For those of you reading, sorry for the long wait. A workload and a lack of motivation are to blame. The next chapter will probably be up somewhere around January 7th, if you're wondering.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy or any associated characters. You don't sue me and I won't sue you. Capiche?

Seven

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Nat came back after several minutes looking perturbed. It was an uneasy look, but not overly so – it was as if something had happened yet things had ended up much better off than they logically should have. Didn’t I tell you I was an amazing read of people?

“What’d you ask him?” I inquired with my usual air of laziness.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“You froze up? I’m not surprised.”

“He’d left already.”

“Pity.” I stopped myself from making several degrading comments I could have easily made right here. Hey, as I told you, I was feeling lazy. “I suppose you’ll want to leave, then. Although really you both can just go home from here, I’ve already locked up the store and all.”

“Good,” Jenkins piped up. I groaned. He’d been quiet for so long, but like all good things, his silence had to end too, I guess. “I don’t know about you both, but I want to catch the last part of a program I missed for this.”

He spat out the last word with a tone that indicated he was none too pleased with Lovelace’s little speech. Or perhaps he was just feeling like emphasizing a word dramatically, I really don’t know.

“Have fun,” I drawled. “And you, Nat? Did you have more fun than Jenkins here?”

“Sure.” He was glancing back at the inside of the coffeehouse in a not-so-subtle way, and I saw ample opportunity to strike. Like a wild animal, I am. I go straight for the jugular.

“Looking around for that girl, are we?” I taunted him. I can be pretty merciless. “Getting one last good look at her before you stare at her some more tomorrow?”

“Actually, no.” To my immense disappointment, he only looked slightly irritated by my comment. Usually he got all flustered and nearly threw a fit. “Are you? You seem to enjoy talking about her.”

“Ho hum. Somebody’s feeling feisty.” My disappointment began to dissipate. Every once in a while it was fun to mess with someone who actually fought back. “I didn’t want to tell you this, mate – honestly, it’s just a tragedy – but I think I saw her heading off with some big dude. Handsome fellow as well. I’d say you’re outclassed, Nat. I’m so sorry to break it to you.”

“I don’t know how I shall go on,” he replied, face bland. “And I think you might be mistaken.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“How so?”

“She’s right over there, if you didn’t notice.” He was right. There she was, picking up a table across the patio from us. “I’m so sorry to break it to you.”

“Nice call,” I said, humbled. “Did you know I was bluffing right away? Or did you just see her after I said it?”

“A bit of both,” he replied with a shrug. “I was pretty sure you were lying out of your teeth, and then I saw her right there.”

“Ah. Bummer.” Something occurred to me, and I looked around for a moment. “Where’d Jenkins go?”

“Dunno,” Nathaniel said.

“Maybe he left?” I offered hopefully.

“I hope so. Although if he catches the same bus as me then I just might kill myself.”

“That would be great, if you ask me.” I yawned. “I’m going. It’s late, and I’m old, and those two aren’t a good combination. Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes. I have the day after off.”

“Mmkay.” I scratched my chin. “I think Eva will be working tomorrow. Not sure, though. Maybe Ffoukes.”

“As long as it isn’t Jenkins.”

“Amen to that,” I agreed. We appeared to be two of the last customers still there. “I’ll be heading home, I guess. Goodnight. Don’t stay out too late at any nightclubs.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Goodnight.”

I wasted no time in leaving. I’ll admit, the kid had impressed me with his response to my usually-devastating taunts. He only looked a mite furious this time. He was clearly learning under my tutelage, and I felt a swell of ill-deserved pride at this. Perhaps one day he too would be annoying the hell out of younger (though probably more mature) employees and coworkers as well.

When I got back to my flat I did nothing exciting, as you probably could’ve guessed by now. It’s not like I’m an action hero or anything. If you really want to know just what I did, it went in this order – microwaving dinner, watching the telly, showering, watching the telly, reading the paper, telly, and then bed. And then I got up in the middle of the night to get some ice cream and watch telly again. See? Wasn’t that just a waste of your time? Just trust me on this from here on out.

