The Golem's Eye

essence galvanizes our own. This outweighs the burden of ingesting the useless bone and flesh. Sorry—not putting you off your tea, am I?
     
    The Old Town Square was one of the largest open areas in the east of the city, an uneven space of bright cobblestone, spotted with pedestrians and flower stalls. Flocks of birds drifted lazily down in front of the elegant five-story houses; smoke rose from a thousand chimneys. It was as peaceful a scene as could be wished for, yet I was not at ease.
    "Will you stop fidgeting?" The boy slapped his pamphlet on the table. "I can't concentrate."
    "Can't help it," I said. "We're too exposed here."
    "Relax—we're in no danger."
    I looked around furtively. "So you say. We should have stayed in the hotel."
    The boy shook his head. "I'd have gone mad if I'd stayed in that fleapit a moment longer. I couldn't sleep in that bed for dust. And a tribe of bedbugs were feasting on me all night—I heard them popping off me every time I sneezed."
    "If you were dusty, you should have had a bath."
    He looked embarrassed. "Didn't fancy that tub somehow. It was a bit too... hungry-looking. Anyhow, Prague's safe enough; there's hardly any magic here any more. You've seen nothing all the time we've been sitting here—no imp, no djinni, no spell—and we're in the center of town! No one's likely to see you for what you are. Relax."
    I shrugged. "If you say so. It won't be me running around the walls with soldiers jabbing pikes into my trousers."
    He wasn't listening. He'd picked up his pamphlet again and was frowning his way through it. I returned to my afternoon's occupation: namely checking and double-checking the planes.
    Here's the thing: the boy was absolutely right—we'd seen nothing magical all day. This was not to say the authorities weren't represented: a few soldiers in darkblue uniforms with shiny jackboots and highly burnished caps [3]   had wandered repeatedly through the square. (Once, they had stopped at my master's table and asked for our identification; my master produced his fake ID, while I performed a Glaze upon them, so they forgot the object of their query and wandered on.) But we'd seen none of the magical sorties that were par for the course in London: search spheres, foliots masquerading as pigeons, etc.... It all seemed very innocent.
     
    [3] As a rough rule of thumb, the jazzier the uniform, the less powerful the army. In its golden age, Prague's soldiers wore sober outfits with little decoration; now, to my disgust, they minced about under a heavy weight of pompous finery: a fluffy epaulette here, an extra brass knobble there. You could hear their metal bits jingling like bells on cats' collars from far off down the street. Contrast that with London's Night Police: their outfits were the color of river-sludge, yet they were the ones to fear.
     
    Yet, having said that, I could feel strong magic somewhere in the vicinity, not far from where we were, operating vigorously on all the planes. Each one tingled with it, particularly the seventh, which is usually where the most trouble comes. It wasn't aimed at us—yet; even so, it made me nervous, particularly because the boy—being human, young, and arrogant—sensed nothing and persisted in acting like a tourist. I didn't like being in the open.
    "We should have agreed to meet him in a lonely spot," I persisted. "This is just too public."
    The boy snorted. "And give him the opportunity to come dressed as a ghul again? I think not. He can wear a suit and tie like everyone else."
    Six o'clock drew near. The boy paid our bill and stuffed pamphlets and newspapers hurriedly into his rucksack. "The hot-dog stand it is, then," he said. "As before, hang back and protect me if anything happens."
    "Okay, boss. You're not wearing a red feather this time. How about a rose, or a ribbon in your hair?"
    "No. Thank you."
    "Just asking."
    We parted in the crowd; I peeled off, keeping close to the buildings on one side, while the boy continued on out into the center of the square. Since most of the home-goers for one reason or another kept to the edges, this made him look slightly isolated. I watched him go. A flock of sparrows erupted from the cobblestones near his feet and flapped away toward the rooftops high above. I scanned them anxiously, but there were no hidden watchers among them. All was well, for now.
    A gentleman with a small struggling mustache and an enterprising nature had affixed a wheeled brazier to a bicycle and had