by Max Frei
“If you really want to make me happy, it’s all in your power,” I said, making an effort to be deferential, although this didn’t really seem necessary.
“Oy vey, Max, I already know that everything is in my power without you telling me so,” the old man said with a grin. “Just give it to me straight.”
“Please allow me to wear my regular clothes. Not when I’m on duty, of course, but in my free time.” I fiddled demonstratively with the hem of my black and gold Mantle of Death. “It’s crucial that I wear it at work, and it is truly very beautiful. But sometimes I just want to go unnoticed, to have a rest from people’s stares. All the more since it turns out that I don’t have to be angry or frightened to be poisonous. Experience has shown that this ability is always present in me. You needn’t be afraid of upsetting me, though. I’m very even-tempered when I keep myself in check.”
“Who would have suspected—such a good boy, and so lethal!” Nuflin exclaimed gaily.
“Thank Magician Maxlilgl Annox for that,” Juffin said, smiling. “Do you remember him?”
“How could I forget? Such a small fellow, and so serious. So he’s the one who presented you with that gift, Max? How wise of him—to do something of benefit to someone in the end. So, Juffin, does he speak the truth? Does he really have such a poisonous mouth? And is it possible to work with him even when he’s being kind?”
“Max isn’t wise enough to begin lying to you. Perhaps in about three hundred years . . .”
“Oy, Praise to the Heavens, I refuse to live that long! Here’s what I would say to you, Max. When you’re not working, dress however you please. And keep in mind that you’ll be in my debt for this favor! It’s not every day that old Nuflin changes established tradition.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you!”
I was elated. I had been granted freedom—the priceless freedom of being a person no one notices. I would be able to chat with pretty tavernkeepers, share my tobacco with nice old men, make friends with stray dogs. What else do you need to be happy?
“When you get older, you’ll understand that it’s not all these other silly people who need the Mantle of Death, but you yourself,” the Grand Magician said meaningfully. “Think about wise old Nuflin then! The Mantle of Death, like the Mantle of the Grand Magician, is a good way of saying no to the World. Other people have their own lives, and you have yours, independent of anyone else. Just don’t protest, saying you don’t want to say no to this World! Come to me again in about five hundred years, and let me hear what kind of tune you’ll be singing then.”
It seemed the old man had blithely forgotten his own recent promise not to live another three hundred years. Or did he believe he could still receive visitors after his demise? But who in the World knows what he’ll be able to do after death?
“I won’t take up any more of your valuable time, Nuflin,” Sir Juffin said, standing up. “I remember how trying you find visitors, even such worthy visitors as ourselves.”
“Now don’t sell yourself short, Juffin. For all I know, you just want to go get something to eat . . . and rake my old bones over the coals! You think I’ll try to stop you? Or invite you to dine with me? Well, then, you don’t know me very well yet! Take yourselves off to your Glutton. And you, get a good night’s sleep, boy. You’ll be needing it.”
Sinning Magicians, what did he mean by that?
We left Jafax via an underground passage that connected the castle to the House by the Bridge. I learned that this was a very important part of the ritual: one must enter the Residence of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover in plain view, but leave this sacred place in secret, through one’s own previously arranged exit. The services of a guide are not offered to guests, and they won’t even consider unlocking the gates for them.
“And who is this Loiso Pondoxo you buried who-knows-where?” I asked when we had crossed the threshold.
“Ah, Loiso, Grand Magician of that same Order of the Watery Crow—the name of which was such a source of amusement to you. Listen, go get some sleep, hero,” Juffin said with a wink. “Some Nocturnal Representative you are! You’re practically asleep on your feet. All the same, Sir Kofa and I will be working all night.”
“Working on such a sacred task is no chore,” Sir Kofa announced, nodding solemnly. “My congratulations, Juffin! It was so easy for you to push through those changes in the Code. You know how to wrap the old man around your little finger.”
“It’s a good thing I was the one to do it. Imagine what would happen to the World if someone else were able to do the same!”
