a small stainless steel case, which passed along their ranks like a fire brigade.
"There making off with it!" Queezle's fur was standing on end. She hurdled herself towards them like a small fuzzy football, shooting off Detonations in mid-air.
The squadron of masked thieves dispersed as the magic bursts fell among them. They scrambled through smoking craters and leapt from the crumbling metal frame as it disintegrated under their feet, but not one fell beneath the magical onslaught.
Resilient. It had been a long time since I'd seen so many in one place.
I ran across the street to help the lemur chase after our absconding attackers, but it was too late. They were disappearing into the twisting alleyways on either side of the road, the geometry of which would have confused M. C. Escher himself. I couldn't tell which of the posse had the case we had been charged to protect. Resigned, I watched them scamper in all directions.
Just before the last member of the group disappeared around the corner, she turned her head and looked back at me. Through the narrow slits in her mask, her eyes caught mine.
They held a certain street-hardened spark that was immediately familiar.