A/N: Happy New Year, everyone, and sorry about the late update – I didn't want to update as long as ffnet's alerts were down. Now they seem to be back…

Since ffnet strips all email-formats I wanted to insert into the text of this chapter, I had to resort to writing the email addresses in a rather weird way – you'll see how.

Thanks for the reviews to: TheWatcherandReader, fikle friend, Musica Diabolos, ebtwisty9, Aiko Moonchild, TheFasterYouUpdateTheBetter, Fredryck, Hello, Queen Dragon, Soccer101, Scarfia, ima loser, Random Shinobi, XxBlackChaosxX, HPLB, annatari.the.writer, dragon-warlord, D. L. Tokunaga, cocktail95, Saldaen farmgirl

Chapter 24

Crossroads

Needless to say, it didn't take me long to overpower the Jackie Chan Wannabe. He was fighting heroically – or rather stupidly, flailing his hands as though he were indeed a black belt, but within a few seconds it became clear to me that my opponent was nothing but an idiot who actually believed he was good at karate. It was pathetic, really. He must have been watching Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan and the Karate Kid all the time, and thought that by watching them, he had managed to learn how to do it. Believe me, he hadn't.

The only time he managed to kick me was when I doubled over laughing (mind you, when you're practically rolling on the floor laughing, you can barely avoid an attack). So anyway, that single kick forced me to stop laughing at my opponent's clumsiness and I sent a detonation at him that threw him against the opposite wall. Well, to be perfectly honest, it threw him across the opposite wall. And the wall of the next room, and so on and so on, until he ended up in the back garden.

"Hmm, impressive," Nathaniel said, stepping through the holes I had created in three walls. He walked across the first hole between the hall and the salon, the second hole between the salon and Miss Whitwell's bathroom, and the third hole between Miss Whitwell's bathroom and the back garden, where the unfortunate djinni lay steaming in the grass. "Dead?"

I bent down and examined my opponent. "No, just knocked out. If we're lucky, he won't wake up for at least three-four hours."

"Good. I hope we won't need that much time," the kid replied and walked back into the house. "Oh, and Bartimaeus… could you hide this hole somehow?" He pointed at the one that led from the bathroom into the garden. "I don't want the neighbours to spot it and phone Whitwell. You might as well drag our black belt friend into the bathroom and leave him there."

"As you wish," I replied with unusual cheerfulness. Normally I was never happy about obeying Nathaniel, but this time I was in a really good mood. This little hand to hand combat had been downright refreshing. I grabbed the unfortunate djinni and tossed him into the bathtub. "Honestly, how can a magical entity sink so low as to forget about using magic and resort to hitting and kicking?" I said disgustedly, not expecting an answer. It had been a rhetorical question, anyway.

I quickly cast an illusion charm on the hole between the bathroom and the garden to make it look as though nothing had happened to the wall, then followed Nat back into the hall. He was heading upstairs, and I seriously hoped he knew what he was doing.

"So, what now, Master Mine?" I asked, following him upstairs.

"Now, Bartimaues, we are going to find Whitwell's notes about the self-destructing demon charm. If I'm right, she's holding them behind a portrait of… Hmm. Well-well-well, what have we here…"

"What?" I frowned at him.

He grinned at me, and pointed at a portrait hanging above the electric fireplace. "That's Quentin Makepeace. Funnily, the last time I was here, Whitwell used to have Gladstone's portrait hanging over the fireplace… I really don't understand what any woman would like about Makepeace," he sighed, walking up to the portrait. "Gladstone was at least a formidable, confident, really manly man. But this playwright… he was a completely incompetent magician and even looked like a pansy with his fine clothes and neatly combed hair…"

"Reminds me of someone," I said with a toothy grin.

"Are you referring to me?" He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Noooo, why would I?" I asked with an innocent expression.

He gave me a withering glance and reached for the playwright's portrait, only to let out a squeak and pull his hand back. It looked red and sore. "Bugger."

I continued smiling at him innocently. "So, who's an incompetent magician? Every six-year-old magician-apprentice knows not to touch possibly well-protected objects without checking for protection spells…"

"Did you see the protection spell?" he snapped at me.

I shrugged. "Might have."

He kept glowering at me.

"Hey, you didn't tell me to warn you. Besides, I saw it was a really harmless little spell that only causes some pain. You'll survive."

"Remove the spell and give me the portrait," the kid said sharply. "And next time you spot a protection shield or anything of the sort, do warn me."

I deactivated the spell and removed the portrait from the wall to reveal a tiny safe behind it. I examined the painting for a few moments. "Yeah, he does look like a pansy. I don't understand either what the bony hag liked about him. Then again, Kitty liked you, and that was something I didn't understand either…" Seeing Nathaniel's dark glance, I decided to shut up and pushed the portrait into his hands. "A flower for the Flower. I mean, a pansy for the pansy."

The kid rolled his eyes and examined the safe. It had a different locking mechanism from most safes: it was a keypad-operated one, just like the entrance door. "I never opened this when I was living there," Nathaniel said. "I doubt Whitwell even suspected that I knew she had a safe… I suspect she must be using the same series of numbers as for her entrance door. I'll try it anyway." He typed in 7836846, but nothing happened. The door remained sealed.

"Having problems, genius boy?" I asked, leaning against the fireplace.

