by Max Frei
“Oh, dear,” said Kofa. “Well, I guess I’ll have to bother Sir Shurf about it some day. In any case, thanks for taking my mind off the pain in my foot that I just dislocated. It worked like a charm.”
“We’re having the time of our life today, you and I,” I said. “On top of that, I lost the trace when we were all topsy-turvy.”
“What’s ‘sitturvy’?” he said absently. “And what do you need that trace for now?”
“Life goes on,” I said. “I mean, I also hurt myself when I fell, but it’s not the end of the world. Let’s get cracking!”
“Haven’t you figured out what I tripped over yet?” said Kofa. “Or did you think I went temporarily blind?”
“I’ll be darned!” I said, laughing. “You tripped over our pretty boy? But of course, he’s wearing the sinning cloak! Still, I don’t see him. Do you?”
“I don’t need to see him. I can feel him. The fellow is indeed unconscious, just as you suspected. I think if you stood on his trace a little longer, he’d be dead all right. He’s lucky that you and I are such fast runners. Let me take the cloak off him. Behold!” said Kofa, now waving Anday’s grandfather’s gray cloak in front of my nose.
“Not much to behold,” I said. “He’s lying facedown, and his ass doesn’t look that much different from any other ass, especially considering the amount of clothing he’s wearing.”
“You’re the expert,” said Kofa. “Now we can finally go back to Headquarters. I already sent them a call. An amobiler is on the way and should be here in a quarter of an hour.”
“That’s an outrage!” I said. “I would’ve gotten here in less than three minutes.”
“You are an unbelievable boaster, Sir Max. Your driving skills are indisputable, but do we have to hear you brag about it at every turn?”
“True,” I said. “But if I didn’t blow my own horn, I’d be a disgustingly perfect human being. This way I have one harmless shortcoming, and everyone’s happy . . . Wait a second, my foot is hurting now, too. The right one. Strange, because I only remember hitting my elbow.”
“I think it’s still mine,” said Kofa. “You took my pain because my foot almost has stopped hurting. It’s very kind of you, but I suspect you did it without realizing it.”
“I did?” I said. “You can take your pain back anytime. I didn’t mean to take yours. I’ve got my own.”
The company amobiler arrived very quickly. I looked at the driver with appreciation: I liked guys who drove fast, plus I was getting cold. Echo has very mild winters, but when you are sitting on the ground on the bank of a river with streams of hard-earned sweat trickling down your back, your body starts to protest.
We loaded our still immobile quarry into the back seat, squeezed ourselves into the amobiler, and headed off to the House by the Bridge. At last.
I was sitting in the back seat next to the captive, an old man with an utterly unexceptional face.
“Do you know him, Kofa?” I said.
“No. But it makes no difference. Sooner or later he’ll come to and tell us everything. If not us, then Juffin. Although you can always resort to one of the Lethal Spheres.”
“I can try,” I said. “But first I need to do something about my elbow and sit in an armchair with a cup of hot kamra—get warm, relax, and recall that life is great. Because now I’m afraid one of my Lethal Spheres would actually kill this fellow. He really ruined a perfectly good night for us.”
When we were pulling up to Headquarters, something hard and cold poked me in the side. I groped around trying to catch hold of the object and . . . cut myself. I jumped out of my seat in a flash, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on top of my captive, holding his wrists in a deadly grip. I had no idea I was capable of such a lightning-quick reaction. Fortunately, the fellow was an even worse fighter than I was, and he wasn’t in his best form now. As a result, the knife, with its long thin blade, ended up in my possession.
“What’s going on back there?” said Kofa, turning around.
“Nothing now,” I said, “But a second ago he tried to stab me.” I gave my captive a stern look. “What’s with the showing off, buddy? You can hardly lift a finger, and I could’ve spat venom at you out of fear. Or are you okay with that?”
He closed his eyes and didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell whether he was too exhausted to talk or just despised me—the human heart is a mystery, at least some of the time.
