Sorry about the wait. I was very busy recently, but I'll try to get out the next chapter sooner. I only have two chapters left to write, so it shouldn't take that long, but eh, I don't know. I'm going to finish this fic by October 6th. Or at least I think I am.

You'll notice right off the bat that it's a different chapter, and I prefer this style of writing to what I had been doing previously. It's the only way I could get the ending to work out smoothly, so if you don't like it, I'm sorry, but it has to be this way.

And so here it is... the first chapter of the three chapter climax: The Good Die Young.

Disclaimer: The Bartimaeus Trilogy is property of Jonathan Stroud and his publishers, and the term "The Good Die Young" is from some song or book or something. Dunno about that one, but just don't sue me and we'll be okay.

Chapter Nineteen
The Good Die Young

"There's a feeling I get
When I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking."
- Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven"

Sooner than Morris would have liked, the day of their departure came. Morris was not looking forward to it very much at all: who would honestly be happy that they were going off to die?

Certainly not him. Although, to be honest, it wasn't like he had been doing much in the two weeks that he'd been in the clearing. Mostly, he had been teaching some of the others to play Boomsticks, a very fun game that was not unlike cricket, and Bartimaeus had taught the group an old Aztec ball game. He had tried to convince them that the losers should be sacrificed, but Morris disagreed. He had almost no hand-eye coordination, and felt that he would be the first to lose. Needless to say, he was right.

As the hours passed the others were all scurrying about, doing this and that and occasionally some of both. Morris did nothing. He did not have anyone to play a game with, and he had no one to talk to, either. Nathaniel, Kitty, and Bartimaeus would talk to him, but they were all busy. Katherine was very mad at him and some of the others just didn't like him.

He didn't really understand what Katherine was mad about. If she had been forced into his position…

The day that he'd left was still very vivid in his mind. The government had come to him a few days before, saying that he should either continue his education or give up the practice of magic. He was not very prominent with magic, but he liked to use it every now and then, and he was no fool. Even if he didn't use much magic, the best jobs were always saved for magicians. Always.

Morris had accepted their offer and left his old friends, Katherine among them. Really, it was his master's fault, he thought. He had been horrible, and scared Morris out of his wits whenever possible to show him the "dangers of demons", and probably had permanently scarred him. And so, one stormy day, Morris had jumped out of the upstairs window and never saw his old master again.

But what Katherine didn't understand – what all of his old friends didn't understand – was that a choice like that was difficult. Morris was not particularly brave or courageous. He was easily intimidated, and feared many things. He did not want to live the life of a commoner. The life of a magician was a very scary thought, but Morris preferred it to the alternative. Besides, at the time he'd thought that he might even make a few friends. Sure, whenever he got uncomfortable humor became a self-defense mechanism, but some people might find that endearing.

It was very clear as soon as he'd stepped foot in the university that this was not the case. It wasn't a huge school like the ones he'd seen during his stay in America (his master once had a job there for a few months and took Morris along), but it was imposing enough. None of the magicians had much of a sense of humor.

And he discovered very early that it had not just been his old master who thought commoners were beneath them. He'd hoped that maybe the old man was just crazy, but most magicians seemed to think along these lines. Morris had always known that magicians had better opportunities and ruled the Empire, but he'd hoped that maybe things might be different. But they weren't, and he felt very guilty for leaving his friends.

When he had left the university, his physics professor had offered him one bit of advice.

"Morris, keep your nose out of it and do your job."

When he went to work as a lab technician, hoping to work his way up to CSI, this advice came in handy. He was not like most magicians, as he had suspected, and most of the magicians he came across fancied him odd. After a while he began to relish this, because it made him different from them, and eased his guilt, which he knew would never really go away.

It was odd to think that he would be leaving to try and change everything in only a few hours. He would most likely lose – they would all lose – and die in the process. Death, although the others pretended otherwise, was still a very scary thought. There was so much he wanted to do, but now… his life was being cut short.

Fate was cruel.

Morris could only hope that he'd bring a few evil bastards down with him.

"Morris?" He looked up, startled.

"Oh. 'Ello, Thomas."

"You were looking at that tree all funny," said the boy, flicking a nut into the air with his hand. It landed neatly in the outstretched palm of his opposite hand. "I thought you'd gone crazy."

Morris laughed. "Oh, don't worry, I went crazy a long time ago."

"I've heard as much."

Morris's brow furrowed, knowing what this meant. "She's pretty angry, isn't she?"

"Katherine?" asked Thomas. "Oh, no, she's quite cheerful. She has the nicest things to say about you."

"I see," Morris said as he watched the nut rise into the air and then fall once more. "You seem pretty calm. I mean, honestly, if I were you I'd have run long ago. You're only a –"

"Only a kid?" Thomas finished darkly.

Morris looked fixedly at a patch of grass in front of his trainers. "Well, it sounds worse when you say it like that."

"I'm not scared." His voice was defiant, maybe even proud. This kid is going off to die and he's handling it better than I am, Morris thought miserably. "I'm far past being scared."

"Lucky you," Morris muttered as he kicked the grass bitterly. "Unfortunately, I'm still at that place. I'm scared out of my mind."

"Really?"

"Yes." He coughed up something and spat it on the ground in irritation. "I mean, I'm nineteen. There's so much I haven't done. I shouldn't be dying today."