He ignored me and began typing in the numbers in reversed order. Still nothing happened. The kid started to look a little frustrated. I was enjoying myself.

"Okay, then, let's try… 625373223." There was a soft click, and the door opened.

"Let me guess: you tried the phone number equivalent for 'makepeace'."

"Yeah." The kid flashed me with a proud smirk and reached into the safe.

"Honestly, one needs to be very thick to set the password 'makepeace' for a safe behind the portrait of Makepeace…"

"Not thick… just madly in love, I'd say," Nathaniel replied, and for a second I thought I'd seen something flit across his face. Shame? Hope? A mixture of the two?

"Hey." I put a hand on his shoulder. "She'll come back to you. I mean, Kitty, not Whitwell."

The kid snorted. "Thank heaven. What would I do with Whitwell? She's as unattractive as possible."

"But you love Kitty for more than just her attractiveness, don't you?" I didn't know why I was asking him these questions when we were in the middle of a robbery, but I felt I had to.

Nathaniel gave me a lopsided smile. "I'd love her if she were grey and wrinkly and had her front teeth missing. Actually… I do hope I get a chance to grow old beside her and see her turn grey, playing with our grandchildren…" Suddenly he shook his head, as if trying to shake the mushy thoughts out of it. Mushy thoughts and sappy talk didn't suit him anyway. "Next time choose a more suitable time to discuss my love life, will you?" he grunted. Oh, well. He was back to his normal, narcissistic, talking-down-to-others self. He reached into the safe and pulled out a bunch of papers, then walked with them to a nearby table. I peered into the safe to see stacks of money in there, but the kid hadn't even given them a second glance. Weird.

I joined him at the table. "Well, what have you found?"

"So far only shares and bonds, nothing of importance," he murmured.

"A bank manager would die of shock if he heard you."

"I'm not interested in money." Nathaniel looked up. "I never was."

"Perhaps because you had too much of it to value it?" I wondered. "Or perhaps because power meant more to you than money?"

"Tell you what, I don't care for power either," he replied coldly and went back to reading.

"Are you sick, Nat?" I reached out and touched his forehead. "Nope, no fever. Maybe food poisoning? Stick out your tongue."

"Bartimaeus!" the kid snapped and angrily slapped a stack of bonds on the table. "I'm not sick, and I'm not sticking out my tongue for you to inspect, and stop pretending to be an idiot!"

"Well… it's not me who's showing symptoms of insanity," I observed. "You and not caring for power? What happened?"

"Kitty, Martha and my mum happened, okay?" the kid replied angrily, his eyes sparkling with fury. Now really, they reminded me of two flashes of lightning. Which reminded me of that horrible torturing nexus that the Tramp had used on me. Eh. By the time I managed to banish those horrible memories from my head, the kid was again deeply immersed in perusing a hand-written paper.

"Hmm… the hag had quite a bit of imagination," he spoke up after a while.

"Why, what's that?"

"One of her little inventions – a spell that combines the powers of several demons in order to kill people from huge distances. I don't know if she's finished this project or not…" He put the paper down and reached for another. "At last."

"The self destructive demon spell?"

The kid nodded with a solemn expression. "We have Miss Whitwell in our hands, Bartimaeus."

"Miss Whitwell maybe, but what about her accomplices?"

The kid leafed through the remaining papers. "Well, there's nothing here that would help us prove Jenkins' and Callaghan's guilt. But perhaps her computer holds some useful information…"

"What if it's password-protected or even encrypted?"

"I'm a clever boy, remember? I'll find a way." With that, he pocketed the papers with the self destructive demon spell and the other dangerous spell of Whitwell's, and shut everything else back into the safe. "Give Mr Pansy here."

I handed him Makepeace's portrait which he hung back on the wall. "And now, let's go over to her study and look around among her files and emails."

I followed him out of the living room, thinking that I had never seen him so eager about anything (well, perhaps only about shagging Kitty as many times as possible). His cheeks were flushed with excitement, and this time I was sure it wasn't that 'I'm getting even more powerful' sort of excitement that I had seen so many times from him in the past few years. His eyes were gleaming, but not with a cold fire like before – he looked like someone who knew he was doing something good. I have seen rebels fighting for freedom throughout the millennia, even fought alongside a few. They used to have the same kind of fire in their eyes as Nat did now.

In Miss Whitwell's study, the kid dropped himself into a chair before the computer and switched it on. As expected, the computer requested a username and password. For a moment a kid just stared at the monitor, thinking. His being deep in thought was signalled by the fact that he was chewing his lower lip. A rather disgusting habit, if you ask me.

"At the end of your wits, Kid?" I asked jovially.

He stopped chewing his lips and glowered at me. "You're enjoying robbing me of the last vestiges of self-confidence, aren't you?"

I refused to reply. One just doesn't need to reply stupid questions. I mean… last vestiges of self-confidence? When did Nat ever run low on self-confidence? In my dreams, perhaps.

When he saw that I wasn't willing to reply, he turned back to the screen and typed in 'Whitwell' as the username and 'Makepeace' as the password. Of course, access was denied. Then he tried 'makepeace' in small letters. Then he tried Quentin and quentin. By the time he'd tried a dozen various types, including 'MaKePeAcE' and 'qEnTiN', he was practically tearing his hair.

