Sorry this took so long. After this there's one more chapter, mostly an epilogue.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy.

Chapter Twenty-One

-

After all of the obligatory selfless arguing and whatnot, Kitty finally yanked Nat up by the scruff of his collar and made for the next hall. Over the box I could see the mercenary gather himself and point his gun towards them. I recoiled as there was a shot, but it had missed them. They were already running down the next hall.

For a second Mr. Big Hands made to go after them, but then I waved my gun at him in a threatening manner and he seemed to get the point. He shot at me again, just missing my wrist, and I pulled down my hand quickly.

"You can't win this," he called out. "Eventually I'll get you."

I'll admit that I kind of privately agreed. I wasn't going to tell him that, though. My eyes fell to a crowbar at my feet (really, was the tech crew so unprofessional as to leave their tools and equipment everywhere?). You know what they say. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, double-shame on me. (Or something to that general effect.) I wondered if the same trick would work again.

"Come out," he said softly. "If you surrender peacefully I won't have to kill you."

"Seeing as that's your job, I somewhat doubt that," I replied, grabbing the crowbar. "But if you're planning on resigning let me know."

I wound up and tossed the crowbar over the box with all of my force. I didn't check to make sure the trajectory was right – the grunt I heard from Mr. Beard was enough to tell me that it was. Scrambling to my feet, I darted for the same hallway that Nat and Kitty had taken. A silenced shot just barely missed me, and I could hear the mercenary right on my trail.

While they had seemingly gone a fair way down the hall, I did not have time for that luxury. I had two options: hide or find another hall to scamper down. I was not successful in the latter at first but as I moved to squeeze behind a large cabinet I noticed something the two lovebirds had missed: a cramped little corridor leading to the right, quite nearly hidden by all the crap that was lying around. I heard another shot crack at the end of the hallway and wasted no time in taking this new path.

This route was much more confusing than the other one we'd been traversing. While that one had had some semblance of structure and design, this path had several different rooms and halls branching off. I took one going left, which led me to another left and then a dead end. There was a ladder leading to a narrow catwalk here. I couldn't hear the mercenary anywhere behind me, so I decided to climb up to the catwalk, thinking it as good a place to hide as any and silently cursing whoever decided to make the backstage area of a university auditorium so much like a damn maze.

I got to the top and began creeping down the catwalk slowly and stealthily. As I got further down the walkway, I noticed that the railing was more and more well-lit. Obviously I was approaching the stage. Sure enough, when I looked down, I was right above center-stage, out of view of the audience but able to see a good amount of the onstage action. I moved a little further down towards what appeared to be a prop car. Lovelace was just beginning his speech.

"Thank you, thank you," he said over much applause. I couldn't hear him overly well, but I could hear enough to discern what he was saying in that nasal tone of his. "As you have all now heard, my name is Simon Lovelace. I cannot say how pleased I am to be able to speak to you today."

Behind me I thought I could hear faint footsteps in the side room I'd just left. I swore under my breath. The persistent little bastard had found me, it seemed. Just great. Unfortunately, I was so concerned with the man currently trying to murder me than I sort of forgot that I was on a cramped and slippery catwalk, and when I tried to back towards the prop car I slipped and fell right on my arse. There was a loud metal clank. Lovelace didn't seem to notice, and I assumed the crowd didn't either, but you can bet your mother's favorite piece of pottery that my pal Varroq did. Ears like a bat, that one. He probably could have closed his eyes and used echo-location to find me if he'd wanted.

He flew up the ladder with the speed of a squirrel hyped up on special acorn caffeine. I barely had time to duck – well, fall, really – behind the prop car before he'd pointed that damn gun at me again.

"Come out now or I'll shoot," he warned me.

"Yeah, right," I replied back. "We both know you won't shoot. We're far too close to the crowd. Lovelace wouldn't dare let you do anything while he's giving a speech. Three people are easy enough to silence. Three hundred are an entirely different issue."

I could see through the cut-out windows of the car that he was thinking it over. "Very well. I won't shoot. But there are other ways of killing a man, you know. I'm highly trained in most of them."

