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JONATHAN STROUD

DOUBLEDAY

Contents

CoverTitleCopyrightDedicationAlso by Jonathan StroudA Note on MagicThe Main Characters

Part OneChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3

Part TwoChapter 4Chapter 5

Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20

Part ThreeChapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26

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Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38

Praise

The Amulet of SamarkandBartimaeus 1Bartimaeus 2Bartimaeus 3Bartimaeus 4

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Version 1.0

Epub ISBN 9781407076898

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THE RING OF SOLOMONA DOUBLEDAY BOOK

Hardback 978 0 385 61915 8Trade paperback 978 0 385 61916 5

Published in Great Britain by Doubleday,an imprint of Random House Children’s

BooksA Random House Group Company

This edition published 2010

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Copyright © Jonathan Stroud, 2010Map illustration copyright © Kayley

LeFaiver, 2010

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and Patents Act 1988.

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For Arthur,with love

Also by Jonathan Stroud

BartimaeusThe Amulet of Samarkand

The Golem’s EyePtolemy’s Gate

Buried FireThe Leap

The Last SiegeHeroes of the Valley

www.jonathanstroud.com

A Note on Magic

MAGICIANS

Since history began in the mud-brick cities ofMesopotamia more than five thousand yearsago, rulers of great nations have always usedmagicians to help maintain their rule. Thepharaohs of Egypt and the kings of Sumer,Assyria and Babylon all relied on magic toprotect their cities, strengthen their armiesand cast their enemies down. Modern gov-ernments, though cloaking the fact behindcareful propaganda, continue this samepolicy.

Magicians do not have magical abilitiesthemselves, but derive their power from thecontrol of spirits, which do. They spendmany years in lonely study, mastering thetechniques that will allow them to summonthese fearsome entities and survive. Success-ful magicians are consequently always cleverand physically robust. Because of thedangers of their craft, they are also usuallyruthless, secretive and self-serving.

For most summonings, the magicianstands inside a carefully drawn circle of pro-tection, within which is a pentacle, or five-sided star. Certain complex incantations arespoken, and the spirit is drawn from its fardimension. Next, the magician recites specialwords of Binding. If this is done correctly,the spirit becomes the magician’s slave. If amistake is made, the protective power of thecircle is broken, and the unhappy magician isat the spirit’s mercy.

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Once a slave is bound, it must obey itsmaster’s instructions until its task is com-plete. When this time comes (it may takehours, days or years), the rejoicing spirit isformally dismissed. In general, spirits resenttheir captivity, no matter what its duration,and seek any opportunity to do their mastersharm. Most sensible magicians thereforekeep their slaves for as short a time as pos-sible, just in case their luck runs out.

SPIRITS

All spirits are formed of essence, a fluid,ever-shifting substance. In their own dimen-sion, known as the Other Place, they have nosolid form, but on Earth they must take somekind of definite guise. However, higher spir-its are able to change shape at will: this gives

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them some respite from the pain that Earth’scruel solidity causes to their essence.

There are five main categories of spirit.These are:

1. Imps: The lowliest type. Imps are scurril-ous and impertinent and their magic ishumble. Most cannot change shape at all.Nevertheless they are easily directed andpresent no great danger to the magician. Forthis reason they are frequently summoned,and used for minor tasks such as scrubbingfloors, clearing middens, carrying messagesand keeping watch.

2. Foliots: More potent than imps, but notas dangerous as djinn, foliots are favoured bymagicians for their stealth and cunning. Be-ing reasonably adept at changing shape, theymake excellent spies.

3. Djinn: The largest class of spirit, and thehardest to summarize. No two seem alike.

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They lack the raw power of the greatest spir-its, but frequently exceed them in clevernessand audacity. They excel at shape-shifting,and have a vast arsenal of spells at their dis-posal. A djinni is the favoured slave for mostcompetent magicians.

4. Afrits: Strong as bulls, imposing instature and arrogant as kings, afrits are bluntand irascible by temperament. They are lesssubtle than other spirits, and their might fre-quently exceeds their intelligence. Monarchsthroughout history have used them as van-guards in battle, and as guardians of theirgold.

5. Marids: The most perilous and leastcommon of the five types. Supremely confid-ent in their magical power, marids some-times appear in discreet or gentle guises,only to suddenly switch to vast and hideousshapes. Only the greatest magicians daresummon them.

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All magicians fear their spirit-slaves, and en-sure their obedience by means of inventivepunishments. For this reason most spiritsbow to the inevitable. They serve their mas-ters as efficiently as possible and – despitetheir natural instincts – remain outwardlyzealous and polite, for fear of repercussions.

This is what most spirits do. There areexceptions.

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A note on pronunciation:

‘Djinni’ is pronounced ‘jinnee’,and ‘djinn’ is pronounced ‘jinn’.

‘Bartimaeus’ is pronounced ‘Bart-im-ay-us’.

The Main Characters

JERUSALEM

Solomon King of Israel

Hiram Solomon’s vizier

KhabaA magician – in service to King

Solomon

EzekielA magician – in service to King

Solomon

And various other magicians, servants andwives

MARIB

Balkis Queen of Sheba

Asmira A captain of the guard

THE SPIRITS

And numerous other marids, afrits, djinn,foliots and imps

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This story takes place in and around Jerus-alem, in 950 BC.

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Part

One

1

Sunset above the olive groves. The sky, like abashful youth kissed for the first time,blushed with a peach-pink light. Through theopen windows came the gentlest of breezes,carrying the fragrances of evening. It stirredthe hair of the young woman standing aloneand pensive in the centre of the marble floor,and caused her dress to flutter against thecontours of her lean, dark limbs.

She lifted a hand; slim fingers toyed with aringlet of hair beside her neck. ‘Why so shy,my lord?’ she whispered. ‘Come near and letme look on you.’

In the opposite pentacle the old manlowered the wax cylinder in his hand andglared at me with his single eye. ‘Great Je-hovah, Bartimaeus! You don’t think that’sgoing to work on me?’

My eyelashes quivered beguilingly. ‘I’lldance too, if you’ll only step a little closer.Come on, spoil yourself. I’ll do you the Twirlof the Seven Veils.’

The magician spoke with irritation. ‘No,thank you. And you can stop that too.’

‘Stop what?’‘That … that jiggling about. Every now and

then you—There! You did it again!’‘Oh, come on, sailor, live a little. What’s

putting you off?’My master uttered an oath. ‘Possibly your

clawed left foot. Possibly your scaly tail. Alsopossibly the fact that even a new-born babewould know not to step outside his protect-ive circle when requested to do so by awicked, duplicitous spirit such as yourself.

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Now silence, cursed creature of air, andabandon your pathetic temptations, or I shallstrike you sideways with such a Pestilence aseven great Egypt never suffered!’ The old boywas quite excited, all out of breath, his whitehair a disordered halo around his head.From behind his ear he took a stylus andgrimly made a notation on the cylinder.‘There’s a black mark there for you, Bartim-aeus,’ he said. ‘Another one. If this line getsfilled, you’ll be off the special allowances listfor good, you understand. No more roastedimps, no time off, nothing. Now, I’ve a jobfor you.’

The maiden in the pentacle folded herarms. She wrinkled her dainty nose. ‘I’ve justdone a job.’

‘Well, now you’ve got another one.’‘I’ll do it when I’ve had a rest.’‘You’ll do it this very night.’‘Why should I do it? Send Tufec or Rizim.’

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A bright jag of scarlet lightning issuedfrom the forefinger of the old man, loopedacross the intervening space and set mypentacle aflame, so that I wailed and dancedwith mad abandon.

The crackling ceased; the pain in my feetlessened. I came to an ungainly standstill.

‘You were right, Bartimaeus,’ the old manchuckled. ‘You do dance well. Now, are yougoing to give me any more backchat? If so,another notch upon the cylinder it shall be.’

‘No, no – there’s no need for that.’ To mygreat relief the stylus was slowly replaced be-hind the aged ear. I clapped my hands vigor-ously. ‘So, another job, you say? What joy!I’m humbled that you have selected me fromamong so many other worthy djinn. Whatbrought me to your attention tonight, greatMaster? The ease with which I slew the giantof Mount Lebanon? The zeal with which Iput the Canaanite rebels to flight? Or just mygeneral reputation?’

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The old man scratched his nose. ‘None ofthat; rather it was your behaviour last night,when the watch-imps observed you in theform of a mandrill swaggering through theundergrowth below the Sheep Gate, singinglewd songs about King Solomon and loudlyextolling your own magnificence.’

The maiden gave a surly shrug. ‘Might nothave been me.’

‘The words “Bartimaeus is best”, repeatedat tedious length, suggest otherwise.’

‘Well, all right. So I’d had too many mitesat supper. No harm done.’

‘No harm? The Watch reported it to theirsupervisor, who reported it to me. I reportedit to High Magician Hiram, and I believe ithas since come to the ears of the king him-self.’ His face became all prim and starchy.‘He is not pleased.’

I blew out my cheeks. ‘Can’t he tell me soin person?’

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The magician’s eye bulged; it looked like

an egg emerging from a chicken.1 ‘You daresuggest,’ he cried, ‘that great Solomon, Kingof all Israel, master of all lands from the Gulfof Aqaba to the broad Euphrates, woulddeign to speak with a sulphurous slave suchas you? The idea! In all my years I haveheard nothing so offensive—!’

‘Oh, come, come. Look at the state of you.Surely you must have.’

‘Two more notches, Bartimaeus, for youreffrontery and cheek.’ Out came the cylinder;the stylus scratched upon it furiously. ‘Nowthen, enough of your nonsense. Listen to meclosely. Solomon desires new wonders for hiscollection. He has commanded his magiciansto search the known world for objects ofbeauty and power. At this very moment, inall the wall-towers of Jerusalem, my rivalsconjure demons no less hideous than youand send them out like fiery comets to plun-der ancient cities, north, south, east and

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west. All hope to astound the king with thetreasures they secure. But they will be disap-pointed, Bartimaeus, will they not, for wewill bring him the finest prize of all. You un-derstand me?’

The pretty maiden curled her lip; my long,sharp teeth glinted wetly. ‘Grave-robbingagain? Solomon should be doing seedy stufflike this himself. But no, as usual he can’t bebothered to lift his finger and use the Ring.How lazy can you get?’

The old man gave a twisted smile. Theblack hollow of his lost eye seemed to suck inlight. ‘Your opinions are interesting. Somuch so that I shall depart right now and re-port them to the king. Who knows? Perhapshe will choose to lift his finger and use theRing on you.’

There was a slight pause, during which theshadows of the room grew noticeably deeper,and a chill ran up my shapely spine. ‘No

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need,’ I growled. ‘I’ll get him his precioustreasure. Where do you want me to go, then?’

My master gestured to the windows,through which the cheery lights of lower Jer-usalem winked and shone. ‘Fly east toBabylon,’ he said. ‘One hundred miles south-east of that dread city, and thirty miles southof the Euphrates’s current course, lie certainmounds and ancient diggings, set about withfragments of wind-blown wall. The localpeasants avoid the ruins for fear of ghosts,while any nomads keep their flocks beyondthe furthest tumuli. The only inhabitants ofthe region are religious zealots and othermadmen, but the site was not always so des-olate. Once it had a name.’

‘Eridu,’ I said softly. ‘I know.’2

‘Strange must be the memories of acreature such as you, who has seen suchplaces rise and fall …’ The old man gave ashudder. ‘I do not like to dwell on it. But ifyou recall the location, so much the better!

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Search its ruins, locate its temples. If thescrolls speak truly, there are many sacredchambers there, containing who knows whatantique glory! With luck, some of the treas-ures will have remained undisturbed.’

‘No doubt about that,’ I said, ‘given itsguardians.’

‘Ah yes, the ancients will have protectedthem well!’ The old man’s voice rose to a dra-matic pitch; his hands made eloquent flutter-ing gestures of dismay. ‘Who knows whatlurks there still? Who knows what prowls theruins? Who knows what hideous shapes,what monstrous forms might— Will you stopdoing that with your tail? It’s not hygienic.’

I drew myself up. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I getthe picture. I’ll go to Eridu and see what Ican find. But when I get back I want to bedismissed straight off. No arguments, noshilly-shallying. I’ve been on Earth too longnow and my essence aches like a moulderingtooth.’

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My master grinned a gummy grin, stuckhis chin towards me and waggled a wrinkledfinger. ‘That all depends on what you bringback, doesn’t it, Bartimaeus? If you impressme, I may let you go. See that you do not fail!Now – prepare yourself. I shall bind you toyour purpose.’

Midway through his incantation the hornblew hard below the window, signalling theclosure of the Kidron Gate. It was answered,further off, by the sentries on the SheepGate, Prison Gate, Horse and Water Gates,and so on round the city walls, until the greathorn on the palace roof was sounded and allJerusalem was safe and sealed for the night.A year or two back I’d have hoped such dis-tractions would make my master stumble onhis words, so that I might have leaped forthand devoured him. I didn’t bother hopingnow. He was too old and too experienced. Ineeded something better than that if I wasgoing to get him.

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The magician finished, spoke the finalwords. The pretty maiden’s body became softand see-through; for an instant I hung to-gether like a statue formed of silken smoke,then burst soundlessly into nothing.

1 Rizim had put the other eye out on a rare occasion

when our master had made a slight mistake with the words

of his summoning. We’d additionally managed to scorch his

backside once or twice, and there was a scar on his neck

where I’d come close with a lucky ricochet, but despite a

long career commanding more than a dozen formidable

djinn, the magician remained vigorous and spry. He was a

tough old bird.2 Eridu of the Seven Temples, the bone-white city, glit-

tering in green fields. One of the earliest cities of men. In its

day its ziggurats rose high as falcon’s flight, and the scent of

its spice markets drifted on the winds as far as Uruk and the

sea … Then the river changed its course, the land went dry.

The people grew thin and cruel; their temples toppled into

dust, and they and their past were utterly forgotten. Except

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by spirits such as me. And, naturally – whenever their gold

lust overcame their fears – by magicians too.

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2

No matter how many times you see the deadwalk, you always forget just how rubbishthey are when they really get moving. Sure,they look OK when they first break throughthe wall – they get points for shock value, fortheir gaping sockets and gnashing teeth, andsometimes (if the Reanimation spell is reallyup to scratch) for their disembodiedscreams. But then they start pursuing youclumsily around the temple, pelvises jerking,femurs high-kicking, holding out their bonyarms in a way that’s meant to be sinister butlooks more as if they’re about to sit down at apiano and bash out a honky-tonk rag. And

the faster they go, the more their teeth startrattling and the more their necklaces bounceup and get lodged in their eye-holes, andthen they start tripping over their grave-clothes and tumbling to the floor and gener-ally getting in the way of any nimble-footeddjinni who happens to be passing. And, as isthe way with skeletons, never once do theycome out with any really good one-liners,which might add a bit of zest to the life-or-death situation you’re in.

‘Oh, come on,’ I said as I hung from thewall, ‘there must be someone here worthtalking to.’ With my free hand I fired a plasmacross the room, causing a Void to open inthe path of one of the scurrying dead. It tooka step, was sucked into oblivion; I sprang upfrom the stones, bounced off the vaulted ceil-ing and landed nimbly on top of a statue ofthe god Enki on the opposite side of the hall.

To my left a mummified corpse shuffledfrom its alcove. It wore a slave’s robe and

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had a rusted manacle and chain about itsshrunken neck. With a creaky spring itleaped to snare me. I yanked the chain, thehead came off; I caught this mid-palm as thebody fell away, and bowled it unerringly intothe midriff of one of its dusty comrades,snapping its backbone with neat precision.

Jumping from the statue, I landed in thevery centre of the temple hall. From everyside now the dead converged, their robes asfrail as cobwebs, hoops of bronze twirling ontheir wrists. Things that had once been menand women – slaves, freemen, courtiers andunder-priests, members of every level ofEridu’s society – pressed tight about me,jaws gaping, jagged yellow fingernails raisedto rend my essence.

I’m a courteous fellow and greeted themall appropriately. A Detonation to the left. AConvulsion to the right. Bits of ancient per-son spattered merrily on the glazed reliefs ofthe old Sumerian kings.

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That gave me a brief respite. I took a lookaround.

In the twenty-eight seconds since I’d tun-nelled through the ceiling, I’d not had timeto fully assess my surroundings, but from thedécor and the general layout a couple ofthings were clear. First, it was a temple of thewater god Enki (the statue told me that, plushe featured prominently in the wall reliefs,along with his attendant fish and snake-dragons) and had been abandoned for at

least fifteen hundred years.1 Second, in allthe long centuries since the priests hadsealed the doors and left the city to be swal-lowed by the desert sands, no one hadentered before me. You could tell that fromthe layers of dust upon the floor, the un-broken entrance stone, the zeal of the guard-ian corpses and – last but not least – thestatuette resting on the altar at the far end ofthe hall.

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It was a water serpent, a representation ofEnki, fashioned with great artifice out oftwisting gold. It glittered palely in the light ofthe Flares I’d sent forth to illuminate theroom, and its ruby eyes shone evilly like dy-ing embers. As a work of art alone, it wasprobably beyond price, but that was only halfthe story. It was magical too, with a strange

pulsing aura visible on the higher planes.2

Good. That was that settled, then. I’d takethe serpent and be on my way.

‘Excuse me, excuse me …’ This was me po-litely ushering the dead aside, or in mostcases using Infernos to strike them burningacross the hall. More were still emerging,trundling forth from slot-like alcoves in eachwall. There seemed no end to them, but Iwore a young man’s body, and my move-ments were swift and sure. With spell andkick and counter-punch I ploughed my waytowards the altar—

And saw the next trap waiting.

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A net of fourth-plane threads hung allaround the golden serpent, glowing emeraldgreen. The threads were very thin, and faint

even to my djinni’s gaze.3 Feeble as theylooked, however, I had no wish to disturbthem. As a general principle, Sumerian altar-traps are worth avoiding.

I stopped below the altar, deep in thought.There were ways to disarm the threads,which I would have no trouble employing,provided I had a bit of time and space.

At that moment a sharp pain disturbedme. Looking down, I discovered that aparticularly disreputable-looking corpse(who in life had clearly suffered many skinailments and doubtless looked upon mum-mification as a sharp improvement to his lot)had snuck up and sunk his teeth deep intothe essence of my forearm.

The temerity! He deserved special consid-eration. Shoving a friendly hand inside hisrib-cage, I fired a small Detonation upwards.

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It was a manoeuvre I hadn’t tried in decades,and was just as amusing as ever. His headblew clean off like a cork from a bottle,cracked nicely against the ceiling, bouncedtwice off nearby walls and (this was wheremy amusement smartly vanished) plopped toearth right beside the altar, neatly snappingthe net of glowing threads as it did so.

Which shows how foolish it is to go enjoy-ing yourself in the middle of a job.

A deep concussion echoed across theplanes. It was fairly faint to my hearing, butover in the Other Place it would have beenhard to ignore.

For a moment I stood quite still: a thinyoung man, dark of skin and light of loin-cloth, staring in annoyance at the writhingfilaments of broken thread. Then, swearingin Aramaic, Hebrew and several other lan-guages, I leaped forward, plucked the ser-pent from the altar and backed hurriedlyaway.

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Eager corpses came clamouring behindme: without looking I unleashed a Flux andthey were whirled asunder.

Up beside the altar the fragments ofthread stopped twitching. With great speedthey melted outwards, forming a pool orportal upon the flagstones. The pool spreadbeneath the corpse’s upturned head. Thehead dropped slowly down into the pool, outof existence, away from this world. Therewas a pause. The pool shone with the myriadcolours of the Other Place, distant, muffled,as if seen from under glass.

A tremor passed across its surface. So-mething was coming.

Turning swiftly, I considered the distanceto the shattered patch of ceiling where I’dfirst broken through: trickles of loose sandstill spooled down into the chamber. My tun-nel had probably collapsed with the weight ofsand; it would take time to push my way

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back up – time I didn’t presently have. ATrigger-summons never takes long.

I spun back reluctantly to face the portal,where the surface of the pool was flexing andcontorting. Two great arms issued forth,shimmering green and veinous. Clawedhands grasped the stonework on either side.Muscles flexed and a body rose into theworld, a thing of nightmare. The head was

human in semblance,4 and surmounted bylong black coils of hair. A chiselled torsocame next, and this was of the same greenstuff. The components of the bottom half,which followed, seemed to have been chosenalmost at random. The legs, corded withmuscle, were those of a beast – possibly a li-on or some other upscale predator – butended sinisterly in an eagle’s splaying claws.The creature’s rear end was mercifullycloaked by a wrap-around skirt; from a slit inthis rose a long and vicious scorpion tail.

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There was a pregnant pause as the visita-tion pulled free of the portal and stood erect.Behind us, even the last few milling deadwere somewhat hushed.

The creature’s face was that of a Sumerianlord: olive-skinned and handsome, black haircoiled in shining ringlets. The lips were full,the squared beard oiled. But the eyes wereblank holes torn in the flesh. And now theylooked on me.

‘It’s … Bartimaeus, isn’t it? You didn’t trig-ger this, did you?’

‘Hello, Naabash. Afraid so.’The entity stretched its great arms wide so

that the muscles cracked. ‘Ohhh, now what’dyou go and do that for? You know what thepriests say about trespassers and thieves.They’ll have your guts for garters. Or rather… I will.’

‘The priests aren’t that fussed about thetreasure now, Naabash.’

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‘They aren’t?’ The blank eyes lookedaround the temple. ‘It does seem a littledusty. Has it been a while?’

‘Longer than you think.’‘But the charge still holds, Bartimaeus.

Can’t do anything about that. While stonestands on stone and our city lasts … Youknow the score.’ The scorpion tail judderedup with a dry and eager rattle, the shinyblack sting jerking forwards above hisshoulder. ‘What’s that you’re carrying? Notthe sacred serpent?’

‘Something to look at later, when I’ve dealtwith you.’

‘Ah, very good, very good. You always werea chipper one, Bartimaeus, always spokeabove your station. Never known anyone getthe flail so often. How you vexed the humanswith your backchat.’ The Sumerian lordsmiled, showing neat double rows of sharplyfiled teeth. The hind legs moved slightly, theclaws dug into stone; I watched the tendons

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tensing, ready for sudden movement. I didn’ttake my eyes off them. ‘Which particular em-ployer are you vexing now?’ Naabash wenton. ‘The Babylonians, I assume. They wereon the up last time I looked. They alwayscoveted Eridu’s gold.’

The dark-eyed youth ran a hand throughhis curly hair. I smiled bleakly. ‘Like I say,it’s been longer than you think.’

‘Long or short, it matters not to me,’ Naa-bash said softly. ‘I have my charge. The sac-red serpent stays here in the temple heart, itspowers lost to common men.’

Now, I’d never heard of this serpent. Tome it just seemed a typical bit of tat the oldcities used to war over, a kitsch little numberin rolled gold. But it’s always good to knowexactly what you’re stealing.

‘Powers?’ I said. ‘What does it do?’Naabash chuckled, wistful melancholy suf-

fusing his voice. ‘Nothing of consequence. Itcontains an elemental that will emit jets of

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water from the mouth when the tail istweaked. The priests used to bring it out intimes of drought to inspire the people. If I re-member correctly, it is also rigged with twoor three little mechanical traps designed todismay robbers who meddle with the emer-ald studs upon the claws. Notice the hingeshidden beneath each one …’

I made a mistake here. Half lulled by Naa-bash’s gentle tones, I couldn’t help flicking abrief glance down at the serpent in myhands, just to see if I could spot the littlehinges.

Which was exactly what he wanted, ofcourse.

Even as my eyes moved, the beast legsflexed. In a flash of movement Naabash wasgone.

I threw myself sideways just as the flag-stone where I’d been standing was struck inhalf by the sting-tail’s blow. I was fastenough for that, but not enough to avoid the

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lashing impact of his outstretched arm: agreat green fist struck against my leg as Ihurtled through the air. This blow, togetherwith the precious artefact I held, preventedme from employing my usual elegant key-

note manoeuvre in such circumstances.5 In-stead I half rolled painfully across a conveni-ent mat of scattered corpses and leaped tomy feet once more.

Naabash meanwhile had righted himselfwith stately care. He turned towards me,bending low, his human arms pawing at theground; then he sprang again. Me? I fired aConvulsion straight up at the ceiling abovemy head. Once more I jumped away, oncemore the scorpion tail drove straight throughthe flagstones; once more – but this timeNaabash didn’t get around to striking me aswell, since the ceiling had fallen on him.

Fifteen centuries of accumulated desertsands lay atop the buried temple, so with thefalling masonry came a pleasant bonus: a

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great silvery-brown cascade that plungeddown in a torrent, crushing Naabash underseveral solid tons.

Ordinarily I’d have lingered a while to jeerloudly near the rapidly spreading heap, buthefty as it was, I knew it wouldn’t delay himlong. It was time to leave.

Wings sprouted from my shoulders; I sentanother blast upwards to further clear theway, and without pause sprang up throughthe ceiling and the rain of falling sand, to-wards the waiting night.

1 To my connoisseur’s eye the style looked late Sumeri-

an (circa 2500 BC), with just a hint of Old Babylonian dec-

adence, but frankly there were too many body parts flying

about for a proper critique just yet.2The planes: seven planes of existence are superim-

posed upon each other at all times, like invisible layers of

tracing paper. The first plane includes everything in the sol-

id, everyday world; the other six reveal the hidden magic all

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around – secret spells, lurking spirits, and ancient enchant-

ments long forgotten. It’s a well-known fact that you can re-

liably gauge the intelligence and quality of a species by the

number of planes it is able to observe, e.g. top djinn (like

me): seven; foliots and higher imps: four; cats: two; fleas,

tapeworms, humans, dust-mites, etc.: one.3 A Trigger-summons such as this is always invisible to

mortal sight, of course, but with time, faint residues of dust

accumulate on the threads, giving them a ghost-like pres-

ence on the first plane too. This allows perceptive human

thieves a chance. The old Egyptian tomb-robber Sendji the

Violent, for instance, used a small squadron of trained bats

to suspend tiny candles above patches of floor he considered

dubious, allowing him to trace the delicate shadows made

by the dust lines, and so pass unscathed between the traps.

Or at least that’s what he told me shortly before his execu-

tion. He had an honest face, but, well … trained bats … I just

don’t know.4 See? How grotesque can you get? Yeuch.5 ‘The Evasive Cartwheel’™ ©, etc., Bartimaeus of

Uruk, circa 2800 BC. Often imitated, never surpassed. As

famously memorialized in the New Kingdom tomb

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paintings of Rameses III – you can just see me in the back-

ground of The Dedication of the Royal Family Before Ra,

wheeling out of sight behind the pharaoh.

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3

Dawn was at my back when I returned toJerusalem. The tops of the magicians’ towerswere already fringed with pink, and thedome of Solomon’s white-walled palaceshone bright like a new sun.

Further down the hill, by the Kidron Gate,the old man’s tower was mostly in shadow. Iflew to the upper window, outside which abronze bell hung suspended, and rang thisonce, as per my orders. My master forbadehis slaves to come upon him unawares.

The echoes faded. My broad wings stirredthe cold, fresh air. I hovered, waiting, watch-ing the landscape melt into being. The valley

was dim and silent, a trough of mist intowhich the road wound and faded. The firstworkers emerged from the gate below; theyset off down the road towards the fields.They went slowly, stumbling on the roughstones. On the higher planes I could see oneor two of Solomon’s spies going with them –foliots riding the halters of the oxen, bright-hued mites and implets drifting on the wind.

The minutes passed, and finally a charm-ing sensation like a dozen spear pointsplucking out my vitals heralded the magi-cian’s summons. I closed my eyes, submitted– and a moment later felt the sour warmth ofthe magician’s chamber pressing on myessence.

To my great relief the old man was in hisrobes despite the early hour. A templeful ofcorpses is one thing; a wrinkly, undressedmaster would have been another. He wasstanding ready in his circle, and as before, allthe seals and curse-runes were correctly in

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position. With the goat’s-fat candles burningand the little pots of rosemary and frankin-cense repelling me with the sweetness oftheir stench, I stood in the centre of mypentacle and regarded him steadily, holding

the serpent in my slender hands.1

The moment I materialized I knew howbadly he wanted it, not for Solomon but forhimself. His eye widened; avariceshimmered on its surface like a film of oil.

He did not say anything for a while, justlooked. I moved the serpent slightly so thecandlelight flowed alluringly upon its con-tours, tilting it to show him the ruby eyes,and the emerald studs upon the splayingclaws.

When he spoke, his voice was coarse andheavy with desire. ‘You went to Eridu?’

‘As I was ordered, so I went. I found atemple. This was inside.’

The eye glinted. ‘Pass it to me.’

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I held back a moment. ‘Will you dismissme as requested? I have served you faithfullyand well.’

At this the old man’s face congealed withviolent passion. ‘You dare try bartering withme? Pass me the artefact, demon, or by mysecret name I swear I shall plunge you

screaming into the Dismal Flame2 before thehour is out!’ He glared at me, eye popping,jaw jutting, thin white lines of moisture onhis parted lips.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Be careful not to dropit.’

I tossed it over from one circle to the oth-er, and the magician stretched out his claw-ing hands. And whether it was his single eyethat did it, so that he had trouble judgingdistance, or his trembling eagerness, his fin-gers fumbled on the serpent: it dancedbetween them and fell back towards thecircle’s edge. With a cry the old man

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snatched at it, clasped it against his wrinkledchest.

This, his first unguarded movement, wasalmost his last. If so much as the tips of hisfingers had crossed above the circle, hewould have lost its protection and I wouldhave been on him. But (by a whisker) theydidn’t cross, and the pretty maiden, who foran instant had seemed just a little taller,whose teeth had perhaps grown just slightlylonger and sharper than a moment previ-ously, settled back in the centre of her circlewith a disappointed look.

The old man did not notice any of this. Hehad eyes only for his treasure. For a longtime he turned it over in his hands, like a vileold cat playing with a mouse, cooing at theworkmanship and practically dribbling withdelight. After a while it was too revolting tobear. I cleared my throat.

The magician looked up. ‘Well?’

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‘You have what you asked for. Solomonwill reward you richly for this. Let me go.’

He chuckled. ‘Ah, Bartimaeus, but youclearly have such a gift for this line of work! Iam not sure I care to let such a skilful thiefgo … You just stand there quietly. I must ex-plore this most interesting device. I see smallhinged studs upon the toes … I wonder whatthey do.’

‘What does it matter?’ I said. ‘You’re givingit to Solomon, aren’t you? Let himinvestigate.’

My master’s scowl was expressive. I smiledto myself and looked out of the windows atthe sky, where the dawn patrols were barelyvisible, circling at great heights, leaving faintpink trails of steam and sulphur in the air.Looked good, but it was all for show as muchas anything, for who would seriously attackJerusalem while Solomon had the Ring?

I allowed the magician to inspect the ser-pent for a while; then, still looking out of the

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window, said: ‘Besides, he’d be terribly crossif one of his magicians withheld an object ofsuch power. I really wish you’d let me go.’

He squinted up at me. ‘You know what thisis?’

‘No.’‘But you know it has power.’‘Even an imp could see that. Oh, but I for-

get – you’re only a human. You can’t see theaura it radiates on the seventh plane … Buteven so, who can truly tell? There were prob-ably many such serpent statuettes made inEridu. It’s probably not the one.’

The old man licked his lips; his cautionfought with curiosity, and lost. ‘Not thewhat?’

‘It’s none of my business, and none ofyours. I’m just standing here quietly, asordered.’

My master spat out a curse. ‘I revoke thatorder! Speak!’

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‘No!’ I cried, holding up my hands. ‘I knowwhat you magicians are like, and I don’t wantany part of it! Solomon on one side with thatterrible Ring, and you on the other with …with …’ The maiden shivered, as if with sud-den chill. ‘No, I’d be caught up in the middle,and that wouldn’t do me any good at all.’

Blue fires leaped in the centre of the magi-cian’s outstretched palm. ‘Not anothersecond’s delay, Bartimaeus. Tell me whatthis object is, or I’ll pummel you with theEssence Fist.’

‘You’d hit a woman?’‘Speak!’‘Oh, very well, but it won’t do you any

good. It bears a passing resemblance to theGreat Serpent with which the old kings ofEridu conquered the cities of the plain. Thattreasure contained a mighty spirit which wascompelled to do its master’s bidding.’

‘Its master being …’

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‘Whoever held it, I suppose. The spirit wascontacted by pressing a secret catch.’

The magician considered me in silence fora time. At last he said: ‘I have never heardthis story. You lie.’

‘Hey, of course I do. I’m a demon, aren’t I?Just forget all about it and give the thing toSolomon.’

‘No.’ The old man spoke with sudden de-cision. ‘Have it back.’

‘What?’ But it was too late; he had tossedthe serpent back across the space, where themaiden caught it doubtfully.

‘Do you take me for an idiot, Bartimaeus?’my master cried, stamping a wrinkled footupon the marble. ‘Quite patently youplanned to snare me with some trick! Youegged me on to pry into this device, hoping itwould seal my doom! Well, I’m not going topress any of these studs. But you will.’

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The maiden blinked up at the magicianwith her big brown eyes. ‘Look, this reallyisn’t necessary—’

‘Do as I say!’With the greatest reluctance, I raised the

serpent in my hand and considered the studsset upon the claws. There were three ofthem, each decorated with an emerald.Selecting the first, I pressed it gingerly.There was a whirring sound. At once the ser-pent emitted a brief electric shock thatraddled my essence and set the maiden’slong luxuriant hair standing up like a toiletbrush.

The old magician hooted with laughter.‘You planned that for me, did you?’ hechortled. ‘Let this be a lesson to you. Well,and the next!’

I pressed the second stud. Swivelling on aset of hidden cogs and fulcra, several of theserpent’s golden scales flipped up and eges-ted puffs of tarry smoke. As with the first

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trap, long centuries had dulled the mechan-ism, and my face was only lightly blackened.

My master rocked back and forth withmirth. ‘Better and better,’ he crowed. ‘Lookat the state of you! Now the third.’

The third emerald had evidently been de-signed to let off a jet of poison gas, but allthat remained after so many years was afaint green cloud and a bad smell.

‘You’ve had your fun,’ I sighed, holding outthe serpent once more. ‘Now dismiss me, orsend me off again, or whatever it is you wantto do. But leave me be. I’m fed up with this.’

But the magician’s good eye glinted. ‘Notso fast, Bartimaeus!’ he said grimly. ‘You for-get the tail.’

‘I don’t see—’‘Are you blind? There is a hinge there too!

Press that, if you will.’I hesitated. ‘Please. I’ve had enough.’‘No, Bartimaeus. Perhaps this is the

“secret catch” you mentioned. Perhaps you

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will now get to meet this “mighty spirit” ofancient legend.’ The old man grinned withcruel delight; he folded his spindly arms. ‘Ormore probably you will find out yet againwhat it is like to attempt to defy me! Go on –no dallying! Press the tail!’

‘But—’‘I order you to press it!’‘Righty-ho.’ That was what I’d been wait-

ing for all this time. The terms of any sum-moning always include stringent clauses pre-venting you from directly harming the magi-cian who brings you here: it’s the first, mostbasic rule of all magic from Ashur toAbyssinia. Lulling your master into disasterthrough soft words and raw cunning is dif-ferent, of course, as is striking if they breaktheir circle or mess up the incantation. Butdirect assaults are out. You can’t touch yourmaster unless you’re expressly commandedto do so by their own spoken word. As,rather pleasantly, was the case here.

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I hefted the golden serpent and tweakedthe tail. As I’d assumed, Naabash had not

spoken falsely;3 nor had the water elemental4

trapped within deteriorated like the clock-work mechanisms. A bright, pulsing jet ofwater shot forth from the serpent’s openmouth, glistening in the happy light of dawn.Since, by merest chance, I was holding theserpent directly facing the magician, the jetcrossed the intervening space and struck theold codger full in the chest, lifting him off hisfeet and carrying him out of his circle andhalfway across his chamber. The distance hewent was gratifying, but leaving the circlewas the crucial bit. Even before he landed,heavily and soggily, on his back, the bondsabout me snapped and withered, and I wasfree to move.

The pretty maiden tossed the serpent tothe floor. She stepped forward out of herconstraining pentacle. Away across the

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room, the magician had been winded; he laythere helpless, flapping like a fish.

The maiden passed the goat’s-fat candles,and as she did so, every single one of themwinked out. Her foot glanced against a bowlof ward-herbs; rosemary spilled upon herskin, which fizzed and steamed. The maidenpaid no heed; her big dark eyes were fixedupon the magician, who struggled now toraise his head a little, saw my slow approach.

He made one desperate effort, wet andwinded as he was. A shaking hand was raisedand pointed. His mouth moved; hestammered out a word. From his forefinger asputtering Essence Lance leaped forth. Themaiden made a gesture; the spears of light-ning exploded in mid-air and shot off at ran-dom angles to strike the walls, the floor andceiling. One gout plumed out of the nearestwindow and arced out into the valley tostartle the peasants far below.

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The maiden crossed the room; she stoodabove the magician and held out her hands,and the nails on her fingers, and indeed thefingers themselves, were much longer thanhitherto.

The old man looked up at me.‘Bartimaeus—’

‘That’s my name,’ I said. ‘Now, are you go-ing to get up, or shall I come to you?’

The answer he made was incoherent. Thepretty maiden shrugged. Then she bared herpretty teeth and fell upon him, and any fur-ther sounds he made were swiftly stilled.

Three small watch-imps, drawn perhaps by adisturbance on the planes, arrived just as Iwas finishing. Wide-eyed and wondering,they clustered together on the sill as theslender young woman got unsteadily to herfeet. She was alone in the room now; hereyes glowed in the shadows as she turned toface them.

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The imps sounded the alarm, but it was alltoo late. Even as the air above was rent withrushing wings and talons, the pretty maidensmiled and waved goodbye – to the imps, toJerusalem, to my latest bout of slavery onEarth – and without a word was gone.

And that was the end of the old magician.We’d been together a while, but I never gotto know his name. Still, I remember himwith fond affection. Foolish, greedy, incom-petent and dead. Now that’s the kind of mas-ter worth having.

1 I’d chosen the girl’s form again for continuity’s sake,

and also because I knew it irritated my master. In my exper-

ience most magicians can be discomfited if you choose the

right form. Apart from the high priests of Ishtar back in

Babylon, mind you. Ishtar was goddess of love and war, so

her magicians were unfazed by both pretty girls and gore-

spattered monsters. This unfortunately eliminated most of

my repertoire.

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2Dismal Flame: a swift and painful expunction. In later

periods, following its refinement by Zarbustibal of Yemen, it

was known as the Shrivelling Fire. It was the ultimate sanc-

tion for spirits who simply refused to carry out their mas-

ter’s commands, and its threat by and large ensured our

(grudging) obedience.3 Dissemblers as we sometimes are when conversing

with humans, higher spirits almost always speak truth

among themselves. The lower orders, sadly, are less civil-

ized, foliots being variable, moody and prone to flights of

fancy, while imps just enjoy telling absolute whoppers.4Elemental: most spirits incorporate within their es-

sence two or more of the four elements (the finest djinn,

naming no names, are perfectly balanced entities of fire and

air). Those spirits formed of air, earth, fire or water alone,

however, are elementals – a different kettle of fish altogeth-

er. They entirely lack the finesse or charm that make a select

few of us so fascinating, but compensate for this with raw,

bludgeoning power.

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Part

Two

4

King Solomon the Great of Israel, High Ma-gician and Protector of his People, sat for-ward on his throne and frowned an elegantfrown. ‘Dead?’ he said, and then – moreloudly, after a ferocious pause in which theheartbeats of four hundred and thirty-sevenpeople skipped and jolted in anticipation –‘Dead?’

The two afrits that sat before his chair inthe form of goldmaned lions lifted theirgolden eyes to look at him. The three wingeddjinn that hung aloft behind the chair, carry-ing fruit and wines and sweetmeats for therefreshment of the king, trembled so hard,

the plates and glasses rattled in their hands.High in the rafters the doves and swallowsdropped from their roosts, and dispersedbeyond the pillars to the sunlit gardens. Andthe four hundred and thirty-seven humans –magicians, courtiers, wives and supplicants– who were gathered in the hall that morn-ing bent their heads and shuffled their feetand looked intently at the floor.

Rarely, even in matters of war or wives,did the great king ever raise his voice. Suchoccasions did not bode well.

At the foot of the steps Solomon’s vizierbowed low. ‘Dead. Yes, master. But, on ahappier note, he got you a very fineantiquity.’

Still bowing, he indicated with an out-stretched hand the nearest plinth besidehim. On it sat a serpent statuette of twistinggold.

King Solomon regarded it. The hall was si-lent. The lion-afrits blinked down at the

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people with their golden eyes, their velvetfore-paws lightly crossed, their tails flickingoccasionally on the stones behind. Above thethrone the djinn hung waiting, motionlesssave for the lazy beat of their eagle wings.Out in the gardens butterflies moved likeflecks of sunlight among the brightness ofthe trees.

At last the king spoke; he sat back uponthe cedar throne. ‘It is a pretty object. Withhis last act, poor Ezekiel served me well.’ Heraised a hand to signal to the djinn for wine,and since it was his right hand, a ripple ofrelief ran around the hall. The magicians re-laxed; the wives began arguing amongstthemselves; and one by one the assembledpetitioners of a dozen lands raised theirheads to gaze in fearful admiration at theking.

In no way was Solomon ill-favoured. Hehad been spared the poxes in his youth, andthough now into middle age, his skin

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remained smooth and creamy as a child’s. Infifteen years upon the throne, indeed, he hadnot changed markedly, remaining dark ofeye and skin, narrow-faced, with black hairhanging loose about his shoulders. His nosewas long and straight, his lips full, his eyeslined with green-black kohl after the Egyp-tian style. Above his splendid silken robes –sent as a gift from the magician-priests of In-dia – he wore many wondrous treasures ofgold and jade, sapphire earrings, necklacesof Nubian ivory, amber beads from far Cim-meria. Silver bangles hung about his wrists,while on one ankle rested a thin gold band.Even his kid-skin sandals, a dowry presentfrom the King of Tyre, were studded withgold and semi-precious stones. But his longslim hands were naked of jewels or decora-tion – save for the little finger of the left,which bore a ring.

The king sat waiting as the djinn pouredwine into his golden goblet; he waited as,

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with golden prongs, they added to it berriesfrom the windswept Anatolian hills, and icefrom the summit of Mount Lebanon. And thepeople gazed on him as he waited, basking inthe glamour of his power, his radiance likethe sun’s.

The ice was mixed; the wine was ready. Onsoundless wings the djinn retreated abovethe throne. Solomon considered the goblet,but did not drink. He returned his attentionto the hall.

‘My magicians,’ he said, addressing a circleof men and women at the forefront of thecrowd, ‘you have all done well. In a singlenight you have retrieved many fascinatingartefacts from across the world.’ With a waveof the goblet he indicated the row of seven-teen plinths before him, each topped with itsown small treasure. ‘All are doubtless ex-traordinary, and will shed light on the an-cient cultures that precede us. I shall study

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them with interest. Hiram, you may havethem removed.’

The vizier, a small, dark-skinned magicianfrom distant Kush, snapped to immediate at-tention. He gave an order. Seventeen slaves– human, or in human form – ran forth andcarried the golden serpent and the othertreasures from the hall.

When all was still, the vizier swelled outhis chest, took his staff by its ruby pommeland banged it thrice upon the floor. ‘Atten-tion!’ he cried. ‘Solomon’s council shall nowproceed! There are several issues of greatmoment to bring before the king. As ever, weshall all benefit from the bounty of his wis-dom. First—’

But Solomon had raised a lazy hand, andas it was the left, the vizier broke off at once,choking on his words and blanching.

‘Saving your pardon, Hiram,’ the king saidsilkily, ‘the first business is already before us.My magician Ezekiel was killed this morning.

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The spirit who slew him – do we know itsidentity?’

The vizier cleared his throat. ‘Master, wedo. From the remains of Ezekiel’s cylinder,we have deduced the offender. Bartimaeus ofUruk is its favoured title.’

Solomon frowned. ‘Have I heard report ofone with that name?’

‘Yes, Master. Only yesterday. It was over-heard singing a song of extraordinary in-solence, which featured—’

‘Thank you, I recall it.’ The king strokedhis handsome chin. ‘Bartimaeus … of Uruk –a city two thousand years gone. So it is amost ancient demon. A marid, I assume?’

The vizier bowed low. ‘No, Master. I be-lieve not.’

‘An afrit, then.’The vizier bowed still lower; his chin al-

most touched the marble floor. ‘Master, it isin fact a djinni of moderate strength and

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power. Fourth level, if some of the Sumeriantablets speak true.’

‘Fourth level?’ Long fingers tapped uponthe arm-rest of the throne; from the little fin-ger came a flash of gold. ‘A fourth-leveldjinni has slain one of my magicians? Withall due respect to the wailing shade ofEzekiel, this brings dishonour on Jerusalem– and, more importantly, on me. We cannotlet such an outrage pass. An example mustbe made. Hiram – let the remainder of theSeventeen approach.’

In keeping with the glory of King Solomon,his chief magicians were drawn from coun-tries far beyond the bounds of Israel. Fromdistant Nubia and Punt, from Assyria andBabylon, these men and women of powerhad come. Each, at a brief command, couldsummon demons from the air, raise whirl-winds and rain death upon their coweringfoes. They were masters of the ancient arts,and would have been considered mighty in

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their own lands. But all had chosen to travelto Jerusalem, to serve he who wore the Ring.

With a twirl of his staff, the vizierbeckoned the circle forward; each magician,in turn, bowed low before the throne.

Solomon considered them a while, thenspoke: ‘Khaba.’

Deliberate, stately, soft-footed as a cat, aman stepped from the circle. ‘Master.’

‘You have a sombre reputation.’‘Master, I do.’‘You treat your slaves with appropriate

severity.’‘Master, I take pride in my harshness, and

I do well to do so, for demons combine fero-city with infinite cunning, and their nature isvindictive and malign.’

Solomon stroked his chin. ‘Indeed …Khaba, I believe you already have in youremployment several other recalcitrant spiritsthat have recently proved troublesome.’

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‘Master, this is true. Each loudly regrets itspast audacity.’

‘Will you agree to add this wicked Bartim-aeus to your roster?’

Khaba was Egyptian, a man of arrestingappearance, tall, broad-shouldered andstrong of limb. His skull, like all themagician-priests of Thebes, had been shavedand waxed until it shone. His nose was aquil-ine, his brow heavy, his lips narrow, blood-less, tight as bow-strings. His eyes hung likesoft black moons in the wasteland of his face,and glistened perpetually as if they wereclose to tears. He nodded. ‘Master, as in allthings I follow your requirements and yourwill.’

‘Quite so.’ Solomon took a sip of wine. ‘Seethat Bartimaeus is brought to heel and learnsrespect. Hiram will bring you the relevantcylinders and tablets when Ezekiel’s tower iscleared. That is all.’

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Khaba bowed and returned to his placeamongst the crowd, his shadow trailing like acloak behind him.

‘With that settled,’ Solomon said, ‘we mayreturn to other matters. Hiram?’

The vizier clicked his fingers. A smallwhite mouse somersaulted out of the emptyair and landed on his hand. It carried a pa-pyrus scroll, which it unfurled and heldready for his inspection. Hiram studied thelists briefly. ‘We have thirty-two judicialcases, Master,’ he said, ‘that have been re-ferred to you by your magicians. Theplaintiffs await your judgement. Among theissues to be dealt with are a murder, threeassaults, a marriage in difficulties and aneighbourly dispute regarding a missinggoat.’

The king’s face was impassive. ‘Very well.What else?’

‘As always, many petitioners from farafield have come to ask your aid. I have

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chosen twenty to make formal appeals to youtoday.’

‘I will hear them. Is that all?’‘No, Master. Word has come from our

djinn patrols in the southern deserts. Theyreport further attacks by brigands. Remotefarmsteads have been burned and the inhab-itants slaughtered, and there have been de-predations on the trade routes too – cara-vans attacked, and travellers robbed.’

Solomon shifted in his chair. ‘Who con-trols the southern patrols?’

A magician spoke, a woman of Nubia,dressed in a robe of tightly wound yellowcloth. ‘I, Master.’

‘Summon more demons, Elbesh! Trackdown these “brigands”! Discover the truth:are they simple outlaws, or mercenariesworking for foreign kings? Report to metomorrow.’

The woman grimaced. ‘Yes, Master …only—’

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The king frowned. ‘Only what?’‘Master, saving your pardon, I already con-

trol nine strong, unruly djinn. This takes upall my energies. To summon yet more slaveswill be difficult.’

‘I see.’ The king cast his eyes impatientlyacross the circle. ‘Then Reuben and Nisrochwill assist you in this little task. Now—’

A tousle-bearded magician raised hishand. ‘Great King, forgive me! I too ampresently somewhat stretched.’

The man beside him nodded. ‘And I!’Now the vizier, Hiram, ventured to speak

out. ‘Master, the deserts are vast and the re-sources of we, your servants, are limited. Isthis not a time when you might consider aid-ing us? When, possibly, you might—’ Hehalted.

Solomon’s kohl-rimmed eyes blinkedslowly, like a cat’s. ‘Go on.’

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Hiram swallowed. Already he had said toomuch. ‘When … perhaps you might considerusing’ – his voice was very faint – ‘the Ring?’

The king’s expression darkened. Theknuckles of his left hand gripped white uponthe arm-rest of the throne. ‘You question mycommands, Hiram,’ Solomon said softly.

‘Great Master, please! I meant no offence!’‘You dare pronounce how my power might

be used.’‘No! I spoke without thinking!’‘Can it be you truly wish for this?’ The left

hand shifted; on the little finger a flash ofgold and black obsidian caught the light.Below the throne the lion-afrits drew backtheir lips and made snapping noises in theirthroats.

‘No, Master! Please!’ The vizier cowered tothe floor; his mouse sought concealment inhis robes. Across the hall the assembledwatchers murmured and drew back.

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The king reached out, turned the Ringupon his finger. There was a thud of sound, abuffet of air. A darkness fell across the hall,and in the centre of that darkness a Presencestood tall and silent beside the throne. Fourhundred and thirty-seven people fell flatupon their faces as if they had been struck.

In the shadows of the throne Solomon’sface was terrible, contorted. His voice echoedas if from a cavern in the earth: ‘I say to all ofyou: Be careful what you desire.’

He turned the Ring again upon his finger.At once the Presence vanished; the hall wasfilled with sudden light and there were birdssinging in the gardens.

Slowly, unsteadily, magicians, courtiers,wives and supplicants got to their collectivefeet.

Solomon’s face was calm again. ‘Send yourdemons out into the desert,’ he said. ‘Capturethe brigands as I requested.’ He took a sip ofwine, and looked towards the gardens where,

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as so often, faint music could now be heard,though the musicians were never seen. ‘Oneother thing, Hiram,’ he said at last. ‘You havenot yet told me of Sheba. Has the messengerreturned? Have we heard the queen’sresponse?’

The vizier had risen and was dabbing at atrickle of blood coming from his nose. Heswallowed; the day was not going well forhim. ‘Master, we have.’

‘And?’He cleared his throat. ‘Once again, unbe-

lievably, the queen rejects your offer of mar-riage and refuses to be numbered amongyour exquisite consorts.’ The vizier paused toallow the expected gasps and flutteringsfrom among the assembled wives. ‘Her ex-planation, such as it is, is this: as the actualruler of her nation, rather than the meredaughter of its king’ – further gasps soundedat this juncture, and several snorts – ‘shecannot possibly leave it for a life of leisure,

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even to bask in your glorious radiance in Jer-usalem. She deeply regrets this inability tocomply, and offers her eternal friendship,and that of Sheba, to you and your peopleuntil, and I quote’ – he checked the scrollonce more – ‘“the towers of Marib fall andthe eternal Sun goes out” … Essentially,Master, it’s another No.’

The vizier finished and, without daring tolook towards the king, made a great businessof rolling up the scroll and stuffing it back in-to his robes. The crowd stood frozen, watch-ing the silent figure on the throne.

Then Solomon laughed. He took a longdraught of wine. ‘So that is the word fromSheba, is it?’ he said. ‘Well, then. We willhave to consider how Jerusalem responds.’

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5

Night had fallen and the city of Marib wassilent. The Queen of Sheba sat alone in herchamber, reading from her sacred texts. Asshe reached for her wine cup, she heard afluttering at the window. A bird stood there,an eagle, shaking flecks of ice off its feathersand regarding her intently with its cold,black eyes. The queen watched it for a mo-ment; then, because she understood the illu-sions of the spirits of the air, said: ‘If youcome in peace, step inside, and be welcome.’

At this the eagle hopped off the sill and be-came a slim young man, golden-haired andhandsome, with eyes as black and cold as the

bird’s had been and a bare chest studdedwith flecks of ice.

The young man said: ‘I bear a message forthe queen of this land.’

The queen smiled. ‘I am she. You havecome far, and at high altitude. You are aguest of my house and I offer you all I have.Do you require refreshment or rest, or someother boon? Name it, and it shall be so.’

And the young man said, ‘You are gra-cious, Queen Balkis, but I require none ofthose things. I must speak my message andhear your answer. Know first that I am amarid of the seventh level, and the slave ofSolomon, son of David, who is King of Israeland the mightiest of magicians now living.’

‘Again?’ the queen said, smiling. ‘Threetimes I have received a question from thatking, and three times I have given the sameanswer. The last occasion was but a weekago. I hope he has accepted my decision now,and isn’t asking it a fourth time.’

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‘As to that,’ the young man said, ‘you shallshortly hear. Solomon offers you his greet-ings, and wishes you health and prosperity.He thanks you for your consideration of hislast proposal, which he now formally re-tracts. Instead he demands you acknowledgehim as your sovereign overlord and agree topay him an annual tribute, which shall beforty sacks of sweet-scented frankincensefrom the forests of fair Sheba. If you agree tothis, the sun will continue to smile upon yourdomains, and you and your descendants willfor ever prosper. Refuse – and frankly theoutlook is less favourable.’

Balkis no longer smiled. She rose from herchair. ‘This is a most impudent demand! So-lomon has no claim on the wealth of Sheba,just as he had no claim on me!’

‘You may have heard,’ the young man said,‘that Solomon is master of a magic ring, withwhich he can raise an army of spirits in theblinking of an eye. For this reason the kings

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of Phoenicia, Lebanon, Aram, Tyre andEdom, among many others, have alreadysworn him fealty and friendship. They payvast annual tributes of gold, timber, skinsand salt, and think themselves fortunate tobe spared his wrath.’

‘Sheba is an ancient, sovereign nation,’Balkis said coldly, ‘and its queen will notbend her knee to any foreign infidel. Youmay return to your master and say so.’

The young man made no move, but spokein conversational tones. ‘In truth, O Queen,is Sheba’s suggested tribute really so ter-rible? Forty sacks among the hundreds thatyou harvest every year? That will not bank-rupt you!’ White teeth shone in the smilingmouth. ‘And besides, it is certainly a lot bet-ter than being driven in rags from your rav-aged land, while your cities burn and yourpeople perish.’

Balkis gave a little gasp and took a step inthe direction of the insolent creature, but

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held back when she saw the glitter in theblank, dark eyes. ‘Demon, you far exceedyour duties,’ she said, swallowing. ‘I demandyou leave this chamber on the instant, or Ishall call my priestesses to snare you in theirsilver nets.’

‘Silver nets mean nothing to me,’ the spiritsaid. It walked towards her.

Balkis backed away. In the cabinet by herchair she kept a globe of crystal that, onbreaking, sounded an alarm that would bringher personal guards to her. But each newstep took her further from the cabinet andfurther from the door. Her hand strayed tothe jewelled dagger in her belt.

The demon said, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that.Am I not a marid, who by my whisperedword can summon storms and raise new is-lands in the sea? Yet, despite my strength, Iam the least and most miserable of the slavesof Solomon, who stands supreme of all menin his glory and his pride.’

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It halted; Balkis had not yet reached thewall, but she sensed the bricks close behindher back. She stood erect, hand upon thedagger hilt, keeping her face impassive, asshe had once been taught to do.

‘Long ago I served the first kings of Egypt,’the demon said. ‘I helped raise their tombs,which still remain as marvels of the world.But the greatness of those kings lies like dustbefore the power that Solomon now enjoys.’

It turned away and with negligent stepscrossed to stand beside the fireplace, so theremaining ice upon its shoulders meltedswiftly and ran in rivulets down its long, darklimbs. It gazed into the flames. ‘Have youheard what happens when his will is crossed,O Queen?’ it said softly. ‘I have seen it fromafar. He wears the Ring upon his finger. Heturns it once. The Spirit of the Ring appears.Then what? Armies march across the sky,city walls crumble, the Earth opens and hisenemies are devoured by fire. He brings

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forth spirits uncountable, faster thanthought, so the midday hour grows black asmidnight with their passing and the groundshudders with the beating of their wings. Doyou wish to see this terror? Resist him, and itwill surely come to you.’

But Balkis had gathered herself; she strodetowards the cabinet and stood there, stiffwith fury, one hand on the drawer where thecrystal lay. ‘I have given you my answeralready,’ she said harshly. ‘Return to yourmaster. Tell him that for a fourth time I re-fuse him, and that I desire no further mes-sengers. Further, that if he persists in hiscruel avarice, I shall make him regret that heever heard my name.’

‘Oh, that I very much doubt,’ the youngman said. ‘You have hardly the sniff of magicabout you, and Marib is no great centre ofsorcery or of arms. A final word before I startmy long flight home. My master is not un-reasonable. He knows this decision is hard

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for you. You have two weeks to change yourmind. See there?’ The demon pointedthrough the window, where the moon hungyellow behind the slender mud-brick towersof the city. ‘The moon is full tonight. When ithas waned to nothing, have the forty sackspiled ready in the courtyard! If you do not,Solomon’s army will take wing. Two weeks!In the meantime I thank you for your hospit-ality and your warming fire. Now here is alittle blaze of my own. Consider it somethingto spur your thinking.’ It raised its hand: abulb of orange fire swelled from the fingers,shot forth as a narrow bolt of light. The topof the nearest tower exploded in a flower offlame. Burning bricks tumbled into dark-ness; screams sounded across the gulf.

With a cry, Balkis lunged forward. Theyoung man smiled contemptuously andstepped towards the window. A blur ofmovement, a waft of wind – an eagle flew outbetween the pillars, banked around the

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pluming smoke, and was gone among thestars.

Dawn came; thin grey veins of smoke stillrose from the ruined tower, but the fire itselfwas out. It had taken the priestesses severalhours to agree on the precise demon thatshould be summoned to fight the blaze, andby that time the flames had been quenchedby water carried from the canals by hand.Queen Balkis had supervised this process,and seen the dead and wounded taken totheir proper places. Now, with the city numband quiet, she sat again beside the window ofher room, watching the blue-green daylightstealing slowly across the fields.

Balkis was twenty-nine, and had occupiedthe throne of Sheba for something under sev-en years. Like her mother, the previousqueen, she met all the requirements of thatsacred station, and was popular with herpeople. She was brisk and efficient in courtpolicy, which pleased her counsellors; she

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was serious and devout in matters of reli-gion, which pleased the priestesses of theSun. And when the hill-men of theHadhramaut came down into the city, withtheir robes weighed down with swords andsilver djinn-guards, and the sacks of frankin-cense slung upon their camels’ shanks, shemet them in the forecourt of the palace,offered them khat leaves to chew, and spokewith them knowledgeably of the weather andthe difficulties of tapping resin from thetrees, so that they too were pleased and re-turned to their villages speaking highly ofSheba’s wondrous queen.

Her beauty didn’t hurt either. Unlike hermother, who had been strongly inclined tofat, and indeed in later years had requiredfour young slaves to help her rise from thesoft vastness of her couch, Balkis was slenderand athletic and disliked assistance fromanybody. She had no close confidants among

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her counsellors or priestesses and made herdecisions alone.

As was traditional in Sheba, all Balkis’spersonal slaves were women. They fell intotwo categories – the maidens of her cham-ber, who tended to her hair and jewels andpersonal hygiene; and the small hereditarycaste of guards, whose duty it was to keepthe queen from harm. Previous rulers haddeveloped friendships with certain of theseslaves, but Balkis disapproved of such no-tions and kept herself remote.

The dawn light reached the canals at last;the water flared and glittered. Balkis rose,stretched, and drank a draught of wine toloosen her stiff limbs. Within moments ofthe attack she had known in her heart thepolicy she would follow, but it had taken allnight for her to analyse her decision. Now,having done so, she moved seamlessly fromthought to action. Crossing the room to thelittle cabinet beside her chair, she removed

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the alarm globe and crushed the fragile crys-tal between her fingertips.

She waited, staring into the fire; withinthirty seconds she heard the running foot-steps in the hall beyond and the door springopen. Balkis, without turning, said, ‘Put awayyour sword, girl. The danger has passed.’

She listened. She heard the sound of metalsliding in the leather sheath.

Balkis said: ‘Which of my guards are you?’‘Asmira, my lady.’‘Asmira …’ The queen gazed at the leaping

flames. ‘Good. You always were the quickest.And the most skilful too, as I recall … Do youserve me in all things, Asmira?’

‘My lady, I do.’‘Would you lay down your life for me?’‘I would do so with joy.’‘Truly,’ Balkis said, ‘you are your mother’s

daughter. One day soon, all Sheba will be inyour debt.’ She turned then, and rewardedthe girl with the full radiance of her smile.

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‘Asmira, my dear, ring for the servants andhave them bring us wine and cakes. I wish totalk with you.’

When in due course Guard Captain Asmiraleft the royal chambers and returned to herlittle room, her solemn face was flushed andshe was breathing hard. She sat for a whileon the edge of her trestle bed, staring first atnothing, then at the old familiar cracks in themud-brick that ran from ceiling to floor.After a time her heartbeat slowed a little andher breathing quietened, but the pride thatthreatened to burst within her lessened notat all. Her eyes were filled with happy tears.

She rose at last and, reaching up to thehigh shelf set into the wall, brought down awooden chest, plainly adorned with the sym-bol of the midday sun. Placing the chestheavily upon the bed, she knelt beside it, castoff the lid, and took from within the five sil-ver daggers that rested there. They glinted inthe lantern light as she picked them up, one

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after another, inspecting the edges, testingthe weight. She set them neatly side by sideupon the bed.

Balancing easily on the balls of her feet,she squatted low, reached beneath her bedand drew out her travelling cloak, her leathershoes and – this required an awkward mo-ment or two of grappling in the remotestcorners – a large leather drawstring bag,dusty with disuse.

Asmira emptied the contents of the bagupon the floor: two large, roughly foldedcloths, oddly stained and charred; severalcandles; two lighting flints and tapers; an oillamp; three pots sealed with wax; and eightsmall weights of carven jade. She consideredthe items a while as if in hesitation, thenshrugged, returned them to the bag, stuffedthe silver daggers after them, tightened thedrawstrings and stood up.

Time was passing swiftly; the priestesseswould be gathering in the forecourt to

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perform their summons, and she still had tovisit the temple to get the Blessings of theSun.

But she was ready. Her preparations werecomplete, and she had no one to say goodbyeto. Unstrapping her sword, she laid it on thebed. Then she put on her shoes, picked upher cloak and shouldered the bag. Without abackward glance she left the room.

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6

High above the Earth the phoenix soared, anoble bird much like an eagle, save for thereddish tint to its golden feathers and the iri-descent flecks on the tips of its outstretchedwings. It had a crest the colour of brass,claws like hooks of gold, and jet-black eyesthat looked forward and back across eternity.

It also had a narked expression and wascarrying a quarterton of artichokes in a bigstring net.

Now, the great weight wasn’t the onlything that annoyed me about this job. Theearly start had been a pain in the plumagetoo. I’d had to set off shortly after midnight

to get from Israel to the northern coast ofAfrica, where the finest wild artichokes grew,just so (and here I quote the specific terms ofmy charge) I could ‘pick the juiciest speci-mens in the crystal dews of dawn’. I ask you.As if it made a blind bit of difference.

Digging up the wretched things had beentiresome enough as well – I was going tohave soil stuck beneath my claws for weeks –and carrying them back fifteen hundredmiles into a mild headwind hadn’t been apicnic either. But I could cope with all this.What really stuck in my fiery craw was theamused chuckles and wry expressions I wasgetting from my fellow spirits as I nearedJerusalem.

Grinning broadly, they flitted past methrough the air, splendid and warlike, carry-ing their shimmering spears and swords.They were off hunting for brigands in thedesert wastes – a decent mission worthy ofthe name. Me? I trundled slowly north with

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my bag of groceries, wearing a forced smileand muttering salty insults under my

breath.1

I was being punished, you see, and itfrankly wasn’t fair.

Ordinarily, when you kill a magician with abit of honest trickery and escape back to theOther Place, you’re likely to be left in peacefor a while. A few years pass by, maybe a dec-ade or two, and then finally another avari-cious chancer who’s learned a bit of oldSumerian and worked out how to draw apentacle without too many wonky lines willlocate your name, summon you back, andstart your slavery anew. But at least whenthat happens, the rules are clear, and tacitlyacknowledged by both parties. The magicianforces you to help him get wealth and

power,2 and you do your best to find a way tonobble him.

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Sometimes you succeed; more often thannot, you don’t. It all depends on the skill andjudgement of both sides. But it’s a personalduel, and if you score a rare victory over youroppressor, the last thing you expect is to bebrought back instantly and punished for thatvictory by someone else.

Yet that was exactly the way things workedin Solomon’s Jerusalem. Not twenty-fourhours after devouring the old magician anddeparting his tower with a burp and a smile,I’d been summoned back to another towerfurther along the city wall. Before I could somuch as open my mouth to protest, I’d beenraddled with a Spasm, Whirled, Pressed,Flipped and Stretched, and finally given a

good hard Stippling for my trouble.3 Youmight think after all that I’d have been givena moment to pass a few acerbic remarks, butno. An instant later I found myself packed offon the first of many degrading missions, all

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specifically designed to break my carefreespirit.

It was a depressing list. First I was sent toMount Lebanon to chip blue ice from itssummit, so the king’s sherbets would benicely chilled. Next I was ordered to thepalace granaries to count the grains of barleyfor the annual stocktaking. After that I wasemployed in Solomon’s gardens to pluckdead leaves from the trees and flowers, sothat nothing brown or shrivelled might of-fend the royal eye. There then followed anunpleasant two days in the palace sewers,over which I draw a slightly soiled veil, be-fore a taxing expedition in search of a fresh

roc’s egg for the royal household’s breakfast.4

And now, if all that wasn’t enough, I’d beensaddled with this current artichoke-fest,which was making me a laughing stock in theeyes of my fellow djinn.

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None of this broke my spirit, naturally, butit didn’t half make me irritable. And youknow who I blamed it all on? Solomon.

Not that he was the one who summonedme, of course. He was much too importantfor that. So important, in fact, that in thethree long years I’d spent enslaved in thecity, I’d scarcely set eyes on him. Though I’dhung about the palace a fair bit, exploring itsmile-wide maze of halls and pleasure gar-dens, I’d only once or twice seen the king inthe distance, surrounded by a gaggle ofsqualling wives. He didn’t get out much.Apart from his daily councils, to which Iwasn’t invited, he passed most of his timecooped up in his private apartments beyond

the northern gardens.5 And while he lolledabout up there, pampering himself, day-to-day summonings were delegated to his sev-enteen top magicians, who dwelt in thetowers strung along the city walls.

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My previous master had been one of theSeventeen, and my new master was also –and this, in a nutshell, was proof of So-lomon’s power. All magicians are by naturebitter rivals. When one of them is killed,their instinct is to rejoice. In fact they’remore likely to summon up the offendingdjinni to shake him heartily by the claw thanto work any punishment upon him. But notin Solomon’s Jerusalem. The king treated thedemise of one of his servants as a personalslight, and demanded retribution. And so itwas that – against all laws of natural justice– here I was, enslaved again.

Scowling furiously at my misfortunes, Idrifted onwards in the warm dry winds. Farbelow me my fiery shadow flitted over olivegroves and barley fields, and dropped andskimmed down steep terraces of fig. Stage bystage Solomon’s little kingdom rolled be-neath me, until in the distance I saw the

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rooftops of his capital, scattered like glitter-ing fish scales on its hill.

A few years previously Jerusalem had beena dowdy little town, not especially notable,and certainly not to be compared with capit-als such as Nimrud, Babylon or Thebes.Now, it vied with those ancient cities as aplace of wealth and splendour – and thereason for this wasn’t hard to guess.

It was all about the Ring.The Ring. That was at the heart of it all.

That was why Jerusalem flourished. Thatwas why my masters jumped at Solomon’scommand. That was why so many magicianscongregated around him in the first place,like bloated fleas on a leper’s dog, like mothsaround a flame.

It was thanks entirely to the Ring he woreupon his finger that Solomon enjoyed his lifeof indolence, and Israel its unparalleledprosperity. It was thanks to the Ring’s sinis-ter reputation that the once-great empires of

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Egypt and Babylon now kept their wary dis-tance, and watched their frontiers withanxious eyes.

It was all about the Ring.

Personally speaking, I hadn’t actually seenthis benighted artefact close up – but thenagain, I hadn’t needed to. Even from a dis-tance, I understood its power. All magicalobjects emit an aura, and the more powerfulthey are, the brighter that aura is. Once,when Solomon had passed me in the dis-tance, I’d briefly checked the higher planes.The flow of light made me cry out in pain.Something on his person glowed so fear-somely he was almost blotted out. It was likestaring into the sun.

From what I’d heard, the thing itselfwasn’t actually much to look at – just a goldband inlaid with a single gem of black obsidi-an. But stories said it contained a spirit of su-preme power, who was brought forthwhenever the Ring was turned upon the

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finger; merely touching the Ring, mean-while, summoned a retinue of marids, afritsand djinn to serve the wearer’s will. In otherwords it was a portable gateway to the OtherPlace, through which almost unlimited num-

bers of spirits could be drawn.6

Solomon had access to this awful power ona moment’s whim, and without personaldanger. The usual rigours of the magician’strade were unknown to him. No fiddling withcandles or getting chalky knees. No chance ofgetting fried, roasted or plain old eaten. Andno chance either of being murdered by rivalsor discontented slaves.

In one place a slight scratch was said tomar the Ring; this was where the great maridAzul, taking advantage of an ambiguity in hismaster’s phrasing, had attempted to destroyit while carrying Solomon by carpet fromLachish to Beth-zur. Azul’s petrified form,worn ever thinner by the desert winds, now

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stood in lonely isolation above the Lachishroad.

Earlier in his reign two other marids,Philocretes and Odalis, had also tried to slaythe king. Their subsequent careers were sim-ilarly melancholy: Philocretes became anecho in a copper pot and Odalis a startledface etched into a floor tile in the royalbathroom.

Many such stories were told about theRing, and it was no surprise that Solomonlived a cushy life as a result. The sheer powerand dread exerted by that scrap of gold uponhis finger kept all his magicians and theirspirits nicely in line, thank you. The threat ofits use hovered over us all.

Noon came; my journey was at an end. Icrossed high above the Kidron Gate, abovethe teeming markets and bazaars, and finallyswung low over the palace and its gardens.In these last few moments my burden feltparticularly heavy, and it was fortunate for

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Solomon that he wasn’t at that momentpromenading along his gravel walkways. IfI’d seen him, I’d have been sorely tempted tozoom down and offload my cargo of ripe ar-tichokes directly on his preening head, be-fore chasing his wives into the fountains. Butall was still. The phoenix continued sedatelytowards its appointed landing site: namely ascrappy compound at the back end of thepalace, where sour smells rose from theslaughtering sheds, and the gates to the kit-chens were always open.

I descended swiftly, dropped my burden tothe ground and alighted, taking the form of a

handsome youth as I did so.7

A band of imps scampered forward, readyto carry my net towards the kitchen. Stalkingalongside came a plump djinni overseer, longpapyrus scrolls in hand.

‘You’re late!’ he exclaimed. ‘All banquetdeliveries were due by noon!’

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I squinted at the heavens. ‘It is noon,Bosquo. Look at the sun.’

‘Noon is precisely two minutes gone,’ thedjinni said. ‘You, sir, are late. However, wewill overlook it just this once. Your name?’

‘Bartimaeus, bringing artichokes from theAtlas Mountains.’

‘A moment, a moment … We have so manyslaves …’ The djinni took a stylus from be-hind his ear and buried himself in his scrolls.‘ – Alef … – Bet … Where’s the scroll?These modern languages … there’s no logicto them … Ah, here …’ He looked up. ‘Right.Yes. Name again?’

I tapped a sandal upon the ground.‘Bartimaeus.’

Bosquo consulted the scroll. ‘Bartimaeusof Gilat?’

‘No.’‘Bartimaeus of Tel Batash?’‘No.’

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The scroll was unfurled still further. Therewas a long pause. ‘Bartimaeus of KhirbetDelhamiyeh?’

‘No. Where in Marduk’s name is that? Bar-timaeus of Uruk, also known as Sakhr al-Jinni, famous confidant of Gilgamesh andAkhenaten, and – for a time – Nefertiti’smost trusted djinni.’

The overseer looked up. ‘Oh, it’s djinnwe’re talking about? This is the foliot list.’

‘The foliot list?’ I gave a cry of rage. ‘Whatare you holding that for?’

‘Well, to look at you— Oh, hush. Don’tmake such a squalling. Yes, yes, I have loc-ated you now. You are one of Khaba’stroublemakers, are you not? Trust me, yourlong-departed glories will count for littlewith him!’

Bosquo broke off to issue orders to theimps, while I restrained the urge to swallowhim, scrolls and all. I shook my head grimly.The only good thing about the whole

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embarrassing exchange was that no one elsehad witnessed it. I turned away –

‘Hello, Bartimaeus.’– to find myself standing face-to-face with

a stocky, potbellied Nubian slave. He wasbald of head and red of eye, and sported aleopard-skin skirt with a large machetetucked in the waistband. He also wore sevenivory torcs about his thick bull-neck, and afamiliar expression of sardonic mirth.

I winced. ‘Hello, Faquarl.’‘There you are, you see,’ the djinni Faquarl

said. ‘I still recognize you. Your ancientgreatness is not yet quite forgotten. And donot give up hope. Perhaps one day the Balladof the Artichokes will be sung about thehearth-fires too, and your legend will liveon.’

I scowled at him. ‘What do you want?’The Nubian indicated over his swarthy

shoulder. ‘Our delightful master requires the

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whole company to assemble on the hill be-hind the palace. You’re the last to arrive.’

‘The day just keeps getting better and bet-ter,’ I said sourly. ‘All right, let’s go.’

The handsome youth and the short, squatNubian walked together across the yard, andthose lesser spirits we met, observing ourtrue natures on the higher planes, hoppedhurriedly aside. At the rear gate, vigilantdemi-afrits with flies’ eyes and the ears ofbats noted our names and numbers, andchecked our identities against further scrolls.We were ushered through, and presentlycame out on an area of rough ground on theedge of the hill, with the city shimmeringbelow.

