by Max Frei
“Oh, of course I won’t,” I said. “No curses, even if you’ve brought me all the horse manure you’ve collected over a century.”
“We would never do such a thing,” said Fairiba, surprised. “What strange things you say!”
He turned to his compatriots, who were still diligently consuming the pastry. That’s right, I thought. I haven’t ordered them to stop “eating heartily.”
“Bring in the gifts! The king is ready to accept them.”
And the downpour of gifts began. For starters, there were several baskets of exotic fruit. The one that made me the happiest was a huge melon. I had extensive experience tasting the cuisine of the Unified Kingdom, but I had never seen or tasted a single local melon. I smelled it and realized that it was indeed a real melon, even though its size surpassed my most lavish notions of Mother Nature’s generosity.
“Awesome,” I said. “You can’t imagine how much I like this . . . thing. What’s it called again?”
“This is a berry of the steppes. Have you forgotten?” The old man shook his head in disapproval. He looked like a botany teacher who was giving an exam to a bad student.
“A berry, huh?”
I tried to lift the “berry” but failed at the very first attempt. I didn’t try anymore after that.
The gifts were not limited to the fruits of nature. I became the happy owner of a whole stack of touching handmade mats and a plethora of colorful kerchiefs, shorts, and other exotic garments. Some things looked brand new, yet others seemed to be secondhand stuff. It looked as though the members of the official delegation had stripped naked everyone at home before setting off on the long journey. I shuddered but didn’t say anything. After all, I had promised Grandpa Fairiba to behave myself.
My patience was rewarded: one of the nomads brought a huge furry dog. The dog looked like a grander version of a snowy white Old English sheepdog, a kindly giant sticking out its charcoal-black tongue in ecstasy.
“Sinning Magicians, will you look at this beauty!” I said. “I’ve always wanted a dog, and here it is. I must have felt it coming.”
“This is the best of my sheepdogs,” said Barxa Bachoy. “These sheepdogs have always lived in the king’s house. We know, sire, that you have no need for several hundred dogs to protect you, so we have brought only one, just to keep up the tradition.”
“And you’ve done exactly the right thing. He’s great, but several hundred would’ve been a bit over the top.”
I squatted by the dog and carefully put my left hand on the back of his neck. The dog yelped and turned over on his back, exposing his furry belly.
“Ah, you do still remember how to tame these beasts!” said Fairiba. “Now he will die defending you if you so wish.”
“Jeepers!” I said. “That won’t be necessary. I can grapple with my own death, thank you very much. I need this dog alive.”
“It is very lucky for us, sire, to have guessed your wish,” said Barxa Bachoy. “I hope you will also like our final gift.”
I looked up and saw three tall, slim, and virtually identical young women standing in front of me, looking scared to death. They had huge black eyes, charming long noses, and short dark hair. (Later I learned that all women in the Barren Lands cut their hair short because they consider the hassle of dealing with long hair to be beneath their dignity.) My goodness! These girls were not just the spitting image of one another: three replicas of the great Liza Minnelli stood before me. Just what a man needed to lose all his marbles quickly and painlessly.
I plopped down on the floor right by my new four-legged friend, who immediately stuck his hairy snout under my hand. I mechanically stroked the dog, much to his visible delight.
“Who are these young ladies?” I said.
“They are your wives, sire,” said Fairiba.
“My wives?” I said, horrified. “Oh, boy.”
This could only happen to me. That was my special brand of luck. I was about to give these simple folk a short but emotionally charged lecture on the inadmissibility of attempts to ruin their king’s personal life, but the imploring look in the eyes of old Fairiba made me shut my mouth. Fine, I thought, we’ll set tantrums aside for the time being. It’s unlikely that these guys will have the temerity to sneak into my bedroom and verify how my marital life is unfolding. But they’ve got to explain themselves, drat it!
“Is it customary among the men of my people to have many wives?” I said.
“Sometimes it happens, sire,” said Fairiba. “When women deem it necessary.”
“I see,” I said, although I didn’t see anything. “Do these young ladies really deem it necessary to marry me off? All three of them?”
The three peas-in-a-pod copies of Liza Minnelli were silent. I think they were about to faint. I had no idea anyone could be that scared of me.
“This is also part of the tradition,” said Fairiba. “These three are not regular women. They are the daughters of Isnouri herself.”
“Oh, wow. That explains everything,” I said, without trying to conceal my sarcasm.
“Do you wish to banish them, sire?” Fairiba said with trepidation.
“That wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” I said, angered. “Fine, since I promised not to incur curses, they can stay. But please don’t ever bring me any more wives, okay? What I just got should be enough for the rest of my life. Now be a good sport and tell me who that Isnouri is. I must know at least something about my mother-in-law.”
The old man’s wrinkled faced lit up. “Isnouri is a very old woman of our people,” he said. “She is at least three thousand years old, maybe even much older. No one knows for sure, for she does not live among the people. Isnouri rides the steppes alone, without friends or retinue. They say she even sleeps without dismounting her menkal.”
“Her what?”
“Her menkal—the animal that we ride. Have you forgotten that, too, sire?”
