by Max Frei
Shurf spoke in such a serious tone that it sounded as though he was talking about choosing a weapon that would (or wouldn’t) save our lives.
After the small pieces of cake on our plates had “blown up” like popcorn on a hotplate, and Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli had deigned to approve my choice of dish, I decided it was time to talk business.
“I was there last night, Shurf,” I said. Shurf raised his eyebrows in perplexity, so I had to clarify. “In our dream—yours and mine. I went to sleep in Filo Melifaro’s bedroom and found myself on that sinning beach. I didn’t find any strangers there, though. The beach can still hold the title of Most Desolate Place in the Universe. What I did find there, however, was your footprints in the sand. Frankly, it shook me to the core.”
“It did, did it not?” said Shurf. “Are you sure those were my footprints and not someone else’s?”
“Positive. If I weren’t, I’d have told you that I found footprints that could be yours, but I’m absolutely certain those were your footprints. By the way, the footprints were made by boots. Do you keep them on while sleeping?”
“That is nonsense. Naturally I take my footwear off before I go to sleep. Yet in my dream, I was wearing boots, that is true. Hold on a moment, Max. Are you saying that you always walk in your dreams naked?”
“Uh, no, of course not,” I said, taken aback. “But this dream . . . See, Shurf, this beach isn’t just a dream—it’s a real place. I’m sure of it now. I wish I knew which World it was in. Also, you know what I think? I think there are no people there. Not just people—there is no living soul at all. I’ve had dreams of empty places before, but not so empty that they gave me the willies. The other places had some kind of fathomable ‘human’ emptiness, so to speak. I mean, the assumption was that there was someone there, just somewhere far, far away. And let me tell you, I was pretty happy in those dreams. So I thought that my desolate beach was someplace like that—abandoned, but fathomable and safe.”
“And you do not think that anymore?” said Lonli-Lokli.
I shook my head. “I’m telling you: for starters, it’s real. It isn’t just part of some kind of dream you can discard and forget while you’re brushing your teeth. Second, that place is absolutely empty now. And it wasn’t before. See, before, I wasn’t scared of that place—I liked it. I’m not such a complicated person that I love something I fear. Long story short, I don’t want you to go there anymore, Shurf. But it’s not up to you, if I understand it correctly?”
“It is true. I, unfortunately, have no control over the situation,” said Shurf. “What are you going to do about it? I have studied you long enough to know that you are not going to leave this alone. Am I right?”
“I wish I could just leave it alone,” I said, sighing. “I just don’t think I can.”
“Then I guess I am lucky,” said Lonli-Lokli with a barely noticeable hint of doubt in his voice. “I presume you are going to discuss this with Sir Juffin.”
“Of course I am. Even if you didn’t approve of it, I’d have to. All my problems have something to do with or somehow affect Juffin. I think it’s just one of Nature’s laws. And at this point, it’s the only thing I can do. I don’t know where to begin such an investigation. Maybe he knows.”
Shurf carefully picked up a small cup of kamra, took a sip, and put it back on the table. I still can’t figure out how he manages to do this without taking off his massive protective gloves. I guess I never will.
“Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Why, by the way, did you think I might not approve of it?” he said.
“I don’t know. Just a thought. In any case, you’re a free man and you have the right to have personal secrets. And I’m not the one to pry into them. Then again, I’m not too eager to obtain your permission to do so either.”
Lonli-Lokli gave me a long, piercing look. His gray eyes, which usually radiated icy calm, lit up with such blinding fury that I almost choked on the air I was inhaling.
“I am not a free man. I am the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives. ‘Death in the Service of the King,’ as you put it. Therefore I have no right to personal secrets. Such luxuries may come at too high a price for those who have no obligation to pay for me.”
