The Golem's Eye

the same blink of an eye. The skeleton ducked the first, leaped over the second and had a lock of hair shaved off by the third. It had extricated itself from the sarcophagus now, and seemed to have rediscovered its power of movement; with every bound and step, it grew more sprightly, until its outline almost seemed to blur. "This is fun!" it cried, as it dodged and twirled. "I really am most obliged to you fellows!"
    Fred's supply of missiles seemed inexhaustible; he kept up a constant rain, while Nick, Anne, and Kitty steadily retreated toward the stairs. All at once another green bolt stabbed out and struck Fred across the legs, sending him crashing to the ground. In another moment, he was back on his feet, a little unsteady, brows furrowed with pain, but very much alive.
    The skeleton paused in surprise. "Well, now," it said. "Natural resilience. Deflects magic. Haven't seen that since Prague." It tapped its gold mouth with a bony finger. "What am I going to do, I wonder? Let me think.... Aha!" With a bound it was back at the sarcophagus and rummaging inside. "Out of the way, Stanley; I need to get... yes! I thought so." Its hand reappeared, holding the ceremonial sword. "No magic involved here. Just a length of sturdy Empire steel. Think you can deflect this, Mr. Spotty? We'll see." It flourished the sword above its head and stalked forward.
    Fred stood his ground. He drew his flick-knife from his jacket, opened it with a snick.
    Kitty was at the metal grille, hovering in doubt at the foot of the stairs. Nick and Anne had already disappeared above; she could hear their frantic ascent. She looked over toward Mr. Pennyfeather, whose own resilience had stood him in good stead. He was shuffling on his hands and knees toward her. Ignoring her instincts, which screamed at her to turn tail and run, she darted back into the vault, grasped Mr. Pennyfeather around his shoulders and, exerting all her strength, dragged him toward the stairs.
     
    Out of sight behind her, she heard Fred give a snarl of fury. There was a whooshing sound, followed by a soft impact.
    Kitty pulled Mr. Pennyfeather onward with a strength she didn't know she had.
    Through the grille and up the first few steps. She had Mr. Pennyfeather on his feet now; in one hand he still grasped his stick; the other clenched Kitty's jacket. His breathing was rapid, shallow, painful. He could not talk. Neither had a lantern now; they went in utter darkness. Kitty supported herself on the staff from the tomb. It fumbled on each step.
    A voice came calling, somewhere behind and below them. "Yoo-hoo! Is anybody up there? Little mice a-scuffling in the wainscot. How many mice? One mice... two. Oh dear, and one of them lame."
    Kitty's face was swathed in cobwebs. Mr. Pennyfeather's breathing was now a gasping whine.
    "Won't you come down to me?" the voice implored. "I'm lonely. Neither of your friends want to talk anymore."
    She felt Mr. Pennyfeather's face close to her ear. "I—I—have to rest."
    "No. Keep going."
    "I can't."
    "If you won't come down, then... I'll have to come up!" Deep down in the earth, the metal grille creaked.
    "Come on."
    Another step. And another. She couldn't remember how many there were; in any case, she had lost count. Surely they were almost there. But Mr. Pennyfeather was slowing; he held her back like a dead weight.
    "Please," she whispered. "One last try."
    But he had stopped altogether now; she sensed him crouched upon the stairs beside her, gasping for each breath. Vainly she tugged at his arm, vainly she beseeched him to respond.
    "I'm sorry, Kitty..."
    She gave up, leaned back against the curving stones, drew her knife from her belt, and waited.
    A rustle of cloth. A rattling in the dark. Kitty raised her knife.
    Silence.
    And then, with a sudden rushing and a single brief and gasping cry, Mr. Pennyfeather was pulled into the darkness. One moment he was there, the next moment he was gone, and something heavy was being dragged away from her and down the steps, bump, bump, bump.
    Kitty was frozen to the spot for perhaps five seconds; then she was careering up the steps, through veils of drifting cobwebs as if they did not exist, knocking repeatedly into the wall, tripping on the uneven stairs; spying at last a rectangle of gray light ahead, falling out into the airy dimness of the nave, where streetlights glittered against the windows and the statues of the magicians gazed down implacably at her hopelessness and distress.
    She fled