After midday I began to nod off and secretly to curse the sleepyhead Melifaro. I adore the opportunity to save a human life, of course; but charity begins at home. And that was just where I wanted to be.
Melifaro showed up before I had fully exhausted my supply of curses. He looked so healthy and robust that I felt like a saint. This was even more pleasant than scaring the population of Echo with my Mantle of Death.
“All hail, Sir Max, the one and only bestower of sweet dreams!” Melifaro exclaimed from the doorway.
He could have continued this panegyric until kingdom come, but I wasn’t in the mood to listen.
“I’m going home to bestow sweet dreams on myself. If someone tries to wake me up, I’ll start to spit, so beware,” I threatened, and called for a Ministry amobiler. Just then the ten-minute walk home didn’t seem like the best way of getting there. I so desperately wanted to sleep that I began undressing in the amobiler. But who would be surprised by that at the End of the Year?
The following two days passed in a similar fashion. The general tension continued to mount. But on the morning of the Last Day of the Year, I suddenly realized that everything was over.
Sir Juffin Hully arrived at the expected time, sat down in a chair, and was lost in contemplation for a time.
“You still haven’t learned how to make kamra, Max?” he asked out of the blue.
“I don’t think I have the knack for it. Do you remember my first attempts? The results were so disastrous I decided not to repeat the experiment.”
“Fine. Now I’ll teach you how to do it. Otherwise my conscience will bother me. Luring a person to a strange, unknown World, and then turning him loose without teaching him the most basic of skills . . .”
I was so surprised that I took the risk of agreeing to try. And we began casting spells over a miniscule brazier that he fished out of the bottomless drawer of his desk. Our joint creation was not bad at all, although it could never have competed with the “piece de resistance” of the Glutton. After this success I had to repeat it on my own.
“A hole in the heavens above you, Max,” Juffin grumbled, as he tasted my creation. “You’re never going to learn. It’s hopeless.”
“I’m a newfangled newcomer,” I announced proudly. “A barbarian, a savage, and an ignoramus. You should pity me, instruct me, and not criticize me. Besides, if you had warned me that you needed a fellow who could make kamra, I would immediately have admitted that you had come to the wrong address.”
“Ignorance is no sin,” said Juffin. “But I don’t understand. Why can’t you learn this one thing? You do much more difficult things with the greatest of ease.”
“Talent,” I insisted. “You need talent for everything. In this area of expertise, I happen to be all thumbs. It’s lucky for you, Juffin, that you never tried one of my omelets. Not to mention the rest of my culinary quirks. Sandwiches are the acme of my abilities.”
“Really? That’s terrible. Fine, let’s go to the Glutton. And if someone comes when we’re not here, Kurush will take care of him. Right, my dear?” Juffin said fondly, stroking the buriwok’s soft feathers.
Kurush looked very pleased.
Naturally, when we got to the Glutton, we couldn’t settle for just two mugs of kamra. We had a lengthy, hearty breakfast, and I was finally convinced that the pre-holiday nightmare had been left behind.
“Don’t even think of hightailing it home yet, Max! The Royal Showering of Gifts is scheduled for noon. If I’m not mistaken, you’re also on the list for receiving some unadulterated nonsense or other.”
“And Sir Kumbra Kurmak couldn’t be persuaded to part with my souvenir an hour earlier?”
“What a sly one you are! No, you’ll just have to be patient. Kumbra won’t show up before noon, anyway.”
“Maybe it could be a reward for saving Melifaro’s life two days in a row. The only thing I’m dreaming about is going to bed.”
“You’ll have to wait a while. Don’t pout, Max. I picked out an excellent present for you. It far outshines a present from the King.”
Juffin handed me a ceramic vessel with delicate cracks on it that witnessed to a venerable old age.
“This is—!”
“Sh-h-h. Yes, it’s the real thing!” The smile on the face of my boss revealed that this could be nothing other than Elixir of Kaxar, the sweet offspring of Forbidden Magic, the only potion capable of restoring my composure in any situation. Just in time!
