The Stranger: The Labyrinths of Echo, Part One

by Max Frei

  “Me, a Marvel? Take a look at yourself!” I said, but Lonli-Lokli was already groaning helplessly with laughter. Nevertheless, we managed to leave for our outing.

  Along the way, Sir Shurf giggled without stopping. Everything sent him into gales of laughter: the way I walked, the faces of occasional passersby, masterpieces of local architecture. And you could understand why. By my calculations, he hadn’t even smiled in two hundred years. Here was the opportunity of a lifetime! He was like a Bedouin who had just found himself in a swimming pool. It was pleasant to watch him enjoying himself so thoroughly, as long as he didn’t choke from joy. Whether I had done a good deed or committed the most terrible blunder of my life remained to be seen.

  “What are we going to eat?” I asked, seating myself at a small table in the Country Home, an old-fashioned tavern that I remembered Lady Sotofa mentioning.

  “Whatever we order, we’ll end up eating crap again. You can bet on that!” said Lonli-Lokli, and dissolved in mirth once more.

  “In that case, let’s take the easy way out.” I closed my eyes and pointed randomly at one of the meals listed on the menu. “Number eight. I know what I’m getting. How about you?”

  “What an excellent way to make a decision!” Shurf frowned and pointed at something. As one might have predicted, he missed, and knocked over my glass, which crashed to the floor. Lonli-Lokli guffawed again. I sighed. And this was the fellow who was supposed to keep me out of trouble?

  “Oooh, I’ll have to try again!” Lonli-Lokli gasped, his laughter finally spent. This time I was ready for him, and propped up the menu in front of him just in time. Sir Shurf’s forefinger pierced right through the menu at about the thirteenth item. The owner of this dangerous weapon exploded in laughter all over again.

  “You must be hungry,” I said. “I think a hole in the menu means a double portion. I hope with all my heart that it’s something tolerable.”

  “Don’t ever hope! It will be crappier than crap!” Lonli-Lokli announced cheerfully. Then he roared at the proprietor who was timidly making his way to us, “Crap No. Eight, and Double Crap No. Thirteen. And make it snappy!”

  “You’ve scared the living daylights out of him,” I said, watching the stooped shoulders of the retreating prorietor. “I can only imagine how—”

  “No, you can’t! You can’t imagine the teeniest tiniest thing! All the better. Oh-ho! Now it’s time to start stuffing our bellies! Look how he waddles, it’s hilarious! By the way, your way of choosing a meal is really something. Do you see what they’re bringing us?”

  “Yes, I see it,” I said. I was completely at a loss.

  They served Lonli-Lokli two minute vase-like glasses, each of which contained a fragment of some whitish substance that smelled simultaneously of mildew, honey, and rum. I was presented with a huge pot, filled to the brim with meat and vegetables.

  “Bring me the same, immediately!” Lonli-Lokli demanded. “Otherwise I’ll feel embarrassed in front of the lady. And take back that Number Thirteen! We smelled it, and that was enough!”

  “You may leave one,” I interrupted. “I’m very curious about what kind of junk you ordered.”

  “Go ahead and try it. Personally, I’m not willing to risk my life over such a trifle. Goodness, Sir Max—how funny you are!”

  The proprietor stared at us in mute bewilderment and disappeared, taking one of the much-maligned little vases with him.

  I poked around at the whitish substance with squeamish fascination, sniffed it again, and cautiously tasted a bit of it.

  It tasted like a horrible mixture of lard and smelly cheese, soaked in some variety of the local spirits.

  “Disgusting!” I pronounced with a certain respect. “This is what we need to take back with us as a present for Juffin. It’s the best medicine for homesickness and nostalgia, which he doesn’t suffer from anyway.”

  “If we ever see that sly old fox again, that is,” Lonli-Lokli said with a smirk. “Actually, you have a lot of experience traveling between Worlds, don’t you?”

  “Not too much,” I replied, a bit shamefaced. “You’ve changed your tune, it seems. You never liked me talking about my World before.”

