The Stranger's Shadow

  “That’s the actual Sword of King Mynin?” Melifaro stared reverently, standing on tiptoe to see it better. Then he sighed. “It certainly looks like it’s seen better days.”

  “Yes, it’s a sorry sight now,” Juffin said. “But fret not. I’ll perform some hocus-pocus on it, and tomorrow King Mynin’s Sword will be a sight for sore eyes. I’ll restore it to its former gleaming splendor. It’s a wonder that it still exists. That besotted elf buried this legendary weapon at the roots of a tree fifteen hundred years ago when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to cut his hair with it. Early this spring he finally dug it up again. He was in the throes of a terrible hangover and was looking for a stash he thought he had somewhere—hair of the dog, you know. Fortunately, he hit upon the idea of selling this relic to a dealer in the Capital. Like all the others, this elf had long ago forgotten his own name, but I suspect it might have been Toklian the Bright. Even in poor health he was still of sound mind. Can you imagine, he even tried to haggle with me?”

  “The Bright Master of Shimured, legendary Elf King, childhood friend and teacher of King Mynin? Sinning Magicians, better he had died in battle by the Bay of Gokki,” Melifaro mused.

  “That would have been preferable, of course, but no one asked us,” Juffin said drily.

  “Wait a minute. There’s one thing I still don’t get. How did he get the Sword of Mynin in the first place? And did he really show up here just to sell it?”

  “Yes,” Juffin said. “That’s exactly why he came. He had no thought of giving it away. Luckily, the poor fellow recalls very well those times when one crown was considered to be a fortune. Those are the only times he does recall since he played no active part in what happened subsequently. So Mynin’s Sword only cost me eleven crowns. And boy, did we haggle! The fellow demanded a dozen, and I was so intent on beating down the price that I began to believe myself that it was a substantial amount. I insisted on ten. We finally agreed on eleven. Buying King Mynin’s Sword for eleven crowns, cheaper than any thrift store junk from the late Code Epoch—unbelievable! I don’t feel a bit of remorse, either. The Shimured Elves only want money to buy ‘real Capital city hooch’—to use the expression of our guest. He’s grown tired of just drinking elfin moonshine, especially over the past thousand years. Imagine how many bottles of Jubatic Juice you could buy with eleven crowns. Sir Dondi Melixis can sleep peacefully, though. I won’t demand that the Treasury compensate me for expenses. It will be enough for me to have Mynin’s Sword in my possession.”

  “Can I play with it?” I said.

  “Maybe,” said Juffin. Unlike me, he was completely serious. “As for your previous question, when it comes to our legendary king, you can never be sure what his motives were. I’m almost certain, however, that he gave his sword to the elves himself. Why not? In those days the Shimured Elves were the ‘magical beings’ you read about in all your books. It would never have occurred to anyone that they would one day violate the only ban they were under.”

  “It’s good I’m not an elf,” Melifaro said somberly. “Still, I think I’ll pass up that drink tonight. Tomorrow I may reconsider.”

  “My, my, what impressionable employees I have!”

  “Oh, shucks! I’ve got to be off,” I said. “It’s almost sunset. If I don’t take my subjects out to dinner, they’ll lose faith in the goodness of humanity and take to drink, too.”

  “That’s all we need, a bunch of nomadic tipplers,” Juffin said, laughing. “Go on, then. But don’t forget to come back. If you return before midnight, I’ll be happy.”

  “I’ll try,” I promised. “I’m going to explain to my military commander that exemplary subjects must obey their monarch, eat well, and hit the sack early. I lack the brainpower to come up with anything more original.”

  “Do your wives also have to take part in this dubious outing?” said Melifaro. “Remember, Lady Kenlex has made other plans for the evening.”

  “It makes no difference to me what kinds of plans she has,” I growled. I made a threatening face, but then I took pity on the lovesick fellow. “All right, all right. I’ll try to get along without the girls.”

