The Stranger

  When I returned to the place of execution, junior officials were already bustling about with buckets and mops.

  “Thank you for removing the body so quickly,” I said, taking my seat. “You’ll think it’s funny, but I’ve never killed anyone before. I’ve never even gone hunting. Juba Chebobargo’s doll doesn’t count, I suppose. It’s a loss of innocence in a way, so please be kind.”

  “No one removed him, son,” Kofa said in a quiet voice. “He simply disappeared, as soon as you left. The blood on the carpet stayed, though. They’re already cleaning up the mess.”

  “How’s it going, Sir Max?” Juffin shoved a mug of hot kamra over to me.

  “You already know. Fine, I guess. It’s strange, though. The World hasn’t completely come back to me, if I may express it that way.”

  “I know. But that will soon pass. You did everything just fine. I didn’t expect you to manage as well as you did.”

  “I’m wearing the Mantle of Death, after all,” I laughed. Laughter is the best way I know to return you to your senses.

  “Sir Juffin, I need a drink,” Melifaro announced. “I thought I was used to everything in this job at the Refuge for the Mad. Now I understand that I desperately need a drink. Right this second.”

  “I’ve already sent a call to the Glutton. Do you think you can hold out another two minutes?”

  “I’m not so sure. First those pagan rites of yours, then the disappearance of the primary material evidence. And you have no intention of explaining anything, I suppose?”

  “No, I don’t. I’d be glad to, but . . . we had to do it that way, old chap. Take my word for it.”

  “Really? Or maybe it was just a new form of entertainment, and I’m lagging behind? Sir Kofa, you, at least, might try to calm my nerves.”

  “I need a drink, too,” Kofa Yox said, smiling good-naturedly. “Then I’m at your service.”

  “This is no Secret Investigative Force. It’s some kind of orphanage,” I snorted. “So I kill a guy. Just one, mind you. He disappears afterward. It’s really no big deal! Besides, I think I need a drink, too. I’ll join you.”

  “My team has taken to drink,” Juffin moaned. “Lonli-Lokli is my last hope—where is he, by the way?”

  “Did you call, sir?” Lonli-Lokli appeared suddenly at the door. “Have you still not found our killer?”

  Turning around to look at him, the four of us burst out laughing. At first it resembled mass hysteria, but in a few seconds we really did begin to find it funny. Shurf stepped into the office, sat down in a chair, and regarded us with warm interest, waiting until we had regained our composure. Then he asked:

  “So, what about the murderer?”

  “Everything has been taken care of, since Max killed him and the corpse disappeared,” Melifaro informed him, laughing heartily again.

  I didn’t have the strength to join in his merriment. Luckily, the messenger with a tray from the Glutton Bunba was already at the door. Excellent timing!

  I had never in my life thought I would be capable of drinking a whole mug of anything at one go, much less Jubatic Juice. Evidently, however, the body knows its own needs. If necessary, it will perform miracles.

  “Sir Juffin,” Lonli-Lokli urged calmly. “Perhaps you will tell me.”

  “Melifaro is absolutely right, Sir Shurf. That’s just about how it all happened, save a few spicy details.”

  “Max, why did you do it on your own? And in such a primitive manner?” objected the professional in Lonli-Lokli, somewhat scandalized by the shoddy job of a dilettante.

  “I’m bloodthirsty, Shurf,” I admitted eagerly. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”

  This time it was Juffin Hully who laughed loudest of all. I think it was just relief for he realized I was finally myself again.

  “But that’s very bad, Max!” Lonli-Lokli exclaimed in alarm. “With your abilities you need to learn to exercise self-control. If you don’t mind, I’ll demonstrate some simple breathing exercises that will aid in the development of your self-control and peace of mind.”

  For the sake of my “official friend” I tried to be more serious.

  “Thank you, Shurf. I’d love to see them. But to be honest, I was just joking. Later I’ll explain everything that happened. Everything I can, anyway. I’m afraid it isn’t much.”

  “If this has anything to do with a mystery, I’d prefer to remain in the dark, since a mystery made public is an insult to Truth.”