“I have,” I said, mentally making note that it was easy to forget something you never knew in the first place. “Okay, now I know where your legendary Isnouri spends the night. Go on.”
“From time to time, Isnouri visits her people to leave one of her daughters with them. We believe Isnouri does not need a man to conceive a daughter. For she lets no one touch her—neither man nor woman. Not even to hold her hand.”
“Yet the kids just keep coming, is that it?” I said. “How many has she had so far?”
“Those who taught me the wisdom remembered that Isnouri had left her daughters with us fourteen times. Seventy years ago, she brought us these three sisters. It was a first: never before had she brought us more than one child at a time. We thought they were destined to be alone forever. The daughters of Isnouri had always married the kings of the Xenxa people, and we had no hopes of ever finding you.”
“Wait, they married the kings?” I said. “I thought it was the man who decided whom to marry, not to mention the king.”
“The man never decides anything,” said Fairiba. “Many men have learned to convince themselves that they make the decisions, yet I assure you, sire, it was the daughters of Isnouri who chose to marry your ancestors, and not the other way around.”
“Okay, fine. So they did,” I said, growing gloomier. Then I turned to the scared triplets. “And you’ve chosen me. Well, congratulations, girls. A really smart choice, I must say. Can you please tell me your names? I can’t marry three strange girls at once.”
“Xeilax, Xelvi, Kenlex,” whispered the most synchronous trio in the world.
“Marvelous. Now I’m warning you, though, that I’m going to mix you up all the time,” I said, “so no offense. You’re going to live here for the time being. I’ll call for the help; they’ll show you the house. Pick any rooms and make yourself at home. You can ask anything you want. You’re the king’s wives, after all.” I gave a nervous chuckle and continued. “Get settled, grow roots. Meanwhile, I’ll mull over what to do with you. In a day or two, I’ll come visit you here and we’ll hav
e a chat. It’ll make me very happy if it turns out you can say a few words other than your names.”
Then I looked at Fairiba. “That’s all, I hope?”
“That is all, sire,” said the old man.
“Sweet. I’ll ask the servants to accommodate you for tonight, and tomorrow you’re heading back home. I’m sure you and Barxa Bachoy know how to rule over my people to make them happy. You can send me messengers sometime in the middle of next winter. If there’s an emergency, let me know immediately. Now I’m off.”
“We will do as you wish,” my newly appointed “prime ministers” said in unison.
“I’m sure you will,” I said and sent a call to the butler.
A dozen servants appeared in the doorway. I told them to take care of my subjects and my wives. Who would have thought I’d be giving this command one day? Confusion, which is usual in such situations, arose, and I decided it was time for me to sneak out.
“Let’s go, buddy,” I said to my furry friend and pulled him gently by his ear. The dog got up and started pacing around me. I thought that the gigantic melon would feel honored to adorn my dinner table and tried to take it out of the basket one more time. This time, I managed to budge it a tad, but it was clear there was no way I could carry it under my arm. It didn’t occur to me to call the servants—I was too unaccustomed to them. Instead, I put the melon back on the floor and gave it a gentle kick. The melon rolled in the desired direction. I should probably introduce soccer to this place, I thought. The usual pastime of starving barbarian kings.
The dog ran alongside me and even helped push the melon. Attaboy, I thought.
“I think I’m going to name you Droopy,” I said to my four-legged friend. “Your size notwithstanding, what else would I call the dog of a Secret Investigator? I guess I could go with Hound of the Baskervilles, but I’m afraid it would affect your personality in the wrong way. So Droopy it is. Okay?”
He was okay with it, or at least he seemed to be. Unlike the dogs of my home World, he didn’t wag his tail. He flapped his ears instead.
When Droopy and I reached the dining hall, the company greeted my new friend with a unanimous Awww! My manner of serving fruit also caused quite a furor. The melon itself, though, didn’t make much of an impression.
“It has a weird taste,” said Juffin. “Are you sure this ‘berry of the steppes’ won’t make you sick? Because if you get sick tonight, it’ll be the most devastating disaster in the history of Magic Chases.”
After this remark, Melifaro didn’t even want to taste the melon. The Shimaro princes each took a bite, politely put their pieces back onto their plates, and refrained from commenting.
“Fine, I get to eat it all then,” I said, biting into the melon. The boss’s ominous prophecies would not stand in the way of this gastronomical orgy. The melon tasted exactly how I’d thought it would. Even better.
“So how do you like your new job so far?” said Melifaro. “Do you like being the barbarian king? I’ve always wanted expert advice on this matter.”
“Well, what can I say? It comes with some benefits. Have you seen my dog? It’s a gift from my vassals. What would I do without them? They brought me a whole bunch of useful things. Like a harem, for instance.”
“A harem? Dream on,” said Melifaro. “What would you do with a harem?”
“That, my friend, is exactly the issue here. The sooner I resolve it, the better.”
“Resolve it? Resolve what?”
“The issue. The harem. My harem. They brought me a bunch of these girls, you see. Now I’m going to have to quit investigating because I’ll have to be a full-time daddy. I’m going to have to tie their bows, buy ice cream, and so on. I think I’m definitely going to have to jump rope with them, too. First and foremost.”