"Shall I bring you a sedative pill?" I asked politely.

He only scowled at me and typed in 'quentinmakepeace', then 'quentinmakepeace.' Honestly, I was beginning to admire his patience. Well, if you can call hair-tearing a sign of patience. At least, he wasn't destroying anything around him yet, only himself. And I had no problem with that.

Another ten minutes later he was panting, his face propped in his palms. He looked totally exhausted. He really should have slept at least a few hours last night… Suddenly he looked up. "Get me a coffee."

"Where?"

"Make one in the kitchen!"

"And where's the kitchen?"

"Next to the bathroom where you've dumped that Bruce Lee djinni. And if you're there already, check on him. Should he be coming around, make sure he doesn't."

"Okay, but I'm warning you: I'm horrible at cooking. The last time I cooked for Alexander the Great, he died. I'm not sure it was because of my cooking, but…"

"Just go and leave me alone!" Nathaniel barked at me.

Looking and feeling hurt, I turned on my heels and marched downstairs. In the bathroom I found a djinni who was squinting blearily at me, and I shut his eyes with a well-aimed punch.

As I arrived back to Nat five minutes later, he gave me a tired but triumphant grin. "I did it! It was fairly easy, really… I should have though of it earlier."

"Why, what was the password?" I asked, pushing a cup of steaming coffee into his hands.

"It was 'swansofaraby'. Pathetic, isn't it?" He wrinkled his nose as he sipped the coffee.

"What, the password or the coffee?"

He grimaced even more. "Both. No wonder Alexander the Great died. Don't ever try cooking again."

I shrugged. "You made me, O Master Mine. I warned you."

Ignoring my last comment, he turned back to the screen again and started the mailing program. Miss Whitwell had half a dozen SPAM offering her a wide range of weird things from penis enlargement charms to fake Rolex watches, but Nat only seemed to be interested in the earlier emails she had received. I wanted to tell him how rude it was to read someone's private mail without their permission, but I knew he wouldn't listen. Especially because he didn't really know what 'rude' meant. (Rude meant him. But really, try it: ask a stupid person what stupid means. He won't be able to define it. Ask a vain person what vain means. He will have no idea what it is… Mind you, once Queezle asked me whether I knew what boastful meant. I'm still wondering why she asked me of all djinn…)

The longer Nathaniel read Jessica Whitwell's emails, the better his mood became. In five minutes, he was practically beaming.

"Good news?" I asked.

"Wonderful, Bartimaeus." He smiled at me. "We have them in our hands. All of them."

o o o O O O o o o

Martha was getting herself acquainted with Mrs Ffoukes and her wonderful omelette when the Minister for Internal Affairs burst into the kitchen.

"Your father has just phoned, young lady," he said with a smile. "He's finished with his mission and wants me to take you to Whitehall. He's also heading there and wants to introduce you to someone."

"Introduce me to someone?" Martha echoed his words. "To the Prime Minister? I told him once I wanted to be Minister for Finance and he said he'd help me become one."

"Well…" Ffoukes hid a chuckle. "I doubt he wants to introduce you to our Prime Minister… perhaps he wants you to meet someone much nicer."

"Why, isn't the Prime Minister nice?" Martha asked, licking her fingers that were sticky with omelette. If Mrs Dawson were here, she'd surely reprimand her for eating like a boorish farm boy.

"That's something you will have to decide for yourself."

The little girl's eyes widened. "So I am meeting him after all!"

Ffoukes nodded. "Very likely."

"How cool is that?" Martha clapped her omelette-smeared hands. "Do I look okay, Mrs Ffoukes? Is my hair messy? Mrs Dawson always told me my hair looked like a haystack when not combed, and sometimes even when combed…"

The woman smiled gently at her. "You look nice, dear. Just wash your hands and face."

Martha quickly washed herself, thanked Mrs Ffoukes for the lovely breakfast and left with Mr Ffoukes for Whitehall. If only she knew what Whitehall was…

o o o O O O o o o

Kitty was woken by a guard entering the Prime Minister's office.

"Miss Jones, follow me, please."

Stifling a yawn, she got up and followed the guard out of the office, down a series of long corridors. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To Gladstone's Room," came the cold reply. "The one you talked to Mr Deveraux in last night."

"And why are we going there?"

"Apparently Mr Mandrake has just turned up and insisted you be there. Strangely, he even requested the presence of a few journalists. No idea what he's planning…"

Nathaniel? – Kitty's heart began to beat quicker. He surely didn't come here only because the ministers had set a trap for him by holding her captive here? She also wondered whether he had any kind of alibi concerning last night. She seriously hoped he did, even if it was about him spending the night in the arms of a minister's wife.

Kitty didn't know why she was having such thoughts, as the mere idea of Nathaniel cheating on her made her feel sick, but she couldn't help thinking that it was still better than Nathaniel being shut into the Tower. Women like Jane Farrar would rather he was sent into prison than see him with another woman, but Kitty was different. She would rather lose him to someone else but see him happy than have him in a cell in the Tower.

She shook her head in disbelief. She had only left him two days ago, and instead of being totally and utterly mad at him, she found she was already going soft.

Her pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him again. She dreaded it, but deep down there was some hopeful anticipation as well.

