Hey, I'm on time this week. This was largely due to the fact I dropped my other long-running fic for various reasons and can now focus on this more intently. This is good for you guys- at least, I think it is.

Disclaimer: I. Do. Not. Own. The Bartimaeus Trilogy. Nor. Will. I. Ever.

Chapter Ten
Deus Ex Machina

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple." –Dr. Seuss

The rumbling of the car engine filled the mid-morning air as the vehicle rumbled along the well-worn road. Nathaniel was staring thoughtfully out the window when I interrupted his thoughts.

"Undercover, eh?"

He turned, caught unaware by the sudden sound. "Oh, I see you're talking now," he remarked.

"Yeah." I stretched out lazily in my seat and yawned. "I got a bit bored with the whole non-talking thing. Jeez, you'd think it would be easy to not be verbose for a little while."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Verbose?"

"Hey, I can use big words, too," I replied, annoyed at his stupidity. "Don't look so surprised. After all, I am, oh, five thousand years older than you."

"I don't remember contesting that," he said. A smug grin that I desired greatly to knock all the way to Timbuktu appeared on his face. "I was just pointing out your interesting use of words."

I snorted. "My interesting use of words? Have you heard yourself talk?" I shifted in my seat, my head propping forward angrily at the little prat. "I mean, really, you don't say 'arguing', you say 'contesting'. And that was just after you thought that I used weird English."

"Hm."

I shook my head and crossed my legs in my seat once more. Admittedly, I was a tad bit annoyed that he had gotten me so riled up, but this was Nathaniel. He was the perfect genetic example of a pain in the arse. It must've taken some serious work from those chromosomes to make him so damn irritating.

"We're almost there, Mr. Mandrake," stated the oh-so-pompous chauffeur from the driver's seat. I made a mental note to tease Nathaniel about his name at a later time. Come on, Mandrake? What is this, pottery class?

The car pulled up to a large apartment complex; I imagine each flat could've held its own against the largest houses in the area, but no, houses weren't trendy. They were for commoners and the weak. Now flats, on the other hand, were fashionable. You didn't own your property; you paid some greedy landlord to own it. Yep, magicians had it all figured out.

"Thank you, James," Nathaniel muttered as he threw the door open and burst out of the car, flying up the steps and into his home as if his heels were on fire. I reluctantly followed, giving the door an unnecessary slam to shut it on my way out. That would show him. Hmph.

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I entered the flat from all of the light reflecting off of the dozens of glass and mirrored furniture pieces. I had to give it to Nathaniel: the place was huge. And from what I could see, it had a very respectable mini-bar, too. If he had any social skills whatsoever, this guy would be extremely popular with the ladies. But alas, the kid's about as entertaining as a dead llama. He kills the party and then he stinks it up for a little while longer.

He buzzed about the room at light-speed, switching from one activity to another at a rate that surely couldn't be human. I took a seat on the mini-bar counter and prepared myself for a long, boring day.

But then, the phone rang, and my plans went straight out the window.

Nathaniel hurried over to the phone and picked it up, shoving it in between his neck and his shoulder. "Hello, John Mandrake speaking."

Someone said something on the other end, and Nathaniel sighed. "Hold on a second, I think my phone's not working. Let me put you over the speakerphone."

He clicked a button and set the phone down. A male's voice filled the cavernous living room. "John? It's Morris."

"Oh, hello," Nathaniel greeted anxiously. However, it appeared his colleague was much more antsy.

"I need you over here, pronto."

"Uh, why?"

I listened attentively; you never knew when you would pick up something useful to bug your master about. "I tracked that guy you were talking about down, and then he met up with this other guy, a bit older. I could've sworn they said something about you and then about that Haliben kid, and some more, but they looked back and I had to hide in a trashcan. Let me tell you, I smell horrible right now. I'm definitely not clubbing tonight. Anyway, I followed them here, to this commoners' housing duplex, by that fish and chips restaurant. You know, the one right by your house."

"Are they still in the house?" Nathaniel asked.

"Yeah, but they've been in there for a while. No doubt they'll be leaving soon."

He shot up from his position against the wall. "I be there as soon as I can."

He didn't bother to hang up on Morris and instead hurried out of his house. I trailed behind him, and followed him all the way to the street.

"Hold on," I said. "Aren't you going to wait for a cab or something? What about that James guy?"

"No time for that. James is gone, and cabs don't usually come by here."

I was skeptical. "What are we supposed to do, then?"

"We do what the Resistance has always done," he replied. "We run."

With that, he began sprinting in the opposite direction, and I turned into a large eagle to keep up with him. It was quite a funny sight, Nathaniel running, and if we weren't in such an urgent situation I would have laughed very loudly right there. Actually, I did let one chuckle slip. A few pedestrians gave me odd stares for that.

Finally he stopped outside a large building, the sign reading: "Fishin' With a Chip." Creative. He spotted Morris and hurried over to him behind a dumpster (what is it with this guy and trash?). I perched above them on a power line.

"They're in there?" I heard him inquire.

"Yep. I'm positive they're Resistance members. They have to be, with all they know about the crimes."

Nathaniel patted the teen on the back. "Good job," he commented. "Now we'll just have to catch them in red-handed."

It was awkwardly silent for a minute or two. Clearly, neither of the dunderheads had expected to wait for their triumphant seizure of the Resistance.

