by Max Frei
“Do you think my feeble intellect would suffice to find anything in the endless labyrinth you call your house? You’re flattering me, Sir Manga.”
“Oh, but of course I am,” the greatest encyclopedist of the World said with a yawn. “All right then. Let’s try to find that sinning door together, shall we?”
For some time, we wandered through the spacious hallways of the mansion. Sir Manga did his best to play the part of a lost child. It wasn’t very believable, but I was noble enough to play along, insofar as my humble acting abilities allowed.
At last I was alone in the small dark bedroom I was already so fond of. When I’m there, I always think that Filo Melifaro, the famous grandfather of my colleague and one of the powerful Elder Magicians of the Order of the Secret Grass, had me in mind when he built his wonder-working bedroom. He somehow knew that his efforts would benefit more than just his own kin. Hey, if you think about it, it’s quite possible that such a great man could sniff out in advance my eventual presence on his territory. For instance, I could have appeared to him in a dream. Why not? People are known to have all kinds of nightmares from time to time.
But none of this really mattered. It was just another fairy tale, the kind it’s nice to tell yourself before you fall asleep while staring, enchanted, at the ancient crisscrossing beams of the ceiling somewhere above your head in the darkness of the room.
This time I crossed the border between reality and dreamland so slowly that I probably could have marked the path I traversed with white pebbles, like Hansel and Gretel. In this dream, however, I didn’t have any white pebbles with me.
First I wandered around in a few blissful dreams, not fully understanding who I was or what I was doing there. Only when I ended up on the barren sandy beach—which, after all, was the goal of this journey—did I begin to remember myself as I was in real life. This was not as easy as one might think, but in certain fundamental dreams, recurring dreams I’ve had since childhood, it always happens in the end—of its own accord, without any apparent effort from me.
The difference this time around was that I was returning to myself very slowly and painfully, as though I were trying to recall what I had done while drunk. I was able to recollect the evening I had spent in the company of Melifaro’s parents, the trip through the twilit countryside, Tekki’s “promise” to bring home naked men, and then, finally and very unclearly, the conversation with Shurf Lonli-Lokli that had worried me. Then I looked down and saw footprints in the sand.
The footprints, somewhat akin to those of sneakers, had been left by someone wearing soft Uguland shoes. I concentrated, and it suddenly dawned on me that the footprints belonged to Sir Shurf himself. I didn’t guess or deduce it by any clues—I simply felt it. I knew it in my heart (and it was clear which one of the two). This had happened to me more than once in real life, too. Recently I had noticed a kind of one-way connection between my colleagues and myself, the nature of which I did not fully comprehend. Moments before one of them appeared, I would begin to detect a faint scent only emitted by that particular person. And if I happened to enter a room where one of my crew had just been, I would know without the shadow of a doubt who had been there. Maybe that’s how loyal dogs anticipate their master’s return, I explained to myself. No, that’s ridiculous. Dogs use their sense of smell, and I was using . . . I was using . . . Gosh, I had no idea what it was.
Neither had I the time to think about man’s best friends. My head began to spin. No wonder: my mind had just gotten a good kick. In my dream, I had just found actual footprints of another person who had recently seen this very dream. It looked as though we had both walked along the sand somewhere on the shore of a very real, wet, and salty sea, each of us following the footsteps of the other.
I decided that the best thing to do would be to scream and wake up—the sooner the better. It was all too much for me.
“Shut up,” I said to myself. “After all, you’re here on business. You can have a tantrum in the morning in Sir Manga’s bathroom if you so choose.”
My stupid habit of talking to myself often proves to be very helpful. Having yelled at myself, I realized that I was quite capable of putting off my hysterics until later. Not until morning—in the morning I would still behave myself. I would hold off on my hysterics until I was in Juffin’s presence. The boss would probably bestow upon me two or three of his highly theoretical yet thoroughly pacifying explanations. I would then pretend that I understood them, and I would feel great.
