The Stranger tloe-1

by Макс Фрай

  “The recipe? It doesn’t exist. I know how Maba makes his concoctions—he just throws in everything that comes to hand.”

  “Sinning Magicians, Juffin! That’s beyond me.”

  “Me, too, for the time being. And I’ve been around on this earth a bit longer than you have, if you care to remember. I haven’t wasted my time, either. The problem is that everything happens gradually, Max.”

  “My problem is that everything happens too suddenly.”

  “In that case, you’re lucky. Try to get used to it.”

  Somewhere in the far corner of the sitting room a door slammed. Sir Maba Kalox came back to the table, as cheerful and animated as ever.

  “Thank you, Juffin. It was a pleasure to examine the Door you opened, and to see the curious place that lies beyond it. I must say, it was grand!”

  “I’m glad you liked it. But the more Max tells me about the place, the less I like it.”

  “I’m not saying it appeals to me. It was simply very interesting. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything like it. Are you glad you stole away from there, Max?”

  “I can’t imagine my life working out any other way. When I first arrived here I felt like I had landed in clover! I felt that someone was rubbing the part of my brain that makes me purr.”

  Sir Maba Kalox nodded, settled himself more comfortably in his armchair, and thoughtfully drew out a plate with small rolls from under the table. He tasted them, nodded his approval, and placed his souvenir on the table.

  “They’re edible, and very tasty. But, I won’t stall, I’ll tell you everything that happened while I was there. In the first place, Max, you were right. One of your countrymen really is at large in Echo. By the way, Juffin, it’s the first time I’ve come across someone of his age and sex who has such a highly developed faculty of intuition.”

  “Same here,” my boss said.

  I blushed with pleasure.

  “I congratulate you both. Eat up, don’t be afraid. I don’t know where they came from, but nevertheless . . .”

  “Poisoner,” Juffin mumbled, stuffing a roll into his mouth. “Chow down, Max. If we die, we’re going out together.”

  The rolls were excellent. The flavor seemed familiar to me, though I couldn’t quite place it.

  “I don’t know how you managed,” Sir Maba Kalox continued. “But you, my boys, came up with the craziest mode of transportation between Worlds I’ve ever seen.”

  “What do you mean ‘we’? Juffin thought it up. I just obediently followed instructions,” I protested. I certainly didn’t want to be burdened by someone else’s laurels. I didn’t even know where to put my own.

  “Judge for yourself, Max,” Juffin replied. “How could I have invented that ‘streetcar’ when to this day I don’t know what it is? Someday it will get through to you that we did it together. But for now, you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  “Just resign yourself to not knowing what you’re doing for the next few hundred years,” Maba Kalox added. “It’s only frightening at first. After that it gets interesting. Now then, let’s get back to my impressions. I found myself in the dark and lonely street where the Door between Worlds opened for you, Max. There was some lunatic wandering around who was obsessed with murder. Nothing so unusual in that, and anyway, I love madmen. However primitive they may be, they always have access to marvels. As for this fellow, it was obvious to me right away that he was tripping over the marvelous with both feet. Some kind of eccentric buggy, clearly man-made, drove up and stopped right in front of him. I’ve never seen anything more ungainly in my life. A means of transportation should be able to drive anywhere, and not be confined to a little path! All the more since no path is infinite.”

  “That ‘little path’ is called ‘tracks,’” I interposed, just to set the record straight.

  “Thank you, Max. That, of course, changes everything. When I realized how this strange buggy was made and what it was for, I split my sides laughing. But for the madman, the arrival of the streetcar was also a surprise. You see, he was aware that on that street there was no little path like the one I have already mentioned. Yes, yes, Max, I remember. ‘Tracks.’ Consequently, the poor fellow was sure that this contraption couldn’t be there at all. Sinning Magicians, how little it takes for some people to lose their minds!”

  “Tell me, Maba,” Juffin said, frowning. “How great is the probability that other people will come across this streetcar?”

  “The chances are almost nil. The appearance of this anomaly of nature is in some way connected with the phases of the moon there, as well as the positions of the other planets. The necessary conditions of alignment are fairly rare. Also, it’s a deserted street. And, more important, this passage between worlds was created especially for him”—a nod in my direction—“so normal people not only cannot use the thing, they don’t even see it. Only an experienced person or a lunatic, whose own personality has disintegrated due to the onset of madness, is able to pass through the Door to Beyond. You may rest assured, Juffin, such auspicious conditions occur very seldom, unless we’re talking about a few of their Magicians who manage to pass through. But that’s possible at any time, under any circumstances.”

