by Max Frei
The dessert that goodhearted Kimpa decided to regale the exhausted heroes with exceeded my wildest expectations. This meant that the interrogation of the box was postponed for another quarter of an hour.
Finally, Sir Juffin made his way into the study. I followed behind, squeezing the smooth body of our singular and precious witness in my cold, moist hands. No denying, I was nervous. Something told me the little box was ready to talk to us, and this unnerved me all the more. I had always been fond of horror films, but now I would have been glad to watch The Muppet Show. Just for the sake of variety.
This time, the preparations for communicating with the box were far more elaborate than before. Sir Juffin rummaged around for a long time in the drawer where he kept the candles. Finally, he chose one, bluish-white, with an intricate design formed by tiny dark-red smatterings of wax. For five minutes or so he tried to start a fire using some kind of awkward flint stone, the workings of which I couldn’t fathom. At long last his efforts met with success. Placing the candle by the far wall, Juffin lay on his stomach in the opposite corner and gestured to me to join him. This I did. The floor in the study was bare and cold; there were no rugs. I thought: perhaps these inconvenient little rituals qualify as a kind of bribe to the “powers of the unknown.” Are the “powers of the unknown” really so petty?
Everything was ready. The little box occupied a spot exactly in the middle, between us and the candle. I had to exert very little effort to reach the little box’s memory. The box seemed even to have been pining for the opportunity to talk to someone. The “picture show” began with a bang—we just had to watch.
Sometimes my attention wandered. I had never had to perform this feat of concentration for more than an hour at a time in the past. When this happened, Juffin silently handed me a cup of Elixir of Kaxar. Once in a while he also took a nip of the herbal infusion. I don’t know whether he really needed it, or was just taking advantage of the situation.
The box, a clever little thing, showed us only what we were really interested in! True, Sir Juffin had often said that objects are inclined to remember first those events in which magic is present. He must have been right. But I liked to think that the little box was very much aware of what we were seeking. They say that we become sincerely attached to someone we help without expecting anything in return. Judging by my involuntary tenderness toward the box pilfered from Makluk’s bedchamber, this was certainly the case.
It started with the fracas involving the tub, which the injured party had told us about recently. There was the fragile old man with the handsome, weary face of an ascetic, the capricious expression of a spoiled child frozen on it. Our acquaintance Maddi is holding the washbowl. The old man’s little finger dips into the water. His lips curl in displeasure. The servant gets up off his knees, goes toward the door. The face of the sick man, contorted with rage, assumes a kind of demonically cheerful expression . . . he pitches and scores! The washbowl made from the finest china (we must presume) strikes the forehead of the unlucky fellow and smashes to smithereens.
Stunned, blinded by water and a thin stream of his own blood, Maddi executes an agile sideways leap worthy of an Olympic medal—if the Olympic Committee recognized the sideways leap as a full-fledged sport. The fatal mirror lay in the direct path of the poor Maddi, and blocked his flight. Nevertheless, everything turns out all right—no broken noses or missing teeth. No irreparable damage has been done—Maddi just bumps his face against the mirror, smeared it with his blood mixed with the water, and that is all.
Astonished, he turns to Sir Olli. At the sight of his face covered with blood, the fury of the old man turns to fear; the capricious grimace to an expression of shamefaced guilt. Peace negotiations get underway.
None of those involved in the event noticed what we were able to see. About the surface of the old mirror skittered a light ripple, like a sigh. In the places where the unlucky servant’s daubs of blood had touched the ancient glass, something began to pulsate and move. In a moment, it was all over. Only the mirror had become slightly darker, and deeper. But who pays attention to things like that? Sir Olli’s lips began to form sounds, a timid smile of relief appeared on Maddi’s bloodstained face. From behind the door someone’s head appeared. End of scene. The gloom thickened in front of us for a moment.
