The Stranger

Chapter 2 Juba Chebobargo and other nice folks

“MAX, ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE GOING TO BE COMFORTABLE here?” asked Juffin. He himself looked rather uncertain. “Or have you not yet come to terms with the fact that the King will be paying for your lodgings now?”

It all seemed quite funny to me: just yesterday the very idea that I could move into this massive empty house made my head spin. Sure, it was only two stories high, with one room on each story; but each room was the size of a small stadium. For some reason, they don’t seem to feel the need to economize on space in Echo. Local architecture features only low buildings, two or three stories high, which are, nevertheless, incredibly spacious. The house that I chose on the Street of Old Coins was smaller than its neighbors, which I rather liked about it. Judging by Juffin’s expression, however, it seemed I was enchanted to be living in a slum.

“We Border Dwellers are slaves to habit,” I said proudly. “If only you could see the yurts we inhabit in the Barren Lands.” This secret ethnographic reference was for the benefit of the house’s owner, who stood deferentially to the side. After all, you can’t very well tell a respectable citizen that the person who wants to rent his house is an émigré from another world. The poor fellow was, of course, delighted by his good fortune, but not enough to let this intriguing information about my origins slip by unnoticed.

“And besides, I made my choice out of a sense of duty. The more wretched my conditions at home, the more time I will spend at work.”

“Sounds reasonable, Sir Max. Very well, you can sleep upstairs and entertain guests on the first floor. But where do you propose to keep the help?”

I decided it was time to stand my ground with my boss.

“I don’t approve of keeping servants. I can’t have strangers walking around in my house—closing books that I leave open, going through my private belongings, stealing my cookies, and looking into my eyes with devotion while waiting for me to give orders. I should pay money for that? No, thank you.”

“I see, Sir Max. You’re suffering from a bad case of asceticism, complicated by pathological stinginess. How do you plan to spend the money you’ve saved?”

“I’ll collect amobilers. With my driving habits, I’ll go through them in no time.”

Sir Juffin sighed. For him, forty miles an hour was insufferable recklessness, and perhaps that wasn’t too far from the truth. Before my arrival, people in Echo were under the impression that thirty miles per hour was the absolute limit for this cutting-edge miracle of local technology. That was how I first became something of an attraction in those parts.

“You really are an oddball, Sir Max, moving into a house with only three bathing pools!”

Here I had to admit I had slipped up. In Echo, the bathroom is a special place. Having five to six small swimming pools with water of varying temperatures and aromas is considered not a luxury, but the norm. But even that wasn’t enough to turn me into a sybarite. In Sir Juffin’s house, where there were eleven such baths, I felt that bathing was hard work, and not something to be enjoyed. So I was quite sure that three baths would be more than enough for me.

“I suppose you’re right,” Sir Juffin said. “What difference does it make where you make your bed at night? Oh, well, it’s your life and you can indulge in self-deprivation if you wish. Let’s go over to the Glutton, Sir Max. It would be great if we made it over there an hour before everyone else.”

The amobiler sent by the Ministry of Perfect Public Order was already waiting for us. The owner of the house had us sign the rental papers, and, still unable to believe his luck, disappeared before we could reconsider.

We were given a warm welcome at the Glutton Bunba, the best pub in Echo. We sat down at our favorite table between the bar (they say it’s the longest in the whole city) and the courtyard window. I sat facing the unprepossessing landscape. Sir Juffin sat across from me, with a view of the bar and Madame Zizinda’s unbelievable bust thrown into the bargain.

As we had hoped, we were the first to arrive. Today was to be my official introduction to my colleagues, and Sir Juffin traditionally held such meetings at the Glutton. The protocol would be somewhat simplified, as I had already become acquainted with two combat units of the Minor Secret Investigative Force. I had met Sir Melifaro, the Diurnal Representative of Sir Juffin Hully, and Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli, the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives (a delightful little job that fellow has, I must say), when we had to restrain Sir Makluk’s berserk mirror. My new acquaintances were more than willing to share the story with listeners over a cup of kamra. Juffin’s remarks would only fan the flames of interest.

As a result, I got the reputation of being some sort of superman. That was enjoyable, of course, but it also gave me certain responsibilities to live up to. I was nervous and grateful to Juffin for suggesting we arrive at the Glutton before the others. At least I would have a warm seat beneath me before my colleagues arrived, and I might even be in high spirits if someone offered me a glass of Jubatic Juice.

It turned out, however, that Jubatic Juice was not considered the acme of liquid perfection. They brought us some excellent kamra and a jug of aromatic liqueur, the name of which—Tears of Darkness—gave me an uneasy feeling. As I soon found out, though, that this was just a poetic name given to the drink by its ancient inventor, and had nothing to do with its taste.