I found the courage not to wake up. Instead I walked for a long time up and down the barren beach, trying to find any trace of the presence of the evil stranger Shurf had been talking about. I had found nothing and I was already dead tired. Each step required an enormous amount of effort. I don’t recall ever experiencing anything more dispiriting in any of my dreams than what I felt on this walk.
Having expended all my energy, I woke up. Peace and quiet reigned in the cozy bedroom built by the magical hands of Filo Melifaro. Outside everything was dark and quiet—even the birds hadn’t woken up yet. The runes on the beams in the ceiling were doing their magic: it took them only a few seconds to calm down my restless hearts, and then a few minutes more to lull me to sleep. This time, the switchman angels that watch over dreamers as they arrive at their destinations took mercy: I dreamed some meaningless but very sweet nonsense. I couldn’t ask for more.
I woke up at dawn, happy and content. Unsolved mysteries did not spoil my mood. It was even pleasant to think that the barren sandy beaches that I had grown to love did indeed exist, and that I might have the chance to see them in real life one day. Something similar had once happened to me: while walking around the mountains near Kettari, I discovered the town from my childhood dreams. It turned out that the sandy beach was good news rather than bad—that is, if the news was ever amenable to such primitive terms, and the usual morning grogginess notwithstanding.
“Sir Filo,” I said in a tender voice, addressing the ceiling, “I adore you. I don’t know what I would do without you, and so on and so forth. Just keep me in mind when you begin recruiting new grandchildren.”
Naturally, the ceiling was silent, yet after this insane tirade, my mood improved even more. I had to go down the narrow stairs leading to the bathroom sideways—otherwise my smile wouldn’t fit.
Moments later, I was flying down to the dining room. I had the rare opportunity to have breakfast alone, then wake up my colleague and observe his suffering, deriving a sadistic pleasure out of it. Generally, Sir Melifaro Junior was no keener to get up in the morning than I had been as a schoolboy. That was strange, though, considering he was going to be spending another great day in the House by the Bridge rather than meeting the principal.
Today, however, my colleague had gotten up all by himself and was feeling not too bad, to put it mildly. I had the presence of mind not to be upset about it.
“Well, does everything please Your Majesty?” he said when he entered the dining room.
“Yeah, I think I’m not going to execute you this year,” I said. “After that, we’ll see about it.”
“Dream on. I’m not one of your subjects yet, praise be the Magicians.”
“We’ll see what tune you’re singing when my boys are galloping down the streets of Echo on their antlered nags. I’ll let you in on a big secret: my personal plan for the unification of the Barren Lands and the Unified Kingdom differs somewhat from the official one. I figured it’d be better if I annexed the lands of His Majesty Gurig VIII to mine rather than the other way around.”
“Is that so?” said Melifaro, shoving an enormous sandwich in his mouth. “I think I’m going to denounce you then, if that’s okay with you. I’ve never done this before, but better late than never, I guess.”
“Please don’t. I’ll make you my prime minister.”
“Tempting, very tempting. Fine, give me a ride on your amobiler for starters, mister. Then I’ll think about it.”
“Can do. At your service, s
ir.”
“This has been the dream of my miserable life—to make you my personal chauffeur,” said Melifaro with a sigh. “You should give this lengthy consideration. It’s the only talent you have that’s worthy of the name, anyway.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, snorting. “I know how much a chauffeur makes. I’ve already been poor once, and didn’t like it one bit.”
“You? Poor? When?” said Melifaro. “All right, let’s go. I’m really running late for work now.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been standing in the doorway shuffling my feet for thirty minutes already.”
We were tearing along toward Echo through the sleepy suburbs on this gloomy morning. Melifaro, who loved sunny weather, looked visibly downcast. At one point, he demanded that I entertain him, but I said I had to keep my eyes on the road. He calmed down and even began to doze off from boredom.
