The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three

THE STRANGER’S MAGIC

MAX FREI

CONTENTS

ONE
GUGIMAGON’S SHADOW

TWO
ORDINARY MAGICAL THINGS

Previously in the
THE LABYRINTHS OF ECHO . . .

M
AX
F
REI
was once a loser. He’s a big sleeper (during the day, that is; at night he can’t sleep a wink). A
hardened smoker, an uncomplicated glutton, and a loafer, one day he gets lucky. He discovers a parallel world where magic is commonplace, and where he fits right in. This is the city of Echo of the
Unified Kingdom, a land where a social outcast like Max can be remade as “the unequaled Sir Max.”

In this upside-down universe, Sir Max’s deadpan humor and newfound talent for magic soon earn him a place in the secret police—night shift only, of course. As Nocturnal
Representative of the Most Venerable Head of the Minor Secret Investigative Force of the City of Echo, Max’s job is to investigate cases of illegal magic and battle trespassing monsters from
other worlds. With his occupation comes an unusual band of colleagues—the omniscient Sir Juffin Hully, the buoyant Sir Melifaro, the death-dealing Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli, bon vivant and master
of disguise Sir Kofa Yox, the angelic Tekki, and the captivating sleuth Lady Melamori Blimm.

Plunging back into the threatening and absurd realm first portrayed in
The Stranger
, Book One of the Labyrinths of Echo series, and
The Stranger’s Woes
, Book Two,
The
Stranger’s Magic
follows the new adventures and misadventures of Sir Max and his friends in this enchanted and enchanting world.

ONE

GUGIMAGON’S SHADOW

I
MUST ADMIT THAT THE WEATHER WAS NOT ENTIRELY SUITABLE FOR A PLEAS
ure ride on the motorboat—or, rather, on the water
amobiler, which looked very similar to a regular four-seat pleasure boat.

The fierce river wind—too cold for the mild Uguland autumn—whipped up the waters of the Xuron so that the first ride I took down one of the finest rivers of the Unified Kingdom on my
own was more like riding on the back of a giant kangaroo. The ride wasn’t just bumpy; I was shaking so much that I kept kicking my chin with my knees. The ice-cold wind brought tears to my
eyes. They flowed down my cheeks, mixing with splashes of river water and tiny droplets of drizzling rain. No idiot but me would willingly submit himself to such torture, especially at the very
beginning of the Day of Freedom from Care, which Magic had bestowed upon me.

I was completely happy.

I had been meaning to get the hang of the local water transportation. From the very beginning, my reckless driving of regular land amobilers had become one of the capital’s most cherished
subjects of gossip. I never thought that I deserved that fame, though: any countryman of mine who could more or less manage to drive a four-wheeled buggy with an engine would be a celebrity here. I
had been meaning to get behind the lever of the water amobiler for quite some time, partly because in my previous life I had never driven a motorboat. Nevertheless, I had mustered my courage and
taken a few lessons from old Kimpa. I wasn’t too keen on losing my authority in the eyes of the junior employees of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, and Sir Juffin Hully’s butler
had been looking after me back in those days when I couldn’t even manage unfamiliar cutlery.

Now I was gliding headlong down the dark waters of the Xuron in my own motorboat in complete solitude, soaking wet but very happy. The fact that I had managed to pick the only day of bad weather
in the late sunny autumn just added fuel to the fire of my new passion: the riot of the elements turned the innocent pleasure ride into a small local apocalypse—exactly what I needed.

I had needed a good shake-up: the preparations for my accession to the throne of Fanghaxra were underway. My humble abode, the Furry House, former library of the Royal University, had once stood
derelict, dusty, and somewhat mysterious. Now it was quickly turning into a vulgar bulwark of luxury and bliss. Even the floor of the small watchtower at the very top had been decorated with
horrible carpeting that clashed with my taste. I had to enter it from time to time, if only to indulge Gurig, whose servants had wasted a great deal of money and time remodeling my would-be
residence. At these moments, the reality that I had barely begun to get used to started feeling like another strange dream—not a nightmare, mind you, but a rather tiresome dream. The only
thing I took solace in was that His Majesty Gurig VIII had sworn up and down that not a single dratted high official would ever make me stay there between the receptions when I granted audiences to
my subjects, which, according to my calculations, would not happen more than a few times a year and would last no more than a couple of hours. His Majesty had given me his word, and one must
believe the word of a king.

