by Max Frei
Anday brightened up immediately. The tragic depths of his eyes melted, until he was literally beaming.
“Of course you do! What a fool I am to even ask.” And I sent a call to the Glutton.
“Takeout from the Glutton Bunba?” Anday said with the air of a connoisseur, sniffing the contents of his portion. “Nice little place. How I used to live it up there back in the day. Sound the alarm! The crowns just spilled out of my pockets onto the floor, and I wouldn’t even bend down to pick them up. I left that to the sweaty plebs.”
“Really?” I was surprised. The fellow didn’t look like a rich man, even a former one who was down on his luck.
“Ah, Sir Max, how little you know,” Anday said, shaking his head. His face bore the mournful expression of a retired king. “Do you think I’ve been writing these blasted newspaper articles all my life? Give it up! I wasn’t even ninety when I became the Master of Refined Utterances at the Royal Court. I had just completed my studies, and I had real prospects. The werewolf lured me into a bout of drinking with that scoundrel from the Echo Hustle and Bustle. How we went to town that night. Sound the alarm! I just let my hair down and blabbed to him, friend to friend. I told him some Court gossip, and the next morning an article came out about it. The fellow didn’t hesitate to stir up a sensation. He stood the whole town on its ear for a dozen days! The dinner was over once and for all. You catch, Max?”
“A sad story,” I said. “That’s how it goes. Don’t worry, Anday. You have a good career now, too.”
“It’s not a career, it’s a bunch of crap!” said the courtier-turned-reporter. “Writing for any old stinky pleb who can’t even read without sounding out the words, if he can read at all. You think they pay me for that? You can forget about it. They just pay lousy rotten pennies, if they pay anything at all. I could be a real writer. Go to Tasher, and—”
“Why to Tasher?”
I knew about Tasher only from the account of my acquaintance Captain Giatta, who was forever in my debt for saving him from a most unpleasant and disgusting form of death. Sir Juffin had rather unceremoniously tried to liberate the poor guy from his valuable mother-of-pearl belt, a horrific bejeweled luxury item made by the mad Magician Xropper Moa. I stood by and, when it became necessary, was able to share the pain of the enchanted captain.
It was harrowing, but we both remained alive. Finally unbuckled, Captain Giatta settled down in Echo. He announced that he was dutybound to repay my good deed with another. Until he repaid this debt of honor, he would live in the Capital of the Unified Kingdom so as always to be near at hand. I had tried thinking up a few trivial requests a few times, but the perspicacious Tasherian always responded sternly, “You don’t really need me to do that.” I had to admit, he saw right through me.
The clever captain lived quite comfortably in Echo. Guys like him always land on their feet in life. So maybe it was all for the best.
I never passed up an opportunity to collect information about this still unfamiliar World, so the Tasherian captain had to keep up with a barrage of questions when I was around. And his stories had not led me to believe that Tasher was a refuge for intellectuals—quite the contrary.
“You no catch, Max! It’s warm there,” Anday said with a dreamy look in his eye. “Fruit grows in your backyard. And I’ve heard that in Tasher anyone who knows how to read and write commands a great deal of respect. All the philistines bow down before even a semiliterate person. They worship the ground he walks on. You catch? Think of how they must treat a writer! Sound the alarm!”
“It stands to reason,” I said, laughing.
“May I come in, Sir Max?” The impressive nose of Captain Shixola peeked in the door. “Oh, pardon me. Do you have visitors?”
“It’s a friend. But we won’t be long. Come back in a few minutes, all right?”
“Of course,” said Shixola, withdrawing his nose from my office.
Anday’s almond-shaped eyes turned sad again. Apparently he had hoped our entertaining discussion would continue. Maybe he even supposed that the free dinner would seamlessly turn into breakfast. “Wait for me in the reception room, friend. I have to discuss some matters with my colleague, and then we can keep on shooting the breeze.”
It was a long time since I had been so agreeable. Had he put a spell on me by any chance?