"No doubt you are. What are you going to do, though? Jujitsu me to death?"

"Mm, good suggestion.'

"My pleasure."

"I could very easily do that," he said. I think he was trying to look menacing at this point. He really didn't need to try, though. The beard and body type kind of did it for him. He just looked like an assassin. Or a lumberjack. "There's nothing you can do to stop me from coming over there and strangling you to death, either. Surrender. You've got no shot. There's no ladder on that side. You're trapped."

I checked this last statement. Unfortunately what the Beard had said was true. I'd come up the only ladder to the catwalk. Brilliant. I could always pull a John Wilkes Booth and jump, but it's rather hard to run from an evil mercenary that's trying to kill you when you've got two broken legs.

"You're wrong about one thing," I finally responded. "I can stop you from coming over here, at least."

"You can?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. I can shoot you." I waved my firearm above me to jog his memory. "Gun, remember?"

"Yes, but then security will find you and detain you anyways." Despite Beardy's cool tone, I don't think he liked the idea of taking a bullet to the chest. He didn't seem quite so chipper as he had earlier in our game of cat-and-mouse. "You'll just go to prison."

"Infinitely better than dying outright in my books. Besides, I've got several connections in the prison system. Loads of friends. It would be more like a vacation for me than anything."

I'll let you decide for yourselves if this was true or not. It'll be interesting to see what you really think of me.

Varroq, for one, didn't look like he believed me. I think this was because he probably had several dozen prison connections himself and knew a little about the prison culture. I'd be damned if he hadn't once been in prison himself. He'd probably torn open the window with those massive hands of his and walked right on out. That or he hid a key in his beard and gave the guards an intimidating glare when they tried to comb it out and check it. I'm not sure which one sounds manlier.

"You won't shoot," he finally said. "You don't have it in you."

"Oh really? You should tell that to your buddy Jabor. As I probably already told you, he's got a face full of glass and a bullet in his shoulder because he thought the same thing."

The mercenary squirmed where he was standing, and so did I, comfortably out of sight behind the car. I'd managed to mostly push that violent outburst from my mind the past few minutes, which wasn't hard seeing as you don't really have time to think about any of that moral crap when you're running for your life. My stomach gave an unpleasant turn, and I wiped my hand on my trouser leg instinctively, forgetting that the blood had probably already dried by now. It was something I had been forced to do, but that didn't mean I was entirely happy about it. I probably wouldn't be able to sleep well for the next several nights.

Of course, that was assuming that I made it to see those several nights, which at this point wasn't really looking like a sure thing. Varroq had gotten over his initial uneasiness about Jabor's fate, and he was eyeing the car with all the usual assassin-like malice.

"Jabor was a fool," he rumbled in a low baritone. Even his voice was manly. "Fortunately, I am not. I see no reason why I cannot simply wait this out until Lovelace is done speaking. You have nowhere to go."

Blast. That again. He really was a nuisance. "Yes, well, you see, that's where this gun comes in." I waved it above the box once more, just to jog his memory. "I could either jump down and break my legs or wait up here and let you break my neck, but I'm really not too excited about either of those. Shooting a hole straight into your heart, however –" I waggled the gun for further emphasis "– seems to be the dominant choice here, has more benefits than the jumping or getting my neck wrung, and it's considerably more dramatic. I'm all about the drama."

I thought this was a very good point, and I think he did, too. He looked around, realized that there was nothing to hide behind, and then just kind of stared at me.

"Perhaps we can come to an agreement," he stated. I have to give him credit. He didn't even sweat as he said this, and I know on the inside he was scared to death. Although I'm not really sure if he even felt fear, so that's really just an expression. "I do not need you, really. I could let you go on your way and tell Lovelace that I've taken care of you. He'll never be the wiser."

"Unless he sees me on TV getting interviewed after another one of my employees disappears while suspected for murder."

"I would advise you to take at least a brief vacation, also."

"Uh huh." I crossed my arms across my chest in my best I-don't-believe-a-word-you're-saying schoolgirl imitation. "Right. We both know that as soon as we get outside you're just going to shoot me in the head."