  “Do you understand?” Sir Kofa asked Melifaro. “That’s an answer to all your questions at once.”

  “I couldn’t give a flying buttress,” Melifaro announced dreamily. “I’ve had my drink and all is well. You can go to the Magicians with your terrible mysteries. Even without them, life is wonderful. Oh, by the way, since Sir Shurf is here with us—do you still think that I was making fun of you both, O Bloodthirsty Monster? Sir Max, I’m talking to you!”

  “Of course,” I said indifferently. “But I didn’t give a flying buttress, as you expressed it, either.”

  “Then you absolutely must meet my father, who will give you evidence of my innocence. Sir Juffin, can you possibly do without us both at the same time? At least for one day?”

  “What would I need you for? Get out of my sight this instant, if you wish,” Juffin said. “But just one day, mind you! Agreed? Sir Kofa, Sir Shurf, get used to the idea that tomorrow the two of you alone will answer for the safety and security of the Unified Kingdom. And tonight—only Kurush. Right, my friend?” Juffin stroked the bird’s fluffy little cap of feathers tenderly. “As for me, I intend to sleep for a whole day and night. Lady Melamori is probably already sipping expensive wine under the watchful supervision of her uncle. These two are planning an outing to the country to terrorize cats. We’re a pretty pack of Secret Investigators, bulwark against threats to our society’s well-being. It can’t be denied.”

  “Well, how about it, Max?” Melifaro said, turning to me. “We’ll leave tonight, and get there in a few hours. If you’re at the levers of the amobiler, we’ll get there in one. Fresh country air, heaps of good food, and my Pa. It will be something, believe me. And Mama’s a treat, too.”

  “Heaps of food, Papa, and Mama,” I repeated in rapture. “That sounds perfect. And a fast drive sounds even better. You’re a genius, Melifaro! I’m forever in your debt. Thank you, Juffin. You’re both lifesavers.”

  I wasn’t exaggerating. A change of scenery was exactly what I needed just now. I hadn’t dared dream I would be lucky enough to get it.

  “Well, shall we go?”

  Melifaro was already dancing in the doorway in anticipation. He didn’t like sitting in one spot for very long, especially after a plan of action had been laid down.

  “Yes, yes. Juffin, tell me, am I required to wear these rags of baleful splendor wherever I go?”

  I meant, of course, the Mantle of Death. Not the most appropriate attire for a jaunt to the country.

  “No. You only have to wear it within the city limits,” Juffin said acerbically. “But I thought you liked your little uniform.”

  “I do like it. I’m just afraid the chickens out there will stop laying eggs from fright. Did I say something wrong?”

  “Oh my gosh, another mystery!” Melifaro exclaimed wringing his hands. “Max, a hole in the heavens above, what on earth are ‘chickens’? Only turkeys lay eggs. Take it from a country boy!”

  While Melifaro looked over my apartment in bewilderment, trying to understand whether it was asceticism or stinginess that had inspired me to settle down there, I cuddled with Armstrong and Ella, delighting in their throaty purrs and murmuring whatever banal endearments came into my head.

  Then I went up to the bedroom and rummaged around in the closet until I found some duds that more or less corresponded to my foggy notions of the requirements country living. I went back down to the living room with a half-empty weekend bag in tow.

  “I’m ready. I’m afraid you’ve gotten a sad impression of m
y way of life. I can’t do anything to change it. I love tenement living!”

  “What do you mean? It’s great here!” Melifaro cried, brushing off my remark. “No frivolous extras. A real den for a lone hero. Truly, Max, it’s very romantic.”

  “Shall we have a drink for the road? I’m the most inhospitable host in the whole darn town. Actually, I don’t have anything to offer you, unless we decide to go out to the Sated Skeleton.”

  “I took all we needed from the Ministry. Drink, kamra, and everything else I could grab. Let’s go, Max, or I’m going to collapse. You, no doubt, are even more exhausted.”

  “I’m nowhere near collapse. You forget I’m the ‘nocturnal backside. ’ My shift is just beginning. Off we go!”

