Accepting Irony

Chapter 5

"I never noticed how much time everyone spends sleeping," Kitty observed. She was sprawled in an armchair in Nat's living room, apparently having abandoned floating for the time being. I was sitting in a much more dignified position on a table across the room, in Ptolemy's guise, of course.

"I've always found it pathetic," I agreed, scratching my chin absently. In contrast to our last deep, meaningful conversation, we'd spent the last several hours engaged in mindless chit-chat. As tedious as that was for an entity of my intellect, it occurred to me that this could be all that Kitty was up for at the moment – her aura radiated exhaustion. Not that she would admit to it – I had already pointed it out with my usual tact and she immediately denied everything.

"It's kind of annoying," she persisted, ignoring my apparent lack of interest in the subject (and can you blame me? I've been around five thousand years – you might have guessed that I'd noticed this before).

"Especially if you need to get things done," I supplied generously, and then made an effort to switch the subject. "Listen. What exactly is your plan for turning that smarmy bastard into a normal human being?"

Kitty frowned and shrugged wearily. "I…am not sure yet, but a plan should come to me."

"With a case like this, you could be sitting around here waiting for an idea until he dies. You might want to give it some thought."

Her expression became strained. "I know. But no one told me exactly how I'm supposed to be doing this. But I don't think running for our lives – or, his life, my….whatever – and thus forcing him into doing random good deeds is the best way to go about it."

"Hmm. And meanwhile, your spiritual energy's running out."

"It's not," she said aggressively. "I'm just a little tired, that's all. Kind of goes hand in hand with sprinting through London in another person's body while evading an undead menace."

I raised my eyebrows and glanced upwards with the appropriate amount of skepticism. Kitty huffed and scowled at the floor.

"Hey," she said after a minute, "Can you see my spectral trail?"

"Nope," I answered promptly. "Since I am, obviously, still alive."

"I know that," she muttered. "But I thought you might be able to see it with your djinni powers."

"I can only observe the different planes in the living universe."

"Oh."

She paused, clearly searching for something else to say. Suddenly she snapped her fingers and said, "Here – this was bothering me. Mandrake's chauffer couldn't see me when I left the house with him this morning, but somehow patrol managed to spot Honorius. We're both dead; why could they see him but not me?"

"Was the patrol human or spirit?"

"Um…spirit."

"That's it, then. Humans only have access to one plane, unless they have lenses," I explained (a little wearily, as I'd given versions of this lecture hundreds of times to myriad curious magicians). "I can see you, but only on the seventh plane. Don't know why that is, but seven is an interesting number. Not now – let me finish this explanation first," I said firmly, as she was all set to fire more questions at me and I didn't want to get off-track.

"Where was I? Right – the spirit in question caught a glimpse of Honorius on the seventh plane and probably assumed he was powerful enough to conceal himself on the other six. The humans, in their turn, must have thought the same thing…if indeed they devoted much of their meager brainpower to the subject at all."

In response to this concise and articulate rationalization, Kitty shrugged and said, "I guess that makes sense."

Another silence fell, and stretched on for a while. I amused myself by theorizing on the purpose of human existence. I hadn't gotten very far – everything humans do seems to be completely random and pointless – when she spoke up again, a little more brightly.

"It's six thirty. He should be waking up in about half an hour."

"And you still have no idea what to do about him," I reminded her dryly. She frowned.

"Do you have any ideas?"

"A few, but something tells me you've got to work it out for yourself. Otherwise you won't be doing your job and you won't be rewarded for it, and then–"

"I go straight to hell," she finished loudly. "I know, all right?"

"What are you yelling about?" a tired voice asked from the doorway, and both of us looked around. Nat stood in the doorway, fully dressed but looking less than alert. Kitty raised her eyebrows.

"You're ready early. I didn't even think you'd be awake yet."

"I can see how engaging your conversation must have been," Nathaniel said, stifling a yawn, "If you're analyzing my sleep patterns."

He moved towards the dining room, but didn't stop to eat. Instead he went straight through to the foyer and reached for his coat. Seeing this, Kitty got up and drifted over to him.

"What, are you leaving already?"

"Devereaux called. Apparently there's been something of a disturbance by the docks. I'm not sure what it is, exactly – he was vague, obviously distracted – but he wants me to go right away."

"I didn't hear a phone ring," Kitty said, and turned to me as I approached. "Did you?"

Nat held up a small cell phone in wordless explanation before I could answer, then slid his arms into his coat and shrugged it onto his shoulders.

"The phone didn't ring – it's on vibrate," he told Kitty. "I doubt you would have heard it from two floors down."

"Aren't you going to eat something before you go?" Kitty asked, her tone decidedly sour. Nat's expression became pinched with annoyance.

"Are you ever going to get over the fact that you can't eat? At least you'll never be painfully hungry."

Kitty grumbled something and half-floated, half-dragged herself out the door he held open for her. I smiled cheekily at him as I stepped through after her.

"Quite the gentleman you are. It's nice to see some respect for once."