  Actually, the sisters made the decision all on their own. I ran into them just as they were leaving the Furry House. Three chic young ladies, dressed to the nines—who would have thought that not even a year had gone by since the frightened girls had exchanged their quilted jackets and short trousers for elegant looxis.

  “Sinning magicians, you look absolutely gorgeous!” I said without a trace of sarcasm. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Thank you,” the triplets said in unison.

  “That wasn’t a compliment. I was just calling a spade a spade.” I beamed at them. “Are you going out on the town? Good for you. Tired of being queens?”

  “Not at all,” Xeilax said. “We were happy to see our people and to hear all the news from home. So much has happened since we left! But they’re expecting you now, and we decided that we could step out for a bit. We may, may we not?” she said timidly.

  “Of course you may. You may do whatever you wish. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”

  They smiled and said goodbye, then hurried off into the orange mist cast by the streetlamps. I gazed after them in approval. The girls were quickly getting used to their newfound freedom. Now they were already finding their way around the Capital of the Unified Kingdom, making friends, and even losing their hearts. This was just as it should be.

  Droopy interrupted my musings. He ran up wagging his shaggy ears, stood on his hind legs, and placed his front paws squarely on my shoulders, but I managed to stay on my feet. The huge mobile mound of snow-white fur was already half a head taller than me, and it didn’t look like he was planning on abandoning his growth spurt just yet. I groaned and begged the dog to stop his shenanigans. Droopy licked my nose in ecstasy and obediently resumed his four-legged perspective on the world.

  I grabbed my pet by his ruff, and we entered the house.

  The delegation of nomads had already gathered there. It was so quiet in the hall that not only did it seem they weren’t talking, they weren’t even breathing.

  “Good evening!” I almost shouted. “Let’s go eat.”

  The tavern that was fated to suffer our intrusion was the Sated Skeleton, for the simple reason that it was close by. From my interactions with the sister trio, I had come to understand that my people had a sweet tooth of inconceivable proportions, so I knew just what to order: a triple dessert course, with ten dozen pastries, for starters.

  I had exaggerated when I described for Tekki the horrors of the impending social event. It was actually very pleasant, quite homey and cozy: the nomads sat around the large table, listening attentively to my confused words about the battles they would be waging and waxing enthusiastic about the sweets they were being treated to. Their stern faces, spotted with whipped cream, expressed utter bliss.

  The other customers looked on in curiosity and wonder. Of course, my Mantle of Death put something of a damper on the prospects for a spontaneous international exchange, but that was probably all for the best.

  After this gastronomical orgy, I led my subjects in disorderly formation back to the Furry House. I was brimming with paternal pride. For that reason, in addition to the envelope with the king’s directives, I gave Barxa Bachoy a hundred crowns and ordered him to spend the money solely on acquiring sweets for my heroic people. That was approximately enough to get a dozen cartloads of the best pastries. The only remaining problem was how to deliver the valuable cargo to the steppes of their homeland.

  “You still didn’t tell us what to do with Esra, sire,” Barxa Bachoy reminded me.

  “Ah, yes, your prisoner, the Lord of the Manooks,” I said. “You must bring him to Echo so that he can swear allegiance to me on behalf of his people. Can they be trusted to keep their word?”

  “Some of them can,” Barxa Bachoy said. “I will make sure that Fairiba accompanies him here. His wisdom is great
enough to distinguish a genuine oath from empty promises.”

  “Great. Then we can let him go. I don’t really feel like becoming Lord of the Manooks, as well.

  “Of course you couldn’t wish such a thing!” My commander seemed horror-struck. “Lord Fanghaxra cannot allow himself to sink so low as to rule over some paltry mouse-eaters.”

  “It’s a good thing that our views on this matter coincide. But why do you call the Manooks ‘mouse-eaters’? Do they really eat rodents?”

  “Yes, it happens that nowadays they do eat mice. In fact, they shun no food of any sort. But our elders still remember the time when mice ate the Manooks,” Barxa Bachoy said with contempt. “Those cowardly lumps of dung fed their own newborn babies to the Mouse Lord, a dozen per year, to appease that filthy spawn of darkness. They say he worked some loathsome wonders in exchange. But do you really wish me to talk of such matters, sire?”

