The Stranger

  I dutifully set out for the morgue, which was located on the premises of the Echo City Police. Sinning Magicians, I sure hadn’t expect everything be this simple! There lay the fellow we had seen yesterday in the elegant yellow looxi. Only now his belt was gone. Was it murder with the intent to rob? Not the most popular kind of crime in Echo. I twirled my magic dagger in my fingers. The gauge didn’t budge. No Forbidden Magic around here. But if Juffin wanted me to see it, there must have been some foul magic involved. What kind, though? For one thing, there was no blood nor any trace of violence. Had he been poisoned? No. If this were just about “murder with the intent to rob,” Juffin wouldn’t have been summoned in the first place

  I looked at the dead man one more time. There was something about him . . . something very obvious that still eluded my grasp.

  I went back to the office without having figured it out. Preoccupied with heavy thoughts, I bumped right into Shixola, the former lieutenant of the City Police. After the remarkable rescue of Boboota, Shixola had been promoted to captain, which (unlike most of his colleagues) he richly deserved.

  The fellow reeled, but stood his ground.

  “Did you come to admire our discovery, sir?” asked the unfortunate victim of my absentmindedness, rubbing his bruised chin.

  “Yes. There’s something not quite right about your discovery,” I said and looked at Shixola thoughtfully.

  “I agree. There must be. First Sir Kofa came by, then Sir Venerable Head himself graced us with his presence, and now you arrive. This ragamuffin is really running you ragged.”

  “Ragamuffin . . . ?”

  The expensive yellow looxi and the fancy boots of the dead man seemed very much at odds with that description. Then it dawned on me. Underneath this expensive looxi the man was wearing the old, tattered skaba I had glimpsed yesterday. It looked as though the fellow hadn’t changed it for years. This glaring contrast seemed significant.

  “Yes, a ragamuffin, of course!” I shouted enthusiastically, and rushed off, leaving Captain Shixola bewildered and alone.

  “Well, what do you say?”

  Juffin smiled broadly, as though getting the chance to look at the corpse had been a birthday present, perhaps the best I had ever received.

  “Nothing much to say. The fellow’s not dressed too well. I’ll be honest with you, it took a while for me to realize it. It looks like he hadn’t changed his clothes in years. By the way, who took his belt away from him? The killer, or you?”

  “Whoever did, it wasn’t us, unfortunately.”

  “How did he die? I didn’t see any wounds. Was he poisoned?”

  “Possibly. It’s not clear. You have something to add?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Well, my heart lurched unpleasantly. That happened yesterday, already, when Kofa and I saw him in the Irrashi Inn. There was nothing more concrete than that.”

  “I’m not interested in anything ‘concrete.’ What really intrigues me are the messages your darn-fool heart sends out. If you had a few hearts to spare, I’d pass them out to our boys instead of those good-for-nothing gauges. Every time something halfway interesting happens, they stick at zero and refuse to budge. It’s ridiculous! Imagine, Kofa and I didn’t sense that anything at all was amiss. Your new friend sure did, though.”

  “Who’s my new friend? Shixola?”

  “What a short memory you have,” said the chief and grinned. “Grand Magician Nuflin Moni Mak was kind enough to send me a call an hour ago. He says it’s urgent that we get to the bottom of this case. He has a terrible foreboding, and no clues whatsoever. Are you related to him, by any chance?”

  “You should know,” I said, heaving a sigh. “You’re the one and only expert on my genealogy. Give me some kamra, Juffin. First I don’t get enough sleep, then I have to gaze on a corpse . . . life just all-round sucks.”

  “What, the trick with the pillow didn’t work?” Juffin laughed out loud. “Well, win some, lose some. And make your own kamra. Why did I waste my time teaching you? And don’t grind your teeth like that, Sir Max. Kofa hasn’t tasted your culinary invention yet. Please.”

  “You can’t fight the magic word,” I muttered, mollified. “What a despot you are, Sir Juffin.”

  “Could be worse.”

  I carried out the motions mechanically, but the results were the best ever! Even Sir Kofa didn’t turn up his nose at it.

