The Golem's Eye

of earlier attacks in Westminster, Chelsea, and Shaftesbury Avenue.' Shaftesbury Avenue... Hey, that's us, Fred!"
    Fred only grunted. He was sitting in a wicker chair between two easels, leaning back against the wall so that it teetered and wobbled on two legs. He had been in the same position for almost an hour, staring into space.
    " 'The so-called Resistance is thought to be made up of disaffected youths,' " Stanley went on, " 'highly dangerous, fanatical and addicted to violence'—Blimey, Fred, is it your mother writing this? They seem to know you so well—'they should not be approached. Please inform the Night Police'... blah de blah... 'Mr. Mandrake will be organizing new nighttime patrol... curfew after 9 p.m. for public safety'.... The usual story." He tossed the paper down upon the counter. "Sickening, I call it. Our last job barely gets a mention. The Piccadilly thing's totally stolen our thunder. It's not good enough. We need to take action."
    He looked across at Kitty, who was busily counting sheets of paper. "Don't you reckon, boss? We should load up with some of those goodies in the cellar; pay a visit to Covent Garden or somewhere. Cause a proper stir."
    She raised her eyes, glowered at him under her brows. "No need, is there? Someone's done it for us."
    "Someone, yes.... Wonder who?" He lifted the back of his cap, scratched with precision. "I blame the Czechs, me." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
    He was goading her again, rubbing up against her authority, testing for weaknesses. Kitty yawned. He'd have to try a bit harder than that. "Maybe," she said lazily. "Or it might be the Magyars or the Americans... or a hundred other groups. No shortage of contenders. Whoever it was, they hit a public place and that isn't our way, as you well know."
    Stanley groaned. "You're not still sore about the carpet fire, are you? Bor-ring. We wouldn't have gotten a mention at all if it wasn't for that."
    "People were hurt, Stanley. Commoners."
    "Collaborators, more like. Running to save their masters' rugs."
    "Why can't you just—" She subsided; the door had opened. A middle-aged woman, dark-haired, with a lined face, entered the shop, shaking droplets off her umbrella. "Hello, Anne," Kitty said.
    "Hello, all." The newcomer glanced around, sensing the tension. "Nasty weather having an effect? Bit of an atmosphere here. What's wrong?"
    "Nothing. We're fine." Kitty attempted a relaxed smile. It wouldn't do to spread the dispute further. "How did you get on yesterday?"
    "Oh, rich pickings." Anne said. She hung her umbrella on an easel and strolled to the counter, ruffling Fred's hair en route. She was dowdy of frame, a little rolling in her gait, but her eyes were quick and bright as a bird's. "Every magician ever spawned was out at the river last night, watching the sail-past. Remarkable how few of them guarded their pockets." She raised a hand and made a quick snatching motion with her fingers. "Nicked a couple of jewels with strong auras. The Chief will be interested. He can show them to Mr. Hopkins."
    Stanley stirred. "Got 'em here?" he asked.
    Anne made a face. "I stopped at the mews on the way down and left them in the cellar. Think I'd bring them here? Go and make me a cup of tea, you stupid boy."
    "It might be the last stuff we get for a while, though," Anne continued, as Stanley hopped down from the counter and disappeared into the back of the shop. "That Piccadilly hit was sensational, whoever did it. Like lobbing a rock into a wasps' nest. Did you see the skies last night? Swarming with demons."
    From his chair, Fred growled in agreement. "Swarming," he said.
    "It's that Mandrake again," Kitty said. "The paper says."
    Anne nodded grimly. "He's nothing if not persistent. Those fake kids—"
    "Hold it." Kitty nodded at the door. A thin, bearded man entered from the rain. He browsed awhile among the pencils and notebooks; Kitty and Anne busied themselves about the shop, and even Fred exerted himself to some menial task. Finally the man made his purchases and left.
    Kitty looked at Anne, who shook her head. "He was okay."
    "When's the Chief coming back?" Fred said, discarding the box he was carrying.
    "Soon, I hope," Anne said. "He and Hopkins are researching something big."
    "Good. We're just stewing here."
    Stanley returned, bearing a tray of cups of tea. With him was a thickset young man with tow-colored hair, one arm supported by a sling. He grinned at Anne, patted Kitty on the back, and took