The Ring of Solomon

young) and probably quite good-looking in a fleshy sort of way. Big eyes, dark hair, bobbed. I memorized her automatically. I would appear in her guise tomorrow when I went back to visit that kid. Only naked. Let’s see how his very steely but ever-so-adolescent mind responded to that! 1
    However, for the moment I was more concerned with the man this woman was smiling and nodding at. He was tall, thin, handsome in a rather bookish sort of way, with his hair slicked back by some pungent oil. He had small round glasses and a large mouth with good teeth. He had a prominent jaw. Something told me that this was the magician, Simon Lovelace. Was it his indefinable aura of power and authority? Was it the proprietorial way in which he gestured around the room? Or was it the small imp which floated at his shoulder (on the second plane), warily watching out for danger on every side?
    I rubbed my front two legs together with irritation. I would have to be very careful. The imp complicated matters. 2
    It was a pity I wasn’t a spider. They can sit still for hours and think nothing of it. Flies are far more jittery. But if I changed here, the magician’s slave would be certain to sense it. I had to force my unwilling body to lurk, and ignore the ache that was building up again, this time inside my chitin.
    The magician was talking. He did little else. The woman gazed at him with spaniel eyes so wide and silly with adoration that I wanted to bite her.
    ‘… it will be the most magnificent occasion, Amanda. You will be the toast of London society! Did you know that the Prime Minister himself is looking forward to viewing your estate? Yes, I have that on good authority. My enemies have been hounding him for weeks with their vile insinuations, but he has always remained committed to holding the conference at the Hall. So you see, my love, I can still influence him when it counts. The thing is to know how to play him, how to flatter his vanity … Keep it to yourself, but he is actually rather weak. His speciality is Charm, and even that he seldom bothers with now. Why should he? He’s got men in suits to do it for him …’
    The magician rattled on like this for several minutes, name-dropping with tireless energy. The woman drank her wine, nodded, gasped and exclaimed at the right moments and leaned closer to him along the sofa. I nearly buzzed with boredom. 3
    Suddenly the imp became alert. Its head swivelled 180 degrees and peered at a door at the other end of the room. It tweaked the magician’s ear gently in warning. Seconds later, the door opened and a black-jacketed flunky with a bald head stepped respectfully in.
    ‘Pardon me, sir, but your car is ready.’
    ‘Thank you, Carter. We shan’t be a moment.’
    The flunky withdrew. The magician replaced his (still full) wineglass back on the coffee table and took hold of the woman’s hand. He kissed it gallantly. Behind his back the imp made faces of extreme disgust.
    ‘It pains me to have to go, Amanda, but duty calls. I will not be home this evening. May I call you? The theatre, tomorrow night, perhaps?’
    ‘That would be charming, Simon.’
    ‘Then that is settled. My good friend Makepeace has a new play out. I shall get tickets presently. For now, Carter will drive you home.’
    Man, woman and imp exited, leaving the door ajar. Behind them, a wary fly crept from its hiding place and sped soundlessly across the room to a vantage point that gave a view of the hall. For a few minutes there was activity, coats being brought, orders given, doors slammed. Then the magician departed his house.
    I flew out into the hall. It was wide, cold and laid with a flooring of black and white tiles. Bright green ferns grew from gigantic ceramic pots. I circled the chandelier, listening. It was very quiet. The only sounds came from a distant kitchen and they were innocent enough – just the banging of pots and plates and several loud belches, presumably emanating from the cook.
    I debated sending out a discreet magical pulse to see if I could detect the whereabouts of the magician’s artefacts, but decided that it was far too risky. The sentry creatures outside might pick it up, for one thing, even if there was no further guard. I, the fly, would have to go hunting myself.
    All the planes were clear. I went along the hall, then – following an intuition – up the stairs.
    On the landing a thickly carpeted corridor led in two directions, each lined with oil paintings. I was