Bartimaeus Trilogy IC

[Kierkegaard]

Jeffrey was eavesdropping, and being very obvious about it. He hovered outside the Council meeting, right ear pressed up to the large, mahogany door, straining to catch every word. Of course, he might have sent an imp or even a foliot, but that wouldn’t have been quite so foolproof; the room was well-guarded with wards against magical presences, and so the only reliable method was doing it himself. He couldn’t be blamed for his curiousity- it was the day after the golem spectacle in London, and the entire government, from the junior ministers to their secretaries, wanted to know what was going on. It wasn’t Jeffrey’s fault if he was the only one with enough guts to stand there.

And what a good decision that had proven to be. The snippets of conversation that reached his ears were absolutely fascinating- he hadn’t even known Gladstone’s staff had been found, he thought it had been compromised in the tomb affair- and what was that about Makepeace? He’d fled the country? Ah, pity. Jeffrey had mixed feelings about that; on one hand, Makepeace was an invaluable ally, always introducing him to people and inviting him to social gatherings; on the other, the man was insufferable.

He was so intrigued by the meeting that he almost forgot he wasn’t supposed to be there, and before he knew it, someone said a word about adjourning, and before he could react, the heavy door swung open. Out stepped his master, Jessica Whitwell, in all of her sharp, bony, intimidating glory.

“How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.

Jeffrey knew better than to lie. “Oh, about fifteen minutes.”

Whitwell did not seem bothered. “Good. Then I won’t have to explain much to you. Walk me to my office- I need you to take care of some disturbances in-”

“Jessica, I was wondering if- oh.” Jessica was interrupted from behind by Carl Mortensen, the newly promoted Minister of War. He was holding several rumpled papers in his hand- Jeffrey strained to read what they said- and he abruptly stopped talking when he saw Jeffrey.

“Disraeli,” he said, wincing as he said the name. Only Jeffrey had possessed the balls to choose such a high profile moniker, and it still gave his coworkers grief every time they were forced to say it. “You’re not supposed to be here. That was a confidential Council meeting.”

Jeffrey shrugged, slouching languidly against a pillar.

“Control your kid, Jessica,” Mortensen complained. “Kid wraps up a few disturbances and thinks he’s the Prime Minister- one would almost say you’re encouraging him.”

Jessica shot Mortensen an icy glare. “I’ll deal with my subordinates how I please, Carl. And don’t forget that without my support, you are inches from being replaced. Come, Ben.”

With a backwards smirk at Mortensen, Jeffrey trotted after his master, heeding the orders she proceeded to give him with the attention of a soldier. Out of all the magicians of the government, the only one Jeffrey had a semblance of loyalty towards was Whitwell, mostly because she was so powerful that it would be unwise to oppose her. Moreover, as the one who had raised him, she had the special privilege of knowing his birth name. It was because of this particular advantage that Jeffrey understood that for all his talents, if he ever chose to betray Jessica, he would be dead in fifteen seconds flat.

~

Noon found Jeffrey standing in a pentacle in his office, eyes closed as he recited the summons. Jessica had thrust an agenda upon him that would likely take up the rest of the day, and he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. There was a raid to investigate, two protests to stifle, and most importantly, some commoners to tail. He had some foliots out patrolling the streets of London who might be able to get it all done, but Jeffrey was not really in the mood for long-winded orders, which were often necessary when it came to the malicious creatures. After some deliberation, he decided on Cozocondra, who was always ruthlessly efficient, and Syara, who was supremely reliable, even if he had been getting on Jeffrey’s nerves as of late.

He wasn’t quite sure why he was still summoning the fifth-level djinni; really, he should have heeded his master’s advice and chosen a relatively intelligent afrit as his preferred summons. He was certainly talented enough to work with better than mere a mere djinni- and besides, Syara constantly unnerved him, what with his talk of equality and friendship. Jeffrey had never quite been able to understand why Syara couldn’t just be rude and obstinate, like Cozocondra, but for some reason, that particular irregularity was what had Jeffrey summoning the djinni time and time again.

He’d had both of them out on surveillance missions- probably beneath both of them, true, but he needed them alert and familiar with London in case anything more pressing came up- like the task at hand.