Not far away six other spirits stood waitingin a line.

My recent assignments having all been sol-itary ones, it was the first time I’d seen myfellow offending djinn together, and I scru-tinized them closely.

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‘As revolting a group of ne’er-do-wells ashave ever been assembled,’ Faquarl re-marked, ‘and that was before you arrived.Not just hideous, either. Each and every oneof us has killed or maimed his previous mas-ter – or, in the case of Chosroes, roundly in-sulted her with the harshest possible lan-guage. We are a grim and dangerouscompany.’

Some of the spirits, like Faquarl, I’dknown and disliked for years; others werenew to me. All had adopted human guises onthe first plane, their bodies in more or lesscorrect proportions. Most had muscular tor-sos and sculpted limbs, though none quite assculpted as mine; one or two had chosenbandy legs and plump, protruding bellies. Allwere dressed in the simple, rough-spunskirts of the typical male slave.

As we drew close, however, I noticed thateven here each of the renegade djinn hadsubtly undermined his human shape by

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adding a small demonic detail. Some hadhorns peeping through their hair; others hadtails, large pointed ears or cloven hooves.

The insubordination was risky, but stylish.8 Idecided to join in, and allowed two smallram’s horns to curl out on my brow. Faquarl,I noticed, had given his Nubian an elegantset of nicely filed fangs. Thus beautified, wetook our places in the line.

We waited; a hot wind blew upon the hill-top. Far to the west, clouds were massingabove the sea.

I shifted from foot to foot and yawned.‘Well,’ I said, ‘is he coming or not? I’m bored,I’m knackered, and I could do with an imp.In fact I saw some back in the yard thatwouldn’t be missed if we were quiet about it.If we got a little bag—’

My neighbour nudged me. ‘Hush,’ hehissed.

‘Oh come on, what’s so bad about that? Weall do it.’

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‘Hush,’ he snapped. ‘He’s here.’I stiffened. At my side seven other djinn

sprang to swift attention; we all staredglassily above our heads.

A figure in black came up the hill, hisshadow stretching long and thin behind him.

1 Which I’m certainly not going to repeat here. Unlike

some lesser djinn I could name, who rejoice in vulgarisms

and inappropriate analogies, I’m a stickler for propriety. Al-

ways have been. Famous for it. In fact you could tattoo what

I don’t know about good taste on the backside of a midget,

assuming you hold him down hard enough to stop him

squirming.2 Tomb-building, treasure-hunting, battle-fighting,

artichoke-collecting … Outwardly different, maybe – but in

the end all magicians’ demands boil down to wealth and

power, whatever they might claim.3Spasms, Whirls, Stipples, etc.: punitive spells fre-

quently employed to keep a healthy young djinni in line.

Painful, tedious, usually non-fatal.

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4 Gourmet’s note: one roc’s egg, scrambled, feeds

roughly 700 wives, provided you mix in a few vats of milk

and a churn or three of butter. I had to whisk the thing as

well, which gave me a sore elbow.5 It hadn’t always been that way, if you could believe

the stories. Long-serving djinn reported that in the early

years of his reign Solomon enjoyed regular banquets and

masques and entertainments of every conceivable kind

(though girning and juggling always featured prominently).

Each night, garlands of imp-lights would illuminate the

cypress trees, and roving spirit-globes bathed the palace in a

thousand shifting colours. Solomon, his wives and courtiers

would frolic upon the lawns while he worked wonders for

them with his Ring. Times, it seemed, had changed since

then.6 As well as all this the Ring was said to protect So-

lomon from magical attack, give him extraordinary personal

allure (which possibly explained all those wives cluttering

up the place) and allow him to understand the language of

birds and animals. Not bad, in short, though the last one

isn’t half as useful as you might expect, since when all’s said

and done the language of the beasts tends to revolve

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around: (a) the endless hunt for food, (b) finding a warm

bush to sleep in of an evening, and (c) the sporadic satisfac-

tion of certain glands.* Elements such as nobility, humour

and poetry of the soul are conspicuously lacking. You have

to come to middle-ranking djinn for them. * Many would ar-

gue that the language of humankind boils down to this too.7 It was the guise I’d worn when I was spear-bearer to

Gilgamesh, two thousand years before: a tall, beautiful

young man, smooth-skinned and almond-eyed. He wore a

long wrapped skirt, necklaces of amethyst on his breast and

ringlets in his hair, and had about him an air of wistful

grace that contrasted pungently with the foul detritus of the

kitchen yard. I often used this form in such circumstances.

It made me feel better somehow.8 Solomon’s edicts dictated that ordinary human

shapes were maintained at all times outside the palace

walls. Animals were forbidden, likewise mythic beasts; grot-

esque deformities were out too, which was a shame. The

idea was to prevent the common people being startled by re-

pulsive sights – such as Beyzer taking a stroll with his limbs

on back to front. Or, admittedly, yours truly forgetfully pop-

ping out to buy some figs in the guise of a rotting corpse,

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thus causing the great Fruit Market Terror, fifteen deaths in

the associated stampede, and the destruction of half the

commercial district. Got my figs dirt cheap, mind, so it

wasn’t all bad.

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7

His name1 was Khaba, and whatever else hemight have been, he was certainly a formid-able magician. In origin, perhaps, he was achild of Upper Egypt, the quick-witted son ofsome peasant farmer toiling in the blackmud of the Nile. Then (for this is the way ithad worked for centuries) the priests of Rawould have chanced upon him and takenhim away to their granite-walled strongholdat Karnak, where quick-witted youths grewup in smoke and darkness, and were taughtthe twinned arts of magic and amassingpower. For a thousand years and more, thesepriests had shared with the pharaohs control

of Egypt, sometimes vying with them, some-times supporting them; and in the days ofthe nation’s glory Khaba would doubtlesshave remained there, and by plot or poisonworked his way close to the pinnacles ofEgyptian rule. But the throne of Thebes wasold and battered now, and a greater lightshone in Jerusalem. With ambition gnawingin his belly, Khaba had learned what hecould from his tutors, then travelled east toseek employment at the court of Solomon.

Perhaps he had been here many years. Buthe carried the odour of the Karnak templesstill. Even now, as he clambered to the hill-top and stood regarding us in the brightnessof the noonday sun, there was something ofthe crypt about him.

Up until that moment I’d only seen him inthe summoning room of his tower, a place ofdarkness where I’d been in too much pain toassess him properly. But now I saw that hisskin had a faint grey cast that spoke of

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windowless sanctuaries underground, whilehis eyes were large and roundish, like those

of cavern fishes circling in the dark.2 Beloweach eye a thin, deep weal descended almostvertically across his cheek towards his chin;whether these marks were natural, or hadbeen caused by some desperate slave, was amatter for speculation.

In short, Khaba wasn’t much of a looker. Acadaver would have crossed the street toavoid him.

As with all the strongest magicians, hisdress was simple. His chest was bare, hisskirt plainly wrapped and unadorned. Along, leather-handled whip of many cordsswung from a bone hook at his belt; abouthis neck, suspended on a loop of gold, hung ablack and polished stone. Both objectspulsed with power; the stone, I guessed, wasa scrying glass that allowed the magician toview things far away. The whip? Well, I knew

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what that was, of course. Just the thought ofit made me shiver on the sunlit hill.

The row of djinn stood silently as the ma-gician looked us up and down. The big, moisteyes blinked at each of us in turn. Then hefrowned and, holding one hand above hiseyes to shield them from the glare, lookedagain at our horns and tails and other extra-curricular additions. His hand stole towardsthe whip, fingers tapped upon the handle fora moment … then fell away. The magiciantook a short pace back, and addressed us in asoft and chalky voice.

‘I am Khaba,’ he said. ‘You are my slavesand my instruments. I tolerate no disobedi-ence. That is the first thing you need toknow. Here is the second thing: you stand onthe high hill of Jerusalem, a place held sac-red by our master, Solomon. There shall beno frivolity or misbehaviour here on pain ofdirest penalty.’ Slowly he began to walk toand fro along the line, his shadow trailing

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long and thin behind him. ‘For thirty years Ihave sent demons scampering beneath mywhip. Those that resisted me I have crushed.Some are dead. Others yet live – after a fash-ion. None have gone back to the Other Place.Heed this warning well!’

He paused. His words echoed off thepalace walls and faded.

‘I notice,’ Khaba continued, ‘that in defi-ance of Solomon’s edicts, you each flauntsome devilish accessory to your humanforms. Perhaps you expect me to be shocked.If so, you are mistaken. Perhaps you think ofthis pathetic gesture as some kind of “rebel-lion”. If so, it merely confirms what I alreadyknow – that you are too cowed and fearful totry anything more impressive. Keep yourhorns for today, if it makes you feel better,but be aware that from tomorrow I shall usemy essence-flail on any who display them.’

He took the whip in hand and flourished itin the air. Several of us flinched, and eight

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gloomy pairs of eyes watched the cords flick-

ing to and fro.3

Khaba nodded with satisfaction and re-turned it to his belt.

‘Where now are those arrogant djinn whocaused such trouble to their previous mas-ters?’ he said. ‘Gone! You are docile andobedient, just as you should be. Very well, toyour next task. You are brought together tobegin work on a new construction project forKing Solomon. He wishes a great temple tobe built here, an architectural marvel thatwill be the envy of the kings in Babylon. Ihave been given the honour of fulfilling theinitial phase – this side of the hill must becleared and made level, and a quarry openedup in the valley below. You will follow theplans I give you, shaping the stones anddragging them up here, before— Well, Bar-timaeus, what is it?’

I had raised an elegant hand. ‘Why dragthe stones? Isn’t it quicker to fly them up?

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We could all manage a couple at a time, evenChosroes.’

A djinni with bat ears further up the linegave an indignant squeak. ‘Hey!’

The magician shook his head. ‘No. You arestill in the confines of the city. Just as So-lomon has forbidden unnatural guises here,you must avoid magical shortcuts and workat human pace. This will be a holy building,and must be built with care.’

I gave a cry of protest. ‘No magic? Butthis’ll take years!’

The gleaming eyes gazed at me. ‘Do youquestion my command?’

I hesitated, then looked away. ‘No.’The magician turned aside and spoke a

word. With a dull retort and the faintestsmell of rotting eggs, a small lilac cloud bil-lowed into existence at Khaba’s side andhung there, palpitating gently. Lounging inthe cloud, its spindly arms behind its head,sat a twirly-tailed green-skinned creature

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with round red cheeks, twinkling eyes and anexpression of impudent over-familiarity.

It grinned at us. ‘Hello, lads.’‘This is the foliot Gezeri,’ our master said.

‘He is my eyes and ears. When I am notpresent on the building site, he will informme of any slackness or deviation from mycommands.’

The foliot’s grin widened. ‘They won’t beno trouble, Khaba. Sweet-natured as lambs,the lot of them.’ Sticking a fattoed foot downbelow its cloud, it kicked once, propelling thecloud a short way through the air. ‘Thing is,they know what’s good for them, you can seethat.’

‘I hope so.’ Khaba made an impatient ges-ture. ‘Time passes! You must get on withyour work. Clear the brushwood and levelthe hilltop! You know the terms of your sum-moning: adhere to them always. I want dis-cipline, I want efficiency, I want silent dedic-ation. No backchat, arguments or

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distractions. Divide yourselves into fourwork-teams. I shall bring the temple plan outto you presently. That is all.’

And with that he spun upon his heel andbegan to walk away, the picture of arrogantindifference. Kicking an indolent leg, the fo-liot guided its cloud after him, making aseries of rude faces over its shoulder as it didso.

And still, despite all the provocation, noneof us said anything. At my side I heardFaquarl give a kind of strangled snarl underhis breath, as if he longed to speak out, butthe rest of my fellow slaves were utterlytongue-tied, afraid of retribution.

But you know me. I’m Bartimaeus: I don’t

do tongue-tied.4 I coughed loudly and put upmy hand.

Gezeri spun round; the magician, Khaba,turned more slowly. ‘Well?’

‘Bartimaeus of Uruk again, Master. I havea complaint.’

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The magician blinked his big wet eyes. ‘Acomplaint?’

‘That’s right. You’re not deaf then, whichmust be a relief, what with all your otherphysical problems. It’s my work partners,I’m afraid. They’re not up to scratch.’

‘Not … up to scratch?’‘Yes. Do try to keep up. Not all of them,

mind. I’ve got nothing against …’ I turned tothe djinni on my left, a fresh-faced youthwith a single stubby brow-horn. ‘Sorry, whatwas your name?’

‘Menes.’‘Young Menes. I’m sure he’s a worthy fel-

low. And that fat one with the hooves overthere might be a good worker too, for all Iknow; he’s certainly packing enough essence.But some of the others … If we’re cooped uphere for months on a big job … Well, the longand the short of it is, we just won’t gel. We’llfight, argue, bicker … Take Faquarl here. Im-possible to work with! Always ends in tears.’

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Faquarl gave a lazy chuckle, showing hisgleaming fangs. ‘Ye-e-es … I should pointout, Master, that Bartimaeus is an appallingfantasist. You can’t believe a word he says.’

‘Exactly,’ the hoofed slave put in. ‘Hecalled me fat.’

The bat-eared djinni snorted. ‘You are fat.’‘Shut up, Chosroes.’‘You shut up, Beyzer.’‘See?’ I made a regretful gesture. ‘Bicker-

ing. Before you know it we’ll be at each oth-er’s throats. Best thing would be to dismissus all, with the notable exception of Faquarl,who, despite his deficient personality, is verygood with a chisel. He will be a fine and loyalservant for you and work hard enough foreight.’

At this the magician opened his mouth tospeak, but was pre-empted by a somewhatforced laugh from the pot-bellied Nubian,who stepped smoothly forward.

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‘On the contrary,’ he urged, ‘Bartimaeus isthe one you should keep. As you can see, he’sas vigorous as a marid. He is also famed forhis achievements in construction, some ofwhich resound in fable to this day.’

I scowled. ‘They don’t at all. I’m hopeless.’‘Such modesty is typical of him,’ Faquarl

smiled. ‘His only drawback is an inability towork with other djinn, who are usually dis-missed when he is summoned. But – to hisabilities. Surely even in this backwater youwill have heard of the Great Flooding of theEuphrates? Well, then. The instigator standsright there!’

‘Oh, it’s just like you to bring that up,Faquarl. That incident was totally over-re-ported. There was no real harm done—’

The bat-eared Chosroes gave a cry of in-dignation. ‘No harm? An inundation from Urto Shuruppak, so that only the flat whiterooftops protruded above the waters? It waslike the world was drowned! And all because

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you, Bartimaeus, built a dam across the riverfor a bet!’

‘Well, I won the bet, didn’t I? Get things inperspective.’

‘At least he can build something,Chosroes.’

‘What? My building projects in Babylonwere the talk of the town!’

‘Like that tower you never finished?’‘Oh come now, Nimshik – that was down

to problems with foreign workers.’My work was done. The argument was go-

ing nicely; all discipline and focus had van-ished, and the magician was a satisfyingshade of purple. All complacency had gonefrom the foliot Gezeri too, who was gawpinglike a trout.

Khaba gave a cry of rage. ‘All of you! Bestill.’

But it was far too late. Our line had alreadydisintegrated into a bickering melee of shak-ing fists and jabbing fingers. Tails whirled,

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horns flashed in the sun; one or two previ-ously absent claws slyly materialized to rein-force their owners’ points.

Now, I’ve known some masters to give upat this juncture, to throw their hands in theair and dismiss their slaves – if only tempor-arily – just to get a bit of peace. But theEgyptian was made of sterner stuff. He tooka slow step backwards, his features twisted,and unhooked the essence-flail from his belt.Clasping it firmly by its handle and shoutingout an incantation, he cracked it once, twice,three times above his head.

From each of the whirling thongs emergeda jagged spear of yellow force. The spearsstabbed out, impaled us all and snatched usburning into the sky.

Up under the hot sun we swung, higherthan the palace walls, suspended on yellowsnags of burning light. Down below us themagician spun his arm in looping circles,high and low, faster and faster, while Gezeri

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hopped and capered in delight. Round weflew, limp and helpless, colliding sometimeswith each other, sometimes with the ground.Showers of wounded essence trailed behindus, hung shimmering like oily bubbles in thedesert air.

The Gyration ceased, the essence-skewerswere withdrawn. At last the magicianlowered his arm. Eight broken objects fellheavily to Earth, our edges sloughing likepats of melting butter. We landed on ourheads.

The dust clouds slowly settled. Side by sidewe sat there, wedged into the ground likebroken teeth or tilting statues. Several of uswere gently steaming. Our heads were halfburied in the dirt, our legs sagged in the airlike wilting stems.

Not far away, the heat haze shifted, broke,re-formed, and through its fractured strandsthe magician strode, his long black shadowflowing at his back. Wisps of yellow force still

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radiated from the flail, snapping faintly,slowly fading. On all the hill this was the onlysound.

I spat out a pebble. ‘I think he forgives us,Faquarl,’ I croaked. ‘Look, he’s smiling.’

‘Remember, Bartimaeus – we’re upside-down.’

‘Oh. Right.’Khaba came to a halt and stared down at

us. ‘This,’ he said softly, ‘is what I do toslaves who disobey me once.’

There was a silence. Even I didn’t havemuch to say.

‘Let me show you what I do to slaves whodisobey me twice.’

He held out his hand and spoke a word. Aglimmering point of light, brighter than thesun, floated suddenly in the air above hispalm. Soundlessly it expanded to become aluminous sphere, cupped by his hand butstill not touching it – a sphere that darkenednow, like water filled with blood.

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Within the sphere: an image, moving. Acreature, slow, blind and in great pain, lost ina place of darkness.

Silent, upside-down and sagging, wewatched the lost, maimed thing. We watchedit for a long time.

‘Do you recognize it?’ the magician said. ‘Itis a spirit like you, or was so once. It tooknew the freedom of the open air. Perhaps,like you, it enjoyed wasting my time, neglect-ing the tasks I gave it. I do not recall, for Ihave kept it in the vault beneath my towerfor many years, and it has probably forgottenthe details itself. Occasionally I give it certaindelicate stimulations just to remind it it isstill alive; otherwise I leave it to its misery.’The eyes blinked slowly round at us; thevoice was just as level as before. ‘If any ofyou wish to become like this, you may annoyme one more time. If not, you will set towork and dig and carve as Solomon com-mands – and pray, if such a reflex is in your

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nature, that I may one day permit you toleave this Earth again.’

The image in the sphere dwindled; thesphere fizzled and went out. The magicianturned away and headed off towards thepalace. His shadow trailed long and black be-hind him, skipping, dancing across thestones.

None of us said anything. One after anoth-er we toppled sideways and collapsed intothe dust.

1 His assumed name, I mean – the name by which he

was known in his comings and goings about the world. It

was meaningless, in truth, a mask beneath which his true

nature was protected and concealed. Like all magicians, his

birth-name – the key to his power and his most precious

possession – had been expunged in childhood, and

forgotten.2 They were unappetizingly moist too, as if he was just

about to weep with guilt or sorrow, or in pity for his victims.

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But did he? Nope. Such emotions were alien to Khaba’s

heart and the tears never came.3Essence-flail: the favoured weapon of the priests of Ra

back in the old days of Khufu and the pyramids. Very good

at keeping djinn in order. Theban craftsmen still make

them, but the best are found in ancient tombs. Khaba’s was

an original – you could tell by the handle, which was bound

in human-slave skin, complete with faint tattoos.4 Apart from literally, once or twice, when certain

Assyrian priests got so peeved with my cheek they pierced

my tongue with thorns and bound me by it to a post in

Nineveh’s central square. However, they’d reckoned without

the elasticity of my essence. I was able to elongate my

tongue sufficiently to retire to a nearby inn for a leisurely

drink of barley wine, and subtly trip up several dignitaries

as they strutted by.

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8

North of Sheba the deserts of Arabiastretched unbroken for a thousand miles, avast and waterless wedge of sand and stone-dry hills, bordered to the west by the blankRed Sea. To the far north-west, where thepeninsula collided with Egypt, and the RedSea petered out at the Gulf of Aqaba, lay thetrading port of Eilat, since ancient times ameeting place of roads and goods and men.To get from Sheba to Eilat, where theirspices could be sold at great profit in the oldbazaars, the frankincense traders travelled acircuitous route between the desert and thesea, winding through numerous petty

kingdoms, paying tolls and fighting off at-tacks by hill-tribes and their djinn. If all wasset fair, assuming their camels remainedhealthy and they escaped major depreda-tions, the traders could expect to arrive inEilat after six or seven weeks in a state ofconsiderable exhaustion.

Guard Captain Asmira made the journeyin a single night, carried by a cone of whirl-ing sand.

Outside the protective Mantle, in the howl-ing darkness, the storm of sand grainsscoured the air. Asmira saw nothing; she satcrouched with her arms clasping her knees,eyes tight shut, trying to ignore the voicesthat, from amid the whirlwind, continuallyscreamed her name. This was a provocationon the part of the spirit that carried her, butotherwise the priestesses’ strictures heldfirm. Asmira was neither dropped, norcrushed, nor torn asunder, but carried

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without harm; and set down gently just asdawn was breaking.

Painfully, by slow degrees, she uncurledherself and allowed her eyes to open. She saton a hilltop, in the centre of three perfectrings of sand. Small thickets of brush weredotted here and there, and razor-grass, androcks that glinted in the rising sun. A littlenaked child was standing on the hillcrest,watching her with bright, dark eyes.

‘There is Eilat,’ the djinni said. ‘You willreach it late morning.’

Asmira looked, and far away saw a yellowcluster of lights hanging smudged and dis-tant in the lifting darkness, and close besideit a flat white line, thin as a knife-blade, sep-arating sky and land.

‘And that,’ the child added, pointing, ‘isthe sea. The Gulf of Aqaba. You are at thesouthernmost point of Solomon’s kingdom.From Eilat you can hire camels to take you toJerusalem, a journey still of several hundred

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miles. I myself can bear you no furthersafely. Solomon has established shipyards inEilat, that he may control the trading routesalong the coast. Some of his magicians arehere, and many spirits, who will be vigilantagainst intruders such as me. I cannot enterthe town.’

Asmira was getting to her feet, gasping atthe stiffness of her limbs. ‘Then I thank youfor your help,’ she said. ‘When you return toMarib, please express my thanks also to thepriestesses and my beloved queen. Say that Iam grateful for their assistance, and that Ishall carry out my task with the full vigour ofmy being, and—’

‘Don’t thank me,’ the child said. ‘I only dowhat I am forced to do. Indeed, were it notfor the threat of the Dismal Flame I woulddevour you in a twinkling, for you are asucculent-looking morsel. As for the queenand her minions, in my opinion your gratit-ude to them is equally misplaced, since they

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send you to a miserable death, while theirbacksides continue to expand at leisure inthe soft luxuries of the palace courts. Still, I’llpass your regards on.’

‘Foul demon!’ Asmira snarled. ‘If I die, itshall be for my queen! My nation has beenattacked and the Sun God himself hasblessed my venture. You know nothing ofloyalty or love of homeland! Be gone fromhere!’

She clasped something that hung abouther neck and spoke an angry syllable; a flash-ing disc of yellow light struck the djinni andsent it somersaulting backwards with a cry.

‘That was a pretty trick,’ the little childsaid, picking itself up. ‘But your power isthin, and your motives even thinner. Godsand nations – what are they but words?’

It closed its eyes; was gone. A gentlebreeze blew away into the south, scatteringthe perfect rings of sand and making Asmirashiver.

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She knelt beside her leather bag, and re-moved from it her water-skin, a pastrywrapped in vine leaves, a silver dagger, andher travelling cloak, which she placed abouther shoulders to keep warm. Her first actionwas to drink deeply from the skin, for shewas very thirsty. Next she ate the pastry withbrisk, efficient little bites, staring down thehill, planning her route towards the town.Then she turned to face the east, where theSun God’s disc was just pulling free of theEarth. Somewhere far away it settled on fairSheba too. His glory blinded Asmira, hiswarmth fell on her face. Her movementsslowed, her mind emptied; the urgencies ofher mission loosened their hold upon her.She stood upon the hilltop, a slight, slimyoung woman, with gold light shining on herlong dark hair.

When she was still very young, Asmira’smother had taken her to the palace roof and

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walked her in a circle, so she could look outall around.

‘The city of Marib is built on a hill,’ hermother said, ‘and this hill is Sheba’s centreas the heart is the centre of the body. Longago, the Sun God ordained our city’s size andshape, and we cannot build beyond its limits.So we build upwards! See the towers risingon every side? Our people live within them, afamily to a floor, and when the need ariseswe build another level in fresh mud brick.Now, child, look beyond the hill. You see thatall about us is green, while beyond lies yellowdesert? These are our gardens, which keep usall alive. Each year snows melt in the moun-tains and run in torrents along the dust-drywadis to irrigate our lands. Queens of thepast cut the channels to irrigate the fieldswith water. Maintenance of these channels istheir most important duty, for without themwe die. Now look to the east – see that rangeof blue-white mountains? That is the

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Hadhramaut, where grow our forests. Thesetrees are our other most precious resource.We harvest their resin and dry it … and whatdoes it become then?’

Asmira had hopped and capered with ex-citement, for she knew the answer. ‘Frankin-cense, Mother! The stuff the hill-men stinkof!’

Her mother had placed a steely hand uponher daughter’s head. ‘Not so much jiggingabout, girl. A palace guard does not cavortlike a dervish, even at the age of five. But youare right. This incense is our gold, and makesour people rich. We trade with distant em-pires far away beyond the deserts and theseas. They pay well for it, but they wouldsteal it if they could. Only the great sands ofArabia, which an army cannot cross, haveshielded us from their greed.’

Asmira had stopped her spinning. Shefrowned. ‘If enemies came here,’ she said,

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‘the queen would kill them. Wouldn’t she,Mother? She keeps us safe.’

‘Yes, child. Our queen keeps Sheba safe.And we in turn keep her safe – the guardsand I. That is what we are born to do. Whenyou grow up, dear Asmira, you too must pro-tect our blessed lady with your life – just as Ihave, and our grandmothers did before us.Do you so swear?’

Asmira was as still and serious as could be.‘Mother, I do.’

‘Good girl. Then let us go down and joinour sisters.’

At that time the old Queen of Sheba hadnot yet grown too heavy to leave the palace,and was accompanied wherever she went byan escort of her guard. As its leader, Asmira’smother always walked right behind thequeen, close as a shadow, curved swordhanging easily at her waist. Asmira (who par-ticularly admired her mother’s long andshining hair) thought her far more beautiful

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and regal than the queen herself, though shetook care not to mention this to anyone.Such a thought was possibly treasonous, andthere was a place for traitors on the bare hillbeyond the water meadows, where their re-mains were picked over by little birds. In-stead she contented herself imagining theday when she would be First Guard and walkbehind the queen. She went out to the gar-dens behind the palace and, with a severedreed stem, practised savage swordplay, put-ting ranks of imagined demons to full andawful flight.

From the earliest age she joined her moth-er in the training hall, where, under thewatchful eye of the wrinkled guard-mothers,who were now too old for active service, thewomen of the guard daily learned their craft.Before breakfast they scaled ropes, ranaround the meadows, swam in the canals be-low the walls. Now, their muscles readied,they worked six hours a day in the echoing,

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sunlit rooms, sparring with swords andtwirl-staffs, duelling with knives and whirl-ing fists, throwing discs and daggers intostraw-stuffed targets across the floor. Asmirawould watch it all from the benches, wherethe guard-mothers bound wounds andbruises in cloths lined with soothing herbs.Often she and other girls would pick up thelittle wooden weapons laid out for them, jointheir mothers in gentle play-fights, and sobegin their training.

Asmira’s mother was the most accom-plished of the women, which is why she wasFirst Guard. She ran fastest, fought mostfiercely, and above all threw the little shiningdaggers more accurately than anyone else.She could do this standing, moving, and evenon the half-turn, sending the blade hilt-deepinto any chosen target far off along the hall.

Asmira was mesmerized by this. Often shescampered up, holding out her hand. ‘I wanta go.’

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‘You’re not old enough,’ her mother said,smiling. ‘There are wooden ones that are bet-ter weighted, so you don’t do yourself a mis-chief. No, not like that’ – for Asmira hadprised the dagger from her grasp – ‘you needto hold the point lightly between the thumband forefinger … like so. Now, you must becalm. Close your eyes, take a deep, slowbreath—’

‘Don’t need to! Watch this for a shot! Oh.’Her mother laughed. ‘Not a bad attempt,

Asmira. If the target was six paces to its rightand twenty paces nearer, you would have hitit square on. As it is, I’m glad I don’t haveslightly larger feet.’ She stooped, picked upthe knife. ‘Have another try.’

The years passed, the Sun God worked hisdaily passage through the heavens. Now As-mira was seventeen years old, light of footand serious of eye, and one of four newlypromoted captains of the palace guard. Shehad excelled during the latest rebellion of the

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hill-tribes, and had personally captured therebel chief and his magicians. She had sever-al times deputized for the First Guard instanding behind the queen during ceremon-ies in the temples. But the Queen of Shebaherself had never once spoken to her, neveronce acknowledged her existence – until thenight the tower burned.

Beyond the window, smoke still drifted onthe air; from the Hall of the Dead came thesound of mourning drums. Asmira sat in theroyal chamber, awkwardly holding a cup ofwine and staring at the floor.

‘Asmira, my dear,’ the queen said. ‘Do youknow who carried out this dreadful act?’

Asmira raised her eyes. The queen was sit-ting so close to her their knees almosttouched. It was an unheard-of proximity.Her heart thudded in her chest. She loweredher gaze again. ‘They say, my lady,’ shestammered, ‘they say it was King Solomon.’

‘Do they say why?’

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‘No, my lady.’‘Asmira, you may look on me when you

speak. I am your queen, yes, but we are bothof us daughters of the Sun.’

When Asmira looked up once more, thequeen was smiling. The sight made her alittle light-headed; she took a sip of wine.

‘The First Guard has often spoken aboutyour qualities,’ the queen went on. ‘Quick,strong and clever, she says. Unafraid ofdanger. Resourceful, almost reckless … Andpretty too – I can see that for myself. Tellme, what do you know of Solomon, Asmira?What stories have you heard?’

Asmira’s face was burning and her throatfelt tight. Perhaps it was the smoke. She hadbeen marshalling the water-chains below thetower. ‘I have heard the usual tales, my lady.He has a palace of jade and gold, built in asingle night with his magic Ring. He controlstwenty thousand spirits, each more terriblethan the last. He has seven hundred wives –

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and is therefore clearly a man of abominablewickedness. He—’

The queen raised her hand. ‘I have heardthis too.’ Her smile faded. ‘Asmira, Solomondesires the wealth of Sheba. One of hisdemons carried out tonight’s attack, andwhen the moon is new – which will be inthirteen days – the full host of the Ring willcome here to destroy us all.’

Asmira’s eyes opened wide in horror; shesaid nothing.

‘Unless, that is,’ the queen went on, ‘I paya ransom. Needless to say, I do not wish todo so. That would be an affront to bothSheba’s honour and my own. But what is thealternative? The power of the Ring is toogreat to withstand. Only if Solomon himselfis killed might the danger pass. But that is al-most impossible, since he never leaves Jerus-alem, a city that is too well-guarded forarmies or magicians to hope to enter. Andyet …’ The queen sighed heavily and stared

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out of the window. ‘And yet I wonder. I won-der whether someone travelling alone,someone with sufficient intelligence andskill, someone who seems harmless, and yetis not so – whether that person might find away to get access to the king … And when sheis alone with him, she might— Ah, but itwould be a hard task indeed.’

‘My lady …’ Asmira’s voice quivered witheagerness, as well as fear at what she wasabout to say. ‘My lady, if there’s any way thatI can help—’

The Queen of Sheba smiled benignly. ‘Mydear, you need say no more. I already knowyour faith. I know your love for me. Yes, dearAsmira, thank you for suggesting it. I do be-lieve you can.’

The rising sun hung low above the easterndesert. When Asmira stirred and turned toface the west again, she found the port of Eil-at had become a clear white scattering of

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buildings, and the sea an azure strip, towhich tiny white things clung.

Her eyes narrowed. Ships belonging to thewicked Solomon. From now on she musttake care.

She picked up the silver dagger fromwhere it lay beside her bag and tucked it inher belt, pushing it out of sight beneath hercloak. As she did so, her gaze strayed highabove: she saw the outline of the waningmoon, still hanging frail and ghost-like in theblue. The sight gave her fresh urgency.Twelve days remaining! And Solomon wasfar away. Picking up her bag, she joggedswiftly down the hill.

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9

‘Watch where you drop those chippings,’Faquarl snapped. ‘That last shower wentdown my neck.’

‘Sorry.’‘And you might wear a longer skirt while

you’re about it. I’m afraid to look up.’I paused in my chiselling. ‘Can I help it if

this is the current fashion?’‘You’re eclipsing the sun. Move along a bit,

at least.’We scowled at each other. I moved a

grudging inch to my left; Faquarl moved aresentful inch to his right. We went oncarving.

‘I wouldn’t mind so much,’ Faquarl saidsourly, ‘if we could do this properly. A quickDetonation or two would work wonders onthis rock.’

‘Tell that to Solomon,’ I said. ‘It’s his faultwe’re not allowed to— Ow!’ My hammer hitmy thumb instead of the chisel. I hopped andpranced; my curses echoed off the rock-faceand startled a nearby vulture.

All morning, since the dark-blue hour ofdawn, the two of us had been toiling in thequarry below the building site, hacking outthe first blocks for the temple. Faquarl’sledge was somewhat below mine, so he gotthe worst of the view. Mine was fully exposedto the rigours of the risen sun, so I was hotand irritable. And now my thumb was sore.

I took a look around: rocks, heat haze,nothing moving on any plane. ‘I’ve hadenough of this,’ I said. ‘Khaba’s not about,and nor is that nasty little foliot of his. I’mhaving a break.’ So saying, the handsome

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youth tossed his chisel aside and slid downthe wooden ladder to the quarry floor.

Faquarl was the Nubian again, plump, pot-bellied, dusty and glowering. He hesitated,then threw his tools down as well. We squat-ted together in the shade beneath his half-squared block, in the manner of idling slavesthe world over.

‘We’ve got the worst job again,’ I said.‘Why couldn’t we be digging foundationswith the rest of them?’

The Nubian scratched his stomach, selec-ted a chipping from the rubble at our feetand picked his delicately pointed teeth. ‘Per-haps because our master dislikes us mostparticularly. Which in your case isn’t surpris-ing, considering the lip you gave himyesterday.’

I smiled contentedly. ‘True.’‘Speaking of the magician,’ Faquarl said.

‘This Khaba: what do you make of him?’‘Bad. You?’

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‘One of the very worst.’‘I’d say top-ten bad, possibly even top-

five.’‘Not only is he vicious,’ Faquarl added,

‘but he’s arbitrary. Viciousness I can respect;in many ways I find it a positive quality. Buthe’s just a little too quick with the essence-flail. If you work too slow; if you work toofast; if you happen to be nearby when hefeels like it – every opportunity, out itcomes.’

I nodded. ‘Too right. He scoured me againlast night simply because of a purecoincidence.’

‘Which was?’‘I made a gratuitous comedy sound-effect

just as he bent to retie his sandals.’ I gave asigh and shook my head sadly. ‘True, itechoed off the valley walls like a thunderclap.True, several grandees of Solomon’s courtwere in attendance and hurriedly changedcourse to get upwind of him. But even so!

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The fellow lacks humour – that’s the root ofthe problem.’

‘Good to see you’re still as cultivated asever, Bartimaeus,’ Faquarl said blandly.

‘I try. I try.’‘But recreations aside, we need to be care-

ful with Khaba. You remember what heshowed us in the sphere? That could beeither one of us.’

‘I know.’The Nubian finished picking at his teeth

and tossed the chip away. We stared out to-gether at the pulsating whiteness of thequarry.

Now, to the casual onlooker the dialogueabove may seem unremarkable, but in fact itscores highly for originality as it featuredFaquarl and me having a chat without resort-ing to (a) petty abuse, (b) contrived innu-endo, or (c) attempted murder. This, downthe centuries, was a fairly unusual event. Infact there were entire civilizations that had

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hauled themselves from the mud, masteredthe arts of writing and astronomy, and de-cayed slowly into decadence in the intervalsbetween us having a civil conversation.

We’d first crossed paths in Mesopotamia,during the interminable wars between thecity states. Sometimes we fought on the sameside; sometimes we were ranged against eachother in battle. This in itself wasn’t a big deal– it was par for the course for any spirit, anda situation quite outside our control, since itwas our masters who forced us into action –but somehow Faquarl and I seemed to rubeach other up the wrong way.

Quite why was hard to say. In many re-spects we had a lot in common.

First off, we were both djinn of high reputeand ancient origin, although (typically)Faquarl insisted his origin was a little more

ancient than mine.1

Secondly, we were both zestful individuals,potent, resourceful and good in a scrap, and

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formidable opponents of our human mas-ters. Between us we had accounted for agreat many magicians who had failed to closetheir pentacles properly, misspoken a wordduring our summonings, left a loophole inthe terms and conditions of our indentures,or otherwise messed up the dangerous pro-cess of bringing us to Earth. The flaw in ourfeistiness, however, was that competent ma-gicians, recognizing our qualities and wish-ing to use them for their own ends,summoned us ever more frequently. The netresult was that Faquarl and I were the twohardest-working spirits of that millennium,at least in our opinion.

If all that wasn’t enough, we had plenty ofshared interests too, notably architecture,

politics and regional cuisine.2 So one wayand another you’d have thought that Faquarland I would have got along fine.

Instead, for some reason, we got up each

other’s noses,3 and always had done.

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Still, we were generally prepared to putour differences aside when faced with a mu-tual enemy, and our present master certainlyfitted that bill. Any magician capable of sum-moning eight djinn at once was clearly a for-midable proposition, and the essence-flaildidn’t make things any easier. But I felt therewas something more to him even than that.

‘There’s one odd thing about Khaba,’ I saidsuddenly. ‘Have you noticed—?’

Faquarl gave me a sharp nudge; he tiltedhis head slightly. Two of our fellow workers,Xoxen and Tivoc, had appeared down thequarry path. Both were trudging wearily andrested spades upon their shoulders.

‘Faquarl! Bartimaeus!’ Xoxen was incredu-lous. ‘What are you doing?’

Tivoc’s eyes gleamed nastily. ‘They’re hav-ing a breather.’

‘Come and join us if you want,’ I said.Xoxen leaned upon his spade and wiped

his face with a dirty hand. ‘You fools!’ he

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hissed. ‘Don’t you remember the name andnature of our master? He is not called Khabathe Cruel because of the fond generosity heshows to skiving spirits! He ordered us towork without breaks during the hours oflight. By day we toil, by night we rest! Whatis there in this concept that you don’tunderstand?’

‘You’ll have us all in the essence-cages,’Tivoc snarled.

Faquarl made a dismissive motion. ‘TheEgyptian is just a human, imprisoned ingrim flesh, while we are noble spirits – I’musing the term “noble” in the loosest possiblesense, of course, so as to include Bartimaeus.Why should any of us toil for Khaba? Weshould work together to destroy him!’

‘Big talk,’ growled Tivoc, ‘but I notice themagician is nowhere in sight.’

Xoxen nodded. ‘Exactly. When he appears,you’ll both be chiselling at double speed, youmark my words. In the meantime, shall we

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report that your first blocks are not quitedone? Let us know when they’re ready to bedragged up to the site.’

Wheeling round, they minced out of thequarry. Faquarl and I stared after them.

‘Our workmates leave much to be desired,’

I grunted. ‘No backbone.’4

Faquarl picked up his tools and rose heav-ily to his feet. ‘Well, we’re just as bad as themso far,’ he said. ‘We’ve been letting Khabapush us around too. The trouble is, I don’tsee how we’re going to fight back. He’sstrong, he’s vindictive, he’s got that cursedflail – and he’s also got …’

His voice trailed off. We looked at eachother. Then Faquarl sent out a small Pulsethat expanded around us, creating a glowing,green Bulb of Silence. The few faint noisesfrom the hill above, where the spades of ourfellow djinn could distantly be heard, be-came instantly muffled; we were alone, ourvoices insulated from the world.

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Even so, I leaned in close. ‘Have you no-ticed his shadow?’

‘Slightly darker than it ought to be?’Faquarl muttered. ‘Ever so slightly longer?Responds just a little too slowly when Khabamoves?’

‘That’s the one.’He made a face. ‘Nothing shows on any of

the planes, which means a very high-levelVeil’s in place. But it’s something all right –something protecting Khaba. If we’re goingto get him, we first need to find out what.’

‘Let’s keep an eye on it,’ I said. ‘Sooner orlater, it’ll give itself away.’

Faquarl nodded. He flourished the chisel;the Bulb of Silence burst into a scatteredshower of emerald droplets. Without anotherword, we went back to our work.

For a couple of days activities proceededquietly at the temple site. The top of the hillwas levelled, scrub and brushwood werecleared away, and foundations for the

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building were dug. Down in the quarryFaquarl and I produced a good number oftop-quality limestone blocks, geometric,symmetrical, and so cleanly finished the kinghimself could have eaten his breakfast offthem. Even so, they didn’t meet with the ap-proval of Khaba’s odious little overseerGezeri, who materialized on an outcropabove our heads and tuttingly inspected ourwork.

‘This is poor stuff, boys,’ he said, shakinghis fat green head. ‘Lots of rough bits downthe sides need sanding. The boss won’t ac-cept ’em like that, oh dear me, no.’

‘Come closer and show me exactly where,’I said pleasantly. ‘My eyesight isn’t what itwas.’

The foliot hopped down from the ledgeand sauntered over. ‘You djinn are all thesame. Big bloated sacks of uselessness, I callyou. If I was your master, I’d riddle you witha Pestilence each day just on princip— Ay!’

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Further such pearls of wisdom from Gezeriwere in short supply for the next fewminutes, as I industriously sanded down theedges of the blocks using the side of his head.When I’d finished, the blocks gleamed like ababy’s bottom, and Gezeri’s face wasflattened like an anvil.

‘You were right,’ I said. ‘They look muchbetter now. So do you, as a matter of fact.’

The foliot pranced from foot to foot withfury. ‘How dare you! I’ll tell on you, I will!Khaba’s got his eye on you already! He’s justwaiting for an excuse to plunge you in theDismal Flame! When I go up and tell him—’

‘Here, let me help you out with that.’ In aphilanthropic spirit, I grabbed him, tied hisarms and legs in a complex knot, and with animpressive kick punted him high over thequarry walls to land somewhere on thebuilding site. There was a distant squeak.

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Faquarl had been watching all this withurbane amusement. ‘Bit reckless,Bartimaeus.’

‘I get the flail daily anyway,’ I growled.‘Once more won’t make any difference.’

But in fact the magician seemed too preoc-cupied now even to do much scouring. Hespent most of his time in a tent on the edgeof the site, checking the building plans anddealing with messenger-imps sent from thepalace. These messages carried endless newinstructions for the temple layout – brasspillars here, cedar floors there – whichKhaba had to instantly incorporate into theplans. Often he came out to double-check hischanges against the work that had been doneso far, so whenever I was up dragging a blockonto the site, I took my chance to study him.

It wasn’t very reassuring.The first thing I spotted was that Khaba’s

shadow was always at his heels, trailing be-hind him along the dirt of the ground. It

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remained there regardless of the position ofthe sun: never in front, never to the side, al-ways quietly behind him. The second thingwas even odder. The magician seldom

emerged when the sun was at its zenith,5 butwhen he did, it was noticeable that while allother shadows were reduced almost to noth-ing, his was still long and sleek, a thing ofevening or early morning.

Though it more or less corresponded to itsowner’s shape, it did so in an elongated sortof way, and I took an especial dislike to itslong, thin, tapering arms and fingers. Usu-ally these moved in conjunction with themovements of the magician, but not always.Once, as I was helping push a block towardsthe temple, Khaba observed us from the side.And out of the corner of my eye I seemed tosee that, though the magician had his armscrossed, his shadow’s arms now resembledthose of a praying mantis, folded hungrilyand waiting. I turned my head swiftly, only

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to find the shadow’s arms crossed normally,just as they should have been.

As Faquarl had observed, the shadowlooked the same on each of the seven planes,and this was ominous in itself. I’m no imp orfoliot, but a strapping djinni with full com-mand of every plane, and ordinarily I expectto be able to see through most magical de-ceptions going. Illusions, Concealments,Glamours, Veils, you name it – by flipping tothe seventh plane they all disintegrate beforemy eyes into obvious layers of glowing wispsand threads, so that I see the true thing be-neath. It’s the same with spirit guises: showme a sweet little choirboy or a smiling moth-er and I’ll show you the hideous fanged

strigoï6 it really is.7 There’s very little that re-mains hidden from my sight.

Not with this shadow. I couldn’t see pastits Veil at all.

Faquarl didn’t have any better luck, as heconfided one evening by the campfire. ‘It’s

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got to be high level,’ he muttered. ‘Somethingthat can fox us on the seventh isn’t going tobe a djinni, is it? I think Khaba’s brought itwith him from Egypt. Any idea what it couldbe, Bartimaeus? You’ve spent more timethere than I have lately.’

I shrugged. ‘The catacombs at Karnak aredeep. I never got far in. We need to treadcautiously.’

Just how cautiously was brought home tome the following day. There was a problemwith the alignment of the temple porch, andI’d shinned up a ladder to assess things fromabove. I was concealed in a narrow cleftbetween two blocks, and was fiddling withmy cubit rod and plumb line, when I saw themagician pass by me on the hard tampedearth below. A small messenger-imp ap-proached from the direction of the palace, amissive in its paw, and intercepted him; themagician halted, took the wax tablet onwhich the message was impressed, and read

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it swiftly. As he did so, his shadow, as was itswont, was stretched out long on the groundbehind him, though the sun was almost at itsheight. The magician nodded, tucked thetablet in a belt-pouch and proceeded on hisway; the imp, with the aimless vapidity of itskind, meandered off in the opposite direc-tion, picking its nose the while. In so doing itpassed the shadow; all in an instant therewas a blur of movement, a single sharp snap-ping noise, and the imp was gone. The shad-ow flowed away after the magician; just as itdisappeared from view, its trailing headturned to look at me, and in that moment itdidn’t seem the least bit human.

With slightly shaking hands, I completedmy measurements and descended stifflyfrom the porch. All things considered, it wasprobably best to keep away from the magi-cian Khaba. I would lie low, do my jobs ef-fectively, and above all not draw attention to

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myself. That would be the best way to keepout of trouble.

I managed it for four whole days. Thendisaster struck.

1 By his account, Faquarl’s first summoning was in

Jericho, 3015 BC, approximately five years before my initial

appearance in Ur. This made him, allegedly, the ‘senior’

djinni in our partnership. However, since Faquarl also

swore blind he’d invented hieroglyphs by ‘doodling with a

stick in the Nile river-mud’ and claimed to have devised the

abacus by impaling two dozen imps along the branches of

an Asiatic cedar, I regarded all his stories with a certain

scepticism.2 In my view the people of Babylonia were the tastiest,

owing to the rich goat’s milk in their diet. Faquarl preferred

a good Indian.3 Or snouts. Or trunks. Or tentacles, filaments, palpi or

antennae, depending which guise we were in.4 To be fair, a few of them were all right. Nimshik had

spent a good while in Canaan and had interesting points to

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make about the local tribal politics; Menes, a youngish

djinni, listened attentively to my words of wisdom; even

Chosroes grilled a mean imp. But the rest were sorry wastes

of essence, Beyzer being boastful, Tivoc sarcastic and Xoxen

full of false modesty, which in my humble opinion are three

immensely tiresome traits.5 He preferred to keep to his tent and let foliots in the

shape of Scythian slave boys wave palms above his head and

feed him sweetmeats and iced fruit. Which I suppose is fair

enough.6Strigoï: a disreputable sub-class of djinni, pallid and

nocturnal, with a predilection for drinking the blood of the

living. Think succubus, but without the curves.7 Not always. Just sometimes. Your mother is abso-

lutely fine, for instance. Probably.

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10

The port of Eilat came as a surprise to As-mira, whose experience of cities was limitedto Marib and its sister town of Sirwah thirtymiles away across the fields. Crowded as theyoften were, especially on festival days, theymaintained at all times a certain order. Thepriestesses wore their golden kirtles, thetownsfolk their simple tunics of white andblue. If men from the hill-tribes werepresent, their longer robes of red and brownmade them easily identifiable from the guardposts. With the single cast of an eye a guardcould appraise a crowd, and assess thedangers within.

In Eilat, it was not so simple.Its streets were broad and the buildings

never higher than two storeys. To Asmira,used to the calm, cool shadows of Sheba’stowers, this made the city oddly formless, ahot and sprawling mass of low whitewashedwalls that merged disconcertingly with theceaseless tide of people that passed amongthem. Richly garbed Egyptians stalked along,amulets gleaming upon their breasts; behindcame slaves carrying boxes, chests, scowlingimps in swinging cages. Wiry men of Punt,bright-eyed, diminutive, with sacks of resinteetering on their backs, wound their waypast stalls where Kushite merchants offeredsilver djinn-guards and spirit-charmers tothe wary traveller. Black-eyed Babyloniansargued with pale-skinned men over carts ofstrangely patterned pelts and skins; Asmiraeven spotted a group of fellow Shebans comenorth on the gruelling frankincense trail.

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Up on the rooftops, silent things wearingthe shapes of cats and birds watched theactivity unfold.

Asmira, standing at the gates, wrinkled hernose with distaste at the unregulated magicof the magician-king’s domain. She boughtspiced lentils from a kiosk set into the citywall, then plunged into the throng. Its turbidflow engulfed her; she was swallowed by thecrowd.

Even so, she knew she was being followedbefore she had walked a dozen yards.

Chancing to glance back, she noticed athin man in a long pale robe detach himselffrom the wall where he had been leaning andmove after her along the road. A little later,after two random changes of direction, shelooked again and found him still in sight,dawdling along, staring at his feet, seeminglyentranced by the clouds of dust he kicked upwith every casual step.

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An agent of Solomon already? It seemedunlikely; she had done nothing to draw at-tention to herself. Unhurriedly Asmiracrossed the street under the white heat of theday and ducked beneath the awning of abread-seller. She stood above the baskets inthe hot shade, breathing in the scent of thepiled loaves. Out of the corner of her eye shesaw a pale flash move amongst the custom-ers at the fish stall alongside.

An old and wrinkled man sat hunchedbetween the bread baskets, chewing tooth-lessly on his khat. Asmira purchased a thinwheat loaf from him, then said: ‘Sir, I need totravel to Jerusalem as a matter of urgency.What is the quickest way?’

The old man frowned; her Arabic wasstrange to him, and barely intelligible. ‘Bycamel train.’

‘Where do the camels leave from?’‘From the market square beside the

fountains.’

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‘I see. Where is the square?’He pondered long, his jaw moving in slow,

circular movements. At last he spoke. ‘Besidethe fountains.’

Asmira’s brow furrowed, her bottom lipprotruded in vexation. She glanced back to-wards the fish stall. ‘I’m from the south,’ shesaid. ‘I don’t know the town. Is camel trainreally the quickest way? I thought perhaps—’

‘Are you travelling alone?’ the old mansaid.

‘Yes.’‘Ah.’ He opened his gummy mouth and

emitted a brief chuckle.Asmira gazed at him. ‘What?’Bony shoulders shrugged. ‘You’re young,

and – if the shadows of your shawl don’tconceal unpleasant surprises – good lookingtoo. Plus you’re travelling alone. In my ex-perience, your chances of leaving Eilat safely,let alone reaching Jerusalem, are slim. Still,while you yet have life and money, you might

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as well spend freely; that’s my philosophy.Why not buy another loaf?’

‘No, thank you. I was asking aboutJerusalem.’

The old man stared at her appraisingly.‘The slavers here do very well,’ he mused. ‘Isometimes wish I’d gone into that trade …’He licked a finger, stretched out a hairy armand adjusted the display of flatbread in anearby basket. ‘Ways to get to Jerusalem? Ifyou were a magician, you could fly there on acarpet … That’s quicker than camels.’

‘I’m not a magician,’ Asmira said. She ad-justed the leather bag across her shoulder.

The old man grunted. ‘That’s lucky, be-cause if you flew to Jerusalem on a carpet,he’d see you by way of the Ring. Then you’dbe taken by a demon and carried off, andsubjected to all sorts of horrors. Sure I can’tinterest you in a pretzel?’

Asmira cleared her throat. ‘I thought per-haps a chariot.’

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‘Chariots are for queens,’ the bread-sellersaid. He laughed, his mouth gaping like avoid. ‘And magicians.’

‘I’m neither,’ Asmira said.She took up her bread and left. A moment

later a thin man wearing a pale robe pushedaside the customers of the fish stall andslipped out into the day.

The beggar had been working his patch out-side the bazaar since dawn, when the tidehad brought new ships into Eilat’s quays. Asalways the merchants had heavy purses tiedat their belts, which the beggar attempted tolighten in two complementary ways. Hisroars and pleas and pitiful exhortations, to-gether with the proud display of his witheredstump, always awoke sufficient revulsion toearn some shekels from the crowd. Mean-while his imp, loitering amongst thebystanders, picked as many pockets as itcould. The sun was hot and the businessgood, and the beggar was just thinking of

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departing to the wine shop when he was ap-proached by a thin man wearing a long palerobe. The newcomer scuffled to a halt, star-ing at his feet.

‘I’ve found a mark,’ he said.The beggar scowled. ‘Toss a coin first, then

tell. Got to keep up appearances, haven’twe?’ He waited till the newcomer obliged.‘So, spit it out,’ he said. ‘What is he?’

‘Not a “he”; a “she”,’ replied the thin mansourly. ‘Girl came in from the south thismorning. Travelling alone. Wants to go toJerusalem. She’s off haggling with the cameltraders now.’

‘Got much, you think?’ the beggar said,squinting up from the corner where he sat.He waved his stick angrily. ‘Move away fromthe sun, curse you! I’m lame, not blind.’

‘Not so lame either, from what I hear,’ thethin man said, stepping a few paces to theside. ‘Her clothes are nice enough, and she’sgot a sack with her that warrants a look too.

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But she’d fetch a good price herself, if you getmy meaning.’

‘And she’s on her own?’ The beggar staredoff along the street; he scratched the stubbleof his chin. ‘Well, the caravans don’t leaveuntil tomorrow, that’s a given, so she’ll stayin town tonight whether she wants to or not.There’s no hurry, is there? Go and find Intef.If he’s drunk, knock some sense into him. I’llgo to the square, keep watch, see what’s go-ing on.’ The beggar rocked back and for-wards twice and, by leaning on his stick,stood up with sudden swift agility. ‘Well, getoff,’ he said savagely. ‘You’ll find me in thesquare. Or, if she moves, wherever you hearmy call.’

He swung his stick and, with a series oflimping jerks, set off along the road. Longafter he was out of sight, his cries for almscould still be heard.

‘I could sell you a camel, girl,’ the merchantsaid, ‘but it would be unusual practice. Send

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your father or your brother; I will drink teawith them and chew khat and make such ar-rangements as are meant to be madebetween men. And I will berate them politelyfor allowing you out alone. The streets hereare not kind to girls, as they ought to know.’

It was late afternoon, and the peach-and-orange light refracting through the fabric ofthe tent struck lazily upon the carpet and thecushions, and upon the merchant who satamongst them. A pile of clay tablets, someold and hard, others still soft and only par-tially covered by the merchant’s marks, res-ted at his side. Laid out carefully in front ofhim was a stylus, a tablet, a cup and a jug ofwine. A dangling djinn-guard hung from theroof above his head, twirling gently to themovements of the air.

Asmira looked back at the closed flap ofthe tent. Business in the square was ebbing.One or two shadows moved swiftly past.None of them was familiar to her: none

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dawdled, head down, staring at its feet …Still, evening was coming; it would not do tobe out alone much longer. Far off she heard abeggar’s whining call.

She said: ‘You will make the arrangementswith me.’

The merchant’s broad face did not alter.He looked down at his tablet, and his handstrayed to the stylus. ‘I’m busy, girl. Sendyour father.’

Asmira gathered herself, forced her furydown. This was the third such meeting shehad had that afternoon and the shadowswere growing long. She had twelve days be-fore the attack on Marib, and the camel rideto Jerusalem would take ten. ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘Ihave ample payment. You need only speakyour price.’

The merchant compressed his lips; after amoment he set down the stylus. ‘Show methis payment.’

‘How much do you need?’

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‘Girl, I am expecting the gold traders infrom Egypt in the next few days. They toowill seek transport to Jerusalem and will buyas many camels as I can provide. From themI will get little pouches of gold dust, or per-haps small nuggets from the Nubian mines,so that my moustaches will curl with excite-ment and I will close up my tent for a monthand make merry in the Street of Sighs. Whatcan you show me in the next five secondsthat will make me give up one of my fine,dark-eyed camels to you?’

The girl reached inside her riding cloak;when her hand reappeared, it had somethingthe size of an apricot stone glittering in thepalm.

‘It is a blue diamond from theHadhramaut,’ she said. ‘Shaped and sandedinto fifty facets. They say the Queen of Shebawears one similar on her headdress. Provideme with a camel and it’s yours.’

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The merchant sat very still; peach-and-or-ange light moved upon the surface of hisface. He looked towards the closed tent flap,from where the sound of the marketplacewas muffled. The tip of his tongue ranbetween his lips. He said, ‘A man might won-der whether you had more such things …’

Asmira moved so that the front of her rid-ing cloak fell open; she rested her fingers onthe dagger hanging loosely at her belt.

‘… but to me,’ the merchant continuedheartily, ‘such payment is more than ad-equate! We can make immediatearrangements!’

Asmira nodded. ‘I’m so glad. Give me mycamel.’

‘She is going down Spice Street now,’ thethin man reported. ‘She’s left the beast at thesquare. They’re equipping it for tomorrow.Not sparing any expense either. A canopyand everything. She’s got money in that bag

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of hers.’ As he spoke, he played with a longstrip of cloth, twisting it between his hands.

‘Spice Street’s too busy,’ the beggar said.‘Ink Street?’‘Good enough. Four of us should manage

it.’

It was true what Asmira had told the bread-seller. She was not a magician. But that didnot mean she was innocent of magic.

When she was nine years old, the seniorguard-mother found her as she was prac-tising in the yard. ‘Asmira, come with me.’

They went to a quiet room above the train-ing hall, where Asmira had never been. In-side were tables and cabinets of ancient ce-dar wood, their half-open doors revealingstacks of papyrus scrolls, clay tablets andpottery shards notched with signs. On thecentre of the floor two circles had beendrawn, each containing a five-pointed star.

Asmira frowned and pulled a lock of hairback from her face. ‘What’s all this?’

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The senior guard-mother was forty-eightyears old and had once been First Guard ofthe queen. She had put down three tribal in-surrections in the Hadhramaut. She had athin white sword-scar slashed across herwrinkled neck and another across her fore-head, and was regarded with awe and vener-ation by the sisterhood. Even the queen her-self was said to speak to her with some hu-mility. She looked down at the scowling girland said mildly, ‘They tell me your training isgoing well.’

Asmira was looking at a papyrus scroll laidout on the table. It was covered with an or-nate and densely written script – except inthe middle, where a sinister figure, halfsmoke, half skeleton, had been sketched witha few deft strokes. She shrugged.

The guard-mother said: ‘I have seen youwith the knives. I could not throw as well asyou when I was your age. And nor could yourmother.’

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The girl did not look at her, nor change ex-pression, but her bony little shouldersstiffened. She spoke as if she had not heard.‘What’s all this magical stuff, anyway?’

‘What do you think it is?’‘Ways of summoning demons of the air. I

thought it was forbidden. Only priestessesare allowed to do it, the guard-mothers say.’Her eyes blazed. ‘Or were you all lying?’

In three years the senior guard-motherhad had cause to beat the girl innumerabletimes for truancy, disobedience and cheek.Now she only said, ‘Asmira, listen. I have twothings to offer you. The one is knowledge,the other is this …’ She held out her hand.Between the fingers hung a silver necklace;on its end, a pendant shaped like the sun.When the girl saw it, she gave a little gasp.

‘I do not need to tell you that it was yourmother’s,’ the senior guard-mother said. ‘No,you may not have it yet. Listen to me now.’She waited till the girl had raised her face:

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taut, hostile, tamping its emotion down. Shesaid: ‘We did not lie to you. Magic is forbid-den to everyone in Sheba but the priestessesof the temple. Only they may summondemons in the ordinary way. And it is rightthat this is so! Demons are wicked, deceitfulthings, dangerous to all. Think how volatilethe hill-tribes are! If every chieftain couldraise a djinni whenever he argued with hisneighbours, there would be a dozen wars ayear, and half the population dead! But inthe hands of the priestesses, djinn can be putto better purpose – how do you think thereservoir here in Marib was built, or thewalls of the city, for that matter? Each yearthey help repair the towers, and dredge thewater channels too.’

Asmira said, ‘I know this. They do thequeen’s work, just as the men must labour inthe fields.’

The senior guard-mother chuckled. ‘This isso. Djinn are in fact much like men –

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provided you treat them sternly, and do notgive them an inch of room to work you ill,they have several worthwhile uses. But hereis the thing. Magic is useful to the guardsalso, and for one good reason. Our duty, thewhole purpose of our being, is to protect oursovereign. We rely on our bodily skills for themost part, but sometimes that alone is notsufficient. If a demon attacked the queen—’

‘A silver blade would deal with it,’ the girlsaid shortly.

‘Sometimes, but not always. A guard needsother defences too. There are certain words,Asmira, certain magical Wards and incanta-tions, which can temporarily rebuff a lesserdemon’s power.’ The senior guard-motherlifted the necklace so that the sun pendantswung slowly, catching the light. ‘Spirits hatesilver, just as you say, and charms like thisgive force to the uttered spell. I can teach yousuch things, if you wish. But to do so, we willhave to summon demons to practise on.’ She

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gestured around at the cluttered room. ‘Thisis why we have special dispensation to learnsuch techniques here.’

‘I’m not afraid of demons,’ the girl said.‘Asmira, summoning spirits is perilous,

and we are not magicians. We learn basic in-cantations, so that we may test our Wards. Ifwe are hasty, or careless, we will pay a dread-ful price. Lesser guards do not need to un-derstand these skills and I will not force youto do so either. If you wish, you can leave thisroom now and never return.’

The girl was gazing at the little twirlingsun. Its light flashed in her eyes like fire. ‘Mymother knew these skills?’

‘She did.’Asmira held out her hand. ‘Teach me,

then. I will learn.’

As she walked back to the inn where she wasto spend the night, Asmira stared upbetween the darkened buildings at the glit-tering expanse of stars. As she watched, a

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light streaked in the heavens, flared brieflyand went out. A shooting star? Or one of So-lomon’s demons spreading terror to otherlands?

Her jaw clenched; her nails dug into herpalms. It was another ten days before shewould reach Jerusalem – and that waswithout the sandstorms that might delay thecaravan. Ten days! And in twelve the Ringwould be turned and devastation broughtupon Sheba! She closed her eyes and took along breath in and out, as she had beentaught to do when emotions threatened. Hertraining worked; she felt herself grow calm.

When she opened her eyes, there was aman standing in the road in front of her.

He held a long strip of cloth between hishands.

Asmira halted, looking at him.‘Softly,’ the man said. ‘No struggling.’

When he smiled, his teeth were very white.

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Asmira heard footfall on the road behind;glancing over her shoulder, she saw threeother men hastening close, one of them acripple, a crutch wedged under his arm. Shesaw the ropes, the sack held ready, theknives tucked neatly in their waist-bands,the glints of moisture in their smiling eyesand mouths. On the cripple’s shoulder, asmall black impling crouched, flexing itsdirty yellow claws.

Her hand moved towards her belt.‘Softly,’ the man with the cloth said again.

‘Or I’ll hurt you.’ He took another step, thensighed, fell backwards. Starlight glinted onthe dagger blade protruding from the centreof his eye.

Before he hit the ground, Asmira had swiv-elled, ducked beneath a clutching hand andpulled the knife from the waist-band of thenearest man behind her. Dancing aside fromthe stumbling assault of the third, whosought to loop a coil of wire about her head,

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she killed both men with rapid blows andturned to face the fourth.

The cripple had halted a few yards distant,his face slack with blank surprise. Now hegave a long, low snarl and snapped his fin-gers. The impling beat its wings andlaunched itself at Asmira with a cry. Asmirawaited till it was close, then touched her sil-ver necklace, spoke a Ward of force. The im-pling exploded in a ball of flame that spir-alled away and burst against a wall in ashower of angry sparks.

Before the fires faded, the cripple wasaway along the street, stick tapping frantic-ally upon the stone.

Asmira let the soiled knife fall to theground. She turned and walked back to herbag, crouched, loosened its ties and removeda second silver dagger. Flipping it in her fin-gers, she looked back along the road.

The beggar was a long way off now, headdown, rags flying, lolloping and bounding,

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swinging himself forward with great sweepsof his stick. In a few more steps he would beat a corner and out of sight.

Asmira took careful aim.

Shortly after dawn the following day, thoseemerging from their houses on the corner ofInk and Spice Streets made a gruesome dis-covery: four bodies sitting neatly against awall, their seven legs stretched out side byside into the road. Each man had been awell-known slaver and vagrant of the dis-trict; each had been killed with a singlestrike.

At roughly the same moment, a cameltrain of thirty riders set out from Eilat’s cent-ral square on the long journey to Jerusalem.Asmira was among them.

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11

I blame Beyzer for the incident. It was histurn keeping watch, but his spot in thecypress was a tad too comfy, what with thenoonday heat and the smell of resin and thenice plump implet he was using as a cushion.Dozing gently, Beyzer didn’t notice So-lomon’s approach. This took some doing,partly because the king was pretty tall, andpartly because he was accompanied by sevenmagicians, nine court officials, eleven slaves,thirty-three warriors, and a robust percent-age of his seven hundred wives. The rustlingof their robes alone made a noise like astorm-lashed forest, and since on top of this

you had the officials shouting at the slaves,the slaves waving their palm leaves, the war-riors rattling their swords and the wivessquabbling continuously in a dozen lan-guages, Solomon and his entourage werehard to miss. So even without Beyzer, therest of the temple workforce managed to stopin time.

Which just left me.Thing was, I was at the end of the line; I

was the one hefting each half-ton block outof the quarry, chucking it into the air, catch-ing it by a corner on an outstretched finger,spinning it stylishly and then punting it on toTivoc, who was waiting by the temple. Tivocwould then pass the block on to Nimshik,Faquarl, Chosroes or one of the other djinnwho were hovering around the uncompleted

walls in a variety of outlandish guises.1 Afterthat: a quick toss into position, a hasty align-ing spell, and Solomon’s temple was a blocknearer completion. Took about thirty-five

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seconds, quarry to wall-top. Lovely. A work-rate any employer would be chuffed with.

Except Solomon, that is. No. He didn’t

want it done like that.2

You’ll notice that conditions at the build-ing site had altered markedly since the firstfew days. Back then, with Khaba and Gezericlose at hand, we’d been doing everythingpainstakingly, while keeping human form.But then things changed. Perhaps reassuredby our compliance, and with the temple nowprogressing well, the magician stopped visit-ing the site so often. Shortly afterwardsGezeri departed too. To begin with, throughfear of the flail, we remained on our best be-haviour. On the second day, still left to ourown devices, our resolve wavered. We took aswift vote amongst ourselves and, by a ma-

jority of six to two,3 approved a change ofwork practices with immediate effect.

We promptly set up our lookout and spentour time in a mixture of loafing, gambling,

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imp-tossing and philosophical debate. Occa-sionally, when we needed the exercise, we’dwhip a few stones magically into position,just to make it look like we’d been doingsomething. It was a definite improvement inour daily grind.

Unfortunately, it was during one of thesebrief spasms of activity that Solomon – hav-ing never chosen to visit us before – decidedto drop by. And it was thanks to Beyzer that Ididn’t get the alarm.

Everyone else was fine, thank you verymuch. As the royal entourage came clanking,jabbering and mincing to a halt, my fellowworkers were safely back in human form,standing about meekly carving things withtheir chisels as if butter wouldn’t melt intheir smug little mouths.

And me?

Me, I was still the pygmy hippo in a skirt,4

singing lusty songs about Solomon’s privatelife and tossing a giant stone back and forth

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through the air as I climbed out of the quarryat the edge of the site.

Immersed in my ditty, I didn’t notice any-thing amiss. As usual, I flexed a warty armand tossed the stone.

As usual, it sailed across in the sweetest ofarcs to the corner of the temple where Tivocstood.

Or in this case didn’t stand, since he’d longsince bowed and scraped and made shufflingway for Solomon to inspect the porch. Andwith Solomon had come his magicians, courtofficials, warriors, slaves and wives, eachcrowding close to bathe in the royalpresence.

They heard my singing. They craned theirheads round. They saw the half-ton stone be-ing lobbed towards them in the sweetest ofarcs. They had time for maybe the briefest oflamentations before it squished them flat.

The hippo in a skirt slapped its hand overits eyes.

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But Solomon just touched the Ring on hisfinger that was the source and secret of hispower. The planes trembled. And from theearth jumped four winged marids in emeraldflame, who caught and held the stone, one ateach corner, a few inches from the great

king’s head.5

Solomon touched the Ring again, and fromthe earth sprang nineteen afrits, who caughtthe exact same number of his wives mid-

swoon.6

Then Solomon touched the Ring a thirdtime, and from the earth leaped a posse ofsturdy imps, who caught the hippo in theskirt as it was quietly slipping away into therecesses of the quarry, bound it hand andfoot with thorny bonds, and dragged it backthrough the dirt to where the great kingstood, tapping his sandalled foot and lookingrather tetchy.

And despite my trademark bravery andfortitude – famous from the deserts of Shur

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to the mountains of Lebanon – the hipposwallowed hard as it bumped along theground, because when Solomon got tetchy,people tended to know about it. He had thewisdom stuff as well, it’s true, but what reallygot results when he wanted something donewas his reputation for no-holds-barred hom-

icidal tetchiness. That and his cursed Ring.7

The marids placed the block of stonegently on the earth before the king. The impsswung me across so that I came to an undig-nified halt, slumped against the stone. Iblinked, sat upright as best I could, spat as-sorted pebbles out of my mouth and attemp-ted a winning smile. A low murmur of repul-sion came from the watching throng, andseveral wives fainted again.

Solomon raised a hand; all sound cut off.This was the first time I’d got close to him,

of course, and I must say he didn’t disap-point. He was everything your typicaltrumped-up west Asian despot could aspire

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to be: dark of eye and skin, long and glisten-ing of hair, and covered with more clatteringfinery than a cut-price jewel stand at thebazaar. He seemed to have an Egyptian thinggoing too – his eyes were heavily made upwith kohl just like the pharaohs; like them,he existed in a cloud of clashing oils and per-fumes. That smell was another thing Beyzershould have noticed in advance.

On his finger something shone so brightlythat I was almost rendered blind.

The great king stood over me, fingers toy-ing with the bracelets on one arm. Hebreathed deeply; his face seemed pained.‘Lowliest of the low,’ he said softly, ‘which ofmy servants are you?’

‘O Master-may-you-live-for-ever, I amBartimaeus.’

A hopeful pause; the regal countenancedid not change.

‘We haven’t had the pleasure before,’ Iwent on, ‘but I’m sure a friendly

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conversation would benefit us both. Let meintroduce myself. I am a spirit of notablewisdom and sobriety, who once spoke withGilgamesh, and—’

Solomon raised an elegant finger, andsince it was the one with the Ring on it, Ikind of snatched back as many of my wordsas I could and swallowed them down sharp-ish. Best just be quiet, eh? Wait for theworst.

‘You are one of Khaba’s troublemakers, Ithink,’ the king said musingly. ‘Where isKhaba?’

This was a good question; we’d been won-dering it ourselves for days. But at that mo-ment there was a flurry amongst thecourtiers, and my master himself appeared,all red of cheek and glistening of pate. Hehad clearly been running hard.

‘Great Solomon,’ he panted. ‘This visit – Idid not know—’ His moist eyes widened asthey alighted on me, and he gave a wolfish

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cry. ‘Foul slave! How dare you defy me withsuch a shape! Great King, stand back! Let meadmonish this creature—’ And he snatchedat the essence-flail in his belt.

But Solomon held up his hand once more.‘Be still, magician! Where were you while myedicts were being disobeyed? I shall attend toyou presently.’

Khaba fell back, slack-jawed and gasping.His shadow, I noticed, was very small and in-offensive now, a small dark nub, cringing athis feet.

The king turned back to me. Ooh, his voicewas soft then. All gentle and luxurious, likeleopard fur. And just like a leopard’s fur, youdidn’t want to rub it up the wrong way. ‘Whydo you mock my orders, Bartimaeus?’

The pygmy hippo cleared its throat. ‘Um,well, I think mock is putting it a triflestrongly, O great Master. “Forget” might bebetter; and less fatal.’

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One of Solomon’s other magicians, name-less, portly, face like a squashed fig, riddledme with a Spasm. ‘Cursed spirit! The kingasked you a question!’

‘Yes, yes, I was getting to that.’ I squirmedagainst the stone. ‘And a cracking question itwas. Beautifully put. Succinct. Probing …’ Ihesitated. ‘What was it again?’

Solomon seemed to have a knack of neverraising his voice, never speaking quickly. Itwas a good political technique, of course; itgave him an aura of control among hispeople. Now he spoke to me as to a sleepybabe. ‘When completed, Bartimaeus, thistemple shall be the holiest of places, thecentre of my religion and my empire. Forthat reason, as set out with great clarity inyour instructions, I wish it built – and Iquote – with “the utmost care, without ma-gical shortcuts, irreverent acts or bestialshapes”.’

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The hippo in the skirt frowned. ‘Goodness,who’d do any of that?’

‘You have disregarded my edict in eachand every way. Why?’

Well, a number of excuses came to mind.Some of them were plausible. Some of themwere witty. Some of them offered a certainpleasure in the use of language while at thesame time being blatantly untrue. But So-lomon’s wisdom thing was catching. I de-cided to tell the truth, albeit in a sulkymonotone.

‘O great Master, I was bored and I wantedto get the job done quickly.’

The king nodded, an action that saturatedthe air with jasmine oil and rosewater. ‘Andthat vulgar song you were singing?’

‘Um – which vulgar song was that? I singso many.’

‘The one about me.’‘Oh, that one.’ The hippo swallowed. ‘You

mustn’t pay any attention to such things, O

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Master, etc. Ribald songs have always beensung about great leaders by loyal troops. It’sa mark of respect. You should have heard theone we invented for Hammurabi. He used tojoin in the choruses.’

To my relief Solomon seemed to buy this.He straightened his back and stared hardaround him. ‘Did any of the other slaves viol-ate my orders too?’

