The Amulet of Samarkand

great, veined hands clasping silver-tipped spears. Feathered wings lay folded heavily on their muscled backs. Their eyes rolled ceaselessly back and forth, covering every inch of the room with their stupid, baleful glare.
     
    [4] A type of djinni much favored by the Assyrian magicians for their unintelligent devotion to violence. I first fought these at the battle of Al-Arish, when the pharaoh drove back the Assyrian army from Egyptian soil. The utukku looked good—four meters high, heads of beasts and birds of prey, crystal breastplates, flashing scimitars. But they could all be caught by the old "He's behind you" trick. Recipe for success: l. Take a stone. 2. Chuck behind utukku so that it makes a diverting sound. 3. Watch utukku swivel, eyes popping. 4. Run him through the back with gusto. 5. Gloat to taste. Oddly, my exploits that day made me a few enemies among the surviving utukku.
     
    I gave a light, rather maidenly sigh. Things really didn't seem too promising.
    Still, I wasn't beaten yet. Judging by the impressive scale of the prison, I was probably in the hands of the Government, but it was best to be sure. The first thing to do was grill my warders for as much information as they had.[5]
     
    [5] Which was unlikely to be much. As a rough rule of thumb, you can gauge a djinni's intelligence by the number of guises he or she likes to wear. Sprightly entities such as me have no limit to the forms we take. The more the merrier, in fact; it makes our existence slightly less wearisome. Conversely, the true dullards (viz. Jabor, utukku, etc.) favor only one, and it's usually one that is millennia out of date. The forms these utukku wore were fashionable in the streets of Nineveh back in 700 B.C. Who goes round as a bull-headed spirit nowadays? Exactly. It's so passé.
     
    I gave a slightly insolent whistle. The nearest utukku (the eagle-headed one) looked across, jerking his spear in my direction.
    I smiled winsomely. "Hello there."
    The utukku hissed like a serpent, showing his sharp, red-bird's tongue. He approached, still feinting toughly with the spear.
    "Steady with that thing," I said. "It's always more impressive to hold a weapon still. You look as if you're trying to skewer a marshmallow with a toasting fork."
    Eagle-beak came close. His feet were on the ground, two meters below me, but even so he was easily tall enough to look me in the eye. He was careful not to get too near to the glowing wall of my sphere.
    "Speak out of turn again," the utukku said, "and I'll prick you full of holes." He pointed to the tip of his spear. "Silver, this is. It can pass through your sphere easy and prick you good, if you don't shut up."
    "Point already taken." I brushed a loop of hair back from my brow. "I can see I'm at your mercy."
    "That's right." The utukku made to go off, but a lonely thought had somehow made it into the wasteland of his mind. "Here," he added, "my colleague,"—he indicated Bull-head, who was watching us from a distance with his little red eyes—"he says he's seen you somewhere before."
    "I don't think so."
    "Long time ago. Only you looked different. He says he's smelled you certain. Only he can't think when."
    "He may be right. I've been around a fair time. I have a bad memory for faces, I'm afraid. Can't help him. Where are we now, exactly?" I was trying to change the subject here, uncomfortably aware that the conversation might shortly get round to the battle of Al-Arish. If Bull-head was a survivor, and he learned my name...
    The utukku's crest tipped back a little as he considered my question. "No harm your knowing that," he said at last. "We're in the Tower. The Tower of London." He spoke this with considerable relish, banging the base of his spear on the flagstones to emphasize each word.
    "Oh. That's good, is it?"
    "Not for you."
    Several flippant remarks were lining up to be spoken here, but I forced them back with difficulty and remained silent. I didn't want to be pricked. The utukku marched away to resume his patrol, but now I spied Bull-head coming closer, snuffling and sniffling all the while with his vile wet nose.
    When he was so close to the edge of my sphere that the gouts of froth he breathed out fizzed and foamed against the charged white threads, he let out a tormented growl. "I know you," he said. "I know your scent. Long ago, yes, but I never forget. I know your name."
    "A friend of a friend, perhaps?" I eyed his spear-tip nervously. Unlike Eaglebeak, he didn't wave it