“You’re hushing me up like someone is about to rat on us as we speak. I’d like to know who—is Sir Kofa somewhere around here?”
“It’s always the same,” grumbled a bald, sharp-nosed old man who had just seated himself at the next table.
Yes, it was none other than Sir Kofa Yox, in the flesh—though skillfully disguised, as usual, in the interests of the profession.
“And I was just about to arrest you, gentlemen. Well, never mind. I’ll insist on a bribe, though, Max. In contrast to you, I haven’t slept a wink for four nights straight. Well, hardly at all, anyway. A hole in the heavens above this Last Day of the Year!”
I began to open the bottle eagerly.
“You’re really letting yourselves go, boys,” Juffin smirked. “Magic of the eighth degree in a public place and abusing professional privileges, that’s what it is.”
“Oh, give us a break, Juffin! Well, do you want Max and me to turn ourselves in? We’ll turn you in, too, while we’re at it. I’d like to see what you would do if we tried.”
It had been a long time since I’d seen Sir Kofa so happy. He had grown younger by . . . oh, I’ve never been much good with numbers of that magnitude.
At midday we reported to the Chancellory of Minor and Major Inducements, where those who were eager for awards had already gathered. Never in my life have I seen so many cops in one place at the same time, I thought, and could hardly stop from laughing.
Luckily, ever since the irony of fate had wrapped me in the Mantle of Death, I could afford to overstep the protocol of almost any official ceremony. In the House by the Bridge I was granted almost everything my heart desired. Who cared about the trembling subordinates of General Boboota Box, and their boss, grunting and groaning under the weight of his own significance?
Actually, today Boboota was somewhat subdued. I recalled that it had been a while since I’d heard his refined soliloquies, redolent with a thorough knowledge of the techniques of defecation. Most likely the pre-holiday commotion had put a damper even on the brave General of the Police.
Finally, the corpulent and amiable Sir Kumbra handed me the generic Royal Trinket Box and I went home. For one thing, I had had only the smallest nip of the reviving tonic: these things must be saved for the appropriate occasion. And for another thing, the cats were waiting for me. The poor things were somewhat overwhelmed by their recent close confinement with Sir Melifaro. They, too, deserved some rewards and comfort.
“Max!” Juffin’s voice reached me just as I was on my way out. I turned around.
“Something else?”
“Yes. You still have an unfulfilled promise hanging over you. You should take care of it before the New Year.”
“What promise is that?” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“The last time you were at my house you promised Chuff you would visit him soon.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“It’s a reminder. If my company hasn’t become irksome to you, just know that I’ll be home by sunset, and not a minute later. I don’t think anyone has to sit at the Ministry tonight. Kurush can manage without you until midnight, in any case, especially since there will probably be nothing to manage.”
“Thank you. Of course I’ll come. I’ll eat everything that’s put on the table. And then I’ll go rummage around in the closets.”
“I don’t doubt it. All right, go get some shuteye.”
Armstrong and Ella greeted me with petulant meowing. As a consequence of Melifaro’s deep sleep, they had receive
d their breakfast several hours later than usual over the past few days, and they didn’t intend to welcome the innovation.
“That’s all over, my little furries,” I reassured them, filling their bowls. “Everything’s back to normal now.”
Curiosity proved to be stronger than weariness. Before I fell asleep, I opened the Royal Trinket Box to see what was inside. Not a hundred days had passed since I had tried to open just such a box. Now I did it almost mechanically. Hmm, yes. Magic of the fourth degree we had already mastered, and much else, besides, a hole in the heavens above!
This time I had received a surprisingly beautiful little medallion made of white steel, which is prized far more highly than gold in this World that lacks precious metals. On the medallion was the likeness of a fat, peculiar-looking, but very appealing little creature. Peering closely at it, I gleaned that the unknown artist had tried to depict Armstrong (or Ella, his nearly identical other half).