  “It’s not my tune I changed—but myself! You’re so slow to catch on. Don’t you see, that dullard Sir Lonli-Lokli whom you had the misfortune to know couldn’t immediately accept the outlandish story of your origins, even it if were the only logical explanation. But I’m not such an idiot as to deny the obvious. I think the unbearable fellow I was unlucky enough to be then will also accept it in time. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “Probably not,” I sighed. “Ah, here’s your meal. Bon appetit, Glamma!”

  “What a name!” Shurf chuckled. “Someone really had to think to come up with that one.”

  He polished off the contents of his pot with unbelievable relish and demanded more. I reached for the kamra, which they made no worse here than in Echo, Lady Sotofa’s uncomplimentary remarks notwithstanding.

  “You’re not such a madman, Sir Max,” said Lonli-Lokli, and winked slyly. “I thought I wouldn’t be able to let you out of my sight so that you wouldn’t get up to mischief in that get-up. But as soon as Uncle Shurf let down his defenses a smidgen, you were already on your guard. You’re a little vixen! No matter what happens, you’ll always land on your feet. You’re made of the sternest stuff.”

  “I never thought it would come to this, but you know best.”

  “That was a compliment,” Lonli-Lonkli said. “People like you went a long way during the Epoch of Orders, believe me. I don’t know where you came from, but . . . Okay, this conversation is getting boring, and I need to grab my good luck by the tail.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing, really. I can’t sleep yet, so I’m going out to look for a way to pass the time. When next will I get the chance to neglect my duties with an easy conscience?”

  I raised my eyebrows in consternation and quickly assessed the matter at hand. In fact, I had in my arsenal an excellent means of getting out of this sticky situation. One dexterous motion of my left hand, and a miniscule Lonli-Lokli would have the perfect opportunity to come to his senses, resting between my thumb and my forefinger. On the other hand, who am I to deprive this wonderful fellow of his well-earned leisure? After all, he was a grownup man, a few centuries older than me. Let him do as he wished. And the main thing was that it might not be a good idea to let him sleep. If the dead men he had robbed were still looking for the Mad Fishmonger . . . Heck, now was their chance to find him!

  “Enjoy yourself, Shurf,” I said. “Lady Marilyn and I will go sniff out the situation and see whether there are any wonders to be found around here.”

  “You are a very clever fellow, Max,” Lonli-Lokli stared at me with a new kind of respect and interest. “I just can’t describe how clever you are!”

  “What, you mean the trick with my left hand might not work?”

  I was already used to dealing with people who read my thoughts, so I knew right away what he meant.

  “It’s not just that it might not work—you can’t even begin to think what I might do in return.”

  “Why not? I have a rich imagination. What I really can’t imagine is what I might do myself.”

  “Bravo!” Lonli-Lokli exclaimed. “That’s how you should answer any high-handed crazy Magician.” And once more he cackled with glee.

  “You know what they say, ‘If you lie down with dogs, you’ll come up with fleas.’ Good night, friend!” I stood up to leave.

  “Goodbye, Sir Max. Tell that bore Sir Lonli-Lokli not to be such a show-off. He’s a good fellow, but sometimes he goes overboard.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. Send me a call if you’re headed for trouble.”

  “Me? Never! But if someone else is headed in that direction . . .”

  “Naturally.”

  I waved to him from the doorway and went on my way.

  The first thi
ng I did was return to Lady Xaraya’s house, which had turned willy-nilly into the Kettarian branch of the Secret Investigative Force. I settled myself comfortably in the flowery rocker, lit a cigarette, and pondered my reflection in the large, old mirror. Lady Marilyn, it seems our husband has abandoned us. I hope you’re satisfied, dear?

  In fact, my new persona was wild with happiness. She squealed in an excess of delight and demanded immediately to go for a walk, to breathe the sweet air of freedom. Perhaps somewhere on the streets of nighttime Kettari she might succeed in finding a few adventures?

  I thought of the recent transformation of Lonli-Lokli. I didn’t know how it would end, but the new image suited him as long as the fellow didn’t get into any trouble. On the other hand, a guy like that get into trouble? Come off it!

  I decided to banish all thoughts like this from my head. You can’t undo what’s already been done.

  Now Lady Marilyn and I had to resolve one small dilemma. I longed for a walk around Kettari, but was it wise for a pretty girl to gallivant about at night in a strange city?