  A feeling of justified pride dispelled the forebodings that had taken hold of me since my visit to the morgue. I pulled a parcel of cigarette stubs out of the folds of my Mantle of Death. My senior colleagues frowned in distaste, but I couldn’t have cared less. If people are doomed to smoke some reeking muck that they mistakenly consider to be pipe tobacco, one can only pity them.

  “In what country do they make those belts?” I asked. “You must know, Kofa.”

  “Good question, Max. At this point, I don’t have the answer. That is, as far as I’ve been able to tell, they aren’t made anywhere. But that’s clearly insufficient information. Actually, I was just about to go to the Customs. Since we’ve decided to take the bull by the horns, we can’t get by without Nulli Karif. That’s his job, to be in the know about all our dear foreign visitors. That’s why I woke you up, so you’d keep me company.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “What, your company? How could I not have liked it? It was a barrel of fun. Especially your heroic struggle over the spoon!” Kofa burst into peals of laughter.

  “Well, I have had about all I can take, Sir Kofa,” I exclaimed. “I’m abandoning you for General Boboota. You’re cruel, and he’s kind and good. We’re going to go to the can together, sit in stalls side by side, and tap on the walls.”

  “Why tap on the walls?” My colleagues were now beside themselves with mirth.

  “So we can understand each other without words,” I explained. “It’s a spiritual bond you two could never even dream of.”

  “Let’s get going, genius,” Sir Kofa said. “I can’t promise you spiritual bonds, but I guarantee you won’t be bored.”

  The Head of Customs of the Unified Kingdom, Sir Nulli Karif, was a remarkable character in all respects. Small, garrulous, and, I assumed, very young. Round glasses in thin frames completed the image of this delightful personage.

  “Well, whom do we have here! Sir Kofa! And you must be Sir Max. Splendid! Has something happened? You don’t have to answer that. I understand. Otherwise you wouldn’t have dragged yourselves over here from the other side of town. How’s Melifaro? What’s the news about his older brother? Is that pirate going to descend on Echo any time soon? They say Melifaro fastened the Earring of Oxalla on Chemparkaroke with such a powerful spell that no one will ever be able to remove it, even someone in the Seven-Leaf Clover. So much has happened around here! Do you remember Kaffa Xani, Sir Kofa? Well, he’s not with us anymore. He rented a ship and set sail for Magicians know where. Splendid! Attaboy! Way to go! Have you killed a lot of people, Sir Max? I don’t doubt you have. Is that true about Chemparkaroke? Has something indeed happened, Kofa, or did you just drop by to shoot the breeze?”

  The monologue of the Head of Customs threatened to go on indefinitely, but Sir Kofa thought of a way to dam up the torrent of words, if only temporarily.

  “Are you going to make us wait out here forever, or will you invite us into your office?”

  “Oh, it’s not much of an office, really. Look here, Kofa. It’s a pantry, a storage room, not an office. This is where half the confiscated goods end up, since storing the junk elsewhere is too dangerous. And the fellows from Jafax can’t be bothered with nonsense like that. It’s a vicious circle. Soon I’ll have to start receiving guests right at the docks. Well, I’ll just set my chair down there and . . . oh, did you know our Kaffa Xani had become a captain? I suspect he’ll join the pirates and end up on the gallows in some Tasher jungle or remote Shishin Caliphate. But that’s how it goes. What sense is there in being a sailor
if you don’t ship contraband? It’s foolish, that’s what it is. I don’t understand people like that. All the same, Sir Kofa, it’s splendid that you dropped by for a visit—though I don’t believe for a minute that’s the only reason you came to see me. I’m right on target, aren’t I?”

  “Of course you are, Nulli. But perhaps you’ll offer us some kamra and keep quiet for three minutes? I’d never think of requesting five, I realize that’s out of the question. Well, are you finished?”

  “But of course! They’ll bring us kamra directly. What kind do you prefer, Max? Local or Irrashi? Or maybe you’re a fan of Arvarox kamra? Though I think they already drank that up. The boys in this outfit do nothing but drink kamra—and from such enormous mugs.” He spread his small arms out wide to illustrate this phenomenon. I was duly impressed.

  “If you aren’t exaggerating, Sir Nulli, the poor fellows must be hard at work,” I said. “It’s even hard to fathom the existence of a mug that big.”