"You seem pretty resigned to it," remarked Thomas dryly.

"It's harder than it looks to have hope."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it's impossible."

Morris shrugged. "Maybe not. But the odds are, we're all going to die."

"You don't know that," Thomas said.

"Oh, really?" Morris scoffed, throwing him a lazy glance as if to intimidate him. Thomas stood his ground, meeting his gaze with a stony stare. "What do you know?"

"I know that everything's not lost."

The words hung in the air for a few moments before Morris answered. "Not yet, anyway."

"Pessimist."

"All I know is that we're going to try to break into the most famous prison in the world and meet whoever's been behind all of this madness. Not many people would expect to live through that."

"It's not like the Tower's that big, though," Thomas commented. "I mean, I didn't really see it much because when the police took me in they blindfolded me and gagged me for some reason, but in our history textbook, the main building's only a few stories high."

"That's probably the old famous Czech painting of the Tower," said Morris thoughtfully. "When Gladstone came into power, they added two stories to the top, making that painting pretty useless. What do you know of the Tower, actually? I never really knew much about what commoners were taught."

Thomas looked up in thought and made a face. "Not much. They told us some of the basics, such as the fact that the White Tower was made by the magician Gandalf –"

"Gundulf," Morris corrected. "The Empire bought it from the old royalty fairly early on, though."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Gandalf, Gundulf. No one cares."

"No one that's still alive, at least."

Thomas brushed a strand of hair from his face. "What if we, you know… win?"

"Don't be an idiot," Morris said. He smiled. "But if we do, I'm going out to get drunk as hell. Want to come along?"

"Alcohol?" Thomas shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"I'll feel guilty about letting you drink the stuff, but who cares?" Morris laughed. "My plan is to get so intoxicated that I won't even remember all of this."

"Again, sounds good to me."

"So it's a deal? We're both going to go get drunk after this?"

"Yeah. Think Glen'll come along?"

"Dunno. He doesn't like me much."

Thomas made a noncommittal noise. "Yeah, but the guy owned his own pub. He won't turn down a drink if you offer it to him."

"Good point," agreed the older of the two. "So…"

"Yeah."

"Let's win so we can go get drunk."

Thomas grinned. "That'll make a good battle-cry, you think?"

"Of course," his counterpart answered as he ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Not 'Remember Gladstone' or a line of that sort. 'We're going to defeat you, restore peace and a fair government, and then we're going to go get so drunk that we don't remember a lick of it!' Yes, that's just about perfect."

"They'll never know what hit 'em," Thomas said. He looked at the ground thoughtfully. "Y'know, Elliot's so cowardly a fighter that we might want to get him a few drinks beforehand."

"Ah, that might be a wee bit difficult."

"Never mind, then," Thomas sighed. "At least we now know what we're doing this for."

"Right-o. To alcohol!" Morris held up an imaginary glass, and Thomas clinked his own against it.

"To alcohol!"

-

Let's clear this up before you get the wrong idea: I really hate it when people make me their errand boy.

Naturally, being a djinni doesn't help matters. But that's beside the point.

For the past two weeks, I had been running around to and fro, getting food and clothes and all sorts of other things that Nathaniel referred to as "necessities of life". Trust me, it wasn't very fun having to go buy tampons at the drug store, especially since I forgot to change my guise from that of a geeky-looking man with absurdly thick glasses. The clerk gave me some odd looks, to say the least.

Errands aside, it had been a relatively low-key two weeks. It had mostly consisted of lounging around the clearing, with the occasional vain attempt to entertain oneself. Nathaniel had been very busy, however. Judging from the slew of paper (a slew of paper that yours truly had been forced to go buy at said drug store) that trailed behind him wherever he went, he was trying to exhaust any and every idea of how we could enter the Tower and somehow escape. Mainly, he would begin drawing the blasted building and then would curse and throw it in a crumpled ball over to the side.

Humans are so productive these days.

I, however, had played Boomsticks with Morris and some of the others, and taught the group the old Aztec ballgame I had once mentioned to Nathaniel and that Jakob boy. Morris had tried to impress some of the Resistance members by magicking one of Nathaniel's little paper balls over to where he was sitting, but this demonstration paled in comparison to my setting ablaze of those very balls. To the untrained eye, it looked as if I had set them on fire by staring at them. To the trained eye, I had used an old spell the required very little movement of the lips.

I could not blame Nathaniel, though. He was handling himself better than I had anticipated, and sometimes only stared at the ground thoughtfully. The crumpling-of-the-balls happened enough for me to want to hit him, but then again, most humans annoy the hell out of me by just existing. But there was at least a reason for his anxiety.

I had decided, after much hypothesizing and careful thought during one of my many errands, that this person we were going up against was most definitely Bad.

That's right, Bad with a capital 'b'. This person was so bad that they were Bad. They had organized everything that I thought had been bad – Lovelace, Duvall, the assassin, the golem – and therefore, they were officially Bad. To give a brief summary: if they had organized everything that had been bad, then they themselves must be a notch above bad, and were Bad. So we were going up against a Bad guy. With a capital 'b'.

On this same errand, I had judged that I really had too much spare time to think.