Upon entering Gladstone's room, she saw her husband (correction, ex-husband) in a circle of ministers. Next to him stood a rather familiar-looking Egyptian boy. Bartimaeus? – Kitty's heart jolted. She hadn't seen the djinni since the Golem incident, but she'd grown fond of him and had been grateful to him for telling Nathaniel that she had been killed by the Golem. He had been like an accomplice to her, almost like a friend. Someone she knew she could trust. The thought that the djinni was working for Nathaniel again filled her with hope.

Hope? For what? – She asked herself, but as Nathaniel's eyes met hers, she thought she already knew the answer. She had never yet seen his eyes filled with so much love, sadness, gentleness and determination. And hope. Yes, he too seemed hopeful. Just as hopeful as she was feeling right now.

Could things ever turn good for the two of us? – She thought, staring into his deep blue eyes. He's still a magician and a politician, and Jane Farrar is still out there, terrorising our daughter whom he still wouldn't accept as his own… She looked away and took a seat. Who am I kidding?

Slowly, the murmur subsided and the ministers took their places around the room, leaving young Mandrake and his demon standing in the middle by the round table.

Deveraux cleared his throat. "I must say I'm most pleased to see that you have willingly given yourself up after last night's, er… how to put it… temporary insanity, John. This will make things much easier for all of us."

Nathaniel sent Kitty a smile that she thought was almost cheeky. Cheeky? How dare he? He's being accused of a rather serious crime; everyone here save Deveraux wants to see him behind bars, and he still has enough self-confidence to grin! Will I ever understand this man?

"I beg your pardon, Prime Minister," Nathaniel spoke up with the usual confidence Kitty had so many times seen from him, "but I have not come here in order give myself up for something I've done in the state of 'temporary insanity', as I haven't done anything of what you're accusing me of. However, I'm here to give myself up for another crime, having broken into Miss Whitwell's house."

O

A murmur ran down the room, and for some reason, Jessica Whitwell turned as white as a sheet. Nathaniel just grinned, cheekier than ever.

"What?" His one-time master finally found her voice. "What do you mean by… breaking into my house? And how…?"

The young man folded his arms and sent her a confident smirk. "How did I manage it? Simple: you were too lazy to change the code at the entrance door, dear Ex-Master. You've been using the same stupid code for eleven years, just because you're still hopelessly smitten with Quentin Makepeace!"

Another murmur ran down the room.

'What? Whitwell in love with Makepeace?'

'No, it can't be, Makepeace has been long dead!'

'What does the door code have to do with Makepeace at all?'

For a minute Nathaniel just listened to the hushed conversations. When he thought he'd heard enough, he held up a hand. "To answer your questions, ladies and gentlemen: Miss Whitwell used to have a secret crush on our favourite playwright and even set the code to her entrance door to a series of numbers that represent the word 'quentin'. Rather pathetic, I'd say…"

"What's all this idiocy about, Mandrake?" Jessica Whitwell snapped at him. "What were you doing in my house? And what do you mean by claiming that you didn't set those convicts free?"

"Don't try to turn the discussion to other things, Miss Whitwell," Nathaniel replied calmly. "I will come to the Tower incident in time. Just give me an opportunity to explain myself. Sir?" He looked at Deveraux. "May I continue?"

"Certainly, John."

Sending his one-time master a cold smile, the young man resumed talking. "Last night I was driving in the English countryside, far away from London when I allegedly set the Resistance free. Unfortunately, I have no alibi for where I was and what I was doing at half past ten last night, but I can prove it wasn't me whom you saw on the Tower's secret camera recordings. At midnight I turned on the radio in my car and heard this absurd story about my alleged insanity that was allegedly caused by Kitty leaving me." He glanced at the woman. "Whatever happened, Kitty, I do love you, but I haven't gone crazy and I know you well enough to be sure that you wouldn't forgive me just because I released your one-time fellows. It doesn't compensate for the sins I've committed against you."

Kitty gave him a curious glance, wondering whether he'd continue, but Nathaniel turned away from her, back to Deveraux.

"So," he said, "the midnight news reported on this whole insanity, and I knew I was in trouble, as I had no alibi. I didn't know what to do, but I knew someone was trying to frame me, and I wanted to find out who it was. I needed help, therefore I stopped off at a petrol station and summoned my favourite djinni."

"Hey, thanks," Bartimaeus murmured.

"If you want to check what I was doing between half past midnight and half past one, you can go and ask the assistant at the BP station on the A30 main road, near Wilton," Nathaniel carried on. "Anyway, at the petrol station my djinni noticed a search sphere hovering above my car. A search sphere I had no idea about…" He glanced at Jessica who was getting paler and paler by the second. "I immediately knew how my ill-wishers had known I had left London in the evening and how they had known what kind of clothing I was wearing. This way they could easily instruct their demon to take on my shape and the clothes I had left London in. I ordered my demon to catch the imp in the search sphere for a little interrogation. And do you know what happened?"

He held a pause and looked around. Everyone was staring at him with interest, only three faces were white: Jessica's, Clive Jenkins' and Arnold Callaghan's. "The search sphere exploded into my djinni's face."

"What?" the Information Minister breathed.

"It exploded, as though it had been operated by remote control," Nathaniel replied. "I'd like to request a magic-detector, if you don't mind. That will prove that an imp has indeed exploded into my demon's face. I want you to have the evidence."

