The Roe Site: City Cemetery
Bartimaeus waited until they were stepping outside the mausoleum to reply.
“He would not want to kill you because you are insignificant. As am I, no offense intended. But...” and he paused. “I think he would not have killed, or more likely: trapped my soul within the prison of undeath, because there is ... there is as yet insufficient dramatic tension to make for a satisfying narrative conclusion to the movement.” He turned to look at Yshtar without a trace of irony on his face.
“Whatever he is: lich, ascended aberration, vampire, whatever, is incidental compared to the metaphysical Truth of him. First and foremost he is a storyteller. And I fear this means whatever successes we may have in the future will be if not aided, then not maximally inhibited, in no small part because tragedies are the more tragic for the hope of success preceding the heroes’ destruction.
“Yes, I think he recognizes himself as a villain. He embraces it. He is the canvas upon which intrepidity and valor display their worth. For a storyteller, the darker the evil the brighter shines the light, and he desires lights to shine brightly indeed: so much the better for his compositional inspiration.
“So you see: there’s reason not to kill us. It would make a tedious story.”
Bartimaeus looked around and breathed deeply.
“Shall we visit Milo before I am cursed with some Gnomish mischief?”