“And do you know whose secret Mr. Kovareka might have wanted to find out?” I asked without much hope.
“No, Sir Max. I really don’t. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that Karry had no interest in anything but the very best. Are you familiar with the fare at the Sated Skeleton?”
“And how! I live in that quarter. I can admit this to you, Lady Tanita. When I found out that the chef dabbled slightly in magic of the second degree, I knew I could get a good breakfast there.”
“Precisely. Karry wasn’t interested in that degree of magic. It didn’t meet his expectations of fine cuisine.”
“Hm. The circle of suspects has just narrowed considerably. You’re certainly making my job much easier. What establishments met with his approval?”
“Let me think. He didn’t like praising competition, but the Glutton Bunba and the Hunchback Itullo, it goes without saying. They’re the cream of the crop. The Greasy Turkey, Fatman at the Bend . . . Yes, and of all the Skeletons he was fondest of the Dancing Skeleton. You know, the chef there once worked under the legendary Vagatta Vax. Actually, Karry has always considered the best chefs to be those in the service of wealthy families. They have enough leisure time to devote themselves to the culinary arts, rather than ‘feeding any old junk to a bunch of tipsy hicks,’ as he put it. He dreamed of meeting Shutta Vax, son of the famous Vagatta Vax. But it was impossible. The family has its own social circle, very exclusive. Maybe Karry was able to insinuate himself into someone’s private kitchen? I doubt it, though. That would be too unlikely.”
“Thank you, Lady Tanita. This is more than enough for the time being. Don’t be angry if I send you a call again. My foolish brain might come up with a question at any hour of the day or night, so be prepared for the worst.”
“If only that were the worst of it,” Lady Tanita smiled. “Sir Max, I have no one else to ask for advice. Perhaps you could tell me what I should do now? So as ‘not to lose my mind,’ as you put it yesterday.”
“What should you do? I don’t know. I only know what I would do in your place.”
“What? What would you do?”
“I would leave everything behind. I’d begin a new life. I mean, I’d try to change everything completely, right away—a new house, even a new city; but a new house at the very least. I’d get a new job, if I had even the slightest chance of getting one. I’d start dressing differently, I’d change my hair. I’d make a bunch of new friends. Things like that. I’d try to work till I was dead-tired, so that sleep would seek me, and not the other way around. And in a dozen days I’d take a look in the mirror and see some unfamiliar person, someone who had never experienced the woes I had gone through. Strange advice, don’t you think?”
Lady Tanita stared at me in disbelief.
“It is very strange advice, but I’ll try it, Sir Max! It’s better than returning home, where there’s no Karry, anyway. What you’re saying is so simple—but it would never have occurred to me! Are you giving me advice based on your own experience?”
“Yes. Twice I’ve taken that step. The first time it wasn’t very successful. But it wasn’t a complete disaster, either, and I didn’t go mad. The second time, though, I managed very well. You might even say I was wildly successful.”
“Was that when you moved to the capital from the borders of the Barren Lands?”
“Just so. But I was lucky! If Sir Juffin hadn’t—”
“It was our luck!” Lady Tanita said. “If the Mantle of Death conceals such a fine person as you are, it means the World won’t collapse any time soon. Today I will move to the New City, to the very center of town. And I’ll open a new tavern. There is fierce competition there! And I’ll hire new people. By the time we’re able to stand on our own feet or go under, I think I’ll have had time to get used to the idea that Karry has just gone away.”
“Give it all you’ve got, my lady!” I said in all sincerity.
And I thought to myself that I hoped I had the courage to follow my own advice, if at some point the curious heavens chose to test the mettle of my foolish heart.
Lady Tanita took her leave, and I set out for the Main Archive. Sir Lookfi Pence wandered pensively among the preening buriwoks, absently knocking over chairs as he passed. Melifaro sat in state on the desk, dangling his legs, lost in thought.
“Well, anything to report?” I asked from the doorway.