"All you've so far given us is a load of rubbish, Mandrake," Jessica Whitwell hissed.

"Is it, dear Miss Whitwell?" Nathaniel arched an eyebrow at her.

"Do as he asks," Deveraux said.

A clerk hurried out of the room and in three minutes he returned with a magic detector, a laptop, a projector and a rolled-up canvas screen.

Nathaniel took the gadget from him and attached it to Bartimaeus' wrist like a watch. As the detector was connected to the laptop and the laptop to the projector, the results were immediately shown on the screen.

'One hour and 35 minutes ago: kick in the stomach by a fourth-level djinni. Six hours and 5 minutes ago: imp-particles covered most of the upper body, particularly the face. Six hours and 47 minutes ago: summoned from the Other Place by a magician.'

"Well, this proves that the imp exploded in your djinni's face, but… how does that connect to everything else?" the Minister for Technology wondered.

"Easily," Nathaniel replied, motioning Bartimaeus to take off the detector. "In the two years I spent in Miss Whitwell's house as her apprentice, I found out a few things about her. One of these things was that she was secretly in love with Quentin Makepeace. The other thing was that she was developing illegal charms. One of them was a charm that enables a magician to force its demon to self-destruct even from a great distance. I immediately thought of Miss Whitwell when the search sphere blew up."

"This doesn't mean anything," said woman replied sharply. "Anyone could have developed a charm like that."

"But you did it," the young man said, pulling two pieces of crumpled paper out of his pocket. "This is what I was looking for in Miss Whitwell's house: her notes on the self-destruct charm. I confess to have committed a crime when breaking and entering, but the only things I stole are two pieces of paper and a rather cheap CD. It's a rather small crime compared to what Miss Whitwell and her accomplices did: framing me by setting a bunch of convicts free from the Tower!"

"This is a slander! It has nothing to do with reality!" Jessica Whitwell sprang up from her seat.

"Oh, is that so?" The young magician gave her a nasty smirk. "Then let's ask a graphologist to tell whether this is indeed your handwriting. Prime Minister, is it possible to get a graphologist as soon as possible?"

"Certainly, John." Deveraux glanced at the clerk who had carried the magic detector into the room and the clerk hurried out, almost running headlong into Ffoukes who entered the room with a little girl. None of the ministers noticed them, only Nathaniel and Bartimaeus did. Ffoukes and the child took places in a row at the back.

"Until the graphologist arrives, let us have a look at the contents of this CD," the Deputy Prime Minister said, stepping to the laptop and inserting the CD into its CD-ROM drive. "I suspected that Miss Whitwell might have had help with the demon that took on my form, so I talked to Mr Ffoukes whose memory has been recently modified, presumably by Miss Whitwell or one of her accomplices."

"That's a slander again!" Jessica snapped. "Prove it!"

"That's what I'm going to do," Nathaniel replied. "Ffoukes told me two days ago that he had a few hours of his memories missing after Mr Sullivan's party. Is that right, Ffoukes?"

Everyone turned around to look at said minister. Some of them seemed to be surprised to see a child sitting next to him.

O

Kitty let out a gasp. She knew this little girl! She had asked her where London Waterloo station was. But what was she doing here with the Minister of Internal Affairs?

O

"Exactly as Mr Mandrake says," Ffoukes replied. "Someone modified my memories at the party. I still don't remember what they had made me forget… but I suspect it must have been the secret code to the Tower's security system."

For a few seconds the ministers discussed the developments in hushed voices. Nathaniel ended the murmur with asking Ffoukes to try on the magic detector.

Ffoukes walked up to him and put the gadget on his wrist.

'3 days, 7 hours and 35 minutes ago: memory charm placed on him by a magician.' – the script on the screen read. '3 days, 7 hours and 39 minutes ago: an obedience charm placed on him by an afrit.'

"The magic detector never lies," Nathaniel said. "I have every reason to suspect that whoever had placed the memory charm on him had forced him to tell them the secret access code to the Tower's security system. Miss Whitwell here said I had no proof it was her. Well, I do have proof." With that, he clicked on the CD driver's icon. A few documents were saved on the CD, all in .eml format. "I must confess that I was curious to find out how Miss Whitwell had done it all. I was sure she had accomplices…" He squinted at Clive Jenkins and Arnold Callaghan sitting next to each other a few rows behind Whitwell. They were both as white as a sheet.

"So, in the hope of finding more useful information, I hacked into Miss Whitwell's computer."

"Impossible," the woman hissed. "You couldn't have known the password!"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "Yes, it was difficult to find the right Makepeace-related word, but I managed to find it nevertheless. I'd say it was a rather unimaginative one… Not to mention that Swans of Araby was one of his worst plays." He turned back to the screen of the laptop and clicked on the first email. "Ladies and gentlemen, lo and behold: and email from Miss Whitwell's outbox. This is how a plot to undermine our government has started."

