It was all so pleasant that I would have liked to stay in Rulx Castle until deep in the night. Alas, when two monarchs and one Venerable Head of the Secret Investigative Force find themselves in one place at the same time, their tête-à-tête is not destined to last long. The official consensus is that we are all terribly busy, though I for one would not consider that claim to be axiomatic.
Juffin, in any case, was evidence to the contrary. He looked askance at the entrance to the House by the Bridge, shrugged, and strode off in the direction of the Glutton Bunba. I followed obediently at the heels of the boss.
“What do you know about King Mynin’s Library?” I said, sitting down at my favorite table between the bar and a little window looking out onto the courtyard. This cozy nook seemed tailor-made to fulfill each of my many desires without exception.
“Almost nothing at all, like the rest of humanity. Apart from King Mynin himself,” the boss said. “What made you think of it all of a sudden?”
“Shurf told me the legend not long ago, but his account was very abridged. While we were being whisked around Rulx Castle on those absurd palanquins, I kept looking around and wondering which dark corner concealed the library’s secret door.”
“The door to Mynin’s Library? What a thing to search for!” Juffin looked at me with genuine interest. “Why does that whet your curiosity?”
“I don’t really know. It just intrigues me. I’d like to poke around in it for a while, just for fun.”
“You’d better be careful what you wish for,” said Juffin. “Otherwise you might get lost and end up in that sinning place for good. How would we even begin to look for you? That mythical library is just a tiny piece of another inscrutable Universe. They say that Mynin figured out how to turn the Dark Side inside out. We end up on the Dark Side when we grope around the bottom of the ocean lapping at the boundaries of the visible world. Beyond the boundaries of the Dark Side, there is something else even deeper, even more enigmatic. No one but Mynin has ever been there, with the possible exception of a few ancient sorcerers. But they didn’t bother to take any travel notes. No need to bore a hole in me with your eyes, Max. I’ve never been there, either. Honest.”
“How does anyone even know about this ‘inside out’ place, then?”
“From ancient legends that are virtually unfathomable. And from Mynin himself, naturally. And Mynin, unlike the ancient legends, you can trust. He was reputed to be the most honest person in the World. From childhood on, he was aware of the power of his own words and managed to shun the habit of lying. When every fancy that strikes you comes true and takes on a life of its own, life can become unbearable. Bear that in mind for the future, by the way.”
“Done,” I said, sighing. “The Dark Side inside out, you say? Wow.”
“Ah, your eyes are glittering, I see,” Juffin said, laughing. “I don’t recognize you, Sir Max. When you have to learn a trifling little trick, you announce to the World that I terrorize you by forcing you to learn some two-bit wonder. But as soon as the talk turns to things that strike terror even into me, you start drooling in anticipation. Maybe you’re just bored?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But more likely I just don’t want to live in the Middle of the Woods.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t you remember? Melifaro once talked your ear off about the strange characters who put us up for the night when we traveled to Landaland. They’re people who think that their house and their forest are the whole World because that’s what their late parents told them.”
“Ah, yes, now I remember.” Juffin looked at me searchingly, then smiled a pensive, sad smile. “Don’t fret, Sir Max. The fate of the inhabitants of the Middle of the Woods wouldn’t befall you even if you begged for it.”
“I believe you,” I said. “And it’s for the best, though you’ll no doubt have to hear my wails of terror.”
“That I can deal with. I’ve heard plenty in my time.”
After dinner we parted ways. The boss left for the House by the Bridge, and I decided to take a stroll through town. There was nothing else to do anyway. I had agreed to meet up with the nomads at sunset, which was still two hours away. That didn’t leave me enough time to go home, but it was too long for me to continue warming the stool with my buns at the Bunba.
I rambled through the Old City. A light breeze from the Xuron tumbled about like a puppy, nipping me now from the left, now from the right, and even tugging amiably at my clothes. The occasional passerby preferred to keep a good distance away from me—the Mantle of Death neutralized all my charm.
