"This looks good. Keep Anazeh quiet and sober."
Anazeh was beginning to hold forth again, shaking his fist at Abdul Ali and making the roof echo to his mighty bellowing. I tugged at the skirt of his cloak, and after a minute he sat down to discover what I wanted. He seemed to think I needed reassurance. He began to flood me with promises of protection. It was about a minute before I could get a word in edgeways. Then:
"Jimgrim says," said I.
"Jimgrim! Is he here?"
"He surely is."
"How do you know?"
"We have a sign. Jimgrim says, 'Be quiet, and drink no strong drink.'"
He leaned across to Mahommed ben Hamza, doubting his ears and my
Arabic. I repeated the message, and ben Hamza translated.
"I don't believe Jimgrim is here!" said Anazeh. "I would know him among a million."
"It is true," said ben Hamza, grinning from ear to ear, "for I myself know where he sits!"