Three hours of sleep was more than enough. Even a tiny drop of Elixir of Kaxar can do wonders, it seems. In my joy, I straightened up the house, cleaned up after the cats, and even shaved. Then I sat in the living room, filling my pipe with the local tobacco, the taste of which I had never been able to get used to. But the ritual of fiddling with the pipe is itself one of the true pleasures of domestic leisure.
At sundown, I carefully packed myself into the amobiler and set out for the other side of the Xuron, to the quiet and respectable Left Bank. I drove through completely empty streets. Restaurant proprietors were peacefully nodding off in the doorways of their establishments, not really hoping to take in any profits that night. Birds wandered about on the mosaic pavements. The residents of Echo were resting from the cares of the year gone by. There was no trace of noisy celebration, only the deep, unbroken slumber for which the capital had so desperately longed.
Juffin opened the door for me himself. Kimpa, his butler, had gone to sleep right after he had laid the table. Our eagerness to stay up and talk had no doubt struck him as the height of eccentricity.
The first thing I did was embrace Chuff, who was practically swooning in ecstasy. The little dog licked my nose carefully, and then started in on my ear. I prefer other modes of washing, but I vowed to enjoy this one.
“I’ve come bearing no gifts,” I apologized, sitting down in a comfortable chair. “You know how thrifty I am. But I think I can find something for you, little fellow.”
I unwrapped a small parcel. Inside were Chuff’s (and my own) favorite cookies from the Hunchback Itullo, delicious beyond description, and just as pricey. Sir Juffin Hully claims that making this delicacy without resorting to forbidden degrees of magic is nearly impossible. Be that as it may, the chef there is above suspicion. They inspect him every dozen days, and no trace of mischief is ever found.
That’s what true culinary talent is—the lack of which, in yours truly, we were bemoaning only that morning.
Max is good. Chuff is fluent in Silent Speech. Better than I am.
“Did you squander your whole life’s savings on those cookies?” Juffin asked.
“Only half of it. The other half I squandered, as you put it, on this.” And with the dramatic flourish of a seasoned conjuror, I gave my left hand a shake, and a small, pot-bellied bottle of dark glass appeared on the table.
“You’re lying about the cost. These things can’t be bought or sold,” said Juffin in rapture. “Is it possible that Melamori is sharing again? I thought that she had broken your heart; but it seems to have been a well-laid plan. You’re a genius, Max! You discovered the only foolproof way of filching wine from the cellars of the Seven-Leaf Clover. Very practical! I’m impressed.”
“Do you think that she would filch something from her uncle to give to me, as if to a bosom buddy? No way. We just had a bet, and I won hands down.”
“You were betting?”
“Well, yes. She loves taking a gamble. But you must be aware of this.”
“I never attached any significance to it. What was the bet?”
“I told her I could talk to General Boboota for fifteen minutes without him using the words butt, crap, and gaseous expulsions, as it were. She didn’t believe it was possible. Then I went to Boboota and began discussing the latest news. As you can imagine, he listened, snorted, and nodded his head. In the privacy of his own thoughts he probably cursed me a thousand times. I simply took advantage of the situation. Melamori hadn’t been around for a few days and wasn’t aware that relations between me and Boboota had taken a new turn.”
“I heard about it, though. Some say he’s developed a nervous tic. Whenever Boboota begins to express the fruits of his contemplation out loud, he keeps glancing around furtively to see if you’re anywhere nearby. Gosh, Max, I never expected you could make me so happy!”
“There might have been an easier way—just hire some werewolf.”
“Life has proven that you are far more terrifying. So you won the bet?”
“There’s the evidence,” I said, nodding at the bottle. “Dark Essence, one of the best varieties, according to Melamori. She said that it was a fair exchange.”
“The girl is absolutely right, on both counts. You surprise me, Max. Wines like this are meant to be drunk in solitude, behind locked doors in a distant room, so that an evil wind doesn’t blow your best friends over on an inopportune visit.”
“And I’m sucking up to you. I gather that in your cellar you keep not only the skinned hides of magicians, but also a couple cases of Elixir of Kaxar.”
