Ring Of Solomon (39 page)

At this, several of the hovering magicians acted: gleaming shafts of magic darted across the gulf to strike the Egyptian down. As the bolts converged upon the parapet, they broke asunder; each became a delicate drift of coloured sparks that dispersed like grass-seeds on the wind.

‘Slave of the Ring!’ Khaba cried. ‘I notice that my colleagues Elbesh and Nisroch were particularly swift to strike. Let them be the swiftest to be punished!’

Two carpets, two magicians exploded in balls of bright green flame; smoking twists of debris fell towards the trees.

‘
It is done
.’

‘Slave of the Ring!’ Khaba’s voice was louder now; he seemed to be mastering his pain. ‘Bring forth for me a multitude as great as when Tuthmosis marched on Nimrud! Greater! Let the heavens open and my army come forth at my command! Let them rain down destruction on all those in this palace who dared to raise their hands against me! Let—’ He broke off with a gasp, looked into the sky.

‘
It is done
,’ the figure said, and vanished.

Asmira’s ears had popped again; aside from this, she scarcely noticed the Presence go. She, like Khaba, like all the magicians on their carpets, like the spirits who kept them suspended there, was gazing up at a point east of the gardens, high above the palace wall. Here a hole had opened in the sky, a fissure like a fiery wheel tilted on its side. The fires extended like spokes towards its centre and burned with great ferocity, yet no sound of the inferno descended to the Earth, and nor was its fearsome brightness reflected on any of the domes or trees below. The hole was there, and yet not there – near, yet very distant, a window on another world.

Through it now flew a swarm of little specks, black and silent and moving very fast. Like a plague of bees or flies they came, like a curl of smoke, growing thick, then thin, then thick again, and always twisting, spiralling down towards the ground; and though the distance they travelled did not
appear
to be so very great, yet it seemed to Asmira to take an age. And all at once, as if an unseen barrier had suddenly been penetrated, there broke upon her a rush of sound like a sea of sand poured down upon the Earth: it was the whispering of the demons’ wings.

The specks grew large, and starlight shone upon their teeth and claws and beaks, and on jagged weapons held in tails and hands, until the sky above the palace gardens was black with hovering forms and the stars themselves were utterly blocked out.

The army waited. There was a sudden silence.

Asmira felt a tapping on her shoulder.

She looked – straight into the eyes of the handsome youth who hung beside her in the shadow’s grip.

‘
Now
see what you’ve done?’ he said reproachfully.

Grief and shame engulfed her. ‘Bartimaeus – I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh, well, that makes everything all right, doesn’t it?’ the youth said. ‘The legions of the Other Place unleashed, death and destruction about to rain down in great profusion on this portion of the Earth, Khaba the Cruel enthroned in bloody glory, and Bartimaeus of Uruk soon to meet some dismal end or other – but hey, at least you’re sorry. I thought for a moment it was going to be a bad day.’

‘I’m
sorry
,’ she said again. ‘Please, I never thought it would end like this.’ She stared up at the solid mass of demons overhead. ‘And … Bartimaeus, I’m frightened.’

‘Surely not. You? You’re a bold, bad guard.’

‘I never thought—’

‘Doesn’t matter now, does it, one way or the other? Oh, look – the madman’s giving orders. Who do you think’s going to get it first? I bet the magicians. Yep. Look at them go.’

Standing atop the broken parapet, with his spindly arms outstretched, Khaba had uttered a shrill command. At once a break opened in the layer of demons covering the sky; a coil of rushing forms descended in a great slow spiral. Below, in the shrouded darkness of the gardens, the magicians’ slaves flung themselves into action. Carpets zigzagged in all directions, breaking towards the palace walls in an effort to make the open ground beyond. But the descending demons were too fast. The spiral fractured – black shapes exploded left and right, swooped down upon the fugitives, who, with desperate cries, summoned their own demons to the fight.

‘Here come the palace guards,’ Bartimaeus remarked. ‘Bit late, but I suppose they don’t
really
want to die.’

Bright flashes of magic – mauves, yellows, pinks and blues – exploded all across the gardens and the palace roofs as the assembled defenders of the palace engaged with Khaba’s horde. Magicians screamed, carpets vanished in balls of light; demons dropped like fiery stones, crashed through domes and rooftops, and tumbled, grappling in twos or threes, into the fiery waters of the lakes.