At the intersection of the Street of Gloomy Clouds and the Street of Lanterns, I paused, trying to decide which one to take. And just then, one of my hearts knocked at my ribcage—a single but insistent thud. I shuddered, turned around, and discovered that a shady-looking character was following just a few steps behind me. I couldn’t quite make out the face, and I had no time to gauge his intentions. My left hand started jerking, and my fingers snapped, releasing a Lethal Sphere.
A moment later I was staring in perplexity at a body lying immobile on the ground. This time my Lethal Sphere had not turned the poor fellow into my trusty slave. In the blink of an eye, the tiny ball of green light had fulfilled its function: killing a stranger instantaneously and, judging by the peaceful expression on his face, completely painlessly.
I sat down on my haunches next to the body of my victim. Only then did I notice that the stranger was wearing round eyeglasses with dark-violet, nearly opaque lenses. Until then I had never seen glasses like this on any of the Echo inhabitants.
Gosh, was he blind or something? I thought, horrified. Congratulations on the greatest victory in your life, Sir Max. It seems you’ve finally snuffed out a completely innocent person. And a blind one, to boot.
Then I sent an incoherent call to Juffin and reported my crime.
Did you say your hand trembled of its own accord? he responded. Interesting. Please refrain from any pangs of conscience at this stage in the game. You’ll have plenty of time to water all the pavements of Echo with your tears of remorse. Better pick up the corpse and bring it to the House by the Bridge. I’m dying to have a look at it.
My silent conversation with the boss had the effect of a tranquilizer strong enough to knock out a horse. My surging emotions seemed to pack themselves away in mounds of fluffy cotton, then subside altogether. Life suddenly got a whole lot better.
I ran my left hand along the dead body. It hid itself obediently in my fist. Now I just had to get it to the House by the Bridge without incident. I rushed through the city as though there were a warrant out for my arrest and my only refuge was the office of Sir Juffin Hully in the Ministry of Perfect Public Order.
I had just shot like a bullet into that very office, heaving a sigh of relief as though the hounds really were after me, when I noticed that Juffin had a visitor. He was an emaciated, bent figure. His face was splotchy with age, and he had the streaming red eyes of a veteran tippler. His long, greasy, tangled locks of hair hung all over our long-suffering desk. He was dressed in rags so old, they looked like they were pushing eternity. The occasional beggars that you came across now and then in the port were dapper men-about-town compared to this guy.
“You run almost as fast as you drive,” Juffin said, smiling. “Well, you’ll just have to wait a bit. It’s your own fault.”
I nodded and went out to the Hall of Common Labor. I was in an abysmal funk. I had plenty of grounds for it. Those grounds were located right between the thumb and the index finger of my left hand.
“Whence the expression of bitterness on thy noble countenance?” Melifaro said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. “Is being a cuckold really so bad? You should have thought about that sooner. Now it’s too late.”
“What? Oh, that. To each his own, but the naked sure need a bath.”
Melifaro blinked, unable to follow the sudden twist in the narrative.
“What, you mean it really is ‘too late’ alre
ady?” I said, alarmed. “You managed to seduce the poor innocent?”
“That’s none of your business,” Melifaro said defensively. Then he added in a softer tone, “And the question is, who seduced whom?”
He seemed eager to continue the conversation, but the door to Juffin’s office was flung open just then and the aforementioned bedraggled gentleman emerged. He walked on bent legs, but his step was so light, he seemed to weigh nothing at all.
Melifaro watched the spectacle in perplexity. He seemed even more surprised by it than I was. Paying no attention to us, the pathetic creature tripped his way over to the exit and disappeared.
“An elf,” Melifaro said finally. “I wonder what he’s doing in Echo.”
“An elf?” I thought I had misheard.
“Of course, wasn’t it obvious? Ordinary people can’t descend to such a benighted state and still remain alive.”
“Surprised, boys?” Juffin said merrily. “I must admit, my jaw dropped, too, when he appeared on my doorstep. And if you knew what sort of present he brought me . . .”
