by Max Frei
I leaned against the wall and wiped the perspiration off of my forehead. Boy, what a little exchange this was turning out to be! Certainly the first of its kind in the hallowed hallways of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order.
“The truth is, Melamori, I don’t consider the local notions and omens to be silly superstitions anymore,” I said after a pause. “I am glad that we’re both alive, though. That’s already a great thing, isn’t it?”
Melamori nodded, embarrassed, and I fell silent for a while. Then the dam broke, and I opened my mouth to speak.
“Time,” I said. “Everything takes time. I have learned tons of amazing things in the past two years, Melamori. Someday I’ll learn to fool fate. This is not one of those resolutions I can learn to keep a day before the Last Day of the Year, is it? But someday I will. I just hope it won’t be too late.”
“It’s never too late for that,” said Melamori. “Things like that always happen on time, or they don’t happen at all. We’ll see. I’m glad you told me, Max. I really am. But don’t hold it against me if I act as though we’ve never had this conversation. I’m tired of living with a void in my chest. I’ve got to cheer myself up. I’ve got to try, at least.”
“And you will,” I said, nodding. “You’ll see. And so will I. Or have I already? Oh, I don’t even know anymore.”
Melamori gave me a long, penetrating look, shook her disheveled hair, waved goodbye, and disappeared into the Hall of Common Labor. I stood in the hallway for a few moments, then unstuck myself from the wall and left the Headquarters.
Melifaro was waiting for me at an empty table in the Glutton Bunba, fidgety with impatience.
“Where in the name of Dark Magicians have you been, Nightmare? Are you back to your old habits? How many have you murdered? ’Fess up!”
“Hundreds. Thousands. I don’t know,” I said absentmindedly. “I’m sorry, buddy. Something came up. See, I was being crowned. Becoming a king is no trifling matter, believe me.”
“What do you mean ‘a king’?” said Melifaro, blinking. “Is this one of your lame jokes from the Barren Lands again?”
“No, I’m being absolutely serious. I’ll tell you everything on the way. Let’s go, or my subjects will swarm in here, begging us to take them along on the trip. I have no idea how I’ve survived this far without a retinue.”
“Boy do you have a warped sense of humor today,” said Melifaro. “Let’s stop by my place first. I need to pack a few things.”
“Okay. Then I need to stop by my place, too,” I said. “By the way, my subjects are way more practical that you. They carry all of their possessions with them. In rucksacks this big.”
I stretched my arms as wide as they would reach. There’s no harm in exaggerating a little bit for the love of my people.
Melifaro’s place on the Street of Gloomy Clouds was a spacious, well-furnished, yet fairly desolate abode. It felt like the owner was an infrequent visitor to his apartment and used it solely for hitting the sack. I also noticed that, like me, Melifaro didn’t keep servants. That was something I approved of.
“If you want a drink, look in the bookcase. I think I saw something there a couple of days ago,” said Melifaro uncertainly. He glanced around his living room in perplexity.
“No, thanks. I’m driving. By the way, until now I was positive I was the owner of the most gigantic mess on either bank of the Xuron. Now I see that I was basking in someone else’s limelight.”
“You don’t even come close,” said Melifaro proudly.
“I guess you have to have some kind of edge over me,” I said snidely in the direction of his back as he ran upstairs.
Melifaro pretended he hadn’t heard me. Maybe he just didn’t have a comeback ready.
A minute later he came down, waving a half-empty traveling bag in his hand.
“Let’s go, Max. Can’t bear looking at this filthy pigsty another minute. But that’s all right. In two days, this place is going to be crystal clean. I decided to follow your example and hire some mysterious cleaning service. They say my lair is not as hopeless as it appears.”
“I’d like to believe that. Actually, though, I like your place as it is.”
“Really? Well, I guess compared to the flimsy tents of your people this does look like a nice place. By the way, you said you’d tell me about your coronation. How did that happen?”
“It was a little misunderstanding. I told them my real name, and it turned out I was their king. Rather, I have the same name as a king of theirs who disappeared as a child. That’s about it.”
Melifaro’s jaw dropped. “Are you pulling my leg? Then again, knowing you, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you were a—”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I’m a poor orphan with no kith or kin, gone astray in the murky darkness of remote memories of the past. A king? Of all the nonsense!”
All the way over to my place, Melifaro was silent, which was completely at odds with his usual habits. I think he was processing the new information. Then again, the ride wasn’t a very long one.
Chaos reigned in my living room. Almost a dozen gloomy workers were loafing around, and their supervisor paced the large room, pretending to be busy. I shook my head in reproach.
“You know what, guys? I’d really appreciate it if you’d get down to work, like right now,” I said. “I have to live here.”
The workers backed up toward the exit, and their supervisor opened his mouth to make an excuse. I could really feel for the guy. I wouldn’t want to be working for someone wrapped in the Mantle of Death, either.
“Don’t say anything. And don’t be scared,” I said. “Let’s make a deal. You fix the place up real quick—in two days—and I pay you three times the amount we agreed on. For a rush job.”
“But that’s impossible!” said the workers almost in unison.
