by Max Frei
Slowly, my blood began to boil. When someone dumps so much rubbish on you all at once, no amount of breathing exercises promoted by Lonli-Lokli will do any good.
“Fury! Shrew!” I bellowed. “Coward! Go find some weakling whose head you can turn with your pathetic wiles! You need a man you can kill at the drop of a hat! ‘Get on his trail’ and it’s all up with him! I’m telling you, there was no spell! It was a wonder—a mi-ra-cle!”
“You dare say that to me, after all you’ve done?” Melamori asked, her voice tight with rage.
“I’ve done? I didn’t do anything. I just went to bed, closed my eyes, and dreamed about you. That’s the extent of my ‘magic.’ If you don’t believe me—fine! Suit yourself.”
I remembered how happy my dream had made me, and the consciousness of loss gave me a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. A new wave of rage swept over me. A dense ball of bitter saliva collected in my mouth. Lady Melamori was lucky that I was able to control myself. I spat on the floor, then stared dully at a hole in the carpet that gave off a cloud of reeking steam. When I got a grip on myself, I turned around. Melamori had shrunk into the corner, trembling. I felt sad and ashamed. At that moment life struck me as some monumental joke.
“I’m sorry, Melamori. I said some very foolish things. And you did, too, believe me. Take my amobiler and go home. We’ll talk later.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” Melamori said, creeping out of her hiding place and inching toward the door. “Even if you’re not a liar, all the worse! That means you can’t help it! Never mind—I’ll find a way. No one will ever force me to do anything! You hear me?”
She slammed the door so violently that one of my small fragile cabinets crashed to the floor. I clutched at my hair and shook my head—everything had gotten completely out of hand! It seemed my romance was smashed to smithereens. Yes, Max, that’s exactly what had happened.
I got out of bed and went downstairs. Dirty, rotten vampires like me have the bad habit of pouring gallons of kamra into themselves after forcing themselves upon sweet ladies. Besides that, we smoke our revolting, stinky cigarettes from another World, and this creates an illusion of emotional equilibrium in us. True, it doesn’t last very long. I was so tense and on edge that my lethargy evaporated like magic. Adrenalin is a powerful thing.
The fact is, I don’t have a drop of patience. If something goes wrong in my life, I’m not able to wait for an auspicious moment to remedy the situation. I’d rather spoil everything once and for all, as long as it’s today, than subject myself to anguished expectation and breathing exercises with an eye toward the future. Of course, it’s stupid, but there are things that are stronger than I am. Waiting and hoping is a path that may lead to sudden madness, but running amuck through town like a complete idiot—that’s sometimes just the ticket! Almost any action I take gives me the illusion that I’m stronger than unmerciful circumstances. I have to do something. This is my form of reasoning: a protective reflex, the uncouth, visceral reaction of a body in trouble. In short, what I truly hate is sitting in one place and suffering.
I went back to the bedroom and started getting dressed. I thought—I was absolutely certain—that I was going to go to work. I’d go help Juffin. What kind of work would he have me do, though? In any case, with a sip of Elixir of Kaxar in the morning I’d feel as good as new.
Only when I had gone outside did I realize that I was dressed not in the Mantle of Death, but in the swamp-colored looxi I had been wearing during my recent gluttonous outing with Sir Kofa. I shrugged. I didn’t have the strength to go back and change. The house awakened painful memories, too fresh for me to want to run up against them again. But going to work in these clothes wasn’t exactly appropriate, either.
I’ll take a walk through town, calm down a bit, do some thinking, and then we’ll see, I decided, turning into the first alleyway I came to.
My legs carried me along wherever they wished. I tried not to interfere. My memory, and the urge to get my bearings in my surroundings, were suspended for the time being. My thoughts also seemed to have taken a short vacation, and this was wonderful. I must admit, I hadn’t counted on this kind of relief.