Melifaro blinked in confusion, trying to understand why I was making such absurd jokes.
“Seriously, Melifaro,” I said, sighing and sinking my teeth into another piece of melon. “I’m not joking. It’s all true.”
“Funny,” said Juffin. “How many wives did you say you had?”
“Three.”
“Ha! Call that a bunch? Look on the bright side. If you were a queen and got three husbands instead, now that would’ve been a problem. Besides, you need someone to live in this beautiful house, which you are incapable of fully appreciating.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I said. “That’s why I allowed them to stay.”
“Well, I’ll be darned,” said Melifaro, who had just realized that all this talk about my wives wasn’t a joke. “How come some people are so darn lucky, huh? A hole in the heavens above you, Nightmare! Why, why is this sinning World so unfair? You get everything, and some good people get nothing!”
“‘Good people’? Meaning you? Okay, stop whining. Do you want me to ask my subjects to bring you a dozen wives? I’m not greedy.”
“I do!”
“You should get used to the fact that you command your subjects; you don’t ask them, Sir Max,” said Prince Jiffa. He sounded as though everything we had been saying up until this moment was perfectly logical and fine, and only in this particular instance did I make a tiny mistake.
“But of course,” I said. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll definitely command them. Our Melifaro will have the largest harem in the Unified Kingdom. Don’t fret, my friend.”
“Sorry, no go,” said Juffin. “You are a king from another land. You can do whatever you please, and then some. Melifaro, on the other hand, is an ordinary citizen, his many immortal exploits notwithstanding. He’ll have to do without a harem.”
“Oh, I see,” I said and turned to Melifaro. “I thought you were a regular person, but in fact you’re an ‘ordinary citizen.’ No harem for you then, I’m afraid.”
“Okay, Ayonxa. Now I’m really quitting this job. I’m going to be your deputy,” Melifaro said to the older Shimaro. “Nobody appreciates me for what I’m worth here.”
“It’s high time you quit,” said Prince Ayonxa. “Don’t worry. You and I, we’ll pass a new law, get our own harems, live long and happy lives, and rule wisely and . . . Jiffa, help me out here. How does one rule? Wisely and . . . ?”
Prince Jiffa said nothing but looked at his older brother and Melifaro as if they were his own slow-witted but beloved children.
And that was the end of the dinner.
I told Droopy to keep his spirits up and handed him over to the strangers that thought of themselves as my servants. Then Juffin and I headed to the House by the Bridge, and Melifaro and the Shimaros went elsewhere to “finish up the evening.” I was a little worried, but Jiffa’s serious face gave me hope that the citizens of the Capital were in no danger.
“It didn’t take too long, did it? It went even faster than I thought,” said Juffin, getting into the amobiler. “You were great, Max.”
“Not me, but whoever first decided not to feed guests at such events. Can you imagine what would have happened if all those ambassadors and grandees had found their way to my dinner table? They would have stayed until the next morning.”
“Absolutely. That’s why they don’t serve food or drinks at official receptions.”
“Is that so? How thoughtful of them to take pity on us poor helpless monarchs.”
“Well, that’s not the only reason, of course. It’s considered beneath the ruler’s dignity to feed every guest. We usually sit at a table with those we consider to be our equals or those whose company we enjoy, right? Any ruler, including His Majesty King Gurig, has the right to entertain whomever he considers to be his friends. You and I have both had dinner in his palace on more than one occasion. But to feed every single visitor? A royal court is not a tavern. After all, if someone really wants to eat at the expense of His Majesty, he can go to any tavern and ask the proprietor to put his meal on the Crown’s tab. The law says that the king must pay for all the poor and starving.”
“How quaint!” I said. “And if someone decides to eat at my expense, he can take a ride t
o the Barren Lands, order a melon-stuffed menkal, and put it on my tab.”
“What’s a melon-stuffed menkal?” said Juffin.
“Menkals are the antlered steeds of my so-called homeland. And melons are what you thought would make me sick.”
“Werewolves forbid, Max,” said Juffin. “I think you’ve overindulged yourself in this suspicious vegetable. Sometimes I even begin to believe you were born in the Barren Lands.”
“You’re probably going to laugh, Juffin, but those things grow in my World and I’ve always loved them. Trust me: I used to eat tons of them and nothing’s ever happened to me.”
“Hmm,” said Juffin. “Talk about coincidence.”
Our discussion about melons and menkals ended soon after it had started: we had arrived at the House by the Bridge. Juffin jumped out of the amobiler and disappeared behind the door at the speed of bad news. I slapped my forehead: with all this hullabaloo I had completely forgotten about Shurf’s books.
What’s taking you so long, boy? Juffin showed his impatience by sending me a call.
I forgot to bring books for Sir Shurf. He’s going to try to kill me again, and this time he’ll have every right to do so. I’m thinking I should probably go back real quick.
It’s up to you, though you’ll be missing out on your share of kamra.
Ouch, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Okay. I’ll be with you in a second.
I already had a plan. I stuck my hand underneath the seat of the amobiler, trying to probe the Chink between Worlds. It was a great opportunity to keep in shape.