Djinn Rummy by Tom Holt Page A

still pretty microscopic.

    What about the real risks; the ones that have to be insured (because the consequences of something going wrong would be so drastic), but which are so colossal that no individual or corporation could possibly provide anything like the resources needed to underwrite them?
    (Such risks as the sun failing to rise, summer being cancelled at short notice, gravity going on the blink again, the earth falling off its axis; or, indeed, severe melting of the ice-caps, leading to global flooding?)
    To cover these risks there exists a syndicate of individuals who possess not mere wealth, but wealth beyond the dreams of avarice.
    Wealth beyond the dreams of avarice? Sounds familiar? Suffice it to say that the registered office of this syndicate is a small, verdigrised copper lamp, presently located at the bottom of a locked trunk in an attic somewhere in the suburbs of Aleppo.
    For the record, nobody has yet been able to work out exactly what Avarice dreams about, on the rare occasions when it sleeps. It all depends, the experts say, on how late it stayed up the night before, how comfortable the mattress is, and whether it ate a substantial amount of cheese immediately before going to bed.
    Â 
    One of the many advantages that genies have over mere mortals is that they need no sleep. This is one of the few things that makes it possible for a genie to wait on a human being hand, foot and finger without something inside its head snapping. Eventually the mortal will go to sleep, giving the genie eight or so clear hours in which to recuperate and catch up on its social life.
    Kiss had got into the habit of spending these few precious hours each day down at the gym, working out. When
genies work out, by the way, they don’t bother with weights, rowing machines and permanently stationary bicycles. What they exercise is their true potential.
    When his bleeper went, therefore, Kiss was in the middle of a simulated battle with thirty thousand blood-crazed snow-dragons. To make it interesting, and spin the exercise out for more than six minutes, he had both arms and one leg tied behind his back, and he was blindfolded and chained to the wall. This made it difficult for him to reach the telephone.
    â€˜Yes,’ he snapped into the receiver, deflecting a ravening hologram with his toes as he did so. ‘What is it now?’
    â€˜I think you should get back here as quick as you can,’ said Jane’s voice at the end of the line. ‘Something rather serious has cropped up.’
    â€˜Really?’ Kiss tried to keep the weary scorn out of his voice, but not very hard. ‘Let me guess. Your eyebrow pencil’s broken and you want me to sharpen it. There’s a very small spider in the bath. You can’t find the top of the ketchup bottle . . .’
    â€˜The ice-caps have melted and nine-tenths of the Earth’s surface is under water. Can you spare a few minutes, or shall I try to find an emergency plumber?’
    â€˜I’m on - get off me, you stupid bird - no, not you. I’m on my way.’
    Grunting something under his breath about one damn thing after another, he shook himself free of his adamantine chains, swatted the remaining six thousand dragons with the back of his hand and pulled on his trousers over his leotards.
    â€˜Don’t switch anything off,’ he called out to the attendant. ‘This won’t take a minute.’

    I don’t know , he muttered as he raced across the night sky.
    Never a moment’s peace , he complained, as he grabbed a mop and a bucket out of the empty air.
    It’s not much to ask, an hour or so at the end of the day just to unwind a bit and relax , he said to himself, as he stopped off at the South Pole to fill the bucket with ice. But no, apparently not. A genie’s work is never done .
    He sighed, shrugged his shoulders and pulled out a handful of small hairs from the back of his neck.
    Kiss, save the world. Kiss, thwart