The Stranger's Woes

by Max Frei

  “That’s even funnier,” I said, gasping for breath.

  “It even looks good on them,” said Sir Manga, lowering his voice. “Present company excluded, naturally.”

  “But you’re all completely out of your minds! Simply out of your minds!” said the stranger, sitting down at the table.

  He pronounced his l’s in a peculiar way, his voice was a bit nasal, and his diction and accent didn’t help matters. I couldn’t stop giggling. The stranger looked at me, offended.

  “I don’t see anything funny here, sir. It’s not in the least bit funny. You’ve all lost your wits! There are guests in the house, I haven’t been introduced, and no one bothered to call me down for dinner. I’ve arrived, but the caravan left without me. This will not do! What kind of a place is this?”

  “This is my place,” said Sir Manga sternly.

  “What? Speak up. I’m a bit hard of hearing. If this happened back home in Isamon, elders wearing hats this big would have come down from the mountains.” He stretched his arms to show us the improbable dimensions of the hats in question. “Yes, they would have come down, and then there would be trouble. Trouble, I say!” He made several significant nods and then looked at me again. “I still don’t see what’s so funny. Pull yourself together, young man!”

  “Where I come from, it’s customary to greet a stranger with loud laughter,” I said. “It demonstrates one’s joy at meeting someone. I’m just being polite, that’s all.”

  Now it was Melifaro’s turn to laugh.

  “All right,” said the stranger peaceably. “All right, I get it. My name is Rulen Bagdasys. I come from a family of highborn aristocrats, you know.”

  “And this is Sir Max,” said Sir Manga said to the Isamonian. “His, as we have just learned, is a well-known royal family, you know.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told,” said Rulen Bagdasys. Suddenly he grew very serious. “That’s fine— Hey, you!” he said, giving Anchifa a stern look. “You’re out of your mind! Who dares sit on top of a dining table in the presence of royalty?”

  “I do,” said Anchifa. “I was vouchsafed the right by a special decree of His Majesty Gurig VIII in recognition of my outstanding service. So it’s cool. Don’t soil your pants from too much deference.”

  “What? Speak up! You know I can’t hear very well,” said the Isamonian indignantly, and immediately lost interest in the subject. He turned to the youngest Melifaro and said, “I’ve been told you can show me the Capital. Is that true? It’s high time I moved to Echo. I can’t sit in this provincial backwater surrounded by country dirt and stench any longer.”

  “All right, I’ll show you the Capital,” said Melifaro.

  Sir Manga’s face took on an expression of profound gratitude.

  We amused ourselves in this way for another two hours or so. I found Rulen Bagdasys to be charming and odd. His rudeness, combined with startling innocence and slight deafness, could very well have passed for originality. If he had been staying at my house, of course, I’d have probably hastened to change my mind.

  Finally, Sir Manga left for his study, saying that he had work to do. To my surprise, I realized I was exhausted myself. It was close to midnight, after all, and I was dozing off. So much for being a night owl, I guess. Granted, I had long ago forgotten about insomnia, which had ruined the first thirty years of my life.

  “I’m getting positively sick of you guys,” I said to the brothers Melifaro in a sweet voice. “I’m sure you’re even sicker of me, so I’m off to bed.”

  “You’re going to bed? It’s not even midnight!” My colleague looked almost frightened. “What on earth has gotten into you, Max?”

  “You’ve been asking me that all day today, and I’ve been telling you that I’m fine. I swear. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  “Our Venerable Head is driving you to your grave,” Melifaro said sympathetically. “Granted, you’re a cunning killer, a werewolf on the loose, and an all-around creep, but such cruelty is breaking my fragile heart.”

  “Spare me your sympathy and show me to the bedroom, instead,” I said. “I don’t want to get lost in your family mansion, roam the dark hallways for years, and survive on a diet of servants and guests. You’ll find me ten years later, emaciated and bitter at all mankind.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Melifaro, reluctantly getting up from the table.

  “You could very well be our brother, mate,” said Anchifa. “A piece of advice: ask your royal mom who she was having quality time with in the bushes.”

