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streets of the Old City were such a maze that he’d never know. She just didn’t want the conversation to be over. Her bags were no longer heavy and her exhaustion had lifted, leaving her buoyant and breezy.
    â€œDid you know that the entire Old City is carved out of the same chunk of rock? If you were a giant you could just pick the whole thing up and use it as a centerpiece for your dining room table.”
    â€œOr a playhouse for the kids.”
    â€œMore like a play city.”
    â€œI wonder how long it took them. To chisel every one of these.” Finn reached out to touch the cold wall next to him. On every side rose similar buildings, tall and immovable.
    â€œGenerations. Generations of people who didn’t feel the need to see it finished in their lifetime.”
    â€œHow did we lose that kind of patience, I wonder.”
    Miranda shrugged. “That’s one reason I loathe modern architecture. So rushed. It’s all gone downhill since the Romans, in my opinion. I look at this, this million-year-old
sculpture
of a city, and then look at the new condominiums and McMansions outside of town and I think, This is
progress
?”
    â€œI take it you like it here.”
    â€œThis city has ensorcelled me. So much that I don’t seem to be able to leave.” What could possibly lure her from a home in a living work of art? She was in awe of a culture that could create this. Mazrooq had its flaws, but it had created this—and preserved it.
    â€œYou have rather old-fashioned tastes.”
    â€œMedieval,” she agreed. “Though not when it comes to politics.”
    â€œWhat politics would those be?”
    â€œSurely you don’t want to ruin the afternoon?”
    As they walked, Miranda greeted several people she knew: neighbors, grocers, professors from the local university.
    â€œYou’ve obviously lived here awhile.”
    â€œNearly three years.”
    â€œOn your own?”
    â€œNot even a single bodyguard.”
    â€œVery brave.”
    â€œI’m very unimportant.”
    â€œYou must be important to someone.”
    â€œNot anymore.” Not since Vícenta left, not really.
    So engrossed was she in talking with Finn that it took her half a dozen turns before she realized that she kept seeing the same men at intersections. They wore no uniform but were all in pants and long-sleeved shirts and jackets, not the traditional
thobe
, and they carried suspiciously bulky backpacks. A few stayed ahead of them, sometimes just a few steps ahead, and sometimes they would vanish into the crowd only to reappear at the next turning. Since she was leading Finn, she wondered how they knew where she was going. Mukhtar stayed by Finn’s side the entire time. Several others seemed to be following them. She admired the grace of their choreography.
    When they ducked into Miranda’s favorite stall in the silver souq, Finn took over, chatting easily and fluently in Arabic with the diminutive shopkeeper, asking questions about the jewelry, the city, the weather. He looked oversized in the tiny, dark stall, having to fold himself nearly in half to avoid knocking his head on the ceiling. Miranda marveled at his ability to charm, even from this awkwardposture; after a few minutes the shopkeeper dove through a curtain of jangling plastic beads into the back room and emerged with two small glasses of tea and a plate of cookies. “You seem at home here,” she said, sipping her tea.
    Finn smiled, fingering a string of beads. “I’m at home everywhere.”
    After she had helped him pick out a silver-and-coral necklace and matching earrings for his aunt, he asked where she lived. She gestured through a stone arch, down a narrow alley in the general direction of her house. “You take a left there, then veer right at the bakery, take two more lefts, a right, and then at the square with the best
fasooleah
in town, you turn left again and go straight