“In the reception room?” Anday said gloomily. “Thank you, Sir Max, but I think I’ll be going. You are no doubt busy, and I want to look in on Chemparkaroke. I could do with a hefty portion of Soup of Repose right now. All these sinning memories, you know . . . By the way, Max, how are you doing for cash these days? I mean, could you lend me a crown? I hope Sir Rogro won’t forget to pay me for the story about your cats. Then I could pay you back tomorrow.”
“I seem to have even more than one crown. How rich I am, unbelievable.”
I fished out a few coins from the desk drawer. I’m not sure they were even mine. Juffin and I regularly emptied out the contents of our pockets in the drawer before we set out for another encounter with a lawbreaker. When loose change starts spilling out of the pockets of the looxi of a Secret Investigator at such crucial moments, it looks rather silly and undermines the criminal’s sense of awe.
“Thank you, Sir Max. You sure do catch. Sound the alarm! Tomorrow I’ll . . . or maybe the next day . . .”
“Don’t bother to pay me back. Consider it the fee for your rejected masterpiece. By the way, I advise you not to show up with it around here anymore. I’m a nice guy. You don’t even have to call me ‘sir’ if you don’t want to. But for publishing filth like that I might just kill. Do you believe me?”
“Here, take my self-scribing tablets!” Anday thrust them at me. “Keep them in your office since you paid for the article. Don’t throw them away, though.”
“Wonderful,” I said with relief. “That way everyone will be happy. Good night, Anday.”
“Good night, Max.”
My new friend abandoned the “sir” rapidly and easily, as one should always part with empty formalities. That approach to things always sits well with me. Anday Pu could hardly have guessed that he had found the shortest path to my heart.
The penguinesque wonder disappeared temporarily from my life, and Captain Shixola materialized in his place.
“You really weren’t busy, Sir Max?”
“Really and truly. What’s going on?”
“Well, nothing worth taking you away from your work, but if you aren’t working on a case . . . I came to fill you in on a few rumors since—”
“About me again?” I grinned. “You know, I think that’s enough for the time being. I’m very impressionable, and right now I have to think about others. In the interests of the common good and state security.”
“No, Sir Max. This isn’t about you. It’s about those outlaws who are giving us the runaround just now. I know it will sound a bit crazy, but I think you ought to know about even this kind of nonsense. I first wanted to discuss the matter with Sir Juffin Hully, but I didn’t dare approach him with what are still just rumors. He’s a busy man.”
Right, I thought. A “busy man,” Juffin is. Especially recently. First he yawns. Then he takes a sip of kamra. Then he has a little chat with Kurush. A very busy man, indeed. But my inner monologue didn’t bear repeating out loud, so I kept quiet and nodded solemnly.
“I’m the one to bring your rumors to, you are quite right about that. Well, what are they?”
“Lately Kamshi and I have had the opportunity to interrogate many of the victims. I mean those who were relieved of some of the burden of their wealth—sizable sums—by the Magaxon Foxes. And those lucky ones who managed to get away and keep their belongings, as well. They have given us mountains of evidence, some of it useful and some of it garbage. And you know, a good fourth of these people claim that the outlaws are still in the service of none other than the late Sir Jiffa Savanxa. Same red hair, same horrible scar running from the nostrils down the to the chest.”
“A dead Sir Jiffa? Y
es, that’s been known to happen,” I said, feigning wisdom.
“I think the explanation might be quite simple,” Shixola said. “You see, all the victims noticed that the leader of the Fox gang bore a striking resemblance to Sir Jiffa, but he looked like a much older version of him. This is not unlikely. First, coincidences occur all the time. Second, it’s likely that the new Magaxon leader wants to imitate the old one in any way possible. Then only one mystery remains: the scar. You know, in the Gugon Forest during the Epoch of Orders, Gaganova the Lemming led a band of outlaws. The fellow lost both of his ears in a single skirmish. Later he was killed, and his son, Gaganova the Cardsharp, became the leader. He hacked off his own ears to look more like his papa. This history of outlaw leaders cutting off their own ears continued for several centuries. There were several generations of Gaganovas, and they all hacked off their own ears until a sheriff of Gugon got wise and put a stop to these antics once and for all. Our gentlemen brigands are a romantic bunch, and for them Red Jiffa is like . . . like Loiso Pondoxo, for your clients.”