According to my old Czech masters' conversations over tea, William Gladstone had most definitely been Bad. But all he had wanted was to conquer those damn Czechs, a term so used in Britain that it too had been capitalized, and the Czechs were then referred to as Those Damn Czechs. It's not much of a difference, but it's subtle, and subtlety is sometimes more profound than anything else.

Back to Gladstone, then. Well, according to Those Damn Czechs, he had been Bad, but he didn't seem to be as terrible as the mastermind we were going up against. Our power-hungry mastermind had encouraged the killing of all of Parliament, and the rampaging of Britain, which was probably his homeland. He was clearly a psychotic sociopath, whereas Gladstone was just a bit more deranged than most magicians.

So, using this model as my reference, William Gladstone had been Bad (But Not As Bad As Certain Others). Or maybe even Bad But Not All That Bad. Or maybe Slightly Bad. It was a tough decision, surely, and it didn't really matter, but the mind wanders when death is looming on the horizon. It's a strange concept, actually.

For death did seem certain, I admit, and there would be death, although that's later on in the story. For when you are even going against people that are Bad (But Not As Bad As Certain Others), or people who are just Bad But Not All That Bad, or maybe even those who are Slightly Bad, death is incredibly likely. But we were going against someone who was Bad All By Itself Without Further Notation, or just Bad, and this was somewhat terrifying.

But even in the prelude to our inevitable clash with this Bad person, I was very bored. As I said, the mind wanders.

And so my mind drifted to other thoughts, thoughts different but not altogether so from those of Badness. It should be very evident what I thought of at this point.

Nathaniel, of course.

That was a shameless insult, really, but Nathaniel… well I consider all magicians bad. Not necessarily Bad or Slightly Bad, but at least bad. There are exceptions, of course, such as Ptolemy, but those were rare with any spirit.

Nathaniel, besides his obsessive planning, had been acting very strangely for the past few weeks. He had been unusually kind, or at least tolerant, when dealing with us all. For the first time in a long time, I felt that my master actually considered my opinion. Nathaniel had usually considered my opinion, but it had never really carried much weight unless he was desperate. But he had begun truly considering what I thought, and it was a bit alarming.

But I didn't think that Nathaniel needed counsel as much as he used to. As he had grown older, and during this tumultuous weeks, he had grown wiser, and more patient. I had once deemed this impossible, but scarily enough, it had happened. Nathaniel had always possessed the motivation and talent to do many things, and he had always been cunning, but now he was wise enough to use his skills. He would be a force to be reckoned with for sure, if he was not killed in the Tower as it surely seemed he would be.

Yet if there was anyone that could devise a plan so brilliant that it helped us escape from this situation, it was he. Like an architect, he was now knowledgeable enough to use all of the tools at his disposal, and to realize that in the Greater Scheme of Things, that he was just a pawn. He had recognized that his life was valuable, but not so valuable that many others should be sacrificed for his sake. The Greater Scheme of Things was horrifying, but to the prepared mind, it could be manipulated to one's needs, and thus was wonderful as well.

And now, Nathaniel was learning how to manipulate the Greater Scheme of Things. It was doubtless that the Bad mastermind would possess this skill also, as he had orchestrated so much already. Nathaniel was young and motivated, while our nemesis would most likely be old and cunning. It would be a marvelous duel. Throw in some popcorn and you'd have yourself a regular old party.

Every now and then during that long period, I would wonder: was it possible that we would win? Was it possible that Nathaniel could pull off a feat that seemed impossible?

Brilliant as he was, the answer was almost always "no" in my mind. Nathaniel could only do so much, for he was human. Our survival would depend on all of us, and if we were not united, we would fall. None of us even knew what we were going up against, while our opponent would have a vast knowledge of his enemy.

To think that I'm considered cocky and not as serious as I ought to be. Hmph.

It was a pity, really, that we were supposedly destined to die. Nathaniel and Kitty were surely about to announce their engagement soon, at the rate they were going.

It was sickening to watch. They may have been too stupid to see it, but I wasn't. It wasn't noticeable if you were looking for the wrong signs – a brush of the hand, a nervous laugh. Really, it's all in the eyes.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, or so it has been said. If you're really looking, then this is evident. There are ways to determine what each action means, whether it's a flicker or a blink or even a squint. It's a very tricky subject, and it takes a long time to really hone the skill, but it's worth it.

And, quite frankly, Nathaniel and Kitty were having eye-sex.

Sickening, I know.

But, unfortunately, like all things that shouldn't be, it was true, and it was happening more and more often. Never mind that I avoid human pornography anyway. This was just… too much.

At least they didn't just shed their clothes and begin snogging and shagging right then and there. That… that, my friends, is called indecency in public, and it can get you up to six months' time without probation, providing you have as bad a lawyer as old Urich Stantleton. But that is a different story, and the details are quite graphic. If you must know, it involves a dead fish, a bush, and a naked man, along with a car crash. The car crash might've been caused by a large telephone pole I had "accidentally" pushed into the middle of the road as a "distraction", but that is neither here nor there.