I was completely entranced by the beautiful gloomy morning. Each raindrop on the windshield looked like a tiny inimitable wonder. Just recently, I had noticed that even rain in this World was different from the usual precipitation I had spent my first thirty years soaking in. Sure, it was just water, but the sweet scent of the pollen, the barely noticeable purple tint of the streaks of rains, the . . .
It was nice to remember that I still was a newcomer in this beautiful World. Deep inside, I hoped that this feeling would stay with me a lot longer. So many new ways to get myself in trouble, so many opportunities to be amazed over trivial things. The latter—the blissful opportunities to be amazed over trivial things—filled my life so fully that I could almost afford not to wish for anything else. Frankly, that morning, I didn’t wish for anything else.
Once I had dropped off my daytime half by the House by the Bridge, I decided it was a good idea to drop by myself. I had to tell Juffin the mysterious story of my silly dreams.
Sir Juffin had not yet arrived. I guessed that at that time of the day I could probably find him on the Street of Old Coins: he still hadn’t sated his craving for late-night movie screenings. I carefully weighed the options and decided that Shurf’s (and, by extension, my own) problem could wait until the evening—unlike Tekki, who had probably begun tossing and turning by now. Yesterday she had said she might regret the chance she had let slip. I couldn’t allow my beautiful lady to fall so low. From time to time, I discover that I have principles that I simply cannot forego.
I returned to the House by the Bridge only an hour before sunset and went straight to the office that I shared with Juffin. Kurush was the only occupant. He sat on the back of the armchair with an allimportant look.
“Where’s the boss, O wise one?” I said.
“I don’t know,” said the bird. “He came and went, came and went. People, as you know, are known to be somewhat restless.”
“That we are,” I said, sighing, and sent Juffin a call.
It’s the second time I’ve come to the Headquarters today and not found you here.
It’s your own fault. You should work on your sense of timing, said Juffin. It’s high time that you learned to come exactly when I’m in. More to the point, however: What on earth are you doing there? As I recall, I gave you two days off—at your own persistent request, may I remind you. What happened? Couldn’t bear the life of a loafer?
Nah, loafing wasn’t the problem. It’s my absentmindedness—I thought it had already been two days, I said. Then I added with a sigh, Juffin, to be honest, I have a few questions that you’re the one most likely to have the answers to.
Well, I’ve had a rough day, so if your confession can wait, let’s put it off until tomorrow, said Juffin. Otherwise, you can come to the Street of Old Coins tonight. You’ll definitely find me here. It won’t even matter if your sense of timing is off.
Thank you, Juffin. I’ll do that.
Good. Now get out of my office. I know you all too well. First you’ll drink two or three mugs of kamra, and then you’re going to say that you had to work overtime.
Hey, it’s my office, too! I said. All right, all right. I’m gone already.
Liar!
You can’t fool the boss, I thought. I gave a loud, deep sigh, rose from the armchair where I had just curled up, and went to the Hall of Common Labor. Shurf Lonli-Lokli wasn’t there, so I decided to take my chances and look for him in his lair.
He wasn’t in his huge, almost empty, and sterile office either, but I sensed that he would show up any minute now. I had gotten so used to trusting my instincts that I didn’t bother to burden myself with Silent Speech. Instead, I grabbed a random book from a small white bookshelf over his desk, sat on the only (and very hard) chair in the room, and prepared to wait.
The book was The Pendulum of Immortality. I had seen Shurf reading it many times already. I didn’t have the chance to dip into this literary monument, however. Moments later, the door at the far end of the office opened with a quiet creak. I’m a fast reader, all right, but not that fast.
“You came even sooner than I expected,” I said, getting up from the owner’s chair. I rushed to put the book back on the shelf—I knew what a pain in the neck Shurf was.
“I am happy to see you, Max,” said Lonli-Lokli. His stone face looked almost friendly. “But I should be very much obliged if you returned the book to the place you took it from.”
“Wait, what did I just do?”
