The Stranger (66 page)

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Authors: Max Frei,Polly Gannon

Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Horror, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic

BOOK: The Stranger
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“Do you mean to say that Chemparkaroke was the only one who came by for an earring? And he didn’t need magic at all, if he is to be believed? What is this, Juffin?” I asked my boss in consternation. “It was such an achievement—persuading Grand Magician Nuflin, and so forth. And now the idiots . . .”
“That’s precisely the point. They’re not idiots at all. They’re just sensible, cautious gentlemen. Do you think they would come running on the very first day? The Earring of Oxalla is no trifling matter. Do you know what will happen to the person who decides to indulge in magic of even the 21st degree if he’s wearing that little doodad? There aren’t many who could withstand the shock of pain that is inevitable in that case. Our amazing culinary wizards are living people, and they’re not quite ready to be hemmed in that way. Everyone thinks that if he breaks the prohibition only once he can hide from us, if he’s lucky. And it isn’t even the end of the world if he ends up in Xolomi. Almost half of the most important people in the Unified Kingdom have done time in Xolomi. But about the Earring of Oxalla there can be only one opinion—either you have it or you don’t.”
“Why not take it off?” I didn’t understand a thing. The day before I was so sleepy that I hadn’t managed to pin Juffin down and ask what the Earring of Oxalla really was.
“Oh, Max! Give me a break, Marvel of the Steppes!”
Melifaro held out for my inspection a fairly large ring of some kind of dark metal, clearly different from ordinary jewelry. It was solid, without any break in the hoop, nor was there any clasp. I took the thing in my hand. It felt heavy and warm.
“Affixing it to someone’s ear is quite easy, but it can only be done by a competent person. Me, for instance. This metal, as you see, can’t penetrate human flesh without the accompaniment of specific charms,” Melifaro explained. “And to remove it . . . In the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover there are several fellows who specialize in such procedures. To go to Jafax, however, and say, ‘Hey, guys, take this hardware out of my ear! I’m itching to make some magic!’—well, it’s not the wisest move. Am I right, Boss?”
“Absolutely,” said Juffin and yawned. “You are so very right that my presence here is becoming superfluous. I’m going home to sleep, fellows. I’m as tired as a mad murderer.”
“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.

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