Finally posting again. This chapter's a bit late since I hadn't updated a different fic in three weeks and my muse went crazy, causing me to write a 10,000 word long double-chapter. And I was going to update this yesterday, but I got sick, so I'm updating it today.

Thanks to all the wonderful reviews of As Warriors! And I'm glad you all noticed the chess analogy/metaphor thing. I would be a little disappointed if you didn't... I mean, seriously, look at the title.

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy belongs exclusively to Jonathan Stroud. I own the plot of this and my characters.

Chapter Seven
The Troubles Of Bureaucracy

"In war, you can only be killed once, but in politics, many times." –Winston Churchill

I watched with a cautious eye as Nathaniel and the other magician conversed by the scene. So, this was how he wished to play it: cool and collected? Well, I could play that game. He thought he was clever, but I haven't survived for five thousand years for nothing. It takes more than considerable brawn (which I have) to get by in this harsh world. It takes a little wit too, you know.

Finally they stood up from their crouching position and walked back to us.

"Ffoukes, have you seen the museum manager around?" Nathaniel inquired, stroking his chin in an attempted regal and elegant manner.

My master scrambled around with a bunch of documents in his hand. "No sir, I haven't at the moment."

Nathaniel sighed. "Very well. We will have to locate him, though, if we wish to have any success at all in this case. If you do see him, tell him I want every single security tape and a detailed map of the entire complex."

"Yes, sir."

"No need for that," the man called Atkins remarked. "Here he comes right now."

A jiggling blob of a man power walked into the room, huffing a rather extraordinary amount. I'd seen some fat fellows in my time, but none like this. When he moved, the earth shook beneath him. I could almost hear the ground screaming in pain.

"Hello," he puffed, red in the face from such exercise. "You're here about the robbery, are you?"

Nathaniel stepped forward. "We are, sir. I'm John Mandrake, Internal Affairs Minister."

He held out his hand and the manager somehow managed reach out and give it a squeeze, his fat juggling about like jelly. "Kendall Parks, manager of the British Museum, finest in the land. Why, we're having an exhibit on the three great Renaissance-"

"That's wonderful, sir, but we really want to find the perpetrators as soon as possible," Nathaniel cut him off. Whoa, he really was an impolite little bugger. "We'll need your security tapes and a detailed map of the building."

"Of course." He looked reluctantly back to the door he had come from. "I'll go get them, don't worry."

I leaned over to the one who had accompanied Nathaniel; Morris I think was his name. He seemed to have some sense of humor, a remarkable feat for a magician. "I can't see how he'll get them. If he runs any more, he may pass out," I commented quietly.

Morris grinned and turned a laugh into a loud sneeze as the man seemed to realize what I had already comprehended.

"Johnson!" he barked to a teenager loafing around the building. However, another man turned as well. "Not you! Jack Johnson!"

The teenager stepped forward, his spine as stiff as a human backbone could be. This Kendall Parks must be really intimidating when he's not trying to control his belly. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"Go get the security tapes and map of the building for this government official!" He pointed to Nathaniel, and the boy's eyes darted to him insecurely.

"It would be a pleasure to get said objects for Mr. Mandrake, sir!" he squeaked, his voice cracking. He dashed off in as obedient a manner as he could, and I smirked at Nathaniel.

"Well, it seems you're getting pretty well known, huh?" However, he didn't reply, his lips tightened into a frown as his eyes followed the fleeting form of the teen. "What, you suddenly don't want fame and fortune?"

He still remained silent, lips remaining pursed. I never will get magicians and their odd gestures.

"So, I trust you've all visited on occasion?" said Parks, clapping his chubby hands together jovially.

I smirked. "Yeah. Last time I was here, though, there was a golem trying to kill me, so I don't really have fond memories of the place."

I felt a hand slap the back of my head quickly.

"Servant! Quiet!" hissed Ffoukes from behind me. "You will show respect to your superiors!"

I was about to reply with a remark so scathing it was sure to make him cower in fear, but then I remembered that he wasn't Nathaniel, so he'd just punish me the old-fashioned way with a good bit of magic. Honestly, magicians these days are so uptight.

"Yes, master," I responded in as disobedient a tone as I could risk. He straightened upward, satisfied. Magicians surely are proud creatures.

"Can you give us any information on the item stolen?" Nathaniel asked, keeping his strict business-like manner in tact. The manager shrugged.

"It was an item of value," he said vaguely. "That is all I know."

There was an awkward silence in which Nathaniel nudged Morris as inconspicuously as he could manage. However, Morris just looked at him oddly, which brought Nathaniel to whisper, "Ask the next question!" in his ear.

He looked bewildered before finally mustering the strength to spit out a question. "D-do you have any information on file about the artifact?"

Parks thought for a minute or two, his face etched with wrinkles from the mental exercise. Between it and physical activity, he didn't seem to do much of either. Finally, he turned and waved to a man wandering about the building.

"Jenkins! Come here!"

The man nodded and began to run over to his superior.

"Don't run in the museum, fool!" he scolded the younger of the two, who nodded once again. I wondered if he was a mute. He beckoned for him to come closer, finally leaning over and saying in a somewhat low voice (although I could hear him just fine), "Do we have any files around here?"

Jenkins nodded. "Yes, sir."

So he wasn't a mute. Anyway, Parks contorted his face and leaned closer. "Are they files with information in them?"

"That's generally what files are, sir."

He patted Jenkins on the back. "Just a test. You see, everyday is an interview when you're working for one of the most prestigious museums in the world!"