“Horrors! Do as Juffin says, Max. Go to bed. You aren’t up to making any sense, anyway.”
I didn’t object. Making sense was a fairly remote prospect just now.
I was terribly drowsy on the way home. All the same I sent Melamori a call.
How are things, my lady?
Not much to report. While you were waltzing around Jafax, I had to entertain Melifaro. And the girls, of course. They all took to each other immediately. Poor fellow, his head’s probably still spinning after so much heavy-duty flirting. He’s used to taking on the ladies one by one. But here—what a range of possibilities!
And how did they like me?
I don’t know. I can’t remember. I really overindulged in the liqueur and the hard stuff yesterday. Sweet dreams, Max. I’m falling asleep.
Will I see you tomorrow?
Sure! Over and out.
Melamori had also picked up my inane little expression. It was pleasant, as though she had a keepsake of mine in her pocket that she took out to show her friends from time to time.
As soon as I fell asleep, my life—interesting though it already was—became even more interesting. I dreamed that an invisible guest had just made himself at home in my bedroom.
“Greetings, clairvoyant!” I recognized the voice of Maba Kalox instantly. “You were very clever to discover me back there. But in future, don’t show off, all right? Everyone already knows how smart you are, and I like to stay incognito.”
“I’m sorry, Sir Maba!”
I was already asleep, but I was still aware enough to understand just what he was saying.
“It wasn’t such a terrible faux pas. Those three would have sensed my presence even without your help. From now on, though, remember—if you want to talk to me, well, that’s what Silent Speech is for. Announcing to everyone that ‘Sir Maba is here!’ isn’t the thing to do. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” I mumbled. I was ashamed of myself.
“Good. Now, since I just blew in on a wild wind, I’m going to give you a present.”
“What kind of present?”
“What do you mean ‘what kind’? A good one! Keep an eye on your pillow from now on. Make sure no one tries to move it from its proper place.”
“Why?”
“Because the pillow of such a great hero can be an excellent plug in the Chink between Worlds. Am I making myself clear?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Oh, Max. How does poor Juffin manage to teach you anything? I can’t imagine! Fine. Remember how I fetched all those silly treats for you from under the table?”
“Oh yes,” I said, smiling broadly in my sleep. “Do you mean to tell me that I can do that, too, now?”
“Well, let’s just say that you can’t do it like that yet, but if you set your mind to it, you may be able to rustle up a few of those funny smoking sticks from distant Worlds that you so crave. Try it when you wake up. And nail your pillow to the floor so it won’t get lost, is my advice to you!”
“What do I have to do?”
“Stick your hand under the pillow. Then everything will happen on its own. Only you must exercise patience, my boy. It takes a long time at first. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Well, Sir Maba, if I can get hold of just one regular cigarette, I’ll be forever in your debt!”
“That’s just fine. Your funny habit is the best guarantee that you’ll practice
hard. Practice is what you need now.”
“Uh—will I dream you again?” I asked eagerly. “Maybe there’s something else I can learn from you.”
“Of course there is. Even without my help. I can’t promise I’ll visit you often. You’re young, and I’m so old. It’s not much fun for me to teach you. Let Juffin run around after you! All the more since you want to dream other things now. And it’s completely within your power.”
“What do you mean?”
But it was too late. Sir Maba Kalox had already disappeared. In his place, Melamori appeared at the window. I was glad, but somehow not surprised.
“Good dream, my lady!” I called out gaily. “How glad I am to see you!”
“Is this really a dream?” asked Melamori. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. And it’s my dream, not yours. I’m dreaming you.”
Melamori smiled and started melting away. Her fragile silhouette became completely transparent. I wanted to stop her, but suddenly I realized I couldn’t budge. I weighed a ton—no, who was I kidding? I weighed far more . . .
“Yes, I’m already almost home,” Melamori squeaked in surprise, and disappeared completely.
