Ring Of Solomon (43 page)

¹²⁰
As newly invented threats go that was a pretty good one, particularly after such a long chase. Ammet clearly subscribed to the Egyptian curse tradition: keep it succinct and keep it scary. As opposed to (say) those long-winded Sumerian curses that waffle on endlessly about boils, sores and painful bouts of wind, while you, the intended victim, softly slip away.

¹²¹
I went for the fully rigged-up ‘official’ Solomon here – handsome, healthy, saturnine, dolled out in flashy, jewel-decked clothes – and not the ‘private’ crinkly white-robed version the girl and I had met. Partly this was to avoid having to copy all his many creasy bits (which would have taken an age), and partly because, at this do-or-die moment of supreme truth, I was blowed if I was going to wear the guise of an old bloke in his pyjamas.

¹²²
And naked. Just to make the analogy extra chilly.

Even as she moved, Asmira knew that it was hopeless. She would not reach Khaba before the shadow did. There was nothing she could do to prevent him reclaiming the Ring.

Too slow, too feeble, too far away to be of use – it was a sensation she had known before. But she ran anyway. Perhaps she could distract them, give Solomon time to use his weapon, or give him space to flee. She ran – it was the right thing to do. And in those final moments Asmira was richly conscious of everything in the room: the dawn light shining through the drapes; the four demon monkeys standing huddled in a corner; the magician stumbling forward, his mouth open, his eyes gleaming, his good hand avidly outstretched …

And the shadow, Khaba’s dark reflection, hastening towards him.

Despite the ravages upon its essence, the shadow still maintained its faithful mimicry of its master. Except … As it drew close to the magician, Asmira saw that its silhouette had changed. Its nose was suddenly longer than the Egyptian’s, and had sprouted several enormous warts, while two vast jug-ears, resembling those of an elephant, protruded from the skull.

The shadow and its master met. Khaba held out his hand. The shadow made as if to drop the Ring into his palm, then – at the last moment – jerked it out of reach.

Khaba swiped for the Ring and missed. He hopped and danced, squeaking with annoyance, but now the shadow raised the Ring high above his head, dangling it teasingly from side to side.

‘
Nearly
got it,’ the shadow said. ‘Oo, that was a big jump. If only you were a
little
taller.’

‘What are you
doing
, slave?’ Khaba roared. ‘Give me the Ring! Give it to me!’

The shadow clapped a hand against one of its outsize ears. ‘Sorry, ugly. I’m a bit deaf. What did you say?’

‘Give it to me!’

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

At which the shadow drew back, swung a fist and punched the Egyptian square on the chin, sending him bodily off the floor, whistling backwards through the air, and down onto one of the golden tables, which shattered beneath his sprawling weight.

Khaba the Cruel lolled there unconscious in a mess of fruit. Purple grape juice pooled like blood around him.

Asmira stared. Her gasp mingled with the others echoing around the room.

The shadow gave a small salute. ‘Thank you, thank you. For my next trick, a ring to its rightful owner, followed by the immediate dismissal of a well-known djinni. Autographs available on request.’

‘Bartimaeus …?’ Asmira began.

The shadow bowed. ‘Morning. I’ve got something for you.’

‘But how—? We thought you were surely—’

‘I know, I know – you were probably expecting me back a little sooner. Well, I couldn’t help having a chat with Ammet before I disposed of him, you see. Gave him a stern talking to, made him learn the error of his ways. Then, after that, there was all his pleading for mercy, all the inevitable wailing and begging; you know how these marids go on …’ For the first time the shadow appeared to notice the cluster of demons loitering in the margins of the hall. ‘Hello, boys,’ it said cheerfully. ‘Hope you’re taking notes here. This is how to dispose of a master
properly
.’

Asmira’s astonishment broke into sudden urgency. ‘Then you still truly have—’

The shadow opened its hand. Where the Ring of Solomon lay, the djinni’s essence was bubbling and spitting, sending redhot threads of vapour into the air.

‘I thought I told you to drop it in the sea?’ Asmira said.

