by Max Frei
It could have been worse. It could have ended very badly, indeed.
We went out into the garden.
“How nice it is out here!” I said with a sigh with relief.
Sir Juffin Hully took the liberty of patting me on the back, which is only allowed to the closest of friends in the Unified Kingdom.
“You turned out to be a wild wind, Sir Max! Much wilder than I expected. And I already had a high opinion of you, you may be quite sure!”
“A ‘wild wind’? Why ‘wind,’ Juffin?”
“That’s what we call people who are unpredictable. The kind about whom you never know what they might pull off next, how they’ll behave in a fight, what kind of effect magic will have on them—or Jubatic Juice! You never even know how much such a person will eat: one day he’ll empty the whole pot, and the next he’ll start preaching moderation . . . That was exactly what I needed: a wild wind, a fresh wind from another world. But you turned out to be a real hurricane, Sir Max! Lucky me!”
I was about to feel embarrassed, but then I thought—why should I? I really was pretty good; at least my part in the story of the mirrors. I’ll start indulging in modesty once the number of my exploits exceeds one hundred.
At home we found not only Lonli-Lokli waiting for us, decorously sipping his kamra, but also Melifaro, pale but quite lively, devouring the sandwiches from a tray resting on his lap. Chuff followed all his motions with great interest. Judging by the crumbs that had collected abundantly around the dog’s mouth, Sir Melifaro also had a soft spot in his heart for him.
“It’s too bad you saved me,” Melifaro said, grinning from ear to ear and bowing to Juffin. “Your pantry is running low with me around!”
“As if that matters! My pantry has long been in need of an airing. By the way, Max is the one you should thank. He was your main rescuer.”
“Thank you,” Melifaro purred, his mouth full of food. “So you, my fine friend, ate up the frog? And I thought it was our baleful sorcerers who took care of it.”
“Shurf and I, of course, worked with our hands,” Juffin explained modestly. “But only after Sir Max worked with his head. If it hadn’t been for his crazy idea about a second mirror, you would have been someone’s sandwich. Do you remember anything at all, you lucky devil?”
“Not a thing. Loki-Lonki described the scenario briefly—but his account lacked picturesque detail. I require a literary description!”
“You’ll get your picturesque detail. Chew up, first, or you’ll choke!” Sir Juffin said, shaking his head sternly.
“Sir Melifaro, my name is Lonli-Lokli. Please oblige me by learning how to pronounce it. It’s high time. There are only ten letters; it’s not such a daunting task!”
“That’s what I’m saying—Lonki-Lomki!” And Melifaro turned to me abruptly. “So in fact you’re my main rescuer? Well, what do you know, Sir Nocturnal Nightmare! I owe you one.”
That was the moment of triumph for me. I had been preparing my acceptance speech on the way over.
“Nonsense. Where we live, in the Barren Lands, every beggarly nomad has a mirror like Makluk’s in his household. I don’t understand why here, in the capital, people make such a big fuss over something so trivial.”
Shurf Lonli-Lokli expressed polite surprise. “Really, Sir Max? It’s strange that scholars make no mention of this.”
“There’s nothing strange about it.” I snapped, putting on a malevolent leer. “The ones who could have told the story are now forever silent. We have to feed our favorite house-pets somehow!”
Sir Juffin Hully burst out laughing. Melifaro raised his eyebrows in surprise, but realized almost immediately that I was just teasing and let out a guffaw. Lonli-Lokli shrugged indulgently and reached again for his mug.
“Save your strength, gentlemen,” Juffin warned. “Today in the Glutton a public holiday has been declared: it’s Melifaro’s resurrection. You do as you wish, but Max and I are going out to carouse. We’ve earned it! Sir Shurf, you’re coming too; and that’s an order! Melifaro, you’re probably still too weak. You stay here and get better. We’ll carouse for you!”
“Me, weak? You can just drive me to the Glutton.”