“You’ll never guess what I just heard,” he started, eyes glittering, as soon as they had both materialized. “Gladstone’s staff- they’ve recovered it, it’s in the vault. Nobody’s allowed to touch it, of course, treason and security threat and all that, but just think- if I knew how to use it, if the situation called for it and I activated it…but anyways, that’s just speculation.” He’d lied to Jessica after all; he had been standing outside the council meeting for much longer than fifteen minutes. “I’ll have you look into the staff at some point, but I’ve got some other tasks for you right now. The surveillance spheres tell us there’s a commoner’s meeting at the tavern on the corner of Wake’s and Fleeting; I need both of you to go and see what that’s all about. See if it’s the same group that bombed Mortensen’s office a few weeks ago- we still haven’t gotten that resolved, and finding the culprits would be the perfect way to get on his good side again. Cozocondra, don’t eat anyone. Syara, uh,” Jeffrey paused, unsure of what he wanted to say. “Er, just do a good job of it. Any questions?”

[Rtron]

You know, you'd think that when you're as rude, annoying, and sarcastic as possible, Magicians would stop summoning you. But Nooo. They keep on doing it. Whelp, time to get to work. As I materialized, I decided to try and unnerve little Disraeli this time. I appeared in a cloud of smoke. Which rapidly dispersed to show Disraeli's master, Jessica Whitwell. Nothing surprising about that so far. Well, except when you take into account that she was naked as the day she was born, and smiling suggestively towards him. The smile quickly dropped when he spoke of the staff.

"Someone was stupid enough to bring that back into the world? And, eventually,you want us to try and break into the vault to retrieve it. You're an insane, skinny, little twerp. But you've got guts, I'll give you that. Which everyone will see when all the other magicians are ripping them out of your stomach and throwing them about the place. Cause, that's what they're going to do. Of course, if you try to get the staff to work that might not be a problem. They'll just have to clean up your ashes." I had seen the staff work before. It literally shattered defenses like toothpicks. Both mortal and magical. Then, I noticed the glitter in his eyes. "Careful there. Get anymore worked up and you might exhaust yourself. And do I have to not eat anyone? It could solve so many problems. Also, would you prefer stealth in this? Cause, I might just blow up the building and be done with it."

-----
Ed was walking to the tavern where he worked. It was time to get to business. Both his actual job, and the business of overthrowing a government. As he began setting up by the door so he could see everything in the building and break up fights with his cudgel, he began noticing regulars of the meetings walking in. A well dressed gentleman with an extravagant mustache. A middle aged dock worker. An old newspaperman. Then, he began noticing the others of his own little group. First, there was Bradley. Age 16,At an imposing 5ft 2in, dressed in he wasn't much to look at. He didn't have any apparent muscles, and his face was fairly ordinary, blue eyes, straw colored hair, nothing to stand out. Except, he could see anything magical.

From traps, to amulets, to staffs. He was quickly followed by Mary. Age 14, she was the youngest of their group.She was tall, 5ft 9in, with red hair, freckles, and bright green eyes. She possessed the ability to 'smell' magic. Be it demons, or the things Bradley could see. Next was Fred. Age 16. He couldn't see, smell, or do anything to sense magic at all. But, he had a good strong resilence. The strongest of their group. Black hair, Golden eyes, he was shorter than Ed, but only by half an inch. Finally, there was Annie. Age 17.

Standing at an average 5ft 5in, with her chestnut colored hair and blue eyes, she was, as far as Ed was concerned, the most beautiful woman alive. She was also perhaps the most powerful of them. She possessed a combination of his own, and Bradley's powers. The ability to see both demons, and magical items. She also had a resilence that could rival Fred's. Maybe I'll pursue that after this is all over.. Ed mused as he returned the smile she gave him. People were still walking in, and this was no where near their usual crowd. He gave a reassuring touch to the silver discs, knives, and general miscellaneous silver items he had. Ed was still sure the demons would come here eventually. And he, and his friends, were ready. Everyone else... Ed viewed the crowd gathering. Not a single one of them appeared to have silver or iron. Everyone else is not so well prepared...

[Kierkegaard]

Jeffrey hadn’t learned. At the sight of his master in the nude, his composed, languid facade dropped immediately, and his face turned a nasty shade between crimson from embarrassment and blotchy purple from rage. He broke off in the middle of his words, gabbled something incomprehensible, and involuntarily crumpled the papers in his hands. For all his pomp and preening, Jeffrey had never actually done anything with a girl, much less one his own age, much less one his master’s age. (He chalked it up to work. His subordinates chalked it up to sheer incompetence.)