On a more serious note (ha), they really did have some sort of awkward chemistry. Quite mind-boggling to an intelligent djinni like myself, but with each passing day, they started to understand each other more (and the eye-sex got more intense, too) and, by the time our Last Few Days (a term commonly used during the end of each empire – it's morbid, really) had rolled around, they were actually talking without talking. It's another skill that requires some practice, and can take quite a while, but is very useful. Unlike the whole eye business, it was a unique skill between a group; even if there was another silent-talker in the area, unless they knew the two silent-talkers talking extremely well, then that intruding silent-talker could not deduce what the two were saying.

That didn't make any sense. Blargh. Blargh, I say, blargh.

You are also probably marveling at my ineptitude to really give any background information without deviating into areas such as silent-talking and eye-sex. It's all necessary, though. Well, not completely, but I think it brightens up the whole descriptive area, which can tend to get very boring, especially if a human writes it. Thankfully, for your sakes, I am a djinni, and as a djinni, I am higher on the evolutionary ladder than a human. Obviously.

So, to summarize, I was expecting for Nathaniel and Kitty to proclaim their undying love any moment, now. It was an obvious bet, if one was in the betting business. But if I were so inclined to partake in the betting business, I would have bet on Morris and Katherine (although the girl can't stand the boy) or that Yasmin lass and Elliot (I don't know how I came up with that one) as my dark horses.

I hope it's not too obvious that I'm not the gambling type, per se.

Oh, dear, I have run off-course again. What a tragedy.

To prevent you from any further damage due to my wonderful descriptions and my witty one-liners, I will try to make an effort to stay on-task. It's pretty hard, though, but I don't really think I'd be too pleased with myself if someone died because of my writing. It doesn't help the ego.

If Nathaniel read this, lovely long words and talk of sex, just imagine. His eyes would bulge out of his head and break his skull, and then the shards of the bone would jab into his disproportionately large brain. Good imagery, no?

I've done it again. You know, run off-course. Must make a note to myself…

Do not run off-course.

And maybe I can even draw a lovely little illustration of Nathaniel's head exploding –

Oh, dear. I'm a hypocrite. Already going off-course again.

Sorry about that.

Anyway, as I looked up from my reverie to what sounded like distinct calls of, "To alcohol!", I noticed that the group was more antsy than ever. Nathaniel was pacing quickly around the clearing, Kitty bouncing ideas off of him whenever he made his rounds past her (which was quite a lot, peculiarly). Morris and Thomas, who I think had been the ones crying out, were now flat-backed on the ground. The others were mostly chewing their fingernails, pacing, sitting, or some combination of the three.

Humans are very odd.

And then, to cap all of this off, Nathaniel stopped pacing – I'm not even kidding, there were skid marks in the grass – and suddenly jumped up in excitement, pointing wildly over my head.

"The sun! It's about to set!"

And so, instantaneously and unpredictably, as many things are born, so was mass chaos.

-

Nathaniel had been pacing before his outburst, and he supposed that was how the lowering sun had not caught his attention. It was really his fault. He had been paying so much attention to thinking and to talking to Kitty and hadn't been attentive at all towards the time.

So when he had noticed it looming just above the horizon, threatening to set, he had naturally overreacted.

"The sun! It's about to set!"

There was mass confusion as soon as the words had escaped from his mouth. People jumped up and began scurrying around pointlessly, as if that would help, until finally a loud yell from Kitty silenced them.

"QUIET!" The scurrying stopped, and Morris sat down promptly. "Good. Now, we all know the plan. It's the same arrangements as our escape from the Tower."

"But my car," protested Ffoukes, "they recognize it now."

Kitty smiled somberly. "I don't think that'll matter much now."

"Of course," Nathaniel said, clearing his throat in a boss-like manner. "Everyone, to your means of transportation! We must be leaving!"

Everyone began running around distractedly once more, and Bartimaeus merely shrugged beside him. "You tried."

"Yes, I did," he sighed. "I don't think I really need to say what we require, do I?"

"Of course not. I'm a smart djinni." A blink of an eye, and an eagle now stood next to Nathaniel. "So, time for a joyride, then?"

"I'm not sure how joyful this joyride is going to be," Kitty muttered as she mounted him carefully.

"Watch the feathers," he warned her. "But anything with me is joyful."

"Keep telling yourself that," Nathaniel said as he situated himself behind Kitty, careful to pull one or two feathers just to irritate Bartimaeus. Wrapping his arms around Kitty's abdomen, he took a deep breath and looked ahead determinedly. "Off we go."

The great, silver wings of the eagle began to stroke at the air as if piercing it with a knife, and in mere moments the three were high above the Earth, the clearing no longer in sight. Nathaniel felt the thin air rush into his lungs, filling him with a feeling of anticipation.

Birds attempted to fly by them, but they were no match for Bartimaeus. One flock of ravens did manage to keep up with them for a short while, and for some reason Nathaniel felt that they were there to see them off to their final battle. Ravens, a bird linked with darkness and despair, sending off soldiers as they went to fight a fight they could not win. It was very fitting, he decided.

The Tower began to come into sight, and Nathaniel grabbed Kitty tighter without thinking. So, this is it? he thought. No pit of fire, no mountain of ice; just some ancient building? It's a sad ending to a sad life, but maybe there is still some ray of hope that with our deaths, we can save faceless others.

But the sun was setting. Could there be rays of hope if there was no source?

We are the source, he thought. We are the last hope. Only we know of this corruption, this terror. We are the last soldiers of the forces of good, against the puppet of evil. We are no heroes. We just aren't villains.

