The Stranger's Woes

When I paused in my chores and turned around, I discovered that he had already seated himself at my table and was distractedly rearranging my cups. Why did I even bother cleaning up?

  “Look in the jug,” I grumbled. “Maybe there’s something left, I don’t remember.”

  A soft gurgling sound ended my doubts. I sighed, then turned to face my final task. I started unfurling the weighty Kettarian carpet. If I had taken the trouble to lug the rug all the way from Kettari, I deserved the pleasure of seeing it unrolled, at least.

  “Will Sir Max be home soon?” Anday said with his mouth full.

  Drat, now he was scarfing down my breakfast.

  “I don’t know,” I barked out. “He’ll be back when he pleases. And I’m going upstairs to bed, so I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt your meal.”

  “Take it easy, man! I’ll just wait for him in the living room. At the same time, I’ll get acquainted with his cats. Where are they, by the way?”

  “I guess they’re sleeping on the bed in my room,” I said. “Didn’t it ever occur to you to just come back later?”

  “You no catch,” Anday blurted out. “I have to show my story to the editor no later than tomorrow. If Sir Max doesn’t come home before evening, sound the alarm! And if I don’t even manage to see the cats—well, the dinner’s over.”

  His eyes were filled with such anguish that my stony heart started to crack ever so slightly. I shuffled the empty food bowls around on the floor invitingly, and in no time I heard the patter of their stubby kitty legs on the stairs. My furry beasties never turn down the opportunity for a little snack, no matter how often I feed them.

  “Here they are,” I said proudly, filling up their bowls. “Observe them, study their habits, but don’t take it into your head to eat their food. They might turn violent. They’ll go for the jugular, and it’s curtains for you.”

  “It’s what?”

  “Curtains. Like, you’re dead. Dig?”

  “Ah, like somethin’ bad’s gonna happen. Where did you go to school, anyway? In college we used to say ‘the dinner’s over.’ But I catch! By the way, is there anything to eat around here? I mean, Sir Max is a rich guy, and it’s not going to make a dent in his pantry if I—”

  “It’s definitely not going to make a dent in his pantry,” I said, laughing. “Only it’s unlikely you’ll find anything edible in this house. I’ve already eaten everything in sight.”

  Poor Anday looked so deflated it almost brought tears to my eyes.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll try to rustle up some food.”

  I thrust my hand under the table. This was a good excuse for me to try the trick with the Chink between Worlds, which still baffled me.

  The rotund Anday Pu turned out to be a lucky guy. This time I pulled out not a broken umbrella or yet another bottle of mineral water (which happened all too often) but an enormous frying pan in which some eggs, covered with a generous portion of melted cheese, were already sizzling. This was more than I had expected.

  “Be sure to clean up after your meal,” I said sternly. “When Sir Max sees a mess on his table, he spits poison first, then looks for the culprit later. My advice to you is that it doesn’t pay to wait. You were assigned to write a story about the cats? Well, here they are. Write to your heart’s content, and make your editor happy. Got that? I’m going to bed.” I didn’t have the strength to send him packing. I was too tired for words.

  “No catch! Where did this grub come from?” the flabbergasted visitor inquired of my weary back.

  “From under the table.”

  “Well, knock me down with a feather,” Anday exclaimed.

  Ignoring his dumbstruck fascination, I went up to the bedroom and wrapped the powerful “rag”—the kerchief of the Grand Magician of the Order of the Secret Grass—around my neck with habitual ease. I had been strongly encouraged not to fall asleep without it these days.

  Then it was lights out for me.

  Praise be the Magicians, I finally had a dream. A very somber and meaningless one, but hey, I was willing to take any dream I could get. After that I awoke feeling absolutely refreshed. I was the happiest man in the Universe. Everything had fallen into place again.

  I went downstairs in the most benevolent of moods. The absurd journalist, Anday Pu, was still sitting at the table. The mess I had banished just a while ago had been restored, despite my glowering threats. The coquettish Ella was purring tenderly in his lap. On the floor, Armstrong was tangling himself lazily in the hem of Anday Pu’s looxi.