  “All the more since there are no Magicians there,” I added.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Sir Maba Kalox. “Are you personally acquainted with all the inhabitants of your world?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Just what I thought. Just because you haven’t met any of them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Be optimistic, we Magicians are everywhere.”

  “So you’re saying there won’t be any invasion from those parts,” Juffin said, visibly relieved.

  “Of course not. Oh, and one more interesting detail. This ‘streetcar’ had a coachman. I wish I had had more time to study this strange creature. I’ll pursue the matter at my leisure, to be sure.”

  “A zealous-looking fat fellow with a thin mustache,” I said slowly, my lips growing numb with horror at the memory. “As monstrous a mug as earth can produce—was that him?”

  “Yes indeed it was. Who else? The first being you ever created, Max. You might be a little bit more charitable. I’ve never seen the likes of him.”

  “Who is this coachman you’re talking about?” Juffin demanded. “You never mentioned him to me, Max!”

  “I thought you knew everything already, without me. Besides, I tried to forget about him as soon as I could. I almost died when I saw him! Praise be the Magicians, he disappeared almost immediately!”

  “Oh, right—you no doubt thought he was a good buddy of mine. Well, I’ll be. I should have questioned you about your journey. My pragmatism foiled me—I thought that since you had arrived in one piece that was all that mattered. Maba, what kind of creature is he?”

  “I can’t say. I don’t know yet myself. There’s only one thing I can tell you: I’ve never seen anything like him before. If I find time to study him, I’ll certainly inform you of the results of my research. But you are so severe toward your own creation, Max! The lunatic, for example, liked this coachman very much. He decided to talk to him and to find out how the streetcar had found its way to a street where it didn’t belong. And at a certain moment he thought that the coachman might become his best friend. You could say they were made for each other, each obsessed in his own way. In short, the streetcar stopped, the fellow got in, greeted the coachman, and off they went. I can’t tell you all the details of their journey together, since I was too lazy to investigate any further. But after some time, the lunatic ended up in Echo, in the back courtyard of the Glutton Bunba. He was hungry, frightened, and he had finally ‘flipped his lid.’”

  “He flipped what?” asked Juffin asked.

  “His lid. I’m just using his own term. Nuances are very significant in such matters. Max, can you translate?”

  “Well,” I began. “It means to ‘lose your mind’ all at once, but at the same to sink deeper and
deeper into it, step by step. That’s how I would explain it.”

  “Well said,” Sir Maba exclaimed, sounding pleased. “And what happened next you know better than I do, as the Door between Worlds closed and I lost interest in your companion.”

  “Listen, Maba, couldn’t we—” Juffin proposed, before Maba cut him off.

  “No, we couldn’t!”

  “Fine. Goodbye then. Don’t forget to let me know about the mysterious mustachioed creature when you figure him out.”

  “And you come back in a dozen or so days, or even before, but not with such a despondent countenance. You come, too, Max. With Juffin or by yourself. If you can find me, of course. But I can’t help you there. Well, gentlemen, you have given me great pleasure, dropping in like this and dumping your personal problems on me. That’s a true art. Farewell.”

  And Sir Maba overturned the table we were sitting at with a violent shove. The table crashed to the floor, shards of dishes went flying in all directions. I ducked instinctively, the chair flipped over, and in the wink of an eye I had landed on the most reliable of all points of rest, after executing a somersault à la Sir Melifaro.

  A moment later I realized I was sitting not on Maba’s floor, but in the luxuriant grass beside a garden path. I glanced around, stunned. Next to me sat Juffin, roaring with laughter.

  “Maba adores surprising novices. After meeting him for the first time I found myself at the bottom of a lake, crawling on all fours looking for some stairs, since I had completely forgotten I knew how to swim. In fact, the very notion that there existed such a useful skill as swimming never entered my head! It was several hours before I reached shore, and several years, if I remember correctly, before I understood how I had ended up there. But by then I couldn’t be angry at Maba, even if I tried very hard. Believe me, Sir Max, he was very humane in his treatment of you.”

  “You call that humane? All the same, I liked Sir Maba very much.”