In a few seconds this gloom became the cozy darkness of the bedchamber. The weak light from a sliver of moon played over the sunken cheeks of Sir Olli. Something woke the old man up. I could tell that he was frightened. I felt his fear with my whole body—his helplessness and despair. I heard how he tried calling out to the servants; I felt that for the first time in his life something didn’t happen when he wished it to; just like today, when I couldn’t reach Juffin with my call. But in my case, I just lacked experience, though I had enough strength. Plus, in the end, I did manage to get through. Sir Olli, however, no longer had the strength to use Silent Speech. He was overcome by an icy horror. Something utterly alien and uncanny, which he could neither control nor understand, was in the room with him. For a moment it seemed to me that I saw a tiny object crawling along the old man’s cheek. I was seized by a shudder of disgust.
“Max, do you see that tiny vile thing?” Juffin asked in a whisper.
“Yes, I think I do.”
“Don’t look directly at it. Even better, don’t look at it at all. It’s a very powerful nasty little thing! The Master of the Mirror can take away your shadow, even now, when it is just a vision. Now I understand why old Lady Braba was frightened out of her wits—she’s the most gifted Seer in Echo. Not everyone has the strength to discern something like that—thank goodness! Take a sip of the elixir Max; a bit of protection wouldn’t hurt you at this point . . . There—the monster is going back into the mirror. In the places where the blood had smudged the mirror, he now has a door. You can look now. Have you ever seen a shadow disappear? Look, look!”
My trembling passed; my fear, as well. I concentrated again, and almost immediately saw the familiar outlines of the bedchamber. A semi-transparent Sir Makluk-Olli, looking younger but deathly scared, stood beside the mirror and looked at the other Sir Makluk-Olli, lying immobile in the bed. The surface of the mirror shuddered. The shadow (apparently, it was a shadow) sobbed helplessly, turned to the mirror, then tried to step back, to no avail. It didn’t melt, but seemed to disperse into the air in thousands of little shimmering flames of light. The flames burned out quickly, but I had time to notice that several of them disappeared into the mirror’s glassy surface. Five little flames: the exact number of poor Maddi’s spots of blood on the mirror.
Then the fear subsided, sharply and absolutely. The darkness of the bedroom became cozy and comforting—although there was now a dead man in the room. After all, death is something natural and predictable, unlike Magic of the 200th and Something Degree, be it black, white, or gray-brown-raspberry colored.
I realized I had stopped distinguishing the outline of our vision. Sir Juffin nudged me with his elbow. The show went on.
It was light again in the bedchamber. I saw a nice-looking young man in a festive bright-orange skaba. That was, of course, the hapless Nattis, the apprentice-courtier, who regrettably had not stayed home in the grand city of Gazhin. The young fellow smiled shyly, revealing the childish dimples in his cheeks. Then he concentrated hard and assumed a comically threatening countenance. Just then, Mr. Govins appeared in the frame—there was no longer any doubt in my mind about his sad fate. The mentor handed the pupil a razor, the handle of which might have inspired a nervous tic in any antique collector. Even I appreciated it.
I became hopelessly distracted and reached for the miracle elixir. Sir Juffin looked at me slightly askance, and not without suspicion.
“Just a drop,” I whispered guiltily.
“Never mind me, boy! I’m simply very envious . . . Well, give me a slug, too!”
When my vision returned to me, Nattis had already gotten down to work. He dragged the razor carefully over his cheek, s
miling slightly at his own thoughts. The razor gradually crawled closer and closer to the pulsing, bluish vein on his slender boyish neck. Nevertheless, there was nothing unusual about it—it was an ordinary shaving routine.
But the mirror was not sleeping. At a certain moment, several points on its surface shuddered, and the icy horror again gripped my heart, fastened on it like an old Lovelace eyeing the appetizing derrière of a young girl.
Sir Juffin tweaked my chin gently.
“Turn away. Another improper scene. I myself try not to watch things like this. You know, they told me about these kinds of things long ago. And at the end of the story they hinted at the fact that it was better to make peace with such a creature than to struggle against it . . . Mmm, my neighbor has nice furniture, you can’t deny it! And yet he looks like such a nice man . . . Well, the boy, of course submitted to its whispering . . . Ah, Max! Now you must look very carefully. I’ve never seen anything like it! Only, be careful—don’t overrate your own strength.”
