The Ring of Solomon

spoke. ‘Faquarl of Mycenae? Bartimaeus of Uruk?’
    We nodded.
    ‘I’m going to have to set you free.’
    The two imps blinked. We stared at the magician.
    His long grey fingers caressed the lectern; curling nails tapped upon the ivory. ‘It is not what I would have wished, foul slaves that you are. You carried out your deeds today solely because of my orders, therefore you deserve no credit. However, the traveller whom you saved – a girl who is as ignorant of your vile natures as she is soft and innocent in person’ – the gleaming eyes gazed across at us; beyond the pillars the captives in the essence-cages sighed and crooned – ‘this foolish girl has urged me to dismiss you from my service. She was most persistent.’ Khaba drew his thin lips tight together. ‘In the end I agreed to her request, and since she is my guest and I have sworn it before great Ra himself, it is a sacred vow. Consequently, much against my better judgement, I am going to give you your just reward.’
    There was a pause while Faquarl and I took in the implications of this, ran through the subtleties and nuances of the words, and continued to look up at the magician with expressions of watchful doubt. 7
    Khaba made a dull, dry noise in the back of his throat. ‘Why so hesitant, slaves? The djinni Faquarl shall be the first to leave my service. Step up, if you will.’
    He made an expansive gesture towards the circle. The two imps considered it once more and found no obvious traps on any of the planes. ‘ Seems genuine,’ I muttered.
    Faquarl shrugged. ‘We’ll soon see. So, Bartimaeus, one way or another, this is farewell. May it be a thousand years before we meet again!’
    ‘Why not make it two?’ I said. ‘But first, before you go, I want you to admit one thing. I was right, wasn’t I?’
    ‘About the girl?’ Faquarl blew out his cheeks. ‘Well … perhaps you were, but that doesn’t change my opinion. Humans are for eating, and you’re too soft.’
    I grinned. ‘You’re just jealous that it was my piercing intelligence that got us freed. With just one look, I could clearly see that Cyrine—’
    ‘ Cyrine? You’re on first-name terms now?’ Faquarl shook his bulbous head. ‘You’ll be the death of me, Bartimaeus, you really will! Once upon a time you sowed destruction and woe upon kings and commoners alike. You were a djinni of terror and of legend. These days, chatting up girls is all you’re good for – which I think’s a crying shame. Don’t bother to deny it. You know it’s true.’ With that, he hopped up onto the pentacle, causing the candles’ black flames to hop and judder. ‘Right,’ he said to the magician. ‘I’m ready. Goodbye, Bartimaeus. Think about what I said.’
    And off he went. No sooner was he in position than the magician cleared his throat and spoke the Dismissal. It was an Egyptian variant of the pithy Sumerian original and therefore a bit long and flowery for my liking, but hard as I listened I could hear nothing untoward. Faquarl’s response was everything that could be asked of it too. As the words finished and the bonds broke, the imp in the circle gave a glad cry, and with a great leap upwards vanished from the world. 8 There was a faint reverberation, a moaning from the essence-cages, and silence.
    Faquarl was gone. Faquarl was free.
    I didn’t need to see more. With a vigorous spring the imp jumped into the circle. Pausing only to make an insulting gesture in the direction of Gezeri, who was scowling distantly in the shadows, I dusted myself down, set my brow-crest at a jaunty angle and turned to face the magician.
    ‘Right,’ I called. ‘I’m ready.’
    Khaba had been consulting a papyrus on his lectern. He seemed distracted. ‘Ah, yes, Bartimaeus … a moment.’
    I settled myself into an even more carefree posture, bandy legs spaced wide, paws nicely tucked on hips, head back, chins jutting forward. I waited.
    ‘Ready when you are,’ I said.
    The magician did not look up. ‘Yes, yes …’
    I shifted position again, folding my arms in resolute fashion. I considered spacing my legs even further apart, but decided against it. ‘Still here,’ I said.
    Khaba’s head jerked up; his eyes shone like a giant spider’s in the blue-green dusk. ‘The wording is correct,’ he said, in tones of driest satisfaction. ‘The procedure should succeed …’
    I coughed politely. ‘I’m so glad,’ I said. ‘If you could just dismiss me now, you’ll be able to