Free Bartimaeus: The Golem’s Eye by Jonathan Stroud Page B

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