The Golem's Eye

by Jonathan Stroud

  “Get on with it then,” Duvall said. “And mind, no lies.”

  Nathaniel drew himself upright and passed his tongue across his lips. He saw nothing but hostility in the eyes of the senior magicians, except—and this was his only hope now—perhaps those of Mr. Devereaux himself. There he discerned something that might have been uncertainty, mixed with extreme irritation. Nathaniel cleared his throat. He had long prided himself on his bond with the Prime Minister. Now was the time to put it to the test.

  “Thank you for the opportunity to speak, sir,” he began. He tried to give his voice an easy, calm assertion, but fear constricted it into a squeak. Simply the thought of the House of Persuasion, an area of the Tower of London given over to interrogation of prisoners, made him tremble. Bartimaeus had been right: by his actions, he had become vulnerable to his enemies. Now he had to out-talk them. “Mr. Duvall’s insinuations are groundless,” he said, “and Ms. Farrar is, to say the least, overeager. I hope that there is still time to make good the damage that they have done.”

  He heard Jane Farrar snort discreetly somewhere beside him. Mr. Duvall emitted a snarl of protest that was cut off by a single look from the Prime Minister. Somewhat emboldened, Nathaniel pressed on. “My trip to Prague and the issue of the girl are two entirely separate things, sir. It is true that I believe many of the attacks in London to be the work of a golem; my investigations into that are not yet finished. Meanwhile I have been using this youth”—he nodded toward Hyrnek—“to lure the traitor Kitty Jones out of hiding. He is her old associate and I guessed she might attempt to save him. Once in my power, she would soon tell me the location of the Staff, which I could then deliver into your hands. The arrival of Ms. Farrar’s wolves completely ruined my ambush. I trust she will be firmly reprimanded.”

  Jane Farrar gave a cry of anger. “My men had the girl trapped! Your demon spirited her away.”

  “Of course.” Nathaniel was urbanity itself. “Because your men would have torn her to pieces. They were filled with bloodlust. How would we have secured the Staff then?”

  “They were Imperial Police, directly accountable to Mr. Duvall here—”

  “Quite so, and a more crude and haphazard organization would be hard to find.” Nathaniel went on the attack. “I acknowledge that I have been secretive, sir,” he said sweetly, addressing Mr. Devereaux full on, “but I knew this was a delicate operation. The girl is stubborn and willful. To locate the Staff I had to tread carefully: I had to offer her this boy’s safety for its return. I feared lest Mr. Duvall’s customary heavy-handedness would jeopardize everything. As, unfortunately, has been the case.”

  The fury in the Police Chief’s eyes was remarkable to behold. His swarthy face went beetroot red, the veins in his neck and hands bulged like mooring ropes, and his fingernails—which seemed slightly longer than a moment previously—jabbed deep into the tabletop. He could barely speak for choking. “Guards! Take this vicious youth away. I shall attend upon him presently.”

  “You forget yourself, Henry.” Mr. Devereaux spoke quietly, but the menace in his voice was clear. “I am judge and jury in this government; it is I who shall decide Mandrake’s fate. I am by no means satisfied that he is the traitor you claim. John,” he continued, “your demon has the girl, this Kitty Jones, in custody?”

  “Yes, sir.” Nathaniel’s face was taut with tension. He was not free yet; the dark shadow of the Well of Remorse still hovered before him. He had to go carefully. “I sent her to a quiet location, where I might carry out my plan. I hope this long delay has not ruined everything.”

  “And you planned to restore the Staff to me?” Devereaux regarded him out of the corner of one eye.

  “Of course, sir! I hoped I would see it one day sitting next to the Amulet of Samarkand in the government vaults, sir.” He chewed his lip, waited. That was his trump card, of course—by retrieving the Amulet he had saved Devereaux’s life, and he did not want the Prime Minister to forget it now. “I can still do it, sir,” he added. “If I take this Hyrnek to the girl, and promise their mutual safety, I believe she will give me the Staff within the hour.”

  “And the girl? She will go free?”

  Nathaniel smirked. “Oh, no sir. Once I have the Staff, she and Hyrnek can be interrogated at leisure.” His smile promptly vanished as Jakob Hyrnek kicked out and made contact with his shin.