I woke up. It was early morning. Armstrong and Ella were breathing contentedly somewhere down by my heels. The kitties! They could accidentally nudge the pillow—the plug, that is—and other Worlds would come gushing into my poor bedroom! I fretted, only half awake.
I rushed over to the small cupboard at the far side of the room to find a needle and some thread. My stashing habits are sometimes truly remarkable. I got into bed again and sewed the corners of the pillow firmly to the thick sleeping-rug. I took a deep breath. Now everything was all right. I could sleep some more.
My head dropped onto the rug, next to the tightly secured pillow, and I blanked out. This time, no dreams came to me; none that I was aware of, anyway.
I finally woke up again around noon. The sun, enchantingly impertinent as happens only in early spring, peeped from behind the curtain. I stared at the firmly attached pillow in wonder—what kind of nonsense was this? Then I remembered.
Guess what I did next. I stuck my hand into the alleged Chink between Worlds and waited expectantly. I didn’t experience anything out of the ordinary. It must have looked absurd—a person on all fours, naked, one hand under the pillow, while on his face a look of tense anticipation of something miraculous. Thank goodness the windows were covered with shutters!
In about fifteen minutes, I began to think that Sir Maba Kalox had played a trick on me. A tiny trick, to be sure, but it was a fine way of taking revenge on me for recently blowing his cover. He had warned me it would be a lengthy process, however. So hope was still keeping itself warm in one of the dark corners of my heart—presumably the left ventricle.
Another ten minutes or so passed. My legs grew numb, my poor elbow screamed for mercy. Hope entered its final stages: the death throes. Then I realized that my right hand was no longer lying on the soft nap of the rug under the warm pillow. It was—horrors, it wasn’t anywhere at all! All the same, I was able to wiggle my fingers. To do this, though, I needed to make an effort of the will, rather than a physical effort of the muscles.
I was so afraid that I forgot about everything else in the world. My benumbed legs, my convulsively cramped shoulders—who cared?
Where was my poor paw, was what I wanted to know. Forget the blasted cigarettes! I’d smoke the stinking pipe tobacco. Just give me back my beloved hand!
Though I could do with a cigarette at a moment like this . . .
Suddenly I lurched backwards, so unexpectedly that I lost my balance and fell over on my side. Luckily, I didn’t have far to fall when I was already on all fours. I burst out in nervous laughter. My hand was with me again. More than that, between my middle finger and my forefinger I found a half-smoked, burning cigarette. There was a red lipstick stain on the filter. Aha! I had robbed some dame! The blue number 555 below the filter . . . Sinning Magicians, what’s the difference! I took a puff, and swooned. Deprivation had turned me into a terrible skinflint; seconds later I carefully put out the cigarette and went to wash. Then I warmed up the remains of yesterday’s kamra, sat in an armchair, and tenderly smoked the crumpled stub. What a glorious start to the day! It was as though I had dropped into the middle of a fairy tale.
Need I say that I didn’t emerge from the bedroom until sundown? I swear that even the desire to see Melamori couldn’t dislodge me until it was time for me to report to the House by the Bridge.
The first attempt, as it turned out, was the most successful. The next few times I had to wait even longer. Now, at last, I knew why I had to suffer. By the time I left for work, I had four cigarettes—three that someone had already smoked, and one whole one. After wrapping up my loot and carefully hiding it in the pocket of the Mantle of Death, I set out for the Ministry of Perfect Public Order. With all the excitement of these otherworldly experiments, I had even forgotten to eat.
After yesterday’s historic occasion, I must admit I expected a huge crowd of chefs at the visitors’ entrance, all of them longing for permission to apply magic of the heretofore-forbidden 20th degree in their kitchens, and to wear the Earring of Oxalla to top it off.
Nothing of the sort. There were no visitors, either outside or in the corridor, or even in the Hall of Common Labor, where a temporary reception space had been set up. Melifaro was sitting in state on the table with the bored expression of the well-rested.
Sir Juffin Hully came out of the office to meet me.