The email read:

From: Jessica Whitwell (Iluvquentin (at) yahoo . com)

Date: 27th March 2009 20:00

To: Clive Jenkins (clivieboy (at) hotmail . com); Arnold Callaghan (arnierulez (at) gmail . com)

Subject: Mandrake

Boys,

Finally, our time has come! It wasn't in vain that we got the access code from that idiot Ffoukes, we can use it tonight! An hour ago I saw Mandrake leave his house through the search sphere, and currently he's driving down a country road towards the South-West. Don't ask what he's doing there, I have no idea. Point is that he's away, on a road where no one sees him and no one can provide him with an alibi. Be at my place in half an hour. Together we will summon that lovely afrit who will impersonate our 'favourite' Mr Mandrake :-D In case you aren't checking your emails, I'm sending both of you an SMS to go online urgently.

Your friend in hatred for Mandrake,

Jess

"Well?" Nathaniel looked up. "Do you want to read any more emails exchanged by these three?"

"This is madness!" Clive Jenkins shouted. "This email is a fake!"

The Deputy Prime Minister gave him a challenging look. "Care to let the Police have a look at your emails, Mr Jenkins? I mean, right now, before you have a chance to delete them?"

The red haired man blanched.

"I thought as much. You haven't yet deleted the incriminating evidence. Funny what a petty little mistake like not deleting your read emails can cause…"

"This is all nice," Mr Deveraux spoke up. "Nice and believable, John, but there's one thing I don't understand: why would these people hate you so much as to frame you?"

"Miss Whitwell has two reasons to hate me. One: I got more power at the age of nineteen than she could ever dream of, two: I sent her beloved to the Tower where he killed himself. As for Jenkins: he's hated me ever since he had to work for me in the Department of Internal Affairs. True, I was never particularly nice to him, but perhaps I didn't deserve a punishment as great as the whole of the Empire thinking I'm a criminal?" Nathaniel gave the red haired man a piercing glance. "As for Mr Callaghan… I must admit I have absolutely no idea why he would hate me. Care to enlighten me, Sir?"

Every eye focused on Arnold Callaghan, deputy to the Minister for Employment. For a while the man tried to ignore everyone's stares.

"Well? Answer my deputy," Deveraux demanded, emphasising the words 'my deputy'. It was no longer a question for anybody within the room whom the Prime Minister believed.

Callaghan glowered at Nathaniel. "You took Jane from me."

"Me?" The young magician blinked. "Excuse me, but as far as I know, Jane only had two lovers before me: her master and Marmeduke Fry. And correct me if I'm wrong but I doubt if she was cheating on me with you as long as we were together. I always had a higher status than you and Jane loved men with power. So, what exactly do you mean by me taking her from you?"

Callaghan's face was now as red as the setting sun. "She never really wanted me, always just you! Whenever she was with me, she was thinking of you, I knew it! She ever screamed your name when-"

"When you were shagging her?" Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at the other man. "Well, it's not my problem if you can't satisfy a woman in bed."

A few chuckles could be heard from the 'audience'.

"But don't worry," Nathaniel carried on, "she won't ever scream my name in anyone's bed again. I'm sorry to say but she has recently passed away."

A few gasps could be heard and few comments like 'Oh, no! How?'.

Nathaniel glanced at Kitty who turned to white then to red, then back to white as her glance shifted between her ex-husband and the little girl sitting next to Ffoukes. She was putting pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together…

"You killed her, didn't you?" Jessica Whitwell snapped. She seemed determined to do anything just to discredit Nathaniel now that her plot to frame him had failed. "You've hated her for ages, of course you'd kill her! I bet that's what you were doing last night! You took her to the countryside and killed her there, didn't you?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, woman…" Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "No. I didn't kill her. It was an accident, and my djinni, Ffoukes and that lovely young lady sitting next to Ffoukes can attest to it."

By this time, tears were brimming Kitty's eyes. Nathaniel deliberately avoided eye-contact with her, not letting emotions take over – not yet, anyway.

"Was it an accident?" he asked Ffoukes.

"Definitely. Miss Farrar was trying to kidnap this child when the floorboard broke under her. She fell through the hole and the demon saved the child. If you want me to swear on the Bible or on anything else…"

"It's okay, Minister Ffoukes, we believe you," Deveraux said.

"Of course you believe him, because he's saying what John wants him to say! You always believed anything coming from John!" Jessica Whitwell barked. "But I bet he isn't as innocent as he acts! Do tell us, John, what were you doing on that country road at the middle of the night?"

Nathaniel took a deep breath. "I…"

The door of Gladstone's Room opened and the clerk returned, with a woman in tow. "Sir, here's the graphologist you requested."

"Well, it's more or less pointless now, as I've proved Miss Whitwell's guilt already, but one more piece of evidence can't hurt, can it?" Nathaniel gave the woman the papers with Jessica's handwriting. "I'm sure the clerks can provide you with documents with Miss Whitwell's signature, or forms that Miss Whitwell has filled in. You can compare them with these. And now," he turned away from the graphologist, addressing Deveraux again, "I'm going to tell you what I was doing on the country road last night."

"About time," Bartimaeus muttered. "I'm getting bored here."

Giving his djinni a withering glance, Nathaniel looked around in the room. His eyes shifted from the curious Deveraux to the seething Whitwell, from Whitwell to the crestfallen Jenkins, from Jenkins to Arnold Callaghan who looked ready to shoot himself, and from Arnold to Kitty, who was smiling at him through her tears. He smiled back, then looked at Martha. The little girl waved at him.

