Bartimaeus: The Golem’s Eye (6 page)

Kitty looked from side to side in search of inspiration. “Erm … would ‘Sorry’be a start?”

“’Sorry’?”

“Yes, sir. It was an accident, you see, and we didn’t—”

“After what you’ve done? After the damage you’ve caused? Two vicious little commoners—”

Tears studded Kitty’s eyes. “That’s not so!” she said desperately. “We didn’t mean to hit your car. We were just playing! We couldn’t even see the road!”

“Playing? In this private park?”

“It’s not private. Well, if it is, it shouldn’t be!” Against her better judgment, Kitty found herself almost shouting. “There’s no one
else
enjoying it, is there? We weren’t doing any harm. Why
shouldn’t
we come here?”

“Kitty,” Jakob croaked. “Shut up.”

“Nemaides—” the gentleman addressed the monkey-thing on the opposite side of the bridge—“come a step or two closer, would you? I have some business I wish you to take care of.”

Kitty heard the gentle tapping of claws on metal; felt Jakob cringing at her side.

“Sir,” she said quietly “we’re sorry about your car. Truly we are.”

“Then
why,”
said the magician, “did you run away and not stay to admit responsibility?”

A small, small sound: “Please, sir … we were scared.”

“How very wise. Nemaides … I think the Black Tumbler, don’t you?”

Kitty heard a cracking of giant knuckles, and a deep, thoughtful voice. “Of what velocity? They are of under average size.”

“I think rather severe, don’t you? It was an expensive car. Take care of it.” The magician seemed to feel his part in the matter was concluded; he turned, hands still in pockets, and began to limp off back toward the distant gate.

Perhaps if they could run … Kitty dragged at Jakob’s collar “Come on—!”

His face was a deathly white; she could scarcely catch the words. “There’s no point. We can’t—” He had loosened his grip on her now; his hands hung hapless at his side.

A
tap-tap-tapping
of claws on metal. “Face me, child.”

For a moment, Kitty considered letting Jakob go and running, herself alone, down off the bridge and away into the park. Then she despised the thought, and herself for thinking it, and turned deliberately to face the thing.

“That’s better. Direct frontal contact is preferable for the Tumbler.” The monkey face did not seem particularly full of malice; if anything, its expression was slightly bored.

Mastering her fear, Kitty held up a small, pleading hand. “Please … don’t hurt us!”

The yellow eyes widened, the black lips made a rueful pout. “I am afraid that is impossible. I have been given my orders—namely to effect the Black Tumbler upon your persons—and I cannot reject this charge without great danger to myself. Would you have me become subject to the Shriveling Fire?”

“In all honesty, I
would
prefer that.”

The demon’s tail twitched back and forth like that of an irritated cat; it bent a leg and scratched the back of the opposite knee with an articulated claw. “No doubt. Well, the situation is unpleasant. I suggest we get it over with as rapidly as possible.”

It raised one hand.

Kitty put her arm around Jakob’s waist. Through flesh and fabric, she felt the jerking of his heart.

A circle of billowing gray smoke expanded from a point just in front of the demon’s outstretched fingers and shot toward them. Kitty heard Jakob scream. She had just enough time to see red and orange flames flickering in the heart of the smoke before it hit her in the face with a burst of heat, and everything went dark.

6

“K
itty … Kitty!”

“Mmm?”

“Wake up. It’s time.”

She raised her head, blinked, and with a rush awoke to the roar of the theater interval. The lights in the auditorium had come on, the great purple curtain had descended across the stage; the audience had fragmented into hundreds of red-faced individuals filing slowly from the stalls. Kitty was awash in a lake of sound that beat against her temples like a tide. She shook her head to clear it, and looked at Stanley, who was leaning over the stall in front, a sardonic expression on his face.

“Oh,” she said, confusedly. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”

“The bag. Don’t forget it.”

“I’m hardly likely to, am I?”

“You were hardly likely to fall asleep.”