The first thing I saw was a helpless grin on the fellow’s face that closely resembled the awkward smile on our unfortunate Melifaro. The dimples froze forever in his cheeks, the smooth left one, and the unshaven right one. And blood, a great deal of blood. Blood poured over the mirror, which shivered in excitement under its spurting. This is how the breath of an inexperienced diver quickens as he struggles to reach the surface. There was no longer any doubt: blood returned life to the mirror, which only seemed to be a mirror, but was really a slumbering door to another, very foul place, to such a vile little place I sensibly averted my eyes and took a deep breath, as I had begun to give in to the nauseating rhythm in a very unpleasant way. Again I peeked cautiously. Nattis, of course, was already lying on the floor; Govins stared at his face, transfixed, and didn’t see how the bloody mirror, sated now, shuddered one last time, then grew dark and quiet—for the time being, of course. People crowded into the room. The vision disappeared.
“Juffin,” I said quietly. “So you know what this is?”
“I know what there is to know, insofar as it’s possible to know at all. This, Max, is a legend, you see. And it’s a legend I haven’t allowed myself to believe up until now. Well, I mean, whether I believed it or not—that’s not the point. I just didn’t bother to give it much thought. And lo and behold . . . well, never mind. Look! Now comes the most interesting part.”
“I wouldn’t mind something slightly more boring, Juffin. I’m feeling sick already.”
“What did you expect? Sure it’s sickening . . . It’s okay, though. After a debut like this, your job in the service will seem like a piece of cake! Things like this don’t happen every day, you know. Generally they don’t happen at all.”
“I hope not. Though I am lucky when it comes to entertainment.”
Next episode. We saw how Krops Kooly appeared in the bedchamber, another nice-looking young fellow with hair the color of an orange—which, by the way, is considered to be an undisputed sign of masculine strength and beauty in Echo. In the case of Krops Kooly, this belief was absolutely justified. There are many attractive people here, I thought suddenly. Many more than where I come from. Although they themselves aren’t aware of it, they have completely different esthetic norms. I wonder if I am considered to be attractive here, or a total scarecrow? Or what?
A very relevant question, indeed.
Meanwhile, the redhead went robustly through the motions of tidying the room. What else can you do if someone sends you to clean up a long-empty room, which is nevertheless cleaned up every day? He busied himself in every corner, menacingly waving his feather duster about—the only tool of his trade. Several minutes later it wasn’t even worth going through this. The room was in a pristine state. Then young Krops apparently decided that he had earned a rest. He stopped in front of the mirror and studied his face. With his fingers he pulled the corners of his eyes slightly. Then he let them go with a sigh of regret. It seemed that the almond-shaped variety had been tried before many times, and each time he found it more to his liking. Then he examined his nose with a critical air. (Show me a young person of either sex who is satisfied with his or her nose.)
I’m afraid that this trifling dissatisfaction was the last feeling he experienced in this life. The transparent spiderweb was already glistening on his sleeve. In a few seconds the boy ended up in the middle of an almost invisible cocoon. I felt in my stomach the dull relief that gripped the poor fellow—everything became irrevocably simple. YOU MUST GO THERE! And orange-haired Krops Kooly stepped into the depths of the looking glass. His helpless smile again resembled the expression on the petrified Sir Melifaro.
I turned away when I realized that my feelings coincided unpleasantly with the experiences of young Krops: I already almost felt how I was being consumed; and most disgusting of all, I felt I could easily grow to like it! The decomposing ape face appeared before me. The cavernous orifice of the mouth surrounded by squirming spider legs seemed so calm and inviting, such a desirable haven . . .
I took a bracing gulp of Elixir of Kaxar. Yes, Magic of the Eighth Degree—it’s really something! It’s devilishly delicious, and all your delusions seem to blow away like a puff of smoke! Since childhood I had been taught that only the bitterest, most foul-tasting concoctions could do you any good—and here I had discovered that it was all poppycock! Good news!
