The Ring of Solomon

the sound of a ring rolling back upon the floor. When I looked across, the girl was tightly clasping her hand beneath her arm.
    ‘It burns !’ she cried. ‘What have you done to it, demon?’
    ‘Me?’
    ‘You’ve put some cursed magic on it!’ With her good hand, she waved the silver dagger. ‘Take it off this instant, or I swear—’
    It was at this moment that King Solomon stood up; and though (speaking frankly) he was in his nightie, though his frame was thin, though his face, without its cloak of Illusion, was lined and aged, he nevertheless projected a sudden severe authority, so that the girl and I fell instantly quiet. ‘The djinni speaks truly,’ he said. ‘The Ring of Solomon brings pain. That is its nature. If you wish for proof, look here.’ And he held up his hand, with the livid mark upon its finger.
    The girl stared at it. ‘I – I don’t understand,’ she stammered. ‘No. This is a trick. I’m not listening to you.’ But though her eyes returned to the little fleck of gold and obsidian lying on the floor beside her feet, she did not 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 hippo into the dark-haired young Sumerian boy, who, while less adorably curvy, better reflected the gravity of the moment. I felt that something important was approaching fast, and I didn’t know which way it was going to go.
    ‘But why should it burn?’ the girl said plaintively. ‘How will my queen—? I thought the Ring—’
    Solomon said quietly: ‘Let me tell you what I know of the Ring, Asmira. After that you can do what you like with it – and with me.’
    She hesitated, looking towards the door, then back at the object at her feet. She stared at 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 at once, ‘my interest was in treasures of the past – a passion that remains with me still. 8 I journeyed far in search of them, bartering in the bazaars of Thebes and Babylon for relics of the ancient days. I also visited the ruins of yet older cities, places whose names are lost to men. One such site lay on the desert’s edge beside the Tigris River. It is nothing now but a few worn mounds covered with earth and sand. No doubt, over the centuries, most of its secrets had been steadily plundered, but the greatest – and most terrible – still lay undisturbed.’
    He paused, ostensibly to cough, but probably (given he was such an old ham) to build up the tension. I noticed that he was standing in such a way that the lantern light cast a golden, rather celestial, halo about his head. He was a good performer, Solomon, even without his power.
    I watched the girl too. She was frowning (as usual), but the shock of the Ring’s touch was still upon her, and she seemed willing to wait and listen.
    ‘When I came to these ruins,’ Solomon continued, ‘a recent earth tremor had split the surface of one of the smaller mounds. The soil had collapsed, revealing a stretch of mud-brick wall, a half-collapsed archway and – beyond – a flight of stairs leading into the ground. You can well imagine that my curiosity was aflame! I made a light, crept down into the depths and, after an incalculable descent, arrived at a broken door. Some ancient rock-fall had split it open, and whatever magic might have been upon it had long been spent. I squeezed through into the blackness—’
    ‘You were so-o-o-o jammy!’ I cried. ‘Sumerian well-rooms are notorious for traps! Ordinarily there’d have been any amount of hexes and things in there.’
    ‘Whether I was lucky ,’ King Solomon said irritably, ‘I will leave to you to judge. Do not interrupt again. I squeezed inside, as I say, and found myself in a small chamber. In its centre’ – he shuddered, as at an oft-remembered horror – ‘in its centre was an iron chair, and on that chair, strapped there with ancient fastenings of rope and wire, sat the mummified body of – I cannot say whether it was a man or woman, for great terror had seized me, and all I longed for was escape. As I turned to go, I caught sight of a glint of gold upon one papery finger. In my avarice I snatched at it: the finger broke away, the Ring was in my hand. I put it on’ – he held up his hand, so that the red weal upon the finger shone bright and raw – ‘and instantly such pain came