The Golem's Eye

trains?"
    He wandered to the window, his feet tapping on the hollow boards. "Duvall confessed today," he said at last.
    "That's good," I said. "Isn't it?"
    He was looking out at the trees of the square. "I suppose..."
    "Because with my magical powers I detect that you don't seem wildly satisfied."
    "Oh... Yes." He turned to me, forced a smile. "It clears up a lot of things, but most of them we knew already. We'd found the workshop in the cellar of Duvall's house—the pit where the golem was made, the crystal through which he controlled the eye. He worked the creature, no question."
    "Well, then."
    "Today he acknowledged all that. He said he'd long wanted to expand his role, diminish Ms. Whitwell and the others. The golem was his method: it created chaos, undermined the other ministers. After a few attacks, with no solution found and everyone in disarray, Devereaux was only too happy to give him more authority. The police were given more powers; Duvall got the Security post. From there, he'd have been better placed to overthrow Devereaux in time."
    "Sounds fairly clear," I agreed.
    "I don't know..." The boy screwed down the corners of his mouth. "Everyone's satisfied: Whitwell's back in her old job; Devereaux and the other ministers are heading back to their silly feasts; Pinn's reconstructing his shop already. Even Jane Farrar's been set free, as there's no evidence she knew about her master's treachery. They're all happy to put it out of their minds. But I'm not sure. Several things don't add up."
    "Such as?"
    "Duvall claimed that he wasn't alone in this. He says someone put him up to it, a scholar named Hopkins. He says this Hopkins brought him the golem's eye, taught him how to use it. He says this Hopkins put him in touch with the bearded mercenary, and encouraged Duvall to send him out to Prague to track down the magician Kavka. When I started investigating, Duvall contacted the mercenary in Prague and told him to stop me. But Hopkins was the brains of the whole thing. This rings true to me—Duvall wasn't bright enough to have worked it all out alone. He was the leader of a bunch of werewolves, not a great magician. But can we find this Hopkins? No. No one knows who he is, or where he lives. He's nowhere to be seen. It's as if he doesn't exist."
    "Perhaps he doesn't."
    "That's what the others think. They reckon Duvall was trying to shift the blame. And everyone assumes he was involved in the Lovelace conspiracy, too. The mercenary proves it, they say. But I don't know...."
    "Hardly likely," I said. "Duvall was trapped with the others in the great pentacle at Heddleham Hall, wasn't he? He wasn't part of that conspiracy. Sounds like Hopkins might have been, though. He's the connection, if you can find him."
    He sighed. "That's a big if."
    "Perhaps Duvall knows more than he's telling. He might spill more beans."
    "Not now." The boy's face sagged insensibly; he suddenly looked tired and old. "On being returned to his cell after this afternoon's interrogation, he transformed into a wolf, overcame his guard, and broke through a barred window."
    "And escaped?"
    "Not exactly. It was five floors up."
    "Ah."
    "Quite." The boy was by the great bare mantelpiece now, fingering the marble. "The other question is the Westminster Abbey break-in and the matter of the Staff. Duvall agreed he'd sent the golem to steal it from me the other day—it was too good an opportunity to miss, he said. But he swore he had nothing to do with the Resistance, and nothing to do with breaking into Gladstone's tomb." He tapped his hands on the stone. "I suppose I'll have to be satisfied, like the others. If only the girl hadn't died. She could have told us more...."
    I made an affirmative sort of noise, but said nothing. The fact that Kitty was alive was a mere detail—it wasn't worth mentioning. Nor was the fact that she'd told me a good deal about the abbey break-in, and that a gentleman named Hopkins was somehow involved with it. It wasn't my business to tell Nathaniel this. I was nothing but a humble servant. I just did what I was told. Besides, he didn't deserve it.
    "You spent time with her," he said abruptly. "Did she talk much to you?" He eyed me quickly, turned away.
    "No."
    "Too frightened, I suppose."
    "Au contraire. Too disdainful."
    He grunted. "Shame she was so willful. She had some... admirable qualities."
    "Oh, you noticed those, did you? I thought you were too busy reneging on your promise to give much thought to her."
    His