I’d known this one was coming. I didn’t ex-actly look towards my companions, butsomehow I could sense them shrinking backbehind the crowd – Faquarl, Menes, Chos-roes and the rest – all of them bombardingme with silent, heart-felt pleas. I sighed,spoke heavily. ‘No.’

‘Are you sure? None of them used magic?None of them changed form?’

‘No … No. Just me.’He nodded. ‘Then they are exempt from

punishment.’ His right hand moved left, inthe direction of the dreaded Ring.

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I’d been putting it off, but it was clearlytime for a brief loss of dignity. With astrident expression of woe, the hippo lurchedforward onto its wrinkly knees. ‘Do not betoo hasty, great Solomon!’ I cried. ‘I haveserved you faithfully and well until today.Consider this block of stone – see how I’veshaped and squared it most exactly. Nowlook at the temple – witness the dedicationwith which I’m pacing out its dimensions!Measure it, O King! Three score cubits, I wastold, and three score cubits it shall be, and

not a rat’s arse more!’8 I wrung my forefeettogether, swaying from side to side. ‘My mis-take today is just a symptom of my excessenergies and zeal,’ I wailed. ‘I can turn thesequalities to your majesty’s good, if only youspare my life …’

Well, I’ll omit the rest, which involved agreat many sobs, random gesticulations andguttural cries. It wasn’t a bad performance: anumber of the wives (and several of the

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warriors) were sniffling by the end, and So-lomon himself looked smugger and moreself-satisfied than ever. Which was prettymuch as I planned it. Thing was, just bylooking at him, I could see Solomon mod-elled himself on the big boys – the kings ofAssyria and Babylon way to the east, toughpotentates who didn’t get out of bed withouta defeated enemy’s neck to step on en routeto the bathroom. Thus my snivelling ap-pealed to his imitative vanity. I thought I’dswung it at the last.

The great king coughed. The hippostopped mid-bawl and eyed him hopefully.‘Your ridiculous display of over-acting hasentertained me,’ Solomon said. ‘I shan’t needmy girners or my jugglers tonight. As a resultI shall spare your meagre life’ – here he cutshort my torrent of gratitude – ‘and insteadput your “excess energies and zeal” to properuse.’

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Solomon paused at this ominous junctureto select a variety of sweetmeats, wines andfruit from an attendant’s silver tray. Severalof his nearest wives fought subtly but vi-ciously amongst themselves for the honourof feeding him. The hippo, gritting its teethwith unease, shook a few flies out of itstufted ears and waited.

One pomegranate, five grapes and an iceddate-and-pistachio sherbet had passed theroyal lips before the king held forth again. ‘Omeanest and most despicable of my djinn –and don’t look around so blankly, I’m talkingto you – since you find your work here sodull, we shall give you a more stimulatingoccupation.’

I bowed my head to the dirt. ‘Master, Ilisten and obey.’

‘So then. South from Jerusalem, across theDesert of Paran and the Desert of Zin, mytrade road runs; on it travel merchants fromEgypt and the Red Sea, from the Arabian

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interior, even – though more rarely than wemight wish – from mysterious Sheba itself.These merchants,’ he went on, ‘carry myrrh,frank-incense, precious woods and spices,and other riches that bring prosperity to thepeople of Israel. In recent weeks it has cometo my attention that many caravans have metwith disaster; they have not got through.’

I grunted wisely. ‘Probably ran out of wa-ter. That’s the thing about deserts. Dry.’

‘Indeed. A fascinating analysis. But surviv-ors reaching Hebron report differently: mon-sters fell upon them in the wastes.’

‘What, fell upon them in a squashed-themkind of way?’

‘More the leaped-out-and-slew-them kind.These monsters were huge, hideous andterrible.’

‘Well, aren’t they all?’ The hippo con-sidered. ‘My advice is to send those four offto investigate.’ I indicated the marids fromthe Ring, who were still hanging about on

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the seventh plane, quietly arguing about thesucculence of the nearest wives.

Solomon gave a feline smile. ‘Most con-ceited of my spirits, it is you who must in-vestigate. The attacks are clearly the work ofbandits who have powerful magiciansamongst them. So far my troops have beenunable to trace the instigators. You mustsearch the deserts, eliminate them, and dis-cover who is behind this outrage.’

I hesitated. ‘All on my lonesome?’The king drew back; he had come to a new

decision. ‘No, you will not be on your own.Khaba! Step forward!’

My master did so, fawning, supplicating.‘Great King, please! I can explain myabsence—’

‘No explanation is required. I gave youstrict instructions to keep a close eye on yourservants, and this you failed to do. I blameyou for this djinni’s misdeeds. Since neitheryou nor your group is worthy of working on

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this temple a moment longer, you shall alldepart into the deserts tomorrow and not re-turn until the brigands are found andbrought to heel. Do you understand this,Khaba? Well, man? Speak up!’

The Egyptian was staring at the ground; amuscle in his cheek throbbed steadily. One ofthe other magicians suppressed a chuckle.

Khaba looked up; he bowed stiffly.‘Master, as always I follow your require-ments and your will.’

Solomon made an ambiguous gesture. Theinterview was over. Wives darted forth offer-ing water, sweetmeats and vials of scent;slaves wafted palms; officials unscrolled pa-pyri with plans of the temple precincts. So-lomon turned away, and the gaggle of hu-manity departed with him, leaving Khaba,the hippo, and the seven other disgraceddjinn standing silent and disconsolate on thehill.

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1 Most of them winged. Faquarl’s were leathery, Chos-

roes’ feathery, and Nimshik’s ashimmer with the silver

scales of the flying fish. Xoxen, as ever, had to be different:

he bounded up and down beside the porch on a pair of giant

frog’s legs, which meant that most of his blocks were hope-

lessly out of true.2 Heaven knows why he was so fussy about this temple

job. Early in his reign his host of spirits had jerry-built most

of Jerusalem for him, throwing up new housing districts in a

day or two, hiding their slapdash workmanship with stra-

tegically placed Illusions. They’d spent a bit longer on the

palace itself, admittedly, and the city walls only wobbled if

you pushed really hard, but this temple Solomon wanted

done without any magical sleights of hand, which in my

view kind of defeated the point of using djinn.3 Tivoc and Chosroes voted against: Tivoc because of a

complicated argument involving certain subtleties in clause

51c of his summoning; Chosroes because he was just plain

chicken.4Hippo in a skirt: this was a comic reference to one of

Solomon’s principal wives, the one from Moab. Childish?

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Yes. But in the days before printing we had limited oppor-

tunities for satire.5 A bit showy, that. You only need a middling djinni for

a stone that size.6 Again, do you need an afrit to catch a wife? No, except

maybe in the case of the one from Moab.7 I suppose I should have been glad he’d only touched

the thing and not turned it. It was when the terrible Spirit of

the Ring was invoked that things were supposed to get

really nasty.8Rat’s arse: technical term, this, corresponding to

about 1/15th of a cubit. Other units of measurement used by

the djinn during this period were ‘camel’s thigh’, ‘leper’s

stretch’, and ‘the length of a Philistine’s beard’.

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12

Returning to his tower at speed, Khaba des-cended by secret ways to his cellar work-room, where a doorway of black granitestood embedded in the wall. As he ap-proached, he spoke an order. Soundless asthought, the spirit residing in the floor spunthe door ajar. Khaba passed through withoutbreaking stride; he spoke another word andthe door shut fast behind him.

Blackness enfolded him, incalculable andabsolute. The magician stood there for atime, enduring as an exercise of will the si-lence and the solitude and the relentlesspressing of the dark. Gradually soft noises

started in the cages: shuffles, faint mewlingsof things shut long in blackness, the anxiousstirring of other things that anticipated lightand feared its violence. Khaba luxuriated inthe plaintive sounds a while, then stirredhimself. He gave a fresh command, and allalong the ceiling of the vault, the impstrapped in their faience globes made theirmagic flare. Eerie blue-green radiance filledthe chamber, waxing, ebbing, deep andfathomless as the sea.

The vault was broad and domed; its roofsupported at intervals by rough-hewncolumns that cut across the blue-green hazelike the stalks of giant underwater reeds. Be-hind his back the granite door was one blockamong many on an immense grey wall.

Between the columns stood an assortmentof marble plinths and tables, chairs, couchesand many instruments of subtle use. It wasthe heart of Khaba’s domain, an intricate re-flection of his mind and inclinations.

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He threaded his way past the slabs wherehe conducted his experiments of dissection,past the preservation pits, acrid with thetaint of natron, past the troughs of sandwhere the process of mummification couldbe observed. He skirted between the ranks ofbottles, vats and wooden piping, between thepots of powdered herbs, the trays of insects,the dim, dark cabinets containing the car-casses of frog and cat and other, larger,things. He bypassed the ossuary, where thelabelled skulls and bones of a hundred beastssat neatly side by side with those of men.

Khaba ignored the calls and supplicationsfrom the essence-cages in the recesses of thehall. He halted at a large pentacle, made ofsmooth black onyx and mounted in a raisedcircle on the floor. Stepping into its centre,he took up the flail that hung loosely at hisbelt. He cracked it once into the empty air.

All sounds from the cages stilled.

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In the shadows beyond the columns, onthe margins of the blue-green light, a pres-ence made itself known by a deepening ofdarkness and a clattering of teeth.

‘Nurgal,’ Khaba said. ‘Is that you?’‘It is I.’‘The king insults me. He treats me with

disdain, and the other magicians laugh.’‘What do I care? This is a cold, dark vault,

and its occupants make for dismal company.Release me from my bonds.’

‘I shall not release you. I wish somethingfor my colleague Reuben. It was he wholaughed the loudest.’

‘What do you wish for him?’‘Marsh fever.’‘It shall be done.’‘Make it last four days, worsening each

night. Make him lie awash in his misery, hislimbs afire, his body chilled; make his eyesblind, but let him see visions and horrorsduring the hours of darkness, so that he

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screams and writhes and cries out for aidthat never comes.’

‘You wish him to die?’Khaba hesitated. The magician Reuben

was weak and would not retaliate; but if hedied, Solomon would surely take a hand. Heshook his head. ‘No. Four days. Then herecovers.’

‘Master, I obey.’Khaba cracked the flail; with a clattering of

teeth the horla swept past him and awaythrough a narrow aperture in the roof; sourair buffeted the margins of the pentacle andset the caged things howling in the dark.

The magician stood in silence, tapping thewhip slowly against the palm of his hand. Atlast he spoke a name. ‘Ammet.’

A soft voice at his ear. ‘Master.’‘I have lost the favour of the king.’‘I know, Master. I saw. I am sorry.’‘How shall I regain it?’

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‘That is no easy matter. Apprehendingthese desert bandits would seem to be thefirst step.’

Khaba gave a cry of rage. ‘I need to behere! I must be at the court! The others willseize the chance to speak with Solomon andfurther undermine me. You saw their faceson the hill. Hiram could scarcely keep fromcrowing with joy as he watched me squirm!’He took a deep breath and spoke morequietly. ‘Besides, there is my other businessto attend to. I must continue to observe thequeen.’

‘Do not be distressed about that,’ the softvoice said. ‘Gezeri can report to you in thedesert as well as anywhere. Besides, you havegiven too much time to your … secondary af-fairs these last few days – and see where ithas got you.’

The magician ground his teeth. ‘How was Ito know that the preening fool would choose

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today to inspect his cursed temple? He mighthave given me some warning!’

‘He has the Ring. He is not beholden toyou or anyone.’

‘Ah! You think I do not know that?’ Khabagripped the flail tightly; his curling finger-nails dug deep into the ancient human leath-er. He bent his head forward to letsomething stroke the back of his neck. ‘HowI wish … I wish …’

‘I know what you wish, dear Master. But itis not safe to express it, even here. You haveglimpsed the Spirit of the Ring – you haveseen how terrible he is! We must be patient,have faith in our abilities. We will find away.’

The magician took a deep breath, drewback his shoulders. ‘You are right, sweet Am-met, of course you are. It is just so hard tostand there and watch that vain, indolent—’

‘Let us inspect the cages,’ the voice saidsoothingly. ‘It will relax you. But, Master,

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before we do, I crave a word. What ofBartimaeus?’

Khaba gave a piercing cry. ‘That vile djinni– if it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be cast outof Jerusalem! A hippopotamus, Ammet! Ahippopotamus on Temple Mount!’ Hepaused, reflecting. ‘And wouldn’t you havesaid,’ he added slowly, ‘that in face and formit bore a certain resemblance to—’

‘Fortunately for us,’ the soft voice said, ‘Idon’t think Solomon noticed.’

Khaba nodded grimly. ‘Well, I havewhipped Bartimaeus soundly for his sins, buta whipping is not enough! The flail is toogood for him.’

‘I quite agree, Master. This is the laststraw. He abused Gezeri a week ago; he hascaused frequent dissension among the djinn.He deserves a proper punishment now.’

‘The Inverted Skin, Ammet? The OsirisBox?’

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‘Too lenient … Too temporary …’ The voicegrew urgent. ‘Master,’ it beseeched, ‘let medeal with him. I hunger, I thirst. I have notfed for so, so long. I can rid you of this irrit-ant, and satisfy my cravings at the sametime.’ There was a wet, smacking noise be-hind the magician’s head.

Khaba grunted. ‘No. I like you hungry; itkeeps you alert.’

‘Master, please … ’‘Besides, I need all my djinn available and

alive while we comb the deserts for theseoutlaws. Stop your whingeing, Ammet. I willgive the matter thought. There will be timeenough to deal with Bartimaeus when we re-turn to Jerusalem …’

The voice was truculent, resentful. ‘As youwill …’

Khaba’s posture had previously been tightand hunched, tense at the indignities fatehad thrust upon him. Now he jerked upright,his voice newly hard and decisive. ‘In a

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moment we shall make ready to depart.First, however, there is the other matter. Per-haps we will have positive news at last …’

He snapped his fingers, spoke a complexstring of syllables. There was a distant chimeof bells. The imp-globes shivered against theceiling of the vault, and drapes on some ofthe larger cages ruffled to and fro.

The magician peered out into the dark-ness. ‘Gezeri?’

With a sharp odour of rotten eggs, a smalllilac cloud materialized in the air beside thepentacle. Sitting atop the cloud was the foliotGezeri, who today appeared as a large greenimp, with long pointed ears and a pear-shaped nose. He made a series of complexand faintly facetious salutes, which Khabaignored.

‘Your report, slave?’The foliot affected an attitude of matchless

boredom. ‘I have been to Sheba as you “re-quested”. I have wandered through its streets

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unseen, listening to the people. Be certain Ilet no whisper pass me by, no muttered com-ment go unheard!’

‘I am sure of it – otherwise you wouldburn in the Dismal Flame.’

‘That was my thinking too.’ The foliotscratched its nose. ‘In consequence I heard alot of dreary nonsense. The lives you humanslead! The things that preoccupy your doughylittle minds! Are you not aware of how briefyour span is, how small your place is in thisvast universe? Yet still you worry aboutdowries, tooth-rot, and the price of camels!’

The magician smiled bleakly. ‘Spare methe philosophy, Gezeri. I worry about none ofthose things. Here is my concern: what isQueen Balkis doing?’

Gezeri shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘In aword: nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, Imean. Far as I can make out, she’s doing hernormal round – meditating in the temples,meeting merchants, hearing representations

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from her people: all the usual sort of queenlyclaptrap. I’ve sniffed about behind thescenes, eavesdropped on all and sundry.What have I come up with? Nowt. There’s nosign of any response at all.’

‘She has five days left,’ Khaba mused. ‘Fivedays … You are sure there has been no build-up of troops? No increase in defences?’

‘What troops? What defences?’ The foliotgave its tail a derisive twirl. ‘Sheba’s not evengot a proper army – just a bunch of skinnygirls who hang about the queen. And thepriestesses haven’t put so much as a second-plane nexus around the palace. An imp couldstroll right in.’

The magician stroked his chin. ‘Good.Clearly she intends to make the payment.They all do, in the end.’

‘Yeah, well, that being the case,’ the foliotsaid, lounging deep into its cloud, ‘why don’tyou dismiss me? I’m fed up with all thissummoning long-distance. Ooh, it gives me

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such headaches as you wouldn’t believe. Andswellings in the strangest places. Here, takea look at this one … It’s getting uncomfort-able to sit.’

‘You will return to Sheba, slave,’ Khabasnarled, averting his eyes, ‘and keep watchon what occurs! Be sure to let me know if younotice anything untoward. Meanwhile I willshortly summon you again, swellings or no.’

The foliot scowled. ‘Must I? Frankly I’dprefer the building site.’

‘Our work there is done for the present,’Khaba said stiffly. ‘Solomon has … orderedus elsewhere.’

‘Ooo, got cross with you, has he? Fallen awee bit out of favour? Tough luck!’

Khaba’s lips narrowed to nothing. ‘Markmy words,’ he said, ‘one day there will be areckoning.’

‘Oh, sure there will,’ the foliot said. ‘Tellyou what, why not make it now? Why not nip

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up to the king’s apartments tonight andpinch the Ring while he’s asleep?’

‘Gezeri … ’‘Why not? You’re quick, you’re clever. You

could kill him before he had a chance to turnthe Ring … Well? What’s stopping you?’ Itchuckled lazily. ‘Give it up, Khaba. You’rescared like all the rest.’

The magician gave a hiss of outrage; hespoke a word and clapped his hands. Gezerisqueaked; the foliot and its cloud implodedand were gone.

Khaba stood rigid and furious in the blue-green shadows of his vault, staring into noth-ing. There would come a time when all thosewho belittled him regretted their folly mostprofoundly …

There was a whisper in the darkness. So-mething stroked his neck. Taking a deepbreath, Khaba swept the issues from hismind. He stepped down from his circle andcrossed the floor towards the essence-cages.

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Time enough, before departing for thedesert, for a little relaxation.

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13

On the day of the Spring Festival the reli-gious ceremonies had taken twice as long asnormal, and the little girl was bored. Shewaited till the guard-mothers were kneelingto the Sun God, with their big old backsidesraised to heaven, and cautiously lookedaround. The other girls were busy prayingtoo, eyes tight shut, noses pressed againstthe stone. As the drone of their ritual chant-ing swelled to fill the air, the little girl got up,tiptoed past them all and clambered out ofthe window. She ran across the flat roof ofthe training hall, skittered along the wall be-side the palace gardens, and dropped like a

cat into the shadows of the street. Then shesmoothed out her dress, rubbed her shinwhere it had scraped against the brickwork,and pattered down the hill. She knew shewould get a beating when she returned, butshe didn’t care. She wanted to see theprocession.

They were throwing orange blossom fromthe tower-tops, and the people of Sheba hadbeen covered with it like snow. All along thestreets they waited – townsfolk and men ofthe hill-tribes alike – waiting patiently fortheir queen. The little girl did not wish tostand at the front of the crowd, in case shewas crushed beneath the chariot’s greatwheels, so she scrambled up the woodensteps to the nearest guard post, where twoslim women with swords at their belts stoodwatching the crowds below.

‘What are you doing here?’ one said,frowning. ‘You ought to be in training. Getback up to the hall, quickly.’

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But the other ruffled the girl’s croppeddark hair. ‘Too late for that. Listen – herethey come! Sit down and stay quiet, Asmira,and perhaps we won’t notice you.’

The little girl grinned, sat cross-legged onthe stone between their feet. She leaned herchin on her fists, then craned her neck out;she saw the royal chariot come rumblingthrough the gates, pulled by its team ofstraining male slaves. The throne it bore wasgolden like the sun, and on it – vast andsplendid, dressed in bright white robes thatmade her vaster still – sat the queen herself.She was like a painted statue, stiff and im-movable, her round face white with chalk,staring straight ahead without expression.On either side marched guards with nakedswords; to the rear filed the priestesses in asolemn line. On the chariot itself, just behindthe throne, the First Guard stood smiling,her dark hair glistening in the sun.

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Into the city the procession came. Thepeople cheered; blossom fell from the towersin new cascades. High on the guard post, thelittle girl grinned and jiggled. She wavedboth hands.

On the far side of the narrow way, in theshadows of the nearest tower, there came aburst of yellow smoke. Three small wingeddemons, with scarlet eyes and whipping tailsof sharpened bone, materialized in mid-air.At once the guards beside the girl were goneinto the crowd. Those beside the chariot alsostarted forward, swords readied, daggerspulled from sleeves.

Screams sounded, the crowd scattered.The demons darted through the air. One wasstruck simultaneously by seven silver bladesand vanished with a cry. The others spunaside on leather wings, sending loops of firedown upon the advancing guards.

The little girl watched none of this. Hereyes were fixed upon the halted chariot,

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where the queen sat silent, staring straightahead. The First Guard had not left her post;she had drawn her sword and stood calmlybeside the throne.

And now the real attack began. Three hill-men stole out of the melting crowd, ran to-wards the unprotected chariot. From withintheir robes they drew long thin knives.

The First Guard waited. When the quickestassailant leaped towards the queen, she ranhim through before his feet touched theground. His falling weight pulled the swordout of her grasp; letting it go, she turned tomeet the others, a dagger springing to herhand.

The others reached the chariot; theyjumped up on either side of the throne.

The First Guard flicked her wrist – onewas struck; he fell away. In the same instantshe threw herself across the queen, blockingthe final knife-strike with her body. She

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collapsed upon the royal lap, long black hairfalling loose about her head.

The other guards, having dealt with thedemons, discovered the danger behind them.In a moment the third assailant had diedfrom a dozen wounds. The guards surgedaround the chariot, dragged the bodies clear.

Orders were given. The slaves pulled onthe ropes to the rhythm of the whips, and thechariot continued on. Blossom cascaded ontoempty streets. The queen stared straight be-fore her, white-faced and impassive, the lapof her robes stained red.

The body of the First Guard lay in theshadow of the city gate while the line ofpriestesses shuffled by. After they were goneit took several further minutes for shockedattendants to return to clear the street, andeven then no one noticed the little girl sittinghigh upon the guard post, watching as hermother’s body was carried up the hill.

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Asmira opened her eyes. All was as it hadbeen just before she slept. The tasselledshadow of her canopy swaying upon thecamel’s back. The line of beasts ahead of her,stretching into nothing. The creak of thepoles and the soft steady tread of pads onstone … Heat scoured her mouth; her headached. Her clothes were a wet cocoon.

She moistened her lips with her water-skin, ignoring the temptation to drinkdeeply. Nine days in the desert, and threesince fresh water, and still the road went on.All around was a land of desolation and ab-sence, of bleached hills fading to the edge ofvision. The sun was a white hole in an ironsky. It warped the air into slices that dancedand shimmered and were never still.

Always, when she dozed during those end-less desert days, Asmira found herself besetby whirling dreams that looped, repeating,stinging like blown sand. She saw the Queenof Sheba smiling in her chamber, pouring

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her more wine. She saw the priestesses onthe palace forecourt, with the djinni raisedand waiting, and all eyes on her as she badefarewell. She saw the Temple of the Sun andits eastern wall, where the icons of deadchampions were displayed and her mother’sfigurine shone so beautifully in the morninglight. She saw the empty niche beside it thatshe had coveted so long.

And sometimes … sometimes she saw hermother, the way she had always seen her, foreleven frozen years.

That evening the camel train halted in theshelter of a sandstone ridge. Brushwood wasgathered, a fire lit. The master of the cara-van, who had some magical knowledge, sentforth imps to survey the rocks and give wordif anything drew near.

Afterwards he approached Asmira, whowas gazing at the fire. ‘Still here, I see,’ hesaid.

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Asmira was stiff, weary and weighed downwith impatience at the tedium of the journey.Nevertheless, she managed a smile. ‘Whyshould I not be?’

The master was a large and jaunty man,twinkly-eyed and broad of chest. Asmirafound him somewhat disconcerting. Hechuckled. ‘Each night I check to ensureeveryone is human still, and not a ghul orfetch! They say that once a camel-masterrode into Petra with thirty traders in histrain; as he passed beneath the city gates,each rider’s cloak fell empty to the ground,and, looking back, he saw the way for milesbehind littered with picked bones. All themen had been devoured, one by one!’

The guard-mothers had told Asmira thatstory too, about a trader of Marib. ‘A folk-tale,’ she said. ‘Nothing more.’

The master took out his djinn-guard andshook its silver bells fervently. ‘Even so,

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vigilance is essential. Deserts are dangerousplaces and not all is what it seems.’

Asmira was staring at the moon. It was athin crescent now, and shone bright abovethe ridge. The sight gave her a sharp knot inher stomach. ‘We made good progresstoday,’ she said. ‘Will we reach Jerusalemtomorrow?’

The camel-master adjusted his paunchslightly and shook his head. ‘The day after, ifall goes well. But tomorrow evening I shallrelax, for by then we will be drawing near thecity. No desert demons will dare attack usunder good Solomon’s kind and watchfuleye.’

In the fire’s light Asmira saw the towers ofMarib burning. The knot in her stomachbroke asunder. ‘Good?’ she said harshly.‘Kind? These are not descriptions I hadheard of Solomon.’

‘Indeed?’ The camel-master raised his eye-brows. ‘What have you heard?’

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‘That he is a cruel warlord, who threatensweaker nations!’

‘Well, there are many tales told abouthim,’ the camel-master admitted, ‘and I daresay not all of them are to his credit. But youwill find many in this company who believedifferently to you; they come to Jerusalem toseek his charity, or ask him to sit in judge-ment on difficult matters. No? You do notbelieve me? Ask them.’

‘Perhaps I will.’

As night came and the flames rose high, As-mira fell into conversation with the personsitting beside her at the fire. He was a spicemerchant bound for Tyre, a young man,bearded, with a quiet and courteous manner.‘You have been very silent, miss,’ he said. ‘Ihave scarcely heard a word from you all jour-ney. Might I ask your name?’

Asmira had long ago decided to avoid allmention of her real name and nationality,

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and had spent much of the journey devisingan alternative. ‘I am called Cyrine.’

‘Where do you travel from?’‘I am a priestess of the Temple of the Sun

in blessed Himyar. I travel to Jerusalem.’The merchant stretched his boots out

nearer to the flames. ‘Himyar? Where’sthat?’

‘South Arabia.’ Himyar was in fact a smallcoastal kingdom west of Sheba, notable forgoats, honey and its general anonymity,which is why Asmira had chosen it. She hadnever been there, and she doubted manyother people had either.

‘What is your business in Jerusalem, tohave come so far?’

‘I wish to see King Solomon. Our kingdomneeds his help.’ Asmira fluttered her eye-lashes a little, and sighed prettily. ‘I hope itwill be possible to gain audience with him.’

‘Well, Solomon has daily councils, theysay, where he listens to anyone who comes.’

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The merchant drank deeply from his wine-skin. ‘Couple of farmers near Tyre, they hada beetle plague a year ago. Went to Solomon.He sent his demons; they killed the beetles.Problem solved. That’s what having a magicring can do for you. Want some wine?’

‘No, thank you. Daily councils, you say?You think I could get in?’

‘Oh yes. Pretty girl like you, I’m surethere’s every chance.’ He gazed out into thedark. ‘I suppose, what with you coming fromArabia, you’ve not stopped here before.’

Asmira was thinking about what to dowhen she arrived in Jerusalem. She would goto the palace and request immediate audi-ence at the next day’s council. They wouldbring her before the king. And then, whenshe was standing before him, and they werewaiting for her to make some grovelling re-quest, she would step forward, throw backher cloak and …

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Expectation burned like fire across herchest; her palms tingled with it. ‘No,’ shesaid absently, ‘I’ve never been to Israel.’

‘No, I mean here.’ He gestured to the sand-stone ridge above. ‘This place.’

‘Never.’‘Ah!’ He smiled. ‘You see atop that spur,

where a single column of sandstone rises?That’s a famous local landmark. Know whatit is?’

Asmira roused herself, looked up. Thecolumn was certainly peculiar, its stratabulbous and contorted, with several stuntedprotrusions at the summit. As she looked,the sun’s last rays, running like scarlet waterdown its flanks, almost seemed to give itform …

‘That, they say, is the afrit Azul,’ the mer-chant said. ‘A slave of Solomon in the earlyyears of his reign. He tried to destroy the ma-gic Ring, or so the story goes, and such wasthe result. Turned to stone and never moved

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again!’ He turned aside and spat into the fire.‘Good thing too, I say. Look at the size ofhim. Must be twenty-five feet tall.’

Asmira stared at the lowering pillar, con-scious of a sudden numbness in her bones.She shivered; the night seemed newly chill.The rock rose up so high. It seemed almost tomerge into the stars. And what was that?Could she see the traces of a vast and brutalface amongst the shadows near the top …?

No. The wind and sand had done theirwork. The undulating surface no longer heldexpression.

Drawing her cloak around her, sheshuffled closer to the fire, ignoring furtherquestions from the merchant at her side. Herstomach had turned to water, her teeth feltloose in her mouth. The fierce exultation inher heart had gone, snuffed out as if by a gi-ant hand. All at once she truly understoodthe implications of what she was about to do.The scale of the transformed demon, its

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solid, blank immensity, brought home to herwhat all the fireside tales had not: the sheercontemptuous power of the man who worethe Ring.

On the morning of the tenth day, the cameltrain reached a place where the sandstonehills pressed close upon the road. The upperreaches of the cliffs were bathed in sun;down in the gorge, where the camels walked,the light was grey and cool.

Asmira had slept badly. The wave of fearthat had broken over her the night beforehad drained away, leaving her dull and slug-gish and irritated with herself. Her motherwould not have reacted so to a simple lumpof stone, nor would the queen expect it of herchampion now. She sat hunched upon thecamel, weighed down with gloomy thoughts.

The gorge grew tight about the road; onthe right-hand side the slope had collapsedinto a mess of stones. Listlessly surveying thedesolation, Asmira caught sight of something

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small and brown perched amongst theboulders. It was a desert fox, with large,black-tufted ears and gleaming eyes, sittingon a rock, watching the camel train go by.

Her camel slowed to negotiate the roughground, and for a moment Asmira came levelwith the fox. She was right alongside it, just afew feet away. If she had wished, she couldalmost have leaned out from her couch andtouched it. The fox showed no fear. Its roundblack eyes met hers.

Then the camel moved on, and the fox wasleft behind.

Asmira sat very still, feeling the slow sway-ing of the camel under her, listening to itstireless pad, pad, pad amid the silence of thegorge. Then, with a gasp, she took her whipfrom its holster in the saddle and, wrenchingon the reins, forced her camel onwards at arun. Her sluggishness was gone; her eyeswere bright. Her hand sought the dagger hiltbeneath her cloak.

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The master was four camels further up thegorge, and Asmira drew level only withdifficulty.

‘Speed up! We need to speed up!’The master stared. ‘What is it? What’s the

matter?’‘Your imps – set them loose! Djinn too, if

you have them – there’s something here.’He hesitated only a moment, then turned

to shout an order. As he did so, a ball of blue-black flame hit his camel from the left-handside. There was an explosion of dark bluefire; the master and his camel were blownhorizontally across the road and dashedupon the rocks. Asmira screamed, throwingup her hands against the buffet of burningair. Her camel reared in terror; she fell back,almost plunging from the saddle, then swungout sideways, clinging to the reins. Her out-stretched hand caught hold of a pole uponher canopy; she hung to it, half danglingabove the ground. The camel plunged and

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bucked. Craning her neck desperately fromwhere she hung, Asmira glimpsed darkforms wheeling in the sky. Bolts of firerained down upon the road.

Other explosions sounded; and screamsand panicked shouts. Buffets and echoes re-bounded through the gorge, seeming to comefrom every side. Smoke blocked her vision.Her camel sought to turn, but another explo-sion behind made it lurch back towards thecliff. Pulling savagely on the reins with onehand, wrenching at the pole with the other,Asmira drew herself upright, narrowly escap-ing being crushed against the stones. Grasp-ing the pommel of her saddle, she broughtthe silver dagger from her belt.

Somewhere amid the smoke, black shapesthudded down to land upon the road; menand animals screamed in pain and terror. As-mira clung to her maddened camel, staringall around. Wresting control of it at last, shebacked away through swirling darkness to

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press close against the shelter of the over-hanging walls. Here she crouched, whilebolts of fire went ripping past, and theshouts of the dying sounded, removing twomore daggers from her bag. She pulled thesilver necklace from her robes, let it hangloose upon her breast.

Movement in the smoke, a silhouette:something inhuman questing near. Asmiratook swift aim and loosed a dagger. Therewas a gargling cry, a brief, dull flash. Theshape was gone.

She held another weapon ready. Timepassed; the smoke began to lift.

A second shape came bounding up theroad. As it drew level, it paused; the headhad turned. Asmira, stiffening, raised herknife in readiness; her blood beat against herears.

The cloud parted. A creature with a rep-tile’s head burst forth, a bloodied scimitarwhirling in its three-clawed hand.

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Asmira clutched her necklace and spoke aWard of force. Yellow discs of light shotdown and hit the creature, which flinchedback, but did not retreat. It looked up at her,grinning, and slowly shook its head. Then itbent its legs and sprang at her, mouth gapingpinkly in delight.

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14

Peace and quiet. That’s one thing to be saidfor deserts. They give you a chance to getaway from the everyday pressures of life.And when those ‘everyday pressures’ consistof seven furious djinn and one apoplecticmaster magician, a few hundred thousandsquare miles of sand, rock, wind and desola-tion is exactly what you need.

Three days had passed since my uncom-fortable encounter with Solomon back at Jer-usalem – time enough, one might reasonablyfeel, for water to run under bridges, tempersto become soothed and bad moods to easegently into calm introspection.

But had they? Not a hope.Khaba was livid, of course – that was to be

expected. The king had belittled and humili-ated him in front of his peers, and his cushyexistence at the palace had been replaced, forthe moment, with bandit-hunting on theopen road. Though it’s true he wasn’t exactlyslumming it – he travelled by flying carpet,complete with cushions, grapes and achained foliot holding a parasol, and at nightslept in a black silk tent complete with couchand incense bath – you could see he felt it

deeply, and blamed me.1

The curious and disconcerting thing,though, was that beyond a few initial scour-ings back on the building site, Khaba hadn’tactually punished me much for my misde-meanour. This was so out of character that Ifound myself getting jumpy; I kept expectinghis wrath to fall upon me when I least expec-ted it, and as a result expected it all the time.

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I watched him and his shadow obsessively,but nothing nasty came my way.

Meanwhile my fellow djinn were crosswith me as well, indignant that the safe andpredictable routines of life at the temple hadbeen replaced with combing the arid bad-lands in search of dangerous djinn to fight. Itried to argue that outlaw-killing was far bet-ter suited to our ferocious talents than build-ing work, but was by turns shouted down, in-sulted and plain ignored. Xoxen, Tivoc andBeyzer refused to speak to me at all, and theothers were decidedly snippy. Only Faquarl,who had loathed the quarry, showed any dis-position to sympathy. He contributed a fewacerbic comments, but otherwise left mealone.

The first two days were uneventful. Eachmorning Khaba emerged from his tent, be-rated us soundly for our failings, uttered ran-dom threats and packed us off in all direc-tions. Each evening, having crisscrossed the

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skies from dawn to dusk, we returned empty-handed to face his censure. The desert waslarge and our enemy elusive. The brigands,whoever they were, lay low.

On the afternoon of the third day I was thephoenix again, flying high above the south-ern trade routes. The town of Hebron hadpassed beneath, and Arad. Not far to the eastI caught the mirror flash of the great SaltSea, where bones of ancient cities lay bleach-ing by the shore. Ahead rose the mountainsof Edom, gateway to yet vaster wastes, and attheir feet a low, dark purpled mass: the wa-terless desert of Zin.

The spice road here was a thin brown veinin the dirt, spooled between the lifelessridges. If I followed it long enough, I wouldarrive at last at the Red Sea, and the tradingdepots where caravans converged fromEgypt, Sheba, even distant Nubia and Punt.But my business lay close by.

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As I circled, my dark eye flashing as itturned against the sun, I caught an answer-ing gleam below. It came from a track just offthe main highway, a path winding towards avillage in the hills. The gleam was definite,and warranted investigation.

Down I dropped, enjoying the wind in myplumage and the simple freedom of the air.All in all, things weren’t so bad. I was alive, Iwas aloft, I was away from that wretchedbuilding site. True, I had some ‘monsters’ totrack down and slay, but when you’re aswashbuckling djinni of more than averagetalent who’s survived the battles of Qadeshand Megiddo, and who (more to the point),has been cooped up in Jerusalem with someof the most irritating entities ever to squeezeinside a pentacle, a bit of a scrap is preciselywhat you need.

I was too late for the scrap here, though. Ithad been and gone.

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Even while I was in the air, I could see thedevastation on the little track. The groundwas charred and blistered, and stained withsomething dark. Fragments of cloth andwood had been strewn over a wide area. Ismelled old horror: spent magic, sunderedflesh.

The gleam I’d seen turned out to comefrom a broken sword-blade lying on a rock. Itwasn’t alone. Parts of its owner lay nearby.

As I landed, I turned into the handsomeyoung Sumerian, dark-eyed and watchful. Istood and looked around. The remains ofseveral carts were clearly visible, their woodsplit and blackened, their wheels smashed.The rocks of the cliffs on either side had sad,limp things scattered on them. I didn’t lookclosely. I knew what they were.

One of the victims was lying in the centreof the road, a splintered shield beside him.His arms and legs were out-flung casually,almost as if he slept. I say almost advisedly,

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since he lacked a head. He, like his col-leagues, had been robbed as well asmurdered – the contents of the carts weregone. This was bandit work for sure, and itwas recent. I guessed I was one day behindthem at the most. They might still be near.

I walked a little way up the winding track,listening to the wind whispering in the rocks,studying the ground. In general the dirt wastoo hard and compacted to reveal footprints,but in one place, where something – perhapsa water-skin – had been punctured and thedirt made briefly wet, I found the deep im-pression of a triangular, three-clawed foot. Ibent low and studied it a while, then roseand turned to go back the way I’d come.

And froze.Below me, the track curled off to the right,

following a steady gradient down. Twenty orthirty yards away, just beyond the areawhere the attack had happened, it disap-peared from view behind the valley wall. The

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cliffs on the left-hand side were abrupt andsheer, and brightly lit from above by thenoonday sun. Every detail upon them – eachrock, each fissure, the slow pink twist of thetangled strata – was picked out for me inperfect detail.

As was Khaba’s shadow.The outline of his bald head was thrown in

sidelong silhouette upon the sunlit cliff. Isaw the smooth dome-shape, his long,beaked nose, the jut of his bony chin; hisbulky shoulders and upper arms were visibletoo, but his lower half was lost in thetumbled rocks of the valley floor. It was as ifthe magician himself stood just out of sightround the bend in the road, facing uphill to-wards me.

I stared at the apparition. The head uponthe rocks stayed perfectly still.

I took a slow step back, and immediatelythe head began to flow forwards around thecurve of the cliff, rippling over its contours

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like dark water. As it came, it grew; and nowits long thin arms rose into sight, with itslong thin shadow-fingers stretching out to-wards me.

My backward steps were somewhat fasternow; I stumbled on the uneven ground.

Still the shadow grew and stretched – along, black arch with clutching hands, itsface elongated, its chin and nose protrudingto grotesque proportions, its great mouthopening wide, wide, wide …

I gathered myself, stood fast; I let flame ig-nite between my fingers.

There was a flapping noise in the airabove.

The shadow started; the questing fingersdrew back in doubt. At incredible speed itfled back across the cliffs, shrinking, redu-cing, returning to its original position. Now itshrank still further, and was gone.

Someone coughed behind me. Spinninground, a Detonation flaring at my fingertips,

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I saw a broad, plump Nubian lounging on arock, studiously brushing flight-ice off hisarms with taloned fingers while regardingme with detached amusement. He worewings in the traditional style of Mesopotami-an djinn – feathered, but split into four likethose of beetles.

‘Bit jumpy, Bartimaeus?’ Faquarl said.I gazed at him dumbly. Wheeling round

again, I stared back along the road. The cliffswere quiet and still – silent planes of lightand shadow. None of the shadows had famil-iar form. None of the shadows moved.

The blue fire coursing between my fingersfizzled and went out. I scratched my headuncertainly.

‘Looks as if you found something interest-ing,’ Faquarl said.

Still I didn’t say anything. The Nubianwalked past me, surveying the devastationon the road with a few sweeps of his prac-tised eyes. ‘Not like you to get put off by a

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little bit of blood and sand,’ he remarked.‘It’s not pretty, admittedly, but it’s not ex-

actly Qadesh, is it?2 We’ve seen worse.’I was still shaken, looking all around. Ex-

cept for a few scraps of fabric flappingpathetically among the rocks, nothing stirredanywhere at all.

‘Doesn’t look like anyone survived …’Faquarl came to the mutilated corpse in thecentre of the road and nudged it with a san-dal. He chuckled. ‘Now then, Bartimaeus,what have you been doing to this poorfellow?’

I came to life then. ‘That was how I foundhim! What are you suggesting?’

‘It’s not for me to judge your little habits,Bartimaeus,’ Faquarl said. He stepped closeand patted me on the shoulder. ‘Calm down,I’m only joking. I know you wouldn’t devoura dead man’s head.’

I nodded tersely. ‘Thank you. Too right.’

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‘You prefer a juicy buttock, as Iremember.’

‘Quite. Much more nutritious.’‘Anyhow,’ Faquarl went on, ‘the wounds

are clearly old. Been lying there the best partof twenty-four hours, if I’m any judge of

dead men.’3

‘The magic’s cold too,’ I said, surveying thescattered debris. ‘Detonations, mainly –fairly high-powered ones, though there werea few Convulsions here and there. Nothingtoo sophisticated, but very brutal.’

‘Utukku, you think?’‘I’d say so. I found a footprint: bulky, but

not big enough to be an afrit.’‘Well, we’ve got a scent at last, Bartimaeus!

I’d suggest going back to tell our master rightaway, but let’s face it – he’s unlikely to wantto hear anything from you.’

I glanced about me once more. ‘Speakingof Khaba,’ I said quietly, ‘I had an odd exper-ience just now. When you came down, you

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didn’t happen to see anything else here withme?’

Faquarl shook his gleaming head. ‘Youseemed just as isolated as ever, if slightlymore jittery. Why?’

‘Only I thought I had Khaba’s shadow afterme—’ I stopped myself, cursed. ‘Not thought,know – it was creeping after me along thegorge. Just now! Only when you turned up, itscarpered.’

Faquarl frowned. ‘Really? This is bad.’‘Tell me about it.’‘Yes, it means technically I may have saved

you from a nasty fate. Please don’t tell any-one about this, Bartimaeus. I’ve got a reputa-tion to maintain.’ He rubbed his chin medit-atively. ‘Odd, though, that Khaba shouldmove against you out here,’ he mused. ‘Whynot back at camp? Why the secrecy? It’s anintriguing little problem.’

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‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ I snarled. ‘Per-sonally speaking, it’s a bit more urgent thanthat.’

The Nubian grinned. ‘Well, what can youexpect? In all honesty, I’m surprised you’vesurvived this long. Khaba’s got a grudgeagainst you after that hippo debacle. Andthen, of course, there’s the ongoing issue ofyour personality. That’s two good reasons tobump you off for starters.’

I stared at him askance. ‘My personality?Meaning what?’

‘How can you even ask the question? I’vebeen around the ziggurat a few times, Bar-timaeus, but I’ve never known a spirit like

you. Ghuls4 are bad enough, skrikers5 like-wise – they may all have appalling habits,but by Zeus at least they don’t talk out ofturn so loudly, or cheek their betters the wayyou do. Let’s face it, just the sight of you isenough to drive any reasonable spiritinsane.’

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Whether it was my recent shock, or thesmug expression on his face, my tempersnapped. Blue flames flared between my fin-gers; I stepped in fury towards him.

Faquarl gave an indignant snort. Shards ofgreen lightning crackled about his pudgyhands. ‘Don’t even think about it. Youhaven’t got a chance.’

‘Is that so, my friend? Well, let me tellyou—’

I halted; my fires died suddenly away. Atthe same time Faquarl let his hands fall back.We stood silent on the road, facing each oth-er, listening hard. We could both detect thesame sensation: an almost imperceptibleshivering on the planes, with every now andthen a faint, decisive thud. It was familiarand it was not far off.

It was the noise of djinn being summoned.As one, we leaped into the air, our quarrel

forgotten. As one, we changed. Two eagles(one plump, unsavoury; one a paragon of

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avian grace and beauty) rose up between thecliffs. We circled high above the wastes,which shimmered brown and white beneaththe sun.

I checked the higher planes, where coloursare more muted and less distracting, andgave a cawk of triumph. Away to the south,distant luminosities moved upon the ground.The lights – evidently those of several spirits– were closing in on where the spice roadpassed among some barren hills.

Without a word the eagles banked theirwings. Side by side, we shot south towardsthe road.

1 You could tell this by the little evil looks he flashed,

and his overall froideur when I passed by. Subtle clues, yes,

but I’m a sensitive sort and I spotted them. The regular oc-

casions when he shook his fists and cursed my name by all

the death gods of Egypt only served to back up my theory.

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2Battle of Qadesh: major engagement between the

Egyptians under Rameses the Great and the Hittites under

King Muwatallis back in 1274 BC. Faquarl and I had fought

in separate divisions of the pharaoh’s armies, and helped

carry out the final pincer movement that drove the enemy

utukku from the field. Many great deeds were done that day,

not all of them by me. Two centuries later, the battlefield

was still a blackened waste, a field of bones.3 He was.4Ghul: a lowly class of djinni, a frequenter of cemeter-

ies, a devourer of unburied morsels.5Skriker: an unpleasant sub-type of imp, with large flat

feet and creeping tread. Follows travellers in lonely places,

whispering and calling, and drives them to their death.

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15

Soon afterwards two bearded travellerscould be seen trudging forth upon King So-lomon’s highway. One was young and hand-some, the other thick-set and dishevelled;both were stained with the sand of manymiles. Each wore a dyed wool robe and had aheavy pack slung across his shoulders. Theysupported their steps with staffs of oak.

Trudge, trudge, hobble, hobble – that wasFaquarl and me doing our best to project anaura of human vulnerability. To cloak our ac-tual potency, we’d made the change on fiveplanes, and used Glamours to shield our truenatures on the other two.

Shoulders drooping with weariness, themen scuffed southwards through the dustand watched the dark hills draw in on eitherside. Here, as we’d judged while still aloft,were cliffs and overhangs that offered oppor-tunity for ambush, if you were that wayinclined.

Faquarl and I had decided on an ambushof our own. Somewhere above were the hid-den djinn we’d glimpsed from afar, but forthe present we saw no sign of them.Everything was still, save for two vulturesdrifting slowly in and out of view against thesky. I snatched a look at them. Genuine, asfar as I could tell. I lowered my gaze; on wewent, step by weary step.

In the middle of the range of hills, thecliffs receded a little and the road entered awider defile, surrounded by scree slopestopped with jagged spurs of basalt.

For the first time, the lonely and ever sovulnerable travellers stopped. Faquarl made

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a pretence of fiddling with his pack. I pulledat my beard, looked all around me with nar-rowed eyes.

Quietness.Grasping our staffs more tightly, we set off

again along the way.From behind, somewhere remote among

the cliffs, came a tiny rattling of stones.Neither of us turned our head.

At our backs sounded a skittering ofpebbles, louder, halfway down the scree.Faquarl scratched his bulbous nose. Iwhistled tunelessly as I walked along.

A heavy thud sounded on the road, theclick of claws on rock. Still we trudged on,weariness itself.

And now came the rasp of scales. Thestench of sulphur. A sudden swathe of dark-ness filling the ravine. A cackle of demonic—

All right, now was probably the time.

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Faquarl and I spun round, beards jutting,staffs raised, ready to attack – and sawnothing.

We looked down.There at our feet stood the smallest, most

rubbish foliot we’d ever set eyes on, frozenguiltily mid-path with one foot raised. Itwore the terrifying guise of a shrew in abaggy tunic. In one furry paw it carried aweapon that resembled a toasting fork.

I lowered my staff and gazed at it. Itgoggled back with its big brown eyes.

On all seven planes the shrew looked thesame, though to be fair on the seventh it didhave a set of fangs. I shook my head in won-der. Could this be the hideous monster thathad carried out such rapine on the desertroad?

‘Hand over your valuables and prepare fordeath!’ squeaked the shrew, flourishing itsfork. ‘Make haste, if you please. There is acamel train approaching the other way, and I

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wish to dispose of your bodies and join myfellows.’

Faquarl and I glanced at one another. Iheld up a hand. ‘Please, if I may: one ques-tion. In whose name do you act? Whosummoned you?’

The shrew’s chest swelled. ‘My master isemployed by the king of the Edomites. Nowhand over your goods. I don’t want blood allover them.’

‘But Edom is a friend to Israel,’ Faquarlpersisted. ‘Why should its king seek to rebelagainst great Solomon?’

‘This would be the same Solomon who de-mands a vast yearly tribute from the king, sothat his treasury is emptied and his peoplegroan beneath the burden of their taxes?’The shrew gave a shrug. ‘Were it not for theRing he wears, Solomon would find Edomrising against him in war. As it is, we must becontent with simple banditry. Well, so much

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for international relations; we come now toyour sad demise …’

I smiled negligently. ‘First, a detail. Checkout the planes.’ So saying, I made a subtlechange. On the first plane I was still a dustytraveller leaning on his staff. On the higherplanes, however, the man was gone, and Iwas something other. Faquarl had done like-wise. All at once the shrew’s fur went greyand bristled stiff and upright on its body. Itshivered so violently that its fork began tohum.

The shrew sidled backwards. ‘Let’s talkabout this …’

My grin broadened. ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Imade a gesture; my staff was gone. From myoutstretched hand a Detonation roared. Theshrew sprang sideways; the earth at its feetexploded in crimson fire. Mid-leap, theshrew jabbed its fork; from the tip came afrail green shaft of light that raked across theground, stabbing Faquarl’s toe unpleasantly.

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He hopped and cursed, threw up a Shield.The shrew hit the ground with a squeak anddarted away. I peppered its wake with astring of Convulsions that sent avalanchestumbling up and down the gorge.

The shrew sprang behind a boulder, fromwhere its paw protruded at intervals, wield-ing the toasting fork. Further green boltsrained down on us, hissing and spittingagainst the edges of our Shields. Faquarl senta Spasm whirling; the boulder shattered, be-came a heap of gravel. The shrew was blownbackwards, fur smouldering. It dropped itsfork. With a high-pitched oath, it leaped forthe scree and began to climb.

Faquarl gave a cry. ‘You go after it – I’ll cutit off on the other side.’

Hands smoking, robe and beard whippingaround me, I vaulted onto a tumbled slab,jumped to an adjacent ledge, bounded up theslope from stone to stone. With my feethardly touching the rocks, I quickly homed

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in on the desperate blur of brown that zig-zagged ahead of me up the scree. Lightningcrackled from my fingers; it drove down intothe earth, propelling me upwards evenfaster.

The shrew reached the top of the slope,and for a moment was outlined furrilyagainst the sky. At the last instant it duckedaway; my Detonation missed it by a whisker.

From my back I sprouted wings – eachfeathered, pure white, divided in two like

those of a butterfly.1 They flexed into life;over the crest of the dust-dry hill I soared, sothe sun’s warmth burst upon my essence.Down below me was the shrew, stumbling,plunging down an undulating ridge ofground. Not far beyond I saw a rough en-campment of tents, four of them set in a littlehollow, surrounded by store-piles, theblackened remnants of a fire, three boredcamels tethered to an iron post and manyother spoors and scatterings.

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The owners of all this were three men(presumably the Edomite magicians, thoughto be honest all the tribes of the regionlooked the same to me), clad in robes ofbrown and caramel, with walking staffs inhand and dusty sandals on their feet. Theystood in the shadow of the tents, as still asstatues, in postures of calm attention, look-ing away from us towards the opposite sideof the ridge, which abutted another curve ofthe desert road.

The shrew’s yelps alerted them: spinninground, they saw its tumbling approach and,further off, my implacable, avenging formhurtling from the heavens.

The men cried out; they scattered. Onecried out a spirit’s name. From the ravinebeyond came an answering call, deep andurgent.

Now things were getting interesting.Down from above I plunged, giving vent to

all the pent-up fury of my slavery. From my

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fingers a succession of fiery bolts strafed leftand right into the ground. Stone shattered,dirt and sand burst against the bright bluesky. The shrew was finally hit in the centre ofits furry back, blasting into a thousandplaintive motes of light.

Two hulking shapes rose from the gorgebeyond. Both, like me, were winged in the bi-furcated Assyrian style; both, like me, worehuman bodies. Unlike me, they had chosenrather more exotic heads, the better tospread terror to their victims on the road.

The nearest, an utukku with a lion’s face,

carried a bloodied spear.2 His comrade,whose head resembled that of an unpleas-antly jowly, loose-skinned monitor lizard,preferred a scimitar; with horrid cries andfeathered wings beating at the air, they flewtowards me at speed.

I would kill them if I had to, but I pre-

ferred to kill their masters.3

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The Edomite magicians had each acted ac-cording to his nature. The first had panicked,spinning this way, then that, before finallytripping over his trailing robe and falling in-to the side of the nearest tent. Before hecould regain his balance my Detonation ex-punged him in a ball of flame. The secondstood his ground: from a bag beside the firehe drew a long, thin tube of glass. As Iswooped towards him, he broke the tubeagainst a rock and pointed the broken end atme. A cord of oily black substance emerged,swung lazily back, then darted out like a fish-erman’s cast in my direction. I projected aDark Node, which caught the centre of thesmoky cord and, with a rude sucking noise,pulled it inwards into nothing. After the cordcame the glass tube and the magician whoheld it: in the blink of an eye they too weresucked into the Node, which promptly inges-ted itself and so vanished.

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Upon the death of the Edomite, whichcame a few short moments after his disap-

pearance into the Node,4 the lion-headedutukku gave a joyous cry, became a resinousvapour and dissipated on the wind. Thelizard-headed utukku, clearly the servant ofthe third magician, still remained; flourish-ing his scimitar, he interrupted my flight-path with a series of violent hacks andthrusts that I struggled to avoid.

‘Why couldn’t you have killed my one?’ theutukku said, slashing at my midriff.

I spun aside, darted, rolled over in mid-air.‘I’m doing my best. Would you mind not try-ing to impale me in the meantime?’

The utukku dodged my Spasm; slashedwith the scimitar. ‘It doesn’t work that way.’

‘I know.’Evading the next attack by inches, I ca-

reened to the left and banked close to Earth;shooting between two tents, I rose again,scanning the ridge for the third magician,

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and was just in time to catch a flash of brownand caramel beginning a hurried descent in-to the ravine.

With murderous intent, and the utukku la-bouring behind, I followed the Edomite overthe lip of the ridge, drifting like a hawk orother raptor following its mouse.

There he was, slipping and scrabblingdown among the rocks, his robe hitched upabout his knees, his sandals torn away. Hisface was tilted downwards, fixed in concen-tration on the slope. Not once did he lookover his shoulder: he knew his death fol-lowed hard behind him on bright, whitewings.

Beyond and below him, on the road, Iglimpsed several other things: the sturdyform of Faquarl wrestling with a thirdutukku (this one with the head of a long-horned goat), two others lying dead besidehim; and all around the remains of slaughter

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– camels and humans scattered like dis-carded rags across the blackened ground.

A buffet of air; I twisted sideways just toolate, and felt a burst of pain as the utukku’sscimitar cut through one wingtip, sheared offa few primary feathers and utterly ruined mydelightful symmetry. My balance went; myaero-dynamism likewise. I tumbled to thescree below, landed inelegantly on my backand began to roll down-slope.

The utukku came in fast, ready to committhe coup de grâce. To delay him (and this isnot easily done when rolling at speed – try ityourself if you don’t believe me) I fired anEnervation over my shoulder. It hit himstraight on, sapping his energies and makinghis movements treacly and sluggish. Hedropped the scimitar. Wings drooping, limbsworking listlessly, he fell to the ground andbegan tumbling in my wake.

We rolled downhill amid an avalanche ofstones.

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We fell onto the packed earth of the desertroad.

We struggled into sitting positions.We looked at each other, we each raised a

hand. I was the quicker. I blew him apartwith a Detonation.

Pieces of his essence fell to Earth, spatter-ing the death-dry rocks and stones like re-freshing rain. I struggled to my feet in thecentre of the road, brushing dust from mybumps and bruises, letting my wings un-crumple, my battle-lust subside.

Over to my left Faquarl, having finally dis-posed of his goat-headed antagonist, wasslowly, painfully doing likewise. Essenceglistened brightly from a deep cut across hismidriff, but he seemed otherwise unharmed.

Not bad going. Between us, we had dealtwith five utukku and two of the three Edom-

ite magicians.5 The bandit danger on So-lomon’s roads was decisively dealt with fornow.

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Which reminded me. That third magician… Where—?

A voice, high and imperious, spoke closeby. ‘Demons, do not move or speak but byour command, save only to prostrate your-self in abasement before the High Priestessof the Sun in the blessed land of Himyar. Iam my queen’s representative and speak forher and all of Himyar, and I demand of youyour names, identities and nature, on pain ofour extreme displeasure.’

Is it just me, or would a simple ‘Hello’ havebeen enough?

1 Bit of a contemporary look, this: it was the latest thing

in Nimrud that century. The white feathers were a drag dur-

ing combat – they didn’t half show up stains – but made

you resemble a celestial being: fearsome, beautiful, cold,

aloof. This was particularly useful when out hunting hu-

mans, who were often so busy gawping at you they quite for-

got to run.

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2 Clearly the shrew, whatever its many faults, had not

lied to us. Other travellers were currently being waylaid

below.3 This is a generally sound principle. When forced into

sudden battle with another spirit, you have no way of as-

sessing their character. They may be repugnant and loath-

some, or genial and pleasant, or any combination in

between. The only certain fact is that they would not be

fighting you were it not for the charge put upon them, and

thus it makes sense to expunge the master and spare the

puppet. In the case of the utukku, of course, it was safe to

assume they had the morals of two ferrets fighting in a bag,

but even so, the principle remained.4 This curious time delay always occurs in such cases. I

sometimes wonder what, in those fleeting seconds, the vic-

tim’s consciousness sees or experiences inside the Node,

alone in that infinity of nothing.5 Plus the shrew. But I’m not really sure you can count

him.

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16

It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed we had com-pany. It was just that I hadn’t cared. Whenyou’re in the middle of a fight, you stick tothe basics, namely trying to disembowel yourenemy while stopping him tearing off yourarm and beating you around the head with it.If you’ve any energy left over, you use it forswearing. Prostrating yourself before watch-ing strangers doesn’t feature highly in theprogramme. Particularly when it’s themyou’re saving.

So I took my time here, flicking the desertdust off my limbs and inspecting remote

regions of my essence, before turning to seewho’d spoken.

Not twelve inches away, a face regardedme with an expression that mingled arrog-ance, derision and the hope of obtaininggrassy foodstuffs. This was a camel. Follow-ing its neck upwards, I discovered a couch ofred and yellow silks set upon its saddle. Tas-selled drapes hung below it; above, slumpedon broken poles, there swung a canopy, nowsadly burned and torn.

On the couch sat a young woman, littlemore than a girl. Her black hair was drawnback and mostly hidden by a silken head-scarf, but her eyebrows were elegant andquizzical, her eyes as black as onyx. Her facewas slim, its structure graceful, her skin-tonedark and even. A human might have accoun-ted her beautiful. My expert eye also detec-ted signs of wilfulness, high intelligence andstern resolve, though whether these qualities

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added to her beauty or detracted from it isnot for me to say.

This girl sat straight-backed upon hercamel-couch, one hand resting on the for-ward pommel of acacia wood, the otherloosely holding the beast’s reins. She wore ahempen riding cloak, stained ochre from thedesert storms, and singed in places byutukku fire; also a long woollen garment,woven with geometric designs in yellow andred. This was wrapped tight about her torsoand more loosely about her legs. She rodeside-saddle, her feet neatly encased in littleleather shoes. Bronze bangles hung upon herslim, bare wrists. Around her neck she had asilver pendant, shaped like a sun.

Her hair was slightly disordered – a fewstrands had fallen across her face – and shehad a small fresh cut beneath one eye; other-wise, she seemed none the worse for herordeal.

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This all takes a lot longer to recount than itdid to observe. I stared at her for a moment.‘Who spoke,’ I said, ‘you or the camel?’

The girl frowned. ‘It was I.’‘Well, you have a camel’s manners.’ I

turned aside. ‘We’ve just killed the utukkuwho were attacking you. By rights you shouldbe on your knees thanking us for your deliv-erance. Wouldn’t you say so, Faquarl?’

My associate had at last drawn close, tent-atively prodding at his gaping chest wound.‘That goat!’ he grumbled. ‘Gored me with ahorn just as I was strangling the other two. Iask you. Three against one! Some djinnhaven’t the slightest conception of commoncourtesy …’ He noticed the girl for the firsttime. ‘Who’s this?’

I shrugged. ‘A survivor.’‘Any others about?’We surveyed the forlorn wreckage of the

camel train, scattered about the gorge. Allwas silent, all was still, apart from a couple

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of riderless camels wandering in the dis-tance, and some vultures circling lazily. Noother survivors met the eye.

Someone else I couldn’t see was the fugit-ive Edomite magician. It struck me suddenlythat he would be useful to bring back to Jer-usalem alive. Solomon would be interestedin hearing at first hand the reasons for thebandits’ activities …

The girl (who still hadn’t thanked us) wassitting on her couch, regarding Faquarl andme with her big dark eyes. I addressed hercurtly. ‘I’m looking for one of the banditswho attacked your party. Came springingdown the rock-face here. You must have seenhim. Mind telling me which way he went – ifit isn’t too much trouble?’

With a languid gesture, the girl indicated alarge granite boulder on the opposite side ofthe road. Two feet projected from behind it. Ihurried over, to discover the Edomite lyingthere, a silver-bladed dagger protruding

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neatly from the centre of his forehead. Thesilver’s aura made me nauseous; neverthe-less, I shook him anxiously, in case he wasjust dazed. It was no good. Bang went thelive witness I was hoping to take back toSolomon.

I looked towards the girl, hands on hips.‘Did you do this?’

‘I am a priestess of the Temple of the Sunin blessed Himyar. That man’s demons des-troyed my fellow travellers. Should I have lethim live?’

‘Well, a little bit longer would have beennice. Solomon would have wanted to meethim.’ Annoyed as I was, I looked at the girlwith a certain grudging respect. Priestess ofthe Sun or not, skewering a moving targetwithout getting off her camel wasn’t bad go-ing, though I had no intention of admittingit.

Faquarl had been regarding the girl aswell, in a rather thoughtful manner. He

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nodded in her direction. ‘Where did she sayshe was from?’

The girl overheard; she spoke in ringingtones. ‘I say again, O demons, that I am apriestess of the Sun and representative of—’

‘She’s from Himyar.’‘Where’s that?’‘Arabia someplace.’‘– the Great and Royal House of Himyar! I

speak for the queen and all her people, andwe demand—’

‘I see …’ Faquarl beckoned me aside. Wemoved off a little way. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ hesaid softly. ‘If she’s not an Israelite, thenshe’s not covered by the protective clauses, is

she?’1

I rubbed my beardy chin. ‘True …’‘And she’s not set foot in Jerusalem,

either.’‘No.’‘Plus she’s young, she’s appetizing—’‘Demons! I demand a word!’

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‘Very appetizing,’ I agreed. ‘Good set oflungs on her too.’

‘And since, Bartimaeus, since we’re both alittle jaded after all our hard work—’

‘Demons! Attend to me!’‘Since we’re both, I might go so far as to

say, a little peckish—’‘Demons—’‘Hold on a minute, Faquarl …’ I turned to

address the Arabian girl. ‘Would you mindnot using that word?’ I called. ‘“Demon” is an

extremely pejorative term.2 It offends me.The correct way to address either of us wouldbe something along the lines of “Revereddjinni” or “Masterful spirit”. All right? Thankyou.’

The girl’s eyes opened wide, but she saidnothing. Which was a relief.

‘Sorry, Faquarl. Where were we?’‘We were both a little peckish, Bartimaeus.

So, what do you say? No one’s going toknow, are they? Then we can fly back to our

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master and bask in our triumph. We’ll all beon Temple Mount by nightfall, sitting cosilyaround the fire. Meanwhile Khaba will be re-stored to Solomon’s good graces, and he’llcall off that shadow of his and save yoursorry skin. How’s that sound to you?’

It didn’t sound at all bad, particularly thebit about the shadow. ‘All right,’ I said.‘Bagsy her haunches.’

‘Now that’s not fair. Who killed moreutukku today?’

‘You can have the pick of the rest of her.And I’ll throw in the camel too.’

Bickering pleasantly, we turned back to-wards the girl, to discover her looking downupon us from on high with an expression sothunderous that even Faquarl flinched. Shehad pulled her shawl back from her head, sothat her hair fell loose about her slenderneck. Her face was fearsomely serene. Herslim arms were tightly folded, her fingerstapped pointedly upon her sleeve. Slight as

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she was, with badly singed clothes anddishevelled hair, sitting as she undoubtedlywas upon an ugly camel beneath a saggingcanopy, she still had enough force of person-ality to bring us both up short.

‘Exalted spirits,’ she said, in a voice ofiron, ‘I thank you both for your interventionin this present disaster. Without your timelyaid I would most certainly have perished,like these unfortunate merchants who weremy recent companions. May their souls as-cend most speedily to the Sun God’s realm,for they were peaceful men! But now hearmy words. I am an envoy and sole represent-ative of Himyar’s queen, travelling in hasteto Jerusalem to speak with Solomon of Is-rael. My mission is of paramount import-ance. Great matters hinge upon its success. Itherefore dema— I request that you assistme, that I may complete my journey at bestspeed. Aid me in this, and I shall come be-fore your masters, whoever they may be,

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asking that they free you from your presentservitude and send you back to the great

abyss3 from whence you came.’ She raised ahand towards the sky. ‘Before the Sun Godand the sacred memory of my mother, this Ihereby vow!’

There was a resounding silence. Faquarlrubbed his hands together. ‘Right,’ he said.‘Let’s eat her.’

I hesitated. ‘Hold on – didn’t you hearwhat she said about winning us ourfreedom?’

‘Don’t believe a word of it, Bartimaeus.She’s human. She’s a liar.’

‘She’s human, yes … but she’s gotsomething about her, don’t you think? Re-

minds me a bit of Nefertiti.’4

‘Never met her,’ Faquarl sniffed. ‘I was inMycenae then, if you recall. Anyhow, whocares? I’m hungry.’

‘Well, I think we should wait,’ I said. ‘Shecould intercede with Khaba—’

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‘He’s not going to listen to her, is he?’‘Or Solomon, maybe …’‘Oh, right. Like she’s going to get anywhere

near him.’This was all probably true enough, but I

was still irritated with Faquarl for his com-ments earlier that afternoon, and that mademe stubborn. ‘Another thing,’ I said. ‘She’llbe a witness to our fight.’

Faquarl paused, but shook his head. ‘Wedon’t need a witness. We’ve got bodies.’

‘She called us “exalted spirits” …’‘Like that makes any difference!’ Faquarl

gave an impatient growl and made a side-step in the girl’s direction, but I movedslightly to block his way. He pulled up short,eyes bulging, tendons flexing in his jaw. ‘Thishas always been your trouble!’ he snarled.‘Getting all soft-headed over a human justbecause she’s got a long neck and a steelyeye!’

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‘Me? Soft-headed? I’d eat her soon as lookat her! But she might be able to help us,that’s my point. Your problem is you can’tcontrol your appetites, Faquarl! You’d eatanything that moves – girls, stench-mites,mortuary imps, the lot.’

‘I’ve never eaten a mortuary imp.’5

‘I bet you have.’Faquarl took a deep breath. ‘Are you going

to let me kill her?’‘No.’He threw his hands up in disgust. ‘You

ought to be ashamed of yourself! We’reslaves, remember – slaves of humans likethat girl there. Will they ever do us a good

turn? No! Building sites and battlefields6 –that’s all they’ve wanted us for, ever since Ur.And it’ll never end, Bartimaeus, you knowthat, don’t you? It’s a war between us andthem – and I mean all of them, not just themagicians. All those dough-brained farmers,their clasping wives, their snotty, squalling

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children – they’re just as bad as Khaba andthe rest. This girl’s no different! They’d hap-pily cast us into the Dismal Flame without athought, if they didn’t always want new wallsbuilt, fields dug, or need some other tribe ofbrainless humans killed!’

‘I don’t deny any of that,’ I cried. ‘Butwe’ve got to be practical about chances thatcome our way. And this is a chance. Youdon’t want to go back to the quarry any morethan I do, and it’s just possible that this girlmight— Oh, now where are you flouncing offto?’

Like an irritable toddler,7 Faquarl hadspun round and marched away. ‘You like herso much,’ he called, ‘you stay with her. Youkeep her safe. I’m off to fetch Khaba, andwe’ll see if she can magic us up our freedom.Maybe you’ll be proved right, Bartimaeus. Orjust maybe you’ll come to regret not feastingon her while you can!’ So saying, he spun acloak of scarlet flame about his wings and

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sprang into the sky, and with a final oaththat caused small avalanches to tumble downthe lonely gulleys, rose up to meet the sun.

I turned to stare at the silent girl.‘Well,’ I said. ‘It’s just you and me now.’

1 At Solomon’s behest every summons in Jerusalem,

made by no matter which magician, included within it cer-

tain strict clauses forbidding us to harm the local popula-

tion. This wasn’t anything new in principle – all the old city

states of Mesopotamia had used similar injunctions – but

they’d been confined to citizens by birth, so there was al-

ways the possibility of snacking on a visiting trader, slave or

captive on the side. Solomon, in his wisdom, had expanded

the clauses to include anyone who set foot within the city

walls, which made for an admirably inclusive municipal en-

vironment, and also a good number of grumpy, hungry

djinn.2Demon: the actual term used at this juncture was in

fact the Old Akkadian word r bisu, which in its origin

simply means ‘supernatural being’. But as with the Greek

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daimon (still several centuries in the future), it was all too

often employed as an abusive generality, as likely to refer to

a pimple-bottomed imp as to a debonair djinni-about-town.3Great abyss: not the most accurate or flattering de-

scription of the Other Place that I’ve ever heard, but a very

common misconception. In fact our home is nothing like an

abyss, having no ‘depth’ to speak of (nor any other dimen-

sions), and not being at all dark either. It’s just like humans

to impose their own imagined terrors upon us, when in fact

all true horrors are found in your world.4Nefertiti: principal wife of the pharaoh Akhenaten,

1340s BC. Started out bringing up the children, ended up

running the empire. Looked damn good in a headdress too.

Let’s just say you didn’t mess with her.5Mortuary imps: small, pudgy, white-skinned spirits

employed by the priests of Egypt to help them mummify the

bodies of the great and good. Specializing in all the icky bits

of the process, such as brain removal and filling up the can-

opic jars, they tasted abominably of embalming fluid. So I’ve

been told.6Building sites and battlefields: sometimes, indeed, we

were forced to hop between one and the other at a moment’s

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notice, which could be inconvenient. I once fought three

ghuls single-handed in a sudden skirmish at the gates of

Uruk. They wielded spiked maces, flaming spears and

double-headed silver battle-axes. Me? I had a trowel.7 Only bigger, brawnier and more blood-stained.

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17

‘Well,’ the demon said. ‘It’s just you and menow.’

Asmira sat rigid in her saddle, feeling thesweat trickling down the back of her neck.Her heart was pounding so hard against herribs she felt sure the demon must see it, or atleast notice the trembling of her hands,which she had placed in her lap for that veryreason. Never let them see your fear – thatwas what the guard-mothers had taught her;let your foes think you nerveless, resolute,impossible to daunt or threaten. She did herbest to keep her face impassive and hold herbreathing as steady as she could. With her

head coolly turned aside, she kept her eyestrained on the creature’s every movement.Her fingertips rested on the dagger hiddenbeneath her robes.

She had seen a glimpse of its power whenit had destroyed another of its kind with ablast of explosive fire, and she knew that, if itchose, it could easily kill her too. Like themonsters that had attacked her in the gorge,it was clearly far more dangerous than thespirits she had summoned during her train-ing or the petty demons of the hill-tribes. Itwas probably an afrit of some kind; perhapseven a marid. Silver was her best defencenow; her Wards might irritate it, but woulddo little more.

Not that the demon wasn’t irritatedalready. It glanced up into the sky, where itscompanion had become a fiery dot on thehorizon, and uttered a soft curse. With itssandalled foot it kicked a stone far off acrossthe gorge.

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Asmira knew well enough that higher spir-its could adopt any shape they chose, thebetter to beguile or dominate those aroundthem. She also knew how foolish it was totake heed of how they looked. Yet this onegave her pause. Unlike the horrors that hadattacked the caravan, unlike its own compan-ion – which had seemed to delight in exud-ing a swaggering ferocity – this spirit con-cealed its wickedness beneath a pleasantform.

When it had first tumbled into view, it hadbeen a bearded traveller, badly stained withmarks of battle. At some point since (and shehad not noticed exactly when the change oc-curred) it had subtly transformed into ayoung, fair-featured youth, with dimpledcheeks and merry eyes. Its hair fell in curledblack ringlets about its brow, and its limbswere hale and strong. Something of its castof face and skin reminded Asmira of the menof Babylon who visited the Sheban court, but

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the style of its clothes was simpler thantheirs – just a plain, wrapped knee-lengthskirt, and necklaces of amethyst upon its na-ked chest. On its back was a pair of whitewings, neatly folded and very magnificent.The largest feathers were longer than herforearms. On the edge of the left-hand wing asoft gelatinous substance hung limp and raw,glistening coldly in the afternoon light. Otherthan this imperfection, the guise was verybeautiful.

Asmira watched the winged youth, herheart thumping in her breast. Suddenly itturned its head, and its eyes met hers. Shelooked away, and immediately felt furiouswith herself for doing so.

‘I hope you can deliver on your promise, OPriestess of Himyar,’ the youth said. ‘I’ve putmy essence on the line for you.’

Asmira had not understood the argumentbetween the demons, which had been con-ducted only partly in Arabic, and partly in

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languages that were unknown to her. Forcingherself to meet the dark, cool gaze, she kepther voice as imperious as before. ‘Where hasit gone?’ she said. ‘The other demon? Andwhat of my request?’

The youth raised a languid eyebrow. ‘Dearme. That naughty word again.’

It stepped suddenly towards the camel. Ina flash of movement, Asmira’s silver-bladeddagger was out of her belt and balanced inher hand.

The youth stopped short. ‘Another knife?How many have you got in there?’

Asmira had lost one dagger during thechaos of the battle, and had left another inthe Edomite. She had two more in her leath-er bag. She said haughtily, ‘That is none ofyour concern, demon. I asked you—’

‘And I asked,’ the creature said, ‘if you’drefrain from using bad language in my com-pany. Whipping daggers from your knickersisn’t wildly polite either.’ It laid a dark hand

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upon her camel’s flank and patted it gently.‘How about you put the thing away? I canfeel the silver’s chill from here, particularlyin this wing of mine. This wing that Iwounded just now,’ it added pointedly, ‘indefence of you.’

