The Stranger

by Max Frei

  “Sir Lookfi is a truly insightful person. I’ve always said that,” Kurush interjected. Juffin nodded, agreeing with the wise bird.

  “Still, it’s disappointing. I considered this girl to be such a masterpiece,” muttered Sir Kofa Yox. “I thought I could fool even Lookfi.”

  “Juffin, are there any other ‘truly insightful’ people among the collectors of Kettarian carpets?” I asked with a sudden rush of anxiety.

  “No. I personally know of only one other natural phenomenon like Lookfi—the sheriff of the Island of Murimak, the most imposing personage on that entire scrap of dry land. I think his main duty is to count the hairs on the fur of the local species of Royal Polecats. So take it easy,” Juffin turned back to Lookfi. “Have you had time to notice by now that our Max has temporarily become a lady?”

  “Ah, yes. Now I see. Your hair is longer,” Sir Lookfi Pence said with relief. “It’s good that this isn’t the new fashion. I don’t look good in hairstyles like that—and they’re so much trouble.”

  The improvised party was a brilliant success. If I had known that they would give Lonli-Lokli and me such a sendoff, I would have gone on a journey every day. Finally, just the three of us remained behind.

  Sir Juffin Hully devoted a large part of the night to telling me and Lonli-Lokli the fabricated story of our conjugal life, for it was very likely we would meet curious travelers who wished to chat over dinner. I must admit, I only listened with half an ear, since I’d be with Lonli-Lokli, sturdy and reliable as a cupboard. He wouldn’t forget a word of the boring biography of Sir Glamma Eralga and Lady Marilyn Monroe.

  “That’s all well and good, Juffin,” I said, staring thoughtfully at the steadily brightening dawn sky. “But I must admit, I still don’t understand why we’re going to Kettari.”

  “Precisely for that reason: to understand why you need to go to Kettari once you’ve arrived. I can tell you honestly, Max—when I sent you to confront the ghost of Xolomi, I really was a bit greedy, that is, I kept a few things to myself until you asked me the question I was patiently awaiting. But this time it’s different. You really do know everything I know myself. So I’m sending you to Kettari to find answers to questions that are still a complete mystery to me. If you want my advice, when you get there, you should lie low for a few days. Don’t do anything. Walk around the city with Shurf, buy some carpets. Maybe the secret will find you, you have that lucky streak. But if nothing happens—well then, try leaving the city without the caravan or any other company, and then just return. Take your time, though, it seems to me that it would not be very wise to hurry. Right now I’m not sure of anything, though. All right, boys, it’s time. The caravan to Kettari leaves in one hour. You can each take a swallow.”

  Juffin handed me his famous invisible bottle of Elixir of Kaxar, almost empty due to my efforts. I gladly took a gulp of the tasty drink, capable of relieving not only morning somnolence, but almost any other serious complaint.

  “Have some, dear. There’s a bit left,” I offered the bottle to Lonli-Lokli.

  My “significant other” declined politely, saying, “Thank you, Marilyn. But I don’t drink.”

  “As you wish. We have a whole day of travel ahead of us.”

  “There are special breathing exercises that dispel exhaustion far more effectively than your drink,” Lonli-Lokli said loftily.

  “Will you teach them to me?” I asked.

  “I’ll teach you, but only after you master the exercises I’ve already shown you.”

  “But I already—”

  “You just think you ‘already.’ Forty years from now you’ll understand what I mean.”

  “Oh! As the Great Magician Nuflin likes to say, ‘I’m just glad I won’t live to see the day.’ Fine, let’s be off, honey.”

  “Yes. Get a move on,” Juffin nodded. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk. The road is long. And don’t forget to bring me a souvenir from my homeland.”

  Sir Lonli-Lokli eased in confidently behind the levers of the amobiler.

  “Maybe we should change places?” I suggested.

  “You want to drive the amobiler right after you’ve imbibed Elixir of Kaxar? No, you may not do that. I’ve told you that before. When we’re on the road you’ll have to relieve me sometimes, Marilyn. But are you sure you can drive like normal people do? If our amobiler keeps overtaking all the others, we’ll end up without a Master Caravan Leader. Not to mention shocking our fellow travelers.”