The oratorical fury of my ferocious friend extinguished itself as suddenly as it had ignited. His eyes dropped, and he continued in a quiet voice. “I am telling you this only because you and I are in the same situation. We should not entertain meaningless illusions about our freedom and ‘right to have personal secrets.’ This is not a tragedy—simply a certain period in our lives. Perhaps one day it will end, but for the time being we must play by the rules. It is imperative that you tell Juffin this story, no matter what I think about it.”
“Has something happened, Shurf?” I said, taken aback. “Is this conversation bothering you? I’ve never heard you speak with such passion before. Even the Mad Fishmonger that I had the pleasure of meeting in Kettari wasn’t such a passionate speaker.”
“Something has happened,” said Lonli-Lokli, nodding. “And the sooner I find out what it is, the better. This conversation is indeed bothering me because there is a part of me that does not want you to talk to Juffin. So I was talking to myself, rather than to you. It would pain me deeply if I learned that I had offended you.”
“Hey, I don’t take offense that easily, Shurf. But you got me worried. All for the better, I guess. Now I’m going to dive right into this.”
“Very well,” said Lonli-Lokli. “The sooner you do it, the better. You know, I have a feeling that I will indeed require your help, even though I cannot put into words why. It is a rather peculiar feeling: I am not used to needing or relying on someone else’s help. I prefer to think of myself as the only living creature in the Universe, neither requiring nor expecting anyone else to help me. Such a conviction does not make life more comfortable, but it gives me steadily good, practical results.”
“You yourself have said on more than one occasion that one should not dismiss an opportunity to gain new experience,” I said, laughing. “All right. Let’s have one last shot of the blood of innocent babes and head out into the open air. You, I’m sure, want to get back home, and I’m going to spoil our boss’s placid serenity with my incomprehensible monologue about the mysterious nature of my precious dreams.”
“What do you call the ‘blood of innocent babes’?” said Shurf. “I do not recall seeing anything like that on the menu. Is this a new house beverage?”
“Nah,” I said. “But considering our reputation, any drink that we order can be considered to be the blood of innocent babes, don’t you think?”
“I am sorry, but I do not find this funny,” said Shurf in an injured tone.
“Yeah, well, you’re not alone there,” I said. “I don’t find it very funny either. The joke was more along the lines of Sir Melifaro Junior. Too bad he’s loafing around somewhere instead of hanging on my every word around here.”
I ended up demanding another cup of kamra, which, alas, was not the best kamra in Echo. On the other hand, I had reason to believe that it wouldn’t be the last cup in my life, and in this respect, I was quite satisfied with it. Shurf, upon considering the matter for a short time, ordered himself a glass of some dark wine.
“Aren’t you going to pour it into your holey cup?” I said, disappointed, watching as my colleague brought the glass to his lips. “I was just going to ask for a sip. I like to stick my nose into other people’s business, as you know.”
“Presently, I do not feel the need to call upon the power of the holey cup. I do not consider the day I have lived to have been particularly difficult. Besides, I am feeling somewhat excited. I believe that your conviction that the barren beach is a real place has affected me.”
“Let me tell you, it’s nothing compared to how it’s affected me,” I said. “But I’ve resigned myself to it and tried to think about doing something else. It’s one of my little rules: whenever a situation gets out of hand, I try to think about doi
ng something else. You can always do something else; the tricky part is to start. Anything that distracts you from an unsolvable problem will do fine. Because when you try to control something beyond your capacities, the world can explode into a million pieces in your hands.”
“This is one of the strangest lines of reasoning that I have ever heard,” said Shurf, nodding in approval. “Still, I do not think that such an extraordinary piece of advice will be of use to anyone but yourself.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I sometimes need a piece of good advice, too, though. Say, Shurf, do you think I can borrow your cup? I have this premonition that I simply must not pass up the chance of drinking out of your magic vessel.”
“Must you?” said Lonli-Lokli. “You are beginning to behave like a true former Magician of our Order, Max. It is quite funny. Why, you should get your own holey cup.”
“Oh, yeah? But how? I don’t know any of your rituals.”
