“Speak,” it said, in a harsh, grating voice like large rusty keys being turned in locks. “The servant of the Great Ones is _your_ servant. What is your need that you call on the name of Nisroch?”
“No, no,” cried Anthea; “we want to be where Jane is.”
Nisroch raised his great arm and pointed at the wall of the dungeon. And, as he pointed, the wall disappeared, and instead of the damp, green, rocky surface, there shone and glowed a room with rich hangings of red silk embroidered with golden water-lilies, with cushioned couches and great mirrors of polished steel; and in it was the Queen, and before her, on a red pillow, sat the Psammead, its fur hunched up in an irritated, discontented way. On a blue-covered couch lay Jane fast asleep.
“Walk forward without fear,” said Nisroch. “Is there aught else that the Servant of the great Name can do for those who speak that name?”
“No—oh, _no_,” said Cyril. “It’s all right now. Thanks ever so.”
“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.”