Surely Whitwell was not that wrinkly beneath her skirt.

“The nerve of you!” he finally stuttered, pushing his fingers through his yellow locks in an agitated manner. This gave him the unintended effect of imitating a squawking, overgrown canary. “Ms. Whitwell is one of the most respectable magicians in London, how dare you defile her form as such, you vile creature, you-” Jeffrey broke off, overcome with fury, and babbled out the words for the Red-hot Stipples. At the last moment, however, he had the misfortune of noticing his master’s saggy bosom; he flushed red again, stumbled, and his spell devolved into a few measly sparks before dying out.

“I’ll have you imprisoned in a silver tin before the day’s out,” he promised, shaking a finger at Cozocondra in what he evidently thought was a threatening manner. “It’s only because I’ve got a job for you that you’ve escaped punishment for now. Get over to Wake’s and Fleeting and don’t let yourself be seen- and if you eat anyone, Cozocondra, I’ll make sure your name is on the very next list of djinni they’re deporting to fight in America. You won’t last three days.”

“You-“ he turned to Syara, who had thankfully kept quiet throughout this debacle. “You’re not off the hook. I shall hold you equally responsible if anything goes wrong. Off you go,” he said, and snapped his fingers for theatric effect. “I’ve work to do.”

[Rtron]

Thank goodness that the boy was still as easily unnerved by the human female body as most magicians his age had been before. The Red-hot stipples would have hurt. Chuckling. Okay, laughing my hooves off, I turned back to my preferred form. "You won't do that and we both know it. I'm to valuable to you. And besides. She's not as respectable as you think. No magicians are. Defile her form? Personally, I think I made her look better." But none the less, I clapped my trap shut and disappeared. Going to America sounded like a death sentence. And Disraeli was wrong in his insult that I wouldn't last three days. I wouldn't last one. ,Leaving a lovely, detailed, amplified version of his master in the nude staring at him. In very colorful smoke. If you get my meaning. Along with a wafting smell of rotting flesh. Ah memories of my time in Greece. Any-who, a short time later I was at the tavern in question with Syara. We were sitting on a nearby tree. I was a stunning red robin. Turning it's beak to Syara next to it, the Robin spoke. "Right, how are we going to do this? Both human form? One of us a more subtle form? Both subtle? Up to you, I don't particularly care. Seeing as I can't blow up the building, or eat anyone." The Robin fluffed it's feathers. It was a rainy day.

----
Mary sniffed and gave a warning glance to Ed, who acknowledged it with a small nod, then spread the word quietly to the rest of their group. It was probably nothing, but a few demons flying overhead, but better safe than sorry. It still wasn't time for the meeting to take place. People were still straggling in. Ed began to get a worry, that something was going to go wrong. Then again, he got that a lot these days, ever since the destruction of the Resistance and Gladstones bones leaping about the place. But, it was worse this time. Just the nerves from revealing your resilience. He told himself as he took position back by the door.

Ed didn't even believe himself.

[Imperfectionist]

Having done nothing but roll his huge eyes at Cozocondra's earlier antics, Syara, in his cat form, now scrutinized his partner. The bright colors of the robin were a bit conspicuous, even to commoners, but the djinni was thinking about the events of the last few months, and didn't say anything about it. "Did you hear John Mandrake's reports about the Resistance group, Cozocondra? Benji read them to me at great length..." His voice was silky, and only very slightly masculine. The untrained ear would likely hear it as a woman's voice. The cat stretched its legs and arched its back slowly, considering what he was going to say next.

"The important parts were that most of them, like Kitty Jones, had a resistance to magic that these magicians had never seen before. That means it's beginning to happen here as well, just like it did in Constantinople... I'm sure you've run into them yourself. Non-magicians that can see multiple planes, sense magic, and can take Detonations without a scratch. They're custom-built to fight us. No, we can't just stroll in there in human form. All it would take is one of them that can see through to the higher planes, and we've got a dozen silver discs in our faces, and silver knives in our backs. We need to be cautious."

