The Golem's Eye

about them. They are always hit-and-run. The Piccadilly incident was different. It was ferocious in its intensity and was sustained for many minutes. The buildings were wrecked from the inside out—the outer walls remaining largely intact. In short, I believe something was exerting highlevel magical control over the destruction."
    Ms. Whitwell spoke then. "But there was no evidence of imps or djinn."
    "No, ma'am. We methodically combed the area, looked for clues, and found nothing. There were no conventional magical traces, which seems to rule out the presence of demons; nor was there any sign of human involvement. Those persons present during the attack were killed by strong magic of a sort, but we have been unable to identify its source. If I might speak freely—Mr. Tallow is ploddingly meticulous, but his methods throw up no new leads. Should our enemy strike again, I believe that we will continue to stumble along in his wake, unless we change our tactics."
    "We need more power to the Graybacks," Mr. Duvall said.
    "With respect," Nathaniel said, "six of your wolves were not enough last night."
    There was a short silence. Mr. Duvall's small black eyes appraised Nathaniel up and down. His nose was short, but unusually broad, his chin blue with stubble, protuberant as a snowplow. He said nothing, but the look in the eyes was clear.
    "Well, that is plainly spoken," Mr. Devereaux said finally. "So, what is your suggestion, John?"
    This was it. He had to seize the chance. They were all waiting for him to fail. "I think there is every reason to believe last nights assailant will strike again," he said. "It has just attacked Piccadilly—one of the most popular tourist destinations in London. Perhaps it seeks to humiliate us, to spread uncertainty among visitors from abroad, to undermine our international standing. Whatever the reason, we need high-level djinn on patrol across the capital. I would station them near other prominent shopping areas, and tourist sites such as museums and galleries. Then, if anything happens, we will be in a position to act quickly."
    There were snorts of disapproval from the assembled ministers and a general outcry. The suggestion was ridiculous: vigilance spheres were already on patrol; the police were out in force, too; high-level djinn required much expenditure of energy.... Only the Prime Minister remained quiet—along with Mr. Makepeace, who sat back in his seat wearing an expression of great merriment.
    Mr. Devereaux called for silence. "It seems to me the evidence is inconclusive. Is this outrage the work of the Resistance? Perhaps, perhaps not. Would more surveillance be useful? Who knows? Well, I have come to a decision. Mandrake, you have proved yourself more than capable in the past. Now do so again. Organize this surveillance and track down the perpetrator. Hunt out the Resistance, too. I want results. If Internal Affairs fails"—here he eyed Nathaniel and Ms. Whitwell meaningfully—"we will have to let other departments take over. I suggest you head off now and pick your demons with due care. For the rest of us—it is Founder's Day, and we should be celebrating. Let us go to dinner!"
     
     
    Ms. Whitwell did not speak until the purring car had left Richmond village far behind them. "You have made an enemy in Duvall," she said at last. "And I don't think the others care for you much either. But that is now the least of your worries." She looked out at the dark trees, the rushing countryside at dusk. "I have faith in you, John," she went on. "This idea of yours may bear some fruit. Talk to Tallow, get your department working, send out your demons." She ran a long, thin hand through her hair. "I cannot concentrate on this problem myself. I have too much to do preparing for the American campaigns. But if you succeed in discovering our enemy, if you bring some pride back to Internal Affairs, you will be well rewarded..." The statement held the implication of its opposite. She left it hanging; she did not need to say the rest.
    Nathaniel felt impelled to respond. "Yes, ma'am," he said huskily. "Thank you."
    Ms. Whitwell nodded slowly. She glanced at Nathaniel and despite his admiration and respect for his master, despite his years living in her house, he suddenly felt that she was eyeing him dispassionately, as if from a great distance. It was the look that an airborne hawk might give a scrawny rabbit, while considering whether it was worth the plunge. Nathaniel was suddenly