The Ring of Solomon

if some of the Sumerian tablets speak true.’
    ‘ Fourth level? ’ Long fingers tapped upon the arm-rest of the throne; from the little finger came a flash of gold. ‘A fourth-level djinni has slain one of my magicians? With all due respect to the wailing shade of Ezekiel, this brings dishonour on Jerusalem – and, more importantly, on me . We cannot let such an outrage pass. An example must be made. Hiram – let the remainder of the Seventeen approach.’
    In keeping with the glory of King Solomon, his chief magicians were drawn from countries far beyond the bounds of Israel. From distant Nubia and Punt, from Assyria and Babylon, these men and women of power had come. Each, at a brief command, could summon demons from the air, raise whirlwinds and rain death upon their cowering foes. They were masters of the ancient arts, and would have been considered mighty in their own lands. But all had chosen to travel to Jerusalem, to serve he who wore the Ring.
    With a twirl of his staff, the vizier beckoned the circle forward; each magician, in turn, bowed low before the throne.
    Solomon considered them a while, then spoke: ‘Khaba.’
    Deliberate, stately, soft-footed as a cat, a man stepped from the circle. ‘Master.’
    ‘You have a sombre reputation.’
    ‘Master, I do.’
    ‘You treat your slaves with appropriate severity.’
    ‘Master, I take pride in my harshness, and I do well to do so, for demons combine ferocity with infinite cunning, and their nature is vindictive and malign.’
    Solomon stroked his chin. ‘Indeed … Khaba, I believe you already have in your employment several other recalcitrant spirits that have recently proved troublesome.’
    ‘Master, this is true. Each loudly regrets its past audacity.’
    ‘Will you agree to add this wicked Bartimaeus to your roster?’
    Khaba was Egyptian, a man of arresting appearance, tall, broad-shouldered and strong of limb. His skull, like all the magician-priests of Thebes, had been shaved and waxed until it shone. His nose was aquiline, his brow heavy, his lips narrow, bloodless, tight as bow-strings. His eyes hung like soft black moons in the wasteland of his face, and glistened perpetually as if they were close to tears. He nodded. ‘Master, as in all things I follow your requirements and your will.’
    ‘Quite so.’ Solomon took a sip of wine. ‘See that Bartimaeus is brought to heel and learns respect. Hiram will bring you the relevant cylinders and tablets when Ezekiel’s tower is cleared. That is all.’
    Khaba bowed and returned to his place amongst the crowd, his shadow trailing like a cloak behind him.
    ‘With that settled,’ Solomon said, ‘we may return to other matters. Hiram?’
    The vizier clicked his fingers. A small white mouse somersaulted out of the empty air and landed on his hand. It carried a papyrus scroll, which it unfurled and held ready for his inspection. Hiram studied the lists briefly. ‘We have thirty-two judicial cases, Master,’ he said, ‘that have been referred to you by your magicians. The plaintiffs await your judgement. Among the issues to be dealt with are a murder, three assaults, a marriage in difficulties and a neighbourly dispute regarding a missing goat.’
    The king’s face was impassive. ‘Very well. What else?’
    ‘As always, many petitioners from far afield have come to ask your aid. I have chosen twenty to make formal appeals to you today.’
    ‘I will hear them. Is that all?’
    ‘No, Master. Word has come from our djinn patrols in the southern deserts. They report further attacks by brigands. Remote farmsteads have been burned and the inhabitants slaughtered, and there have been depredations on the trade routes too – caravans attacked, and travellers robbed.’
    Solomon shifted in his chair. ‘Who controls the southern patrols?’
    A magician spoke, a woman of Nubia, dressed in a robe of tightly wound yellow cloth. ‘I, Master.’
    ‘Summon more demons, Elbesh! Track down these “brigands”! Discover the truth: are they simple outlaws, or mercenaries working for foreign kings? Report to me tomorrow.’
    The woman grimaced. ‘Yes, Master … only—’
    The king frowned. ‘Only what?’
    ‘Master, saving your pardon, I already control nine strong, unruly djinn. This takes up all my energies. To summon yet more slaves will be difficult.’
    ‘I see.’ The king cast his eyes impatiently across the circle. ‘Then Reuben and Nisroch will assist you in this little task.