Hey, to whoever would read this! Thanks for popping by my fic and hopefully it would be to your liking. Don't be afraid to nitpick, I can handle criticism, but please don't just outwardly say that it sucks, heh heh, I'd appreciate constructive criticism. I've actually been a fan of the Bartimaeus Trilogy for the longest time, and when they had made a category for it, I was ecstatic. Although it took me time to write a story, I'm happy that I got around to it. I also have another fic coming up, so hopefully look out for it.

The Phantom's Mask

Chapter One

Nathaniel: Standing on the Border

'Fading... Almost gone...'

There had been no photographs taken of Nathaniel as he was a child, so as John Mandrake stared upon the ornately designed mirror of his townhouse, he saw barely any difference from what he saw now, and what he remembered seeing before. What basis did he have for any comparison? Only memories that he sought hard to recover. He had stayed the same, for all he could remember, save for his unrulier hair and the dark bags beneath his eyes, yet the disquieting words of Bartimaeus had struck him cold this warm night in his well ventilated house.

Surveying himself intently in front of the life size mirror from bottom to top, Nathaniel could only note the tangible changes that his body had undergone. His height had increased indefinitely, which had added to his leanness. His ribs ached from that ridiculously tight suit, though dignity would not allow him to change it. His hands had grown calloused and ink-stained, due to the many documents he had to rummage through. His hair had turned into an untamed, dark mass which he no longer attempted to control. His face lost whatever baby fat it once contained and his facial features had been defined, albeit quite sunken in.

Pride would not allow him to admit these thoughts to anyone else.

'Nathaniel... Mandrake...'

The difference between those two words did not rest simply on their phonetics. One had been an identity, the other, a façade. But that realization was far from reaching the mind of the fourteen year old boy, who was on the brink of his fifteenth year. No doubt, it would be a joyless birthday, such an occasion was too insignificant to be remembered, but Nathaniel found that he yearned to be known for who he was, not just for what he had done. Still, it was a fool's whim.

John Mandrake had gained renown for first uncovering and foiling Simon Lovelace's plans of rebellion, and afterwards he had recovered Gladstone's staff and that whole nasty business with the Golem. Nathaniel had fulfilled all the expectations he had for himself. He had made the name John Mandrake famous, and he had done it for himself and for himself alone.

'From the cunning alchemist to the man who researched about mites, to me... The youngest minister ever,' said Nathaniel in a phlegmatic tone. His knees buckled and he fell on them in front of the mirror, 'of all these bloody nights, why this one?' muttered Nathaniel as memories of the past events flooded through his mind. From Underwood, to Lovelace, to the Resistance, his mind was mired with a tired weariness.

Removing his gaze from the intoxicating mirror, he staggered onto the chair of his desk and buried his head in his arms. Massaging his temples, Nathaniel ran his bony fingers through his tangled hair, but found the action quite painful. He sighed and his head drooped onto his paper laden desk. A clunking sound resonated through his head, and he felt a dull pain on his forehead. Nathaniel groaned wearily and lifted his head. He felt around the table and his fingers touched a cold piece of metal, 'My scrying glass,' murmured Nathaniel in the dark. It had lost its shining luster, and had turned into a dull disc that distorted his reflection.

'That kid from the alley... Little spy...'

'Kitty?' Nathaniel's head turned from side to side as a new voice cut through his mind, 'Kitty, Kitty, Kitty...' groaned Nathaniel again and again, as his head fell towards his desk again. Bartimaeus' sardonic drawl was replaced by Kitty's livid tone. He could vividly remember the dead girl, with her straight, black hair, and obstinate temperament. He scowled as he remembered all the difficulty she had put him through.

'Callous... Wicked... Heartless... Vain...'

Her biting accusations came clearer in his head, than Bartimaeus' undecipherable statements. 'Who was she to generalize us magicians?' muttered Nathaniel angrily, 'the gall of that commoner...' She was a headstrong girl, and she clearly had no regard for the law. She had obviously despised magicians, Nathaniel most especially, and yet she had saved him, a fact Nathaniel had yet to completely comprehend. She had been his savior.

But now, all Kathleen Jones was to Nathaniel was a ghost.

Nathaniel found himself in a rather odd position when he woke up. He was sprawled on the floor with his right leg hanging off the seat of his desk chair and his scrying disk wedged between his fingers. His hair was in its usual state of disarray as he checked the clock which hung over his desk.

