The Ring of Solomon

it.’
    ‘Azul—’
    ‘Seen it.’
    ‘Or any of the other foolish spirits who tried to destroy the king?’ The young man spoke earnestly. ‘Listen to me: Khaba has a marid for a slave – it’s his shadow, by the way: look out for it next time he’s torturing you. I came up against that spirit a few hours ago: I didn’t have a chance. He wiped the floor with me. If he’d had a cold, he’d have used me as a handkerchief. That was one single marid. And he is nothing to what can come out of that Ring!’
    ‘Which is why,’ Asmira said, ‘we kill Solomon tonight. Now – not a word more. Time’s short, and we have much to do.’
    The djinni gazed at her. ‘Is that your final word?’
    ‘It is. Get moving.’
    ‘Very well.’ And all at once the young man stepped out of his circle and into hers. Suddenly he was right beside her. Asmira gave a cry and scrabbled at her belt, but the djinni was too fast. He caught her hand as it closed upon a dagger. The grip was gentle, the touch of the fingers slightly cool. She could not pull free.
    The young man bent his head close to hers. Candlelight moved across the human-seeming skin; a sweet odour of lime and rosewood hung about him. Behind the dark ringlets of hair, light burned in the golden eyes. His lips were smiling. ‘No need to tremble,’ he said. ‘You know I’d have killed you already if I could.’
    Asmira made a token effort at pulling free. ‘Keep away from me.’
    ‘Oh, but I’ve got to stay close if I’m to keep you alive. Don’t flinch, now. Show me the back of your hand.’
    He lifted her wrist, inspected the skin briefly, while Asmira wriggled in outrage. ‘What are you doing?’ she said.
    ‘Just looking for some crisscross lines. There’s an assassin sect that’s been causing trouble in these parts for years. That’s their mark. But I see you’re not one of them.’ The young man dropped her hand and grinned broadly as she stepped away. ‘Bit late to whip a dagger out now , isn’t it? Thought you were meant to be fast.’
    Asmira’s voice was thick. ‘Enough! Take me to Solomon.’
    ‘We both know you’re going to make a mistake sooner or later,’ the djinni said. ‘And we both know I’ll be waiting.’ He turned away, and moved swiftly past her to the door. ‘In the meantime, a lovely little walk awaits us. Where are we now? The guest wing?’
    ‘I think so.’
    ‘Well, the royal apartments are on the other side of the palace from here. That means crossing the gardens. There aren’t many guards stationed in the gardens.’
    ‘Good,’ Asmira said.
    ‘On account of all the afrits and horlas, the kusarikku and scorpion-men, the whip-bearers and the skin-stealers, the sentinels of flame and earth and creeping death, and all the other varied supernatural slaves that wander about King Solomon’s household specifically to find and slay idiots like us,’ Bartimaeus said. ‘So, getting to his apartments is going to be interesting in itself.’ He opened the door and peered out into the shadows of the passage. ‘After that, of course, the fun really begins … Well, nothing’s going to kill us in these next ten yards. That’s a sensation that isn’t going to last, believe me, so enjoy it while you can.’
    He slipped out without a backward glance. Asmira followed him. Together, they set off into the dark.

25
    H ere’s the thing. Insane as she was, the Sheban girl was correct up to a point. I did know my way through the palace pretty well.
    For instance I knew, better than most, the position of the imp-bulbs in the walkways and the weird-stones in the gardens; I knew the trajectories of the magical luminosities that floated at varying heights among the cyclamen and cypress trees. I knew where to look for the human guards; I knew the routes they marched on their nightly rounds; I knew when they’d be alert, and when they’d be playing their games of Dogs and Jackals 1 and taking their furtive sips of barley beer. I also knew where to look for the deeper spies and watch-spirits that waited high in passage corners and in the shadowed cracks between the flagstones. I could detect them in the fluttering of wall hangings, in the subtle whorls upon the carpets, in the sound of wind rushing across the roof tiles.
    All these dangers, possibly, I could anticipate and avoid.
    But kill Solomon and take the Ring? Ah, no. There I didn’t have a clue.
    My choice was stark and simple, and both options painfully similar in