by Max Frei
“You are truly a man of passion, Sir Manga,” I smiled, and poured myself some kamra. It was as good as the kamra from the Glutton, hands down.
“I can’t believe it myself. Besides Baxba and Melifaro, which would be more than enough to break a father’s heart, I have another, middle son—Sir Anchifa Melifaro. I’m embarrassed to admit that he’s a pirate. And one of the most cutthroat, if I’m to believe the dockside rumors. Although he’s quite as homely and diminutive as I am myself.”
“That’s good for a sailor,” I said. “It’s best to travel light, and insofar as it’s hard to leave one’s own body at home, it should be as compact as possible.”
“You no doubt bonded with my youngest,” Sir Manga grinned. “You’ve both got the gift of gab.”
“Moreover, he just has a last name, and I only have a first name. Together we make up one whole person.”
“True, that. Were you really born on the border of the County Vook and the Barren Lands? I don’t recall meeting any young fellows like you there.”
“Me either,” I had to shrug indifferently. “Maybe I’m just one of a kind.”
“It looks that way. Sir Max, I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
“Sinning Magicians, why?”
“While Melifaro’s still sleeping I can let you in on a secret. Recently he asked me about some customs of your countrymen. Now I understand why he needed to know.”
“Close friendship rituals?”
“Exactly. Did Melifaro already engage in some strange antics?”
“No, but someone else did.”
“A hole in the heavens above, Sir Max! You see, I’m quite vain. And when there’s something I don’t know . . . In short, I couldn’t shame myself in front of my youngest son. I had to think up a story about singing some idiotic songs outside at midnight.”
“That fellow sang them at midday. Besides, I work the night shift, so I couldn’t be present for a midnight serenade. But I came to an agreement with him. He promised to limit himself to the music that sounds in his irreproachable heart.”
“Praise be the Magicians! Because I got carried away and told him that—”
“That on the Last Day of the Year we had to clean each other’s toilets? That certainly came as a surprise to me.”
“Oh no, Max. I could never have said anything of the sort! I know a thing or two about the Barren Lands. There are no toilets to speak of, much less to found a friendship on!”
“Hm, so that was a collaborative invention. Melifaro swore on the veracity of your story.”
“Don’t give me away, Max! It could be very awkward,” Sir Manga begged, laughing heartily.
“Throw you to the lions to be torn apart limb from limb? Never!” I swore. “But only on the condition that you let me taste some of that dish over there.”
I helped myself to the tiny crumbling pastries in culinary ecstasy.
After breakfast I left the house without waiting for Melifaro to wake up, and wandered about the countryside until I got hungry. I rolled around lazily in the grass, sniffed the flowers, and filled my pockets full of little colored stones. I stared at the clouds in wonder. In short, it was one of the pleasantest days of my entire life.
In the evening I met Melifaro’s mother, whose monumental stature gave away the secret of the giant Baxba’s origins. At the same time she was so beautiful that it took my breath away. Not a human being, but a sculpture; moreover, a vibrant, life-affirming one.
I was surprised at myself. I fell asleep just after midnight like a good boy! And I had a serious motive. That night the little room treated me to another round of magical dreams. And I was worn out after a long day of prancing through the fields and meadows.
Morning began with a race with the wind in the amobiler. I had to deliver Melifaro, who had overslept, to the House by the Bridge in record time. He received no pleasure from the race, as he was in dreamland, blissfully unaware in the back seat. I had a hard time persuading the Diurnal Representative of the Venerable Head not to carry on his engaging pastime in his own office after we finally arrived. Upon my success, I went home to enjoy the advantages of my nocturnal schedule: I crawled under the covers again, back in the company of Armstrong and Ella.
At sunset I reported to the House by the Bridge and was pleasantly surprised. Lady Melamori had already returned, cheerful and ready for new feats of derring-do and renown.
“Well, you’re a sight to behold!” I said from the doorway. “You owe me a walk, my Lady, remember?”
“I remember. Shall we go now? Sir Juffin will let you go.”
