The Golem's Eye

explosions. We slipped through the main entrance unopposed.
    "The Emperor's getting out, is he?" I panted. Frantic imps were passing us, balancing cloth bundles on their heads.
    "He's more concerned about his beloved birds," Queezle said. "Wants our afrits to airlift them to safety." The green eyes flicked at me in rueful amusement.
    "But all the afrits are dead."
    "Exactly. Well, almost there."
    We had arrived in the northern wing of the castle, where the magicians had their quarters. The taint of magic hung thick about the stones. Down a long flight of stairs the leopard and panther ran, out along a balcony overlooking the Stag Moat, and in through the arch that led to the Lower Workroom. This was a broad, circular room that took up almost the entire ground floor of the White Tower. I had been summoned here often over the centuries, but now the usual magical paraphernalia—the books, the incense pots, the candelabra—had been swept aside, to make way for a row of ten chairs and tables. On each table was a crystal orb, flickering with light; on each chair, a hunched magician peering into his or her respective orb. There was absolute silence in the room.
    Our master was standing at a window, staring through a telescope into the dark sky. [7]  He noticed us, made a gesture for silence, then beckoned us into a side room. His gray hair had turned white with the strain of the last few weeks; his hooked nose hung thin and pinched, and his eyes were as red as an imp's. [8]  He scratched at the back of his neck. "You don't need to tell me," he said. "I know. How long have we got?"
     
    [7] The telescope contained an imp whose gaze allowed humans to see by night. These are useful devices, although capricious imps sometimes distort the view, or add perverse elements of their own: streams of golden dust, strange dreamlike visions, or ghostly figures from the user's past.
     
    [8] Comparing masters is rather like comparing facial spots: some are worse than others, but even the best don't exactly tickle your fancy. This one was the twelfth Czech magician I'd served. He wasn't overly cruel, but he was a bit sour, as if lemon juice ran in his veins. He was also thin-lipped and pedantic, obsessed with his duty to the Empire .
     
    The panther flicked its tail. "I'd give us an hour, no more."
    Queezle looked back toward the main room, where the silent magicians toiled. "You're bringing out the golems, I see," she said.
    The magician nodded curtly. "They will cause great damage to the enemy."
    "It won't be enough," I said. "Even with ten. Have you seen the size of the army out there?"
    "As ever, Bartimaeus, your opinion is ill considered and unlooked for. This is a diversion only. We plan to get His Highness away down the eastern steps. A boat is waiting at the river. The golems will ring the castle and cover our retreat."
    Queezle was still staring at the magicians; they stooped low over their crystals, mouthing continuous silent instructions to their creatures. Faint moving images in the crystals showed each one what his or her golem saw. "The British won't bother with the monsters," Queezle said. "They'll find these operators and kill them."
    My master bared his teeth. "By then the Emperor will be gone. And that, incidentally, is my new charge for both of you—to guard His Highness during his escape. Understood?"
    I held up a paw. The magician gave a heartfelt sigh. "Yes, Bartimaeus?"
    "Well, sir," I said, "if I might make a suggestion. Prague's surrounded. If we try to escape the city with the Emperor, we'll all die horribly. So why don't we just forget the old fool and slip away instead? There's a little beer cellar on Karlova Street with a dried-up well. Not deep. The entrance is a bit small, but—"
    He frowned. "You expect me to hide in there?"
    "Well, it would be tight, but I reckon we could squeeze you in. Your pot belly might give us trouble, but it's nothing a good shove wouldn't fix—Ow!" My fur crackled; I broke off sharpish. As always, the Red-hot Stipples made me lose my train of thought.
    "Unlike you," the magician snarled, "I know the meaning of loyalty! I do not need to be compelled to act honorably toward my master. I repeat: you are both to guard his life with your own. Do you understand?"
    We nodded reluctantly; as we did so, the floor shook with a nearby explosion.
    "Then follow me," he said. "We don't have much time."
     
     
    Back up the stairs we went, and through the echoing corridors of the castle.