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with a horsetail whisk. "It has been a long time, effendi, since these eyes have seen you and your so large shadow."
    Carl sat on cushions, face to face with Sharif Mamud. Gus kept an eye on the outside. Waiting till tea had been brought and the server departed, Carl finally said, "I have need of your long nose and sharp ears, my friend."
    Sharif Mamud nearly glowed. He was right, there would be gold. Restraining his excitement he responded with calculated disinterest. "Ah, but what may this old one know that would be of interest to one such as yourself? There is no longer any war. The lands are quiet, the tribes are at peace, the French are gone. What could it be that you wish to know?"
    Sipping the tea with sucking sounds to show his appreciation, Carl waded thr ough Sharif Mamud's ritual foreplay. "True, Sharif, things are different and the land is quiet. But that may change soon. There is trouble coming from the south."
    "Not from my people surely, al Kattel." The title slipped out. Sharif Mamud recovered quickly. "Effendi."
    Carl waved it away. "That does not matter. I do not take offense. In my years I have been called much worse. But let us keep that name between us; it's not for outside ears."
    Sharif Mamud bowed his head slightly, the folds of his turban framing his face. "As you wish. Now back to how l may be of service. What is this trouble you speak of?"
    "Sunni Ali of the Azbnei Tuaregs."
    Sharif Mamud sucked the back of his teeth. "Aiii! I presume you do not mean the Sunni Ali of old but the new one."
    Carl nodded. "Of course. Tell me what you know of him."
    Sharif Mamud poured more tea, giving himself time to collect his thoughts and calculate how much to give away for free. "It is said, by whom I do not know, but it is said that this new Sunni Ali would be a torch in the night. He is a man without vice or tolerance. A most hard and unforgiving person trapped in the sands of yesteryear, to which he wishes a return."
    Sharif Mamud paused. Significantly his right hand lay palm open, casually, on the inlaid table. Carl smiled. His own hand was already filled. Over Sharif Mamud's palm he let loose a stream of gold coins until the palm was filled, then he said, "My old friend, even I know that words must be given nourishment that they might ripen into truth and wisdom."
    Mamud knew within a centime exactly how much had been put into his palm by the weight of it. It was enough. "It is good to speak with one who has not blinded himself with philosophies or dreams. Reality can be so much more rewarding. "The coins disappeared into the folds of his jellaba. "More tea, al Kattel?" Carl accepted with grace, and waited.
    Picking up where he had left off Sharif continued, "As I said, my friend, this Sunni Ali is a most strange man, and it has been whispered by a few that he is not of the Azbini. or even of the Tuareg. But no one knows from whence he came. One day he was there, that is all that is known. He has taken for his own many young men from different tribes including my own."
    Leaning closer he hissed, "It is good that you have come. Too long have these lands been watered with blood and tears. This Sunni Ali is evil. If perchance you happen to meet him, gain favor with Allah and kill him without hesitation or conscience. I take your gold for such is my weakness of spirit, but I would have told you without payment, such is my distaste for the veiled man."
    Carl knew what he meant. Those bad years were still fresh to the memory. That they would come again he never doubted, but they didn't have to come so soon. "You said that perhaps he is not of the Azbini. Then what is he? You have sharp ears, old one. Have there not been rumors of his origin?"
    Mamud scratched at his beard. "Rumors, yes. Some have said that he is one of those desert loving Englesi who has gone mad and become more Arab than the Arab, more Berber than the Berber, and more Tuareg than the Tuareg. Others claim he is a legionnaire who, when he deserted,