by Max Frei
“But if it flees,” I asked, “how are we going to find it?”
“Out of the question, Sir Max, completely out of the question! Not one Phetan can leave the place it inhabits. It’s a law of nature. That’s exactly why some Magicians involve themselves with Phetans: because you can always escape if you have a head on your shoulders. Sell the house together with its inhabitant, and other people will have to deal with the consequences.”
“But how could Lady Feni go out shopping, if—”
“Good question, boy! I think that having two bodies at its disposal, the Phetan could allow one of them to go free from time to time; though not for long, of course. I’m quite certain it was not Lady Feni going out shopping, but a pitiful semblance of the person she once was, programmed to do certain things. It was a diversionary tactic; a good way of maintaining secrecy. And Phetans covet secrecy. Here we are gentlemen, we can get out now.”
We got out of the amobiler right in front of my house. The Street of Old Coins was pretty crowded. There were a few policemen, half a dozen housewives, and a crowd of gawkers who had come out of the Sated Skeleton. In the center of the circle they formed we found a modestly dressed middle-aged woman whose head was nearly severed from the rest of her body. A basket of nuts lay nearby. The scattered nuts formed a sort of pathway between my house and the Phetan’s, as though the invisible sandy bridge from my dream was casting a very real shadow on the earth beneath it.
My observations were interrupted by the voice of Sir Juffin demanding an explanation from the policemen.
“Witnesses say that it was a very little man, sir,” said the policeman, perplexed.
“Where are the witnesses?”
A young couple emerged from the crowd of onlookers. They seemed pleasant, and very youthful, probably around sixty years old by local standards. The lady turned out to be more talkative than her companion.
“We were taking a stroll around the city, and we chanced upon this street. It seemed quiet enough; there wasn’t anyone around, just one lady with a basket, walking along ahead of us. Then all of a sudden a little man jumped out from behind that house.” Here the girl pointed to the ancient architectural masterpiece that I was already so sick of.
“Are you sure he was small?” asked Juffin.
“I’m sure, sir! You can ask Frud here. He was very small, like a baby, or even smaller. But he was dressed like a grownup, all nice and fancy. At first we didn’t understand what was going on. We thought that the man recognized the lady and ran up to hug her. Well, he jumped up; because of course how else could he hug her, being so little and all. We thought it was cute. But then the lady fell over, and we got scared. The man jumped up and down on top of her a few more times, and then left.”
“Where did he go?”
“He just left . . . Well, he didn’t come toward us, praise to the Magicians! Frud wanted to chase after him, but I got scared. Then we started crying for help.”
“Thank you my dear. Very good,” said Juffin. He then turned to the police officers. “Did you see anyone leaving the house, boys?”
“No, Sir Venerable Head! And we didn’t go inside, because—”
“And a very good thing you didn’t! Max, Shurf, let’s go!”
So we went to pay a visit to my neighbors, a thousand werewolves on their nuptial bed! Inside, the house was dark and very quiet—and very foul, I might add! A massive parlor laden with valuables gave the impression of an odious museum built in the foyer of hell, a collection comprised of belongings stolen from sinners. And I’m not saying that just because I suffered at the hands of the house’s owners. The atmosphere of the house was truly disgusting. Even Lonli-Lokli winced squeamishly; and I’m quite sure that doesn’t happen often.
For the first time since I arrived in Echo, the oversized spaces annoyed me. It took us several minutes to search the first floor, even though we worked very quickly; to no avail. Our search yielded nothing but a thoroughly rotten mood.
We went upstairs. The second floor was as dark and quiet as the first. Lonli-Lokli stepped onto the staircase that led to the third floor. I followed him with a feeling of certain doom. It would have been so nice to wake up just then, but I couldn’t have been more awake.
Hey Max, don’t get depressed! Juffin sensed that I was losing heart and magnanimously sent me a call. No matter what happens, this is work for Shurf; and it’s not difficult, either. You and I are just here out of curiosity. It’s not the most pleasant outing, but it’s nothing more than that. Chin up, my boy!