There was some solace, some stability in that, for it was true. Certainly this ragtag group was not comprised of great and tragic heroes. Anti-heroes, rather, but maybe that was enough in the long run, for as Bartimaeus had said: a hero is just a murderer, or an assailant, or even an enemy.

We are not murderers. Not yet.

"It's beautiful, in an odd way," Kitty whispered in front of him.

"Yes," he agreed quietly, regarding the Tower with alert eyes. "It is."

Death is not so terrible. Death can be beautiful. It is just a tragic beauty.

The Tower was drawing ever closer, and Nathaniel knew it was appropriate that his last free thoughts would be of his demise.

"We'll be landing now." Even Bartimaeus was morose.

They began their slow descent, and soon enough they had landed, right outside the entrance. As they were dismounting, a black car showed up to their side: Ffoukes's car. And behind them a hawk was landing.

The group was there. The battle would shortly begin.

"So," came Morris's voice as he exited from the car, "everyone doing good? No stomach cramps, or headaches? That would be pretty unfortunate. I mean, think about it. 'Oh, yes, I'm going to fight you, but could you wait a minute for my medicine to kick in? I'm not feeling very well.' Very unlucky."

"I'm not in the mood, Morris," Katherine stated from behind him. "I don't think any of us are."

He looked at her and scratched the back of his neck. "Right, then. Sorry."

"Well, we're all here, I suppose," Nathaniel announced, breaking the tense moment. He fidgeted with his shirt anxiously – his clothes were far too casual, and the breeze blowing around the area was giving him a frightful chill. "I suppose there's no use delaying it, eh?"

He was about to turn to the door when he received an answer.

"Wait." Kitty stepped towards him, towards the group. "We… we can't just go in there. I think we should say our proper goodbyes."

"Oh, don't worry," said Elliot irritably, "we've done that much six times over."

"I haven't," she replied coolly. "I just want to say that – that all of you, even you magicians, that – we're a team, no matter what, right? And to the end, we're going to fight together. We're not going to leave anyone behind, we're all going to make it through this together, and whatever happens, we – we can die with pride."

"With pride," Glen repeated softly. "I would not be so disappointed to die with one last feeling of pride."

"Exactly. I just wanted to, you know, let you all know that we're in this together, no matter what."

"No matter what," Nathaniel agreed. "We're all going to step through that door together, and we're all going to make it out together."

"No." It was Jack. "You're our leader, Mandrake. You've gotten us this far. You… you're the one this guy wants to face. You will go, and we will follow."

Nathaniel smiled weakly. "Now, I don't think that –"

"The kid's right," Bartimaeus, now a lion once more, said with odd sincerity. "You're our leader. We're going to follow you through thick and thin. You're going to show us the way."

Nathaniel looked helplessly around the group, but no one was raising any protests, and finally, he looked to Kitty. She was staring at him intently, her eyes passionate and fiery, and she nodded very slowly.

"You're our leader," she reaffirmed so that only he could hear. "I'll follow you wherever you take me."

It hit him then: they looked to him for guidance. He was their leader. They believed in him to light the path, and Nathaniel felt that he could not deny his responsibility if they had all placed their faith in him.

So he turned to the doors and, with one last look back, pushed them open with a great heave, revealing the interior of the Tower to the group once more.

It did not look much like it had when he had last visited it. The iron grille had been wrought into pieces, and now lay on the ground, although there was a clear path. He motioned for the others to follow, and he slowly began to tread his way through the path cleared of debris, when he was finally standing in a small circle with the others near the far wall.

Suddenly, a loud voice emanated from the walls: "Stay where you are. You shall be brought to me."

The circle they were standing on began to separate itself from the ground and lift itself into the air. Circular holes began to form in the floors above, the stone folding upwards to form a tunnel, and the makeshift lift began its slow course to the top.

"Just like real magic," Bartimaeus said with a trace of light-hearted humor in his voice. "Eerie."

"Wow, real magic!" Morris commented sarcastically. He nudged Nathaniel with his elbow. "So, our leader, any interesting tidbits to share about this thing? Never heard of it myself."

"I suppose that Gladstone ordered it constructed as a means of getting to the top two floors." Nathaniel regarded the walls interestedly. "It's probably got some sort of enchantment on it that can only be commanded by those whom Gladstone deemed worthy… and mind you, Gladstone didn't deem many worthy. I believe there used to be more information in the old texts written by the leaders of the day and also Gladstone's diaries, but those were put in the preservative libraries almost a hundred years ago."

"Oh," Morris said simply. "But seven floors, huh? Is that magically powerful or something?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "Some say so. There are quite a few 'magically powerful' numbers: the most basic are three, six, and seven, and then it gets tricky –"

"I don't like tricky," the technician interrupted him. "Tricky confuses me."

"Well, another thing is the fact that there's a medical bay on every other floor. You know, the even-numbered ones." Nathaniel shot a smirk at him. "It dates back to an old decree stating that all government buildings must have a medical bay close at hand."

"What about the sixth floor?" Bartimaeus asked dully. "Who knows what's up there?"

"I imagine it would have a medical bay, too," said Nathaniel. "Gladstone was probably doing something dangerous in his top two floors, and besides, he was one of the ones pushing for that decree to pass. But this is all guesswork."

