The Ring of Solomon

visions and horrors during the hours of darkness, so that he screams and writhes and cries out for aid that never comes.’
    ‘You wish him to die?’
    Khaba hesitated. The magician Reuben was weak and would not retaliate; but if he died, Solomon would surely take a hand. He shook his head. ‘No. Four days. Then he recovers.’
    ‘Master, I obey.’
    Khaba cracked the flail; with a clattering of teeth the horla swept past him and away through a narrow aperture in the roof; sour air buffeted the margins of the pentacle and set the caged things howling in the dark.
    The magician stood in silence, tapping the whip slowly against the palm of his hand. At last he spoke a name. ‘Ammet.’
    A soft voice at his ear. ‘Master.’
    ‘I have lost the favour of the king.’
    ‘I know, Master. I saw. I am sorry.’
    ‘How shall I regain it?’
    ‘That is no easy matter. Apprehending these desert bandits would seem to be the first step.’
    Khaba gave a cry of rage. ‘I need to be here! I must be at the court! The others will seize the chance to speak with Solomon and further undermine me. You saw their faces on the hill. Hiram could scarcely keep from crowing with joy as he watched me squirm!’ He took a deep breath and spoke more quietly. ‘Besides, there is my other business to attend to. I must continue to observe the queen.’
    ‘Do not be distressed about that ,’ the soft voice said. ‘Gezeri can report to you in the desert as well as anywhere. Besides, you have given too much time to your … secondary affairs these last few days – and see where it has got you.’
    The magician ground his teeth. ‘How was I to know that the preening fool would choose today to inspect his cursed temple? He might have given me some warning!’
    ‘He has the Ring. He is not beholden to you or anyone.’
    ‘Ah! You think I do not know that?’ Khaba gripped the flail tightly; his curling fingernails dug deep into the ancient human leather. He bent his head forward to let something stroke the back of his neck. ‘How I wish … I wish …’
    ‘I know what you wish, dear Master. But it is not safe to express it, even here. You have glimpsed the Spirit of the Ring – you have seen how terrible he is! We must be patient, have faith in our abilities. We will find a way.’
    The magician took a deep breath, drew back his shoulders. ‘You are right, sweet Ammet, of course you are. It is just so hard to stand there and watch that vain, indolent—’
    ‘Let us inspect the cages,’ the voice said soothingly. ‘It will relax you. But, Master, before we do, I crave a word. What of Bartimaeus?’
    Khaba gave a piercing cry. ‘That vile djinni – if it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be cast out of Jerusalem! A hippopotamus , Ammet! A hippopotamus on Temple Mount!’ He paused, reflecting. ‘And wouldn’t you have said,’ he added slowly, ‘that in face and form it bore a certain resemblance to—’
    ‘Fortunately for us,’ the soft voice said, ‘I don’t think Solomon noticed.’
    Khaba nodded grimly. ‘Well, I have whipped Bartimaeus soundly for his sins, but a whipping is not enough! The flail is too good for him.’
    ‘I quite agree, Master. This is the last straw. He abused Gezeri a week ago; he has caused frequent dissension among the djinn. He deserves a proper punishment now.’
    ‘The Inverted Skin, Ammet? The Osiris Box?’
    ‘Too lenient … Too temporary …’ The voice grew urgent. ‘Master,’ it beseeched, ‘let me deal with him. I hunger, I thirst. I have not fed for so, so long. I can rid you of this irritant, and satisfy my cravings at the same time.’ There was a wet, smacking noise behind the magician’s head.
    Khaba grunted. ‘No. I like you hungry; it keeps you alert.’
    ‘Master, please … ’
    ‘Besides, I need all my djinn available and alive while we comb the deserts for these outlaws. Stop your whingeing, Ammet. I will give the matter thought. There will be time enough to deal with Bartimaeus when we return to Jerusalem …’
    The voice was truculent, resentful. ‘As you will …’
    Khaba’s posture had previously been tight and hunched, tense at the indignities fate had thrust upon him. Now he jerked upright, his voice newly hard and decisive. ‘In a moment we shall make ready to depart. First, however, there is the other matter. Perhaps we will have positive news at last …’
    He snapped his fingers, spoke a complex string of syllables. There was a distant chime of