Jonathan Stroud

The Golem's Eye

As always, of course, I tried to resist.
  I exerted all my energies to counteract the pull, but the wrenching words were just too strong; each syllable was a harpoon spearing my substance, drawing it together, dragging me off. For three short seconds the gentle gravity of the Other Place helped me hang back... then, all at once, its support weakened and I was torn away like a child from its mother's breast.
  With extreme suddenness, my essence was compacted, extended to an infinite length and, a moment later, expelled out into the world and the familiar, hated confinements of a pentacle.
  Where, following the immemorial laws, I materialized instantly.
  Choices, choices. What should I be? The summons was a powerful one - the unknown magician was certainly experienced, and thus unlikely to be cowed by a roaring buggane or a cobweb-eyed spectre. So I decided upon a delicate, fastidious guise, to impress upon my captor my formidable sophistication.
  It was a snappy piece of work, if I say so myself. A large iridescent bubble, glimmering all over with a pearly sheen, rotated in mid-air. Soft fragrances of aromatic woods drifted forth, with - faintly, as if born from a great distance - the ethereal music of harps and violins. Inside the bubble, with little round spectacles perched upon her shapely nose, sat a beautiful maiden. She peered calmly out.
  And let off a cry of astonished fury.
  'You!'
  'Now hold on, Bartimaeus-'
  'You!' The ethereal music cut off with an unpleasant squelch; the soft aromatic fragrances turned rank and sour. The beautiful maiden's face grew crimson, her eyes bulged like a pair of poached eggs; the glass in the spectacles cracked. Her rosebud mouth opened to reveal sharp yellow teeth champing up and down with rage. Flames danced inside the bubble and its surface swelled dangerously, as if about to burst. It spun so fast, the air began to hum.
  'Just listen for a minute -'
  'We had an agreement! We each made a vow!'
  'Now, strictly speaking, that's not quite true -'
  'No? Have you forgotten so soon? And it is soon, isn't it? I lose track in the Other Place, but you look barely different than before. You're still a kid!'
  He drew himself up. 'I am an important member of the Government -'
  'You're not even shaving. What is it - two years later, maybe three?'
  'Two years, eight months.'
  'So you're fourteen now. And already you're summoning me again.'
  'Yes, but wait a minute - I never made a vow back then. I just let you go. I never said-'
  '- that you'd not call me back? That was the firm implication. I'd forget your true name, you'd forget mine. Deal. But now... ' Inside the whirling bubble, the beautiful maiden's face was fast regressing down an evolutionary slope - a prominent beetling brow had appeared, a jagged nose, red feral eyes... The little round glasses were somewhat out of place; a claw reached up within the bubble, seized the glasses and shoved them into the mouth, where sharp teeth crunched them into powder.
  The boy raised a hand. 'Just stop messing around and listen to me for a moment.'
  'Listen to you? Why should I do that, when the ache from last time has barely gone? I can tell you, I was anticipating rather longer than two years -'
  'Two years, eight months.'
  '- two measly human years to get over the trauma of meeting you. Sure, I knew some idiot with a pointy hat would one day call me up again, but I hardly thought it would be the same idiot as last time!'
  He pursed his lips. 'I don't have a pointy hat.'
  'You're a fool! I know your birth-name and you bring me back into the world against my will. Well, that's fine, because I'm going to crow it from the rooftops before I'm done!'
  'No - you vowed -'
  'My vow is over, finished, void, annulled, returned to sender marked unopened. Two can play at your game, boy.' The maiden's face was gone. Instead, a bestial shape, all teeth and spiny hair, snapped at the bubble's surface as if trying to break free.
  'If you'll just give me a minute to explain! I'm doing you a favour!'
  'A favour? Oh boy, this is going to be priceless! This I've got to hear.'
  'In that case keep quiet for half a second and let me speak.'
  'All right! Fine! I'll be quiet.'
  'Good.'
  'I'll be silent as the grave. Your grave, incidentally.'
  'In that case -'
  'And we'll see if you can even remotely come up with an excuse worth hearing, because I doubt -'
  'Will you shut up!' The magician raised a sudden hand and I felt a corresponding pressure on the outside of the bubble. I stopped ranting sharpish.
  He took a deep breath, smoothed back his hair and adjusted his cuffs unnecessarily. 'Right,' he said. 'I'm two years older, as you so correctly guessed. But I'm two years wiser as well. And I should warn you I won't be using the Systematic Vice, if you misbehave. No. Have you ever experienced the Inverted Skin? Or the Essence Rack? Of course you have. With a personality like yours, it's a guarantee. Well, then. Don't try my patience now.'
  'We've been through all this before,' I said. 'Remember? You know my name, I know yours. You fire a punishment at me, I fire it right back. Nobody wins. We both get hurt.'
  The boy sighed, nodded. 'True. Perhaps we should both calm down.' He crossed his arms and gave himself over to a few moments' grim contemplation of my bubble.
  I regarded him bleakly in my turn. His face still had the old pale and hungry look, or at least the bit I could see did, since half of it was curtained by a veritable mane of hair. I swear he hadn't been within a mile of a pair of scissors since I'd last set eyes on him; his locks cascaded around his neck like a greasy black Niagara.
  As for the rest, he was less weedy than before, true, but he hadn't so much got bulkier as been clumsily stretched. He looked as if some giant had grabbed his head and feet, yanked once, then gone off in disgust: his torso was narrow as a spindle, his arms and legs gangly and ill-fitting, his feet and hands quietly reminiscent of an ape's.
  The gangly effect was heightened by his choice of clothes: a swanky suit, so tight it looked as if it had been painted on, a ridiculous long black coat, dagger-sharp shoes and a flouncy handkerchief the size of a small tent hanging from his breast pocket. You could tell he thought he looked terribly dashing.
  There were some cast-iron insult opportunities here, but I bided my time. I took a quick look around the room, which appeared to be some formal summoning chamber, probably in a government building. The floor was laid with a kind of artificial wood, entirely smooth, without knots or defects, evidently perfect for pentacle construction. A glass-fronted cupboard in one corner held an array of chalks, rulers, compasses and papers. Another beside it was filled with jars and bottles of several dozen incenses. Aside from these the chamber was completely bare. The walls were painted white. A square window high in one wall looked onto a black night sky; a drab cluster of bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling illuminated the room. The only door was made of iron and was bolted on the inside.
  The boy came to the end of his musing, adjusted his cuffs again and furrowed his brow. He put on a slightly pained expression: he was either attempting to be solemn, or had bad indigestion - exactly which was hard to say. 'Bartimaeus,' he said ponderously, 'listen well. Believe me, I profoundly regret summoning you again, but I had little choice. Circumstances have changed here, and we will both benefit from renewing our acquaintance.'

The Golem's Eye © Jonathan Stroud, 2004.  Published by Doubleday.