  “I will,” I said. “As long as someone brings her back from the dead. Though I hear it’s not that difficult. Good night, guys!”

  The enchanted bedroom, handiwork of Magician Filo Melifaro, represented the delightful distillation of many centuries of wisdom of the Order of the Secret Grass. It was a cozy, peaceful refuge that I had been missing for a long time. Sweet wonders from my childhood years resided here: ghostly actors from the nighttime shadow theater, inconsequential midnight fantasies, and delicious dreams. I studied the intricate designs of the dark beams on the ceiling, lost in admiration. Then I fell asleep. In honor of my sojourn in the bedroom, a special screening of the Collector’s Classics of my favorite dreams had been scheduled for me. Unfortunately, I didn’t dream about the city in the mountains with the cable cars and tiny street cafés. Well, that was to be expected. Once, I had given this dream as a gift to another World. And you can’t have a gift back, even if you really want it, right?

  When I woke up, it was past noon. I had carried out Sir Juffin Hully’s order and taken the opportunity to get my fill of rest. Not only did I feel I could go on with my life, I knew I could take pleasure in doing so.

  Happy and peaceful, I went down to the dining room. Sir Manga Melifaro and his lovely wife were already crunching on some cookies.

  “The boys are still sleeping,” said Sir Manga. “Unlike you, they only stopped carousing after dawn. Are you jealous?”

  “Not at all. Last night was the best night in my life. Your father’s bedroom is a marvel.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Sir Manga and his wife said in unison.

  “Where is he now, your venerable ancestor?” I said.

  I was sure that my question was not tactless. I knew that the artisan of this magic bedroom could not just die of old age like an ordinary man.

  “He’s looking for his Grand Magician, a hole in the heavens above him,” said Sir Manga. “Or maybe he’s already found him. In any case, I’m sure he’s happy. The thirst for adventure is in our blood, I’m afraid.”

  Are you up already, Max? Juffin’s Silent Speech resounded in my head. I’m very sorry, but you and Melifaro will have to come back a little sooner. Frankly, I need to see you before dusk.

  I can wake him up for you right now, I answered, not without a hint of sadistic joy. Should I?

  Is he still sleeping? Well, let him snooze for another hour and a half or so. But not more. How about yourself, Max? Have you rested?

  That’s putting it mildly. Why? Did something happen?

  No, nothing’s happened yet. It will at dusk, however. The ship from Arvarox will happen. It’s going to be a whole lot of fun for all of us. Trust me.

  What kind of fun?

  You’ll see. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you get back. Over and out.

  Over and out, if you say so.

  I looked at Melifaro’s parents with a guilty expression.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something unforgivably rude. I must deprive you of your youngest son a day earlier than planned.”

  “But this is wonderful!” said Mrs. Melifaro, visibly excited. “Magicians be with him! We’ll have plenty of opportunities to see him. He promised to take away that deaf idiot from Isamon, didn’t he, Manga?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. He certainly did.”

  “Is he really that bad?” I said. “To be honest, I thought he was rather cute yesterday.”

  “He is cute for the first
two or three days,” said Sir Manga. “But by about day four, you realize that he may not be as cute as you had originally thought. Then the oldest servants in the house threaten to give you notice, and your eldest son tries to find a pretext for spending the night in a rickety hut at the far end of the pasture. About half a dozen days later, you realize you can’t get the thoughts of brutal murder out of your head. You know what I think, Max? I think that all this hospitality and good manners will be the death of us. I don’t mean my family in particular, I mean the whole of humankind.”

  “Well, consider your troubles over. Unless your guest changes his mind about going to the Capital and decides to hibernate here instead.”

  “Goodness gracious, Max,” said Sir Manga. “Please don’t joke like that in my presence. You’ll give me a heart attack!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “If worst comes to worst, I’ll take him with us, by force. I have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

  I was telling the truth. I could place anyone between the thumb and the index finger of my left hand and take him away to the ends of the Universe.

  An hour later I knocked on Melifaro’s bedroom door.