"No, I'm a man of my word." He might have smiled. I don't know. It might have just been a trick of the light. "I'll even give you my gun."

Now this I hadn't quite been expecting, but I still wasn't stupid enough to believe it. Please. That's a beginner's mistake. I'm way above that. "You think I honestly believe that's the only gun you've got on you? You, a meticulously prepared, extremely dangerous, and ridiculously well-dressed mercenary? We both know you've got at least one other gun on you, most likely two, one of which is a semi if not a full automatic. And to top it off you've probably got a knife in each sock and a bomb in your shoe. Trust me, I know there's no shortage of ways you can kill me. I've seen all the movies, buddy."

"No doubt you have," he agreed. "Although I assure you many of your assumptions are ridiculous. I don't have any bombs in my shoes. Those are too easily detonated. I've known many good men that have been blown to pieces because of a faulty shoe bomb."

"I'm sure the world mourns their loss greatly," I said. "And you didn't deny the knives. Or the other two guns."

He shrugged and said nothing. I hate it when people do this. I never know what they mean by it. It's always so mysterious.

We were quiet for a while. I wasn't really too keen on shooting him with an non-silenced gun right near a crowd of people, one of whom had ordered my murder just an hour before, and I think he knew this. He didn't move to retreat, at least. Although as I've mentioned prior to this, this might have just been another display of his manliness. Lemme tell you, this guy was tough. He ate nails for breakfast, chainsaws for lunch, and whole habaneros for dinner. Habaneros! Those things are just plain dangerous to eat!

On the bright side, my reluctance to bust a cap up in that joint (as the rappers on MTV always said) meant that we actually got to hear some of the speech. It was just getting to the good part, too.

"Now, Mr. Schyler here taught me everything I could possibly want to know about business," Lovelace was saying. I noticed the old dude that had been at Druid's standing behind him. I don't know how he hadn't heard some of our commotion. We hadn't been exactly quiet. Perhaps he was partially deaf. "Coming into his care was the best thing that ever happened to me. You could say that he made me what I am today."

A little bit of vomit came up in my mouth. Blech. What fake, cheesy sentimental dreck. Even as politicians go, Lovelace was a terrible speaker. For someone who would probably soon be an MP and in under three years the leader of the opposition, his inability to hire a good speechwriter was appalling.

"You may be asking yourselves, just why –" Lovelace stopped dead in his tracks. I had to really stoop my head to the ground to see his face, checking to make sure that Varroq wasn't trying to sneak up behind me (he wasn't: he was watching, too). "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce one of the most important people in my life, Amanda Cathcart!" Scattered applause. Lovelace seemed somewhat harried. This wasn't scripted. "Amanda," he said in a quieter voice, "what is it?"

I've displayed for you many times my ability at reading people. At worst I'm better than any psychiatrist and at best I've got possibly the best intuition of anyone that has ever lived. (Okay, hyperbole there. You got me.) I did my number on this lady, and let me tell you, the results were unlike any I'd ever seen.

She looked like she'd lost it.

It wasn't her clothes. They were still perfectly respectable, if not a bit out of fashion. It wasn't her hair or makeup, either. They were both impeccable. It was her eyes, the way her mouth twitched every few seconds, the odd little shivers she'd have along with the twitches. She looked like she was having a mental breakdown. I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was the stresses of running Lovelace's campaign. Perhaps it was a family issue. Perhaps Nat and Kitty had somehow convinced her of Lovelace's infidelity (admittedly unlikely), although even if they had I doubted this particular issue would have been the only straw to break the camel's back – people like her are too tough to let personal injuries destroy them. What can happen, though, is that the personal injury is the catalyst, the final straw that adds to the pressures said person has had placed upon them.

I don't know. She looked like she'd been pushed to the limit, like someone – no need guessing who – had made her do too much.

I sat back and grinned. This was going to be fun.

"You have visitors, Simon," she said simply, as if she wasn't barging in on a large speech and potentially embarrassing him in front of five hundred people. "Two of them."

Well, maybe Nat and Kitty had run into her. They probably hadn't even meant to. Lucky bastards. "That's… thank you, Amanda," said Lovelace. I could tell by his voice that he had come to the same conclusion about her mental health that I had. "But I'm in the middle of this. Perhaps they could wait?"