  “The boy is a consummate liar.” Mr. Duvall had regained a little of his composure. “Please, Rupert, you are surely not going to be taken in …”

  “I have made my decision.” The Prime Minister leaned forward, steepling his fingers into an arch. “Mandrake has proved himself valuable and loyal in the past; we must give him the benefit of the doubt. We shall take him at his word. Let him get the Staff. If he does, his secretiveness in the matter is forgiven. If he does not, I shall accept Henry’s version of events and consign him to the Tower. A happy compromise? Is everyone satisfied?” Smiling, he looked from Mr. Duvall’s louring disappointment to Nathaniel’s sickly green anxiety and back again. “Good. Mandrake can depart. Now, did someone mention food? A little Byzantine wine to begin!”

  A warm breeze spun around the room. Invisible slaves stepped forward, bearing crystal glasses and decanters filled with apricot-colored wines. Jane Farrar ducked as a plate of venison sausages swept past her head. “But sir, surely we aren’t going to let Mandrake do this alone!”

  “Yes—we must send a battalion of troops!” Duvall impatiently swatted a proffered glass aside. “It would be foolish to trust him.”

  Nathaniel was already halfway to the door. He hurried back. “Sir, this is a situation of great delicacy. A bunch of wolfheads will ruin everything.”

  Mr. Devereaux was sampling a glass. “Delightful. The essence of Marmara … Well, we shall compromise again. Mandrake will be assigned several vigilance spheres, so we can check up on his movements. Now, can someone pass me that delicious-looking couscous?”

  Nathaniel bound Jakob Hyrnek in an invisible bond and, leading him by the arm, departed the hall. He felt no elation. He had stymied Duvall for the moment, but if he did not secure the Staff, and soon, the outlook was bleak. He knew that he had used up all the goodwill the Prime Minister felt for him, and the dislike of all the other ministers was palpable. His career, and his life, hung by a thread.

  As they crossed the lobby of the hall, Ms. Whitwell stepped out to intercept them. Nathaniel gazed at her implacably, but did not speak. Her hawk eyes bored into his.

  “You may or may not have convinced our dear Prime Minister,” she said in a harsh whisper, “and you may or may not acquire the Staff, but I know that you have been acting behind my back, seeking advancement at my expense, and I will not forgive you for it. Our association is at an end, and I wish you no success. You are welcome to rot in Duvall’s Tower for all I care.”

  She hurried away, her clothes rustling like dead leaves. Nathaniel stared after her for a time; then, noticing Hyrnek watching him with grim amusement in his eyes, he gathered himself and signaled across the lobby to the knot of waiting chauffeurs.

  As the car drove north, four red vigilance spheres materialized above the entrance to the hall and drifted silently in pursuit.

  44

  I saw the way it was the moment they came up the stairs. I could read it in the forced smile of the boy Hyrnek and the reluctance with which he climbed each step. I could see it in the cold, steely look in my master’s eyes, and the menacing closeness with which he trod in his prisoner’s wake. Oh yes, Nathaniel was trying to make it appear all nice and relaxed, trying to lull the girl into carelessness. Call me intuitive, but I didn’t reckon things were quite as rosy as he wanted her to think. Of course, the invisible foliot perched on Hyrnek’s shoulders, clutching his throat tightly in its long clawed feet, was a bit of a giveaway, too. Hyrnek’s hands were pinned to his side by a thin, scaly loop of tail, so he was unable to speak, cry out, or make any kind of gesture. Thin talons jabbed into his cheeks, encouraging him to maintain hi
s smile. The foliot was busy whispering something in his ear too, and it is unlikely to have been sweet nothings.1

  But the girl was oblivious to this. She uttered a small cry when she saw Hyrnek appear up the staircase and made an involuntary step forward. My master gave a warning call: “Please stand away, Ms. Jones!”

  She stayed where she was, but didn’t take her eyes off her friend. “Hello Jakob,” she said.

  The foliot loosened its claws a little, allowing the prisoner to croak. “Hi, Kitty.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  A pause. The foliot tickled Hyrnek’s cheek warningly “No.”

  She gave a weak smile. “I—I came to rescue you.”