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Finally, the circle stopped, and the walls surrounding them dissolved until it was apparent they were in a floor that was not visited much. Nathaniel had never seen it before – maybe it was one of the secret floors he had heard so much talk about.

The group began to make a move forwards, but the voice, this time more human, stopped them: "Only the three may pass."

"Which three?" Nathaniel asked quizzically.

"The resilient girl, the djinni, and the magician. They alone have proven themselves."

"Listen, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but no, I refuse! Come and take us if you will, but you cannot just pick-and-choose!"

"You misunderstand me. The others will merely have to pass a test before the doors will open for them."

"We've got plenty of time to wait," Kitty retorted hotly.

"Do you not wish to meet your true adversary, Kitty Jones?"

She paused, her face blank. Glen touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Do it. This test, we'll pass it. You three go ahead."

Nathaniel gave the group one last look and sighed. "Very well! We have agreed to your terms."

The voice did not reply, and instead in the wall in front of them a small door appeared.

"I guess that's for us, then," Bartimaeus said. As he began to walk towards it, he waved a paw back at the group. "So long! Have a nice afterlife, all!"

Kitty grabbed Nathaniel's hand and dragged him after her to catch up with the djinni, shouting, "Goodbye!" over her shoulder. Finally, they were walking with him, but Kitty did not let go of Kitty's hand, and he gripped her hand tighter.

"I see you've regained what little sense you had," commented Bartimaeus dryly.

"Of course," said Nathaniel. Kitty's hand was very warm, and a pleasant tingling feeling was rising from his palm to his arm to the rest of his body. "We humans don't lose our sense for very long."

Bartimaeus snorted. "Yes, right."

They were drawing closer to the door, and to their final conflict.

"So, a lion, huh?" Kitty said.

"You don't have to fill these silences, you know."

"Oh."

Finally, they were standing directly in front of the door. Nathaniel's breathing increased, and he gripped Kitty's hand so fiercely that he was afraid he would crush her, but she squeezed his hand back as if to comfort him.

"Here we are," said Nathaniel. "I guess I'll open it?"

"Yes, but I'm going to stand with you at the door whether you like it or not," Bartimaeus stated. "If there's a trap on the other side, I'm going to need to protect you."

Kitty nodded. "And I will be there, too."

"All right. Towards the door!"

They took a collective step forward, and Nathaniel grabbed the handle with his free hand and pulled.

There was no trap on the other side. There was what looked like a large, cavernous room, almost like an auditorium, with twin stairways that led up to a platform looking out a great, dark window. The three took one look back and stepped into the room.

The door behind them disappeared, and a voice rang out from the platform.

"You have come."

It sounded oddly familiar, but Nathaniel could not place it. Instead, his eyes were drawn to something below the platform: an archway. The Archway of Anubis.

"I see you're eyeing the Archway of Anubis," said the voice. "A tricky piece. Took me years to find out how it worked. Would you like to hear about it?"

"That's no pagan's artifact," breathed Bartimaeus. "That's Ptolemy's Gate!"

"Call it what you will," came the voice, and a cloaked figure made its way towards the edge of the platform. It gave a distinctive shrug and leaned against the railing. "Its purpose is still the same."

"Who are you?" Nathaniel demanded.

The figure laughed. "Have you not figured it out all ready? You are such a bright boy; I thought that someday you might make a worthy adversary. Alas, the Archway – or Gate – is ready now, and I have no intention of waiting for someday."

Nathaniel's eyes widened.

"You!"

"Yes, me!" cried the figure. A gloved hand reached up and removed the hood, and a man's face was revealed.

Quentin Makepeace, exuberant grin filling out his features, stood before them.

"How?" Nathaniel cried bitterly, his face flushing. "I trusted you!"

"Yes, you did, and that was your first mistake." Makepeace leaned over the railing, as if having a very interesting conversation with the group. "It made it very easy to manipulate you, all of you. Trust is a very dangerous weakness."

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "How?"

"Before we get to that, we really should address another issue," said Makepeace, wagging a finger as if to scold him. He pointed at Bartimaeus. "You, demon! Can you see me clearly?"

Bartimaeus swore. "No… and I don't know why, either. It's just very distorted somewhere up there."

"Just wanted to see if you'd fib or not." The playwright chuckled. "I already tested this on an afrit and a few djinn earlier."

"Why can't he see you?" Kitty asked.

"Ms. Jones!" Makepeace exclaimed, as if just seeing her. "Why, it's been two years since I last saw you! Doing well, I hope?"

Kitty looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Theater building? Needle?" Makepeace waved his hands around as if to demonstrate something.

"You!"

"Yes, I've been getting that a lot recently," he laughed. It was odd: he did not sound very evil to Nathaniel, not yet. "I've been manipulating you all. Hopkins was in on it, but I don't think you should worry about him. He's very much dead right now."

"You killed Hopkins?" Nathaniel burst out incredulously.

Makepeace grinned. "Yes, all by myself! He was a useful tool for only so long, after all, and I decided to kill him on the very day you tried to escape. I did, but he was able to activate a few of his old weapons as he died. Thus, I needed two weeks to recover."

"We saw that murder," Bartimaeus said quietly. "The explosion…"

"That was you, flying above? Oh, it is a small world."