  I have the perfect idea, my little pumpkin! I informed my reflection. Why not dress up like a man? It’s pure madness, of course; but what to do?

  I ransacked my colleague’s bags, found a suitable turban, and even a pin for the looxi. That was all I needed. But now what about Marilyn’s illusory curves? Sir Kofa had really outdone himself when he created my new appearance. I could have gotten away with simple falsies! I sighed and grabbed the next cigarette. How do you turn a girl into a boy? I needed the resourceful eye of a designer.

  In a few minutes I came up with what initially seemed to be an absurd idea: to conceal my virtual figure in the way a real woman might mask her very real figure. I would bind the illusory bust tightly, pad my sides to hide the difference in size between waist and hips, and stuff a rag in the shoulder area.

  Well, it was worth a try. I wasn’t sure whether it was really so dangerous for a girl walking alone through nighttime Kettari, but I decided that once I was a fake man I would feel much more sure of myself than I did as a fake woman. But how confusing it all was!

  Half an hour later I glanced cautiously in the mirror. To my satisfaction, the effect was much better than I had dared hope. Of course, the youth in the mirror didn’t resemble in the least my good friend Max. Nevertheless, the sexual identity of this creature admitted no doubts. The boy was a boy—was a boy! Natural-born.

  Just then I remembered Lady Sotofa’s story about the potion she had given me to drink. Wondrous Half, or Heavenly Half—something like that. “You’ll just stay who you are, but people will think they’re dealing with a completely different person.” That’s what she had said. Did that mean I could now be seen exactly as I wished to be seen? Well, all the better.

  Before leaving the house I stuck my hand under the magic pillow. One cigarette was too meager a supply for the long night ahead of me. In a few minutes I was examining in awe a half-empty pack of Camels. Six cigarettes—untouched! I raised my eyes to the heavens in gratitude. “Dear God,” I solemnly declared. “First, you do exist! And, second, you’re a great guy and my best friend!”

  I opened the door and ducked into the bracing menthol breeze of the Kettarian night. My legs carried me to the other bank over a steep, high-backed stone bridge, with faces of dragon-like creatures carved in the railings, and then even further, through quiet, labyrinthine lanes and moon-white splotches of squares. I didn’t even try to pretend I had any aim. I was just enjoying the stroll. The wonders would have to find me themselves, in the words of Juffin Hully, I thought.

  All night I wandered through Kettari, drunk on mountain air and new sensations. I traveled the length of a dozen streets, drank at least a jug of kamra and other local beverages in tiny, all-night snack bars. I silently opened garden gates and entered dark, empty yards to smoke, staring at the huge, strange greenish moon in the ink-black sky. In someone’s little plot of paradise I drank from a fountain; in another I plucked several large, tart berries from a luxuriant spreading bush. It didn’t look like the Tree of Knowledge, praise be the Magicians.

  The dawn caught up with me on the same bridge where my enchanting journey had begun. I was considering planting a kiss on the funny dragon gazing at me from the railing, but I decided that was going too far—a vulgar act, a false note, the finale of a play in an amateur theater. But here, in Kettari, I wanted to reach perfection. That was why I simply returned home, undressed, and fell asleep right in the living room, curled up in a ball on the short, low divan.

  I woke up before noon. I felt as though someone had given me an intravenous of Elixir of Kaxar. Pure ecstasy!

  Lonli-Lokli wasn’t anywhere to be seen, however. His absence made me a bit nervous. I didn’t feel truly alarmed, only a mild discomfiture—a weak mixture of curiosity and compunction about my own role in the matter, more than anything else.

  After hesitating a bit, I sent him a call.

  Everything all right with you, Shurf?

  Yes, I’m just a bit busy, so let’s talk later. Don’t be upset.

  He’s busy, he says. I’d just like to know with what, I grumbled to the ceiling. In any case, the matter was settled. It was clear that Shurf was safe and sound—that was all that was required of him.