  A stiff nod was all she got that time. The foliot’s claws had reasserted their hold. Hyrnek’s fake smile was back, but I could see the desperate warning in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Jakob,” the girl said firmly. “I’ll get us out of this.”

  Well, this was all very touching, all very poignant, and I could see the girl’s affection for the boy2 was exactly what my master desired. He was watching their greeting with eager calculation.

  “I come in good faith, Ms. Jones,” he said, lying blandly. Hanging invisibly around Hyrnek’s neck, the foliot rolled its eyes and mouthed a silent chuckle.

  Even if I had wanted to tip off the girl about the foliot, it was impossible to speak to her with my master standing right there in front of me.3 Besides, he wasn’t the only problem. I now noted a couple of red spheres hovering high up in the rafters. Magicians were observing us from afar. There was no point asking for trouble. As usual, I stood pathetically by and waited for my orders.

  “I come in good faith,” my master said again. His hands were outstretched in a sign of peace, palms upward and empty.4 “No one else knows you are here. We are alone.”

  Well, that was another fib. The watching spheres nudged coquettishly behind a beam, as if embarrassed. The foliot made a face of mock outrage. Hyrnek’s eyes pleaded with the girl, but she noticed nothing. “And the wolves?” she said curtly.

  “Are far away—still searching for you, for all I know.” His mouth smiled. “You can scarcely want any further proof of my intentions,” he said. “Were it not for me, you would be nothing but bones in a back alley by now.”

  “Last time I saw you, you were scarcely so considerate.”

  “True.” Nathaniel made what he evidently thought was a courteous flourish; with all his hair and cuffs flapping it looked as though he’d tripped. “I apologize for my haste on that occasion.”

  “You still propose to arrest me? I take it that is why you abducted Jakob.”

  “I did think it would winkle you out, yes. But arrest you? In all honesty, that is up to you. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

  “Go on.”

  “But first—do you require refreshment or first-aid? I see you carry an injury, and you must be weary. I can send my slave”—here he clicked his fingers at me—“to get whatever you desire: food, hot wines, restoratives … Ask, and it shall be done!”

  She shook her head. “I want none of your magical filth.”

  “Surely you have need of something? Bandages? Sweet herbs? Whisky? Bartimaeus can produce it all in the blink of an eye.”5

  “No.” She was hard-faced, unmoved by his blandishments. “What is your proposal? I assume you want the Staff.”

  Nathaniel’s complexion changed a little at the word; perhaps he was disconcerted by her bluntness, magicians being rarely that honest and direct. He nodded slowly. “You have it?” His body was stiff with tension; he did not breathe.

  “I do.”

  “Can it be swiftly secured?”

  “It can.”

  He exhaled then. “Good. Good. Then here is my proposal. I have a car waiting below. Take me to the location of the Staff and entrust it into my care. Once I have it safely, you and Hyrnek will be given safe conduct anywhere you choose. This amnesty will last for a day. I assume you will wish to leave the country, and that will give you time to do so. Think carefully on my words! This is a handsome offer to an unregenerate traitor such as yourself. Others in the government, as you have seen, would not be so kind.”

  The girl was unconvinced. “What surety do I have that you will keep your word?”

  He smiled, plucked a speck of dust from a sleeve. “None. You will have to trust me.”

  “Hardly likely.”

  “What choice do you have, Ms. Jones? You are already in something of a corner. A savage demon stands guard over you—”

  She looked from side to side in puzzlement. I coughed. “That’s me,” I said.

  “—and you have me to contend with too,” my master went on. “I will not underestimate you again. In fact,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I’m curious to know the source of your magical defenses. Very curious, in fact. Where did you get them from? Who gave them to you?” The girl said nothing. “If you share this information with me,” Nathaniel said, “if you talk candidly about your time in the Resistance, I will do more than set you free.” He stepped forward then, put out a hand to touch her arm. She flinched, but did not pull away. “I can give you wealth, too,” he said. “Yes, and status beyond your wildest dreams. Commoners such as yourself—with brains, bravery, and aptitude to spare—can win roles at the heart of government, positions of real power. That’s no secret. You will work daily with the great ones of our society, and learn such things that will make your head spin. I can take you away from the drabness of your life, give you glimpses into the marvelous past, the days when the magician-emperors bestrode the world. Then you can become part of our own great story. When the current wars are won, for instance, we shall establish a renewed Colonial Office in America, and will need intelligent men and women to enforce our will. They say there are vast estates to be won out there, Ms. Jones, tracts of land with nothing on them but beasts and a few savages. Imagine—you as a great lady of the Empire …”

  She moved aside then; his hand dropped from her arm. “Thank you, but I do not think that will suit me.”