He took a deep breath again. "Almost six years ago, when I fell in love with my wife, I dumped my girlfriend, Jane. You all know this happened, as you and half the country heard it thanks to a journalist who recorded the conversation between Jane and me." He glanced at one of the journalists who was eagerly scribbling in the front row. The journalist looked up and gave the Deputy Prime Minister a toothy grin, then returned to his notes.

"You all know about the break-up, but you don't know about many things that came after it. Jane swore revenge on me. Of course, I had no idea what she was planning – I had no idea that she had summoned the djinni who had served me years earlier."

"That's me," Bartimaeus said.

Nathaniel continued. "I only found out about this last night, and I was surprised to say the least. Especially when my djinni shed light on certain shady details…" Seeing the confusion on the listeners' faces, he allowed himself a little smile. "I must admit I wasn't entirely open with you. For six years, I've been lying to the world, deceiving the government, the Empire, and most of all, myself. I see gaping ministers and journalists eager for anything scandalous. Well, you're going to get it. Six years ago, I broke one of the basic rules of our society: I fathered a child."

'Huh?'

'Mandrake with a child?'

'What the f…?'

In a few seconds every eye was focused on Martha, who look frightened by the sudden interest in her. Seeing the fright in her eyes, Nathaniel walked up to her and held out a hand with an encouraging smile. "Come, don't be afraid."

She took his hand, and he led her into the middle of the room.

"Prime Minister, ministers, ladies and gentlemen: this is my daughter. My daughter, whose conception was an accident, caused by my djinni."

"It was really an accident," Bartimaeus added. "I never wanted him to have a child. The mere idea of him being a father-"

"I'm speaking here," Nathaniel told Bartimaeus.

The djinni shrugged. "Okay, Master. I'm shutting up."

"Do so. Last night, my djinni told me that Jane had sent him after me to spy on me. Jane wanted to know everything I did to use it against me. When the djinni entered my house, he needed to deactivate a few shields, and by accident, he deactivated the contraceptive shield as well. I had no idea about the malfunctioning shield until one morning Kitty announced she was pregnant. That was quite a shock for me."

In the front row, the journalist's pen was a blur, he was writing so fast. Deveraux was staring at his deputy as though he had grown a second head.

Nathaniel carried on, ignoring the weird glances he was getting. "I knew Kitty wanted the child, and I'm not for abortion myself. The only solution I could find was to take Kitty away from London and tell everyone she had lung problems that required her to stay in the countryside for months." Nathaniel shook his head. "I will never forgive myself for exposing my wife to the dangers of giving birth in a village at the back of beyond. She could have died. The baby could have died too. I risked losing both of them just to keep my position in the government. I was a selfish git." He looked at the journalist. "You may quote me verbatim. I don't mind. I've been recently accused of having set dozens of criminals free. I doubt that calling myself rightfully a git would be any worse than that."

The journalist grinned at him and Nathaniel would have sworn he'd seen him wink. Well, any journalist in his place would be cheerful – he was having a field day. A series of scandals like this wasn't an everyday occurrence…

"Back to my story – Kitty gave birth in a village called Fenny Bridges, and we put our daughter into the local orphanage, in the hope of claiming her as my apprentice when she turned five. Yes, I know this is completely illegal, but answer me: would you have acted differently, were you in my place?" Nathaniel looked around. "I can almost see a big 'NO' written across your faces. You would have acted as I did, because you're magicians. Because you're just as infected with power as I was. But perhaps, you too would have been ashamed of what you've done. I definitely am. I sinned against my wife, my daughter, and the magician society by lying to them. Lying to all of you. And I'm asking for your forgiveness," he looked around in the room, his eyes stopping on his ex-wife, "but especially yours, Kitty. Our daughter has forgiven me already."

"Is she my mum?" Martha tugged at Nathaniel's sleeve, her blue eyes fixed on the black haired woman. "And why is she crying?"

It seemed Kitty could no longer take it – she hopped up from her seat, trod on two ministers' feet on her way out of the second row, and practically swept the little girl off her feet.

For a minute no one spoke, the cold and rigid ministers stared at mother and daughter, and a few of them allowed themselves a smile.

Suddenly, someone started to clap. It was Jessica Whitwell. "Very well done, Mr Mandrake. A beautiful show, no doubt. Everyone's heart has melted, bravo. But may I remind you that you could get sent to prison for this?"

"For not having killed his child? I doubt it," Rupert Deveraux spoke up. "It's you who's going in prison, dear Miss Whitwell, along with Mr Jenkins and Mr Callaghan. Of course, only after your emails have been checked by the Police. I trust all three of you will let the Police investigate in your homes and inboxes? As for John… I think he hasn't yet finished his story."

Nathaniel nodded. "As I said, Kitty and I put our daughter into the village orphanage and wanted to claim her as my apprentice when she turned five. However, since the djinni was spying on us and delivering information to Jane about our baby, Jane could head me off and claim my daughter as her apprentice before I could. Jane thought that the best way to make me miserable was to take my daughter from me. However, my daughter decided she didn't want to be Jane's apprentice and escaped from London."

"That was when we met," Kitty muttered, her voice trembling, her eyes never leaving her daughter's face.

"Yeah, I wanted to get away from her. She was a horrible hag," Martha replied.

Deveraux could barely hide a smile. "How exactly did you escape from Miss Farrar, dear?"