  “I’m glad you did. Let’s go. You can sit at the levers—finding the way back is a piece of cake.”

  “What were you and Maba discussing just before we left, Juffin?” I asked when I had come to my senses after our unorthodox parting from the Grand Magician. “I’m pretty quick on the uptake, but that was too fast even for me. ‘Couldn’t we—’ ‘No, we couldn’t.’ Forgive me for being importunate, but I’m terribly curious.”

  Sir Juffin Hully waved his hand vaguely. “It’s no mystery. I meant to ask whether we might be able to find your countryman more quickly using you . . . well, as a model. Maybe there is some scent from your world so subtle that I can’t detect it. Or something of that nature, which might speed the case up a bit.”

  “So?”

  “You heard him—it’s impossible.”

  “You mean my homeland has no smell? That’s disappointing.”

  “It may very well smell, but you, Sir Max, are no reliable model.”

  “I’m hurt,” I admitted in dismay.

  “You needn’t be. Studying True Magic has already changed you too much. You yourself may not notice these changes, but you can take my word for it. If we use you as a model, we might just as likely find me—or Maba Kalox himself.”

  “That’s also relevant,” I remarked. “You yourself said that seeking him out to pay a visit was no easy matter.”

  “Yes, but I’d prefer to find this ‘lunatic’ for a start—and only then undertake a more intellectual pursuit. Sleeping, for instance. Ah, here we are already.”

  “And his clothes, Juffin?” I asked, getting out of the amobiler. “I’m willing to bet they are no more fitting for a walk around Echo than the trousers I showed up in.”

  “Oh, but this is the capital of the Unified Kingdom. There are dozens of visitor here at any given time. It’s no secret to the local residents that half the World wears trousers, including those very citizens of the free city of Gazhin, not to mention the inhabitants of the Borderlands so dear to your heart. Trousers will surprise no one here. The time when locals were ready to gawk at every foreign costume is long since past. Now they don’t even turn their heads. How are things, Melifaro?” Juffin asked our colleague, whom we found stretching his legs in the main foyer of the House by the Bridge, nonchalantly studying the artwork that adorned the walls.

  “Not bad, that is to say, no more corpses,” Melifaro reported briskly. “The fellow has wound down, I suppose. He really should take better care of his health. Sir Juffin, are you ready to save my skin from this poison-spewing monster? Not long ago he threatened to do me in!”

  I stared at Melifaro in bewilderment.

  “When was that?”

  I had already clean forgotten about Lonli-Lokli’s serenade yesterday, after which the ‘diurnal backside’ of the Venerable Head really had run the risk of my wrath. Vanity of vanities, to be sure.

  “You won’t be offended, Melifaro, if I do you in later? In light of recent events, murder seems like a terribly trivial and humdrum affair. I don’t want to be just a pale imitation of an unsung genius.”

  “Give me a break! The victims are ladies, and I’m a man at the height of my powers.”

  “Death has no gender preferences.”

  “Spoken like a true philosopher,” Juffin remarked approvingly. “Come with me, Melifaro. We need a quick-witted ne’er-do-well like yourself who isn’t completely befuddled by these goings-on. I’ve already sent a call to Sir Kofa. He promised to join us in half an hour.”

  “Right. He just has to consume half a pie and listen to another new joke,” Melifaro quipped, nodding vigorously. “You can’t hold it against him, though; it’s his job.”

  When he got to the office, Juffin collapsed in a chair and smiled broadly.

  “We’ve done all we could, Melifaro. Now it’s your move. It’s clear beyond the shadow of a doubt: the killer is Max’s countryman. What do you suggest?”

  “Clothes are out,” Melifaro observed coolly. “Time was when a person in pants was considered a novelty.”

  “I told you,” Juffin said, turning to me.

  “Likewise his accent. Well, we have a few leads to work with, but it’ll take some time,” Melifaro said, slipping his fingers under his turban.

  “Think, Max. What else is there that would distinguish your compatriot from, er, normal people? No hard feelings, of course. Is there anything that might draw attention, something impossible to conceal in a motley crowd?”

  “I have to concentrate,” I replied. “And the best place to do it is sitting on the porcelain throne. Maybe there a brilliant idea will dawn on me. Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll return in a moment.”

  I left for the shortest vacation of all—a rest stop to which every person in any imaginable world has an inalienable right.

