The Golem's Eye

magician (red), which gives that earth its life. But this is only speculation: I am not privy to golem magic.
     
    "It isn't finished yet," he said. "You can see that. Another half-line needs to be added. A full night's work before me: a night that will be my last in any case, since he will surely kill me, if the ink itself does not drain my blood. You see the space at the top—that small, square box? His employer will write his own name there. That is the only blood he needs to expend to control the creature. It works out very well for him, oh yes. Less so for poor Kavka."
    "What is his name?" I asked. Best to get right to the point, I find.
    "The employer?" Kavka laughed—a harsh sound, like an insane old bird. "I do not know. I have never met him."
    The boy was still staring at the manuscript in a daze. "This is for another golem" he said slowly. "It'll be put in its mouth to animate it. He's giving the paper his lifeblood, which will feed into the golem...." He looked up at Kavka, with horrified wonder on his face. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "It's killing you."
    I made an urgent gesture. "That's not what we need to know," I said. "We've got to find out who. Time's running out and dawn's not far off."
    But the magician was talking again, a faint dullness in his gaze suggesting he no longer saw us clearly. "Because of Karl, of course," he said. "And Mia. I have been promised their safe return if I create these things. You must understand that I do not believe this, but I cannot give up the one small hope I have. Perhaps he will honor it. Perhaps not. Probably they are already dead." He broke into a hideous, wracking cough. "In truth—I fear this must be so."
    The boy was blank. "Karl, Mia? I don't understand."
    "They are the only family I have," the magician said. "How sad it is they have been lost. It is an unjust world. But when you are offered a chink of light, you climb toward it—even you, a cursed Briton, must understand that. I could not ignore the only chance I had to see their faces again."
    "Where are they, your family?" Nathaniel asked.
    "Hah!" The magician stirred at this; a brief light flared in his eyes. "How do I know? Some godforsaken prison ship? The Tower of London? Or are their bones already burned and buried? That is your province, English boy—you tell me. You are from the British government, I suppose?"
    My master nodded.
    "The person you seek wishes your government no good." Kavka coughed again. "But then—you know this. That is why you are here. My government would kill me, if it knew what I had done. They do not want a new golem created in case it brings another Gladstone down upon Prague, wielding that terrible Staff."
    "I take it," the boy said, "that your relatives are Czech spies? They went to England?"
    The magician nodded. "And were captured. I heard nothing of them. Then a gentleman came calling, said his employer would restore them to me, alive, if I revealed the secrets of the golem, if I created the necessary parchment. What could I do? What would any father do?"
    Uncharacteristically, my master was silent. Uncharacteristically, I was, too. I looked at Kavka's emaciated face and hands, his dulling eyes, saw in them the endless hours spent stooped over his books and papers, saw him pouring his life into the page on the small off chance that his family might be returned to him.
    "The first parchment I completed a month ago," Kavka said. "That was when the messenger altered his demands. Two golems were required now. In vain, I argued that it would kill me, that I would not live to see Mia and Karl again.... Ah, he is cruel. He would not listen."
    "Tell us about this messenger," the boy said suddenly, "and if your children are alive, I will return them to you. I guarantee it."
    The dying man made a great effort. His eyes focused on my master; their dimness was replaced by a searching strength. He appraised Nathaniel carefully. "You are very young to be making such promises," he whispered.
    "I am a respected member of the government," Nathaniel said. "I have power—"
    "Yes, but can you be trusted?" Kavka gave a heavy sigh. "You are British, after all. I will ask your demon—" He did not look away from Nathaniel as he spoke. "What do you say? Is he trustworthy?"
    I puffed out my cheeks, blew hard. "Tricky one. He's a magician. By definition he'd sell his own grandmother for soap. But he's marginally less corrupt than some of them. Possibly. A bit."
    Nathaniel looked at