On the parapet Khaba gave an exultant cry. ‘So it must begin! Solomon’s works are ended! Destroy the palace! Jerusalem will fall! Soon Karnak will rise anew, and become again the capital of the world!’

Far above Asmira the shadow’s mouth was open in exultant parody of its master. ‘Yes, great Khaba, yes!’ it called. ‘Let the city burn!’

It seemed to Asmira that the grip upon her waist had loosened markedly. The shadow was no longer focused on the prisoners in its care. She stared at Khaba’s back with sudden fixed attention. How far away
was
he? Ten feet, maybe twelve. Certainly no more.

A sudden calm detachment came over her. She took a slow, deep breath. Her arm shifted stealthily upward; her hand quested for her belt.

‘Bartimaeus—’ she said.

‘I wish I had some popcorn,’ the djinni said. ‘It’s a good show, this, if you forget we’re going to be part of the second act. Hey – not the jade tower! I bloody built that!’

‘Bartimaeus,’ Asmira said again.

‘No, you don’t have to say anything, remember? You’re sorry. You’re
really
sorry. You couldn’t
be
more sorry. We’ve established that.’

‘Shut up,’ she snarled. ‘We can fix this. Look, see how close he is? We can—’

The youth shrugged. ‘Uh-uh. I can’t touch Khaba. No magical attacks, remember? Plus he’s got the Ring.’

‘Oh, who
cares
about that?’ Her arm rose. Pressed tight against her wrist, which shielded its tell-tale chill from the shadow’s slackening grip – her final silver dagger.

The djinni’s eyes widened. It glanced up at the shadow, which was still whooping and cooing at the destruction below. It looked at Asmira, then at Khaba’s back.

‘From here?’ Bartimaeus whispered. ‘You reckon?’

‘No problem.’

‘I don’t know … It’ll have to be a good one.’

‘It will be. Shut up. You’re disturbing my concentration.’

She adjusted her position slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on the magician. Breathe slowly, just as her mother used to do. Aim for the heart. Don’t think about it. Just relax …

The djinni gave a gasp. ‘Ooo, he keeps moving. I can’t bear it.’

‘
Will
you be quiet?’

A riderless carpet swathed in purple flames carved diagonally through the air straight in front of Khaba, who jumped aside. The carpet struck the tower somewhere below; a plume of smoke rose like a pillar before them. Asmira cursed silently, gathered herself, assessed the angles to his new position, moved her wrist back …

Now she had him.

‘Master – watch out!’ The foliot Gezeri, hovering in his cloud beside the parapet, had glanced across; he gave a sudden warning cry. Khaba turned, his arms outstretched, his fingers spread. Asmira made an instant adjustment. She threw the dagger. Silver flashed, sliced across Khaba’s moving hand. Blood showered; something like a bent twig fell away. Gold glinted at its ragged end.

All across the sky the demon horde winked out. Stars shone.

The severed finger bounced upon the stone.

Khaba opened his mouth and screamed.

‘
Go
, Bartimaeus!’ Asmira cried. ‘Catch it! Drop it in the sea!’

The youth at her side was gone. A small brown bird thrust itself clear of the shadow’s grasp.

Khaba screamed, clutching at his hand. Blood gouted from his finger stump.

The shadow’s scream was identical to its master’s. The grip about Asmira’s waist was broken; she was abruptly tossed aside.

The little bird swooped low, seized the finger in its beak, and disappeared over the edge of the parapet –

Asmira landed hard upon her back.

- a mighty bird of flame and fire shot upwards into view, a fleck of gold held in its beak. Turning to the west, it disappeared amid the rising smoke.

‘Ammet!’ Khaba howled. ‘Kill it! Kill it! Bring it back!’

The shadow flitted forward, jumped from the parapet. Long black wings sprouted from its sides. They rose and fell with a noise like thunder. It too was gone into the smoke. Its wing-beats faded. Silence fell upon the House of Solomon.

Asmira got unsteadily to her feet.

A haze of spent magic drifted like dark fog beyond the parapet. The palace and its gardens could not be glimpsed, save here and there where coloured fires were burning. Somewhere perhaps she heard faint voices, but they were far away and far below, and might as well have been calling from another world. The walkway was all there was, a mess of fractured stone and blackened wood.

And she was not alone upon it.

