The Golem's Eye

with his finger. He glanced up and nodded affably.
    "Mandrake. Good. Jessica said you'd be calling. Come in. I've got the Prague maps ready for you."
    Nathaniel crossed over to stand beside the Secretary, whose diminutive frame barely reached the level of his shoulder. The man's skin was yellow-brown, the color of sun-stained parchment, and had a dry and dusty quality. He stabbed a finger down upon the map. "Now, that's Prague: a fairly recent map, as you can see— it shows the trenches left by our troops in the Great War. You're familiar with the city in principle, I take it."
    "Yes, sir." Nathaniel's efficient mind smoothly accessed the relevant information. "The castle district is on the West Bank of the Vltava, the Old Town on the East. The old magical quarter used to be near the castle, didn't it, sir?"
    "That's right." The finger shifted. "Over here, hugging the hill. Golden Lane was where most of the Emperor's magicians and alchemists were based—until Gladstone's lads marched in, of course. Nowadays, what magicians the Czechs do have are barracked out of the town center in the suburbs, so there's little, if anything, going on near the castle. It's all run down there, I believe. The other old magical center"—the finger moved east across the river—"is the ghetto, here. That was where Loew created the first golems, back in Rudolf's day. Others in that area continued the practice up until the last century, so I imagine it's there, if anywhere, that the appropriate lore will have been guarded." He glanced up at Nathaniel. "You realize this is a fool's errand, don't you, Mandrake? If they've had the ability to create golems all this time, why haven't they been doing so? Heaven knows, we've defeated them in battle often enough. No, I can't see it, myself."
    "I'm only acting on information received, sir," Nathaniel said, respectfully. "Prague seems the appropriate place to begin." His neutral tone and posture concealed the fact that he agreed wholeheartedly with everything the Secretary had said.
    "Mm. Well, you know best." The Second Secretary's voice made it clear he thought Nathaniel didn't. "Now... see this packet? That contains your fake passport for the trip. You'll be traveling as Derek Smithers, a young apprentice working for Watt's Wine Company of Marylebone. Your pack contains documents confirming that, should Czech customs get fussy."
    "Derek... Smithers, sir?" Nathaniel did not look too enthused.
    "Yes. Only name we could get. Poor lad died of dropsy last month, at about your age; we've since appropriated his identity for government service. Now, you're officially going to Prague with a view to importing some of their excellent beer. I've put a list of brewers in your packet for you to memorize on the flight."
    "Yes, sir."
    "Right. Above all, you've got to be low-key on this mission, Mandrake. Don't draw attention to yourself in any way. If you have to use magic, do it quietly and do it quickly. I hear you might be using a demon. If so, keep it under control."
    "Of course, sir."
    "The Czechs are not to know that you're a magician. Part of our current treaty with them is that we promise not to conduct any magical activities in their territories. And vice versa."
    Nathaniel frowned. "But sir, I heard that Czech infiltrators have been active in Britain recently. Surely they're breaking the treaty."
    The Secretary flashed an irritated side-glance at Nathaniel and tapped his fingers on the map. "That is so. They are quite untrustworthy. Who knows, they may even be behind this 'golem incident' of yours, too."
    "In that case—"
    "I know what you're about to say, Mandrake. Of course, there's nothing we'd like better than to march our armies into Wenceslas Square tomorrow and show the Czechs what's what, but we can't do that right now."
    "Why not, sir?"
    "Because of the American rebels. We're unfortunately a trifle stretched just at this moment. Won't last long. We'll mop up the Yankees and then turn our attention back to Europe. But just at this point, we don't want anything causing ructions. Got that?"
    "Of course, sir."
    "Besides, we're breaking the truce in a dozen ways as well. That's diplomacy for you. In truth, the Czechs have been getting above themselves for the last ten years. Mr. Devereaux's campaigns in Italy and central Europe were inconclusive, and the Prague Council has begun to probe our Empire for weaknesses. They're nipping at us the way a flea does a dog. Never mind. All will come right