Do read the Author's note, at least the first few parts -- you'd probably be confused without it.

Author's note: I've been debating whether to put this up or not for quite a while now. For a start, there's a lot of focus on the relationship - not YAOI, by the way - between Bartimaeus and Nathaniel, especially in the third chapter. I hope no one comments on the fluff and angst, but if you do then feel free to waste your time - I accept constructive criticism on language and handling of plot, but I firmly believe that it is an author's right to write things as they please, as long as it doesn't stretch the suitability of the fanfiction; because that's what fanfictions are for. There's also indistinct hints of NatKitty, if you knew where to look; though I've kept it to a bare minimum, following the tradition of . You'll probably recognize a few similar words from Ptolemy's Gate and Amulet of Samarkand.

Overall, I suggest you do read it as it might just make you think twice about the ending of the Bartimaeus Trilogy. The titile will be explained in chapter 5, but I understand some of you can't wait that long for what seems like a boring fanfiction, which is why I wanted to put the whole thing in at once -- except I didn't.. Obviously, things are pretty screwed up to start with: Just in case some of you didn't pick it up from the synopsis, in this fanfic it's NATHANIEL who goes to the Other Place to find Bartimaeus, while Kitty gets the Staff. It's in lieu of what I had rather expected to happen before I read Ptolemy's Gate (Stroud's devious mind twists us all) and it's also for those readers who complain that they prefer Nathaniel's POV than Kitty's, and so did not concentrate on the part when Kitty goes to the Other Place (thank you Dragonxxxxx).If it's not clear yet, this part starts somewhere around Chapter 27, page 380, where according to Stroud's original version Kitty prepares herself to enter the Other Place. I do apologize for many uses of similar words and suchlike, but it was necessary as there is a lot of foreshadowing and character depths there alone. I also know that it's rather detailed and too book-like for a fanfiction, but that's how I write. And while I'm at this, I might also warn you that any upcoming fanfiction of mine that isn't a oneshot will probably be in a similar fashion.

Read and review. Flames are not exactly welcome with open arms (see previous statement) but as long as it's reasonable I'll accept it as constructive critisms. Judge, but don't be rash -- take into account that this my first recorded fanfiction ( you know, finished, drafted, edited, written on paper ). Before you get confused, In Memory was written on the spur of the moment; no edits, no beta (I don't even have one), didn't generate many reviews, though. Maybe it was overlooked by the new bout of updates in Fanfiction (good progress, by the way) or maybe people just didn't like it. If you haven't read it,please check it out -- then review if you have the time.

Disclaimer : I do not own the Bartimaeus Trilogy. As if that wasn't glaringly obvious.

Oh, by the way, koinu42, thanks for the prompt on new stories. I might never have posted this if it wasn't for that. For the record, your story is going great.

Nathaniel shut the door.

Noises from the Hall of Statues reached his ears, slightly muffled but loud: he could hear the commotion even down the corridor and through the heavy wood. He remained still for a time, ear pressed against the door, eyes closed. He took deep, calming breaths, the previous moments replaying itself in his mind.

The body in the golden chair moved. It was surrounded by a nimbus of pale fire. Energies crackled from its fingers; its eyes were silver notches in the darkened face. One hand was outstretched. The power that came from it – arcing out in five looping bolts, one from each finger – made statues fall and mortar tumble from the ceiling. Quentin Makepeace's body floated; Nouda sent three random bolts: two plunged harmlessly into the floor; one struck Whitwell's Shield, breaking it into shards and killing her instantly.

The fourth bolt burst the floor at the mercenary's feet: he was blown one way, Kitty Jones the other.

Nathaniel was on his feet. 'Kitty!'

His voice was drowned out by assorted howls, roars, bays and trumpetings from the demons in the hall. Confused and panic-stricken, they willed their human carriers in every direction, legs working oddly, knees too high, elbows out. They collided with each other, let fly random Detonations and Infernos. Among them stumbled a few magicians who had yet to be processed, arms still tied, mouths gagged, eyes wide and staring. The room was filled with smoke, lights and rushing forms.

Amid the tumult, Nathaniel reached the place where Kitty Jones had fallen. She was on the floor, picking herself up. She looked up and spotted him; her eyes widened and she cried, 'Nathaniel, go!'

