The Ring of Solomon

demon high, caught it by a solid ear and, with a mighty rotation of the arm, hurled it out into the dark.
    Beyond, in the midst of the oncoming cloud, a bright blue pulse of light flared once.
    ‘ Asmira —’ Bartimaeus said.
    Blue fire struck the balustrade, blew it asunder, sent the djinni flying backwards in a mass of sapphire flames. Across the walkway he went, through the nearest statue, smashing into the tower’s dome in a tangle of bent limbs. The flames licked across him, flared, went out.
    His body rolled slowly down the slope, over and over, then stopped at last amid a scattering of stone.
    Asmira stared at the slumped body, stared at the package in her hands. She gave a sudden curse; her hesitation left her. She scrabbled at the parchment pieces, tearing them apart, feeling the heat of the Ring inside growing hotter, hotter … She reached out a trembling hand—
    Lightning flashed; the storm-cloud plunged down upon the balcony. Statues toppled, pieces of parapet warped, snapped, fell outwards into the night. The storm burst upon the walkway, projecting a circular buffet of air that sent Asmira tumbling against the stone, spinning round upon her back. The ball of parchment was flung from her hands, dropped upon the parapet. A small fleck of gold and black bounced free.
    The gale winked out; the storm had vanished. Standing in the middle of a broad ring of scorched black stonework, the magician Khaba looked balefully around.
    At his back, something darker, taller, raised its head. Paper-thin arms that had held the magician in a tight embrace unfolded. Fingers long and sharp as needles stretched, flexed, pointed in Asmira’s direction.
    ‘Over there,’ a soft voice said.
    Asmira had hit her head upon the stonework; the parapet swam before her eyes. Nevertheless, she struggled to a sitting position and looked about her for the Ring.
    There it was – right at the edge, beside the yawning gulf. Head reeling, Asmira rolled herself forward, began to crawl towards the Ring.
    Soft footsteps nearing, the swishing of a long black robe.
    Asmira crawled faster. Now she felt the Ring’s heat upon her face. She stretched out to pick it up—
    A black sandal came down, crushed her fingers to the stone. Asmira gasped, jerked her hand away.
    ‘No, Cyrine,’ the magician said. ‘No. It’s not for you.’
    He kicked out at her, catching her sharply on the side of the face. She rolled backwards with the blow, sprang to her feet. Before she could reach for her belt, something like claws had grasped her waist, yanked her upwards and away. For some moments she saw nothing but starlight twisting and the whirling dark, then she found herself summarily deposited back upon the stone, halfway along the ruined balcony. The sharp clasp about her did not slacken; her arms were gripped fast, pressed against her sides. There was a presence at her back.
    The Egyptian was still standing over the Ring, staring at it in disbelief. He wore the same tunic as at the banquet so many hours before. His face looked haggard, and there were little purple stains at the corners of his lips, 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!’ He bent down swiftly, only to pause in doubt as he sensed the emanations of the Ring.
    Somewhere above Asmira, a soft voice gave a warning call. ‘Master! Beware! The energies burn me even at a distance. Dear Master, you must take care!’
    The magician made a noise that was half laugh, half groan. ‘You – you know me, dear Ammet. I – I like a little pain.’ His fingers plunged upon the Ring. Asmira flinched in expectation of his cry.
    Instead: a gasp, a muttered curse; with staring 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 in silhouette. Her teeth parted in horror, she struggled in the monster’s grip.
    The Egyptian flicked his eyes towards her. ‘Keep the girl secure,’ he said. ‘But do – do not harm her yet. I need – I need to talk with her. Ah!’ He gave a bellow. ‘How did the old man stomach it so?’
    The grip around Asmira’s waist tightened, so that she cried out. At the same time she felt her captor make a sudden, sinewy movement to pick up something behind them.
    The soft voice spoke again. ‘Master, I