  “Certainly, Sir Max. We’re not playing the fool here. Those lads have to sweat,” said the remarkable fellow, without missing a beat. “I must say, though, the pay here is quite good. That same Kaffa Xani worked all of three years for us, and he’s already managed to hire a ship. Didn’t I tell you? Now he’ll sneak in contraband, and I’ll have to catch him. Magnificent! Ah, here’s the kamra.”

  Sir Nulli sniffed the contents of the jug and launched into another flood of words.

  “That’s Irrashi. It’s actually rubbish; but then, it’s imported. Where else can you get anything like that? Help yourselves, gentlemen. Though I’d prefer to just pour it out, I’m so sick of it. Well, if it isn’t old Tyoovin!” Nulli gestured toward the corner of his office, filled to the brim with all manner of bales and bundles, where a blurry white spot was just visible. “Sir Max, you haven’t yet met our Tyoovin. Let me introduce you to my predecessor, Sir Tyoovin Salivava, who was killed in the fifty-second year of the Code Epoch when he attempted a raid on the most famous smuggler of the Epoch of Orders. A great man, when all is said and done. I don’t remember his real name. They called him the ‘White Bird,’ and sometimes ‘Slippery Sun.’ Smugglers have always been a romantic bunch. But the fellow didn’t survive the brawl. Old man Tyoovin was a sight to behold. If he hadn’t had so much to drink that night, White Bird would never have caught him. Marvelous, don’t you think?”

  “So, you mean he’s a ghost?” I interjected, staring incredulously, staring at the distant blur.

  “Of course he’s a ghost. What else could he be? The old man’s not in very good shape today. By that I mean that Tyoovin usually appears with a completely human outline. I guess he’s feeling shy. Actually, Mr. Salivava was so drunk when they killed him that his ghost is never fully aware of what’s going on. But he’s a fine fellow. He’s a big help to me. It’s enough for him to materialize in front of some dapper, jaunty captain and bark, ‘Worthless nincompoops!’, and the chap starts spilling all his secrets at once, without any effort on our part. I can just go to sleep, which is usually exactly what I do. He’s quite something, that Tyoovin. He does love his work. Yes, indeed. But Sir Kofa, what on earth is wrong? I can see in your eyes that this isn’t just a social visit.”

  “Nulli, I’ll give you another ten seconds. If, by then, you don’t shut up of your own accord, Max and I will tie you up, gag you, and then get down to business. Is that clear?”

  “What do you mean, Sir Kofa? When have I ever refused to get down to business with you? I guessed right. You do have something to talk over with me. Excellent! I’m all ears, gentlemen. But first tell me: this concerns Melifaro and Chemparkaroke, am I right?”

  “Sinning Magicians!” Sir Kofa rolled his eyes heavenward. “Of course not! You should know better than that. Why are you so wrought up over Chemparkaroke? Now, Nulli, put on your infamous thinking cap. This has nothing to do with smuggling, so—”

  “Well, then, I’m not the one you should be talking to,” Sir Nulli Karif prattled on merrily. “I know who you need to see.”

  “First hear me out!” Sir Kofa roared.

  This had the desired effect. The fellow went quiet, adjusted his round spectacles, and focused his attention on Sir Kofa, who heaved a sigh of relief and continued.

  “I know that you notice any little thing that smacks of the unusual. I want you to try to remember whether you’ve seen anyone lately whose belt kindled your imagination in any way. Wait a minute, though. Don’t even think about giving me the run-down on every belt you’ve ever seen in your life! I’m interested in a certain wide belt made from some unknown substance that looks a bit like mother-of-pearl, only much more vivid. Okay, you can open your mouth now. You’ve been very patient. It was good of you, Nulli.”