The mercenary appeared as though out of nowhere, grabbing his arms. Kitty gave a cry of rage and ran forward, knocking him out of the mercenary's grasp. In moments the mercenary was on his feet, trying to trap a desperately wriggling Kitty. She yelled at him, 'Go to the Other Place, Nathaniel! Go to Bartimaeus!'

Nathaniel understood all too well what she was saying. There was no future in him staying here; he was a magician and would be destroyed as soon as this tumult was over. She still had a chance; it was she who would have to go after the Staff, he, meanwhile, would have to take his chances with Bartimaeus. But he was reluctant to leave her…

She seemed to sense his thoughts. 'Go! I'll be fine!'

Nathaniel hesitated, and then raised his hand. An Inferno struck the floor tile at the mercenary's feet; yet again he was blown sideways. Uninventive maybe, yet that was all he had. He ducked between two flailing demons and made for a side-door. Pausing at the ornately carved archway he looked around: Kitty stood at the other end of the hall, right beside the double doors. They caught each other's eye; a thought flitted between them, clear and comprehensive as though she had spoken herself.

Go to Bartimaeus. You owe him.

In the next moment she had disappeared.

His eyes snapped open. Kitty had told him to go; he had no conscious desire to fail her. He would obey her, and go after Bartimaeus. He would cross Ptolemy's Gate. More than anything else he wanted to see Bartimaeus; to fill his overwhelming desire to talk to the djinni. There was so much that the both of them needed to explain, so much that they needed to understand…

He turned to face the room. Someone's office, sparsely furnished. A bookcase ran along one wall; opposite was a desk piled high with papers. And, crucially, in the near corner, scuffed and scoured with many years if bureaucratic use – two circles, two pentacles.

Nathaniel only needed one.

The pentacle's design was relatively simple and not particularly large. Elsewhere he found the usual magician's accessories, gathered in the drawers of the desk. Chalks, pens, paper, candle stubs, lighters, jar of assorted herbs. The herbs were what he needed. He extracted them and set them on the floor beside the outermost circle.

Next…a conventional pentacle. No candles required. Yes, this one was fine.

But his body should be protected – and that meant herbs and iron. He emptied out the rosemary, St John's wort and sticks of Rowan wood, mixed them together and separated the results into several rough piles, which he placed at equal intervals along the pentacle. As for the iron, that was more tricky. He cast his eyes about the room. Nothing. He'd have to do without it.

What else?... He had read something about breaking the circle as a symbolic act to allow the magician to return to his body, he was sure of it. Very well, that could be done. He bent down and scored a gash in the painted circle. He ignored the bleeding. The pentacle would be useless now, but that was not the foremost problem in his mind.

He stood. Finished. No other physical preparations were necessary.

Except… the small matter of his comfort. On the chair behind the desk he discovered a dirty old cushion, much used and battered, and this he placed in the pentacle as a pillow.

A mirror hung on the wall behind the desk; as he returned from the door, he caught sight of himself in passing. Only then did he pause.

It had been a while since Nathaniel had last looked at his face; he could not remember the last time. There he was: the dark hair, dark eyes, the thin lips, the red pigment of dried blood on his chin a stark contrast with his pale skin. His eyes, which had once burned brightly with emotion and intelligence a few years ago, were little more than two lifeless points, the being underneath barely discernible. Less than a few days ago he had been Mandrake, a phony egomaniac who had blotted out his own self, simply in the effort of trying to survive with his power and position. He was not proud of what he had done, and he knew he would have to face the consequences with himself, sooner or later. He planned to change his ways, but he would have to deal with surviving tonight, first of all. Everything could wait, until then.

With a curse, Nathaniel turned from the mirror. If he wanted to survive, he would have to concentrate on the task at hand. In truth, he had no idea how it could help to enter the Other Place, but he did not much care. His desire to set things right with the djinni paled everything in comparison. He'd take Kitty's belief at her word, and trust her that things would work out. Funny, really, the way he used to watch his back around her and end up trusting her with his life…

As he moved, he caught sight of his right hand. He lifted it up to get a better look in the poor lighting. It was bloodied, and the fingernails were cracked, but otherwise it was fine. Still normal, still human. But if he succeeded in what he planned? Terrible things had happened to magicians who tried to follow this course. Nathaniel couldn't be sure, but dark hints of madness and deformity had been given about the fates of those magicians. Ptolemaeus himself had not survived for long after the Gate's creation. And if he was right, he had heard that—

A book fell quietly in the bookcase. It was a small sound, but in the silence of the room it sounded particularly alarming. Nathaniel jumped, then mentally scolded himself. He did not have forever, so he would have to stop bemoaning his fate and proceed. Whatever risk he ran was immaterial compared to what was going on nearby. He had resolved to do it, and that was the end of it. There was nothing more he could do. Doubts and questions would achieve nothing now. It was either to continue or stop, and the latter was out of the question. So.

