Author's Notes: This takes place at around the beginning of Ptolemy's Gate, so I refer to Nathaniel exclusively as John Mandrake. At the beginning of each chapter/section I will indicate who will be "narrating," just as in the books. That said – enjoy!

NATHANIEL

John Mandrake looked up from his reams of paperwork with a sigh as he heard a light, respectful knocking on his study door. "Come in," he said wearily, running his hands through his cropped hair.

His assistant, Ms. Piper, stepped in briskly, all pursed lips and lowered eyebrows. She must have been extremely put out about something; Mandrake, however, was simply too busy to care, let alone inquire, what. Once inside, she halted.

"Yes? What is it?" Mandrake asked tersely, rubbing his aching eyes and wishing there were something, anything, to distract him from the ceaseless tedium of his job.

Ms. Piper looked as though she were about to swallow a handful of nails. "There is a young lady to see you, sir." She pronounced the word lady as if to apply it in this case meant taking extreme liberties with the English language. She could only mean one person…

"The Deputy Police Chief?" he asked, apprehensively.

"Yes." A scowl. For some reason Piper had taken an intense dislike to Ms. Farrar; Mandrake simply couldn't see why...

"Send her in."

Piper turned on her heel and exited, closing the door forcefully, and leaving in her wake the calmness that came with the lateness of the hour.

If the night was calm, John Mandrake's stomach was anything but. He felt it squirming inside him like a living creature, and noticed also that his palms were sweating. Wiping them hastily on his pants, he shuffled the papers on his desk, looking for his pocket mirror. It wouldn't do to let Ms. Farrar see him looking anything but his best.

Where was that mirror? Cursing, he opened each drawer one by one, rifling through the contents, but caught no glimpse of its reflective surface. In desperation, he grabbed his scrying glass and peered at his face in its burnished exterior. It didn't work terribly well, but he seemed okay – he had terrible bags under his eyes from overwork, but he couldn't do anything about that. He angled the mirror downwards.

Damn.

Within the glass, the imp stirred; its grotesque baby face appeared, blocking out Mandrake's reflection. The imp stared back at him, pop-eyed; then a huge grin split its face. "Looking handsome, bud," he smirked. Mandrake hurled the glass across the room.

"BARTIMAEUS!" he howled. "I'm going to KILL YOU!"

A dark-skinned boy entered, carrying a bottle of cleaning solution. When he saw Mandrake he stopped short. "Hey," he said, the beginnings of a smile beginning to show at the corners of his mouth, "Looking g—"

"SHUT UP!"

"Whoa," Bartimaeus said. "Temper, temper, Mr. Touchy. I – on your orders, I might add – have been cleaning a certain indispensable apparatus in your bathroom. Man, that thing stinks! It's a bit of a comedown for a djinni who once spoke with Solomon, but have I complained? No, sir. Suffer in silence, that's me. Plug your nose, and get the job done."

"You," Mandrake snarled, "don't have ketchup all over you."

The djinni squinted. "Oh, is that what that is? Hmm. Well, I wouldn't worry – I think you can easily pass those off as nice, classy bloodstains. No shame in those – in fact, they almost give the impression that you lead an interesting life."

"But what about the mustard stains?"

"Er… pus?"

Mandrake put his head in his hands. "Why did I have to wear white today?" he wailed.

"So, Nat," Bartimaeus said, "why this sudden concern for your appearance? Go on, you can tell me. Is it because—" he stopped short. There was a knocking at the door. As one, human and djinni turned to look at it.

"Mr. Mandrake?" Ms. Piper's voice called. "Is everything all right? Ms. Farrar is waiting."

"Aha," said Bartimaeus. "Ms. Farrar, she said? Ms.? Now I understand. Well, in that case, I'll just be going. Your girlfriend is at the door, and I'm sure you want to be alone with her. I know when I'm not wanted. I'll just go back to cleaning the loo."

"Mr. Mandrake?" Ms. Piper called again. "What's going on in there?"

"Bartimaeus," Mandrake said shakily, "if you value your life, for God's sake help me. This is all your fault."

"My fault! It was you who slobbered all down your front when you ate that sandwich!"

"You always put too much condiments on!" The magician glared at him.

The knocking became louder. "Mr. Mandrake! Answer me, please!"

Mandrake looked desperately, almost pleadingly, at his servant. "Bartimaeus, I charge you—"

The djinni sighed. "All right, all right. Keep your ketchup-slathered shirt on. I'll rummage around and see what I can find in here." He ripped open a few cardboard boxes, then regarded their gaudy contents with surprise. "Where did you get all these?"

"Costumes," Mandrake said distractedly. "Makepeace needed a place to store them."

"MR. MANDRAKE!" Piper shrieked.

"Be right with you!" Mandrake yelled back. "Would you hurry up?" he added to Bartimaeus.

The dark-skinned boy smiled at him, perfect teeth glinting whitely. "Don't worry – I've found just the thing. It'll really suit you."

"Great. Whatever it is, I'll wear it."

With a flourish, Bartimaeus produced a pink, fluffy bathrobe, and, before Mandrake could protest, wrapped the young magician in it. John Mandrake stared at him in stunned disbelief.

Bartimaeus winked cheerily back. "Anytime, mate," he said serenely, "anytime." Humming quietly to himself, he left.

Mandrake was spared a reply. With a crash and an agonizing splintering of fine wood, the door had been burst open.

"My, my, don't you look… fetching," Jane Farrar said icily, looking down at him over the top of her gorgeous nose.

What did you think? Please review – getting feedback means so much to a budding writer (this is my second fanfic)!