His hand was squeezed once more by Kitty's. "But what about Glen's contact?"

"Sanders? A useful alias."

"And how'd you get that cloak?"

"Your dear old friend Nick retrieved it for me," replied Makepeace, checking his fingernails casually. "I killed him shortly afterwards. Too many connections can bog a person down, you see. Especially in my line of work."

"I don't get it," Nathaniel said distractedly. Nothing made sense. "Why all of that fuss over the Staff, and not over the cloak?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Think, my dear Nathaniel! The Staff I wanted very badly, but the cloak, it was just a nice asset."

"Why is the Staff so important? I don't see it."

"Of course you don't. I wanted to make sure it was out of the picture. I don't think it's quite powerful enough to destroy my Archway, but I thought it was the safest course of action."

"And the cloak?"

"Invisibility, my boy!" cackled Makepeace delightedly. "Of course, I'm not invisible to both of you, but to spirits, the area around me has been magically scrambled so they cannot see me, for they rely very much on magic to see. But as I said, it was not a necessity."

Slowly, Nathaniel was beginning to piece everything together. "And the Archway?"

"The Gate," Bartimaeus corrected him under his breath. "Ptolemy's Gate."

"What do you think, Nathaniel?"

Before he could answer, there was an extremely loud crack in the room that the three had just come from.

"Oh, dear," tutted Makepeace disappointedly. "I don't think your friends are having much fun with my little test."

"SHUT UP!" shouted Kitty furiously, lunging forward towards the stairs. Nathaniel pulled her back and close to him, wrapping his free arm around her securely to stop her.

"Nasty temper you have there," said Makepeace, as if commenting on the weather. "You might want to see a shrink about that. But what do you think, Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel looked at the Archway warily. Beautiful, ornate illustrations were carved into it's stone, and a dark red ruby crowned its top. It was truly a sight to be seen, and he could feel its magic from where he was standing.

"It's like a pentacle, I guess. It's some sort of mass summoning device."

Makepeace bit his lip. "Partially correct. Not really like a pentacle at all. It is a mass summoning device, but I think you can figure out the rest from there."

"You're using the cloak to shield yourself from the spirits you are summoning?"

"No!" he said, exasperated. "Did I not already say that the cloak was not of the utmost importance? There is something else you are forgetting, something that is stupendously important."

Nathaniel looked at him in awe. "The Amulet of Samarkand?"

"Exactly, my boy!"

"But I don't understand," Nathaniel said. "Who's to say that the spirits will do what you wish them to do?"

"Oh, I don't have to order them around." The playwright danced around the platform playfully. "The rending of them from their home by these means is very painful, and very irritating. This archway was caused by sacrificing numerous spirits and one human to form that ruby, a sign of the connected worlds. The demons will get very agitated by their release and destroy all that they can. This will last for two days, and I will be able to wield its powers once again as soon as I sacrifice another human."

"How does this help you?" Bartimaeus questioned.

"Very simple. I will go to the world leaders, as this destruction rages, and demand their power. If they agree, I will not destroy their world and I will not kill them. All I want is a little bit of power."

Kitty strained against Nathaniel's arm. "You're sick!"

The young magician pulled her back against him carefully, so that he could feel his heart beating against the hollow of her back. Their hands were gripped tighter than ever, and slowly, Nathaniel could feel both Kitty and himself relaxing.

"Sick, am I?" Makepeace laughed. "Maybe. But I am also brilliant! I have set up Lovelace and Duvall, I have set up your meeting on the Paix Fausse, Nathaniel's capture of you – I have reached far into your world, girl, and perhaps you don't realize it. The only reason I am sharing this with you is because you have survived all of this, and I feel you deserve an explanation at least. But I am dreadfully sorry, for in an hour this Archway will activate and I will be quite invulnerable. Good job surviving to this point, though. You deserve my commendations on that."

The cloaked man gave them one glance before he snapped his fingers and a great light filled Nathaniel's eyes.

-

Fire and ice were polar opposites, yet Kitty had heard of how each would suffice for any kind of destruction. She agreed with this thought, for she knew of desire and how it could corrupt, but she also still felt the cold tendrils of hatred wrapped around her like the roots of a tree, the tree of destruction.

This tree was certainly going to get its fair share of destruction soon enough, for fire and ice had appeared all over the room.

There was a burst of fire to her left, and a creature that appeared to be made purely of darkness was now standing before her. She placed her free arm back as if to shield Nathaniel, although she doubted he really needed any protection. He had proved that he was more than competent, but still, he did not have her resilience, or even her silver pendant.

Her silver pendant.

With that same arm, she fumbled inside her shirt before feeling its familiar coldness in her hand. Taking the chain it was attached to off of her head, she thrust it at Nathaniel.

"Take this," she ordered. "It's quality silver, and should protect you."

He looked at her doubtfully. "I think you'll need this –"

"I'll be fine," she snapped. "I'm the one with the resilience, remember?"

Nathaniel sighed and nodded, and put it on hurriedly. Kitty turned back to the creature of darkness, but Bartimaeus had already engaged it, and she switched her attention elsewhere.

