by Max Frei
My innate sense of hospitality and the servile tone of the visitor conspired to make me invite him in. Moreover, there was nearly a full jug of kamra from the Glutton and a pretty assortment of tidbits, as well. I just had to find some clean mugs. In a large house that’s not so easy.
“What happened?” I inquired when the objects of my search were found. “What is this ‘sad news’ you wish to verify? Did someone finally rat on me? We’ll have to celebrate that.”
“I’ll explain everything to you, Sir Max, but please don’t be alarmed. Nothing untoward has happened, I assure you.”
“Judging from what you’ve just told me, you already know about my new position,” I remarked acidly. “To be honest, I wasn’t about to get alarmed. Whatever may have happened, the death penalty is not held in high repute here, and I just returned from Xolomi. I had a lovely stay there, I hasten to add . . .”
“Generally speaking, my main occupation is to verify the legitimacy of denunciations that make their way to the Royal Court. That really is true,” my guest admitted, somewhat abashed. “But I beg you, Sir Max, do not think that the King gave any credence to General Boboota Box’s memo. I’m here about another matter altogether.”
“Well, well, well! Our conversation has taken a much more interesting turn! Do me a favor, sir, and tell me what kind of memo that might have been. I haven’t been at the Ministry for three days. I was carrying out an investigation on the orders of the Venerable Head. What, according to General Box, was I up to?”
“I’m embarrassed even to mention such trifling matters to you, Sir Max. General Box found out that in your absence one of the junior staff members of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order visited your home and—”
“And fed my animals,” I nodded. “It’s the truth. He groomed them, too. What else are junior staff for?”
“I agree with you one hundred per cent, Sir Max. I’ll let you in on a secret: General Box always forgets that the Secret Investigative Force and his Police Force are very different organizations, that what is acceptable in his half of the House by the Bridge is not necessarily so in yours. Boboota Box has not seldom delivered denunciations about the behavior of the Venerable Head himself, not to mention your other colleagues.”
“And what exactly does Boboota object to?”
Kovista Giller broke into a shy smile.
“Well, he objects to everything. For instance, that Sir Kofa Yox doesn’t show up at work when he should be on duty, because he rarely leaves the tavern.”
“Well, yes,” I agreed. “That truly is bad form! He should just stay in his office, occasionally making a trip to the john to hear Boboota’s underlings rake him over the coals in secret. Instead, he haunts all the dives in town.”
My visitor nodded in satisfaction.
“The King even collects letters of denunciation about your department. He sticks them in a special album and illustrates them personally. He says he’s going to give the album to Sir Juffin Hully when the pages run out. That’s why His Majesty read General Box’s letter carefully before adding it to the others. The King was curious: why do you keep beasts at home, and what kind of pleasure do you derive from this?”
“See for yourself,” I smiled tenderly. “Look how beautiful my Armstrong and Ella are. And so smart!”
The instigators of social discord heard their names and clambered into my lap. I groaned under their bulk, which was nothing to joke about. The long, carefully groomed fur flowed down almost to the floor. Blue eyes peered out from fuzzy cheeks, and their plume-like tails tickled my nose. I had reason to be proud of them!
“If you only knew how sweet it is to sleep to the sound of their purring,” I murmured dreamily. “That, if you will permit me, is pure delight.”
“Where did you get them, Sir Max?” my guest asked.
To this very day I don’t know what made me tell a fib. I think I felt the cats would be hurt if I admitted to a complete stranger the secret of their plebeian origins.
“These cats are the direct descendants of wild cats of the Barren Lands and a mysterious, wild black beast that inhabits the land where the sun sets.”
I tried my best to imitate the speech of an exultant savage until I could no longer restrain myself. I burst out laughing, then said in a normal tone of voice:
“At least that’s what it said in the note I found in the basket when the little critters were delivered to me by a merchant. They were a present from an old friend.”
