“The Jew! the Jew and his sorceries!” groaned the wizard.
The roar of the bystanders drowned his protest. Since most had with them a heavy freight of palm-wine, they might have dipped him in the Euphrates; but at this moment a squad of police charged down the street and dispersed them. Gudea, Binit, and Khatin found themselves thrust into a side alley.
“By Nergal! my pot at Nur-Samas’s turns sour,” cried the headsman, “yet not so sour as your smile just now, dearest brother. That Isaiah is a pretty fellow also, if he is a Jew! A fine neck! Pity I missed him the other day.” He turned on his heel. For a moment Binit’s tongue flew so fast that she soon stopped for want of breath.
“Our conjuring vessels, the herbs, spices, charms, amulets—all lost. Sheerest theft! Go to the magistrate. Seize Joram, Isaiah, the widow, the—”
“Silence!” commanded her husband. “All this talked in a crowded court? Bel forefend! I could never exorcise another demon for a year. You are a fool!”
“But did I not screech beautifully?”
“Sweetly as the king’s musicians, my dear one. But how shall we be avenged on this Isaiah? All Babylon will hear of this. Woe, woe!”
“Avil-Marduk?” suggested she.
“I do not understand you, wife,” quoth the wizard, his wits still shaken by the rude events of the hour.