I felt a bit better. I even mustered a weak smile and had it sent General Delivery to Sir Juffin.
Finally we were on the top floor of the house. Above it there was nothing but sky.
They were waiting for us—Tolakan and Feni Enn: fabulously wealthy, smitten with love for each other, and happy together till the end of time. But, no, they’d been gone for a long time already. Only the formidable Phetan remained, extending his longevity with the two sequestered bodies.
The beast knew very well that the situation was hopeless, and knew what awaited him. It didn’t even try to put up a fight. Suddenly, I got an uneasy feeling. I think I was beginning to sympathize with this unknown beast, who was not even here of its own will; it was merely trying to survive in the only way it knew how. What if some crazy Magician summoned me? And with my talent for getting into trouble, even in my sleep . . . I felt a chill, and shivered.
Five snow-white rays raced toward the motionless couple. Sir Lonli-Lokli’s left hand smote the double-bodied beast quickly and efficiently. Painlessly, as well, I hoped.
“Juffin?” I asked in the ringing silence. “Is there anything left of the Enns themselves? A soul, I mean, or whatever the scientific word for that is . . .”
“No one kno—Oh, Max!”
Quick as lightening, he struck the back of my knees, and I collapsed to the floor. As I was falling, I realized there was something wrong with the nape of my neck. I felt a painful incision in the very place where the hair turns into frivolous fluff. Then a cold sensation spread over my neck. I cried out, and then lost consciousness.
After a few seconds of total darkness, I realized I was still alive. A sharp pain in my right knee and chin witnessed to that. The back of my neck was numb, as though from a shot of Novocain. Something warm was dripping down my neck. If that’s blood, then it’s goodbye to my favorite looxi, I thought darkly.
I felt a hot hand on the back of my neck. It was an extremely pleasant sensation. I relaxed and floated away into a land of tender forgetfulness. But I didn’t stay there for long.
When I opened my eyes, I felt better, though far from ideal. My knee and chin admitted that they had been badly mistreated and were on the road to recovery now. But my neck and the back of my head worried me. Sir Juffin Hully looked around fastidiously for something to wipe off his bloodied hands.
“The curtains,” I said, surprised at my own falsetto croak. “I doubt the heirs will sue you.”
“Good boy, Max! What would I do without you?”
“Drink kamra quietly in your office without a worry or care. What was that, Juffin?”
“It was the comprehensive answer to several theoretical questions that armchair philosophers sometimes feel compelled to examine. See for yourself. Come on, you can turn your head. I’ve stopped the bleeding, and the wound has closed. And it wasn’t such a bad injury to begin with. Your head didn’t fall off, anyway. And if it did, I’d sew a new one on you, even better than the last.”
“Very funny. So where is this comprehensive answer?”
“Here it is, Sir Max,” said sir Lonli-Lokli, and he kneeled down to show me two small objects, which he held in his right, less dangerous hand. It was a figurine broken in half, the figure of a small woman with a trident. The face, though not attractive, was extremely lifelike, and full of a threatening intensity that made it unforgettable. An impressive trinket.
“Sinning Magicians! What is it?”
“One of
the masterpieces from the beginning of the Epoch of Orders,” he explained. “An amulet to protect the household. And a powerful thing it was. I think the ghost of Lady Feni picked it up randomly at one of those places at the market where prices start at several hundred crowns. As for the craftsman who made the thing—Sinning Magicians, may werewolves bite off his ears!”
“It is striking,” I agreed, “And look at the face . . . Was it a magical object?”
“Well, yes. In her time, this damsel protected the house from thieves and other unexpected visitors. And she did a good job of it, too; she was no less fierce than an armed thug. It’s all right as long as amulets like that end up in ordinary households of ordinary families. But in a house inhabited by a Phetan, anything can happen to a magical object. This is an age-old truth that is every so often called into question by certain armchair philosophers. The ancient object that attacked you went completely nuts. That’s what I call a comprehensive answer to theoretical questions. It was my fault, of course; you can never let your guard down in a place like this. If you and I had just waited a little longer with our conversation, then your neck would’ve been in much better condition now. Not to mention your morale. Anyway, let’s get out of here. The House by the Bridge is a good deal cozier. Or perhaps you want to go home and get some rest, Sir Max? You are injured, after all, and your house is just across the street.”