“I see. A symbol. Do you think he dyed his hair red, sliced his face, and all the rest?”
“More than likely. Jiffa never fell into the hands of your department while he was alive. It’s unlikely he would draw attention to himself when he was already dead. And yet . . .”
“What?”
“I guess it’s better to tell all, even if it sounds utterly mad. All these guys who swear up and down that Jiffa is alive knew him well in their time. One of them Jiffa had robbed before. Others were wined and dined by him in the Golden Rams. The ones who say he only looks like Jiffa are just going on hearsay. I don’t like these coincidences, Sir Max. We really ought to tell Sir Hully.”
“Can do. I’ll tell him in the morning. It’s no problem for me to wag my tongue. But are you sure that’s the only thing you want of him, Shixola? Be frank, now. It would ease your mind if one of us went with you, wouldn’t it?”
Shixola shrugged. “Of course, but—”
“But you don’t have the formal right to turn to us with an official request because when your boss is indisposed, only his deputy, Captain Foofloss, has that right. And you’d have to lure him out of the tavern and let him dry out a bit, which still solves only half the problem. Because then you have to explain to him a case that doesn’t hold water, at least not yet. And this task is too big even for fellows as clever as you and Kamshi. Am I right?”
“You’re a visionary, Sir Max,” said Shixola, smiling broadly.
“Yes, sometimes I even surprise myself.”
“Can you help us?”
“You know, Captain, if I had Boboota and Foofloss as my bosses, I would long ago have been slumbering in a hammock in a remote Refuge for the Mad. But not only do you not give up, you try to do some good. Shixola, I bow down before you. Oh, please don’t take that amiss. I’m not mocking you. It’s just a manner of expression. I mean it very sincerely. I’ll leave no stone unturned for you if it’s within my power. Sir Juffin, as far as I know, is already one of your biggest fans. So everything will be fine. When do you plan to start the spring cleaning of the Magaxon Forest?”
“Oh, we won’t wait till spring.”
“I was just asking when you were setting off to hunt down these Magaxon Foxcubs. Year, day, hour? It’s all the same to me, but Juffin Hully will be curious since he may be parting with his comrade-in-arms.”
“Thank you, Sir Max. You think he’ll agree to it?”
“Don’t you? Sir Juffin adores any flouting of official rigmarole and other acts of romantic daring.”
“Kamshi and I planned to set out for the border of the Magaxon Forest tomorrow night, arriving there by next morning. The rest of the boys are already there. They left Echo one by one. Now they’re passing the night in neighboring villages, collecting information, keeping an eye on things. If two dozen brawny fellows descended on a tiny hamlet in a big pack, it would look pretty suspicious, wouldn’t it? But if there’s just one lone guy snooping around each of the surrounding villages, it’s not going to surprise anyone. Praise be the Magicians, they wouldn’t even recognize your face, much less those of the city policemen, in the outlying regions. We’ll all gather in force the day after tomorrow, early in the morning. Then we’ll get down to work with a vengeance.”
“You’ve planned everything so well. But why morning and not night? Can’t your men see in the dark?”
Shixola bristled. “Are you joking again, Sir Max? All Ugulanders can see in the dark, even policemen. It’s just that, as you know, these outlaws usually come out in the morning. They’ve only been seen once or twice at night.” Shixola waved his hand dismissively.
I filled Captain Shixola’s mug with kamra and stared at him expectantly.
“Well, what it comes down to is that Kamshi and I are leaving tomorrow night,” he said after a long pause. “It’s about a four-hour drive there. And if Sir Juffin agrees . . . You know, Sir Max, I feel awkward asking this, but Kamshi and I would feel more comfortable if you . . . well, if Sir Juffin would let you be the one to accompany us.”
“Me? Why me? It seems to me that Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli is the man you want. He’ll make you feel like you’re standing behind a brick wall.”
“Of course, you’re right. But with a person who once saved the life of Sir Shurf himself, one can feel even more secure. And it’s very easy to get along with you, in spite of your—”
“Warped sense of humor?” I gave a snort. Then I said, “Where did you get the idea that I saved someone’s life? More town gossip?”