“You have the most peculiar notions about magic,” said Shurf. “What rituals? Either a man has the power to hold liquids in a bottomless vessel or he does not. Rituals are for scaring novices with—well, to instill a certain mood in them, rather.”
“But I am a novice. No need to scare me, but a ‘certain mood’ is just the thing for me.”
“No,” said Shurf. “You can already do away with rituals.” He produced his famous bottomless cup from somewhere in the folds of his snow-white looxi and handed it over to me. “What are you going to drink from it?”
“Well, how about this kamra?” I said. Then I poured the contents of my cup into Lonli-Lokli’s holey cup and drained the now almost cold beverage in one gulp.
“Are you feeling anything?” my friend said, surprised. “You see, kamra is not exactly the drink that helps achieve the best effect.”
“Really? I think that I’m about to lift off. Seriously! Like any second now.”
“It does not in truth matter what you think. The power assists one to fly in actuality, not simply to enjoy the illusion of flying. I hope I will have an opportunity to explain certain aspects of the ways of the Order of the Holey Cup to you, if you wish. But I already know that you will: curiosity has always been one of your strengths. We should go now. It is getting late, and as you know, I live in the New City. I even intend to ask you to give me a ride: unlike the drivers of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, you drive very fast. It would take me at least an hour if I chose to use one of the official amobilers.”
“Jeepers! Of course I’ll give you a lift. I’ll get you home in less than a dozen minutes.”
“I should be very grateful to you for this. My wife prefers to spend evenings in my company whenever possible. Frankly, I am quite surprised: I am not sure I am a very good interlocutor.”
“Well, I’m not surprised at all. It’s safe around you, Shurf. While you’re around, one doesn’t have to worry that this wonderful World might come to an end.”
“A most peculiar thought,” said Lonli-Lokli, frowning. “Well, in any case, it is time to go.”
We paid our bill to the cute “monster” in makeup still dozing off at the bar and went outside. The dim orange light from the streetlights was doing a poor job of dispersing the darkness. The moon that night refused to take part in illuminating the streets: the sky was covered in clouds so thick they seemed to have been made by some pedant like Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli. I could easily imagine Shurf, in all seriousness, distributing thick, dense patches of autumnal clouds across the sky. Just the job for him.
I sat behind the lever of the amobiler. Shurf sat next to me, and I took off as fast as I could. Kamra may not be the right beverage for drinking out of a holey cup, but I enjoyed the strange lightness that was pouring into me like champagne pouring into a glass: it might start overflowing any moment.
“Look, Shurf, I have another question for you,” I said. Frankly, I didn’t think the question I had in mind was that important. I just wanted to chat a little more. “About our mutual dreams . . . I don’t quite follow how you manage to sense the presence of that hypothetical stranger. You told me yourself that you never got to see him. Then, at the same time, you’re sure he’s there, and you’re almost sure you don’t know him. So it appears that something’s going on between you two. Does he talk to you, or what?”
“I am not sure that he talks to me,” said Lonli-Lokli. His voice lacked the usual confidence. “But anything is possible. You know, Max, for some reason it is hard for me to focus when I try to remember what happens in these dreams. I remember the barren beaches, I remember my conviction that someone else is there, and I remember the threat emanating from that someone. When it comes to remembering what happens between him and me, I draw a complete blank. I am truly sorry.”
“Hey, that’s all right, Shurf. You know, when I want to remember my dreams, I close my eyes and try to doze off. Not to fall asleep for real but just to doze off, to enter the border state between reality and dreamland. This is important. It’s not going to help you now—it only works right after you wake up—but you should definitely try it next time.”
“Are you sure you want me to remember?”
I was a little unnerved at the unfamiliar sarcasm in Shurf’s voice, but I wasn’t surprised. All evening he had been a little too uptight—well, to the degree that the imperturbable Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli could be uptight. Besides, I was focusing on the road: I was flying down the narrow streets of the Old City at such speed that I couldn’t afford to relax even for a split second.