My headlong flight through the night was interrupted by the rind of some exotic fruit. I slipped, plopping down on the sidewalk in the most inelegant manner. It was good I wasn’t wearing the Mantle of Death—this clumsy footwork could easily have soiled my sinister reputation. The unexpectedness of my fall from grace also jolted my memory, letting loose a stream of curses from my far-off homeland, long slumbering in the recesses of my memory. Two men who were coming out of a tavern stared at me in unfeigned delight. I went quiet, and realized I should pick myself up off the mosaic sidewalk. Praise be the Magicians, at least it was dry.
I got up and looked at the signboard over the establishment from which the two men had just emerged from. The name of the tavern struck me as more than fateful: The Vampire’s Dinner. I smiled bitterly and went inside. What I found was fully in keeping with my expectations, and filled me with a sense of foreboding. In the semidarkness stood the solitary silhouette of the barkeeper. His hair was disheveled and his eyelids glowed phosphorescent. From his ear, naturally, dangled the Earring of Oxalla. I began to feel more cheerful. This is where I should have brought Melamori for our discussion today. I think the proprietor of this establishment would certainly have been on my side.
I sat down at the table farthest from the door. The surface was daubed with red paint. These were supposed to represent spots of blood. I considered for a moment, then ordered something from the Old Cuisine. I was lucky that unhappiness always improved my appetite.
I was served a harmless-looking piece of pie with no outward signs of the vampire esthetic. When I made a tiny incision, the pie literally blew up like a piece of popcorn that explodes over a sizzling hot fire. On my plate there was now an airy cloud of a substance so delicious I had to order another one as soon as the first portion was gone. By the way, this culinary confection was called Breath of Evil.
When I had fallen into a blissful stupor, I ordered some kamra and began to fill my pipe. On top of all the other misfortunes, my meager supply of cigarette butts had dried up. That’s how it always was with me: if it rains, it pours.
I smoked, and stared at my fellow patrons with the lively interest of an imbecile. One of them was about to leave. His hairdo was just like that of Captain Giatta, whose life I had inadvertently saved: a braid down to his belt and an ample beard. Was this fellow perhaps from the Old Maid? Some ship’s cook adding to his stockpile of trade secrets? I scrutinized the stranger more carefully. He was just fishing around for his wallet in the mysterious depths of his flowing robe. Sinning Magicians! The dull gleam of mother-of-pearl: a belt. More precisely, the Belt! Another bewitched sailor. I’d have to do something.
Of course, I could simply have arrested the fellow. It was my duty to do so. But I understood very well the remarkable behavior of Captain Giatta. A bewitched man was quite capable of believing that he had to face death rather than surrender. So I decided just to follow him. My clothes, Praise be the Magicians, were completely unobtrusive. Why not do a little spying? A much better diversion than moaning over my broken heart. I tossed a crown down on the blood-spattered table. This was, of course, too much to pay for a few pieces of pie in a dive like this, but I felt very sympathetic toward the proprietor of the Vampire’s Dinner. The disheveled slyboots caught the gleam of shiny metal and his eyes lit up. I put a finger to my lips and slipped out the door. My bearded friend was just disappearing around the corner. I quickened my pace.
I didn’t recall having been in this part of Echo before, or perhaps it was just that at night it was hard to recognize. Anyway, I wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing. I didn’t take my eyes off the back of the stranger. Where was he taking me? I already envisioned how I would discover the hideout of a whole band of belted long-beards, and Juffin and I would swoop in and save them from their benighted existence. Ac
tually, I wasn’t too eager to repeat my recent flirtation with someone else’s death. Never mind, we’d get out of it somehow.
Sinning Magicians, who would have thought! The bearded object of my undivided attention had led me not just anywhere, but into the very heart of the Quarter of Trysts. Bewitched or not, it seemed he still suffered from loneliness and wanted to try his luck. I smiled bitterly. Lady Melamori was kicking up her heels somewhere nearby, if she hadn’t reconsidered her vow to come here seeking oblivion from my repellent embrace. I couldn’t just let this smart fellow slip away, getting his happiness for a night! And jumping into bed with the happy couple was out of the question.
