The Golem's Eye

young man looked up at her and smiled, and Kitty was immediately reminded of Mr. Pennyfeather's expression when he had looked upon the treasures of the tomb. It was a gleeful, acquisitive smile, struggling hard to be contained.
    "Hello, Kitty," the young man said.
    Kitty said nothing. She knew what he was quite well.
    "Kathleen." Her father's voice was barely perceptible. "This is Mr. Mandrake. From the, the Department of Internal Affairs, I believe?"
    "That's right," Mr. Mandrake said, smiling.
    "He wants—" Her father hesitated. "He wants to ask you some questions."
    A sudden wail came from her mother's mouth. "Oh Kathleen," she cried. "What have you been doing?"
    Still Kitty did not reply. She had a single throwing disc in her jacket, but was otherwise defenseless. Her eyes flicked across to the drawn curtains over the window. It was a sash opener; she could climb out that way—if her father had oiled the latch. Or smash it in a pinch—the coffee table would go through it. Or there was the hall, with a choice of exits, but her mother was standing in front of the door...
    The young man gestured at the sofa. "Would you like to sit down, Ms. Jones?" he said politely. "We can discuss things in an agreeable manner if you wish." The edges of his mouth twitched. "Or are you going to leap from the window at a single bound?"
    By articulating the very thought that was running through her mind, the magician—intentionally or not—caught Kitty off guard. Now was not the time. She flushed, pursed her lips, and sat on the sofa, where she regarded the magician as calmly as she could.
    So this was the Mandrake whose servants had pursued the Resistance for so many months. She would have known his profession a mile off; his clothes were the giveaway—a long black coat, a ridiculously tight black suit, shiny patent leather shoes. An outsize red handkerchief rose up from his breast pocket like a leaf of coral. His hair grew long about his face, which was thin and pale. Kitty realized for the first time how very young he truly was: still in his teens, certainly no older than she, perhaps considerably younger. As if to offset this, he had steepled his hands in an assertive manner, legs crossed, one foot twitching with the motion of a lapcat's tail, and adopted a smile that would perhaps have been urbane, had his eagerness not kept showing through.
    His youth gave Kitty a little confidence. "What do you want, Mr. Mandrake?" she asked in a level voice.
    The magician reached out, picked up the nearest cup and saucer and took a sip of tea. With ostentatious care, he placed the ensemble down upon the armrest of his chair and arranged it carefully. Kitty and her parents watched him in silence. "Very nice, Mrs. Jones," he said at last. "A very tolerable beverage. Thank you for your worthy hospitality." This pleasantry elicited only a small sob from Kitty's mother.
    Kitty did not look at her. Her gaze was fixed on the magician. "What do you want?" she said.
    This time, he replied. "First to tell you that you are, as of this moment, under arrest."
    "On what charge?" Kitty knew her voice was shaking.
    "Well, let me see..." The steepled fingers tapped together, beating out the list. "Terrorism; belonging to an outlaw group; treachery against Mr. Devereaux, his government and the Empire; wanton damage of property; conspiracy to murder; malicious theft; desecration of a sacred resting place... I could go on, but it would only distress your mother. It is a melancholy situation that two such honest, loyal parents should have been cursed with a daughter like you."
    "I don't understand," Kitty said levelly. "These are serious charges. What is your evidence?"
    "You have been witnessed in the company of known criminals, members of the so-called Resistance."
    "Witnessed? What does that mean? Who says so?"
    "Kathleen, you stupid girl, tell him the truth," her father said.
    "Shut up, Dad."
    "These known criminals," the magician went on, "were found this morning, lying dead in a vault in Westminster Abbey, which they had previously ransacked. One of them was a Mr. Pennyfeather, whom I believe you work for."
    "I always knew he was a bad lot," Kitty's mother whispered.
    Kitty took a deep breath. "I regret to hear this, but I can hardly be expected to know everything my employer got up to in his own private time. You'll have to do better than that, Mr. Mandrake."
    "Then you deny associating out of hours with this Pennyfeather?"
    "Certainly I do."
    "What