The Golem's Eye

can't be done." He was making too much noise; I could sense movement in a room below. "Don't blame me—I haven't got any choice."
    The crow jumped onto the floor and began to change, swelling to ominous size. The boy screamed, turned, and flung himself at the door. An answering shout came from beyond it; it sounded maternal. I heard heavy feet hurrying up the stairs.
    Jakob Hyrnek wrestled with the handle, but never completed a single twist. A giant gold beak descended on the collar of his dressing gown; steel claws rotated in the carpet, slicing up the boards beneath. He was swung up and around, like a helpless cub dangling in its mother's jaws. Mighty wings flapped once, overturning trays and sending gemstones pattering against the walls. A rush of wind; the boy was launched toward the window. A wing of scarlet feathers rose up to enclose him; glass shattered all around, cold air buffeted his body. He cried out, flailed wildly— and was gone.
    Anyone arriving at the gaping wall behind us would have seen nothing, heard nothing, except perhaps the shadow of a great bird flitting across the grass and some distant screams ascending into the sky.

38
     
    Kitty
     
    That afternoon, Kitty walked past the Druids' Coffeehouse three times. On the first two occasions, she saw nothing and no one of interest, but on the third, her luck changed. Behind a gaggle of excitable European tourists, who took up several outlying tables, she discerned the calm figure of Mr. Hopkins, sitting quietly on his own, and stirring his espresso with a spoon. He seemed engrossed in his occupation, absently adding sugar cube after sugar cube to the dark black mix. But he never touched a drop.
    For a long time, Kitty watched him from the shadows of the statue in the center of the square. As always, Mr. Hopkins's face was bland and quite expressionless: Kitty found it impossible to read what he was thinking.
    Her betrayal by her parents had left Kitty more exposed than ever, friendless and alone, and a second hungry night in the cellar had convinced her of the need to speak with the one ally she had any hope of finding. Nick, she firmly believed, would have gone deep into hiding; but Mr. Hopkins, always at one remove from the rest of the Resistance, might still be approachable.
    And here, sure enough, he was, waiting in the appointed place; yet Kitty still hung back, wracked with uncertainty.
    Perhaps it was not strictly Mr. Hopkins's fault that the raid had gone so badly wrong. Perhaps none of the old documents he had studied had mentioned Gladstone's servant. Nevertheless, Kitty could not help but associate his careful advice with the terrible outcome in the tomb. Mr. Hopkins had introduced them to the unknown benefactor; he had helped orchestrate the whole scheme. At the very least, his strategy had been woefully lacking; at worst—he had recklessly endangered them all.
    But with the others gone, and the magicians on her heels, Kitty had few options remaining. At last, she stepped out from behind the statue and crossed the cobblestones to Mr. Hopkins's table.
    Without a greeting, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Mr. Hopkins looked up; his pale gray eyes appraised her. His spoon made little scratching noises against the edges of the cup as he stirred. Kitty stared at him impassively. A bustling waiter approached; Kitty made a cursory order and allowed him to depart. She did not say anything.
    Mr. Hopkins withdrew the spoon, tapped it on the cup's rim and laid it carefully on the table. "I heard the news," he said, abruptly. "I've been looking for you the last day and more."
    Kitty uttered a mirthless laugh. "You're not the only one."
    "Let me say at once—" Mr. Hopkins broke off as the waiter reappeared, set a milkshake and an iced bun before Kitty with a flourish, and departed. "Let me say at once how... dreadfully sorry I am. It is an appalling tragedy." He paused; Kitty looked at him. "If it is any consolation, my... informant was profoundly upset."
    "Thank you," Kitty said. "It isn't."
    "The information we had—and which we shared openly and completely with Mr. Pennyfeather—made no mention of a guardian," Mr. Hopkins continued imperturbably. "The Pestilence—yes, but nothing else. Had we known, we would never of course have countenanced such a scheme."
    Kitty studied her milkshake; she didn't trust herself to speak. All of a sudden, she felt quite sick.
    Mr. Hopkins watched her for a moment. "Are all the others—" he began, then