The Golem's Eye

flatulent sound. An eruption of purple, bitter-smelling droplets peppered his suit and coat and the surrounding furnishings. He cried out in shock; reaching for his handkerchief with one hand, he made a mystic sign with the other. Instantly, a small red-faced imp appeared at his shoulder, bounded onto the dresser and opened its mouth. A bolt of orange flame shot out at Kitty, catching her on her chest and knocking her back against the door. Her mother screamed; her father cried out. The imp capered with triumph—and stopped, mid-caper. Kitty was straightening up, dusting off her smoldering jacket and staring at the magician with a grim smile. With a quick movement, she drew her throwing disc from her jacket and flourished it; the magician, who had lurched toward her in his fury, stepped hurriedly back. "You can wear the tightest trousers you please, Mr. Mandrake," she said, "but the fact remains, you're a conceited small-timer. If you follow me, I'll kill you. Good-bye. Oh, and don't worry, Mum, Dad"—she turned to look at each one calmly—"I won't ruin your reputation any further. You won't see me again."
     
    With that, and leaving parents, magician, and imp staring at her back, she turned, opened the door, and passed through. Then she walked slowly and deliberately up the hall and out of the front door into the warm evening. In the street, she chose a direction arbitrarily and walked off, never looking behind her. Only when she had rounded the nearest corner and had begun to run did her tears finally begin to flow.

36
     
    Nathaniel
     
    Nathaniel's fury at the failure of his swoop knew no bounds. He returned to Whitehall in a vicious temper, urging his chauffeur to ever greater speeds and beating the leather seat with his fist at any mild delay. He dismissed the car outside Internal Affairs, and, despite the lateness of the hour, stomped across the courtyard to his office. Here he snapped on the lights, threw himself into his chair, and began to think.
    He had badly miscalculated, and the fact that he had been so close to success made his failure all the more galling. He had been absolutely right to check the Public Records in search of Kathleen Jones's name: he'd uncovered the typescript of her trial—together with her home address—in less than an hour. He'd been right to visit the parents, too. They were malleable fools, both of them, and his original plan—to get them to detain their daughter should she return home, while secretly informing him—would have worked out perfectly, had the girl not arrived back earlier than expected.
    Yet even that would have been fine, had she not unexpectedly displayed some kind of personal defense against the minor demons. Perplexing... The parallels with the mercenary were obvious, of course; the real question was whether their powers were their own, or the product of some spell. His sensors had not detected anything.
    If Bartimaeus had been with him, it might have shed some light on the source of the girl's power and perhaps prevented her escape. It was a great pity the djinni was on the other mission.
    Nathaniel regarded his jacket sleeve, now permanently marked with remnants of the mouler. He muttered a curse. Conceited small-timer... It was hard not to admire the girl's strength of character. Nevertheless, Kitty Jones would pay dearly for that insult.
    Alongside his anger, he was uneasy, too. He could, with great simplicity, have requested police backup, or asked Whitwell to provide vigilance sphere surveillance of the parents' house. But he had not done so. He had wanted the success for himself and himself alone. Retrieving the Staff would have enhanced his status immeasurably—the Prime Minister would have lauded him to the skies. Perhaps he would have been promoted, allowed to explore the powers of the Staff... Duvall and Whitwell would have been left looking uncomfortably over their shoulders.
    But the girl had gotten away—and should anyone learn about his failure, he would be held to account. The death of Tallow had left his colleagues prickly, agitated and even more paranoid than normal. It was not a good time to be found out. He had to locate the girl, and quickly.
    At that moment, a ringing in his ear warned him of an approaching magic. He stood alert and, an instant later, saw Bartimaeus materializing in the midst of a blue cloud. It wore its gargoyle form. Nathaniel rubbed his eyes and composed himself.
    "Well? You have something to report?"
    "Lovely