“Sure I’ll let you go,” the gloomy voice of the boss resounded through the door to his office, slightly ajar. “I’ll be here till late, anyway.”
“Has something happened?”
“Has something happened? The annual report to the Royal Court happened. In a dozen days this blasted year ends, remember? But in a disaster of this magnitude, you can’t assist me, unfortunately. So enjoy life—but only till midnight.”
I whistled ecstatically—there were still five hours left until midnight, by my calculations. Somehow, things had recently taken a sharp turn for the better. It even made me a bit wary.
“I have just one condition, Sir Max,” Melamori announced as we were about to leave. “No amobilers. I’ve heard frightening tales about your driving.”
“All right,” I agreed. “We’ll go on foot, along crowded, well-lighted streets. When the full moon rises and I start turning into a werewolf, you can call for help. By the way, you can follow the example of Melifaro and drop the ‘Sir’ when you address me. Why stand on ceremony with werewolves?”
Melamori smiled, somewhat taken aback.
“Oh, I can’t simply call you ‘Max.’ I wasn’t raised that way.”
“But I can call you Melamori. Practice for ten minutes or so—and I’ll just be rude for the time being, all right?”
“Of course, Sir Max. You probably think I’m silly, but—actually, your suggestion about a crowded place is just what I had in mind. For the time being.”
“‘For the time being.’ That sounds promising. Onward, my lady!”
We walked very chastely and modestly through the center of Echo. Only I kept having the feeling that something was missing. Then I realized: Melamori didn’t have a bag or a purse that I could offer to carry, to display my chivalry. Nonetheless, at the very end of our sojourn we enjoyed the local version of ice cream in a small artificial garden on the Victory of Gurig VII Square. Thus, the illusion of childhood revisited was complete. I felt I had grown younger by about twenty years, and Lady Melamori, all things considered, by ninety. Our babbling conversation was playful and innocent, until I felt it was proper to touch upon a matter that greatly interested me.
“Melamori, I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time—”
“Don’t, Max! I think I know what you want to ask, dear Sir, uh, yes—”
“Really? I’ll bet a crown that you can’t guess what it is.”
“Can’t guess!” she cried, her voice growing shrill.
I had found the perfect ruse. She was as reluctant to let a wager slip as a habitué at the horse races.
“You wanted to ask why I was afraid of you,” she blurted out. “Hand over the crown!” She blushed with pleasure at this absurd, small victory.
“Take it, my lady,” I plunked down a gold coin on the table where we were sitting. “Shall I wrap it into something, or are you superstitious?”
“Please do. I’m not superstitious, but . . . you never know.”
“Excellent! But I’ll bet ten crowns that you don’t know yourself why you’re afraid.”
“Don’t know? I’m not so crazy as to be afraid of who-knows-what nonsense. It’s just that you, Sir Max, are—I don’t know what you are! And the unknown is the only thing I’m afraid of. You lose, Sir Max. Money on the table! I’ll treat you to something a bit more pricy. Would you like some King’s Sweat?”
“How about some
King’s Piss! Whatever is it?”
“The most expensive liqueur available. Over the counter, that is.”
“Fine. We’ll order some of your ‘Sweat.’”
“Not mine, the King’s! Anyway, it looks like you have managed to loosen my tongue after all, Sir Secret Investigator.”
“Frankly, I don’t understand. I’m a fairly ordinary person. Well, not without a few quirks that may be explained by my origins. Sir Manga Melifaro could deliver a whole lecture on the subject.”
“I don’t give a flying buttress about his lectures. Let him read them to Lookfi, he adores any sort of ethnographic nonsense. Try some of the liqueur, Max. It’s truly out of this world, despite the dubious name. But it’s time for us to go. Sir Juffin is bored without you, Sir Max . . . uh, just plain Max.”
The liqueur really was superb, though I’m not very fond of liqueur in general.
Naturally, I accompanied the damsel home. This is probably the custom in all Worlds, even when the lady is the incomparable Master of Pursuit. Along the way we were silent, until Melamori decided to dot and cross the leftover i’s and t’s.