  He scowled. “A pity. What of my first proposal? Do you accept?”

  “I wish to talk with Jakob.”

  “There he stands.” Casually, the magician walked away a short distance. I stepped back, too. The girl drew close to Hyrnek.

  “Are you truly all right?” she whispered. “You are so silent.”

  The foliot relaxed its hold on his throat, but flexed its talons before his face as a gentle reminder. He nodded weakly. “I’m fine. Fine.”

  “I am going to accept Mr. Mandrake’s offer. Do you have anything to say?”

  The weakest of smiles. “No, no, Kathleen. You can trust him.”

  She hesitated, nodded, turned away. “Very well, then. Mr. Mandrake, I assume you wish to delay no longer. Where is your car? I will take you to the Staff.”

  During the journey, Nathaniel was a ripe old mix of emotions. Excitement, agitation, and downright fear mingled unappetizingly in his countenance; he could not sit still, fidgeting on his seat, turning repeatedly to look out of the back window at the passing lights of the city. He treated the girl with a confusing combination of officious politeness and barely concealed scorn, asking eager questions one minute and uttering veiled threats the next. By contrast, the rest of us in the car were grave and silent. Hyrnek and Kitty stared rigidly to the front (Hyrnek with the foliot still entwined about his face), while the chauffeur beyond the glass made stolidity an art form.6 I—though forced through lack of space to assume the form of a stoic guinea pig crouched between the girl’s shoe and the glove compartment—was my usual dignified self.

  We drove steadily through the London night. There was nothing on the roads. The stars began winking out above the rooftops: dawn was fast approaching. The car engine hummed drearily. Out of sight of Nathaniel, four red lights bobbed and weaved directly above the roof of the limousine.

  In contrast to my master, the girl seemed very self-possessed. It
occurred to me that she knew he would betray her—let’s face it, it didn’t need a djinni’s brain to guess that much—but was going to her doom calmly nonetheless. The guinea pig nodded regretfully to itself. More than ever, I admired her resolve—and the grace with which she exerted it. But that’s free will for you. I did not have that luxury in this world.

  Under the girl’s direction, we drove south through the center of the city, across the river, and into a downmarket region of light industry and commerce, where ramshackle tenement housing rose three stories tall. A few hunched pedestrians were already in evidence, stumbling to early shifts. A couple of bored demi-afrits drifted past, and once a portly messenger imp also, laboring under a giant package. At length, we turned into a narrow cobbled lane that ran under a low arch and into a deserted mews.

  “Here.” The girl rapped on the partition glass. The block of wood pulled over and sat motionless, awaiting orders. The rest of us disembarked, stiff and cold in the first light of the dawn. The guinea pig stretched out its essence and returned to Ptolemy’s form. I glanced about, and saw the watching spheres loitering at a distance.

  On either side of us were rows of narrow, white-painted mews houses, residential and a little unkempt. Without a word, the girl approached a set of steps leading down to a basement door. Nudging Hyrnek in front of him, Nathaniel followed. I brought up the rear.

  My master glanced at me over his shoulder. “If she tries any tricks, kill her.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” I said. “What kind of tricks? Card, coin, Indian rope—what?”

  He gave me a look. “Anything that breaks my agreement with her, with the intention of causing me harm or assisting her escape. That clear enough?”

  “Crystal.”

  The girl had been scrabbling around in the dimness by the door; from some crevice or other she withdrew a key. A moment later, the door scraped open. Without a word, she stepped through; the three of us shambled after.

  We twisted and turned through a series of labyrinthine basements, Kitty, Hyrnek, Nathaniel, and I, one close after the other as if doing a slow and dreary conga. She seemed to know her way well enough, flicking light switches on at intervals, ducking under low arches that caused the rest of us to bang our foreheads, never looking back. It was a circuitous route; I began to wonder if my minotaur guise wouldn’t have been more appropriate.