The Golem's Eye

made Nathaniel stiffen with shock. "Forgive me," he stammered, "how did you know—?"
    "Word reaches me about many things, my boy. As a friend of Mr. Devereaux, I have long kept my eyes and ears open. Do not look so worried! I have no idea what you were up to, merely that it seemed a personal initiative." His smile broadened. "Duvall is in charge of counterrevolutionary tactics now, but I don't think you informed him of your activities?"
    Nathaniel certainly had not. His head reeled; he needed to gain time. "Er, you mentioned us collaborating in some way, sir," he said. "What do you have in mind?"
    Quentin Makepeace settled back into his chair. "Gladstone's Staff," he said. "That's it, pure and simple. The afrit has been dealt with, and much of the Resistance is dead too, it seems. All well and good. But the Staff is a potent talisman; it confers great power on its bearer. I can tell you that, as we speak, Mr. Duvall is applying all his efforts to find the person who took it. Should he do so"—the magician fixed Nathaniel directly with his bright blue eyes—"he might decide to use it himself, rather than restore it to the government. I believe the situation is as serious as that. Much of London might be threatened."
    "Yes, sir." Nathaniel said. "I have read about the Staff and I believe its energies can be easily accessed by a few simple incantations. Duvall might well use it."
    "Indeed. And I think we should preempt him. If you find the Staff and return it to Mr. Devereaux yourself, your standing will be greatly enhanced, and Mr. Duvall will have suffered a setback. I will be content, too, since the Prime Minister will continue to help finance my works worldwide. What do you think of this proposal?"
    Nathaniel's head was awhirl. "An... interesting plan, sir."
    "Good, good. So, we are agreed. We must act swiftly." Mr. Makepeace leaned forward and clapped Nathaniel on the shoulder.
    Nathaniel blinked. In his comradely enthusiasm, Makepeace was taking his acceptance entirely for granted. The proposal was beguiling, of course, but he felt uncertain, outmaneuvered; he needed a moment to work out what to do. Yet he had no time. The magician's knowledge of his activities had caught him horribly off guard, and he was no longer in control. Nathaniel made a reluctant decision: if Makepeace knew of his visit to Balham, there was no point concealing it anyway. "I have already conducted some investigations," he said stiffly, "and I believe the Staff might be in the hands of a girl, one Kitty Jones."
    The magician nodded approvingly. "I can see my high opinion of you was correct, Mandrake. Any idea where she might be?"
    "I—I nearly caught her at her parents' house this evening, sir. I... missed her by minutes. I don't believe she had the Staff on her at the time."
    "Hmm," Mr. Makepeace scratched his chin; he made no attempt to crossexamine Nathaniel on the details. "And now she will have fled. She will be hard to trace... unless we can encourage her out of hiding. Did you arrest the parents? A few well-publicized tortures might draw the girl out."
    "No, sir. I did consider it, but they were not close to her. I do not believe that she would give herself up for them."
    "Even so, it is an option. But I have another possible idea, Mandrake. I have a contact who has one foot in London's murky underworld. He is acquainted with more beggars, thieves, and cutpurses than you could cram into a theater. I shall talk to him tonight; see if he can give us word on this Kitty Jones. With a bit of luck, we shall be able to act tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you go home to get some sleep. And remember, we are playing for high stakes, my boy, and Mr. Duvall is a dangerous rival. Not a word of our little agreement to anyone."

37
     
    Bartimaeus
     
    Midday, and the shadows were at their smallest. The sky above was eggshell blue, flecked with amiable clouds. The sun shone pleasantly upon the rooftops of the suburb. It was an upbeat hour, all told, a time for honest enterprises and decent work. As if in proof, a few industrious tradesmen passed along the street, wheeling their barrows from house to house. They doffed their caps to old ladies, patted the heads of little children, smiled politely as they introduced their wares. Bargains were struck, goods and money exchanged; the tradesmen strolled away, whistling temperance hymns.
    Hard to believe that anything wicked was about to happen.
    Perched in the depths of a tangled elderberry bush