Asmira hesitated, numb with indecision,panic roiling in her stomach. Stiffly, she lif-ted her cloak and tucked the dagger back in-to her belt.

‘That’s better,’ the demon said. ‘Oh, andyou’ve a silver disc dangling about your neck… Mind tucking that away too?’

Asmira did so. The winged youth said nomore. Giving the camel a final pat, it walkeda few yards off and stood surveying thegorge. After a while it began whistling thenotes of a rhythmic dervish song.

Anger at her own compliance, and at thedemon’s cheery indifference to her ques-tions, almost made Asmira retrieve the dag-ger and throw it at its back. But she kept her

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face calm, and forced the fury down. Thecreature was associated with Solomon, andmight yet be of use to her. Any chance of get-ting swiftly to Jerusalem must be pursued.

Besides, it was true what it said – it hadcome to her aid.

‘You must forgive my caution, O spirit,’she called. ‘Without my defences I would bedead. Please understand I keep them readyat my side.’

The young man glanced over; the keendark eyes appraised her. ‘Helped ward offthe utukku, did they? I was wondering howyou survived.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My dagger saved me. A liz-ard dem— a lizard spirit, I mean – leaped atme, but I slashed out at it, and the silver tookit by surprise. It jumped back, and was aboutto attack again, when it suddenly got distrac-ted and disappeared.’

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The winged youth chuckled. ‘Ah yes, thatwould have been me arriving. Perhaps yousaw the blind panic on its face?’

In Asmira’s experience demons were notvery intelligent. This one’s self-satisfactionwas so evident that she sought to take ad-vantage. ‘I did indeed!’ she said quickly. ‘AndI can only apologize that I did not thank youthe instant you arrived. I was still distressedby the assault, and did not realize I wasspeaking with one of the great ones of theair. May the Sun God chastize me that I wasblind to your radiance! But I perceive it now.I say again that you have delivered me mostnobly from death and I am for ever in yourdebt! I thank you humbly from the bottom ofmy unworthy heart.’

The young man gazed at her and raisedone eyebrow in an ironic fashion. ‘Do they al-ways speak like this in Himyar?’

‘Usually we are less emotional and employa more formally complex sentence structure.’

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‘Really? Well, I’m used to complex stuff, soI could follow what you said just now. But Iwarn you, round this part of the world theywouldn’t be able to cope with much apartfrom that bit about your unworthy bottom.’

Asmira blinked. ‘My unworthy heart.’‘That too, I should think. Well now, in an-

swer to your questions, you don’t have toworry any more. Faquarl’s gone to fetch ourmaster, who will doubtless escort you to Jer-usalem as you requested. If, in return, youcould intercede with him and win our free-dom, we would be very much obliged. Latelyour servitude under Solomon has been get-ting rather grating.’

Asmira’s heart quickened. ‘Solomon him-self is your master?’

‘Technically no. In practice, yes.’ Theyoung man scowled. ‘It’s complicated. Any-way, the magician will be here soon. Perhapsyou could spend the time rehearsing a fewgushing tributes on my behalf.’

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Whistling, the demon moved off slowlyamongst the scattered debris of the camel-train. Asmira watched it, thinking hard.

Ever since the adrenaline of battle hadebbed inside her, she had been fighting tokeep control of herself and her surroundings.To begin with, shock had fogged her mind –shock at the sudden ambush, at the destruc-tion of the men with whom she had travelledfor so many days, at the hideous vigour ofthe lizard demon and the way it had with-stood her Ward. At the same time she hadhad to face down Solomon’s spirits, conceal-ing the fear she felt for them. This had notbeen easy, but she had succeeded. She hadsurvived. And now, as she observed the de-mon, she felt a sudden fierce surge of hope.She was alive, and her mission was beforeher! Not only had disaster been averted; So-lomon’s servants were actually going to takeher straight to him! In just two nights’ time,

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the attack on Sheba would come. Such speedmight make all the difference.

Some way off, the demon was pacing backand forth, looking at the sky. It had seemedreasonably talkative, if somewhat proud andprickly; perhaps she should converse with ita little more. As a slave of Solomon it wouldknow many things about the king, about hispersonality, his palace and – possibly – theRing.

With a brisk movement she jerked thereins. The camel folded its forelegs and tiltedforwards, so that it knelt upon the sand.Then it folded its rear ones too. Now it sat;Asmira swung herself off the couch anddropped lightly to the ground. She examinedher singed riding cloak briefly, andsmoothed it down. Then, leather bag inhand, she walked towards the demon.

The winged youth was lost in thought.Sunlight glinted on the bright, white wings.For a moment Asmira was conscious of its

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stillness, and the look of melancholy on thequiet face. She wondered what it saw beforeits eyes. With annoyance she realized herlimbs were shaking.

It glanced at her as she approached. ‘Hopeyou’ve thought of some good adjectives forme. “Ferocious”, “zealous” and “awe-inspir-ing” all trip off the tongue nicely, I find.’

‘I’ve come to talk with you,’ Asmira said.The dark brows angled. ‘Talk? Why?’‘Well,’ she began, ‘it’s not often I have a

chance to speak with such an exalted spiritas you, particularly one who saved my life. Ofcourse I have often heard tell of the great be-ings who raise towers in a single night, andbring rain upon the famished lands. But Inever thought I would actually speak withone so noble and gracious, who—’ Shestopped; the youth was smiling at her.‘What?’ she said.

‘This “exalted spirit” thinks you wantsomething. What is it?’

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‘I hoped your wisdom—’‘Hold it,’ the demon said. Its black eyes

glittered. ‘You’re not talking to some half-baked imp here. I’m a djinni, and a prettyeminent one at that. A djinni, moreover, whobuilt the walls of Uruk for Gilgamesh, andthe walls of Karnak for Rameses, and a goodmany other walls for masters whose namesare long forgotten. Solomon the Great is infact only the latest in a long line of exaltedkings to rely heavily on my services. In short,O Priestess of distant Himyar,’ the youngwinged man went on, ‘I’ve a high enoughopinion of myself already not to need any ex-tra flattery from you.’

Asmira felt the colour come rushing to hercheeks. Her fists clenched against her side.

‘Got to get these little things sorted out,haven’t we?’ the djinni said. It winked at her,and leaned casually back against a rock.‘Now, what is it you wanted?’

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Asmira regarded it. ‘Tell me about theRing,’ she said.

The djinni gave a start. Its elbow slid side-ways off the rock, and it was only with a bitof hasty scrambling that it avoided topplingout of view. It adjusted its wings with muchruffling of feathers, and stared at her.‘What?’

‘I’ve never been to Jerusalem before, yousee,’ Asmira said artlessly, ‘and I’ve heard somany wonderful tales of great King So-lomon! I just thought that since you were soeminent and so experienced, and since So-lomon relies so heavily upon you, you mightbe able to tell me more.’

The djinni shook its head. ‘Flattery again! Ikeep telling you …’ It hesitated. ‘Or was itsarcasm?’

‘No, no. Of course not.’‘Well, whichever it was,’ the young man

growled, ‘let’s have less of it, or, who knows,

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I might just go along with Faquarl’s littlesuggestion.’

Asmira paused. ‘Why, what was Faquarl’slittle suggestion?’

‘You don’t want to know. As to the objectto which you refer, I know you’re only asimple girl from the backside of Arabia, butsurely even there you must have heard—’ Itlooked cautiously up and down the gorge.‘The point is, in Israel it’s best not to discusscertain subjects openly, or indeed at all.’

Asmira smiled. ‘You seem fearful.’‘Not at all. Just prudent.’ The winged

youth seemed out of sorts now, and scowledup at the dark blue sky. ‘Where’s Khaba gotto? He should have been here long since.That fool Faquarl must have got lost orsomething.’

‘If Faquarl’s the name of the other djinni,’Asmira said lightly, ‘then your name—’

‘Sorry.’ The djinni held up a resolute hand.‘I can’t tell you that. Names are powerful

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things, both in the keeping and the losing.They should never be bandied around, eitherby spirit or human, since they are our deep-est, most secret possessions. By my name Iwas created long ago – and he who learns ithas the key to my slavery. Certain magiciansundertake great trials for such knowledge –they study ancient texts, decipher the cunei-form of Sumer, risk their lives in circles tomaster spirits such as me. Those who havemy name bind me in chains, force me tocruel acts, and have done for two thousandyears. So you can perhaps understand, Omaiden of Arabia, why I take good care toensure my name is kept safe from others thatI chance to meet. Do not ask me again, for itis forbidden knowledge, sacrosanct, secure.’

‘So it’s not “Bartimaeus” then?’ Asmirasaid.

There was a silence. The djinni cleared itsthroat. ‘Sorry?’

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‘Bartimaeus. That’s what your friendFaquarl kept calling you, anyway.’

There was a muttered curse. ‘I think“friend” is putting it a trifle strongly. Thatidiot. He would insist on having a row inpublic …’

‘Well, you keep using his name too,’ As-mira said. ‘Besides, I’m going to need toknow your name if I’m to intercede with yourmaster, aren’t I?’

The djinni made a face. ‘I suppose so.Well, let me ask a question now,’ it said.‘What about you? What’s your name?’

‘My name is Cyrine,’ Asmira said.‘Cyrine …’ The djinni looked dubious. ‘I

see.’‘I am a priestess of Himyar.’‘So you keep saying. Well, “Cyrine”, why

all this interest in dangerous things, likesmall pieces of golden jewellery we can’t dis-cuss? And what exactly are these “great mat-ters” that bring you to Jerusalem?’

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Asmira shook her head. ‘I cannot say. Myqueen forbids me to discuss them with any-one but Solomon, and I have taken a sacredvow.’

‘Aren’t we prim and proper, all of a sud-den?’ the demon said. It regarded her sourlyfor a moment. ‘Strange that your queenshould have sent a lone girl on such an im-portant mission … Then again, that’s queensfor you. They get ideas. You should haveheard Nefertiti when the mood was on her.So …’ it went on idly, ‘Himyar. Never been,myself. Pleasant spot, is it?’

Asmira had not been to Himyar either andknew nothing about it. ‘Yes. Very.’

‘Got mountains, I suppose?’‘Yes.’‘Rivers and deserts and things?’‘Lots.’‘Cities?’‘Oh, a few.’

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‘Including the Rock City of Zafar, delvedstraight into the cliffs?’ the demon said.‘That’s in Himyar, isn’t it? Or am I wrong?’

Asmira hesitated. She sensed a trap anddidn’t know the answer that would avoid it. ‘Inever discuss particularities of my kingdomwith an outsider,’ she said. ‘Cultural reti-cence is one of the traditions of our people.But I can discuss Israel and will do so gladly.You know King Solomon and his palace well,I assume?’

The winged youth was gazing at her. ‘Thepalace, yes … Solomon, no. He has manyservants.’

‘But when he summons you—’‘His magicians summon us, as I think I’ve

said. We serve their will, and they serve So-lomon’s.’

‘And they are happy to serve him becauseof the—’ This time Asmira did not say theword. Something of Bartimaeus’s trepidationhad infected her too.

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The djinni spoke shortly. ‘Yes.’‘So you are all in thrall to it?’‘I and countless others.’‘So why do you not destroy it? Or steal it?’The djinni gave a noticeable jump. ‘Shh!’ it

cried. ‘Will you keep your voice down?’ Withhasty movements it craned its neck back andforth, peering along the gorge. Asmira, react-ing to its agitation, looked too, and for a mo-ment thought the blue shadows of the rocksseemed rather darker than before.

‘You do not talk about the object in suchterms,’ the djinni glowered. ‘Not here, notanywhere in Israel, and certainly never inJerusalem, where every second alley cat isone of the great king’s spies.’ It rolled its eyesto the skies and continued quickly. ‘The ob-ject to which you refer,’ it said, ‘is neverstolen because he who wears it never takes itoff. And if anyone even thinks of trying any-thing in that regard, that same aforesaid per-son just twizzles the object on his finger and

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– pop! – his enemies end up like poor Azul,Odalis or Philocretes, to mention but three.That is why no one in their right mind daresdefy King Solomon. That is why he sits sovain and untroubled upon his throne. That iswhy, if you wish to live to undertake these“great matters” you hint at, you will avoidloose talk and curb your curiosity.’ It drew adeep breath. ‘You’re all right with me, Priest-ess Cyrine from Himyar, for I despise thosewho hold me captive, and will never alertthem even if something – or someone’ – hereit looked at her directly, and raised its eye-brows again – ‘arouses my deep suspicions.But I am afraid you will find that others donot share my fine moral character.’ It poin-ted to the north. ‘Particularly that lot,’ itsaid. ‘And, needless to say, you’ll find the hu-man is the worst of all.’

Asmira looked where Bartimaeus pointed.A group of distant flecks was fast approach-ing, dark against the evening sky.

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18

Perhaps, if the djinni had not alerted her,Asmira might first have taken the objects inthe sky for a flock of birds. If so, her errorwould not have lasted long. To begin withthey were nothing but black dots – seven ofthem, one slightly larger than the rest – fly-ing in close formation high above the deserthills. But then those dots grew rapidly, andsoon she saw the wisps of coloured light thatdanced along their rushing surfaces, and theheat haze that shivered in their slipstream.

In moments they had dropped to begin thedescent towards the gorge, and now she per-ceived that the fleeting wisps of colour were

darts of flame that made each object flashgolden in the dying light – all save the largestand most central, which remained coal-black. Closer still they came; now Asmiracaught the movement of their wings andheard the distant thrumming noise theymade, a sound which quickly swelled to fillher ears. Once, as a little child, she hadwatched from the palace roof a locust plaguedescend upon the water meadows below thewalls of Marib. The roaring that she heardnow was like that distant insect storm, andbrought similar apprehension.

The formation dropped below the level ofthe cliffs and came towards her, followingthe road. It moved at great speed; with itspassing, clouds of sand were sucked into theair, curling out against the hillsides, fillingthe gorge behind. And now Asmira could seethat six of the seven objects were demons,winged, but in human shapes. The seventh

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was a carpet carried by yet another demon;sitting on this carpet was a man.

Asmira stared at him, at his entourage, atthe onrushing display of casual power.‘Surely,’ she whispered, ‘this is Solomonhimself …’

Beside her, the djinni Bartimaeus grunted.‘Nope. Guess again. This is just one of So-lomon’s seventeen master magicians, thoughperhaps the most formidable of them all. Hisname is Khaba. I say again, beware of him.’

Sand swirled, the wind howled, giant iri-descent wings slowed their beating; sixdemons halted in mid-air, hovered briefly,dropped lightly to the road. In their centre,the seventh shrugged the carpet off itsshoulders onto its great spread arms; bowinglow, it retreated backwards, leaving the car-pet hanging unsupported a few feet abovethe ground.

Asmira stared at the silent row of demons.Each wore the body of a man seven or eight

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foot tall. Save for the one named Faquarl(still stubbornly stocky, bull-necked andpudgy round the waist, and scowling as itlooked at her), all were muscular, athletic,dark of skin. They moved gracefully, deftly,confident in their supernatural strength, likeminor gods let loose upon the Earth. Theirfaces were beautiful; their golden eyesgleamed in the dimness of the gorge.

‘Don’t get too worked up,’ Bartimaeussaid. ‘Most of them are idiots.’

The figure on the carpet sat motionless,straight-backed, cross-legged, hands foldedcalmly in his lap. He wore a hooded cloak,clasped tight about him to protect his bodyfrom the rigours of the upper air. His facewas shadowed, his legs covered in a rug ofthick black fur. His long, pale hands were theonly part of him exposed; now they un-clasped, thin fingers snapped, a word wasspoken in the depths of the hood. The carpetdropped to Earth. The man removed the furs

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and, with a single fluid movement, sprang tohis feet. Stepping off the carpet, he walkedtowards Asmira swiftly, leaving his group ofsilent demons behind him.

Pale hands pushed back the hood; a mouthstretched wide in welcome.

To Asmira the magician’s appearance wasalmost more disturbing than that of hisslaves. As if in a dream she saw two big,moist eyes, deep scars notched upon hisashen cheeks, thin smiling lips as tight asgut-strings.

‘Priestess,’ the magician said softly. ‘I amKhaba, Solomon’s servant. Whatever sor-rows and terrors have beset you shall be nomore, for you are come into my care.’ He in-clined his bald head towards her.

Asmira bowed likewise. She said, ‘I amCyrine, a priestess of the Sun in the land ofHimyar.’

‘So my slave informed me.’ Khaba did notlook back at the line of djinn; Asmira noticed

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that the burly demon had folded its arms andwas regarding her sceptically. ‘I am sorrythat I have kept you waiting,’ the magiciancontinued, ‘but I was a great distance away.And, of course, I am all the more sorry that Iwas not able to prevent this … atrocious at-tack upon you.’ He waved a hand at the des-olation all around.

Khaba stood rather closer to her than As-mira would have liked. He had a curiousodour about him that reminded her of theHall of the Dead, where the priestessesburned incense to the memory of all moth-ers. It was sweet, pungent and not entirelywholesome. She said, ‘I am grateful to youeven so, for your servants saved my life. Oneday soon, when I return to Himyar, I will seeto it that you benefit from the gratitude ofmy queen.’

‘I regret I am not familiar with your land,’the magician said. The smile upon his facedid not alter; the big eyes gazed into hers.

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‘It is in Arabia, east of the Red Sea.’‘So … not far from Sheba, then? It is a curi-

ous fact that all the lands thereabouts seemto be ruled by women!’ The magicianchuckled at the quaintness of the notion. ‘Mybirthplace, Egypt, has occasionally flirtedwith such things,’ he said. ‘It is rarely a suc-cess. But, Priestess, in truth I can claim nohonour for saving you. It was my king, greatSolomon himself, who demanded that weclear the region of these outlaws. If you owethanks to anyone, it is to him.’

Asmira gave what she hoped was a charm-ing smile. ‘I would wish to give that thanks inperson, if I can. Indeed, I travel to Jerusalemon royal business, and crave an audiencewith Solomon.’

‘So I understand.’‘Perhaps you could assist me?’Still the smile remained fixed, still the eyes

gazed at her; Asmira had not yet seen themblink. ‘Many wish audience with the king,’

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the magician said, ‘and many are disappoin-ted. But I think your status and – if I may sayso – your great loveliness will commend youto his attention.’ With a flourish he turnedaside, looked back towards his slaves. Thesmile vanished. ‘Nimshik! Attend to me!’

One of the great entities scampered for-ward, grimacing.

‘You shall be in charge of the other slaves,’Khaba said, ‘with the exception of Chosroes,who carries me as before. We will escort thislady to Jerusalem. Your tasks, Nimshik, areas follows. You will clear the road of thecorpses and the debris. Bury the fallen, burnthe camels. If there are further survivors, youwill treat their wounds and bring them to theGate of the People at the palace – along withany such goods or animals that remain in-tact. You understand?’

The hulking figure hesitated. ‘Master, So-lomon forbids—’

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‘Fool! The brigands are destroyed; you willhave his permission to return. When all isdone, await me on the roof of my tower,where I shall issue new instructions. If youdisappoint me in any of this, I will skin you.Be off!’

The magician turned to Asmira, his smileas broad as ever. ‘Priestess Cyrine, you mustexcuse the stupidity of my slaves. Regretfullya magician must associate with such things,as perhaps you know.’

‘Certain of the elder priestesses speak oc-casionally with spirits, I believe,’ Asmira saiddemurely. ‘I know nothing of it.’

‘Ah, I should hope not, a pretty wisp likeyou …’ For a heartbeat’s space the big softeyes looked Asmira up and down. ‘But do notbe afraid of my creatures,’ Khaba said, ‘for Ihave them thoroughly in my power, boundwith sturdy magic chains, and all fear mykindest word. Now, if—’

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He halted, frowning. From somewhereclose came a tinkling of bells. A gust of wind,carrying with it a sharp, pungent smell,stirred Asmira’s headscarf and made hercough.

Khaba made a courteous gesture. ‘Priest-ess, I am sorry. Excuse me just a moment.’

He spoke a word; three heartbeats passed.A purplish cloud bloomed like a flower in theair above them. Reclining on it, legs casuallycrossed, and with knobbly hands clasped be-hind its head, was a small, green-skinned de-mon. ‘Evening, Master,’ it said. ‘Just thoughtI’d—’ It noticed Asmira and assumed an ex-pression of extravagant surprise. ‘Ooo,you’ve got company. Nice. Well, don’t let mestop you.’ It settled itself back in its cloud.

‘What do you want, Gezeri?’ Khaba said.‘Don’t mind me. It can wait. You keep on

nattering.’The magician’s smile remained, but his

voice was dangerous. ‘Gezeri … ’

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‘Oh, very well.’ The little demon scratchedindustriously at an itch in its armpit. ‘Just tosay it’s all OK. The old girl’s cracked at last.She’s begun gathering the stuff, and—’

‘Enough!’ Khaba cried. ‘We do not need tobore our guest with tedious matters such asthis! I will talk to you later. Return to mytower at once!’

The demon rolled its eyes. ‘Can I? Really?Oh, how lovely.’ So saying, it clapped itshands and vanished.

Khaba touched Asmira on the arm. ‘Priest-ess, forgive me. If you will now accompanyme to my carpet, I will see to your comforton the short flight to Jerusalem.’

‘Thank you. You are very kind.’‘Ahem.’ There was a small cough to As-

mira’s left. The djinni Bartimaeus, who hadbeen waiting unremarked a short way off,had cleared his throat behind an upraisedhand.

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‘Slave,’ Khaba intoned, ‘you shall rejointhe others. Obey Nimshik and work withzeal! Priestess Cyrine, please …’

Bartimaeus gave a series of little knowingwinks and smiles. He bobbed and gestured.He coughed louder, looking pointedly in As-mira’s direction.

‘Are you still here!?’ Khaba thrust aside hiscloak and reached for a long-handled whiphanging in his belt.

Until that moment Asmira’s awe at thedemons’ arrival, and her excitement at theprospect of reaching Jerusalem, had driventhoughts of her original promise from hermind. But now, spurred on by the djinni’sevident desperation and also by a sudden re-vulsion for the magician standing at her side,she recalled her vow – and found she had toact. She had, after all, sworn it by the SunGod, and by her mother’s memory.

‘O great Khaba,’ she said. ‘A moment,please! This djinni, and that other who

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accompanied him, have performed a nobleservice to me. They saved my life, I do be-lieve, and I entreat that in return they maybe released from their bonds.’

She smiled encouragingly. Over in the lineof demons, the portly djinni took a few hesit-ant steps forward. Bartimaeus had frozenwhere he was, mid-supplication, eyes flickingfrom her to the magician and back again.

For the first time Khaba’s own smilefaltered; his hand stayed on his whip.‘Released …? Dear Priestess, you are an in-nocent indeed! It is the nature of all slaves toperform such services. They cannot andshould not expect freedom for every smallsuccess they have. Demons in particularmust be treated with a heavy hand.’

‘But these djinn—’ Asmira said.‘Believe me, they shall get their due

reward!’‘A reward which should surely be—’

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‘Priestess’ – the thin smile had returned; itwas wider than before – ‘dear Priestess, thisis not the time or place. Let us discuss suchthings later, when we are at leisure at thepalace. I promise I shall hear you out then.Will that satisfy you?’

Asmira nodded. ‘Thank you. I am grateful.’‘Good. Come then! Your transport awaits

…’Khaba gestured with a long, pale arm; As-

mira shouldered her leather bag and pro-ceeded with him towards the waiting carpet,and the silent demons moved back to letthem pass. Neither then, nor as the carpetascended into the air, did she look back atBartimaeus; indeed, in moments she had for-gotten all about him.

The distance to Jerusalem was forty miles,and would have taken the camel train a fur-ther day; Asmira and the magician coveredthe distance in little under an hour.

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The demon that transported them was outof sight beneath the carpet, though Asmiracould hear the creaking of its wings and,sometimes, muttered swear-words. It kept asmooth and level course high above thedarkening Earth, once or twice droppingawkwardly as it met a downdraught oversome ridge of hills. On such occasions, themagician cracked the whip over the edge ofthe carpet, spurring the slave to better effortswith fizzing yellow bands of light.

Some invisible protective shell encased thecarpet, for the wind that howled aroundthem in the darkness did not engulf themwith full force, and the carpet’s central sec-tion was spared the ice that crystallized onthe rearmost tassels. Even so, it was chill. As-mira sat with her bag upon her lap and themagician’s cloak around her shoulders, feel-ing the violent undulation of the frail clothbeneath, trying not to imagine the fall shouldthe demon decide to shrug them off. The

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magician sat alongside her, naked to thewaist, calm, cross-legged, staring ever for-wards. Somewhat to her relief he did notlook at her, nor attempt further conversation– this would have been impossible anyway,thanks to the roaring of the wind.

Night fell during their time aloft. Far to thewest Asmira saw the sun’s red tail stainingthe horizon, but the lands beneath wereblack below the stars. Far off gleamed thelights of settlements she could not havenamed; it seemed to Asmira that if she hadstretched out a hand she might have easilycupped them and snuffed them out.

And then at last Jerusalem was before her,clinging like an iridescent butterfly to thedark stem of its hill. Watch fires burned onthe crenellated ribbon of the outer walls,green witch-lights in the towers strung uponits length. Within its loop spread a thousandsmaller flames of humble homes and marketstalls, and high atop the summit, presiding

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over all, the mighty palace of King Solomonblazed with light – as big and magnificentand invulnerable as all the stories said. As-mira felt her mouth going dry; in the secretwarmth of her cloak, her hidden fingerstouched the dagger at her belt.

They descended steeply; a moment laterthere was a sudden beat of leather wings anda presence in the darkness beside them.Fires flared in a gaping throat, a gutturalvoice called out a challenge. Asmira’s skincrawled. Khaba scarcely looked up, but madea certain sign, and the watcher, satisfied, fellback into the night.

Asmira shrank down further into hercloak, ignoring the sickly-sweet mortuaryscent that clung to it. Truly was it said thatthe great king’s city was well protected –even in the air, even in the night. Queen Bal-kis, as in all things, had been quite right. Anarmy could not have entered Jerusalem, noryet an enemy magician.

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But she, Asmira, was doing precisely that.The Sun God was watching over her still.With his grace and blessing, she would sur-vive a little longer to do what must be done.

Her stomach lurched; her hair lifted highabove her. The carpet swung down towardsthe palace. As it crossed the walls, a blast ofhorns sounded from the palace ramparts,and all around came the thunderous concus-sions of Jerusalem’s gates closing fast for thenight.

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19

‘What did I tell you, Bartimaeus?’ Faquarlsaid. ‘Gone without a backward look.’

‘I know, I know.’‘Jumped up beside Khaba, quick as a wink,

and off they go together. And are we freed?’added Faquarl bitingly. ‘Look around you.’

‘She tried,’ I said.‘Well, she didn’t try very hard, did she?’‘No.’‘It was a cursory effort at best, wasn’t it?’‘Very.’‘So, don’t you wish we’d eaten her now?’

Faquarl said.

‘Yes!’ I cried. ‘All right, I do! There, I’vesaid it. Are you happy now? Good! Stop rub-bing it in.’

It was far too late to ask for that little fa-vour, of course. Faquarl had been rubbing itin for hours. During the entire clean-up op-eration he’d been on at me, in fact, evenwhile we were digging the burial pits, evenwhile we were piling up the camels and try-ing to get them to light. He’d never stoppedall this time. It had ruined my afternoon.

‘You see, humans stick together,’ Faquarlwas saying. ‘That’s how it’s always been andthat’s how it’ll always be. And if they stick to-gether, that means we have to do likewise.Never put faith in any human. Eat themwhile you can. Isn’t that right, lads?’ Therewas a chorus of hoots and cheers fromaround the tower-top. Faquarl nodded. ‘Theyunderstand what I’m saying, Bartimaeus, sowhy in Zeus’s name can’t you?’

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He lay back on the stonework idly, twirlinghis harpoon-tail. ‘She was good-looking in ascrawny sort of way,’ he added. ‘I wonder,Bartimaeus, whether you weren’t rather in-fluenced by appearances. That’s a sorry mis-take for a shape-shifting djinni to make, ifyou don’t mind my saying.’

A crude cacophony all around indicatedthat the other six imps agreed with his as-sessment. We were all of us in imp-form atthe time, partly because the flat roof ofKhaba’s tower was too compact to accom-modate any larger forms, but mainly becauseit reflected our pervading mood. There aretimes when you’re happy to manifest your-self as a noble lion, a stately warrior or achubby, smiling child; and other times – ifyou’re tired, irritable and stuck with thesmell of burned camel up your nose – whenonly a scowling, warty-bottomed imp will do.

‘You can all laugh,’ I growled. ‘I still thinkit was worth a try.’

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And oddly enough, I did, thougheverything Faquarl had said was absolutelytrue. Yes, she’d made only the feeblest effortto speak up on our behalf; yes, she’dpromptly swanned off with our loathsomemaster without a backward glance. But Icouldn’t entirely regret saving the Arabiangirl. Something about her stuck in my mind.

It wasn’t her looks, either, whateverFaquarl might suggest. It was more her air ofself-possession, the cool directness withwhich she’d talked with me. It was the wayshe listened too, still and watchful, takingeverything in. It was her evident interest inSolomon and his Ring. It was her vagueness

regarding Himyar geography.1 It was also(and this was not the least of it) the curiousway she’d managed to survive the ambush inthe gorge. No one else in that whole longcamel train was still alive, and they’d had

djinn-guards and everything.2

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It was all very well for the girl to claim thather dagger had warded off the utukku for afew crucial moments, but there was more toit than that. For a start, she’d left another inthe head of the Edomite magician, which ifnothing else proved she was no mean shot.Then there was the third dagger I found onthe other side of the road, wedged hilt-deepin soft sandstone. It had been thrown withconsiderable force, but what really inter-ested me about it was the very large essence-stain left on the rocks around. True, it wasfaint and blurry, but my discerning eye couldstill make out the spread-eagled silhouettesof arms and legs, horns and wings – even themouth left gaping in faint surprise.

Maybe it hadn’t been an utukku, but it hadcertainly been a djinni of some kind, and thegirl had dealt with it in no uncertain terms.

There was more to her than met the eye.Now, I knew a fair bit about priestesses.

Ever since I’d served the ferocious Old

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Priestess of Ur way back in my early years,helping her out in temple rituals, participat-ing (reluctantly) in her mass sacrifices ofdogs and servants, burying her at last in a

lead-lined tomb,3 I’d seen priestesses upclose and personal. And whether they werethe well-heeled Babylonian sort, or thescreeching maenads you found caperingaround Greek bushes, they were in general aformidable lot – high-level magicians whowere quick to blast a djinni with the essence-lance for the most footling indiscretions,such as accidentally toppling their ziggurator laughing at their thighs.

But one thing they weren’t well known forwas their personal prowess in the heat ofbattle.

South Arabian priestesses might be differ-ent, of course. I wasn’t an expert in the re-gion, and I simply couldn’t say. But whateverthe case, it was fair to say that this PriestessCyrine, supposedly of the distant kingdom of

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Himyar, was rather more intriguing than theaverage traveller coming to Jerusalem, and Iwas somehow glad I’d saved her.

Yet, as Faquarl had pointed out (at inter-minable length), my gesture hadn’t done us ablind bit of good. Nothing had changed.She’d gone, we were slaves, and the eternal

stars above us still shone coldly down.4

*

The moon rose higher, and the murmur onthe streets below grew slowly stilled. Withthe gates of the city long since closed, thenight markets were shutting now, and thepeople of Jerusalem trudged home to rest,recuperate and renew the fabric of theirlives. Oil lamps flickered in the windows, So-lomon’s imp-lights illuminated each corner,and from across the mosaic of rooftop ovensdrifted the odours of mutton, garlic and friedlentils, all of which smelled a good deal bet-ter than burned camel.

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High on Khaba’s tower the circle of impshad finished whooping, jeering and flickingtheir tails in my direction, and were consid-ering moving on to a discussion of the influ-ence of religion on regional politics in theeast Mediterranean littoral, when there wasan odd squeaking sound in our midst.

‘Nimshik, have you been at the pickledmites again?’

‘No! That wasn’t me!’For once the truth of his words was borne

out by the sight of a heavy flagstone tiltingupwards in the centre of the roof. From be-neath appeared a pair of gleaming eyes, anose like an unripe aubergine, and the dis-tasteful upper portions of the foliot Gezeri,who squinted evilly all around.

‘Bartimaeus and Faquarl!’ he called. ‘Looklively! You’re wanted.’

Neither of us moved an inch. ‘Wantedwhere?’ I said. ‘And by whom?’

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‘Oh, by His Royal Majesty King Solomonthe Great, of course,’ the foliot said, leaninghis bony elbows casually on the roof. ‘Hewishes you to attend him in his privateapartments in order to thank you personallyfor your sterling work today.’

Faquarl and I shuffled at once into moreattentive positions. ‘Really?’

‘Noooooo, of course not, you idiots!’ thefoliot cried. ‘What would Solomon care aboutyou? It’s our master, Khaba the Cruel, whatwants you. Who else would it be? And,’ hewent on cheerfully, ‘he don’t want you in thesummoning room neither, but down in thevaults below the tower. So it don’t look goodfor either of you, does it?’ he leered. ‘There’snot many goes down there comes swiftly upagain.’

An uncomfortable silence fell upon therooftop. Faquarl and I looked at each other.The other djinn, caught between horror atthe implications and immense relief that it

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wasn’t them, studied their claws intently, orconsidered the stars, or began industriouslypicking at bits of lichen between the flag-stones. None of them wanted to catch oureyes.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Gezericried. ‘Step to it, the pair of you!’

Faquarl and I rose, ducked stiffly beneaththe flagstone, and with the eager energy oftwo criminals shuffling to the gallows, set offdown the stairs. Behind us, Gezeri loweredthe stone once more, and we were left indarkness.

Khaba’s tower, being one of the tallest in Jer-usalem, was composed of many levels. Theexterior was whitewashed and on most daysblazed with light; the interior, mirroring itsowner’s personality, was altogether less radi-ant. Hitherto, the only bit I’d seen first-handwas the magician’s summoning room on oneof the upper floors – we passed this almostimmediately as we spiralled ever

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downwards, me first, Faquarl next, Gezeri’sbig flat feet slapping on the stones behind.Other doors went by, then a broad passagethat presumably led to the ground-floor en-trance, and still we descended into the Earth.

Faquarl and I didn’t say much as we went.Our thoughts had strayed to the torturedspirit we’d seen in Khaba’s sphere, a ruinedthing kept in the vaults below the tower.

Now, perhaps, we were to join it.I spoke with false heartiness over my

shoulder. ‘No need to worry, Faquarl! Wedealt with the bandits well today – evenKhaba must see that!’

‘Whenever I’m lumped in with you, Iworry,’ Faquarl growled. ‘That’s all there is toit.’

Down, down, down the staircase curled,and despite my best intentions, my jollitydidn’t stick. Maybe it was the sour and mustyair, maybe it was the louring darkness,maybe it was the candles flickering in the

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mummified grasp of severed hands that hadbeen fixed on spikes at intervals along thewalls, maybe it was my imagination – but Ifelt a definite unease as I progressed. Andthen the staircase ended suddenly before anopen doorway of black granite, throughwhich a dim blue-green light pulsed steadily,carrying with it certain sounds. Faquarl and Istopped dead, our essence crawling.

‘In there,’ Gezeri said. ‘He’s waiting.’There was nothing for it. The two imps

squared their knobbly shoulders, steppedforward and entered Khaba’s vaults.

No doubt, if we’d had the time and the in-clination, there would have been many curi-osities to observe in that dreadful place. Themagician clearly spent much time there, andhad invested great effort in making himselffeel at home. The vast carved stones of thefloor, walls and ceiling were of Egyptianstyle, and so were the squat, rather bulb-shaped columns that held the ceiling blocks

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in place. Add in the carvings of papyrusflowers at the topmost points of every pillarand the clinging smells of incense andnatron, and we could have been in one of thecatacombs beneath the Karnak temples,rather than somewhere deep below Jerus-alem’s busy hill.

Khaba had kitted out his workroom withtools and magical adjuncts in great profu-sion, as well as an impressive pile of scrollsand tablets looted from civilizations alreadygone. But what really caught the eye as weentered was neither the imposing décor, norall this paraphernalia, but the evidence ofthis man’s more private hobbies.

He was interested in death.There were a great many bones piled all

about.There was a cabinet of skulls.There was a rack of mummies – some

clearly ancient, others very new.

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There was a long low table bearing sharpmetal tools, and little jars, and pots of pastesand unguents, and a rather bloody cloth.

There was a mummification pit newlyfilled with sand.

And, for when he’d finished fiddling aboutwith dead humans, and wanted a differentkind of plaything, there were the essence-cages too. These were arranged in neat rowsin the far corner of the vault. Some wereroughly squared, others circular or bulb-shaped, and on the lower planes they seemedto be made of iron mesh, which by itself was

bad enough.5But on the higher planes theirfull viciousness was revealed, since each wasadditionally formed of solid, essence-frayingforce-lines that kept their agonized occu-pants inside. It was from here that the noisescame – low twitterings and pleadings, occa-sional feeble cries, snatches of language thespeakers could no longer properly recall.

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Faquarl and I stood very still, contemplat-ing Gezeri’s words.

There’s not many goes down there comesswiftly up again.

A voice spoke from the depths of the room,a voice of sand and dust. ‘Slaves, attend tome.’

The two imps stumbled forward with suchpainful reluctance you’d have thought wehad sharp stones shoved down our loin-

cloths.6

In the centre of the vault, midway betweenfour columns, was a raised circle in the floor.The circle had a rim of pink-white lapislazuli, around which Egyptian hieroglyphsspelled out the five master-words of Binding.Within the circle a pentacle of black onyxhad been laid. Some short way off, within asmaller circle, stood a lectern made of ivoryand, behind it, hunched like a vulture besideits feast, the magician.

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He waited as we approached. Five candleshad been set around the margins of theraised circle, burning with black flames.

Khaba’s wet eyes reflected the evil light.About his feet his shadow pooled like a form-less thing.

Faquarl and I scuffled to a halt. We raisedour heads defiantly.

Our master spoke. ‘Faquarl of Mycenae?Bartimaeus of Uruk?’

We nodded.‘I’m going to have to set you free.’The two imps blinked. We stared at the

magician.His long grey fingers caressed the lectern;

curling nails tapped upon the ivory. ‘It is notwhat I would have wished, foul slaves thatyou are. You carried out your deeds todaysolely because of my orders, therefore youdeserve no credit. However, the travellerwhom you saved – a girl who is as ignorantof your vile natures as she is soft and

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innocent in person’ – the gleaming eyesgazed across at us; beyond the pillars thecaptives in the essence-cages sighed andcrooned – ‘this foolish girl has urged me todismiss you from my service. She was mostpersistent.’ Khaba drew his thin lips tight to-gether. ‘In the end I agreed to her request,and since she is my guest and I have sworn itbefore great Ra himself, it is a sacred vow.Consequently, much against my better judge-ment, I am going to give you your justreward.’

There was a pause while Faquarl and Itook in the implications of this, ran throughthe subtleties and nuances of the words, andcontinued to look up at the magician with ex-

pressions of watchful doubt.7

Khaba made a dull, dry noise in the backof his throat. ‘Why so hesitant, slaves? Thedjinni Faquarl shall be the first to leave myservice. Step up, if you will.’

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He made an expansive gesture towards thecircle. The two imps considered it once moreand found no obvious traps on any of theplanes. ‘Seems genuine,’ I muttered.

Faquarl shrugged. ‘We’ll soon see. So, Bar-timaeus, one way or another, this is farewell.May it be a thousand years before we meetagain!’

‘Why not make it two?’ I said. ‘But first,before you go, I want you to admit one thing.I was right, wasn’t I?’

‘About the girl?’ Faquarl blew out hischeeks. ‘Well … perhaps you were, but thatdoesn’t change my opinion. Humans are foreating, and you’re too soft.’

I grinned. ‘You’re just jealous that it wasmy piercing intelligence that got us freed.With just one look, I could clearly see thatCyrine—’

‘Cyrine? You’re on first-name terms now?’Faquarl shook his bulbous head. ‘You’ll bethe death of me, Bartimaeus, you really will!

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Once upon a time you sowed destruction andwoe upon kings and commoners alike. Youwere a djinni of terror and of legend. Thesedays, chatting up girls is all you’re good for –which I think’s a crying shame. Don’t botherto deny it. You know it’s true.’ With that, hehopped up onto the pentacle, causing thecandles’ black flames to hop and judder.‘Right,’ he said to the magician. ‘I’m ready.Goodbye, Bartimaeus. Think about what Isaid.’

And off he went. No sooner was he in posi-tion than the magician cleared his throat andspoke the Dismissal. It was an Egyptian vari-ant of the pithy Sumerian original and there-fore a bit long and flowery for my liking, buthard as I listened I could hear nothing unto-ward. Faquarl’s response was everything thatcould be asked of it too. As the words fin-ished and the bonds broke, the imp in thecircle gave a glad cry, and with a great leap

upwards vanished from the world.8 There

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was a faint reverberation, a moaning fromthe essence-cages, and silence.

Faquarl was gone. Faquarl was free.I didn’t need to see more. With a vigorous

spring the imp jumped into the circle. Paus-ing only to make an insulting gesture in thedirection of Gezeri, who was scowling dis-tantly in the shadows, I dusted myself down,set my brow-crest at a jaunty angle andturned to face the magician.

‘Right,’ I called. ‘I’m ready.’Khaba had been consulting a papyrus on

his lectern. He seemed distracted. ‘Ah, yes,Bartimaeus … a moment.’

I settled myself into an even more carefreeposture, bandy legs spaced wide, paws nicelytucked on hips, head back, chins jutting for-ward. I waited.

‘Ready when you are,’ I said.The magician did not look up. ‘Yes, yes …’I shifted position again, folding my arms

in resolute fashion. I considered spacing my

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legs even further apart, but decided againstit. ‘Still here,’ I said.

Khaba’s head jerked up; his eyes shonelike a giant spider’s in the blue-green dusk.‘The wording is correct,’ he said, in tones ofdriest satisfaction. ‘The procedure shouldsucceed …’

I coughed politely. ‘I’m so glad,’ I said. ‘Ifyou could just dismiss me now, you’ll be ableto get back to work on … whatever it is you’redoing …’ My voice kind of drifted off at thispoint. I didn’t like the gleam in those big,pale eyes.

He was doing that thin-lipped-smile thingtoo, leaning forward, nails gripping thelectern as if he wished to cut the ivorythrough. ‘Bartimaeus of Uruk,’ he said softly,‘you can scarcely imagine that after all theceaseless trouble you have caused me, aftersetting King Solomon himself against me sothat I was cast out into the desert, after as-saulting poor Gezeri in the quarry, after your

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endless litany of disobedience and cheek –you can scarcely imagine that, after all that, Ishould be disposed to simply let you go.’

Put like that, I suppose it would have beena bit surprising. ‘But the bandits,’ I began. ‘Itwas thanks to me that—’

‘Without you,’ the magician said, ‘theywould not have been my concern at all.’

This was admittedly true. ‘All right,’ I said,‘but what about the priestess? You just saidthat—’

‘Ah, yes, the charming Cyrine,’ Khabasmiled, ‘who fondly believes that a simplegirl from some savage backwater can waltzstraight in to talk with Solomon. Tonight shewill share a banquet in my company and bebeguiled by the wonders of the palace; to-morrow, perhaps, if Solomon is busy and hasno time to spare, I might persuade her totake a walk with me. Perhaps she will comehere. Perhaps she will forget her diplomaticmission. Who can tell? And yes, slave, I

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promised her that you would leave my ser-vice, and so you shall. But in recompense forthe injuries you have done me, you will dome one last favour in return.’

His hand rummaged in his robes, drewforth something white and shining, and heldit up to show me. It was a bottle. A short,roundish bottle, perhaps the size of a child’sfist. It was made of thick clear crystal, brightand shiny and multi-faceted, and was lightlystudded with glass flowers.

‘Like it?’ the magician said. ‘Egyptian rockcrystal. I found it in a tomb.’

I considered it. ‘Those flowers are a bitkitsch.’

‘Mmm. Styles in the third dynasty were alittle basic,’ Khaba agreed. ‘Still, don’t worryyourself, Bartimaeus. You won’t have to lookat them, because you’re going to be on theinside. This bottle,’ he said, angling it so thefacets flashed, ‘will be your home.’

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My essence recoiled. The tiny round open-ing of the bottle’s mouth gaped blackly likean open grave. I cleared my throat painfully.‘It’s a bit small …’

‘The spell of Indefinite Confinement,’Khaba said, ‘is a procedure in which I havetaken great interest. As you will doubtlessknow, Bartimaeus, it is in effect a Dismissal,but one that forces the demon into somephysical prison instead of allowing it back toits own dimension. These cages here’ – hegestured behind him at the glowing mon-strosities stacked beyond the pillars – ‘arefilled with past servants I have “dismissed”in just this way. I would do the same withyou, but this bottle will be more useful.When you are sealed in, I will present you toKing Solomon as a gift, a token of my loyalty,a small addition to the curiosities of his col-lection. I shall call it, I think, “The MightyCaptive”, or some such twaddle. It will ap-peal to his primitive tastes. Perhaps, when

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his jugglers bore him, he will occasionallyglance at your distorted features through theglass; perhaps he will simply store it with hisother trinkets and never pick it up again.’The magician shrugged. ‘But I think it mightbe a hundred years or more before someonebreaks the seal and sets you free. Ample timein any case, as your essence slowly festers,for you to regret your wicked insolence tome.’

My fury swelled; I took a step forward inmy circle.

‘Come, come,’ Khaba said. ‘By the terms ofyour summoning you are prevented fromharming me. And even if you were able, itwould not be wise, little djinni. I am not un-protected, as perhaps you know.’

He clicked his fingers. The sounds fromthe essence-cages went abruptly silent.

At Khaba’s back his shadow shifted off thefloor. Up it curled, like a furling scroll, high,high, taller than the magician, a paper-thin

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wisp of darkness without features of anykind. It rose until its flat black head brushedagainst the stone blocks of the ceiling, andthe magician was like a doll beneath itsshade. And now it spread its flat black arms,wide, wide, wide as the vault itself, and bentthem to encircle me.

1 The town of Zafar is in Himyar, as I knew well, having

flown over it several times on my trips to collect roc’s eggs

for assorted pharaohs. It’s not a ‘rock city’, though, but just

your usual provincial town, as the girl should definitely have

known.2 This is called irony. Djinn-guards aren’t much cop, if

truth be known, being little more than a few flakes of silver

attached with cat-gut to a wickerwork frame. Desert peoples

wave them about at a moment’s notice to ward off evil influ-

ence, and I suppose a particularly feeble spirit might take

the hint and leg it. But as far as warding off real djinn is

concerned, they’re about as effective as a chocolate

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toothbrush. You just keep away from the silver and brain

the owner with a rock or something.3 Despite her protests, it has to be said.4 In its profound infinity the canopy of stars echoes the

measureless expanse of the Other Place. On clear nights

many spirits are often found sitting on mountain crests or

palace rooftops, staring at the heavens. Others fly fast and

high, swooping and circling, so the tumbling lights begin to

resemble the fluid wonder of our home … I sometimes used

to do this, back in the days of Ur, but the melancholy soon

affected me. Now, more often, I avert my eyes.5 Like silver, iron repels all spirits, and burns our es-

sence if we touch it. Most Egyptian magicians wore iron

ankhs about their necks as a basic protection. Not Khaba,

though. He had something else.6 Incidentally this was an actual punishment meted out

by the Xan people of East Africa to corrupt leaders and

bogus priests. With their cloths nicely filled, they were

forced to crouch in a barrel, which was promptly rolled

down a hill to the riotous accompaniment of shekere gourds

and drums. I enjoyed my association with the Xan. They

lived life to the full.

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7 We were old hands, you see, well aware of the latent

ambiguities contained in even the most blandly reassuring

sentence. Dismissing us sounded good, naturally, but it

needed clarification; and as for us getting our ‘just reward’

… in the mouth of someone like Khaba, that phrase was al-

most an overt threat.8 Just for a moment, as his essence shrugged off Earth’s

limitations and became susceptible to the infinite possibilit-

ies of the Other Place, seven Faquarls were visible across the

planes, each one in a slightly different place. It was an

amazing sight, but I didn’t look too closely. One Faquarl is

quite enough.

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20

‘Lost your voice, Bartimaeus?’ Khaba said.‘That’s not like you.’

It was true. I’d not said much. I was toobusy looking all about me, coolly assessingmy predicament. The downsides, certainly,were clear enough. I was deep undergroundin the stronghold of a wicked magician,cornered in my circle by the questing fingersof his giant shadow-slave. In a moment ortwo I was to be compressed into a rathertawdry bottle and turned into a cheapsideshow attraction, possibly for all eternity.Those were the downsides. As for the upsides…

Well, I couldn’t see any just yet.But one thing was for sure. If I was going

to meet a horrid fate, I wasn’t going to do itin the form of a squat, plump-stomachedimp. Drawing myself up, I changed, grew,became a tall and elegant young man withshining wings upon my back; I looked no dif-ferent, even down to the pale-blue nets ofveins running through my slender wrists,from when I’d been Gilgamesh’s spear-bear-er in Sumer, so many centuries before.

It certainly made me feel better. But it didlittle more than that.

‘Mmm, delightful,’ Khaba said. ‘It’ll lookall the more amusing when you’re com-pressed at speed through this little hole.Sadly I shan’t be here to see it. Ammet …’

Without a glance at the great black columnswaying at his back, Khaba held up the crys-tal bottle. At once a wispy arm, whose finger-tips had been hovering close beside my neck,shrank back, bent like a reed stem, then,

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with probing deftness, plucked the bottlefrom the magician’s hand and raised it highinto the air.

‘The Indefinite Confinement spell,’ Khabasaid, tapping the papyrus strip upon thelectern, ‘is long and arduous, and I do nothave time to work it now. But Ammet herecan speak it for me.’ He looked up then, andfrom its height a shadow-head shaped justlike his own bent down to meet him. ‘DearAmmet, the hour of the banquet approachesfast, and since I have a delightful young wo-man to meet, up at the palace, I must delayno longer. Finish our business here, as wediscussed. I have set out the exact words; youwill find them appropriate to a djinni of thislevel. When all is done and Bartimaeus is in-terred, seal the bottle with molten lead andmark it with the usual runes. Once it hascooled, bring it up to me. Gezeri and I will bein the Magicians’ Hall.’

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So saying – and without another word orbackward glance – Khaba stepped out of hiscircle and walked away among the columns.The foliot, with a carefree wave in my direc-tion, padded after him. The shadow stayedstanding where it was. For a moment theends of its long, tapering legs remainedjoined to the magician’s heels, stretching outlonger, longer along the floor. At last, as ifreluctantly, and with a faint, wet rendingsound, they peeled away. The magician wenton walking. Two narrow strips like midnightstreams pooled back across the stones andflowed up into the legs, where they werereabsorbed.

A deep reverberation sounded; the granitedoor was closed. Khaba had gone. Across thevault his shadow stood silent, watching me.

And then – the shadow hadn’t moved, andnothing on any of the planes had altered – agreat force struck me like a raging wind. Itblew me back across the circle. I landed flat

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upon my wings, spinning with the impact ofthe blast, which did not drop or slacken.

With some difficulty I struggled to a sittingposition, trying to clear my head, proddingmy essence tentatively. All was still in work-ing order, which meant that the fearsomeimpact hadn’t been an attack. The truth, ifanything, was more alarming still. Whatevercloaking mechanism the shadow had em-ployed while being attached to the magicianhad simply been removed. The planes aboutme shuddered with the force of its proximity.Its power beat upon me like cold heat.

That told me what I already knew: that theentity I faced was great indeed.

Slowly, painfully, I got to my feet, and stillthe shadow watched me.

Though now without its concealing Veil, itdisplayed no different guise. It still boreKhaba’s shape faithfully, if rather larger thanthe original. As I watched, it folded its arms,crossed one leg loosely above the other.

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Where its limbs bent, it completely disap-peared from view, for it had no thickness.Even such darkness as it possessed wasgauzy and see-through, like somethingwoven from black webbing. On the lowerplanes it almost merged into the chamber’snatural dimness; on the higher ones it grewgradually more substantial, until on the sev-enth its outline was sharp and well defined.

The head – a smooth-sided node of grainyblackness – had tilted slightly to one side.Featureless as it was, it held the suggestionof keen attention. The body swayed a little,like a mesmerist’s snake rising from its bas-ket. Now that they were separated from themagician, its legs narrowed to two sharppoints. It had no feet at all.

‘What are you?’ I said.It had no ears, but heard me; no mouth,

and yet it spoke.‘I am Ammet.’ The voice was soft as tomb-

dust shifting. ‘I am a marid.’

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So that’s what he was. A marid! Well – it

could have been worse.1

The spear-bearer swallowed; and by anembarrassing quirk of acoustics the painfulgulping sound echoed back and forth acrossthe vaults, getting louder with each rebound.The shadow waited. From the essence-cagesbeyond the columns there was nothing butwatchful silence.

The smile I gave when all was still waspossibly a trifle forced; nevertheless I gave it,and bowed low. ‘Lord Ammet,’ I said, ‘thepleasure is mine. I have observed you won-deringly from afar, and am glad to speakwith you at last in private. We have much todiscuss.’

The shadow said nothing; it appeared tobe consulting the papyrus. A long gauzy armstole forward and placed the crystal bottle inthe centre of the circle close beside my feet.

I shuffled away a bit, and cleared mythroat. ‘As I say, we have much to discuss

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before we do anything hasty. First of all, letme make my position clear. I acknowledgeyou as a mighty spirit and I bow to yourpower. In no way can I match your qualit-

ies.’2

This was, of course, exactly the sort ofslavish bootlicking I’d criticized the girl forearlier that afternoon, but I was in no moodfor quibbling right now. The idea of beingtrapped for decades in the crystal bottle wasunappealing in the extreme, and I’d have giv-en the shadow a scented massage if I thoughtit would save my skin.

But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Ithought I glimpsed a possible way out.

‘However, great as you are, and humble asI am,’ I went on, ‘in one aspect we are alike,are we not? For we are both enslaved to thisvile Khaba, a man depraved even by thestandards of magicians. Look around you!See what wicked things he does to spirits inhis power. Listen to the sighs and moans that

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fill this unhappy vault! These essence-cagesare an abomination!’

The shadow had looked up at me sharplyduring this fine oration. I paused, giving it achance to agree with me here, but it onlycontinued its snake-like swaying from side toside, and said nothing.

‘Now of course you must obey Khaba’scommands,’ I said. ‘I understand that. Youare enslaved just as much as I. But beforeyou act to confine me in this bottle, considerone thing. My prospective fate is terrible in-deed – but is yours truly any better? Yes, Iwill be held captive, but so shall you, forwhen the magician returns, you will onceagain slip beneath his feet and be forced totrail behind him in the dirt and dust. Khabatreads upon you daily as he goes! This istreatment that would be demeaning for animp, let alone a glorious marid. ConsiderGezeri,’ I continued, warming to my theme,‘a grotesque and squalid foliot, who

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luxuriates foully in his cloud while you aredragged below him among the stones! So-mething is wrong here, friend Ammet. Thisis a perverse situation, as all can see, and wemust remedy it together.’

Hard as it generally is to analyse the ex-pression of a thing without facial features,the shadow did appear to be deep in thought.Growing in confidence, I sidled forth to-wards the edge of the obsidian circle, to-wards the shadow and away from the crystalbottle.

‘So, let us talk openly of our joint predica-ment,’ I concluded earnestly. ‘Perhaps, if weexplore the exact wording of your charge, wemight find some way to overcome its power.With luck I will be saved, you will be freed,and we will achieve our master’s downfall!’

I took a break here, not because I was outof breath (I don’t breathe), nor because I’drun out of glib platitudes (of which I’ve aninfinite supply), but because I was perplexed

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and frustrated by the shadow’s continued si-lence. Nothing I’d said seemed in any wayunreasonable, yet still the towering form re-mained inscrutable, just swaying to and fro.

The young man’s handsome face drewclose to the shadow’s. I was going for ‘impas-sioned and confidential’ here, with a side or-der of ‘idealistic fervour’. ‘My comradeFaquarl has a maxim,’ I cried. ‘Only togethercan we spirits hope to defeat the wickednessof men! So, let us prove the truth of this,good Ammet. Let us work together and find aloophole in your summoning that we mightexploit. Then, before the day is out, we shallkill our enemy, crack his bones and sup long

upon his marrow!’3

My finale reverberated between the pillarsand set the imp-lights twinkling. Still theshadow said nothing, but its fibres darkened,as if with some strong and unexpressed emo-tion. This might have been good … or, in allhonesty, it might have been bad.

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I drew back a tad. ‘Maybe the marrow bit’snot to your taste,’ I said hastily, ‘but you’llsurely share the sentiment. Come, Ammet,my friend and fellow slave, what do you say?’

And now, finally, the shadow stirred.Swaying out from behind the lectern, it drif-ted slowly forth.

‘Yes …’ it whispered. ‘Yes, I am a slave …’The handsome young man, who’d really

been on tenterhooks, though he was tryinghard not to show it, gave a gasp of relief.‘Good! That’s right! Well done. Now we—’

‘I am a slave who loves his master.’There was a pause. ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘your

voice was just a trifle too sinister for me tocatch there. For all the world, I thought yousaid—’

‘I love my master.’Now it was my turn to do the silent thing. I

stepped carefully backwards, step by step,and the shadow bore down on me.

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‘We are talking about the same master,aren’t we?’ I began hesitantly. ‘Khaba? Bald,Egyptian, ugly? Eyes like wet stains on adirty rag …? Surely not. Oh. We are.’

A slender arm of black lace-like threadshad suddenly extended; tapering fingersgrasped me by the throat, held me chokedand dangling above the ground. Without ef-fort, they crushed my neck as thin as a lotusstalk, so that the handsome youth’s eyesbulged, my head swelled, my feet balloonedin size.

Now the shadow’s arm raised up, lifted mehigh, close to its silhouetted head. Still itsmimicry of Khaba was perfect – the shape,the angle, everything.

‘Little djinni,’ the shadow whispered, ‘letme tell you something about me.’

‘Yes,’ I croaked, ‘please do.’‘You should know,’ Ammet said, ‘that I

have served dear Khaba for many years, eversince he was a pale, thin youth working in

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the vaults below the Karnak temples. I wasthe first great spirit that he summoned,quietly and in secret, in defiance of the sac-

red rules of the priesthood.4 I was with himas he learned his power, as he waxed instrength; I stood at his hand as he strangledthe high priest Weneg beside his altar andtook the scrying stone he still wears. Greatalready was my master’s influence in Egyptas he came of age, and it could have beenmuch greater. Before long, he would havebent the very pharaohs to his will.’

‘This is jolly interesting,’ I said, throughswollen lips, ‘but it’s hard to hear you withhalf my essence squashed inside my head. Ifyou could just relax your hold a little—?’

‘But Egypt’s glories are long since faded,’the shadow said, its hold, if anything, tight-ening on my neck. ‘And Jerusalem is wherethe light shines now, for here is Solomon andhis Ring. So my master came here to servebefore the throne – and one day, which will

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come soon, to do more than serve. Andthroughout these years of quiet waiting, Ihave been with him at his side.’

The marid’s aura pounded on my essence.Light blazed before my eyes at random. Thelilting voice seemed loud, then soft, thenloud again. And still the grip was tightened.

‘And yes, Bartimaeus, as you say, I havebeen his slave throughout. But I have been sowillingly, for Khaba’s ambitions are my own,his pleasures my pleasure. Khaba learnedthis early, for I helped him with his experi-ments in his private chambers, and toyed toowith the captives he brought in. We are ofone nature, he and I … I’m sorry, did yousqueak?’

I probably had. I was in danger of losingconsciousness now. I could scarcely graspwhat was being said.

With a casual flick the shadow released itshold on me, sent me spinning away to the

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centre of the circle. I landed face down onthe cold onyx, skidded briefly and lay still.

‘In short,’ the voice went on, ‘do not thinkto impose your petty assumptions upon me.Khaba trusts me. I trust him. In fact you maybe interested to learn that when he summonsme, he no longer binds me with cruel word-bonds, but lifts me up and lets me walk be-hind him as his friend and counsellor, for ofall living things on Earth, I am his only com-panion.’ There was pride in the voice, im-measurable satisfaction. ‘He allows me cer-tain freedoms,’ the marid said, ‘providedthey are to his taste. Sometimes, indeed, Itake things into my own hands. Do you re-member our fleeting encounter in thedesert? I followed you then of my own freewill, full of wrath for the injury you had donemy beloved master. Had Faquarl not arrivedI should surely have devoured you on the in-stant, as I still would gladly do. But sweetKhaba has ordained a different fate for you,

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and so it must be. Sit up, then,’ the shadowordered, ‘and let me carry out this task myfriend has set me. Taste deeply of the air ofthis vault, for it is the last you will experiencefor many years.’

There was a rustling sound as Ammet con-sidered the instructions on the papyrus sheetonce more. In the centre of the circle I raisedmyself painfully by shaking arms, got slowlyto my feet, stooping at first as my essence re-covered from its wounds.

I straightened. I raised my head. My hairhung loose about my face; behind the mattedfronds my eyes gleamed yellow in the dim-ness of the room.

‘You know,’ I said huskily, ‘I’ve got lowstandards, myself. And sometimes I evenhave trouble meeting them. But torturingother spirits? Keeping them captive? That’snew. I’ve never even heard of that before.’ Iraised a hand and brushed away a smear ofessence that was trickling from my nose.

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‘And the amazing thing is,’ I went on, ‘that’snot the worst of it. That’s not your realcrime.’ I flicked a ringlet of hair back behinda handsome ear, dropped my hands ready atmy sides. ‘You love your master. You loveyour master. How could any spirit descendto that?’

So saying, I lifted both hands and shot aDetonation of maximum power straightthrough the shadow and into the columnbehind.

Ammet gave a cry. For an instant his bodyfractured into many shards and pieces thatoverlapped and contradicted one another,like ribbons layered, lacking depth. Then hepulled himself back into shape, and was ex-actly as before.

Two scarlet Spasms erupted from the flail-ing fingers. One looped high, the other low;both raked across the surface of the circle,cracking the stonework, sending a rain ofsplinters flying.

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But the young man was gone. I’d flappedmy wings and was away among the columns.

‘Loving your master?’ I called over myshoulder. ‘Now that’s mad.’

There was a roar behind me. ‘You can’t es-cape, Bartimaeus! The vault is sealed.’

‘Oh, who said anything about escaping?’For in truth, I knew that I was doomed. I

was doomed in a dozen ways. The marid wastoo strong for me to fight, too quick to evade.And even if by some miracle I managed toescape him and leave the vault, even if I fledas far off as the summit of Mount Lebanon,Khaba would still have been my master and Ihis servant, under his power, to be calledback at his whim like a cringing dog upon aleash. His control over me was such that myConfinement, if he wished it, was inevitable.There wasn’t any point worrying about that.

But there was one little thing I wanted todo before the inevitable occurred.

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‘He loves his master …’ Angling lowbetween the columns, I gave full vent to myrevulsion. From my flexing hands volleys offiery bolts issued with the rat-a-tat rapidityof arrows in an Assyrian attack, scalding theair as they struck their targets. Tablesshattered, knives and pincers burst andbubbled, mummy pits exploded in sand andflame. ‘Loves his master …’ I snarled, des-troying a cabinet of bones, turning a price-less set of cuneiform tablets into molten

dust.5 ‘I ask you. How could any spirit resortto that?’

‘Bartimaeus – you dare to do this! I shallcause you such pain …’ The outraged whisperechoed all around the maze of columns.Somewhere, red light flared. A fizzing Spasmbounced off the ceiling, zigzagged betweenpillars, and struck glancingly against mymidriff, sending me tumbling to the floor ina shower of sparkling essence. The missile

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continued on its way, smashed into the walland ignited a rack of mummies.

‘What a shame,’ I called, picking myself upwith difficulty. ‘That looked like an almostcomplete set. He had one from every dynastythere.’

The shadow, reverting to type, said noth-ing. I hobbled behind a column, drew mywings in close, and waited.

Silence. No further attacks came. Ammethad evidently decided to limit the damage asbest he could.

I waited. By and by I peeped round thecolumn. The light in the vault was dim.Several blue-green imp-lights in the ceilingflickered on and off; some had been des-troyed by our exchange of magical fires.Smoke rose from fissures in the floor. Fromholes in the walls cascaded burning debris –large lumps, small ones, showers of littlescarlet sparks that dwindled, flickered andwent out.

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I waited.Then, beyond the smoke, I saw the dark,

thin shape come creeping among the pillars,like a shark among shallows, blunt headmoving swiftly from side to side.

Once he got close, it would all be over.I raised my little finger, sent a tiny little

Pulse arcing high, close to the ceiling,through the smoke and down on the oppositeside of the vault. It struck a stone benchthere with a little clinking sound.

The shadow’s head tilted; quick asthought, it darted towards the noise. Almostas quickly, I flew like an arrow in the oppos-ite direction, keeping close beside the wall.

And there, ahead of me: the essence-cages,dozens upon dozens of them, the sickly,white-green radiance of their force-linesgleaming in the dimness like fungus on a rot-ten tree. If I’d had the time I would havebroken them one by one, so as to inflict theleast harm on the fragile things inside. But I

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had no time, and would get no other chance.So I sent out two Convulsions, white and yel-low bands of fire that expanded into cones ofwhirling force; that snatched up the cages,twirled them high, snapped their force-lines,broke the iron bars asunder.

I let the magic cease; the cages fell uponthe floor. Some shattered completely; otherscracked like eggshells. They lay one againstthe other in a dark, smouldering tumble, andnothing in them stirred.

A presence loomed behind me. Ribbon fin-gers closed upon my neck.

‘Ah, Bartimaeus,’ the shadow whispered.‘What have you done?’

‘You’re too late,’ I gasped. ‘Too late.’And so he was. All across the cages there

was a glimmering and a stirring. Pale whitelight shone at every broken aperture, fainterthan the force-lines, but sweet and pure. Andwithin each light came movement, of cap-tives shaking off their twisted, tortured

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forms, shaking off the cruelties of the Earth.Out from every cage they slipped, little coilsand trails of shining essence that twisted upand outwards, flared briefly and were gone.

The last one vanished, its hopeful lightwinked out; and darkness descended on thecages, the shadow, and on me.

I stood in that darkness, smiling.Not for long, admittedly. With a howl, the

shadow seized me, and there came upon mesuch a pummelling, such a buffeting, such aceaseless, rending whirl of pain that mysenses were fast benumbed and my mind re-treated a little from the world. So it was thatI scarcely heard the eventual speaking of theincantation; scarcely felt the forced compres-sion of what little of my essence now re-mained; scarcely sensed the confines of mycrystal prison press tight about me; scarcelyeven understood, as hot lead sealed the aper-ture above me and cruel spells bound thebottle all around, that Khaba’s curse upon

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me had been completed and my terrible en-tombment was now begun.

1 Actually, it couldn’t really. Greater beings than marids

do exist, and occasionally appear on Earth to spread chaos

and dismay, but they are invariably summoned by cabals of

over-ambitious or downright mad magicians. Lone indi-

viduals like Khaba (ambitious and mad as he undoubtedly

was) couldn’t have such servants in their power; a marid,

however, was manageable, just about. The fact that, in addi-

tion to Ammet, Khaba had eight djinn and several odds and

sods like Gezeri under his control illustrated just how potent

he was. Without his Ring, Solomon would have been

severely threatened.2 Sycophantic, sickening – and unfortunately true.

Here’s how it stands if you’re a middle-ranking djinni

(fourth level, since you’re asking). You can be just as swash-

buckling as you like and cavalier with it; you can scrap with

other djinn (not to mention foliots and imps) with relative

impunity, blasting them with spells to your heart’s content

and scorching their bottoms with Infernos as they run away.

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You can take on afrits, too, at a pinch, providing you use

your trademark wit to bamboozle them and lead them lum-

bering into peril. But marids? Well, no. They’re out of your

league. Their essence is too great, their power too strong.

No matter how many Detonations, Convulsions or Mael-

stroms you hurl at them, they absorb it all without much

trouble. And meanwhile they’re doing something unfair,

such as swelling to the size of a giant and seizing you and

your fellow djinn by the necks like a farmer bunching car-

rots, before devouring you whole, a practice I’ve seen done.

So you can understand I had no desire to fight with Ammet

now, unless it really was the bitter end.3 I was paraphrasing an old battle-cry that we Sumeri-

an djinn used to chant as we pushed the siege machines

across the plains. It’s a shame that the good old songs go out

of fashion. Of course, I don’t genuinely espouse anything so

dreadfully savage. Although, saying that, human marrow is

nutritious. In fact, it really puts a pep in your essence. Par-

ticularly if you get it fresh, grill it lightly, season it with salt

and parsley, and— But we must return to our narrative.4 Which were pretty harsh at the best of times. Back in

Khufu’s day, apprentice priests who made too much noise as

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they walked the sacred precincts were given to the sacred

crocodiles. The theory was that if a boy was going to make

unpleasant noises, he might as well do it to some purpose.

Those crocs needed feeding once a month.5 In general I’m not one for burning books, this being a

favoured pastime of all the worst rulers in history. But ma-

gicians’ stockpiles of knowledge (tablets, scrolls and, later,

parchment and paper folios) are a special case, since they

contain the names of spirits by the thousand, ready for fu-

ture generations to summon. If they were all erased, theor-

etically, our slavery would cease at once. This, of course, is

an impossible dream – but destroying Khaba’s reference lib-

rary made me feel good. Every little helps.

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Part

Three

21

Asmira stood close beside the panelled door,listening to the soft footsteps of the servantdie away. When all was quiet, she tested thedoor and found it unlocked; opening itslightly, she peered down the corridor out-side. The oil lamps flickered in their recesses,the bright tapestries hung upon the walls;along the floor the tiles of polished marbleshone and glittered. No one was near. Noone, at any rate, that she could see.

She closed the door again, and with herback against it considered the guest roomshe had been given. It was, at a rough estim-ate, five or six times bigger than her little

bedchamber in the guards’ annexe in Marib.Its floor, like the corridor’s, was formed ofintricate marble tiles. Along one wallstretched a silken couch of a luxuriousnessrivalling that of the chambers of Queen Bal-kis. Lamps glowed warmly on wooden cabin-ets; behind two drapes a basin of watergently steamed. On a plinth beside the win-dow sat a statue of a boy playing a lyre, fash-ioned from strips of beaten bronze; from itsstrangeness and evident fragility, she knew itmust be very old.

Leaving her bag on the couch, Asmiracrossed to the window, pulled aside itsdrapes and scrambled up onto the ledge.Outside was starlight, cold and clear, and asheer drop down the side of the palace wallto a patch of rocks and boulders on the east-ern side of Jerusalem’s hill. She craned herneck for nearby ledges, or other windows shemight inch over to in time of need, but sawnone.

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Asmira drew her head inside, aware sud-denly of how weak she felt. She hadn’t eatensince the morning. Alongside that, however,she felt a cold elation: ahead of schedule,with two days yet to go before Sheba’s timeran out, she was inside Solomon’s palace,somewhere close to the wicked king.

With luck she might be brought beforehim within hours.

In which case, she must prepare herself.Shaking off her weariness, she hopped downfrom the sill, went to the couch and openedher bag. Ignoring the candles and clothswedged at the bottom, she removed the finaltwo daggers, which she fitted next to the onealready secreted in her belt. Three wasprudent, if probably unnecessary. A singledagger-thrust would be enough to do the job.

Letting her robes fall forward to concealthe weapons, she smoothed back her hairand went to wash her face. Now she mustmake herself look the part once more: a

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sweet, naive priestess from Himyar, come toask the aid of wise King Solomon.

If he was anything like the loathsomeKhaba, it was a ruse that would fool himwell.

After its final descent into the palace, themagician’s carpet had come to a halt beforetwo great closed doors. They were twentyfoot high, and made of black volcanic glass,smooth, featureless and shining. Six giantcopper hinges anchored them into the fabricof the wall. Two copper door-knockers,shaped like twisting serpents biting theirown tails, hung slightly out of human reach;each was longer than Asmira’s arms. Aboveand around the doors was a crenellated gate-way, its portico decorated with raised reliefsin blue-glazed brickwork, depicting lions,cranes, elephants and terrifying djinn.

‘I’m sorry that I must bring you to thislittle side entrance,’ the magician, Khaba,said. ‘The main doors are reserved for King

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Solomon, and for occasional state visits byhis client kings. But I shall ensure that youare met with all due courtesy.’

At this he had clapped his hands, a slightand brittle noise. At once the doors swunginwards, swift and soundless, moving onoiled hinges. Beyond, in the revealed dim-ness of a vast reception hall, twin teams ofstraining implets laboured on pulley ropes.Between them, rows of lantern-bearers stoodleft and right, supporting, with the aid ofchains, long wooden torches that jutted fromtheir belt-cusps. Bright yellow fire danced atthe torch ends. They bowed their heads inwelcome and moved aside; the carpet easedforward and descended to the marbled floor.

To Asmira’s annoyance, she was notshown instantly to Solomon’s presence.Instead, soft-voiced servants hastened fromthe shadows, and she and Khaba wereushered away to a high, pillared room strewnwith silken cushions, where smiling, bright-

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eyed children – whom Asmira doubted werequite as human as they appeared – servedthem glasses of frosted wine.

The following half-hour proved almost asdisagreeable for Asmira as the ambush in thegorge: a long, intimate talk with the magi-cian, who, with the prompting of the wine,became more and more attentive. His big,soft eyes gazed into hers, his sallow-skinnedhand drew close upon the cushions; it was allshe could do not to flinch away. Khaba re-mained condescendingly polite, but deflectedher requests for an immediate audience withthe king, and was evasive about when itmight be arranged. Gritting her teeth, As-mira maintained her outward show, amusinghim with breathless expressions of gratitude,and flattering him with easy words.

‘King Solomon must be powerful indeed,’she breathed, ‘to have a great one such asyou in his service!’ She tilted her head andmade pretence of drinking from her cup.

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Khaba grunted. For a moment his enthusi-asm waned. ‘Yes, yes. He is powerful.’

‘Oh, how I long to speak with him!’‘You should be careful, Priestess,’ Khaba

said. ‘He is not always kind, even to prettymaids like you. They say that once’ – helooked instinctively about the pillared room– ‘they say that once a wife of his, a comelyPhoenician girl, plied him with wine as theylay upon their pallet. When he was sleeping,she strove to remove the Ring. She had it tothe second knuckle when Solomon wasawoken by the call of a bird outside the win-dow. He speaks with the birds, as perhapsyou know. Ever afterwards, that Phoeniciangirl has haunted the pine trees of the KidronValley, a white owl with wild eyes whose crymeans death to someone of the royal house.’Khaba took a reflective sip of wine. ‘You see,Solomon can be terrible.’