"I tricked her demon into playing hide and seek and left the house while he was counting. I got on a bus and went to Waterloo station. From there I took a train to Feniton. From Feniton I walked to Fenny Bridges. But evil Miss Farrar came after me and killed my grandma and…"

"Grandma?" Deveraux, along with a few other ministers echoed her.

"Esther – dead?" Kitty gasped.

Nathaniel nodded with a sad expression. "Let me explain. In Fenny Bridges, I met my mother. I didn't recognise her, she recognised me straightaway. She was the matron in the orphanage, and she took care of my daughter for five years. Last night, when Jane went after my daughter, she and my mother had a fight, and Jane's demon killed my mother. She died in my arms, and with her last words she told me to come to my senses. And that's exactly what I'm doing right now." He sent Kitty a gentle smile, then turned back to the Prime Minister. "That's why I've told you everything. I've confessed my sins, and I'm awaiting your verdict."

"What verdict, dear boy?" Deveraux shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong. After all, becoming a father wasn't your fault, was it? Of course no one holds you guilty for that… If someone is guilty in this matter, then it's Miss Farrar and this clumsy demon. Miss Farrar has apparently paid for sins already-"

In the third row, Arnold Callaghan began to sob aloud. He must have loved Jane very much. Jessica Whitwell was seething with rage.

"Who are you calling clumsy?" Bartimaeus asked sharply.

"No one," Nathaniel said with a placating gesture. "I'm not blaming you, and no one else is. Right, Mr Deveraux, Sir?"

The Prime Minister shrugged. "If you aren't blaming him, then why would anyone else? As for the Tower-incident, John, you will certainly be exonerated, in all the media. No one in the Empire will be left in doubt about your innocence. In order to compensate you for the inconvenience this whole ordeal caused for you, you will be given a pay rise, naturally, and…"

"Don't even continue, Prime Minister, please," Nathaniel cut in. "Thank you for your trust, for having believed in me all along. I accept the Empire's apology and I expect to be exonerated in public, but I don't want a pay rise. I don't want politics either. Actually, I don't want to have anything to do with the magician society anymore."

"What? But… John!"

"Mr Deveraux, Sir. My mother wanted me to come to my senses, and I have. I have realised that politics is not for me, and I can live a perfectly happy life without power. I realised this late, but hopefully not too late. If a Minister in London needs to deny the existence of his child, and in order to keep his power he has to divorce the woman he loves - if this is what one needs to do for power, then I no longer want it. Whitwell and her friends' attack proved to me that as a high-ranking Minister I can only be envied and hated. I don't want to be envied by others… at least not for my power, position and money. The only thing one should be envied for is a happy family life, a peaceful home." Nathaniel turned to Kitty, who was sizing him up like he was an alien. She wore an incredulous expression, as though she couldn't decide whether to believe her own ears.

Nathaniel looked into her eyes. "I don't want to be the most eligible bachelor in the Empire anymore. I don't want to be a bachelor at all. I only want to be a father and husband. I love you, Kitty. Will you marry me?"

The incredulous expression disappeared from her face to be replaced by the most radiant smile he had ever seen her wearing. "Yes, gladly."

Smiling brightly, Nathaniel bent and scooped up his daughter, and with his free hand took Kitty's hand. "Ladies and gentlemen. I'm not asking for your understanding, as I'd be doing that in vain, you wouldn't understand me. I'm only asking for an opportunity to keep ten per cent of my riches to start a new life abroad. The rest can go back to the treasury. God knows, I've had more money than I could ever spend. Prime Minister, Ministers, good luck in running our country. Good-bye."

With that, Nathaniel turned on his heels and left Gladstone's room with his daughter, wife and the Egyptian boy.

To quote a most knowledgeable djinni: when Nathaniel reached the crossroads, he chose the right path, and Kitty and Martha gladly walked down it with him.

This day went down in history as 'The Day Mandrake Quit'. Some held him a fool, some a hero. And some just referred to him as 'The Minister Who Dared Say No to Power'.

o o o O O O o o o

As Nathaniel and his family walked out of the building, into the blinding sunlight, Bartimaeus spoke up. "Do tell, Nat, why did you keep referring to me as 'djinni' instead of calling me by my name?"

"I hoped that the magicians have already forgotten your name since the Golem incident, and I didn't want to risk mentioning it again, should any of them want to summon you later," the young magician explained. "If they don't know your name, they can't use you against me."

Bartimaeus chuckled. "Good thinking. I'd be happy if no one who knew you ever summoned me again. I don't particularly like working for you, but I dislike working against you even more."

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow at the djinni. "What, does this mean you're starting to be friendly towards me?"

"God forbid, no!"

"I think you are," Martha chimed in, comfortably sitting on his father's arm. "You like Daddy. Don't worry about it if you like him, Mummy likes him too and I like him too."

"See, everybody likes me." Nathaniel winked at Bartimaeus.

"I do like you, honey," Kitty spoke up, "but I will like you even more when you grow your hair back. It looks awful."

Nathaniel sent the djinni a cheeky smirk meaning 'see, somebody liked my old hairdo!'. Rolling his eyes, Bartimaeus followed the little family to Nathaniel's Ford Fiesta.

o o o O O O o o o

A/N: almost over, only a short chapter left. Review, please!