by Max Frei
“I’m sorry,” I said blushing. “I’ve never gotten a gift from the King before.”
“It’s quite all right, Sir Max,” Sir Qumbra said consolingly. “Just think of how many employees there are here who know exactly what to do with a gift like that, but have never had the honor of receiving one. I’d say you’re in an enviable position.”
I thanked the King and his court, and in particular Sir Qurmac, profusely. Then Juffin and I departed.
“You should have told me,” I grumbled. “But you enjoy watching my blunders, don’t you?”
“Believe me, it’s better for everyone that way. What kind of ‘barbarian from the borderlands’ would you be if you did everything right? Have faith, my boy; conspiracy is a great power, indeed!”
“Yeah, right. Give me a hand with this box, will you? I don’t think I can do it myself.”
“Don’t be so modest. You try first, and if nothing comes of it then I’ll give you a hand. Let’s lock the door first, though. It’s all right, don’t worry! Stranger things have taken place in my office.”
I put the box on the table and tried to relax, recalling all the things I had been taught. Nothing happened. Ashamed, I made a helpless gesture.
“Sir Max, I am afraid I could be mistaken. Let’s see here . . . Yes, all you need is magic of the fourth degree. You know that already; give it another try.”
Then I got angry. Angry at the box, angry at the King who had foisted it on me in the first place, angry at Juffin who just didn’t want to help . . . Fine, we’ll try something different for a change! In my rage, I called for the courier so imperiously that he probably fell off his chair in alarm. I even imagined that I heard the smack as he hit the floor, although that was impossible, of course. A few seconds later, he knocked on the door timorously. Sir Juffin was taken aback.
“What’s come over you?”
“I won’t be able to get through this without a warm cup of kamra!”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
The frightened courier, his whole body shaking, left the tray on the edge of the table right underneath my nose and promptly vanished. Juffin stared at the door in bewilderment.
“What was wrong with him? I know they’re afraid of me, but not that afraid!”
“Not you; it’s me he’s afraid of. I think I went a little overboard when I summoned him.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then. They should be afraid of you. You’re new here. If you don’t frighten them right from the start, you’ll end up spending the rest of your days waiting for the lazy fellows to answer your calls. But Max, are you really angry?”
“Yes!” I barked. I drank the mug of kamra in one gulp and hit the table with my pinky finger near the box, just as I had been taught to do. To my astonishment, the box turned to dust. But the small object that was hidden inside fortunately remained intact. I relaxed.
“Uh-oh,” I said, “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing much. You just used magic of the sixth degree instead of the fourth. And black instead of white. And you ruined a nice little trinket to boot. But it could happen to anyone, really. Anyway, all’s well that ends well. It’s a good thing that my office is sealed off from the other rooms. I can only imagine what a fuss they’d make at the Ministry!” The boss seemed thrilled by my escapade.
“But Juffin, you didn’t teach me that, and I wasn’t much of a student to begin with. How can that be?”
“Who in the name of Magicians knows, Max. I said it before, and I’ll say it again: you’re a wild wind! Please limit the area of destruction to this office, and everything will be just fine. Let’s see what’s inside.”
We both stared at the little bundle lying in the pile of ashes. Carefully I unfolded the fine cloth. A pea the color of dark cherry was hidden inside. I rolled it around on the palm of my hand.
“What is it?”
Juffin smiled pensively.
“That, Sir Max, is a myth. Something that doesn’t exist. It is a Child of the Crimson Pearl of Gurig VII. The funny thing is that no one, not even the late King himself or his heir who now reigns, has ever seen the ‘mother’ of this pearl. Her presence in the palace was discovered by a wise old Magician—a good friend of mine, by the way. He decided not to tell anyone the exact location of this miracle. He said he didn’t know; but I think he could have come up with something a little more convincing. Her children turn up regularly in all the palace’s nooks and crannies. His Majesty gives the ‘orphans’ to citizens who have proven themselves worthy. I have three of them already. But you got yours very quickly. I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, though. You had a rough time of it at my neighbor’s house the other day.”
