The Stranger: The Labyrinths of Echo, Part One

by Max Frei

  “Wait, so it was all for nothing?” I asked. “Your diplomatic stunt, I mean. The cooks aren’t going to flock to you in record numbers?”

  “Don’t be silly. Everything will fall into place. Today the whole city will throng to Chemparkaroke’s. Tomorrow a few of his bolder fellow-chefs will report to us. In the evening all his customers will be lined up at his door. The day after tomorrow another ten cooks will show up. In a week we’ll be fending them off. Everything in its own good time, you see.”

  “Yes, I see,” I said. “I guess I’ll be able to hold out for a few days.”

  “What a glutton,” Sir Juffin exclaimed in admiration. Melifaro rose.

  “I suppose I’ll stop in at the Thorn. I’m very curious—was Chemparkaroke telling the truth when he said he wanted the Earring just for esthetic purposes, or did he have other motives? What kind of soup will he cook up now? Poor Mr. Bad Dream, you’ll never know, will you?”

  “Big loss. Run along, you pathetic opium-eater, you.”

  “What’s that? Your tongue really runs away with you sometimes. I take it that must be something very improper.”

  “Why improper? In the Borderlands that’s what we call nomads who hanker after fresh horse dung—so much so that it can be habit-forming. They also claim that it ‘brings them repose.’”

  “You’re just envious,” Melifaro said, putting an end to the matter. “Well, Magicians be with you, I’m off to enjoy myself.”

  “Who isn’t going to enjoy himself?” I murmured as my colleagues departed.

  When I was finally alone, I went to the office I shared with Juffin. I poured myself some kamra and took out a little stump of a cigarette. Life was already wonderful without the Soup of Repose.”

  That night I didn’t go anywhere, since Lady Melamori, it turned out, hadn’t slept well the night before and was too tired to go for a walk. But I did get a promise in return: “Tomorrow your poor feet will be cursing you, Max!” In lieu of something better, that promise was quite satisfactory.

  Juffin’s prognosis was correct. The next day, Madam Zizinda came to the House by the Bridge with her cook, and toward evening, yet another plump, red-haired beauty with violet eyes arrived, with two terrified cooks in tow. Since I had come to work fairly early, I was lucky enough to witness the spectacle. Only when Lookfi ran downstairs, red in the face and getting tangled in the hem of his looxi, did I realize this was the famous Lady Varisha, adored young wife of the Master Curator of Knowledge, and proprietress of a restaurant renowned throughout Echo: The Fatman at the Bend.

  Sir Lonli-Lokli made a long speech about “how happy we were,” and so forth. Our Master Who Snuffs Out of Unnecessary Lives was simply indispensable in such situations. Melifaro stared at the guests in frank admiration, nudging Lookfi with his elbow occasionally, and bellowing with approval: “Good show, fellow! Good show!”

  At last, flattered by our attentions, Lady Varisha left, gripping her treasure tightly. Poor Lookfi’s legs were buckling under him from the emotional strain. The cooks, whose ears were already adorned with the cunning embellishments, followed their mistress gloomily.

  Then Melamori and I went out for a walk, leaving only Kurush behind in the Chancellory. The buriwok didn’t object—I promised to buy him a pastry.

  This time there were no fraught conversations about my “non-human origins.” Alas, neither were there any passionate kisses when we parted. But I wasn’t bitter or sad. If this wonderful lady needed time to make room in her heart for me—so be it. I could allow myself the luxury of being patient. Nowadays, besides our waking meetings, I had my dreams, too.

  I had only to close my eyes, and she appeared at the bedroom window. In contrast to her original, the Melamori of my dreams wasn’t the least bit afraid of me. She came very near, smiled, and whispered sweet nothings in my ear. She couldn’t touch me, though; it was as though an invisible glass partition sprang up between us every time. Nor could I take any action—it was so hard to move in this dream. I could begin to stir, but my mobility stopped there. Then she would disappear. I would wake up and toss and turn for a long time in bed, trying to pick up the pieces of my dream so I’d be able to hold it in my memory.