“A man is rarely aware of the true extent of his abilities,” I assured them. “Especially in an emergency. And this is an emergency, trust me. Yours, not mine.”
Having issued this ultimatum, I went upstairs to pack.
You do have a kingly manner, my friend. Melifaro’s Silent Speech reached me on the stairs.
We do, indeed, I replied.
Ella and Armstrong were sleeping in my bed. I melted at the sight for just a short moment, then opened the closet. I grabbed a thin skaba and the first looxi I could find, and stuffed them into my traveling bag. That would be plenty, I thought. Then I ran downstairs. The sure way to kill Melifaro is to make him wait for more than a minute.
Melifaro was very much alive, though. He was talking to the supervisor.
“Oh, he will kill you, no two ways about it,” he said to the poor supervisor. “He’ll kill you first and ask questions later, believe me. You’d better do what he says.”
“I second that,” I added. “Excellent advice, Sir Melifaro. I’ll never cease to wonder at the depths of your wisdom. We’d better go now. If I stay here any longer, I’ll have to kill myself. And that will be a sad end to this fascinating story.”
“What story?” said Melifaro.
“The story of my life, silly.”
I rushed outside and settled behind the levers of the amobiler. I found it absolutely pointless to linger any longer in the construction site my house had become. Melifaro followed suit, satisfied after his meaningful exchange with the local proles.
I should really take a ride with Melamori, I thought, as we pulled away. I’m sure she’s getting better and better at it. Well, looks like I’m not a lost cause, after all. I can still do something useful and not just destructive.
“I think you drive even faster now,” said Melifaro. He was talking nonstop. “Now I know what you’ve been up to all year. You were made the personal driver of Magician Nuflin. The old man was longing for a rush of adrenaline. Am I right?”
“Yes,” I said nonchalantly. “But then he got motion sickness. That was the end of my career. Now my only option is to become king.”
M
elifaro came up with a number of scenarios for my possible future, most of them quite risqué. I listened to him absentmindedly, speeding up even though I was driving at a dizzying speed already. I was overcome by a strange sort of stupor that left no room for words or thoughts. I had a vague premonition of something inevitable, vague, but vertiginous. The state I was in was more pleasant than not, though I couldn’t be sure of that, either.
“Where are we going, by the way?” Melifaro asked.
“What do you mean? To your family estate, unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“No, I haven’t. But we should have made a turn a dozen minutes ago if we really wanted to get there.”
“A hole in the heavens above you, Ninth Volume!” I said, making a U-turn at full speed. “Why couldn’t you say so sooner?”
“I wanted to see if you’d figure it out. You see, my inquisitive mind strives to comprehend the incomprehensible. You, for instance. But then I figured that you were quite capable of driving us all the way to Landaland, so I had to stop my experiment. Don’t miss the turn now, or we’ll be driving up and down this blasted road until it’s time to go back to Echo.”
I pictured the amobiler plowing back and forth endlessly on the country road and laughed. Right then, my stupor dissolved and I was fine. Or was I?
“You’re not yourself today,” said Melifaro, looking at me with concern. “What is it? Is the crown too small, or is the robe itchy?”
“Your concern doesn’t suit you at all,” I said. “I’m always myself. Who else would I be? Just tired, that’s all. I’ve got so much work now. It feels like while I was gone, you guys weren’t doing anything except making notches on the table. Every last one of you. But don’t you worry, a couple of nights in your grandfather’s bedroom and I’ll be as good as new.”
“You will,” said Melifaro. “That’s for sure. Tell me, don’t you get a little sick of the air of mystery that surrounds you, Nightmare?”
“Yep,” I said.
Melifaro was so satisfied with my confession that he even went quiet. For no less than a dozen seconds. Then we arrived, and he had to open his mouth again to greet his father.
Sir Manga Melifaro was waiting for us at the gate. He hadn’t changed at all since the last time I saw him, except perhaps for his thick red braid, which had become even longer. Amazing, actually, how becoming this unusual hairstyle was to the renowned encyclopedist.
“Your brother has gone completely insane,” he informed his son, and then turned to me. “Good evening, Sir Max. I don’t believe my eyes. Have you really come to visit us?”
“I find it hard to believe myself, but it looks like I am here, indeed.”
“I went down on my hands and knees before this monster,” Melifaro said. “For three days in a row I groveled, begging him to honor our humble abode with his presence. I was doing it for you, Dad, so you’re forever in my debt. Which brother has gone insane, by the way?”
“Take a guess,” said Sir Manga, rolling his eyes like a martyr.
“Well, Anchifa stands the greatest chance of losing it. He’s more talented, and his life is full of adventure. Am I right?”
“But of course,” said the head of this unique family. “I came outside to greet you so we could discuss one matter in particular. I was going to send you a call, but I kept procrastinating. Then, when I saw your amobiler flying down the road a few inches above it, I realized that it was too late to send calls.”
“Flying?” I said. “Are you joking, Sir Manga?”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Max, but I am certain that the wheels were not always touching the ground. My compliment is thus based on facts.”
“So, what did my brother do this time?” said Melifaro.