“Nothing. Not a thing,” Melifaro said, enunciating each syllable. “For all intents and purposes, it looks like not a single crazy Magician has ever before attempted this simple way of preparing a quick and delicious holiday meal. Speaking of a meal, I’m ready to fulfill my side of the bargain right now, with you, Mr. Bad Dream. With you or without you, I’m going out to eat. Otherwise you’ll have one more corpse on your hands.”
“Will you accompany us, Sir Lookfi?” I asked.
“I can’t, Sir Max,” the Master Curator of Knowledge said apologetically. “I must stay here until sundown. And my wife is the proprietress of a restaurant, you know. A very good one. When we had just gotten to know one another, I promised Varisha—that’s her name—that I would never go to another establishment for as long as I lived. Except the Glutton, of course, but that’s in the line of duty. Working for Sir Juffin Hully, it’s impossible to avoid going to the Glutton. She understands that. I wanted to please her, and now I have no choice but to keep my word.”
“And what is the name of her establishment? I’d like to try it sometime.”
“Of course, Sir Max. It’s the Fatman at the Bend. It’s in the New City. Have you heard of it?”
I certainly had! The thought that the adored spouse of Sir Lookfi Pence was one of the prime suspects raised my mood considerably, and my appetite, too.
The Hunchback Itullo, the most expensive restaurant in Echo, is located at some distance from our Ministry, which explained why I had only been to the Hunchback twice. The first time I wandered in purely by chance, when I was studying Echo and its environs. The prices astounded me. They were extremely high, even by comparison with my beloved Glutton—not the cheapest place in town. This only whetted my curiosity. I simply had to find out what you could get with money like that.
But it was the interior of the place that surprised me most of all. I had never seen anything like it in Echo. There was no bar, nor were there small tables scattered about. Instead, there was a spacious hall and many small doors. A middle-aged lady with raven hair and a gloomy expression opened one of them for me. Behind the door was a small, cozy booth with a round table, in the center of which was a fountain. Tongues of rainbow-colored flames from myriad candles dispelled the soft darkness. Yes, the ambience was very impressive! And the food was no less so, though I came away feeling I lacked the education and background to appreciate the nuances of this sophisticated cuisine.
The second time I went there was quite recently, to buy the tiny packet of gourmet cookies for Chuff. From the looks of it, Melifaro wasn’t exactly a regular here, either.
“I feel like a complete dolt,” he admitted, sitting down at the little table. “A completely rich dolt who does nothing except torment his belly with delicacies.”
“That’s why I was so eager to come here,” I remarked.
“To feel like a rich dolt?”
“No, so that you could learn your own worth!”
“You’ve overindulged in your Elixir, Mr. Bad Dream. I feed him, and he mocks me! Mysterious Soul, Child of the Barren Plains—what will become of you?”
The door opened. The proprietor of the establishment had favored us with a visit. It was the legendary Hunchback Itullo himself, famous for preparing all three hundred dishes on the menu single-handed. For that reason, the customers of this elegant restaurant were required to have the patience of a saint. It was sometimes two hours before your meal was served.
“Please don’t close the door,” I requested as Mr. Itullo entered. “It’s stuffy in here.”
“I told you you went overboard with the
Elixir,” Melifaro muttered with a knowing wink. “Shortness of breath is the first sign of poisoning.”
“Oh, you’d be singing a different tune if you had to go around smothered under this blanket,” I cried, nodding with repugnance at my splendid Mantle.
“Mr. Itullo, one of the secrets of the universe has been revealed before my very eyes. Now we know it for a fact: Death sweats! Sometimes, anyway.”
Melifaro mimicked an expression of inspired ecstasy, and waved his arms around under the proprietor’s nose. Alas, our host was not the most good-natured fellow in Echo. He smiled grimly, and placed a weighty tome on the table. It looked like a first edition of the ancient Gutenberg Bible. This was the menu.
I gave Melifaro free rein, since he was paying. If he wanted to waste half an hour of his life trying to understand the difference between Cold Sleep and Heavenly Body, who was I to deprive him of his intellectual enjoyment?