The djinni thought about it for a moment, then transformed into a bird himself, a small, bedraggled owl. "Come on, we can fly to the roof of the building, get into the ventilation system as spiders or lizards or something, and listen in that way. If we're out of sight, we're more likely to be left alone. And remember, magical resistance. Don't be surprised when your spells are useless. Hopefully, we'll be able to get the information we need and get out without a fight at all." Syara often tried to repeat himself when talking to Cozocondra, not trusting the other spirit's intelligence, and didn't wait for a response before flying carefully over to the roof of the tavern.

Luckily for the djinn, there seemed to be a simple duct system, as it was an old building, and it wasn't long before Syara was peering through an unused vent down at the gathered commoners with eight tiny eyes. They seemed restless and wary, but that wasn't surprising. After all, they were plotting to overthrow the government. If they were cheerful and exuberant about it, they'd be dead. More people seemed to be plodding in, and they hadn't locked the front doors yet, which Syara thought they were likely to do when the meeting was to take place, so he spun himself a little web and waited just out of sight. "There are quite a few of them down there," he thought, calculating his and Cozocondra's chances if they were found out. "We can hope that not all of them have a resistance, and endeavor to escape as quickly as possible..."

[Rtron]

Sometimes, when Syara is talking to me, I get the feeling he doubts my intelligence. But, that couldn't be right, could it? After all, I've proven time and time again that I am a Djinn of pure Genius. Just because I prefer the direct route means nothing about it. Okay, maybe I blew up the wrong building once or thrice. Maybe I ate the wrong person once or 6 times. But hey, I've never done anything totally stupid. When Syara spoke of magical resilience, my mind flew back towards my time in Greece. That was the first time I encountered that. Commoners attacked Minos with the help of hostile mages, and well, I nearly got killed by an Afrit. Saw it in Rome to. Worked with Bartimaeus briefly there. Syara flew off to the duct, and I followed. He dove down and took the form of a spider. I chose a tarantula (the much larger, much less lethal to humans version of a spider) and settled down to wait.

---

Mary took a sniff, and her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. She made her way over to Fred and whispered in his ear. "Demons, in the ductile vents. Specifically the one to your left." Fred nodded, resisting the urge to look. He went and got Fred and Bradley, and they went to the front doors. People had finished straggling in. Before they left, Fred shouted to the barkeep, "Hey Ben! Drunks are making trouble outside! We're just gonna go deal with that before we begin!" The barkeep nodded, and the trio left. They immediately turned and grabbed three buckets that jingled and jangled as they were moved. Three guesses as to what they were filled with.

----

When the kid stationed by the door by the door was talked to by the girl and gathered two other boys, I began to feel uneasy. Then, he shouted something about drunks. I should have felt better, right? I mean, he was just going to go deal with some drunks.

Then why did I still feel wary?

My answer came shortly. There was first one, then two rattling sounds, as if someone was pouring bits of metals down the ducts. "Syara you hear that I wonder wha-Oh no." It hit me mid sentence. They were pouring silver down the ducts. Apparently, there was only three. How did I know this? I would like to say clever deduction and such. But, in reality,I saw bits of silver falling from the only other two ducts. That, and the same rattling came down our duct, enough to fill it so that we had better leave. Quickly. Before we could do that though, the commoners below enacted their plan. With a cry of 'foul demons!' Duct beneath us was rudely pierced by silver daggers and discs. Great. Silver beneath, and Silver above. This is going well. I thought as my essence shied away from the silver. Then, the duct gave out, and I fell to the tavern. Silver was thrown at me again. Rather than let a lucky blow eliminate my small essence, I switched to my preferred form. With a roar, the minotaur turned around, it's eyes showing souls screaming, daring any to challenge it. For a minute, there was dead silence. Then, all hell broke loose.

Commoners ran everywhere, screaming. It was easy to tell who had resilence, or at least guts of steel. They were going at me with Silver weapons. Two females to be precise. "Ah, you've resilence! LET'S PUT THAT TO THE TEST!" The minotaur roared, lifting up a fist, Detonation burning in it. I threw two in quick succession. Fairly weak, unlikely to do anything to them, besides delay them. The pair flew back, and slammed into a table and a wall respectively. Then, I felt the cold touch of silver in my skin and essence. Roaring again, the minotaur turned to see the trio back. I drew up a detonation. Real powerful one this time. I threw it at the black haired chap whom didn't have a silver weapon out. The perpetrator who hit me in the back. It hit him full in the chest, and he flew backwards with a mighty bang, shattering into the wall and leaving a small hole.