“Oh, right! Sleep is just what I need now, while you stuff yourselves with pastries and make a big fuss about our adventures today. The only way you’ll get rid of me is to kill me!”
“Curiosity and gluttony will be the death of you in this job,” Juffin said. “Well, then, let’s be off.”
Lonli-Lokli helped me stand up; but to do this he had to wrap his hand in the cloth of his cape, since he had forgotten his protective gloves in the amobiler. It occurred to me that leaning on the elbow of a fellow like him was probably as dangerous as passing the time by throwing a party at a nuclear power plant. So I tried to make it downstairs without assistance. I made my way down, not exactly bouncing, but energetic nonetheless.
We had just gotten to the amobiler when Juffin’s face suddenly looked like he had eaten a whole lemon.
“Dinner’s postponed, boys. Melifaro is screaming for help. I think they’re in big trouble. And if even Sir Melifaro is complaining, then it must be something serious. The poor fellow didn’t even have time to explain himself. He says an evil force is abroad, and it’s running amuck. Sounds like fun. So we’re heading for the Street of Little Generals. Get behind the wheel, Sir Max! We could use some of your reckless driving right now. As for you, son, get back to the House by the Bridge and read the paper there or something. Come on now, clear out!” said Juffin, and nudged the bewildered driver from the driver’s seat.
I took his place, and we were off. Juffin hardly managed to keep up with my driving, shouting “to the left, now right, now left again!” I believe that evening I was able to squeeze sixty miles per hour out of the technological miracle.
Our speed was justified, as the Street of Little Generals was all the way on the western edge of the city; but we made it there in about fifteen minutes. Juffin needn’t have taken the trouble to announce that we had arrived. To be honest, I didn’t doubt it for a minute.
I can’t say that Echo is the quietest place in the world in the evening. Even so, it’s unusual for locals to run around in groups of twenty to thirty, dressed only in their underwear and accompanied by their young children and hysterical domestic animals. As far as I know, shrieking so loud that the sound carries above the rooftops is not common, either. But that is precisely what everyone was doing at the moment.
“Juba Chebobargo’s house. It’s that dirty pink chicken shed over there,” said Juffin, pointing.
A barefoot man, whose firm body was only just covered by some pathetic scraps of a ragged tunic, ran out of the building just described to me in such unkind terms. A bright shiny object, too large to be a piece of jewelry, was attached to the hem of the tattered garment. The next instant I noticed that the “object” was alive.
A rat! I thought. Could it really be a rat? Ugh!
I’ve been afraid of rats since childhood. This common phobia even has a long scientific name, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is.
A moment later I calmed down. I told myself that multicolored rats like that don’t exist in nature. The creature known as a rat has to be the same grayish or dun color, no matter what world it’s in. Besides, this thing had clearly anthropomorphic features.
“It’s a little man!” I shouted happily. “Just a little man! Exactly like the one the girl described!”
The white flame that leaped out of Lonli-Lokli’s left hand consumed the little man completely, leaving not even a pile of ashes. The sturdy fellow in the tattered tunic carried on, frightened but completely unhurt, his pale backside flickering mysteriously in the gathering twilight for the benefit of any incidental fans of male striptease.
“Should I stop him?” asked Shurf.
Juffin shook his head. “It’s not Juba. Let him run around, there’s no harm in that. And what on earth are you so pleased about, Max? Is it something to do with the little man?”
“Not exactly.” I felt myself blushing. “I was just glad it wasn’t . . . a rat.”
“A rat? What’s a rat?”
“You don’t have rats here?”
“I guess not, unless we call them something else. Let’s go see what’s going on inside the house. Sir Shurf, you go first; and you, Max, keep your wits about you. Today doesn’t seem to be your lucky day.”