"Wait? Oh, there's no need for them to wait, Simon. I've already dealt with them."

Then she smiled in a way that completely threw me for a spin. It wasn't a particularly normal smile by any means. It was very creepy, no doubt about that. But it wasn't just insane or crazy or deranged. She looked like someone that had been pushed past her breaking point but still knew what she was doing. She knew she was embarrassing Lovelace, and possibly herself, and she didn't care. She knew he wanted her off the stage, and she had no intentions of leaving. She didn't look just like someone who was stressed or partially mad. She looked positively murderous.

And that was before I noticed the gun in her hand.

"Oh my," breathed the mercenary. I jumped a bit. I'd forgotten he was there. "This isn't good."

"No, it isn't." I gave him a hopeful smile from the side of the prop car. "You know, your employer could possibly be in danger. His bird's gone loony. You should go down there and protect him."

"I don't see any need to do so," he replied. "Protecting him was not my charge. My job is to take care of anyone that could damage his political career."

"Well, you know, his political career could be slightly damaged if he gets shot. It's kind of hard to run for public office when you're dead."

He still appeared unconcerned. Damn. "That's not my problem. I'm not his bodyguard. I'm his personal hit man. I could care less if he gets killed. He's not the only one involved with this business. I'll still get my pay for the old couple and his mistress. If I can't kill any of you three before he dies, that is my problem, but I seriously doubt he's going to get shot. I can just wait this out and then kill you when the speech is done. It's of no consequence to me if he gets publicly embarrassed."

This was a very interesting statement for several reasons. First off, it proved that Varroq was both heartless and also very self-sufficient (and possibly a little self-contradictory), but I could have told you that. Secondly, it told me that Lovelace wasn't the only one involved in this, which I also could have guessed, considering that the police force seemed to be under his control. However, I didn't think that the people he was referring to were the police – there was someone else in on this. And thirdly, the bastard was really patient. He'd obviously done this many times before. This was possibly the most discouraging thing he'd said the entire day.

I decided I didn't really want to talk to Beardy anymore – he was just depressing me – so I turned my attention back to the melodrama with Lovelace and his girl.

"You heard what I said, Simon," she was saying, obviously in response to one of his comments. "I've already dealt with them."

"Them?" he asked. I think he was starting to panic. "Who are they? If you've already dealt with them, then do we really need to talk about this right now?"

"Oh yes, I think we do." She smiled again and gave me some serious chills up my spine. Ugh. "There's two of them. They say they know you. A teenage boy and girl. I doubt either is over eighteen or nineteen. However, the seem to be quite convinced that you've been involved in some shady businesses lately."

Lovelace was sweating now. Coward. "Really? Well, they're very obviously lying. A bad joke. You know how kids can be. We'll have to make sure we notify their parents and see if they can't be picked up and taken home. No worries, dear. I'll take care of everything. Thank you for telling me, though."

"Don't you want to know what they said, Simon?" she asked innocently. Boy, was he in trouble. She was gripping that gun tightly now. "I mean, before you dismiss their story shouldn't you at least hear it?"

He made an odd little strangled noise. I'm fairly certain he'd noticed the gun by now. In either case, security guards were slowly beginning to sneak up behind her, which was made null by the fact that she had started walking forwards.

"Good. I thought you'd see reason." Her voice grew louder and louder now. She was working herself into a nice little rage. "They said that you've been killing people, bribing people, all to keep a secret from the public, from me. Do you know what that secret was, Simon?"

The strangled noise again. That or he was saying, "Mehumph?"

"They said that you had a relationship with a woman recently," she continued, nearly shouting. "Which is interesting, seeing as you were in a relationship with me at the time. I know you'd never take me for granted, not when I've done everything for you, worked eighty-hour weeks, sacrificed my own career. However, then they showed me this."

She held out the hand that wasn't holding a gun. A shiny gold locket hung from in her grasp. I thought that I'd been wrong in thinking she hadn't completely lost it and that this locket couldn't be more random, but Lovelace seemed to recognize it and paled even more at the sight of it, so I assumed that perhaps it was of some importance.