'Oh hell!' cursed Nathaniel as he bolted from the floor and jumped into the bathroom. He was out in moments with his hair in a dreadfully soggy state and his incredibly tight suit was askew. He ran to his desk and rammed all of his papers into his leather satchel and descended his staircase at a record speed and leapt out of his home and into his chauffeured car.

'G'day Mister Mandrake, sir,' said his driver in the most chipper tone he could manage. Surprisingly enough, Nathaniel had become quite acquainted with his chauffeur and found that Leonard Morris was quite the companionable fellow.

'Good day to you as well Lenny,' replied Nathaniel, in a less than chipper tone as he attempted to settle himself in a comfortable position in the plush, green, leather seat of the car with his bulky satchel in tow.

'You don't seem to be too eager today, sir?' remarked Lenny in his usual optimistic brogue, 'Bad night I suppose? Something dreadful going on in the office? I'm certain that it must have been quite something to throw you off track today, sir.'

Nathaniel grinned subtly at the man's disregard for status, a quality Nathaniel could respect him for, or reprimand him for. Fortunately it was the former, 'the former I suppose Lenny, though I'd rather stray from the topic than get into it too much,' said the young boy carefully, as he addressed the older man, 'So, how is your family?

'Oh, they're simply wonderful Mister Mandrake, my son had just...' Nathaniel had at first found it strange that an older man had been addressing him as "sir" or as "mister," but he had gotten used to it. He no longer heard the words coming from Lenny's mouth, but Nathaniel nodded and laughed whenever it seemed appropriate, as he was taught to do so, but once again he was lost in his thoughts. He looked at everything that passed by in his car, but he only saw the commoners, stopping in the streets to try and peer into the tinted windows of the car, but with phlegmatic causality.

They were aware of so little, but seemed to know so much more.

'Well, off to work you go Mister Mandrake,' said Lenny as he pulled to a smooth stop, 'Good luck at work sir, though I'm certain that you'll pull through,' said the driver with a conversational grin. Nathaniel smiled quickly at him and exited the car with relative ease. Entering the building, Nathaniel greeted anyone who crossed his path in the many corridors with a slight flick of the wrist or a casual nod as he made his way to his office.

But before he could twist the door knob open, he heard a loud, harried cry from behind him, 'Mister Mandrake! Mister Mandrake, sir!' Nathaniel turned around in surprise, and found a foliot in the guise of a youth not older than him, 'The Prime Minister requests your presence. He deems the subject matter quite urgent.'

A spark in Nathaniel's eye lit up as he heard those words; perhaps he had remembered that it was soon to be his birthday. Mister Devereaux had been quite generous to him over the span of his career, and it wasn't completely implausible. Nodding carefully, Nathaniel followed the foliot to where Devereaux had been waiting. Nathaniel entered one of the many conference rooms and there he found Devereaux, alone, pacing around the room calmly.

'Ah, Mandrake, at last,' said Devereaux as he glanced at his watch quickly, 'Running a bit late today aren't you?' He sat down on a seat which was at the head of the table and gestured for Nathaniel to do the same.

Nathaniel hastily sat on the chair, across from that of Devereaux's, 'Pardon me sir, I'm afraid that-'

'It's perfectly fine Mandrake,' interjected Devereaux quickly, 'Anyway, I'm assuming that Loggins spoke to you of the urgency of this matter,' said Devereaux, referring to the foliot which had lead him to the conference room, 'So let us not waste anymore time, and let us delve into the subject now.'

'Of course, sir.'

'Yes, well there are two matters which I need to speak with you on,' continued Devereaux, 'First of all, I've noticed, along with a few others, that you've yet to summon a competent demon to do your bidding.'

'Sir, I've realized that but you see-'

Devereaux held out a hand to silence the boy. 'Your excuses aren't necessary Mandrake, but considering your current position, you will need some assistance in handling your daily activities, and though I trust that you will find a demon to your liking soon enough, I have taken the liberty of hiring a personal assistant for you,' the door from behind Nathaniel opened and a short girl with long dark hair entered the room, 'Mandrake, meet Annika Farber, my cousin's daughter.'

'It's very nice to meet you Mister Mandrake,' said Farber in a hesitant tone. Nathaniel gave her an apathetic nod.