“Unbelievable, Max. You’re on time today, and not three hours early. What’s gotten into you?”
“Don’t you know? I saw Sir Maba in my dream.”
“Really? And was this vision too wonderful to wake up from?”
“You really don’t know? He taught me how to forage for cigarettes. Underneath my pillow!”
“How thoughtful of him. I never would have expected it. And did it work? It did, of course—it’s written in big letters across your happy forehead. Strange, Maba never was a very good teacher. He’s too impatient to bother with neophytes. We’re talking nonsense over here, Melifaro. Don’t give it a second thought,” said Juffin, finally noticing that the eyes of his Diurnal Representative were popping out in surprise. “It means you’re going to have to work that much harder, poor boy. It seems that from now on Max is going to be spending all his time fishing around under his pillow.”
“Well, that beats sitting in an office all day,” said Melifaro.
I was feeling magnanimous, like every truly happy person.
“I’m not yet a lost cause. But tell me, where are all the chefs? What happened this morning?”
“Not a thing,” said Melifaro and yawned. “Chemparkaroke, the innkeeper of the Old Thorn, dropped in. It was really something. He claims that he can prepare his house special, the Soup of Repose, without any magic whatsoever, as long as the seasoning herbs are potent. But the Earring of Oxalla, he said, was a beautiful thing, and the customers would like it. He’s quite a character. He insisted on looking into a mirror while the earring was being affixed, so he could see the whole process. I thought I’d have some fun, and called in the junior staff. The boys crowded around Chemparkaroke, each of them holding a mirror so that he might see his reflection from many different angles at once. I put the earring in, wailing some terrible incantations at the top of my lungs, half of them made up right on the spot. The fellow was ecstatic! He pirouetted in front of the mirror for half an hour, at the same time inviting all the policemen to his establishment. Finally he turned to me, told me he liked the earring, and left. Now there’s a full house at the Old Thorn, no doubt.”
“Do you mean to say that Chemparkaroke was the only one who came by for an earring? And he didn’t need magic at all, if he is to be believed? What is this, Juffin?” I asked my boss in consternation. “It was such an achievement—persuading Grand Magician Nuflin, and so forth. And now the idiots . . .”
“That�
��s precisely the point. They’re not idiots at all. They’re just sensible, cautious gentlemen. Do you think they would come running on the very first day? The Earring of Oxalla is no trifling matter. Do you know what will happen to the person who decides to indulge in magic of even the 21st degree if he’s wearing that little doodad? There aren’t many who could withstand the shock of pain that is inevitable in that case. Our amazing culinary wizards are living people, and they’re not quite ready to be hemmed in that way. Everyone thinks that if he breaks the prohibition only once he can hide from us, if he’s lucky. And it isn’t even the end of the world if he ends up in Xolomi. Almost half of the most important people in the Unified Kingdom have done time in Xolomi. But about the Earring of Oxalla there can be only one opinion—either you have it or you don’t.”
“Why not take it off?” I didn’t understand a thing. The day before I was so sleepy that I hadn’t managed to pin Juffin down and ask what the Earring of Oxalla really was.
“Oh, Max! Give me a break, Marvel of the Steppes!”
Melifaro held out for my inspection a fairly large ring of some kind of dark metal, clearly different from ordinary jewelry. It was solid, without any break in the hoop, nor was there any clasp. I took the thing in my hand. It felt heavy and warm.
“Affixing it to someone’s ear is quite easy, but it can only be done by a competent person. Me, for instance. This metal, as you see, can’t penetrate human flesh without the accompaniment of specific charms,” Melifaro explained. “And to remove it . . . In the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover there are several fellows who specialize in such procedures. To go to Jafax, however, and say, ‘Hey, guys, take this hardware out of my ear! I’m itching to make some magic!’—well, it’s not the wisest move. Am I right, Boss?”
“Absolutely,” said Juffin and yawned. “You are so very right that my presence here is becoming superfluous. I’m going home to sleep, fellows. I’m as tired as a mad murderer.”