The Ring of Solomon

delightful young woman to meet, up at the palace, I must delay no longer. Finish our business here, as we discussed. I have set out the exact words; you will find them appropriate to a djinni of this level. When all is done and Bartimaeus is interred, seal the bottle with molten lead and mark it with the usual runes. Once it has cooled, bring it up to me. Gezeri and I will be in the Magicians’ Hall.’
    So saying – and without another word or backward glance – Khaba stepped out of his circle and walked away among the columns. The foliot, with a carefree wave in my direction, padded after him. The shadow stayed standing where it was. For a moment the ends of its long, tapering legs remained joined to the magician’s heels, stretching out longer, longer along the floor. At last, as if reluctantly, and with a faint, wet rending sound, they peeled away. The magician went on walking. Two narrow strips like midnight streams pooled back across the stones and flowed up into the legs, where they were reabsorbed.
    A deep reverberation sounded; the granite door was closed. Khaba had gone. Across the vault his shadow stood silent, watching me.
    And then – the shadow hadn’t moved, and nothing on any of the planes had altered – a great force struck me like a raging wind. It blew me back across the circle. I landed flat upon my wings, spinning with the impact of the blast, which did not drop or slacken.
    With some difficulty I struggled to a sitting position, trying to clear my head, prodding my essence tentatively. All was still in working order, which meant that the fearsome impact hadn’t been an attack. The truth, if anything, was more alarming still. Whatever cloaking mechanism the shadow had employed while being attached to the magician had simply been removed. The planes about me shuddered with the force of its proximity. Its power beat upon me like cold heat.
    That told me what I already knew: that the entity I faced was great indeed.
    Slowly, painfully, I got to my feet, and still the shadow watched me.
    Though now without its concealing Veil, it displayed no different guise. It still bore Khaba’s shape faithfully, if rather larger than the original. As I watched, it folded its arms, crossed one leg loosely above the other. Where its limbs bent, it completely disappeared from view, for it had no thickness. Even such darkness as it possessed was gauzy and see-through, like something woven from black webbing. On the lower planes it almost merged into the chamber’s natural dimness; on the higher ones it grew gradually more substantial, until on the seventh its outline was sharp and well defined.
    The head – a smooth-sided node of grainy blackness – had tilted slightly to one side. Featureless as it was, it held the suggestion of keen attention. The body swayed a little, like a mesmerist’s snake rising from its basket. Now that they were separated from the magician, its legs narrowed to two sharp points. It had no feet at all.
    ‘What are you?’ I said.
    It had no ears, but heard me; no mouth, and yet it spoke.
    ‘I am Ammet.’ The voice was soft as tomb-dust shifting. ‘I am a marid.’
    So that’s what he was. A marid! Well – it could have been worse. 1
    The spear-bearer swallowed; and by an embarrassing quirk of acoustics the painful gulping sound echoed back and forth across the vaults, getting louder with each rebound. The shadow waited. From the essence-cages beyond the columns there was nothing but watchful silence.
    The smile I gave when all was still was possibly a trifle forced; nevertheless I gave it, and bowed low. ‘Lord Ammet,’ I said, ‘the pleasure is mine. I have observed you wonderingly from afar, and am glad to speak with you at last in private. We have much to discuss.’
    The shadow said nothing; it appeared to be consulting the papyrus. A long gauzy arm stole forward and placed the crystal bottle in the centre of the circle close beside my feet.
    I shuffled away a bit, and cleared my throat. ‘As I say, we have much to discuss before we do anything hasty. First of all, let me make my position clear. I acknowledge you as a mighty spirit and I bow to your power. In no way can I match your qualities.’ 2
    This was, of course, exactly the sort of slavish bootlicking I’d criticized the girl for earlier that afternoon, but I was in no mood for quibbling right now. The idea of being trapped for decades in the crystal bottle was unappealing in the extreme, and I’d have