“Are they magic pearls?”
“Yes and no. It’s clear that they have some power. But what exactly is it? Someday we’ll find out; but for the time being, no one has discovered it. You can keep it at home or have the jeweler mount it for you, whatever suits your taste.”
“I suppose I’ll go for the first option. I never much cared for baubles.”
“A typical sentiment for a barbarian, you scourge of couriers, you!” said Juffin with a laugh.
After this I was left to the winds of fate. Juffin left me in charge and headed for the Glutton Bunba to have dinner with Melifaro.
“Tell him he owes me one!” I called after my boss as he slipped away. “A whole helicopter of humanitarian aid; and it had better be on him!”
“Humanitarian aid? Is that a hot appetizer?” asked Sir Juffin.
“That just means a whole lot of food at the right moment,” I explained.
That night was so uneventful that I was slightly disappointed. Kurush amused me as best he could. The wise bird turned out to be just as much of a night owl as myself. As a kindred spirit, I was obliged to tell the buriwok my life story. But before I did, I made Kurush take a dreadful oath to keep the information confidential and file it under Far More Secret Than Top Secret. The buriwok bore himself like an Indian chieftain, which greatly impressed me.
The following morning began with a visit from Kofa Yox, who arrived before the first light. He, too, often worked at night, since his main job was to listen to the idle talk in Echo’s taverns and glean grains of useful information from the idle chitchat. When the Master Eavesdropper showed up at the House by the Bridge most mornings, he would transform his ever-changing countenance into one appropriate to the harsh realities of life. He would share these intriguing facts, and occasional brilliant ideas, with Sir Juffin Hully over a cup of kamra.
“In the city they’re saying that you’re the King’s illegitimate son, my boy!” Kofa Yox greeted me. “My conclusion is that you received a royal honor on your first day at work. Juffin and I even made a bet. He wagered in your favor, and I against. The old fox earned six crowns on your luck and His Highness Gurig VIII’s sentimental mood. No matter though, I won several handfuls at dice, so at least I have something to pay him with.”
“Where do rumors come from, Sir Kofa?” I was truly curious to know the answer.
“Where don’t they come from? I suppose the majority of rumors are a combination of leaked information and the astounding imaginations of numerous storytellers. And, of course, the hope that things aren’t really as boring as they seem on the surface. I don’t know, Max, I just don’t know . . .”
“People love to talk,” Kurush noted condescendingly.
“Do you know what sorts of things people say about our Most Venerable Head?” Kofa asked. “We start half of those rumors ourselves: the Secret Investigative Force has to inspire superstitious fear in the general populace. Did you know, for example, that Sir Juffin Hully is said to have a ring called the Master of Lies that lets off invisible deadly rays? Anyone who tells a lie in his presence soon dies a painful death. The first version was far more modest. It went something like this: Sir Juffin can tell a liar with the help of a magical object. We owe the story’s terrifying details to the common folk.”
“What els
e?” I asked.
“That Juffin eats the dried flesh of rebellious Magicians, whom he holds captive in his basement. One should never look directly into his eyes, or one will lose the Spark forever and pine away. Oh, and of course, Juffin takes the Spark for himself. Hmm, what else . . . That he is immortal; that his parents are two ancient Magicians who modeled our boss out of sand and their own saliva; that he had a twin brother whom he ate; that he becomes a shadow at night, and—”
“Gossiping about me again?” asked the hero of urban folklore, as he fell into his armchair.
“I’m just trying to warn the poor young man,” Kofa said and smiled.
“‘Poor young man?’” You should see him when he turns into a vampire! So how was the night, hero?”
“Boring,” I complained. “Kurush and I chatted and rummaged through the gifts that you and Melifaro have received. Terrible.”