“There’s nothing amiss, Max. It’s just that I have some doubts that I can’t completely dispel—not that I attach much credence to them, either. Of course, you’re no evil spirit. And you’re not a Mutinous Magician, recently returned to Echo. That’s obvious. But you still don’t strike me as being a normal person; even one with eccentricities. I really can’t figure you out. I like you very much, if you wish to know. But I sense some sort of threat emanating from you. Not just a vague, general kind of threat, but one that concerns me, personally. Though it’s hard to say for sure. Sir Juffin could probably help me, but he doesn’t want to. You know how he is. So I have to sort it all out myself. And I will, a hole in the heavens above you!”
“Go ahead and sort it out,” I said. “And when you’ve sorted it out, share the information with me. Because I for one am not aware of this hypothetical ‘threat.’ Do you promise?”
“I promise. But this is the only thing I can really promise. Good night, Max.”
With that Melamori disappeared behind the massive, ancient doors leading to her living quarters. And I went to the House by the Bridge, unsure about how to interpret the results of our evening together. On the one hand, they seemed more than promising. On the other . . . Well, time would tell. In any case, I would have to remind Lonli-Lokli to teach me some of those breathing exercises. I sensed that I would need some superhuman self-discipline in the near future.
A few days later, when it had started to seem that the incident involving my countryman had receded into the past, a call from Sir Juffin Hully got me out of bed somewhat earlier than I would have wished.
Wake up, Sir Max! the voice of my boss boomed through my sleepy brain. There are things in the World that are much more interesting than the dull slumber you’ve been plunged in for six hours straight. A visit to Maba Kalox, for instance. I’m coming to pick you up in an hour and a half.
I leaped out of bed as though on fire. Ella meowed indignantly at the disruption. Armstrong didn’t even twitch an ear.
I bathed, dressed, and downed a mug of kamra in record time—a quarter of an hour. That still left time for me to sit down in a chair and properly wake up.
“Maba says he’s ready to answer a few questions. We’re in luck, Max. The old man doesn’t keep his promises very often!” Juffin seemed quite pleased. “Have you already begun your training with Sir Shurf? You might need to exercise some self-control.”
“I’ve just started, but it will be enough for me just to see Sir Maba. His face is the most effective tranquilizer I know.”
“You’re right about that, lad. Although this is, of course, an illusion. In fact, I don’t know a more dangerous creature; or a more peaceable one,” Juffin mused, leaving me completely confounded.
It didn’t take as long for us to find Sir Maba Kalox’s house as it had the first time. The living room was empty, but the master of the house came out to greet us in a few minutes.
In his hands, Sir Maba held an enormous tray that he was examining curiously.
“I wanted to surprise you with something tasty, but this seems to be quite inedible.” He hurled away the tray, and I shrank back, anticipating a thundering crash. But the tray disappeared before it reached the floor.
“I know you don’t like repetition, Maba, but we would be thrilled to be offered some of that red potion you treated us to last time,” Juffin suggested hopefully.
“Well, by all means—if you are such dullards that you spurn new sensations.” Sir Maba crawled under the table and drew out a pitcher and three small, delicate cups. They looked familiar.
“You haven’t caught on yet, Max? Maba has compassionately stuck his nose into your own past,” Juffin said laughing.
“Of course! Sinning Magicians, these are the cups from Mom’s best tea set! I’ll tell you a secret, Sir Maba: I hated it! And the rolls you served us last time—they sold them in the greasy spoon across the street from the editorial office where I used to work! Gosh, I’m slow.”
“Probably just not very observant. Besides, you weren’t expecting evidence of things from your world. A person usually sees only what he is expecting to see beforehand. Remember that for the future!” With these words he pulled a pie out from under the table.
“My grandmother’s!” I exclaimed with absolute certainty. “My grandmother’s apple pie! Sir Juffin, now you’ll understand that my homeland isn’t all that bad!”