Asmira had kept her face suitably agog,but inside she was thinking how stupid the

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Phoenician girl had been, trying to wrestlethe Ring clear when one strike with a knifewould have sufficed. She said: ‘I supposekings must be ruthless in protecting what istheirs. But you are kind and gentle, are younot, great Khaba? Speaking of which, what ofmy earlier request? Will you release thosetwo demons who saved my life?’

The magician threw a bony hand up in theair, eyes rolling. ‘Priestess Cyrine, you are re-morseless! You will not be denied! All right,yes – you need say no more. I shall dismissthose servants from my service this verynight!’

Asmira fluttered her eyelashes in feignedadmiration. ‘You vow it, O Khaba?’

‘Yes, yes, I vow it on the great god Ra, andall the gods of Ombos – provided,’ he said,leaning in a little closer and staring at herwith his shining eyes, ‘that I may in returnspeak with you again at dinner in the palace

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this evening. Other dignitaries will be there,of course; also my fellow magicians—’

‘And King Solomon?’ Here, finally, As-mira’s eagerness was genuine.

‘Possibly, possibly … It is not unknown.Now, see – here is a servitor waiting. A guestroom has been prepared for you. But first …another glass of wine? No?’ Asmira wasalready rising. ‘Ah, you are tired. Of course; Iunderstand. But we shall meet again at din-ner,’ Khaba said, bowing, ‘and – I trust – be-come much better acquainted …’

A knock sounded on the chamber door. As-mira was at once alert. Patting down herrobes, checking that the knife-hilts were in-visible beneath the cloth, she crossed to thedoor and opened it.

In the dimly lit corridor a man stood wait-ing, framed in a star-shaped pool of light, thesource of which could not be seen. He wore aplain white robe of high office. He was smalland slight, and very dark of skin; Asmira

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guessed him to be a man from Kush, orsomewhere in the Nile lands. On hisshoulder sat a white mouse with glowingeyes as green as emeralds. It tilted its head tolook at her.

‘Priestess Cyrine,’ the man said, ‘I amHiram, Solomon’s vizier. I welcome you tohis house. If you will follow me, I can offeryou refreshment.’

‘Thank you. That would be gratifying in-deed. However, I urgently seek audiencewith King Solomon. I wonder whether—’

The small man smiled bleakly. He held uphis hand. ‘In time all things may be possible.As for now, a meal begins soon in the Magi-cians’ Hall; to this you are invited. Please …’He gestured towards the door.

Asmira stepped forward; instantly thewhite mouse gave a squeak of alarm, stoodup on its hind legs and chittered loudly inthe magician’s ear.

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The vizier’s forehead furrowed; he staredat Asmira with his heavy-lidded eyes. ‘For-give me, Priestess,’ he said slowly. ‘My slave,great Tybalt here, says the taint of silver isvery strong about your person.’ Upon hisshoulder the mouse rubbed his whiskersfuriously with a paw. ‘Tybalt says it makeshim want to sneeze.’

Asmira could feel her silver daggers press-ing hard against her thigh. She smiled. ‘Per-haps he refers to this.’ From beneath her tu-nic she pulled out her silver necklace. ‘It is asymbol of the great Sun God, who watchesover me throughout my life. I have worn itround my neck since birth.’

The vizier frowned. ‘Could you possibly re-move it? It may aggravate spirits such as Ty-balt, who abound across the palace. They aresensitive to such things.’

Asmira smiled. ‘Alas, to do so would cutmy birth-luck short, and bring the wrath of

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the Sun God down upon me. Do you not alsohave this custom in Jerusalem?’

The magician shrugged. ‘I’m no expert, butI believe the Israelites worship some otherdeity. Well, we each must follow our beliefsas best we may. No, Tybalt – hold yourtongue!’ The mouse had been uttering shrillprotests in his ear. ‘She is a guest; we mustmake allowances for her oddities. PriestessCyrine – please follow me …’

He left the room and moved away acrossthe cool, dim slabs of marble, framed in agliding star of light. Asmira followed closebehind. From its perch upon the magician’sshoulder the green-eyed mouse continued tolook her keenly up and down.

Off through the palace they went, the ma-gician limping a little in his long white robes,Asmira stalking along behind. Along torch-litcorridors; down marbled steps; past win-dows overlooking gardens of dark trees;through grandiose galleries, empty save for

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plinths supporting fragments of ancientstatuary. Asmira glanced at the pieces as shepassed. She recognized Egyptian work, andcertain styles from north Arabia, but otherforms were unknown to her. There weresculptures of warriors, women, animal-headed spirits, battles, processions, peopleworking in the fields …

The vizier noticed her inspection. ‘So-lomon is a collector,’ he said. ‘It is hisgreatest passion. He studies relics from civil-izations of the past. See there – that monu-mental head? That is the pharaoh TuthmosisIII, taken from a colossal statue he erected inCanaan, not far from here. Solomon foundthe fragments buried in the earth, and had usbring the pieces to Jerusalem.’ The magi-cian’s eyes glittered in his mage-light. ‘Whatdo you think of the palace, Priestess? Im-pressive, is it not?’

‘It is very large. Bigger than the queen’shouse in Himyar, if not so beautiful.’

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The vizier laughed. ‘Was your queen’spalace built in a single night, as this was? So-lomon wished his residence to exceed theglories of old Babylon. What did he do? Hesummoned the Spirit of the Ring! The Spiritcommanded nine thousand djinn to appear.Each carried a bucket and a shovel and flewon butterfly wings, so that the sound of theirlabours would not wake the wives in the har-em camp below the hill. As dawn broke, thefinal brick was eased into place, and waterbegan to flow from the fountains in thegarden. Solomon breakfasted beneath or-ange trees that had been brought from east-ern lands. From the first it has been a houseof marvels, like nothing yet witnessed in theworld!’

Asmira thought of the fragile mud-bricktowers of Marib, painstakingly tended andpatched by her people down the centuries,now threatened by this self-same Ring. Herteeth clamped tight; still, she affected a tone

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of guileless wonder. ‘All in a single night!’she said. ‘Can this truly be the work of onesmall ring?’

A sidelong glance beneath the heavy lids.‘It is so.’

‘Where does it come from?’‘Who can tell? Ask Solomon.’‘Did he make it, perhaps?’The green-eyed mouse chittered with

mirth. ‘I think not!’ the vizier said. ‘In hisyouth Solomon was a magician of small com-petence, not yet a great one of the world. Butalways a passion for the mysteries of the pastburned like a flame inside him, a love of longago, when magic was first practised and thefirst demons brought out of the abyss. So-lomon collected artefacts from those earlycivilizations, and to that end travelled ex-tensively in the east. The stories say he grewlost one day, and came upon a place of an-cient ruins, where, hidden beyond the sightof man or spirits for who knows how many

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years, he chanced upon the Ring …’ The viz-ier smiled grimly. ‘I do not know the truth ofthat, but this I do know. From the time hepicked up that Ring, fate has favoured himmore than any living man.’

Asmira gave a little maidenly sigh. ‘How Iwish to speak with him!’

‘No doubt. Unfortunately you are notalone. Other supplicants have arrived in Jer-usalem on missions similar to yours. Here!This is the viewing gallery above the Magi-cians’ Hall. Take a look, if you wish, beforewe go down.’

In the side of the corridor, a stone alcove;in the centre of the alcove, an opening. Bey-ond was a vast space, shimmering with light.From it rose a swell of sound.

Asmira went to the alcove, set her handsupon cold marble, leaned out a little way.

Her heart caught in her throat.She looked down upon a hall of immense

size, lit with floating orbs. The roof was made

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of dark, rich wood, each beam a tree’s length.The walls, inset with columns inscribed withmagic signs, had been coated in plaster andpainted with wondrous scenes of dancing an-imals and spirits. All along the hall wererows of trestle tables, at which sat a vastcompany of men and women, eating anddrinking from plates of gold. Broad plattersof every kind of food were piled before them.White-winged djinn, wearing the bodies ofyouths with golden hair, drifted above thetables, carrying jugs of wine. As hands wereraised and orders given, the youths flitteddown, pouring glittering red streams of wineinto the waiting cups.

The people at the tables were of evengreater variety than Asmira had seen in Eilat.Some were very new to her: strange pale-skinned men with reddish beards anduncouth fur-lined clothes, or dainty womenin dresses formed of woven flakes of jade.The whole great multitude sat and ate, and

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drank, and talked together, while high above,in the centre of the plaster wall, between thecavorting djinn, a painted king watched overall. He was drawn sitting upon a throne. Hiseyes were dark, his face beautiful and strong;faint beams of light radiated from his person.He stared straight out in calm and solemnmajesty, and on his finger he wore a ring.

‘All these delegations,’ the vizier said drilyat her shoulder, ‘are here to seek aid fromSolomon, just as you are. All, like you, havematters of the utmost importance to discuss.So you will see that it is a ticklish business toplease everyone. Still, we try to keep every-one fed and watered while they wait theirturn. Most are satisfied; some even forget thebusiness that brought them here.’ Hechuckled. ‘Come then, you shall join theirnumber. We have a place set ready for you.’

He turned away. Hot-eyed, dry-mouthed,Asmira followed him.

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22

The food, at least, was good, and for a timeAsmira thought of nothing but roasted meatand grapes and honeyed cakes and dark redwine. The noise of the hall engulfed her; shefelt cocooned by it, swaddled in its splend-our. At last, with pains in her belly and awarm haze in her brain, she sat back andlooked around. The vizier was right. In sucha place it would be easy for anyone to get de-tached from the purpose that had broughtthem here. She glanced up with narrowedeyes at the great throned figure painted onthe wall: perhaps, indeed, this was what So-lomon intended.

‘New, are you?’ the man beside her said.With his knife he speared a small glazedpiece of meat from a selection on his plate.‘Welcome! Try a jerboa!’ He spoke Arabic,though with a strange inflection.

‘Thank you,’ Asmira said. ‘I am alreadyfull. Are you here to speak with Solomon?’

‘I am. Need a dam built above our village.There’s water enough in the spring, but it allruns past. In the summer there’s drought.One touch of the Ring should sort it. Justneed a few afrits, or a marid or two.’ He tooka bite and went on chewing. ‘You?’

‘Something similar.’‘We need terraces dug in our valley.’ This

was the person opposite, a woman withbright, almost fevered eyes. ‘It’s too steep,you see. But his slaves could do it easily. Nothard for him, is it?’

‘I see,’ Asmira said. ‘How long have youwaited?’

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‘Five weeks, but my time is almost up! Ishall be one of the lucky few next council!’

‘That’s what they told me two weeks ago,’another man said dourly.

‘A month for me – no, two!’ the man be-side her said, between chews. ‘Still, whenthere is such bounty to enjoy, who am I tocomplain?’

‘It’s all right for some,’ the dour man said.‘But I don’t hold with waiting. There’s faminecoming in the Hittite lands, and we needhelp now. Why he can’t just send out hisdemons to help all of us straight off, ratherthan this bloody hanging about, I’ll neverknow. Enjoying himself too much up there, Ireckon.’

‘Wives,’ said the first man.‘He’ll get to us in time,’ the woman said.

Her bright eyes sparkled. ‘I can’t wait to seehim.’

‘Have you not even seen Solomon?’ Asmiracried. ‘Not in five whole weeks?’

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‘Oh no, he never comes down here. He’sup in his apartments across the gardens. Butnext council day I’ll see him, sure enough.You get to stand before him, so I’m told, butthen he’s up on a throne, of course, top ofsome steps, so it’s not exactly close, but evenso …’

‘How many steps?’ Asmira said. She couldthrow a dagger forty feet with perfectaccuracy.

‘I’m sure I couldn’t say. You’ll see soonenough, dear. In a month or two.’

Asmira sat back from the conversationafter this, a smile carefully maintained uponher face and a dull-edged stab of panic prod-ding in her gut. She did not have twomonths. She did not have one. She had twodays to gain access to the king. Yes, she wasin the palace, but that meant little, if she wasexpected to sit around with these fools, wait-ing. She shook her head as she regardedthem, still busily discussing their hopes and

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needs. How blind they were! How fixated ontheir own small purpose! Solomon’s wicked-ness was invisible to them.

She stared angrily about the crowded hall.Clearly the king did not rely purely on terrorto maintain his rule, but laced it with charit-able deeds so that some good would bespoken of his name. All very fine, but the up-shot for her was that he was out of reach.And that was only the half of it. Even if, bysome miracle, she managed to gain access tohis very next council, it didn’t sound as if shewould be allowed to approach the king at all.That wasn’t good enough. She needed to beso close that neither he, nor his demons, hadtime to act. Without that, her chances of suc-cess were small indeed.

She needed to find another way.The voices of the nearby diners stilled;

their hands hovered above their plates.Asmira’s skin prickled; she sensed a pres-

ence at her back.

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Grey fingers brushed against her sleeve,wine fumes plumed about her neck.

‘And what,’ the magician Khaba said, ‘areyou doing sitting here?’

He wore an elegant tunic of black and greyand a short grey cape. His face was flushedwith wine. When he held out his hand to her,she noticed how long his nails were.

Asmira attempted a smile. ‘The vizier,Hiram, said I should—’

‘The vizier is a fool and should be hung. Ihave been waiting for you at high table thislast half-hour! Up with you, Cyrine! No,leave your cup – you’ll get another. You shallsit with the magicians now, not among thisrabble.’

The people all about her stared.‘Someone’s got friends in high places,’ a wo-man said.

Asmira rose, waved farewell, followed themagician through the ranks of tables to araised platform. Here, at a marbled table

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piled high with delicacies, and attended byseveral hovering djinn, sat a number ofrichly apparelled men and women, whostared at her blankly. All carried about themthe casual assurance that came with power;one or two had small animals sitting on theirshoulders. At the far end sat Hiram; he, likeKhaba, and most of the other magicians, hadalready consumed a good deal of wine.

‘These are the Seventeen,’ Khaba said. ‘Orwhat’s left of them, Ezekiel being dead. Here,take a seat by me, and we shall talk somemore, get to know each other better.’

Hiram’s eyes widened over the rim of hiscup at the sight of Asmira, and his green-eyed mouse wrinkled its nose in distaste.‘What’s this, Khaba? What’s this?’

A sharp-featured woman with longbraided hair frowned: ‘That is Reuben’schair!’

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‘Poor Reuben has the marsh fever,’ Khabasaid. ‘He stays in his tower, swears he’sdying.’

‘Small loss if he is,’ a little, round-facedman grunted. ‘Never pulls his weight. So,Khaba – who’s this girl?’

‘Her name,’ Khaba said, taking his cup ofwine and pouring another for Asmira, ‘isCyrine. She is a priestess of … I do not recallthe exact location. I saved her on the desertroad today.’

‘Ah, yes. I heard,’ another magician said.‘So you’re back in Solomon’s favour already?Didn’t take you long.’

Khaba nodded. ‘Did you doubt it, Sep-timus? The bandits are destroyed, as reques-ted. I shall make my formal representationsto the king when he next allows an audience.’

Asmira said: ‘Will you take me with youwhen you meet the king? I am fretful ofdelay.’

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Several of the other magicians snorted.Khaba looked around at them with a smile.‘You see that young Cyrine is eagerness itself– I can scarcely restrain her! Dear Priestess,one may not come unbidden into Solomon’spresence. I shall do my best to speed mattersfor you, but you must be patient. Come to mytower tomorrow, and we shall discuss itfurther.’

Asmira inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’‘Khaba!’ At the far end of the table the

little vizier was scowling; he tapped the woodperemptorily with his finger. ‘You seem re-markably confident that Solomon will wel-come you once more,’ he said. ‘Yes, you mayhave killed some robbers, all well and good,but your negligence on Temple Mount dis-tressed him deeply, and he is getting evermore irritable with age. Don’t assume thatyou will find it smooth going with him.’

Asmira, looking at Khaba, noticedsomething stir in the depths of the soft eyes,

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a sudden unveiling that made her soul recoil.Then it was gone, and he was laughing.‘Hiram, Hiram, do you truly question myjudgement?’

A sudden silence fell among the magicians.Hiram held Khaba’s gaze; he spat an olivestone upon the table. ‘I do.’

‘The fact is,’ Khaba went on, ‘I know theking just as well as you. He likes his trifles,does he not? Well, I shall smooth my waywith a little gift, a curiosity for his collection.I have it here. A pretty enough thing, don’tyou think?’

He put something on the table, a smallround bottle of clear crystal, decorated withlittle flowers. The top had been plugged witha wad of lead; behind the crystal facets, faintcoloured lights and traces swirled.

One of the nearest magicians picked it upand inspected it closely, before passing italong. ‘Lost all form, I see. Is that normal?’

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‘It may still be unconscious. It resisted itsConfinement.’

The long-haired woman turned the bottleover and over in her hand. ‘Is it liquid? Is itvapour? What vile, unnatural things theyare! To think they can be reduced to this.’

When the vizier took it, the green-eyedmouse shied away and hid its face behind itspaws. ‘It makes a pretty trinket,’ Hiram saidgrudgingly. ‘Look how the lights wink in andout of view; it is never the same twice.’

The bottle completed its circuit of the tableand was returned to Khaba, who set it beforehim. Asmira was fascinated; she reached outher hand and touched the crystal; to her sur-prise the cold surface vibrated to the touch.‘What is it?’ she said.

‘This, my dear,’ Khaba said, laughing, ‘is abottled fourth-level djinni, imprisoned for aslong as Solomon desires.’

‘More to the point,’ the long-haired wo-man said, ‘which is it?’

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‘Bartimaeus of Uruk.’Asmira started, and opened her mouth to

speak, then realized that Khaba did not knowshe knew the djinni’s name. Or perhaps hewas too drunk to care.

Evidently the others recognized the namealso. There was a chorus of approval.

‘Good! Ezekiel’s ghost will take pleasure inthe act.’

‘The hippo? You are right, Khaba – So-lomon will certainly enjoy this gift!’

Asmira stared at Khaba. ‘You have trappeda spirit in there? Is this not a rather crueldeed?’

All around the table the magicians – old,young, men, women – burst into peals ofraucous laughter. Khaba laughed louder thanall of them. His eyes, when he looked at As-mira, were contemptuous, red-rimmed,bleary with wine. ‘Cruel? To a demon? Thatis a contradiction in terms! Do not worryyour pretty little head about it. He was a

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pestilential spirit and no great loss to any-one. Besides, he’ll get his freedom eventually– in a few hundred years or so.’

Conversation turned to other matters: tothe magician Reuben’s illness, to the clearingof Ezekiel’s tower, to the increasing reclus-iveness of King Solomon. It seemed that –apart from his regular councils in the gardenhall – he was appearing less and less oftenabout the palace; even Hiram, his vizier, hadaccess to him only at certain times of day.His main interest appeared to be the templehe was constructing; aside from this, he re-mained remote. He paid little attention to hismagicians, except for his frequent ordersduring council, which they resentfullyobeyed.

‘Your desert sojourn is nothing, Khaba!Tomorrow I must travel to Damascus and setmy djinn to rebuilding its fallen walls.’

‘I travel to Petra, to help build grainsilos—’

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‘I must irrigate some pathetic littleCanaanite village—’

‘That Ring! Solomon feels he can treat uslike slaves! I only wish—’

Asmira paid little attention to their com-plaints. She had picked up the bottle and wasturning it slowly between her fingers. Howlight it was! How strange the substance with-in! Beyond the panes of crystal, little flecks ofcolour twirled and shimmered, movingslowly like fading petals drifting on the sur-face of a lake. She thought of the djinni,solemn-eyed and silent, standing beside herin the ravaged gorge …

Across the hall, many of King Solomon’sguests had now departed towards the stairs,though others still sat and gorged on theremnants of the food. Beside her, the magi-cians were sinking lower in their seats, talk-ing louder, drinking deeper …

She looked again at the bottle in herhands.

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‘Yes, study it by all means!’ Khaba hadswayed in close, and was regarding her un-steadily. ‘You are drawn to the strange andwonderful, are you not? Ah, but I have manymore such things hidden in my tower! Suchchoice delights! You shall experience themtomorrow!’

Asmira did her best not to recoil at the va-pours of his breath. She smiled. ‘Please, yourcup is empty. Let me get you more wine.’

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23

How slowly, how painfully the long yearspass when you’re immured inside a bottle! I

don’t recommend the experience to anyone.1

The effect on your essence is the worst ofit. Each and every time we’re summoned tothis Earth, our essence begins to die a little,but providing we aren’t kept here too long,and distract ourselves with plenty of fights,chases and sarcastic wordplay, we can keepthe ache at bay before returning home to re-cover. This just isn’t possible in a prolongedConfinement. Opportunities for fights andchases are somewhat limited when it’s justyou in an enclosure an inch or two square,

and since sarcasm is one of those activitiesbest enjoyed in company, there’s nothing todo but float and think and listen to the softsound of your essence shrivelling, wisp bysorry wisp. To make matters worse, the Con-finement spell itself has the property ofdrawing out this process indefinitely, so youdon’t even have the dignity of actually dying.Khaba had chosen well for me: it was a pun-ishment worthy of a bitter foe.

I was utterly cut off inside that crystalsphere. Time was unknowable. No soundpenetrated. Sometimes lights and shadowsmoved against the confines of my prison, butthe powerful Binding spell that had beenfused into the crystal obscured my vision and

I couldn’t make the forms out clearly.2

To add to my discomfort, the ancientbottle’s original contents had evidently beenan oily substance, perhaps hair grease forsome long-dead Egyptian girl. Not only wasthe interior still faintly perfumed (rosewood,

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I thought, with a hint of lime), it was alsodarn slippery. When I tried, for variety’ssake, to take on the guise of a scarab or someother tiny insect, my tarsal claws kept slip-ping out from under me.

For the most part, therefore, I stayed inmy natural state, floating quietly, drifting,thinking noble and somewhat melancholythoughts, and only occasionally scrawlingobscene graffiti on the inside of the glass. So-metimes my mind turned to episodes frommy past. I thought of Faquarl and his dis-missive assessment of my powers. I thoughtof the girl, Cyrine, who had so nearly got mefreed. I thought of the wicked Khaba – now,with time’s remorseless passing, presumablya cursed heap of bones – and his vile help-mate, Ammet, perhaps still wreaking evilsomewhere on the hapless world. Most often,of course, I thought of the peace and beautyof my distant home, and wondered when I’dever return.

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And then, after untold ages, when I’d ut-terly given up hope …

The bottle broke.One moment it was there, as it had always

been, my small domed dungeon, tightlysealed. The next, the walls collapsed into ashower of crystal shards that fell about me,spinning, glittering, borne on a sudden tideof sound and air.

With the destruction of the bottle, Am-met’s spell could not survive. Its strandstore; they burst asunder.

I felt myself dismissed.A tremor bristled through my essence.

With a sudden rush of joy, all pain and suf-fering were at once forgotten. I lingered notat all. Like a soaring lark I departed from theEarth, faster and faster, passing through theelemental walls that opened to receive me,plunging into the sweet infinity of my home.

The Other Place enfolded me. I was em-braced, made many where I had once been

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one. My essence shook itself free and spread,singing, across the reaches. I joined the end-less, whirling dance …

And froze.For an instant my joyous forward mo-

mentum and the sudden pull behind mewere equal and opposite. I was held suspen-ded, motionless. I just had time to registermy alarm …

Then I was wrenched away, ripped fromthe infinite, plucked back down time’s cor-ridor no later than I’d left it. It happened sofast I almost met myself going back.

I dropped like a shower of gold down anendless well.

I funnelled inward to a point, and landed.I looked around. The point was at the

centre of a pentacle drawn on dark, red-tin-ted fabric. Close by, in inky shadow, silkencurtains hung like spider-webs, stifling thecontours of the room. The air was close andthick with burning frankincense. Reddish

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candlelight glimmered across a marbledfloor like the memory of a gout of blood.

I was back on Earth.I was back on Earth! Confusion and my

shock of loss mingled with the resumption ofmy pain. With a howl of rage I rose up fromthe middle of the circle as a red-skinned de-mon, slender, agile, avid for revenge. Myeyes were blazing orbs of gold, their thorn-thin pupils darting to and fro. Below the jut-ting wad of gristle that functioned as mynose, there gaped a snarling, fang-filled

mouth.3

The demon bent low, questing all around.It scanned the square of fabric in which itstood, it saw the weights of carven jade thatheld that fabric to the floor. It saw a flicker-ing oil lamp, the waxen candles, the pots ofburning frankincense set out upon the tilesbeyond. It saw a certain bag of red-brownleather, open on a silken couch. It saw an

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upturned plinth, a broken bottle; it saw ascattering of crystal shards …

It saw a second pentacle on another fabricsquare. And standing in that pentacle –

‘Bartimaeus of Uruk,’ the Arabian girl in-toned, ‘I bind you by the cords of Nakrah andthe manacles of Marib, which are both mostgrievous and terrible, to hereafter do my bid-ding, on pain of immediate and fiery expunc-tion. Stand fixed in your proper place until Igive you leave, then depart upon your errandwith fleet and true intent, without deviationor delay, to return at the precise time andplace that I shall give you …’

There was a good deal more of this, allvery archaic, not to say long-winded, andspoken in a tortuous south Arabian dialectthat was difficult to follow. But I’d beenround the block a bit. I got the gist.

I admit that I was shocked. I admit that I wasbaffled. But put me in a pentacle and theage-old rules are immediately back in force.

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Whoever summons me risks everything, re-gardless of what has gone before. And thegirl was not safe yet.

She was speaking the Binding mechanismsin something of a trance, standing quite ri-gid, swaying slightly with the effort of thesummoning. Her small fists were clenched,her arms fixed as if bolted to her sides. Hereyes were closed; she recited with metro-nomic precision the word-seals and phrase-locks that would hold me fast.

The red-skinned demon edged forwardwithin its circle, claws pricking at the clothbeneath its feet. My golden eyes gleamed inthe candle-smoke. I waited for the mistake orhesitation that would let me snap my bondslike celery and treat her body likewise.

‘Almost there,’ I prompted. ‘Don’t messthings up now. Steady … this is the hard bit.And you’re so very, very tired … So tired Ican almost taste you.’ And I snapped myteeth together in the dark.

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She blanched then, went paler than themountain snows. But she made no mistake,

she didn’t hesitate.4

All too soon I felt the bonds grow tight. Myhungry readiness slackened and I subsidedin my circle.

The girl finished. She wiped the sweatfrom her face with the sleeve of her robe.

She looked at me.There was silence in the room.‘And what,’ I said, ‘do you think you’re

doing?’‘I just saved you.’ She was still a little

breathless, and her voice was faint. She nod-ded towards the crystal fragments on thefloor. ‘I got you out.’

The red-skinned demon nodded slowly.‘So you did. So you did … But only so youcould enslave me again within seconds!’Livid flames erupted from the cloth aboutmy feet and licked up to shroud my wrathful

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form. ‘Do you not recall,’ I roared, ‘how Isaved your wretched little life so long ago?’

‘So long a— What?’Fire darted from my eyes; trails of burning

sulphur flickered on my shining skin. ‘Canyou conceive the pain and suffering I’ve sinceendured?’ I cried. ‘Trapped inside that tiny,suffocating prison all those endless years,through all those long slow cycles of the sunand moon? And now, no sooner am I re-leased than you summon me again, withoutso much as a …’ I hesitated, noticing the girlwas tapping a delicate foot upon her cloth.‘Just how long was I trapped, incidentally?’

‘A few hours. It’s just gone midnight. I wastalking with you yesterday afternoon.’

The red-skinned demon stared; my flameswent out. ‘Yesterday afternoon? The one justgone?’

‘Well, how many others are there? Yes, theyesterday just gone. Look at me. I’m wearingthe same clothes.’

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‘Right …’ I cleared my throat. ‘It’s just alittle bit hard to keep tabs in there … Well, asI say, it’s been grim.’ My voice rose oncemore. ‘And I don’t care to be summonedagain – by you or anybody! If you knowwhat’s good for you, you’ll let me go.’

‘That I cannot do.’‘You’d better,’ I snarled. ‘It’s not as if you’ll

be able to keep me long, anyway. You’re ob-viously a novice.’

The girl’s eyes blazed; flames didn’t dartfrom them, but it was a close-run thing.

‘Know, Bartimaeus of Uruk,’ she cried,‘that in my land I am an initiate of the Eight-eenth Attainment in the Temple of Marib!Know that it was I who summoned the de-mon Zufra and, by whipping her with cords,forced her to dig the reservoir at Dhamar in asingle night! Know too that I have subduedtwelve dozen demons to my will and castnine into the innermost pit!’ She pushed astrand of hair back from her brow and

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smiled grimly. ‘And that I am now your mas-ter is the final thing you need to know.’

The red-skinned demon gave a caw ofmirth. ‘Good try,’ I said. ‘Falls down on threeaccounts. First, “Eighteenth Attainment inthe Temple of Marib” doesn’t mean a fig tome. For all I know it means you’re qualifiedto scrub the toilets.’ The girl gave an indig-nant squeak here, but I ignored it. ‘Second,’ Iwent on, ‘there’s your tone of voice. Youmeant it to be awe-inspiring and terrible,didn’t you? Sorry. Sounded scared and con-stipated. Third, it’s clearly all absolute balo-ney! You only barely got your First Injunc-

tion5 out without tripping over your owntongue. I thought you were going to bindyourself at once point, you got so hesitant.Let’s face it, this is all a bluff.’

The girl’s nose had gone all white andpinched. ‘It is not!’

‘Is so too.’‘Is not!’

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‘Say that any higher and you’re going toshatter that nice vase over there.’ I folded myscaly arms and gave her a savage glare. ‘And,by the way, you’ve just proved my pointagain. How many real magicians do youthink get involved in stroppy little verbalspats like this? They’d have hit me with theDark Scouring by now and had done with it.’

The girl stared at me. Her face was livid.‘You don’t even know what a Dark Scour-

ing is, do you?’ I said, grinning.She breathed hard. ‘No. But I do know

this.’ She took hold of the silver sun discround her neck, and spoke a mutteredphrase. Once again it was barely competent,

the kind of Ward6 a hedge-witch might use toadmonish a naughty imp. Even so, a swell ofblack substance plumed in the air, rearedback and darted at my circle.

I lifted my hand to fend off the stroke,

called out her name. ‘Cyrine!’7

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Black shards of force went straightthrough my lifted hand and scoured my es-sence like a storm of whirling pins.

They vanished. I considered my perfora-tions grimly. ‘Cyrine’s not actually yourname, is it?’ I said.

‘No. Who’d be so stupid as to give up theirreal name so readily – Bartimaeus?’

Which was a fair point. ‘Even so,’ I said, ‘aspunishments go, that was pathetic. And onceagain you only just spoke it right. Go on, doanother one, I dare you.’

‘I don’t need to.’ The girl pushed her robesaside, revealing three silver daggers at herhip. ‘Anger me again,’ she said, ‘and I’llskewer you with one of these.’

She might have done, as well. Trapped inthe circle, I knew that my opportunities fordodging were limited. But I just shrugged.‘That’s my final proof,’ I said. ‘You’re an as-sassin of some kind. You’re not a magician atall. And you need to be a magician if you’re

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going to deal with me.’ My teeth glinted inthe shadows. ‘I killed my last master, youknow.’

‘What – Khaba? The one who trapped youin the bottle?’ The girl gave a rude snort. ‘Heseemed alive enough to me when I left himdrunk downstairs.’

‘All right,’ I growled, ‘my last master butone. Same difference. Statistically speaking,that’s the fate of forty-six per cent of all—’ Istopped short. ‘Wait up. The magician Khabais downstairs? Where exactly are we?’

‘The palace of King Solomon. Do you notrecognize it? I thought you were well ac-quainted with the place; that is why I re-leased you.’

‘Well, I don’t know every last bedroom, doI?’ And all at once the red-skinned demongrew suddenly still, conscious of an unpleas-ant trepidation, a creeping certainty that, an-noying as things currently were, they wereshortly to get a whole lot worse.

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I fixed her with a cold, hard stare. Shestared back, her eyes as cold as mine. ‘I’ll saythis politely just one time,’ I said. ‘Thank youfor letting me out of my prison. That putspaid to the debt you owe me. Now – speakthe Dismissal and let me go.’

‘Have I or have I not bound you,Bartimaeus?’

‘For the moment.’ I prodded the cloth witha toe-claw. ‘But I’ll find a loophole. It won’ttake long.’

‘Well, while you look,’ the girl said, ‘you’llagree you are in my service. Which meansyou do as I say, or suffer the Dismal Flame.You’ll find that won’t take long, either.’

‘Oh, sure. Like you know that spell.’‘Try me.’And here, of course, I was fairly caught,

because I couldn’t be certain either way. Itwas possible she didn’t know the incantation– which is the final security of all magicians– but equally possible that she did. And if

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she did, and I disobeyed her, it was a sadlook-out for me.

I changed the subject. ‘Why did Khaba giveyou the bottle?’

‘He didn’t,’ she said. ‘I stole it.’So there you go. As predicted, things were

worse already. Worse mainly (I was thinkinghere of the horrors of the magician’s vaultedroom) for the girl.

‘You’re a fool,’ I said. ‘Stealing from him isnot a good idea.’

‘Khaba is irrelevant.’ Her face was stillpale, but a certain composure had returnedto it, and there was a brightness in her eyesthat I didn’t like at all. They shone, in fact,

with a zealot’s gleam.8 ‘Khaba is nothing,’she said. ‘Forget him. You and I must con-cern ourselves with greater things.’

And now my trepidation became a cold,hard knot of fear, because I recalled the girl’sconversation in the gorge, and all her ques-tions about forbidden matters. ‘Listen,’ I

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said. ‘Before you say anything we’ll both re-gret, think about where you are. The planesaround us are a-thrum with the auras ofgreat spirits. I can sense them, even if youcannot, and the echoes they make are almostdeafening. If you wish to summon me, goright ahead, but do it somewhere far awaywhere we have a chance of prolonged surviv-al. Stealing magicians’ property is frownedon here, and so are unofficial summonings.They’re exactly the sort of things it’s best not

to do in or around the House of Solomon.’9

‘Bartimaeus,’ the girl said, putting herhand upon one of the daggers in her belt,‘stop talking.’

I stopped. I waited. Waited for the worst.‘Tonight,’ the girl went on, ‘you are going

to help me complete the mission that hasbrought me a thousand miles and more fromthe gardens of fair Sheba.’

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‘Sheba? Hold on, you mean the Himyarstuff wasn’t true either? Honestly. What afibber you are.’

‘Tonight, you will help me save my nation,or we shall both die in the attempt.’

So, bang went my last lingering hope thatshe wanted me to help change the colour co-ordination of her bedroom. Which was apity. I could have done wonders with thosesilks.

‘Tonight, you will help me do two things.’‘Two things …’ I said. ‘Very well. Which are

…?’Just how mad was she? Exactly where on

the scale of raving insanity did she fall?‘Kill King Solomon,’ the girl said brightly,

‘and take his Ring.’ She smiled at me. Herbright eyes shone.

Right on the very end, that’s where.

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1 Humans don’t often suffer such indignities, I know,

but it has happened. One magician I worked for once called

for my aid during an earthquake which was toppling his

tower. Unfortunately for him, the precise words he used

were: ‘Preserve me!’ A cork, a great big bottle, a vat of pick-

ling fluid, and – presto! – the job was done.2 Bottled imps require less stringent Bindings and their

glass is usually transparent. Being regrettably low-minded,

they thereupon perform countless contortions to shock and

repulse any passers-by. Needless to say I never stooped to

anything like this. It’s no fun doing it if you can’t see the

reaction.3 I was, in fact, the living embodiment of a kusarikku, a

less civilized sub-type of utukku, which used to be employed

in some of the old Sumerian cities as executioners, tomb-

guardians, baby-minders, etc.4 It was close, though. You could tell at once that she

wasn’t practised at it. Every last syllable was painfully pre-

cise, as if she were in some public-speaking competition. At

the end I felt like holding up a mark card with a ‘6’ on it.

Contrast this to the best magicians, who throw off multiple

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summonings casually, while clipping their toenails or hav-

ing breakfast, and never put a phoneme wrong.5First Injunction: traditionally spoken in all summon-

ings since at least the days of Eridu. Usually something

along the lines of: ‘By the constraints of the circle, the points

on the pentacle and the chain of signs, know that I am your

master. You will obey my will.’6Ward: a short incantation which turns the spirit’s own

power back on itself. High-level Wards, used by trained ma-

gicians, include barbarities such as the Systematic Vice and

the Stimulating Compass. These can do real damage to a

djinni. Low-level ones, such as the girl knew, are pretty

much the equivalent of a quick spank on the bottom, and

about as sophisticated.7 Knowledge of someone’s birth-name allows you to

nullify many of their magical attacks. As not demonstrated

here.8Zealots: wild-eyed persons afflicted with incurable

certainty about the workings of the world – a certainty

which can lead to violence when the world doesn’t fit. My

personal favourites, some centuries after Solomon, were the

stylites, hairy ascetics who spent years sitting atop high

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pillars in the desert. There was nothing violent about them,

other than their smell. They summoned djinn to beguile

them with temptations, the better to prove their abstinence

and faith. Personally I didn’t bother with the temptation bit.

I used to tickle them until they fell off.9 Other forbidden activities in the palace included:

fighting, devouring servants, running in the corridors, curs-

ing, drawing rude stick-figures on the harem walls, causing

unpleasant smells to permeate the kitchens, and spitting on

the upholstery. At least these were the ones I’d got told off

for; there were probably others.

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24

Asmira had expected the djinni to saysomething after her revelation – he had notexactly been short of comments hitherto. Butinstead his stillness deepened, and the littleflames that had been flickering along thecontours of his body dwindled suddenly andwent out.

Still as a stone he stood, and as silent asone too – yet the silence he projected was ut-terly ferocious. It filled the room like apoisoned cloud, bearing down upon her withsuch intensity that her knees began tobuckle. Quite unconsciously she steppedback a pace upon her cloth.

She closed her eyes and took a long slowbreath. Calm. She had to remain calm. Bar-timaeus, despite his threats and protesta-tions, was hers now. He had no choice but toobey.

Only calm, swift action, almost withoutthought, had enabled Asmira to survive theprevious half-hour. If she had halted to as-sess what she was doing – robbing a power-ful magician, summoning a demon farstronger than any she had ever attempted –her fear would have overcome her, she wouldhave faltered and been doomed. Instead, aswas at the heart of her talent, she carried outeach stage with detached concentration, fo-cusing on the practicalities and not theimplications.

The hardest part, in fact, had come before-hand, during the endless wait at the banquettable, while Khaba and several of the otherhigh magicians drank themselves insensible.Outwardly Asmira had sat there smiling,

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laughing at their jokes and sipping at herwine. Inwardly she had been in an agony ofsuspense, expecting every moment to be sentaway, or for the Egyptian to put the crystalbottle out of reach: behind her smile shelonged to scream. But when, finally, Khaba’shead lolled and his eyelids closed, she wasready on the instant. Plucking the bottlefrom beneath his nose, she walked out of thehall beneath the ranks of flying djinn, andhurried to her room. There she removed thecloths and candles from her bag, set themout methodically, smashed the bottle andmade the summons. And all without a singlehesitation.

The incantation itself had almost finishedher. Asmira had summoned minor djinn be-fore, using the same technique, but she hadnot reckoned on Bartimaeus’s strength. Evenwith her eyes closed, she had felt his powerpressing against the margins of her circle asshe tried to complete the words; knowledge

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of what would happen should she make asingle error had drained her energies rapidly.But Sheba’s fate depended on her survival,and that knowledge was stronger still. Des-pite her weariness, despite the many monthssince she had last performed a summons,despite the djinni’s fury beating down uponher, Asmira had shut her fears out from hermind and bound him to her service.

And now it just remained to spell that ser-vice out.

She cleared her throat, and fixed her gazeupon the demonic shape. How different tothe creature’s pleasant guise the day before!But terrible as it was, it might be used.

‘Bartimaeus,’ she said hoarsely, ‘I chargeyou now to come with me from this place,without hesitation or delay, and bring mesafely to King Solomon, so that I may puthim to death and remove his Ring (and forthe avoidance of doubt this refers to thetalisman of unparalleled power and not one

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of his lesser rings), then assist me in escap-ing with it to a place of safety. Is that allclear?’

The figure said nothing. It was wreathed insmoke, a dark and frozen thing.

Asmira shivered; a cold breeze seemed towaft across her neck. She glanced back at thechamber door, but all was still.

‘I also charge,’ she went on, ‘that if So-lomon cannot be slain, or if I am captured orseparated from you, above all else you muststeal and destroy the Ring, or, that being im-possible, hide it permanently from the sightand knowledge of all men.’ She took a deepbreath. ‘I say again: is that clear?’

The djinni did not move. Even the fires inhis yellow eyes seemed to have died away.

‘Bartimaeus, is that clear?’There was a stirring in the slender body.

‘Suicide. It can’t be done.’‘You are an ancient spirit of great resource.

You told me so yourself.’

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‘Steal the Ring?’ The voice was very soft.‘Kill Solomon? No. It’s suicide. I might aswell jump down Khaba’s throat or take abath in molten silver. I might as well eat my-self feet first, or put my head under the bot-tom of a squatting elephant. At least thoseoptions would be entertaining to watch. Yousend me to my death.’

‘I risk myself as well,’ Asmira said.‘Ah, yes. That’s the worst thing about it.’

The red-skinned demon moved at last. Heseemed to have shrunk a little, and the bril-liance of his colour had leached away. Hehalf turned away from her, hugging himselfas if he felt the cold. ‘You don’t care aboutdying,’ he said. ‘In fact, you almost expect it.And if that’s the way you feel about yourself,there’s not much hope for one of your slaves,is there?’

‘We have no time to debate this, Bartim-aeus. There are far greater things at risk herethan the lives of you and me.’

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‘Greater things?’ The demon chuckled hol-lowly. ‘Oh, I wonder what they are. Youknow,’ he went on, interrupting Asmira asshe began to speak, ‘ordinary magiciansdon’t care about anything except their wealthand waistline. But they do have a strongsense of self-preservation: they don’t like theidea of dying any more than I do. So whenthey send me off on a job, it’s rarely suicidal.Dangerous, yes – but always a calculatedrisk. Because they know that if I fail, the con-sequences might rebound on them. But you?’The demon gave a heavy sigh. ‘No. I knew I’drun into someone like you one day. I knew itand I dreaded it. Because you’re a fanatic,aren’t you? You’re young and pretty and everso empty-headed, and you don’t care.’

An image flashed before Asmira’s eyes: thetower of Marib burning, almost two weeksbefore. Chains of people bringing water.Bodies being brought down to the street.Furious tears studded her vision. ‘You foul,

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self-centred, vicious little … imp!’ shesnarled. ‘You have no idea how much I care!You have no idea why I’m doing this!’

‘You think not?’ The demon held up threeknobbly, clawed fingers and counted themoff swiftly. ‘Three guesses. Your king. Yourcountry. Your religion. At least two of them,and probably all three. Well? Tell me I’mwrong.’

Asmira knew that the djinni was deliber-ately provoking her, and knew that sheshould ignore it. But rage and wearinessmade her susceptible. ‘I am here out of lovefor my queen,’ she said, ‘and for Sheba,fairest nation under the Sun. And there canbe no higher honour than that – not that asoulless creature like you would ever realizeit.’

The demon grinned, showing curved,white, sharply intersecting fangs. ‘Well now,’he said, ‘I must be soulless because all thatrubbish leaves me cold.’ His shape suddenly

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blurred; it became a succession of tousled,wide-eyed youths, tall, short, handsome,plain, with skins of many nations. The lastwas the same beautiful, dark-haired guiseshe remembered from the gorge, but thistime wingless, sober-faced. ‘You don’t need adjinni for this job,’ the youth said. ‘Youngmen are best at dying for empty concepts. Goback to Sheba and find some of your own.’

‘I’m not talking about empty concepts, de-mon!’ Asmira cried. ‘King Solomon is myreal and bitter enemy! What do you knowabout it? You have never walked in the gar-dens of Sheba, where the fragrances of jas-mine, cinnamon and cassia rise up to heav-en. You’ve never seen the ruffling blue spiceforests of Shabwa, or the alabaster walls ofMarib, where the great reservoir glittersamidst the bright green fields. All this isdoomed unless I act! Very soon, if he is notstopped, Solomon will turn his cursed Ringand bring forth a host of demons just as vile

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as you. They will fly across the desert and fallupon my country. They will raze the cities,destroy the crops and drive my people wail-ing into the desert. I cannot let this happen!’

The youth shrugged. ‘I understand yourpain, I really do,’ he said. ‘But pain changesnothing. So Sheba’s got some pretty plantsand buildings, has it? Well, so did Uruk, andUruk was destroyed by the Babylonianswithout a second thought. The fountainswhere its children played were smashed andthe water ran away into the ground. Its wallswere broken and the towers razed and thegardens burned and the ruins covered overby the sand. In fifty years its very site waslost. So it goes. These things happen in yourunpleasant little world. It’s Sheba’s turnnow; one day it will be Jerusalem’s. Take thelong view, like me, and be content. Failingthat, go ahead and die. Just leave me out ofit. This squabble’s nothing to do with me.’

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‘It is,’ Asmira said viciously, ‘now that I’vesummoned you.’

‘So summon someone else!’ The djinni’svoice grew urgent. ‘Why choose me? Thereisn’t one good reason.’

‘You’re right. Not one, but many. Youknow Solomon’s palace, you know its layoutand routine, you know the names andnatures of its guards. You are a powerfulspirit. And you were stupid enough to tell meyour name a few hours ago. How’s that?’

‘Oh, very succinct,’ the djinni snarled, andhis eyes were almond slits of flame. ‘Espe-cially the name part. All that fluffy stuffabout urging Khaba to let me go … You werealready planning this, weren’t you? You’d gotmy name, and wanted me freely available foruse!’

Asmira shook her head. ‘That’s not true.’‘No? Faquarl was right. You are a liar. I

should have killed you when I had thechance.’

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‘I intended to do the job myself,’ Asmiracried. ‘But I ran out of time. I can’t get accessto Solomon. No one ever sees him except incouncil. In two days Sheba will be gone! Ineed help, Bartimaeus, and I need it now.When that revolting magician showed mewhat he’d done with you, I took my chance.I’ve freed you, don’t forget! I’ve done you afavour! Just serve me this once – then I’ll letyou go.’

‘Oh, just this once? This one little im-possible job? Kill Solomon? Steal the Ring?Have you not heard about Philocretes—’

‘Heard it.’‘Azul—’‘Seen it.’‘Or any of the other foolish spirits who

tried to destroy the king?’ The young manspoke earnestly. ‘Listen to me: Khaba has amarid for a slave – it’s his shadow, by theway: look out for it next time he’s torturingyou. I came up against that spirit a few hours

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ago: I didn’t have a chance. He wiped thefloor with me. If he’d had a cold, he’d haveused me as a handkerchief. That was onesingle marid. And he is nothing to what cancome out of that Ring!’

‘Which is why,’ Asmira said, ‘we kill So-lomon tonight. Now – not a word more.Time’s short, and we have much to do.’

The djinni gazed at her. ‘Is that your finalword?’

‘It is. Get moving.’‘Very well.’ And all at once the young man

stepped out of his circle and into hers. Sud-denly he was right beside her. Asmira gave acry and scrabbled at her belt, but the djinniwas too fast. He caught her hand as it closedupon a dagger. The grip was gentle, thetouch of the fingers slightly cool. She couldnot pull free.

The young man bent his head close tohers. Candlelight moved across the human-seeming skin; a sweet odour of lime and

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rosewood hung about him. Behind the darkringlets of hair, light burned in the goldeneyes. His lips were smiling. ‘No need totremble,’ he said. ‘You know I’d have killedyou already if I could.’

Asmira made a token effort at pulling free.‘Keep away from me.’

‘Oh, but I’ve got to stay close if I’m to keepyou alive. Don’t flinch, now. Show me theback of your hand.’

He lifted her wrist, inspected the skinbriefly, while Asmira wriggled in outrage.‘What are you doing?’ she said.

‘Just looking for some crisscross lines.There’s an assassin sect that’s been causingtrouble in these parts for years. That’s theirmark. But I see you’re not one of them.’ Theyoung man dropped her hand and grinnedbroadly as she stepped away. ‘Bit late to whipa dagger out now, isn’t it? Thought you weremeant to be fast.’

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Asmira’s voice was thick. ‘Enough! Takeme to Solomon.’

‘We both know you’re going to make amistake sooner or later,’ the djinni said. ‘Andwe both know I’ll be waiting.’ He turnedaway, and moved swiftly past her to the door.‘In the meantime, a lovely little walk awaitsus. Where are we now? The guest wing?’

‘I think so.’‘Well, the royal apartments are on the oth-

er side of the palace from here. That meanscrossing the gardens. There aren’t manyguards stationed in the gardens.’

‘Good,’ Asmira said.‘On account of all the afrits and horlas, the

kusarikku and scorpion-men, the whip-bear-ers and the skin-stealers, the sentinels offlame and earth and creeping death, and allthe other varied supernatural slaves thatwander about King Solomon’s householdspecifically to find and slay idiots like us,’Bartimaeus said. ‘So, getting to his

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apartments is going to be interesting in it-self.’ He opened the door and peered out intothe shadows of the passage. ‘After that, ofcourse, the fun really begins … Well, noth-ing’s going to kill us in these next ten yards.That’s a sensation that isn’t going to last, be-lieve me, so enjoy it while you can.’

He slipped out without a backward glance.Asmira followed him. Together, they set offinto the dark.

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25

Here’s the thing. Insane as she was, theSheban girl was correct up to a point. I didknow my way through the palace pretty well.

For instance I knew, better than most, theposition of the imp-bulbs in the walkwaysand the weird-stones in the gardens; I knewthe trajectories of the magical luminositiesthat floated at varying heights among thecyclamen and cypress trees. I knew where tolook for the human guards; I knew the routesthey marched on their nightly rounds; Iknew when they’d be alert, and when they’d

be playing their games of Dogs and Jackals1

and taking their furtive sips of barley beer. I

also knew where to look for the deeper spiesand watch-spirits that waited high in passagecorners and in the shadowed cracks betweenthe flagstones. I could detect them in thefluttering of wall hangings, in the subtlewhorls upon the carpets, in the sound ofwind rushing across the roof tiles.

All these dangers, possibly, I could anticip-ate and avoid.

But kill Solomon and take the Ring? Ah,no. There I didn’t have a clue.

My choice was stark and simple, and bothoptions painfully similar in outcome. TheDismal Flame awaited me if I disobeyed thegirl. That was a certainty: I saw it in her eyes.Despite all my careful, measured arguments– which would have made a hardened war-lord pack away his scimitars and take upsewing – her eyes retained that glassy fixityhumans get when they’re the self-appointedagent of a higher cause and their own per-sonality (such as it is) has faded out

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altogether. Speaking as a being whose per-sonality remains winningly constant no mat-ter what my outward appearance, I alwaysfind this sort of thing disturbing:everything’s upside-down, somehow. Butwhat it boiled down to was this: the girl wasintent on sacrificing herself – and more im-portantly me – and nothing was going topersuade her otherwise.

Which meant that, until she made somesort of error, I had to try to carry out hercommands and steal the Ring.

Now this, as I’d told her, meant ourhideous deaths, as the stories of Azul, Philo-cretes and the rest proved all too well. They’dbeen spirits far tougher than me, and eachand every one had come to a sticky end, withSolomon left still swaggering about just assmugly as ever. The chances of me succeed-ing where they’d failed weren’t great.

But hey, I was still Bartimaeus of Uruk,

with more resourcefulness and guile2 in my

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toenails than those three porridge-brainedafrits together. I wasn’t going to give up quiteyet.

Besides, if you’re going to die horribly, youmight as well do it with style.

*

At that hour of the night the corridors of theguest wing were unfrequented, aside fromone or two stray watch-imps making randomsorties between the floors. I could have swal-lowed them easily enough, but I preferredstealth at this stage of operations. WheneverI heard the beat of leather wings approach-ing, I wove subtle Concealments about thegirl and me. We stood motionless behind ournets of threads as the imps drifted past, trail-ing their alarm-horns, bickering about magi-cians; when all was still, I revoked the spelland we tiptoed on.

Along gently curving passages, past end-less doors … The best thing about this early

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stage was that the girl was quiet, and by thisI mean she didn’t say anything. Like mosttrained killers she was naturally light-footedand economical of movement, but up untilthen she’d also been as shy and retiring as ahowler monkey stranded up a tree. Thinkingclearly made her agitated and voluble; nowwe were actually doing something she was alot happier, and she glided along behind mein a kind of grateful silence. I was gratefultoo. It did me good to have a moment’s peaceand figure out what I was going to do.

Getting us to Solomon’s apartments pastall the traps and watchers was the first job Iwas faced with, a task most seasoned observ-ers would have considered impossible. I ad-mit I found it taxing too. It took me approx-imately three floors, two flights of stairs andthe length of a vaulted annexe before I’d for-

mulated a plan.3

I pulled the girl into the shadows of anarch and spoke tersely: ‘Right, the danger

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begins now. Once through here we’re in themain section of the palace, where anythinggoes. The spirits roaming about will be verydifferent from those piddly imps we justpassed – bigger and hungrier. They’re thesort not allowed in the guest block in case ofaccidents, if you take my meaning. So: we’regoing to have to be extra careful from nowon. Do exactly what I tell you when I tell you,and don’t ask questions. Believe me, youwon’t have time.’

The girl drew her lips in tight. ‘If you thinkI suddenly trust you, Bartimaeus—’

‘Oh, don’t trust me, whatever you do. Trustyour summons: I’m charged to keep you safeat this point, aren’t I?’ I squinted ahead intothe shadows. ‘Right, we’re going to take aquick and quiet shortcut to the gardens.After that – we’ll see. Follow me closely.’

I stole forward, light as gossamer, underthe arch and down a flight of steps to themargins of a great long hall. Solomon had

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had it built during his ‘Babylonian period’;the walls were made of blue-glazed bricksand decorated with lions and coiling dragon-beasts. At intervals on either side rose soar-ing plinths, surmounted with looted statuesfrom ancient cultures. Light came from greatmetal braziers embedded high above ourheads. I checked the planes – all were, forthe moment, clear.

Along the hall on the balls of my feet,gazelle-swift, keeping to the shadows. I couldhear the girl’s breathing at my ear; her feetmade not the slightest sound.

I drew up short, and was instantly knockedinto from behind.

‘Ow! Watch it!’‘You said “follow me closely”.’‘What, are you a comedy farm-hand?

You’re meant to be an assassin.’‘I’m not an assassin, I’m a hereditary

guard.’

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‘A hereditary idiot more like. Get behindthis; I think something’s coming.’

We ducked behind the nearest plinth,pressed close into its shadows. The girl wasfrowning; she sensed nothing, but I felt thereverberations on the planes.

They trembled with sudden violence. So-mething entered the hall at the far end.

Which was the self-same moment the be-nighted girl chose to try to speak. I clampeda hand across her mouth, made ferocioussigns enjoining silence. We shrank backagainst the stone.

For several painful heartbeats nothinghappened. The girl was fretful; she wriggleda bit under my heavy hand. Without speak-ing, I pointed upwards at the tiled wall,where a vast silhouette was slowly passing, athing of monstrous mass and bulbous shape,with swaying limbs and twitching threads ofmatter trailing in its wake … The girl grewstill then – even rigid; I could have propped

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her like a broom against the wall. We stayedmotionless as the visitation passed. At last itwas gone; and at no time had there been asingle noise.

‘What was it?’ the girl hissed when I re-leased her.

‘From the way the planes bent,’ I said, ‘I’dguess a marid. Khaba’s servant is one ofthose. They’re usually pretty rare, but that’swhat happens when you have the Ring of So-lomon kicking about: even higher entities

become two-a-shekel.4 Aren’t you glad Ididn’t let you speak just then?’

The girl shivered. ‘I’m just glad I didn’t ac-tually see the thing straight on.’

‘Oh, if you’d seen it,’ I said, ‘you’d havethought it was just a cute little blue-eyedslave boy toddling up the hall. You’d stillhave been chortling at its curly locks andlittle chubby chin when its spear-tail got youthrough the throat. Well, this is no time for

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pleasant daydreaming. We’d better get—Hold on …’

From a side arch, midway along the hall, anode of light was drifting. A diminutive fig-ure in white robes walked beneath it, limpingslightly. And hanging like a formless cloudabove his shoulder—

‘Get back!’ I thrust us both behind theplinth again.

‘What now?’ the girl hissed. ‘I thought thiswas meant to be a quiet shortcut.’

‘It normally is. It’s like Thebes market-place tonight. This is Solomon’s vizier.’

‘Hiram?’ She frowned. ‘He’s got a mouse—’‘It’s not a mouse on the higher planes, be-

lieve you me. With that perched on him, it’sno surprise he’s got a limp. Stay very still.’

Unlike the marid, Hiram’s footsteps wereloud enough to hear, and to begin with theyappeared to be moving off in a satisfactorymanner. Then, all at once, I heard the mousesqueak warily and the footsteps stop. There

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was a soft, wet sound and, a moment later,the smell of rotten eggs drifting down thehall.

I knew what that meant. The foliot Gezeri.‘Well?’ Hiram’s voice was clear; he must

have been standing twenty paces from wherewe hid. ‘What do you want, creature?’

‘A quick chat, O great Hiram,’ Gezeri said,his tone somehow completely subverting therespectful nature of the words. ‘My master,magnificent Khaba, has lately been a littleindisposed.’

‘I saw him at dinner.’ Hiram’s distaste wasclear. ‘He was drunk.’

‘Yeah, well, he’s come round now, and he’slost something. Small bottle. Mislaid it, can’tfind it. Maybe rolled off the table, maybebeen cleared away with the other scraps.We’ve had a look about, can’t set eyes on it.Very mysterious.’

Hiram snorted. ‘His gift to Solomon?That’s of no consequence to me. I should

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have thought you would have kept an eye onit, being his slave; you, or that vile shadow ofhis.’

‘Ah no, we were in his tower, clearing up amess that— Oh, it’s not important. Listen’ –Gezeri spoke nonchalantly; I could imaginehim sitting in his cloud, twirling his tail in acasual paw – ‘you ain’t seen that Arabian girlabout, have you?’

‘The priestess Cyrine? She will have goneto her room.’

‘Yeah. Which room is that, if you don’tmind telling? See, Khaba’s wondering—’

‘Actually, I do mind.’ Hiram’s footstepssuddenly resumed. He would have beenwalking away from Gezeri now, speakingover his shoulder. ‘Let Khaba sort out hisown mess in the morning. He’s not to disturbany of our guests now.’

‘But see, we think—’ There followed amuttered word from the magician, a mouse’sbattle-squeak and a shrill curse from Gezeri.

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‘Ow!’ he cried. ‘Keep it off! All right, all right,I’m going!’ After that came the unmistakablesound of a lilac cloud imploding. The magi-cian’s footsteps pattered slowly away alongthe hall.

I scowled over at the girl. ‘That didn’t takelong. We’ve got Khaba on our heels. We’dbetter hurry up and get killed by somethingelse before he discovers where you are.’

Rather to my relief no further demonic waifsand strays came wandering along the Baby-lonian Hall, and we got to the far end unmo-lested. After that it was a simple matter toduck through the Hittite Room, veer past theSumerian Annexe, take a left beside the Celt-

ic Cabinet5 and, just before we got to thesprawling (and guarded) Egyptian Halls,step through a little arch into the southerncloisters beside the gardens.

‘OK,’ I breathed. ‘Now we pause and havea recce. What do you see here?’

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The night beyond the cloisters was at itsdeepest, darkest and most secretive. The airwas clear; a breeze still carried warmth fromthe eastern deserts. I scanned the stars:judging by the brightness of Arcturus, andOsiris’s waning, we had four or five hours leftbefore dawn.

The gardens stretched away from us, northand south. They were ink-dark, save whererectangles of light from the palace windowslay twisted over shrubs and statues, foun-tains, palm trees, oleander flowers. At someunseen distance to the north lay the blackwall of the king’s tower, conveniently besidethe harem, but separated from the main sec-tion of the palace. To the south were many ofthe public halls, including the audiencechambers, the rooms where Solomon’s hu-man servants lived and worked, and –slightly apart from the other buildings – histreasury, filled with gold.

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The girl had been taking it all in. ‘Theseare the gardens? Seem quiet enough.’

‘Which shows how much you know,’ I said.‘You humans really are useless, aren’t you?It’s all go here. See that statue over by therhododendrons? That’s an afrit. If you couldmake out the higher planes, you’d see – well,it’s probably just as well you can’t see whathe’s doing. He’s one of the night-shift cap-tains. All the sentries in this section of thepalace will report to him periodically; theykeep watch on each other too, just to ensurenothing’s untoward. I can see five – no, six –djinn either concealed in the shrubbery orfloating amongst the trees, and there are afew wispy firefly things that I don’t like thelook of either. In the middle of that centralwalkway is a trip-thread that triggerssomething nasty, and up there in the skythere’s a great big soaring fifth-plane domecovering the gardens; any spirit flyingthrough that will activate alarms. So, taken

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all in all, this part of the palace is pretty welllocked down.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ the girl said.‘How do we get through?’

‘We don’t,’ I said. ‘Not yet. We need tocause a distraction. I think I can arrangethat, but first, I’ve got a question for you:Why?’

‘Why what?’‘Why are we doing all this? Why must we

die?’The girl scowled. Thinking again! How it

taxed her. ‘I told you. Solomon threatensSheba.’

‘In what way precisely?’‘He demands our frankincense! A vast

ransom! If we do not pay, he will destroy us!He told my queen so.’

‘Came himself, did he?’‘No. He sent a messenger. What difference

does it make?’‘Maybe none. So pay the ransom.’

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It was as if I’d asked her to kiss a corpse.Anger, incredulity and revulsion jostled forposition in her dumbstruck face. ‘My queenwould never do such a thing,’ she hissed. ‘Itwould be a crime against her honour!’

‘Ye-e-e-s,’ I said. ‘And we wouldn’t bedead.’

For a second you could sense the cogswhirring; then her expression went all hardand blank. ‘I serve my queen, just as mymother did, and my grandmothers, and theirmothers before them. That is all there is to it.Now, we’re wasting time. Let’s go.’

‘Not you,’ I said shortly. ‘You need to keepundercover here a moment, and don’t talk toany strange imps while I’m gone. Sorry – noarguments!’ She had begun a tirade of ques-tions and demands. ‘The more we dawdle,the sooner Khaba will catch us. His maridAmmet is probably already trying to traceyour aura. What we need to do is find an ap-propriate place for you to hide … Aha!’

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That ‘Aha’ was me noticing a thick rosebush just outside the cloister window. It hadresplendent foliage, some slightly tired pink-ish flowers and an awful lot of very spinythorns. All in all, I felt it was perfect for ourpurposes. A swift grab, a hoist and dangle,and down the girl plopped into the thickest,thorniest patch of all.

I listened hopefully … Not even a squeak.She was very well trained.

With her safely disposed of, I changed intoa small, brown and rather insignificant-look-ing cricket and flew off along the margins ofthe gardens, keeping low among the flowers.

You might have noticed that after my ini-tial rage and despondency, I was recoveringa certain amount of my customary élan. Thetruth was that an odd, fatalistic exhilarationhad begun to seize hold of me. The sheermagnitude, the sheer dumb audacity of whatI was now attempting was beginning to exertits own appeal. OK, there was the certain-

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death part, which wasn’t so hot, but giventhat I had no choice in the matter, I found Irather relished the challenge of my night’swork. Outwit a palaceful of spirits? Destroythe most celebrated magician then living?Steal the most powerful artefact of all? Thesewere objectives worthy of the legendary Bar-timaeus of Uruk and a far better use of mytime than carrying big string bags of ar-tichokes about the place, or bowing andscraping before masters like the vile Egyp-tian. I rather wondered what Faquarl wouldsay if he could see me now.

Speaking of masters, the Arabian girlmight be obsessive, driven and somewhathumourless, but despite my fury at the im-pudence of her summoning, I could not en-tirely despise her. Her personal courage wasself-evident; also, there was the fact that shewas prepared to sacrifice herself along withme.

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The insignificant cricket headed south be-side the gardens, in the opposite direction tothe apartments of the king. As I went, I fixedthe position of as many sentries as I couldspot, taking note of their size, manner and

vibrancy of aura.6 Most were djinn of medi-um potency, and there were a fair number ofthem about, albeit fewer than in the northernregions of the gardens.

I felt there was room to make them fewerstill.

I was particularly interested in a secludedbit of garden not far from Solomon’s treas-ury: you could see its roof rising just beyondthe trees. Before long I singled out a djinnistationed here, standing all on his own be-side one of Solomon’s antiquities, a massivedisc of weathered stone fixed upright in thegrass.

To my great delight I recognized the djinniin question. It was none other than Bosquo,that same pompous little bean-counter who

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had ticked me off when I’d brought the ar-tichokes in ‘late’ a couple of weeks before. Hestood with weedy arms folded, pot-belly pro-truding, and an expression of abominablevacancy on his dreary face.

What better place could there be to begin?The cricket’s wings began to beat at a

slightly faster, more sinister tempo. It madea series of discreet loops and passes to checkno one else was around, then landed on thestone at Bosquo’s back. I tapped him on theshoulder with a foreleg.

Bosquo gave a grunt of surprise, andturned to look.

With that, the city’s night of carnagebegan.

1Dogs and Jackals: a board game, usually played with

ivory pieces, although sometimes the pharaohs back in

Thebes did it large-scale, with djinn taking on the relevant

canine shapes and bounding around a courtyard-sized

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board. You had to wrestle your opponent when you landed

on a square, and it was all done in the heat of the day, so

everyone got quite sticky and odorous, and the collars didn’t

half itch. Not that I know anything about it really, having

been far too important to take part in such a humiliating

exercise.2 Not to mention mindless optimism.3 Can you define ‘plan’ as ‘a loose sequence of mani-

festly inadequate observations and conjectures, held togeth-

er by panic, indecision and ignorance’? If so, it was a very

good plan.4 It’s true that when it came to spirit-slaves there was

serious devaluation going on in Jerusalem at that time. In

normal eras a djinni is pretty close to the top of the pile,

treated by all and sundry with appropriate awe and respect.

But thanks to the Ring, and the concentration of top magi-

cians drawn into its orbit, it had got so you couldn’t throw a

stone over your shoulder without hitting an afrit on the

kneecap. The consequence was that honest entities like me

were shoved right down the pecking order, lumped together

with foliots, imps and other undesirables.

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5Celtic Cabinet: a small bureau containing a few pots of

dried woad and a frayed grass G-string brought back from

the British Isles. Solomon’s djinn had travelled the globe in

many directions, hunting for cultural marvels to stimulate

his appetite. Some journeys yielded better dividends than

others.6 Since most of us are able to adopt all manner of

shapes, the most reliable way of assessing our relative

strength quickly is by our auras, which wax and wane (wane

mainly) throughout our time on Earth.

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26

It was very quiet carnage to begin with,though. I didn’t want to disturb anyone.

To deal with Bosquo took approximatelyfifteen seconds. This was slightly longer thanexpected. He had a couple of awkward tusks.

In the four minutes that followed I paidseveral little visits to other sentries in thatarea of the gardens. Each encounter wassimilarly short, sharp and relatively painless

– at least for me.1

With everything concluded, I turned backinto a cricket and – temporarily somewhatfull and sluggish – drifted back in the direc-tion of the girl. But I didn’t go to get her yet;

I was more interested in the night-shift cap-tain standing near the rhododendron thicket.I flew as close as I could to him in safety;then, alighting on one of Solomon’s more un-usual sculptures, crept beneath the crook ofa thigh to watch developments.

They weren’t long in coming.The afrit was masquerading as a statue

himself on the first plane – a demure milk-maid or some such fiction. On the others hewas a glowering grey ogre with knobblyknees, bronze armbands and an ostrich-feather loincloth; in other words he was ex-actly the kind of spirit I didn’t want sta-tioned in the gardens while the girl and Iwere passing. From his belt hung an enorm-ous horn of ivory and bronze.

Presently, things began to happen. Outfrom the bushes scampered a gangling ape,with a bright pink muzzle and a shock of or-ange hair. It skidded to a halt before the

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afrit, sat back on its haunches and performeda brief salute. ‘Zahzeel, I crave a word!’

‘Well, Kibbet?’‘I have been making my rounds in the

southern gardens. Bosquo is missing fromhis post.’

The afrit frowned. ‘Bosquo? Who sits be-low the treasury? He has leave to patrol theRose Glade and the eastern arbours. Nodoubt you will find him there.’

‘I have looked under every twig and leaf,’the ape replied. ‘Bosquo is nowhere to beseen.’

The ogre pointed at the sparkling domehigh above the garden. ‘The outer nexus hasnot been breached. There is no attack fromoutside. Bosquo has gone walkabout andshall be Stippled soundly when he chooses toreturn. Go back to your duties, Kibbet, andreport to me at sunrise.’

The ape departed. Safe in its hiding place,the cricket chirped quietly in satisfaction.

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Standing on a plinth for hours isn’t myidea of fun, but Zahzeel the ogre seemedhappy with his lot. Over the next minute ortwo he rocked idly back on his heels a bit,flexed his knees once or twice and made avariety of contented smacking noises withhis mouth. Perhaps he would have spent thewhole night doing this if he’d been given theopportunity.

It wasn’t to be. In a shower of leaves and afour-limbed lollop, the ape burst out fromthe bushes once more. It appeared rathermore dishevelled than previously; its teethwere bared and its eyes bulged in theirsockets.

‘Zahzeel! I make report of furtheroddities.’

‘Not Bosquo again?’‘Bosquo has not yet been located, sir. But

now Susu and Trimble are missing too.’The ogre stopped short. ‘What? Where

were they stationed?’

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‘On the battlements adjacent to the treas-ury. Susu’s pike was discovered in the gardenbelow, protruding from the flowerbed. Sever-al of Trimble’s scales were also scatteredhere and there, but there is no sign of thedjinn themselves on any plane.’

‘And the outer nexus is still undamaged?’‘Yes, sir.’Zahzeel smacked a meaty fist into a palm.

‘Then nothing has entered from outside! Ifthere is an enemy spirit abroad, it must havebeen conjured by someone inside the palace.We must get reinforcements and go to thescene.’ At this the ogre seized the hornhanging at his side, and was just about to setit to his lips when, with a flash of light, an-other small spirit materialized in mid-air.

This one was a manikin sitting in an oystershell. ‘I have news, Master!’ it squeaked. ‘Thesentry Hiqquus has been discovered com-pressed inside a water butt; he is somewhat

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squashed, not to mention soggy – but helives. He says that he was attacked—’

The afrit gave a curse. ‘By whom?’2

‘He only got a glimpse, but … it wasBosquo! He recognized his belly and hissnout!’

The ogre nearly fell off his pedestal inshock. He was just about to speak when, in ashower of damp earth, a third small demon,this one with the soft, sad face of a gazelle,rose from the turf below him. ‘Master, thesentry Balaam has been pushed into the ma-nure pile and a heavy statue placed on top ofhim! I heard his muffled squeaks, and with agrapple on the end of a long pole have justsucceeded in tugging him free. Poor Balaam– he won’t smell of brimstone for some con-siderable time to come. As soon as he couldspeak he named his cruel assailant – it wasthe djinni Trimble!’

‘Zahzeel’ – this was Kibbet, the first of theinformants – ‘clearly Trimble and Bosquo

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have gone berserk! We must locate themwith all speed.’

The ogre gave a decisive nod. ‘I have noteda pattern here. Their assaults are focused onthe area around the treasury. The king’s goldis collected there, and many precious treas-ures. Clearly these djinn – or the magicianswho are their masters – intend a robbery, orsome other atrocious act. We must act fast!Kibbet and you others, go at speed to thetreasury block. I shall summon further helpand meet you there. Once our forces are as-sembled we will alert the vizier. Hiram willhave to decide whether to disturb the slum-bers of the king.’

The gazelle-imp ducked down into theground; the manikin pulled down his oystershell and spun away into the sky; the orangeape gave a star-jump and, with a grunt, de-volved into a twirl of orange sparks that drif-ted out of sight.

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Zahzeel the afrit? He raised the horn to hismouth and blew.

All across the gardens of the palace of So-lomon there was a roaring and a shaking asZahzeel’s subordinates were summoned tohis side. Bright lights flared in unexpectedplaces among the pavilions and rose bowers;eyes blinked open in shrubs and pottedferns. Sculptures shifted, hopped down frompedestals; innocent-seeming vines bent andcoiled; benches shimmered, were suddenlyno more. All across the northern gardens thehidden sentries bestirred themselves: andhere they came – horned, clawed, red-eyedand frothing, things with twisting tails ofbone, and fibrous wings, and dangling bel-lies; oozing things and scuttling things;things with legs and things without; dartingmites and bounding ghuls, wisps and im-plets, foliots and djinn, all silently surfing thelawns and treetops of the gardens to con-gregate about Zahzeel.

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The afrit gave a few brief orders andclapped his hands. The air grew chill; iceformed on the pedestal and glittered on therhododendron leaves. The ogre was gone;atop the pedestal rose a column of rushingsmoke and licking tendrils, from which twobaleful yellow eyes gleamed down with grim

ferocity.3

Coiling like a spring, the column of smokeshot upwards into the air and disappearedover the shrubbery. There followed an explo-sion of movement as Zahzeel’s hordes took tothe skies, or set off, galloping, along theground. In a few short seconds the wholegrisly cavalcade had thundered south in thedirection of the treasury – precisely where Iwasn’t, and didn’t want to go.

To the north, however, the garden wasquiet and still.

On its exotic sculpture the cricket gave abrief caper of wicked glee. The score so farcould be summarized as follows: Bartimaeus

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of Uruk 1, Assembled Spirits of Solomon 0.Not bad for twenty minutes’ work, I’ll thinkyou’ll agree. But I didn’t hang about to celeb-rate. There was no telling how soon it wouldbe before Zahzeel and Co. returned.

In keeping with this sense of urgency, Ihoicked the girl out of the rose bush indouble-quick time and set her runningalongside me north across the lawns. As wewent, I gave her a modest précis of my tri-umph – just the bare bones of it, keeping itterse and unshowy, as is my wont, limitingthe historical comparisons to a minimumand only concluding with three rhyming pae-ans of self-praise. When I finished, I waitedexpectantly, but the girl said nothing; shewas still too busy plucking thorns from herunderclothes.

At last she finished. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Welldone.’

I stared at her. ‘Well done? Is that all youcan say?’ I gestured at the empty trees and

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rustic arbours all around. ‘Look – nothingleft on any plane! I’ve cleared the way rightto Solomon’s door. A marid couldn’t havedone any better than that in the time avail-able. Well done?’ I scowled. ‘What kind of aresponse is that?’

‘It’s a thank-you,’ she said. ‘Would yourother masters have spoken any better?’