“Well, all right. We’ll drive you right to the doorstep. But you don’t know how Sir Max drives the amobiler! He’ll keep you in check—he’ll shake the living daylights right out of you!”
“Sir Max? You mean to say you’re a real racer?”
“I didn’t think so,” I said proudly, “but Sir Juffin was very dissatisfied when he came for a spin with me. He kept asking me to slow down, even though I was virtually crawling. Actually, everyone here drives slowly. Why is that I wonder?”
Melifaro leaped out of his chair.
“If that is true, then you’re perfect! Why is it that you haven’t conquered us yet?”
“The military potential of border-dwellers is extremely low,” Sir Lonli-Lokli remarked pedantically. “On the other hand, their intellectual capabilities are without doubt higher than ours. Unlike you, Sir Max learned to pronounce my name on the first try. An impressive debut, wouldn’t you say?”
CHAPTER TWO
JUBA CHEBOBARGO AND OTHER NICE FOLKS
“MAX, ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE GOING TO BE COMFORTABLE here?” asked Juffin. He himself looked rather uncertain. “Or have you not yet come to terms with the fact that the King will be paying for your lodgings now?”
It all seemed quite funny to me: just yesterday the very idea that I could move into this massive empty house made my head spin. Sure, it was only two stories high, with one room on each story; but each room was the size of a small stadium. For some reason, they don’t seem to feel the need to economize on space in Echo. Local architecture features only low buildings, two or three stories high, which are, nevertheless, incredibly spacious. The house that I chose on the Street of Old Coins was smaller than its neighbors, which I rather liked about it. Judging by Juffin’s expression, however, it seemed I was enchanted to be living in a slum.
“We Border Dwellers are slaves to habit,” I said proudly. “If only you could see the yurts we inhabit in the Barren Lands.” This secret ethnographic reference was for the benefit of the house’s owner, who stood deferentially to the side. After all, you can’t very well tell a respectable citizen that the person who wants to rent his house is an émigré from another world. The poor fellow was, of course, delighted by his good fortune, but not enough to let this intriguing information about my origins slip by unnoticed.
“And besides, I made my choice out of a sense of duty. The more wretched my conditions at home, the more time I will spend at work.”
“Sounds reasonable, Sir Max. Very well, you can sleep upstairs and entertain guests on the first floor. But where do you propose to keep the help?”
I decided it was time to stand my ground with my boss.
“I don’t approve of keeping servants. I can’t have strangers walking around in my house—closing books that I leave open, going through my private belongings, stealing my cookies, and looking into my eyes with devotion while waiting for me to give orders. I should pay money for that? No, thank you.”
“I see, Sir Max. You’re suffering from a bad case of asceticism, complicated by pathological stinginess. How do you plan to spend the money you’ve saved?”
“I’ll collect amobilers. With my driving habits, I’ll go through them in no time.”
Sir Juffin sighed. For him, forty miles an hour was insufferable recklessness, and perhaps that wasn’t too far from the truth. Before my arrival, people in Echo were under the impression that thirty miles per hour was the absolute limit for this cutting-edge miracle of local technology. That was how I first became something of an attraction in those parts.
“You really are an oddball, Sir Max, moving into a house with only three bathing pools!”
Here I had to admit I had slipped up. In Echo, the bathroom is a special place. Having five to six small swimming pools with water of varying temperatures and
aromas is considered not a luxury, but the norm. But even that wasn’t enough to turn me into a sybarite. In Sir Juffin’s house, where there were eleven such baths, I felt that bathing was hard work, and not something to be enjoyed. So I was quite sure that three baths would be more than enough for me.
“I suppose you’re right,” Sir Juffin said. “What difference does it make where you make your bed at night? Oh, well, it’s your life and you can indulge in self-deprivation if you wish. Let’s go over to the Glutton, Sir Max. It would be great if we made it over there an hour before everyone else.”
