The Stranger (13 page)
Authors: Max Frei,Polly Gannon
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Horror, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic
“Max, get down on the floor!” Juffin barked. “NOW!”
I flung myself down, as he had ordered. He himself somersaulted over to the window that had been smashed the day before, then stood stock-still and alert. Sir Lonli-Lokli retreated backwards in one smooth motion, over to Melifaro’s body. There he sat on his haunches, clasping his hands prudently in front of him.
A quiet, but clearly hostile rumble started up from the matching depths. The glass in the mirrors buckled and grew convex, like sails billowing in the wind.
It seemed to me that we were in no real danger, for the mirrors had absolutely no interest in us. Instead, each revolting infinity advanced on its copy, until they merged into a kind of rabid Möbius strip, as each tried to swallow the other, just as the Mirror Monsters had just done. When it was finished, a dark, twisted up clump of some dark sticky substance was all that remained.
“Well, Sir Shurf, that last piece was your job, I suppose,” Juffin observed with obvious relief.
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
Another moment, and nothing was left of the nightmare.
Juffin jumped to his feet. The first thing he did was to go over and examine Melifaro, who was writhing around in the blankets.
“An ordinary faint,” he reported cheerfully. “The most common, everyday sort of fainting spell. He should be ashamed of himself! Let’s go, Max. Help me put this house in order. And you, Sir Shurf, deliver this priceless piece of meat into the arms of Kimpa. Let Kimpa bring him around, prepare oceans of kamra, and no less than a hundred sandwiches. Scarf down the food as soon as it’s served, and we’ll come and join you. Come on, Sir Max! Do you realize what has just happened? We did it! Sinning Magicians, we did it!”
Sir Shurf pulled on his thick protective gloves, grabbed up Melifaro, and carried him off under his arm like a rolled-up carpet.
And Juffin and I set out on a new journey through the house as it shrugged off the curse slowly, step by step. The spell of petrifaction that reigned over its dwellers merged into a deep sleep. It was far better this way. Sleep smoothes out the alien grimaces of another world. All would be forgotten; none of the survivors would be marked for the rest of their lives by the curse of the previous night. Tomorrow morning everything in this big house would be almost back to normal. The only thing that remained to do was to bury the unfortunate fellows who had been capering about the hall by the fountain, organize a spring cleaning, and call in a good medicine man to administer a calming herb to all members of the household for the next two dozen days.
It could have been worse. It could have ended very badly, indeed.
We went out into the garden.
“How nice it is out here!” I said with a sigh with relief.
Sir Juffin Hully took the liberty of patting me on the back, which is only allowed to the closest of friends in the Unified Kingdom.
“You turned out to be a wild wind, Sir Max! Much wilder than I expected. And I already had a high opinion of you, you may be quite sure!”
“A ‘wild wind’? Why ‘wind,’ Juffin?”
“That’s what we call people who are unpredictable. The kind about whom you never know what they might pull off next, how they’ll behave in a fight, what kind of effect magic will have on them—or Jubatic Juice! You never even know how much such a person will eat: one day he’ll empty the whole pot, and the next he’ll start preaching moderation . . . That was exactly what I needed: a wild wind, a fresh wind from another world. But you turned out to be a real hurricane, Sir Max! Lucky me!”
I was about to feel embarrassed, but then I thought—why should I? I really was pretty good; at least my part in the story of the mirrors. I’ll start indulging in modesty once the number of my exploits exceeds one hundred.
At home we found not only Lonli-Lokli waiting for us, decorously sipping his kamra, but also Melifaro, pale but quite lively, devouring the sandwiches from a tray resting on his lap. Chuff followed all his motions with great interest. Judging by the crumbs that had collected abundantly around the dog’s mouth, Sir Melifaro also had a soft spot in his heart for him.
“It’s too bad you saved me,” Melifaro said, grinning from ear to ear and bowing to Juffin. “Your pantry is running low with me around!”
“As if that matters! My pantry has long been in need of an airing. By the way, Max is the one you should thank. He was your main rescuer.”
“Thank you,” Melifaro purred, his mouth full of food. “So you, my fine friend, ate up the frog? And I thought it was our baleful sorcerers who took care of it.”
“Shurf and I, of course, worked with our hands,” Juffin explained modestly. “But only after Sir Max worked with his head. If it hadn’t been for his crazy idea about a second mirror, you would have been someone’s sandwich. Do you remember anything at all, you lucky devil?”
“Not a thing. Loki-Lonki described the scenario briefly—but his account lacked picturesque detail. I require a literary description!”
“You’ll get your picturesque detail. Chew up, first, or you’ll choke!” Sir Juffin said, shaking his head sternly.
“Sir Melifaro, my name is Lonli-Lokli. Please oblige me by learning how to pronounce it. It’s high time. There are only ten letters; it’s not such a daunting task!”
“That’s what I’m saying—Lonki-Lomki!” And Melifaro turned to me abruptly. “So in fact you’re my main rescuer? Well, what do you know, Sir Nocturnal Nightmare! I owe you one.”
That was the moment of triumph for me. I had been preparing my acceptance speech on the way over.
“Nonsense. Where we live, in the Barren Lands, every beggarly nomad has a mirror like Makluk’s in his household. I don’t understand why here, in the capital, people make such a big fuss over something so trivial.”
Shurf Lonli-Lokli expressed polite surprise. “Really, Sir Max? It’s strange that scholars make no mention of this.”
“There’s nothing strange about it.” I snapped, putting on a malevolent leer. “The ones who could have told the story are now forever silent. We have to feed our favorite house-pets somehow!”