So there was nothing left for him to do but to lie within the pentacle.

-

The floor was hard, but the cushion felt pleasant against the back of his head. Herb scents filled his nostrils. He closed his fist. A deep breath—

An after thought struck him. Nathaniel raised his head, looked along his body, and to his annoyance discovered an awkward fact. He was too long for the circle – his feet stuck out slightly over the inner lines. He silently cursed the magician who had drawn such a circle. It would have been easier to overlook the mistake, but Nathaniel knew that the slightest difference could bungle up a whole procedure. He rolled onto his side, drew his knees to his chest and assumed a curled-up position, the way he always would if he wanted to sleep in bed. A quick squint along…fine, he was nice and tidy now. Nice and ready.

But ready for what? A sudden burst of skepticism flooded him. This was nothing but another work of fiction, a ridiculous fancy. True, Ptolemaeus had succeeded, but from what Nathaniel had heard of him, he had been different: he had rejected each and every one of the magicians' views and prejudices; been interested in knowledge and spirits themselves, not in ways on how to subdue them. Compared to him, Nathaniel was nothing: an insignificant blot in the long line of masters, another cruel magician who enslaved and tortured the spirits. He wasn't different, like Ptolemy had been – he had followed the despicable road of typical magicians: power, wealth, fame, notoriety, etc. It was the height of arrogance to think that he could succeed where no one else had in two thousand years or more. What was he thinking? He and Ptolemy were as different magicians as fire and ice.

Unbidden, a distant memory flashed in his mind. A boarded up building, presumably a library… Bartimaeus, in Ptolemy's form, holding a burning ember in one hand… taunting, teasing him about his strange convulsion of conscience… speaking, talking, saying…

I had another master like you once. He had the same mulish obstinacy, seldom acted in his own best interests. Didn't live long.

I had another master like you once.

He closed his eyes. There it was. Nathaniel knew without question that the master Bartimaeus had meant was Ptolemy, and that he had been referred with Ptolemy as birds of the same feather. At the time he had thought that Bartimaeus was taunting him; now he felt that the words were the djinni's equivalent to praise – or even a realization. The djinni had likened him – Nathaniel, not Mandrake – to Ptolemy, and with this knowledge Nathaniel's decision was made. He would cross the Gate, he would find Bartimaeus. He knew how, he could do it. The question was – would it work?

There was only one way to find out.

He took a deep breath, and willed his muscles to relax. The room was very quiet – no sound came through the door. It was time to begin the summons.

He ran through the words of the reverse summons in his head, then – since to delay was merely to invite further fears – he spoke them aloud. As far as he could tell, it was all correct: he used his own name rater than a spirit's and swapped the normal verbs. He finished by calling Bartimaeus's name, three times.

Done.

He lay there in the quiet room.

Seconds passed. Nathaniel quelled his mounting frustration. No good being impatient. Conventional summonings needed time for the words to travel to the Other Place. He listened, though for what he did not know. His eyes were closed; his world was nothing but darkness and flickering brain-echoes of light.

Still nothing. Evidently the process was not going to work. Nathaniel's hopes passed away, leaving him with a hollow sort of feeling. He toyed with getting up, but the room was warm, he was comfortable on the pillow and was all too glad for a moment of rest after the privations of last night. His mind drifted on currents of its own devising: how the people were; what the commoners where doing; who was alive and who wasn't; whether Kitty had survived and taken the Staff already or not. He hoped that she was still alive.

A distant sound reached his ears, a clear bell ringing. The demons perhaps, or survivors trying to alert the city…

Kitty had tried to save him from Makepeace, and long before that she had saved him from the golem. True, they both had escaped with their lives, but she had risked getting killed just to try – and he didn't even deserve it. Yet she refused his thanks, saying that she had regretted it ever since and that Bartimaeus had prompted her to do it. Strange – if she was really as traitorous and violent as his magician views had made her out to be, then she would have demanded some sort of payback for his life debt. But she didn't. He didn't know what to make of her.

