The Stranger's Woes

by Max Frei

  “Take the keys, Kleva.” Aloxto handed his subordinate several bundles of keys. I had no idea that there could be so many locks on the ship.

  “Show these gentlemen everything they wish to see.”

  The rest was easy. Led by the silent Kleva, we took a short trip around the holds of the ship. Here and there we saw huge, handsome men wearing dark cloaks. They looked at us indifferently while we listened to the jangling of the keys in the hands of the captain and pretended that we were looking for contraband goods. Boy, was it ridiculous.

  An hour later, Melifaro and I decided to call it quits. Melifaro produced a standard self-scribing tablet of the Customs Service from the pocket of his looxi, then pulled out a thick sheet of bluish paper from the chancellory office of Gurig VIII. It was an official permit for staying in Echo for the crew of the foreign warship. With the precious documents in our hands, we went to look for the leader of this gang of Mr. Universes.

  We found him exactly where we had left him an hour before. He was sitting, his legs crossed, contemplating his weapons, which were still lying on the deck.

  “Thank you for the hospitality, Sir Allirox,” said Melifaro, bowing. “I have your papers. I have almost finished filling them out. There is just one other matter we must discuss. I must inquire of you the purpose of your visit to the Capital of the Unified Kingdom.”

  “We have come to find out whether the filthy Mudlax, last of the vile kings of the edge of the earth, who fled in disgrace from the victorious army of the Conqueror of Arvarox, is hiding here,” said Aloxto.

  “All right, I’ll just note it down as ‘justice and revenge,’ then,” said Melifaro, nodding matter-of-factly. “Here are your papers. His Majesty King Gurig VIII will be happy to welcome you tomorrow to his Summer Residence, the Anmokari Castle. His messengers will arrive at the ship at noon to accompany you. Good night, Sir Allirox.”

  “Good night, Sir Sternlooking Master of two times fifty Sharptooths,” I added.

  “Good night to you, too. I will be honored to see you again, gentlemen,” said Aloxto, lowering his head ever so slightly again in a bow.

  We departed from under the hospitable “bright cloak of the Conqueror of Arvarox”—disembarked The Surf Thorn, that is—and stepped down onto solid ground.

  “I feel tiny and ugly,” said Melifaro. “Why did the makers of the Universe expend most of their generosity creating the citizens of Arvarox? I just fail to see any logic in that. Do you see any logic in it, Max?”

  “They are too handsome for me to be indignant about it, or to envy them,” I said. “I can’t compare myself to them. We’re too different. It wouldn’t be comparing people to people. It would be like comparing people to something else. Does what I’m saying make sense?”

  “It does. But I still feel bad.”

  It was no wonder that when we returned to the House by the Bridge we still felt crestfallen after witnessing the otherworldly beauty and grandeur of the subjects of the Conqueror of Arvarox.

  “Say, boys, are you sorry that your mothers didn’t marry some handsome boys from Arvarox in their time?” asked Juffin, who could read our faces like an open book. “Don’t envy them too much, though. Their lives aren’t all song and dance. Besides, they rarely live to see their hundredth birthday. Can you really hold it against them that at least something about them is perfect?”

  “Why don’t they live longer?” I said. “Too many wars?”

  “That, too. And they don’t consider life to be worth all that much. Neither theirs, nor anyone else’s. Life is a cheap commodity in their eyes. One could say that they don’t live long because they want to die. That would be, perhaps, the most accurate explanation. You see, many Arvaroxians die young, but not necessarily on the battlefield. Sometimes a handsome young giant will sit down in a corner to think, and an hour later, when they call him for dinner, he is already stiff and cold.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “How is that possible?”

  “It just is, Max. There are old people in Arvarox, but they are few and far between. A gray-haired old man in Arvarox is considered to be a great wonder: a senseless one that nevertheless clearly witnesses to the great might of the powers they worship. Anyway, boys, go get some rest. I’m truly sorry I had to take you from Sir Manga so soon, and on such short notice.”

  “That’s all right,” said Melifaro. “Someday it will be tit for tat. And thank you, sir, for the information about Arvaroxian customs. I don’t envy them anymore. It’s strange that Father never told me about them.”

