“Taste it, at least. I beg you!” said the tavern keeper, making a deep bow.
“That’s what you said last time, too, and I ended up eating the contents of all six platters, plus some horrible dessert. No, no, and once again no!” Melifaro was adamant.
“Kiebla!” shouted the tavern keeper. “Come here, Kiebla!”
The oldest of the women I had just seen in the kitchen dashed out into the hall and came to a stop a few paces away from the table.
“This gentleman refuses to taste the food you have prepared,” said the tavern keeper in a sad voice. “Beg him!”
The old woman sank onto the floor and began mumbling something in a plaintive tone. I was astonished, but Melifaro seemed to have gotten used to the show already. He shook his head and turned away. The sisters stopped eating and gave Melifaro a look of adoration. I had the feeling that the whole surreal scene was being directed and performed for the sole purpose of shocking the young daughters of the Xenxa people, who had just begun to forget the barbarian customs of their remote homeland (about which I knew next to nothing).
The lamentations of the poor woman continued. It became clear to the tavern keeper that they were lost on Melifaro, and he departed back to the kitchen. Soon all five of the cooks were kneeling in front of Melifaro. I could tell that the only thing the poor fellow wanted was to disappear, but he was holding out. Finally, when the bearded proprietor of this hospitable establishment joined his five cooks, Melifaro broke down.
“Fine, I’ll taste your sinning food. Just get out of my sight. All of you,” he said. “If you don’t stop it this instant, we’re never coming here again, mark my words. Actually, you know what? After this disgraceful show, we’re not coming here anymore, period.”
The Kumonians got up off their knees and disappeared into the kitchen, bowing and walking backward.
“Sir Melifaro, were you joking about never coming here again?” said one of the triplets in dismay. “You just said it so they would respect you more, didn’t you? How can one live without the Kumonian Honey?”
My friend looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Well, if you really want to come back here, I guess I have no choice. But tell me the truth, do you really like honey soup, girls? I mean, I like pastries and other sweet things myself, but stuffing myself with a mixture of meat, honey, and oil . . . It’s just unpalatable.”
“But it’s so sweet, Sir Melifaro!” said Xeilax. “Sweet things can’t be unpalatable.”
Melifaro let out a quiet moan. I decided to sneak back to the kitchen to eavesdrop. No doubt they were discussing this latest escapade.
“I told you he was a very important gentleman,” said the proprietor to the cooks. “He behaves like the First Courtier of Caliph Nubuilibuni zuan Afia. I wonder where that barbarian learned such exquisite manners.”
I chuckled, grabbed a tempting honey bun, and returned to the hall. An idyllic scene met my eyes: the triplets were polishing off the sweets, while Melifaro was staring at them, eyes agog. The mixture of tenderness and sadness on his face seemed to me to be the most amazing wonder of this World so generous with wonders. I had no idea that my thick-skinned chatterbox of a friend was capable of such moving, heartfelt looks. If I were Kenlex, I would have melted and surrendered myself long before dusk.
Before long, though, I decided I’d seen enough. If I had stayed a little longer watching that heart-wrenching soap opera, I might have begun shedding tears of pure honey. I decided to leave before it was too late. Besides, the Armstrong & Ella was just a fifteen-minute walk away. Tending to my own life seemed much more prudent than sticking my nose into the lives of others. With that in mind, I left the Kumonian Honey and set out for the Street of Forgotten Dreams.
It was getting dark. The lilac twilight of the spring evening mixed with the orange light cast by the streetlamps. Silhouettes of passersby cast intricate, angular shadows. I discovered that I couldn’t see my own shadow on the colorful tiles of the sidewalk. Apparently, the magic cloak of the old Ukumbian pirate rendered it invisible, too.
I amused myself for a while by examining the shadows of the passersby. Sometimes I saw an elongated dark silhouette trembling in the diffuse light of the streetlamps, and I couldn’t tell whom it belonged to. I realized that the shadow’s feet should, in theory, touch the feet of its owner, but it appeared that the shadow was gliding down the sidewalk on its own. The person who was supposed to be casting it didn’t seem to exist or, at the very least, was nowhere to be seen. I decided I should ask Juffin about it. Maybe shadows in this World, about which I still knew very little, were in the habit of leaving the house without waiting for their masters.
