The Stranger: The Labyrinths of Echo, Part One

by Max Frei

  “Thank you, Lady Chadsy,” Juffin announced ceremoniously. “I think your courage has saved not only your own, but many other lives, as well. And now, you may go home. I regret that our meeting was so short, but it is our duty to find the culprit who insulted you as soon as we are able.”

  “You will find him, gentlemen. Of that I am certain!”

  The lady made her exit, swaying her hips gracefully, and now and then casting sultry glances at us over her shoulder. Melifaro, the lucky man, received such a passionate parting smile that he nearly crashed to the floor under the weight of it. When Lady Chadsy had finally disappeared from sight, the poor guy rolled his eyes heavenward.

  “Sinning Magicians, what did I do to deserve such punishment?”

  “Well, if worse comes to worst, you’re guaranteed a position as a salesman at Dirolan’s,” Juffin said with a grin. “Max, have you remembered how you differ from ‘normal people,’ to use the terminology of this poor man?”

  I shrugged, and drank the rest of the cold kamra. I differed from “normal people” in many ways, especially just now. I would have to try to discern how all my former compatriots differed from my present ones, but the amusing episode with Boboota and the heart-wrenching confession of Lady Chadsy distracted me from my thoughts on the matter.

  “Here I am!” Sir Kofa Yox beamed at us with the complacent smile of a man with a full stomach. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was detained by a very amusing incident. I was just going into the Old Thorn when your call came, Juffin.”

  I leaped up and knocked over my chair. The mug, blessedly empty, clattered to the floor.

  “What an idiot I am!” I cried. “How could I have forgotten! The Soup of Repose! Remember what happened to me, Juffin? Of course he was swaying back and forth on his feet! He sure must have been! Of course, it was my countryman. The guy tried the soup! No more murders for him!”

  “Well, that’s that,” Juffin sighed in relief. “Our troubles are over. Though we have nothing to be proud of. We’re just lucky. Theoretically, the killer could have wandered around Echo forever, eating something else.”

  “What happened when you ate the soup?” Melifaro asked, perplexed. “I don’t quite get the connection, gentlemen.”

  “Max can’t eat Soup of Repose,” Juffin explained. “But don’t even think about joking about it, son. It affects him like poison. He was knocked out flat for three days after eating a bowlful, and I was powerless to help.”

  “Poor guy,” Melifaro said sympathetically. “That’s why you’re so overwrought all the time. As though Lonli-Lokli were sitting on your backside. You’re really missing out, mate.”

  “I hope it’s the worst loss I experience,” I said indifferently. “I can get along fine without the soup.”

  “Everything makes sense to me now,” Sir Kofa announced suddenly. “You can send Lonli-Lokli to the Old Thorn. The killer’s there. He’s the reason I was late.”

  “I’ll go myself.” Melifaro jumped up and made it to the doorway in a single bound. “You can’t just kill a miracle of nature like that! Moreover, the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Smiles is busy with my paperwork. It would be a sin to deprive him of the pleasure.”

  “We’ll go together,” said Juffin and stood up. “I’m curious, too, not to mention Max, who simply must exchange greetings with his compatriot. And Sir Kofa has full right to his portion of the laurels.”

  Frankly speaking, I wasn’t especially eager to accompany them. I would have to encounter a person who had traveled the same road I had, through the Door between Worlds, to use Juffin’s terminology. If it were up to me, I would have postponed the meeting. But no one thought to ask me.

  They put me behind the levers of the amobiler—we had some distance to go, and time was short. Along the way, Sir Kofa recounted his experiences.

  “Just after midday, a strange fellow entered the Thorn. As everyone knows, Mr. Chemparkaroke adores oddities. The stranger, the better—that’s his motto. Chemparkaroke is still just as curious as the day he arrived in Echo for the first time from the island of Murimax. Anyway, the visitor made his entrance by shouting out something from the doorway: ‘All women are . . .’ something or other. A hole in the heavens above, I can’t remember for the life of me.”