  “Wake up, my friend. Time to go to work.”

  “Work?” his sleepy voice came from behind the door. “What are you talking about? Relax. Everything is all right, you’re in my home, and we don’t need to go to work until the day after tomorrow. What you need is a good doctor, mate.”

  “Not me—it’s Juffin who needs one. He just sent me a call. He said, and I quote, ‘The ship from Arvarox will happen.’ Ring a bell?”

  “Ugh. It does,” said Melifaro. “Our little vacation is over, I’m afraid. I’d rather you went insane. It would’ve been more fun to watch. Okay, I’m coming down. Is there time for breakfast?”

  “Yes. There’s even time for lunch. You know how fast I can drive.”

  “Right. You can be useful sometimes,” said Melifaro. “Now get lost. I need to get ready.”

  I left. Instead of getting lost, however, I simply went down to the dining room. A few minutes later, my colleague, his hair still messy and wet but his spirits up, came downstairs, as well.

  “Why so much fuss about some ship from Arvarox?” I asked both Melifaros, since I didn’t know which of the two was more competent in this matter. “Are we at war with them? Or is it the Great Empire of the Dark Magicians, and we should always expect trouble coming from that direction?”

  “It’s an empire, all right,” said Sir Manga, “but I doubt it’s an empire of Magicians. If anything, their magic skills are quite weak. Their Great Shaman would hardly qualify as an errand boy for any wise-woman in Echo.”

  The young Melifaro was also going to say something, but with his mouth full, his attempt failed miserably. Sir Manga went on.

  “Arvarox is the continent most remote from Echo. In my view, it is also one of the most interesting places imaginable. They have strange manners, a strange religion, strange philosophy, and even stranger logic. Their plants and animals are nothing like ours. They look like they come from your worst nightmare. There are no metals in Arvarox, yet its citizens have devised quite original ways of getting by, and they do get by just fine. You will see for yourself, however. I understand that in the next few days you will have some firsthand experience with Arvaroxians. And, no, we are not at war with Arvarox, which is all the better for them. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the Unified Kingdom. But apart from us, no one can compete with them. Alas, Arvarox is the major headache of our politicians. If it weren’t for the well-balanced diplomacy of His Majesty and the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover, the government of Arvarox would most certainly try to subjugate the rest of the World, much as they once subjugated their own continent.”

  “But do they pose any danger to us?” I said. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in a World War. The dirt of the trenches, the rumble of Babooms, and not a single bathing pool with hot water for miles around would bore me to death.

  “Of course not, Max. If anything, it’s we who pose a danger to them. But, you understand, no one wants the sovereigns of Arvarox to lord it over the Kumon Caliphate or, say, Isamon. They don’t stand a chance against Arvarox, so they would send their ambassadors to the Unified Kingdom and drench the king’s robe with their tears. What would happen next is that a couple of dozen highly trained specialists from the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover would be sent to the battlefield. They would give the aggressor an object lesson on what happens to a turkey on the Day of Foreign Gods. There would be a lot of Forbidden Magic, a lot of bloodshed, and a lot of insults hurled back and forth. For this reason, the foreign policy of the Unified Kingdom regarding Arvarox boils down to this: We indulge them, look tenderly into their brave eyes, and strive to grant these eternal teenagers’ every wish. We also make it very clear that the game will last as long as their military crusades, forays, skirmishes, and other such nonsense stay within the bounds of their own continent. If I understand correctly, we also secretly finance their rebels, guerillas, and other overage hoodlums. The Arvaroxian way of life provides a perfect playground for innumerable ‘people’s heroes,’ so their sovereigns are never idle. Arvarox has been in a state of a permanent civil war since time immemorial, and this situation has been to everyone’s satisfaction ever since.”

  “Boy, do I hate politics,” I said. “But does anyone ask my opinion?”

  “You’re right. No one does,” said Sir Manga. “No one asks mine, either.” He then turned to Melifaro. “Don’t forget to take our guest with you, son.”

  “Where is he?” said Melifaro.

