“What is the matter, gentleman?” said the young man, his lips white.
“We must take you away from your business for a short while, Sir Ariama,” Lonli-Lokli said politely. “The Venerable Head of the Minor Secret Investigative Force will be much obliged if you find some time to visit him for a short discussion.”
“You must be looking for my father, Sir Varixa Ariama,” the young man said timidly. “I don’t know where he is now, but—”
“You should come with me, nevertheless.” Shurf was implacable. “Maybe this gentleman is telling the truth, and maybe he’s posing as his own son. This is often the case during an arrest,” he explained to me. “Sir Juffin will sort it out.”
“Then I’d better stay,” I said, “and send a call to Melamori. If this gentlemen is not the one we’re looking for, she’ll have some work to do here.”
“That would be wise,” said Shurf. He turned to the young man. “After you, sir. If what you say is true, the discussion will not take much of your time.”
And the poor fellow shuffled over to the door, followed by Sir Lonli-Lokli.
When I was alone, I took my time searching every room, making sure that there was no one else in the house. Then I came down to the living room and sent a call to Melamori.
I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of a breathtaking performance. I’m at Number Fourteen, Street of Bubbles, and you and I may have some work to do here. Then again, we may not. Still, it would be better if you came down.
All right. By the way, Aloxto has finished singing already. I’ll be right there. Over and out.
I put my feet on the table, found a crumpled cigarette in the pocket of my Mantle of Death, and lit up.
To my surprise, Melamori arrived very quickly.
“If you drove here all the way from the Royal Bridge, it’s a record. Congratulations!” I said.
“No, just from the Victory of Gurig VII Square,” she admitted.
I did some quick math in my head. “Well, it’s impressive, so congratulations are still in order. Tell me, though, did you really like that horrible song?”
“Oh, I did like it, very much,” said Melamori, laughing. “I’ve never heard anything funnier in my life. What’s more, I also sang him a song about my exploits. I think it was quite a good parody. Aloxto took my parody very seriously, though. He was ecstatic.”
“So you had a great time,” I said.
“I’m trying, Max,” said Melamori. “I’m trying my best. I like Aloxto. He’s so beautiful and . . . different. Alien and strange. Exactly what I need right now.”
Max, that boy that Shurf brought in, he really is the son of Varixa Ariama. Juffin’s Silent Speech interrupted our attempts to come to an understanding. Is Melamori there already?
Yes. She just got here.
Excellent. Try to find Ariama Senior quickly. I don’t think he’s hiding from us. Most likely, he just left on some errand. The best way to start tracking him down is to start from the bedroom. Ariama Junior says that his father was taking a nap there after dinner and then left. The bedroom is on the second floor, left of the stairs. Over and out.
“Guess what? Let’s check out the bedroom,” I said to Melamori, and winked at her.
“What for?” She sounded surprised.
“What do you think?” I was going to go on with my stupid joke, but seeing Melamori’s face turn white, I realized I was being a jerk. “We’ll be looking for the trace of Sir Varixa Ariama. What else can one do in a bedroom?”
Melamori gave a hesitant laugh and took off her shoes, and we both went upstairs.
“Yep, here’s his trace,” she said as soon as she crossed the threshold. “Maybe this Sir Ariama was once a Senior Magician, but I don’t think he was an especially ferocious wizard.”
“No, not one of the Grand Magicians,” I said. “Just some young talent.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. During the Epoch of Orders it was often the case that some Grand Magician retired or took too much time pursuing magic of his own. Then the real power in the order was exercised by Senior Magicians. Junior Magicians, who were pretty numerous, were rarely taken seriously, even when there was every reason for it. But you know that yourself.”
“Let’s go, though.” I nudged the garrulous lady softly toward the stairs. “Let’s find this old geezer real quick, and then I’ll treat you to a mug of kamra, for old time’s sake. Okay?”
“No,” said Melamori, smiling. “I’d rather have something stronger.”