“No, Max,” Sir Maba said, surprising me yet again. “Not your grandmother’s, but her friend’s. The one who gave your grandmother the recipe. I thought the original would be better than the imitation. Now then, as you have already understood, boys, I solved the riddle. Congratulations, Max. You have created a Tipfinger! Which is quite extraordinary for a novice in our profession. For that matter, is quite extraordinary any way you look at it.”
“What have I created? What’s a Tipfinger? How could I have created something when I have no clue what it is?”
“That’s how it usually works,” Juffin observed. “I don’t think the creator of the universe had any clue what a ‘universe’ was, either.”
“I hate giving lectures, but for the sake of such a promising student, I am willing to abandon my scruples,” Sir Maba said with a sigh. “Everything boils down to this—that in the World there are many ineffable creatures. Among them are Tipfingers. It isn’t that they are so terribly hostile to human beings; but we are too different to arrive at a mutual understanding. Tipfingers come out of nowhere and feed on our fears, anxieties, and forebodings. Occasionally they take on the appearance of a particular person and visit his acquaintances, scaring them with the most uncharacteristic capers, or simply with a look. I can tell you whose appearance you unwittingly gave to the Tipfinger you created. You saw his face only once, on the street, when you were a small child. The face scared you and you began to howl. Then you forgot it, until it came time to open the Door between Worlds. You were well-prepared for this event—you lost no time or energy on unnecessary doubts. I think you both simply chose an opportune moment, Juffin. My congratulations—that took real skill. In fact, Max, you not only opened the Door, you also planted this uncanny creature there, so you would have something to fear. You thought that the unknown had to be terrifying. And insofar as Juffin had not prepared any nightmares for you, you rectified his oversight yourself—unconsciously, of course. I could explain things in more detail, but you wouldn’t understand beans about it, no offense. But you, Juffin, I’ll dream you up tonight without fail and show you everything. It’s very exciting! By the way, Max, until now no one knew exactly where Tipfingers came from. With your help we cracked another mysterious nut. They are the offspring of someone’s inclination to fear of the unknown.”
I really understood almost nothing of these explanations, though a thing or two did actually sink in.
“But that ghost, the one that live
d in Xolomi, that’s what he called Lonli-Lokli! He said to me, ‘You brought the Tipfinger here, fellow!’ Could our Shurf also really be—”
Sir Maba burst out laughing.
“Ah, Maxlilgl Annox! Don’t give it another thought. That was his favorite curse. He called nearly all adepts of other Orders ‘Tipfingers.’ And your Lonli-Lokli, back in the day, as far as I know, was . . . where did he seek the Power, Juffin?”
“In the Order of the Holey Cup.”
“That’s right, the Mad Fisherman. He made some heavy-duty mischief in his day.”
“Sir Lonli-Lokli? Heavy-duty mischief?” I was flabbergasted.
“Why are you so surprised, Max? People change. Take a look at yourself. Where is the pathetic little chap who trembled at the approaching footsteps of his boss?” Sir Maba said with a grin.
“This is true.”
“By the way, I saw how you put the old man out of his misery. The waterfall was priceless! That was the best show I’ve seen since the beginning of this dreary Code Epoch.”
“You saw that?” I was becoming accustomed to this nature of surprise.
“Of course! It’s my hobby—keeping track of the fates of my former colleagues. That’s why I couldn’t pass up such a performance. But don’t you entertain any illusions about the future, young man. I never intervene. I only observe. That’s why Juffin Hully exists—to intervene. For the time being we have some differences of opinion on life.”
“Which has never prevented you from accepting fees for your, let us say, ‘consultations,’” Juffin interposed drily.
“Of course not. I love money. It’s so pretty. Actually, as for your personal Tipfinger, Max—you’ll have to kill it sooner or later. It’s not good to litter the Universe with any old thing. Besides, a Tipfinger in the Door between Worlds is an unprecedented outrage. There you have my consultation; and just try to accuse me of taking money from the King’s coffers without deserving it!”