Much to my surprise, he picked himself up, none the worse for the wear. I mean, that was a detonation that would have made Jabor wince (I'd worked with the guy before. None to imaginative, but fairly powerful, hungry, and tough). Now, he was either really, really, really resilient, or limber. Speaking of limber, the Minotaur showed his own limberness as the other two through silver discs at him and he bent at an odd angle to avoid both. From the sounds behind me, I'd say the girls were going for Syara. This isn't going well..

[Imperfectionist]

Bits of silver began to fall dangerously close to Syara, and more came up from the patrons below, and he hadn't finished the escape plan he had been formulating. "Crap." By the time the duct fell, and Cozocondra became his usual belligerent self, the less combat-minded djinni had already taken the shape of a wisp of smoke, and was high-tailing it towards the door. Just before he made it, however, his path was blocked by a pair of serious-looking girls with nasty silver discs.

Quickly shifting to his own preferred form, the cat-man, he fell to his knees and began a quick testimony. "Ladies, we were ordered here by a nasty magician! We are mere slaves! Please don't take your anger out on us!" His partner's multiple Detonations were not helping, and the two angry rebels ignored him, each throwing a disc. Syara, of course, was ready with a Shield, and heard the satisfying clangs as the discs were deflected away from him. Before the girls, or their approaching friends could react, the Shield was gone and his agile cat-legs had taken him over their heads and out the door. He yelled as he ran, "We're leaving! Get out of there!", but had no great love for the Minotaur, and left it at that. He certainly wasn't going to risk himself to save Cozocondra.

There was a small commotion, as several of the rebels burst out of the tavern hot on his heels, including Mary, who could smell his trail, but according to her, it only went up. Even those that could see all of the planes probably would not have picked him out against the dark, cloudy sky, and for those that couldn't, the small owl was rapidly becoming smaller and smaller as it cleared the rooftops and reluctantly began its journey through the rain towards Jeffrey. Soon enough, Syara decided that it was likely safe to land, and gladly took shelter from the rain beneath a small marquis, as a cat. He was no afrit, but the water was still very uncomfortable against his fur. "I wonder how old Cozo's doing back there..." he mused.

[Rtron]

You gotta love it when your only back up is already halfway out the door when you're being attacked by resilient, silver wielding, crazy people. Just makes me feel all fuzzy and warm inside. Seeing my Detonations weren't working, I went with a more...old fashioned plan. A Shield was erected around me, and after their discs and knives bouncing off of me, I picked up a chair, leapt forward, and hit the one who survived the massive Detonation with it. Repeatedly. With a groan, he slumped. See? When all else fails, good old fashioned physical violence works. Speaking of which, I swung a hairy fist into the other two. They flew into the nearby wall with Gratifying thumps. With a satisfied snort, the minotaur walked outside. Straight into rain. Ugh. Have I mentioned I hate anything watery? Be it sewers, rivers, or rain, I hate it with a passion. I prepared to leave, but stopped.

Before I left, I had to do something to assure that good ol Disraeli wouldn't do something horrible to me for messing up this plan. It was doubtful that Syara would do anything to help me(see, only back up leaving hastily comment), and Disraeli won't be in a forgiving mood. So, I turned my eyes to the two women charging at me. One's nostrils were constantly flaring, indicating she either couldn't see me, or could see me, just relied on her sense of smell a good deal. She was also the one who ratted us out. "Gotta get to Disraeli." The minotaur muttered.

Their silver bouncing off of my Shield, I swung a meaty fist into her. She went sailing into the nearby bushes, then, I hit her friend with a good Detonation, and punched her to. Knocking her out. With that, I quickly grew wings and flew high into the sky. My fur completely black. I found Syara a good distance away and landed beside him, dropping the unconscious girl down under the marquis, hey a small kindness for kidnapping her, then transformed into a vibrant red, very handsome, and very irritated tom cat.

"Thanks for having my back there partner. Makes me feel good to know that I'll never have to worry about being stabbed in the back by some crazy resilient person. And before you start going off about the girl, I'll explain. It's a survival mechanism. If Disraeli has gained something out of this, he won't trap me into a silver box or worse for messing up the plan. And, I doubt he'll believe me even if you backed up my side of the story. Which I doubt you would have. And she's alive, if you're curious."