"Do you recognize this?" she asked.

Lovelace shook his head like a chastised six-year-old. "No, I can't say that I do."

He was so obviously lying. This was disappointing. If you're a politician, you should at least be able to lie well. It's part of the job description.

"Really?" Her voice was still raised and still confrontational, although I probably didn't need to tell you that. Oh well. "How about now?"

Her fingers climbed over the front of the locket and dug in at the small little crease on the bottom. A second later she had popped it open. From my vantage point way up on the catwalk, I couldn't see what it was, but Lovelace could, and he looked ready to faint. I gave my buddy Varroq a glance – no movement on that front – before returning my focus to the action on the stage. This was just like every poorly-written movie I'd ever seen, but even more unintentionally humorous because it was real. If only I could have taken a photograph of Lovelace's face at that point… well, you can't win them all, as my primary school cricket coach once told me. Of course, he also told me that people only broke bones because they were "mentally weak," so maybe he's not really someone you should listen to about these kinds of things.

Back to the melodrama, though.

"Er…" Lovelace stared at the locket for a while before shaking his head. "No, I still don't recognize it. Sorry. Perhaps you've been mistaken."

The security guards were getting closer to her now, although she was still walking forwards. One had gotten out his gun. This was getting fairly interesting.

"Oh really?" she exclaimed hotly. "Here! Take it, then! Maybe it will jog your memory!" She wound up and threw it with all of her strength at him. He gave a puny cry, twisted his head backwards, and stuck his arms out in front of him. Through mere luck the locket chain landed around one of his arms. "Give it a good look! Maybe you'll remember!"

He opened one of his eyes and looked at the locket before looking to her. He then attempted (unsuccessfully) to play it off and look like he had everything under control, dusting off his trousers and grabbing the locket off of his arm.

"Go on, Simon," said Cathcart in a low voice. "Open it. Give it a look."

"Amanda –"

"Open it!" Somebody was angry. She raised her gun now, pointed it straight between his eyes. Oh boy. "Now!"

At this point one of the guards raised his gun, pointed it towards her, and pulled the trigger to no avail. He stared at it dumbly for a while before realizing either a) it was out of bullets or b) it just didn't work. Then he looked to the other guard, who was clearly unarmed and looked like a university student who was working security because he figured that it be an easy couple of pounds. And of course, of the rest of Lovelace's security staff, one (probably his true bodyguard) was currently indisposed, to put it lightly, and the other one was trying to kill me. Speaking of whom, I checked on Varroq again and saw that he still hadn't moved.

I think by now Lovelace had realized that he was, for all intents and purposes, alone. Besides two unarmed security guards, one of whom looking like he might turn and run at any minute, he had no outside help against his spurned lover, who had a gun. Fun, fun.

"Open it!" she screeched again, waving the gun around recklessly. The gun pointed once towards the catwalk, and I feared for my life momentarily. She didn't look like she would be too bothered if the gun accidentally went off and shot off God-knows-where. "Open it!"

"Fine, I'm opening it!" He very nervously did so. "There. Happy?"

She pointed her gun to the locket. "Look at it. Tell me if you recognize anything."

Lovelace clearly didn't need to look at the locket to see what it contained, but he didn't argue with her – guns can be pretty persuasive when they're pointed at your face. He glanced down at it for a moment, nodded as if he'd seen what he'd expected to see, and looked back to her.

"Remember now?" she asked.

"Amanda –"

"Stop! Do you realize what kind of stress I've been under? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I've just snapped?" No kidding. "Admit it, Simon. You went behind my back the entire time. I gave you my adult life, and you betrayed me. Admit it!"

She waggled the gun again for extra emphasis. I think this was what finally convinced him to just give in.

"Fine, I admit it! I did it! You're right." He did his best to look tormented and apologetic, failing miserably. "I shouldn't have…" He had trouble finding an appropriate euphemism for 'had an affair.' "I should have done what I did," he finished lamely. "I'm sorry."

