The Golem's Eye

so many questions.... And over here is another." He levered himself up and over the space in the wall into the next shop. Glowering, the boy followed. Julius Tallow was a fool. He appeared complacent, but like a weak swimmer out of his depth, his legs were kicking frantically under the surface, trying to keep him afloat. Whatever happened, Nathaniel did not intend to sink with him.
    The air in Coot's Delicatessen carried a strong taint, sharp and unpleasant. Nathaniel reached into his breast pocket for his voluminous colored handkerchief and held it under his nose. He stepped gingerly into the dim interior. Vats of olives and pickled anchovies had been broached and the contents spilled; their smell combined nastily with something denser, more acidic. A trace of burning. Nathaniel's eyes stung a little. He coughed into his handkerchief.
    "So here they are: Duvall's best men." Tallow's voice was heavy with sarcasm.
    Six conical piles of jet-black ash and bones were dotted here and there across the shop floor. In the nearest, a couple of sharp canine teeth were clearly visible; also the end of a long thin bone, perhaps the policeman's tibia. Most of the body had been completely consumed. The boy bit his lip and swallowed.
    "Got to get used to this kind of thing in Internal Affairs," the magician said heartily. "Feel free to step outside if you're feeling faint, John."
    The boy's eyes glittered. "No, thank you. I'm quite all right. This is very—"
    "Interesting? Isn't it, though? Reduced to pure carbon—or near as makes no odds; just the odd tooth escaped. And yet each little mound tells a story. Look at that one near the door, for instance, spread out more than the others. Implies he was moving fast, leaping for safety, maybe. But he wasn't fast enough, I fancy."
    Nathaniel said nothing. He found the minister's callousness harder to stomach than the remains, which were, after all, very neatly piled.
    "So, Mandrake," Tallow said. "Any ideas?"
    The boy took a deep, grim breath and leafed swiftly through his well-stocked memory. "It's not a Detonation," he began, "nor a Miasma; nor a Pestilence—they're all much too messy. Might have been an Inferno—"
    "Do you think so, Mandrake? Why?"
    "—I was going to say, sir, it might have been an Inferno, except that there's no damage anywhere around the remains. They're all that's burned, nothing else."
    "Oh. So what then?"
    The boy looked at him. "I really have no idea, sir. What do you think?"
    Whether Mr. Tallow would have managed a reply, the boy doubted; the minister was saved from responding by the faint tinkling of an unseen bell and a shimmering in the air beside him. These signs announced the arrival of a servant. Mr. Tallow spoke a command and the demon materialized fully. For unknown reasons, it wore the semblance of a small green monkey, which sat cross-legged on a luminous cloud. Mr. Tallow regarded it. "Your report?"
    "As you requested, we have scanned the rubble and all levels of the buildings on each plane at the most minute dimension of scale," the monkey said. "We can find no traces of magical activity remaining, except the following, which I shall enumerate:
    "One: Faint glimmerings of the nexus boundary, which the Security team erected around the perimeter.
    "Two: Residual traces of the three demi-afrits that were sent inside the boundary. It seems their essences were destroyed in Mr. Pinn's establishment.
    "Three: Numerous auras from the artifacts of Pinn's Accoutrements. Most of these remain scattered in the road, although several small items of value have been appropriated by your assistant, Mr. Ffoukes, when you weren't looking.
    "That is the sum total of our researches." The monkey twirled its tail in a relaxed fashion. "Do you require any further information at this stage, master?"
    The magician waved a hand. "That will be all, Nemaides. You may go."
    The monkey inclined its head. It stuck its tail straight up into the air, clasped it with all four feet as if it were a rope, and clambering up at speed, vanished from view.
    The minister and his assistant remained silent for a moment. At last Mr. Tallow broke the silence. "You see, Mandrake?" he said. "It is a mystery. This is not magicians' work: any higher demon would have left traces of its passing. Afrits' auras remain detectable for days, for example. Yet there is no trace, none! Until we find evidence otherwise, we must assume that Resistance traitors have found some nonmagical means of attack.