Barty likes reviews. He also likes big butts and he cannot lie.
Barty: whistles again
Apologies to Jonathon Stroud for the horrible things i do to his characters while he isn't looking.
Three weeks later, I sat quite comfortably in Ptolemy's chamber, speaking with him about magic. "We simply have greater abilities than humans. Our essence is fluid, and we can transmit its powers to external areas."
"But how can you do things like- oh, the Noisome Wind?"
I snort. "That's essentially… well… you know I try to limit the crudity when we converse, but Ptolemy… the Noisome Wind is basically a fart."
He snickers. "I know. I am not entirely discrete from my fellow adolescent males, Rekhyt."
"Yes, you are. I mean, if they were the princes of Egypt, they'd be off doing normal things- like that cousin of yours. Chasing girls and drinking. And you're here, having a nice chat with a demon."
"A chat about farts."
"I never thought I would ever hear you say that, Ptolemaius."
"Must you be so Romanized, my friend?'
"The world drifts toward Rome, Ptolemy. It's simply fact. That is how you will be remembered in a hundred years," I began.
"No. I will be remembered as the man who freed the djinn."
"What?"
He sighs and pinches his temple between two fingers. "Well, I meant to actually get some of my research done before I told you this… I… I plan to… write of the demo- the spirits. I want to teach the other magicians what I've learned, of your nature, of the fact that you're… not all that different than us. And I plan to let them know you deserve freedom…"
I laugh aloud. He looks hurt. I ignore it and state the simple facts. "Listen, Ptolemy, it isn't that you haven't got a lovely ambition, because you do. It's simply impossible. Magicians are pigheaded and insufferably cruel, and they're going to go on being pigheaded and insufferably cruel until the end of time, and you can write all the fancy papers you'd like, Ptolemaius, but that's going to stay the same."
"No." He says it so simply, like a fact and nothing more, shaking his head. I've never heard him give such an utter refutation of anything I've said. He is almost ignoring my input. "No, Bartimaeus."
I stare. And he's using my name. This is unusual, for him. Normally, I wouldn't give it a second thought that a magician was ignoring my input, but this isn't a magician, this is Ptolemy (my Ptolemy a voice in the back of my head whispers, as I tell it to shut the heck up) and something is wrong.
"You really believe this, don't you? That this is going to happen?"
"Yes." It was just as simple as his denial of a moment ago. I shook my head, and almost said what I was thinking.
You're an idiot. Send me home, because this is pointless. But something prevented me. I didn't know what. Actually, I did (I am infinitely intelligent. Very little escapes my knowledge.) I just refused to admit it. "Well, don't let me get in the way. If you want to end my slavery, I wish you luck. What do you need to know?"
REVIEW!
