“You are a dear,” cried Anthea, not in the least knowing what she was saying. “Oh, thank you thank you. But do go now!”
She caught the hand of the creature, and it was cold and hard in hers, like a hand of stone.
“Go forward,” said Nisroch. And they went.
“Oh, my good gracious,” said the Queen as they stood before her. “How did you get here? I knew you were magic. I meant to let you out the first thing in the morning, if I could slip away—but thanks be to Dagon, you’ve managed it for yourselves. You must get away. I’ll wake my chief lady and she shall call Ritti-Marduk, and he’ll let you out the back way, and—”
“Don’t rouse anybody for goodness’ sake,” said Anthea, “except Jane, and I’ll rouse her.”
She shook Jane with energy, and Jane slowly awoke.
“Ritti-Marduk brought them in hours ago, really,” said the Queen, “but I wanted to have the Psammead all to myself for a bit. You’ll excuse the little natural deception?—it’s part of the Babylonish character, don’t you know? But I don’t want anything to happen to you. Do let me rouse someone.”
“No, no, no,” said Anthea with desperate earnestness. She thought she knew enough of what the Babylonians were like when they were roused. “We can go by our own magic. And you will tell the King it wasn’t the gaoler’s fault. It was Nisroch.”
“Nisroch!” echoed the Queen. “You are indeed magicians.”
Jane sat up, blinking stupidly.