  “Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Unlike our friend Max, Lady Marilyn is a careful damsel. Everything will be fine. I’ll step on the throat of any song.”

  “What’s that, some secret spell?” Lonli-Lokli asked quaintly.

  “Yep. I could teach you, but it would take forty or fifty years,” Lady Marilyn’s tongue was as sharp as that of my old friend Sir Max.

  Actually, a few seconds later I decided that the joke might lead to unpredictable consequences, and I turned guiltily to my companion.

  “Just between us guys, Glamma, it was a joke. It’s just a harmless expression.”

  “That’s what I thought. But you’re not a guy, Marilyn. I’d advise you to watch your language.”

  “Yes, my dear. You’re absolutely right.”

  I began to suspect that a journey in the company of Lonli-Lokli would do more to hone my character than the severest pedagogical system of ancient Sparta.

  My spirits finally lifted when I caught sight of at least a dozen amobilers accompanied by group of people in elegant traveling attire. When I was a child, I had always loved going to railroad stations to watch trains. It seemed to me they were going somewhere where everything was different from where I was. They were on their way There, and I envied the passengers as they wearily arranged their baggage in the overhead luggage racks. You could see the enchanting spectacle through the illuminated windows of the train while you stood on the platform. I preferred not to pay too much attention to the trains coming from There to the dreary Here.

  Now I had the same feeling, only much stronger. Not a vague dream about a nonexistent wonder, but a near certainty about it. I even temporarily forgot that Echo was not at all the kind of place I wanted to leave. Comfortably wrapped in the elegant body of Lady Marilyn, I dove into the small human maelstrom, Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli following close behind.

  In a few minutes, Lady Marilyn and her solicitous companion by the name of Glamma had already made the acquaintance of Abora Vala, Master of the Caravan—a short, gray-haired, but not at all old Kettarian, extremely charming despite his sly little eyes. We immediately paid eight crowns, half the cost of his services. The rest of the money was to be paid on the central square of the City of Kettari at the end of the journey. We were assured that the return trip to Echo would be free of charge.

  There was another half hour of polite mutual sniffing out and exchanging names among fellow travelers, all of which I immediately forgot in the confusion of the moment. My Lady Marilyn behaved beautifully, not making a single gender blunder and answering consistently to her own name. Finally Mr. Vala called for everyone’s attention.

  “I think we are all here, ladies and gentlemen. Let us depart. I’ll take the lead. I hope you’ll approve of the places I choose to stop and rest. I have a great deal of experience in this matter, you may be sure. If you run into trouble of any kind, just send me a call. I don’t recommend that you stray from the caravan, but if you get left behind, please don’t demand your money back. I hope, of course, that our journey will progress without any untoward events or unpleasant circumstances. Bon voyage, ladies and gentlemen!”

  We all dispersed to our amobilers. I must admit I was even glad that Lonli-Lokli hadn’t allowed me to take the driver’s seat yet. It gave me the chance to admire the mosaic-laden pavement and the low buildings of Echo.

  I had grown to love this city so much that the impending departure made me happy—I was already looking forward to the poignant joy of returning.

  We passed thr
ough the enormous, lush gardens of the outskirts, which finally gave way to fields and woods. I was dizzy with all the new sights. Sir Shurf stared silently at the road in front of him. Even after he had become Sir Glamma Eralga, he was the most dispassionate of mortals. Our journey in one another’s company was not the worst pretext for finally satisfying my burning curiosity, I thought.

  “Glamma, what do you prefer, the opportunity to keep silent, or the opportunity to talk?” I asked cautiously.

  “I always enjoy talking to you, Marilyn, just as I enjoy talking to my friend Sir Max,” Lonli-Lokli replied sedately.

  Did I detect some warmth of feeling in his voice? Either I was imagining it, or Sir Glamma, the new persona of the Master of Snuffing Out Unnecessary Lives, was a bit wayward (from the point of view of his former self).

  “If you don’t want to answer my question, just tell me, all right?”

