To my annoyance, after walking their way round the room in a flurry of girly slaps and yells, Xerxes and Baztuk had come to rest not far from the mysterious hole. It was only a matter of time before they would notice the spiraling dust—fall, so I decided I had to risk all in a final gambit.
"Hey, you pair of sand—eaters!" I shouted. "The moon shines on the corpses of your fellows! The jackals carry home the severed heads for their pups to play with!"[66]
As I had expected, Baztuk instantly left off tugging at Xerxes's side feathers and Xerxes prised his fingers out of Baztuk's nose. Both of them slowly turned toward me with murder in their eyes. So far, so good. I calculated that I had approximately thirty seconds before whatever was coming through the hole put in an appearance. Should it delay, I was dead—if not by the hands of Baztuk and Xerxes, then by the orb, which had now diminished to the size of a runty grapefruit.
"Baztuk," Xerxes said politely, "I shall allow you to strike the first blow."
"That is good of you, Xerxes," Baztuk replied. "Afterward, you may dice the remains to your heart's content."
Both hefted their spears and strode toward me. Behind them, the tapping suddenly ceased, and from the hole in the wall, which had by now grown quite large, a shiny beak poked out, sharp as an anvil. This was followed by a tufted jet—black head, complete with beady eye. The eye flicked rapidly to and fro, taking in the scene, then silently the bird behind it began to squeeze its way through the hole, wriggling forward in a distinctly unbirdlike way.
With a shake and a hop, an enormous black raven perched on the lip of the stone. As its tail feathers cleared the hole, another beak appeared behind it.
By now the utukku had reached my pillar. Baztuk flung back his arm.
I coughed. "Look behind you!"
"That won't work on me, Bartimaeus!" Baztuk cried. His arm jerked forward, the spear began to plunge. A flash of black shot across its path, seized the spear—shaft in its beak, and flew onward, wrenching it out of the utukku's hand. Baztuk gave a yelp of astonishment and turned. Xerxes spun around too.
A raven sat on a vacant column, holding the spear neatly in its beak.
Uncertainly, Baztuk stepped toward it.
With deliberate care, the raven bit down on the steel shaft. The spear snapped in two; both halves fell to the ground.
Baztuk stopped dead.
Another raven fluttered down and came to rest on a neighboring pillar. Both sat silently, watching the utukku with unblinking eyes.
Baztuk looked at his companion. "Er, Xerxes…?"
Eagle—beak rattled his tongue warningly. "Raise the alarm, Baztuk," he said. "I'll deal with them." He bent his legs, leaped high into the air. With a sound like ripping cloth, his great, white wings unfolded. They beat once, twice; he soared up, up, almost to the ceiling. The feathers angled, tensed; he spun and dived, head first, wings back, one hand holding the outstretched spear; hurtling down at lightning speed.
Toward a raven, calmly waiting.
A look of doubt came into Xerxes's eyes. Now he was almost upon the raven, and still it hadn't moved. Doubt was replaced by sudden fear. His wings jerked out; desperately, he tried to bank, to avoid colliding—
The raven opened its beak wide.
Xerxes screamed.
There was a blur of movement, a snap and a gulp. A few fluttering feathers drifted slowly down upon the stones around the pillar. The raven still sat there, a dreamy look in its eyes. Xerxes was gone.
Baztuk was making for the wall where the portal would appear. He was fumbling in a pouch strapped to his waist. The second raven lazily hopped from one pillar to another, cutting him off. With a cry of woe, Baztuk hurled his spear. It missed the raven, embedding itself to the hilt in the side of the pillar. The raven shook its head sorrowfully and spread its wings. Baztuk wrenched his pouch open and removed a small bronze whistle. He set it to his lips—
Another blur, a whirlwind too swift to follow. Credit to him, Baztuk was fast; I glimpsed him lowering his head, lashing out with his horns—and then the whirlwind had engulfed him. When it ceased, so had Baztuk. He was nowhere to be seen. The raven landed awkwardly on the ground, green blood oozing from one wing.
Inside its orb, the scarab beetle skittered about. "Well done!" I called, trying to make my voice a little less high and piping. "I don't know who you are, but how about getting me…"
My voice trailed away. Thanks to the orb, I could see the newcomers only on the first plane, where up until now they'd worn their raven guise. Perhaps they realized this, because suddenly, for a split second, they displayed their true selves to me on the first plane. It was only a flash, but it was all I needed. I knew who they were.
Trapped in the orb, the beetle gave a strangled gulp.
"Oh," I said. "Hello."
"Hello, Bartimaeus," Faquarl said.
25
"And Jabor, too," I added. "How nice of you both to come."
"We thought you might be feeling lonely, Bartimaeus." The nearest raven, the one with the bleeding wing, gave a shimmy and took on the semblance of the cook. His arm was badly gashed.
"No, no, I've had plenty of attention."
"So I see." The cook walked forward to inspect my orb. "Dear me, you are in a tight spot."
I chortled unconvincingly. "Witticisms aside, old friend, perhaps you could see your way to helping me out of here. I can feel the tickle of the barriers pressing in."
The cook stroked one of his chins. "A difficult problem. But I do have a solution."
"Good!"
"You could become a flea, or some other form of skin mite. That would give you another precious few minutes of life before your essence is destroyed."
"Thank you, yes, that is a useful suggestion." I was gasping a little here. The orb was drawing very near. "Or perhaps you could disable the orb in some way and set me free. Imagine my gratitude…"
The cook raised a finger. "Another thought occurs to me. You could tell us where you have secreted the Amulet of Samarkand. If you speak rapidly, we might then have time to destroy the orb before you perish."
"Reverse that sequence and you could have yourselves a deal."
The cook sighed heavily. "I don't think you're in a position to—" He broke off at the sound of a distant wailing noise; at the same time a familiar reverberation ran across the room.
"A portal's about to open," I said, hastily. "The far wall."
Faquarl looked at the other raven, still sitting on its pillar, examining its claws. "Jabor, if you would be so kind…?" The raven stepped forward into space and became a tall, jackal—headed man with bright—red skin. He strode across the room and took up position against the far wall, one leg forward, one leg back, both his hands outstretched.
The cook turned back to me. "Now, Bartimaeus—"
My cuticle was beginning to singe. "Let's cut to the chase," I said. "We both know that if I tell you the location, you'll leave me to die. We also know that, with that being so, I'll obviously give you false information just to spite you. So anything I say from in here will be worthless. That means you've got to let me out."
Faquarl tapped the edge of my pillar irritably. "Annoying, but I see your point."
"And that wailing sound is sure to be an alarm," I went on. "The magicians who put me here mentioned something about legions of horlas and utukku. I doubt even Jabor can swallow them all. So perhaps we could continue this discussion a little later?"
66
Well, this loses something in translation, of course. I shouted it in the language of Old Egypt, which both of them knew and hated. It was a reference to the time when the pharaoh sent his armies deep into the lands of Assyria, causing general mayhem. It is deeply impolite for djinn to bring up between themselves the memories of human wars (in which we are always forced to take sides). Reminding utukku of wars that they lost is both impolite and deeply unwise.