  “It’s not strange at all. If Sir Manga hadn’t been bound by numerous vows of secrecy, his Encyclopedia of the World would have comprised not just eight, but eight dozen volumes. Didn’t you know?”

  “Vaguely,” said Melifaro. “To be honest, I never thought much about it. Let’s go, Max.”

  I looked at Sir Juffin Hully in bewilderment. “Don’t I need to stay at work?”

  “No, not today. I’ll need you tomorrow at noon. Try to look your best. You will meet one of the most avid admirers of your exploits.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “Where is your intuition now, Sir Max? Why, His Majesty King Gurig VIII, of course.”

  “Oh, no!” I said putting my head between my hands. “Please, Juffin, have mercy! Look at me. What impression will I make at the Court? Plus, I feel shy. And nervous.”

  “Don’t, Max. He’s very pleasant and quite harmless, believe me. I have to deliver a report about our work at Court tomorrow, and the king begged me to bring ‘that mysterious Sir Max’ with me. It’s only fair: one must meet in person the man whose cats will give birth to the first Royal Felines. Who knows what kinds of tricks you might teach them?”

  “Aw, look at him,” said Melifaro. “He wasn’t shy or nervous in Jafax, but he’s scared to see His Majesty. Trust me, Max, you wouldn’t want to miss it. There will be plenty of amusing people there. And His Majesty himself is a quite a cool guy.”

  “See?” said Juffin. “If Sir Melifaro himself approves of it, you’re going to like it. That I can guarantee you. Now, go ahead and have some fun, you poor victims of long-standing diplomatic ties.”

  And away we went. That day, our way of having fun was one of the simplest varieties. We went back to Melifaro’s place to pick up the man from Isamon, who was patiently waiting for us in Melifaro’s living room with a proprietary air. The three of us then went to the Fatman at the Bend in the New City. The tavern belonged to the wife of our colleague Lookfi Pence. I had promised Lookfi I would visit their tavern, and this was an excellent opportunity.

  Lookfi was waiting for us at the door.

  “Sir Max, Sir Melifaro! Goodness, what a pleasant surprise! Do come in.” He took a step back to make way for us, knocking over a heavy wooden chair. A female customer shrieked in fright, and Lookfi was very embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, so sorry. I’m such a klutz. Varisha! Come and see who’s here!”

  “Are you all right, hon?” said a beautiful red-haired woman rushing down from her post behind the bar. Her violet eyes were filled with such tenderness that Melifaro and I both sighed with jealousy.

  “No, no. I’m quite all right. I’m used to knocking over this chair. I do think it stands too close to the entrance,” said Lookfi.

  This reassured the beautiful Varisha. She gave us a kind smile and told us that her chef had been instructed to charm us with his culinary skills. She returned to her post behind the bar, and Sir Lookfi invited us to sit at a cozy table by the far wall of the dining hall. It took us only a few minutes to persuade him to keep us company. A moment later the chef brought in a tray with food. As far as I could tell, the food here was on par with the food at the Glutton Bunba.

  Rulen Bagdasys, who had been left to his own devices for a time, blustered and swaggered and then grew shy by turns. He gobbled down the contents of the plates in front of him, but the expression on his face was that of a person who was being poisoned. He was quiet for about thirty minutes, b
ut after that he could no longer contain himself.

  “You call this turkey? Are you out of your freaking minds? Who’s the moron who—”

  Melifaro leaped up in shock and covered Rulen’s mouth with his hand. Rulen had to choke back the rest of his utterance.

  “Is this man with you, gentlemen?” asked Lookfi.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” I said. “Sir Anchifa Melifaro just returned from a world cruise and brought back a present for his younger brother. How do you like him?”

  “A present?” said Lookfi. “But it is prohibited to own slaves in the Unified Kingdom. Only servants.”

  “To my profound regret, he’s neither slave, nor servant,” said Melifaro. “He’s a petty household disaster.”

  “Oh, I thought the gentleman just happened to be sitting at our table. I am sorry, sir, that I have been neglecting you all along.”