  That most important matter out of the way, I decided to seek out my breakfast. After some consideration, I resolved that Lady Marilyn could go for a walk in Kettari in the light of day. Why should I trouble myself with changing my clothes again? Soon, an elegant damsel was breaking all feminine records in the Old Table, a small restaurant where she astonished the proprietor with her preternatural ability to consume huge amounts of food. The appetite I had worked up during my nighttime wanderings was anything but dainty and ladylike.

  Having eaten her fill, Lady Marilyn went shopping for a map of Kettari. I might need it in the future; and also, there was no better present I could give myself. Maps and atlases have a hypnotic effect on me, and if I had a different kind of character I could easily have become a collector. But collecting is not my forte. My things seem to spread out through the homes of my friends and disappear forever into dark corners. Even nailing them down wouldn’t help.

  I purchased a small thick map with a carefully drawn plan of Kettari. I found a seat at a tiny table in a nameless tavern, sampled the kamra, and began examining my acquisition. I managed to locate my house, my beloved bridge with the dragon faces, Country Home tavern on Cheerful Square. Yes, that place fully deserved its name, if Lonli-Lokli’s antics were any proof.

  After gulping down the last drop of kamra, I continued on my way. I was in love with the bridges of Kettari, and I wanted to cross the Meaire—this was the name of the dark little river—two hundred times, no fewer!

  This time I crossed to the other bank over a large stone bridge that resembled an intricate underwater fortress. I roamed the city trying to find the places that had caught my fancy the night before. I came to understand yet again that night transforms the world completely; I wasn’t able to find a trace of them. This prompted me to do something that seemed quite senseless. I went into a tiny store, bought a fine, almost toy-like pencil, and marked my current route on the new map. I decided that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to retrace this path by dark and compare my impressions.

  When I had finished, I looked around. The store was chock-full of wonderful bric-a-brac. It looked just like the thrift stores and antique marts of the Old City, where I was used to throwing to the winds, without much effort, the better part of my enormous salary. This store, too, brought out the spendthrift in me, and I dreamily fumbled through my pockets.

  Oh, goodness! I suddenly remembered that the money for traveling expenses, our abundant expense account, was in a pouch strapped firmly to the belt of the wayward Lonli-Lokli, still missing in action. Just yesterday it had seemed like such a safe, reliable place for it. In my pockets I had only a bit of change—not more than ten crowns. Any resident of the Capital would consider t
hat to be a veritable fortune, but not I. Almost thirty years of modest, humble making-do hadn’t done me any good, and I was now going through an extended period of pathological squandering. I had a physical need to throw money away, and the habit of keeping track of expenses, weighing what I could or could not afford, gave me a headache. Berating myself for being a brainless moron, I looked around helplessly. Well, it was impossible to leave such a marvelous place without a souvenir. All the more since my eyes had alighted on yet another map of Kettari, embroidered on a delicate piece of leather, a true work of art.

  “How much is this little trifle?” I casually asked the proprietor, who was watching me intently.

  “Just three crowns, miss,” he replied saucily.

  The price was outrageous. Even in the Capital things made in the Code Epoch were cheaper.

  I frowned. “For some reason it seems to me that even one crown would be too much. But one I’d be willing to pay, I suppose. I’ve done sillier things.”

  The merchant stared at me mistrustfully. I made the ubiquitous Kettari gesture, tapping the tip of my nose twice. It worked like a charm. This seemed to be the way out of any situation. A few minutes later I was already sitting in another cozy bistro, examining my purchase.

  Now, I’ve never been especially observant, so if it hadn’t been for the very common practice of first trying to locate the place you’re staying on the map of a strange city, I might never have noticed. Never mind my lodgings—on this map there was no Old Riverfront whatsoever! There was, however, a Cool Riverfront, which was not on the map I had bought a half hour earlier. I put the two maps side by side and peered at them closely. They were similar, very similar, but in addition the name of the riverbank I had already grown to love, there were several other discrepancies. I shook my head in wonder. It looked like the first map I had bought was the right one. I had checked my route against it. Or perhaps both of them were misleading in their own ways?

  I drank down the rest of my kamra, grabbed my enigmatic souvenirs, and went outside. I read the street sign carefully: Circle Lane. Then I peered at my little leather map. This time everything corresponded. There was Circle Lane. But the first map told me I should be standing on Seven Grasses Street. Interesting.