The Golem's Eye

something, and it was hard.
    The black cloud boiled as if in sudden rage. Briefly, it drew back; I caught a glimpse of something very large and solid at its heart, thrashing a giant arm about in mindless fury. Then the cloud closed up again and swelled outward, lapping against the nearest statues as if blindly seeking the perpetrator of the crime.
    In point of fact, the heroic minotaur had made itself scarce: I was crouching down as low as possible in the pharaoh's lap, peeping out through a crack in the marble. Even my horns had drooped a little so as not to be exposed. I watched the darkness move now, as whatever was inside it began its hunt: it shifted decisively away from Ramses' base, welling back and forth against nearby statues. A series of heavy impacts sounded: the noise of hidden footfalls.
    While it is true to say that my hopes for my first attack hadn't been sky-high, given that my adversary was capable of smashing through solid walls, I was a little disappointed that the stone hadn't made more of an impact. But it had given me a tiny glimpse of the creature within, and since—if I couldn't destroy it—one of my charges was to get information on the marauder, this was something worth following up. A small stone had made a small dent in the darkness.... This being so, what would a large stone do?
    The billowing cloud was moving off to investigate a suspicious group of statues on the opposite side of the hall. With unlikely stealth, the minotaur descended from the pharaoh's lap and proceeded, in a series of little darting movements between hiding places, across the gallery to where a large sandstone torso of another pharaoh stood beside the wall. [10]

    [10] The cartouche on its chest proclaimed it to be Ahmose of the 18th Dynasty, "he who unites in glory." Since he was currently lacking his own head, legs, and arms, this boast rang a little hollow.
     
    The torso was high—about fifteen feet tall. I squeezed into the shadows behind it, on my way plucking a small burial pot off a nearby stand. Once suitably concealed, I stuck out a hairy arm and tossed the pot to the ground ten feet or so away. It broke with a satisfyingly crisp crack.
    Instantly, as if it had been waiting for just such a sound, the cloud of darkness shifted position and began flowing rapidly in the direction of the noise. Eager footfalls sounded; questing tentacles of blackness extended out, whipping against the statues that they passed. The cloud drew close to the smashed pot; it paused there, billowing uncertainly.
    It was in position. By this time, the minotaur had clambered halfway up the sandstone torso, braced its back against the wall behind, and was pushing at the statue with all the might of its cloven hooves. The torso began to shift immediately, rocking back and forth, and making a slight scraping sound as it did so. [11]  The cloud of blackness caught the noise; it darted in my direction.
     
    [11] My adversary should have borne the principles of leverage in mind when trying to shift Ramses. As I once told Archimedes, "give me a lever long enough and I will move the world." In this case, the world was a tad ambitious, but a six-ton headless torso suited me just fine.
     
    Not fast enough. With one final heave, the torso's center of balance shifted irrevocably; down it came, whistling through the dark hall, slap-bang into the cloud.
    The force of the impact blew the cloud into a million ragged wisps; they shot out in all directions.
    I jumped clear, landing nimbly to the side. I turned eagerly, scanning the scene.
    The torso was not flat against the ground. It had cracked across the middle; its top end was several feet off the floor, as if it were resting on something large.
    I walked toward it carefully. From my angle I couldn't get a view of what was lying comatose beneath. Still, it looked as if I'd been successful. In a few moments I could head off, signal the boy, and get ready for my dismissal.
    I drew close and bent down to look beneath the statue.
    A giant hand shot out, faster than thought, grabbed me by one hairy leg. It was blue-gray, possessed of three fingers and a thumb, hard and cold as buried stone. Veins ran through it as through marble, but they pulsed with life. Its grip crushed my essence like a vise. The minotaur bellowed with pain. I needed to change, to withdraw my essence from the fist, but my head was spinning—I could not concentrate long enough to do so. A terrible coldness extended outward,