  “Nah, not really,” I said. “I must leave you now. It’s time for me to report to duty.”

  I couldn’t keep back a smile, in view of the incongruity of the situation—the king admitting to his subjects that he’s beholden to his own boss.

  “When should we go back home, sire?” Barxa Bachoy said, with dry but admirable pragmatism.

  “As soon as you’ve stocked up on souvenirs.”

  “Everything will be done as you request, sire. Tomorrow morning we will do our shopping, and we will leave just after midday. There is one more thing I should tell you. We have brought you offerings. It is that portion of the plunder of war that we consider worthy of you. Will you accept it from us?”

  “I hope it isn’t a new lot of girls wishing to be my wives,” I said warily.

  “No. They are not living creatures at all, sire. Only things. We will show them to you, if you wish.”

  “I want very much to see my gifts, but I don’t have the time. Let’s do this: I’ll go to work, and you give the presents to Lady Xeilax. That way I’ll be accepting them, only indirectly. And tomorrow I’ll take a look at them. You won’t feel hurt or insulted by that, will you?”

  “How could we feel hurt or insulted by you, O Fanghaxra?” Barxa Bachoy exclaimed. “We’re happy that you’ve agreed to accept our offerings. We couldn’t hope for more.”

  After bestowing my paternal blessings on my trusty vassals, I left for the House by the Bridge.

  “You’ll have to wait a bit, Max.” Juffin said, poking his head out of the morgue. “You did such a thorough job killing this poor soul that there was nothing I could do to revive him at first. Sit down in the office. I’ll call for you shortly.”

  To be honest, I was grateful. If there was anything I was dreaming of at that moment, it was a cigarette. I wanted to smoke in peace. I went into the office and dropped into the armchair, propped up my feet on the desk, and stared out the window. I sat like that for a long time, not moving. My thoughts abandoned me one by one, like rats leaving a sinking ship.

  Juffin jolted me back to reality.

  You may proceed with the interrogation.

  I stared in surprise at the crumpled cigarette I hadn’t gotten around to lighting up, then made a dash for the morgue.

  The body of the failed assassin lay prostrate in the far corner. Juffin was sitting in the doorway.

  “Come on, Max. This creep, Magicians be praised, will never walk again. Even I can’t help him there. But he’s quite capable of whispering a few words to us.”

  “Okay,” I said, sitting down beside him. “Let me have a cigarette and collect my thoughts.”

  “Go ahead, collect away,” the boss said.

  By the time I had smoked half my cigarette, I knew I was ready. I really did have a few questions for this lately revived dead man. I could only hope that my Lethal Spheres would obey my conscious desires as they had heretofore obeyed my unconscious impulses. I raised my left hand and snapped my fingers. I had grown increasingly sensitive to the aesthetic impression made by this laconic magical gesture. Juffin looked on, bemused by my vanity, but said nothing.

  “I am with you, Master,” the dead man mumbled faintly after the tiny sphere of green light that leaped from my fingers had melted and swathed his body in an almost invisible mist.

  I instinctively took a step back when I noticed the corpse begin to stir. The dead man clearly wanted to crawl closer to me, but praise be the Magicians, he couldn’t even manage to budge an inch.

  “Why are you so jittery?” Juffin said, laughing. “I told you he couldn’t move. And what if he could? You’re being absurd.”

  “So I am.”

  “Come on, don’t dawdle. I don’t want to stay here till the Last Day of the Year,” the boss said, urging me on.

  “Tell me who commanded you to kill me,” I said, turning to the dead man.

  “No one commanded me. It was my own decision,” he said.

  His reply irked me no end. I had thought the killer would tell us the name of his employer, and that would be the end of it. Juffin was surprised, too—if I interpreted the angle of his slightly raised eyebrow correctly.

  “Fine. You it was, then. But why?” I said, perplexed.

  “Because I thought you were a bad man,” the dead man said.