  “Of course I’ll tell you. What else could I do under the circumstances?”

  Lonli-Lokli’s iron logic restored my self-confidence.

  “Fine. I’ve made my decision. All the more since the subject concerns not you, Glamma, but my friend Lonli-Lokli.”

  “I can’t help but admire your sense of timing,” my companion said approvingly. “All things should be done at the proper time, including asking questions. Ask away. I think I’ll be able to satisfy your curiosity.”

  “I hope so. Once, the name Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli was mentioned in a conversation with an old Magician, a friend of Juffin’s. When he heard the name, he said, ‘Ah, the Mad Fishmonger!’ Juffin nodded, but a certain Sir Max was very perplexed. Madness was the last thing he would have associated with his friend Shurf.”

  “We haven’t known each other for very long. This explains your surprise. If you’re interested in the history of the person I was in my youth, it’s no secret whatsoever, in contrast to the history of Sir Max himself.”

  “Really?” I replied, somewhat confused.

  I have to admit, Shurf’s last remark (or Glamma’s, if you will) sent me into something of a panic. Melamori, Sir Kofa, and now Lonli-Lokli—they all sensed that something wasn’t quite right with me. Actually, that’s why they are secret investigators, isn’t it? Ah well, it’s Juffin’s fault, after all. Let him explain whatever he wishes, or keep it to himself.

  “I don’t intend to ask any questions, since I feel the time isn’t right yet,” Lonli-Lokli said. “You need to learn to control the expressions of your face. Actually, if you don’t forget to do the exercises I taught you every day, that skill will develop of its own accord.”

  “In about forty years?”

  “I can’t say exactly. Maybe sooner.”

  “All right, Glamma. Never mind my facial expressions. Let me hear your story, if it’s no secret.”

  “Of course it isn’t! Exactly seventeen dozen years ago, a certain youth by the name of Shurf became an apprentice of the Order of the Holey Cup, with which his family was closely connected. So the young man did-n’t really have much choice in the matter. Actually, for those times it was a more than enviable fate. Not six dozen years had gone by and this young man became the Junior Magician and Master Fishmonger. In other words, he became the watchman over the holey aquariums of the Order. As far as I know, Sir Juffin once told you in fairly great detail about the ways of the Order of the Holey Cup, so I won’t repeat it.”

  “All members of the order ate only fish that lived in holey aquariums and drank from holey vessels, like your famous cup, right?”

  “That’s a rudimentary, but generally true, characterization. So, for several years the Junior Magician Shurf Lonli-Lokli carried out his duties splendidly.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

  “Well, you should, since the person we’re talking about is completely unknown to you. He was one of the most intemperate, capricious, and emotionally volatile people I’ve ever met; and believe me, I’m putting it mildly. The path on which members of the Order of the Holey Cup sought their strength did not help them to curb their own vices. You should know that this holds true for many other ancient Orders, as well.”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, Juffin told me about it. I just wish I could get the tiniest glimpse of what really went on during the infamous Epoch of Orders.”

  “I recommend that you discuss it with Sir Kofa Yox. He’s a gifted storyteller, in contrast to me.”

  “Nonsense, Glamma! You’re an excellent raconteur. Please go on.”

  “I’m terrible when it comes to telling a story. It’s just that the subject is interesting to you,” Lonli-Lokli said. “I brought up the lack of restraint I had as a young man, because this aspect of his character explains his foolish action.” He frowned and fell silent.

  “What foolish action would that be?” I urged him on, burning with curiosity.

  “He wanted to acquire power at all costs: a great deal of it, and very quickly. So he drank the water from all the aquariums that he was supposed to be looking after.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. I could imagine the fantastic spectacle, as though it were happening right in front of my eyes. Our Shurf drinking the aquariums dry, one after another. Sinning Magicians!

  “Pardon me, Glamma, but it strikes me as very funny,” I confessed with a guilty air when I had caught my breath.