“He brought a guest from Isamon, no less,” said Sir Manga. “And what a guest he is! You’ll soon see for yourself. He’s quite a phenomenon.”
“A guest? I don’t see anything unusual about it. It runs in the family. I mean, you’re no saint in that department, and look what I drag in,” said Melifaro, waving his hand in my direction.
I shook my fist in front of his nose. The fist, I’m afraid, was not hefty enough to inspire anyone with fear.
“Ah, but in half an hour you will see what I mean,” said Sir Manga. “We can’t kick him out, because he showed hospitality to our kinfolk in his homeland. Oh, how I wish Anchifa had spent that night out on the street! Your mother and I have reached the limits of our patience. She’s threatening to run away to her relatives in Uryuland right after she casts her eyes upon you for the last time. You know, wives have never left me before, and I’m too old to deal with this now. Son, I’m begging you, please take this honored guest with you to the Capital. Maybe he’ll get lost there. Echo is a big city, after all.”
“Is he that bad?” said Melifaro. “Good golly, who is this guy? I’m really curious now. At any rate, you don’t have to worry. If need be, I’ll take him away. It’s an old routine for Anchifa and me: he makes stupid mistakes, and I patch things up for him. But what does he think about it himself?”
“What do you think? Your brother couldn’t be happier. This fellow is worse than a dozen sea cadets, so Anchifa can let loose his foulest curses on him. The fellow himself seems absolutely indifferent to them. On top of everything else, he’s deaf. But we should go in to the dining room. I beg your pardon, Sir Max. I got carried away, talking about our family matters. It wasn’t very polite of me.”
“Oh, but it was very intriguing,” I said, smiling.
“Do not despair, Father. I brought a professional killer with me, so everything is going to be fine. We’ll bury his body in the garden. It won’t be the first time. Right, Max?” said Melifaro with an innocent look on his face.
“That may be one way out,” said Sir Manga pensively. “But only as a last resort. If he refuses to go to the Capital.”
“Sinning Magicians! He didn’t even notice I was joking,” Melifaro whispered in my ear in alarm.
“Were you?”
Now it was Melifaro’s turn to shake a fist in front of my nose. I heaved a sigh of envy: his fist looked much more intimidating than mine.
The dining room was empty. Sir Manga sat down at the dining table.
“We seem to be in luck. I suggest you help yourself to a little snack, boys. The night is short, so don’t miss your chance.”
“I always obey my elders,” I said, sizing up the multitude of dishes on the table.
“Oh, look at Mr. Do-Right here,” said Melifaro, and dug his teeth into a tempting pastry.
“You just got here and you’re already gobbling away! Way to go, brother. No need to keep your stomach and backside unemployed.”
A small, skinny man appeared in the doorway. I knew at first sight that he was one of those slight, sinewy men you don’t want to mess with. He could knock any opponent to the ground, weight category notwithstanding. On his head he wore a beautiful multicolored shawl, its ends almost touching the floor. A loose black looxi barely reached his knees—too short even by the fashion standards of the Capital. His checkered skaba wasn’t much longer and revealed a peculiar sight: the high tops of boots decorated with intricate designs.
Behind the man stomped the giant Baxba, the eldest of the brothers, whom I had had the pleasure of meeting during my previous stay. He greeted us very courteously, sat down comfortably in a large chair, and focused on food. I think Baxba was the only quiet, meek member of the family.
Melifaro gave a cry of delight and rushed up to hug Anchifa. It was some time before the brothers finished their greeting ritual and Melifaro decided to introduce me.
“Anchifa, this is Max. They hired Max so that I could sleep at night.” Then he turned to me. “You no doubt guessed that I was just embracing the terror of all shallow puddles, not to mention high seas, the irremovable stain of shame on the family name, and the only remaining hope of our father: Sir Anchifa Melifaro.”
“And I was about to think that this was the fruit of your secre
t visits to the Quarter of Trysts, Dad,” said Anchifa, chortling. “So, you’re not my newfound brother, then, sir? That’s too bad.”
“It’s quite possible, quite possible,” said Sir Manga. “My memory isn’t what it used to be. What do you think, Max? Perhaps the boy is right.”
“I’m afraid not. I’d love to join the ranks of your clan, but no more than twelve hours ago I learned that I’m a descendant of the King of the Lands of Fanghaxra.”
“This calls for a celebration!” said Anchifa, opening an enormous bottle made of dark-blue glass. He had already heaved himself onto the table. His left foot, clad in the beautiful boot, rested in a plate of cookies. Melifaro was starting to seem like a paragon of innocence compared to this brother of his.
“Have you lost your mind? No, seriously, are you crazy?”
An extremely long-nosed, slightly balding man then entered the dining room. I almost choked on my food when I saw his attire. He was wearing shiny red tights like a ballet dancer’s. The tights proudly and honestly exposed the chubby thighs of their owner, along with the curves of his very feminine bottom. The bizarre tights formed an effective contrast to his heavy boots and short leather jacket. I guffawed in the most disrespectful manner. To my surprise, Melifaro was completely calm.
“Haven’t you seen an Isamonian before?” he said, surprised. “They all dress like that.”