When I woke up it was more of the same old, same old. But since I just proved how boring it would be to describe that, we won’t this time. Anyways, I got to the store around ten, and the kid and Eva were waiting outside when I got there. I was about to make a snide comment accusing Nat of “cheating” on the coffeehouse girl with Eva, but then I remembered how he’d handled my comments the night before and decided I probably should come up with something more clever this time around. He’d proven he deserved at least a bit of thought on my part (which, for what it’s worth, is equal to the maximum intellectual output of five average men combined – yep, I’m that good).

“Waiting on me, I see. That’s nothing new.” I got out my key, unlocked the front doors, and then swung them open and kicked down the stand on each. “It’s a nice day. I don’t think I even need to turn the air conditioner on.”

“Thank God,” Eva muttered as she followed Nat inside. “It’s always so bloody cold in here.”

“I know,” I said as I walked in after them. “It’s an unwritten rule, actually. Any library or bookstore must have an inside temperature of no more than twenty-one degrees Celsius. Saves me a bunch of money on my heating bill, but the cost to cool the damn thing during the summer is just a killer.”

They didn’t seem to take my little pearl of wisdom for its full value. I think they thought I was joking. I wasn’t. There really is an unwritten rule like that. Go into a library in the next few days. You’ll see what I mean.

We had a pretty decent crowd right out of the gate. Most of them were carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee – I guess Druid’s was a popular place the morning after Lovelace’s speech. I shuddered to think of the cleanup their staff had probably done after carrying so many people. Poor guys.

There was really nothing interesting to report for quite some time. A little business here, a few fun arguments between the kid and Eva there – the normal, really. I was just about to head out to lunch when something interesting did occur, however.

I was heading over to Eva (who was working the desk) to tell her I was going out when the door opened and in walked a very familiar face. Just guess who it is. I’ll give you a hint, even: not Faquarl. I mean, it’s not like I’ve introduced many characters so far as it is, so really it shouldn’t be so hard.

It was Simon Lovelace. No, I’m only kidding. If you guessed that it was the waitress from Druid’s that walked in the door, you would be correct. Although to be perfectly fair Lovelace was a good guess. And you really – oh, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s just call this paragraph foreshadowing (I’m skilled at this particular technique, as I may have already told you) and move on.

After I recovered from my initial shock at seeing her (which wasn’t very long, mind you – half a second, tops), I greeted her with my usual charm and affability.

“What a pleasant surprise,” I said (not even dishonestly). “What brings you into my humble bookshop?”

She didn’t really seem to acknowledge my remarks. In fact, she looked rather bored. I tried my best not to be offended.

“Is Nathaniel here?” she asked, and I was slightly taken aback.

“Nathaniel, huh? I see you two met up again.” This was interesting.

“Maybe. Not your business, really.” Someone was feisty. You probably were able to tell that for yourself, though. “Is he here, though?”

“Yes, but he’s currently indisposed. Meaning he’s sorting out crap in the back.” I shoved up my sleeves casually. “Why’d you want to see him? Want to know if he made the reservations for tonight? Where are you both going?”

She smiled a bit. “Very funny. Could you tell him that everything ended up all right, then? Just not to worry or whatever.”

“Sure,” I said. I gave her a suspicious look. “What exactly happened to you two last night?”

“Like I said, none of your business. Just tell him.”

“Will do. Pleasure seeing you…”

After several seconds she got the hint. Well, it’s not like it’s too often that you get pretty and smart in the same package, anyways. “Kitty Jones.”

“Pleasure seeing you, Kitty Jones. Perhaps we’ll run into each other again sometime soon.”

She smiled again. “With luck. Bye. Make sure you tell him. I don’t want him coming over and bugging me about it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a man of my word,” I replied, not adding in the optional “most of the time” which probably would’ve been more accurate. “Farewell, Kitty Jones.”

“The same.”

She left, and I spent several seconds standing there, grinning like an idiot. Young love. So terrible to experience, yet so fun to watch. I loved these kids. Not really, but you get my meaning.

I waited around for several minutes to see if Nat would come out of the back room, but he didn’t, and I really didn’t feel like going and getting him, either. Taunts are always better when you don’t appear desperate – that’s a rookie mistake. Instead, I decided to go ahead and take my lunch break. There was a sandwich place a bit down the road that was decent but I really don’t think you care about exactly which sandwich I ate and what I did while I ate it (a BLT and reading the paper, respectively), so I won’t waste any more time describing that.