  Passing down the corridor, I heard one of my favorite “arias” again, and I decided to sneak over to catch another performance.

  “Bull’s tits! What kind of crap does she want from you, Foofloss? She can go over there, where they wallow in it!” General Boboota Box looked around warily and glimpsed my friendly face just as I rounded the corner.

  “. . . insofar as those good people will undoubtedly be interested in everything she has to say,” Sir Boboota finished in a hollow voice without taking his eyes off my face.

  In response, Captain Foofloss, his relative and deputy, eyes popping out of his head, carried out the curious and entertaining breathing exercise know as spluttering.

  “I was just giving orders that a material witness in the case Hully has been investigating since yesterday evening be sent to you,” Boboota reported respectfully. He can actually express himself decently when he wishes! I marveled.

  “Excellent,” I drawled. “You have acted fully in accordance with the law, Sir Box.”

  I could have sworn he sighed with relief.

  I returned to find a cheerful hubbub in Juffin’s office. A spry, red-haired lady in an expensive bright-red looxi was holding a mug of kamra in her hand and beaming coquettishly at Melifaro’s
chiseled Hollywood features. I had thought that the heyday of the frivolous flirt had passed, but the lady herself clearly knew otherwise.

  “And here’s Sir Max,” Juffin announced solemnly, for some reason finding it necessary to state the obvious. “Please begin, Lady Chadsy.”

  The lady turned to me. Upon seeing my garment, her face fell. Then she broke into the falsest of false smiles and turned away from me again hastily, all of which I found quite distressing. I took my place without any fanfare, arming myself with a full mug of kamra.

  “Thank you, sir. You can’t imagine the brutes I had to deal with at the City Police department. They didn’t know how to offer a lady a sip of kamra, much less a comfortable chair. I was forced to sit on a rickety stool!”

  “Oh, I can imagine,” said Juffin. Sincere sympathy was written all over his face. “But I am under the impression that it was an even more serious matter that brought you here.”

  “Yes, indeed, Sir Hully. Already this morning I had a premonition. I knew I ought not to go shopping. And I didn’t, because I trust my premonitions. But then my friend, Lady Hadley, sent me a call. She was very anxious to see me, and I couldn’t refuse her. We agreed to meet in the Pink Buriwok. I decided not to call for an amobiler, but to go on foot, since I live on the Street of High Walls, so—”

  “Yes, the Pink Buriwok is just a stone’s throw away,” Melifaro nodded. Lady Chadsy looked at him with unfeigned interest, and not a trace of maternal tenderness.

  “Exactly, sir. I’m surprised at how quickly you understand me. Perhaps you also live nearby?”

  “No, but I’m planning on moving there soon,” Melifaro informed her in a confidential tone. “Please go on, my lady.”

  The lady blushed with pleasure. I could hardly keep from laughing aloud, though it would have been quite awkward if I had lost my composure. The lady would no doubt have refused to give a deposition until they had me strung up and quartered—all the more since my Mantle of Death reduced any hypothetical manly charms to zero.

  “I left home despite the premonition. And it hadn’t misled me. I had not gone a block when some horrible barbarian came around the corner wearing a disgusting, dirty looxi with sleeves, and dreadful-looking trousers. And the boor was swaying back and forth! I had never seen such a drunk man—well, with the exception of my cousin James, whom I once found in a similar condition. But that was well before the Code Epoch, so Cousin James can be forgiven. But this drunken scoundrel started waving a knife around at me. He even slashed my new skaba, which I bought only yesterday at Dirolan’s! You can imagine how much it cost. I can’t stand men like that, so I gave him a punch in the nose before I really got frightened. He hissed some strange words at me. ‘Who-are, who-are!’ At first I thought he had the impudence to ask me who I was. But then he hissed ‘Old-who-are!’ and ran away, so I think it must be some primitive barbarian curse. I went home to change and sent a call to Hadley so she wouldn’t be angry that I was late, and I explained the reason I had been delayed. Hadley said that it might be the murderer they wrote about in the Echo Hustle and Bustle, and that truly frightened me. And she advised me to come to you—well, not to you personally, Sir Hully, but to the House by the Bridge. Then I hailed an amobiler and hurried over here. That’s all there is to tell. Do you think it might be the same killer? But he was such a weakling! I can’t understand why those poor women couldn’t wrestle him down. Just one punch was all it took.”