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BARTIMAEUS
TRILOGY
BOOK THREE
Ptolemy's Gale
THE
BARTIMAEUS
TRILOGY
BOOK THREE
Ptolemy's Gate
JONATHAN STROUD
MIRAMAX BOOKS
HYPERION BOOKS FOR CHILDREN
NEW YORK
Page 2 Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

Copyright(c) 2006 by Jonathan Stroud
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For Isabelle, with love
The Main Characters
THE MAGICIANS
Mr. Rupert Devereaux Prime Minister of Great Britain and the Empire,
and acting Chief of Police
Mr. Carl Mortensen Minister of War
Ms. Helen Malbindi Foreign Minister
Ms. Jessica Whitwell Security Minister
Mr. Bruce Collins Home Secretary
Mr. John Mandrake Information Minister
Ms. Jane Farrar Deputy Police Chief
Mr. Quentin Makepeace A playwright; author of Petticoats and Rifles and
other works
Mr. Harold Button Magician, scholar, and book collector
Mr. Sholto Pinn A merchant; proprietor of Pinn's Accoutrements
of Piccadilly
Mr. Clive Jenkins Magician Second Level, Department of Internal
Affairs
Ms. Rebecca Piper Assistant to Mr. Mandrake, Information Ministry
THE COMMONERS
Ms. Kitty Jones A student and barmaid
Mr. Clem Hopkins An itinerant scholar
Mr. Nicholas Drew A political agitator
Mr. George Fox Proprietor of the Frog Inn, Chiswick
Ms. Rosanna Lutyens A private tutor
THE SPIRITS
Bartimaeus A djinni-in service to Mr. Mandrake
Ascobol
Cormocodran
Mwamba
Hodge
Greater djinn-in service to Mr. Mandrake
Purip
Fritang Lesser djinn-in service to Mr. Mandrake
Page 3 Jonathan Stroud - Bartimaeus 3 - Ptolemy's Gate

Acknowledgments
My thanks to Laura CecilvDelia Huddy, Alessandra Baker, and Jonathan Burnham; to the late Rod Hall; and to everyone
at Random House,
Hyperion, and Miramax. And to Gina, most of all.
Part One
Alexandria: 125 B.C.
The assassins dropped into the palace grounds at midnight, four fleet shadows dark against the wall. The fall was high,
the ground was
hard; they made no more sound on impact than the pattering of rain. Three seconds they crouched there, low and
motionless, sniffing at
the air. Then away they stole, through the dark gardens, among the tamarisks and date palms, toward the quarters
where the boy lay at
rest. A cheetah on a chain stirred in its sleep; far away in the desert, jackals cried.
They went on pointed toe-tips, leaving no trace in the long wet grass. Their robes flittered at their backs, fragmenting
their shadows into
wisps and traces. What could be seen? Nothing but leaves shifting in the breeze. What could be heard? Nothing but the
wind sighing
among the palm fronds. No sight, no noise. A crocodile djinni, standing sentry at the sacred pool, was undisturbed though
they passed
within a scale's breadth of his tail. For humans, it wasn't badly done.
The heat of the day was a memory; the air was chill. Above the palace a cold round moon shone down, slathering silver
across the roofs
and courtyards.1
1. This was one of the peculiarities of their sect: they acted only when the moon was full. It made their tasks more difficult, their challenge greater.
And they had never failed. Aside from this, they wore only black, avoided meat, wine, women, and the playing of wind instruments, and curiously
ate no cheese save that made from the milk of goats bred on their distant desert mountain. Before each job they fasted for a day, meditated by
staring unblinking at the ground, then ate small cakes of hashish and cumin seed, without water, until their throats glowed yellow. It's a wonder
they ever killed anyone.
Away beyond the wall, the great city murmured in the night: wheels on dirt roads, distant laughter from the pleasure
district along the
quay, the tide lapping at its stones. Lamplight shone in windows, embers glowed on roof hearths, and from the top of the
tower beside the
harbor gate the great watch fire burned its message out to sea. Its image danced like imp-light on the waves.