When I reached the front door of the Armstrong & Ella, I hesitated. I was tempted to walk in without taking off the magic cloak to observe Tekki for a while. Maybe I would see what she really looked like when she didn’t have to be the “mirror” that reflected me or whomever else she was talking to.
I really wanted to do it, but I decided against it. What if Tekki had a cloak like that and decided to spy on me and my own secrets? I thought. I wouldn’t like it, to say the least. I was full of secrets I had no intention of sharing with her. The biggest secrets of all were, of course, the dreams I had when I sneaked out to meet her daddy, Magician Loiso Pondoxo. I was also glad that Tekki hadn’t been spying on me that warm winter day when Melamori had dragged me to the garden of the former Residence of the Order of the Secret Grass. My memory had played a bad joke on me that day. I had gotten caught in a hurricane of regrets for the unfulfilled, which could have taken me far, far away, if I hadn’t been careful. I’m sure it was all very plain to see.
On top of these, there were many insignificant secrets that I wasn’t about to let Tekki in on. For example, I wouldn’t have wanted her to witness me scolding a lazy courier, or to have seen me during the bloodbath I had made on the beach of one newborn World. True, killing is much more romantic and elevated than picking your nose, but that incident was sure nothing to be proud of.
For all I knew, Tekki might have had the same personal archive with Top Secret written on it, too. And that was her right. So I removed the magic rags of the late Ukumbian pirate and stepped inside the hall of the Armstrong & Ella, as visible as I could be.
“What a luxury!” said Tekki, smiling. “The evening has just begun and you’re already here. What happened?”
Tekki rarely pretended that seeing me filled her heart with unspeakable grief. Today, however, she was particularly happy about my unannounced appearance, and that was fine with me.
“Juffin had a sudden bout of charity and let me out to pasture until almost midnight,” I said, mounting a bar stool.
The numerous customers of the tavern looked on in delight. Another episode in the love story between Sir Max the Terrible and the daughter of Magician Loiso Pondoxo, the Great and Mighty, was unfolding in front of their very eyes. It’s hard to live in a world without soap operas. Plain old gossip just isn’t the same. So it was a great treat for the public to witness a tender moment between Tekki and me.
Tekki, however, was looking at the customers with evident hostility. “I’m not going to kiss you,” she said. “Giving the public a free show is not in my line.”
“It isn’t?” I said. “Oh, well. Too bad, but as you wish.” I moved to the edge of the bar stool and began telling Tekki the dramatic details of the adventures of the queens of the Xenxa and Sir Melifaro in the Kumonian Honey.
“Kumonians have hilarious customs,” said Tekki. “That honey soup is really revolting—I tried it once. The sisters, though, can eat it without wincing and then ask for more. I can only feel for poor Melifaro.”
“I feel for him, too,” I said. “Stuffing yourself with sweet soup every day—yuck! I’d rather die.”
“That is the least of his worries,” said Tekki. “It’s going to be hard for him to talk Kenlex into being alone with him, not to mention all the rest of it.”
“Really? I thought s
he liked him, too. I’m a lousy psychologist, I know, but this time I’m pretty sure I’m spot-on.”
“It’s not a matter of liking or not liking someone,” said Tekki. “The girls are used to being a trio. Period. The sky will have to fall for Kenlex to realize that something can happen to her alone, and not to the three of them simultaneously. Do I make myself clear?”
“Pretty clear,” I said. “Poor Melifaro. If you’re right, he’s in a real pickle. Say, maybe I should step in and try to help him out? What do you think?”
“Go ahead,” said Tekki, laughing. “You’re their king—and their husband, besides. Just tell Kenlex that you’re offering her as a gift to your friend. That ought to do it.”
“Right,” I said, shaking my head in perplexity. “Oh, to the Dark Magicians with all of them. I just remembered—you hired some help, right? How about she does the work, and you and I sneak out somewhere? When am I going to get another free evening? There’s something depressing about our walks in the morning. It’s like going to a funeral, or to buy groceries.”