When I got back to the store, Nathaniel and Eva had switched places. I tried to restrain myself and not appear too giddy.

“Had a good day so far, Natty boy?” I asked, perhaps a bit too gleefully.

“Not really,” he said, and he sounded a bit grumpy. “Some of the boxes in the back room were mislabeled, so I’ve been reorganizing and redistributing all the books back there.”

“I hate it when that happens,” I replied in a sympathetic voice, knowing full well that I was probably the one that had labeled the boxes incorrectly and not feeling guilty at all about it. “I’ve got something that might cheer you up, though.”

“Oh really?” He was skeptical.

“Really,” I said.

“And what would that be?”

I let myself grin a bit. “Your bird stopped by the store.”

“My bird?”

“You know, your bird. Your girlfriend. Your acquaintance. Your casual friend. Your –”

“Okay, let’s just stop before you get completely inappropriate.” It was apparent that he already knew me far too well. He sighed. “You mean the girl from Druid’s, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “Kitty Jones.”

“That’s her name?”

“Yup. Odd that you don’t know it, seeing as she is your girl. But maybe the game has changed since my days as a young stag.”

“I know that you’re trying to annoy me, and I know that I should just ignore it, but I’ll admit it, I’m slightly annoyed.”

“Aw, shucks, Nat. Don’t make me blush.”

He looked back to the computer and did his best to look disinterested. “Did she just come in and buy some books? Or is there something actually important you want to tell me?”

“Unfortunately for me, she didn’t buy anything,” I answered, affecting a fake pout. “But she did say something rather interesting.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” I said. I was silent for a while. It’s always good to draw it out; that way it’s more dramatic. I picked that up from Faquarl a long time ago. “She said to tell you everything ended up all right, and not to worry, whatever that means.”

He did a good job of containing any emotions he might have had at this piece of news, and it was hard to get a read on him, even for me.

“I see.” He stared at the computer, blank-faced. “That’s good.”

“Unfortunately, she did not elaborate on the situation, which was just torture for someone as nosy as me,” I continued. “Perhaps you would like to inform me just what happened?”

“Not really. Not much happened. And besides, it’s none of your business.”

“That’s what she said.” I paused for a second, realizing I had just said a very popular joke without meaning to, and furthermore, without making it as inappropriate as it deserved to be. Perhaps I was losing my touch. “C’mon, Nat. Throw me a bone here.”

“No. Trust me, it’s not that interesting.” This posed two problems. First of all, I didn’t believe him. Second of all, this only made me more interested. Don’t you hate it when that happens? “It doesn’t really matter.”

“That’s it. You’re getting demoted!”

“To what?” he snorted. “It’s not like I get paid very much anyways.”

“Touché.”

He shook his head and clicked the pen in his hand absent-mindedly. “Face it, Bartimaeus. You’re not getting anything out of me. I’m just not that stupid.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Trust me, I’ll find out. You shouldn’t have gotten me so interested in it. Now I’ll be sleuthing around until I find out what happened.”

“It’s no bother to me,” he said with a shrug. “Actually, this will probably be pretty amusing. Tell me when you go ‘sleuthing around,’ as you put it. I want to watch. Maybe I’ll bring a video camera, too. We could make a series out of this, get the BBC to pick it up as a comedy, even.”

“No need to go any further, I can already tell where you’re going.” He really was starting to improve on his wittiness. This was starting to get fun. “Lemme guess: you were going to say that we should pitch it as, ‘A reality series that follows an idiot pseudo-detective who trollops around London, trying to find out something that is none of his business and really not that important.’”

“Yes, that’s pretty much what I was going to say about that.”

As I’d guessed. I was still the master. “Damn straight. Don’t get too cocky over there. You may be improving, but I’m still older and wiser. Remember that.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I definitely will.”

By then I’d had enough of his sassiness. I left him to himself and patrolled around the store for the rest of the day. It was a relatively quiet day; we could’ve probably gotten by with only two people working, or maybe even one. Don’t tell Faquarl that, though. I’ll never hear the end of it.

