Authors: Max Frei,Polly Gannon
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Horror, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic
The Stranger (95 page)
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 that 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.
It looks like there’s a doggone mystery on my trail, I thought. And it doesn’t look pretty.
Now I was only interested in bookstores and souvenir stands that sold maps. I amassed maps of Kettari, haggling like a gypsy and wheedling the storekeepers down to less than five times the asking price. Where there’s a will there’s a way. The only thing I didn’t manage was to force the merchants to pay me for taking their wares off their hands.
By sundown, I was tired and hungry, and a quick glace around proved I was standing under a sign that read
Down Home Diner
. The tavern was on the corner of High Street and Fisheye Street, so there were two entrances. The door around the corner from where I stood seemed to be the main entrance. Above that door was picture of an old lady of epic proportions armed with a ladle. The immediate entrance was far more appealing, an ordinary wooden door draped with some local variety of wild grapevine. I pulled it toward me with a decisive tug, but the door wouldn’t budge. It looks like I’ll have to pass under that cannibal of a cook! I said to myself unhappily. But first, I tried the overgrown door once more, and on my third try I realized that I had to push, rather than pull. This is one of my more embarrassing personal traits—I always have to struggle with new (and sometimes even long-familiar) doors. They say the malady is incurable.
Down Home Diner
. The tavern was on the corner of High Street and Fisheye Street, so there were two entrances. The door around the corner from where I stood seemed to be the main entrance. Above that door was picture of an old lady of epic proportions armed with a ladle. The immediate entrance was far more appealing, an ordinary wooden door draped with some local variety of wild grapevine. I pulled it toward me with a decisive tug, but the door wouldn’t budge. It looks like I’ll have to pass under that cannibal of a cook! I said to myself unhappily. But first, I tried the overgrown door once more, and on my third try I realized that I had to push, rather than pull. This is one of my more embarrassing personal traits—I always have to struggle with new (and sometimes even long-familiar) doors. They say the malady is incurable.
After I had made my peace with the door, I went inside the nearly empty dining hall, chose the farthest table, and plopped down in a comfortable, soft chair.
No sooner had I sat down than a cheerful, plump lady appeared and handed me a weighty menu. I was duly impressed. It’s not every restaurant, even in the Capital, that offers such abundant fare.
“A cup of kamra, please,” I said. “I think I’ll have to study this beautiful book for some time.”
“One kamra, coming up!” The tavern-keeper smiled graciously. “Kamra, and something a bit stronger, as well, miss?”
“If I drink something stronger I’ll fall asleep in the chair before my meal arrives. I’d like something more vitalizing,” I said. The Elixir of Kaxar was resting safely in my travel bag in the house at 24 Old Riverbank St., which I had located on only six of the eleven maps of Kettari. Needless to say, this did not infuse me with optimism.
“I’d highly recommend Elixir of Kaxar,” suggested the tavern-keeper, brightening. “Ever since the rules for cooks were relaxed in the Capital, we have been able to stock this marvelous drink. Are you familiar with it?”
“And how!”
I noted to myself that I had probably discovered the “best darn diner in this crazy town,” as Sir Juffin Hully would have said. What luck!
The mistress of the tavern left, and I buried my nose in the menu. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the names of the dishes contained not a whit of useful information, and were a bunch of abstract lyrical malarky. I waited until the mistress returned with a diminutive glass of Elixir of Kaxar, and explained to her that I needed a hefty portion of something tasty, but not too refined. Yesterday’s experience with the lard had made me wary. After a long exchange, the mistress concluded that what I was after was one order of Wind Kisses. I did not object. The mistress said that the dish would take at least a half hour to prepare. I nodded my approval. It’s always easy to come to an agreement with me. Then she disappeared into the semidarkness of the kitchen.
I sipped the Elixir of Kaxar. My spirits perked up, and I started to look around. I’d been wanting a cigarette for a long time. I just needed to find out whether it was permitted.
