Ptolemy's Gate by Jonathan Stroud

how did it happen, sir?” Kitty ventured. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
    â€œMy leg?” The old gentleman lowered his brows, glanced left and right, and looked up at Kitty. He spoke in a sinister whisper. “Marid.”
    â€œA marid? But aren’t they the most—?”
    â€œThe most powerful type of commonly summoned demon. Correct.” Mr. Button’s smile was slightly smug. “I’m no slouch, my dear. Not that any of my colleagues ”—he spoke the word with vehement distaste—“would admit as such, blast them. I’d like to see Rupert Devereaux or Carl Mortensen do as well.” He sniffed, settled back into his sofa. “The irony of it was that I just wanted to ask it a few questions. Wasn’t going to enslave it at all. Anyway, I’d forgotten to add a Tertiary Fettering; the thing broke out and had my leg off before the automatic Dismissal set in.” He shook his head. “That’s the penalty of curiosity, my dear. Well, I get by somehow. I’ll find another assistant, if the Americans don’t kill our entire population of young males.”
    He took a tetchy bite of his spice cake. Even before he had swallowed, Kitty had made up her mind. “I’ll help you out, sir.”
    The old magician blinked at her. “You?”
    â€œYes, sir. I’ll be your assistant.”
    â€œI’m sorry, my dear, but I thought you worked for Hyrnek’s.”
    â€œOh, I do, sir, but only temporarily. I’m looking for other work. I’m very interested in books and magic, sir. Really I am. I’ve always wanted to learn about it.”
    â€œIndeed. Do you speak Hebrew?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œOr Czech? Or French? Or Arabic?”
    â€œNo, none of those, sir.”
    â€œIndeed …” For a moment Mr. Button’s face became less amiable, less courteous. He looked at her sidelong, out of halfshut eyes. “And the fact of the matter is, of course, that you are nothing but a commoner’s girl.…”
    Kitty nodded brightly. “Yes, sir. But I’ve always believed that misfortunes of birth shouldn’t stand in the way of talent. I’m energetic and quick, and nimble too.” She gestured around the maze of dusty piles. “I’ll be able to get hold of any book you like, fast as thinking. From the bottom of the farthest stack.” She grinned, and took a sip of tea.
    The old man was rubbing his chin with small, plump fingers, muttering to himself. “A commoner’s child … unvetted … it is highly unorthodox … in fact, the authorities expressly forbid it. But well, after all—why not?” He tittered to himself. “Why shouldn’t I? They’ve seen fit to neglect me all these years. It would be an interesting experiment … and they’d never know, blast them.” He looked at Kitty again, eyes narrowed. “You know I couldn’t pay you anything.”
    â€œThat’s all right, sir. I’m, erm, interested in knowledge for its own sake. I’ll get other work. I could help you out whenever you needed it, part-time.”
    â€œVery well, then, very well.” Mr. Button extended a small pink hand. “We shall see how it works out. Neither of us has any contractual obligation to the other, you understand, and we are free to terminate the relationship at any time. Mind—if you are lazy or dishonest I shall raise a horla to shrivel you. But goodness, where are my manners? I’ve not yet asked your name.”
    Kitty selected an identity. “Lizzie Temple, sir.”
    â€œWell, Lizzie, very glad to have met you. I hope we shall get along well.”
    And so they had. From the beginning Kitty made herself indispensable to Mr. Button. To start with, her chores were entirely concerned with navigating her way about his dark and cluttered house, accessing obscure books in distant stacks, and bringing