  The days passed very quickly. At home I spent hours fumbling with my pillow. The process was still long and tiresome, but I didn’t mind. I was glad that at least something succeeded. How and why were questions I avoided asking myself. I couldn’t come up with anything sensible, so it was better if things just unfolded as they wished.

  In the evenings I hit the streets with Melamori, and at night, on my shift, I twiddled my thumbs and chatted with Kurush. Then, a few hours before dawn, I went home to see another Melamori, the Melamori of my dreams.

  Juffin seemed to guess that there were some strange things happening to me. In any case, he had nothing against my absences from duty. Whenever I saw him, I noted the flash of unfeigned curiosity in his eyes. A chemist leaning over his beaker—that’s what our Venerable Head looked like at those moments. Evidently, to him I resembled some sort of rare virus. I suppose I should have been pleased.

  The culinary wizards really did start pouring into the House by the Bridge. After Mr. Goppa Tallaboona graced us with his presence (he was the proprietor of all the Skeletons: Sated, Tipsy, Fat, Happy, etc.), it was clear that Juffin’s brilliant idea had conquered the folk.

  Goppa didn’t really need the Earring of Oxalla at all. Not only did he not know how to cook, but he ate his food cold and raw. Mr. Tallaboona brought two dozen of his head chefs to us. And while Melifaro performed the appropriate ritual on them, he gave his colleagues from the Secret Investigative Force an edifying lecture on the dangers of gluttony. The sly old fox knew no one would pay the least bit of attention.

  It had been ten days since our historic visit to Jafax, when I received a call from Sir Kofa Yox an hour before sunset. I was just about to fish out a sixth cigarette butt from the Chink between Worlds. Getting more than five cigarettes before leaving for work was a rare achievement, but I kept right on trying.

  Take your regular clothes with you today, Max. You’ll need them, Kofa advised.

  Has something happened? I asked in alarm.

  No, but something will, believe me. Wait for me after midnight, boy. Over and out.

  I was so intrigued that I even forgot to be glad about the sixth cigarette, which I found in my hand.

  At the House by the Bridge, the usual chaos reigned. An angry, already thinner Melifaro was fighting off hordes of cooks who were lusting after the Earring of Oxalla.

  “I work until sundown, gentlemen. Sun-DOWN. You know what that is? It’s when the sun goes beddy-bye. Do you know what the sun is? It’s that shiny round object that crawls through the heavens! I think I’m making myself clear. Come back tomorrow!”

  The cooks shuffled disconsolately around the Hall of Common Labor, hoping Melifaro might just be blowing off a little steam before getting down to work again.

  “Indeed, why don’t you come back tomorrow, gentlemen?” I suggested amicably. “Or if you’re so determined, I guess I could try my hand at it. Any volunteers?”

  The cooks began to depart, eyeing my black and gold Mantle of Death suspiciously. A moment later, Melifaro and I found ourselves alone.

  “Thanks, Mr. Bad Dream!” Melifaro smiled wearily. “I never realized there were so many cooks in Echo. Today alone I obliged a hundred fifty of them. It is magic, after all. And I’m not made of steel, as this monster Juffin seems to think I am. I’m going home to bed. Tomorrow it’s sure be more of the same!”

  I went into the office. Sir Juffin Hully had already left, most likely to some tavern to sow the sweet fruits of his government labor.

  “Max!” Melamori peeked through the half-opened door. “Are you here, yet?”

  “No,” I said, with a shake of my head. “You’re hallucinating.”

  “Oh, that’s what I thought,” said Melamori and perched on the arm of my chair. This was a sudden change of events! />
  “Will you treat me to some kamra, Sir Max? Let’s sit here and talk a bit. I don’t feel like walking today. You know, I just can’t sleep these days. I wanted to ask you . . .”

  “Ask away.”

  At that moment, the delivery boy from the Glutton Bunba interrupted us. Melamori poured herself some kamra and leaned her face over the mug to catch the soothing steam. I understood this meant we would begin to talk in another ten minutes or so. I was already familiar with all her little habits. After thinking a bit, I reached for a cigarette. To heck with conspiracy and discretion—if worse comes to worst, I’ll tell her the cigarettes were sent to me from my long-lost homeland.