  “Sir Max never came home,” Anday said sadly. “I might as well give up. It’s the absolute end of the dinner.”

  “You mean you’re finished?” I grinned. “You don’t know how lucky you are, buddy! He would have finished you off. What happened to the table?”

  “Take it easy, kid! I don’t know where to put all this stuff. That’s your job, anyway. I’m sure you get paid a pretty penny for it. Come on, it won’t kill you.”

  “I don’t get paid a thing,” I said cheerfully. “It keeps me alive, and that’s enough. You see that door? That leads to the hallway, if you remember. There’s a brazier in there, a big thing. Bring it here and dump everything you see on the table in it. It won’t kill you, either, I hope.”

  “No, no, no problem,” said the guest, formerly on the verge of rage but now nodding agreeably.

  I nodded back, then went off to bathe. My good mood was unshakeable.

  When I got back to the living room, my hapless visitor was piling up the dirty dishes on a large metal tray. His face wore an injured expression. At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t be finished before midnight. I sighed, and in one bold motion swept the remains of the disorder into the brazier. Then I snapped the fingers of my right hand jauntily. I had learned this trick not long ago, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to garner applause for it. The small mountain of junk rose up, turned a sickly shade of green, then disappeared altogether, to my indescribable relief.

  “There,” I said proudly.

  “Was that Forbidden Magic? Whoa! Now you’re really smokin’, man. Everyone might as well give up,” said the only witness of my modest wonder-working.

  “No catch?” I sniffed. “There’s nothing forbidden about it. Just ordinary manual dexterity.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Excellent,” I said. “That’s either Sir Max, which I doubt, or my morning kamra, which I very much hope. Let’s see.”

  My guest drew himself up, arranging the folds of his looxi.

  These journalists have a thick skin. They aren’t even afraid of a monster like me! I thought, going out to welcome my breakfast.

  Naturally, I had to share my kamra and cookies with Anday Pu. I didn’t actually mind. Ella seemed so fond of him already. But it began to look like he was planning to occupy my living room until kingdom come, and it was time for me to report for duty. Well, the poor sucker was just asking for a nervous breakdown.

  After breakfast I went back upstairs, where, not without a touch of sardonic anticipation, I wrapped myself in the Mantle of Death. If they make a monster out of you, you’ve got to derive the maximum amount of pleasure from it. These were my thoughts as I was going downstairs again.

  “Uh-oh, why didn’t I catch right away?” Anday Pu burst out with fearful enthusiasm. “So you are Sir Max? I might as well give up. The dinner’s over once and for all!”

  I laughed. His pet phrase about the end of dinner was wonderfully apt. Moreover, the comical brazenness of the journalist was balm to my heart, fed up as it was with the timid glances and fearful silence of the citizens of Echo.

  “Now do you catch?” I said, smiling. “Well, what was it you wanted to know about my cats? Hurry it up, though. I’ve got to go to work.”

  “The cats are to die for!” Anday said wistfully. “But I’ll be on my way, if you’re in a hurry. I’ve outstayed my welcome as it is. Forgive me, but I didn’t catch. I hope I haven’t caused you too much trouble.” His boldne
ss was quickly diminishing.

  “Not too much,” I lied. “You can send me a call if there are any questions.”

  “May I? Thank you, Sir Max. I’ll definitely—”

  Anday ducked into the hallway and shut the door softly behind him as he left, so I never had the pleasure of finding out what he “definitely.” I shrugged and set out for the House by the Bridge. I still had time to run over to the Glutton and back with Juffin.

  “You’re looking great, Max,” said Juffin. “Dining at Boboota’s has really done you good. Maybe you ought to visit him more often.”

  “I knew you’d say that. Make light of the state of my health—it’s all the same to me. Today I had a dream.”

  “A dream?” Juffin raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t be so eager to rejoice about that if I were you.”

  “Oh, a hole in the heavens above it all,” I said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “In the first place, it wasn’t a nightmare. In the second place, yesterday even a nightmare would have been welcome. Have you already heard about Boboota’s mushroom?”