“To think of it!” the Royal Messenger exclaimed. “His Majesty guessed correctly! He told me right off, ‘I’m sure that this Sir Max has cats that are as unusual as he is. Go over and find out—I’m dying with curiosity!’ Now I see with my own eyes, Sir Max, that your cats don’t resemble in the least the cats that live on our farms.”
“If His Majesty considers Armstrong and Ella to be such marvels, I will be the first to agree with him,” I declared, pressing the heavy mounds of fur closer to me. “They are nothing if not extraordinary.”
The local farmers simply don’t have the time or the strength to groom the resplendent fur of their animals, I thought to myself. My cats, it was true, looked nothing like the scraggly, matted specimens that lurked about the peasants’ gardens in search of extra scraps of food.
The Master Verifier of Sad News apologized profusely for taking up my valuable time, and sent out a call to Rulx Castle, the main Royal Residence. Evidently, such a serious matter requires lengthy deliberation—the fellow remained silent for nearly an hour.
Finally, Kovista Giller again turned his attention to me. I was already dozing off in my armchair.
“Sir Max,” he began in a respectful whisper. “The King would like some cats just like these. Oh, I don’t mean to suggest that His Majesty intends to take your own beasts from you. But you do have a girl and a boy, and it stands to reason that that will eventually result in offspring. Might we have the honor of receiving a cat from the litter?”
This was a sensible solution to an impending problem. Kittens were in the bargain sooner or later, there was no getting around it. I had been planning on sending the Armstrong-and-Ella descendents to the same place their parents hailed from—Melifaro’s estate. But the Royal Palace was more convenient. And it was closer to home.
“Of course! When the little ones arrive, I’ll be happy to send the King the pair of them with the chubbiest paws!” I promised solemnly.
Kovista Giller showered me with thanks, apologies, and compliments, and then disappeared out the door. I went off to bed.
I didn’t have a chance to sleep in the next morning, though. A few hours later my new acquaintance sent me another call. It seemed all the courtiers had to have Armstrong and Ella’s future offspring, too. Kovista Giller insisted that we meet again.
That evening I held in my hand a note with the names of all the eager recipients of this “rare” (and with Royal stamp of approval!) breed. It was a list of ninety names. And I suspected this was only the beginning.
Poor Ella, even a very long lifetime was too short to produce that many litters. But all these men of the world hungered to appear on the glorified waiting list, if nothing else.
Naturally, Juffin found out about my dealings with the Royal Court in no time, and summoned me for a meeting. I set out for the House by the Bridge anticipating the amusement to come.
“What are you doing to my World, Max? What kinds of transformations are you unleashing?” demanded the Venerable Head of the Minor Secret Investigative Force with mock severity. “And, be so good as to tell me: why only cats? You should have inspired them to take horses into their homes and to ride from the living room to the bedroom! Why were you so grudging?”
“I can still try, if you wish,” I replied, giving the matter some thought. “The size of the apartments in the capital would certainly allow it.”
“I don’t doubt that you’d succeed! The Royal Courtiers are so eager for novelties . . . but wait a few years, why don’t you? At my age, it�
�s hard to get used to newfangled notions.”
“I’ll wait. But never mind the horses. Let’s just stick to cats.”
“Really? Well, thank you for that, at least. Sinning Magicians, sometimes I really start believing myself that you grew up in the Borderlands. You don’t even take offense anymore!”
“Just watch how I can take offense! Just see me spit!” I grimaced madly.
“I might otherwise be struck with terror, but my position won’t allow it,” Juffin said, grinning. “It is widely believed that I fear nothing and no one. I can’t just up and fly in the face of the honored traditions of the Secret Investigative Force.”
“By the way, apropos of traditions,” I said, recalling recent events. “What are so-called close friends expected to do for one another? I’m not joking, I really need to know.”
“What are you talking about, Max? Who are you calling your ‘close friends’? Give me some background.”