  But Melamori wasn’t concerned about my cigarettes.

  “I dream about you every night,” she announced gloomily. “And I just wanted to know, are you doing this on purpose?”

  I shook my head. I had a clean conscience. I really didn’t have anything to do with it. And I actually had no idea how to pull something off like that off “on purpose.”

  “I dream of you, too. What’s so surprising about that? I think about you, and then I dream of you. That’s all. That’s the way it always is.”

  “I’m talking about something else. Are you sure you don’t do even a bit of magic?”

  I burst out laughing.

  “I wouldn’t even know how to do any magic like that, Melamori! Ask Juffin. He has to make such an effort to teach me the simplest things.”

  This was something of an exaggeration. I learned easily and quickly. It just seemed to me that it wouldn’t hurt to lay it on a bit thick. Let the lady think I was a dullard, and sleep soundly.

  “Fine. I probably think about you, Max—but these dreams truly frighten me. I just wanted to say that if you do making magic, you don’t need to. You don’t have to force me into anything. I want to myself, but . . . just wait a while. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I have to get used to it.”

  “Certainly! Everything will be just as you say, my Fierce Lady. I can wait. I can learn to stand on my head, or dye my hair red. I’m a very agreeable guy.”

  “Dye your hair red! Red!? Oh, you’re joking!” Melamori laughed out loud, sounding relieved. “How did that idea ever enter your head? Can you imagine what you’d look like?”

  “I’ll look magnificent!” I announced proudly. “You won’t believe your eyes.”

  When I was alone again, I shook my head in amazement. My long-suffering, longed-for office romance was slowly but surely approaching the finish line. And the dreams—well, we had “stepped all over each other’s hearts,” as they say here in Echo. That’s why we each had the same dreams.

  It never occurred to me that I should take Melamori’s questions more seriously. I should have realized that we were both having the very same dream, but I didn’t want to. Sometimes I’m surprisingly thickheaded; especially if it’s more convenient for me.

  “Are you bored, boy?” Sir Kofa Yox appeared so suddenly that I jumped up. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “What do you mean ‘where’? To the place they make miracles. We’re going to work on your education. Change your clothes.”

  “But who’s going to stay here?” I had already taken off the black and gold Mantle of Death, underneath which‚ Praise be the Magicians, I was wearing a completely neutral, dark-green skaba. I started changing my other clothes. Boots with bells on them and dragons’ heads would have blown my cover.

  “Kurush. He’s the one who’s been holding down the fort while Lady Melamori dragged you around to hideaways only fit for ruining your digestion.”

  “Max never stays in one place,” the buriwok complained. “He comes and goes. People are so flighty and fickle.”

  “You speak the truth, clever fellow,” said Kofa. “But you don’t mind, do you?”

  “I don’t mind, as long as you bring me some pastry,” the conniving bird replied.

  “I’m bringing you at least a dozen, you smart thing,” I promised, wrapping myself in a modest swamp-colored looxi. I adore looking unobtrusive!

  “I’m ready, Sir Kofa!”

  “Ready? No, you’re not. You don’t want anyone to recognize you, do you? Do you think you have the most ordinary physiognomy in Echo? Come here.”

  Sir Kofa scrutinized me for a minute. Then he sighed and began to massage my face gently. It was pleasantly ticklish. At the end, he gave my nose a tug.

  “I think that’ll do. Come look in the mirror.”

  I went into the hall and stared at myself in the mirror. I saw an unprepossessing character gazing back at me—beady eyes, a long nose, with a protruding lower lip and a powerful, receding forehead. My good old pal Max was nowhere to be seen.

  “Sir Kofa, can you put me back the way I used to be?” I asked nervously. “To tell you the truth, I don’t much like this sort of guy.”

  “A lot you know! Like him or not, the important thing is that no one will recognize you or pay much attention to you. Faces like that are a dime a dozen. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

  “Regrettably, no. I’m very slow about certain things. I’m not against it for the time being—just don’t forget to give me back my old face!”