‘You did. And I carried out your order to the letter. Well, I sort of let it fall in and then scooped it out again immediately. It got wet, put it that way. You have to be careful how you phrase things when you’re playing at being a magician, Asmira – this is the kind of trick we naughty djinn get up to when we’re not simply saving civilization. The point is,’ the shadow went on, ‘even though it
was
my idea, I don’t think it’s best to lose the Ring in the sea and doom its Spirit to an even longer captivity than he already endures. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. So, as per your original request and, frankly, because it bloody hurts, I’m giving it back to you now. It’s up to you what you do with it, of course. Catch.’

The Ring was tossed over. Asmira caught it, gasping at the pain. This time, she did not let go.

Instead, without hesitation, she turned and knelt to face the king, who stood waiting across the room. ‘Masterful Solomon,’ she began. ‘He whose magnificence and majesty are boundless—’

She looked up at him for the first time, to discover that the great king was gaping at her like a stranded fish. His face and shoulders were black with soot, and his hair stood on end in a frizz of spikes.

‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘What happened to you?’

Solomon blinked. ‘I … hardly know. When I thought Khaba was about to get the Ring, I aimed this golden serpent device at him, pressed a couple of buttons and – and it was like the ending of the world. I got some kind of shock, then the thing expelled a plume of tarry smoke straight in my face. I hope I don’t look too discomfited.’

Asmira spoke in a small voice. ‘Not … too bad.’

‘At least you didn’t press the
third
stud,’ the djinni said. ‘That releases a really bad smell which …’ He hesitated, sniffed. ‘Oh … you did.’

‘Great Solomon,’ Asmira said hastily. ‘I hereby return your property.’ She bowed her head and held up her cupped hands. They burned with the power of the Ring, but she gritted her teeth and kept them steady. ‘Bartimaeus and I passionately regret the wrong we have done you. We throw ourselves upon your wisdom and your mercy.’

The shadow gave a startled cry. ‘Hey, leave
me
out of it! I’ve been acting under duress throughout. Except just now – when I brought back his Ring.’

Asmira sighed. She raised her hands still higher; as yet Solomon hadn’t moved. ‘I take full responsibility, O King,’ she said, ‘and ask that my servant be absolved of blame for all the wickedness he committed.’ She scowled sidelong at the shadow. ‘There.
That
satisfy you?’

‘All right, I suppose.’

At this King Solomon stirred. He walked towards them. The shadow grew quiet. There was an anxious chittering from the four monkeys in the corner. Even the unconscious magician lying in his bed of fruit moaned and moved his head.

Silence in the hall.

Asmira waited with bent head and burning hands. She was under no illusions about her likely fate, and she knew it to be well deserved. Back in the storeroom, Solomon had expressed forgiveness – but that had been when both were on the verge of death. Now, with the Ring back in his hands and his authority restored, it would be a different matter. Beyond the tower, his palace was in ruins, his people terrorized. Most of his magicians were dead. Justice demanded retribution.

She knew all this, but it did not alarm her. She felt peaceful and calm inside.

The rustling of a golden gown drew near. Asmira did not look up.

‘You have offered me the Ring and your apologies,’ the voice of Solomon said, ‘and the first of these I accept – with reluctance, for it is a fearful burden.’

Asmira felt cool fingers brushing against hers, and the pain in her hands died away. When she raised her head, Solomon was placing the Ring upon his finger. A flicker of discomfort passed his ravaged features as he did so, then was gone.

‘Stand up,’ he said. Asmira stood. Beside her the shadow gave a shimmer and changed into the handsome, dark-eyed youth. She and Bartimaeus stood before the king, waiting for his word.

‘Your second offering,’ Solomon said, ‘I do not accept so readily. Too much damage has been caused. In a moment we shall come to my judgement. But first …’ Closing his eyes, he touched the Ring and spoke a quiet word. A blaze of light consumed him, died away; the king stood before them all transformed. His face was clear of soot, but also of its web of lines; his hair, smoothed down once more, was dark and black and glistening with vitality. He was the youthful image of the mural on the palace wall, and it was all Asmira could do not to fall on her knees again.

‘Oh come,’ Solomon said, ‘you know it’s an Illusion.’ Grimacing a little, he turned the Ring; at once the Presence stood amongst them. ‘Uraziel,’ he said, ‘I’m back.’

‘
I never doubted it
.’

‘We have a little work to do.’

‘
Where shall we begin?
’

Solomon cast a glance at the magician on the floor. Khaba was groaning now, writhing a little to and fro. ‘You may remove this object first of all. Place him in the dungeons below the tower. I shall attend upon him presently.’