Breathing hard and brushing a loop of hair from her eyes, Kitty snatched up the bag and stood to allow a man to squeeze in front of her. She turned to follow him out along the row of stalls. As she did so, she caught sight of Fred for a moment: his dull eyes were, as always, hard to decipher, but Kitty thought she detected a trace of derision. She compressed her lips and shuffled her way into the aisle.

Every inch of space between the stalls was crowded with people thronging variously toward the bars, the toilets, the ice-cream girl standing in a pool of light against a wall. Movement in any direction was difficult; it reminded Kitty of a cattle market, with the beasts being shepherded slowly through a maze of concrete and metal fencing. She took a deep breath and, with a succession of muttered apologies and judiciously applied elbows, joined the herd. She inched her way between assorted backs and bellies toward a set of double doors.

Midway across, a tap on her shoulder. Stanley’s grinning face. “Didn’t think much of the show, I take it?”

“Of course not. Dire.”

“I thought it had a couple of good points.”

“You would.”

He tutted in mock surprise. “At least
I
wasn’t sleeping on the job.”

“The job,” Kitty snapped, “comes now.”

With set face and hair disheveled, she spilled out through the doors into the side corridor that looped around the edge of the auditorium. She was angry with herself now, angry for dozing, angry for allowing Stanley to get under her skin so easily. He was always looking for any sign of weakness, trying to exploit it with the others; this would only give him more ammunition. She shook her head impatiently. Forget it: this was not the time.

She weaved her way into the theater foyer, where a good many members of the audience were spilling out into the street to sip iced drinks and enjoy the summer evening. Kitty spilled with them. The sky was deep blue; the light was slowly fading. Colorful flags and banners hung from the houses opposite, ready for the public holiday. Glasses clinked, people laughed; with silent watchfulness, the three of them passed among the happy crowd.

At the corner of the building, Kitty checked her watch. “We have fifteen minutes.”

Stanley said: “There’s a few magicians out tonight. See that old woman swilling gin, the one in green? Something in her bag. Powerful aura. We could snatch it.”

“No. We stick to the plan. Go on, Fred.”

Fred gave a nod. From the pocket of his leather jacket he produced a cigarette and lighter. He dawdled forward to a point that gave a view along a side road and, while lighting the cigarette, scanned along it. Seemingly satisfied, he set off down it without a backward glance. Kitty and Stanley followed. The street contained shops, bars, and restaurants; a fair number of people strolled past, taking the air. At the next corner, Fred’s cigarette appeared to go out. He paused to relight it, again peering closely in all directions. This time, his eyes narrowed; casually he strolled back the way he had come. Kitty and Stanley were busy window-shopping, a happy couple holding hands. Fred passed them. “Demon coming,” he said softly. “Keep the bag hidden.”

A minute passed. Kitty and Stanley cooed and clucked over the Persian carpets in the window. Fred inspected the flower displays in the next shop along. From the edge of her eye, Kitty watched the corner of the road. A little old gentleman, well dressed and white-haired, came around it, humming a military air. He crossed the road out of sight. Kitty glanced at Fred. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. Kitty and Stanley remained where they were. A middle-aged lady wearing a large flowery hat appeared around the corner; she walked slowly, as if contemplating the ills of the world. Sighing heavily, she turned toward them. Kitty smelled her perfume as she passed, a strong, rather vulgar scent. Her footfalls died away.

“Okay,” Fred said. He returned to the corner, made a quick reconnaissance, nodded and disappeared around it. Kitty and Stanley peeled themselves away from the window and followed, dropping each other’s hands as if they had sprouted plague. The leather bag, which had been held under Kitty’s coat, reappeared in her grasp.

The next road was narrower and there were no pedestrians nearby. On the left, dark and empty behind a black railing, lay the delivery yard for the carpet shop. Fred was slouching against the railing, looking up and down the street. “Search Sphere’s just passed down the end,” he said. “But we’re clear. Your turn, Stan.”

The gate to the yard was padlocked. Stanley approached and examined it closely From an obscure portion of his clothing he drew a pair of steel pincers. A squeeze, a twist, and the chain snapped open. They entered the yard, Stanley in the lead. He was staring hard at the ground in front of them.

