The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three (40 page)

“Is this an interrogation?” said Tekki, laughing. “The Secret Investigative Force has already stepped on my trace? Kofa, please! Can you imagine Loiso Pondoxo in the kitchen
among pots and pans?”

“Why not? I can imagine all sorts of people in the kitchen, including your friend Sir Max. In my imagination, though, he keeps fumbling around the top shelf and pulling down a jar of
cookies. But imagining him bending over a pan? No, even I can’t do that.”

“Oh, I’m sure he could steal something out of a pan, too!” said Tekki. And then they both went on and on for another half hour until a company amobiler drove by to pick up
Kofa.

“I need to meet with Juffin,” he said, “if only to tell him how the story of the ordinary magical things ended. You, on the other hand, have no need to hurry. You’re not
supposed to show up at work for another two hours.”

“Another three hours,” I said.

“Another three hours. You can go ahead and carry out that ‘lengthy procedure’ of changing your clothes that you were dreaming about on the way here.”

“What did he mean by that?” said Tekki after Kofa left.

“I think he was hinting at something a real man should do once left alone with a beautiful lady,” I said.

“Demand food?” said Tekki.

“Say, your clairvoyance is in top shape, bad inheritance notwithstanding,” I said, laughing.

I had to hand it to myself: I was on time for work. By the time I got to the House by the Bridge, everybody had left except Juffin.

“Where’s your dog?” he said.

“Droopy wouldn’t hear of going to work when they don’t pay him,” I said. “Besides, who am I to drag a royal dog to our pitiful excuse for an office?”

“I guess you’re right,” said Juffin. “Okay, take my seat and do what you please with your life. I’m off to watch a movie. Don’t you wish you were me right
now?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t,” I said. “I must be a saint. Plus, I already have thought of a way to entertain myself tonight.”

“Playing a game of Krak with your new friend Loiso, I presume?”

“No, no. It’s a common form of social entertainment,” I said. “I’m going to sneak out for a couple of hours and visit the Three-Horned Moon.”

“You’re a poetry lover now, too?” said Juffin. “Sir Lonli-Lokli I can understand. The guy had quite an adolescence: empty aquariums, dead Magicians, icy hands, and yours
truly to boot. I’m prepared to forgive him for such eccentricities.”

“I’m going to make sure no one picks on him there,” I said, laughing.

“Echo poets picking on Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli? It’s too bad Mr. Galza Illana died fifty years ago. His hand is the only one that could do justice at committing that battle scene to
canvas.”

Juffin’s remark only added fuel to my laughter. I had once had the chance of contemplating one of the horrendous paintings by the painter of the court of Gurig VII. It was the portrait of
General Boboota Box in full regalia against the background of some epic battle. The “masterpiece” was utterly revolting.

Juffin left. Watching a movie from my collection wasn’t among the things he could put off for very long. I relaxed in his armchair and spent a couple of hours reading yesterday’s
newspapers. Then I read the newspapers from the day before yesterday, which were even more boring. But boredom was exactly what I needed to make my life a little less monotonous.

Three hours before midnight, Anday Pu sent me a call as promised. I told Kurush that he would have to keep a solitary watch over our half of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order for a while,
changed my Mantle of Death for a neutral dark-lilac looxi I had brought from home, and walked outside.

Anday was standing by my amobiler, shuffling his feet.

“Thanks for remembering to invite me,” I said. “Get in and show me the way.”

“It’s easy,” said Anday. “It’s by the Square of Spectacles and Entertainment.”

“Interesting,” I said. “It’s right by the Furry House, and I’ve never even been there.”

“The Three-Horned Moon is not easy to see. You must know which corner to turn,” Anday said in the tone of some ancient Grand Magician divulging one of his most cherished secrets.

“By the way, we’ve already found the burglars who stole your chest,” I said.

I thought Anday had the right to know the story. After all, he was the legitimate owner of the “ordinary magical things” that were now in the Royal (that is, our, to call a spade a
spade) possession. I had to give him the short version: the trip to the Square of Spectacles and Entertainment took only ten minutes, even though I drove as slowly as I could. In the evening, the
roads of the Old City were jammed with amobilers. I wish I knew where they were all going.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t return the things to you, Anday,” I said. “It’s strictly forbidden, and you don’t want any trouble with the law. In a few days,
you’ll receive your monetary compensation. That’s the rule. It’s a substantial sum of money, as far as I know.”

“I catch,” said Anday, nodding. “I don’t need grandfather’s old charms. I’d rather take those little round things. At least I can spend them easily.
It’d be even better if instead of them you gave me a ticket to Tasher.”

“Here we go again,” I said. “What’s this with Tasher? You’re going to bore yourself to death there and then beg us to let you return here.”

“You think it’ll kill me?” said Anday. “You don’t catch! Even if I want to come back to Echo, I’ll be coming back to live where I want to come and live. Now I
live where I was born. There’s a difference.”

“Darn it, you’re right. Very well put, my friend,” I said. “Here’s the square. Where to now?”

Anday showed me where to park and dove into one of the numerous narrow passages between houses. I followed him. I couldn’t imagine that there could be a tavern somewhere around here. The
narrow passage became wider, and soon we found ourselves in a cozy round courtyard, lit by orange and blue lights coming from square windows.

“Here it is, the Three-Horned Moon.” Anday pointed to a tiny sign hanging over a massive old door. There was no inscription on the sign, only an intricate engraving depicting a
crescent moon with the top horn splitting into two.