Something changed in her expression. Maybe this was what she had been waiting for after all. Maybe she was just inexplicably enamored with Lovelace. But she wasn't completely won over just yet. She was still pointing a gun at him, after all.

"Sorry," she stated slowly.

He nodded with all the insincerity of a true businessman. "Yes."

"You didn't seem so sorry when you were running around with this Harknett lady," she replied, voice growing stronger. She was really quite loud – I was some distance away and even my ears were beginning to ache. I felt sorry for Lovelace's ear drums, but only for a moment. "You weren't thinking about me then, were you? Why not, I wonder? How do I know you're not just lying to me now?"

This was a very good point, mainly because Lovelace was lying. It was so obvious.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Amanda. You know that."

He was flat-out begging now. I felt ashamed for his sake. Perhaps he should have gotten on his knees and kissed her feet while he was at it. It probably would have done him more good than his pathetic groveling.

While Lovelace was busy ruining his reputation and his bird was busy having a psychotic breakdown, neither noticed one of the security guards slowly creeping towards them (the one that with the useless gun – the other guard looked quite content to stay a safe distance away from the action). He looked like he was going for Cathcart, possibly get her from behind. I could already tell that this wasn't going to end well.

"I don't believe you," she said, trembling visibly. Regardless of what I said just a paragraph ago about Lovelace's cowardice, I wouldn't have been too excited myself if I had been in his position. She was shaking something terrible. She'd probably end up shooting the gun accidentally just from a bad case of the shakes. "You're still lying. Do you know what really gets me mad? The fact that you'd go behind my back is disheartening and infuriating but not surprising. But what you'd do to cover this up – do you think that I hadn't already wondered when I heard about her? Did you think I couldn't connect the dots? How long have you been so corrupt, Simon? I put my love and my career in your hands and you destroyed them both. I believed that you loved me, but you obviously didn't. More disturbingly, I believed that you could lead this country, but you're just a common crook! What if I hadn't found out, Simon? What if I'd gotten you elected just to have you become some sort of despot?"

"Amanda –" The security guard was right behind her now. Lovelace saw him for the first time, made eye contact, and nodded. She didn't seem to notice. "Amanda, trust me. You know me. I would never do any of those things."

"But you would! This is just another example of –"

Several things happened at once. The security guard chose that moment to strike; he leapt towards Cathcart, grabbing one hand with his arm and reaching for the wrist of her gun arm with the other. She reacted instinctively and flinched, which was pretty unfortunate seeing how her finger was on the trigger (a rookie mistake when you're not really intending to shoot anyone). She jerked instinctively, and I think you can guess what happened next.

A shot, a scream, and a splatter. That was the end of Simon Lovelace.

Good riddance.

If the situation had not been quite so dire I might have actually laughed at the looks on the faces of Cathcart and the guard. The guard looked like a boy who'd been caught by his parents with an adult magazine in the sitting room. He definitely wasn't getting a pay raise, that's for sure. Cathcart was harder to read, although possibly more amusing (if taken out of context, of course). Her expression was a combination of disbelief, shame, and shock. I think the best word to describe it would be, "Oops."

I would describe Lovelace's face for you, but that would be somewhat disgusting and possibly very morbid. I don't think either of us really want to get into that. Let's just say that there was a lot of blood and a hole in his forehead. And his eyes staring up blankly… that particular sight still makes me shiver.

The kid in the audience that was screaming finally stopped to take a breath, and the rest of the crowd joined in. There was chaos. The guard seemed to come to his senses and quickly subdued Cathcart, who put up no real resistance. I think she was still too stunned to really function. I understand the emotional duress she was under at this point. Don't you just hate it when you accidentally shoot someone after haphazardly waving a gun at them for several minutes like it was going out of style?

I remembered the mercenary and looked over to him. He looked marginally less surprised than everyone else, which really wasn't that much of a feat seeing as everyone else was currently punching, biting, and running over each other to get to the door as quickly as possible. Also, I think he'd had some experience with these things in his line of business. Not too many emotionally stable people actually order a hit man, after all.