  “Whores,” I prompted. “He probably said ‘all women are whores.’”

  “That’s it, Sir Max! You’re not a medium, by any chance?”

  “No, it’s just that maniacs like this guy usually get fixated on one idea or phrase, and they keep repeating it over and over. He said the same thing to the red-headed lady. He called her an ‘old whore.’”

  “What does it mean?” Melifaro wanted to know.

  “Nothing, really. Something like ‘bad woman.’ Or, let’s say, ‘very bad, depraved woman.’”

  When he heard my translation, Melifaro colored deeply. But I thought it necessary to continue my lecture.

  “Guys like that always bear grudges against women—against all of them without exception, or just against blondes, or plump ones, or tall ones. It all depends.”

  “Let’s not get sidetracked, here,” Juffin grumbled. “Let Kofa have his say.”

  “Chemparkaroke was in ecstasy over this incomprehensible word. So he agreed with his guest out of politeness. The guy asked whether Chemparkaroke had anything to relieve his suffering. The innkeeper concluded that the visitor wanted to taste some of his legendary soup. He poured him some of the most potent stuff. At first the visitor didn’t want to eat it, but Chemparkaroke swore on his mother’s grave that it was the best cure for suffering. So the fellow tasted it. He liked it. Did he ever like it! Chemparkaroke claims that he had never witnessed such unequivocal enthusiasm about his homemade soup. When the visitor had finished, he fled. Chemparkaroke realized that the fellow had no money and didn’t know that the King picked up all tabs for the hungry in Echo. Visitors are often unaware of this, and so end up getting into scrapes. Chemparkaroke was used to it. He was happy with the new acquisition for his ‘oddball collection’ and returned to his innkeeping tasks.

  “An hour later, his newfound friend came back. Chemparkaroke noticed that he was shuffling his feet uncertainly in the doorway, and shouted to him to come in, since he wasn’t obliged to pay for anything if he didn’t have the money. Then he served him some more soup. The fellow kept muttering about ‘relieving his suffering. ’ By the time I dropped in to the Old Thorn, curiosity-seekers were already gathering. Chemparkaroke was doing a brisk business, so his generosity was rewarded tenfold. And people got what they were looking for. Something extraordinary was happening to the visitor. After the second bowl of soup, he began to babble, and after the third, he broke into the most enigmatic dance I’ve ever seen. It was probably some kind of folk dance. Then he dozed off, and I thought he was there for the long haul, since he was in no condition to leave. Chemparkaroke promised to keep an eye on him, because by then it had occurred to me that this strange bird could well be one of your clients. I even started to wonder—is he really a human being? But what didn’t occur to me was to recall Chemparkaroke’s story about how you, Juffin, dragged this poor boy into the Thorn one day.”

  The “poor boy,” of course, was me. Juffin sighed penitently, remembering his recent blunder.

  At the threshold the Old Thorn I winced. It was no doubt a great place, but my digestive system refused to agree with that opinion, and a feeling of nausea hit me the moment I entered. The Thorn was so packed that it looked as though the entire citizenry of Echo had received a Day of Freedom from Care at the same time. When our rather intimidating posse entered the tavern, the patrons slowly began to disperse. The red-haired Chemparkaroke assumed a knowing expression and began wiping off the already spotless dishes.

  My countryman was asleep on a broad wooden bench. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be one of my childhood friends. That would have been too much. As for his age, he could have been my father—or perhaps the pressure of being a maniac had aged him before his time
. This guy looked ghastly—a dirty raincoat, wrinkled trousers, week-old stubble, dark circles under his eyes . . . poor thing. Moreover, he had clearly overindulged in Soup of Repose. His ragged breathing was not a sign of physical well-being. If he had died right then and there, it wouldn’t have surprise me. It looked like that’s where things were heading.

  Juffin sniffed fastidiously.

  “We’ve spent a whole day looking for this . . . this natural phenomenon? Ugh, how unattractive! Take him, Max, and get him out of here. Chemparkaroke, do you have anything to add to Sir Yox’s story?”

