The Amulet of Samarkand

another thought. The sinews along his forearms knotted as he readied the spear.
    "It's not workmen. Too near." The feathers on Xerxes's crest looked ruffled. He was jumpy. "Leave Bartimaeus alone and come and listen. I want to pinpoint it."
    With a curse, Baztuk stomped away from my column. He and Xerxes ranged around the perimeter of the room, holding their ears close to the stones and muttering to each other to tread more quietly. All the while the little tapping noise continued, soft, irregular, and maddeningly unlocatable.
    "Can't place it." Baztuk scraped his spear-tip against the wall. "Could come from anywhere. Hold on...! Maybe he's doing it...." He looked evilly in my direction.
    "Not guilty, your honor," I said.
    "Don't be stupid, Baztuk," Eagle-beak said. "The orb stops him using magic beyond its barrier. Something else is going on. I think we should raise the alarm."
    "But nothing's happened!" Bull-head looked panicked. "They'll punish us. At least let me kill Bartimaeus first," he pleaded. "I mustn't lose this chance."
    "I think you should definitely call for help," I advised. "It's almost certainly something you can't handle. A deathwatch beetle, maybe. Or a disorientated woodpecker."
    Baztuk blew spume a meter into the air. "That's the last straw, Bartimaeus! You die!" He paused. "Mind you, it might be a deathwatch beetle, come to think of it...."
    "In a solid stone building?" Xerxes sneered. "I think not."
    "What makes you an expert all of a sudden?"
    A new argument broke out. My two captors faced up to each other again, strutting and shoving, roused to blind fury by each other's stupidity and by the occasional careful prompting from me.
    Underneath it all, the tap, tap, tapping went on. I had long since located the source of it as a patch of stone high up along one wall, not too far from the single window. While encouraging the squabble, I kept a constant eye on this area, and was rewarded, after several minutes, by spying a discreet shower of stone-dust come trickling out between two blocks. A moment later, a tiny hole appeared; this was rapidly enlarged as more dust and flakes dropped from it, propelled by something small, sharp and black.
    To my annoyance, after walking their way round the room in a flurry of girly slaps and yells, Xerxes and Baztuk had come to rest not far from the mysterious hole. It was only a matter of time before they would notice the spiraling dust-fall, so I decided I had to risk all in a final gambit.
    "Hey, you pair of sand-eaters!" I shouted. "The moon shines on the corpses of your fellows! The jackals carry home the severed heads for their pups to play with!"[1]
     
    [1] Well, this loses something in translation, of course. I shouted it in the language of Old Egypt, which both of them knew and hated. It was a reference to the time when the pharaoh sent his armies deep into the lands of Assyria, causing general mayhem. It is deeply impolite for djinn to bring up between themselves the memories of human wars (in which we are always forced to take sides). Reminding utukku of wars that they lost is both impolite and deeply unwise.
     
    As I had expected, Baztuk instantly left off tugging at Xerxes's side feathers and Xerxes prised his fingers out of Baztuk's nose. Both of them slowly turned toward me with murder in their eyes. So far, so good. I calculated that I had approximately thirty seconds before whatever was coming through the hole put in an appearance. Should it delay, I was dead—if not by the hands of Baztuk and Xerxes, then by the orb, which had now diminished to the size of a runty grapefruit.
    "Baztuk," Xerxes said politely, "I shall allow you to strike the first blow."
    "That is good of you, Xerxes," Baztuk replied. "Afterward, you may dice the remains to your heart's content."
    Both hefted their spears and strode toward me. Behind them, the tapping suddenly ceased, and from the hole in the wall, which had by now grown quite large, a shiny beak poked out, sharp as an anvil. This was followed by a tufted jet-black head, complete with beady eye. The eye flicked rapidly to and fro, taking in the scene, then silently the bird behind it began to squeeze its way through the hole, wriggling forward in a distinctly unbirdlike way.
    With a shake and a hop, an enormous black raven perched on the lip of the stone. As its tail feathers cleared the hole, another beak appeared behind it.
    By now the utukku had reached my pillar. Baztuk flung back his arm.
    I coughed. "Look