“My night was nothing to write home about, either,” said Sir Kofa. “Just a few small house robberies in rich neighborhoods. The thieves took the most valuable possessions; but it’s a case that even Boboota can solve. The boy is right, it’s terrible! Echo, for so long a stronghold of criminal romance, is becoming a provincial swamp.”
“That isn’t terrible, it’s wonderful! It’s terrible when things really start hopping here. Go get some rest, Sir Max. Take advantage of the opportunity.”
So I set off to get some sleep. When I got near the main doors to the street, I heard a roar coming from outside.
“Bull’s tits! You can save that for your own tail end in the latrine!” A powerful bass, sometimes breaking into a shrill falsetto, shook the old walls. “I’ve been in this cesspit for sixty years, and not one single butt—”
I threw the door open. A bearded goon of impressive stature draped in crimson silk, who looked like a cross between a sumo wrestler and an athlete, was hanging over the frightened driver of the official amobiler of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order.
“Silence!” I barked menacingly. “The Most Venerable Head of the Minor Secret Investigative Force has vowed to smite anyone who dares disturb him! And don’t you yell at the coachman; he is in the King’s Service!”
I pulled the aged hooligan off the driver and got into the amobiler. I had wanted to walk home, but now I would have to help the driver out: I couldn’t just leave him there to be tormented by that bully.
“Bull’s tits! So who is this new turd in my cesspit?” It seemed that the gift of speech had returned to the brute.
“You must have had a bit too much to drink, sir.” I was having fun. “Your latrine is at your house; this is the Ministry of Perfect Public Order of the capital of the Unified Kingdom. Do yourself a favor and think about that, because there are quite a few angry men around here who didn’t arrest anyone last night, and are raring to go. Let’s move it!” I said, addressing the driver, and we rode off to the sound of another volley of improvisations on the topic of latrines.
“Thank you, Sir Max,” said the old coachman, and bowed to me.
“Why did you let him yell at you like that? The guy looks frightening and all, but you work for the King and Sir Juffin Hully. You’re an important person, my friend.”
“Sir Boboota Box doesn’t usually take things like that into account. He thinks I shouldn’t have parked the amobiler so close to the doors; but his own driver parks practically inside the corridor every day!”
“So that was General Boboota Box? Whoa! He’s gonna get it!”
The foul-mouthed culprit reminded me of one of my old bosses. I felt an ominous satisfaction. That’s it, your time is up; now Sir Max will assign you each a latrine. Such spitefulness does me no honor, but what can I do? I’m a human, not an angel. This is who I am.
As soon as I got home I realized I was exhausted. The coziest bed in the Unified Kingdom was at my disposal. As for dreams, I guess you could say that they betrayed me.
Dreams have always been an extremely important part of my life, so a bad dream can throw me into a funk more easily than real misfortune. That morning there was a nightmare in store for me.
I dreamed I couldn’t go to sleep, which I guess shouldn’t have come as a surprise, considering that I was lying on top of the living room table. I lay there like a hearty lunch, gazing at the windows in the building opposite, that elegant architectural masterpiece of the olden days that I had admired during my first night in the apartment. In my waking hours, I had liked the building. Now it inspired a vague but powerful loathing in me. The gloom behind the triangular windows didn’t promise anything good. I knew that the inhabitants had died long ago, and only seemed to be alive. But by themselves they didn’t pose any danger.
For some time, nothing happened. I just couldn’t move, and I felt very uneasy about that. More than that, I disliked the strong premonition I had that something was about to happen. Something began to approach me from afar. It needed time—and it took it.
This arduous process seemed to drag on an without end. I began to think that it had always been that way, and always would be. But at a certain point I was able to wake myself up.