  The good-natured redhead shook his head:

  “What’s there to add, Sir Venerable Head? An ugly affair. At first he was so funny. Then he started to snore, to moan, to chase an invisible person around the tavern. The customers were amused. People love a clown, even a sick one. But then he fell on the bench and went to sleep. Only I think that soon he’ll be chatting with the Dark Magicians. I often get a hunch about things like that. If you give him something to drink, his legs will start twitching, and it’ll be all over.”

  “Thanks for the good news, old boy. I’m all for it,” Sir Juffin muttered. “Good work, Chemparkaroke.”

  The innkeeper was flattered, but he clearly didn’t understand why he was being praised. Juffin looked at him wearily.

  “Take him, Max. What are you waiting for? He’s not going to dance anymore, that’s for sure.”

  I sighed and did the usual prestidigitation with my left hand. The half-dead maniac fit comfortably between my thumb and my forefinger. Chemparkaroke’s jaw dropped. He had arrived in Echo during the height of the Code Epoch and was unaccustomed even to small wonders. I frowned in distaste, and we left. I even had to drive the amobiler holding this fistful of iniquity.

  In the Hall of Common Labor I was able to rid myself of this unpleasant burden, depositing my countryman right on the rug.

  Then I went to wash my hands. I’m a typical neurotic, so things like this can easily knock me off course. And I really didn’t like this maniac. It was probably because we had too much in common. At the same time, his appearance was extraordinarily repellant to me. I steeled myself and plunged back into the fray.

  “Should I bring him back to his senses?” Sir Juffin Hully pondered aloud, staring at our quarry with unconcealed disgust. “It would be a lot of fuss and bother, but I’d like to know.”

  It seemed I could imagine what my boss wanted to know. Blessed are the ignorant!

  “Don’t worry about it, Sir Max,” Juffin said jovially.

  Usually he begins to understand what I’m feeling before I even notice a change of mood in myself. But today he seemed to lag behind a bit with his consolations.

  “This is no test of your nerves. It’s a form of pleasure, because we have a chance to find out something we didn’t know before. Keep your chin up, son!”

  “I’m not so sure that this arcane knowledge is going to improve my appetite,” I murmured.

  Sir Kofa and Melifaro looked at us with incomprehension.

  “It’s nothing,” Juffin told them. “Just a little family quarrel. I’ll deal with this handsome devil.”

  “I’m afraid it’s already too late to help him,” I replied. “Remember, I was almost done in by one bowl of it. This lucky man polished off three.”

  “I wasn’t planning to help him. But perhaps he wants to make a confession.” Juffin crouched down beside the malefactor and began massaging his ears. Then he reached for his throat. The rhythmic motion soothed and lulled me, if no one else.

  Better turn away, Max. The silent advice of Juffin resounded in my head. You really don’t have to play any part in this.

  I averted my gaze reluctantly. And just in time. Sir Juffin Hully executed a feat that I never would have expected from such a staid, respectable, middle-aged gentleman.

  With a piercing yelp, he leapt on the stomach of the hapless maniac, after which he rolled head over heels out of the way.

  “It’s been some time since I had to amuse myself that way,” Juffin remarked, getting up to his feet. “Well, now he’ll talk.”

  And my countryman did begin to stir.

  “Kela!” he called out. “Is that you, Kela? I knew you’d find me! Way to go, mate!”

  As though in a dream I moved closer to this unsightly creature.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  Dumb, of course. Why could I possibly have wanted to know his name? But it was the first thing that came into my head.

  “I don’t know. No one calls me by my name anymore. Is there any more of that soup left? It really does help with the pain.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say so.” I stuck to my guns on that point. “Besides, you could die from eating it.”

  “No matter. I already did, but they woke me up again. Who woke me up?”

  “I did,” Sir Juffin Hullly answered. “Don’t bother to thank me.”

  “Can someone explain to me where I am?” the unhappy specimen asked. “A person has a right to know where he died.”

