The Golem's Eye

position. The maneuver had taken only a few seconds, but already a small puddle had gathered between the worn bricks of the cellar floor.
    "Because we want the cellar to appear unused," Kitty said. "That's obvious."
    Stanley grunted. "The stuff's sitting useless in there. It's no place for it."
    From his station near the entrance arch, Fred nodded. He was fingering an open flick-knife in his hand. "Should let us go in," he said.
    At the far end of the little room, which was only dimly lit by a single bulb, a pile of logs had been precariously stacked. The wall behind it appeared solid, if a little crumbling, but they all knew how the mechanism worked: how a metal lever could be depressed into the floor; how, at the same time, the brickwork above the logs could be made to swing open at a touch. They knew the dull grating noise, the cold, chemical smell emanating from inside. But they didn't know exactly what the secret recess contained, as only Anne, who was the quartermaster of the group, was allowed into their leader's chamber. The others always remained outside, on guard.
    Kitty shifted her back against the wall. "There's no point using it all yet," she said. "We need to save as much as possible, wait till we have more support."
    "Like that's ever going to happen." Stanley had not returned to the coal bin, but was pacing fretfully around the cellar. "Nick's right. The commoners are like oxen. They'll never do anything."
    "All those weapons in there," Fred said wistfully. "We should be doing more with them. Like Mart did."
    "Didn't do him much good," Kitty remarked. "Prime Minister's still alive, isn't he? And where's Mart? Food for the fishes."
    She'd intended it to wound, and it did. Stanley had been close friends with Martin. His voice rose a pitch, harsh and resentful: "He was unlucky. The sphere wasn't strong enough, that's all. He could have had Devereaux and half the cabinet. Where's Anne? Why can't she hurry up?"
    "You're kidding yourself." Kitty pursued the point bitterly. "Their defenses were too strong. Mart never had a chance. How many magicians have we killed in all these years? Four? Five? And none of them any good. I'm telling you, weapons or not, we need a better strategy."
    "I'll tell him you said that," Stanley said. "When he gets back."
    "You would, you little sneak." Kitty's voice was scathing. Even so, the thought of it made her shiver.
    "I'm hungry," Fred said. He pressed the button on the hasp of his knife, flicked out the blade again.
    Kitty looked at him. "You had a massive lunch. I saw you."
    "I'm hungry again."
    "Tough."
    "I can't fight if I've not et." Fred suddenly leaned forward; his fingers twisted, blurred; there was a whizzing noise in the air, and the flick-knife buried itself in the cement between two bricks, three inches above Stanley's head. Stanley slowly raised his head and considered the quivering handle; his face was a little green.
    "See?" Fred said. "Lousy shot." He folded his arms. "That's because I'm hungry."
    "It seemed pretty good to me," Kitty said.
    "Good? I missed him."
    "Give him his knife back, Stanley." Kitty suddenly felt very tired.
    Stanley was struggling unsuccessfully to pull the knife free of the wall when the hidden door opened above the log pile and Anne emerged. The small bag she had taken in with her was nowhere to be seen.
    "Squabbling again?" she said tartly. "Come along, children."
     
    The walk back to the shop was just as wet as the outward journey, and the spirits of the group were lower than ever by the time they arrived. As they entered in a gout of spray and steam, Nick ran forward, his face shining with excitement.
    "What is it?" Kitty asked. "What's happened?"
    "Just got word," he said breathlessly. "From Hopkins. They're coming back within the week. Going to tell us something of the first importance. A new job. Bigger than anything we've ever done."
    "Bigger than Westminster Hall?" Stanley sounded skeptical.
    Nick grinned. "Saving Mart's memory, bigger even than that. Hopkins's letter doesn't say what, but it's going to shake everything up, he says. It's what we've always wanted, every one of us. We're going to do something that'll transform our fortunes at a stroke. It's dangerous, but if we do it right, he says, we'll knock the magicians off their perch. London will never be the same again."
    "About time," Anne said. "Stanley, go and put the kettle on."

15
     
    Bartimaeus
     
    Picture the scene. London in the rain. Gray sheets of water