“Well, last night I overindulged in Elixir of Kaxar and patted Sir Shurf on the back. He seemed perfectly happy with this, so everything’s fine. There must be some friendship traditions I have to uphold so as not to offend him, though. Am I guessing right?”
“No, I don’t recall anything of that nature,” Juffin said, furrowing his brow. “I don’t think anyone is required to do anything in particular. You don’t have to address him as ‘sir’ anymore, although you seem to have stopped doing that already anyway. Sinning Magicians! What am I trying to explain? Friendship is friendship! By the way, if you recall, I once did the same to you.”
“Yes, but—”
I grew confused and fell silent. It’s awkward to admit to a person that you consider him to be the Great Exception to all possible rules. It’s too close to crude flattery.
But Juffin understood already anyway.
“You mean to say that I’m just one of the guys, but Lonli-Lokli is a true gentleman? Yes, that’s one way of looking at it, but you’re in luck, Max! There are no particular rituals for such a situation. Well, except for the fact that now when you visit Shurf, you have the right to take a bath at his house and spend the night. And he has the same right—though I question whether he would take advantage of it. All right, Sir Max, a few Days of Freedom from Care are no less than you deserve, so I won’t detain you any longer.”
“That sounds like you’re showing me the door,” I said with a smile. “I even feel a bit hurt. Not show up on duty for two days? I’ll die of boredom!”
“I’m glad you like your job. Now you’ve got to get some rest, though. And no adventures! I’m saying that to you as a healer. Understand?”
In the corridor of the Ministry I ran into General Boboota Box. He bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile, his face crimson. The poor chap seemed to be on the verge of fainting. When he saw my Mantle of Death, the illustrious General Boboota understood that he had acquired a very dangerous enemy. I could only sympathize.
Joking aside, passing by the Sated Skeleton I heard two middle-aged ladies in heated argument. If I’m not mistaken, they were playing Krak, the local version of poker. And, inevitably, they were both cheating. They made so much noise that they couldn’t hear the melodious tinkle of the bells on my boots. “May Sir Max spit on you!” one of them screamed at the other.
Unbelievable! I plunked myself down on the mosaic sidewalk and let my head fall into my hands. I sat like that for ten minutes or more. I kept repeating, like a mantra, Juffin’s advice: “Get used to it, and try to enjoy it.”
Then I got up and walked home. What else could I do?
CHAPTER FOUR
THE STRANGER
AS SOON AS SOMEONE DECIDES THAT HE HAS MADE HIS PEACE WITH himself and the world around him, his best friends, as though on cue, will start doing everything in their power to relieve him of the illusion. This has been tested on a live human being. On me, to be exact.
I returned to the House by the Bridge after several days of blissful lethargy, clouded only by the installment of a fourth bathing pool in my house. I walked down the corridor, wrapped in my splendid Mantle of Death, anticipating a pleasant meeting with colleagues. And, to tell the truth, they didn’t let me down.
At the door leading into our side of the building, Melifaro rushed up to me. The fact that in his haste the guy stomped on my foot and elbowed me in the side was a trifle. He then tried to turn this petty incident into a kind of vaudeville act.
Melifaro bounded away from me like a tennis ball. His face froze in an expression of utter horror. He collapsed onto all fours and began beating his head against the threshold. To top it off, he let out a scream so shrill it made my ears ring.
“Spare me, O Sir Max the Terrible, who spews death from out of his fire-breathing maw! Do not snuff out my existence with your burning spittle, which flows abundantly over the heads of your sworn enemies! I am unworthy of such a magnificent demise.”
Terrified policemen came running up when they heard Melifaro’s shrieks. It appeared they sincerely thought that someone was being murdered. They stared at my grimacing colleague. At me they only glanced surreptitiously, as though trying to size up the situation—was he going to spit or not? From our side of the Ministry, only Lonli-Lokli poked his stony physiognomy out of the doorway. Taking it all in at a glance, Sir Shurf sighed and slammed the door shut. In the meantime, the curious policemen still lingered.