“As you say. Everything will be as you say. Absolutely everything.”
“Indeed. Sooner or later, somehow or other.”
I winced. I could clearly hear the tone of the Kettarian Sheriff Mackie Ainti in Melamori’s voice. But she shook her bangs and laughed, and we went out into the street. There the wind from the Xuron quickly swept away the remains of my delusion.
We found Varixa Ariama in the Irrashi Coat of Arms. He was about to dig into some exotic dish. By the time we arrived, the poor fellow had lost his appetite and was suffering from heartburn. When Melamori steps on someone’s trace, even worse things happen to people.
Our prey glanced warily at my Mantle of Death and took his arrest as the lesser evil. Granted, his heartburn disappeared as soon as Melamori stepped off of his trace. We took the former Senior Magician to the House by the Bridge and turned him in to Juffin.
“I promised to treat the lady to some poison,” I said. “May I be excused?”
“Yes, you may,” said Juffin. “Until tomorrow. And please try to get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow may turn out to be a tough day. Or it may not—but I want to see you in my office tomorrow before noon. Mind you, I want to see you, not just your body snoring under my table.”
“You’re being unfair. I never snore under your table. I have learned to make a decent bed from the chairs.” I turned to Melamori. “Shall we go?”
“If we can decide where,” she said with a nod.
We went out onto the street by the House by the Bridge and hesitated at the intersection. Sometimes choice is a curse rather than a blessing. Then I heard Melifaro’s voice in my head.
What’s up, Max?
I’m standing on the Street of Copper Pots with Lady Melamori, trying to decide where to go for a drink.
Shirkers. Okay, tell our Lady Moonstruck that her goggle-eyed pretty boy is walking around the city with his hairy beast. He’s so depressed, it pains me to look at him. No one except our Melamori will listen to his songs. By the way, I’m getting tired of following him around. Does Juffin really believe that someone may hurt this big hulk? Anyway, I was going to ask you to keep me company, but I see you’re busy.
Not at all. Where are you?
In the New City, not too far from your place. Oh, our overgrown teenager just dropped into the Armstrong & Ella. Looks like a nice little tavern.
Say what? What is it called, again?
You heard right. It’s the Armstrong & Ella. They named it after your cats. The place opened right after that tubby guy you adopted wrote about them in the Royal Voice. I thought you knew.
How could I have known? I was out of town for a year. Oh boy! This is something I’ve got to see. What’s the address?
It’s Number Sixteen on the Street of Forgotten Dreams. So, are you guys coming?
You bet!
I turned to Melamori. “Melifaro’s waiting for us in the Armstrong & Ella. Can you believe it?”
“Oh, the one named after your cats?” she said, smiling. Then the smile disappeared. “Do you really want to go there? Because I don’t. Sir Melifaro’s acting very huffy toward me. He won’t let us talk.”
“But I’m not in a huff. Isn’t that enough?” I said, and lightly flicked the end of her nose. “Besides, it wasn’t his idea to go there. He’s guarding your precious Arvaroxian treasure, who at this very moment is enjoying himself over there.”
“Really?” said Melamori. “Then let’s go. But may I drive, please?”
&n
bsp; “You not only may, you must. You promised to give me a ride, and this is your chance.”
Melamori drove very fast. For someone who thought that thirty miles an hour was the maximum speed of the amobiler for the first hundred years of her life, she was doing great. All the way to the tavern we were silent—the contemplative, peaceful silence that grows between two old friends. I was beginning to understand that a strong friendship had its advantages over passion, as Juffin Hully once wisely observed.
The Street of Forgotten Dreams was easy to find. It crossed the Street of Yellow Stones just two blocks from my house. Strange that I had never walked here.
“There’s Number Sixteen,” said Melamori. “Hey, look! Armstrong & Ella. That’s a real honor.”
“True,” I said. “You know, I’m honestly flattered.”