  “Thank you for the elucidation,” Juffin said with a laugh. “Max, I think your interrogation has reached an impasse. Here’s a piece of advice: ask him who he is and where he got hold of the Choice. Maybe then we’ll get somewhere.”

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling. “By the way, right up until this happened I was absolutely certain of the power of my charms.”

  “Please stay focused. We have a whole life ahead of us that we can devote to the subject of ‘Sir Max: Is He Good, or Is He Evil?’ Now it’s time to deal with this gentleman. Unlike us, he’s in a big hurry. They’re eagerly awaiting him in the next world.”

  “Certainly,” I said with a sigh. I faced our interlocutor again. “Tell us your name.”

  “Donboni Goulvax.”

  I gave Juffin an inquiring look.

  “Never heard of him. Go on.”

  I turned to the dead man again.

  “Where did you get the poison and the spectacles?”

  “I have always had them. My grandfather was the Secret Executioner at the court of His Majesty Gurig I. They belonged to him.”

  I looked helplessly at Juffin. “I’m not getting anywhere. Maybe I should just command him to answer your questions.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” The boss chuckled and put his finger on the tip of my nose, pressing it like a doorbell. “Some investigator you are, your majesty.”

  “I’m just not having any luck with this one,” I said, rubbing my nose. “Any ordinary criminal would have spilled the beans long ago. This one is just a rare bird.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Juffin said in a conciliatory manner.

  “You must answer all the Venerable Head’s questions,” I said, turning to my “rare bird.”

  “Yes, Master,” the corpse said.

  “Why did you think Sir Max was a bad man?” Juffin said.

  “Because that is what my mistress told me.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Who is your mistress?”

  “Lady Atissa Blimm.”

  “Ah, it all makes sense to me now, more or less,” Juffin said. “What about you, Max?”

  “Is this one of Lady Melamori’s relatives?”

  “You might say that. Actually, it’s her mother.”

  “Oh, brother,” I said, sighing. “You said I would have to hide from Sir Korva Blimm.”

  “I was slightly off the mark. It happens,” said Juffin and turned to the dead man again. “Let’s take it from the top. What exactly did your mistress tell you about Sir Max?”

  “She told me nothing at all.”

  “Fine. What did she say about him in your presence, then?”

  “Many times she told Sir Korva that it was Sir Max’s fault that Lady Melamori fl
ed to Arvarox. I heard all their conversations. It has been my duty to stay by Lady Atissa’s side at all times, since—”

  “Since she began to lose her mind,” Juffin said, nodding impatiently. “So you were in effect her bodyguard. Did Lady Atissa ask you to kill Sir Max?”

  “No. She never asked me. Sometimes she commanded me to do things, but her commands concerned only household affairs.”

  “What made you try, then?”

  “From her words I understood that she would be happy if Sir Max were to die. My lady said many times that her daughter had run off to Arvarox to avoid having to see this terrible person. She was sure that Lady Melamori would return if—”

  “I see,” Juffin said, interrupting him. “But what made you decide to do her that kind of favor? You should know how little credence the words of a madwoman deserve since you make a living protecting these unfortunate people.”

  “I was very happy to do something to please Lady Atissa,” the dead man said. “Even now I have no regrets about it, though I realize death is not something we should strive for. At this moment, at least, I can say that I do not like being dead.”

  “Fine,” Juffin said with a short nod. “Tell me something else. Did Lady Atissa know your family history? Did you ever tell her about your ancestor, the court executioner?”

  “Lady Atissa never talked to me about matters like my family. She never talked to me at all. She just gave orders.”

  “Indeed,” Juffin said, “she had other ways of finding out about a person they had hired to watch over her. And to realize that she is in the presence of someone who is madly in love with her is well within the power of any woman. Insane or not, Lady Atissa has always been very astute. And a brilliant schemer. You can release our prisoner, Max. I’ve found out everything I needed to know.”

  “Release him?” I said, surprised. Then I understood and turned to the dead man. “I release you from the necessity of staying alive.”