  “Yes, I’m sure it does. The fish that lived in the aquariums perished, naturally, and the reckless young man gained enormous power. Except he couldn’t deal with it. That is knowledge one must learn over the course of centuries. It’s difficult for me to describe further events in any great detail; my memory is simply unable to retrieve a large part of what this foolish youth did after he left the Residence of his Order. But I can tell you that in the city they called him the Mad Fishmonger—and for a person to be called ‘mad’ during the Epoch of Orders, he really had to make an effort! I remember none of the residents of the city dared deny me anything I demanded. I was surrounded by terrified women, many servants, a great deal of money, and other things that crude people find entertaining. But I grew weary of all of this very quickly. I became obsessed. In those days, I liked to frighten people. More than that, however, I liked to kill. However, killing ordinary city-dwellers was demeaning. I longed to drink the blood of the Grand Magicians. I would appear at the necessary place, and then disappear. Too many hollow marvels, which I myself couldn’t understand, were committed at that time; but the blood of the Grand Magicians lay nevertheless beyond my reach.”

  “Gosh, Shurf! Can this really be true?”

  I realized that our Sir Lonli-Lokli wasn’t the cleverest liar in the Unified Kingdom—but all the same I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “Call me Glamma. You forgot again, Marilyn,” the stern tone of my companion put an end to my doubts.

  “People change, don’t they?” I asked quietly.

  “Not all of them. But sometimes it happens. Actually, that’s not the whole story.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I wanted even more power, more than the famous Magicians about whose blood I dreamed back then. One day the Mad Fishmonger arrived at the Residence of the Order of the Icy Hand to seize for himself one of the mightiest of all hands.”

  “Your gloves!”

  “Yes. My left glove, to be exact. The right one I received when I fought with a Junior Magician of this Order. The fellow tried to stop me, so I bit off his right hand.”

  “You bit it off!”

  “Of course. What’s so strange about that? It was far less eccentric than most of my other escapades at the time.”

  “Juffin told me that there was a tremendous amount of powerful magic in the Order of the Icy Hand. Did they really—”

  “You see, after I had drunk dry all the twenty dozen aquariums, I received the power meant for the six hundred members of my Order. So it was very difficult to stop me, and when I got the gloves that you are familiar with, I became even more dangerous. But they finally did stop me.”<
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  “Who? Was it Juffin?”

  “No, Sir Juffin Hully came into my life a bit later. Two dead men stopped the Mad Fishmonger. They were the owners of the hands I took for my own. On one night they came to me in my dream. At that time, I became defenseless when I slept. Not completely, but almost. They wanted to take me away to somewhere between life and death in a place of endless tormented dying. I’m not very adept at describing things, so it would be better if your imagination would tell you what I was threatened with.”

  “Never mind my imagination,” I murmured. “I’m hanging on to your every word. I won’t be able to get to sleep.”

  “Well your words assure me that you’re close to understanding the problem I’m trying to describe, Marilyn,” said Lonli-Lokli. “I was very lucky that night. I awoke suddenly in great pain, as the old house where I was sleeping began crashing down. One of the stones hit me on the forehead. You may be wondering why the house started falling down; Sir Juffin Hully can tell you the details of his unsuccessful hunt for the Mad Fishmonger. There was no Secret Investigative Force at that time, but Sir Juffin was already entrusted with special missions by the King and the Seven-Leaf Clover. He was terribly renowned—and he deserved it, I suppose. But the Kettarian Hunter, as Sir Venerable Head was called back then, saved my life purely by chance. I managed to get out of the collapsing house in time, without even realizing what was happening. Meanwhile I was worried about something completely different. It was clear that the next dream would be my last. So I decided to live life to the hilt, mustering all my resources for that purpose, and then to kill myself before suffering the wrath of the dead Magicians. I succeeded in living without sleep for almost two years.”

  “What?!”

  Lonli-Lokli shocked me more with every word he uttered.

  “Yes, it was around two years,” Sir Shurf insisted. “Just so. Of course, it couldn’t go on indefinitely. It is no exaggeration to say that I was already mad with that extra strain, and two years of insomnia turned me into something utterly unspeakable. Sir Juffin Hully followed every move I made, as I later came to understand. He was waiting for the right moment.”