“But was he a real elf?” I said, my voice dropping a register.
“Of course. Ah, you don’t know about elves.”
“I thought I knew until a moment ago. What happened to him? He looks like he’s been on a drinking binge for the past hundred years.”
“Oh, come now. When have you ever seen such a youthful elf? They’ve usually been drinking since childhood, anyway. This specimen has been at the bottle without stopping for the past millennium, at the very least.”
“What was he doing in the Capital?” Melifaro said.
“All in due time. First, I want to make a short trip to the morgue for the benefit of our Nocturnal Representative here. In a few minutes we’ll return, and I’ll explain everything,” Juffin said. “Come on, Max. Let’s see what you’ve done.”
“Oh, I see you’ve been killing poor defenseless people again,” Melifaro said with a snort.
I smiled a crooked smile and went out into the hallway. For the first time since we had met, his idiotic joke had really hit home. And with what devastating effect.
“Okay, Max. Let’s see your trophy,” Juffin said, leading the way into the tiny, dark morgue.
His good mood was indestructible. It even seemed to grow more jubilant by the second, if that were at all possible.
I shook my hand, and the body of the unfortunate blind man tumbled to the floor. Juffin crouched down beside the dead man and removed his dark glasses. Then he examined him carefully, hemmed with satisfaction, and looked up at me as if I were the newest addition to the city zoo.
“What was that you said about your hand, Max? That it trembled of its own accord?”
“Yes,” I said with a sinking feeling.
“And now you’re wracked with guilt,” Juffin said with feigned sympathy. “Fine. Now I’ll relieve you of it. Watch.”
He carefully opened the convulsively cramped fingers of the corpse and removed a long, lethal-looking needle from its fist. Juffin turned around to face me triumphantly and waved the object under my nose. The needle emitted a faint scent of fine perfume.
“I understand that as a weapon it looks rather flimsy, but believe me, it is fatal in a practiced hand. This little knickknack was dipped in the poison known as Choice. Can you smell it? It’s unmistakable. At one time the court doctors of the kings of the Old Dynasty distilled this masterpiece from thousands of ingredients, specifically tailored to the needs of their clients. Remnants of this historical luxury keep turning up in the most unexpected places, to my deep regret. A needle dipped in Choice must be thrust into the victim precisely at the base of the neck. This is mandatory—otherwise the poison rarely leads to a fatal outcome unless the victim is of particularly weak constitution. But if it hits the mark, the victim doesn’t just expire; the body disappears completely, along with the clothes and boots, which is truly uncanny.”
“Holy smokes,” I muttered. “So you mean I was about to disappear, too? Delightful.”
“That’s about the long and short of it,” said Juffin. “Your wise heart sensed misfortune in the offing, and your hand took it upon itself to deal with it while you were dithering and trying to grasp what was going on. Amazing. If I were still the Kettarian Hunter, I’d try to recruit you as my apprentice.”
“You’ve already managed to waste Magicians know how much time teaching me,” I said.
“Naturally. But I’m no longer the Kettarian Hunter. I’m just Sir Venerable Head these days. I’m far less demanding now.”
“I wonder who it was that felt the urge to rid this wonderful World of my no less wonderful body?” I said.
“To answer that we have to do some work. I, for one, have no idea who he is. Never laid eyes on him before.”
“But why would such an important task have been entrusted to a blind man?” I said.
“What makes you think he was blind?” said Juffin. “His eyes look like they’re in the right place to me.”
“And the eyeglasses? Blind people wear glasses like that in my homeland.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know who wears them there. But tell me this. How can someone with both his eyes intact be blind? That’s why we have wisemen, after all. As for the eyeglasses, they are needed so as not to miss the mark. Try them on, you’ll see what I mean.”
I put the glasses on and understood at once what they were for. I could hardly make out the figure of my boss in front of me, but I could see several bright dots on his body that formed an asymmetrical geometric shape.