Yet while I was riding my flimsy vessel over the frothy waters of the Xuron, jumping over the crests of springy dark waves, those problems simply didn’t exist. I was not remembering
anything, nor was I making plans for the future. There was only here and now, and the here and now were too wet and too cold for my liking.

Are you busy right now? The polite voice of Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli’s Silent Speech rang in my head. It was so sudden that I came to an abrupt stop. The tiny water amobiler tossed about
helplessly on the waves of the Xuron.

I guess you could say no. Has anything happened? I answered.

I don’t think so. Still, I would like to discuss one peculiar event with you. It has to do more with my private life than our duties.

All the better, I said. In any case, I need to change into something dry and try to get warm. Just drop by Tekki’s, I will be there soon.

I am very sorry, Max. You know how much I love the Armstrong & Ella, but I would rather not discuss my problems in the presence of Lady Shekk. Matters of this kind call for confidentiality.
Would it really disappoint you if I suggested we meet at some other place?

A hole in the heavens above you, Shurf! You know that I love mysteries. Then come to my place on the Street of Yellow Stones. If you get there first, just come right in. The door is unlocked; no
one would dare break into my house of his own volition. Oh, could you also order a whole tray full of various hot stuff from the Fat Turkey?

I quickly steered my new toy to the Makuri Pier, where I had had my own mooring since yesterday. A phlegmatic, mustached old man came out of his shed, seemingly annoyed, to help me tie up my
nifty little water transport. He looked at me with almost superstitious horror, not because he had recognized the “horrible Sir Max”—after all, I wasn’t wearing my Mantle of
Death—but simply because any human being bold enough to take a pleasure ride down the river in this weather deserved to be viewed with nothing less than superstitious horror, at the very
least, if not to be locked away in the nearest Refuge for the Mad.

I gave the doddering old fellow a crown, which probably made him doubt my mental state once and for all: the pay was far too high for such a small service. Such incongruity threatened to destroy
his notion of the world—the dismal yet precious result of several hundred years of life. Yet the old man was a diehard: he batted his eyes, discolored over the years, mumbled the few words of
gratitude that we’ve all known since childhood and save for such occasions, and hurried back inside his little hut, where I am sure a brazier with hot kamra was waiting for him.

I followed his stooping back with an envious gaze: a short but unpleasant trip back to the New City lay ahead of me. My freezing looxi would slap relentlessly on my back like a cruel wet bed
sheet.

I climbed inside the amobiler and sped off as if an entire family of hungry werewolves were chasing me. Two minutes later, I dashed inside my living room on the Street of Yellow Stones.

Lonli-Lokli was already there. He sat motionless in the middle of the room. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had carefully measured the room to calculate its exact center. I
couldn’t help but admire my friend. His snow-white looxi flickered mysteriously in the dark; his death-dealing hands in their protective gloves lay on his knees. He looked more like the Angel
of Death than a human being.

“You beat me to it,” I said with sincere respect.

“This is not surprising: I sent you the call when I was on the Street of Forgotten Dreams. I thought I would find you in the Armstrong & Ella. I could not imagine that you had gone for
a walk in this weather.”

“That’s me all right: mysterious and unpredictable,” I said, laughing. “Would you be so kind as to wait a few more moments? If I don’t change right away, I will
definitely catch a cold, and I don’t even want to begin to remember what that is.”

“Of course you need to change. And if I were you, I would also consider a hot bath.”

“I have already considered that. It won’t take more than a few minutes. You know that I do everything fast.”

“Yes, I know,” Shurf said with a nod. “Perhaps I should send a call to the owner of the Fat Turkey and ask him to add something stronger to my order.”