“And where do you propose we sneak out to?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere where you’ll agree to kiss me?”
“Oh, there are plenty of places in Echo I’m willing to do that,” said Tekki.
We spent a wonderful evening together. The romance bug I had caught from Melifaro had a lot to do with it. I even went as far as to send a call to Juffin an hour before midnight saying I was going to be a little late.
Knock yourself out, said Juffin. I don’t need you here. I’m giving you two extra hours in the hopes that I will have finished by then.
So much paperwork?
That, too. Plus, there’s Kofa’s present.
A present? What sort of present?
I’ll tell you when you get here. You’ll have to show up at work, if only out of curiosity.
The boss sure knew how to hook me. For thirty whole minutes I was burning to set off for the House by the Bridge without losing another minute. Finally I succumbed. Tekki had just decided to conduct an experiment to find out what kinds of dreams were lurking in the night, waiting to ambush the dwellers of the Capital of the Unified Kingdom. I thought I’d better not get in her way.
I could count on one hand the number of times I had seen someone occupy the Chair of Despair—the visitors’ chair in the Hall of Common Labor, to put it more plainly. Not too many people were eager to visit the House by the Bridge.
This time, however, there were not just one but two alleged victims in the Chair of Despair. After blinking to adjust to the bright light, I saw that the heads of the victims were adorned with huge fur hats, which testified to their Isamonian origin. Since the victims were silent and paid no attention to me, I went to Juffin for more information.
“What happened to our Isamonian friends?” I said. “Did some Evil Grand Magician of some mutinous Order give their hats the evil eye to make them shed?”
“A certain someone was going to stay somewhere for two extra hours,” said the boss. “Your curiosity will be the end of you.”
“No, it won’t. It’s one of my few true virtues.”
“Fair enough. In answer to your question, I’m not sure myself what happened to them. From what I can gather from Kofa’s account, someone they know died under mysterious circumstances. I was just about to talk to them. I didn’t count on your coming so soon,” said Juffin.
“Not only did you count on it, you knew I would. Don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise.”
“All right, I won’t. Let’s go talk to your friends.”
“My friends? Since when are they my friends?” I said.
“Since not so long ago. Not friends, maybe, but acquaintances. Don’t quibble about my words. Those gentlemen attended your coronation,” said Juffin.
“Ah, the venerable furriers Mikusiris, Maklasufis, and Ciceric?” I said, laughing. “If anything, they are Melifaro’s friends. He was the one who once threw them out of his living room.”
“Well, we’re only honored by the visit of Mr. Ciceric and Mr. Mikusiris. Wise Mentor Maklasufis passed away virtually in front of Sir Kofa’s eyes.”
“What do you mean ‘virtually’?” I said.
“Kofa’s premonitions were up to snuff again and rose to the occasion,” said Juffin. “He was about to spend a quiet evening at home when a couple of hours ago his instincts tore his behind from his chair and drove him out on the street—to the Irrashi Coat of Arms, to be precise. What wouldn’t rise to the occasion was his amobiler, which refused to start. Kofa had to go by foot, and by the time he arrived at the Irrashi Coat of Arms it was too late. People were already making a ruckus. Speaking of which, I never could understand why a dead body always attracts so much attention. So many people find it so intriguing to contemplate it. Do you happen to know why, Max?”
“They’re glad it didn’t happen to them?” I said. “That’s a good reason to be glad, I think. Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe someone else’s death is always a novelty, like a circus act. I personally have never been too fond of such spectacles.”
“Magicians forbid! But let’s get down to the business at hand,” said Juffin. He yawned and got up from his armchair, stretching and cracking his joints. “A hole in the heavens above those Isamonians. This is the last thing I needed right now. Whatever happens, I’m going to sleep until noon tomorrow. You’re on your own. I have the right to take advantage of my position as Sir Venerable Head now and then.”
We left the office and joined the Isamonians. They roused themselves, looked around uncertainly, and began to snivel.