I moved my left hand along the side of his body—another trick from the arsenal of Shurf Lonli-Lokli, who had been coaching me in Applied Magic. Our prisoner disappeared in between my left thumb and index finger—a much safer place for someone with his temperament.
“You should have done that long time ago,” said Kofa.
“Yes, but sensible thoughts come to me with the sluggish gait characteristic of a royal persona,” I said. “Want me to help you to the office?”
“Don’t push it, boy. You think I can’t cross the hallway on my own? Someone would have to tear off my head, at the very least, before I was that incapacitated.”
Kofa was limping, but that didn’t affect the speed at which he moved. He was the first to run into the office and fall into my favorite armchair. The silent struggle for the right to plant our backsides in it had been going on between us almost since my first day here. I must admit that Kofa was leading with a huge advantage in this sport.
“I already sent a call to the Glutton,” he said in the tone of a magnanimous victor. “Madam Zizinda’s cook on duty is much worse than Madam Zizinda herself, but much better than the others. Shouldn’t we lock up our prisoner?”
“Nah, let’s leave him where he is, in my palm. He doesn’t bother me, and actually it makes me feel better this way. What if he has some unknown methods of escape up his sleeve? Just thinking about trying to stand on his trace again makes me sick. Besides, I’m going to interrogate him soon.”
“Just admit that you’ve forgotten all about him, and now you’re too lazy to unstick your backside from the chair to go anywhere . . . Then again, you have every right to be.”
When the long-awaited tray from the Glutton appeared on the desk, I fell upon the food with gusto. Ten minutes later, I was feeling great. I was warm, a scrumptious cookie was melting in my mouth, and even the dull pain in my elbow seemed almost pleasant. The ache didn’t bother me so much as it testified to the fact that I was alive. It added a new note to the symphony of familiar sensations. I poured myself more kamra, pulled out a cigarette from where I had stashed it in the Mantle of Death, and noticed with satisfaction that Kofa was also in a benign good humor.
“Now I can commence the interrogation,” I said, yawning. “I can’t get any more good-humored than this. I feel like I could pour him some kamra—if he behaves himself, that is. You’re probably also curious to know what he has to say.”
“Well,” said Kofa, yawning even wider, “frankly, the case is as clear as it can be to me, save a few details.”
“Is it?” I said. “Care to enlighten me? Because to me nothing is clear.”
“Here’s what I think. This pretty boy has something to do with the glorious Order of Green Moons, as did the gentlemen who stole the chest from the basement of your friend’s house. Our late janitor, who, as it turned out, could go down the Dark Path, was likely their former colleague, as well. The Order of Green Moons was the only Order that taught its apprentices the art of the Dark Path. Their Grand Magician, Mener Gusot, was crazy about that trick.” Kofa yawned again and began filling his pipe. I gave him a pleading look. The cruel sadist didn’t say a word for another three minutes. Then, when he lit up his pipe, he continued. “As I understand it, our hero had a personal score to settle with Magician Nuflin himself, or the entire Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover. He was doomed to fail from the start, though. The Ukumbian cloak is a neat little thing, but it’s only good for tricking regular folks. Perhaps it’s even good enough for tricking us Secret Investigators, but he didn’t manage to pull that off,
either.
“His plan was solid. First a thief appears in this office, someone no one pays any attention to. Then he doesn’t just steal the cloak outright; he switches it for another one just like it, which gives our conspirators a great deal of extra time. The poor fellow then takes the cloak to the meeting point, where he meets with No-Nose Misa’s dagger.
“Technically, this is where we are supposed to lose all the leads, but we’re lucky, because you can follow the trace of a dead man. Still, the man who’s sitting in your palm now was cautious enough to send a kid to Misa instead of coming for the cloak himself.”
“Speaking of the kid,” I said, “I’d feel much better if we found him, too.”
“You think so?” said Kofa. “I think you’re being overzealous, but if it’ll help you sleep better, in the morning I can send Melamori to the house of No-Nose Misa. She can step on the kid’s trace and bring him over here. I don’t think he’s so evil that I should let you step on his trace.”
