Bartimaeus: The Golem’s Eye Read Online Free PDF

the other commoners, they were instructed to offer “stolen artifacts” to anyone who seemed interested in them. Nathaniel hoped this ploy might encourage agents of the Resistance to break cover.
    It was a forlorn hope. Most of the stool pigeons failed to rouse any interest in their magical trinkets, and the only man who was successful vanished without making his report. To Nathaniel’s frustration, his body was later found floating in the Thames.
    Nathaniel’s most recent strategy, for which he initially had high hopes, was to command two foliots to adopt the semblance of orphan waifs and to send them out to roam the city by day. Nathaniel strongly suspected that the Resistance was largely composed of child street gangs, and he reasoned that, sooner or later, they might try to recruit the newcomers. But so far, the bait had not been taken.
    The office that morning was hot and drowsy. Flies buzzed against the windowpanes. Nathaniel went so far as to remove his coat and roll up his extensive sleeves. Suppressing his yawns, he plowed through a mass of paperwork, most of which was concerned with the latest Resistance outrage: an attack on a shop in a Whitehall backstreet. At dawn that day, an explosive device, probably a small sphere, had been tossed through a skylight, grievously wounding the manager. The shop supplied tobacco and incense to magicians; presumably this was why it had been targeted.
    There were no witnesses, and surveillance spheres had not been in the area. Nathaniel cursed under his breath. It was hopeless. He had no leads at all. He tossed the papers aside and picked up another report. Rude slogans at the expense of the Prime Minister had again been daubed on lonely walls throughout the city. He sighed and signed a paper ordering an immediate cleanup operation, knowing full well the graffiti would reappear as fast as the whitewash men could work.
    Lunchtime came at last, and Nathaniel attended a party in the garden of the Byzantine embassy, held to mark the forthcoming Founders Day. He drifted among the guests, feeling listless and out of sorts. The problem of the Resistance was preying on his mind.
    As he ladled strong fruit punch from a silver tureen in a corner of the garden, he noticed a young woman standing close by. After eyeing her warily for a moment, Nathaniel made what he hoped was an elegant gesture. “I understand you had some success recently, Ms. Farrar. Please accept my congratulations.”
    Jane Farrar murmured her thanks. “It was only a small nest of Czech spies. We believe they had come in by fishing boat from the Low Countries. They were clumsy amateurs, easily spotted. Some loyal commoners raised the alarm.”
    Nathaniel smiled. “You are far too modest. I heard that the spies led the police on a merry dance around half of England, killing several magicians in the process.”
    “There were a few small incidents.”
    “It is a notable victory, even so.” Nathaniel took a small sip of punch, pleased with the backhanded nature of his compliment. Jane Farrar’s master was the police chief Mr. Henry Duvall, a great rival of Jessica Whitwell. At functions such as this, Ms. Farrar and Nathaniel often exchanged feline conversation, all purred compliments and carefully sheathed claws, testing each other’s mettle.
    “But what of you, John Mandrake?” Jane Farrar said, sweetly. “Is it true that you’ve been assigned responsibility for uncovering this irritating Resistance? That is no small matter either!”
    “I am only amassing information; we have a network of informers to keep busy. It is nothing too exciting.”
    Jane Farrar reached for the silver ladle and stirred the punch gently. “Perhaps not, but unheard of for someone as inexperienced as you. Well done. Would you care for another tot?”
    “Thank you, no.” With annoyance, Nathaniel felt the color rush to his cheeks. It was true, of course: he was young, he was inexperienced; everyone was watching to see whether he