I closed up at eight that night, which was a couple of hours earlier than I normally did. It was a slow day, and I was tired. Besides, Nat and Eva were just kids; they shouldn’t have been working twelve hour days. They should have been crashing cars and experimenting with drugs and getting arrested. You know, all that rebellious crap teenagers do. Unfortunately, I knew Eva had plenty on her plate as it was with school and work and all, and Nat would be scandalized if you even suggested breaking the law to him. That kid was going to have quite a shock in store for him at university, I’ll tell you that.

The next day – Saturday, was it? – I took off. I lazed about my flat for a bit, eventually dragging myself off to lunch at two, and then subsequently to the grocery store. There was also a brief trip to an electronics store, where I hoped to pick up an upgrade for my computer’s photo-editing program, but the salesman was of no help, and I only became more confused. I hate technology. It only complicates things. It’s dead useful, but it’s also a pain in the arse. Dunno how that works, but trust me, it does.

That night I observed my rather storied tradition of not really doing anything and just ordering Chinese food as I attempted to find the crappiest movies I could on the telly. I observed another rite of mine by drooling myself to sleep as I (hardly) watched another crappy teen romance flick.

To make up for my laziness on Saturday, I got into the store extra early on Sunday, which means I actually got in there on time (I was often late on Sundays – as I’ve told you, we open up early for the church crowds, and I’m not a morning person). Anne was working again, along with Ffoukes. An interesting duo – each was on completely opposite ends of the spectrum as far as work ethic went. I don’t think I need to specify who was on what side.

We had the usual Sunday morning crowd, and for a while it was rather dull around the store, as it usually is. I kept Ffoukes at the desk where I could keep an eye on him; if I allowed him to work in the back room or roam around the store (which is what I was doing), I knew he would abuse his freedom and not really do anything at all. I’m not implying that that’s bad in any way. It’s exactly what I would do in his situation. But it’s just not good business acumen to let your employees doze off in the self-help section whenever they get the opportunity.

I took my lunch break at one. Instead of going out to eat, I just got a sandwich from a nearby restaurant and took it back to my flat, where I looked over some bills and watched a football match on TV. I was just getting into the match when I realized that I had taken too long of a break, so I hurried back to the shop, still chewing on the last pieces of crust from my sandwich.

Ffoukes had seemingly taken his break while I was away, and, fully knowing that he probably wouldn’t be seen for two hours or so (don’t ask me what the hell he was doing – I didn’t know and didn’t want to know), I took the desk.

First up was an old lady who seemed to have an affinity for murder mysteries. She took a while to find the correct notes with which to pay me. When she finally finished three days later (slight exaggeration), a young dude with long greasy hair came forward with several biographies of rock bands. I was about to remark that it was a tad too late to audition for Zeppelin, but I don’t think he would’ve made the connection with the long hair and all. Judging from his book selection, he was probably some grunge fan, anyways.

For several minutes it was quiet. However, right after three o’clock, something of note did occur. For the second time in three days, the door opened, and an all-too-familiar face could be seen over the counter.

“Faquarl.” If you listened very carefully, you could hear children scream and run away from the sound of his name. No joke. “I must say I’m surprised to see you here. I would have thought that the last visit to my store would have weakened you too much to return so soon. Aren’t you allergic to well-run business operations?”

“I thought you were, Bartimaeus, but your tongue seems as strong as ever.” He was dressed to kill, and I don’t mean in a good way. It had been a long time since I’d seen Faquarl in a suit. “Or perhaps you’re just drugged up at the moment. I doubt it would be the first time.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I agreed. I nodded at him questioningly. “What’s with the snazzy suit?”

Faquarl had always been one to dress nicely, or at least nicer than I did (which wasn’t saying much – I’d been known to show up to the store in sweatpants or pajamas before), but the suit was a bit much. It looked like one of those ridiculous designer suits, too.

“Meeting with the executives downtown,” he sneered. Smug bastard. “I’m one of the three managers invited.”

“You don’t look like it.” I wasn’t complimenting him, either. “Hold on, the executives… are they the ones who own your store? I know you aren’t, but I can never remember who does. It’s so confusing.”

A bit of his smirk faded away. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. If you were invited you’d probably go looking… well, like you do right now.”