  “It will come back of its own accord, no later than tomorrow morning. Tricks like this don’t work for very long. All right, now we can go.”

  Kofa then altered his own features with a swift movement of the hand. Now he and I looked like a wise daddy and his not-so-bright sonny boy. Our new faces clearly belonged to the same general category, but Kofa’s looked older and slightly more intelligent.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” I asked. I was bursting with curiosity.

  “A hole in the heavens above you! Haven’t you guessed? We’re going tavern-crawling. A new era has begun: the Epoch of Good Food. I don’t want your poor training in this area to condemn you to a dreary existence in this wonderful new World. I’m actually a very good person—has it never occurred to you?”

  “Do you mean to say that I skipped out on work to go on a pub crawl? Sir Kofa, that’s incredible!” I said, starting to laugh.

  “I see nothing funny about it. I assure you, Juffin considers our outing to be a very serious matter, even if the House by the Bridge were to go to hell in a Dark Magician’s handbasket in your absence. Besides, I’m doing my job. And you’re assisting me.”

  “By the way, Kofa, do you know what Melifaro calls you?”

  “Of course I do. What do you expect from the Master Eavesdropper-Gobbler? I see nothing wrong with it. Who are you to laugh, Mr. Bad Dream?”

  Much to my surprise, we went right past our favorite Glutton Bunba.

  “You come here almost every day with Juffin, anyway. He’s so conservative,” Kofa said dismissively. “He’s convinced that the Glutton is as good as it gets. The cuisine in the Glutton is good, I admit. But every day the same thing—that’s too dull!”

  First we went to the Merry Little Skeletons. The numerous Skeletons scattered about Echo reminded me of the McDonald’s of my homeland. I smiled.

  “What is it?” Kofa asked, taking a seat in the far corner of the room.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that there are too many ‘skeletons’ in Echo.”

  “Do you know the story behind them? Of course, you don’t. Juffin has never had a clue about which stories are the most interesting ones. So listen up. The proprietor of all the Skeletons is Goppa Tallaboona. You’ve seen him—he brought all his cooks over to the Ministry. The fellow comes from a wealthy family, the Tallaboona clan, descendants of gourmands. Back in the day, they were very influential people. These gentlemen so loved to eat, and to eat well, that sometime after the beginning of the Code Epoch they fell into despair. They gathered together and ordered their cooks to prepare food as they had done in the ‘old days’—that is, not neglecting to use Forbidden Magic. And they ate fit to burst. Those were happier times, back then; Juffin and I had our hands full already with other matters.
When we were able to find a half-hour to look in on the Tallaboonas, there was no one to arrest: only dead bodies. Some of them weren’t able to eat so much, so they lost the spark. They got food poisoning. Nice story, isn’t it? Goppa received a huge inheritance, including the houses of his relatives, and in them he opened his taverns. It’s funny, since Goppa had always practiced asceticism in his youth. He constantly quarreled with his elders, and felt nothing but contempt for the family traditions. He didn’t take part in their final feast, of course. They say that to this day Goppa eats only sandwiches, and I believe it. The fellow has a very original sense of humor. Look over there.”

  Sir Kofa pointed to a brightly lighted niche at the opposite end of the room. There was a small table with two small skeletons sitting in state.

  “They’re real, Max. The real skeletons of Goppa’s late relatives. You’ll find them in every one of his establishments, if you recall. And the name of each tavern accurately describes the character of the deceased. The master and mistress of this house were a married couple—both of them small in stature and truly merry people. Good people. They were friends of mine. Now they’re going to serve us something special, so save your strength, Max. The chefs here are still the same ones. The Tallaboonas have always been able to afford the very best. The solemn moment has arrived—they’re bringing out the Big Puff!”

  When I looked at the head chef wheeling his cart in the direction of our table, I was nonplussed. The fellow’s cart was laden with something that looked like Chinese dumplings, except that each dumpling was about three feet in width.

  “Sir Kofa, I do love to eat, of course,” I whispered. “But I’m afraid you have overestimated my abilities.”

  “Don’t be silly, boy. It’s going to be all right. Be quiet now, and watch.”