“Take it easy, Max,” said Juffin. “Melifaro and I talked about you at such length, and Sir Lonli-Lokli was so eloquently silent, that the poor fellows are going to show up here draped in protective amulets of every kind.”

“Yes, I thought as much . . . Juffin, that old lady at the next table—is she by any chance one of your crew? She seems to be eyeing me suspiciously.”

To my surprise, Juffin stared at me with a nearly threatening gaze. I didn’t know what to think.

“Why do you say that, Max?”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to be funny. That sweet lady definitely had her eye on me. She still does.”

“You surprise me, Sir Max.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that tomorrow I’ll be wearing protective amulets too, just in case.”

Meanwhile, enveloped in the folds of her dark looxi, the sweet lady, who was in fact a large old woman, stood up gracefully from her table and approached us. The woman’s face underwent a transformation as she made her way over to us. By the time she arrived at our table, she was an elderly gentleman of ample and squat build. I blinked my eyes, unable to grasp what was going on.

“I see you as in a waking dream, Sir Max,” he said politely, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand, as one does upon first being introduced. I automatically returned the gesture.

“I’m glad to speak my name: I am Kofa Yox, Master Eavesdropper. Congratulations, son. You saw right through me.”

“But sir, I didn’t mean to,” I began, embarrassed. “I was just making a joke.”

“Right. Next thing you know, you’re going to say you’re sorry, and that it won’t happen again,” said Juffin, laughing out loud. “Just look at him, sitting there with a guilty expression. Anyone else would be gloating over it!”

Kofa Yox smiled gently. “That’s reassuring. It’s great to have at least one humble person working in our organization.” He sat down next to Juffin, facing me, and took a sip of kamra.

“This place has the best food in all of Echo, to be sure!” Sir Kofa Yox said, and smiled again. “I have news for both of you. Everyone in the city is talking about the Venerable Head’s new Nocturnal Representative—that’s you, son. There are two popular versions of the story. The first is that Juffin Hully brought a creature from the World of the Dead to Echo. Is that a look of delight I see, Sir Max? The second version is that the Venerable Head gave a job in the Force to his illegitimate son, whom he had been hiding away since time immemorial. What do you think of that, Juffin?”

“They couldn’t come up with anything more interesting than that?” my boss asked with a snort. “Capital City lore seems to thrive on only two topics: forbidden magic and the amorous adventures of my youth. The latter seems to arouse particular interest, because instead of being born in Echo like most normal people, I came here from Kettari. People think that there’s nothing to do in the provinces but indulge in daily fits of shameless lust. Yes, Kofa, the King will have to raise your salary. What a job, having to listen to such idle nonsense, day in and day out!”

“It’s all right. It annoyed me for the first eighty years, but I got used to it after that. I’ve worked with Juffin for a long time, Max,” said Kofa Yox, giving me another soft paternal smile.

“Before that, Sir Yox was Police General of the Right Bank,” said Juffin, “and tried to have me arrested for many years. On several occasions, his efforts nearly succeeded, but in the end, they all fell through. That was during the Epoch of Orders, a long time before the battle for the Code of Krember. In those days, any citizen could perform magic of the fortieth degree on a whim. Can you imagine?”

I shook my head. It was hard to adjust to the fact that people here lived no fewer than three hundred years. As for more prominent persons, who made up the majority of my acquaintances, they managed to extend their existence almost indefinitely.

How old was Kofa, anyway? I wondered. I would have said he was no older than sixty, and a sixty-year-old is a teenager by local standards. Melifaro, for example, who was about my age, I had thought, turned out to be one hundred and fifteen years old. He was born on the very morning that the Code of Krember had been established. In other words, he was born on the first day of the first year of the Code Epoch, something he liked to joke about, though in his heart I believe he was very proud of it. As for Juffin’s age, for some reason I was too shy to ask. Or maybe I was afraid of whatever mind-boggling number the answer might be. In any case, at the ripe old age of thirty I cut a strange figure in their midst. At my age they were only children, just learning to read and write.

While I was doing this arithmetic, our numbers had grown. A young man with a disproportionately long, skinny body hidden in a violet looxi stood in the doorway, smiling shyly. Walking toward us, he managed to knock over a stool. He apologized so sweetly to the middle-aged lady sitting near ground zero that she followed the clumsy young man with a tender gaze. The affable creature began talking even before he got to our table, gesticulating as he advanced.

“I am most honored to be able to pay you my respects in person, Sir Max! I have so many things to ask you. I must admit that I have been burning with anticipation for the past few days, if you will forgive my lack of discretion.”