  Rulen Bagdasys opened his mouth. He saw Melifaro’s clenched fist hovering dangerously close to his large nose, and nodded without saying a word. Then he sat quietly for a while, and the tension in the air dissolved. Melifaro and Lookfi picked apart the two new policemen who were at the top on our White List: Lieutenant Apurra Blookey and Lady Kekki Tuotli. They also didn’t fail to mention Lieutenant Chekta Jax, whose mental abilities left him no hope of ever making it to our top dozen—though combining his brawn with someone else’s wit, according to my colleagues, could be very fruitful. I listened to this with half an ear and grieved over the fact that I hadn’t had the chance to meet the new heroes of the City Police Department personally.

  “It’s not that you have been too busy,” said Melifaro. “They could have stopped by your office and introduced themselves. That’s the way it’s usually done. But you see, they are a little shy. Probably scared of you, too. You know, Nightmare, that’s the best shortcut to fame: stir things up big time, and then disappear for a year. By the time you return, you’re already a living legend. Say, was that why you disappeared?”

  “But of course,” I said. “Why else would I disappear? I’ve always wanted to become a legend. Since I was a kid. And, mind you, a living legend. By the way, where’s the precious token of your brother’s esteem and affection? Where did your family treasure go?”

  Rulen Bagdasys no longer graced our table. Maybe he had grown bored with our chatting about work and left to find adventure.

  “Huh? Beats me,” said Melifaro, looking around. “Well, it’s all for the best, anyway. If he gets lost, I’ll inherit a hundred dozen pairs of red tights from his luggage. He left his stuff at my place. I just hope he won’t remember where I live. On second thought, I think the poor fellow is still here. Is someone taking a pounding in that part of the hall, or what?”

  “A pounding?” said Lookfi. “No one takes a pounding in my tavern. The Fatman is a respectable establishment.”

  “It was a respectable establishment,” said Melifaro. “Until tonight. You shouldn’t have been so persuasive with your invitation, Lookfi. Now, we’ve ruined your tavern’s reputation. Oh, look! It is a fight!”

  “Baan!” Lookfi shouted in distress. “Varisha, where’s Baan? There’s a fight going on there.”

  “I know, hon,” his better half answered from behind the bar. “Baan is already dealing with it. Some customers had a little quarrel with that funny man that arrived with your friends. Did you just notice? They’ve been going at it for quite a while now.”

  “Is this man really with you, or is he lying to me?” A short but sturdy man was looking askance at my Mantle of Death. He dragged the Isamonian by his ear over to our table. Rulen had been fairly roughed up, and his left eye was turning, slowly but surely, black and blue.

  “Unfortunately, he’s not lying,” said Melifaro. “What happened to him?”

  The short man looked at Lookfi uncertainly.

  “Don’t be afraid, Baan,” said Lookfi. “You did the right thing. Now, tell us what happened.”

  “Well, two ladies caught this gentleman’s fancy, and he decided to introduce himself to them. The ladies were surprised and told him that they’d come here to eat, not to seek a partner. He insisted on joining them and sat down at their table. The ladies began to protest, and that attracted the attention of some other customers. They tried to explain to your guest that his behavior was unacceptable, but he wouldn’t listen. Then he started grabbing the ladies. Lady Varisha called me, and I had to use force. If you only knew what kind of language he used in front of the ladies, sir. I grew up by the port, and you know what kind of people you run into there, but I swear I’d never heard anything like that before in my life.”

  “What kinds of things was he saying?” asked Lookfi.

  I was dying to know myself, and Melifaro was already groaning and laughing in anticipation.

  “I’m sorry, boss, but I can’t repeat such foul obscenities. Let him tell you himself.”

  “That’s quite all right, my friend. You may go now,” said Lookfi. Then he turned back to us. “I think there must have been some misunderstanding.”

  “That son-of-a-gun hit me!” said Rulen Bagdasys.

  “Figures,” said Melifaro. “You’re lucky I wasn’t there. Lookfi, I think we’d better leave now. Next time we drop by, we’ll come without this skirt-chaser, I promise you.”

  “If you feel lonely, you should go to the Quarter of Trysts,” Lookfi said to Rulen.