“Gentlemen, I’d be happy to hear what happened to your countryman,” said Juffin. “It is within your power to see that justice is done.” He yawned again. The yawn was so contagious that I had a hard time suppressing my own.
“You tell them, Mikusiris,” said one of the Isamonians. “I’m a nervous wreck right now.”
I remembered that Mr. Mikusiris was the “Grand Specialist in questions of culture for the Unified Kingdom,” something of an expert adviser to Mr. Ciceric, who was head of the corporation of furrier tycoons of Isamon. Talking to us was part of his job, for which, judging from the size of his hat, he was compensated handsomely. Now this human think tank was wrinkling his forehead, trying to live up to his patron’s expectations.
“We were coming back from a visit to a very important gentleman who is close to the Royal Court,” said Mr. Mikusiris.
“You have already divulged the invaluable information about this very important gentleman, as well as his fantastic order for eighteen rolls of fur pelts, to our colleague,” said Juffin. “I’d like to know how Mr. Maklasufis died, if you don’t mind.”
The Isamonians attempted to glare at him in indignation, but a moment later dropped their gaze. I don’t know anyone who can withstand Sir Juffin Hully’s icy stare. Fortunately, the boss isn’t too keen on gloating over the results of his withering gaze.
“We were walking past the Irrashi Coat of Arms. Maklasufis was walking beside me, and everything was fine,” said Mikusiris. “Then he groaned, pressed his hands to his chest, and fell to the ground. I tried to feel his pulse and realized right away that the caravan had already left. Yes, gentlemen, it was all over. That bastard we met must have poisoned him. I didn’t like him from the very beginning. So we brought Maklasufis to the Irrashi Coat of Arms, but there was not a single wiseman in that dirty, stinky tavern.”
“Of course. Because it’s a tavern, not a hospital,” I said. I was offended. I had always found the Irrashi Coat of Arms a very neat little place. Some dubious gentlemen who wore skintight pants and huge fur hats in public had no right to throw mud at an establishment that served such heavenly Irrashian desserts.
Juffin guessed the reason for my harsh tone. He shook his head at me, restrained a smile, and turned back to the Isamonians. “Was that all?” he said.
“Yes,” said Mikusiris. His fellow countryman and employer squinted, looking off in
to the corner somewhere.
“I seem to remember you mentioning some shadow to Kofa,” said Juffin. “Am I right? Mr. Ciceric, I’m talking to you.”
“Mikusiris believes I was just seeing things,” Ciceric said with a sigh. “I tend to agree with him. Anyone’s brains would melt under the circumstances.”
“Indulge me, nevertheless,” said Juffin. “I’ll be the judge of what melts and what doesn’t.”
“Before my Wise Mentor fell, I had been observing our shadows,” said Ciceric. “The streetlamps on that street are arranged in such a manner that each object casts a double shadow. There were three of us and we cast six shadows: three that were dense and dark, and three pale and more transparent ones. I was about to call Mentor Maklasufis’s attention to this phenomenon when I noticed there was yet another shadow. Unlike ours, it wasn’t a double shadow, nor was it elongated. I was intrigued by this optical effect. See, in my line of work, I’m more an artist than simply a merchant. It is simply my duty to be intrigued by such things.” There was so much pathos in this last statement, it seemed as though he was letting us in on the secret that he had had a hand in the creation of the Universe.
“And?” said Juffin.
“I turned around to find the person who was casting the seventh shadow, but there was no one behind us. Not a single person. We were alone on the street.”
“I see,” said Juffin, frowning. “But why didn’t you think that it was one of you casting that shadow?”
“See? I told you,” whispered Mikusiris. “Get over it already.” He looked happy, as though he had been waiting his whole life for Mr. Ciceric to disgrace himself in public, and now that moment had come.
“The shadow had no hat!” said the furrier. “Or turban. It had no headgear of any sort. That’s why I turned around—to see the imbecile who had been idiotic enough to leave home with a bare head.”
“Very good,” said Juffin, nodding. “Now I really have all the information I need. Thank you, gentlemen. You may go home now.”