Authors: Max Frei,Polly Gannon
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Horror, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic
The Stranger (16 page)
“Oh, I can just imagine what Melifaro’s attentions are like! ‘Please be so kind as to remove your splendiferous backside from my presence, dear, for its divine shapeliness is distracting me!’”
Sir Juffin laughed. “You guessed it, Max! You really are clairvoyant!”
“Not at all. It’s just that some things go without saying.”
“Regardless, Melifaro is a favorite among the ladies. Although he is no redhead; but then again, neither are you! Do as you wish, though I fear your efforts will not meet with success.”
“I’ve never really had any luck with women in my life. Well, at first I was fairly lucky. Then all of a sudden, they all thought they had to get married for some reason. And not to me. It’s especially strange, because I almost always fell in love with very smart girls. Even that didn’t help matters. I don’t see how any intelligent person could seriously want to get married. In any case, I’m used to it.”
“Well, if that’s how it is, it means you’re either the most thick-skinned or the slipperiest son-of-a-werewolf in the entire Unified Kingdom.”
“Neither. This is probably another one of those cultural differences. We forget pain quickly, and those who can’t at least dull it are apt to inspire pity mixed with incomprehension. Their relatives may also try to persuade them to see a psychoanalyst. I suppose that’s because we don’t live very long, and spending several years on one sorrow would be a ridiculous extravagance.”
“How long do you live?” asked Sir Juffin in surprise.
“About seventy or eighty years. Why do you ask?”
“You die so young? Every one of you?”
“But you see, we’re old by that time.”
“How old are you, Max?”
“Thirty . . . at least, I will be soon. Perhaps I already am. When is my birthday? I’ve lost count since I came here.”
Sir Juffin became seriously alarmed.
“Still a child! Oh dear! I hope you’re not going to die prematurely in forty or fifty years time. Now, let me take a good look at you.”
Juffin jumped out of his chair. A second later he was poking my back with his hands, which suddenly became ice-cold and heavy. Then his hands grew hot, and I felt that my mind, which always used to occupy a place somewhere behind my eyes, was shifting, moving down my spine. I could “see” the warm radiance of his coarse palms with my . . . back! Then it ended, just as unexpectedly as it had begun. Sir Juffin returned to his place, thoroughly satisfied with the results of his examination.
“It’s all right, boy. You’re no different from me, though you may find it hard to believe. That must mean that it isn’t your nature, but your lifestyle that determines your life expectancy. Here in the World you can live for well over three hundred years—as long as no one kills you, that is. You had me frightened for a moment there, Sir Max! What kind of place is your homeland anyway? What sort of hellhole did I pull you out of?”
“The World of the Dead, apparently,” I said with a rueful laugh. “Your city’s taletellers had it almost right. But it’s not all that bad. When you’ve known only one world since childhood, it’s inevitable that it all seems natural. When I left home, I didn’t regret a thing. I doubt, though, that you’ll find many like me. I don’t count, anyway, because I was always a dreamer. I suppose I really was a classic loser. Most people would tell you that nothing good could come of dreaming. The life expectancy you have here, on the other hand, could get a lot of folks to switch sides. If you plan to recruit more of my people, keep that in mind.”
“As if I needed your countrymen.”
“What if another guy makes a habit of seeing you in his dreams?”
“Well, then we’d have to find another vacancy for him. Okay, okay; you’re right. I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.”
Alas, all things have the idiotic habit of ending at some point. Sir Juffin went to bed and I began to get ready to move.
I was sure that I had almost nothing to pack. Boy was I wrong! My earthly riches consisted of a catastrophically overgrown wardrobe and library. There were also Juffin’s gifts and the fruits of my walks about the city, when I had visited all kinds of shops, frittering away the advance I’d received on my salary. As for the library, it included the
Encyclopedia of the World
by Manga Melifaro, kindly given to me by his youngest son. That unwieldy eight-volume set was but a drop in the ocean of my possessions.
