The Golem's Eye

over. He raised a smoldering boot.
    With a furious effort, Nathaniel dislodged the loft ladder, causing it to fall heavily upon the mercenary's back. Caught off-guard, the man lost his balance and fell sideways in a shower of sparks. He landed on the cottage floor, setting light to manuscripts all around.
    The rat gave a great heave, pulled its tail free. With a jerking leap, it landed by Nathaniel's side. "Thanks for that," it gasped. "Did you see how I lined him up for you?"
    Nathaniel was staring wide-eyed at the lumbering figure, who was hurling the ladder from him in a spasm of rage, seemingly indifferent to the surrounding flames. "How can he survive?" he whispered. "The fire's all over him. He's burning up."
    "Just his clothes, I fear," the rat said. "His body's quite invulnerable. But we've got him by the window now. Watch out."
    It raised a small pink paw. The bearded man turned and saw Nathaniel for the first time. He snarled in rage, lifted a hand; something silver sparkled there. He reached back—
    And was met with the full force of a Hurricane head on: it rushed from the rat's paw, lifted him off his feet, and sent him backward through the window, surrounded by a glittering cascade of broken glass and burning scraps of paper that were whipped up with him off the floor. Out into the night he fell, outward and far away down the hill into the night, his descent marked by the flames still licking up from his body. Nathaniel saw him bounce once, distantly, then lie still.
    The rat was already racing up the sloping floor toward the cottage door. "Come on," it cried. "Think that'll stop him? We've five minutes, maybe ten."
    Nathaniel scrambled after it, over piles of smoldering paper and out into the night, triggering first one nexus, then the other. The drone of the alarms rose up into the sky and roused the inhabitants of Golden Lane from their melancholic dreams, but rat and boy were already beyond the ruined tower and racing down the castle steps as if all the demons ever summoned were clamoring at their heels.
     
     
    Late the following morning, wearing fresh clothes and a milliner's wig, and flourishing a newly stolen pass, Nathaniel crossed the Czech border into Britishcontrolled Prussia. Hitching into the town of Chemnitz in a baker's van, he went straight to the British consulate and explained his position. Phone calls were made, passwords checked, and his identity verified. By midafternoon he was aboard a plane departing the local aerodrome for London.
    The djinni had been dismissed at the border, since the stress of the prolonged summoning was wearing Nathaniel out. He had had little sleep for days. The aircraft was warm, and despite his desire to puzzle through the mercenary's words, his weariness and the hum of the engines had their effect. Almost before the plane left the ground, Nathaniel was asleep.
    An attendant woke him at Box Hill. "Sir, we have arrived. A car awaits you. You are requested to make haste."
    He emerged onto the exit stairs under a light, cold drizzle. A black limousine was waiting beside the landing strip. Nathaniel descended slowly, still scarcely awake. He half-expected to see his master there, but the backseat was empty. The chauffeur touched his cap as he opened the door.
    "Ms. Whitwell's compliments, sir," he said. "You are to come to London immediately. The Resistance have struck in the heart of Westminster, and—Well, you will see the results for yourself. There is no time to lose. We have an unfolding disaster on our hands."
    Wordlessly, Nathaniel climbed into the car. The door clicked shut behind him.

30
     
    Kitty
     
    The flight of stairs kept to the contour of the pillar above, circling down clockwise into the ground. The passageway was tight and the ceiling low. Even Kitty was forced to stoop, and Fred and Nick—who were practically bent double—had to descend sideways, in the manner of two awkward crabs. The air was hot and faintly foul.
    Mr. Pennyfeather led the way, his lantern set to its strongest illumination. Everyone else did likewise, their spirits rising with the renewed light. Now that they were safely underground, there was no chance that anyone would see them. The dangerous part was over.
    Kitty followed the scuffling Nick, with Stanley treading close behind. Even with his lantern at her back, the shadows seemed intent on closing in; they darted and leaped incessantly at the corners of her vision.
    A goodly number of spiders had made their homes