“Then it’s true,” the Scorpion whispered to the little jeweler from behind his black face veil.

“The American female is of a certainty in the far tent of Prince Abdul Sa’ad. There are many whisperings among the families. The prince’s royal wife is installed at the tent of her sister-in-law, Princess Fatima, second wife of Prince Sultan. They say that she would return to the house of her father, but that Abdul Sa’ad won’t let her. Of the other concubines, she cares nothing. But the American female is not unknown and it is becoming a scandal,” Abdul replied.

“And what of Prince Abdul Sa’ad?”

“Who can speak of Abdul Sa’ad?” the jeweler said, flipping up his bejeweled eyepatch and looking anxiously over his shoulder to be sure they weren’t overheard.

“Abdul Sa’ad is always surrounded by armed guards, especially the evil-eyed one. He of the Mutayr,” Abdul said.

“Bandar,” breathed the Scorpion.

“He rides today on Bashum, last year’s champion. Yes, it is an odd name, isn’t it?”

“Truly,” the Scorpion replied.

It was odd. It was as if Abdul Sa’ad couldn’t resist announcing his intentions by calling his camel by the word that means “sinister,” he mused.

“There are many who hesitate to contest against him for fear of what he might do,” Abdul added.

“And Abdul Sa’ad?” the Scorpion asked.

“He is with his brother, the king, at the royal tent. There are many whispers. But no one speaks out loud against Abdul Sa’ad. Some say he has become a religious mystic, a sufi master, even.”

“And Salim?”

“The king, may Allah guard him, loves and trusts his brother. He will listen to nothing against him.”

“But that the American female is in the far tent is certain? There can be no mistake on this,” the Scorpion insisted.

“So the women say. Trust the wives to know where the she-wolf is. Besides, who posts an armed guard over an empty tent?” shrugged the little man.

“Anything else?”

“Only that you are watched even now,” Abdul remarked, glancing towards the tent flap out of the corner of his eye.

“I know. They’re all over me like fleas. And they’re not bothering to hide, either. Something’s come unstuck,” the Scorpion said.

“Perhaps it has something to do with the bombing in Qatar last night,” Abdul suggested. He looked anxiously around as a tall bearded Arab came up to the trough. He was dressed in western clothes and had the look of a modern Riyadhi.

“What bombing?”

“It’s on the radio,” Abdul said nervously and glanced significantly at the bearded Arab. He shook himself and turned to leave.

“I have to hurry. I’m thinking of betting ten thousand riyals on Bashum, ridden by Prince Abdul Sa’ad’s man, Bandar. What do you think?” Abdul said loudly.