The Golem's Eye

sheeting. He quelled a desire to step across and peer out into the night. Patience. The girl would come; all it took was time.
    "How about a game?" The boy on the wardrobe grinned down at him. "I could find us a ball and wall-hoop and teach you two the Aztec ball game. It's great fun. You have to use your knees and elbows to get the ball through the hoop. That's the only rule. Oh, and the losers get sacrificed. I'm very good at it, as you'll discover."
    Nathaniel waved his hand wearily. "No."
    "I Spy, then?"
    Nathaniel blew out hard through his nose. It was difficult enough to remain calm without the djinni's jabbering. He was playing for high stakes here, and the consequences of failure did not bear thinking about.
     
    Mr. Makepeace had visited him early that morning in secret, bringing news. His underworld contact believed he could gain access to the fugitive Kitty Jones and that it would be possible to tempt her out of hiding, if a suitable goad could be discovered. Nathaniel's swift and inventive mind had immediately turned to her childhood friend Jakob Hyrnek, who had been mentioned in the records of her trial and to whom Kitty had a proven loyalty. From what Nathaniel had seen of her— here he gingerly fingered the purpling bruise on his cheek—the girl would not be afraid to come to Hyrnek's aid if danger threatened.
    The rest was easy. Hyrnek's capture had been rapidly effected, and Makepeace had conveyed word of it to his contact. All Nathaniel had to do now was wait.
    "Psst." He looked up. The djinni was beckoning him over, all the while nodding and winking with furious confidentiality.
    "What?"
    "Come over here a minute. Out of earshot." It nodded toward Hyrnek, who was rocking back and forth in his chair a little way across the room.
    With a sigh, Nathaniel stepped close. "Well?"
    The djinni bent its head over the edge of the wardrobe. "I've been thinking," it whispered. "What's going to happen to you when your precious Ms. Whitwell finds out about this? Because she doesn't know you've snatched the boy, does she? I don't understand what game you're playing here. You're usually such a well-behaved little underling, a petted lapdog eager to please."
    The barb hit home. Nathaniel bared his teeth. "That time is past," he said. "She won't find out until I have the girl and the Staff under lock and key. Then she'll have to clap with the rest of them. I'll be too close to Devereaux for any of them to do anything other than cheer."
    The boy arranged itself to sit neatly cross-legged, in a manner reminiscent of an Egyptian scribe. "You're not doing this on your own," it said. "Someone's helped you set it all up. Someone who knows how to find the girl and tell her we're here. You don't know where she is, or you'd have caught her yourself by now."
    "I've got contacts."
    "Contacts who know a great deal about the Resistance, it would seem. You'd better be careful, Nat. Things like that can work both ways. That hairy Police Chief would give his carnassials to link you somehow with those traitors. If he knew you were doing deals with them..."
    "I'm not doing deals!"
    "Ooh. That was a shout. You're agitated."
    "I'm not. I'm just saying. I'm capturing her, aren't I? I just want to do it my own way."
    "Fine, but who's your contact? How does he or she know so much about the girl? That's what you should be asking."
    "It's not important. And I don't want to talk any more about it." Nathaniel turned his back. The djinni was right, of course: the ease with which Makepeace delved into the underworld was startling. But the theater was a disreputable profession; Makepeace was bound to know all kinds of odd commoners—actors, dancers, writers—who were only one notch above the criminal type. Uneasy as he was with his sudden new alliance, Nathaniel was quite happy to reap the benefits of it, provided all went well. But he would be in a parlous position should Duvall or Whitwell discover that he had been acting behind their backs. That was the main risk he was running. Both of them had asked for updates that morning about his activities; to both of them, he had lied. It gave him a prickly sensation at the back of his neck.
    Jakob Hyrnek held up a plaintive hand. "Excuse me, sir?"
    "What?"
    "Please, Mr. Mandrake, I'm getting a little bit chilly."
    "Well, get up and walk about, then. But keep those stupid socks out of my sight."
    Wrapping the coat tightly about him, Hyrnek began to shuffle about the room, his candy-colored striped