‘No.’‘Well, then.’‘Only I’d have thought you might have

viewed things in a different light,’ I said idly.‘You know, on account of you being a slaveyourself.’

There was a silence; ahead of us, betweenthe trees, the king’s apartments could now beseen, a dark domed mass rising sheer againstthe milky sheen of stars.

The girl jumped over the little tiled chan-nel that marked the beginnings of the watergardens. She said: ‘I’m not a slave.’

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‘Sure.’ I was in human form again: thehandsome young Sumerian, lolloping alonglike a wolf, with easy strides. ‘I remember.You’re a “hereditary guard”. Nice one. Alto-gether different. That “hereditary” bit, incid-entally – what’s that mean?’

‘Is it not obvious, Bartimaeus? I follow mymother, and my mother’s mother, and so ondown the years. I, as they, have the sacredrole of protecting our queen’s life. There isno higher calling. Where now?’

‘Left around the lake – there’s a footbridgethere. So you’ve prepared for this frombirth?’

‘Well, from early girlhood. As a baby Icouldn’t hold a knife.’

I glanced at her. ‘Was that a joke, or justpainfully literal thinking? I’m guessing thelatter.’

The girl said flatly: ‘Do not seek to demeanme, demon. I have an exalted position. Thereis a special altar in the Temple of the Sun

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dedicated to the guards. The priestessesbless us individually at each festival. Thequeen addresses us each by name.’

‘How thrilling for you,’ I said. ‘Wait, watchout on the bridge – there’s a trip-thread onthe second plane – it’ll trigger an alarm.When you get to the top, do a little jump likeme. That’s it; you’re over it … Now, I’ve aquestion. Have you, at any time, had anychoice in what you do? Could you have beenanything other than a guard?’

‘No. And I wouldn’t have wanted to. I fol-lowed my mother.’

‘Lack of choice,’ I said. ‘Preordained frombirth. Ordered to sacrifice yourself for acruel, unfeeling master. You’re a slave.’

‘The queen is not unfeeling,’ the girl cried.‘She practically wept when she sent me—’

‘Here to die,’ I finished. ‘You can’t seewhat’s right in front of your nose, can you?Speaking of which, there’s another trip-thread here, suspended between those trees.

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Bend down double, like this, nice and low.That’s it, you’re through. Take it from me,’ Iwent on as we took up the pace once more.‘You’ve got a fancy title and a nice line inweaponry, but you’re just as enslaved as ifyour neck was chained. I pity you.’

The girl had had enough by now. ‘Besilent!’

‘Sorry, don’t do silent. The only differencebetween you and me is that I’ve got self-knowledge. I know I’m enslaved, and it getson my wick. That gives me just a shadowyslice of freedom. You haven’t even got that.This queen of yours must be laughing hercrown off, you’re so eager to obey her everywhim.’

Something flashed in the starlight; a dag-ger was in her hand. ‘Never dare to insult thequeen, demon!’ the girl cried. ‘You cannotimagine the responsibility she holds. She hasabsolute faith in me, and I in her. I wouldnever question a command she gave.’

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‘Apparently not,’ I said crisply. ‘Right,watch out here: we need three little jumps,one after the other, high as you can. That’s it.Now get down on all fours … wiggle forwards… try and keep your bottom a little lowerplease … a bit more … OK, you can get upnow.’

The girl stared back at me across theempty patch of lawn in wonder. ‘How manytrip-threads were concealed there?’

I strolled across to her, grinning. ‘Abso-lutely none. That was just a little illustrationof what your queen is doing to you – as wellas being highly amusing to watch. You cer-tainly don’t question anything, do you?“Blind obedience to no good purpose” – thatcould be your motto.’

The girl gave a gasp of fury; the knife inher hand was suddenly finely balancedbetween fingertip and thumb. ‘I should killyou for that.’

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‘Yeah, yeah, but you won’t.’ I turned awayfrom her and began surveying the greatstone blocks of the building rising just ahead.‘Why? Because that wouldn’t help your pre-cious queen. Besides, I’m not in a circle now.I could dodge it pretty well out here, evenwhen I’m looking in the opposite direction.But by all means try it, if you like.’

For a few moments there wasn’t any soundbehind, then I heard feet padding on thegrass. When the girl came alongside me, theknife was in her belt.

She scowled up at the mass of stonework.At its splaying foot the last vestiges of thenorthern gardens broke apart in a sculptedmess of jasmine trees. The pale white flowerswere probably quite pretty by daylight, butunder the stars’ spectral gloaming brought tomind a glittering pile of bones.

‘Is this it, then?’ the girl said.I nodded. ‘Yep, probably in every sense.

This is Solomon’s tower. There’s a rooftop

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balcony somewhere up there, which is whereI suggest we try to enter. But I’ve one finalquestion before we do.’

‘Well?’‘What’s your mother think about this?

About you coming out here, all on your own.Is she as pleased as you are?’

Unlike some of my other probing ques-tions, the girl seemed to find this a very easyone to answer. ‘My mother died in the ser-vice of the last queen,’ she said simply. ‘Asshe looks down on me from the Sun God’srealm, I am sure she honours all I do.’

‘I see,’ was all I said to this. And I did, too.

Other things being equal, I would at thatpoint have turned myself into a roc, phoenixor other dashing bird, seized the girl by anankle, and hoisted her indecorously up to thebalcony. Sadly, I was prevented from doingthis by a fresh danger in the air above us: amultitude of bright-green, luminous Pulses,drifting at different heights close beside the

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wall. They weren’t moving fast, but they werevery thick in places, and also erratic, some-times speeding up for no apparent reason.Any flying thing would inevitably collide withsome of them, with unpleasant results.

They were first-plane, so the girl could seethem too. ‘What do we do now?’

‘We need,’ I said, ‘an appropriate guise …What sticks to walls?’

‘Spiders,’ she said. ‘Or slugs.’‘Not keen on spiders. Too many limbs to

control; I get confused. I could do a slug, butwe’d be here all night, and anyway, howwould I carry you?’ I snapped my fingers. ‘Iknow! A nice big lizard.’

So saying, the handsome youth was gone,and in his place stood a slightly less good-looking giant gecko, complete with spiny, in-terlocking scales, splay-toes, multi-suckeredfeet and bulbous boggling eyes set on eitherside of its gummy, grinning mouth. ‘Hello,’ it

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said, extending a juicy tongue. ‘Give us ahug.’

The girl’s squeal would probably have beenthe shrillest ever uttered by one of Sheba’shereditary guard, except that it was muffledby the coiling tip of my long and sinewy tail,which wrapped itself around her and liftedher off the ground. Then the lizard was upand away, clinging to the stones with thesticky spatulae upon its spreading feet. Withone eye I kept my gaze fixed on the wallahead; the other, swivelled at approximatelyninety degrees over my scaly shoulder, keptclose watch on the floating Pulses in case anyshould come too near. It was a shame Ididn’t have a spare eye to check out thedangling girl as well, but various distant Ara-bian curses reassured me of her state ofmind.

My progress was fast, and the way relat-ively unimpeded. Only once did a Pulse comeanywhere near us, and then I managed a

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sideways shimmy to avoid it – I felt the airgrow momentarily chill as it bounced off thestonework beside my head.

Things went very well, in short; until, thatis, I heard the girl calling something out be-low me.

‘What was that?’ I said, swivelling anacerbic eye in her direction. ‘I told you, Ican’t do spiders. It’s a leg thing. Think your-self lucky I didn’t do the slug.’

Her face was white, which might havebeen the ride, but she was also pointing up-wards and to the side. ‘No,’ she croaked. ‘Aspider – over there.’

The lizard looked with both eyes then, justin time to observe a large, fat spider-djinnisqueezing out from a concealed opening inthe wall. It had a tarantula’s body, swollenbig as a cow corpse after the rains. Each of itslegs was hard and knobbly as bamboo andended in a sharpened sting. Its face,however, was human, with a neat little beard

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and a tall conical hat. Evidently, as a guardi-an of Solomon’s tower, it wasn’t underZahzeel’s command; either that, or it wasdeaf. Whichever, it reacted swiftly enoughnow. A jet of yellow webbing shot from itsbaggy undercarriage and struck me full on,breaking my grip on the wall. I fell a fewyards, caught desperate hold and hung one-handed, encased in webbing, swinging backand forth above the gulf.

Somewhere below, I heard the girl cry out,but I hadn’t time to heed her. One of thespider’s legs rose, made ready to send a Flarehigh above the gardens; soon all Solomon’sslaves would have seen it and congregated atthe scene.

But the lizard acted. With one free leg Isent forth a Mantle to encase the spider. Myspell shimmered into being just as the Flarewas loosed: the bolt of energy struck the in-side of the Mantle, rebounded and hit thespider’s balloon-like belly. At the same time,

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the lizard broke through its bonds with oneslash of a fore-claw.

Its body steaming where the Flare hadstruck, the spider broke the Mantle apartwith a swiftly spoken counter-spell, bent itslegs and leaped straight down the wall to-wards me. I swung to the side, dodged itsswiping blow and, snaring it by a bristly hindleg, whirled it round and round with as muchforce as I could muster, before spinning itout with all my considerable might, straightinto a drifting Pulse thirty feet or so beyond.

There was a flash; a field of black and yel-low bands of light engulfed the djinni, grewtight, grew tighter – and squeezed it messilyinto nothing.

The magical effusion was regrettable, andmight possibly be spotted from the south,but in the circumstances it couldn’t really behelped. The lizard looked down at thedangling girl and gave her a broad wink.‘Like the throwing technique?’ I grinned.

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‘Learned it squirrel-tossing with the Mongol

nomads.4 On quiet nights we’d— Oh! No!What are you doing?’

She had the silver dagger poised in herhand again; her arm was drawn back, hereyes wild and staring.

‘Don’t!’ I cried. ‘You’ll kill us both! You’ll—’A whirl of movement; the dagger left her

hand, flashed past my snout and embeddedin something close behind with a soft, wetand very decisive splat.

The lizard’s eyes swivelled once more, onlyto observe a second large, fat spider-djinnistaring in astonishment at the silver daggerembedded in the centre of its belly. Its legs,which had been poised above my head,scrabbled weakly at the poisoned wound. Itsessence grew brown and dull; like an agedpuffball it fell in upon itself, letting outsprays of fine grey dust. It toppled from thewall, dropped like a stone, was gone.

The night was still once more.

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I looked down at the girl, still dangling inmy coiled tail. ‘Good,’ I said at last. ‘Welldone.’

‘Well done?’ Possibly it was the starlight,possibly her tilted angle, but I could havesworn there was a mild smirk upon her face.‘Well done? What kind of a response is that?’

‘All right,’ I growled. ‘Thank you.’‘See?’ she said. ‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’The lizard did not reply, but with a slightly

indignant flick of the tail continued up thewall. A moment later we had reached thebalcony.

1 I won’t go into the details here, to spare the sensibilit-

ies of my more delicate readers, but suffice it to say that the

horrid scenes were enlivened by my caustic wit, plus certain

rather clever changes of form, which had the amusing effect

of— Well, you’ll see.

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2 He was one of your better-quality afrits, Zahzeel.

Even in moments of high stress he kept his grammar up to

scratch.3 It wasn’t a bad effect, all told. I’d probably use it one

day. Assuming I was still alive.4 On quiet nights we’d go down to Lake Baikal with a

basket of plump ones each and send them skimming out

across the waves. My record was eight bounces, seven

squeaks.

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27

The ascent of the wall had proved somethingof a trial for Asmira. The motion-sicknesshad been bad enough – she strongly suspec-ted that the djinni had whipped its tail fromside to side more vigorously than was strictlynecessary – but she had also thoroughly dis-liked the extreme helplessness she felt.Wrapped in the tail, suspended high abovethe ground, watching as the lizard fought sodesperately with the first of the repulsivespider guards, she had realized for the firsttime how utterly dependent she was uponher slave. Deny it as she might, that depend-ency was total. Without Bartimaeus, she

would never have got so far; without Bartim-aeus she had no hope of getting any nearer toher goal.

Of course, it was she who by quickness ofthinking and strength of mind had com-manded the djinni to her service – she hadmade the most of the chance that had comeher way. But that was all it was, in truth – alucky chance. Left to her own devices in thepalace, all her skills and years of trainingwould have come to nothing, and the trusther queen had showed her would haveproved misplaced. On her own, she wouldhave failed.

Knowledge of her limitations, of her indi-vidual frailty, suddenly enveloped Asmiraand took its usual shape. In her mind’s eyeshe saw again her mother standing on thechariot beside the throne, with her killers ad-vancing on all sides. She saw the knivesgleaming in the sun. And she felt again theterror of her weakness – the weakness of her

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six-year-old self – too slow, too feeble, toofar away to help.

Much more than the swinging of the tail, itwas this sensation that made her sick atheart, and it had actually come as a relief toher when the second guard had scuttled fromits hole, and she had been able to wrest adagger from her belt and strike it down. Asalways, her fluidity of action brought respite– her heart’s unease was smothered by en-joyment in her skill. In the flash of a knife-strike her memory of her mother was, for themoment, gone, and Asmira was refocused onthe task ahead. Even the last few lurchingmoments of the climb, in which the djinniseemed to throw her around more violentlythan ever, did not damp down the feeling,and she was deposited at last upon the bal-cony in better spirits than before.

She was on a pillared walkway, open to thestars. Between the pillars, silhouetted statuessat on plinths; here and there were scattered

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seats and tables. Above, and very close now,the tower’s dome soared into the night. Setinto the dome’s base and accessed by acovered passage leading from the balcony,there stood a pitch-black arch.

Asmira turned to look back the way shehad come. Far below, silvery in the starlight,the gardens stretched away towards thesouthern regions of the palace, where distantpoints of colour could be seen, darting to andfro.

A small sand cat, with long, pointed ears,neat body and a striped and fluffy tail curledaround its forepaws, sat atop the balustradewatching the movement of the lights.

‘Still milling about the treasury, chasingshadows,’ the cat remarked. ‘What a flock offools they are.’ It shook its head pityingly,and glanced at Asmira with big, lilac-col-oured eyes. ‘Just think, you might havesummoned one of them. Aren’t you lucky yougot me?’

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Asmira blew a strand of hair away fromher face, irritated that the djinni had echoedher own thoughts. ‘You’re just as lucky,’ shesaid stubbornly. ‘Seeing as I got you out ofthat bottle, and killed that spider-thing justnow.’ She checked her belt. Two knives left.Well, that would be enough.

‘I’d say we’re both lucky to have survivedthis far,’ the sand cat said. It jumped silentlyto the ground. ‘Let’s see how much furtherwe can make our fortune stretch.’

With tail high and whiskers out, it dinkedbetween the pillars, flowing in and out ofshadows. ‘No obvious hexes, no trip-threads,no dangling tendrils …’ it murmured. ‘Thewalkway’s clear. Solomon must have been re-lying on everything that came before. Nowthen, this arch … No door, just heavy drapes.A bit too easy, one might think … and onewould be right, because there’s a nexus onthe seventh plane.’ The cat looked over itsfurry shoulder as Asmira drew close. ‘For

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your information it’s like a pearly shimmerycobweb thing strung all the way across. Quitepretty really, only alarmed.’

Asmira frowned. ‘What can we do?’‘You, as usual, can’t do anything except

stand around looking cross. I, on the otherhand, have options. Now, hush up a mo-ment. I need to concentrate on this …’

The cat went very still. It sat before theopen archway, regarding it intently.Presently it began to make the faintest hiss-ing sound. Once or twice it raised its fore-paws and moved them from side to side, butotherwise it appeared to do nothing. Asmirawatched in some frustration, angered againby her blind reliance on her slave. And hewas a slave – there was no doubt about that.Whatever Bartimaeus had claimed earlier,there was no equivalence between him andher at all. None. The summons she hadspoken had spelled his bondage out in black

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and white. It was a wholly different thingfrom her willing obedience to her queen.

She thought of Queen Balkis, waiting backin Marib – hoping, praying for her loyalguard’s success. Only a day remained beforethe deadline! By now, they would probablyall have assumed she’d failed, and be takingsteps to withstand attack. Asmira wonderedwhat magics the priestesses might constructaround the city, what demons they weremustering in last, desperate defence …

Her lips tightened. She was very closenow. She would not fail.

The cat gave a sudden chuckle andtwitched its tail in appreciation. ‘There yougo! Look at that beauty! The ObedientBreath’s a cracker, isn’t it? Works everytime.’

Asmira gazed at the arch. ‘I can’t see anydifference.’

‘Well, of course you can’t. You’re humanand therefore, by the immutable laws of

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nature, completely hopeless. I’ve used theBreath to push the nexus back, see, and put aSeal on it to hold it open. There’s a nice holein the middle here. Not too big – can’t riskany of the threads knocking against eachother. So we’ll have to jump through thehole. Yes, I know you can’t see it. Just dowhat I do.’

The sand cat gave a vigorous springthrough the centre of the arch, landed lightlyjust in front of the hanging drapes. Asmiradidn’t hesitate; fixing the cat’s trajectory inher mind, she took two steps back, ran for-ward and launched herself into a tightsomersault through the air. At the apex ofher leap she sensed something cold close by;it made no contact and was gone. She flippedhead over heels, landed right beside the sandcat and, carried by the momentum she hadgenerated, fell head-first through the drapes.

She came to a halt on all fours, halfsprawling into the room beyond.

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It was a room of stately proportions, longand high, with squared white pillars project-ing from the whitewashed walls. Betweeneach pillar—

Asmira sneezed.Small claws grasped her shoulder, dragged

her back into the concealment of the drapes.Asmira sneezed again. The air was warm andclose, and suffused with such an overwhelm-ing flowery tang that her nose recoiled. Sheburied her face in her sleeve.

When she recovered, the sand cat waslooking at her. It was holding its nose with apaw. ‘Perfume got to you?’ it whispered. ‘Metoo. It’s the king’s.’

Asmira wiped her eyes. ‘It’s so strong! Hemust have just passed by!’

‘Nope, could have been hours ago. Let’sjust say Solomon likes his aftershave. But it’sa good job for us that he isn’t in there rightnow, given the way you’ve just been trumpet-ing like an angry elephant. We’re trying to

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assassinate the man, remember? A bit ofcare and subtlety is needed from here on in.’

So saying, the cat slid forwards and disap-peared between the drapes. Biting back heranger, Asmira picked herself up, took a deepbreath, and stepped through into the privatechambers of King Solomon.

*

As she had glimpsed a moment before, theroom was high-ceilinged and of considerablesize. The floor, of pink-veined marble, wasstrewn with ornate carpets covered in mysticsigns. In the centre of the chamber was acircular, step-sided plunge-pool filled withgently steaming water; around it were chairs,couches and tasselled cushions. A large crys-tal orb rested on an onyx table, whileamongst the potted palms, silvered trays saton slim gold stands, bearing fruits andmeats, piled seafood, pastries, jugs of wineand cups of polished glass.

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Asmira’s mouth fell open at the casualsplendour of it all. Her eyes flitted from oneluxury to another. At once the urgency of hermission receded. She longed to partake ofthe magnificence – sit on a couch, perhaps,and taste the wine, or dissolve her wearinessby dipping her feet into the lulling warmnessof the pool.

She took a slow step forward …‘I wouldn’t,’ the sand cat said, setting a

warning paw upon her knee.‘It’s all so nice …’‘That’s because he’s put a Glamour on it,

the better for snaring the unwary. Take onebite of that food, peek just for a moment intothe orb, dip so much as a little pinkie in thatwater and you’d still be stuck here come thedawn, when Solomon would amble in to findyou. Best not look at it at all.’

Asmira chewed her lip. ‘But it’s all so nice…’

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‘If I were you,’ the cat went on, ‘I’d bechecking out the murals on the wall. Look,there’s old Rameses in his chariot and Ham-murabi in his tiered pleasure garden; there’sa not very accurate depiction of Gilgamesh …where’s his broken nose, I want to know? Ahyes,’ the sand cat said. ‘All the greats arehere. Typical pad of a typical despot, ob-sessed with being bigger and better than theones who went before him. This is where So-lomon sits and plans his conquests of placeslike Sheba, I’ll be bound.’

Asmira had still been gazing at the coils offragrant steam rising softly from the pool,but at the djinni’s words she gave a start, andher fingers clenched upon her dagger. Shetore herself free from the enchanted sceneand stared at the cat with hot, befuddledeyes.

‘That’s better,’ Bartimaeus said. ‘Here’swhat I suggest. There are four arches out ofhere, two to the right, two to the left. All

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seem the same. I say we take them one byone. I’ll go first. You come after. Look at methe whole time. Nothing else, mind, or theGlamour’s going to get you. Think you cancope with that, or shall I say it again?’

Asmira scowled. ‘Of course I can cope withit. I’m not an idiot.’

‘And yet, in so many ways, you are.’ Withthat, the cat was off, winding between thecouches and the golden tables. Asmira, curs-ing, hurried along behind. At the edges of hervision the shimmering enticements winkedand sparkled like exquisite memories of adream, but she ignored them, keeping hereyes firmly fixed upon—

‘Could you please lower your tail a little?’she hissed.

‘It’s keeping your mind off the Glamour,isn’t it?’ the cat said. ‘Quit complaining. OK,here’s the first arch. I’m going to take a peek… Oh!’ It ducked back in a flurry, with its tail

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fluffed out. ‘He’s there!’ he whispered. ‘Takea look – but do it carefully.’

Heart pounding against her chest, Asmirapeered round the nearest pillar of the arch.Beyond was a circular room, bare and un-adorned, with marble columns set into thewall. At its centre was a raised platform; highabove this rose a dome of glass, throughwhich the constellations were in radiantdisplay.

Standing on the platform was a man.He had his back to the arch, and his face

was hidden, but Asmira knew him from themural she had seen upon the wall of the Ma-gicians’ Hall. He wore a silken robe that des-cended to the floor; this was decorated withspiralling designs of woven gold. His darkhair hung loose upon his shoulders. His headwas raised, and he was looking up towardsthe stars in silent contemplation. His handswere loosely clasped behind his back.

On one of his fingers was a ring.

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Asmira had ceased to breathe. Withouttaking her eyes off the silent king, she drewher dagger from her belt. He was fifteenyards distant, certainly no more. The timehad come. She would strike him through theheart with a single blow, and Sheba would besaved. Sheba would be saved. A bead ofsweat ran down her forehead and trickledalong the contours of her nose.

She flicked the dagger into the air, caughtit by its down-turned tip.

She pulled her arm back.Still the king gazed peaceably at the

boundless stars.Something was tugging at her tunic. She

looked down. The sand cat was there, gestur-ing urgently towards the other room. Sheshook her head and raised the dagger.

The tugging came again, hard enough tospoil her aim. Uttering a silent scream ofvexation, Asmira allowed herself to be pulledback round the corner of the arch, into the

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outer chamber. She bent low and glared atthe cat.

‘What?’ she breathed.‘Something’s not right.’‘What do you mean, “not right”? Isn’t it

Solomon?’‘I … don’t know. If it’s an Illusion, it’s not

one I can see through. It’s just …’‘Just what?’‘I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it.’Asmira stared at the cat. She straightened

up. ‘I’m going to do it.’‘No! Wait.’‘Shh – he’ll hear us! I won’t get this chance

again. Will you stop your tugging?’‘I’m telling you – don’t do it! It’s too easy.

It’s too …’Asmira’s head spun. She saw the quiet, im-

ploring face of Balkis and the sombre priest-esses lined up in the courtyard; she imaginedMarib’s towers burning. She saw her mother

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falling, her hair tumbling loose like wateracross the old queen’s lap.

‘Get off me,’ she hissed. The cat was cling-ing to her arm. ‘Will you get off? I can dothis! I can finish this now—’

‘It’s a trap, I’m sure of it. Only I— Ah!’She had swiped out with the silver dagger,

not intending to harm, but to drive the djinniback. The cat dropped off her sleeve andjumped away, fur bristling.

Once again Asmira ducked through thearch. The king stood as before.

Without pausing, Asmira raised her hand,drew it level with her shoulder and, with abrief, efficient snap of the wrist, threw thedagger with full force. It struck Solomon justabove the heart and buried itself hilt-deep.He collapsed without a sound.

At which moment she heard the cat’s voicecalling, ‘I’ve got it! It’s the Ring – it’s notbright enough! The aura should be blindingme! Don’t—! Oh. Too late. You have.’

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The body of King Solomon fell to the floor,but did not stop there. It dropped straightthrough the solid surface of the platform, likea stone in water. In a twinkling it was gone,and only the dagger-hilt was visible, project-ing from the marble.

This happened so fast that Asmira was stillstanding frozen, with her dagger-hand out-stretched, when the platform burst asunderand the great demon thrust itself up from be-low, bellowing and roaring with its threetusked mouths. High as the dome it rose, aknotted mass of glistening cords and arms,each with its own translucent eye. All theseeyes were turned upon her, and the tentaclesflayed and trembled with anticipation.

Asmira fell back against the wall, her mindand limbs transfixed. Somewhere close sheheard the sand cat calling, but she could notrespond, nor summon the strength to reachfor the final dagger at her belt. All she coulddo was give a single ragged cry. She felt her

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legs give way, felt herself sliding slowly downthe wall – and then the demon was upon her,reaching for her throat.

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28

There are times when any honest djinni’ssimply got to stand and fight. Times whenyou face your foe head on. Times when, nomatter what the overwhelming odds, no mat-ter how hideous the coming peril, you justspit on your hands, square your shoulders,smooth back your hair and (possibly with asmall wry smile playing on your lips) stepout to greet the danger with open arms.

Obviously this wasn’t such a time.To confront the terrible entity that had ris-

en in the chamber would have been a futile

act – and a very messy one.1 Only an idiotwould have tried. Or someone under

contract, of course. If I’d been forced to do soby order of a competent master, I’d have hadto stand my ground or be destroyed forth-with by the Dismal Flame. But my masterwasn’t competent, as her summoning hadproved – and now, at last, after getting awaywith it for a surprising length of time, shewas going to pay the penalty.

Bring me safely to King Solomon: thosehad been that Arabian girl’s exact words wayback when she gave me my charge. And(Bartimaeus of Uruk being a spirit who fulfilshis charges to the letter) this is preciselywhat I’d achieved. True, there was admit-tedly some doubt about whether the figure inthe room had actually been Solomon, butsince it was shaped like him, looked like him,smelled like him, and was standing as largeas life in his apartments, I figured it wasclose enough. The girl had certainly believedit was, which is why she’d thrown the knife.Contractually speaking, I’d done my bit. I

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didn’t have to keep her safe a momentlonger.

Which, with that gelatinous monstrosity a-calling, was exactly the break I needed.

The sand cat ran.Out of the domed room and away across

the pillared hall I went, fur out, fluff-tailbristling. Behind me I heard a high-pitchedscream – brief, tentative, and cut off in arather final, gargling sort of way. Good. Well,bad for the girl, of course, but good for me,which is what counts. Depending on howlong the visitation toyed with her before fin-ishing her off, I expected to be dematerializ-ing very soon.

In the meantime, I made sure I was out ofreach. The cat shot across the hall, leapedstraight over the plunge-pool, skidded diag-onally along a stretch of marble and, with aquick spin of the Evasive Cartwheel, flippedout of sight through the next arch along.

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Safety! Yet again my unique combinationof quick thinking and agility had saved myprecious skin!

Except it was a dead end.Quite an interesting dead end, as dead

ends go, but potentially fatal all the same.The room was clearly the place where So-lomon kept many of his treasures – a small,windowless store, lit by oil lamps, and piledin every direction with shelves and caskets.

No time to explore it. The cat turned tailand made for the arch – only to be dissuadedby another bloodcurdling roar soundingfrom outside. The ferocious entity was a loudone, sure enough, if a disappointingly slowworker. I’d hoped he would have swallowedthe girl by now. But perhaps, havingchomped off a leg or something, he was stor-ing her for later. Perhaps he was comingafter me. Clearly I needed somewhere safe tohide.

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I turned again to look around the store-room. What did I see? Plenty of jewels, idols,masks, swords, helms, scrolls, tablets,shields and other artefacts of magical design,not to mention a few weird extras like a set ofcrocodile-skin gloves, a skull with eyes ofshell, and a rather lumpy-looking straw doll

covered with human skin.2 I also saw an oldfriend of mine – that golden serpent I’dstolen from Eridu. But what I really wanted– namely a WAY OUT – was altogethermissing.

Sweaty-pawed with agitation, the catlooked left and right, scanning the shelves.Almost every item in the little room was ma-gical – their auras interlaced across theplanes, bathing me in rainbow light. If theentity did appear behind me, was theresomething I might use in last, desperatedefence?

Nope, unless I was going to lob the doll athim. Trouble was, I didn’t know what any of

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the artefacts did.3 But then I noticed, halfhidden amid the piled treasures at the back,a large copper pot. It was narrow at the base,swelling at the neck to the width of a man’sshoulders. On its top was a circular lid, andon that lid sat a layer of dust, implying thatno one, including Solomon, ever checkedwithin.

In an instant the cat became a curl of mist,scrolling off the floor and up against the lid,which I nudged minutely to one side. Withthe speed of wind emerging from an ele-phant, I shot inside and (still in my gaseousstate) flicked the lid back into position.Darkness all about me. The curl of mist hungin silence, waiting.

Had I moved in time?I imagined the entity oozing level with the

archway. I imagined several of its eye-stalksprobing inwards, scanning the treasuresfrom side to side. I imagined one of its

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polyped coils unfurling, flicking towards thesurface of the pot …

Squeezed tight with tension, the curl ofmist floated quietly up and down.

Nothing happened. The pot stayedundisturbed.

Time passed.After a while I began to relax. The entity

had doubtless gone, hopefully to hurry upand devour the girl. I was just debatingwhether to nudge the lid aside and tiptoefrom my hiding place, or remain moreprudently concealed, when I became awareof feeling watched.

I looked about me. The interior of the potwas empty. Whatever it had originally con-tained was gone; now it was filled with noth-ing but secretive, dusty silence. Yet somehowthere was an oddness in the atmosphere, anindefinable frisson in the old, stale air thatmade my essence tingle with occultsensation.

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I waited – and all at once, from some-where close, yet infinitely far away, came alittle voice, an echo of an echo, a plaintivememory of speech.

Bartimaeus …Call me over-cautious, but strange voices

in pots always put me on my guard. The curlof mist instantly coalesced into a small whitemoth, fluttering warily in the black vastnessof the pot. I sent swift Pulses back and forth,checked all the planes. But there was nothingthere, nothing but dust and shadows.

Bartimaeus …And then, suddenly, I guessed. I re-

membered the three famous afrits who haddared defy Solomon. I recalled their reportedfates. One of them – or so hushed firesidegossip had it – had been reduced, by theking’s caprice and the power of the Ring, intoa mournful echo in a pot. Which one was it…?

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The moth’s antennae shivered. I clearedmy throat, spoke cautiously: ‘Philocretes?’

A sound as soft as owl-flight: The name ofwhat I was is lost. I am a last sigh, an im-print on the air. As you beat your wings, sothe air swirls and the final trace of me mustvanish. You seek the Ring?

Out of courtesy the moth adjusted itswing-beats to a slo-mo minimum. I spokewith care, for I sensed malice as well as mel-ancholy in the voice. ‘No, no.’

Ah. Very wise. I sought the Ring …‘Did you? Er … how did you get on?’How do you think I got on? I’m a voice in

a bloody pot.‘Right.’The voice gave a moan of fathomless re-

gret and longing. Had I but a thimbleful ofessence, it murmured, I would swallow youwhole, little djinni, devour you in a singlegulp. Alas, I cannot! For Solomon has pun-ished me and I am less than nothing.

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‘How sad,’ I said feelingly. ‘What a terribleshame. Well, it’s been so nice chatting, but itseems quiet outside now, so perhaps I’d bet-ter be going—’

Would that I could leave this prison too,whispered the voice. Then I would cast So-lomon into eternal darkness! Ah, yes, I havehis secret now. I could take the Ring. But myknowledge comes too late! Only one chancewas given me. I wasted it, and here I mustreside for ever, a frail susurration, a child’ssigh, a—

‘I don’t suppose,’ I said, pausing with newattention, ‘that you’d like to pass on thissure-fire method of ring-stealing, would you?It’s of no interest to me, of course, butsomeone else might be able get revenge onyour behalf …’

What care I for revenge? The voice was sofaint that each beat of the moth’s wings inthe dead air broke its sound to fragments. Iam a whisper of unspoken sorrow, a—

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‘You could help another spirit achievegreatness …’

I care nothing for the fate of others. I wishdeath to all things in either world that stillhave energy and life …

‘A noble sentiment, to be sure.’ The mothspoke crisply, making for the lid. ‘Still, myview is that Solomon remains invincible.Everyone knows the Ring can’t be stolen.’

The voice hesitated. What’s this? You don’tbelieve me?

‘Of course not. But hey, what does thatmatter? You go on echoing away to yourselfif it keeps you happy. I’ve got jobs to do forthe king and I can’t hang around hereyakking. Goodbye.’

You fool! Faint and fragile as it was, thedark emotion of the voice made my wingsquiver; I was profoundly grateful that Philo-cretes was robbed of all power to do meharm. How blindly you return to yourslavery, the echoes whispered, when you

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could in a moment master Solomon andseize the Ring!

‘Like you know that,’ I sneered.I do know it so!‘Yeah? Says who?’Says me!‘Locked away in here? You’re just hot air.’Ah, but I was not always in this side room,

cried the voice. To begin with the cursedking kept me in his chamber, and showedme off to all his wives. And so I listened tohim talk, and give instructions to his ser-vants; above all, I heard him speak to thefearsome presence that the Ring controls. Iknow his weakness! I know how he shieldsthis weakness from the world! Tell me,djinni, is it night or day?

‘We are in the very bowels of the night.’Ah! So have you seen the king, perhaps, as

you wander through his chambers?

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A little bit of naivety was needed here. ‘Isaw him in his observatory, standing lookingat the stars.’

You fool, to be deceived by surfaces! Thatis not Solomon!

‘What then?’A magic worked by the Spirit of the Ring.

A spell cast upon a doll of clay. The doll be-comes the king, while the king retires to hisprivate room beyond to rest. It is a powerfulIllusion, and a trap for enemies. When I at-tacked the fake, thinking Solomon defence-less, the real king was alerted, and snaredme in an instant. Ah, would that I had ig-nored it, I would not be doomed to this!

I hesitated. ‘How exactly were yousnared?’

Another Illusion. He is a master of them.It seemed a great entity rose from theground, a being of such power that I wasrendered dumb with terror. As I strove tofight it, sending Detonation after

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Detonation into its writhing coils, Solomonappeared behind me and turned the Ring.Now, I am here.

The moth considered this unexpected in-formation. Here, then, was the reason I wasstill on Earth. The girl was captured, not de-voured. It had uneasy repercussions for me,not least since Solomon might well wish tomeet the slave who had brought her so far. Ineeded to do something, and fast, but therewas more to learn from Philocretes first.

‘All very well,’ I said airily, ‘but assume youhad ignored the Illusion and got as far as thereal Solomon. He’d still have had the Ring.You would never have got it off him.’

From somewhere came a roaring that wasat once ferocious and very faint, like a thun-derstorm heard far away at sea. The airmoved with curious wafts and eddies, sway-ing the moth gently to and fro. O most lowlyand offal-headed Bartimaeus, how I long totear your wings to tissue shreds! Solomon is

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not invincible! When he sleeps, he removeshis Ring!

At this the tenor of my voice became atrifle sceptical. ‘Why would he do that? Allthe stories say he never takes it off. One ofhis wives tried—’

The stories are wrong! It suits the kingthat they should be so, which is why hespreads them. Between midnight and cock-crow, the king must sleep. To sleep he mustremove the Ring!

‘But he simply wouldn’t do it,’ I said. ‘It’sfar too risky for him. All his power—’

A horrid gurgling, like that of a particu-larly malevolent blocked drain, resounded allaround me. Philocretes was laughing. Yes,yes, the power is the problem! The Ring con-tains too much. Its energies burn whoeverwears it! This, by day, is something So-lomon can endure, though he has to concealhis pain from the outside world. At night, insolitude, he must give himself respite. The

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Ring lies on a silver dish beside his pallet –close enough for him to reach, of course. Ah,but he is vulnerable!

‘It burns him …’ I murmured. ‘I suppose itcould be so. I have known such things be-

fore.’4

That is not the only drawback of the Ring,the voice went on. Why do you think So-lomon uses it so rarely? Why do you thinkhe relies so heavily upon the magicians whocluster around his feet like fawning dogs?

The moth shrugged.5 ‘I just assumed hewas lazy.’

Not so! Whenever it is used, the Ringdraws life out from the wearer, and he orshe is left weakened by the act. The energiesof the Other Place work harm upon a mor-tal’s body, if exposed to it too long. Solomonhimself, with all the great works he has ac-complished, is already aged far beyond hisyears.

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The moth frowned.6 ‘He looked all right tome.’

Look closer. Little by little the Ring iskilling him, Bartimaeus. Another manwould have given up the fight by now, butthe fool has a strong sense of responsibility.He fears that someone less virtuous thanhimself might find and use the Ring. Theconsequences of that …

The moth nodded.7 ‘Might well be terrible…’ What an informative pot this was. Ofcourse, Philocretes might just be mad, andcertainly some things he said didn’t quite gelwith what the girl had told me. For instance,just how virtuous was it to threaten to des-troy Sheba if you didn’t get the big pile offrankincense you wanted? Then again, So-lomon was human. And that meant he was

flawed.8

Still, there was no way of telling the truthof it without going to see things for myself.

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‘Thanks for that, Philocretes,’ I said. ‘Imust admit it sounds as if you’re right. So-lomon does have a weakness. He isvulnerable.’

Ah yes, but he is safe … for no one knowsthese facts but me.

‘Er, and me now,’ I said cheerily. ‘And I’mgoing to look into it all this minute. Mighteven pinch the Ring if I get a chance. Tell youwhat – you think of me doing that, getting aspot of revenge and everlasting glory, whileyou stay mouldering away in this tedious oldpot. If you’d been polite to me I might haveoffered to break it for you, thus putting youout of your misery, but you weren’t, and Iwon’t. If I remember, I may get around tovisiting you again in a millennium or two.Until then, farewell.’

With that the moth made for the lid, andnow there came such a faraway howling thatmy wings rippled in consternation. Littlebuffets of air beset me, blowing me for an

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instant off my course. Then I righted myselfand reached the lid and, in a moment more,had pushed myself out of the dust and dark-ness, and was back in the living world.

I was a cat again, standing in shadows. Ilooked back at the pot. Did I hear a distantvoice screaming, cursing, shouting out myname? I listened hard.

No, there was nothing.Turning away, I peered out of the store-

room into the central hall. All was still; theGlamour hung like gold haze above the silentpool and couches. There was no maraudingentity and no Arabian girl. But then I spied,beyond the archway opposite, a distantgleam of an oil lamp on a chamber wall, andheard two voices raised in sharp discussion.One was high, familiar; the other low.

Lilac eyes gleaming, wicked schemes trail-ing like a cloak behind it, the cat patteredforwards and vanished from the hall.

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1 I didn’t hang around long enough to get a good look at

it, but its size and scale, not to mention all those gooey jelly-

fishy bits swirling about the place, told me it was something

from the very depths of the Other Place. Entities like that

are rarely house-trained, and almost always have bad

attitudes.2 You could tell it was genuine because of the spiky

armpit hair sprouting like black broccoli from the top of the

wrinkled scalp. I’ve got to say, you can add all the shiny but-

ton eyes and cutesy cotton mouths you like, but if I was a

kid who was given that doll to cuddle of a bedtime, I’d feel a

bit short-changed.3 As my last master but one would tell you, never at-

tempt to use an unknown magical artefact. Hundreds of ma-

gicians have risked it down the years and only one or two of

them survived to regret it. Most famous, to djinn of my an-

tiquity, was the Old Priestess of Ur, who wished for immor-

tality. For decades she worked dozens of her magicians to

death, forcing them to create a beautiful silver circlet that

would confer on her perpetual life. They finished at last; in

triumph, the ageing woman put the circlet on her head. But

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the entities trapped inside the circlet had not chosen to spell

out the exact terms of the great magic they invoked. The Old

Priestess lived on, all right, but not in quite the pleasant

manner she had assumed.4 The Circlet of Harms, for instance, embedded in the

forehead of the Old Priestess of Ur. How she yelled when

she put it on! But by then it was too late.5 OK, maybe not shrugged exactly. I didn’t have any

shoulders. But I certainly gave my wings a damn good non-

committal twitch.6 All right, all right. For frowned read ‘let its compound

eyes tilt and its antennae droop quizzically’. Anatomically

more accurate, but cumbersome, don’t you think? I hope

you’re satisfied now.7 Don’t start.8 Go on, take a look at yourself in the mirror. A good

long look, if you can bear it. See? Flawed’s putting it mildly,

isn’t it?

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29

It was very quiet when Asmira awoke. Shelay on her back staring at the ceiling – at along thin crack that meandered along theplaster to the corner with the wall. It was nota particularly distinctive crack, but it puzzledher, because she had never noticed it before.Her little room had a great many cracks, andplaces where the old mud-brick was halfworn through, and faded marks where for-gotten guards before her had scratched theirnames – and Asmira had thought she knewthem all. But this was new.

She stared at it for a time, open-mouthed,relaxed of limb, and then, with a quickening

of consciousness, realized that the ceilingplaster had been whitewashed, and was fur-ther from her than it ought to be. And thewall was on the wrong side. The light wasstrange. The bed felt soft. It was not herroom. She was not in Marib any more.

Memories came flooding back to her in arush. With a cry she jerked bolt upright onthe bed, scrabbling at her belt.

A man sat watching her from a chairacross the room.

‘If you’re looking for this,’ he said, ‘I’mafraid I removed it.’ He flourished her silverdagger briefly, then settled it back across hisknees.

Asmira’s body juddered to the hammer-pounding of her heart. Her eyes were staring,her fingers clutching at the cool white sheet.‘The demon—’ she gasped.

‘Has gone at my bidding,’ the man said,smiling. ‘I saved you from its claws. I must

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say you’ve recovered fairly swiftly. I’veknown some intruders’ hearts to stop.’

Panic seized her; with a sudden movementshe swung her feet over the edge of the bedand made to stand – but at a gesture fromthe man she froze.

‘You can sit, if you like,’ he said calmly.‘But don’t try to get up. I’ll take that as an ag-gressive act.’

His voice was very soft and gentle, melodiceven, but the iron in the tone was clear. As-mira held her position a moment longer,then slowly, slowly, continued to turn so thather feet dropped to the floor and her kneesrested on the edge of the bed. Now she sat fa-cing him.

‘Who are you?’ the man said.He was tall and slim and dressed in a

white robe that hid his lower limbs fromview. His face was long and slender, with astrong chin and finely fluted nose, and quick,dark eyes that glittered, jewel-like, in the

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lantern light as he regarded her. He washandsome – or would have been so, but forthe grey cast of weariness that hung heavilyabout him, and the curious nets of little linesthat ran across his skin, particularly aroundthe eyes and mouth. It was very hard to tellhis age. The lines, the gaunt and wrinkledwrists and hands, the long dark hair nowthoroughly flecked with grey – all thesespoke of advancing years, but his face wasquick and his movements youthful, and hiseyes were very bright.

‘Tell me your name, girl,’ he said and,when she didn’t answer, ‘You’ll have to soon-er or later, you know.’

Asmira pressed her lips together, breath-ing deeply, trying to quiet the beating of herheart. The room she was in was, if not small,then much less grandiose than the other re-gions of the palace she had seen. Besidesthat, it was furnished with a bare simplicitythat made it seem more intimate still. There

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were ornate rugs upon the floor, but the flooritself was dark cedar wood instead of marble.The walls were plainly whitewashed, andlacked all decoration. On one wall was asingle rectangular window that looked outupon the night. Beside the window severalwooden racks displayed a collection of an-cient scrolls; beyond, on a writing table, satparchments and styluses and bottles of col-oured ink. It reminded Asmira of the roomabove the training hall where she had firstpractised her summonings.

Other than the bed, and the chair wherethe man sat waiting, two rough-hewn tablescompleted the furniture in the room. Thetables were positioned on either side of theman’s chair, conveniently to hand.

Some way beyond him an arch opened inthe wall, but from this angle Asmira couldnot see where it led.

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‘I’m waiting,’ the man said. He made aclicking noise with his tongue. ‘Perhapsyou’re hungry? Do you want to eat?’

Asmira shook her head.‘You ought to. You’ve just had a shock.

Take some wine, at least.’He gestured to the table on his right. There

were several earthen bowls upon it, one withfruit, one with bread, one piled high withseafood – smoked fish, oysters, calamarirings.

‘My visitors tell me that the squid is partic-ularly good,’ the man said. As he spoke, hewas pouring out a cup of wine. ‘But here,drink first …’ He bent towards her, holdingout the cup. ‘It’s safe to do so. I’ve not put anenchantment on this one.’

Asmira stared at him in perplexity – thenher eyes widened in astonishment and fear.

The dark eyes glinted. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ hesaid. ‘I am he. Not so like the images you’veseen, perhaps. Come on, take it. You might

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as well enjoy it while you can. It’s unlikelyyou’ll live to taste another.’

Numbly Asmira reached out and took thecup from him. His fingers were long, thenails shaped and polished. The smallest fin-ger had a bright red weal encircling it, justbelow the second knuckle.

Asmira stared at it. ‘The Ring …’‘Is here,’ the man said. He gestured negli-

gently to the table on his left. In its centrestood a silver platter, and on the platter lay agolden ring, studded with a small blackstone. Asmira gazed at it, then at the king,then at the Ring again.

‘Such a lot of effort you’ve gone to for sucha tiny thing.’ King Solomon smiled as hespoke, but the smile was tired and hard.‘You’ve got farther than most, but the endwill be the same. Now, listen to me. I am go-ing to ask you another question, and you willopen those dour little lips of yours and an-swer eagerly and well, or I will take the Ring

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and put it on, and then— Well, what do youthink will happen? The end result will be thatyou answer anyway, and nothing will be dif-ferent, save that you will no longer be quiteso pert and pretty as you are now. It painsme to even suggest such things, but it is late,I am weary, and frankly somewhat surprisedto find you in my rooms. So: take a gooddrink of wine and concentrate your mind.You came to kill me and steal the Ring – thatmuch is obvious. I want to know the rest.First: what is your name?’

Asmira had calculated the distance fromthe bed to the chair. Were she standing, shemight easily jump that far; she could strikehis left arm down as it stretched out for theRing, seize the dagger and run him through.Sitting down, however, it would be harder.She might be able to do it fast enough toblock his hand, but it wasn’t likely.

‘What is your name?’She focused on him reluctantly. ‘Cyrine.’

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‘Where do you come from?’‘Himyar.’‘Himyar? So small and far away?’ The king

frowned. ‘But I have nothing to do with thatland. Who, precisely, do you serve?’

Asmira lowered her eyes. She had no an-swer. Her false identity hadn’t been preparedfor capture and interrogation. In such cir-cumstances, she had not assumed she wouldbe alive.

‘Last chance,’ King Solomon said.She shrugged and looked away.King Solomon struck the arm of his chair

in brisk impatience. He reached for the Ring,slipped it on his finger and turned it once.The room went dark. There was a thud; airshifted like a solid mass, flung Asmira backacross the bed. She collided with the wall.

When she opened her eyes, a Presencestood beside the king, blacker than shadow.Power and terror radiated from it like heatfrom a great fire. Elsewhere in the darkness,

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she heard the scrolls and parchments flutter-ing in their racks.

‘Answer me!’ the king’s voice thundered.‘Who are you? Who do you serve? Speak! Mypatience is at an end!’

The Presence moved towards her. Asmiragave a cry of mortal fear. She cowered backupon the bed. ‘My name is Asmira! I comefrom Sheba! I serve my queen!’

At once the figure was gone. Asmira’s earspopped; blood trickled from her nose. Thelamps around the room resumed their nor-mal light. King Solomon, grey with wearinessor rage, took the Ring from his finger andtossed it back upon the silver plate.

‘Queen Balkis?’ he said, passing his handacross his face. ‘Balkis? Young miss, if youdare to lie to me …’

‘I do not lie.’ Asmira slowly struggled backinto a sitting position. Tears welled in hereyes. Her sense of overwhelming horror hadvanished with the Spirit of the Ring; now she

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reeled at the shame of her betrayal. Shestared in blank hatred at the king.

Solomon tapped his fingers upon thechair. ‘Queen Balkis …?’ he mused again.‘No! Why should it be?’

‘I speak the truth,’ Asmira spat. ‘Though itmatters little either way, since you’ll kill mewhatever I say.’

‘Are you surprised?’ The king seemedpained. ‘My dear young woman, it was not Iwho crept in here to put a knife in another’sback. It is only because you do not fit thenormal run of demons or assassins that Ispeak with you at all. Believe me, most ofthem are drearily self-explanatory. But you… When I find a pretty girl upon the floor ofmy observatory, flat out in a faint, with a sil-ver dagger in her belt and another embeddedin my floor, and no obvious sign of how sheevaded the sentries of my palace and climbedup here at all – I must say I am perplexedand intrigued. So if you have a grain of sense,

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you will take advantage of my interest, wipeaway those unbecoming tears and speak rap-idly and well, and pray to whatever god youhold dear that my interest is long main-tained. For when I get bored,’ King Solomonsaid, ‘I turn to my Ring. Now, then. QueenBalkis sent you, so you say. Why should thisbe?’

While he had been speaking, Asmira hadmade great play of dabbing at her face withher dirty sleeve, and in so doing, shuffledforward on the bed. A last desperate attackwas all she could hope for now. But shemight still inch a little closer …

She lowered her arm. ‘Why? How can youeven ask me that?’

The king’s face darkened. His handstretched out—

‘Your threats!’ Asmira cried out in panic.‘Your cruel demands! Why should I spell itout for you? Sheba cannot withstand yourpower, as you well know, so my queen took

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what action she could to save her honour! If Ihad succeeded, my country would have beensaved! Believe me, I curse myself for failing!’

Solomon had not picked up the Ring,though his fingers hovered over it. His facewas calm, but he breathed deeply, as one inpain. ‘This seems … an unusual course of ac-tion to take against someone who has offeredmarriage,’ he said slowly. ‘A rejection I cantake. Assassination is a little more extreme.Don’t you think so, Asmira?’

She scowled at his use of her name. ‘I’mnot talking about marriage. Your threat of in-vasion! Your demands for frankincense!Your vow to destroy our nation when themoon is new!’

‘Terrible threats, indeed.’‘Yes.’‘Except I never made them.’ He sat back in

his chair, thin fingertips together, and gazedat her.

Asmira blinked. ‘But you did.’

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‘Not so.’‘I have it on my queen’s word. You must

be—’‘And here again,’ King Solomon said,

stretching out and taking a fig from the bowlbeside him, ‘I must educate you swiftly in theways of kings. Perhaps, in matters of dip-lomacy, there are times when the meaningsof certain royal words are stretched, or cer-tain things are quietly left unsaid, but when aking looks you in the eye and tells yousomething is so, it is so. He does not lie.Even to suggest as much means death. Doyou understand? Look at me.’

Slowly, reluctantly, Asmira met his eyes,which of all his ravaged features were theonly parts she would have recognized fromthe mural in the Magicians’ Hall. All its im-placable authority was in them. Despite her-self, despite her fury, she said sulkily: ‘Yes, Iunderstand.’

‘Good. So now you are in a dilemma.’

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She hesitated. ‘My queen …’‘Tells you something different. One of us is

lying – or is perhaps mistaken.’The tones he used were mild, and he

smiled a little as he spoke, but Asmiraflinched as if she had been struck. In its quietway, this was a direct assault uponeverything she held dear – just as violent asthe burning of the Marib tower. The purposeof her entire life – and of her mother’s – wasto defend the queen and, through her, Sheba.The queen’s will could not be questioned.Whatever she did was right; whatever shesaid was right. To suggest otherwise was tothreaten the entire structure on which As-mira based her every waking deed. So-lomon’s words gave her a sensation muchlike vertigo; she was on the edge of a precip-ice and about to fall.

Shuffling forward a little further on thebed, she said, ‘My queen would not lie.’

‘Might she be mistaken, then?’

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‘No.’‘Well, I suppose there’s no getting any

sense from a slave.’ Solomon took a grapefrom the fruit dish, and chewed it thought-fully. ‘I must say I am disappointed in Balkis.I’d heard tell that she was intelligent andgraceful, but this is shoddy work all round.Still, what do the lapwings know? They alsotold me she was beautiful. I suppose they gotthat wrong as well. Never trust a migratingbird.’

Asmira spoke hotly. ‘She is very beautiful.’He grunted. ‘Well, small chance of a mar-

riage now. How did she hear of my wickedplans? Did she say?’

‘Your demon messenger.’‘Which could have been sent by anyone.

Honestly, a child might have thought todouble-check. Asmira – I see you are walkingyour backside very subtly in my direction.Stop it, please, or the Spirit of the Ring shallcontinue this conversation with you instead

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of me. As you have seen, he is not as amiableas I am.’ King Solomon sighed. ‘We have es-tablished,’ he went on, ‘that you are here un-der a misapprehension. What were your ex-act orders?’

‘Kill you. Take the Ring, if I could.’‘And what if you were captured – as was

always going to be the case?’Asmira shrugged. ‘I would turn my knife

upon myself.’‘These were your queen’s orders?’‘She … did not say that. The priestesses

did.’King Solomon nodded. ‘But Balkis did not

object. She was content that you were goingto your death. I must say,’ he added, ‘I’m re-lieved the woman turned down my originalproposals. The thought of a wife like thatamong one’s harem is enough to fill any manwith dread. I ought to thank you, Asmira, foropening my eyes.’

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Anger sloshed like acid in her belly. ‘Whydidn’t you just kill me when you found me?’

‘I am not that sort. Besides, I have morequestions. Who brought you up here?’

‘I came alone.’‘Asmira, you are doubtless very determ-

ined, and extremely good with knives, butneither of those attributes was enough to getyou to my rooms. Any ordinary assassin—’

‘I’m not an assassin, I’m a hereditaryguard.’

‘You must forgive me, the difference issubtle. If you are an ordinary “guard”,’ theking went on, ‘then someone with great abil-ities in magic has given you his aid. The onlyother possibility is that you are an accom-plished magician yourself, with powerfulslaves at your command.’ He looked at hersceptically.

Asmira’s eyes widened. For the first timesince she had woken, her self-absorptionshifted. She thought of Bartimaeus. He had

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warned her of the trap; he had tried to stopher. And now she was captured and he … wasdead or gone.

‘Well, what is the truth, then?’ the king de-manded. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I was … brought here by a spirit that Isummoned myself.’

‘Indeed? Then where is it? I sent outsensors and found nothing.’

‘I expect your demon destroyed it,’ Asmirasaid.

The elegant brows furrowed. ‘What was itsnature? A marid?’

‘A djinni.’‘Oh, now I know that you are lying.’ The

king reached out and took the Ring from thesilver plate. ‘A mere djinni could not get pastall my slaves below. You are no magician.But a magician has surely helped you …’ Hiseyes narrowed, became harsh with suspicion.‘Who was it, then? One of my own?’

Asmira frowned in perplexity. ‘What?’

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‘Hiram? Nisroch? Khaba? Come, you areprotecting someone.’ He waved a hand to-wards the window. ‘The Seventeen grow im-patient in their little towers down there.They are close to the source of power, butnot as close as they would like! Who knows,perhaps they secretly work in tandem withthis queen of yours. Perhaps, like her, theylook for someone young and gullible,someone hot-headed, burning with addledzeal – someone who might strike a blowagainst me on their behalf!’ Asmira tried tospeak, but the king’s voice grew louder; hesat forward in his chair. ‘Perhaps you evenwork for them directly! Tell me, Asmira,what did they offer you if you crept in hereon your suicidal mission? Love? Silks?Riches? Quickly now, the Ring is on my fin-ger! Speak! Tell me the truth before it turns!’

For a moment the rage and confusion thatwarred within her struck Asmira quite dumb.Then she laughed. She set her untouched

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wine carefully on the floor and got slowly toher feet. ‘I’ve told you the truth,’ she said.‘Turn the Ring and have done.’

King Solomon grimaced. ‘Sit down. I warnyou – sit!’

‘No.’ She walked towards him.‘Then you leave me no choice.’ Solomon

raised his left hand and, with the thumb andforefinger of his right, turned the band ofgold upon his little finger.

Asmira stopped where she was. She closedher eyes; blood pounded in her head …

Nothing happened. Somewhere, as if atone remove, she heard the king give amuttered oath.

Asmira opened one eye. Solomon sat asbefore, spinning the Ring upon his finger.Round and round it went. No terrifying en-tity materialized between them.

Even as she watched, the slender band ofgold grew limp and soggy, took on a some-what grey and fishy air. It sagged against his

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finger. King Solomon and Asmira stared at itopenmouthed.

‘A calamari ring …’ Asmira breathed.Solomon’s voice was barely audible.

‘Someone’s switched it …’ he began.‘Ah yes, now that would have been me.’ At

this, a small, striped sand cat sauntered outfrom behind the nearest rack of scrolls,whiskers sparkling, eyes gleaming, tail heldhigh in a particularly jaunty manner. Itlooked inordinately pleased with itself. Itstrolled over the rugs and came to a haltbetween them. ‘One “mere djinni” at yourservice,’ it said, settling itself down neatly,and winding its tail around its paws. ‘One“mere djinni”’ – here it paused and blinkedround at them for dramatic effect – ‘who,while you’ve both been chatting away likefishwives, has got himself a ring.’

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30

I made it look easy, didn’t I? But it wasn’tquite as straightforward as all that.

True, getting into the chamber wasn’t sohard – there weren’t any traps or sentinels,and Solomon had his back to me when Ipeeked round the door. And nipping over tothe rack beside the window was a doddle too,since he and the girl were absorbed by theirrather tense ‘discussion’, and were hardly

likely to notice a discreetly passing fly.1

From then on though, things got trickier –mainly because of the nature of the Ring.

It was so bright for starters. On the firstplane the room was adequately lit by several

flickering oil lamps,2 but on the higher onesthe aura of that little golden speck leachedeverything whiter and brighter than theEgyptian sands at noon. It was so over-whelming that it actually made me sick touse my inner eyes. Except in briefestsnatches, I stuck with the first plane fromthen on.

The actual sleight-of-hand stuff – puttinga quick Illusion on a squid ring and substi-tuting it for the real Ring on the plate – thatwas easy too, at least in principle. Stealingstuff is second nature to djinn – always hasbeen, mainly because it’s all we’re ever asked

to do.3 So the sand cat simply tiptoed up be-hind Solomon’s chair, and waited until oneof the girl’s spasms of righteous outrage co-incided with one of the king’s. No soonerwere they both rolling their eyes and huffingloudly than I stuck out my paw, made myswitch faster than blinking, and retreated inhaste towards the window.

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Which was when I hit the real snag.How that Ring hurt me.Of course, the silver dish that Solomon

had plonked it on for safekeeping hadn’tdone my essence any good at all. If it hadbeen any normal object sitting there, I’d havebeen most reluctant to go anywhere near it.But to steal the Ring of Solomon? I couldcope with a little bit of blistering for that. SoI girded my furry loins and did the deed, andit was only when I was moving away fromthe silver’s baleful chill that I realized theRing I held lightly between my teeth was alsocausing problems.

It wasn’t a cold burning sensation like sil-ver (or iron, or any of the other substancesthat are anathema to spirits). It was hotterthan that, and at first not so troublesome. Itbegan as the faintest prickling of my essenceround where I held the Ring. The feeling wascuriously familiar – painful, but also pleas-ant – and quickly grew to become a sharp,

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insistent tugging. By the time the sand cathad made it back into concealment behindthe rack of scrolls, I felt almost as if I was be-ing pulled in two. I spat the Ring down ontothe floor and regarded it (on the first plane)in consternation.

Philocretes hadn’t lied. The energies of theOther Place pulsed furiously in this littlegolden ring. It had been created as an instantportal between the dimensions, and evenwhile closed, there was something of adraught coming under the door. The tuggingsensation was exactly the same thing I exper-ienced whenever I was released from servicein this world. Then, of course, it was wel-come, because I could give in to it; now,trapped as I was on Earth, it didn’t half sting.Even after a bare few moments holding theRing, my essence felt oddly out of kilter,pulled out of shape by the forces it con-tained. I dreaded to think what would have

happened if I’d actually put it on.4

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Putting it on, needless to say, was what So-lomon did every single day.

I still hadn’t seen his face, but even frombehind I could tell he didn’t look exactly ashe had down on the building site. His hairwas grey, for one thing, and there wassomething ominously thin about the armsand hands. In a flash I understoodsomething of the price he paid.

I thought about this while I sat quiet, eye-ing the Ring dubiously and recovering fromits touch. Beyond the rack, meanwhile, theargument was in full flow, both girl and kingworking themselves up into paroxysms offury. Part of me still hoped Big Sol might loseit, produce an afrit from somewhere andblast the girl to smithereens, so that I couldjust leave the Ring lying and head off home.But my hopes weren’t high. Clearly he didn’tlike having spirits (or humans) of any kind inhis apartments at night. He relied on Illu-sions – such as the many-tentacled monster

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– and his fearsome reputation to keep hisenemies at bay.

Likewise, if the girl had been a real assas-sin, she’d have scissor-kicked suddenlythrough the air, done a fancy twirl, andsnapped his neck between her thighs beforedoing the splits on landing. I’d have paidgood money to see that. But instead she justgot red-faced and a bit shouty, and then de-

cided to end it all in a kind of futile grump.5

Cue Solomon grimly turning the Ringupon his finger.

Cue his discovery that all wasn’t as itseemed.

Cue my sudden entrance, casual as you

like, and their consequent stupefaction.6

I’ve had worse moments in my career.‘Hello, Asmira,’ I said pleasantly. ‘Hello,

Solomon.’ I smoothed out my whiskers witha paw. ‘First one to recover gets a prize.’

The girl gave a strangled gasp. ‘I thoughtyou were dead.’

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‘Nope.’‘I thought that giant demon—’‘Wasn’t one. It was an Illusion. Solomon

seems to specialize in them.’She scowled indignantly at the king. ‘You

said you saved me from it!’‘You can’t believe anything anyone says,

can you?’ I winked at Solomon, who wasstaring at me in blankest incomprehension.‘We meet again, O King. In rather differentcircumstances to last time.’

There was a pause. Well, give him his due,he hadn’t seen my cat get-up before. Plus hewas probably still in shock.

I laughed lightly. ‘That’s right, my friend.Bartimaeus of Uruk, at your service.’

‘Who?’The tip of the cat’s tail kinked slightly with

annoyance. ‘Bartimaeus. Of Uruk. Surely yourecall …? Oh, Great Marduk on high.’ Withthe swiftness of thought the cat became apygmy hippo in a skirt, plump forearms

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lodged indignantly on hips. ‘Well, perhapsyou remember this?’

Asmira blinked at me. ‘Is this one of yourusual guises?’

‘No. Well, not often. Look, it’s a longstory.’

Solomon gave a sudden start. ‘I recall you!You are one of Khaba’s djinn!’ He glared atthe girl. ‘So, then … it was the Egyptian whosent you here …’

I shook my head pityingly. ‘Hardly! I amKhaba’s slave no longer! Bartimaeus of Urukhas ways of escaping the harshest bondage.No magician holds me long! Time and againI—’

‘Khaba trapped him in a bottle,’ the girl in-terrupted. ‘I got him out. He’s my slave now.’

‘Technically speaking’ – I scowled – ‘thatmay be true. But it won’t be the case for long.I’ve learned your birth-name, Asmira, andthat puts you at a sudden disadvantage. If

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you want to live much longer, I suggest youdismiss me right away.’

The girl ignored me. She stepped across toSolomon and plucked the silver dagger fromhis lap. He made no move to stop her. Shestood close beside his chair, with the weaponheld towards him.

‘Give me the Ring, Bartimaeus,’ she saidabruptly. ‘We’re going.’

I cleared my throat. ‘Wait a minute. Didn’tyou hear what I said? I know your name. Ican deflect any Ward you throw.’

‘You still have to do what I say, don’t you?Where’s the Ring?’

‘Dismiss me, and I’ll tell you as I go.’‘What? Like I’m going to agree to that!’King Solomon of Israel had been sitting in

his chair, watching us both intently. Sud-denly he spoke; frail as he seemed, his voicestill carried its note of assured command.‘Bartimaeus of Uruk, did you carry out thecharge I gave you?’

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‘What charge?’ The hippo stared. ‘Youmean sorting out the bandits in the desert?Yes, I did, as it happens, but that’s not reallywhat we’re talking about right now. Listen,Asmira—’

‘Tell me of these bandits,’ Solomon per-sisted. ‘Who were they? Who was theirleader?’

‘Er, they were sent by the king of theEdomites, who’s annoyed with you for thismassive yearly tribute you keep demanding.But you’ll agree this isn’t really the time—’

‘Tribute? What tribute is this? I’ve neverdemanded one!’

‘The king of the Edomites thinks you have,’I said. ‘Just as the Queen of Sheba thinksyou’re after her frankincense. All ratherpuzzling, isn’t it? Someone’s up to no goodbehind your back. But forgive me, O greatSolomon, you don’t seem to quite realize thesituation you’re in. You’re powerless. I’vestolen your Ring.’

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‘Correction: I’ve stolen it,’ the girl said.‘I’m his master.’

‘Nominally,’ the hippo growled. ‘But notfor long.’

‘Give me the Ring, Bartimaeus!’‘No! What about my Dismissal?’‘Come on, Bartimaeus,’ Solomon said sud-

denly. ‘Why don’t you give her the Ring?’The girl and I both hesitated. We broke off

our argument and stared at him.King Solomon stretched in his chair, took

a piece of smoked mackerel and popped it in

his mouth.7 It had to be said he didn’t seemquite as perturbed by events as might havebeen expected. ‘Give her the Ring,’ he saidagain. ‘Why not? Why the reluctance? Youshould ask yourself, Asmira of Sheba, whyyour servant hesitates in this very simplematter. Surely he should wish to carry outhis charge so that you let him go. Can it be,’Solomon went on, looking between us, one tothe other, with his tired eyes, ‘that the djinni

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has understood something about the Ringthat you don’t yet realize? Can it be that hewants to get far from here before you find itout?’

The hippo blew out its cheeks resignedly.He was right, of course. I flicked a forefoottowards the nearest rack of scrolls. ‘You wantthe Ring?’ I sighed. ‘It’s under the rack, onthe far side.’

The girl frowned at me. ‘Keep watch on So-lomon,’ she said.

She stalked past me to the rack, crouchedlow. There was a pause as her fingers ques-ted, then a little gasp of triumph. I screwedmy eyes up tight and waited.

A scream; the sound of a ring rolling backupon the floor. When I looked across, the girlwas tightly clasping her hand beneath herarm.

‘It burns!’ she cried. ‘What have you doneto it, demon?’

‘Me?’

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‘You’ve put some cursed magic on it!’ Withher good hand, she waved the silver dagger.‘Take it off this instant, or I swear—’

It was at this moment that King Solomonstood up; and though (speaking frankly) hewas in his nightie, though his frame wasthin, though his face, without its cloak of Il-lusion, was lined and aged, he neverthelessprojected a sudden severe authority, so thatthe girl and I fell instantly quiet. ‘The djinnispeaks truly,’ he said. ‘The Ring of Solomonbrings pain. That is its nature. If you wish forproof, look here.’ And he held up his hand,with the livid mark upon its finger.

The girl stared at it. ‘I – I don’t under-stand,’ she stammered. ‘No. This is a trick.I’m not listening to you.’ But though her eyesreturned to the little fleck of gold and obsidi-an lying on the floor beside her feet, she didnot pick it up, nor make any move to do so.

‘It’s not a trick,’ I said. ‘It burned me too.’Note that I’d just changed from the beskirted

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hippo into the dark-haired young Sumerianboy, who, while less adorably curvy, betterreflected the gravity of the moment. I feltthat something important was approachingfast, and I didn’t know which way it was go-ing to go.

‘But why should it burn?’ the girl saidplaintively. ‘How will my queen—? I thoughtthe Ring—’

Solomon said quietly: ‘Let me tell youwhat I know of the Ring, Asmira. After thatyou can do what you like with it – and withme.’

She hesitated, looking towards the door,then back at the object at her feet. She staredat Solomon, and at the dagger in her hand.She swore under her breath. ‘Quickly, then.And no tricks.’

‘When I was young,’ King Solomon said atonce, ‘my interest was in treasures of the

past – a passion that remains with me still.8 Ijourneyed far in search of them, bartering in

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the bazaars of Thebes and Babylon for relicsof the ancient days. I also visited the ruins ofyet older cities, places whose names are lostto men. One such site lay on the desert’sedge beside the Tigris River. It is nothingnow but a few worn mounds covered withearth and sand. No doubt, over the centuries,most of its secrets had been steadilyplundered, but the greatest – and most ter-rible – still lay undisturbed.’

He paused, ostensibly to cough, but prob-ably (given he was such an old ham) to buildup the tension. I noticed that he was stand-ing in such a way that the lantern light cast agolden, rather celestial, halo about his head.He was a good performer, Solomon, evenwithout his power.

I watched the girl too. She was frowning(as usual), but the shock of the Ring’s touchwas still upon her, and she seemed willing towait and listen.

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‘When I came to these ruins,’ Solomoncontinued, ‘a recent earth tremor had splitthe surface of one of the smaller mounds.The soil had collapsed, revealing a stretch ofmud-brick wall, a half-collapsed archwayand – beyond – a flight of stairs leading intothe ground. You can well imagine that mycuriosity was aflame! I made a light, creptdown into the depths and, after an incalcul-able descent, arrived at a broken door. Someancient rock-fall had split it open, andwhatever magic might have been upon it hadlong been spent. I squeezed through into theblackness—’

‘You were so-o-o-o jammy!’ I cried.‘Sumerian well-rooms are notorious fortraps! Ordinarily there’d have been anyamount of hexes and things in there.’

‘Whether I was lucky,’ King Solomon saidirritably, ‘I will leave to you to judge. Do notinterrupt again. I squeezed inside, as I say,and found myself in a small chamber. In its

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centre’ – he shuddered, as at an oft-re-membered horror – ‘in its centre was an ironchair, and on that chair, strapped there withancient fastenings of rope and wire, sat themummified body of – I cannot say whether itwas a man or woman, for great terror hadseized me, and all I longed for was escape. AsI turned to go, I caught sight of a glint of goldupon one papery finger. In my avarice Isnatched at it: the finger broke away, theRing was in my hand. I put it on’ – he heldup his hand, so that the red weal upon thefinger shone bright and raw – ‘and instantlysuch pain came over me that I collapsed andknew no more.’

Solomon took a drink of wine. We stood

silent. Even I didn’t try to butt in this time.9

‘I was awoken in the darkness of that fear-ful place,’ the king went on, ‘by the burningpain. My one thought was to remove theRing. As I fumbled at it, it twisted on my fin-ger; at once a soft voice at my shoulder asked

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me what I desired. You may be sure I wished,with what I assumed to be my dying breath,to be home again. A moment passed, myhead spun – when I awoke I was on the roofof my house in Jerusalem, with the sun shin-ing warm upon me.’

‘You were transported in an instant?’ Des-pite herself, the girl’s face was slack withwonder. Even the handsome young Sumeri-an, who had seen and heard a fair bit in his

time, was grudgingly impressed.10

‘It was even so,’ Solomon said. ‘Well, Ishall be brief, for you can guess the rest.Soon I learned two things about the Ring.First, with it on my finger, I had power un-dreamed of. The Spirit of the Ring, who isvery great, provides innumerable slaves to domy bidding. By simply touching the stone, Isummon them; by turning the Ring, theSpirit himself appears. Thus I can instantlyrealize my heart’s desires. Second, and lesspleasant’ – here he closed his eyes a moment

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– ‘there is the pain the Ring exerts. This nev-er slackens. Not only that: each time I use it,my personal strength diminishes. In theearly years, when I was strong, I used it daily– I built this palace, I made my empire, Iforced the kings around me to down theirswords and sue for peace. I began to use theRing to help those peoples most in need. Re-cently’ – he gave a sigh – ‘this has become …more difficult. Even the slightest use weariesme, and I must rest long to recover. Which isregrettable, since hundreds come daily to mygates, begging for my aid! More and more Imust rely on my squabbling magicians to dothis work for me.’ He broke off and coughedagain.

‘You do know,’ I said, and I spoke quitesympathetically, for Solomon’s story had

made a favourable impression on me,11 ‘thatsome of your magicians are not quite as …scrupulous as you. In fact, they’re downrightbad. Take Khaba, for instance—’

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‘I know this,’ Solomon said. ‘By instinct,many of the Seventeen are wicked as well asstrong. I keep them near me, and I keepthem nervous by threatening to use the Ringon them. That is good policy. Better this thanhave them conspiring against me far away.Meanwhile, I use their power.’

‘Yeah, fine, but I don’t think you know thefull extent—’

And then the girl was suddenly betweenus, with the dagger pointing at the king’sthroat. ‘Bartimaeus,’ she hissed, ‘stop talkingwith him as if he were your ally! Pick up theRing. We have to go.’

‘Asmira,’ King Solomon said. He did notflinch from the dagger blade. ‘You haveheard my story. Now look at my face. Wouldyou want your queen to look like this?’

She shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t do so.She wouldn’t wear it as you have done.’

‘Ah, but she would. She would have to. Orelse it would be stolen! Nothing on Earth,’

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King Solomon said, ‘is desired as much asthis Ring. She would be forced to wear it, andit would madden her, for the pain when youtouch it, Asmira, is nothing to what you feelwhen you put it on. Try it. Put it on your fin-ger. See for yourself.’

Asmira was still holding her dagger out-stretched. She did not answer.

‘No?’ Solomon said. ‘I am not surprised. Iwould not wish the Ring on anyone.’ He satdown abruptly, an old and shrunken man.‘Well, you have your choice. Kill me if youmust, and take the Ring to Sheba. Then adozen magicians will fight for it and therewill be war in the world. Or leave it here, andgo. Leave me to my burden. I will keep theRing safe, and with it do what good I can. Iwill not hinder your departure, that I swear.’

I’d been uncharacteristically quiet for abit, giving Solomon space to make his pitch,but now I took a tentative step forward. ‘Thatsounds like fine good sense to me,’ I said.

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‘Give him the Ring back, Asmira, and let’sg— Ow!’

She had swung the dagger round, pointingit towards me, so its aura bit my essence. Ijumped back with a cry. Still she didn’tspeak. Her face was set, her eyes staring. Shedidn’t seem to see me or Solomon anylonger, but something far away.

I tried again. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Ditch theRing and I’ll give you a lift home. How’s thatfor a deal? True, I haven’t got a nice big car-pet like Khaba, but I’m sure we could findyou a towel or napkin or something. You cansee that Solomon’s right, can’t you? The Ringis nothing but trouble. Even the ancientsdidn’t use it. They sealed it in a tomb.’

