The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three (43 page)

“So am I,” I said. “Give me another minute, and we’ll be off.”

“No hurry if you haven’t recovered yet. I’ll look around this place. I don’t think it’s important, but who knows? Only please lean against the wall. It’s a
simple rule, but it helps avoid unpleasant surprises in unfamiliar surroundings.

“I used to have a colleague, Sir Jura Feella, the General of the Left Bank Police. He was a very eccentric old man, even for the Epoch of Orders. Jura was an adamant adherent to this rule.
Whenever he had to rest somewhere beyond the city limits, he would always erect a tall wall behind him. By the way, it wasn’t a simple trick. It required Black Magic of the ninety-second
degree. It all ended in a very funny way: one of General Feella’s numerous enemies shot him with a regular Baboom. That fellow was a pretty good magician himself. He managed to climb to the
top of Feela’s famous wall. Shooting from there was much easier than from any cover.”

“So nice of you to give me practical advice and then make sure I don’t follow it,” I said.

Sir Kofa left to search the house. Fifteen minutes later, he returned with an expression of utmost boredom on his face.

“Nothing interesting, huh?” I said.

“A house is a house is a house, boy. A place where people live, or don’t live. It’s not often that you encounter a truly interesting one. As for this one, its occupant has been
living a long, ordinary, and quite lonely life. Are you ready to take me for a walk now?”

“I am, as long as the subject of our next pursuit hasn’t died yet. That would be too much for me!”.

I had anticipated finding the trace of the murderer somewhere near the dead body, and I was right. Moments later, Kofa and I walked outside.

“Our murderer took an amobiler from here, and we have no means of transportation at hand,” I said, somewhat perplexed.

“You asked Melifaro to leave one of your amobilers by the Furry House,” said Kofa. “It’s just two blocks away. Don’t you recognize the place?”

“I don’t. The city changes at night, as though there are two different Echos—Echo at night and Echo during the day. I sometimes think that even the layout changes.”

“Really?” said Kofa. “I didn’t know you’d noticed. Okay, I’ll go get your amobiler.”

“But please hurry,” I said. “This fellow could kick the bucket any second now, what with me standing on his trace.”

“Good riddance, I say,” said Kofa.

“Another dead man’s trace? That would be an overload. Besides, it would be a good idea to ask him a few questions first. Granted, Juffin can revive any dead person for a short while,
and I’m pretty sure I can make him talk, but can you imagine how much time we’d waste? What if there’s someone else behind all this?”

“Someone else?” said Kofa, wincing. “That would be an overload. Although you just might be right.”

Kofa left and returned a few minutes later in my amobiler. I took his place at the steering lever and tore off at a speed that exceeded even my own notions of reckless driving. Moments later, we
were at the western outskirts of the Old City, somewhere near the Skauba Cemetery, in the only neighborhood of Echo that one might call the slums. It consisted mostly of old one-story houses that
weren’t in good repair—compared to other neighborhoods, of course.

“He’s still alive!” I said, jumping out of the amobiler. “A tough guy. Who would have thought?” I hit my elbow hard against another amobiler—a plain-looking
old jalopy—but at that time I didn’t pay any attention to it. There will be enough time later for wound licking, I thought.

“We’re in luck,” said Kofa.

I shot like a bullet through the front door of the nearest house. The paint was peeling, and the door swung in the cold winter wind exactly like the door of the Armstrong & Ella. If I were a
locksmith rather than a Secret Investigator, I would have had my work cut out for me today.

I was approaching the end of the trace. At moments like this, any Master of Pursuit experiences something akin to the trancelike fury of an ancient berserker. My victim lay motionless on a sofa
in the dark living room, having no strength to put up any resistance or run away.
If I had come just a moment later, we’d have ended up with another useless dead body on our hands. But I jumped off the trace just in time. Now we were both free from each other, my victim
and me.

“Good evening, Lady Misa,” said Kofa. “I’ll take your knife, if you don’t mind. Aw, look at you. So tired you can’t move your arms? Poor thing, how are you
going to kill your dear guests then? You know, I think I’ll relieve you of this nice little dagger, too. Thank you. You won’t be needing it now.”

“Don’t tell me I almost killed your ex-girlfriend,” I said.

“That’s exactly what you almost did,” said Kofa, chuckling. “Allow me to introduce you to Misa Luddis, alias No-Nose Misa. The first lady among the elderly connoisseurs
of blatant violence. Some two hundred years ago, she was a celebrity: none of her colleagues could do what she could with cold weapons. I’ll never forget our walks at night: I helped this
lady to get to Xolomi about five times. I had to make sure she didn’t hurt anyone on the way. Are you still breathing, my love?”

“Dream on, you accursed old rodent!” said the “celebrity.” Her voice was very weak but full of rage. “You’re going to die before me anyway! What did you come
up with this time? Who’s the darned werewolf that stepped on my trace? Back in our day, we drowned people in the Great Gugland Mire for this!”

“That’s a great idea,” said Kofa, smiling. “For you, my love, I’m prepared to revive this noble tradition. You’ll be the first. We’ll go to the Great
Gugland Mire alone—only you and me. It will be so romantic.”
He turned to me and continued. “I’ve known this old witch for a very long time, boy. She won’t say a word to us without a good spell, even if we call in Melifaro and make him
kiss her. I wonder which one of us can make her talk sooner. I’ll need about a half hour—I know this from many years of experience. But I’ve heard something about your Lethal
Spheres. They say you can make anyone do whatever you want him to, if I understand correctly.”