A tall, slender girl in a black looxi flew out of the tavern toward us. Her head was surrounded by a shock of thick silvery curls that looked like a halo. Her dark eyes stared at me. She seemed to find the spectacle so attractive that without a moment’s hesitation she dashed up to me and draped herself over my shoulder. When she touched me, I felt as if I had been struck by a bolt of lightning: I was hot, and colorful spots danced before my eyes. I shook my head, trying to get a grip on myself.
“You are Sir Max.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I nodded and began waiting for the situation to unfold.
“Amazing,” said Melamori. “Women fall all over you.”
“They do, don’t they?” I said, looking intently at the woman who was gripping my shoulder. “Has something happened?”
“Come with me. There’s a fight going on in there,” she said, pointing at the tavern. “They’re killing everyone!”
“What?”
I dashed for the doors, Melamori following close behind me. We burst into the tavern and stopped dead in our tracks. Sir Melifaro was standing on a table with the air of a conqueror. Aloxto Allirox, though covered in blood—his or someone else’s—was alive and imperturbable. He was wiping off his “machete” with the fold of his cape. When he saw Melamori he smiled the lovesick smile of a Romeo, which even the mighty Arvaroxian genes weren’t immune to, it seemed. About a dozen dead bodies lay on the floor. Their faces looked like those of ordinary Echo dwellers, but their bodies betrayed their Arvaroxian origin.
“What took you so long, Nightmare? We could have used some of your infamous poison around here. Still, we managed on our own, as you can plainly see,” Melifaro said proudly. “You missed your chance to witness the greatest battle of the Code Epoch. But now you’re here, and the caravan has already pulled away, as my Isamonian guest likes to put it.”
“So, what happened here?” I said, heaving a sigh of relief and sitting down in an uncomfortable chair.
Melifaro hopped off the table and sat down beside me. The woman in the black looxi went behind the bar and started filling glasses. I finally realized that she was the proprietor of the tavern. She returned and placed the glasses before us on the table. I sniffed the unfamiliar beverage. It smelled of apples and honey but scorched the throat something awful.
“Thank you,” said Melamori, the first to recover her good manners.
“Don’t mention it. I’m just doing my job.” The woman smiled and retreated behind the bar again. I could feel her dark eyes drilling into the back of my head.
Aloxto Allirox bowed to Melifaro. Unbelievable! Until now, this great warrior had barely deigned to nod, even when greeting the king.
“I am grateful to you,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would have had to die without finishing my business. What could be worse than that? You are a hero and a great shaman. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I was just doing my job,” said Melifaro.
The proprietor of the Armstrong & Ella laughed quietly on hearing Melifaro repeat her words.
“I’m still all ears,” I said.
“Well, here’s what happened. Sir Aloxto was sitting at that table over there, and I was sitting at the bar. I was just waiting for you and trying not to bother our guest too much. Then I heard the door open and thought it was you. When I looked around I saw these beauty boys shaking their battle slingshots. One of them fired at Aloxto with his Baboom, but Aloxto managed to duck just in time. To tell the truth, I lost my bearings for a moment, so the boys had time to fight for real. If you can call six against one ‘for real.’ How many did you kill, Aloxto?”
“I wasn’t counting. I was fighting,” said Aloxto.
“You were indeed. Anyway, after Aloxto laid one of them low with his flyswatter—you won’t believe this, but it turned out to be a lethal weapon—I ordered this sweet lady to clear out and launched my Lethal Sphere at them.”
“I didn’t know you could do that,” I said.
“I’m not completely a lost cause,” said Melifaro. “Granted, I hate doing it. I always get a headache after exploits like that, and it puts me in a terrible mood. But that’s okay. After a couple of glasses I’ll be in tiptop shape. They serve Ossian Ash here, the best booze in the entire Unified Kingdom.”
“Oh, yeah, I like it, too,” I said. Then I turned to Aloxto. “Those were Mudlax’s people, right?”
