The Ring of Solomon

power, marids like Ammet don’t have any experience of the lives and lore of simple country folk, those gentle webbed-toed woodsmen who wash but once a year, and sit about their dung-fires of an evening comparing warts and counting out their remaining teeth. Yes, marids really miss out on all this.

35
    K ing Solomon wore a long embroidered gown of gold and there was a circlet of silver in his hair. He stood very straight and still. Shorn of the simplicity of his plain white robe, he seemed taller and more magnificent than when Asmira had last seen him, though certainly no less frail.
    Her face coloured with shame. ‘Please,’ she stammered. ‘I’m sorry. You were right. The Ring … the Ring has …’ She gathered herself: she had no time, and there was nothing easy to be said. ‘I need a weapon,’ she began. ‘I need it now. Something to kill Khaba with.’
    The king gazed at her. ‘I would have thought,’ he said quietly, ‘you’d have had enough of killing.’
    ‘But you don’t know what Khaba’s done! He’s—’
    ‘I know what he’s done full well.’ The dark eyes flashed in the ravaged face; he gestured at the crystal orb beside him. ‘My scrying globe is not for show and I don’t need the Ring to use it. The war in the world has begun, I see, with my own palace the first to go.’
    The orb’s surface swirled, the milky colours cleared. Asmira glimpsed the palace burning, people milling in the gardens, spirits hurrying from the lakes with vats and buckets, hurling water on the flames. She bit her lip.
    She said: ‘Lord, my servant has the Ring. Khaba’s demon chases him. If I can destroy the magician, Bartimaeus will be saved, and your Ring—’
    ‘Will be thrown into the ocean.’ Solomon regarded her pointedly from beneath raised eyebrows. ‘I know. I heard and saw it all.’
    He moved his hand across the crystal. The scene shifted: now it showed Khaba on the balcony, silhouetted against the smoke. He was speaking an incantation of some kind, and his words sounded faintly from the orb. As they listened, the words faltered: the magician broke off with a curse, took a breath and began again.
    ‘He has overstepped himself,’ Solomon remarked, ‘as all fools do. The Ring steals your strength in proportion to your acts. By trying to do too much, Khaba has become weakened, and his mind wanders. He can scarcely remember the words of Transference. Ah … but now he has them.’
    Asmira looked at the arch behind her, where six dull flashes in quick succession illuminated the fabric of the drapes. In the orb, the magician’s body was blocked out by dark and rising shapes. ‘He’s bringing his demons!’ she cried. ‘They’re arriving now! Please! Haven’t you anything we can use against them?’
    ‘Not by my own powers.’ The king was silent for a moment. ‘It has been a long while since I did anything for myself … But there may be something in my treasure room. Come then, quickly. Cross the hall. Keep your eyes averted from the Glamour. But when you pass the table on the left, open its middle drawer. Take out all the things you find inside and bring them to me.’
    Asmira did as she was told, quick as she could. From the orb she heard Khaba uttering shrill commands, and guttural voices raised in answer.
    The drawer contained several golden necklaces, strung with precious stones; many of these were inscribed with mystic, arcane signs. She ran across to Solomon, who took them in silence. With strides of stately haste, he set off towards an arch that Asmira had not previously entered. As he went, he bent his head stiffly and put on the necklaces.
    ‘What powers do they have?’ she asked, pattering alongside.
    ‘None at all. But they look nice, don’t you think? If I’m going to die,’ King Solomon said, turning in at the arch, ‘I intend to look the part. And now – here is my little collection.’
    Asmira surveyed the storeroom, its shelves and chests and boxes, all overflowing with artefacts of a hundred shapes and kinds. The profusion bewildered her. ‘What should I use?’ she said. ‘What do they do?’
    ‘No idea,’ Solomon said blandly, ‘for most of them. For years I have been searching for something that might equal the power of the Ring, but at rather less personal cost. My quest has been in vain, of course. Meanwhile my servants have acquired so many objects that I’ve quite run out of time and energy to investigate them. They’re all magical, but some