The Ring of Solomon

– 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, imploring face of Balkis and the sombre priestesses lined up in the courtyard; she imagined Marib’s towers burning. She saw her mother falling, her hair tumbling loose like water across the old queen’s lap.
    ‘Get off me,’ she hissed. The cat was clinging to her arm. ‘Will you get off ? I can do this! 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 djinni back. The cat dropped off her sleeve and jumped away, fur bristling.
    Once again Asmira ducked through the arch. The king stood as before.
    Without pausing, Asmira raised her hand, drew it level with her shoulder and, with a brief, efficient snap of the wrist, threw the dagger with full force. It struck Solomon just above the heart and buried itself hilt-deep. He collapsed without a sound.
    At which moment she heard the cat’s voice calling, ‘I’ve got it! It’s the Ring – it’s not bright enough! The aura should be blinding me! Don’t—! Oh. Too late. You have.’
    The body of King Solomon fell to the floor, but did not stop there. It dropped straight through the solid surface of the platform, like a stone in water. In a twinkling it was gone, and only the dagger-hilt was visible, projecting from the marble.
    This happened so fast that Asmira was still standing frozen, with her dagger-hand outstretched, when the platform burst asunder and the great demon thrust itself up from below, bellowing and roaring with its three tusked mouths. High as the dome it rose, a knotted mass of glistening cords and arms, each with its own translucent eye. All these eyes were turned upon her, and the tentacles flayed and trembled with anticipation.
    Asmira fell back against the wall, her mind and limbs transfixed. Somewhere close she heard the sand cat calling, but she could not respond, nor summon the strength to reach for the final dagger at her belt. All she could do was give a single ragged cry. She felt her legs give way, felt herself sliding slowly down the wall – and then the demon was upon her, reaching for her throat.

28
    T here are times when any honest djinni’s simply got to stand and fight. Times when you face your foe head on. Times when, no matter what the overwhelming odds, no matter how hideous the coming peril, you just spit on your hands, square your shoulders, smooth back your hair and (possibly with a small wry smile playing on your lips) step out to greet the danger with open arms.
    Obviously this wasn’t such a time.
    To confront the terrible entity that had risen in the chamber would have been a futile act – and a very messy one. 1 Only an idiot would have tried. Or someone under contract, of course. If I’d been forced to do so by order of a competent master, I’d have had to stand my ground or be destroyed forthwith by the Dismal Flame. But my master wasn’t competent, as her summoning had proved – and now, at last, after getting away with it for a surprising length of time, she was going to pay the penalty.
    Bring me safely to King Solomon : those had been that Arabian girl’s exact words way back when she gave me my charge. And (Bartimaeus of Uruk being a spirit who fulfils his charges to the letter) this is precisely what I’d achieved. True, there was admittedly some doubt about whether the figure in the room had actually been Solomon, but since it was shaped like him, looked like him, smelled like him, and was standing as large as life in his apartments, I figured it was close enough. The girl had certainly believed it was, which is why she’d thrown the knife. Contractually speaking, I’d done my bit. I didn’t have to keep her safe a moment longer.
    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-tail bristling. Behind me I heard a high-pitched scream – brief, tentative, and cut off in a rather final, gargling sort of way. Good. Well, bad for the girl, of course, but good for me, which is what counts. Depending on how long the visitation toyed with her before finishing her off, I expected to be dematerializing very soon.
    In the meantime, I made sure I was out of