“You put it on the shelf—you didn’t return it. The book was the third from the right, and now it is the rightmost item on the shelf. Do not get me wrong, Max. I am all for changes in general, yet untimely changes do not facilitate a good mood.”
I submitted without a murmur and returned the book to its original place. Then I couldn’t contain myself and laughed. “Oh, this is just brilliant, Shurf! Sometimes I think that the World stands on your back.”
“It may well be true,” said this wonderful fellow in an indifferent tone. “Do you have any news for me, or have you just decided to pay a visit?”
“Yes and yes. But my news requires a more intimate setting: a candlelit dinner and whatnot. Got a minute?”
“Must it be candlelit?” said Lonli-Lokli. “There are not many taverns in Echo that use candles, you know. Illuminating gas is much more practical.”
“Fine, we’ll do away with the candles,” I said in the tone of a person who was willing to sacrifice the most sacred principles in the interests of business. “To be perfectly straight, we can do away with the dinner, too. I don’t have much in terms of news. I just like to combine business with pleasure.”
“So do I,” said Shurf, grinning. “And since you mentioned candles, we could go to the Vampire’s Dinner. Their cuisine is not bad, and I think they still don’t have too many customers there. They even have candles. Would this be agreeable to you?”
“The Vampire’s Dinner is a marvelous place. I had no idea you ever went there.”
“At one time, it was one of my favorite taverns, and I still find it pleasant. I used to dine there almost every day.”
“‘Used to’? Was it during your Merry Fishmonger days, by any chance?” I said.
“Oh, no. Much, much later. Incidentally, it was there that I met my wife. She caught my fancy by ordering precisely the dishes that I found virtually inedible. I thought that studying that woman would grant me access to a new side of human life that hitherto had been unknown to me. A side that does not find the taste of Kuankulex wine or Loxrian xatta revolting.”
I shook my head, bewildered. This fellow baffled me every now and then. Sometimes I thought he did it on purpose, and not entirely without ulterior motives. I’m sure he keeps a special notebook at home where he writes down how many times a day he has baffled me. He then rubs his hands together in his fancy laced gloves and chortles when nobody can see him.
The interior of the Vampire’s Dinner was as dramatic as its name: candles, semidarkness, and tabletops with splashes of red paint suggesting blood. A large but friendly fellow was
dozing off behind the bar. He had gone through the trouble of putting on some evening makeup, whitening his face, blackening his eyebrows, and painting some fluorescent formula around his eyes. Gobs of red lipstick were supposed to create the impression that this nice guy had just quenched his thirst with a few glasses of blood from his innocent victims.
I shook my head in amusement. The first time I had walked into the Vampire’s Dinner had not been the best day of my life. Yet even then, the place had lifted my spirits. Now, when I was feeling so wonderful and so complete, I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be.
Shurf and I were the only visitors in the tavern. We sat down at the table farthest from the door. The proprietor, happy with the sudden arrival of customers, promptly brought us the menu. He was friendly and courteous. Neither the protective gloves covering the death-dealing hands of Sir Lonli-Lokli, nor my Mantle of Death—both well known in the Capital—seemed to bother him. On the contrary, they seemed to complement the mood of the place.
“I remember once having a Breath of Evil here,” I said. “An excellent treat, I must say, Shurf. I highly recommend it.”
“Strange. I do not recall seeing it on the menu before.”
“That’s because you used to come here back in the unpalatable times right after the ratification of the Code of Krember. I came here in the good old days when every chef was ordered to wear the Earring of Oxalla and allowed to cook whatever he wanted.”
“Oh, I see. It’s one of the dishes of the old cuisine. Indeed, I have not come here at all since Sir Juffin solicited a relaxation of restrictions for the chefs. Still, Max, you are exaggerating, as usual. Last time I was here was not more than four years ago—not a hundred and seventeen, as one might assume based on your unreasonable assertion. Well, I should not pass up the chance of becoming acquainted with the dish you have recommended. Perhaps I should try the Breath of Evil.”