“You don’t have to believe us,” Paheli says. “We’ll give you a lot of money for your… talismans. A lot. Enough that your son no longer needs to run a shop in the old souk, enough that you can leave this country and build a home somewhere else. How about that?”

The old man’s expression becomes complicated. Money is, after all, a limited resource, available only to a select few.

“Well?” Paheli prompts.

“What do you want?” The old man gives in. We knew he would. Not many humans can resist the allure of money.

“Something that isn’t obviously a conj… talisman,” Paheli replies.

The old man frowns, thinking hard. “Can you tell if something is a talisman just by looking at it?”

We all nod.

Seeing that, the old man gets up from his chair and rummages in a cupboard in a corner of the room. After a while he picks out a small box and brings it to the table. From the box, he takes out small rectangular boxes, each one wrapped in yellowed pieces of newspaper. He unwraps one and opens it to reveal a pendant wrought in silver with a semiprecious gem in the center. There is no glow to it, nothing that indicates it is a conjury. It looks like a normal piece of jewelry.

“These talismans protect wearers from harm and injury, but to use them, you have to waken the gem first. To do that, you have to speak the word bound to the gem. Until the word is spoken, the pendant is nothing but simple jewelry.”

“Demonstrate it for us,” Valentina says. When Paheli levels a look at her, she adds, “Please.”

Old Mahmoud slides the pendant through a silver chain and drops the chain over his head and around his neck. He closes his palm around the pendant, closes his eyes, and whispers a word. Then he opens his hand to reveal the pendant, which has a purple aura.

“Do we have to touch it to awaken it? Does it have to be on our person for us to awaken it?” Paheli asks.

“No,” Old Mahmoud replies to both questions. “Is this good?”

“It is good. It is more than good.” Paheli beams. “Sell us all the pendants in your inventory. Take the money we give you and leave this place. Change your name. Change your son’s name. Disappear.” She looks at the old man. “We will give you enough money to do that.”

The old man nods, but he doesn’t thank us. We understand. We have brought him nothing but bad news.

When we step out of the souk, the sun has set and the speakers are broadcasting the azaan for Maghrib. This means the food stalls in the Jemaa el-Fna are open.

Jemaa el-Fna: The Mosque at the End of the World