  “You know, Max, there is an aura of evil about you,” Melifaro remarked, getting into the amobiler. “Your nocturnal habits, your fast driving, your gloomy expression, the black looxi, you don’t eat soup, like normal people do . . . Not to mention your absurd habit of killing crown criminals. It’s too much for one person. It’s no wonder Melamori is afraid of you.”

  “Afraid of me!”

  “Of course, didn’t you know? When I saw how she looked at you, I thought, ‘That’s it, pal. You can go scratch your backside. You’ve got a serious competitor!’ Then I realized that my stakes hadn’t fallen so low. The lady fears you like a nightmare.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why should she be afraid of me? Melamori isn’t one of those prissy city girls who are ready to pee in their pants whenever I go out to the store for some useless crap.”

  “That’s just it. She’s no priss. She understands people better than anyone. That’s her job. Ask her yourself. How should I know? Anyway, I think I’ll doze off while we’re driving.”

  “Then we’ll be on the road for a very long time. Because the only road I’d be able to find without your advice leads directly to the Barren Lands.”

  Of course I was lying shamelessly, since I didn’t even know that road.

  “And I thought you knew everything, like Juffin.”

  “Everything except addresses, birthdays, and other such nonsense.”

  “Too bad. Besides those things, there’s usually nothing to know about people. Well, all right. I’ll be the navigator. You’re not going to tell me anything about what happened today, either, Max? Mystery of mysteries, but I’m dying of curiosity!”

  “He was my illegitimate brother,” I answered in a malicious whisper. “And since we both claim the inheritance of our Papa—two old nags and a heap of their manure—I just took advantage of the privileges of office and finished off my rival.”

  “Very funny. So it really is a terrible secret?”

  “If it were up to me, it might not necessarily remain a secret. But terrible it certainly was. So terrible that it’s not even funny. Actually, if I hadn’t killed him, he would have died anyway. It was something like losing the Spark, only even more unpleasant.”

  “How exciting!” Melifaro had an unending supply of good humor. “Fine. Never mind. You can keep your secret to yourself. By the way, there’s a left turn here. Wow, you’d make a great race car driver, mate!”

  “What should I know about the customs you keep at home?” I asked, changing the subject. “When Juffin dragged me over to old Makluk’s to pay a visit, I nearly had a heart attack: bearers, palanquins, packs of servants everywhere, dressing for dinner. I shouldn’t expect anything like that, should I?”

  “Take a good look at me, Max. How could I be the son of people who observe formalities? Mama believes that every guest has one sacred obligation: to remain full at all times. My father adheres to only one rule: no stupid rules, end of story. Do you know that it’s because of this I don’t have a name?”

  “Really? I couldn’t understand why everyone always called you by your last name. I wanted to ask, but I thought maybe the problem was that you had some completely bizarre first name.”

  “And you spared my vanity? You shouldn’t have. I don’t suffer from that, and I wish others didn’t, either. I just don’t have a name. When I was born my father had already left on his famous journey. Mama sent him a call every day asking what to name me, and every day he had a new idea. Each day she would ask again, just to make sure—always with the same result. When I turned three, my mother finally got tired of this shilly-shallying, and she asked the question point blank. Well, magnificent Sir Manga was very busy at the time, and his answer was: ‘Why does he need a first name at all with a last name like ours?’ My mama has her own notions of marital harmony. She said, ‘Well, may everything be as you wish, dear. You’ll be the one to protest later on.’ So she didn’t argue with him, all the more since it wasn’t a matter of her name, but of mine! And that’s how I’ve gone through life, though it’s the only thing I have to complain about—that’s for sure.”

  “That’s great. I have the opposite situation. I was lucky with my name; but that’s the only thing I’m grateful to my parents for.”

  “That’s right—you have just one name, too.” Melifaro nodded sympathetically. “You’re happy with it?”

  “Actually, no. But you saw my living quarters. I don’t like anything superfluous.”

  “You’re right there, too. Now you have to turn left. Slow down a bit. The road gets bad here.”

  “Slow down? Never!” I cried out proudly, as we flew over the bumps and potholes, and the landscape whizzed by.