Encyclopedia of the World
by Manga Melifaro, kindly given to me by his youngest son. That unwieldy eight-volume set was but a drop in the ocean of my possessions.
Along with all the rest, I packed the outfit I had been wearing on the day I first arrived in Echo. It was highly unlikely that I would ever again need to wear that pair of jeans and a sweater, but I couldn’t just throw them out, either. Perhaps I’d get a chance to go home for a visit, if only to pick up some cigarettes. Who knows?
Trips between my bedroom and my new amobiler parked by the gate outside took almost an hour. But even this work was finished eventually. I drove home with my heart beating happily and my head a complete void. “Home.” How strange the word sounded to me!
I crossed over the Echo Crest Bridge, full of the inviting lights of shops and bars, still doing a lively trade even at this late hour. Here in Echo people really get the meaning of night life. Maybe that’s because even permitted magic allows you to carouse for a night or two without seriously harming your health.
Across the bridge I found myself on the Right Bank. Now my path led straight to the heart of the Old City. I preferred to dwell in its narrow alleyways rather than the wide streets of the New City, Echo’s wealthy downtown.
The mosaic sidewalks of the Street of Old Coins had lost almost all of their original color. Still, I preferred the tiny stones of the ancient mosaics to the big bright tiles that covered the new streets. My newly gained experience told me that material objects remember events and can tell us about them. Juffin had taught me to listen to their murmurings, or, rather, the visions they transmit. I had always loved ancient history. I’d have something to do in my spare time, anyway!
My new house was glad to see me. Not long ago I would have thought I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Now I knew that I could trust my vague inklings as much as obvious facts. Well, good; we like each other, my new house and I. It was probably tired of standing empty. The landlord said that the prior inhabitants moved out some forty years ago, and since that time, the only visitors had been the cleaners.
I got out of the amobiler and took my belongings into the parlor. The room was almost empty, as is the custom here in Echo. I’ve always liked interiors like that, but until now I had never had the opportunity to develop this aesthetic. There was a small table covered entirely by a basket of provisions I had ordered from the
Glutton Bunba
, several comfortable armchairs like the ones Sir Juffin had in his sitting room, and several shelves nestled against the wall. What more does a man need?
Glutton Bunba
, several comfortable armchairs like the ones Sir Juffin had in his sitting room, and several shelves nestled against the wall. What more does a man need?
I spent the next two hours arranging my books and trinkets on the shelves. After that, I went upstairs to the bedroom. Half the enormous space was taken up by a soft fuzzy floor: no risk of falling out of bed here! Several pillows and fur blankets were heaped together at the far end of the stadium-sized dream-dome. A wardrobe loomed somewhere in the distance, and there I stuffed a pile of colored fabric—my newly acquired clothes. My nostalgia garb—jeans, sweater, and vest—was stashed nearby. There was a little bathroom next to the bedroom that would only be suitable for my morning toilette. The other facilities were in the basement.
My work was done, and I was neither hungry nor sleepy; yet I didn’t want to leave the house to take a walk, either. I would gladly have sold my soul to the devil for a single pack of cigarettes.
I sat in the parlor, awkwardly filling my pipe with tobacco and bemoaning my bitter fate. In this hour of sorrow, the only comfort I found was in the view from the window. Just opposite stood an ancient three-story mansion with little triangular windows and a tall peaked roof. As someone who has spent most of his life in high-rise apartment blocks, my heart begins to beat faster at even the slightest patina of age. Here every stone cried out “days of yore!”