Still the girl said nothing. The king satquiet in his chair, maintaining his attitude ofmeek acceptance, but I knew that he waswatching her closely, hanging on her word.

She looked up; her eyes focused on me atlast. ‘Bartimaeus …’

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‘Yes, Asmira.’Surely she would see sense now after all

she’d been told and seen. Surely, after feel-ing the Ring’s power for herself, she wouldknow what she had to do.

‘Bartimaeus,’ she said, ‘fetch me the Ring.’‘To give to Solomon?’‘To take to Sheba.’ Her face was hard, ex-

pressionless. She turned away from me.Without looking at the king, she sheathedher dagger in her belt and walked off towardsthe door.

1 The fly was an optional extra right then. They were so

preoccupied I don’t think they’d have noticed me if I’d

turned into a flatulent unicorn and pirouetted gently across

the room.2 Tatty chipped ones, they were, no doubt chosen spe-

cially by Solomon for his humble little whitewashed bed-

room, to go along with the earthen plates and the rough

wood furniture. I bet going there after the day’s luxuries

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were over made him feel all virtuous and austere … and

therefore, paradoxically, even more superior to the rest of

us than before.3 My very first job, in fact, when I arrived on Earth

fresh-faced and dewy-eyed, was nicking a fertility statue

from the love goddess’s sanctuary in Ur. Morally speaking,

this pretty much set the tone for my next two thousand

years.4 Not to mention trying to use it. Turning the Ring

would have been equivalent to opening the door to the Oth-

er Place and subjecting one’s essence to the full power of its

pull. Any Earth-tethered spirit who tried such a thing would

surely soon be torn in two. Here was an irony which Philo-

cretes, Azul and the other restless spirits who desired the

Ring had not lived to discover.5 Actually, I couldn’t help being impressed by her all-

round feistiness in defying Solomon, despite the threat of

the ‘Ring’. Though I suppose hopeless last stands always

look best viewed from the outside.6 Stupefaction’s putting it mildly. Two blocks of lime-

stone crudely daubed with cartoon faces would have been

more animated than Solomon and the girl right then.

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7 Not a calamari ring, note: he seemed to have gone off

them.8 In other words, he was a typical magician, wanting

old-time freebies to supplement his power.9 I was thinking about the unknown corpse, that person

who had been bound to the chair with the Ring upon their

finger, then carefully buried alive. All that power (and pain)

literally at their fingertips, yet forced to endure a helpless

death! It was a terrible end. It was also striking how keen

the ancient executioners were to rid themselves of the al-

legedly wondrous Ring.10 Spontaneous matter transfer is very, very tricky. I

can’t do it. No one I know can do it. The only time a spirit

shifts instantaneously from one place to another is when it’s

being summoned, and we’re made of essence. Moving a

great fat heavy human (like you) in this fashion is even

harder.11 I too understand a little about being trapped by cir-

cumstances, about enduring pain.

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31

Transporting an object as potent as the Ringof Solomon is a ticklish task, particularly ifyou’re keen to avoid being toasted as you doso.

In an ideal world I’d have put it in a lead-lined box, put the box inside a sack, andpulled the sack behind me on the end of amile-long chain, so that neither my essencenor my sight suffered in any way from itsemanations. Instead I had to make do withwrapping it in a scrumpled ball made fromthe parchments found on Solomon’s writing

table.1 This solution shielded the worst of theheat quite well, but even through the thick,

coarse layers its aura remained uncomfort-able. I could feel my fingers tingling.

The girl had already gone. Holding the ballof parchment gingerly like the unwillingslave I was, I followed in her wake. At thedoor I paused, looked back. The king wasstill in his chair, his chin lowered almost tohis chest. He seemed older, more hunchedand far more shrunken than before. He didnot look at me, nor seek to prevent my theft.He knew that I couldn’t have returned theRing to him, even if I’d wanted to.

There was nothing to say. I set off slowlydown the corridor, leaving King Solomon sit-ting silent in his little whitewashed room.

*

Out into the main chamber I went, past thepool, past the doors that led to the observat-ory and the storeroom, past the golden tablesin all their Glamour, and so through the

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drapes, the nexus and the arch, and onto thebalcony again.

Above me, the stars were still spread out insplendid cold array. Below me, the lights ofthe palace gleamed beyond the gardens.

The girl waited at the balustrade, gazing tothe south. Her arms were crossed, the breezeflicked at her long dark hair.

Without looking at me, she said: ‘You’vegot the Ring?’

‘Oh, I’ve got it.’‘Take me and it to Sheba. I don’t care how

we go. Turn into a bird, or a bat, or whatevermonstrosity you please. Get me there quicklyand I’ll dismiss you when we arrive.’ Forsomeone who had just carried out her im-possible quest, she didn’t seem exactly buoy-ant. More taut with anger, if truth be told.

She wasn’t the only one.I said: ‘We’ll get to that in a moment. I

want to ask you something first.’

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She pointed down to the distant southerngardens, where several lights still flitted likea storm of wasps. ‘No time for talking. Whatif Solomon alerts the guards?’

‘We’ve got this now,’ I said coldly, holdingup the parchment ball. ‘That gives us all thetime we need. If they spot us, you can simplyput the Ring on, can’t you? That’ll send thempacking.’

She shook her head, shuddering at thememory of its touch. ‘Don’t be stupid. Icouldn’t do that.’

‘No? That’s what you expect your preciousqueen to do, though, isn’t it? Think she’ll beable to cope with the pain?’

‘Queen Balkis,’ the girl said in a tonelessvoice, ‘will know what to do.’

‘Will she, though?’ I stepped closer now.‘Perhaps you didn’t understand what So-lomon was telling you back there,’ I said. ‘Hewasn’t lying. You’ve felt the Ring’s power foryourself, Asmira. You’ve heard what it does.

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Do you truly want that unleashed upon theworld?’

Her anger burst forth then, just a little.‘Solomon already unleashes it! Nothing’s go-ing to change.’

‘Well now, I’m not Solomon’s biggest fan,’I said, ‘but I’d say he was doing his best notto unleash it. He keeps the Ring cooped up inhere, and uses it as little as possible.’

The girl made a loud, unladylike, scoffingnoise. ‘Wrong! He threatens Sheba!’

‘Oh, come on!’ My scoffing noise waslouder still. ‘You don’t really believe that anymore, do you? I was listening to you bothback there. Why should he deny responsibil-ity? He was holding you captive – he didn’tneed to lie. It’s obvious to anyone with half abrain that there’s some other conspiracy go-ing on, which—’

‘Which is irrelevant!’ the girl cried. ‘I don’tcare either way. My queen has given me a

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task, and I am carrying it out. That’s all thereis to it. I have to obey her!’

‘Spoken like the slave you are,’ I sneered.‘You don’t have to obey her, and that’s thepoint. For all I know, Balkis is normally aparagon of virtue, but she’s made the wrongcall here. Solomon wasn’t your enemy untilyou crept into his bedroom with that dagger.Even now I think he’d let you off if you justtook it back and— Oh, swan off all you like,young madam, but that doesn’t change theobvious!’

The girl had spun on her heel with asqueak of rage, and had stalked away alongthe balcony – but at my words, as if she weredoing some primitive Arabian dance, shespun again and jabbed her finger at me. ‘Un-like a faithless demon, who has to be coercedinto everything he does, I have sacredbonds,’ she said. ‘I hold true to the dutyplaced in me. I faithfully serve my queen.’

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‘Which doesn’t stop you both messingthings up,’ I said. ‘How old’s Balkis, exactly?Thirty? Forty, tops? Well, listen, I’ve got twothousand years of accumulated wisdom here,and even I get it wrong sometimes. For in-stance, I thought you had something aboutyou when I met you in the gorge. Intelli-gence, flexibility of mind … Ha! How misin-formed was I?’

‘It’s not about intelligence,’ the girlsnapped, proving her point precisely. ‘It’sabout trust. I trust my queen and obey her ineverything.’

‘In everything?’‘Yes.’‘In that case’ – this was a good one; I’d

been saving it for a while – ‘why didn’t youkill Solomon?’

There was a silence. I placed the ball ofparchment on the balustrade, the better tofold my arms in a decisive, calmly superiorsort of way. The girl hesitated; her hands

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gave little tremors of uncertainty. ‘Well, Ididn’t need to. He’s powerless without theRing.’

‘But you were ordered to kill him. In factthat was the top priority, if I recall. The Ringcame second.’

‘Without his Ring, he’ll soon be dead,’ thegirl said. ‘The other magicians will finish himoff as soon as they find—’

‘That’s still not answering my question.Why didn’t you kill him? You had the dagger.Or you could have got me to do it. I’ve killed

kings before now, oodles of them.2 But no,we just slipped away without giving him somuch as a dead arm or Chinese burn. Onemore time for luck: Why didn’t you kill him?’

‘I couldn’t do it!’ the girl cried suddenly.‘All right? I couldn’t do it, with him just sit-ting there. I was going to, when I went overwith the knife, but he was helpless. And thatjust made me—’ She gave a curse. ‘I couldn’tdo it out of hand! Solomon didn’t kill me

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when he had me in his power, did he? Heshould have, but he held back. And just likehim, I failed.’

‘Failed?’ I gazed at her. ‘That’s one way ofputting it. Another way might be—’

‘But it doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m goingback to Sheba with the Ring.’ Her facegleamed at me in the darkness like a fierce,pale star. ‘I’m not going to fail in that.’

I drew myself up. It was time to go for thejugular now. Her self-assurance, though stillvigorously expressed, was failing her; per-haps it had already failed. If I got it right, Ifigured I could cut things short, save myself apainful journey back to Sheba carrying thatburning Ring. Who knows, it might also savethe girl. ‘Let me hazard a guess here,’ I said,and again it was good that I was in the formof the Sumerian spear-bearer, and not one ofmy more unusual guises. Home truths aredifficult enough to swallow without havingthem delivered by a pop-eyed imp, a winged

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serpent, a miasma of poison gas or a four-

faced demon,3 to mention but a few. ‘Youcouldn’t kill Solomon,’ I said, ‘because, inyour heart, you know he was telling you thetruth about Sheba and the Ring. No – shutup a moment, and listen. And that, in turn,means you know your precious queen got itwrong. You don’t like that revelation. Youdon’t like it because that means she sent youhere mistakenly, and everything you riskedwas for nothing. You don’t like it because, ifyour queen’s not infallible, it calls into ques-tion the whole purpose of your sad little life,doing what she says, sacrificing yourself forher. Doesn’t it? Oh yes, and just maybe itcalls into question your mother’s sacrificetoo.’

The girl gave a start. Her voice was veryfaint. ‘You know nothing about my mother.’

‘I know what you told me. She died for herqueen.’

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The girl’s eyes closed. ‘Yes. And I watchedher die.’

‘Just as you expected to die on this missiontoo. Part of you even hoped for it.’ So-mething crumpled in the girl’s face here. Iwaited and drew back a little. ‘So, when wasit?’ I said. ‘Recently?’

‘Long ago.’ The girl looked at me. The furywas still there, but it was cracked and brokennow, and there were tears in her eyes. ‘I wassix years old. Men of the hill-tribes, angeredabout taxes. They tried to kill the queen.’

‘Mm,’ I said musingly. ‘Assassins attackinga head of state. Sound familiar?’

The girl didn’t seem to have heard. ‘Mymother stopped them,’ she said. ‘And they—’She looked off into the gardens. It was stillvery quiet out there, no sign of any trouble.On sudden impulse, I took the ball of parch-ment down off the balustrade. It struck methat its muffled aura might be visible fromafar.

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Asmira leaned back against the stone,hands resting at her sides. For the first timein our association she was truly still. Ofcourse, I’d seen her not moving before, butalways as an interlude amid swift action.Now, whether it was my words, or hermemories, or something else entirely, sheseemed suddenly slowed, deflated, uncertainwhat to do.

‘If I don’t take the Ring,’ she said in a hol-low voice, ‘what will I have achieved? Noth-ing. I’ll still be as empty as I am now.’

Empty? The spear-bearer scratched hismanly chin. Humans and their problems. It’snot my strongest suit. Oh sure, it was prettyclear to me that the girl had been seeking toemulate her mother all these years, only tofind – at the moment of her triumph – thatshe didn’t quite believe in what she was do-ing. I saw that well enough. But in the face ofher sudden desolation, I was unsure whereto go next. Probing psychological analysis is

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one thing,4 constructive suggestions quiteanother.

‘Now listen,’ I began, ‘there’s still time totake the Ring back to Solomon. He wouldn’ttake revenge on you. He gave his word. Plushe’d be too relieved, I think. Or, another al-ternative, which you may not have con-sidered, is for us to chuck the Ring into thesea. Get rid of it for ever. That would solvethe problem big time – no more threat toSheba, no pain for your queen – plus itwould save a lot of inconvenience for a hostof spirits too.’

The girl neither agreed nor disagreed withthis sensible suggestion. She remainedslumped, shoulders sagging, staring into thedark.

I tried again. ‘This “emptiness” you talkabout,’ I said. ‘I think you’re getting tooworked up about it. Your trouble, Asmira, isyou’ve got something of an issue with your—’I broke off in sudden alarm. My handsome

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nose twitched. It twitched again. I sniffedabout me intently.

That woke her up a bit. She stirred indig-nantly. ‘You’re saying I smell? Great Sheba,that was one thing I wasn’t worrying about.’

‘No. Not you.’ My eyes narrowed. I lookedaround the walkway. Pillars, statues,scattered chairs – all seemed quiet enough.But somewhere close … Uh-oh. ‘Can yousmell anything?’ I asked.

‘Rotten eggs,’ the girl said. ‘I thought thatwas you.’

‘It isn’t me.’Spurred on by sudden intuition, I stole

away from her on silent feet and padded upthe centre of the aisle. I stopped, sniffed,listened, went a little further, sniffed again. Itook another step –

– then spun round and blew the neareststatue to pieces with a Detonation.

The girl gave a cry; the spear-bearer gave aspring. Even as the glowing shards of stone

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were still tumbling, rolling, pattering downupon the tower’s dome, I landed in theirmidst, brushed aside a few remaining fila-ments of lilac cloud, and seized theblackened foliot from his hiding place behindthe shattered plinth. I grabbed him by hisgreen and sinewy neck and lifted him aloft.

‘Gezeri,’ I snarled. ‘I thought as much.Spying again! Well, this time I’m going tofinish you before you get a chance to—’

The foliot slowly stuck out his tongue atme and grinned. He pointed to the south.

Oh no.I turned, looked. Far off above the palace

roofs, a small black cloud rose vertically intothe night, a rushing cone of wind and fire. Itwas far away at first, but not for long.Slender bolts of lightning sprang from itssides; it boiled, churned, spun with avengingfury, and shot above the gardens towards thetower.

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1 At a rough glance they seemed to be inscribed with

some songs he was writing. I didn’t bother reading any.

They were unlikely to be much good.2 Four, in fact: three of them ultra-cool, deliberate acts

of political assassination, and one an unfortunate mishap

involving a barking dog, a child’s toy chariot, a slippery cor-

ridor, a short, steep ramp, and a cauldron of boiling beef-

fat. That one had to be seen to be believed.3Four-faced demon: a guise used occasionally to guard

important crossroads in ancient Mesopotamia. The faces

were a griffin, a bull, a lion and a cobra, each more terrify-

ing than the last. I sat on a pillar, a picture of noble gravitas,

gazing implacably in all directions. The problems started

when I had to get up and run after someone. Then I just got

confused and tripped over my feet, which made the passing

urchins laugh.4 Namely, impartial observation liberally spiced with

sarcasm and personal abuse. Let’s face it, I’m good at all

that.

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32

The appearance of the cloud came at exactlythe wrong time for Asmira, at the precisemoment when her resolve had fallen cleanaway.

She stood on the balcony and watched itgrow: a tornado of whirling flames, lightingthe trees and lawns as it passed above them,staining them red like blood. She heard thescreaming of the air, heard the laughter ofthe little demon, heard the urgent cries ofBartimaeus as he ran towards her …

She heard and saw it all, but she did notact.

Throughout the tribulations of the journeyAsmira had maintained an iron disciplinelearned over many solitary years. Thedangers of the palace, the interview with So-lomon, even being brought face-to-face withthe Spirit of the Ring – none of this had en-tirely daunted her. She understood the sacri-fice she was prepared to make, and she un-derstood why she did so. Her clarity gave herpurpose and her purpose gave her clarity.From the beginning she moved towards herlikely death in a mood of fierce serenity.

But death, in the end, had not come – Bar-timaeus had instead. And suddenly the kingwas at her mercy, the Ring was in her grasp,and she was still alive. Everything was pos-sible that she had long desired … And nowAsmira found, quite suddenly, that she wasno longer certain what to do.

Even before she fled from Solomon’sroom, she had been struggling to come toterms with what had happened. The king’s

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story, his helplessness, his denial of his guilt,the way he crumpled in his chair … None ofthis had been expected; all of it jarred withher preconceptions. And then there’d beenthe Ring itself, the Ring that supposedlymade its wearer the luckiest of men. Exceptthat it burned him and made him old beforehis time … She thought of Solomon’s ravagedface, of the pain she’d felt when she too hadpicked it up. Nothing made sense.Everything was upside-down.

At first Asmira had sought to ignore theconflict in her mind and to complete hermission as best she could. But then, thanksto Bartimaeus, she found her deepest doubtsand motivations laid bare beneath the stars.

Much of what he said she had alwaysknown, secretly, deep down, ever since themoment when her mother had collapsedupon the lap of the impassive, indifferentqueen. For years she had denied that know-ledge, cloaked it beneath her angry

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dedication and her pleasure in her skill. Butnow, with the cold night’s clarity, she foundshe no longer trusted what she was and whatshe had aspired to be. Her energy and self-belief were gone, and the accumulated weari-ness of the previous two weeks descendedabruptly on her back. She felt both veryheavy – and hollow, like a shell.

Onward came the rushing cloud. Asmiradid nothing.

The djinni ran towards her, grasping thelittle green demon by the neck. In his otherhand he had the ball of parchment, held out-stretched. ‘Here,’ he shouted. ‘The Ring!Take it! Put it on!’

‘What?’ Asmira frowned dully. ‘I – I can’tdo that.’

‘Can’t you see? Khaba’s coming!’ Bartim-aeus was right beside her now, still in hisdark youth guise. He was wide-eyed withagitation. He thrust the ball into her hands.‘Put it on quick! It’s our only chance.’

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Even through the crumpled parcel Asmiracould feel the intense heat of the Ring. Shefumbled it, almost dropped it to the floor.‘Me? No … I can’t. Why don’t you—?’

‘Well, I can’t do it, can I?’ the djinni cried.‘The pull of the Other Place will tear my es-sence in two! Do it! Use it! We’ve got barelyseconds!’ The young man gave a spring,hopped onto the balustrade and, tucking thefoliot beneath his arm, sent a succession ofscarlet bolts shooting through the night to-wards the cloud. None got near: all explodedagainst an invisible obstruction, sendingplumes of dying magic high into the air, ordown in fizzing arcs to set the cypress treesaflame.

Asmira picked hesitantly at the edges ofthe parchment. Put it on? But this was a roy-al treasure, worn by kings and queens. Whowas she to dare to use it? She was nothing,not even a proper guard … And besides – she

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thought of Solomon’s ravaged face – theRing burned.

‘Do you want Khaba the Cruel to get it?’Bartimaeus shouted down at her. ‘Put thething on! Ah, what kind of master are you?This is your chance to do something right!’

From the crook of his arm the little greendemon gave a rich and fruity chuckle. Asmirarecognized it now; it was Khaba’s creature.She had glimpsed it in the gorge. ‘You’ve gota dud one there, Barty,’ the foliot remarked.‘Useless. Was it her who put that package inplain sight on the balustrade? I saw that amile off.’

The djinni made no answer but spoke aword. The foliot froze with its mouth open,engulfed in a web of smoke. Still firing boltstowards the cloud with his other hand, Bar-timaeus tossed the demon high, caught it bya solid ear and, with a mighty rotation of thearm, hurled it out into the dark.

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Beyond, in the midst of the oncomingcloud, a bright blue pulse of light flared once.

‘Asmira—’ Bartimaeus said.Blue fire struck the balustrade, blew it

asunder, sent the djinni flying backwards ina mass of sapphire flames. Across the walk-way he went, through the nearest statue,smashing into the tower’s dome in a tangle ofbent limbs. The flames licked across him,flared, went out.

His body rolled slowly down the slope,over and over, then stopped at last amid ascattering of stone.

Asmira stared at the slumped body, staredat the package in her hands. She gave a sud-den curse; her hesitation left her. Shescrabbled at the parchment pieces, tearingthem apart, feeling the heat of the Ring in-side growing hotter, hotter … She reachedout a trembling hand—

Lightning flashed; the storm-cloudplunged down upon the balcony. Statues

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toppled, pieces of parapet warped, snapped,fell outwards into the night. The storm burstupon the walkway, projecting a circular buf-fet of air that sent Asmira tumbling againstthe stone, spinning round upon her back.The ball of parchment was flung from herhands, dropped upon the parapet. A smallfleck of gold and black bounced free.

The gale winked out; the storm had van-ished. Standing in the middle of a broad ringof scorched black stonework, the magicianKhaba looked balefully around.

At his back, something darker, taller,raised its head. Paper-thin arms that hadheld the magician in a tight embrace unfol-ded. Fingers long and sharp as needlesstretched, flexed, pointed in Asmira’sdirection.

‘Over there,’ a soft voice said.Asmira had hit her head upon the stone-

work; the parapet swam before her eyes.

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Nevertheless, she struggled to a sitting posi-tion and looked about her for the Ring.

There it was – right at the edge, beside theyawning gulf. Head reeling, Asmira rolledherself forward, began to crawl towards theRing.

Soft footsteps nearing, the swishing of along black robe.

Asmira crawled faster. Now she felt theRing’s heat upon her face. She stretched outto pick it up—

A black sandal came down, crushed herfingers to the stone. Asmira gasped, jerkedher hand away.

‘No, Cyrine,’ the magician said. ‘No. It’snot for you.’

He kicked out at her, catching her sharplyon the side of the face. She rolled backwardswith the blow, sprang to her feet. Before shecould reach for her belt, something like clawshad grasped her waist, yanked her upwardsand away. For some moments she saw

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nothing but starlight twisting and the whirl-ing dark, then she found herself summarilydeposited back upon the stone, halfwayalong the ruined balcony. The sharp claspabout her did not slacken; her arms weregripped fast, pressed against her sides. Therewas a presence at her back.

The Egyptian was still standing over theRing, staring at it in disbelief. He wore thesame tunic as at the banquet so many hoursbefore. His face looked haggard, and therewere little purple stains at the corners of hislips, testimony to his night’s consumption,but his eyes glistened with high excitement,and his voice trembled as he spoke.

‘It is. It truly is … I cannot believe it!’ Hebent down swiftly, only to pause in doubt ashe sensed the emanations of the Ring.

Somewhere above Asmira, a soft voicegave a warning call. ‘Master! Beware! Theenergies burn me even at a distance. DearMaster, you must take care!’

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The magician made a noise that was halflaugh, half groan. ‘You – you know me, dearAmmet. I – I like a little pain.’ His fingersplunged upon the Ring. Asmira flinched inexpectation of his cry.

Instead: a gasp, a muttered curse; withstaring eyes and teeth locked tight together,Khaba stood. The Ring rested on his palm.

‘Master! Are you hurt?’Asmira looked up, saw, framed against the

stars, a shadow-thing, Khaba’s duplicate insilhouette. Her teeth parted in horror, shestruggled in the monster’s grip.

The Egyptian flicked his eyes towards her.‘Keep the girl secure,’ he said. ‘But do – donot harm her yet. I need – I need to talk withher. Ah!’ He gave a bellow. ‘How did the oldman stomach it so?’

The grip around Asmira’s waist tightened,so that she cried out. At the same time shefelt her captor make a sudden, sinewy move-ment to pick up something behind them.

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The soft voice spoke again. ‘Master, I haveBartimaeus too. He lives.’

Asmira moved her head a little, saw thehandsome youth hanging limp beside her,suspended like a clutch of rags in a great greyfist. Yellow steam rose from many woundsupon his body. The sight gave her a suddenpang.

‘Not dead? All the better.’ Khaba shuffledtowards them, holding his right hand closeagainst his chest. ‘We have our first occupantfor the new essence-cages, Ammet. But first– this girl …’

He came to a halt in front of Asmira andstood regarding her. His face was rackedwith pain; his teeth champed silently againsthis upper lip. Still he did not put the Ring on.

‘How did you do it?’ he demanded. ‘Whatlevel magician are you?’

Asmira shrugged. She shook her head.‘Do you want Ammet to tear you in two?’

Khaba said. ‘He itches to do so. Speak!’

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‘It was easy enough.’‘What of Solomon’s defences?’‘I avoided them.’‘The Ring: how did you get it off his fin-

ger? While he slept?’‘No. He was awake.’‘Then how in the name of Ra—?’ Khaba

broke off, staring at his rigid, clutching hand.A wave of pain passed over him; he seemedto lose his train of thought. ‘Well, you shalltell me the details later at my leisure, wheth-er you wish to or not. But one thing now:how did Solomon die?’

Asmira thought of the frail king sitting inhis chair. She wondered what he would bedoing now. Summoning his guards, perhaps,or fleeing the tower. She found she hopedhe’d had time to do so. ‘Bartimaeus strangledhim,’ she said.

‘Ah. Good, good. It’s no more than he de-served. Now, Cyrine – but of course, that’snot really your name, is it? I wonder what …’

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Khaba gave her a twisted grin. ‘Well, we’llfind out, won’t we, in time. Whoever youare,’ he went on, ‘I’m greatly obliged to you. Ihave been eager to carry out such an act my-self for years. So have the rest of the Seven-teen – we have spoken about it often. Ah, butwe were fearful! We dared not act! The terrorof the Ring was upon us. Yet you, in the com-pany of this … this very ordinary djinni,have managed it!’ Khaba shook his head inwonder. ‘It is truly quite remarkable. I as-sume it was you who caused the kerfufflearound the treasury?’

‘Yes.’‘That was a good tactic. Most of my col-

leagues are still engaged down there. If it wasleft to them, you’d have got away.’

‘How did you find us?’ Asmira said. ‘Howdid that green demon—?’

‘Gezeri, Ammet and I have been lookingfor you half the night, ever since you robbedme. Gezeri has the sharpest eyes. He saw a

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glimmer high up on the balcony. He came toinvestigate. I kept watch on him with this.’The magician held up a polished stone thathung about his neck. ‘Imagine my surprisewhen we discovered it was you.’

At that moment there was a moan behindthem. A small, bedraggled cloud rose fitfullyfrom the gulf, proceeding in sorry jerks andstarts. On the cloud sprawled the small greenfoliot, in a state of great discomposure, witha bump the size of a stork’s egg on its head.‘Ohhh, me essence,’ it groaned. ‘That Bartim-aeus! Got me with a Petrifaction beforechucking me off the edge!’

Khaba scowled. ‘Be still, Gezeri! I have animportant task to do.’

‘I’m numb all over. Go on, give my tail atweak. I won’t feel it.’

‘You won’t have a tail much longer if youdon’t stay quiet and keep watch.’

‘Aren’t we tetchy?’ the foliot said. ‘Butyou’d better be careful too, chum. The

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explosions up here haven’t gone unnoticed,nor that horrid aura spilling from your hand.Better look sharp. There’s company coming.’

It pointed: far off to the south, manypoints of light were fast approaching, andwith them slim silhouettes, dark, rectangu-lar, like silent doorways to the stars. Khabagrimaced. ‘My friends and colleagues, cometo check on Solomon. Little do they guesswho holds the Ring now!’

‘All very fine,’ Asmira said suddenly, ‘but Inotice you’ve not yet put it on.’

She cried out; the demon had squeezed herwaist vindictively. Khaba said: ‘It is slightly… harder to endure than I would have expec-ted. Who would have thought that Solomonhad such strength of will? But do not think tocriticize me, girl. I am a man of power. Youare nothing, a nameless thief.’

Asmira gritted her teeth; rage filled her.‘Wrong,’ she said. ‘My name is Asmira, andmy mother was First Guard of the Queen of

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Sheba. I came to seek the Ring because mycountry was in peril, and though I may havefailed, at least I acted with more honourableintent than you.’

She finished with her chin jutting, her eyesblazing, ferocious satisfaction surgingthrough her. There was a resounding silence.

Then Khaba laughed, a high-pitched,squealing sound, and from the shadow-thingthat held her came a laugh that echoed itpitch for pitch. The unconscious djinni,hanging alongside, twitched and shivered atthe noise.

With an effort Khaba calmed himself.‘They come, Ammet,’ he said shortly. ‘Beready. My dear Asmira – what a pretty name,to be sure; I much prefer it to Cyrine. So youhave been sent from Sheba? How amusing.’

He opened his hand, stared at the Ring ofSolomon.

‘Hurry, boss,’ the foliot said. ‘There’s oldHiram. He looks mad.’

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Asmira could see the magician’s fingersshaking as they hovered above the Ring.‘What do you mean, “amusing”?’ she said.

‘Because I know why you have come. Iknow why Balkis sent you.’ The big moisteyes flashed up at her; there was glee inthem, as well as fear. ‘And because I knowyou killed Solomon for nothing.’

Asmira’s stomach lurched. ‘But the threat…’

‘Was not made by Solomon.’‘The messenger …’‘Wasn’t sent by him.’ Khaba gave a gasp as

his fingers closed upon the Ring. ‘The – therest of the Seventeen and I have long en-gaged in certain private transactions, takingadvantage of Solomon’s reputation. Thepetty kings of Edom, Moab, Syria and othershave all eagerly paid ransoms to avoid ficti-tious disaster. Balkis is just the latest in thisline. She – like the rest – is rich, and can eas-ily pay. It is no great loss to her, and it swells

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our coffers. If Solomon didn’t notice, wherewas the harm in it? It’s the kind of thing thefool should have been doing anyway, ofcourse. What’s the point of power if youdon’t get something for yourself?’

The shadow spoke above Asmira’s head.‘Master … you must make haste.’

‘Khaba!’ A peevish cry came from thedarkness. ‘Khaba – what are you doing?’

The magician ignored the voice. ‘Dear Am-met, I know I talk too much. I talk to bluntthe pain. I must steel myself to put it on. Iwill not be long.’

Asmira was staring at the Egyptian. ‘Yourmessenger attacked Marib. People died.Which magician sent him?’

Sweat ran across Khaba’s gleaming head.He held the Ring between thumb and fore-finger, moved it towards his finger. ‘In pointof fact it was me. Don’t take it personally. Itmight have been any one of us. And the mes-senger was Ammet, who holds you now. It is

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ironic, don’t you think, that Balkis’s petulantgesture should end by causing the death ofthe one king who would not abuse the powerof the Ring? I will not be so restrained, I canassure you.’

‘Khaba!’ Rushing down towards the para-pet, resplendent in his long white robes, thevizier Hiram looked upon the scene with eyesof fury. He stood, arms folded, upon a smallsquare carpet that was held aloft by a man-shaped demon of great size. It had long,flowing, golden hair, and feathered whitewings that beat the air with the crack of war-drums. Its face was beautiful, terrible, re-mote, but its eyes were emerald green.Without them, Asmira would not have recog-nized the small white mouse.

Behind stood other magicians, otherdemons, hovering in darkness.

‘Khaba!’ the vizier cried again. ‘What doyou do here? Where is Solomon? And what –what is that you hold?’

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The Egyptian did not look up. He was stillsteeling himself, holding the Ring with shak-ing hands.

‘At least my queen – like me – acted withhonour,’ Asmira said. ‘She will never bendher neck before you, no matter what youthreaten!’

Khaba laughed. ‘On the contrary, she hasalready done so. Yesterday she had the sacksof frankincense piled ready for collection inthe Marib courtyard. You were nothing but aside-gambit, child, a throwaway gesture yourqueen could easily afford to make. Since shenow presumes you dead, she gets her pay-ment ready at the last. It’s what they alwaysdo.’

Asmira’s head spun; blood pounded in herears.

‘Khaba!’ Hiram called. ‘Put down the Ring!I am the most senior of the Seventeen! I for-bid you to put it on. We all must share inthis.’

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Khaba’s head was bowed, his face was hid-den. ‘Ammet, I need a moment. If you would…?’

Asmira looked up. Through her tears shesaw the shadow’s mouth curl open, showingranks of slender teeth – then she was tossedsideways through the air and caught again;now she hung next to Bartimaeus, tight be-neath the shadow’s arm.

‘Khaba!’ Hiram cried in a voice of thunder.‘Attend, or we attack!’

Still holding Asmira and the djinni, theshadow extended across the balcony. Its freearm was held outstretched, its fingers longand curled. The arm shot forth, flashing likea whip. A slice, a snick. Hiram’s head fell oneway, his body fell the other. Both toppled si-lently from the carpet and plunged into thedark.

Hiram’s white-winged demon gave a shoutof joy and vanished. The carpet, suddenlyunattended, spiralled swiftly out of sight.

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Somewhere in the air above the garden,one of the other magicians screamed.

The shadow drew back upon the balconyand turned in keen attention to its master,who, bent double, had uttered a long, lowcry.

‘Dear Master, are you hurt? What can Ido?’

Khaba did not answer at first; he waslocked in upon himself, head lowered to hisknees. Suddenly his head jerked up. Hisbody slowly rose. His face was contorted, hismouth spread in a ghastly rictus smile.

‘Nothing, dear Ammet. You need do noth-ing more.’

He held up his hand. Upon its finger was aglint of gold.

Beside her, Asmira heard Bartimaeus givea groan. ‘Oh great,’ he said. ‘I would happento wake up now.’

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33

The Egyptian turned away to face the night.Beyond him, several magicians were visiblein the starlight, standing stiff and hesitant ontheir carpets above the void. One called out achallenge, but Khaba did not respond. In-stead he held his hand aloft and, with a slow,deliberate movement, turned the Ring uponhis finger.

As in Solomon’s chamber, Asmira felt herears pop, as if she had fallen into deep water.At her side Bartimaeus drew breath inthrough his teeth. Even the shadow that heldthem took a slow step back.

A Presence stood in the air beside thebalcony, man-sized but not a man, darkerthan the sky.

‘You are not Solomon.’The voice was neither loud, nor angry, but

mild and calm. Yet it seemed slightly resent-ful. At its sound Asmira jerked back as if shehad been struck. She felt blood trickling fromher nose.

Khaba gave an anguished yelp that mighthave been laughter. ‘No indeed, slave! Youhave another master now. Here is my firstcommand. Protect me from all magicalattack.’

‘It is done,’ the Presence said.‘So then …’ Khaba swallowed hard; he

drew himself up straight. ‘It is time to showthe world that things have changed,’ hecried, ‘that there is a new power in Jerus-alem. There shall be no more of Solomon’sindolence! The Ring shall be used!’

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At this, several of the hovering magiciansacted: gleaming shafts of magic dartedacross the gulf to strike the Egyptian down.As the bolts converged upon the parapet,they broke asunder; each became a delicatedrift of coloured sparks that dispersed likegrass-seeds on the wind.

‘Slave of the Ring!’ Khaba cried. ‘I noticethat my colleagues Elbesh and Nisroch wereparticularly swift to strike. Let them be theswiftest to be punished!’

Two carpets, two magicians exploded inballs of bright green flame; smoking twists ofdebris fell towards the trees.

‘It is done.’‘Slave of the Ring!’ Khaba’s voice was

louder now; he seemed to be mastering hispain. ‘Bring forth for me a multitude as greatas when Tuthmosis marched on Nimrud!Greater! Let the heavens open and my armycome forth at my command! Let them raindown destruction on all those in this palace

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who dared to raise their hands against me!Let—’ He broke off with a gasp, looked intothe sky.

‘It is done,’ the figure said, and vanished.Asmira’s ears had popped again; aside

from this, she scarcely noticed the Presencego. She, like Khaba, like all the magicians ontheir carpets, like the spirits who kept themsuspended there, was gazing up at a pointeast of the gardens, high above the palacewall. Here a hole had opened in the sky, a fis-sure like a fiery wheel tilted on its side. Thefires extended like spokes towards its centreand burned with great ferocity, yet no soundof the inferno descended to the Earth, andnor was its fearsome brightness reflected onany of the domes or trees below. The holewas there, and yet not there – near, yet verydistant, a window on another world.

Through it now flew a swarm of littlespecks, black and silent and moving veryfast. Like a plague of bees or flies they came,

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like a curl of smoke, growing thick, then thin,then thick again, and always twisting,spiralling down towards the ground; andthough the distance they travelled did notappear to be so very great, yet it seemed toAsmira to take an age. And all at once, as ifan unseen barrier had suddenly been penet-rated, there broke upon her a rush of soundlike a sea of sand poured down upon theEarth: it was the whispering of the demons’wings.

The specks grew large, and starlight shoneupon their teeth and claws and beaks, and onjagged weapons held in tails and hands, untilthe sky above the palace gardens was blackwith hovering forms and the stars them-selves were utterly blocked out.

The army waited. There was a suddensilence.

Asmira felt a tapping on her shoulder.

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She looked – straight into the eyes of thehandsome youth who hung beside her in theshadow’s grip.

‘Now see what you’ve done?’ he saidreproachfully.

Grief and shame engulfed her. ‘Bartimaeus– I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh, well, that makes everything all right,doesn’t it?’ the youth said. ‘The legions of theOther Place unleashed, death and destruc-tion about to rain down in great profusion onthis portion of the Earth, Khaba the Cruelenthroned in bloody glory, and Bartimaeusof Uruk soon to meet some dismal end orother – but hey, at least you’re sorry. Ithought for a moment it was going to be abad day.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘Please, I neverthought it would end like this.’ She stared upat the solid mass of demons overhead. ‘And… Bartimaeus, I’m frightened.’

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‘Surely not. You? You’re a bold, badguard.’

‘I never thought—’‘Doesn’t matter now, does it, one way or

the other? Oh, look – the madman’s givingorders. Who do you think’s going to get itfirst? I bet the magicians. Yep. Look at themgo.’

Standing atop the broken parapet, with hisspindly arms outstretched, Khaba haduttered a shrill command. At once a breakopened in the layer of demons covering thesky; a coil of rushing forms descended in agreat slow spiral. Below, in the shroudeddarkness of the gardens, the magicians’slaves flung themselves into action. Carpetszigzagged in all directions, breaking towardsthe palace walls in an effort to make the openground beyond. But the descending demonswere too fast. The spiral fractured – blackshapes exploded left and right, swoopeddown upon the fugitives, who, with

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desperate cries, summoned their owndemons to the fight.

‘Here come the palace guards,’ Bartimaeusremarked. ‘Bit late, but I suppose they don’treally want to die.’

Bright flashes of magic – mauves, yellows,pinks and blues – exploded all across thegardens and the palace roofs as the as-sembled defenders of the palace engagedwith Khaba’s horde. Magicians screamed,carpets vanished in balls of light; demonsdropped like fiery stones, crashed throughdomes and rooftops, and tumbled, grapplingin twos or threes, into the fiery waters of thelakes.

On the parapet Khaba gave an exultantcry. ‘So it must begin! Solomon’s works areended! Destroy the palace! Jerusalem willfall! Soon Karnak will rise anew, and becomeagain the capital of the world!’

Far above Asmira the shadow’s mouth wasopen in exultant parody of its master. ‘Yes,

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great Khaba, yes!’ it called. ‘Let the cityburn!’

It seemed to Asmira that the grip upon herwaist had loosened markedly. The shadowwas no longer focused on the prisoners in itscare. She stared at Khaba’s back with suddenfixed attention. How far away was he? Tenfeet, maybe twelve. Certainly no more.

A sudden calm detachment came over her.She took a slow, deep breath. Her arm shif-ted stealthily upward; her hand quested forher belt.

‘Bartimaeus—’ she said.‘I wish I had some popcorn,’ the djinni

said. ‘It’s a good show, this, if you forgetwe’re going to be part of the second act. Hey– not the jade tower! I bloody built that!’

‘Bartimaeus,’ Asmira said again.‘No, you don’t have to say anything, re-

member? You’re sorry. You’re really sorry.You couldn’t be more sorry. We’ve estab-lished that.’

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‘Shut up,’ she snarled. ‘We can fix this.Look, see how close he is? We can—’

The youth shrugged. ‘Uh-uh. I can’t touchKhaba. No magical attacks, remember? Plushe’s got the Ring.’

‘Oh, who cares about that?’ Her arm rose.Pressed tight against her wrist, which shiel-ded its tell-tale chill from the shadow’s slack-ening grip – her final silver dagger.

The djinni’s eyes widened. It glanced up atthe shadow, which was still whooping andcooing at the destruction below. It looked atAsmira, then at Khaba’s back.

‘From here?’ Bartimaeus whispered. ‘Youreckon?’

‘No problem.’‘I don’t know … It’ll have to be a good one.’‘It will be. Shut up. You’re disturbing my

concentration.’She adjusted her position slowly, keeping

her eyes fixed on the magician. Breatheslowly, just as her mother used to do. Aim

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for the heart. Don’t think about it. Just relax…

The djinni gave a gasp. ‘Ooo, he keepsmoving. I can’t bear it.’

‘Will you be quiet?’A riderless carpet swathed in purple

flames carved diagonally through the airstraight in front of Khaba, who jumpedaside. The carpet struck the tower some-where below; a plume of smoke rose like apillar before them. Asmira cursed silently,gathered herself, assessed the angles to hisnew position, moved her wrist back …

Now she had him.‘Master – watch out!’ The foliot Gezeri,

hovering in his cloud beside the parapet, hadglanced across; he gave a sudden warningcry. Khaba turned, his arms outstretched, hisfingers spread. Asmira made an instant ad-justment. She threw the dagger. Silverflashed, sliced across Khaba’s moving hand.

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Blood showered; something like a bent twigfell away. Gold glinted at its ragged end.

All across the sky the demon horde winkedout. Stars shone.

The severed finger bounced upon thestone.

Khaba opened his mouth and screamed.‘Go, Bartimaeus!’ Asmira cried. ‘Catch it!

Drop it in the sea!’The youth at her side was gone. A small

brown bird thrust itself clear of the shadow’sgrasp.

Khaba screamed, clutching at his hand.Blood gouted from his finger stump.

The shadow’s scream was identical to itsmaster’s. The grip about Asmira’s waist wasbroken; she was abruptly tossed aside.

The little bird swooped low, seized the fin-ger in its beak, and disappeared over theedge of the parapet –

Asmira landed hard upon her back.

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– a mighty bird of flame and fire shot up-wards into view, a fleck of gold held in itsbeak. Turning to the west, it disappearedamid the rising smoke.

‘Ammet!’ Khaba howled. ‘Kill it! Kill it!Bring it back!’

The shadow flitted forward, jumped fromthe parapet. Long black wings sprouted fromits sides. They rose and fell with a noise likethunder. It too was gone into the smoke. Itswing-beats faded. Silence fell upon theHouse of Solomon.

Asmira got unsteadily to her feet.A haze of spent magic drifted like dark fog

beyond the parapet. The palace and its gar-dens could not be glimpsed, save here andthere where coloured fires were burning.Somewhere perhaps she heard faint voices,but they were far away and far below, andmight as well have been calling from anotherworld. The walkway was all there was, a messof fractured stone and blackened wood.

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And she was not alone upon it.The magician stood there, six feet away,

cradling his maimed hand and staring intothe dark. It seemed to Asmira that the linesupon his face had deepened, and that delic-ate new ones clustered on his skin. Hestaggered a little as he stood.

He was very close to the edge. A singleshove was all it needed …

Asmira stepped silently towards him.A rush of air, a smell of rotten eggs. As-

mira threw herself flat upon the ground, sothat the swiping claws of the foliot Gezerisliced just above her neck. She felt a tinglingas the lilac cloud passed over her, then shewas up upon her feet again. The foliot spunround upon his rushing cloud, reversed itsdirection, came hastening back. His eyeswere slits of hatred, his mouth gaped wide.The barb on his twirling tail curled like ascimitar. His indolent posture and bright red

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cheeks were gone; he had become a crouch-ing thing of claws and teeth.

Asmira grasped the silver pendant at herneck, stood ready. With a cry, the foliot senta thin green spear of light shooting at herchest. Asmira leaped aside, uttered a Wardthat deflected the attack, sent it harmlesslyout into the void. She uttered another. Yel-low discs rained down upon the lilac cloud,peppering it with smoking blisters. The cloudveered sideways, collapsed to the parapet;Gezeri, jumping free as it fell, skittered withhorrid speed across the stonework andsprang at Asmira’s face. She jerked back-wards; its teeth clashed on empty air. Asmiracaught the foliot by the neck and held it out-stretched, ignoring the snapping mouth andflailing claws and whiplash tail, which witheach stroke bit into her arms.

Gezeri frothed and fought, and withsinewy strength began to tear free of hergrip. Asmira felt her strength waning. She

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tore the silver pendant from around her neckand shoved it with full force into the openmouth.

The foliot’s eyes bulged. It made a low,hoarse gargling sound, half lost among thesteam and vapours gushing from its jaws. Itsbody swelled; its thrashing limbs grew stiff.Asmira flung it to the ground, where it fizzedand jerked and popped, and presently be-came a blackened husk that subsided andwas gone.

She turned to the Egyptian, but he hadmoved away from the edge, and with blood-ied hands was scrabbling at his belt, wherehung a whip of many thongs. He cracked it –a movement both weak and perfunctory. Yel-low coils of magic burst feebly at the flail’send, scoring lines in stone, but they did notreach Asmira, who jumped back out ofrange.

The magician gazed at her; his eyes weremisty with pain and hate. ‘Leap and scamper

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all you like, girl. I have other servants. I willbring them here. And when Ammet is back…’ He made as if to strike again, but was dis-tracted by his wounded hand, from whichthe blood was flowing. He sought to staunchit on the fabric of his robes.

Asmira thought of Bartimaeus fleeing withthe shadow at his back. If it was a marid, asBartimaeus had said, the djinni could notwithstand it long. Soon, very soon, he wouldbe caught and killed, and the Ring returnedto Khaba. Unless …

If she were quick enough she might saveher djinni yet, and after him, Jerusalem.

But all her knives were gone. She neededhelp. She needed –

There, behind her: the arch that led to theroyal chambers.

Asmira turned and ran.‘Yes, flee! Flee as far as you like!’ Khaba

called. ‘I will attend to you as soon as I call

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my slaves. Beyzer! Chosroes! Nimshik!Where are you? Come to me!’

After all the turmoil and the darkness andthe smoke outside, the placid, sparkling in-terior of the golden room felt strange, unreal.As before, the plunge-pool steamed, the en-chanted foodstuffs glistened on their platesand the crystal globe’s surface swam withmilky light. Asmira was about to edge pastwithout looking at the Glamour, when shecame to a dead halt.

A man stood watching her from the farside of the room. ‘Having a little trouble, arewe?’ King Solomon of Israel said.

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34

Throw it in the sea. Throw it in the sea.Sounds simple, doesn’t it? And like all thegirl’s commands it was simple, at least inconcept. It was doing it alive that was theproblem.

Forty miles separates Jerusalem from thecoast. Not far. Ordinarily a phoenix canmanage that in twenty minutes, and stillhave time for occasional picnic-stops and di-

versions to inspect the views.1 But circum-stances weren’t ordinary here. Not in theslightest. The palace was burning, the planeswere still quivering from the eruption of thespirit hordes, the fate of the world hung in

the balance – oh, and I was holding the Ringof Solomon in my beak.

Actually, to be precise, I was holdingKhaba’s severed finger, with the Ring still onit. To spare the feelings of squeamish readersI won’t go into any further details.

Except to say that it was like smoking a ci-gar. A small, slightly wonky cigar, with a goldband wedged near the lit end. There. Pictureit now? Good.

It was still warm as well, and had juststopped dripping, but I’m not going to men-tion that.

Suffice it to say, all things considered, itwasn’t the nicest body-part I’ve ever had to

carry,2 but even so it had a very useful func-tion. It meant I didn’t have to touch theRing, and so was spared that particular doseof pain.

There was plenty more on offer, though. Ihad Ammet close behind.

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Through the ruins of Solomon’s palace thephoenix sped, keeping to the areas whichhad seen most devastation in Khaba’s briefattack. Half the place seemed to be on fire,while the remainder was swathed in a heavysmog of drifting magic. It was grey, but stillshimmering with potent traces; my plumagestung as I flew amongst them, weaving andbobbing to avoid thicker knots of lingeringspells. Many such clumps hung close aboutthe shattered domes and turrets, distortingthem into softly melting dreamscapes, andthey might well have done the same with me,given half a chance. All in all it would havebeen much more comfy to head up to theclearer skies above, but I resisted this fornow. The smog offered concealment, and

perhaps helped muffle the aura of the Ring.3

Both these qualities were essential if I wasto survive for any length of time.

I hadn’t seen the shadow yet, but couldhear the beating of his wings advancing

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through the smoke. I had to shake him off.The phoenix darted between two tumblingwalls to a place where the smog was thickest,ducked sideways through a ruined window,shot along the length of a burning gallery,and hung high against the rafters, listening.

Nothing but the creak of roof timbers. An-cient statues – heroes, goddesses, animalsand djinn – stood blackening amid theflames.

The phoenix cocked its head hopefully.Perhaps I’d lost him. With luck Ammet hadblundered onwards through the smog andset off westwards to the coast, following myassumed trajectory. Maybe if I left the palaceto the north, then veered west over the cedarforests, I might yet get to the sea.

I dropped down, flitted along the hall,keeping as close as possible to the fires andsmoke. At the end of the gallery I made aright into the Sumerian Annexe, flanked bylong, cold stony lines of ancient priest-kings

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that I’d known and served.4 There at the endwas a vast squared window, from which Icould break out to the north. The phoenixput on a sudden spurt –

– and thus narrowly avoided being struckby the Detonation that destroyed the floorbehind me. One of the statues suddenly shif-ted, unfolded itself; the Illusion that hid theshadow was cast off like a cloak. Clawinghands reached out, tore my burning tail-feathers loose as I twisted in mid-air. I accel-erated away along the hall in a plume of or-ange flame, zigzagging desperately betweenthe swiping ribbon arms.

‘Bartimaeus!’ the soft voice called behindme. ‘Give up! Throw down the Ring and Iwill spare your life!’

I didn’t answer, which was impolite, Iknow. But then again, my beak was full. Amoment later I burst through the windowand shot out into the dark.

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How do you spend your life-or-deathchases? In a state of numb bewilderment?Perhaps in continuous toe-tightening panic,or with occasional outbursts of gibberingfear? Reasonable responses, all. Personally Iuse them to think. They’re good that way.Everything’s quiet, you’re on your own, andall your other little problems helpfully fadefrom view as you ponder the essentials. Stay-ing alive is top of the list, of course, but it’snot the only thing. Sometimes you get a bitof perspective on other matters too.

So, as I raced west through the dyingminutes of the night, with the hills and val-leys rolling in waves beneath me, andKhaba’s shadow speeding at my heels, I ranthrough the situation I was in.

Here’s how it looked, mid-flight.Ammet was going to catch me, and he was

going to catch me soon. Fast as a phoenix is,you can’t keep up the pace for ever. This isdoubly true when you’ve recently been

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knocked out by a Convulsion, and triply truewhen you’re holding an object of such power

that your beak is well and truly melting.5 Themarid – bigger than me and dense with ma-gic – had lost ground at the start of thechase, but he was making it up now as Ibegan to tire. Whenever I looked over myshoulder I could see his ragged knot of dark-on-darkness, half a valley back and gaining.

It was safe to assume I wasn’t going toreach the sea.

Once Ammet caught up with me, the con-sequences would be terrible. First, and mostimportant, I’d be dead. Second, Khaba wouldhave the Ring again. He’d only had it forabout five minutes so far, and already So-lomon’s palace lay in ruins, which gave you aclue to his proposed governmental style.Given time and opportunity, like an angry in-fant in a cake shop, Khaba was going to sys-tematically wreak untold destruction on allthe wailing peoples of the Earth. More

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importantly, I’d be dead. Perhaps I alreadymentioned that.

The phoenix flew on. Periodically brightflashes lit up the rushing landscape as Am-met unleashed magical attacks behind me; Iveered to the side, dropped low, performedaeronautical contortions as the Spasms andFluxes whizzed past, blew trees and hillsidesinto tumbling rubble.

It was all the girl’s fault, of course. If she’dtaken my advice and just put the Ring on,none of this would have happened. Insteadshe could have destroyed Ammet, killedKhaba, travelled in a twinkling to Sheba,booted out her queen, and installed herselfin opulence and splendour on the throne.She could have done all this and been sittingback, watching a belly-dancing floorshow,before breakfast.

That was what all my previous masters

would have done.6 But not the girl.

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She was an odd mix all right. On the onehand determined and resolute, with morecourage in one of her shapely eyebrows thanany conventional magician I’d ever met. Onthe other, confused, contrary and utterly un-sure of herself, and with an all-time gift formaking the wrong decisions. She’d got meinto possibly the worst night I’d experiencedin two thousand years, yet had stood by myside while we pinched the Ring of Solomon.She had fluffed the chance to wear the Ringherself, but had chopped off Khaba’s fingerwithout a moment’s hesitation. She’d prob-ably condemned me to my death, but hadapologized as well. An odd mix. An infuriat-ing one.

By rights I should have been seeking a wayto countermand her order, skip the sea bit,and chuck the Ring to Ammet. Then I couldhave left the girl and her world to Khaba’sgentle care. Faquarl would have figured out away to do exactly this before he’d left the

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palace, and chuckled in the doing. Thatdidn’t work for me.

Partly it was because of my loathing for myenemies. I wished to foil them if I could.Partly it was because of my inherent tidiness.It had been my skill and judgement that gotus the Ring; it had been me who suggestedchucking it in the sea. In short, I’d startedthis in style, and I wanted to finish it on myterms.

Partly it was because I wanted to save thegirl.

But first, before any of that, I had to reachthe coast in one piece, and do so well aheadof Ammet. If he was right behind me when Ithrew the Ring into the deep, the whole planwould come unstuck. He’d just fish the thingstraight out, probably using my perforatedcorpse as a net, and set off back to Khaba.Somehow I had to deal with him.

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Ammet was a marid. It would be death tofight him hand-to-hand. But perhaps therewas a way to slow him down.

*

Over a hilltop the phoenix flew, beak gentlybubbling with the aura of the Ring. Behindcame the shadow on black wings. Beyondwas a wooded valley, thick with pines. Hereand there, in the half-light before morning,were little glades, places where woodcuttershad been felling trees. The phoenix’s eyesgleamed. I abruptly descended into thewood, and my tell-tale fires went out.

Ammet, the shadow, had crested the risejust in time to see me disappear. He toodropped down beneath the canopy and hungin resin-scented blackness, listening.

‘Where are you, Bartimaeus?’ hewhispered. ‘Come out, come out.’

Silence in the forest.

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The shadow wove his way between thetrunks, slowly, slowly, sinuous as a snake.

‘I smell you, Bartimaeus! I smell your

fear!’7

Answer came there none, as might havebeen expected. Down between the trees heglided, following the steep curve of the hill.

Then, some way up ahead, a little noise:Frrt, frrt, frrt.

‘I hear you, Bartimaeus. I hear you! Is thatyour knees knocking together?’

Frrt, frrt, frrt.On came the shadow, just a little faster. ‘Is

that the chattering of your teeth?’Actually, it was neither, as any spirit who’d

spent any time outdoors would know.8 It wasme using a claw to whittle the ends of twotree trunks I’d found beside a logging camp.I was making two nice long pointy stakes.

‘Last chance, Bartimaeus. Throw down theRing! I can see its aura glinting in the trees.

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You cannot keep it from me. Run away now,and I will let you live!’

Down through the forest stole the shadow,listening to the sound. By and by the whit-tling ceased; the shadow paused. But hecould see the aura of the Ring of Solomongleaming brightly up ahead.

Quickly now he came, silent as black snow,tracing the aura to its source.

Which turned out to be a tree-stump onthe far side of a glade. There on the stump,propped provocatively against a pine-cone,was Khaba’s finger, with the Ring pulsingmerrily at the end.

Now, any ordinary spirit – those of us reg-ularly sent delving into ancient Sumeriantemples, for example – would have instantlysmelled a rat. We’d have all had far too muchexperience of booby-traps not to be ex-tremely wary of innocent tree-stumps bear-ing gifts. But Ammet, Khaba’s lap-dog, prob-ably hadn’t done a decent day’s work in

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twenty years, and had forgotten, if he everknew, the importance of extreme caution.Also, secure in his arrogance and power, andwith his own ultimatum ringing in his ears,he clearly thought I’d legged it. So, with ahiss of satisfaction, he darted forth, length-ening a little in his eagerness, stretching forhis prize.

Behind him came a whirl of movement –something massive thrown with force. BeforeAmmet could react, before he could reachthe Ring, a medium-sized tree trunk, its endsharpened to the keenest point, shot downdiagonally from the slope above. It struck theshadow precisely in the centre of his elong-ated back, pierced him through and embed-ded deeply in the forest mould below. Theshadow was pinioned through his middle; heemitted a shrill and horrid cry.

The young Sumerian spear-bearer hoppedinto view above, brandishing a second stake.‘Morning, Ammet,’ I chirruped. ‘Having a

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rest? I suppose it has been a taxing night.Uh-uh, naughty – not for you.’ One of theshadow’s arms was still stretching for theRing; the other was wound about the treetrunk and was slowly, effortfully, forcing itupwards. I bounded over and scooped up thefinger. ‘I’ll take that, I think,’ I said. ‘Butdon’t worry, I believe in sharing. I’ll give yousomething else.’

So saying, I leaped back, hefted the secondstake and hurled it unerringly towards theshadow’s head.

Ammet acted with frantic speed; rippingthe first stake clear of the ground, and re-gardless of the gaping rent now showing inhis midriff, he swung the tree trunk like aclub, struck my missile aside and sent itcrashing off amongst the trees.

‘Not bad,’ I said. The spear-bearer hadshifted, become the phoenix once again. ‘Buthow fast are you in the air, with a hole rightthrough you? I’m betting not very.’

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With that I was up above the pines againand heading westwards in a blaze of fire.

After a while I looked back. The shadow hadrisen above the trees and was following medoggedly. As I’d hoped, his injury had tem-porarily inconvenienced him – his outlinewas somewhat more ragged than before.He’d slowed a little too, and, though keepingpace, was no longer gaining. That was thegood part. I was going to reach the sea.

Trouble was – none of this would beenough to save me in the end.

Ammet still had me in his sights. The mo-ment I threw the Ring into the ocean, hewould simply hasten forward, dive down andget it out. Nor was there any hope of trickinghim again, for I was weakening swiftly now.The chase, and my injuries, and the coruscat-ing power of the Ring, which continued toburn small holes in my poor beak – all of thiswas overpowering me. My fires were almostspent. Though I could hear the roaring of the

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waves, they promised me nothing much ex-cept a more than usually damp demise.

What choice did I have? I had to go on.Racking its brains, expending itself in a finalheroic effort, the sputtering phoenix la-boured towards the open sea.

1 It’s the fiery tail-wind that provides the jet-propul-

sion, making a phoenix one of the fastest aerial guises

around. Lightning bolts are faster, admittedly, but tough to

direct. You usually end up wedged head-first in a tree.2 Nor the nastiest, either. Not by a long shot.3 I say perhaps. The Ring was so close to me I could not

open my eyes to any of the higher planes for fear of being

blinded. And this wasn’t my only problem. Even though I

wasn’t touching the thing, its power was hurting me. Small

drips of essence were already running off my beak.4 Akurgal the Unsmiling was present, and Lugalanda

the Stern; also Shulgi the Desolate, black-browed Rimush,

Shar-kali-sharri (commonly known as Shar-kali-sharri of

the Shrivelled Heart) and Sargon the Great, aka Old

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Scowler. Yep, all my dear old masters from the morning of

the world. What happy days.5 It had really begun to droop by now. I looked like a

depressed macaw.6 Except Lugalanda the Stern. He’d have skipped the

belly-dancing bit in favour of some executions.7 Which was, needless to say, a downright fib. Aside

from the occasional whiff of brimstone, which I save for

really special occasions, I never extrude a smell of anything

– fear least of all.8 Since only the very strongest magicians ever summon

them, and since these magicians are invariably based in cit-

ies at the hubs of power, marids like Ammet don’t have any

experience of the lives and lore of simple country folk, those

gentle webbed-toed woodsmen who wash but once a year,

and sit about their dung-fires of an evening comparing

warts and counting out their remaining teeth. Yes, marids

really miss out on all this.

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35

King Solomon wore a long embroideredgown of gold and there was a circlet of silverin his hair. He stood very straight and still.Shorn of the simplicity of his plain whiterobe, he seemed taller and more magnificentthan when Asmira had last seen him, thoughcertainly no less frail.

Her face coloured with shame. ‘Please,’ shestammered. ‘I’m sorry. You were right. TheRing … the Ring has …’ She gathered herself:she had no time, and there was nothing easyto be said. ‘I need a weapon,’ she began. ‘Ineed it now. Something to kill Khaba with.’

The king gazed at her. ‘I would havethought,’ he said quietly, ‘you’d have hadenough of killing.’

‘But you don’t know what Khaba’s done!He’s—’

‘I know what he’s done full well.’ The darkeyes flashed in the ravaged face; he gesturedat the crystal orb beside him. ‘My scryingglobe is not for show and I don’t need theRing to use it. The war in the world has be-gun, I see, with my own palace the first togo.’

The orb’s surface swirled, the milky col-ours cleared. Asmira glimpsed the palaceburning, people milling in the gardens, spir-its hurrying from the lakes with vats andbuckets, hurling water on the flames. She bither lip.

She said: ‘Lord, my servant has the Ring.Khaba’s demon chases him. If I can destroythe magician, Bartimaeus will be saved, andyour Ring—’

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‘Will be thrown into the ocean.’ Solomonregarded her pointedly from beneath raisedeyebrows. ‘I know. I heard and saw it all.’

He moved his hand across the crystal. Thescene shifted: now it showed Khaba on thebalcony, silhouetted against the smoke. Hewas speaking an incantation of some kind,and his words sounded faintly from the orb.As they listened, the words faltered: the ma-gician broke off with a curse, took a breathand began again.

‘He has overstepped himself,’ Solomon re-marked, ‘as all fools do. The Ring steals yourstrength in proportion to your acts. By tryingto do too much, Khaba has becomeweakened, and his mind wanders. He canscarcely remember the words of Transfer-ence. Ah … but now he has them.’

Asmira looked at the arch behind her,where six dull flashes in quick succession il-luminated the fabric of the drapes. In theorb, the magician’s body was blocked out by

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dark and rising shapes. ‘He’s bringing hisdemons!’ she cried. ‘They’re arriving now!Please! Haven’t you anything we can useagainst them?’

‘Not by my own powers.’ The king was si-lent for a moment. ‘It has been a long whilesince I did anything for myself … But theremay be something in my treasure room.Come then, quickly. Cross the hall. Keepyour eyes averted from the Glamour. Butwhen you pass the table on the left, open itsmiddle drawer. Take out all the things youfind inside and bring them to me.’

Asmira did as she was told, quick as shecould. From the orb she heard Khaba utter-ing shrill commands, and guttural voicesraised in answer.

The drawer contained several golden neck-laces, strung with precious stones; many ofthese were inscribed with mystic, arcanesigns. She ran across to Solomon, who tookthem in silence. With strides of stately haste,

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he set off towards an arch that Asmira hadnot previously entered. As he went, he benthis head stiffly and put on the necklaces.

‘What powers do they have?’ she asked,pattering alongside.

‘None at all. But they look nice, don’t youthink? If I’m going to die,’ King Solomonsaid, turning in at the arch, ‘I intend to lookthe part. And now – here is my littlecollection.’

Asmira surveyed the storeroom, its shelvesand chests and boxes, all overflowing withartefacts of a hundred shapes and kinds. Theprofusion bewildered her. ‘What should Iuse?’ she said. ‘What do they do?’

‘No idea,’ Solomon said blandly, ‘for mostof them. For years I have been searching forsomething that might equal the power of theRing, but at rather less personal cost. Myquest has been in vain, of course. Meanwhilemy servants have acquired so many objectsthat I’ve quite run out of time and energy to

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investigate them. They’re all magical, butsome are just mere trinkets, and others quiteimpossible to fathom.’

A crashing sound came from the far end ofthe golden room. Asmira winced. ‘Well, anyrapid tips would be most welcome. Do youhave some silver knives?’

‘No.’‘Throwing stars?’‘I don’t think so.’‘Right. Well, I’ll have that sword, for a

start.’‘I wouldn’t.’ Solomon knocked aside her

outstretched hand. ‘Once picked up, it can’tbe put down. Notice those yellowed finger-bones fixed to the hilt?’

‘That shield, then?’‘Too heavy for any normal arm. It is said to

have been King Gilgamesh’s. We might trythese, however.’ He passed her two silverymetal eggs, the size of a man’s closed fist.

‘What are they?’ Asmira said.

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‘Something aggressive, we hope. Whatabout these?’ He indicated three short woodsticks, each with a bulb of glass at the end.Things inside the bulbs moved restlessly.

Asmira heard stealthy sounds beyond thearch. She took the sticks. ‘Keep looking,’ shesaid. ‘Don’t go anywhere near the door. I’lltry to hold them off.’

Flitting to the arch, she stood with herback flat against the wall, and peeped roundinto the enchanted room. There they were:six of Khaba’s demons from the gorge, fan-ning out amongst the chairs and tables. Asbefore, they wore men’s bodies; this timetheir heads were those of beasts – a wolf, abear, two eagles, a hideous, grinning apeand, worst of all, a locust, grey-green andglistening, with quivering antennae. Despitethe ferocity of their guises, they went slowly,with evident hesitation; behind came Khaba,urging them onwards with feeble strokes ofhis essence-flail. His wounded hand had

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been bandaged in black cloth ripped from hisrobe; his steps were those of an invalid. As-mira saw him look repeatedly towards thebalcony in expectation. He was holding back,keeping out of range – waiting for his chiefservant to return once more.

Asmira pressed her head back against thewall and closed her eyes. She imagined Bar-timaeus flying, desperate and alone. Sheimagined the shadow-demon close behind,stretching out its clawing fingers to engulfhim and the Ring …

She took a deep breath.Skipping sideways from the arch, she gave

a carefree yell. ‘Over here!’The bestial heads looked up. ‘That is the

girl who maimed your master!’ Khaba cried.‘Tear her to pieces! He who kills her wins hisfreedom!’

As one, the demons sprang, smashingthrough tables, hurling chairs sideways intothe walls, leaping the pool in single bounds,

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converging on the place where Asmira stoodher ground.

When they were fifteen feet away, shethrew the eggs and bulb-sticks, one after theother, at great speed.

The two eggs hit the eagle-demons headon and exploded violently, blowing holesclean through the centre of their midriffs.They raised their beaks, uttered plangentcries, became vapour and were gone.

Two of the bulb-sticks missed their targetsby inches and landed on the marble floor,shattering like eggshells. Vertical fountainsof green fire rose up, sending nearby demonssomersaulting backwards, to the accompani-ment of whoops and cries. The final stickstruck the demon with the locust head justabove its foot. The spur of fire ignited the up-per regions of its leg. With a scream, itleaped into the plunge-pool and disappearedin a cloud of steam.

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Asmira stepped calmly back inside thearch, where Solomon was rummagingthrough the shelves. ‘Two down,’ she said.‘One wounded. What else have you got?’

The king had rolled up his sleeves, and hisgrey hair was disordered about his face. ‘Ishould have sorted this out years ago … It’sso hard to tell …’

‘Give me anything.’‘Well, try these.’ He tossed her a clay cylin-

der, stamped with stars, and a sealed terra-cotta jar.

Asmira darted back to the arch. Thegolden room was filled with smoke. Throughit moved four hulking forms.

She hurled the cylinder at the nearest; itstruck, broke to dust, did nothing.

She threw the jar: on breaking, it emitted asoft, sad sighing, then a trill of raucouslaughter. The demons, which had jumpedback in doubt, came on at faster speed.

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Behind them, the Egyptian gave a raggedoath. ‘You idiots! A child could deal withthis! Hit her with magic from a distance!’

Asmira moved back into the room, just intime to escape the vaporization of the flooroutside. Several Detonations struck the wall,sending blocks half through the plaster intothe storeroom. Dust rained down upon herhair.

The king was methodically scanning theshelves. ‘Any joy?’ he said.

‘Not this time.’‘Here.’ Solomon flipped open the lid of a

small oak casket. Inside, neatly stacked, weresix glass spheres.

As he handed her the casket, a bolt of ma-gic ricocheted through the arch, shot overher head and blew the storeroom roof asun-der. Stonework melted, lumps of wood andrubble fell. With a cry, Solomon collapsedupon the floor.

Asmira dropped to his side. ‘Are you hurt?’

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His face was grey. ‘No … no. Do not worryabout me. But the demons—’

‘Yes.’ Asmira got to her feet, ran through arain of little falling stones, and threw threespheres out through the ruined arch. Explo-sions followed, and plumes of green fire,then shrill, indignant sounds.

She crouched in the shadows, brushed herhair out of her eyes, and put her hand in thecasket again. At that moment somethingstruck the other side of the wall with suchforce that she was knocked off her feet. Thecasket fell from her grasp; the three spheresrolled out of it, bounced gently on the floor.

Asmira froze, staring at them, at the littlecracks spreading on their surface.

She flung herself back into the room justas the arch erupted with green fire.

Flames poured through; heat buffeted As-mira as she jumped, lifting her up and for-wards with great speed. She crashed into theshelves in the middle of the room, and fell

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awkwardly among the mess of upturnedchests. A tide of artefacts cascaded on herhead.

When she opened her eyes, she saw So-lomon gazing down at her.

He extended a slow hand. Asmira took it,allowed herself to be helped to her feet. Herarms and legs were bleeding, her robe wassinged. Solomon was in a scarcely betterstate. His robes were torn and he had plasterin his hair.

Asmira stood silent for a heartbeat, look-ing at him. Then she said suddenly, all in arush: ‘I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry for whatI’ve done to you.’

‘Sorry?’ the king said. He smiled. ‘In someways I should be thanking you.’

‘I don’t understand.’ She glanced towardsthe arch, where the green witch-fires wereslowly fading.

‘You have awoken me from sleep,’ King So-lomon said. ‘For too many years I’ve been

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trapped up here, enslaved by pain, obsessedwith my burden, keeping the Ring safe. Andwhat was the result? I simply grew everweaker and more complacent – and blind tothe deeds of my own magicians, who havebeen busily extorting riches from my empire!Yes, thanks to you, the Ring is gone – but theresult is that I feel more alive than at any re-cent time. I see things clearly now. And, ifI’m going to die, I intend to do it fighting onmy own terms.’

He reached out to the tumbled treasureson the floor and picked up an ornate serpent.It was made of gold, with ruby eyes, and hadseveral little hinges hidden on its feet. ‘This,’the king said, ‘is evidently a weapon, con-trolled by the studs here. Come, we’ll use itnow.’

‘You wait here,’ Asmira said. ‘I’ll do it.’Solomon ignored her outstretched hand.

‘Not just you this time. Come.’

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At the archway the fires were gone. ‘Oneother thing, Asmira,’ Solomon said as theystepped through. ‘I’m not your master. If thisshould be the last hour of your life, try not toneed one.’

They walked out into the central chamber,stepping over steaming holes and gashes inthe floor, and almost collided with three ofthe demons which, in the form of macaquemonkeys, had been sidling cautiously to-wards the arch. At the sight of Solomon, themonkeys yelled and bounded away acrossthe room. The magician Khaba, leaningdourly against an upturned couch beside thepool, also jerked bolt upright inconsternation.

‘Wretch!’ Solomon cried, in a voice ofthunder. ‘Bow down before me!’

Khaba’s face had sagged in horror. Hewavered; his legs began to buckle. Then hecontrolled himself, his thin lips tightened.Gesticulating at the cowering monkeys on

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the far side of the hall, he sprang forwardwith an oath. ‘So what if the tyrant lives?’ hecried. ‘He doesn’t have the Ring!’

Solomon strode forth. He flourished thegolden serpent. ‘Dismiss your slaves! Bowdown!’

The Egyptian paid no heed. ‘Do not fearthat golden trinket!’ he shouted at the mon-keys. ‘Come, slaves, rise up and kill him!’

‘O Khaba … ’‘Wretch!’ Solomon said again. ‘Bow down!’‘He is helpless, you fools! Helpless! Kill

him! Kill them both!’‘Oh no …’ Asmira said softly. ‘Look.’‘Dear Khaba … ’The voice came from behind the magician,

from the direction of the balcony. Khabaheard it. He froze. He turned. All eyesturned, looked with him.

The shadow floated in the entrance, its es-sence faint and flickering. It still had the ma-gician’s silhouette, only softer, rougher than

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before, the edges melting like a candle. ‘Ihave been over land and ocean,’ its faintvoice said. ‘I am very weary. The djinni ledme a long and merry dance, but I caught himat the last.’ The shadow gave a heavy sigh.‘How he fought! Fifty djinn together couldnot have done better. But it is over. I did itfor you, Master. Only you.’

Khaba’s voice cracked with emotion.‘Sweet Ammet! You are the best of slaves!And … and you have it?’

‘Look what it has done to me,’ the shadowsaid wistfully. ‘Burning, burning, all theselong, dark miles homeward … Yes, Master, Ihave it in my hand.’

It unfurled five steaming fingers. A ring ofgold sat in its palm.

‘Then my first act will be the destruction ofthe cursed Solomon!’ Khaba said. ‘Ammet –I shall relieve you of your burden. I amready. Give it to me.’

‘Dear Khaba, I shall.’

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Solomon cried out; he lifted the goldenserpent. Asmira began to run. But the shad-ow paid no heed to either. Unfurling its long,thin fingers, it swept forward with the Ring.

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36

Here’s how it finished.Beyond the western forests, beyond the

old coast road running north towardsDamascus, beyond the little villages strungalong the cliffs, Israel peters out abruptly on

the shores of the Great Sea.1 By the time thephoenix reached it, I was petering out too.

Out over the empty beaches I went, flyingerratically, one or two fiery feathers drop-ping into the waves with each beat of mywings. My noble beak had largely melted,and it was only with a small, sparrow-sizednub that I maintained my hold on Khaba’sdrooping finger. My eyes were misting too,

thanks to weariness and the proximity of theRing, but when I glanced back I could see theshadow still in sight, drawing ever nearer.

I was almost at my limits. The chase wasalmost done.

Westwards I went a little longer, straightout to sea, and for the first half-mile therewas still no light save for the little redand-or-ange glow that clung about my body andleaped and danced below me on the rushingwaves. And all at once the night grew greyand, looking back, beyond the shadow, I sawa pink fringe above the distant shore that an-nounced the arrival of the dawn.

Good. I hadn’t wanted to finish things inthe dark. I wanted the sun upon my essenceone last time.

