When Mariam woke she lay a moment in confusion, for she was not alone in the flat and she couldn’t understand why. Then she remembered the boy and the jackal and what she’d promised them the night before. She got up and they were already awake and awaited her with a sort of keen bashfulness that almost made her take pity on them. But then, since she was of a practical turn of mind and the day wasn’t getting any shorter, she made coffee and cooked a quick foul, and mostly watched as the boy devoured it with yesterday’s pita. The jackal regarded her with his head tilted and his eyes slightly crossed, and when she asked what he was doing he just grunted in a jackally sort of way and said, “Count Victor just challenged Johnny Novum to a duel!”—which meant even noded jackals, it seemed, watched Martian soaps.

After breakfast she took them out into the city and it wasn’t long before they reached Mukhtar’s. Mukhtar himself was already there, and he looked up with interest as Mariam came in with the boy and the jackal.

“This is Saleh,” Mariam said by way of introduction.

Mukhtar shook his hand solemnly, then at looked at Saleh’s companion.

“And what is that?” he said.

“I am Anubis,” the jackal said.

“You talk!” Mukhtar said, surprised.

“How very . . . observant,” the jackal said.

“I’m sorry,” Mukhtar said. He looked genuinely embarrassed for the faux pas. “I didn’t mean to be rude. We don’t often receive one of the speakers of the desert here.”

The jackal nodded.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Can I get you both anything?” Muhktar said. “Tea?”

“I had a . . . rat on the way over,” Anubis said, and lolled out his tongue.

“Tea would be very nice, thank you,” Saleh said.

Mukhtar busied himself. He came back with the drink, and biscuits.

“So how can I help you?” he said, when they all sat down.

“I have a relic,” Saleh said. He brought the canister out of the bag.

“May I see?” Mukhtar said. He took it from Saleh gently and turned it over.

“A statis bomb?” Mukhtar said at last. He looked impressed, Miriam saw. It was seldom that she saw Mukhtar impressed.

“It’s from Dahab,” Saleh said.

“In the Sinai? The terrorartist installation?” Mukhtar looked suddenly uneasy. “Well, let me see, let me see. . . .”

“It’s empty,” Saleh said.

“Ah,” Mukhtar said. “I’ve lost count of the number of times people sold me empty weapons only to see them go off. It’s like Chekov’s Gun, you know.”

The jackal nodded.

Saleh just said, “What?”

Mukhtar put on his goggles.

“I will run diagnostics,” he announced.

“Would you be interested in buying it?” Saleh said. He and the jackal exchanged hopeful glances.

Mukhtar looked torn.