“Good gentlemen, if you prefer a crystal clarity of taste, I would advise you to turn your attention to this page,” Mr. Itullo announced with a flourish.
“And what would you recommend for a person who is accustomed to partaking of horse jerky?” Melifaro asked snidely.
“I have just the thing. This is a marvelous stew, which I prepare from the heart of a winded racehorse according to an ancient recipe. A very expensive pleasure, since one must pay for the whole horse. You do know, gentlemen, how much a thoroughbred costs, as well as the cost of the jockey’s labor? Not to mention the seasoning.”
“How about it, Sir Max?” Melifaro asked solicitously. “I’ll grudge you nothing, you know.”
“No,” I mumbled. “I’m more interested in the ‘crystal clarity of taste,’ if it comes right down to it. And it’s beastly to torment animals like that.”
“Some Child of the Steppes,” snorted the amateur anthropologist.
Disappointed, Melifaro poked his nose in the menu again. The hunchback muttered anxiously as my friend turned the pages in rapture; I listened out of the corner of my ear as their exchange dragged on. I held my burning face up to the cool draft that escaped into the booth from the hall. And suddenly . . .
Sir Juffin Hully was absolutely right about my luck. I was devilishly lucky. A weak aroma, that same wonderful smell of delicious food that was so out of place in the morgue of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, now tickled my nostrils again.
“That’s what I want,” I said triumphantly and pointed in the direction of the open door.
“What might that be, sir?” the host asked in alarm.
“Whatever that smell is. And that’s what you want, too, right?” I stared meaningfully at Melifaro, whose nose was already turning toward the door in wonder.
In just a fraction of a second, his dark eyes glittered with absolute comprehension.
“Yes, Mr. Itullo. We’ve made our decision. That smell is simply incomparable. What is that dish? Well, spit it out!”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, gentlemen,” the hunchback said, shaking his head vigorously. “And it’s not on the menu, so don’t bother looking for it.”
“Why isn’t it?” Melifaro asked, leaping out of his chair.
“The fact is that it’s a very expensive dish.”
“Excellent!” I exclaimed. “That’s just what we had in mind—something a bit more pricey. Isn’t that right, my poor friend?”
“Yes, my insatiable foe!” Melifaro didn’t even bat an eyelid.
“Nevertheless, gentlemen, it can’t be done.” Our host was unyielding. “It takes more than two dozen days to prepare such a dish. I have several old customers who order it in advance. I am willing to accommodate you, but your order will only be ready in . . . I don’t quite know how many days, since some of the ingredients are supplied by merchants all the way from Arvarox. I can put you on the waiting list and let you know when it will be ready. But I can’t promise anything.”
“Fine,” I said, with a dismissive wave. “In that case bring me something with a ‘crystal clarity of taste.’ We’ll discover your skills by beginning at the beginning. But please, no horse’s hearts. Apart from that, we are placing ourselves in your hands.”
“I’d recommend that you consider numbers 37 and 89, gentlemen.” The hunchback clearly felt that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “The wait will be less than an hour. These are true culinary masterpieces! What would you like to drink in anticipation of the meal?”
“Kamra!” I almost shouted.
“Kamra? Before the meal? But your taste buds, your palate—”
“Yes, we’ll need a jug of water, too, to rinse the palate before the most significant culinary event of our lives. And don’t shut the door, please. It’s hot in here!”
When we were at last alone, Melifaro launched right in.
“That smell is the one in our morgue, a hole in the heavens above your long nose, Max! Am I right?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. My whole life I’ve wanted a larger nose. One like Juffin’s, at the very least.”
“You have terrible taste. Your nose is the very height of fashion.”
“Well, at least it’s good for something. Send a call to Kofa. Unfortunately, I grow tired too fast using Silent Speech. Let’s hear what our Mouthful-Earful thinks about all this.”
“Does it really tire you?” Melifaro asked in surprise.
“Try to imagine. Have you ever tried learning a foreign language?”
“I’ll say. My papa was always forcing us to memorize the mumbo-jumbo of some idiots who didn’t have the sense to learn normal human speech.”