I hesitated before speaking to him. On one hand, I didn't want to remind him that I was still there just in case he rethought that whole murder thing. On the other hand, there was no way I was getting by him without him noticing. Finally I gathered my courage and called out to him.

"Oy! Mercenary!" That got his attention. "You still planning on slitting my throat and all? I'd really love it if you didn't, I've scheduled a haircut for tomorrow morning and it's too late to cancel now."

He gave me a blank look for a second before shaking his head. "I'd forgotten. Hm."

He actually appeared to be thinking it over. Shit.

"Come on," I replied, only a little desperately. "You just gave me that huge speech earlier about why you wouldn't kill me after Lovelace died or whatnot. How you were so confident he wouldn't get shot and all. That last theory went down the drain pretty quickly, so maybe you should just jet. Vamoose. Take your leave."

He stared at me for a while. I tried to initiate a staring contest with him, but I blinked. He was good at this. Real good.

"I suppose you're right," he finally said. My stomach did a little victory dance with my small intestines while my bladder sat in the corner, depressed that no one would ask it to dance (wow, that was a weird metaphor-analogy thing). "I really wasn't expecting him to get shot, you know. I didn't think she'd have the guts to do it." I neglected to mention that she hadn't, really, deciding that it was beside the point. "Oh well. I'll still get my pay for the others. I gain nothing by killing you. I could kill you to prevent you from giving my description to the cops, but there are plenty police forces around the world with my physical description on hand, and Duvall already knows who I am. Besides, I'd never find your two friends, either. You got lucky. Be thankful for that. I'm not doing this because I'm kind. I'm doing this because it's more convenient for me."

"And that's a new suit, you wouldn't want blood on it!" I exclaimed happily. "That was the best piece of logic I've heard all day!"

"Don't celebrate quite yet. I still might get the order to kill you." My grin faded. "Although I doubt that, also. Duvall doesn't know about you, and I'm not really planning on telling him if I can help it. He does know about the boy, however, so tell your friend that I'll be looking for him. I'd advise you not to be around when I come knocking. I won't be so kind the second time around."

With those words he turned his back on me and descended down the ladder. I thought that I should call out something to him, but I couldn't think of anything witty enough. It's tough to meet standards when you set the bar as high as I do.

I waited for a few moments before following after him. The auditorium was still in utter chaos, of course – I think the noise actually shook the ladder as I climbed down it – and I didn't want to stay there any longer than I absolutely had to. I tried to find my way back to where I'd come from, which was easier said than done, unfortunately. I stumbled around for a while before I finally got going in the right direction.

I was saved from another directional issue by the sight of two very red, very familiar faces.

"Bartimaeus!" Nat huffed, Kitty at his side. "You're alive!"

"Yes, funny, isn't it?" I snorted. "You thought I'd bite it back there, didn't you?"

"The mercenary," Kitty cut in. "Where is he?"

"Gone. He up and left after Lovelace got shot in the face. I don't think he liked the blood."

I don't think they took that last sentence seriously.

"He left?" Kitty said incredulously. "But why?"

"Lovelace was the only one that wanted you and me dead." I winked at Nat. "Don't worry, though, Natty boy. From what he said earlier the police chief still wants your head on a silver platter for some reason. You may just see Varroq again!"

Nathaniel looked sick at the thought. Poor guy. "You're not serious."

"I am. Don't worry, though, you should be good for now. He ran off earlier. I don't think he likes big crowds. He assumed that you would be smart enough to run off as soon as possible. He clearly doesn't know you as well as I do."

"Enough about the mercenary," Kitty interrupted. She was always doing that, and it was always quite irritating. "Let's just get out of here before the cops show up."

Nat nodded. "You're right. I don't know a way out, though. Where do you think we should go?"

"Perhaps to a door with a sign saying 'Exit' above it?" I suggested, nodding my head towards the end of the hall. They both looked that way and groaned. "I know, it kind of sucks. That would have saved us a bunch of time if we just would've seen it earlier."

"On the bright side, at least Lovelace is taken care of," commented Nat as we all made for the door.

"Ah, I thought you two had something to do with that!"

And then we did just what the sign said: exited. But then again, as far as anyone else was concerned, we were never there at all.

-