---

Ed got up with a groan. People were injured and moaning everywhere, and there was the well groomed gentlemen a few feet away from him, dead, a splinter the size of Ed's arm in his eye. There was a look of surprise on his face. Ed got up slowly and saw Bradley and Fred doing the same. They appeared to be fine. Who would have thought the demon would have gone with it's fists? Ed wondered, noticing the sizable lump on Fred's head, Bradley's black eye, and his own soreness. He walked out onto the street, noticing Mary extracting herself from a nearby bush, a bruise forming on her jaw. Ed walked quickly over. "Where's Annie?" He asked, slightly desperately. Mary shook her tear streaked head, and spoke thickly.

"The demon took her." Fred and Bradley cursed. Ed didn't make a sound, those his eyes were burning with anger. "Do we have any idea where?" He asked, vehemently. Mary nodded. "The demon said something about a Disraeli. I'm assuming that's it's master." Ed started walking. "Where are you going?" Fred called after him. "Meet me at the secondary meeting place. I'll be bringing some weapons." Ed called back.

Disraeli took Annie. If he does anything to her...bastard better pray that I don't make it slow.

[Kierkegaard]

Meanwhile, back at Westminster, Jeffrey was busy playing the intricate game of politics, forcing out a somewhat strained smile as he accompanied his master through the throng of magicians that had assembled to celebrate the destruction of the golem, and the unmasking of Duvall. Duvall had not made himself many friends- the atmosphere of the hall was decidedly cheerful.

Whitwell was in a particularly festive mood, having regained much of her respect, and her position; she was so jovial that she had deigned to wear one of the elaborate party masks that were the theme of the evening. As it would be imprudent to contradict his master, Jeffrey had also donned a mask, some extravagant peacock-feathered thing that fudged his vision and clashed horribly with his hair.

Gladstone’s Staff stood on display in the middle of the hall, resting on an ostentatiously wrought golden stand. Flickers of light danced around the Staff every now and then, reminding all who were present that the Staff was heavily guarded with all sorts of wards. But afrits or no, Jeffrey thought it was a terrible idea; the security risk was simply too high, and even if nothing happened that evening, the seductive gleam of the staff would be enough to plant ideas in the heads of every ambitiously minded magician.

He voiced this concern to his master as soon as he saw the Staff.

“Rubbish,” said Jessica. “Nobody would be fool enough to try anything so soon after Duvall’s demise. Devereaux’s men are standing guard, that should be enough to deter anyone, not to mention the countless ministers present. Now, speaking of Devereaux, I was hoping that- ah, Rupert, there you are.”

The Prime Minister spun around at the sound of her voice, a broad smile appearing on his face as soon as he saw Whitwell and Jeffrey. “Ah, Jessica- and Benji, too- my, you’ve grown.” He patted Jeffrey genially on the back as he spoke. The golem incident had done much to restore Jessica in his favor, and now that there was a sudden vacancy in the upper council, Jeffrey suspected that his master was capitalizing on this.

“Someone should get this boy to eat more- Benji, you’re as thin as a rod. Jessica hasn’t been starving you, has she?”

Never mind that Jeffrey had been living in his own townhouse for years now. Jeffrey put on a grimace that was surely meant to look like a smile. “No, sir. I’ve simply been busy, that’s all- tracking down the Resistance is no easy task.”

“Well, I suppose your job has gotten harder now, hasn’t it? Now that Mandrake is no longer with us…poor boy, I rather liked him. You seem to be doing a fine job, though.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Jeffrey bowed politely, and attempted not to curl his lip in disdain at the mention of Mandrake. Jessica had taken him on a few months after Jeffrey had been deemed independent enough to move out, and he never could stand that usurping little twerp, always getting the Prime Minister’s attention for feats that Jeffrey could have managed in his sleep.

Dealing with the Resistance, though, had proved more difficult that Jeffrey had thought. Mandrake’s reports (which were admittedly thorough and detailed) had made that clear. It wasn’t just one group Jeffrey was dealing with; it was multiple, scattered across London and the entire country for all he knew, which meant there was no adder head that could be easily dealt with. It was more complicated than that, and had required much more time and resources than Jeffrey had anticipated. His workload had all but doubled overnight, and Jeffrey had been getting increasingly little sleep as a result.