And then there was Bartimaeus. According to Kitty, it was the djinni who had prompted her to save his life. His actions didn't make sense, unless… but that had been years ago, long before he had trapped it on Earth. Bartimaeus probably hated him now, and rightly so. Perhaps that was the problem – wouldn't a magician need the 'benevolent demon' to respond, to give permission for him to pass through the Gate? It was the spirit's domain, after all. Nathaniel felt his heart sinking. Kitty should have attempted this, not him – Bartimaeus was more likely to respond to her call instead of his. But in the hallway, with Nouda…it had asked Nouda to spare both their lives, not only hers…Nathaniel felt hope rekindle in his chest. Perhaps things could be fixed between them. He suddenly remembered how he'd last seen the Bartimaeus, a forlorn shapeless mass of slime, worn down by weariness of the world. Perhaps it was better this way – wasn't it wrong to be pursuing him? Like anyone else, the djinni needed to rest.

Nathaniel grew gradually conscious of the continuously ringing bell. It had an odd sound, now he thought about it – high and pure, as if stuck on crystal, not low and booming as most bells in the city were. Also, rather than repeatedly ringing, it was a single continuous vibration that never faltered or varied, remaining slightly out of reach, right on the edge of his hearing. He strained to catch it… First it faded, then grew louder – though alluring, its character was still impossible to pin down; it was lost somewhere amid the pulsing of his blood, his quiet breathing, the little rasps of clothing as his chest went up and down. He tried again, suddenly fascinated. The ringing seemed somewhere above him, far away. He strove to listen, wishing he could draw closer to the source. He tried to block out all other sounds. His efforts paid off – little by little, then with a sudden rush, the ringing clarified, became unmuffled. He was alone with it. It rang perpetually, like something very precious on the verge of breaking. He felt that it was very close.

Was it visible, too? Nathaniel opened his eyes. A complex grid of stonework all around, little walls and floors running off in three dimensions, separating, joining, arching, ending. Among them were stairs, windows and open doors; he was passing through them at speed, both very close and somehow far away. Glancing down, he saw a youth's body curled up at a distance – something in the youth's face reminded him of a boy: child-like and innocent. Other figures were frozen, doll-like, all about the grid of stone – groups of men and women clustered closely, many lying prone, as if asleep or dead. Among them stood strange blurry things with uncertain outline – neither human nor completely otherwise. He could not distinguish their nature – each one seemed to almost cancel itself out. Below it all, in some remote corridor, he saw a girl fixed in a running posture, face turned over her shoulder; behind her was a figurine that moved – a man with a knife, legs going slowly, boots covering ground. And about them both, different shapes, remote and indistinct...

Nathaniel felt a certain detached curiosity about all this, but his real interest lay elsewhere. The ringing sound was louder than before; somewhere very close. He concentrated still harder and slightly to his surprise the pretty little latticework of stones and figures distorted and twisted out of focus, as if pulled in four directions at once. First it was quite clear, next it had blurred into a smudge; then even the smudge had gone.

Nathaniel felt a rushing on all sides; not a physical sensation, for he was not aware of having an actual body, but a conceptual one. Dimly he glimpsed four barriers around him: they towered above, plummeted below, stretched into eternity on either side. One was dark and solid, and threatened to crush him with its remorseless weight; next was a raging fluid, which surged avidly to carry him away. The third barrier tore at him with the force of an unseen tumult of a hurricane; the fourth was an implacable wall of unquenchable fire. All four beat down upon him for an instant only, and then they recoiled. With reluctance, they gave him up and Nathaniel passed through the Gate to the other side.

Next chapter may be a bit boring, but as I say -- try and bear with me.It might just be more fruitful than expected.

As to those authors who need some encouragement with their own stories, and to those who are simply going great: Keep going.I might not mention your name here, but I know who you all are, and so do you. I mean, if a newbie like me who doesn't even have English as a first language can brazen it out, why not do the same? Don't mind what others say. Remember that no one can make you feel inferior unless you let them.( I have Malay as my first language, in case you wondered.)

Jadi, teruskanlah usaha anda! **(Malay for "So, continue your efforts!")

Thanks to Tane, again, for the typo thingy. If anyone finds others, do tell me.