The Three-Horned Moon belonged to the category of pleasant inexpensive taverns that were abundant in Echo. A long bar, wooden tables of assorted sizes to accommodate any number of revelers, a
traditionally mixed crowd of customers—nothing out of the ordinary.

On second glance, however, I noticed that the crowd was far from ordinary. I had never witnessed such a high concentration of beaming eyes per square unit of area of a tavern. I was used to
being surrounded by the amiable but drowsy and sated faces of the run-of-the-mill inhabitants of the Capital. Well, maybe grumpy Moxi attracted a special clientele in his Juffin’s Dozen, but
there were too few tables there to produce the desired effect.

“Sinning Magicians, Max! How did you end up here?” For the first time in my life, I was witnessing a genuine expression of surprise on the normally imperturbable face of Lonli-Lokli.

“See, Shurf, you’ve surprised me so many times that I decided to give you a taste of your own medicine,” I said. “Did I succeed?”

“You did,” said Lonli-Lokli. His face had already recovered its usual dispassionate expression. If I hadn’t known him as well as I did, I’d have thought I was seeing
things.

“Nice place,” I said. “I especially like the faces. Say, Anday, are all these people poets?”

“Almost,” said Anday. “Including some of the best. Not just your everyday rhymesters and peasant scribblers. We’ve also got true poetry connoisseurs, like Lonli-Lokli
here.”

“And this kind of contingent comes here every day?” I said.

“Not just this kind! Usually it’s not this crowded, though. Today we’re having a lot of readings, a sort of poetry contest. It happens whenever there’s a new moon.
It’s a tradition here, so you’re in luck.”

“A contest? What are the rules?” I said.

“Well, actually, anyone can volunteer to recite some new poetry, and the so-called contest happens later when everybody gets drunk and starts beating each other up,” said
Lonli-Lokli. “It is a natural phenomenon: at a certain level of intoxication talented people find it particularly hard to come to an understanding.”

I shook my head. Sir Shurf was definitely in his element here. Or maybe the place had a special inspirational charm.

While I was chatting with my friends, someone had already come to the bar and begun reciting something. The tavern was so noisy I couldn’t make out a single word.

“Maybe we should move a little closer,” I said. “I can’t hear a thing. Can you?”

“There’s nothing to hear,” said Anday nonchalantly. “At the beginning of the evening, it’s just random people. You know, kids who first managed to rhyme three and a
half words with the help of a bottle of Jubatic Juice the night before. When one of the masters gets up there, everyone goes quiet. It’s a very delicate moment: you need to catch when to stop talking and start listening. Usually everybody catches, though.”

“Holy moly! Another familiar face,” I said when I saw Sir Skalduar Van Dufunbux, our “coroner,” walk in the Three-Horned Moon.

“Ah, yes. Sir Skalduar is a regular,” said Anday in a respectful tone. “When I came here for the first time about thirty years ago, he already had his own table. The old man
doesn’t write anything, but boy does he catch! The dinner is over! How do you know him, Max?”

“What do you mean? He works in the House by the Bridge.”

“Are you saying that gentlemen is a regular rodent?” Poor Anday was dismayed.

“Well, he’s anything but regular,” I said. “He is the Master of Escorting the Dead. The old man examines the dead bodies that end up in our organization.”

“So he’s an expert in stiffs that the rodents find?” Anday reinterpreted the new information. “Not too shabby!”

“It’s time you dropped the phobias of your youth, pal,” I said. “I’m sick and tired of telling you that there are decent fellows among the Capital’s police
force.”

“Time I dropped the what?” said Anday. “I don’t catch.”

I had to laugh. My conversations with Anday resulted in the most peculiar combinations of colloquialisms of the two Worlds.

Meanwhile, Sir Skalduar Van Dufunbux paraded across the crowded tavern to a table next to ours, sat down, and greeted us.

“It looks like Sir Anday is not just one of the best poets of our time but also a great proselytizer,” said Van Dufunbux. “Soon the entire staff of the Secret Investigative
Force will be gathering here in the Three-Horned Moon. Only the infallible Sir Juffin Hully will be sitting in the Glutton in solitude.”

“You don’t know Juffin,” I said. “He’ll make a timetable, and we’ll be forced to take shifts sitting with him there. He’s a tyrant.”

I made the joke almost mechanically. I was shocked by the fact that Sir Skalduar had called Anday “one of the best poets of our time” without a hint of irony. I had been under the
impression that Anday had been exaggerating his literary talent, to put it mildly. I had never bothered to listen to his drunken mutterings. (Anday only had the courage to recite poetry when he got
himself besotted.) Somewhere deep down inside, I held the moronic, naive conviction that a brilliant poet had to be tall and handsome, with a fiery gaze, covered in a veil of mystery—oh, and
preferably cold sober, too. Stupid, I know.

Then the tavern fell silent, as though an invisible director had taken it into his head to press a button and mute the sound in this speck of the Universe. A pleasant, gray-bearded man was
shuffling his feet by the bar. His appearance, by the way, was very close to my deeply harbored ideal: tall, slender, handsome. Except he was a far cry from being covered in a “veil of
mystery,” and his “fiery gaze,” if there was one to speak of, was hidden behind his eyeglasses.

His poetry, however, was magical. The last thing I could have imagined was that one could hear something of that caliber in a crowded tavern a stone’s throw away from the Square of
Spectacles and Entertainment—or, indeed, anywhere in this World. Maybe somewhere in a very special heaven for poetry lovers.