The magician stood there, six feet away, cradling his maimed hand and staring into the dark. It seemed to Asmira that the lines upon his face had deepened, and that delicate new ones clustered on his skin. He staggered a little as he stood.

He was very close to the edge. A single shove was all it needed …

Asmira stepped silently towards him.

A rush of air, a smell of rotten eggs. Asmira threw herself flat upon the ground, so that the swiping claws of the foliot Gezeri sliced just above her neck. She felt a tingling as the lilac cloud passed over her, then she was up upon her feet again. The foliot spun round upon his rushing cloud, reversed its direction, came hastening back. His eyes were slits of hatred, his mouth gaped wide. The barb on his twirling tail curled like a scimitar. His indolent posture and bright red cheeks were gone; he had become a crouching thing of claws and teeth.

Asmira grasped the silver pendant at her neck, stood ready. With a cry, the foliot sent a thin green spear of light shooting at her chest. Asmira leaped aside, uttered a Ward that deflected the attack, sent it harmlessly out into the void. She uttered another. Yellow discs rained down upon the lilac cloud, peppering it with smoking blisters. The cloud veered sideways, collapsed to the parapet; Gezeri, jumping free as it fell, skittered with horrid speed across the stonework and sprang at Asmira’s face. She jerked backwards; its teeth clashed on empty air. Asmira caught the foliot by the neck and held it outstretched, ignoring the snapping mouth and flailing claws and whiplash tail, which with each stroke bit into her arms.

Gezeri frothed and fought, and with sinewy strength began to tear free of her grip. Asmira felt her strength waning. She tore the silver pendant from around her neck and shoved it with full force into the open mouth.

The foliot’s eyes bulged. It made a low, hoarse gargling sound, half lost among the steam and vapours gushing from its jaws. Its body swelled; its thrashing limbs grew stiff. Asmira flung it to the ground, where it fizzed and jerked and popped, and presently became a blackened husk that subsided and was gone.

She turned to the Egyptian, but he had moved away from the edge, and with bloodied hands was scrabbling at his belt, where hung a whip of many thongs. He cracked it – a movement both weak and perfunctory. Yellow coils of magic burst feebly at the flail’s end, scoring lines in stone, but they did not reach Asmira, who jumped back out of range.

The magician gazed at her; his eyes were misty with pain and hate. ‘Leap and scamper all you like, girl. I have other servants. I will bring them here. And when Ammet is back …’ He made as if to strike again, but was distracted by his wounded hand, from which the blood was flowing. He sought to staunch it on the fabric of his robes.

Asmira thought of Bartimaeus fleeing with the shadow at his back. If it was a marid, as Bartimaeus had said, the djinni could not withstand it long. Soon, very soon, he would be caught and killed, and the Ring returned to Khaba. Unless …

If she were quick enough she might save her djinni yet, and after him, Jerusalem.

But all her knives were gone. She needed help. She needed –

There, behind her: the arch that led to the royal chambers.

Asmira turned and ran.

‘Yes, flee! Flee as far as you like!’ Khaba called. ‘I will attend to you as soon as I call my slaves. Beyzer! Chosroes! Nimshik! Where are you? Come to me!’

After all the turmoil and the darkness and the smoke outside, the placid, sparkling interior of the golden room felt strange, unreal. As before, the plunge-pool steamed, the enchanted foodstuffs glistened on their plates and the crystal globe’s surface swam with milky light. Asmira was about to edge past without looking at the Glamour, when she came to a dead halt.

A man stood watching her from the far side of the room. ‘Having a little trouble, are we?’ King Solomon of Israel said.

Throw it in the sea. Throw it in the sea. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? And like all the girl’s commands it
was
simple, at least in concept. It was doing it alive that was the problem.

Forty miles separates Jerusalem from the coast. Not far. Ordinarily a phoenix can manage that in twenty minutes, and still have time for occasional picnic-stops and diversions to inspect the views
¹¹¹
. But circumstances
weren’t
ordinary here. Not in the slightest. The palace was burning, the planes were still quivering from the eruption of the spirit hordes, the fate of the world hung in the balance – oh, and I was holding the Ring of Solomon in my beak.

Actually, to be precise, I was holding Khaba’s severed finger, with the Ring still on it. To spare the feelings of squeamish readers I won’t go into any further details.

Except to say that it was like smoking a cigar. A small, slightly wonky cigar, with a gold band wedged near the lit end. There. Picture it now? Good.