The Golem's Eye

those gravestones, then wash your hands."
    "Do you realize," said the figure, who now had one fist wedged irritably against his hip, "that you are referring to an object that has the power to send my enemies into a stupor and can detect watchful magic at fifty paces? This is a valuable item. I'm not binning it."
    Nathaniel shook his head. "You ought to be locked up. That kind of behavior wouldn't be tolerated in London, I can tell you."
    The figure gave a sudden start. "London? What's that to me?"
    "Well, you're Harlequin, aren't you? The agent."
    A long pause. "Might be."
    "Of course you are. Who else would be wandering through the graveyard at this time of night? I don't need to see that icky candle thing to know it's you, do I? Besides, you're speaking Czech with a British accent. Enough of this! I need some information fast."
    The figure held up its free hand. "One moment! I don't yet know who you are."
    "I'm John Mandrake, on government service. As you well know."
    "That's not good enough. I must have proof."
    Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "See that?" He pointed upward. "Blood-red feather."
    The figure considered it. "That looks brick-red to me."
    "It's blood-red. Or it will be in a minute if you don't stop this nonsense and get down to business."
    "Well... all right, then. But first..." The figure adopted an eerie stance. "I must check that no watchers are among us. Stand back!" It held up the object in its hand, spoke a word. Instantly, the pale fire flared outward, becoming a luminous hoop of light that hovered in the air between them. On another command, and with a sudden rushing, the hoop expanded, rippling out in all directions across the graveyard. Nathaniel glimpsed the bat drop like a stone from its perch upon the tree, just before the band of light passed by. What happened to the bat he did not see; the hoop continued out beyond the edge of the graveyard and swiftly faded into nothing.
    The figure nodded. "It is safe to talk."
    Nathaniel pointed to the candle, which had resumed its previous dimensions. "I know that trick. That's an Illuminated Circlet, triggered by an imp. You don't need a dead man's extremities to pull that off. This gothic stuff is all jiggery-pokery, suitable for gawping commoners. It won't work on me, Harlequin."
    "Perhaps..." A gaunt hand disappeared inside the cowl and scratched something ruminatively. "Even so, I think you're being overly fastidious, Mandrake. You're ignoring the fundamental basis of our magic. It isn't so clean and pure as you make out. Blood, ritual, sacrifice, death... they are at the heart of every incantation we utter. We all rely on 'gothic stuff,' when all's said and done."
    "Here in Prague, maybe," Nathaniel said.
    "Never forget, London's power was built on Prague's. So then..." Harlequin's voice turned suddenly businesslike. "The imp that reached me said you were here on a top secret mission. What is it, and what information do you want from me?"
    Nathaniel spoke quickly and with some relief, outlining the main events of the previous few days. The man under the hood heard him out in silence.
    "A golem abroad in London?" he said, when Nathaniel drew to a halt. "Wonders will never cease. There's your gothic stuff coming home to roost, whether you like it or not. Interesting..."
    "Interesting and intelligible?" Nathaniel asked, hopefully.
    "I don't know about that. But I may have some details for you—quick! Duck down!" With the speed of a snake, he threw himself to the ground; without hesitation, Nathaniel did likewise. He lay with his face pressed against the graveyard soil, listening to the sound of jackboots echoing on the cobblestones outside. A faint scent of cigarette smoke drifted on the wind. The sounds faded. After another minute or so, the agent got slowly to his feet. "Patrol," he said. "Fortunately, their sense of smell is deadened by those fags they smoke; we're all right for now."
    "You were saying..." Nathaniel prompted.
    "Yes. First, the issue of the golem's eye. Several of these objects are kept in magical repositories belonging to the Czech government. The Prague Council prevents any access to them. As far as I know, they have not been used for magical purposes, but they are of high symbolic value, since the golems were instrumental in causing great damage to Gladstone's army back in his first European campaign. Several years ago, one of the eyes was stolen, and the culprit never found. I speculate—and it is only speculation, mark