"I checked the tapes."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows in a knowing sort of way, and I dearly wanted to mimic the pigeons and give him a nice, white present. But, you know, I was an eagle. Pride caught up to me. "Huh," he said.

"They were all scrambled for about an hour or two, from one in the morning to three," Morris stated. "They just keep playing over and over, and at one point, all of these weird images pop up on the screen. The images look sort of polarized, like the camera's malfunctioning, and then they stop. But there are no leads there."

"Just our luck."

I ruffled my feathers importantly; there had been a sound at the door. "Shut it, I think they're coming."

The two ducked just as another pair emerged from the flat. One was a youngster, and the boy Morris had been sent to follow. The other was considerably older, a middle-aged man who looked like someone you might find at a local pub. No doubt he was Irish, or worse: Scottish.

"She's not alright," the older one muttered.

Morris nearly jumped from his seat. "She?"

Nathaniel slapped a hand over his trainee's mouth just as the boy replied. "No, do you honestly think so, Glen? What gave it away?"

"Don't give me lip," the man now identified as Glen growled. "I'm still your elder, and I still carry a gun."

"A gun?" Morris mouthed. Heh, seems I was right about the whole pub thing. And the Scottish thing, too. In fact, there may have been a speck of red in his mostly gray beard.

"Whatever," the boy, Jack, responded. "I'm worried about her, though. We need her."

Glen grunted. "We can hold our own, but she is a feisty leader." Feisty? Yep, definitely Scottish. Or Irish. "Besides, I think your interest in her well-being may be a bit biased."

It was definitely a teasing comment, and Jack took it somewhat personally. "It's not like that, as you know. She's my friend, nothing more. Just because we're the same age doesn't mean that-"

"Don't get your panties all tied up," the alleged Scot interrupted. "It was a joke. Besides, I've seen the way you stare at Katherine."

"Go to hell, Glen. Go to hell."

The man chuckled, but then his face turned much more serious. "We've got a lot of ground to cover, though. Dylan… well, his timing was inconvenient. We were just starting to get on our feet."

Dylan? Wasn't that the idiot who pissed off the magicians?

"And besides," he continued, "if we want to even scratch those bastard magicians, we're going to have to recruit much more aggressively. The Resistance isn't near large enough. What do we have, ten members?"

Hoho, he'd just said the magic word. I think Nathaniel nearly wet himself after hearing "Resistance".

"Stop!" Nathaniel cried, leaping from behind the dumpster and holding out a warning hand. "You're under arrest for treason!"

The boy moaned. "Oh, bloody hell."

Meanwhile, his cohort was much more alert. "Why, what are you going to do, send a mouler after us?" His strong words were betrayed by his slightly wavering voice. "Who knows, it'll probably be a good workout."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't do that," Nathaniel said with his trademark smirk as Morris crept up beside him anxiously. "Not a big, bad mouler. How about something more… sophisticated?"

Either that was my cue, or Nathaniel really enjoyed the position-of-power situation way too much. Guessing it was the former, I swooped down from the skies and knocked the boy off of his feet.

"Sorry, kid," I quipped. "This is exactly why you don't join gangs. Or do drugs."

Glen moved to pull his gun from his jacket, but I threw my wing at him and caught him surprised. "Long wings are handy, aren't they?"

However he grabbed onto my feathers, and I could feel my essence burn like a bee was stinging me.

"Resilience?" I smirked (something that's very, very difficult to do when you have a beak). "I've seen better. I think I'm a little out of your league."

I threw him to the side quite easily and was about to enwrap him in some rather nasty and/or powerful binding spell that I had yet to think of when I felt something hard hit my skull. Damn high-tops.

"Get away, demon!"

Okay, so that was three things that hurt at the moment. The high-tops hitting my head, being called a demon, and the considerable resilience I felt coming out of this unseen newcomer.

I hit the pavement hard, dazed from the sudden air support. Whoa, I hadn't been expecting that at all. Definite cheap shot. I was just getting into my arrogant victory routine, also. I'd wiped the floor with the first two, and now what do I get? Someone with stronger opposition to my essence and a bump on my head.

I got up a bit groggily (hey, it was a cheap shot) and stumbled around a bit before I realized what was going on. But it was too late: the three had already disappeared, and Morris and Nathaniel were sprawled against the dumpster unceremoniously. Talk about quick disposal.

"Where'd they go?"

Morris shook his head. "No idea. But my head hurts."

"That helps," I said sarcastically. I nodded to Nathaniel. "Is he okay, or do we need to take him to a hospital?"

Morris checked his boss, who was suddenly quiet, hurriedly and shrugged. "He seems alright. Looks a little out of it, though."

"Well, that's just Nathaniel for you."

Suddenly, my master stirred. "Ugh… ghost… dead… liar…"

"What?" Morris asked. I was caught off guard, also. Maybe he'd been knocked senseless.

"Ghost… the ghost… liar…"

I looked at him inquisitively. What the hell was going on around here? If there was a ghost, I was calling an exorcist immediately. "Who's a ghost? Who's a liar?"

Nathaniel moaned. "You're a liar…"

"What?"

He stared at me wearily. "Kitty Jones… she's alive."

To Be Continued

Author's Notes: A big turning point in the entire story- and I'm talking entire- right here. Bartimaeus was, as always, extremely fun to write, and now things get really interesting.

Next Chapter: In Devils and Dust, Nathaniel must decide how he will deal with all of this. What happened? Why is Morris talking to Jane Farrar? And what is Makepeace doing in Whitehall?