  “Here we are,” Melifaro said with relief when we had come to a high wall hung with fragrant, trailing greenery. “But are we still alive? No, Max, there’s something monstrous about you! And I’ve invited this monster to my own home. But what can I do? I won’t call for Juffin to come to the rescue. He’s even worse. Let’s go, Mr. Bad Dream.”

  The inhabitants of the enormous estate were already asleep, so we went out to the kitchen, where we silently devoured everything we could get our hands on. Then Melifaro showed me to a small, cozy room.

  “When I was a child, and I was sick, or just sad, I would always sleep here. It’s the best place in the house, believe me. Make yourself comfortable. This room does wonders for people who’ve had a hard day like you have. First, you’ll fall asleep right away, no matter what your ordinary habits are. And then—well, you’ll see for yourself. My runaway grandfather, Filo Melifaro, built this part of the house himself. And he was not the least significant person in the Order of the Secret Grass.”

  “Really? Juffin gave me a turban from their Grand Magician as a gift.”

  “That’s really something! You’re a lucky man. Try not to lose it—it’s a powerful thing. I’m off. If I don’t go to sleep right now, I’ll expire, that’s for sure.”

  And I was alone. A pleasant weariness lay on my chest like a pillow of soft ivy. It was wonderful. I undressed, got down on all fours, and fastidiously examined the local “dream station.” I discovered the blanket and wriggled down into the warm darkness underneath. I felt calm and happy. I didn’t much feel like sleeping, but lying on my back and silently contemplating the ceiling—what could be better!

  The dark beams above enchaned me. They seemed to undulate ever so slightly, like waves of a tranquil sea, and eventually their rhythmic motion lulled me to sleep. In my dreams I saw all the places I loved—the city in the mountains, the English park, empty beaches. I didn’t dream about Echo anymore, though. There was nothing surprising about that—Echo had become part of another life, and I roamed its streets awake now.

  This time it was very easy for me to pass from one dream to another. I changed dreams at will. When I was bored by walking in the park, I stepped over to the beach. Sad and lonely among the sandy dunes, I suddenly found myself in the cabin of the cable car. Several times I thought I heard the quiet laughter of Maba Kalox nearby, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Even this seemed like a remarkable incident to me, however.

  I woke up before noon, feeling absolutely free and happy. Events of the recent past seemed to me to be part of a good adventure film,
the future didn’t scare me, and the present suited me to a tee. After I had washed, I wrapped myself in a skaba and looxi of fiery bright colors, which I had picked out yesterday for the vibrant contrast they made with my malevolently glowering uniform, and sent a call to Melifaro.

  You’re already up? You’ve got to be kidding! And I’m still so tired I can’t move! Well, go downstairs and drink some kamra with my esteemed father. Or by yourself, if he’s already gone. I’ll join you in an hour and a half.

  I went down to the living room, where my eyes were met by a remarkable spectacle. A fellow of enormous proportions, his eyes downcast, stood by the table, wheedling and moaning.

  “But Father, why?”

  “Because it will be better that way,” answered his elder in the voice of someone losing his patience. It belonged to a shortish, elegant man whose red hair was woven into a luxuriant braid. I swear to the World, the braid extended all the way to the floor! Sizing up the situation, I realized that this must be Sir Manga Melifaro, the author of the Encyclopedia I so ardently admired.

  “A good morning to you, gentlemen.”

  I was beaming with pleasure as I entered the living room. This was strange, since I am usually shy around new people, and I can’t stand introductions.

  “Good morning, Sir Max Baxba, greet our guest.”

  “Good morning, Sir Max,” the sad giant repeated obediently.

  “Well, all right. Go to your trader, boy. Only remember—we need six horses. Six, not twelve! As far as I’m concerned we don’t need them at all, but since you have your heart set on it. But not a dozen! Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Father! Goodbye, Sir Max. You’ve brought me luck!” And the giant, already cheerful, bounded out of the room.

  “My eldest, Sir Max,” Sir Manga said with evident disbelief. “A child of ‘youthful passions,’ as they say. I can’t fathom how I produced something like that!”

  “You are truly a man of passion, Sir Manga,” I smiled, and poured myself some kamra. It was as good as the kamra from the Glutton, hands down.