The Golem's Eye

movement in the street below the railing: a strange four-legged, two-armed creature with a kind of double head came shuffling out of the night. My master caught sight of it and halted in doubt. It passed beneath a lantern, to be revealed as a courting couple, heads resting together, arms entwined. They kissed assiduously, giggled a bit, moved off along the road. My master watched them go with an odd expression on his face. I think he was trying to look contemptuous.
    From then on, his pacing, never particularly energetic, became distinctly halfhearted. He scuffed along, kicking unseen pebbles, and wrapping his long black coat about him in a hunched, uncaring sort of way. His mind did not seem to be on the job. Deciding he needed a pep talk, I fluttered over and hovered by a headstone.
    "Perk it up," I said, "you're looking a bit lackluster. You'll put this Harlequin bloke off if you're not careful. Imagine you're on a romantic assignation with some pretty, young girl magician."
    I couldn't swear to it—it was dark and all—but I think he might have blushed. Interesting.... Perhaps this was fertile ground to furrow, in due time.
    "This is hopeless," he whispered. "It's nearly half-past twelve. If he was going to show, we'd have seen something by now. I think... are you listening to me?"
    "No." The bat's keen ears had picked up a scrabbling noise from way off across the graveyard. I rose a little higher, peered out into the dark. "This might be him. Feather at the ready, Romeo."
    I banked and swooped low among the stones, taking a circular course to avoid direct collision with whatever it was that was coming our way.
     
    For his part, the boy adopted a more upright pose; with his hat at a rakish angle, hands casually behind his back, he dawdled along the path as if in deep, profound thought. He gave no sign that he noticed the increasingly persistent scuffling sounds, or the strange pale light that now approached him from among the gravestones.

24
     
    Nathaniel
     
    From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw the bat flitter away toward an ageold yew tree, which had somehow managed to survive centuries of burials in one corner of the cemetery. A particularly desiccated branch offered a good view of the path. The bat alighted under it and hung still.
    Nathaniel took a deep breath, adjusted his hat, and strolled forward as nonchalantly as he could. All the while, his eyes were fixed on something moving in the depths of the cemetery. Despite the profound skepticism he felt for the whole farrago, the dankness and solitude of this lonely place had infected his spirits. Against his wishes, he found his heart thudding painfully against his chest.
    What was it that he saw before him? A pale corpse light drifting nearer, a greenish milky white in color, staining the stones it passed with an unhealthy radiance. Behind it came a moving shadow, hunched and shambling, weaving ever nearer through the stones.
    Nathaniel narrowed his eyes: on none of the three observable planes could he see any demonic activity. This thing, presumably, was human.
    At last, the crunch of gravel indicated that the shadow had stepped out upon the path. It did not stop, but came smoothly onward, a ragged cloak or cape drifting drearily behind. As it drew close, Nathaniel noticed a pair of unpleasantly white hands protruding from the front of the cape, holding something that let off the feeble witch light. He tried hard to make out a face, too, but this was concealed by a heavy black hood that curved down like an eagle's talon. Nothing else of the figure could be seen. He turned his attention to the object held in the pale hands, the thing that shed the strange, white glow. It was a candle, firmly wedged into...
    "Euuch!" he said, in Czech. "That's disgusting."
    The figure stopped short. A high, thin voice sounded indignantly from under the cowl. " 'Ere, what d'you mean?" It coughed hastily; a deeper, slower, altogether more eerie voice emerged at once: "That is to say—What... do you mean?"
    Nathaniel curled his lip. "That horrible thing you're carrying. It's foul."
    "Beware! It is an item of power."
    "It's unhygienic, that's what it is. Where did you get it?"
    "I cut it down from a gallows myself, by the light of a gibbous moon."
    "I bet it isn't even pickled. Yes! Look—there's bits falling off it!"
    "No, there aren't. That's drips of candlewax."
    "Well, maybe, but it's still wrong to be carrying it around with you. I suggest you toss it behind