That day I realized that I truly enjoyed being in the company of Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli. Shurf was a consummate killer. To be standing so close to death, and yet to be certain it won’t touch you, is a unique feeling. It gives you an unfounded but absolute confidence in your own powers. It made my head spin!
In the hallway of the pink chicken coop, my inappropriately buoyant mood hit the skids. Another little tot was smacking his lips and chewing happily as he sat on the stomach of an ample, middle-aged dead man, upon whose innards he was snacking. Lonli-Lokli quickly put an end to this grotesque scene. If it had gone on a second longer, I would have run the risk of parting with the pastries I myself had eaten only a short time before.
“Why, that’s Krelo Shir!” Juffin exclaimed, approaching the mutilated body. “What a shame! I never would have thought Juba could afford such an excellent chef. Poor artist my foot!”
We entered the living room. The scene before us deserved to be sculpted in bronze. The heroic Sir Melifaro, in a cloud of fluttering remnants of a turquoise looxi, was ripping apart a writhing, angry little body with his bare hands. A good ten miniature bodies lay motionless, strewn about like a splendid backdrop to this immortal exploit. I couldn’t help but laugh. Lonli-Lokli shot out of the room like a bullet.
“Was he really that repelled by my laughter?” I asked Juffin in confusion.
Melifaro brandished the beheaded torso, and grinned at the same time. He was probably imagining how this scene must look to an outsider.
“Oh, no, Max, not at all. I simply sent him to go after the others.”
“There’re more?”
“No less than a dozen running about. And Mister Juba made a run for it, too. But I wouldn’t worry about him. Our friend Melamori doesn’t take kindly to men who don’t lavish attention on her,” Melifaro assured me. “She’ll smoke him out wherever he is.”
“Just what are these little freaks? Can you tell me, O slayer of trolls?”
“Why do you call them freaks? They’re sweet, really; take a look!” Melifaro held out a little head that had been separated from its body. I winced. Then I saw that the head was made out of wood. And the face was truly lovely. Sinning Magicians!”
“Is that a doll? The same one you gave Melamori?”
“The same one, or a different one. It doesn’t matter. There were several dozen of the little monsters and they just
went mad. When we first arrived they were having a meeting, discussing whether they should kill Juba or swear loyalty to him. He was a sorry sight.”
“Let’s go, fellows,” Juffin said, cutting short our intriguing conversation. “We’re no match for Sir Shurf, but we should each try to make ourselves useful, insofar as our humble abilities will allow us. Where, by the way, is good Sir Shixola? Could he possibly have deserted?”
“Just about! No, just joking. He called for a backup, too, and now he’s heading up the races on the rooftops, in the company of the city police. I hope they’ve managed to catch one or two. Patch me up, will you, Juffin? Jokes aside, I don’t think I’m in very good shape.”
I watched, enchanted, as Sir Juffin Hully stroked Melifaro’s arms, which were covered in tooth marks, with the tips of his fingers. Melifaro winced.
“That’s nothing; my stomach is in a much worse state.”
“Ah-hah!” Sir Juffin’s palms darted to the spot where Melifaro’s bright yellow tunic was darkening with a maroon stain. “Goodness, my boy! It looks like these beasts are crazy about human bellies! Are you still on your feet? Good show! There you go. You’re lucky that these critters can jump so high. A little lower, and even I wouldn’t be able to redeem your personal life.”
“Werewolves take you, Juffin! That’s no occasion for joking!”
“No worse than your jokes. Alright then, let’s go.”
Outside, the apocalypse raged on. A child ran right past me with a shriek. Horrified, I noticed that a tiny figure was prancing right at its heels, emitting a barely audible hissing noise. In the twilight it looked so much like a rat that I had to summon all my courage to perform a deed worthy of renown. Bending over, I grabbed the beast by its fragile leg and, shuddering with fright, smashed the horrid creature on the cobblestones. The doll shattered to bits.