The Golem's Eye

Whitwell; it hovered above her, great slabs of clay sloughing off onto the parquet floor.
    Mr. Duvall cried out. "We have our answer and must delay no longer! Jessica Whitwell is the creature's master. Ms. Farrar—summon your men and escort her to the Tower!"
    The clay mound gave a strange shudder. It tipped suddenly—away from Ms. Whitwell, and toward the center of the table, where Devereaux, Duvall, and Mortensen were standing. All three started back a pace. The golem was scarcely taller than a man now, a crumbling pillar of decay. It lurched up against the table edge and here it paused again, separated from the magicians by a meter of varnished wood.
    The clay fell forward onto the tabletop. Then, with a horrible intentness, it moved, shuffling side to side in weak and painful spasms, like a limbless torso wriggling. It moved among the debris of the breakfast, knocking plates and bones aside; it nudged against the nearest vigilance sphere nexus, which instantly flickered and went out; it clawed its way directly toward the motionless form of the Police Chief, Henry Duvall.
    The room was very silent now, save for the quiet choking of Marmaduke Fry.
    Mr. Duvall, his face ashen, retreated from the table. He pressed back against his chair, which knocked against the wall.
    The clay had left almost half its remaining substance amid the scattered plates and cutlery. It reached the opposite side of the table, reared up, swayed like an earthworm, flowed down upon the floor. With sudden speed it darted forward.
    Mr. Duvall jerked back, lost his balance, subsided into his chair. His mouth opened and shut, but made no sound.
    The sinuous mass of clay reached his jackboots. Summoning the last of its energy, it rose up in a blunt and swaying tower, to teeter for an instant over the Police Chief's head. Then it crashed down upon him, shedding the last vestiges of Kavka's magic as it did so. The clay split, fragmenting into a shower of tiny particles that spattered down upon Duvall and the wall behind him and sent a small oval piece of material tumbling gently down his chest.
    Silence in the room. Henry Duvall gazed down, blinking through a clinging veil of clay. From its lodging place on his lap, the golem's eye stared blankly back.

47
     
    Bartimaeus
     
    The uproar that attended my master's unmasking of Henry Duvall was as tumultuous as it is tedious to relate. For a long while bedlam reigned; word spread in ripples out from the magicians' chamber, across the heart of Whitehall and into the extremities of the city, where even the lowliest commoners wondered at it. The downfall of one of the great is always attended by much excitement, and this was no exception. One or two impromptu street parties were held that very evening and, on the rare occasions when they dared show their faces in the ensuing weeks, members of the Night Police were treated with overt derision.
    In the immediate term, confusion was the order of the day. It took an age to place Duvall under arrest—this was through no fault on his part, since he seemed stunned by the direction events had taken, and made no effort to resist or escape. But the wretched magicians lost no time in clamoring to take his place, and for some while squabbled like vultures over who had the right to take charge of the police. My master did not take part in the fray; his actions had done the talking.
    In the end, the Prime Minister's lackeys summoned a fat afrit, who had been lurking sheepishly in the lobby out of the way of the golem, and with its help achieved order. The ministers were dismissed, Duvall and Jane Farrar taken into custody, and the excited onlookers shepherded out of the building. [1]  Jessica Whitwell loitered till the last, shrilly proclaiming her part in Nathaniel's success, but finally she, too, reluctantly departed. The Prime Minister and my master were left alone.
     
    [1] The vast majority went quickly and without trouble. A few laggards were helped on their way by the application of Infernos to their backsides. A number of pressmen from The Times, who were discovered making detailed notes of the magicians' panic, were escorted to a quiet place, where their reports were channeled more favorably.
     
    Exactly what passed between them, I don't know, as I was sent along with the afrit to restore order in the streets outside. When I returned, some hours later, my master was sitting in a side room alone, eating breakfast. He no longer had the Staff.
    I took the