Enjoying the all-round attention, Melifaro jumped up suddenly and sidled up close to me.
“Am I forgiven?” he asked innocently. “Or did I overdo it?”
“You overdid it.” I tried to stay calm, since I really was becoming a bit overwrought. “In such cases, it’s considered only proper to repent for no less than an hour. Moreover, it should be done in the most public place in town. Get thee hence to the Victory of Gurig VII Square, my poor friend, and fulfill your duty. Then you will be absolved of all guilt.”
At that, I retreated, slamming the door so hard the handle was left hanging limply by one screw. After that I really did start to calm down.
What’s wrong, Max? Melifaro sent me a call posthaste. Are you actually offended? I just wanted to amuse you.
Content yourself with the thought that you amused a whole crowd of cops and your own sweet self, I replied.
Where did your sense of humor go, Max? Well, never mind. If you’re still in a huff, I’ll stand you a drink. Come along to the Glutton and I’ll treat you to something stronger than your own nerves. Over and out.
He really was sucking up, tossing out my favorite expression. This only made me angrier.
“What if I actually do kill him, Shurf?” I asked.
Lonli-Lokli proceeded to regale me with legal advice, as thougt I really did intend to get even with my friend.
“Lifetime imprisonment in Xolomi, since you are both in government service. That will be an aggravating factor. Or there may be no consequences whatsoever, if you can prove that he committed a particularly heinous crime. All in all, such a situation is very undesirable. You ought not take offense at Melifaro. You know him, Max. It’s unfortunate that he was spoiled by his mother and older brothers, since his father, Manga Melifaro, was always busy—”
“Gadding about the World writing his famous Encyclopedia, I know. World travelers shouldn’t start families. Their passion for adventure gets passed down to their offspring. Well, never mind. I’ll just go to the Glutton and give him a shiner. He’s waiting for me, after all. Did you see the expressions on those terrified policemen, Shurf?”
“Naturally.”
“Make sure that none of them gets into the Silver Leaflet for the next thousand years. There wasn’t an intelligent face among them. And they really believed that I might kill him, the idiots. It’s obvious they learned their stuff from General Boboota.”
After venting my spleen on innocent people I felt a deep sense of satisfaction and went to make peace with Melifaro in the Glutton. There was plenty of time. Already bored at home, I had shown up for work much earlier than
necessary.
Melifaro did everything he could to improve my mood—which he had done so much to spoil. When the time came to go on my night shift, I was no longer a menace to society.
Sir Juffin Hully sat in his armchair, his nose between the pages of a book. This idyll attested to the peace and tranquility that had already returned to Echo.
“Greetings, traitor,” he mumbled. “So, you’re sitting in the Glutton with Melifaro instead of relieving an old man on duty.”
“First of all, I came a half hour early. Second, Melifaro was atoning for his sins.”
“I know all that. And third?”
“And third, I’m ready to do it all again in your company.”
“What, exactly?”
“Go to the Glutton.”
“You won’t burst at the seams, Sir Max?”
“No way.”
“I’m too lazy to go anywhere. Let’s have them bring something over here. Sit down. I’m going to gossip.”
“For you, Sir, I’m prepared even for that.”
“Ha! He’s prepared. You’re the main character of this story. Do you know what Lady Melamori has been up to? I just found out today. When did you last see her?”
“Two days ago. Melifaro and I went to visit her. If you’re talking about that, Juffin, you can rest assured—everything was all above-board and proper. Too much so for my taste.”
“I see. I could have predicted the outcome of that visit without the help of clairvoyants—even twelve years before your birth. That’s not what I’m asking. Did you see her after that?”
“No. True, Melamori sent me a call several times. She inquired about my health and asked about my mood. Very sweet of her. I was touched.”
“By the way, how have you been feeling all this time?”
“You mean after my incarceration in the death cell? I haven’t spat any poison, at least, if that’s what you want to know.”
