The pretty maiden curled her lip; my long, sharp teeth glinted wetly. "Grave-robbing again? Solomon should be doing seedy stuff like this himself. But no, as usual he can’t be bothered to lift his finger and use the Ring. How lazy can you get?"

The old man gave a twisted smile. The black hollow of his lost eye seemed to suck in light. "Your opinions are interesting. So much so that I shall depart right now and report them to the king. Who knows? Perhaps he will choose to lift his finger and use the Ring on you."

There was a slight pause, during which the shadows of the room grew noticeably deeper, and a chill ran up my shapely spine. "No need," I growled. "I'll get him his precious treasure. Where do you want me to go, then?"

My master gestured to the windows, through which the cheery lights of lower Jerusalem winked and shone. "Fly east to Babylon," he said. "One hundred miles southeast of that dread city, and thirty miles south of the Euphrates's current course, Bartimaeus lie certain mounds and ancient diggings, set about with frag ments of windblown wall. The local peasants avoid the ruins for fear of ghosts, while any nomads keep their flocks beyond the farthest tumuli. The only inhabitants of the region are reli gious zealots and other madmen, but the site was not always so desolate. Once it had a name."

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