  “Just don’t get it into your head to tell me about it.” The boss’s panic looked almost unfeigned. “I won’t survive it for the eighteenth time.”

  “Melifaro told the story just five times, Juffin,” Kurush interjected. “You sometimes have a tendency to exaggerate.”

  “No, joy of my heart, five times when you were here. He dogged my footsteps wherever I went, blathering on about that sinning mushroom.”

  “Melifaro beat me to it, the mangy dog,” I said. “Too bad for you, Juffin. I could have told it better.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a moment. But I’ve already had an earful of that story. Let’s go to the Glutton. I have something interesting to report.”

  “What a treat!”

  “No, not a treat. Just trivia. How you love your job!”

  “I hate it,” I said in a dignified tone. “It’s just that I’m a shameless careerist and I’m trying to suck up, isn’t that obvious?”

  The upshot of the matter was that after a hearty breakfast, I received orders to deliver a certain character to the House by the Bridge. Sir Kofa had been observing his antics at the card tables of the local taverns for several days now. The fellow indulged everywhere in his penchant for Forbidden Magic of the sixth degree, which furthered his success considerably. Sir Juffin was of the opinion that my participation in the arrest proceedings would make a bigger impression. Terrible rumors were making the rounds in the city, so hard-boiled cardsharpers were turning into innocent lambs right and left. For the next dozen days it was better than nothing, of course. It’s better to prevent petty crime than to catch someone at it.

  So as not to seem out of character, I turned up my nose fastidiously at the task and lectured my boss on the futility of hammering in a nail with a microscope. Sir Juffin heard me out with amused equanimity, then nodded toward the door.

  “I get the point,” I said. “I’m on my way.”

  “Don’t sulk, Max. You have to hammer the blasted nails in with something,” Juffin said. “Good evening, Sir Microscope.”

  I wasn’t sulking, of course. A pleasant meander through the taverns of Echo in the company of Sir Kofa was an enviable misfortune. It’s just that my feeling of contentment is only complete when I am slightly indignant about something. And praise be the Magicians when there’s a reason for it, even the most paltry one.

  I returned to the House by the Bridge at around midnight. Not that arresting Toyo Baklin (he was the brazen card sharper) took so long. It’s just that my presence improves Sir Kofa Yox’s appetite, and the Master Eavesdropper wasn’t in too big a hurry to get rid of me. I returned to the House by the Bridge in the best of spirits. If someone had happened to want to pull my strings, this would have been the time to do it.

  I was about to turn the corner to our Secret Entrance when a painfully familiar penguinesque silhouette propping up a leafy tree by the visitor’s entrance caught my attention. I whistled. Anday Pu in the flesh! This was getting interesting.

  “Are you writing a crime story, pal?” I said. “What about my cats? Did you already finish that one?”

  “Good night to you, Sir Max,” Anday said in a gloomy voice. “I’ve been waiting here for three hours. I was beginning to think I might as well just give up.”

  “You’re in luck,” I said. “People usually have to wait much longer for me. We’re even considering installing a bed for visitors right by the entrance. But why are you waiting outside, anyway? We have a comfortable waiting room. You can sit in an armchair, smoke, and . . . well, that’s about all you can do there. But at least it beats waiting outside.”

  “I don’t like your Ministry,” Anday confided. “It’s packed with rodents.”

  “Come again?”

  “Rodents.”

  Finally it dawned on me. “Ah, coppers! Yes, there are quite a few running around in there. On the other hand, they’ve got to hang out somewhere. And if those fellows think they have something to do at the House by the Bridge, who am I to shatter their illusions? What’s wrong? You scared?”

  “I’m not scared. I just don’t like them. I’m no chicken, but . . . you no catch, Sir Max.”

  “I dig,” I said, laughing. “You may not believe it, but back in the day I couldn’t stand them either. And I was scared of them, too. One didn’t exclude the other. It wasn’t so very long ago, either. Let’s go, Fourth Estate.”

  “What did you call me?” The poor guy was almost beside himself with confusion.

  “Forget it. Let’s go to my office. We’ll drink some kamra and eat cookies. Am I making myself clear?”