  “You’re too far away from home for the name of this city to mean anything to you,” I replied.

  “All the same, I want to know.”

  “You’re in Echo.”

  “Is that in Japan? But none of you looks like Japs around here. You’re fooling me, right? Everyone here laughs . . . It took so long to get here. I don’t remember why. And those whores, they didn’t want to tell me where I was, either. They were probably glad that I got stuck here! Never mind. In the place I sent them, they won’t think it’s funny anymore.”

  I noted with astonishment that no amount of violent upheaval could inspire this single-minded man to doubt the rightness of his own actions. A lunatic, Sir Maba had called him, and he was right. He was possessed.

  “Kela promised me that they’d help me die here,” the tormented soul suddenly informed us. “Are you the ones who will help me?”

  “Who is this Kela?” I asked.

  “A streetcar driver. I don’t know who he is. He promised me that everything would be over soon. So I felt calmer. He was going to kill me, but then he changed his mind. He said that other people would do it. Kela’s my friend. I used to have another friend, when I was a kid. I killed his dog because she was in heat. It was disgusting. Kela’s also my friend. The best one of all. I don’t know—” He made an effort to raise himself up, and stared at me with something like horror, or maybe with love. “Oh, a familiar face. I’ve seen you somewhere before, friend. Only without that cape. In a dream . . . I saw . . . yes.”

  He started to grow weaker. Then he closed his eyes and was silent.

  “Where could he have seen me?” I asked in surprise.

  “What do you mean ‘where’? In the Great Battle of Horse Dung, when you were the brave commander of a mighty horde of five men!” Melifaro prompted.

  “Shut up,” Sir Kofa muttered. “Can’t you see? Something is happening here that neither you nor I can understand, or even hope to.”

  “It’s not all that bad, Kofa. Hope is the last thing to die,” Juffin piped up gaily, and turned to me. “He said ‘in a dream’! Where else? Whether you like it or not, there is some very strong bond between you two, Max. And a very dangerous one. This is a special problem. In short, you’re going to have to kill him.”

  “Me?!”

  I was beyond dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe my ears. The world felt like it was collapsing around me.

  “Why do I have to kill him, Juffin? The death penalty was abolished long ago—you said so yourself. And he won’t hold out for very long as it is.”

  “That’s not the point. It’s about you. This stranger used your Door. I can’t explain it all right now; it isn’t the time or place. You must understand one thing: if the man dies his own death, he’ll open another Door for you. It’ll be there waiting for you. It could be anywhere. No one knows how things will transpire, and you have too little experience to figure it out on your own just yet. And behind this n
ew Door will be Death, because now his path leads only there. And by killing him with your own hands, you will destroy this unnecessary and fatal connection you share, which you had no part in choosing. And mark my words, there’s no time to lose. He’s dying. So . . .”

  “I understand, Juffin,” I nodded. “I don’t know why, but I understand everything. You’re absolutely right.”

  The world around me shuddered and melted away, subsiding into a million tiny flames. Everything became shiny and dull at once. It was, as I saw—no, sensed, felt—a kind of short corridor that stretched between me and this dying madman. And I very much doubted that we were two distinct people. We were Siamese twins, freakish sideshow monsters, connected not by a tissue of skin, but by something else, concealed from the gaze of the crowd in some other dimension.

  Perhaps I hadn’t been aware of this from the start, but when I rushed off to wash my hands, as if that would help, I already knew. I had managed to hide this terrible knowledge from myself, until Juffin uttered out loud what I had been too afraid to think.

  I dropped down on my knees next to my abhorrent double, and took the splendid Profiline butcher’s knife from the inner pocket of his coat. And I planted the knife in his solar plexus, without shrinking back and without even flinching.

  I’ve never been a strong man, rather the opposite. But this act completely changed my notions of what I was capable of. The knife went into his body like it was butter—though it doesn’t really happen that way.

  “You got me, friend . . .”

  In the last words of the dying man I heard more reason than I had heard during all the other events of that absurd, sickening day.