“Why should I store it away? I can make that stuff myself! It’s not forbidden to disregard the Code in the interests of the Crown. Grand Magician Nuflin Moni Mak thinks the same.”
“All the more. I share those views completely. It’s too bad I’ll never learn how to make it myself.”
“No, you probably won’t. You can’t even learn to make kamra, poor boy,” Sir Juffin Hully seemed to feel truly sorry for me.
“I have to have at least one fault,” I consoled my long-suffering teacher, and pushed the bottle of Dark Essence toward him.
By the time I got back to the office, I felt more like a human food vendor cart than a human being. I needed to stretch my legs and wiggle my toes.
Despite Sir Juffin Hully’s optimistic prognosis of a quiet night ahead of me, a matter awaited that wasn’t exactly business as usual. In the Chair of Despond in the Hall of Common Labor, a charming, middle-aged lady, wearing an expensive looxi that she had pulled on right over her everyday skaba, was wailing and keening. The damsel was in that stage of shock when incoherent mumbling is over, but the gift of speech has yet to return. For that reason I didn’t dispute the citizens’ right of our guest to quiet moaning, but obeyed some latent instinct and handed her the mug of kamra I had tried to make myself earlier. I decided that such liquid muck would restore her emotional equilibrium no worse than smelling salts—which, by the way, are prohibited here as magic of the third degree.
She gulped the stuff down mechanically and finally grew quiet. Even her sobs ceased. It was surprising that she was still alive at all.
Kurush was the only one capable of giving a full account of what had happened to the unfortunate visitor before she came to her senses. He was the sole witness of her surprise visit. I turned to him expectantly, and the buriwok conveyed the following information without a moment’s hesitation:
“My husband turned into a piece of meat, my husband turned into a piece of meat, my husband turned into a piece of meat.”
I looked at Kurush mournfully, then at the damsel, then at Kurush again, then—at the ceiling, which got in the way of the sky. Why, O Dark Magicians? I’m not such a bad person. You might even say I’m a very good person. So spare me, please!
The paltry “please” changed nothing. The madness progressed. Kurush kept up his refrain about a husband and meat. I knew that now he wouldn’t be quiet until he had scrupulously reported every word that had been spoken in my absence. Hearing her own monologue from the mouth
of the talking bird, the lady made a reverse turn on the path toward tranquility and was soon back on the verge of hysteria. I forced another gulp of the black muck on her, and it helped. The poor woman raised her beautiful, forlorn eyes to me and whispered:
“It’s horrible, but in the bed there really is a huge piece of meat, and Karry is nowhere to be found.”
The buriwok finally fell silent. He seemed to be quite upset, too. I stroked his feathers gently.
“Good boy. What a smart fellow you are! Everything’s all right now. You were brilliant, Kurush. If I had known what was going on here, I wouldn’t have stayed away so long.”
Kurush puffed up in satisfaction. Sir Juffin Hully knew how to raise the most spoiled buriwok in the entire Unified Kingdom, though also the most kindhearted.
“People usually don’t come to the House by the Bridge on the Last Day of the Year,” he said. “So it’s not your fault, Max. It’s amazing you came back at all.”
I turned to the woman again.
“What is your name, my lady?”
She smiled through her tears. (Excellent, Max. You’re a real play-boy, Mantle of Death notwithstanding.)
“Tanita Kovareka. My husband is Karry—I mean Karwen—Kovareka. We have a little inn here in the Old City, the Tipsy Bottle. Maybe you know it? But now Karry—” and she burst into quiet sobbing again.
“I think we ought to go to your house right away,” I said firmly. “You can explain everything along the way. If there’s anything you wish to explain, of course. You won’t object if we go on foot? As far as I know, it’s about ten minutes from here at the most.”
“Of course,” she said. “I could use some fresh air.”
Before leaving, I stroked Kurush again. Indulge him and indulge him some more—that’s the treatment both Juffin’s and my own heart insisted on.