  “The Quarter of Trysts? What is it? What is it? Tell me!” said Rulen Bagdasys.

  I pictured this funny, fat-bottomed man becoming someone’s “destiny,” if only for a night. This should have been amusing, but my good mood had been completely ruined. Sometimes I take other people’s troubles too close to heart.

  Half an hour later we took leave of Lookfi (who was falling asleep) and his wonderful wife. Rulen Bagdasys demanded that we take him to the Quarter of Trysts right that very minute.

  “You can’t go there with a black eye,” Melifaro lied. “So you’re going to have to wait it out.”

  The Isamonian became visibly upset. A few minutes later I pulled up by Melifaro’s house on the Street of Gloomy Clouds.

  “Want to stay at my place?” said Melifaro. “Yours probably looks like a Mutinous Magician’s playground right now.”

  “It probably does,” I said. “Thank you, pal, but since I’m back in Echo, I’d better go say hi to my kittens.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re a family man now,” said Melifaro. “Well, up to you, then. Say hello to His Majesty Gurig VIII for me.”

  “Good golly, I almost forgot about that! Why, oh why did you have to remind me?”

  As I drove off I heard Rulen Bagdasys shouting. He was trying to find out from Melifaro who “that son-of-a-gun Gurig” was.

  To my surprise, my place was spotless and tidy. The workers had gone, leaving on the table a bill for an astronomical sum. I thought they deserved the money, though. Ella and Armstrong, shocked by the changes, were sitting by their bowls. I lay down on the Kettarian carpet and combed my little furries’ long silky hair. They purred so happily that the walls trembled. Life was perfect. Almost perfect, anyway.

  I showed up at Headquarters at noon, as I had promised. Sir Juffin Hully hadn’t really dressed up for the occasion, but his expression was quite stern and sedate. I was astounded.

  “Whoa!” I said. “Sir, are you sure the king is some guy named Gurig, and not you?”

  “Have I gone a little overboard with the stateliness? Should I tone it down a bit?” said Juffin.

  “No, no. Don’t change a thing,” I said. “It’s a direct hit.”

  “I certainly don’t need to hit anyone.”

  Juffin hurried out into the hallway to look in the large mirror. He returned quite pleased with himself.

  “You have a talent for overstatement, Max. I look perfectly fine,” he said, and turned to the buriwok. “Are you ready, my friend?”

  “I am always ready,” said Kurush calmly.

  “You’re absolutely right,” said Juffin. He
stroked the bird affectionately and placed it on his shoulder. “Shall we, Max?”

  “We shall. I’m prepared to march to the ends of the earth in such company.”

  Well, “the ends of the earth” was an overstatement. The Headquarters of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order is called the House by the Bridge for a reason. It stands on the very bank of the Xuron by the Royal Bridge, which connects the Left and the Right banks of the river with Isle Rulx. On the island stands the tall Rulx Castle, the main Royal Residence. As we crossed the bridge, I admired the old castle walls. They breathed the aura of ancient and forgotten mysteries.

  Then we crossed Louxi Bridge and stopped at the main gate of the Summer Residence of Gurig VIII. If anything, the Anmokari Castle looked like an oversized but neat country villa.

  “How underimpressive,” I said with hauteur. “Call that a palace? Now, the Rulx Castle is one heck of a palace.”

  “Don’t be such a snob,” said Juffin. “I, for one, prefer the Summer Residence. It doesn’t have that alarming, creepy-crawly feeling of old sins and ancient curses that the Rulx Castle has. Did you feel that?”

  I nodded and said, “To be honest, that’s just what attracted me to it.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful! You’re back in shape, then. A single night in the bedroom of old Filo was more than enough for you. Who would have thought? If I remember correctly, just two days ago you were sick and tired of mysteries, your own in particular.”

  I looked at my boss, surprised. I didn’t remember saying anything like that to him. I generally try not to complain. It’s just not my style.

  A few moments later I remembered part of a conversation with Melifaro. “Don’t you get a little sick of the air of mystery that surrounds you?” he had said. “Yes,” I had replied. Just some worldly chitchat, nothing more.