“Fair point,” I admitted. “Nice suit. Did you have to take out a loan to get it? Are you going to be living off of canned tuna for the next month?”

“I was wondering when you would comment about that,” he muttered.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Faquarl,” I continued in a concerned tone. “If you need help paying rent this month, just call me up. I have some extra cash lying around. I guess I won’t be going to any strip clubs for a few weeks, though.”

“Poor you,” he said. He didn’t sound very sympathetic. “I’m sure you can put them off for a while.”

“I don’t know. The girls might miss me.”

“I seriously doubt that. And knowing how cheap you are, I really doubt they’ll miss your tips, either.”

“You really don’t want to continue this conversation,” I warned him in near-gleeful tones. This was going to be great if he did. “You might not like where this will go.”

“Oh good Lord. You really are twisted.”

It would have been wrong for me to deny it. “Yup.”

“Have you always been this perverted?” he asked, somewhat curious and somewhat disgusted. “Or is this a new development?”

“No, I was born this way,” I said. “You’re just not very intuitive.”

“Apparently not,” he agreed.

I turned away from him and opened up the internet browser on the computer. “So. Why are you here? Besides checking up on my latest psychological developments, I mean.”

“Oh.” He put his hands in his very small and crisply pressed pockets. “I just wanted to know if you attended the Lovelace speech. I didn’t see you there.”

“I did,” I said, “and I didn’t see you there, either. I didn’t think you’d gone.”

This was a lie. I’d completely forgotten that Faquarl was planning on going. If I had, I would’ve joined Nat in hiding under the table. But I wasn’t going to tell Faquarl that. It’s not like he had any friends, anyway. That would’ve just been mean.

“I did,” he said. “Did you go alone?”

“No. I went with two of my employees.”

“How sweet, Bartimaeus,” he remarked. “You pay people to be your friends.”

“Of course I do!” I exclaimed in a mock bullish tone that matched his fake saccharine one. “You should try it sometime. Although I really don’t know what kind of rates you’d have to offer. Coupled with the suit, you might have to sell off some of your things to pay off your debt. I’d invite you to move in with me, but I really don’t like you that much.”

“Thanks. You’re a real chum.”

“Always have been. That’s why they call me Bartimaeus the Friendly.”

“Is that the screenname you use when you’re soliciting children online?” he asked over his shoulder as he examined a book from the bestseller table. “Because that’s not the first name I’d think of for you. There are several others that are only a couple syllables long, though.”

I winced. “Ouch. That’s cold.”

“You don’t deny it, then?” he prompted. He was really pushing it. I must’ve irritated him somehow. No clue what set him off.

“Oh, come on,” I scoffed. “My perversion has its limits, thank you very much. I usually draw a line right about where the legislative system does.”

“Somehow I doubt that. As I recall you’ve never been too fond of rules, or morals for that matter.”

“I’ve also never been fond of spending twenty-five to life in prison, either,” I retorted. This conversation was quickly becoming even more disturbing, and I wasn’t even the one spearheading the shift. How odd. “I don’t know about you, though. You seem the type.”

“Oh yes,” he said sarcastically. “That’s me. I just can’t help myself.”

I said nothing in response, and turned back to the internet browser. The page I’d clicked on was still loading.

“Well,” I breathed as I stared at the screen with my patented determination, “this has been one of our more interesting conversations, if I do say so myself.”

“Yes, it has.” He checked his expensive-looking name brand knockoff watch, taking care not to ruffle his sleeves too much. “I should probably be going. The executives will be waiting on me.”

“Very well,” I said. “Go get ’em, tiger. Knock their socks off. Maybe they’ll give you a pay raise if you really suck up to them. Make sure to get their coffee orders right.”

“Go to hell.”

“Reminds me of the last time we talked,” I commented. “Although I have no intention of insulting my store as you did. But call me after the meeting and tell me how it is. Hell, I mean. I imagine it’s quite like filling up a bottomless cup of coffee for corrupt business executives.”

“That’s it. I’m leaving.” He straightened his tie, his flustered motions giving away his irritability. “Goodbye, Bartimaeus.”

“Goodbye. Do stop by again, it’s been fun.”

“Don’t expect it any time soon.”

“Oh bother. You really know how to kill my spirits.”