Which explained why he was perspiring slightly by the time Jessica finished carting him around all of the ministers and finally let him alone. Jeffrey escaped to the corner of the room. Snippets of magician’s gossip drifted to his hears.

“Now that the Police Chief is an open position-”

“Think he’ll promote someone? Fengley, maybe?”

“Or Disraeli, PM’s had a soft spot for him for a while.”

“That’d make Jessica happy, Security and the Police in one go-“

“Rupert would never be that foolish, would he?

“I dunno, Jessica’s always been pretty loyal.”

“So had Duvall, before he-”

“Besides, Farrar’s still an option, isn’t she?

Jeffrey took a deep breath and steadied himself against the wall. He suddenly felt very tired. He wanted this evening to be over as soon as possible, so he could get back to his office and check on Syara and Cozocondra’s progress. He was in dire need of good news, some concrete proof that he was succeeding at his job, and no doubt the two djinn were in the middle of getting it for him- why else would they be taking so long?

[Imperfectionist]

The lights of the hall, hanging high above the magicians in their crystal chandeliers, began to slowly dim. After a few seconds, the lowered lights were noticeable, and as the only light became the flashes of lightning from the storm outside, mutters of interest and concern swept through the crowd.

"Is there some sort of announcement?"

"Where's Devereaux?"

"I wonder what's going on?"

Suddenly, a bright circle of light illuminated a spot on the far West wall, and a beautiful woman stood there on top of a small pedestal, beaming around at all of the assembled masked officials. She was tall and full-bodied, with luscious curly black hair, and was wearing a marvelous silver dress that seemed to shimmer magically as she moved. The magicians closest to her were in awe, and instinctively stepped away from the mysterious visitor.

"Everyone!" She lilted, her voice magically magnified, "If I could have your attention, please!" There was no doubt at this point that every being in the room had their eyes on her, including the afrits on guard throughout. Almost immediately, the tell-tale golden shimmer of a Plasm shot out of the crowd towards the woman, and she calmly caught it, seemingly absorbing the energy into her hand. The greenish flickers of a tiny Flux were all that remained. Time seemed to hang, as she continued to beam, flashing her white teeth especially at Rupert Devereaux and one Jessica Whitwell, who gasped in recognition, and said: "Minerva!?" Her former apprentice was supposed to be dead, in America.

At exactly the same moment, dozens of other cries went up:

"Demon!"

"Protect us!"

"Kill her!"

"The Staff!"

"Minerva", though of course this was merely an afrit with the guise of Minerva, leapt into the air and began taking heavy fire from multiple other afrits, as well as personal djinn, who had blocked off the major targets (the Ministers, the Staff) and were throwing as much as they could at her, given the circumstances. Undersecretaries and members of the Departments were screaming and running away from the Detonations and the afrits, creating a chaotic, shifting crowd, and at a snap of "Minerva's" fingers, her spotlight went out, plunging the hall into almost complete darkness. Every so often, there would be a flash, as lightning struck outside, but all of the magician's efforts to reignite the lights were failing, and though the spirits could see in the dark, most of the magicians could not.

Retaining the shape of her master, the powerful afrit gleefully blasted left and right, putting on quite a show, and (more importantly) drawing the attention of most of the guards. Her powerful Fluxes proved especially frustrating to most of them, as they hadn't even had a real hit yet. She was untouched. Thus, in the darkness and the flashes of lightning and magic, no one really noticed what was going on around the Staff.

If one was to truly inspect, however, they might notice that there was a hole in the inner wards and protections, where the lines of magic were bent up or down, and that it was just large enough to extract a certain long pole-like object. By this point, of course, said object was already gone, as were the outer wards, and in its place was a simple, sealed envelope. It was time. The True Revolution had begun.

At a certain predetermined moment, all of the lights sprang back on, there were collective gasps from the few magicians still in the hall, and a broken window where "Minerva" had just been was an easy indication of her escape route. Three of the guards were flying out the window just behind her, hot on the trail, but the real trouble was the now mostly-empty stand in the center of the room.

Perhaps the Prime Minister put it best: "Oh, bloody Hell..."