“Yes,” he said. “The pitiful servants of that filthy man. I sensed their presence all day. I hoped that Mudlax would appear soon after them, but he did not. Only a man who has forgotten his honor sends his useless servants to fight in his stead.”
“Melamori, take Sir Aloxto to Juffin,” I said. “The boss will be happy to hear the news. And he’ll patch him up in no time. Your right arm is wounded just above the wrist, isn’t it, Sir Aloxto?
“You are correct.”
“How did you know?” Melamori looked at me, her eyes wide as saucers. “He’s covered in blood. How could you see a wound under all that mess?”
I was slightly embarrassed. “When I look at Aloxto, my own right arm begins to hurt just where his wound is. It’s called ‘compassion.’ It happens to me.”
“Whoa!” said Melifaro. “Say, does it come with the ability to heal, too?”
“I doubt it,” I said, grinning. “Killing—that’s my job. Making someone feel better—not my thing.”
“You are speaking an untruth,” said Aloxto suddenly. “You do not like to kill, and when you look at me, my pain subsides.”
“Really? That’s news to me. Then again, I can’t keep looking at you forever, and Sir Juffin cures wounds much better than I do. You can take my word for it.”
“Let’s go, Aloxto,” said Melamori. “Max is absolutely right, we’d better hurry. I’m also going to send the policemen over here to take away the bodies. Is that a good idea?”
“It’s a brilliant idea,” I said. “This summer, interior designers do not recommend decorating with dead bodies.”
“Good night, then.”
Melamori took the hand of the handsome Arvaroxian and they left.
“She could’ve thanked me for saving her boyfriend,” said Melifaro, and then turned to the proprietor. “Sweetie, I’m getting drunk tonight, so bring your entire stock of wonderful booze over here.”
“All of it? You’re going to burst like a dam, hero,” said the woman. “There are already more dead bodies here than living people.”
“I’m not going to burst,” said Melifaro. “I’m going to get drunk. I feel like crap.”
“That’s just the way it goes sometimes. But it always passes, or life would be unbearable,” said the woman, putting a jug on the counter. “Have a seat, gentlemen. My face isn’t much to brag about, but it sure beats that pile of dead bodies you’ve been staring at.”
I loved her gutsy way of talking. She can be even ruder than me, I thought. How cool is that!
“Then I’ll brag about it for you,” I said. “If you don’t let me, I’ll get offended and go off to cry in a corner.”
The dark-eyed lady looked at me as though she was trying to de
cide whether I believed my own words. My head started spinning again, but I didn’t mind. If it felt like spinning, I had no objections this time. It could spin all it wanted, as far as I was concerned.
I moved to a tall barstool. Melifaro sighed and sat next to me. The woman gave us each a clean glass and sat down across from us. She hesitated a moment and then poured herself a drink.
“Actually, I was going to drink kamra and have something to eat,” I said.
“I make the best kamra in town. You’ll see.” She put a jug on a tiny burner. “But as for something to eat—you know, I don’t have a cook. It’s so boring to feed people. My customers come here to have a mug or two, smoke a pipe, and hurry back to their errands.”
“I’ll be darned,” I said, surprised. “Back in . . . where I used to live, they called places like this ‘coffee shops.’ But even in a coffee shop you could get a sandwich.”
“A coffee shop, huh? Sounds funny. I’m sorry, but I don’t even serve sandwiches.”
“Then my time’s about up,” I said. “I’m not complaining, but the World won’t be the same without me, don’t you think?”
“You’re right, it won’t,” she said, nodding seriously. “All right, this is against the rules, but I can give you half of my own dinner. I’ll be right back.” She jumped down from the stool and disappeared into the semidarkness behind a small door.
Melifaro gave me a gloomy look. “For your information, I’m hungry, too. Didn’t it occur to you that the Fat Turkey is just a few steps from here? We can go there instead of depriving this poor lady of her last crumbs. She already looks anorexic.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said firmly. “And she’s not anorexic. She’s just thin and very elegant, Mr. Connoisseur of Fine Women.”