The hall was almost empty. Apart from me there was only one other customer who sat by the window with a view onto a curious fountain with colored streams that didn’t simply fall downward, but twisted in intricate spirals. I tried but was unable to make out the face of the stranger. I could only see his back, hunched over a board game. By a leap of the imagination it could have been considered a local variant of chess. The figures were more or less similar, but the board was divided into triangles and painted three different colors.
This fellow seemed to be so engrossed in his intellectual conundrums that not only would it have been possible to smoke a cigarette from another world in his presence, but one could have organized an entire striptease without him noticing. So I lit up without further ado. Lonli-Lokli was totally living it up in this grand city of Kettari—did I deserve any worse?
Wind Kisses turned out to be tiny patties made of tender fowl. After I finished, I drank the rest of my divine Elixir and placed my souvenirs on the table. Again I studied all eleven versions of the map of Kettari. Now I had another surprise: High Street, Fisheye Street, and the
Down Home Diner
were there on all eleven maps. This coincidence astonished me even more than the numerous inconsistencies I had found earlier. Not trusting overmuch my own powers of perception, I again pored over the tiny letters on the map. Maybe everything on the map had been just as it should be from the start—only my senses had been confused by the jumble of new impressions. But no, the discrepancies I had found were still there.
Down Home Diner
were there on all eleven maps. This coincidence astonished me even more than the numerous inconsistencies I had found earlier. Not trusting overmuch my own powers of perception, I again pored over the tiny letters on the map. Maybe everything on the map had been just as it should be from the start—only my senses had been confused by the jumble of new impressions. But no, the discrepancies I had found were still there.
I sighed. I would just have to wait patiently for the errant Lonli-Lokli to return so I could dump this problem on his strong shoulders—assuming, of course, I’d be able to find the road home. What if, indeed, Old Riverbank Street wasn’t where it was supposed to be?
“Don’t fret so, Sir Max. That’s all neither here nor there. By the way, you’ve hardly collected all the variants.”
I stared silently at this suddenly chatty gentleman. Did he say “Sir Max” to me? No, I must have misheard. I couldn’t possibly have heard correctly! My Lady Marilyn was a perfectly executed illusion, a masterpiece of Sir Kofa Yox’s artistry, the pride of both of us.
The chess player smiled slyly under his reddish mustache, stood up, and came toward me. He had a marvelously light gait, and a very unremarkable face that I already couldn’t commit to memory—but that gait I’d no doubt still remember in another thousand years!
“The name’s Mackie Ainti,” he said softly, sitting down in a chair near mine. “Sir Mackie Ainti, the old sheriff of Kettari.”
I nodded in silence. My heart was thumping against my ribcage, trying to escape so it could fetch the suitcases and get out of town as soon as possible. The arm of the chair creaked loudly under the convulsive grip of my fingers.
“There’s no cause for alarm,” Sir Mackie Ainti said, and smiled a slow smile. “You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve waited for this moment, even if I told you myself!”
“A long time?” I asked faintly.
“Yes. Quite a while. I’m awfully glad to see you! You can’t imagine just how glad I am!”
“Glad?”
I was completely at a loss. Couldn’t wait to see me? How was that possible? He didn’t even know me. As far as I knew, Sir Juffin Hully was not exactly corresponding with his first teacher.
“Fine. If you’ve got it into your head that you just have to be surprised—well, I’ll just head back to my board over there. When you’re over your shock, send me a call.”
“What? No, it’s not worth going back and forth. I’ll be quick about it,” I said. “Naturally, the person who taught Sir Juffin Hully what’s what in his time would know everything in the World.”
“You got that right. You know, Maba and I had a falling out—”
“Sir Maba Kalox is here?”
“How should I put it . . . At the moment, as we speak, no. And you never can say anything for sure about Maba. Whatever the case may be, he does sometimes pay me a visit. That’s how we got to arguing about you, and neither of us guessed. I wasn’t at all sure you’d drop in here, and I was getting ready to pay you a visit. But Maba talked me out of it. He reckoned that within a dozen days or so you’d come round to
Down Home Diner
. But we sure didn’t expect to see you this soon. Have you any notion how lucky you are, partner?”
Down Home Diner
. But we sure didn’t expect to see you this soon. Have you any notion how lucky you are, partner?”
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