But life was wiser than I was. I didn’t have to find a way out of a ridiculous situation. The stranger stopped short and turned to me.
“You’re too late, mate,” he said in the same distinctive Tasherian drawl that Captain Giatta spoke with. “Do you know how many people there are all around us? If you take another step I’ll shout for help.”
Then it dawned on me. He thought I was trying to rob him. Of course, what else would a wealthy stranger think if he had been pursued by a suspicious character in a nondescript looxi for the last half hour?
“I’m no robber,” I said, with my most charming smile. “I’m much worse. There’s no stopping me. You came at it from the wrong end. I’m from the Secret Investigative Force of the Unified Kingdom. Are you in the mood for a walk to the House by the Bridge?”
I winked at the bearded chap. The stupid circumstances of my conversation with the suspect in the middle of the Quarter of Trysts suddenly filled me with a senseless buoyancy. I swiveled my hips suggestively and pursed my lips in a Cupid’s bow.
“Tonight, I am your fate. What’s your name, handsome?”
“Handsome” gasped for air. My unbridled approach seemed to have disarmed him. But the Tasherian’s voice remained firm.
“I can’t go with you, sir. I very much regret it, but I am forced to stand my ground.”
And the bearded one drew an enormous butcher knife from under his looxi—the kind of knife that is probably considered to be an ordinary dagger in distant Tashera.
“No one loves me,” I concluded. “Fine, let’s fight it out. All the more since I know your weak point, my friend. I’m not going to slice you up into pieces. I’ll just undo your wonderful belt and see what happens. Well, have you changed your mind? Give me your little toy.”
Recent events had made me absurdly reckless. I was even surprised at myself. I seemed to have decided I had nothing to lose. My opponent seemed to think likewise.
“It’s all the same to me,” the stranger said gloomily, grasping his instrument more deftly. “We’ll have to fight. I’m very sorry, sir.”
With a sudden movement of the hand, a silver bolt of lightning pierced my stomach. Rather, it should have pierced me—only I suddenly had no stomach for it to pierce.
To tell the truth, to this day I don’t understand what happened. I was behaving like a second-rate hero of a B movie, so I should have died right there, on the mosaic sidewalk of the Quarter of Trysts. Why didn’t it happen? It’s hard to say. I think that some of Juffin Hully’s lessons must have gotten through to me, though I’m still not sure he taught me anything of the sort.
The knife fell on the mosaic, and I tried to figure out what was happening. I wasn’t there. I just wasn’t. That’s all. I had disappeared somehow, gone “nowhere” and ceased to be “something”—for the space of a second. Then I appeared again. Just in time to step on the knife with my foot, as well as on the hand of the stunned would-be killer.
“Hi!” I said. “Now we’re going to undress. Or we’ll just go straight to the House by the Bridge. As you wish, darling. Take your pick. Today is your day.”
The bearded fellow jerked with such force that I almost flew head over heels, along with my tasteless jokes. It finally dawned on me that my chances for winning this contest of wills were very slim. The Mantle of Death and lots of good food had made a very benign fellow out of Max. An uneasy feeling of doom had crept up behind me and was about to leap out and put an end to my existence. I didn’t like it a bit.
I knew very well that I wouldn’t spit at the bearded chap. It would be cruel to kill him, not to mention foolish. Who knew what kinds of secrets the angry old salt was keeping inside him? On the other hand, how could I fight a strapping fellow like that? I had never been any good with my fists. Making a big noise, yes, but standing my ground in a fight to the death was not my cup of tea. Whatever Sir Juffin Hully said about the possible dire consequences of mixing two curses, I had to take the risk and do a bit of sorcery.
Praise be the Magicians, at least I knew how to do something. With a practiced gesture, I hid the long-beard between the thumb and the forefinger of my left hand.
Exhausted, I sat down on the pavement and hung my head between my knees. I should take this souvenir to Juffin, I thought gloomily. I’ll go presently. Let me just sit here a minute, then on to the House by the Bridge, blast it!
