A strong wind blew over the bay, causing the turquoise water to ripple frantically. As the wind gusted, morphing into a calmer breeze, it tickled playfully at the edges of the Golden Gate Bridge, which was shining a blood red in the afternoon sun. Fog bunched about the top, contrasting with the light blue sky above, and giant ships with salt-weathered hulls glided serenely underneath. Somewhere a foghorn blared in a melancholy way; several gulls were sent flapping into the air, where they wheeled and turned before settling on the roof of a van. The air smelled of salt, and the waves that crashed against the slick rocks sent droplets into the air that tasted of it, too. As this chorus of sensory delights ((or not; the smell of fish and seal was rather strong as well, and sent many a tourist stumbling away looking green)) wallowed in their eternal song, a small rental car pulled up to the curb and parked. A girl with short dark hair climbed out, and stood at the cement wall overlooking the view.
I had the map spread out across the dashboard; the route to our motel was traced in red pen, all the places where the djinni had been sighted were marked with a black star. It was very organized. Kitty had done it, of course. I'd never managed to get the hang of drawing those five-point star thingies.
Affa, from the backseat, leaned forward and tapped a long finger against one of the stars. "Rather close to the place we're staying, isn't it?"
"It's exactly why we're staying there."
"Any new sightings?"
I scanned my eyes over the map. "Nope. Been quiet for a while. Last sighting was . . . oh, here it is—twelve days ago. Almost two weeks. Looks like our bud's hanging low, eh?"
"He could also be lying in wait," Affa commented, a faint smile lacing his features. "Never underestimate, Bartimaeus." He sat back in his seat, crossed his legs, and gazed outside with those startling green eyes. "You and I know that only too well."
"Are you referring to that unspeakable time where you held that grudge towards me for over a year?"
"It could also be referring to Ptolemy, but yes. I was speaking of that unspeakable time."
"Unspeakable times aren't supposed to be spoken of."
"I wasn't speaking of the unspeakable time, I was speaking about speaking of the unspeakable time."
"Good thing I have the brains to keep up, because you could twist the words around the best magician until he chokes, Affa."
"And you with insults."
I shrugged in agreement.
We both looked up as the car door opened.
Kitty slid back into the rental car, her hair mussed around the edges from the wind, looking unimpressed. "It's not very golden, is it?"
"Is what?"
"The bridge."
"Well, no, it isn't." Over the centuries, I'd mostly been enslaved in Africa. Pyramids, the Gardens of Babylon, etc. you can ask me about; American bridges I know squat. I told Kitty this; she turned her unimpressed look upon me.
"What a let down," she stated bluntly, putting her hands on the steering wheel.
The bridge isn't named for its color, but for the Golden Gate Strait.
And what in the world is that?
It's the body of water that makes up the entrance between the Pacific Ocean and the San Francisco Bay, Nathaniel answered pompously. You see? This is when a magician's training comes in handy.
Yes, everyone needs to know why the Golden Gate Bridge isn't golden. Brilliant.
And what was that unspeakable time, Bartimaeus?
Didn't I go over this already? Unspeakable times are not to be spoken of. That's why they're unspeakable.
When I refocused into reality, Kitty was pulling into the lot of a small motel. It was a battered thing, with dirty pastel sides, forlorn shrubs, and the parking lot littered with graffiti; it was quite a change from my earlier memories of forests and plains. Had that been in California? Or had it been when America was merely a large stretch of land, wild and unmarked by man?
"I suppose you two want to wander around as usual while I do the boring job of checking in?" Kitty grumbled. She pulled the key out of its slot and the car's low rumble died away.
Affa and I smiled back at her like twin devils.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
The pavement was cracked and dotted with blackened gum and scraps of tar. A scrawny dog sniffed a tree, did his business; one glinting eye roamed, caught side of the two humans approaching his way, and scampered off.
The dark-haired boy was still holding the map. "He's been appearing here the most," I said, prodding Ghirardelli Square with a forefinger. "Jehovah knows why, but Percy Combe's been sauntering through, flames crackling, at least three times in the past week." I folded up the map. "That's our first stop once Kitty gets her room."