“Good,” he said. “Now. Goodbye.”

“Bye!” I called after him as he exited the store. Faquarl’s visits were always so much fun. My mood was much improved from fifteen minutes beforehand.

Unfortunately, the rest of the day was not nearly as thrilling. There was a mite of an argument between Anne and Ffoukes (she thought he was lazy – no idea where she came up with that one), but that was during a period with no business, so really it wasn’t that thrilling. Shouting matches are always more fun when you have to both play peacekeeper between your employees and divert the attention of the forming crowd away to something more pleasant. I’ve had plenty experience in that area, and by now I quite looked forward to arguments just to see how quickly I can break them up and how many people I can stop from gathering around. My personal best is one minute and eleven (respectively), in case you were wondering. Try beating that.

I lazily broke up this argument as a customer came in, and Anne and Ffoukes returned to their work (well, Anne did, anyways). It was a fair day for business overall; I was pretty busy until nine o’clock or so. The last of the customers had trickled out by ten, and I closed shop then with some help from Anne.

I stopped by a pub on the way home. It had been a while since I’d sat down and watched a game at a nice bar. This bar wasn’t exactly nice, per se, but the beer was good. I only had a bottle, though. Honest. Then I just had a glass of water. I may be a good many things, but a drunk isn’t one of them. I probably would be, but I just despise hangovers and do anything I can to avoid them.

I had some good conversations with the bartender and some of the other patrons, who were all in varied states of sobriety.

“Say, Ern, what was the name of that bird you hooked up with?” asked one man, only slurring his words slightly. “Eleanor? Elfie?”

“Susannah,” said Ern. “Nice lady.”

“Yeah.” The first man looked at his empty beer bottle sadly. “Damn, I’m out. Oh well. Hey Ern – d’you think you could hook me up with Susan there? I reckon she’d like me.”

“But I was going to call her back,” Ern protested.

“So?” the first man said, voice rising in pitch. “Does that mean I can’t call her up too? It’s not like she has to be monagolous… monacromous… mo–”

“Monogamous?” I suggested.

“Yeah, that.”

“I dunno,” Ern replied. He seemed to be thinking over it quite a bit, and when you’re drunk thinking is never fun. “I guess she wouldn’t mind. Hell, I don’t know. Buy me a beer and I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit!” cried the first one. He waved his hands in the air like a decapitated chicken and began craning his neck to look down the bar (which, ironically, is something a decapitated chicken can’t do). “Bartender! Oy, bartender!”

“I’m right here,” said the bartender, who was standing directly in front of them.

The man stared at him for a second, astonished. “Wow. That was fast. You’re good. Were you hiding under there?”

I decided that this was my cue to leave. There are certain levels of stupidity or drunkenness that just aren’t funny. Granted, they’re exceptionally hard to obtain, but these fellows looked like they just might get there, and I didn’t want to stick around to witness it, especially seeing as how Ern kept flicking his lighter lazily in his hand. Next thing you knew he’d end up lighting the whole pub on fire, and I really didn’t feel like saving a bunch of drunks from a fire that was fed by burning alcohol. Some of them looked heavy, and the thought of all that liquor going to waste was just depressing.

When I exited the pub it was just past eleven. My chest ached something awful for several minutes as I walked home – probably heartburn. I made a mental note to stop by the convenience store on the way to work the next morning and get some medicine for that.

I didn’t stay up too late when I got back to my flat. I diddled around for several minutes, watching some reality crap on one of those supposed “music” channels, but when I got up to get a drink of milk I noticed my copy of the new NME lying on the counter. I must’ve brought it in that morning and forgotten about it. While I was no fan of the aforementioned “music” channels, I did like the new young bands, and so did have a subscription to several music magazines. NME wasn’t my favorite, but it had broken a few good bands (and subsequently completely over-hyped them), and it was always worth a read.

I took the magazine in my bedroom and settled myself into bed with it, turning the telly on in the background. I have to have music or the TV on while I’m reading: I can’t stand just silence. I read about half of it before I began to get tired, and so then turned off the lights and lay down as I watched some sports special on the BBC. After several minutes I had given up on trying to stay awake and surrendered myself to sleep, the TV still blaring in the background.

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