I felt stunned. It seemed as if an enormous heavy stone had settled on me, and I couldn’t move.
Then I felt a gentle hand come to rest on my shoulder.
“Has something happened, sir? We heard some noise. Perhaps you need some help?” asked an elegant, bright-haired lady in a richly adorned looxi.
Her broad-shouldered companion sat on his haunches and stared searchingly into my face. What could I tell them, these fine, upstanding young people?
After all, just recently I had been Sir Max, the most lighthearted, frivolous civil servant on either side of the Xuron.
“It’s all right, kind people,” I said with a smile. “I came here with a friend, and that idiot refused point blank to visit the Trysting House. He cried half the night about how lonely he was, but as soon as we were here he got cold feet. I’m ashamed to say that he was afraid. He punched me and then ran off.”
“Your friend must be crazy,” the lady said, shaking her head in disapproval. “How can someone fear his own destiny?”
“It turns out that it’s possible,” I said, staring at my left hand, where, inconceivably, the arrestee was being held. “So I’m all right. Thank you kindly. Good night to you.”
“We certainly will have a good night,” the lady said, smiling.
Her companion finally stopped studying my face and took the woman by the hand.
“Magicians be with your mad friend. Drop in yourself and meet your destiny. Morning is a long way away,” she grinned archly, waving goodbye.
Left alone, I looked pensively at the Trysting House. Had this fair-haired stranger bewitched me? I didn’t know why, but I suddenly wished very much to go inside. After all, I still hadn’t been with a woman in this World. Except in my dreams—but that didn’t quite count.
As though from a distance, I observed a tall young man in a modest garment, who stood up from the pavement and reached for the doorknob. That young man seemed to be me. In any case, I discovered that I was already on the threshold of that establishment. When someone asked me to pay two crowns, I dug nervously in the pocket of my looxi. The building was located on that side of the street where the Seekers were men, and the Seeker paid a double entrance fee.
I paid the money, but had no idea what to do next. Melifaro’s explanations had evaporated from my memory. What the heck was I thinking, coming here with an arrestee in custody! I felt slightly panicky. I realized that in my other hand I was grasping a tiny, smooth ceramic tag with the number 19 stamped on it. How and when I had managed to come by it was a mystery.
I stared thoughtfully at a huge glass receptacle that was sitting on the floor by the entrance. It was full of tags of the same kind. I had probably taken it from there. What now? I wondered in horror. I started to tremble. I no longer remembered that I had come here to meet an unknown woman, to meet my own destiny. I had only one goal: not committing another blunder. I had already screwed up enough for one night!
“What are yo
u waiting for, sir?” the affable host asked in surprise. “Your number is 19. Go meet your destiny, my friend.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me why I came here. People are so absent-minded; and I’m a person, after all.”
I finally remembered what I was supposed to do. I slowly entered the rooms where the Waiters, lonely women both beautiful and plain, were biding their time. An absurd thought flickered through my brain: I was no doubt the first cop who had ever sought a lover with an arrestee in his fist!
One, two, three . . . I couldn’t even make out any faces. They all swam together in a blurry mass, and I walked through it with a foolish grin on my face. Six, seven . . . too bad, I have another number, sweetheart. Ten, eleven . . . May I get past, please? Eighteen, nineteen . . . You’re the one I’m looking for, my lady.
“Are you doing this on purpose? Are you casting spells again?” asked a familiar voice. “You shouldn’t be doing this, Max. Well, anyway, that’s that. You can’t fool fate, can you?”
I finally managed to focus my eyes. The pale splotch of a face slowly acquired a sweet, familiar outline. Lady Melamori looked at me guardedly. It seemed she couldn’t decide what to do—whether to throw herself at me in a warm embrace, or run for her life.
“That’s it!” I said. “This really is the limit!”
Then I sat down on the floor and began to laugh. I couldn’t have cared less about propriety and all the rest. My good sense simply refused to take part in this implausible adventure.