Sir Juffin Hully burst out laughing. Melifaro raised his eyebrows in surprise, but realized almost immediately that I was just teasing and let out a guffaw. Lonli-Lokli shrugged indulgently and reached again for his mug.
“Save your strength, gentlemen,” Juffin warned. “Today in the
Glutton
a public holiday has been declared: it’s Melifaro’s resurrection. You do as you wish, but Max and I are going out to carouse. We’ve earned it! Sir Shurf, you’re coming too; and that’s an order! Melifaro, you’re probably still too weak. You stay here and get better. We’ll carouse for you!”
Glutton
a public holiday has been declared: it’s Melifaro’s resurrection. You do as you wish, but Max and I are going out to carouse. We’ve earned it! Sir Shurf, you’re coming too; and that’s an order! Melifaro, you’re probably still too weak. You stay here and get better. We’ll carouse for you!”
“Me, weak? You can just drive me to the
Glutton
.”
Glutton
.”
“Well, all right. We’ll drive you right to the doorstep. But you don’t know how Sir Max drives the amobiler! He’ll keep you in check—he’ll shake the living daylights right out of you!”
“Sir Max? You mean to say you’re a real racer?”
“I didn’t think so,” I said proudly, “but Sir Juffin was very dissatisfied when he came for a spin with me. He kept asking me to slow down, even though I was virtually crawling. Actually, everyone here drives slowly. Why is that I wonder?”
Melifaro leaped out of his chair.
“If that is true, then you’re perfect! Why is it that you haven’t conquered us yet?”
“The military potential of border-dwellers is extremely low,” Sir Lonli-Lokli remarked pedantically. “On the other hand, their intellectual capabilities are without doubt higher than ours. Unlike you, Sir Max learned to pronounce my name on the first try. An impressive debut, wouldn’t you say?”
CHAPTER TWO
JUBA CHEBOBARGO AND OTHER NICE FOLKS
“M
AX, ARE YOU
SURE
YOU’RE GOING TO BE COMFORTABLE here?” asked Juffin. He himself looked rather uncertain. “Or have you not yet come to terms with the fact that the King will be paying for your lodgings now?”
AX, ARE YOU
SURE
YOU’RE GOING TO BE COMFORTABLE here?” asked Juffin. He himself looked rather uncertain. “Or have you not yet come to terms with the fact that the King will be paying for your lodgings now?”
It all seemed quite funny to me: just yesterday the very idea that I could move into this massive empty house made my head spin. Sure, it was only two stories high, with one room on each story; but each room was the size of a small stadium. For some reason, they don’t seem to feel the need to economize on space in Echo. Local architecture features only low buildings, two or three stories high, which are, nevertheless, incredibly spacious. The house that I chose on the Street of Old Coins was smaller than its neighbors, which I rather liked about it. Judging by Juffin’s expression, however, it seemed I was enchanted to be living in a slum.
“We Border Dwellers are slaves to habit,” I said proudly. “If only you could see the yurts we inhabit in the Barren Lands.” This secret ethnographic reference was for the benefit of the house’s owner, who stood deferentially to the side. After all, you can’t very well tell a respectable citizen that the person who wants to rent his house is an émigré from another world. The poor fellow was, of course, delighted by his good fortune, but not enough to let this intriguing information about my origins slip by unnoticed.
“And besides, I made my choice out of a sense of duty. The more wretched my conditions at home, the more time I will spend at work.”
“Sounds reasonable, Sir Max. Very well, you can sleep upstairs and entertain guests on the first floor. But where do you propose to keep the help?”
I decided it was time to stand my ground with my boss.
“I don’t approve of keeping servants. I can’t have strangers walking around in my house—closing books that I leave open, going through my private belongings, stealing my cookies, and looking into my eyes with devotion while waiting for me to give orders. I should pay money for that? No, thank you.”
“I see, Sir Max. You’re suffering from a bad case of asceticism, complicated by pathological stinginess. How do you plan to spend the money you’ve saved?”
“I’ll collect amobilers. With my driving habits, I’ll go through them in no time.”
Sir Juffin sighed. For him, forty miles an hour was insufferable recklessness, and perhaps that wasn’t too far from the truth. Before my arrival, people in Echo were under the impression that thirty miles per hour was the absolute limit for this cutting-edge miracle of local technology. That was how I first became something of an attraction in those parts.
“You really are an oddball, Sir Max, moving into a house with only three bathing pools!”
Here I had to admit I had slipped up. In Echo, the bathroom is a special place. Having five to six small swimming pools with water of varying temperatures and aromas is considered not a luxury, but the norm. But even that wasn’t enough to turn me into a sybarite. In Sir Juffin’s house, where there were eleven such baths, I felt that bathing was hard work, and not something to be enjoyed. So I was quite sure that three baths would be more than enough for me.
“I suppose you’re right,” Sir Juffin said. “What difference does it make where you make your bed at night? Oh, well, it’s your life and you can indulge in self-deprivation if you wish. Let’s go over to the
Glutton
, Sir Max. It would be great if we made it over there an hour before everyone else.”
Glutton
, Sir Max. It would be great if we made it over there an hour before everyone else.”
The amobiler sent by the Ministry of Perfect Public Order was already waiting for us. The owner of the house had us sign the rental papers, and, still unable to believe his luck, disappeared before we could reconsider.
Other books
One Night with her Boss by Noelle Adams
Karma's a Killer by Tracy Weber
Kiss From a Rogue by Shirley Karr
In the Silks by Lisa Wilde
Cloudland by Joseph Olshan
Mistletoe Maneuvers by Margaret Allison
The Widow by Carla Neggers
The Basement by Leather, Stephen
Cain’s Book by Alexander Trocchi
Whatever it is, I Don't Like it by Howard Jacobson