The Golem's Eye

demon and this unprepossessing youth. They took up station there, evidently waiting for someone. We decided to station officers from the Night Police nearby. Late this very evening, a girl approached the house; challenged by our officers, she proceeded to resist arrest. She was highly armed: two men were killed and four injured in the scuffle. However, our officers were about to effect capture when Mr. Mandrake's demon appeared and helped the suspect escape. At this point, I felt it my duty to arrest Mr. Mandrake."
    The Prime Minister took a small sip of water. "This girl? Who is she?"
    "We believe her to be a member of the Resistance, sir, a survivor of the abbey raid. It seems clear that Mandrake has been in contact with her for some time. Certainly, he helped her evade justice. I thought it proper that the matter be brought to your attention."
    "Indeed." Mr. Devereaux's black eyes scanned Nathaniel for a time. "When your forces encountered her, was the girl carrying Gladstone's Staff?"
    Jane Farrar pursed her lips. "No, sir, she was not."
    "Please sir, if I may—"
    "You may not, Mandrake. Henry, you wish to comment?"
    The Police Chief had been shuffling restlessly in his seat; now he leaned forward, placing his great thick hands palms-down on the table. He turned his head slowly from side to side, scanning the other ministers one by one. "I have had my doubts about this boy for some time now, Rupert," he began. "When I first saw him I said to myself: 'This Mandrake, he's talented, all right, and outwardly industrious—but deep too, there's something unfathomable about him.' Well now, we all know his ambition, how he's wormed his way into poor Jessica's affections, how she gave him power in Internal Affairs at a remarkably young age. So what was his brief in that office? To tackle the Resistance, destroy it if possible, and make the streets a safer place for us all. What has happened in recent months? The Resistance has gone from strength to strength, and their terror campaign has culminated in the ransacking of our Founder's tomb. There is no end to the outrages they have committed: the British Museum, the emporiums of Piccadilly, the National Gallery—all have been attacked, and no one has been held accountable."
    Nathaniel stepped forward angrily. "As I've said many times, those had nothing to do with—"
    An olive-green band of gelatinous substance materialized in midair before him and wound tightly around his head, gagging him painfully. Mr. Mortensen lowered his hand. "Go on, Duvall," he said.
    "Thank you." The Police Chief made an expansive gesture. "Well, now. At first, Ms. Farrar and I assumed all this singular lack of success was down to simple incompetence on Mandrake's part. Then we began to wonder: Could there be something more to it? Could this talented and ambitious youth be part of something more sinister? We began to keep an eye on him. After the museum's destruction, he made a surreptitious journey to Prague, where—although his movements are a little uncertain—we believe he met with foreign magicians. Yes, you may well gasp, Ms. Malbindi! Who knows what damage this boy may have done, what secrets he may have exposed. At the very least, one of our best spies in Prague—a man who had served us well for many years—was killed during Mandrake's visit."
    At this, many of the ministers set up a low muttering. Mr. Duvall drummed the table with his slablike fingers. "Mandrake has been touting an unlikely story about the London attacks, claiming that a golem—yes, you did hear correctly, Ms. Malbindi, a golem—might be behind them. Ridiculous as this is, he appears to have gulled poor Jessica easily enough, and the golem story served as his excuse to visit Prague. He came back without proof of his wild assertions, and—as we have just heard—has since been caught communing with the Resistance and defying our police. It's clear enough that he wants Gladstone's Staff; it may even be that he directed the traitors to the tomb in the first place. I suggest that we escort Mr. Mandrake forthwith to the Tower of London for proper interrogation. Indeed, I propose to take care of the matter personally."
    There was a murmur of assent. Mr. Devereaux shrugged. Of the ministers, Ms. Whitwell remained silent, stony-faced. The portly Foreign Minister, Fry, spoke: "Good. I never liked the boy. His hair is far too long and he has an insolent face. Do you have any methods in mind, Duvall?"
    "Perhaps the Well of