'I trust you need no orientation Farber,' the skittish girl nodded, and Devereaux waved a hand to dismiss her. 'Now to the second matter I wish to discuss with you,' said Devereaux in a hushed voice as Farber left the room. Nathaniel's ears perked up, hoping that Devereaux's announcement had to do with a specific date, 'Now, I believe I shan't need to stress the confidentiality on this matter.' Nathaniel nodded, 'Excellent. A threat had been sent to the government, and it appears that a new resistance group has been formed, but it doesn't seem as if this group was formed by commoners, we have reason to believe that the group would be composed of rogue magicians or a few demons.'

Nathaniel's spirits sank for a moment, but the entire affair intrigued him, 'What reasons would those be sir?' Nathaniel asked respectfully.

From beneath the table, Devereaux retrieved a small pile of folders and took out a small stack of photographs. He slid them across the table and Nathaniel gathered them dexterously, 'You'll see that it isn't quite likely that commoners sent the threat.'

Nathaniel scanned the photographs which lay in his hands. The pictures were mostly of a brick wall in some random back alley, but what distinguished the picture were the crudely scratched words that seemed to be smoldering. The jagged and serrated sides of the words were far too crude to be cut by any sort of instrument; it looked as if a large claw had done it. Nathaniel studied the photograph intently and was perplexed by what had been cut into the wall, 'But Sir, the words do not seem to make any sense,' said Nathaniel, studying the picture, 'Is it in some sort of code or cipher?'

Devereaux smiled broadly at Nathaniel's aptitude, 'Quick deduction, Mandrake,' said Devereaux in approval, after taking a decagonal staff from beneath the table he walked over to Nathaniel and from his pocket he took a long strip of paper, 'Have you heard of the Spartan scytale?

'I'm not too familiar with cryptography sir.'

'Yes, well, I thought as much,' Devereaux gave a quick smile and proceeded to explain, 'We had immediately come up with the conclusion that it was indeed a code, we had tried many patterns, but none of the results made sense, until we tried the Spartan scytale. I shan't bore you with the scytale's history, but we basically wrote the letters from top to bottom onto this strip of paper and wound it around on the staff,' Devereaux demonstrated, 'And thus, here are the results:

'A hand at the level of an ever wary eye,
We shall reveal the masked distortion,
Set a plague upon the crackling face,
Strangle the truth from the condemned souls...'

'Interesting,' was the only reply that came from Nathaniel, 'It sounds strangely familiar though, especially the first line.'

Devereaux smiled broadly at Nathaniel once more, 'Indeed, Mandrake,' he said, 'By these clues we were given in this threat, we can logically deduce that they are after the Phantom's Mask.'

'Very operatic.'

'I thought so as well,' said Devereaux with a chuckle, 'The Phantom's Mask is a very potent relic which was said to originate from France, though its current position is unknown to us. Although most of its properties and functions are still a mystery to us, we have confirmed knowledge that the Mask, when put on, shows the truth; it reveals the essence or core of whatever you look at. It is also rumored to have been utilized as an offensive weapon, but we have yet to receive any confirmation or information,' explained Devereaux.

'And you would like for me to retrieve this Mask before the resistance group does?'

'Precisely Mandrake,' replied Devereaux, as he retrieved a folder and handed it to Nathaniel, 'We have gathered some research, regarding the Phantom's Mask, but I'm afraid that it will not be enough for you to be able to successfully retrieve it. So, I would like you to first see what you can find on the Mask, and of course, uncover the resistance group and hinder them from capturing the mask.' Devereaux studied Nathaniel as he calmly sorted through the documents, 'I'm certain that your abilities will match up to these tasks.'

'Yes, of course, sir,' replied Nathaniel in a hushed voice.

Devereaux glanced at the boy again, with a more sympathetic eye, 'It seems that something is bothering you today John,' said Devereaux, 'Does Annika seem a bit too skittish for you? Or perhaps the task has had you a bit overwhelmed?'

Nathaniel shook his head hastily, 'Oh no Mister Devereaux, I don't mind at all.'

'Then what is it Mandrake?' asked Devereaux, he raised an eyebrow in thought, 'Hmm, what date is it today boy?'

'It's November the-'

'Of course!' exclaimed Devereaux instantly, 'Your birthday is coming up, isn't it John? I believe in two days from now,' Nathaniel nodded, 'Well then, you may take the day off then and do what you wish, though I'm afraid that there is a bit too much to do to allow me to give you a vacation.'

'It's quite alright, sir.' responded Nathaniel, unable to hide the large grin on his face, 'Do you have anything else to say to me, Mister Devereaux?' He began arranging the folders and documents into his satchel.

'No, nothing more Mandrake,' answered Devereaux. 'You may go.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'You're quite welcome.'

