“We say, ‘Butter no parsnips’,” Jane put in. “But don’t you see we want to be fair? Only we want to bind you in the chains of honour and upright dealing.”
“Will you deal fairly by us?” said Robert.
“I will,” said the Priest. “By the sacred, secret name that is written under the Altar of Amen-Rā, I will deal fairly by you. Will you, too, take the oath of honourable partnership?”
“No,” said Anthea, on the instant, and added rather rashly, “We don’t swear in England, except in police courts, where the guards are, you know, and you don’t want to go there. But when we say we’ll do a thing—it’s the same as an oath to us—we do it. You trust us, and we’ll trust you.” She began to unbind his legs, and the boys hastened to untie his arms.
When he was free he stood up, stretched his arms, and laughed.
“Now,” he said, “I am stronger than you and my oath is void. I have sworn by nothing, and my oath is nothing likewise. For there is no secret, sacred name under the altar of Amen-Rā.”
“Oh, yes there is!” said a voice from under the bed. Everyone started—Rekh-marā most of all.
Cyril stooped and pulled out the bath of sand where the Psammead slept.
“You don’t know everything, though you are a Divine Father of the Temple of Amen,” said the Psammead shaking itself till the sand fell tinkling on the bath edge. “There is a secret, sacred name beneath the altar of Amen-Rā. Shall I call on that name?”
“No, no!” cried the Priest in terror. “No,” said Jane, too. “Don’t let’s have any calling names.”