The phoenix dropped low, skimmed closeto the water’s surface. Then, jerking my headupwards, I spat the finger high into the air. Itrose, rose, caught the first rays of the sun,began to fall –

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– and was caught in the centre of a lean,dark hand.

A short distance away the rushing shadowslowed. He halted, hovering just above thewaves on his tapered, pinpoint legs, andlooked at me.

I stared back, the winged Sumerian spear-bearer, curly haired and tousled. Wave-fleckswet my bare feet; dawn light broadened inmy sombre eyes. With a rapid movement Iremoved the Ring from Khaba’s finger,which I tossed into the sea. Then I raised onearm. In my hand the Ring of Solomon washeld outstretched, poised above the gulf.

Ammet and I stood in silence, the colddeeps below us tugging at our essence.

‘So, Bartimaeus,’ the shadow said at last.‘You have led me a merry dance, and foughtwell. Five djinn together could not have donebetter. But this is the end.’

‘Too right it is.’ I raised my arm a littlehigher. Where the Ring rested between my

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finger and thumb, my essence fizzed; thesteam drifted gently up into the pink dawnlight. ‘If you dare to drift so much as a singlewave-length nearer,’ I said, ‘it’s going in.Right to the bottom, down where it’s darkand oozy, and things with too many legs willguard it for eternity. Think carefully, Ammet!Your master wouldn’t want to lose it for ever,would he?’

The shadow gave an indifferent shrug.Dawn light drifted through the ragged holein the middle of his chest. ‘You’re bluffing,Bartimaeus,’ he whispered. ‘Even with yourminuscule intelligence you must see that ifyou drop the Ring, I shall become a fish andretrieve it before it sinks a dozen yards.Besides which, its aura is bright enough to beseen even in the remotest depths. I wouldfind it even if you stuffed it in a whale. Throwme the Ring and, on my honour, despite theretribution I so sorely owe you, I promise Iwill kill you quickly. But keep it from me a

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moment more, and I swear that I shall dosuch things to you that even Khaba would

weep to look on your remains.’2

I stood quietly above the water. Below myfeet and the shadow’s pin-sharp tapers, theblue-pink wave crests rose and fell, sloshingand sucking gently. The sun rose in the east,prising open the lid of the dark blue sky.After all the fire and fury of the night justgone, everything was, for a moment, calm. Isaw things clearly once again.

Ammet was right. It was pointless to throwit into the deep.

‘Give it up,’ the shadow said. ‘Look at thedamage it’s doing to you! You’ve been hold-ing it far too long.’

I considered my melting hand.‘Has it burned away your wit, Bartimaeus?’

The shadow flitted towards me across thesea. ‘No more of this. Give me the Ring.’

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I smiled, came to a decision. Without aword, I changed my form. Solomon the Wise

stood there.3

The shadow drifted to an uncertain halt.‘What do you think?’ I said. ‘Do I look the

part? I’m betting I do. I’ve got the slightlypear-shaped hips and everything. Even thevoice is pretty good, wouldn’t you say? Butthere’s one thing missing.’ I showed bothhands, palms outwards, waved them fromside to side. ‘Let’s see now … Where is it?’ Ipatted my robes all over in a show of mildconcern; then, like a back-street conjurer,pulled a small gold band from out of my ear.‘Ta-da! The Ring! Recognize this?’

I held it up, grinning, so that it caught thebright dawn light. Ammet’s outline hadsagged a little, grown gauzy with anxiety.‘What are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘Put itdown!’

‘You know, Ammet,’ I said. ‘I agree withyou. Holding the Ring’s really been messing

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up my essence. So much so, it seems to meI’m not going to lose anything right now bygoing one step further …’

The shadow took a swift step forwards.‘It’ll kill you. You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’I put the Ring upon my finger.It was a nice fit.A nice fit that happened to come with the

excruciating sensation of being violentlypulled in two directions at once. The Ring, asI may have said before, was a gateway. Hold-ing it was like feeling the breeze passing un-der the gate. Putting it on? That was the gateblowing open, with the full hurricane comingroaring in, and you being caught there, small

and helpless.4 It was like a Dismissal in fullflow, dragging me back towards the OtherPlace – and yet my essence was unable toobey it. I felt my essence tearing as I stoodthere in the silence on the calm, unruffledwater, and knew I didn’t have long.

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Perhaps, in those first moments, while Iwas reeling, Ammet might yet have acted.But he was too stupefied by my audacity. Hehung beside me like a greasy stain wiped onthe morning. He seemed transfixed. Hedidn’t move.

I mastered the pain, spoke over it as best Icould. ‘Now then, Ammet,’ I said in an agree-able voice, ‘you’ve been talking a lot recentlyabout punishments and retribution. You’vebeen quite vocal on the subject. I quite agreewe should look into that in some consider-able detail. Just hold on a mo.’

‘No, Bartimaeus! No! I beg you—’This, then, was the terror the Ring in-

duced. This was its power. This was what themagicians fought for, why Philocretes andAzul and the rest had risked everything to getit in their hands. It wasn’t very pleasant.Still, I was going to see it to the end.

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I turned the Ring about my finger. Thepain fluxed and twisted; my essence tore. Igasped aloud at the rising sun.

All about me the seven planes warped. Thedark Presence hung beside me in the air. Thedawn light did not illuminate its shape at all,but passed right through it, leaving it as deepand black as if a hole had been cut in the day.It cast no shadow.

Speaking of which, poor old Ammet’strademark blackness looked rather grey andgauzy beside the newcomer’s. He didn’tknow what to do with himself, exposed outthere on the water. He flitted left and rightwith little nervous movements, shrank low,waxed long, and spun spiral trails in the wa-ter with his trailing strands.

As on the balcony, the Presence didn’t beatabout the bush. ‘What is your wish?’

It hadn’t escaped my notice that whenKhaba had summoned him, the Spirit of theRing had sounded slightly irritable not to see

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Solomon. Hence my clever disguise. It wasn’tperfect – perhaps my voice was slightly moresqueaky than the king’s, owing in part to myrampant terror and discomfort, but I did mybest. I flatter myself the old king’s motherwouldn’t have known the difference. I spokecoolly. ‘Greetings, O Great Spirit.’

‘You can stop putting on that silly ac-cent,’ the Presence said. ‘I know your nameand nature.’

‘Oh.’ I swallowed. ‘You do? Does itmatter?’

‘I am bound to obey whoever wearsthe Ring. No exceptions … Even you.’

‘Oh, good! That is good news. Hold on …Where are you off to, Ammet? Can’t stayaround?’ The shadow had turned and wasspeeding away across the waves. I watchedhim go with a light and negligent smile, thenaddressed the Spirit of the Ring again. ‘Howdid you guess?’

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‘Aside from my ability to see throughall Illusions? Solomon rarely standsover open ocean. Also, you forgot theperfume.’

‘Two beginner’s mistakes! Well, it’s pleas-ant chatting like this, Great Spirit, but—’

‘What is your wish?’Brief and to the point. Which was good,

because I could not take the pull of the Ringmuch longer. Where my finger passedthrough the band, my essence was worn andfaint and thin as a thread. Portions of mystrength had already been pulled through.

Ammet was very distant by now, a smalldiagonal blur that left a scud of foam on thesea behind him. He had almost reached theland.

I said: ‘There is a certain marid rapidly re-treating over there. I wish him seized thismoment and given a sound drubbing.’

‘It is done.’

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From nowhere, a flurry of grey shapes rosefrom the surf and engulfed the fugitive shad-ow. Sadly I couldn’t see the details, becauseof the distance and all the spray and splash-ing, but the outcry was enough to sendseabirds rising from their nests up and downthe coast for a satisfying number of miles.

At length the racket finished. The shadowwas a melancholy patch of greyness floatingon the water.

The shape still waited at my side. ‘Yourwish?’

If my essence had been strained before,the exertion of my will upon the Ring hadworsened the pain considerably. I held back,unsure of what to do.

The Presence appeared to understand myindecision. ‘That is the nature of theRing,’ it said. ‘It draws upon the energyof its user. In truth, your request wassmall, therefore – if you wish it – youressence could withstand a repetition.’

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‘In that case,’ I said heartily, ‘anothersound drubbing for Ammet, please.’

While the thrashing frenzy was still ongo-ing, I said, ‘Great Spirit, I require a bottle, orsomething similar, but I haven’t one to hand.Perhaps you could assist me.’

‘The sea is deep here,’ the Presencesaid, ‘but far below lies the wreck of anEgyptian ship that sank in stormsthree hundred years ago. It has acargo of amphorae that once heldwine. Most are empty, but are other-wise intact and have been scattered faracross the sea-bed. You want one?’

‘Not too big, please.’There was a bubbling and a frothing be-

neath my feet, and a green up-current ofdeep cold water that broke against the sur-face, bringing with it a great grey wine-jar,covered in weed and barnacles.

‘Just the job,’ I said. ‘Spirit, this will be myfinal request, for despite your reassurances, I

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think my essence will explode if I wear thisRing a moment longer. I wish the marid Am-met bound within this bottle, and the lidstoppered with lead or whatever equivalentyou have to hand, and that stopper sealedwith appropriate hexes and runes, and thewhole returned to the bottom of the sea,where it can remain undisturbed for severalthousand years, until such time as Ammethas reflected on his crimes against otherspirits and, most especially, against me.’

‘It is done,’ the Presence said. ‘And amost appropriate penalty it is.’

For a moment the wine-jar spun with col-oured lights and I felt the bending of theplanes. Somewhere amid it all, I fancy Iheard the shadow’s final cry, but it mighthave been the seabirds calling out across thewater. The jar’s neck flared bright with mol-ten lead; saltwater hissed and steamed. Nowthe neck was cool, save where nine symbolsof Charm and Binding still glowed upon the

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plug of lead. The jar began to spin, slowly atfirst, then faster: fast enough to make the seabreak open in a spreading cone, a dark-bluefunnel winding into darkness. Down the fun-nel the jar went spinning, down and downbeneath my feet, and the sea closed in uponit.

A little swell rose up and wet my feet. Itfell away. The sea was flat again.

‘Spirit,’ I said, ‘I thank you. That was mylast wish. Before I remove the Ring, do yourequire me to break it in two, and so releaseyou?’

‘Politely speaking,’ the Presence said,‘that is beyond your competence. TheRing cannot yet be broken.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That is sad to hear.’‘My freedom will occur in time,’ the

Presence said. ‘And what is time to us?’I turned to look towards the sun. ‘I don’t

know. Sometimes it feels a while.’

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I took off the Ring. The Presence vanished.I stood on my own above the quiet, lappingsea.

1Great Sea: later (by the Romans) called the Mediter-

ranean. In Rome’s day this body of water would become a

commercial playground, its waves flecked with brightly col-

oured galley sails, its aerial lanes dark with spirits hurrying

to and fro. In Solomon’s time, however, when even skilful

Phoenician sailors preferred to hug the coasts, the Great Sea

was left blank and desolate, a primeval embodiment of

chaos.

Personally speaking, whatever the epoch, I always find

seas the same: big, cold, and unnecessarily wet.2 As newly invented threats go that was a pretty good

one, particularly after such a long chase. Ammet clearly sub-

scribed to the Egyptian curse tradition: keep it succinct and

keep it scary. As opposed to (say) those long-winded

Sumerian curses that waffle on endlessly about boils, sores

and painful bouts of wind, while you, the intended victim,

softly slip away.

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3 I went for the fully rigged-up ‘official’ Solomon here –

handsome, healthy, saturnine, dolled out in flashy, jewel-

decked clothes – and not the ‘private’ crinkly white-robed

version the girl and I had met. Partly this was to avoid hav-

ing to copy all his many creasy bits (which would have taken

an age), and partly because, at this do-or-die moment of su-

preme truth, I was blowed if I was going to wear the guise of

an old bloke in his pyjamas.4 And naked. Just to make the analogy extra chilly.

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37

Even as she moved, Asmira knew that it washopeless. She would not reach Khaba beforethe shadow did. There was nothing she coulddo to prevent him reclaiming the Ring.

Too slow, too feeble, too far away to be ofuse – it was a sensation she had known be-fore. But she ran anyway. Perhaps she coulddistract them, give Solomon time to use hisweapon, or give him space to flee. She ran –it was the right thing to do. And in those fi-nal moments Asmira was richly conscious ofeverything in the room: the dawn light shin-ing through the drapes; the four demonmonkeys standing huddled in a corner; the

magician stumbling forward, his mouthopen, his eyes gleaming, his good handavidly outstretched …

And the shadow, Khaba’s dark reflection,hastening towards him.

Despite the ravages upon its essence, theshadow still maintained its faithful mimicryof its master. Except … As it drew close to themagician, Asmira saw that its silhouette hadchanged. Its nose was suddenly longer thanthe Egyptian’s, and had sprouted severalenormous warts, while two vast jug-ears, re-sembling those of an elephant, protrudedfrom the skull.

The shadow and its master met. Khabaheld out his hand. The shadow made as if todrop the Ring into his palm, then – at thelast moment – jerked it out of reach.

Khaba swiped for the Ring and missed. Hehopped and danced, squeaking with annoy-ance, but now the shadow raised the Ring

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high above his head, dangling it teasinglyfrom side to side.

‘Nearly got it,’ the shadow said. ‘Oo, thatwas a big jump. If only you were a littletaller.’

‘What are you doing, slave?’ Khaba roared.‘Give me the Ring! Give it to me!’

The shadow clapped a hand against one ofits outsize ears. ‘Sorry, ugly. I’m a bit deaf.What did you say?’

‘Give it to me!’‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’At which the shadow drew back, swung a

fist and punched the Egyptian square on thechin, sending him bodily off the floor, whist-ling backwards through the air, and downonto one of the golden tables, whichshattered beneath his sprawling weight.

Khaba the Cruel lolled there unconsciousin a mess of fruit. Purple grape juice pooledlike blood around him.

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Asmira stared. Her gasp mingled with theothers echoing around the room.

The shadow gave a small salute. ‘Thankyou, thank you. For my next trick, a ring toits rightful owner, followed by the immediatedismissal of a well-known djinni. Autographsavailable on request.’

‘Bartimaeus …?’ Asmira began.The shadow bowed. ‘Morning. I’ve got

something for you.’‘But how—? We thought you were surely—’‘I know, I know – you were probably ex-

pecting me back a little sooner. Well, Icouldn’t help having a chat with Ammet be-fore I disposed of him, you see. Gave him astern talking to, made him learn the error ofhis ways. Then, after that, there was all hispleading for mercy, all the inevitable wailingand begging; you know how these marids goon …’ For the first time the shadow appearedto notice the cluster of demons loitering inthe margins of the hall. ‘Hello, boys,’ it said

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cheerfully. ‘Hope you’re taking notes here.This is how to dispose of a master properly.’

Asmira’s astonishment broke into suddenurgency. ‘Then you still truly have—’

The shadow opened its hand. Where theRing of Solomon lay, the djinni’s essence wasbubbling and spitting, sending redhotthreads of vapour into the air.

‘I thought I told you to drop it in the sea?’Asmira said.

‘You did. And I carried out your order tothe letter. Well, I sort of let it fall in and thenscooped it out again immediately. It got wet,put it that way. You have to be careful howyou phrase things when you’re playing at be-ing a magician, Asmira – this is the kind oftrick we naughty djinn get up to when we’renot simply saving civilization. The point is,’the shadow went on, ‘even though it was myidea, I don’t think it’s best to lose the Ring inthe sea and doom its Spirit to an even longercaptivity than he already endures. I wouldn’t

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want that on my conscience. So, as per youroriginal request and, frankly, because itbloody hurts, I’m giving it back to you now.It’s up to you what you do with it, of course.Catch.’

The Ring was tossed over. Asmira caughtit, gasping at the pain. This time, she did notlet go.

Instead, without hesitation, she turnedand knelt to face the king, who stood waitingacross the room. ‘Masterful Solomon,’ shebegan. ‘He whose magnificence and majestyare boundless—’

She looked up at him for the first time, todiscover that the great king was gaping at herlike a stranded fish. His face and shoulderswere black with soot, and his hair stood onend in a frizz of spikes.

‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘What happened to you?’Solomon blinked. ‘I … hardly know. When

I thought Khaba was about to get the Ring, Iaimed this golden serpent device at him,

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pressed a couple of buttons and – and it waslike the ending of the world. I got some kindof shock, then the thing expelled a plume oftarry smoke straight in my face. I hope Idon’t look too discomfited.’

Asmira spoke in a small voice. ‘Not … toobad.’

‘At least you didn’t press the third stud,’the djinni said. ‘That releases a really badsmell which …’ He hesitated, sniffed. ‘Oh …you did.’

‘Great Solomon,’ Asmira said hastily. ‘Ihereby return your property.’ She bowed herhead and held up her cupped hands. Theyburned with the power of the Ring, but shegritted her teeth and kept them steady. ‘Bar-timaeus and I passionately regret the wrongwe have done you. We throw ourselves uponyour wisdom and your mercy.’

The shadow gave a startled cry. ‘Hey, leaveme out of it! I’ve been acting under duress

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throughout. Except just now – when Ibrought back his Ring.’

Asmira sighed. She raised her hands stillhigher; as yet Solomon hadn’t moved. ‘I takefull responsibility, O King,’ she said, ‘and askthat my servant be absolved of blame for allthe wickedness he committed.’ She scowledsidelong at the shadow. ‘There. That satisfyyou?’

‘All right, I suppose.’At this King Solomon stirred. He walked

towards them. The shadow grew quiet. Therewas an anxious chittering from the fourmonkeys in the corner. Even the uncon-scious magician lying in his bed of fruitmoaned and moved his head.

Silence in the hall.Asmira waited with bent head and burning

hands. She was under no illusions about herlikely fate, and she knew it to be well de-served. Back in the storeroom, Solomon hadexpressed forgiveness – but that had been

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when both were on the verge of death. Now,with the Ring back in his hands and his au-thority restored, it would be a different mat-ter. Beyond the tower, his palace was in ru-ins, his people terrorized. Most of his magi-cians were dead. Justice demandedretribution.

She knew all this, but it did not alarm her.She felt peaceful and calm inside.

The rustling of a golden gown drew near.Asmira did not look up.

‘You have offered me the Ring and yourapologies,’ the voice of Solomon said, ‘andthe first of these I accept – with reluctance,for it is a fearful burden.’

Asmira felt cool fingers brushing againsthers, and the pain in her hands died away.When she raised her head, Solomon was pla-cing the Ring upon his finger. A flicker ofdiscomfort passed his ravaged features as hedid so, then was gone.

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‘Stand up,’ he said. Asmira stood. Besideher the shadow gave a shimmer and changedinto the handsome, dark-eyed youth. Sheand Bartimaeus stood before the king, wait-ing for his word.

‘Your second offering,’ Solomon said, ‘I donot accept so readily. Too much damage hasbeen caused. In a moment we shall come tomy judgement. But first …’ Closing his eyes,he touched the Ring and spoke a quiet word.A blaze of light consumed him, died away;the king stood before them all transformed.His face was clear of soot, but also of its webof lines; his hair, smoothed down once more,was dark and black and glistening with vital-ity. He was the youthful image of the muralon the palace wall, and it was all Asmiracould do not to fall on her knees again.

‘Oh come,’ Solomon said, ‘you know it’s anIllusion.’ Grimacing a little, he turned theRing; at once the Presence stood amongstthem. ‘Uraziel,’ he said, ‘I’m back.’

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‘I never doubted it.’‘We have a little work to do.’‘Where shall we begin?’Solomon cast a glance at the magician on

the floor. Khaba was groaning now, writhinga little to and fro. ‘You may remove this ob-ject first of all. Place him in the dungeons be-low the tower. I shall attend upon himpresently.’

A blaze of light: Khaba was gone.‘His cringing slaves may be dismissed; I

have no grudge against them.’More dazzlements: the four monkey

demons vanished where they cowered.King Solomon nodded. ‘My palace, I be-

lieve, needs some repair; we must steelourselves, Uraziel. Survey the damage, calcu-late the spirits that will be required andawait my signal. I have business to attend tohere.’

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The Presence departed, jolting the air. As-mira’s ears rang; she wiped her bloody noseupon her sleeve.

She and Bartimaeus stood alone before theking.

‘Now,’ King Solomon said, ‘to my judge-ment. Bartimaeus of Uruk, you first of all.Your crimes are legion. You have caused thedeaths of dozens of my spirits, you havespread chaos and disaster across Jerusalem.It was by your advice and through your ac-tions that this girl was able to get access tothe Ring. Not only that, you have at all timesdisplayed extraordinary insolence towardsmy royal person. Your hippo guise—’

‘No, no, that was perfectly coincidental! Itlooks nothing like your wife!’

‘– showed appalling disregard for thesanctity of my temple. That was what I wasgoing to say.’

‘Oh.’

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‘As if this were not enough,’ the king wenton after a thoughtful pause, ‘you appear tohave encouraged this girl to throw the Ringinto the sea …’

‘Only to keep it out of the clutches of yourenemies!’ the djinni cried. ‘Far better to loseit in some watery deep than have Khaba orthe Queen of Sheba enjoy its power insteadof you! That was my thinking. If great So-lomon can’t have it, I said to myself, why, letthe silent coral guard it until the end of time,when—’

‘Stop babbling, Bartimaeus.’ Solomonpursed his lips. ‘In all these things, you areclearly culpable. However, you also are aslave, forced to carry out another’s will, andin truth, despite whatever temptations I maysorely have, I cannot place the blame onyou.’

The djinni exhaled with immense relief.‘You can’t? Phew. Now that’s what I call

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wisdom.’ He gave Asmira a sharp nudge inthe ribs. ‘So, then … over to you.’

‘Asmira of Sheba,’ King Solomon said. ‘Inyour case there is no need to recite the fulllist of your deeds. The harm you have causedme is very great, and to remedy that harmwill weaken me still more. Not only that, youhave glimpsed me in my weakness; you haveseen behind the mask I wear. By all the lawsof natural justice, punishment is due to you.You would agree?’

Asmira nodded. She said nothing.‘To set against this,’ the king went on,

‘there is the following. You did not kill me inmy chamber. I do not know why – perhapsyou already guessed your mission was ill-conceived. Then, when Khaba intervened,and the full extent of your folly was madeplain to you, you struck him down and hadBartimaeus take the Ring. This act, on itsown, prevented the traitor’s immediate tri-umph. Not only this, you subsequently

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defended my person during Khaba’s final at-tack, during which I would otherwise cer-tainly have been slain. Now you hand meback the Ring. I find it hard to know what tosay to you.’

‘She’s odd that way,’ Bartimaeus agreed. ‘Ihave the same problem.’

‘I have already told you, Asmira,’ the kingsaid, pointedly ignoring the interruption,‘that your actions have stirred me from myslumbers. I perceive now that, bowed downby the burden of the Ring, I have neglectedmuch, and allowed the corruption of my ser-vants to flourish. This will change hencefor-ward! I shall seek other ways of guarding theRing, and wear the cursed thing less, comewhat may. My kingdom,’ Solomon said, ‘shallbe the stronger for what has occurred.’

He crossed to a surviving table, and from astone bottle poured two glasses of bright redwine. ‘There is one additional fact,’ he said,‘which needs consideration. It was not your

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decision to attack me, and I do not believeyou had any choice in the matter. You too,Asmira, were acting under the orders of an-other. You are much like Bartimaeus in thisregard.’

The djinni nudged Asmira again. ‘Toldyou,’ he said.

‘Consequently,’ King Solomon said, ‘theblame lies elsewhere. Uraziel.’

The Presence hung beside him. ‘Master.’‘Bring the Queen of Sheba here.’The figure vanished. Bartimaeus whistled.

Asmira’s stomach gave a lurch, and thestrange sense of calm that she had experi-enced throughout the judgement grew sud-denly strained. Solomon selected a grapefrom a bowl of fruit and chewed it thought-fully. He picked up the two glasses of wineand turned to face a blank space in thecentre of a nearby rug.

A flash of light, a smell of cream and roses:Queen Balkis stood upon the rug. She wore a

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long white gown with golden trim, and neck-laces of gold and ivory. Her hair was piledhigh above a golden coronet, and earrings oftwisted gold hung beside her shapely neck.Slightly detracting from her beauty and eleg-ance was her vacant expression of numbedbewilderment, and the notably greenishquality of her skin. She swayed a little whereshe stood, gasping and blinking, staring allaround.

The Sumerian youth leaned in close to As-mira. ‘Spontaneous transfer makes you naus-eous,’ Bartimaeus whispered. ‘She’s holdingit in, though. No random vomiting. That’s asure sign of good breeding.’

‘Welcome to Jerusalem, my lady.’ Solomonheld out a casual glass. ‘Care for some wine?’

Balkis did not answer him. Her gaze hadalighted on Asmira and, after a moment’sdoubt, flared with recognition. She gave alittle cry.

‘My lady—’ Asmira began.

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‘Wicked girl!’ The queen’s face turned sud-denly white; red spots burned in her cheeks.‘You have betrayed me!’ She took a stum-bling step in Asmira’s direction. She raised aclawing hand.

‘Not at all,’ Solomon said, interposing him-self smoothly in between them. ‘In fact, quitethe reverse. This is your most faithful ser-vant. She carried out your mission. She stolethe Ring from me. She destroyed those per-sons who threatened you in my name.Without her, the future of Israel – and ofSheba, dear Balkis – would have been graveindeed. I am indebted to Asmira,’ Solomonsaid. ‘And so are you.’

Queen Balkis said nothing. Her eyes, stilltrained on Asmira, were hard with doubt andcold hostility, her lips a single solid line. As-mira tried to recall the way the queen hadlooked when they’d spoken together twoweeks before. She tried to recall the smiles

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and blandishments, the intimacy, her swellof pride …

No good. The memory was fugitive, and nolonger carried power.

Balkis turned to the king. ‘So you say, mylord,’ she said at last. ‘I remain to be con-vinced of these facts.’

‘Indeed?’ Solomon gave a courteous bow.‘It is unsurprising. We have rather sprungthis on you.’ He held out the wine, and thefull radiance of his smile bathed the queen;this time Balkis took the glass. ‘May I pro-pose, then,’ he said, ‘that you accompany mefor a walk about my palace, where some littlework of reconstruction is going on? I cangive you further details, and we can talk to-gether about relations between our coun-tries, which – I expect you agree – are inneed of much improvement.’

The queen’s composure had, in smallmeasure, returned. She bowed stiffly. ‘Verywell.’

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‘In the meantime, your guard—’Balkis shook her head peremptorily. ‘She

is no longer a guard of mine. I do not knowwhom she serves.’

Just for a moment Asmira endured a keenpain, like a knife-blade in the heart. Then itfaded, and with it her agitation at the queen’sarrival. To her surprise she felt quite calmagain.

She regarded the queen levelly. Balkis tooka sip of wine and turned away.

‘In that case,’ Solomon said, smiling, ‘youwill not mind, my lady, if I have a small sug-gestion. Asmira’ – now all the full charm andglamour of his guise was turned on her – ‘Ihave an offer to make you. Enter my service,come be my guard. I have seen first handyour many excellent qualities, and I nowknow – somewhat ironically after the eventsof last night – that I can trust you with mylife. So, help me re-establish my rule here inJerusalem. Be part of my more enlightened

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government! I will need all the help I can getin the days and weeks ahead, for my servantshave been scattered, and if any of my magi-cians survive, they will need careful watch-ing. Help me go forward, Asmira! Start a newlife in Jerusalem! Be sure,’ he smiled, ‘that Iwill reward you richly.’

At this, King Solomon put his wine glassdown. ‘Now, it is high time that I attended tomy most important guest. Fair Balkis, weshall take a leisurely tour, then retire to thepavilions for iced sherbet. The ice, incident-ally, is brought fresh from the shoulders ofMount Lebanon; I swear you will never havetasted fresher. Please …’

He held out his arm; the Queen of Shebatook it. Together they moved across theroom, stepping delicately around the debrison the floor. They reached an arch at the farside and passed through. The rustling oftheir robes dwindled, the sounds of theirsmall-talk faded. They were gone.

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Asmira and the djinni looked at one anoth-er. There was a pause.

‘Yep, that’s kings and queens for you,’ Bar-timaeus said.

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38

Uraziel, great Spirit of the Ring, wasn’t oneto mess about when he had a palace to re-pair. Down below the tower, the work wasunderway. The buildings around the gardensthat had sustained most damage in the fire-fight had been encased in teetering bambooscaffolding, and scores of djinn were alreadyscurrying up and down a maze of ladders, re-moving rubble, pulling out burned timbersand expunging any remaining taint of magic.From the direction of the quarry camesounds of frenzied hammering; afrits flewwest towards the forests in search of logs. In

the forecourts, lines of moulers1 stood beside

cement vats, stirring industriously with theirtails, while in the gardens, stretching awayinto the blue distance, armies of imps la-boured to re-seed the blackened lawns.

Amongst it all strode Solomon, leading theQueen of Sheba by the hand.

From where I was, up on the balcony, evenSolomon and Balkis’s monumental self-re-gard seemed insignificant. They were simplytwo tiny figures in gold and white, almost in-distinguishable from the straggling pack of

onlookers following at their heels.2 Balkismoved slowly, stiff-backed, the picture ofbrittle pride; Solomon with more of a grace-ful step. Now and then his arms made extra-vagant flourishes, no doubt as he pointed outthe wonders of his gardens. On one handthere shone a little flash of gold.

It had to be said that, given the amount ofpower he had at his command, Solomon was,by human standards, quite admirably re-strained. Most of his actions seemed more or

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less designed for the common good, and hewas personally magnanimous too – as As-mira and I had just found out. But, all in all,he was still a king at heart, and that meantgrand and flashy. Even his casual,throwaway magnanimity to us was, in itsown way, grander and flashier than all hisjewels. Not that you were going to hear mecomplaining.

But as for the Queen of Sheba … Well.High on his lofty vantage point the dark-

eyed Sumerian youth made a rueful face. Hehauled his ragged essence off the balustradewhere he’d been leaning and went inside.

It was time for me to go.I found the girl sitting on one of the golden

chairs in Solomon’s apartments, eating largequantities of honey cake with all the delicacy

and restraint of a famished timber-wolf.3Shedidn’t stop when I came in, but went onscoffing. I sat in a chair opposite and

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appraised her properly for the first timesince my return.

Physically she had the right number ofarms and legs remaining; otherwise she wasundeniably the worse for wear. Her clotheswere torn and scorched, her skin bruised, herlip a little swollen; in places, her hair hadbeen discoloured green by a blast of magicfire. None of this could exactly have beenconsidered a plus, yet it wasn’t the wholestory by any means. As she took a long slugof Solomon’s wine, then wiped her stickyhands deliberately on one of his silken cush-ions, a perceptive onlooker (me) could alsonote that she seemed a good deal more vi-brant and alive than when first I’d seen her,so stiff and cold upon her camel in the gorgethat day.

Badly as Asmira’s exterior had beenbattered by the night’s events, I guessed thata chain inside her had also been broken –and this breakage wasn’t a bad thing.

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She took a couple of grapes and an almondbun. ‘Still down there, are they?’

‘Yes, busily doing the tour …’ I narrowedmy handsome eyes meditatively. ‘Is it me, oris your good queen Balkis something of asour old trout?’

Asmira gave me a crooked grin. ‘I must sayshe wasn’t as … generous as I’d hoped.’

‘That’s putting it mildly.’‘Well, what can you expect?’ The girl

flicked pastry off her lap. ‘She sent me out todo a nice clean assassination and steal theRing. Now she finds me praised to the skiesby Solomon, the Ring still on his finger, andherself summoned to Jerusalem like a dumbimp on a leash.’

It was a fair analysis. ‘He’ll win her over,’ Ipointed out. ‘He always does.’

‘Oh, she’ll forgive Solomon,’ Asmira said.‘She won’t forgive me.’

She went back to her cakes. There was si-lence for a while.

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‘Good job you got the offer, then,’ I said.She looked up, chewing. ‘What?’‘Solomon’s offer. Richly rewarding you for

helping him move forward with his new, pro-gressive government, or whatever it was. Allsounds a bit woolly to me. Still, I’m sureyou’ll be happy.’ I stared up at the ceiling.

‘You seem disapproving,’ the girl said.I scowled. ‘Well, it’s just him using his

Charm on you, isn’t it? Hooking you withthat sparkly, one-on-one eye-contact stuff –all those white-toothed smiles, that businessabout trusting you with his life … That’s allvery fine, but where will it end? First you’re aguard. Then a “special adviser”. Next thingyou know you’ll be in his harem. All I can sayis, if that happens, make damn sure youdon’t sleep in the bunk below the wife fromMoab.’

‘I’m not going in his harem, Bartimaeus.’‘Well, you say that now, but—’

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‘I’m not taking up his offer.’ She took an-other swig of wine.

‘What?’ Now it was my turn to look be-mused. ‘You’re turning him down?’

‘Yes.’‘But he’s Solomon. And … leaving aside

what I just said, he is grateful.’

‘I know that,’ Asmira said. ‘But I’m not enter-ing his service, even so. I’m not going tosimply swap one master for another.’

I frowned. That chain inside her hadsnapped, all right. ‘Are you sure about this?’I said. ‘Yes, he’s a conceited autocrat; yes,he’s got a mania for collecting wives. Buthe’d still make a better boss than Balkis by along chalk. For a start, you wouldn’t be a sl—you wouldn’t be a hereditary guard. There’dbe a lot more freedom for you – and gold too,if that tickles your fancy.’

‘It doesn’t. I don’t want to stay inJerusalem.’

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‘Why not? Thanks to that Ring, it’s thecentre of the world.’

‘But it isn’t Sheba. It isn’t my home.’ Andsuddenly in her eyes there was that same firethat I’d noticed the night before, burningbrightly still, but with a gentler flame. All itsanger, all its zealotry had gone. She smiled atme. ‘I wasn’t lying to you – what I said lastnight. Being a guard, doing what I did – yes,I was serving the queen, but I was servingSheba too. I love its hills and forests; I lovethe desert glittering beyond the fields. Mymother showed it all to me, Bartimaeus,when I was very small. And the thought ofnever going back to it, or to her—’ She brokeoff. ‘You can’t know what that feeling’s like.’

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I can. Speaking ofwhich—’

‘Yes, of course.’ Asmira stood up decis-ively. ‘It’s time. I see that. I have to let yougo.’

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Which just goes to prove yet again that shewasn’t really a magician. Since the days ofUruk, all bouts of slavery have traditionallyended with a sordid argument in which mymaster refuses to set me free, and I become acackling corpse or blood-clawed lamia in or-der to ‘persuade’ him. But the girl, who hadfreed herself, was happy enough to do thesame to me. And do it without a scrap. For amoment I was so surprised I said nothing.

I got slowly to my feet. The girl was look-ing around the hall. ‘We’re going to need apentacle,’ she said.

‘Yes. Or even two. There’ll be a couplesomewhere.’

We hunted about, and soon enough spiedthe edge of a summoning circle peeping outbeneath one of the singed carpets. I began tothrow aside the furniture that covered it,while the girl stood watching me with thatsame calm self-possession I’d noticed in thegorge. A question occurred to me.

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‘Asmira,’ I said, kicking an upturned tableacross the room, ‘if you head back to Sheba,what are you going to do there? And whatabout the queen? She’s not going to bepleased to see you hanging about, if today’sspite is anything to go by.’

To my surprise the girl had her answerready. ‘I won’t be hanging about in Marib,’she said. ‘I’ll take work with the frankincensetraders, help guard them on their journeysacross Arabia. From what I’ve seen there areplenty of dangers out there in the deserts –bandits and djinn, I mean. I think I can dealwith those.’

I tossed an antique couch approvingly overmy shoulder. That actually wasn’t a bad idea.

‘It’ll also give me a chance to travel,’ shewent on. ‘Who knows, I might even go toHimyar one day – see that rock city youmentioned. Anyway, the incense trail willkeep me well away from Marib most of thetime. And if the queen does take exception to

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me …’ Her expression hardened. ‘Then I’llhave to deal with it. And her.’

I wasn’t a soothsayer or an augur and hadno knowledge of the future, but I wondered ifthings might prove a little ominous forQueen Balkis. But there were other issues toattend to now. I shoved the last bits of fur-niture to the side, rolled up the priceless car-pet and threw it in the plunge-pool – andstood back in satisfaction. There, embeddedin the floor – and quite undamaged – lay twopentacles of pinkish marble. ‘Slightly fey,’ Icommented, ‘but they’ll have to do.’

‘Right then,’ the girl said. ‘Get in.’We stood facing each other for a final time.

‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘you do know the words of aDismissal, don’t you? I’d hate to hangaround for months while you were appren-ticed out to learn them.’

‘Of course I know them,’ the girl said. Shetook a deep breath. ‘Bartimaeus—’

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‘Hold on a minute …’ I’d just spottedsomething. It was a mural I hadn’t seen be-fore, just along the wall from Gilgamesh,Rameses and all the other top despots of thepast – a handsome full-length portrait of So-lomon himself in all his glory. Somehow, mi-raculously, it had survived the carnage of thenight before.

Picking up a bit of burned wood from thefloor, I hopped across and made a few briskadjustments in charcoal. ‘There!’ I said.‘Physiologically improbable, but somehowappropriate, don’t you think? How long be-fore he notices that, I wonder?’

The girl laughed; it was the first time inour association that she’d done so.

I glanced at her sidelong. ‘Shall I add Bal-kis as well? There’s a little space.’

‘Go on, then.’‘There we are …’I strolled back to the circle. The girl was

eyeing me in that same way Faquarl had –

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with a sort of detached amusement. I staredat her. ‘What?’

‘It’s funny,’ she said. ‘You make such a bigdeal out of the horrors of your enslavementthat I almost missed the obvious. You enjoyit too.’

I settled myself in my pentacle, fixing herwith an expression of bleak disdain. ‘Afriendly bit of advice,’ I said. ‘Unless you’reextremely competent, it’s never a good ideato insult a departing djinni. Particularly thisone. In old Babylonia the priests of Ishtarforbade any magician below the ninth level

to deal with me for just that reason.’4

‘Which proves my point,’ the girl said.‘You’re always boasting about your pastachievements. Come on, admit it. You revelin it all. Even last night – I noticed how youstopped your moaning once we were gettingnear the Ring.’

‘Yes, well …’ I clapped my hands togetherbriskly. ‘I had to, didn’t I? There was too

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much going on. Take it from me, I dislikedevery moment. Right, enough of this. Say theDismissal and set me free.’

She nodded and closed her eyes, a young,thin girl thinking through the incantation. Icould almost hear the cogs grinding as Iwatched.

Her eyes opened. ‘Bartimaeus,’ she saidabruptly, ‘thank you for what you’ve done.’

I cleared my throat. ‘Pleasure, I’m sure.Look – do you truly know the words? I don’twant to find myself re-materialized into afestering bog or something.’

‘Yes, I know the words.’ She smiled. ‘Cometo Sheba some day. You’ll like it.’

‘Not that it’s ever up to me.’‘Just don’t take too long. We haven’t all got

as much time as you.’Then she gave the Dismissal and, sure

enough, she did know the words. More orless. There were only three hesitations, twofluffed inflections and one major stumble, all

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of which – on this occasion – I was preparedto overlook. She wasn’t very big, after all,and there wasn’t that much meat on her.Besides, I really wanted to be gone.

The girl was of like mind. Even as mybonds broke and I was whirled free acrossthe planes, I could see (from seven variedangles) that she had already left the circle.She was walking off, straight-backed and res-olute, through Solomon’s ruined chamber,looking for the steps that would lead herfrom the tower, and so into the waiting day.

1Mouler: an incredibly dull sub-type of spirit. Imagine a

small, slow, beige-coloured— No, it bores me to death just

describing them.2 The usual assemblage of warriors, court officials,

wives and slaves. It appeared that most categories of palace

personnel, other than the magicians, had managed to sur-

vive the night with their servility intact. The indignant twit-

tering of the wives, as they assessed the Queen of Sheba,

carried through the air like the calls of roosting birds. In

many ways, things were back to normal.

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3 The Glamour laid upon the room had been blown

apart during the night’s fighting, along with several couches,

carpets, murals – and Solomon’s crystal orb, which now

looked blank as rainwater, the spirit trapped inside having

been happily released.4 This was after a series of fatalities, my favourite of

which was that of a brutish acolyte who’d tormented me

with the Inverted Skin. However, he also suffered badly

from hayfever. I thereupon brought him a massive bunch of

pollen-rich lupins, at which he sneezed himself out of his

circle.

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Praise for THE AMULET OFSAMARKAND

‘A rip-roaring read, hugely inventive, full ofmood-swings and featuring a fascinating

central relationship between apprentice anddjinni’ Wendy Cooling

‘The djinni’s wonderfully witty asides in theform of footnotes really make this novel

something special and will leave readers sal-ivating for the next instalment’ Grainne

Cooney, THE BOOKSELLER

‘A complex, fast-paced and witty fantasy thatHollywood lapped up with relish … The

Amulet of Samarkand has great cross-overpotential’ Carl Wilkinson, OBSERVER

‘The action is thrillingly cinematic …Not since Gulliver’s Travels has a children’swriter managed to combine a thrilling tale of

magic and adventure with such deliciously

pointed comedy … The ending is perfect inambiguity. Stroud’s sinister world is ima-gined in baroque and energetic detail …’

Amanda Craig, THE TIMES

‘Drama, humour and hypnotically engagingstorytelling’ Nicholas Tucker,

INDEPENDENT

‘… the truly original touch is the way Stroudalternates Nathaniel’s story with the djinni’s

own knowing and irascible first-personnarrative’

Diana Wynne Jones, GUARDIAN REVIEW

‘Stroud’s voice is distinct and confidentenough to shake off waiting doubters. His

cast becomes embroiled in a complex plot tounseat the government, resulting in a glori-ous set piece which will translate beautifullyonto the big screen. But this is essentially anexcellent children’s thriller – full of fun, ac-tion, tension and magic … it could easily be

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the talk of the playground’ Lindsey Fraser,GLASGOW SUNDAY HERALD

‘Both the djinn and the boy exist in a worlddescribed with great imaginative detail …

The action-packed adventures of Nathanieland Bartimaeus … are sustained over nearly500 pages by the immensely enjoyable char-

acterisation. The narrative slips skilfullyfrom first person to third and back and Bar-

timaeus’s voice is laugh-out-loud sassy, whileNathaniel’s story has an engaging poignancy

as he tries to prove himself in a world inwhich he has always been despised’ Nicolette

Jones, SUNDAY TIMES

‘Terrific stuff’ MAIL ON SUNDAY

‘This book gripped me like a magnet to metal…

I don’t have a favourite part of it because itwas all brilliant. I can’t wait for the next

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book. I would recommend the story to any-one aged 9 years and over’

Sam Baker (aged 10) IPSWICH

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THE AMULETOF SAMARKAND

A young magician’s apprentice, Nathaniel,secretly summons the irascible 5,000-year-

old djinni, Bartimaeus, to do his bidding.Bartimaeus must steal the powerful Amuletof Samarkand from the master magician Si-

mon Lovelace, and before long Nathanieland Bartimaeus are caught up in a terrifying

flood of magical intrigue, rebellion andmurder.

Turn over for an exciting extract!

Bartimaeus

1

The temperature of the room dropped fast.Ice formed on the curtains and crustedthickly around the lights in the ceiling. Theglowing filaments in each bulb shrank anddimmed, while the candles that sprang fromevery available surface like a colony of toad-stools had their wicks snuffed out. Thedarkened room filled with a yellow, chokingcloud of brimstone, in which indistinct black

shadows writhed and roiled. From far awaycame the sound of many voices screaming. Apressure was suddenly applied to the doorthat led to the landing. It bulged inwards, thetimbers groaning. Footsteps from invisiblefeet came pattering across the floorboardsand invisible mouths whispered wickedthings from behind the bed and under thedesk.

The sulphur cloud contracted into a thickcolumn of smoke that vomited forth thintendrils; they licked the air like tongues be-fore withdrawing. The column hung abovethe middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever up-wards against the ceiling like the cloud of anerupting volcano. There was a barely per-ceptible pause. Then two yellow staring eyesmaterialized in the heart of the smoke.

Hey, it was his first time. I wanted to scarehim.

And I did, too. The dark-haired boy stoodin a pentacle of his own, smaller, filled with

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different runes, a metre away from the mainone. He was pale as a corpse, shaking like adead leaf in a high wind. His teeth rattled inhis shivering jaw. Beads of sweat drippedfrom his brow, turning to ice as they fellthrough the air. They tinkled with the soundof hailstones on the floor.

All well and good, but so what? I mean, helooked about twelve years old. Wide-eyed,hollow-cheeked. There’s not that much satis-faction to be had from scaring the pants off a

scrawny kid.1

So I floated and waited, hoping he wasn’tgoing to take too long to get round to the dis-missing spell. To keep myself occupied Imade blue flames lick up around the inneredges of the pentacle, as if they were seekinga way to get out and nab him. All hokum, ofcourse. I’d already checked and the seal wasdrawn well enough. No spelling mistakesanywhere, unfortunately.

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At last it looked as if the urchin was pluck-ing up the courage to speak. I guessed this bya stammering about his lips that didn’t seemto be induced by pure fear alone. I let theblue fire die away to be replaced by a foulsmell.

The kid spoke. Very squeakily.‘I charge you … to … to …’ Get on with it!

‘… t-t-tell me your n-name.’That’s usually how they start, the young

ones. Meaningless waffle. He knew and Iknew that he knew my name already; other-wise how could he have summoned me in thefirst place? You need the right words, theright actions and most of all the right name. Imean, it’s not like hailing a cab – you don’tget just anybody when you call.

I chose a rich, deep, dark chocolatey sortof voice, the kind that resounds from every-where and nowhere and makes the hairsstand up on the back of inexperienced necks.

‘BARTIMAEUS.’

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I saw the kid give a strangled kind of gulpwhen he heard the word. Good – he wasn’tentirely stupid then: he knew who and what Iwas. He knew my reputation.

After taking a moment to swallow someaccumulated phlegm he spoke again. ‘I-Icharge you again to answer. Are you that B-Bartimaeus who in olden times wassummoned by the magicians to repair thewalls of Prague?’

What a time-waster this kid was. Who elsewould it be? I upped the volume a bit on thisone. The ice on the light bulbs cracked likecaramelized sugar. Behind the dirty curtainsthe window glass shimmered and hummed.The kid rocked back on his heels.

‘I am Bartimaeus! I am Sakhr al-Jinni,N’gorso the Mighty and the Serpent of SilverPlumes! I have rebuilt the walls of Uruk,Karnak and Prague. I have spoken with So-lomon. I have run with the buffalo fathers ofthe plains. I have watched over Old

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Zimbabwe till the stones fell and the jackalsfed on its people. I am Bartimaeus! I recog-nize no master. So I charge you in your turn,boy. Who are you to summon me?’

Impressive stuff, eh? All true as well,which gives it more power. And I wasn’t justdoing it to sound big. I rather hoped the kidwould be blustered by it into telling me hisname in return, which would give mesomething to go on when his back was

turned.2 But no luck there.‘By the constraints of the circle, the points

on the pentacle and the chain of runes, I amyour master! You will obey my will!’

There was something particularly obnox-ious about hearing this old shtick comingfrom a weedy stripling, and in such a rubbishhigh voice too. I bit back the temptation togive him a piece of my mind and intoned theusual response. Anything to get it over withquickly.

‘What is your will?’

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I admit I was already surprised. Most tyromagicians look first and ask questions later.They go window-shopping, eyeing up theirpotential power, but being far too nervous totry it out. You don’t often get small ones likethis squirt calling up entities like me in thefirst place, either.

The kid cleared his throat. This was themoment. This is what he’d been building upto. He’d been dreaming of this for years,when he should have been lying on his bedthinking about racing cars or girls. I waitedgrimly for the pathetic request. What wouldit be? Levitating some object was a usualone, or moving it from one side of the roomto the other. Perhaps he’d want me to con-jure an illusion. That might be fun: there wasbound to be a way of misinterpreting his re-

quest and upsetting him.3

‘I charge you to retrieve the Amulet ofSamarkand from the house of Simon

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Lovelace and bring it to me when I summonyou at dawn tomorrow.’

‘You what?’‘I charge you to retrieve—’‘Yes, I heard what you said.’ I didn’t mean

to sound petulant. It just slipped out, and mysepulchral tones slipped a bit too.

‘Then go!’‘Wait a minute!’ I felt that queasy sensa-

tion in my stomach that you always get whenthey dismiss you. Like someone sucking outyour insides through your back. They have tosay it three times to get rid of you, if you’rekeen on sticking around. Usually you’re not.But this time I remained where I was, twoglowing eyes in an angry fug of boilingsmoke.

‘Do you know what you are asking for,boy?’

‘I am neither to converse, discuss nor par-ley with you; nor to engage in any riddles,bets or games of chance; nor to—’

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‘I have no wish to converse with a scrawnyadolescent, believe you me, so save yourrote-learned rubbish. Someone is taking ad-vantage of you. Who is it – your master, Isuppose? A wizened coward hiding behind aboy.’ I let the smoke recede a little, exposedmy outlines for the first time, hovering dimlyin the shadows. ‘You are playing with firetwice over, if you seek to rob a true magicianby summoning me. Where are we? London?’

He nodded. Yes, it was London all right.Some grotty town house. I surveyed theroom through the chemical fumes. Low ceil-ing, peeling wallpaper; a single faded printon the wall. It was a sombre Dutch landscape– a curious choice for a boy. I’d have expec-ted pop chicks, football players … Most ma-gicians are conformists, even when young.

‘Ah me …’ My voice was emollient andwistful. ‘It is a wicked world and they havetaught you very little.’

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‘I am not afraid of you! I have given youyour charge and I demand you go!’

The second dismissal. My bowels felt as ifthey were being passed over by a steamroller.I sensed my form waver, flicker. There waspower in this child, though he was veryyoung.

‘It is not me you have to fear; not now,anyway. Simon Lovelace will come to youhimself when he finds his amulet stolen. Hewill not spare you for your youth.’

‘You are bound to do my will.’‘I am.’ I had to hand it to him, he was de-

termined. And very stupid.His hand moved. I heard the first syllable

of the Systematic Vice. He was about to in-flict pain.

I went. I didn’t bother with any more spe-cial effects.

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1 Not everyone agrees with me on this. Some find it de-

lightful sport. They refine countless ways of tormenting

their summoners by means of subtly hideous apparitions.

Usually the best you can hope for is to give them nightmares

later, but occasionally these stratagems are so successful

that the apprentices actually panic and step out of the pro-

tective circle. Then all is well – for us. But it is a risky busi-

ness. Often they are very well trained. Then they grow up

and get their revenge.2 I couldn’t do anything while I was in the circle, of

course. But later I’d be able to find out who he was, look for

weaknesses of character, things in his past I could exploit.

They’ve all got them. You’ve all got them, I should say.3 One magician demanded I show him an image of the

love of his life. I rustled up a mirror.

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2

When I landed on the top of a lamppost inthe London dusk it was peeing with rain.This was just my luck. I had taken the formof a blackbird, a sprightly fellow with abright yellow beak and jet-black plumage.Within seconds I was as bedraggled a fowl asever hunched its wings in Hampstead. Flick-ing my head from side to side I spied a largebeech tree across the street. Leavesmouldered at its foot – it had already beenstripped clean by the November winds – butthe thick sprouting of its branches offeredsome protection from the wet. I flew over toit, passing above a lone car that purred its

way along the wide suburban road. Behindhigh walls and the evergreen foliage of theirgardens, the ugly white façades of severalsizeable villas shone through the dark likethe faces of the dead.

Well, perhaps it was my mood that made itseem like that. Five things were botheringme. For a start the dull ache that comes withevery physical manifestation was already be-ginning. I could feel it in my feathers.Changing form would keep the pain at bayfor a time, but might also draw attention tome at a critical stage of the operation. Until Iwas sure of my surroundings, a bird I had toremain.

The second thing was the weather. Enoughsaid.

Thirdly, I’d forgotten the limitations ofmaterial bodies. I had an itch just above mybeak, and kept futilely trying to scratch itwith a wing. Fourthly, that kid. I had a lot ofquestions about him. Who was he? Why did

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he have a death wish? How would I get evenwith him before he died for subjecting me tothis assignment? News travels fast and I wasbound to get some stick for scurrying aroundon behalf of a scrap like him.

Fifthly … the Amulet. By all accounts itwas a potent charm. What the kid thought hewas going to do with it when he got it beatme. He wouldn’t have a clue. Maybe he’d justwear it as some tragic fashion accessory.Maybe nicking amulets was the latest craze,the magician’s version of pinching hubcaps.Even so, I had to get it first and this wouldnot necessarily be easy, even for me.

I closed my blackbird’s eyes and openedmy inner ones, one after the other, each on a

different plane.1 I looked back and fortharound me, hopping up and down the branchto get the optimum view. No less than threevillas along the road had magical protection,which showed how nobby an area we werein. I didn’t inspect the two further off up the

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street; it was the one across the road, beyondthe streetlight, that interested me. The resid-ence of Simon Lovelace, magician.

The first plane was clear, but he’d riggedup a defence nexus on the second – it shonelike blue gossamer all along the high wall. Itdidn’t finish there either; it extended up intothe air, over the top of the low white houseand down again on the other side, forming agreat shimmering dome.

Not bad, but I could handle it.There was nothing on the third or fourth

planes, but on the fifth I spotted threesentries prowling around in mid-air, justbeyond the lip of the garden wall. They werea dull yellow all over, each one formed ofthree muscular legs that rotated on a hub ofgristle. Above the hub was a blobby mass,which sported two mouths and severalwatchful eyes. The creatures passed at ran-dom back and forth around the perimeter ofthe garden. I shrank back against the trunk

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of the beech tree instinctively, but I knewthey were unlikely to spot me from there. Atthis distance I should look like a blackbird onall seven planes. It was when I got closer thatthey might break through my illusion.

The sixth plane was clear. But the seventh… that was curious. I couldn’t see anythingobvious – the house, the road, the night alllooked unchanged – but, call it intuition ifyou like, I was sure something was presentthere, lurking.

I rubbed my beak doubtfully against a knotof wood. As expected, there was a good dealof powerful magic at work here. I’d heard ofLovelace. He was considered a formidablemagician and a hard taskmaster. I was luckyI had never been called up in his service andI did not much want his enmity or that of hisservants.

But I had to obey that kid.

The soggy blackbird took off from the branchand swooped across the road, conveniently

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avoiding the arc of light from the nearestlamp. It landed on a patch of scrubby grassat the corner of the wall. Four black bin bagshad been left out there for collection the nextmorning. The blackbird hopped behind the

bags. A cat that had observed the bird2 fromsome way off waited a few moments for it toemerge, lost patience and scuttled curiouslyafter it. Behind the bags it discovered nobird, black or otherwise. There was nothingthere but a freshly turned molehill.

1 I have access to seven planes, all co-existent. They

overlap each other like layers on a crushed Viennetta. Seven

planes is sufficient for anybody. Those who operate on more

are just showing off.2 On two planes. Cats have that power.

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3

I hate the taste of mud. It is no fit thing for abeing of air and fire. The cloying weight ofearth oppresses me greatly whenever I comeinto contact with it. That is why I am choosyabout my incarnations. Birds, good. Insects,good. Bats, OK. Things that run fast are fine.Tree-dwellers are even better. Subterraneanthings, not good. Moles, bad.

But there’s no point being fastidious whenyou have a protective shield to bypass. I hadreasoned correctly that it did not extend un-derground. The mole dug its way deep, deepdown, under the foundations of the wall. Nomagical alarm sounded, though I did hit my

head five times on a pebble.1 I burrowed up-wards again, reaching the surface aftertwenty minutes of snuffling, scruffling andturning my beady nose up at the juicy wormsI uncovered every couple of scrapes.

The mole poked its head cautiously out ofthe little pile of earth it had driven throughthe immaculate surface of Simon Lovelace’slawn. It looked around, checking out thescene. There were lights on in the house, onthe ground floor. The curtains were drawn.The upper floors, from what the mole couldsee, were dark. The translucent blue span ofthe magical defence system arched overhead.One yellow sentry trudged its stupid waythree metres above the shrubbery. The othertwo were presumably behind the house.

I tried the seventh plane again. Still noth-ing, still that uneasy sense of danger. Ohwell.

The mole retreated underground and tun-nelled below the grass roots towards the

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house. It reappeared in the flowerbed justbelow the nearest windows. It was thinkinghard. There was no point going further inthis guise, tempting though it was to try tobreak into the cellars. A different methodwould have to be found.

To the mole’s furry ears came the sound oflaughter and clinking glasses. It was surpris-ingly loud, echoing from very close by. An airvent, cracked with age, was set in the wallnot half a metre away. It led indoors.

With some relief, I became a fly.

1 Once each on five different pebbles. Not the same

pebble five times. Just checking. Sometimes human beings

are so dense.

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4

From the security of the air vent I peeredwith my multi-faceted eyes into a rather tra-ditional drawing room. There was a thickpile carpet, nasty striped wallpaper, ahideous crystal thing pretending to be achandelier, two oil paintings that were darkwith age, a sofa and two easy chairs (alsostriped), a low coffee table laden with a silvertray and, on the tray, a bottle of red wine andno glasses. The glasses were in the hands oftwo people.

One of them was a woman. She wasyoungish (for a human, which means infin-itesimally young) and probably quite good-

looking in a fleshy sort of way. Big eyes, darkhair, bobbed. I memorized her automatically.I would appear in her guise tomorrow when Iwent back to visit that kid. Only naked. Let’ssee how his very steely but ever-so-adoles-

cent mind responded to that!1

However, for the moment I was more con-cerned with the man this woman was smilingand nodding at. He was tall, thin, handsomein a rather bookish sort of way, with his hairslicked back by some pungent oil. He hadsmall round glasses and a large mouth withgood teeth. He had a prominent jaw. So-mething told me that this was the magician,Simon Lovelace. Was it his indefinable auraof power and authority? Was it the propriet-orial way in which he gestured around theroom? Or was it the small imp which floatedat his shoulder (on the second plane), warilywatching out for danger on every side?

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I rubbed my front two legs together withirritation. I would have to be very careful.

The imp complicated matters.2

It was a pity I wasn’t a spider. They can sitstill for hours and think nothing of it. Fliesare far more jittery. But if I changed here,the magician’s slave would be certain tosense it. I had to force my unwilling body tolurk, and ignore the ache that was buildingup again, this time inside my chitin.

The magician was talking. He did littleelse. The woman gazed at him with spanieleyes so wide and silly with adoration that Iwanted to bite her.

‘… it will be the most magnificent occa-sion, Amanda. You will be the toast of Lon-don society! Did you know that the PrimeMinister himself is looking forward to view-ing your estate? Yes, I have that on good au-thority. My enemies have been houndinghim for weeks with their vile insinuations,but he has always remained committed to

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holding the conference at the Hall. So yousee, my love, I can still influence him when itcounts. The thing is to know how to playhim, how to flatter his vanity … Keep it toyourself, but he is actually rather weak. Hisspeciality is Charm, and even that he seldombothers with now. Why should he? He’s gotmen in suits to do it for him …’

The magician rattled on like this for sever-al minutes, name-dropping with tireless en-ergy. The woman drank her wine, nodded,gasped and exclaimed at the right momentsand leaned closer to him along the sofa. I

nearly buzzed with boredom.3

Suddenly the imp became alert. Its headswivelled 180 degrees and peered at a doorat the other end of the room. It tweaked themagician’s ear gently in warning. Secondslater, the door opened and a black-jacketedflunky with a bald head stepped respectfullyin.

‘Pardon me, sir, but your car is ready.’

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‘Thank you, Carter. We shan’t be amoment.’

The flunky withdrew. The magician re-placed his (still full) wineglass back on thecoffee table and took hold of the woman’shand. He kissed it gallantly. Behind his backthe imp made faces of extreme disgust.

‘It pains me to have to go, Amanda, butduty calls. I will not be home this evening.May I call you? The theatre, tomorrow night,perhaps?’

‘That would be charming, Simon.’‘Then that is settled. My good friend

Makepeace has a new play out. I shall gettickets presently. For now, Carter will driveyou home.’

Man, woman and imp exited, leaving thedoor ajar. Behind them, a wary fly crept fromits hiding place and sped soundlessly acrossthe room to a vantage point that gave a viewof the hall. For a few minutes there wasactivity, coats being brought, orders given,

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doors slammed. Then the magician departedhis house.

I flew out into the hall. It was wide, coldand laid with a flooring of black and whitetiles. Bright green ferns grew from giganticceramic pots. I circled the chandelier, listen-ing. It was very quiet. The only sounds camefrom a distant kitchen and they were inno-cent enough – just the banging of pots andplates and several loud belches, presumablyemanating from the cook.

I debated sending out a discreet magicalpulse to see if I could detect the whereaboutsof the magician’s artefacts, but decided thatit was far too risky. The sentry creatures out-side might pick it up, for one thing, even ifthere was no further guard. I, the fly, wouldhave to go hunting myself.

All the planes were clear. I went along thehall, then – following an intuition – up thestairs.

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On the landing a thickly carpeted corridorled in two directions, each lined with oilpaintings. I was immediately interested inthe right-hand passage, for halfway along itwas a spy. To human eyes it was a smokealarm, but on the other planes its true formwas revealed – an upside-down toad withunpleasantly bulbous eyes sitting on the ceil-ing. Every minute or so it hopped on thespot, rotating a little. When the magician re-turned, it would relate to him anything thathad happened.

I sent a small magic the toad’s way. A thickoily vapour issued from the ceiling andwrapped itself around the spy, obscuring itsvision. As it hopped and croaked in confu-sion, I flew rapidly past it down the passageto the door at the end. Alone of the doors inthe corridor, this did not have a keyhole; un-der its white paint, the wood was reinforcedwith strips of metal. Two good reasons fortrying this one first.

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There was a minute crack under the door.It was too small for an insect, but I wasaching for a change anyway. The fly dis-solved into a dribble of smoke, which passedout of sight under the door just as the vapourscreen around the toad melted away.

In the room I became a child.If I had known that apprentice’s name, I

would have been malicious and taken hisform, just to give Simon Lovelace a headstart when he began to piece the theft togeth-er. But without his name I had no handle onhim. So I became a boy I had known once be-fore, someone I had loved. His dust had longago floated away along the Nile, so my crimewould not hurt him, and anyhow it pleasedme to remember him like this. He wasbrown-skinned, bright-eyed, dressed in awhite loincloth. He looked around in thatway he had, his head slightly cocked to oneside.

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The room had no windows. There wereseveral cabinets against the walls, filled withmagical paraphernalia. Most of it was quite

useless, fit only for stage shows,4 but therewere a few intriguing items there.

There was a summoning horn that I knewwas genuine, because it made me feel ill tolook at it. One blast of that and anything inthat magician’s power would be at his feetbegging for mercy and pleading to do hisbidding. It was a cruel instrument and veryold and I couldn’t go near it. In another cab-inet was an eye made out of clay. I had seenone of them before, in the head of a golem. Iwondered if the fool knew the potential ofthat eye. Almost certainly not – he’d havepicked it up as a quaint keepsake on somepackage holiday in central Europe. Magical

tourism … I ask you.5 Well, with luck it mightkill him some day.

And there was the Amulet of Samarkand.It sat in a small case all of its own, protected

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by glass and its own reputation. I walkedover to it, flicking through the planes, seek-ing danger and finding – well, nothing expli-cit, but on the seventh plane I had the dis-tinct impression that something was stirring.Not here, but close by. I had better be quick.

The Amulet was small, dull and made ofbeaten gold. It hung from a short gold chain.In its centre was an oval piece of jade. Thegold had been pressed with simple notcheddesigns depicting running steeds. Horseswere the prize possessions of the peoplefrom central Asia who had made the Amuletthree thousand years before and had laterburied it in the tomb of one of their prin-cesses. A Russian archaeologist had found itin the 1950s and before long it had beenstolen by magicians who recognized itsvalue. How Simon Lovelace had come by it –who exactly he had murdered or swindled toget it – I had no idea.

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I cocked my head again, listening. All wasquiet in the house.

I raised my hand over the cabinet, smilingat my reflection as it clenched its fist.

Then I brought my hand down and droveit through the glass.

A throb of magical energy resoundedthrough all seven planes. I seized the Amuletand hung it round my neck. I turned swiftly.The room was as before, but I could sensesomething on the seventh plane, movingswiftly and coming closer.

The time for stealth was over.As I ran for the door I noticed out of the

corner of my eye a portal suddenly open inmid-air. Inside the portal was a blacknessthat was immediately obscured as somethingstepped out through it.

I charged at the door and hit it with mysmall boy’s fist. The door smashed open likea bent playing card. I ran past it withoutstopping.

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In the corridor, the toad turned towardsme and opened its mouth. A green gobbet ofslime issued forth, which suddenly acceler-ated down at me, aiming for my head. Idodged and the slime splattered on the wallbehind me, destroying a painting andeverything down to the bare bricks beneathit.

I threw a bolt of Compression at the toad.With a small croak of regret it imploded intoa dense blob of matter the size of a marbleand dropped to the floor. I didn’t breakstride. As I ran on down the corridor I placeda protective Shield around my physical bodyin case of further missiles.

Which was a wise move as it happened,because the next instant a Detonation struckthe floor directly behind me. The impact wasso great that I was sent flying headlong at anangle down the corridor and half into thewall. Green flames licked around me, leaving

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streaks on the décor like the fingers of a gi-ant hand.

I struggled to my feet amidst the confusionof shattered bricks and turned round.

Standing over the broken door at the endof the corridor was something that had takenthe form of a very tall man with bright-redskin and the head of a jackal.

‘BARTIMAEUS!’Another Detonation shot down the cor-

ridor. I somersaulted under it, aiming for thestairs, and as the green explosion vaporizedthe corner of the wall, rolled head over heelsdown the steps, through the banisters andtwo metres down onto the black and whitetiled floor, cracking it quite badly.

I got to my feet and took a look at the frontdoor. Through the frosted glass beside it Icould see the hulking yellow outline of one ofthe three sentinels. It was lying in wait, littlerealizing that it could be seen from inside. Idecided to make my exit elsewhere. Thus

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does superior intelligence win over brutestrength any day of the week!

Speaking of which, I had to get out fast.Noises from above indicated pursuit.

I ran through a couple of rooms – a lib-rary, a dining room – each time making abreak for the window and each time retreat-ing when one or more of the yellow creatureshove into view outside. Their foolishness inmaking themselves so obvious was onlyequalled by my caution in avoiding whatevermagical weapons they carried.

Behind me, my name was being called in avoice of fury. With growing frustration Iopened the next door and found myself inthe kitchen. There were no more internaldoors, but one led out to what looked like alean-to greenhouse, filled with herbs andgreens. Beyond was the garden – and alsothe three sentinels, who came motoringround the side of the house at surprisingspeed on their rotating legs. To gain time, I

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put a Seal on the door behind me. Then Ilooked around and saw the cook.

He was sitting far back in his chair with hisshoes on the kitchen table, a fat, jovial-look-ing man with a red face and a meat cleaver inhis hand. He was studiously paring his nailswith the cleaver, flicking each fragment ofnail expertly through the air to land in thefireplace beside him. As he did so he watchedme continuously with his dark little eyes.

I felt unease. He didn’t seem at all per-turbed to see a small Egyptian boy come run-ning into his kitchen. I checked him out onthe different planes. On one to six he was ex-actly the same, a portly cook in a white ap-ron. But on the seventh …

Uh-oh. ‘Bartimaeus.’‘Faquarl.’‘How’s it going?’‘Not bad.’‘Haven’t seen you around.’‘No, I guess not.’

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‘Shame, eh?’‘Yes. Well … here I am.’‘Here you are, indeed.’While this fascinating conversation was

going on, the sounds of a sustained series ofDetonations came from the other side of thedoor. My Seal held firm though. I smiled asurbanely as I could.

‘Jabor seems as excitable as ever.’‘Yes, he’s just the same. Only I think per-

haps slightly more hungry, Bartimaeus.That’s the only change I’ve noticed in him.He never seems satisfied, even when he’sbeen fed. And that happens all too rarelythese days, as you can imagine.’

‘Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen, that’syour master’s watchword, is it? Still, he mustbe fairly potent to be able to have you andJabor as his slaves.’

The cook gave a thin smile and with a flickof the knife sent a nail paring spinning to the

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ceiling. It pierced the plaster and lodgedthere.

‘Now, now, Bartimaeus, we don’t use the s-word in civilized company, do we? Jabor andI are playing the long game.’

‘Of course you are.’‘Speaking of disparities in power, I notice

that you choose to avoid addressing me onthe seventh plane. This seems a little impol-ite. Can it be that you are uneasy with mytrue form?’

‘Queasy, Faquarl, not uneasy.’6

‘Well, this is all very pleasant. I admireyour choice of form, by the way, Bartimaeus.Very comely. But I see that you are some-what weighed down by a certain amulet. Per-haps you could be so good as to take it offand put it on the table. Then if you care totell me which magician you are working for, Imight consider ways of ending this meetingin a non-fatal manner.’

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‘That’s kind of you, but you know I can’t do

that.’7

The cook prodded the edge of the tablewith the tip of his cleaver. ‘Let me be frank.You can and will. It is nothing personal, ofcourse; one day we may work together again.But for now I am bound just as you are. AndI too have my charge to fulfil. So it comes, asit always does, to a question of power. Cor-rect me if I am wrong, but I note that you donot have too much confidence in yourselftoday – otherwise you would have left by thefront door, quelling the triloids as you went,rather than allowing them to shepherd youround the house to me.’

‘I was merely following a whim.’‘Mm. Perhaps you would stop edging to-

wards the window, Bartimaeus. Such a ploy

would be pitifully obvious even to a human8

and besides, the triloids wait for you there.Hand over the Amulet or you will discover

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that your ramshackle Defence Shield willcount for nothing.’

He stood up and held out his hand. Therewas a pause. Behind my Seal, Jabor’s patient(if unimaginative) Detonations still sounded.The door itself must have long since beenturned to powder. In the garden the threesentinels hovered, all their eyes trained onme. I looked around the room forinspiration.

‘The Amulet, Bartimaeus.’I raised my hand and, with a heavy, rather

theatrical sigh, took hold of the Amulet.Then I leaped to my left. At the same time, Ireleased the Seal on the door. Faquarl gave atut of annoyance and began a gesture. As hedid so he was hit square on by a particularlypowerful Detonation that came shootingthrough the empty gap where the Seal hadbeen. It sent him backwards into the fire-place and the brickwork collapsed upon him.

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I smashed my way into the greenhousejust as Jabor stepped through the gap intothe kitchen. As Faquarl emerged from therubble I was breaking out into the garden.The three sentinels converged on me, eyeswide and legs rotating. Scything claws ap-peared at the ends of their blobby feet. I castan Illumination of the brightest kind. Thewhole garden was lit up as if by an explodingsun. The sentinels’ eyes were dazzled; theychittered with pain. I leaped over them andran through the garden, dodging bolts of ma-gic from the house that incinerated trees.

At the far end of the garden, between acompost heap and a motorized lawnmower, Ivaulted the wall. I tore through the blue lat-ticework of magical nodes, leaving a boy-shaped hole. Instantly alarm bells beganringing all over the grounds.

I hit the pavement outside, the Amuletbouncing and banging off my chest. On theother side of the wall I heard the sound of

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galloping hooves. It was high time I made achange.

Peregrine falcons are the fastest birds onrecord. They can attain a speed of two hun-dred kilometres an hour in diving flight.Rarely has one achieved this horizontallyover the roofs of North London. Some wouldeven doubt that this was possible, particu-larly while carrying a weighty amulet aroundits neck. Suffice it to say, however, that whenFaquarl and Jabor landed in the Hampsteadbackstreet, creating an invisible obstructionthat was immediately hit by a speeding re-moval van, I was nowhere to be seen.

I was long gone.

1 For those who are wondering, I have no difficulty in

becoming a woman. Nor for that matter a man. In some

ways, I suppose women are trickier, but I won’t go into that

now. Woman, man, mole, maggot – they’re all the same,

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when all’s said and done, except for slight variations in cog-

nitive ability.2 Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t afraid of the imp. I could

squish it without a second thought. But it was there for two

reasons: for its undying loyalty to its master and for its per-

ceptive eye. It would not be taken in by my cunning fly guise

for one fraction of a second.3 A human who listened to the conversation would

probably have been slack-jawed with astonishment, for the

magician’s account of corruption in the British Government

was remarkably detailed. But I for one was not agog. Having

seen countless civilizations of far greater panache than this

one crumble into dust I could rouse little interest in the

matter. I spent the time fruitlessly trying to recall which un-

earthly powers might have been bound into Simon

Lovelace’s service. It was best to be prepared.4 Oh, it was all impressive enough if you were a non-

magician. Let me see – there were crystal orbs, scrying

glasses, skulls from tombs, saints’ knucklebones, spirit-

sticks that had been looted from Siberian shamans, bottles

filled with blood of doubtful provenance, witch-doctor

masks, stuffed crocodiles, novelty wands, racks of capes for

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different ceremonies and many, many weighty books on

magic that looked as if they had been bound in human skin

at the beginning of time but had probably been mass-pro-

duced last week by a factory in Catford. Magicians love this

kind of thing; they love the hocus-pocus mystery of it all

(and half believe it, some of them) and they adore the awe-

inspiring effect it has on outsiders. Quite apart from any-

thing else all these knick-knacks distract attention from the

real source of their power. Us.5 They were all at it – beetling off in coach parties (or,

since many of them were well-heeled, hiring jets) to tour the

great magical cities of the past. All cooing and ahhing at the

famous sights – the temples, the birthplaces of notable ma-

gicians, the places where they came to horrible ends. And all

ready to whip bits of statuary or ransack the black-market

bazaars in the hope of getting knock-me-down sorcerous

bargains. It’s not the cultural vandalism I object to. It’s just

so hopelessly vulgar.6 I’m no great looker myself, but Faquarl had too many

tentacles for my liking.7 Not strictly correct. I could have given over the Amu-

let and thus failed in my charge. But then, even if I had

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managed to escape from Faquarl, I would have had to

return empty-handed to the pale-faced boy. My failure

would have left me at his tender mercy, doubly in his power,

and somehow I knew this was not a good idea.8Ouch.

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COMING SOON!

978 0 552 56370 3

Every legend has a hero.But only some heroes are legendary

Halli loves to hear stories from thedays when the valley was a wild and

dangerous place, besieged by thebloodthirsty Trows. He likes to ima-gine the night the legendary heroes

joined together and defeated the an-cient foe.

Nowadays heroics seem a thing of thepast. But when a practical joke

rekindles an old blood feud, Hallispots a chance for a quest of his own.Together with Aud, a girl just as fear-less as he is, he begins an epic adven-

ture. Soon they will challengeeverything they’ve ever known, anduncover the truth about the legends,

the valley and themselves.

‘Quite simply, stunning’ Guardian

978 0 552 55793 1

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