“Right. But I still don’t understand how he knew that we had the cloak. And when did he have the time to make an exact replica of it? You’d need to have—or at least look at—the original, right?”
“Right,” said Kofa. “I’m sure he knew Zekka Moddorok very well. To find out about what happened to Zekka was as easy as pie: he only had to visit Zekka’s inconsolable mother or even just spot a policeman’s face in the window—this would tell any smart person that the magic cloak had been repossessed by the people in the House by the Bridge—and then take measures. I personally think that the copy had been produced a few days prior and was intended to fool Zekka. I could be wrong, but we can always ask. Weren’t you going to interrogate him?”
“Didn’t someone just say everything was clear to him and that he wasn’t interested?” I said.
“No, you must have misheard,” said Kofa, batting his eyelids.
I didn’t make a fuss and accepted his excuse. I gave my fist a vigorous shake, and the body of my prisoner crashed onto the floor. I still hadn’t learned to do this trick with due finesse.
The old gentleman, in a splendid colorful looxi and bright-red turban, tried to get up. The expression that he made was . . . Well, you should’ve been there, as they say. I could feel for the guy. He already had enough reasons to hate me for the rest of his life, and this fall might have been the last straw. I hastened to snap the fingers of my left hand. A ball of bright-green light headed toward the wrinkled forehead of the old man. To my surprise, he flung both his hands in front of him and mumbled something. The little fireball slowed down, as though apologizing, before his invisible shield. It looked as though it hesitated to enter his body without a formal invitation from him.
I was puzzled. “Oh, come on!” I shouted at my Lethal Sphere. And it worked. The green blob of light sped forward, hit the palms of the prisoner, and disappeared. Then the fellow gave himself a slap in the face with one hand. With the other hand, he gave himself the finger. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own that was not in accordance with the rest of his body.
Kofa burst out laughing. I couldn’t say I wasn’t enjoying the show myself. Nevertheless, I had to launch another Lethal Sphere. This time, praise be the Magicians, the victim relaxed and muttered “I am with you, Master”—the usual deal. I relaxed as well and reached into the pocket of my Mantle of Death for another cigarette. Kofa could laugh all he wanted, but the first misfire sure made me nervous.
“Let’s hear your name, for starters,” I said.
“How wonderfully original,” said Kofa, laughing. “Don’t be offended. If you only knew how many thousands of times I have begun an interrogation with this question.”
Our arrestee composed himself and began to speak. “My name is Nennurex Kiexla.”
“Have you heard this name before, Kofa?” I said, looking at him with hope.
“Vaguely,” said Kofa. “I seem to remember there was someone by the name of Kiexla among the members of the Order of Green Moons, but I never met him personally.”
“Okay, Sir Nennurex Kiexla. Get up from the floor and sit down in this chair,” I said. Then I pushed a cup toward him. “Have some hot kamra. You’re blue from the cold.”
“Sometimes you’re so good at playing nice, Sir Max, that I even begin to believe that you are,” said Kofa.
“What do you mean?” I said. “I am a very nice fellow.” To my surprise, Kofa only shook his head. Well, I’ll be, I thought. What did he think of me then?
Sir Nennurex Kiexla drained the hot kamra in one gulp and put the cup down timidly on the desk.
“Pour yourself more, and you can have something to eat if you’re hungry,” I said. Then I turned to my colleague. “Kofa, let me just order him to answer your questions. My head is too empty now.”
“Not too empty for a single sober thought,” said Kofa.
“Sir Nennurex, I will appreciate it if you answer all the questions put to you by this gentleman here,” I said to my “loyal servant.”
“As you wish, Master,” he said, and Kofa took over the interrogation.
“I’m primarily interested in one junior staff member of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order. Your accomplice. The police picked up the body. They say it was Itlox Bouba, but this name doesn’t ring a bell. Who was he?”
“That wasn’t his real name. His name is . . . was Sir Unboni Marixva.”
