The Golem's Eye

set back from the road, a hunched black form surveyed the scene. It was a mess of bedraggled feathers, with beak and legs protruding as if at random. A medium-sized crow: a bird of ill and unkempt omen. The bird kept its bloodshot eyes trained firmly on the upstairs windows of a large and rambling house at the other end of an overgrown garden.
    Once again, I was loitering with intent.
    The thing to remember about this summoning business is that nothing is ever strictly speaking your own fault. If a magician binds you to a task, you do it—and quickly—or suffer the Shriveling Fire. With that kind of injunction hanging over your head, you soon learn to discard any scruples. This means that during the five thousand years I'd been back and forth across the earth, I'd been unwillingly involved in a good many shabby enterprises. [1]  Not that I have a conscience, of course, but even we hardened djinn sometimes feel a little soiled by the things we're called upon to do.
     
    [1] There was the sad overthrow of Akhenaton, for instance. Nefertiti never forgave me for that, but what could I do? Blame the High Priests of Ra, not me. Then there was that uncomfortable business of Solomon's magic ring, which one of his rivals charged me to pinch and chuck into the sea. I needed some fast talking on that occasion, I can tell you. Then there were all the other countless assassinations, abductions, thefts, slanders, intrigues, and deceits... come to think of it, actual bona fide nonshabby assignments are rather few and far between.
     
    This, on a small scale, was one such occasion.
    The crow squatted drably in his tree, keeping other fowl at bay by the simple expedient of letting off a Stench. I didn't want any company just then.
    I shook my beak in mild despondency. Nathaniel. What was there to say? Despite our occasional [2]  differences, I'd once hoped that he might turn out slightly different from the normal run of magicians. He'd shown a lot of initiative in the past, for instance, and more than a crumb of altruism. It had been barely possible that he might follow his own path through life, and not just go down the old power/wealth/notoriety road that every one of his fellows chose.
     
    [2] Well, all right: perpetual.
     
    But had he? Nope.
    The signs now were worse than ever. Perhaps still unsettled by witnessing the demise of his colleague Tallow, my master had been curt to the point of rudeness when he summoned me that morning. He was at his palest and most taciturn. No friendly conversation for me, no tactful pleasantries. I received no further praise for my dispatch of the renegade afrit the night before, and despite changing into a few beguiling female shapes, didn't get a single rise out of him. What I did get was a prompt new task—of the sort that fits squarely into the "nasty and regrettable" category. It was a departure for Nathaniel, the first time he'd sunk to these depths, and I must admit it surprised me.
    But a charge is a charge. So here I was, an hour or two later, loitering in a bush in Balham.
    Part of my instructions was to keep the whole thing as quiet as possible, which was why I didn't just bust my way through the ceiling. [3]  I knew my prey was home and probably upstairs; so I waited, with my little beady eyes fixed upon the windows.
     
    [3] I rejected this procedure on aesthetic grounds also. I dislike leaving a mess.
     
    No magician's house, this. Peeling paint, rotting window frames, weeds growing through holes in the tiled porch. A sizable property, yes, but unkempt and a little sad. There were even a few rusting children's toys buried in the foot-high grass.
    After an hour or more of immobility, the crow was getting twitchy. Although my master had wanted discretion, he had also wanted speed. Before long I would have to stop dallying and get the business over with. But ideally I wanted to wait until the house had emptied, and my victim was alone.
    As if in answer to this need, the front door suddenly opened and a large and formidable woman sallied forth, clutching a canvas shopping bag. She passed directly beneath me and headed off down the street. I didn't bother trying to hide. To her, I was just a bird. There were no nexuses, no magical defenses, no signs that anyone here could see beyond the first plane. It was hardly a proper test of my powers, in other words. The whole mission was sordid from beginning to end.
    Then—a movement in one window. A patch of dusty gray net curtains was