A blaze of light: Khaba was gone.

‘His cringing slaves may be dismissed; I have no grudge against them.’

More dazzlements: the four monkey demons vanished where they cowered.

King Solomon nodded. ‘My palace, I believe, needs some repair; we must steel ourselves, Uraziel. Survey the damage, calculate the spirits that will be required and await my signal. I have business to attend to here.’

The Presence departed, jolting the air. Asmira’s ears rang; she wiped her bloody nose upon her sleeve.

She and Bartimaeus stood alone before the king.

‘Now,’ King Solomon said, ‘to my judgement. Bartimaeus of Uruk, you first of all. Your crimes are legion. You have caused the deaths of dozens of my spirits, you have spread chaos and disaster across Jerusalem. It was by your advice and through your actions that this girl was able to get access to the Ring. Not only that, you have at all times displayed extraordinary insolence towards my royal person. Your hippo guise—’

‘No, no, that was perfectly coincidental! It looks nothing like your wife!’

‘- showed appalling disregard for the sanctity of my temple. That was what I was
going
to say.’

‘Oh.’

‘As if this were not enough,’ the king went on after a thoughtful pause, ‘you appear to have encouraged this girl to throw the Ring into the sea …’

‘Only to keep it out of the clutches of your enemies!’ the djinni cried. ‘Far better to lose it in some watery deep than have Khaba or the Queen of Sheba enjoy its power instead of you! That was my thinking. If great Solomon can’t have it, I said to myself, why, let the silent coral guard it until the end of time, when—’

‘Stop babbling, Bartimaeus.’ Solomon pursed his lips. ‘In all these things, you are clearly culpable.
However
, you also are a slave, forced to carry out another’s will, and in truth, despite whatever temptations I may sorely have, I cannot place the blame on you.’

The djinni exhaled with immense relief. ‘You can’t? Phew. Now
that’s
what I call wisdom.’ He gave Asmira a sharp nudge in the ribs. ‘So, then … over to you.’

‘Asmira of Sheba,’ King Solomon said. ‘In your case there is no need to recite the full list of your deeds. The harm you have caused me is very great, and to remedy that harm will weaken me still more. Not only that, you have glimpsed me in my weakness; you have seen behind the mask I wear. By all the laws of natural justice, punishment is due to you. You would agree?’

Asmira nodded. She said nothing.

‘To set against this,’ the king went on, ‘there is the following. You did not kill me in my chamber. I do not know why – perhaps you already guessed your mission was ill-conceived. Then, when Khaba intervened, and the full extent of your folly was made plain to you, you struck him down and had Bartimaeus take the Ring. This act, on its own, prevented the traitor’s immediate triumph. Not only this, you subsequently defended my person during Khaba’s final attack, during which I would otherwise certainly have been slain. Now you hand me back the Ring. I find it hard to know what to say to you.’

‘She’s odd that way,’ Bartimaeus agreed. ‘I have the same problem.’

‘I have already told you, Asmira,’ the king said, pointedly ignoring the interruption, ‘that your actions have stirred me from my slumbers. I perceive now that, bowed down by the burden of the Ring, I have neglected much, and allowed the corruption of my servants to flourish. This will change henceforward! I shall seek other ways of guarding the Ring, and wear the cursed thing less, come what may. My kingdom,’ Solomon said, ‘shall be the stronger for what has occurred.’

He crossed to a surviving table, and from a stone bottle poured two glasses of bright red wine. ‘There is one additional fact,’ he said, ‘which needs consideration. It was not your decision to attack me, and I do not believe you had any choice in the matter. You too, Asmira, were acting under the orders of another. You are much like Bartimaeus in this regard.’

The djinni nudged Asmira again. ‘Told you,’ he said.

‘Consequently,’ King Solomon said, ‘the blame lies elsewhere. Uraziel.’

The Presence hung beside him. ‘
Master
.’

‘Bring the Queen of Sheba here.’

The figure vanished. Bartimaeus whistled. Asmira’s stomach gave a lurch, and the strange sense of calm that she had experienced throughout the judgement grew suddenly strained. Solomon selected a grape from a bowl of fruit and chewed it thoughtfully. He picked up the two glasses of wine and turned to face a blank space in the centre of a nearby rug.