  “He’s in the guest room. Still sleeping, I believe, judging by how quiet it is in the house.”

  Waking up Rulen Bagdasys and persuading him to leave immediately, and not in two years’ time, was no ordinary feat. Melifaro returned to the dining room almost an hour later. He was literally dragging the Isamonian by the scruff of his neck.

  “We cannot make a member of a royal family wait forever.” Poor Melifaro wasn’t so much speaking as he was hissing and pointing his finger in my direction. It took me a second or two to remember that it was I who was the “member of a royal family.”

  “What’s going on? What the devil is wrong with you! You’ve lost the last remains of your brain, sir! In Isamon the aristocracy never gets up before dusk. And I can’t travel on an empty stomach. Are you out of your mind?” The nasal voice of Rulen Bagdasys filled the room. “You’ve got some half-wit cooks running your kitchen, but I simply must have something to eat right now! Don’t you know that undernourishment leads to baldness?” he shouted in helpless indignation.

  Sir Manga sighed, got up from his chair, and walked out onto the veranda. His wife had sneaked out earlier, as soon as she heard the Isamonian’s first nasal utterances coming from the hallway.

  “Sir Manga,” I whispered, following him. “I need a definite answer from you. What should we do with him? Should we bring him back to you and Anchifa safe and sound, or should we put him on a ship to Isamon, or—”

  “Oh, I don’t know! Do as you please. For all I care, you can eat him. You know, Max, I am under the impression that he does not want to go back to Isamon. I don’t think anyone’s waiting for him back there. Anchifa is also getting tired of this exotic plaything from overseas. A sad story, if you think about it.”

  “Maybe not as sad as it seems. It’s up to Anchifa to decide, though,” I said. “Thank you for your hospitality, Sir Manga. I am sorry I couldn’t stay so you could get good and sick of me. I’d love to, but I’ve got work to do.”

  “That’s a law of nature, Sir Max. One of its most disagreeable laws, in fact. There is a saying in Tulan that goes, ‘A nice guest always leaves early.’ It’s a great place, Tulan. One of my favorite.”

  “What about Isamon?” I said.

  “Oh, no, it’s the backwoods,” said Sir Manga. “One of the most boring places I’ve ever been to. The only moderately amusing pastime there is entertaining y
ourself by watching the multicolored thighs of its inhabitants.”

  “Indeed. Their clothing is most peculiar,” I said with a grin, and went back to the dining room.

  “Now we really do have to leave,” I said.

  I was exaggerating. We had about five hours before dusk, and I could get us back to Headquarters in no more than twenty minutes if I tried. After having slept in the bedroom of Filo Melifaro, though, I was surprisingly energetic. I had to start working off some of this new energy right away, or I would explode.

  “Did you hear that?” Melifaro asked the Isamonian, who was practically licking the empty plate in front of him. “Run up and start packing. If you’re not ready in thirty minutes, you’re traveling light.”

  “What?” shouted the Isamonian. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

  I began to lose hope for a peaceful outcome to our humanitarian mission. I sighed loudly and filled my plate again just to keep myself busy.

  About two hours later, Anchifa, still sleepy, came down into the dining room. “I was just planning to go for a stroll, and this silly boy is already running off!” he said.

  “If you need company, take Baxba,” said Melifaro, chuckling.

  “Thank you kindly,” grumbled Anchifa.

  “Better yet, come visit me in Echo,” said Melifaro.

  “What am I going to do there? Run around the Quarter of Trysts shouting, ‘Hey, have you seen my brother? A dozen days ago he left for work and hasn’t come back yet’?”

  “For your information, running around shouting is not the only form of entertainment in the Quarter of Trysts,” said Melifaro. “But it’s up to you. If you change your mind, you can always count on a mat by my front door.”

  “I may change my mind. I just woke up, and I can’t decide. By the way, say hi from me to those goggle-eyed fellows from Arvarox. Ask them what they thought of our latest skirmish by the Joxi Islands. Come to think of it, don’t ask them that. It may provoke a diplomatic crisis.”