  “I have seen it!” Sir Nulli Karif proclaimed victoriously. “I saw one, and not so very long ago. Now I have to remember where, and on whom. You know how many people there are hanging about here, Sir Kofa. That stands to reason—it’s a port. Why should it exist at all, if people are going to go around it, instead of passing through? Right? Well, it happened this year. Less than a dozen days ago, to be exact. What else? Um, yes, well, I saw the belt and said to Doo Idoonoo, ‘I’d arrest those pirates in the wink of an eye, if you and I were counted among the more fashion-conscious blokes in town!’ Not singular, but plural—pirates—so there were two of them in those belts. Maybe more. And it just so happened that Doo Idoonoo and I were there together, and then he didn’t show up at work for half a dozen days. He was sick. He’s quite a sickly chap . . . or he’s a malingerer. I don’t know to this day. My head is filled with Magicians-know-what kind of nonsense, but Doo Idoonoo will remember what he was doing before he fell ill. He’s a real hypochondriac. When he comes down with something, he starts to recall every person he’s come into contact with, and tries to make his wife believe they cast the evil eye on him. I’ll send him a call and ask him, and you help yourselves to some kamra, gentlemen. If it runs out, they’ll bring more. You can’t imagine how much of that junk we have here.”

  Sir Nulli Karif went quiet, then grew tense. I realized he was engaging in Silent Speech.

  A half hour later it was clear to me that Silent Speech had not made our host any less loquacious. Sir Kofa grimaced and coughed loudly. Nulli nodded, shrugged apologetically, and went back into a trance. A few minutes later he got up from his desk and left the office. I glanced at Kofa in bewilderment.

  “He’s trying to be discreet, Max,” he explained. “There’s a rumor going around that I can eavesdrop on other people’s Silent Speech.”

  “Only a rumor?” I asked.

  “Well, actually, I can, but it’s too taxing. And it’s bad for my health. You know, son, there are some things that are better left alone. All the more since it’s easier to read the thoughts of my interlocutors once they’ve finished their conversations. So I had no intention of . . . But there’s no way of convincing anyone of that, so he might as well hide.”

  “I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” said Nulli Karif. His face expressed more satisfaction than compunction. “Speaking frankly, I also felt the call of nature. Have you seen our new facilities? The boys have decorated it with all the smuggled talismans that held no interest for Jafax. Quite an educational spectacle! I found the answer to your question, Sir Kofa, so don’t fret.”

  “Well, spit it out, Nulli. We’ll talk about your privy some other time.”

  “That’s too bad, Sir Kofa. You’ll never see anything like it again. Well, it’s up to you, of course. It’s all fresh in my memory now. It was a ship owner from Tasher and his captain. They dropped anchor in the port on the morning of the fifth day of this year. They had a magnificent washtub of a vessel, better than many of our own. You can see for yourselves, it’s still moored there. It’s called the Old Maid. Funny, isn’t it? That’s what seamen sometimes call their perfectly innocent ships—it’s enough to make you split your sides! Now let me tell you the name of the ship owner . . .” Nulli rummaged around in the desk,
found a stack of registry records and buried his nose in them. “Aha! His name is Agon. That’s all. Tasherians have such short names. Yes, Doo Idoonoo reminded me that their cargo did contain belts like that. We were joking that we would have liked to have been able to pin something on them, and confiscate the belts for ourselves. It was only White Magic of the fourth degree, though, nothing forbidden. We had to let them through.”

  Sir Kofa took the records and began studying them.

  “Very curious,” he said after some time. “It looks like they had nothing to sell but those belts. Some tourists!”

  “They said they were planning to buy goods in Echo. That’s their right,” said Nulli Karif.

  “Hmm, quite interesting indeed. Buying here, and selling back home in Tasher, where the prices are much lower. What a wise merchant this Agon is, how well he carries on his trade! A commercial operation like that makes sense only when you’re stealing goods from the capital, not buying them. Now that’s an idea. Is there anyone on the vessel, Nulli?”

  “Naturally. The captain and some of the crew. They’re either saving on the cost of a hotel or standing guard over their old tub. She’s worth it, a floating bathtub like that, didn’t I tell you? But there’s nothing there that would interest you, Sir Kofa. I’ve gone over everything with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “Now we’ll find out what kind of ‘floating bathtub’ this is, and whether there really is anything of interest in it. Thank you for the kamra, Nulli, but let me give you some advice. Go back to the local brand. I suspect that foreign muck is just what’s making your assistant sick. It burns, and gives you a stomach ache. And keep your ears open—if you hear anything else about those belts, send me a call right away, day or night. I’m taking all the papers on the Old Maid— let me sign for them.” Kofa slapped his hand on a fat little tablet Nulli had produced from under his turban. “There we go. Good day, Nulli. Let’s go, Max.”