After I had my fill of the view, I went up to the bedroom with the third volume of Sir Manga Melifaro’s
Encyclopedia
under my arm. The book expounded on my so-called countrymen, the inhabitants of the County Vook and the Barren Lands. Everyone should love his homeland, even an invented one. It’s very important to study it—especially in my case, since I was aware of good Lookfi Pence’s curiosity and the grilling I expected to get from him. Besides, I found this reading to be dreadfully amusing. Page forty dealt with a certain tribe of nomads from the Barren Lands, who, in an act of unbelievable absent-mindedness, lost their juvenile chief in the steppe. After I reached the part of the chronicle in which these dunderheads put a curse on themselves, I fell asleep and dreamed my own version of this mad tale with a happy ending. Their chief, now an adult, appealed to our Ministry for assistance, and Sir Juffin and I helped the guy track down his poor people. In parting, Sir Lonli-Lokli drew up a clear and concise code of conduct for Tribal Nomad Chiefs in their far-flung workplace.
Encyclopedia
under my arm. The book expounded on my so-called countrymen, the inhabitants of the County Vook and the Barren Lands. Everyone should love his homeland, even an invented one. It’s very important to study it—especially in my case, since I was aware of good Lookfi Pence’s curiosity and the grilling I expected to get from him. Besides, I found this reading to be dreadfully amusing. Page forty dealt with a certain tribe of nomads from the Barren Lands, who, in an act of unbelievable absent-mindedness, lost their juvenile chief in the steppe. After I reached the part of the chronicle in which these dunderheads put a curse on themselves, I fell asleep and dreamed my own version of this mad tale with a happy ending. Their chief, now an adult, appealed to our Ministry for assistance, and Sir Juffin and I helped the guy track down his poor people. In parting, Sir Lonli-Lokli drew up a clear and concise code of conduct for Tribal Nomad Chiefs in their far-flung workplace.
I woke up before noon, which by my standards is still very early. I spent a long time getting ready: after all, this was my first day on the job. I went downstairs and splashed around in my three bathing pools, one after the other. No matter what they say, three bathtubs are better than one . . . and way better than eleven, with all due respect to the snobs of the capital, headed by Sir Juffin Hully.
The hour had come to open the basket of provisions from the
Glutton
. To my great delight, I found a jug of kamra inside that I could reheat. As for attempting to make the drink myself, thus far I had had to dispose of all the fruits of my experiments. Sir Juffin Hully had suggested using my kamra as a deterrent to especially dangerous criminals. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he feared this method might be considered too ruthless.
Glutton
. To my great delight, I found a jug of kamra inside that I could reheat. As for attempting to make the drink myself, thus far I had had to dispose of all the fruits of my experiments. Sir Juffin Hully had suggested using my kamra as a deterrent to especially dangerous criminals. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he feared this method might be considered too ruthless.
So I warmed up the kamra on a miniature brazier (an indispensable feature of any civilized sitting room). It was a lovely morning. Finally I even lit the pipe I’d prepared for myself the evening before. It wasn’t so bad after all. Not even the unfamiliar taste of the local tobacco could put a dent in my optimism.
I went to work on foot. I planned to show off my expensive dark, intricately patterned looxi and black turban, which transformed me from your everyday good-looker into a prince. No one in the city besides me seemed to take any notice of this, though. People hurried about their business or stared dreamily into storefront windows in the Old Town. No gapes of wonder, no beautiful damsels eager to throw themselves into my arms in fits of trembling exaltation. So there was one thing that hadn’t changed.
I turned onto the Street of Copper Pots. I had just a short way to go before I took my first steps over the threshold of the Secret Door leading to the House by the Bridge. Before that day, I hadn’t had the right to enter the Ministry of Perfect Public Order through that door. Of course, I could have used the visitor’s entrance, but I decided against that. There had been nothing for me to do there before, anyway.
A short corridor led to the half of the building occupied by the Minor Secret Investigative Force, the organization that would soon be home to me. The other half of the building belonged to the Echo City Police Department, under the command of General of Public Order Sir Boboota Box, of whom I had never once heard a kind word spoken. I passed an enormous empty reception hall (the courier dozing off on the edge of his chair didn’t count) and entered the Hall of Common Labor, to find Lonli-Lokli writing something in an oversized notebook. I was immediately disappointed. Well, whaddayaknow: paperwork, even here! What about those self-inscribing tablets and buriwoks who memorize every word you say?
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