Convinced that my good sense was still in working order, I forced myself to return to the vision. Again, the empty bedchamber, tidy and clean.
“You see, Max?” Juffin’s elbow jabbed my long-suffering side. “You see?”
“What?”
“That’s exactly it—there is ab-so-lute-ly nothing there! Everything ended right then and there, like it had been switched off. It’s no wonder my gauge read only two to three that evening.”
It suddenly dawned on me. Evidently, the cheerful adventure in loving memory of Count Dracula really had raised my poor little IQ.
“After it eats, it sleeps . . . right? And nothing happens, because the mirror sleeps with its victims inside. And there’s no magic! Right?”
“Right. That’s how it fooled us. All our suspicions came to naught with one glance at the indicator on my pipe. Magic usually exists in the object in which it is invested. It either exists or it doesn’t. But this monstrous piece of furniture—it’s alive. And a living creature is sometimes wont to go off into the world of dreams. When a magus sleeps, all gauges fall silent. Most likely they are going crazy in other worlds, if such gauges were to exist in other worlds. Which, frankly speaking, I doubt. Well, let’s go back into the living room, Sir Max.”
“You know me—always ready for a snack!”
Sir Juffin got up off the floor, cracked his knuckles, and stretched. I carefully picked up the little box and put it in my pocket. I had always wanted a talisman. Now, it appeared, I had one at last. This one was plenty.
The candle, in the meantime, had burned out. I reached out mechanically to lift the stub up off the floor. There was nothing there. Nothing! By then, I wasn’t surprised, and I just filed it away.
We returned to the living room. The sky was growing light behind the window. We had a nice little sit-down, I remarked to myself indifferently. It had been twelve hours since Sir Makluk’s messenger arrived! Think of that!
The kamra was exquisite. The imperturbable Kimpa brought us a plate with tiny cookies that melted in the mouth. A sleepy Chuff came out to join us, wagging his tail. Right away, Juffin and I began a silent contest: who could feed Chuff the most cookies? Chuff succeeded in pleasing and amusing both of us, flying through the room like a small, shaggy torpedo. Having eaten his fill, he settled down between us under the table.
“Max,” Juffin said, suddenly sad. “Now I’m not sure whether Melifaro has even the slightest chance. We can’t just grab him by the scruff of the neck, pull him out of the room, and then bring him to his senses. He already belongs to the mirror, and it’s impossible to break those kinds of ties while life is on ho
ld. When the mirror comes to life again, it will demand its victim, and take it anywhere it can get it—even from another world. I could, of course, destroy the monster. Shurf Lonli-Lokli can, too. But I’m not sure that anyone will be able to kill it fast enough to keep Melifaro on this side of life. And I can’t let everything remain as it is now. That can’t go on indefinitely. I must put an end to the mirror and its ravenous Master. But you can’t just destroy anything you want to while the world stands still! To kill the monster, I need to wake him up. And that means sacrificing Melifaro to him after all. You understand that that isn’t a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I don’t even want to consider the possibility! It’s a vicious circle, Max, a vicious circle.”
I reached for another cookie absently. I was sad. Before this, it would never even have entered my head that Sir Juffin, a man who had transferred me from one world to another in his spare time (tell me, what could be more improbable!) could grow so despondent and weary. I understood that there were limits to his might. This made me feel lonely and uncomfortable. I crunched my cookie loudly in the quiet room. A vicious circle . . . suddenly, an idea took my breath away. No, it couldn’t be as simple as that! If it had been that simple, Sir Juffin would certainly have thought of it himself. And yet . . .
“Juffin!” I called out hoarsely. I stopped, cleared my throat, and began again. “This is probably very stupid—but you said ‘a vicious circle.’ So, when one mirror is placed opposite another, that’s also a vicious circle. I was thinking—maybe if the monster sees its own reflection, they’ll want to feast on each other?” I finally plucked up the courage to look Juffin in the eye. He was looking at me, his mouth agape. Then the dam burst.