The Ring of Solomon

outcome. The Dismal Flame awaited me if I disobeyed the girl. That was a certainty: I saw it in her eyes. Despite all my careful, measured arguments – which would have made a hardened warlord pack away his scimitars and take up sewing – her eyes retained that glassy fixity humans get when they’re the self-appointed agent of a higher cause and their own personality (such as it is) has faded out altogether. Speaking as a being whose personality remains winningly constant no matter what my outward appearance, I always find this sort of thing disturbing: everything’s upside-down, somehow. But what it boiled down to was this: the girl was intent on sacrificing herself – and more importantly me – and nothing was going to persuade her otherwise.
    Which meant that, until she made some sort of error, I had to try to carry out her commands and steal the Ring.
    Now this, as I’d told her, meant our hideous deaths, as the stories of Azul, Philocretes and the rest proved all too well. They’d been spirits far tougher than me, and each and every one had come to a sticky end, with Solomon left still swaggering about just as smugly as ever. The chances of me succeeding where they’d failed weren’t great.
    But hey, I was still Bartimaeus of Uruk, with more resourcefulness and guile 2 in my toenails than those three porridge-brained afrits together. I wasn’t going to give up quite yet.
    Besides, if you’re going to die horribly, you might as well do it with style.
    *
    At that hour of the night the corridors of the guest wing were unfrequented, aside from one or two stray watch-imps making random sorties between the floors. I could have swallowed them easily enough, but I preferred stealth at this stage of operations. Whenever I heard the beat of leather wings approaching, I wove subtle Concealments about the girl and me. We stood motionless behind our nets of threads as the imps drifted past, trailing their alarm-horns, bickering about magicians; when all was still, I revoked the spell and we tiptoed on.
    Along gently curving passages, past endless doors … The best thing about this early stage was that the girl was quiet , and by this I mean she didn’t say anything. Like most trained killers she was naturally light-footed and economical of movement, but up until then she’d also been as shy and retiring as a howler monkey stranded up a tree. Thinking clearly made her agitated and voluble; now we were actually doing something she was a lot happier, and she glided along behind me in a kind of grateful silence. I was grateful too. It did me good to have a moment’s peace and figure out what I was going to do.
    Getting us to Solomon’s apartments past all the traps and watchers was the first job I was faced with, a task most seasoned observers would have considered impossible. I admit I found it taxing too. It took me approximately three floors, two flights of stairs and the length of a vaulted annexe before I’d formulated a plan. 3
    I pulled the girl into the shadows of an arch and spoke tersely: ‘Right, the danger begins now. Once through here we’re in the main section of the palace, where anything goes. The spirits roaming about will be very different from those piddly imps we just passed – bigger and hungrier. They’re the sort not allowed in the guest block in case of accidents, if you take my meaning. So: we’re going to have to be extra careful from now on. Do exactly what I tell you when I tell you, and don’t ask questions. Believe me, you won’t have time.’
    The girl drew her lips in tight. ‘If you think I suddenly trust you, Bartimaeus—’
    ‘Oh, don’t trust me , whatever you do. Trust your summons: I’m charged to keep you safe at this point, aren’t I?’ I squinted ahead into the shadows. ‘Right, we’re going to take a quick and quiet shortcut to the gardens. After that – we’ll see. Follow me closely.’
    I stole forward, light as gossamer, under the arch and down a flight of steps to the margins of a great long hall. Solomon had had it built during his ‘Babylonian period’; the walls were made of blue-glazed bricks and decorated with lions and coiling dragon-beasts. At intervals on either side rose soaring plinths, surmounted with looted statues from ancient cultures. Light came from great metal braziers embedded high above our heads. I checked the planes – all were, for the moment, clear.
    Along the hall on the balls of my feet, gazelle-swift, keeping to the