He rolled his eyes and yawned as he shut and locked the door. Kitty was already waiting at the door of Nat's car, climbing in only after he opened it for her. Presumably this was to keep from causing the chauffer undue confusion – doors didn't open themselves. Technology wasn't quite there yet. Nathaniel looked at me irritably as he squeezed into the back seat; with Kitty and me both in the car, there was barely enough room for his bony behind.

"I don't suppose you could change into something a little smaller, could you?"

"Nah," I said, folding my arms behind my head and nearly elbowing him in the ear. "I'm comfortable. Thanks, though."

He scowled and turned to a panel of buttons on the side of his door, pressing one. A pane of tinted glass slid up behind the driver's seat, separating him from the motley crew in the backseat. With the partition rolled up, it was safe for us to talk with Kitty.

"So," she said almost as soon as the screen squelched into position at the roof of the car, "All the Prime Minister said was that there was a disturbance downtown? How are you supposed to prepare yourself for what happened?"

Nathaniel shrugged and replied, "He might not know exactly what happened yet, just that my department is involved. I'm sure that whatever it is, it can't be worse than the golem."

"Counting chickens," Kitty muttered darkly, and the kid looked at her oddly.

"What?"

Kitty widened her eyes at him in annoyance.

"You know – counting your chickens before they've hatched, and all that. It means you're jinxing yourself, stupid."

"Forgive me for not being familiar with this farm terminology."

"I was on a farm once," I interjected. "It wasn't so much about the chickens as the cows."

Nat shot an exasperated look at me, then glanced at Kitty.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but it's probably problems with Resistance-like rebels. There are–"

"Warehouses holding a bunch of magical materials by the docks, yeah," Kitty finished absently, then started guiltily. "Not that I would know anything about that."

"Of course," Nat said dryly.

"Doesn't matter anyway," I supplied helpfully. "What's he going to do, kill you?"

Kitty looked disgruntled; she was alarmingly sensitive about being dead.

"Bad joke," Nat observed unnecessarily, then abruptly leaned forward in his seat, brow furrowing, squinting at the ridiculously dark tinted window. I couldn't imagine that he saw anything other than his own reflection, but that was more than enough to warrant his expression of consternation.

"What?" Kitty asked, the sullenness not quite out of her tone yet.

"The warehouses," he said, not turning from the window. "Two – no – three of them are burning."

The car rolled smoothly to a stop by the curb. A small group of magicians had spread out, watching the fire. Some looked angry, others confused, others distressed. Some were fearful, some were markedly indifferent, and some were–

Admittedly, there were only five of them there.

"Mandrake," one of them called as soon as he clambered out of the car. Kitty and I followed swiftly, and she, perhaps without thinking, closed the door behind us. A couple of the magicians looked around, bemused, but a young woman with copper-colored hair unwittingly saved the situation by saying, "Wish we'd had your demons around an hour ago – might've helped."

"What happened, Fennel?"

"It looked like an ordinary strike – you know dock workers and the like have been agitated as of late – but it turns out they'd also stolen some magical weapons from the warehouses, there."

"They used these weapons against the magicians at the scene?"

"Some of them – they were apprehended – but most just chucked them back at the warehouses, and now…"

She gestured toward the burning buildings, lips pursed. Uniformed men with large hoses were attempting to control the fire, shouting to each other over the crackling of the flames. Fennel sighed explosively.

"I have no idea how they knew what those warehouses were, much less how they were able to break in – the barriers surrounding the buildings should have been enough to keep out curious commoners."

Nat nodded absently, clearly thinking. Kitty was frowning at the dancing flames, also deep in thought.

"Did you have any contacts who could penetrate magical defenses?" I asked, and she shook her head.

"No. Some of my group could see de – spirits – and some were able to resist their magic, but none of us could break spells. Maybe someone found our cellar and was able to activate some of the objects there?"

I shook my head.

"Nat probably sent people in to clear that place out once you showed him where it was."

"Oh. Right."

"How's his spectral trail look, by the way?"

Kitty squinted at him and sighed.

"Redder than it was in the car. He must be thinking evil thoughts."

-

"Where are the prisoners now?" Nathaniel asked. He knew that this, not the burning warehouses, was the reason he'd been involved.

"In the Tower, would be my best guess," Fennel answered, chewing her lip. She started complaining about the damage done and the sheer amount supplies they would be losing because of it, but Nathaniel wasn't really listening. He was thinking of the prisoners and what they might know, and how me might go about extracting that information.

"What kind of weapons did they use?" he asked, interrupting her tirade. Fennel paused and composed herself.

"Let me think. Inferno sticks, mouler glasses, and the like. None of them had gotten their hands on anything of real potency, thankfully, or the results would have been worse than this. Anyway, two of the wolves were injured, the rest of us were merely enormously inconvenienced."

She was working herself back into her temper, but Nathaniel had tuned her out once again. Mouler glasses. Those required an activating command. A simple Latin word, admittedly, but still – a commoner shouldn't know anything about the glasses, especially how to use them. His mind immediately jumped, of course, to the Resistance; they had certainly known more than the average commoner. Had a new traitorous group formed?