“Oh, boy. Yes, you did take some measures,” said Kofa. He looked very displeased. He turned to me and said, “Would you believe it, boy, that the most famous Junior Magician of the Order of Green Moons has been hanging around the Ministry of Perfect Public Order for a year and a half? He’s been dusting our desks, and we didn’t even know it. I’ll have to personally run extensive checks on every new hire from now on. Come to think of it, we got off cheap this time. Tell me, Sir Nennurex, weren’t you a Junior Magician of the Order, too?”
“I was an apprentice,” said Nennurex. “I entered the Order late. Besides, Magician Mener didn’t deem me a talented student. He was probably right: I have never even learned to go down the Dark Path. But by the time I joined the Order, it needed good warriors more than talented magicians. The old man realized it too late.”
“You got that right,” said Kofa. “This is very interesting. What did Sir Unboni Marixva do here in the Ministry of Perfect Public Order? As far as I know, until last night he was harmless. Had he reformed and decided to make an honest living?”
“He told me he was just waiting for his chance,” said Nennurex. “Marixva had a warped sense of humor. He found it hilarious that he was scrubbing the floors in the office of the Kettarian, who had no clue who he was. I think that was why Marixva didn’t do anything. He was much happier knowing that he was fooling you than actually doing you any harm. He had no aversion to you or Nuflin. He was a very dispassionate person.”
“Max, I was a fool when I told you I wasn’t interested,” said Kofa. “I’m more curious now than ever. Go on, Sir Nennurex. Tell me how it all happened. How did it all begin? Who learned about the cloak and what were you going to do with it?”
“I learned about the cloak. Zekka Moddorok told me. We got together often in the past few months. He found me almost half a year ago, right after I had arrived in the Capital. Zekka wanted me to be in his gang like when we were young. During the Troubled Times, he and I used to murder and rob a little here and there. Then I left for County Xotta: staying in Echo was too dangerous, and I didn’t want to risk my life before I could take my vengeance.”
“Take vengeance? On whom? For what?” said Kofa. “For old Magician Mener? As far as I know, even his favorite students couldn’t stand him.”
“Not for him—for the Order. It’s a matter of honor, not favoritism,” said Nennurex Kiexla.
“He talks like an Arvaroxian,” I said.
“Indeed,” said Kofa. “Out of all the survivors of the members of the Order of Green Moons, the only one who cares about its honor is the least talented of its apprentices. Ju
ffin’s going to love this. Moving right along, Sir Nennurex, how does Unboni Marixva come into the story, and why did you decide to kill him?”
“I told Marixva about the cloak after I found out that the Secret Investigative Force was on Zekka’s case. While Zekka had the cloak, I could take my time making a replica and waiting for the opportunity. But only Marixva could steal the cloak from the House by the Bridge. I lied to him about the cloak so that he didn’t try to flee with it. I knew that he wouldn’t help me if he found out that I was going to sneak into Jafax.”
“What did you tell him exactly?” I said. Kofa looked at me with an unfavorable eye. Judging from his expression, I was asking an irrelevant question.
“I told him the cloak made you healthier and even younger if you wore it long enough. I knew that Unboni Marixva cared about his health. Such magical things do exist, so he believed me right away. I also told him that for its effects to manifest themselves, the cloak must be worn at dawn, just so he wouldn’t try to put it on.”
“Very clever,” said Kofa. “So he thought I was mending my health or even trying to rejuvenate myself. He would be in on all the rumors in the Department.”
“But why kill him?” I said. “You could’ve just taken the cloak and disappeared.”
“I had to kill him so you wouldn’t step on his trace. A human life is worth nothing when it comes to the matters of justice, especially the life of a man indifferent to the laws of honor.”
“I’ll bet he has some Arvaroxian blood in his veins,” I said. “Okay, I’ll shut up now and not interfere.”
“You’re not interfering,” said Kofa. “On the contrary, you’re helping me. But we’re done now, I think.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But—Hold on a second. We can ask him about the boy so that Lady Melamori doesn’t have to step on the poor child’s trace. Who’s the boy you sent to No-Nose Misa’s house, Nennurex?”
