The Ring of Solomon

lurched; her hair lifted high above her. The carpet swung down towards the palace. As it crossed the walls, a blast of horns sounded from the palace ramparts, and all around came the thunderous concussions of Jerusalem’s gates closing fast for the night.

19
    ‘W hat did I tell you, Bartimaeus?’ Faquarl said. ‘Gone without a backward look.’
    ‘I know, I know.’
    ‘Jumped up beside Khaba, quick as a wink, and off they go together. And are we freed?’ added Faquarl bitingly. ‘Look around you.’
    ‘She tried,’ I said.
    ‘Well, she didn’t try very hard, did she?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘It was a cursory effort at best, wasn’t it?’
    ‘Very.’
    ‘So, don’t you wish we’d eaten her now?’ Faquarl said.
    ‘Yes!’ I cried. ‘All right, I do! There, I’ve said it. Are you happy now? Good! Stop rubbing it in.’
    It was far too late to ask for that little favour, of course. Faquarl had been rubbing it in for hours. During the entire clean-up operation he’d been on at me, in fact, even while we were digging the burial pits, even while we were piling up the camels and trying to get them to light. He’d never stopped all this time. It had ruined my afternoon.
    ‘You see, humans stick together,’ Faquarl was saying. ‘That’s how it’s always been and that’s how it’ll always be. And if they stick together, that means we have to do likewise. Never put faith in any human. Eat them while you can. Isn’t that right, lads?’ There was a chorus of hoots and cheers from around the tower-top. Faquarl nodded. ‘They understand what I’m saying, Bartimaeus, so why in Zeus’s name can’t you?’
    He lay back on the stonework idly, twirling his harpoon-tail. ‘She was good-looking in a scrawny sort of way,’ he added. ‘I wonder, Bartimaeus, whether you weren’t rather influenced by appearances . That’s a sorry mistake for a shape-shifting djinni to make, if you don’t mind my saying.’
    A crude cacophony all around indicated that the other six imps agreed with his assessment. We were all of us in imp-form at the time, partly because the flat roof of Khaba’s tower was too compact to accommodate any larger forms, but mainly because it reflected our pervading mood. There are times when you’re happy to manifest yourself as a noble lion, a stately warrior or a chubby, smiling child; and other times – if you’re tired, irritable and stuck with the smell of burned camel up your nose – when only a scowling, warty-bottomed imp will do.
    ‘You can all laugh,’ I growled. ‘I still think it was worth a try.’
    And oddly enough, I did, though everything Faquarl had said was absolutely true. Yes, she’d made only the feeblest effort to speak up on our behalf; yes, she’d promptly swanned off with our loathsome master without a backward glance. But I couldn’t entirely regret saving the Arabian girl. Something about her stuck in my mind.
    It wasn’t her looks, either, whatever Faquarl might suggest. It was more her air of self-possession, the cool directness with which she’d talked with me. It was the way she listened too, still and watchful, taking everything in. It was her evident interest in Solomon and his Ring. It was her vagueness regarding Himyar geography. 1 It was also (and this was not the least of it) the curious way she’d managed to survive the ambush in the gorge. No one else in that whole long camel train was still alive, and they’d had djinn-guards and everything. 2
    It was all very well for the girl to claim that her dagger had warded off the utukku for a few crucial moments, but there was more to it than that. For a start, she’d left another in the head of the Edomite magician, which if nothing else proved she was no mean shot. Then there was the third dagger I found on the other side of the road, wedged hilt-deep in soft sandstone. It had been thrown with considerable force, but what really interested me about it was the very large essence-stain left on the rocks around. True, it was faint and blurry, but my discerning eye could still make out the spread-eagled silhouettes of arms and legs, horns and wings – even the mouth left gaping in faint surprise.
    Maybe it hadn’t been an utukku, but it had certainly been a djinni of some kind, and the girl had dealt with it in no uncertain terms.
    There was more to her than met the eye.
    Now, I knew a fair bit about priestesses. Ever since I’d served the ferocious Old Priestess of Ur way back in my early years,