  Anday cheered up considerably, and I went into the House by the Bridge. He followed close behind me, trying to hide from the stern gaze of Boboota’s subordinates behind my Mantle of Death. Curiously, he didn’t seem to be afraid of me at all.

  “Well, what happened to you?” I asked, closing the office door behind me. “Or were you just bored? Go ahead and sit down. Grab an armchair. Truth doesn’t hide in your backside—you won’t be covering anything up. Come to think of it, I wonder where in the body truth does hide? You don’t know by any chance, do you? You journalists are an informed bunch.”

  Anday sat down obediently, turning this way and that to see better. He glanced at Kurush, asleep on the back of a chair, and brushed my cigarettes off the table absentmindedly, not registering the slightest interest in what the stuff was or where it had come from. He didn’t deign to notice the couriers either, but when the jug of kamra appeared on the table, he immediately dropped back down to earth and filled up his mug. Finally Anday allowed himself to spill his troubles.

  “Sir Max,” he began solemnly. “My editor, Sir Rogro Jiil, doesn’t catch a thing. I think he’s lost his mind. The dinner’s over once and for all.”

  “Really?” I said. “What has he done? Did he kill and eat a dozen hopeful young journalists? Or something more original? In any case, no one at the House by the Bridge is going to help him. We could use a good doctor here ourselves. But that’s a state secret, you understand.”

  “I catch, Sir Max,” Anday said. “What a joker you are—sound the alarm!”

  “It’s nice to meet someone who appreciates me,” I said, grinning. “All in all, today I’m full, contented, and happy, so I’m not in very good form. Anyway, back to your editor.”

  “He doesn’t want to publish my article!”

  I laughed, mainly from surprise. “The article about my cats? What an insult.”

  “No, no. The one about the cats he liked, and even offered to pay for it—tomorrow or a year from now, you never know with him. Sometimes he drags it out, sometimes he doesn’t. No, no, it was another article he didn’t like.”

  “You sure do write a lot,” I said.

  That was really no surprise. All the bureaucrats and writers of the Unified Kingdom have self-scribing tablets at their disposal. Your head has to be very empty indeed not to produce somethin
g under those circumstances.

  “I wrote about you, Sir Max. It will be such a sensation that all those tabloid slaves might as well just give up.”

  “What kind of sensation is that? That I wash my own living rooms floors? For a lyrical outpouring like that, Sir Juffin Hully would bite your editor’s head off, and yours, too, while he’s at it.”

  “Oh, come on! As if I have nothing better to do than write about your floors.”

  Anday spoke with the intonations of a queen trying to insult a dozen stable boys. He pursed his lips, glanced haughtily at me, tossed his head, and turned his noble profile away from me. Then, just as suddenly as he had taken umbrage, he stared at me penitently.

  “It won’t kill you to take a look at it, will it?” he said, offering me two self-scribing tablets.

  I peered closely at it. The story was called “A Tête-à-tête with Death.” Simple and tasteful. The contents were completely in keeping with the title. The story implied that I had held the hapless journalist captive in my living room for a whole day. Enchanted giant cats guarded the prisoner, and I had to absent myself from the premises to perform my next murder. Anday didn’t skimp on the details, describing my evil cunning, the bloodthirsty roars of Ella and Armstrong, and his own stouthearted courage.

  “Take it away!” I threatened. “And destroy it. You’re a swell guy, Anday, but if this is printed in a single newspaper I will personally spit on you. If you spread this blizzard of blather to your girlfriends, I wouldn’t necessarily object, though.”

  “You no catch! I thought you’d like it,” Anday said. “I thought you’d send a call to Rogro and he’d have to just give up.”

  “You thought I’d help you publish this garbage?” I said. “What do you take me for, friend? Do you think I can’t read?”

  “I thought you’d like it,” Anday repeated, sighing. “But you no catch. Well, never mind. It happens. I’m sorry for bothering you, Max. Will you forgive me?”

  He made a pitiful sight.

  “Do you want some dinner?” I said, feeling generous.