The Golem's Eye

thin blue fingers. It would have gone badly for him had Nick not managed to lop off the creature's head with an antique sword he had stolen moments before. Because of his resilience, Tim survived, but complained thereafter of a faint odor he could never shift.
    Aside from demons, the police were a continual problem and eventually led to disaster. As the company's thefts grew more ambitious, greater numbers of Night Police appeared on the streets. One autumn evening in Trafalgar Square, Martin and Stanley noticed a disguised demon carrying an amulet that gave off a vibrant magical pulse. The creature made off on foot, but left a strong resonance in its wake, which Tim was able to follow with ease. It was soon cornered in a quiet alley, where the company weathered the demon's most ferocious assaults. Unfortunately, this magical outburst attracted the attention of the Night Police. Kitty and her colleagues scattered, pursued by things that resembled a pack of dogs. The following day, all but one reported back to Pennyfeather. That one was Tim, who was never seen again.
     
     
    Timothy's loss hit the company hard, and resulted in a second, almost immediate, casualty. Several of the group, Martin and Stanley in particular, called loudly for a more audacious strategy against the magicians.
    "We could lie in wait in Whitehall," Martin said, "when they're driving into Parliament. Or hit Devereaux when he leaves his palace at Richmond. That'll shake 'em up, if the P.M. goes. We need something seismic now to start the uprising."
    "Not yet," Mr. Pennyfeather said testily. "I need to do more research. Now get out and leave me in peace."
    He was a slight boy, Martin, with dark eyes, a thin, straight nose, and an intensity about him that Kitty had never noticed in anyone else before. He had lost his parents to the magicians, someone said, but Kitty never learned the circumstances. He never looked anyone full in the eyes while speaking; always a little down and to the side. Whenever Mr. Pennyfeather refused his demands for action, he would argue his case passionately at first, then suddenly withdraw into himself, blank-faced, as if unable to express the strength of his feelings.
    A few days after Tim's death, Martin did not turn up for the evening's patrol; when Mr. Pennyfeather entered his cellar, he discovered that his secret weapons store had been opened. An Elemental Sphere had been taken. Hours later, an attack on Parliament took place. An Elemental Sphere was thrown into the midst of the MPs, killing several people. The Prime Minister himself narrowly escaped. Sometime the next day, the body of a youth was washed up on the shingle of the Thames.
     
     
    Almost overnight, Mr. Pennyfeather became more solitary and irritable, rarely visiting the shop except on Resistance business. Anne reported that he was throwing himself deeper into his researches in the stolen books of magic. "He wants to access better weapons," she said. "We've only scratched the surface before. We need greater knowledge if we're to get revenge for Tim and Martin."
    "How can he manage that?" Kitty protested. She had liked Tim particularly, and the loss had affected her deeply. "Those books are written in a hundred languages. He'll never make head or tail of them."
    "He's made a contact," Anne said. "Someone who can help us out."
    And indeed, it was around this time that a new associate joined the group. Mr. Pennyfeather valued his opinions highly. "Mr. Hopkins is a scholar," he said, on introducing him to the group for the first time. "A man of great wisdom. He has many insights into the cursed ways of the magicians."
    "I do my best," Mr. Hopkins said modestly.
    "He works as a clerk at the British Library," Mr. Pennyfeather went on, clapping him on the shoulder. "I was nearly caught when trying to, um... appropriate a book on magic. Mr. Hopkins shielded me from the guards, allowed me to escape. I was grateful; we began talking. I have never met a commoner with so much knowledge! He has taught himself many things by reading the texts there. Sadly, his brother was killed by a demon years ago and, like us, he seeks revenge. He knows— how many languages, Clem?"
    "Fourteen," Mr. Hopkins said. "And seven dialects."
    "There! How about that? He does not have resilience as we do, sadly, but he can provide back-up support."
    "I'll do what I can," Mr. Hopkins said.
    Whenever Kitty tried to bring Mr. Hopkins to mind, she found it was an oddly difficult task. It