"Yes, it's terrible, Fennel," he said absently, as she appeared to be waiting for him to offer some kind of reaction to her incensed speech. "But I'll sort this out. I'm going to the Tower now; we'll see what the commoners have to say about this morning's uprising."

"You do that, Mandrake."

Fennel half-turned away, still grumbling. Nathaniel walked back to the car. As soon as he had climbed in and shut the door, Kitty – who, along with Bartimaeus, had slipped in ahead of him as usual – turned and demanded, "What are you going to do to those workers?"

Her tone irked him; it was early, he hadn't eaten, and he had what could become an unpleasant task ahead of him – he'd never had much fondness for the Tower, and generally found the methods used therein distasteful. That wasn't to say he hadn't put them to use before, or would refuse to do so again, particularly in a situation involving national security.

"I'm going to question them," he responded shortly. "Whether they cooperate is their own decision."

"Your spectral trail's looking particularly vivid today," Kitty informed him tetchily. "Whatever you're planning to do can't be too pleasant."

"Then hopefully they'll talk and I won't have to carry out my nefarious plot," he replied, sarcasm lacing his tone, "if it's going to prove so destructive to my soul."

"This isn't a joke, you know," Kitty said hotly. "This isn't just your afterlife that hangs in the balance, it's mine, too!"

"Your point?"

"You should have some concern for someone other than your stupid self, that's my point! You think you can just go along, merrily tormenting people all your life, and then, at the very end, do one good thing and be on the fast-track to the pearly gates?"

"Wait…that situation sounds disturbingly familiar," he said, looking at Kitty pointedly. Her face darkened.

"Yes," she said coldly, "And look where I ended up: with you. I'm not so sure this isn't some extension of hell."

"Clever. How's your spectral trail looking, Kitty? Since I'm supposed to be expressing concern."

"Better than yours, thanks," she shot back. "Really, Mandrake, what are you going to do to the workers if they don't start groveling and confessing as soon as you walk in?"

"Politely encourage them to tell me all about the incident, of course. What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Judging by the fantastic shade of red you're sporting there, something unnecessarily bad. I've heard rumors about the Tower, you know. If you torture these people–"

"He'll just be doing his job," Bartimaeus spoke up in a mockingly high-pitched voice, gazing shrewdly at Nathaniel while speaking to Kitty. "What kind of rumors have you heard, just out of curiosity?"

"Well, the remains of the prisoners hanging from the battlements kind of speak for themselves–"

"Which is precisely the point," Nathaniel muttered, but Kitty ignored him.

"–And I've just heard vague things about them…mutilating people." Her voice shook a bit. "Putting them in cells that shrink and slowly crush them, that kind of thing."

"How wonderfully hysterical," Nathaniel said, rolling his eyes.

"And fairly accurate," Bartimaeus interjected. "Or do you only use your Mournful Orbs on the nobler entities? Yeah, I've had first-hand experience with those, thanks to you and your stupid charges," he added at Nathaniel's surprised glance. Bartimaeus had never really elaborated on his brief captivity in the Tower three years ago, when he had been caught while carrying out a charge Nathaniel had given him as a twelve-year-old.

"What are Mournful Orbs?" Kitty asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing too terrible," Bartimaeus answered. "Just these cages made out of stuff that can incinerate you that the magicians can shrink at will. Boring, eh?"

Kitty looked appalled, turning to Nathaniel furiously.

"How can you do that to people? To spirits?"

"It's not like we just yank people off the street and throw them into Orbs," Nathaniel snapped, fed up with both of them. "These are people who seriously endanger their country – which happens to include other commoners, not just magicians," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but which of the two are you really concerned about?" Kitty inquired accusingly.

"Enough," he growled. "We're here."

-

"Luckily," Balmung said, trying to disguise his nervousness as he escorted Honorius to the section of the tunnel wall that led back to the mortal world, "the boy's condition has only worsened since you were…unfortunately detained."

Honorius, red eyes rolling madly in his skull, turned to snarl at Balmung, who tried not to gulp audibly. His claws tightened around the glittering silver pitchfork he had brought along just in case…well, just in case. Like he'd said, lowest-level souls were nasty buggers.

"Intelligence tells us that they're headed toward the Tower of London," he continued, talking perhaps a little more quickly than a coolly unconcerned archdemon might, "so you'll reenter near that point. Also, we have knowledge that the boy has summoned an entity since his first encounter with you – a djinni, Bartimaeus."

Balmung wasn't sure why Satan had wanted him to share this particular piece of information – Honorius would be able to handle a djinni without much trouble – but the afrit's reaction spoke for itself.

"BARTIMAEUS!" he howled, eyes flaring and rolling more than ever, bony hands clenching into fists. He tore past Balmung and clawed his way through the pulsing blue wall, his mad cries echoing throughout the vast, ethereal space long after he had departed in a spray of silver sparks.