Obviously, he was lying, but anyone with half a brain could have noticed that, so I decided not to say it aloud. Besides, if Nathaniel and Morris wanted to tell that idiot I call my master what was going on, that was their problem.

"Well, since Johnson isn't back yet, I want you to go fetch these files about- oh, there Johnson is."

The teen from earlier came sprinting back, a large bag in his hands. Parks frowned.

"Don't run in the building, you ignorant little teenyboppers!" He stopped and tilted his head slightly, which I guess could have been perceived as a nod. I didn't blame him for the lack of enthusiasm; I wouldn't be too excited about a job where my boss called me a "teenybopper" (honestly, people, teenyboppers), either. Parks sighed. "What's in the bag?"

Johnson blinked. "The stuff you asked for, sir."

Parks rolled his eyes. "Well, what is in there?"

"A few maps and a bunch of security tapes, sir."

"Just a test," Parks chuckled, eyes swiveling around in their sockets nervously. What a complete imbecile. Whoever promoted him was even more of an idiot, though. "Very well. Drop the bag and go fetch any files on the item stolen, and make sure they're files with information in them, too."

The youth obliged, the bag falling to the floor with a thud, and I caught a brief glimpse of a smirk across his face before he glanced to Nathaniel once more. Needless to say, his expression immediately became one of the utmost seriousness. Nathaniel has that effect on people.

"Yes, sir. I'll have it before you can say 'lickety split'."

He hurried off, and I could have sworn I heard Parks mutter, "lickety split" under his breath, and then something that sounded strangely like, "what a liar", too.

Parks swiveled on his foot to Nathaniel. "Well, young sirs, would you like a refreshment, or maybe even some entertainment?"

By refreshments, he meant "anything that can possibly get you drunk", and by entertainment he meant "some poor little imps we've enslaved and taught to play the piano with their feet", but Nathaniel wasn't deterred, although "young sirs" caused him to frown.

"Refreshments would be much appreciated, Mr. Parks."

He jumped up suddenly, his face red and fat jiggling as he craned his neck urgently. "Where did that fool Jenkins get off to?" he cried.

"I'm right here, sir," the man he had addressed earlier called irritably, raising a hand. Parks smiled nervously.

"Jenkins, I want you to get our guests our finest champagne!" he exclaimed excitably. Jenkins raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just a custodian. How am I supposed to know where we keep our champagne?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Wait, we have champagne? How come I've never gotten any?"

Parks bit his puffy lips angrily. "I don't care how you get it, damn it, as long as you get it! Go buy some if you have to, you numbskull!"

Jenkins retreated towards the door, and a sympathetic co-worker whispered, "The champagne's in Parks's office beneath the microwave," into his ear. Back in the day, a museum boss with an I.Q. of below sixty having a microwave in his office would have surprised me, but I'd hardened over the years. And besides, this guy put those pigs that play American football to shame. It looked as if he had eaten Santa Clause, Mrs. Clause, and all of their little elves in one sitting.

My colorful observations were interrupted, however, when Johnson returned, holding a light manila folder.

"This was all I could find, sir."

Parks grabbed it and flipped it open hastily. It contained only one sheet of paper, which seemed like quite a waste to me. I mean, seriously, you could just write the information on the inside flaps of the folder. But no, business officials had to make it look neat and prim and like they had so much money they couldn't even spend it all.

The manager thrust the paper at Nathaniel's chest. "Here is your information."

Nathaniel's eyes scoured over it whilst we waited rather impatiently. Finally, Morris voiced my sentiments, which I were forced to conceal for fear of the Stipples, or maybe something worse. Not that Ffoukes could have pulled it off, but you never know.

"Well, you planning on sharing that with the rest of us?" Morris asked, annoyance lacing his tone. Nathaniel looked up with a blank expression.

"Very well," he sighed, as if divulging the particulars of the crime was some great burden no one should have to bear. He glanced back to the paper. "It is known as the Arch, although it also goes by the name of the Archway, too."

"Big difference," I mumbled.

"Little is known about it, but it most likely originated in Egypt as a project of one of the pharaohs, maybe as a leisure activity or possibly a weapon of war."

Morris looked on doubtfully. "Like a bomb or something?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Nathaniel growled, slapping the folder shut with a scowl. Luckily, any awkward tension was avoided thanks to Jenkins's prompt arrival with a cheap bottle of champagne.

"Aha!" Parks declared, grabbing the bottle and four glasses. Setting them on a rather ancient sarcophagus, he poured the beverage into them, handing one to each of the group (beside myself) and keeping one for himself. "To this humble group of government employees, and their swift capture of the thief!"

"Aye!" There was a clinking of glasses and several gulps. The largest came from Parks, whose champagne had mysteriously disappeared already.

Nathaniel managed to cleverly mask his spitting out of the drink into a cough. "Er, fine drink, Mr. Parks. Very fine. I'll- I'll have to get that brand for myself."

Parks beamed happily, oblivious to the fact that Nathaniel was blatantly lying. Nathaniel was saved by the arrival of another clerk, however.

"Mr. Mandrake, sir!" she gasped. He breathed out sharply.

"What?"

"Mr. Devereaux requests your presence in Richmond, sir!"

To Be Continued

Author's Notes: Another Barty chapter, which is always good. I liked writing his views of Parks, particularly that little line about Santa Clause. And I put some clues in here that you'll catch if you're looking hard enough.

Next Chapter: In Transfer of Power, Nathaniel goes to Richmond, but not before he has one crazy but brilliant idea. The only question is: will anyone else agree to it? Morris is sent on amission to spy on a shady figure, and the ministers in Richmond must devise a plan to catch the Resistance before it's too late.