“Well, then you know how it is for me.”
“I understand. Only it’s so funny to hear you try.”
“Come on, call Kofa, Mr. Ninth Volume of the Encyclopedia of Manga Melifaro. Or I may burst from curiosity.”
“All right, I’m sending the call,” Melifaro’s face assumed an intelligent expression to let me know that he had made contact with our Master Eavesdropper.
In a few minutes, two jugs were served to us, one containing kamra and one with water. Melifaro’s face melted into a more human expression again. As a matter of fact, the poor fellow was laboring under an overload of information and all the implications thereof. By the time the gloomy lady who was serving us had departed, Melifaro looked as though he was on the verge of fainting.
“Your nose is really something!” he blurted out. “Sir Kofa is almost certain that he knows the dish in question: King Banjee Pâté. The most outlandish rumors have been circulating about it for a long time now. Even in the Epoch of Orders not every chef had it in his power to make a dish like that. The problem is that rustling up King Banjee requires magic of no less than the tenth or eleventh degree. But Itullo is the most law-abiding citizen in Echo. He’s never been caught so much as dabbling in the second degree since the Code was written! So there you have it. According to Kofa, the whole King Banjee business is shrouded in mystery. It isn’t anywhere on the menu. Sir Kofa himself tried ordering the infamous pâté several times, but he got some vague promise that they would ‘put him on the list.’ Sound familiar? Among the citizens of Echo, there are several people who, in their own words, have tasted the delights of this pâté. Sir Kofa has overheard talk of this unique experience of the taste buds. Another curious fact—the lucky ones were not terribly rich. They were average citizens, the kind who would come to the Hunchback a few times a year if they could afford it, but not more. And Itullo suggested to us that it was so expensive, a whole month’s salary wouldn’t buy a portion of the grub.”
“He doesn’t want to get mixed up with us, that’s for sure,” I said nodding.
“With the Secret Investigative Force? Stands to reason. There’s something fishy about this pâté.”
“Was that all the news?”
“No, there’s more. Do you know where Boboota ate yesterday?”
“Gosh, it wasn’t here, was it?”
“It most certainly was. And it wasn’t th
e first time. It turns out that General Boboota developed a passion for luxury a dozen days ago. And recently he’s been eating exclusively at the Hunchback.”
“I don’t think his salary is less than ours; but every day, that’s a bit excessive!”
A curious and thrifty little fellow with an inordinate interest in Boboota’s pocketbook suddenly took over in me.
“Oh, it’s much less, Max. A general of the Police Force makes half as much as an ordinary Secret Investigator. Didn’t you know?”
“Well, that proves my point. I don’t like the sound of this, Melifaro. Not one bit. From what I know of fellows like Boboota, they don’t like throwing their money around on the sly. They want everyone to see them. And here . . . these idiotic private booths! Like some underworld den. It’s convenient for a fellow like me. I can lose my appetite when I’m surrounded by the unpleasant faces of total strangers. But that can’t be a problem for Boboota. Why would he eat in such an expensive place, if not to let everyone see him indulging his taste buds in solitary contemplation?”
“What’s a ‘den,’ Max?” Melifaro asked. “You’re a fount of new words today.”
I scratched my head. How do I explain what a den is? And why were the characters of my favorite books, with Sherlock Holmes leading the procession, always hanging around in ‘dens’? Oh, right, to smoke opium! And how did those visits sometimes end up? Right! Poor Boboota. But would someone mind telling me how opium would have found its way into Echo? And of what possible use it would be for people who can absolutely openly and legally, in the company of their families at home, partake of their Soup of Repose and boggle their minds to their heart’s content?
“Kofa didn’t happen to say which booth Boboota had eaten in, did he?”
“Just a second, I’ll ask.”
Melifaro again seemed to turn to stone, this time only briefly.
“Great,” he said in a moment. “People always take notice when it’s such a renowned person. Several times Boboota was seen coming out of the far booth—the one on the right, if you’re standing at the entrance.”