“Let’s see. I have no desire to kill your girlfriend, so I can try to make her talk,” I said. I snapped the fingers of my left hand—a unique, almost imperceptible
gesture. I’ll never cease to be amazed at Sir Shurf’s mentoring talents, for he had taught me this incredible trick in a matter of minutes.

One could say, however, that I was a disappointment as a student. When performed by Shurf, the trick inevitably leads to a lethal outcome. When I do it, the result is usually “I am with
you, Master!” and so on and so forth. In order for my Lethal Sphere to murder someone, I must genuinely want to kill that person, and that’s not as simple as it seems. Funny, despite my
venomous spit and the Mantle of Death that I had to wear for the benefit of the public peace, I was still a lousy killer.

My “interview” with No-Nose Misa was no different from my previous experiments. After a semitransparent ball, glowing with green, came out of the tips of my fingers and touched the
woman’s chest, she moaned, “I am with you, Master.” The variety of the lexicon of my victims left a lot to be desired.

“Good,” I said. “While you’re at it, tell us where the cloak is,” I said, yawning and perching on the edge of a lonely chair in the middle of the living room. My
work shift could be a little less eventful, not to mention shorter—we had started right after noon. Plus, my elbow had begun to hurt. However had I managed to hit it?

Despite the pain and exhaustion, I finally got a good look at the lady. Tall and skinny, the old woman had so many wrinkles that one would think she was the oldest living person in this World,
which was full of people remarkable for their longevity. Her nickname notwithstanding,
Misa had a nose—a very short flat one, which did not add to her charm. Nor did she look frail. In spite of her button nose, she looked like an actual old witch fresh down from the
Witches’ Sabbath.

“I gave the cloak to the pretty boy who hired me,” said Misa. “That was our agreement.”

“Bingo, Kofa! A third one,” I said.

“What are you so happy about?” said Kofa.

“That I was right. I love being right. I guess there’s nothing else to be happy about.” I turned back to the old woman. “Care to elaborate?
Who’s that ‘pretty boy’? What did he hire you for?”

“I don’t know who he is, Master,” said Misa. “At first I thought he was some rich fop. The son of a gun was wearing a colorful looxi. Not even every slut in the Quarter
of Trysts can afford to wear such fancy duds.” I giggled, recalling Melifaro’s extensive collection of clothes. He could be suspect number one. My “slave” continued:
“He leeched onto me at the Jubatic Fountain about three hours before midnight.
You don’t normally find such sleazy ass-lickers in the Fountain, but there he was. When he opened his yapper, I figured he was the real deal, even though he was wearing women’s
clothes. He said he’d pay me six hundred crowns if I sliced a certain fellow. Then he put down a hundred and I said yes. I hadn’t done such a kind deed for such good money in a long
while.

“He named the address and told me to be there at midnight and wait in the living room. He said the fellow that needed slicing and dicing would appear out of nowhere but I shouldn’t
be afraid. Pfft, as if I was scared. I dealt with all sorts of bastards in the good old days.”

“Fine, fine,” I said. “But the cloak? The old gray cloak? What happened to it?”

“I took the cloak that the little bastard was holding and brought it here. The pretty boy wouldn’t come here himself. He sent a kid just about an hour ago. The kid picked up the
cloak and brought me my money—all of it. I haven’t been that lucky in a long time. Yeah, then I felt dizzy and had to lie down.”

“It’s all clear to me now,” said Kofa. He was smiling like a cat after a good meal. “No point in looking for the kid. Either he doesn’t know anything, or
we’ll waste a great deal of time on him, even if he does. Let’s just go straight to the Jubatic Fountain and find the trace of that pretty boy of hers. I hope this is going to be our
last trip for today.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said. “You’re overestimating my talents, Kofa. Imagine how many traces there will be in the tavern. Dozens upon dozens.” I turned to
Misa again. “Can you show us where your employer was sitting?”

“I can, Master.”

“Sweet. Come with me then.”

The old woman slipped down from the sofa and plodded along. Kofa moved to the back seat because No-Nose Misa just had to sit in the front next to me. All creatures that were touched by my Lethal
Spheres had the irresistible urge to be close to my precious body. Against the orange fog of the street lights, the old woman’s head looked like a beautiful skull that any horror movie would
be honored to feature.

“In my homeland, death is often depicted having no nose,” I said to Kofa. “A cute coincidence, huh?”

“Wonderful,” he said. “One would think our Misa had been getting around.”

“Where’s that Jubatic Fountain?” I said. “I’ve never been there.”

“Magicians forbid!” said Kofa, laughing. “Turn left here. The place is not exactly your style. The dirtiest den in the city. Poor Boboota can’t wait to get it closed
down, but Juffin and I won’t let him—for his own good, by the way. It’s very convenient to have the cream of the crop of the underworld, such as our beautiful Ms. Misa
here—turn left again—gather together in one place instead of spreading out around town. There’s a reason for that, too. The Jubatic Fountain is the most democratic tavern in the
Capital. You pay a couple of handfuls as an entrance fee and drink as much as you can. In the middle of the tavern, there’s an actual fountain of Jubatic Juice. Food costs extra, of course,
but people don’t go there for a nice dinner.
Okay, now turn right. The Jubatic Fountain is at the end of the block. You’ll see it in a minute in all its glory.”