“Anything?” Kitty said.

“Not here. The back door’s got a fuzz over it: some kind of spell. We should avoid it. But that window’s safe.” He pointed.

“Okay.” Kitty stole to the window, scanned inside. From what little she could see, the room beyond was a storeroom; it was piled with carpets, each rolled and tightly wrapped in linen. She looked at the others. “Well?” she hissed. “See anything?”

“Of course,
this,”
Stanley said lightly, “is why it’s so stupid y
ou
being in charge. You’re helpless without us. Blind. Nope—there’s no traps.”

“No demons,” Fred said.

“Okay.” Kitty now had black gloves on her hands. She tensed a fist, drove it into the lowest pane of glass. A crack, a brief tinkling of glass upon the sill. Kitty reached through, flipped the latch, raised the window. She vaulted up and into the room, landing silently, eyes flicking side to side. Without waiting for the others, she passed among the pyramids of linen, breathing the rich fustiness of the shrouded carpets, arriving swiftly at a half-open door. From the bag, a torch: the beam of light illuminated a large, richly appointed office, with desks, chairs, paintings on the wall. In a corner, low and dark, a safe.

“Hold it.” Stanley caught Kitty’s arm. “There’s a little glowing thread at foot-level—runs between the desks. Trip-spell. Avoid.”

Angrily, she pulled herself free from his grip. “I wasn’t just going to go blundering in. I’m not stupid.”

He shrugged. “Sure, sure.”

Stepping high above the invisible thread, Kitty reached the safe, opened the bag, produced a small white sphere and laid it on the ground. Carefully, she retreated. Back at the door, she spoke a word; with a soft sigh and a rush of air, the sphere imploded into nothing. Its suction pulled nearby pictures off the walls, the carpet off the floor, the safe door off its hinges. Calmly, stepping over the invisible thread, Kitty returned to kneel by the safe. Her hands moved quickly, piling objects into her bag.

Stanley was hopping with impatience. “What have we got?”

“Mouler glasses, couple of elemental spheres … documents … and money. Lots of it.”

“Good. Hurry up. We’ve got five minutes.”

“I know.”

Kitty shut the bag and left the office without haste. Fred and Stanley had already departed through the window, and were hovering impatiently outside. Kitty crossed the room, jumped out into the yard, and set off toward the gate. A moment later, with an odd intuition, she glanced over her shoulder—just in time to see Fred tossing something back into the storeroom.

She stopped dead. “What the hell was that?”

“No time to chat, Kitty.” Fred and Stanley hurried past her. “Play’s starting.”

“What did you just do?”

Stanley winked as they trotted out onto the road. “Inferno stick. Little present for them.” At his side, Fred was chuckling.

“That wasn’t the plan! This was a raid only!” She could smell the smoke already, drifting on the air. They rounded the corner past the front of the shop.

“We can’t take the carpets, can we? So why leave them to be sold to the magicians? Can’t have pity for collaborators, Kitty. They deserve it.”

“We could get caught …”

“We won’t. Relax. Besides, a little boring break-in won’t make the headlines, will it? But a break-in and fire
will.”

White with rage, fingers clenched on the handles of the bag, Kitty strolled beside them up the road. This wasn’t about publicity—this was Stanley challenging her authority again, more seriously than before. It was
her
plan, her strategy, and he’d deliberately undercut it. She’d have to take action now, no question. Sooner or later, he’d get them all killed.

At the front of the Metropolitan Theatre, an intermittent bell was ringing, and the dregs of the audience were slipping back inside its doors. Kitty, Stanley, and Fred joined them without breaking pace, and a few moments later subsided in their seats once more. The orchestra was warming up again; onstage, the safety curtain had been raised.

Still shaking with fury, Kitty placed her bag between her feet. As she did so, Stanley turned his head and grinned. “Trust me,” he whispered. “We’ll be front-page news now. There won’t be anything bigger than us tomorrow morning.”