With a headache, wet and sticky from sweat—the vile companion of nightmares—I was happy. Waking up was so wonderful! I dug around in the closet and found the precious bottle of Elixir of Kaxar. “Take care of this, Max; it should be for special occasions, not every day,” Juffin had advised me. But my body was begging for mercy, and I didn’t torment myself with doubt, either. Before I had gotten my hands on a bottle of that wonderful remedy, a dream like that could have stripped me of all spiritual strength for weeks. Now, I felt immediate relief, and I hoped that it would last for a while. I smiled at the afternoon sun and went downstairs to enhance the pleasant change I was experiencing with a bath and some good kamra.
In an hour’s time I was fully dressed, but it was too early to go to work. I spent some time in the living room with a book on my lap. The view from the window no longer pleased me as it used to; but for some reason I didn’t dare turn my back on the scene.
Finally, I had to admit that it was no use. I put aside the third volume of Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia and went out into the street to get a closer look at the house opposite. I got out my brand new dagger and took a look at the gauge on its hilt. The building was innocent as a babe. There were traces of permitted second-degree black magic. Perhaps the owners were making kamra, or trying to remove oil spatterings, which they had every right to do.
But my heart was of a different opinion. “This is a foul place,” it thumped anxiously. That invaluable muscle had become a good advisor to me of late. I knew I should heed its judgment; but I wanted something entirely different. I wanted to calm down and go on living. I did my best.
You have to stop listening to scary stories before bedtime, my dear boy! I told myself breezily.
To distract myself, I took my new toy down the block, checking my neighbors’ observance of the Code of Krember as I went along. Judging by the gauge, they were law-abiding and singularly devoted to culinary experiments. Black magic of the second degree oozed out of almost all the windows. When after a time the needle began to careen dangerously between the permitted two and the highly undesirable three, I looked around. In front of me was a small tavern with the menacing name of The Sated Skeleton. The cook there must really love his work, I thought, and decided to stop in for breakfast. The Glutton Bunba is, of course, my all-time favorite; but I do like to try new things for a change.
Nightmares or not, I had a good appetite that called for more than my usual humble breakfast rations. At the table next to mine, two local women were discussing a certain Lady Alatan, who had been robbed while she was out shopping; and “those whelps taught her a good lesson!” In my thoughts, I gave my condolences to the hapless lady: I had already met the gentleman whose duty it was to protect her possessions. But even that didn’t spoil my appetite.
After breakfast I set off leisurely for work, tracing a concentric circle around the Old Town. There I spen
t all the money I had in my pocket on completely useless but charming housewares. Where I come from, it is believed that retail therapy can save housewives ground down by routine. I can bear witness to the fact that it also saves certain gallant members of the Secret Force from the vestiges of the previous night’s bad dreams.
Weighed down with packages, I arrived at the House by the Bridge only a half hour earlier than I was supposed to.
“Settling into your home, then, are you, O Policeman’s Blight?” asked Juffin, as he studied my packages. “You know, Max, Boboota thinks that because you yelled at him, you have the right to do so. He respects you. I believe he is also looking forward to strangling you. Good job, my boy. Tell me the truth, did you really think he was just a run-of-the-mill ruffian?”
“He was being a troublemaker! It’s inappropriate for government officials to act like that. I’ll have this place cleaned up in no time!” I made a scary face and then admitted, “I’ve always dreamed of being in a position of power, sir.”
“That’s good,” said Juffin. “Maybe together we could tame him. What’s the matter with you, Max? You seem a bit odd today.” I was shocked.
“Is it really that noticeable? I thought—”
“It is to me. I hope Boboota hasn’t hired a witch. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’s actually one of the most law-abiding of citizens. He even has his wife do permitted magic at home, and he doesn’t lift a finger. So what happened, Max?”
I was glad for the opportunity to get it off my back. Maybe that’s why I ended up getting to work early.
“It’s nothing really, just a dream I had last night. In my case, though, it’s a problem. I had a nightmare, that’s all. A disgusting nightmare; nothing really even happened in it but it left me with the most loathsome feeling.” And I told him my dream down to the last detail.
“Did you check the house when you woke up?”
