The seven men bowed their heads humbly. “It was no more than our duty,” said the eldest, whose hair was graying but whose eyes shined hard and bright. Anticipation made his smile quiver. “It is you who are the architect of our destinies. What we did was only in the majestic fulfillment of your—”

“Silence!” The Caliph cut him off. “Revered members of the Kagama Liberation Front who have betrayed the trust we placed in them.” He glanced at the members of his retinue. “Watch these traitors simper and smirk before me, before all of us, for they have no shame. They would sell our destiny for a mess of pottage! They were never authorized to do what they tried to do. They are lackeys for the republican oppressors, apostates from a cause that is holy in the eyes of Allah. Every moment they breathe on this earth is an insult to the Prophet, salla Allah u alihi wa sallam.”

With the crook of a forefinger, he signaled the members of his guard to proceed as they had been instructed.

The delegates’ startled rejoinders and protests were cut short by a burst of tightly clustered gunfire. Their movements were jerky, spasmodic. On white tunics, blossoms of vibrant red appeared. As the low-signature shots echoed through the hall, with the rat-tat-tat of celebratory firecrackers, a few of the delegates loosed shrieks of terror before they expired and pitched forward, stacked on themselves like so much kindling wood.

The Caliph was disappointed; they sounded like frightened girls. These were good men: why could they not die with dignity? The Caliph tapped one of his retainers on the shoulder. “Mustafa,” he said, “please see that the mess is cleaned up promptly.” They had found out what happened to the grout when blood stayed on it too long, had they not? The Caliph and his deputies were masters of the palace now; they had to see to its upkeep.

“Just as you say,” the young man replied, bowing deeply and fingering his leather pendant. “Without fail.”

The Caliph then turned to the eldest member of his retinue, a man who could always be counted on to keep him informed about matters close at hand. “How fares our ram in the thickets?”

“Sahib?”

“How is the prisoner adjusting to his new accommodations?”

“Not well.”

“Keep him alive!” the Caliph said severely. “Secure and alive.” He set down his teacup. “If he dies prematurely, we won’t be able to behead him come Friday. I should be very displeased.”

“We will take care of him. The ceremony will proceed as you have planned it. In every detail.”