The amobiler sent by the Ministry of Perfect Public Order was already waiting for us. The owner of the house had us sign the rental papers, and, still unable to believe his luck, disappeared before we could reconsider.
We were given a warm welcome at the Glutton Bunba, the best pub in Echo. We sat down at our favorite table between the bar (they say it’s the longest in the whole city) and the courtyard window. I sat facing the unprepossessing landscape. Sir Juffin sat across from me, with a view of the bar and Madame Zizinda’s unbelievable bust thrown into the bargain.
As we had hoped, we were the first to arrive. Today was to be my official introduction to my colleagues, and Sir Juffin traditionally held such meetings at the Glutton. The protocol would be somewhat simplified, as I had already become acquainted with two combat units of the Minor Secret Investigative Force. I had met Sir Melifaro, the Diurnal Representative of Sir Juffin Hully, and Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli, the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives (a delightful little job that fellow has, I must say), when we had to restrain Sir Makluk’s berserk mirror. My new acquaintances were more than willing to share the story with listeners over a cup of kamra. Juffin’s remarks would only fan the flames of interest.
As a result, I got the reputation of being some sort of superman. That was enjoyable, of course, but it also gave me certain responsibilities to live up to. I was nervous and grateful to Juffin for suggesting we arrive at the Glutton before the others. At least I would have a warm seat beneath me before my colleagues arrived, and I might even be in high spirits if someone offered me a glass of Jubatic Juice.
It turned out, however, that Jubatic Juice was not considered the acme of liquid perfection. They brought us some excellent kamra and a jug of aromatic liqueur, the name of which—Tears of Darkness—gave me an uneasy feeling. As I soon found out, though, that this was just a poetic name given to the drink by its ancient inventor, and had nothing to do with its taste.
“Take it easy, Max,” said Juffin. “Melifaro and I talked about you at such length, and Sir Lonli-Lokli was so eloquently silent, that the poor fellows are going to show up here draped in protective amulets of every kind.”
“Yes, I thought as much . . . Juffin, that old lady at the next table—is she by any chance one of your crew? She seems to be eyeing me suspiciously.”
To my surprise, Juffin stared at me with a nearly threatening gaze. I didn’t know what to think.
“Why do you say that, Max?”
“I’m sorry. I was just trying to be funny. That sweet lady definitely had her eye on me. She still does.”
“You surprise me, Sir Max.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that tomorrow I’ll be wearing protective amulets too, just in case.”
Meanwhile, enveloped in the folds of her dark looxi, the sweet lady, who was in fact a large old woman, stood up gracefully from her table and approached us. The woman’s face underwent a transformation as she made her way over to us. By the time she arrived at our table, she was an elderly gentleman of ample and squat build. I blinked my eyes, unable to grasp what was going on.
“I see you as in a waking dream, Sir Max,” he said politely, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand, as one does upon first being introduced. I automatically returned the gesture.
“I’m glad to speak my name: I am Kofa Yox, Master Eavesdropper. Congratulations, son. You saw right through me.”
“But sir, I didn’t mean to,” I began, embarrassed. “I was just making a joke.”
“Right. Next thing you know, you’re going to say you’re sorry, and that it won’t happen again,” said Juffin, laughing out loud. “Just look at him, sitting there with a guilty expression. Anyone else would be gloating over it!”
Kofa Yox smiled gently. “That’s reassuring. It’s great to have at least one humble person working in our organization.” He sat down next to Juffin, facing me, and took a sip of kamra.
“This place has the best food in all of Echo, to be sure!” Sir Kofa Yox said, and smiled again. “I have news for both of you. Everyone in the city is talking about the Venerable Head’s new Nocturnal Representative—that’s you, son. There are two popular versions of the story. The first is that Juffin Hully brought a creature from the World of the Dead to Echo. Is that a look of delight I see, Sir Max? The second version is that the Venerable Head gave a job in the Force to his illegitimate son, whom he had been hiding away since time immemorial. What do you think of that, Juffin?”
