The Golem's Eye

so." Nathaniel took a small sip of punch, pleased with the backhanded nature of his compliment. Jane Farrar's master was the police chief Mr. Henry Duvall, a great rival of Jessica Whitwell. At functions such as this, Ms. Farrar and Nathaniel often exchanged feline conversation, all purred compliments and carefully sheathed claws, testing each other's mettle.
    "But what of you, John Mandrake?" Jane Farrar said, sweetly. "Is it true that you've been assigned responsibility for uncovering this irritating Resistance? That is no small matter either!"
    "I am only amassing information; we have a network of informers to keep busy. It is nothing too exciting."
    Jane Farrar reached for the silver ladle and stirred the punch gently. "Perhaps not, but unheard of for someone as inexperienced as you. Well done. Would you care for another tot?"
    "Thank you, no." With annoyance, Nathaniel felt the color rush to his cheeks. It was true, of course: he was young, he was inexperienced; everyone was watching to see whether he failed. He fought back a strong desire to scowl. "I believe we will see the Resistance broken within six months," he said thickly.
    Jane Farrar poured punch into a glass and raised her eyebrows at him with an expression that might have been amusement. "You impress me," she said. "Three years they've been hunted, without anything like a breakthrough. And you will break them within six months! But you know, I believe you can do it, John. You are quite a little man already."
    Another flush! Nathaniel tried to master his emotions. Jane Farrar was three or four years older than he was, and just as tall, perhaps taller, with long, straight, light brown hair hanging to her shoulders. Her eyes were a disconcerting green, alive with wry intelligence. He could not help feeling gawky and inelegant beside her, despite the splendors of his ruffed red handkerchief. He found himself trying to justify his statement, where he should have kept silent.
    "We know the group consists mainly of youths," he said. "That fact has been repeatedly observed by victims, and the one or two individuals we have managed to kill have never been older than us." (He placed a light stress on this last word.) "So the solution is clear. We send agents out to join the organization. Once they have won the traitors' trust, and gained access to their leader... well, the matter will be over swiftly."
    Again the amused smile. "Are you sure it will be so simple?"
    Nathaniel shrugged. "I nearly gained access to the leader myself, years ago. It can be done."
    "Really?" Her eyes widened, showing genuine interest. "Tell me more." But Nathaniel had regained control of himself. Safe, secret, secure. The fewer tidbits of information he divulged the better. He cast his eyes across the lawns.
    "I see Ms. Whitwell has arrived unattended," he said. "As her loyal apprentice I should make myself useful. If you would excuse me, Ms. Farrar?"
    Nathaniel left the party early and returned to his office in a rage. He promptly retired to a private summoning chamber and blurted out the incantation. The two foliots, still in orphan guise, appeared. They looked disconsolate and shifty.
    "Well?" he snapped.
    "It's no good, master," the blond orphan said. "The street kids just ignore us."
    "If we're lucky," the tousled orphan agreed. "Those that don't tend to throw things at us."
    "What?" Nathaniel was outraged.
    "Oh, cans, bottles, small rocks and things."
    "I don't mean that! I mean what's happened to a spot of common humanity? Those children should be deported in chains! What's the matter with them? You're both sweet, you're both thin, you're both faintly pathetic—surely they'd take you under their wings."
    The two orphans shook their pretty little heads. "Nope. They treat us with revulsion. It's almost as if they can see us as we really are."
    "Impossible. They don't have lenses, do they? You must be doing it wrong. Are you sure you're not giving the game away somehow? You're not floating or growing horns or doing something else stupid when you see them, are you?"
    "No, sir, honest we're not."
    "No, sir. Although Clovis did once forget to remove his tail."
    "You sneak! Sir—that's a lie."
    Nathaniel clapped a hand to his head. "I don't care! I don't care. But it'll be the Stipples for you both if you don't succeed soon. Try different ages, try going about separately, try giving yourself small disabilities to raise their sympathy—but no infectious diseases, as I told you