“Sir Shurf and I are neighbors,” Shixola said. “You know, maybe I shouldn’t spread this around, but his wife is my little sister’s best friend. By the way, I didn’t mean to criticize the way you express yourself. I had something else in mind. Namely, that when a person wears the Mantle of Death, it’s hard to expect him to act like a regular person. But dealing with you is pure pleasure.”
“And that’s why you’re inviting me to the Magaxon Forest. For exemplary behavior.” I was flattered. “I think Juffin will let me go. He adores collecting adventures, especially if I’m the one going through them. And if I find one on my own, he’ll prepare us a basket with freshly baked pastries for the road, out of pure joy.”
Juffin was so happy to find out about my upcoming departure that I felt more like a mother-in-law than his loyal, beloved assistant.
“Splendid, Sir Max,” the boss said with a dreamy smile. “Fresh air, the good men of the City Police looking timidly into your eyes. I’d like to be in your shoes.”
“Fine, you’re welcome to them. What’s stopping you?”
“They didn’t invite me,” Juffin said. “Those mean policemen forgot to ask me to their picnic. And I’m proud by nature, so I refuse to beg.”
“What are you so glad about?” I said. “Are you that sick of me? I thought I cheered you up.”
“That you do,” Juffin said. “It’s always a barrel of laughs with you. I was afraid you were going to ask for a vacation, but after fun and games like this, your conscience will never permit it. And I’ll have a good excuse for sending you to the werewolves when you come to me with all your summer plans.”
“Ask for a vacation? Me? Magicians forbid.” I screwed my face up in disgust. “No way! I can’t survive more than three days without work. I start to suffer from imaginary aches and pains, and to bemoan my broken heart and wasted youth.”
“All the better, then. I’m curious to know whether you’ll be singing the same tune a few years from now.”
“It will be the same tune you’re singing. When did you last have a vacation? Five hundred years ago, when you were still young and foolish, I suppose?”
Juffin harrumphed. “Oh, no, five hundred years would be . . . but come to think of it . . . In any case, be careful in that forest. If you really do come face to face with some species of the living dead, though, I know you can take care of yourself. You seem to specialize in that lately.”
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““Thanks. It’s okay as far as jobs go.”
Juffin smiled his caustic smile. Then he looked at me earnestly and shook his head. “Well, if things start going wrong, you’ll wriggle out of it, I’m sure. And if it’s your everyday band of brigands, they’ll just breathe fire, blow smoke out of their nostrils, and dive into the nearest trench. But I beg you, don’t show off. Don’t stand in the line of fire, and don’t lead a regiment of overzealous policemen into battle. You don’t know how to fire a Baboom anyway, and you’re as good a target as any other human being. But I have to admit, this affair smells strongly of Forbidden Magic.”
“Why is that? Did you have a presentiment?”
“None to speak of. But I’m familiar with Red Jiffa’s story. There was a time when he offered his services to me. Of course, it was back when they called me the Kettarian Hunter and not Sir Venerable Head. Jiffa had a very romantic nature—but not a shred of talent. Not cut out for this kind of work at all. So I sent him packing.”
“I wish I could have laid eyes on the Kettarian Hunter at least once,” I said dreamily. “It’s hard for me even to imagine.”
“There haven’t been any significant changes in me since that time, if you must know. Well, except that I look older. More distinguished. And I sleep more, of course. But it’s the unlucky victims upon whom I usually make the biggest impression, so you don’t stand much of a chance there, either.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll get over it. But I keep interrupting you. You should give me a cuff on the ear or something. You were talking about the ‘talentless’ Red Jiffa. What’s the story?”
“I’ll give you a cuff on the ear if it makes you happy. And as for Jiffa—you know, Max, people like him always come to a bad end. First he tried to do some conjuring, insofar as he was able. Then he realized he just didn’t have what it takes, and he completely let himself go. In his bitterness, he killed some Junior Magicians. Then some former Magicians who had survived the new order tried long and hard to do him in. It’s very likely there is an unfortunate coda at the end of his biography.” The boss gently stroked the feathery crest of the dozing buriwok. “Kurush, my clever fellow, what do we know about the death of Sir Jiffa Savanxa? Come on, time to wake up.”