“They couldn’t come up with anything more interesting than that?” my boss asked with a snort. “Capital City lore seems to thrive on only two topics: forbidden magic and the amorous adventures of my youth. The latter seems to arouse particular interest, because instead of being born in Echo like most normal people, I came here from Kettari. People think that there’s nothing to do in the provinces but indulge in daily fits of shameless lust. Yes, Kofa, the King will have to raise your salary. What a job, having to listen to such idle nonsense, day in and day out!”
“It’s all right. It annoyed me for the first eighty years, but I got used to it after that. I’ve worked with Juffin for a long time, Max,” said Kofa Yox, giving me another soft paternal smile.
“Before that, Sir Yox was Police General of the Right Bank,” said Juffin, “and tried to have me arrested for many years. On several occasions, his efforts nearly succeeded, but in the end, they all fell through. That was during the Epoch of Orders, a long time before the battle for the Code of Krember. In those days, any citizen could perform magic of the fortieth degree on a whim. Can you imagine?”
I shook my head. It was hard to adjust to the fact that people here lived no fewer than three hundred years. As for more prominent persons, who made up the majority of my acquaintances, they managed to extend their existence almost indefinitely.
How old was Kofa, anyway? I wondered. I would have said he was no older than sixty, and a sixty-year-old is a teenager by local standards. Melifaro, for example, who was about my age, I had thought, turned out to be one hundred and fifteen years old. He was born on the very morning that the Code of Krember had been established. In other words, he was born on the first day of the first year of the Code Epoch, something he liked to joke about, though in his heart I believe he was very proud of it. As for Juffin’s age, for some reason I was too shy to ask. Or maybe I was afraid of whatever mind-boggling number the answer might be. In any case, at the ripe old age of thirty I cut a strange figure in their midst. At my age they were only children, just learning to read and write.
While I was doing this arithmetic, our numbers had grown. A young man with a disproportionately long, skinny body hidden in a violet looxi stood in the doorway, smiling shyly. Walking toward us, he managed to knock over a stool. He apologized so sweetly to the middle-aged lady sitting near ground zero that she followed the clumsy young man with a tender gaze. The affable creature began talking even before he got to our table, gesticulating as he advanced.
“I am most honored to be able to pay you my respects in person, Sir Max! I have so many things to ask you. I must admit that I have been burning with anticipation for the past few days, if you will forgive my lack of discretion.”
“And you are—?” I asked.
The corners of my mouth began to spread into a smile. I felt like a rock star in the embraces of a fan who had been raised by his elderly grandmother, a countess.
“Please f
orgive me! I am very glad to speak my name. Sir Lookfi Pence, Master Keeper of Knowledge, at your service.”
“This little marvel of nature looks after our buriwoks, Sir Max,” Sir Juffin said. “Or, rather, the buriwoks look after him in their spare time.”
My interest in Mr. Pence grew. I had already heard about these clever talking birds endowed with absolute memory. Buriwoks are rare in the Unified Kingdom. They come from the distant shores of Arvarox, but there are several hundred such wonderful creatures at the House by the Bridge. They serve as an archive for the Ministry of Perfect Public Order. The bird’s prodigious memory can store thousands of dates, names, and facts. I can certainly imagine that it would be much more interesting to talk to a buriwok than to sift through reams of paper. I was desperate to see one of these amazing birds with my own eyes, so the man who spent all his working days with them seemed to be a useful acquaintance.
“Why are you alone, Sir Lookfi?” asked Juffin, smiling at the Master Keeper of Knowledge, who had already seated himself beside me. One of the edges of his expensive looxi accidentally ended up in a mug of kamra though this was his only mishap for the moment.
Now, having studied his face for a time, I saw that Sir Lookfi was not as young as I’d first thought. Rather, he belonged to that rare breed of men who look like boys until they are old, when all of a sudden they begin to look their own age.