Nathaniel gave a curt bow before the Prime Minister and exited the room, his excitement contained. As the door behind him clicked to a close, he was greeted by a barrage of stutters, 'Mister Mandrake, sir!' Nathaniel groaned as he saw his new assistant, Annika something or another; skip (and trip) up to him in the most ungainly fashion, 'Mister Mandrake, sir! May I take your bag?' she made an edgy grab for his satchel, but he snatched it away from her reach immediately.

'There is no need Miss...' Nathaniel replied brusquely, drawing a blank on her name.

'Farber! Annika Farber, sir,' replied Farber skittishly, scratching her head in anxiety, 'Mister Devereaux said to me that I was in charge of telling you your schedule, so I suppose that I will tell you your schedule now?' she looked at Nathaniel, expecting an answer.

He gave her a steely glance, and began heading towards his office, 'I suppose so.

She inhaled sharply as she scurried after him and began talking, 'Miss Malbindi requests your presence in half an hour, afterwards you shall lunch with Miss Whitwell, and after that Mister Leonard Morris shall take you to a public conference.'

Reaching his office, Nathaniel entered it smoothly, and faced Farber sharply, 'Thank you Miss Farber.' And with that he shut the door.

'Mister Mandrake! Mister Mandrake! Sir, you seemed to have locked the door on me!' wailed the girl in the most annoying voice Nathaniel had ever heard. Leaning against the door with a weak groan, he tried to block out Farber's squeaky sniveling, but failed horribly.

After an excruciatingly long day, Nathaniel collapsed onto the floor of his townhouse as soon as the door behind him shut close. His new assistant may have had good intentions, but she was simply too... anxious to accomplish anything professionally. Still, Devereaux had seemed rather proud of her, being blood related to the jumpy girl, and Nathaniel did not want to upset him after all he had done for him.

After he had managed to get up, Nathaniel walked over to a balcony which displayed London, and all its subtle wonder. The sun was about to set over the dark buildings, casting a soft, but fading glow upon everything. He was getting closer and closer to his fifteenth year, and regardless of Devereaux's present, Nathaniel did not really look forward to his birthday.

His fifteenth year didn't seem to have any more significance than his fourteenth. He was toeing the line between the two great forces, past the point of no return, but unable to cross the border, but the border wasn't only between the two years .

The line between Nathaniel and John Mandrake had been growing thinner and thinner as each day passed, he had been too blind to see it, and his ears had also fallen deaf to Bartimaeus' calm warning. Nathaniel could only catch a glimpse of it now, as he delved into the depths of his mind. Scoffing to himself, as he realized that this revelation came quite late in his life, as short as it had been, he knew that there was no way for him to offset all that he had done. It was not that he was unhappy with his life. It was that confusion and doubt began to seep in, and truth seemed to elude him each time he made a grab for it.

Unhooking the latch of his satchel, he rummaged through the papers and when his fingers brushed against a cool sheet of metal, he pulled out his scrying disc and fingered it in thought. 'Was this scrying disc all that remained from before, when John Mandrake barely existed?' Nathaniel reflected pensively upon the dull piece of bronze, 'the trousers, the suit, the townhouse; all of it belongs to John Mandrake, but not this...'

Glancing once more at the relic of his past, Nathaniel frowned at its lack of luster. When he'd first had it, it was shining with a gleam Nathaniel had worked hard on, and he wanted to see that gleam once more. Nathaniel got up from his current position and went into the kitchen to search for a rag and some polish. Sitting on a kitchen stool, he got to work, applying the polish onto the rag and buffing the disc.

Its glint was returning, and Nathaniel polished it even more eagerly. Nathaniel now saw the disc as he had seen it years before, when he had first had it. The pride he had in the disc was returning little by little, as its newfound luster gleamed eagerly at him.

He studied his newly buffed scrying disk with a contained pride. It had been a dull piece of metal for the longest time, but with Nathaniel's help, it had returned to its normal state and lost its faded façade.

Well past the point of no return, Nathaniel could only think with a dying hope, 'Perhaps there is a chance of turning back...'

And with that I bid you all adieu, and merci bu coup, the weird thing is that I don't speak French, but what the heck… Anyway, thank you so much for reading my fic, and I hope that you enjoy it. Could you please leave a review to let me know how you liked it, whether or not you did, I mean. I don't mind constructive criticism, and nitpicking, since I think that I would pretty much do the same. Thanks!