Affa bounded up the first flight of a fire escape in one go and glanced at me challengingly. The dark-haired boy grinned and leaped up beside him with ease.
"Please. This is nothing compared to those pyramids."
We made our way up the stairs and emerged onto the roof; here, the wind gusted across the flat surface, sending scraps of paper and the occasional soda can skittering off the side. The sky above was the clearest blue, and everywhere one looked one could see an expanse of houses extending across hills into the distance. Before us was the San Francisco Bay, though a giant billboard across the street blocked most of the view out.
I chucked a large rock at it; it hit an image of a golden-sanded island with perfect aim, and behind me Affa clapped sarcastically.
I settled down on the warmed roof and closed my eyes. A moment later I cracked one open in irritation; Affa was standing over me, his shadow blocking out the sunshine, looking curiously at the billboard.
"What island is that?" he asked, pointing at the billboard.
"I have no idea. Hawaii?"
"What is that?"
"An island or islands that you haven't heard of yet, apparently. Home to coconuts and pineapples."
"I would like to go there."
The dark-haired boy grunted with disinterest. He closed his other eye pointedly. The shadow didn't move.
"Just think," the redheaded woman said longingly, "you and I are under no charge. If we wanted, we're free to go anywhere we wish. Anywhere. Including Hawaii."
"And yet we're here." As Affa wasn't moving, I got up with a sigh and balanced on the very edge of the roof, one toe hanging over the crack. A strong gust of wind could send me right over if I wobbled; the thought was giving me a delicious pleasure as Nathaniel quaked inside. "Or, more importantly, you're here. You didn't have to join us on this mission, Affa. Not that I mind, you know."
Bartimaeus . . .
Oh, please. We can fly.
"It's something to do," Affa said bluntly. "And anyway . . ." He paused, looking pained, and then glanced off in another direction in an abrupt fashion.
One thing about Affa? He doesn't know deceit to save his life. ((One time he, Teti, and I were sabotaging a well-known foliot hangout for a quick snack. There were too many, however, and if we'd taken one there would have been a swarm all around us—mind you, we were merely being careful, not cowardly—and as we snuck back out, a foliot halted us in our path. He asked Affa why we were here, and under duress Affa cracked and told him exactly what. We fled the horde with dignity)).
"Maybe after I could just stay," Affa said quietly at last. The dark-haired boy cocked his head, looking over his shoulder with an unreadable expression. "On Earth. Roam, sight-see. Such things. Egypt? Alaska? I could go anywhere," he said dreamily.
"True," I admitted. "It's sounds tempting."
"You could come. We could explore together. Unbound, free!" His eyes were glimmering with excitement. I hesitated.
"A dazzling option, believe you me. But what of the Other Place? You and I would never return home," I said slowly. Reluctantly. "And what of the host? You'd just keep her captive in her own body through the years, until she fades and withers and you're left with bones? And then what?"
The sound of a firing car tire made us both jerk round; several surprised screams erupted along the street below. A second ticked by, and then we turned back to each other and this careful conversation we were conducting.
Affa opened his mouth to say something; he thought better of it, closed it, and looked away again. A strong gust of wind blew his red hair across his cheek, and Affa delicately brushed it away. At last, he said: "Sometimes losses must be made."
"How obvious."
"But really, Bartimaeus? I don't know anymore, the tiny gap between right and wrong. Two thousand years of drifting has made my mind unclear," Affa explained with a hint of anger in his voice.
"Two thousand years of slavery has made mine as well," I snapped back.
A strained pause came between us; I sat on the edge of the roof and looked out at the sparkling bay. So many years upon years of slavery, and though I'd get the occasional break to the Other Place, I was only called back to Earth again to toil evermore. What was the point? Affa was right. It would be so easy, so easy to just take off . . . explore the world . . . with my own freedom, at the expense of another's.
I breathed in the air. Within me, Nathaniel was burningly silent. He was doubting that I'd make the right choice . . . but what choice was there? Did I have a choice? Had I ever had one?
Affa joined me on the ledge without a word, and we sat there together.
Quietly.