“I think it makes sense to try to remember everything that happens to you, even in your dreams,” I said, smiling, and turned my head to my colleague.
I rotated it just slightly, just enough to adhere to my own standards of courtesy while keeping my eyes on the road. That courteous, barely detectable movement was enough for me to be able to notice something unusual—no, not just unusual, something that went against everything I knew to be within the realm of possibility. Shurf had just finished taking off the protective glove from his left hand. His death-dealing inner glove—the former hand of the dead Magician Kiba Attsax—shone in the twilight of the evening, cutting through the orange mist of the street lamps with its dangerous whiteness.
If I had allowed myself even a second to evaluate the situation, if I had wasted any time on doubt, reflection, or even panic, death—my indefatigable companion—would definitely have caught up with me that night. Yet I didn’t even bother to assess the situation. Praise be the Magicians, I didn’t waste time trying to understand something that could not be understood. Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli, my most predictable and reliable friend, who, according to my naive, childish notions, held the World on his shoulders, was about to kill me there and then without elaborating on the details of his eccentric intention, to put it mildly.
I hit the brakes, and the amobiler stopped as abruptly as it could. Even lucky boys like me rarely get away with a trick like that, but I was spared. Something cracked in my right wrist, which had been squeezing the lever, but unlike the face of my passenger, mine didn’t hit the windshield. He hadn’t expected such a turn of events, so he catapulted out of his seat. Instinctively, he threw his left hand with the death-dealing glove forward, to protect his head. The windshield died a quick and painless death, leaving only a pile of silvery ashes behind. Barely realizing what I was doing, I picked up the protective glove from the floor of the amobiler, grabbed the arm with the lethal hand just below the elbow joint, and yanked the protective glove onto it. I think I acted faster than was humanly possible: the entire operation took less, much less, than a second.
“Quit it with your stunts, you reptile!” the creature hissed.
What else would you call it? That voice didn’t belong to my friend Shurf. No way. Not in a million years.
It had taken the creature an instant to recover; it was spoiling for a fight. I was surprised I had managed to pull anything off at all, but I didn’t have time to be puzzled. I didn’t have much time for anything.
>
Completely on their own, the fingers of my left hand snapped a short, dry snap, producing a tiny green fireball, a Lethal Sphere. None other than Shurf Lonli-Lokli himself had taught me this trick way back when. It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d ever run me through a test that would cost me my life if I failed it.
“What a load of crap! All your tricks are useless, you snake. You haven’t learned a thing,” my colleague said, laughing, and he caught my Lethal Sphere with his right hand, in the protective glove covered in runes.
The green glow wobbled and disappeared. At the same time, Lonli-Lokli’s left arm dislodged itself from my grip without any visible effort. I had never been a strong guy and didn’t stand a chance against Lonli-Lokli himself.
I had to admit he was telling the truth. I didn’t have too many tricks in my arsenal—at least none that could stand up to the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives, a veritable killing machine whose “skillful hands” many an ancient Grand Magician had failed to escape. Maybe I could shrink him and hide him between my thumb and my index finger?
I was sure, however, that my favorite trick would be tantamount to suicide: however small Sir Shurf might be, nothing was going to prevent him from exposing his death-dealing hands even while he was curled up in my fist. And then I’d be dead. Very, very dead.
Spit at him! Spit at him now, you idiot! my mind was yelling, but this uninvited adviser had to stuff it. I wasn’t going to waste precious time on experiments, the results of which were already obvious to me.
My logic was approximately as follows: Sir Shurf was my colleague, my comrade in arms, my partner in many perilous adventures—my mentor, one could say. Since he himself had taught me a great deal of magic, he knew what to expect from me. Moreover, one would assume, he was prepared for everything, as well. For example, I was sure he had some kind of protection from my venomous spit. To get out of this alive, my primary objective was to forget all of my old tricks and pull off something absolutely unimaginable, something that shattered all his preconceptions of me and, indeed, my own preconceptions of myself.