“The topmost dot is the one you need to hit if you’re using Choice poison,” said Juffin. “Come on now, take off that piece of antique junk. Simple, isn’t it? They must have belonged to some court assassin at one time. The ancient kings held such experts in very high regard.”
“So what do we do now?” I said anxiously.
“While you’re amusing yourself with your subjects, I’ll try to revive this lovely specimen. And when you come back, we’ll have a little confidential talk with him. That should be easy. Since we found out that you’re able to get resurrected dead men to talk, investigation has become a simple and nauseatingly boring routine. You won’t be disappointed if I deprive you of the opportunity to contemplate this dead body?”
“Not really. Of course, I’ll run off to sob in the bathroom, but not for more than half an hour. I promise.”
“That’s reassuring. Let’s go. Melifaro’s waiting for us. That is, if he hasn’t died of curiosity.”
“I’m dying of curiosity, too, by the way,” I said, closing the door of the morgue behind me. “That hideous elf of yours, a hole in the heavens above his hoary head! Tell me, Juffin, are all elves really that unsightly?”
“Most of them are even uglier. Why does that surprise you?”
“I’ve read heaps of books about elves. Not here, of course, but at home. For the most part they were just fairy tales, but they were based on ancient legends. The stories they tell about them vary a great deal, but they all seem to agree on one thing: elves are wonderful, immortal, magical beings. And now along comes this bedraggled old wino.”
“Wonderful, immortal, magical beings—precisely,” Juffin said, nodding. “This is what they were at one time. But they were destroyed by their love of pleasure. Everything was fine until they transgressed an ancient prohibition and tasted wine. They liked it so much that since that time their lives are completely given over to satisfying this craving. Remember that elves are still immortal, so they can’t drink themselves into the grave. The poor things are doomed to live on the edge of it, and this, as you yourself noticed, is a joyless spectacle.”
“Why have I never seen them before now?”
“Because they live in the enchanted Shimured Forest, to the west of Uguland. Echoers don’t exactly welcome them with open arms, and other towns aren’t very accommodating, either. The fellow you saw in my office came to me on an important matter. He worked quite a few wonders to avoid fall
ing into the welcoming hands of the vigilant police force. It’s a miracle the poor guy still knows how.”
We caught up with Melifaro. “Well, Sir Melifaro, are you still dying of curiosity?” Juffin said.
“Consider me dead. All is lost, you might say. My dear mama always predicted that no good would come of my serving in the Secret Investigative Force. Tell her she was right.”
“I will,” Juffin said. “Let’s go to the office, boys. You won’t believe what I’m about to show you.”
Melifaro and I guffawed since we had a ready-made retort to that question: “What, your butt?” The effects were all the more exhilarating when the retort remained unexpressed.
Juffin paid no attention to us, however. He had no time for such nonsense. He had to put all his effort into undoing his own spell and opening the bookcase. This flimsy excuse for office furniture from a bygone era preserved the secrets of the Secret Investigative Force much more reliably than a fireproof safe. I wouldn’t envy the fate of the madman who tried to break into it without permission. I suspected that even Juffin was taking a big risk every time he tried to open it. And he was the one who had cast the spell in the first place.
This time it didn’t take him very long to open the bookcase. He only resorted to a couple of strong expletives. Normally, he was much less restrained at such moments.
“Behold,” Juffin said triumphantly, taking from the bookcase a large, messy bundle and carefully unwrapping the tattered cloth.
We stared in perplexity at a large piece of greenish metal that prompted one to wonder whether, thousands of years ago, some naive human being could seriously have considered this lump of scrap iron to be a weapon.
“What is it?” Melifaro said, breaking the silence.
“I’ll bet it’s the Sword of King Arthur,” I said grinning.
“Who’s King Arthur? We’ve never had a king by that name,” Melifaro said. “Or did we?”
“Ahem. Your friend got carried away again, that’s all,” Juffin said. “Nevertheless, he was almost right—in that it actually is a sword. Only it belonged not to some mystery king named Arthur but to our own King Mynin.”