Ice had covered an area of the floor over from Bartimaeus and the dark spirit, and in the middle of it stood a small girl. Her fingers were covered in frost, and she was twirling her hair innocently, but Kitty could see her ferocity in her eyes. Untangling her fingers from Nathaniel's reluctantly, she rushed towards the girl, careful not to slip on the ice.

The girl made a move and Kitty dodged to the side; where she had previously been, thick tentacles of ice had shot outwards. Before the girl could recover, Kitty had taken a trainer to her head, and she was sent sprawling to the floor.

Kitty knew that she had never faced a spirit as strong as this one: the girl was surely a djinni. But still, she felt an odd sense of calm, and she knew that she could handle this.

The girl got to her feet quickly, and a beam of light was shot at Kitty. She was not able to completely dodge it, and it clipped her side, and she slid across the ice hard.

"Having trouble?" Bartimaeus called as he exchanged blows with the spirit of darkness.

"None at all, thank you!" she called back as she leapt to her feet. The girl was nowhere in sight, though.

But as soon as she tried to turn around, she felt a swift kick land on her back. She flew face-down onto the ice once more, and right as she rolled over, a fist embedded itself in the ice where she had previously lain. With a mighty pull, the girl wrenched her hand from the ground, but Kitty was on her feet once more.

The girl jumped at her, but Kitty did not back away. Instead, she too leapt in the air and grabbed the girl by the torso. They landed with a thud on the ground, but Kitty knew it hurt the spirit more than it hurt her. The girl was clawing at her with her hands, gasping desperately as Kitty's resilience hurt her. Kitty felt her body bruise all over – she couldn't take this much longer –

Suddenly, the girl burst into particles of nothing. Kitty had won.

She chanced a look over at Nathaniel. He was fighting a djinni also, but he was just conjuring a Shield whenever his opponent attacked. When the spirit got too close, he would swing the pendant at it like a weapon. Nathaniel was holding out for backup.

"Can't you help him?" she asked Bartimaeus.

"No!" The lion was now fighting two shadow creatures. "I'm quite busy! Look out!"

She ducked, and a small lynx went flying over her. It growled and another beam flew over her head, missing her by inches.

"Back, human!" cried the lynx. "I defy you!"

She paused for only a moment at the familiar words – they had been the last of Honorius the afrit. This lapse was enough for the lynx, for it sent another beam her way, this time hitting her squarely on the chest.

She lay disorientated on the ground for a few moments. A large vulture was hovering in the air above her, as if it was a message of impending doom. But the lynx roared again, and her attentions were torn from the vulture.

Kitty got to her feet as quickly as she could, but the lynx had already leapt onto her. Struggling, she finally threw it off, but it quickly regrouped and attacked once more. As she fought with it, she could feel the air crackling around her; something big was happening.

As she threw down the beast again, she heard a deafening shout.

"KITTY!"

Before she knew what had happened, she was pushed hard, skidding onto the ground. She glanced upwards, and saw immediately what had happened: the vulture, probably an afrit, had gathered itself, and a red aura had encased it. With a cry in another language, it released a scarlet torrent of pure energy down at Nathaniel, who was standing where she had been, pendant outstretched hopelessly. The lynx growled again behind him, and leapt at the torrent, and it was devoured.

She could only watch in horror as Nathaniel, complete with pendant and Shield, faced the downpour.

When it hit him, time slowed.

He fell so slowly Kitty felt that she could catch him, if only she could just move. She couldn't, though, and he hit the ground with a crash. The vulture gave a triumphant yell, and she knew that it had won.

Nathaniel… he couldn't be.

She crawled over to him hurriedly, clumsily, and put her hand on his throat.

Was that a pulse? She couldn't tell… her hands were shaking something terrible.

She placed her ear to his heart. There was no sound.

"There's no sound!" Kitty moaned desperately, grabbing at his shirt. "There has to be a beat!"

Maybe there was. Maybe she just was too panicked.

No, said a rational part of her. Nathaniel is dead. Nathaniel died for you.

"No!" But as she felt his cold face with her hands, she knew it must be true. Nathaniel had to be dead. That blast had killed him, and what good had it done? She could've taken it…

No… you were facing the other way. He had a Shield and the pendant.

The pendant was still intact in his limp hands.

Fate was cruel.

He had died so that she could live. Kitty wasn't important. Nathaniel was important. He wasn't supposed to die, not so early…

Kitty didn't know why she did it, but she did anyway. Cradling his head softly in her hands, she lowered her face just enough so that her lips could brush his, but only for a moment. She pulled away, and did not know why she had, but she'd kissed him, and she held no regrets.

Standing up, she grabbed the pendant and faced spirits behind her.

"You won't take me," she cried. "I defy you!"

To Be Continued

Author's Notes: Yes, it is a different chapter than all of those before it in the fact that it switches point-of-views. I like writing like this more than sticking with one point-of-view for extended periods, and I wouldn't have changed but I had to so I could make these final four chapters work out. If you read my prologue of sorts to this, Like Pawns, We Fall, you'll be familiar with the switches, so it shouldn't be that drastic of a change. It's also a very tense chapter with more action (although the later chapters have more action), and I left you with a cliffhanger. You're probably all wondering how I'll get through the next three chapters without Nathaniel. Let's just say that writing the next chapter was a very fun experience.

Next Chapter: The Doctor Will See You Now