“And you are—?” I asked.

The corners of my mouth began to spread into a smile. I felt like a rock star in the embraces of a fan who had been raised by his elderly grandmother, a countess.

“Please forgive me! I am very glad to speak my name. Sir Lookfi Pence, Master Keeper of Knowledge, at your service.”

“This little marvel of nature looks after our buriwoks, Sir Max,” Sir Juffin said. “Or, rather, the buriwoks look after him in their spare time.”

My interest in Mr. Pence grew. I had already heard about these clever talking birds endowed with absolute memory. Buriwoks are rare in the Unified Kingdom. They come from the distant shores of Arvarox, but there are several hundred such wonderful creatures at the House by the Bridge. They serve as an archive for the Ministry of Perfect Public Order. The bird’s prodigious memory can store thousands of dates, names, and facts. I can certainly imagine that it would be much more interesting to talk to a buriwok than to sift through reams of paper. I was desperate to see one of these amazing birds with my own eyes, so the man who spent all his working days with them seemed to be a useful acquaintance.

“Why are you alone, Sir Lookfi?” asked Juffin, smiling at the Master Keeper of Knowledge, who had already seated himself beside me. One of the edges of his expensive looxi accidentally ended up in a mug of kamra though this was his only mishap for the moment.

Now, having studied his face for a time, I saw that Sir Lookfi was not as young as I’d first thought. Rather, he belonged to that rare breed of men who look like boys until they are old, when all of a sudden they begin to look their own age.

Lookfi smiled and said, “I’m alone, Sir Juffin, because the others stayed behind to discuss a philosophical matter: the question of necessity versus free will.”

“Sinning Magicians! What’s going on over there?”

“No need for concern, sir. They are trying to come to a decision. After all, someone should stay behind at the Ministry. On the one hand, that is Sir Melifaro’s responsibility. He is your Representative, and when you can’t be at the House by the Bridge, his presence there is required. He already knows Sir Max, so his presence here as a matter of etiquette would seem unnecessary. On the other hand, as your Deputy and our Senior, he has the right to appoint any substitute he judges to be competent.”

Juffin chuckled, and Sir Kofa smiled.

“When I left,” Lookfi continued, after absent-mindedly taking a gulp from my glass of Tears of Darkness, “Lady Melamori was saying that of the three of them, she was the only one who had not yet met Sir Max. She said she didn’t want to hear any more of their philosophical wrangling, and that she was going to sit in the next room until they finished their idiotic debate. Allow me, if I may, to disagree with her view of the matter. I think the discussion was very interesting, and I believe there is a moral to be learned from it. But I thought it might occur to Sir Melifaro that I am also a member of the Secret Investigative Force. In short, I thought it best to be impolite and leave on my own accord.”

“Give that glass back to Sir Max and take your own. There’s more in it,” Kofa Yox whispered. “Be careful, my boy: what if that’s considered a terrible insult among the inhabitants of the Barren Lands? You can’t imagine how frightening Sir Max is when he’s enraged.”

“Oh dear . . .” Sir Lookfi’s face expressed both of fear and curiosity at the same time. “Is that true, Sir Max?”

“You’re in luck,” I said. “According to our traditions, that signifies the beginning of a long and close friendship. To seal this pact, however, I must finish your glass. Besides, it’s brimming over!”

Sir Juffin Hully looked at me with almost fatherly pride. Lookfi was radiant:

“You see, Sir Kofa! And you said it was an insult. I have very good intuition, you know. When I was still just a schoolboy, I already . . . Oh, forgive me gentlemen. I get carried away sometimes. My school years are not the most interesting subject for table-talk.” He turned to me. “Sir Max, is it true that you will be working alone and only by night? You know, night is the most interesting time of day! I’ve always envied people who don’t feel the need to go to bed as soon as the sun sets. For example, my wife Varisha also believes that real life only begins after nightfall. That’s why I almost never get enough sleep.” He finished his speech abruptly, looking quite sheepish.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Your habits also have their advantages.”

“It seems that the idea of responsibility has won in the philosophical debate,” Juffin said. “I salute the victors!”

Now I saw a couple, charming in all respects, approaching us. One of the two was the tall, lean Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli, who resembled Charlie Watts. He was dressed, as usual, all in white. Leaning on his arm was a petite, spry lady, wrapped in an elegant looxi the color of the night sky. Instead of the broad-shouldered Amazon I had expected as my colleague, she was a celestial creature with the face of Diana Rigg, the English actress who played James Bond’s erstwhile girlfriend. I wonder how they feel about office romances here? I made a mental note to ask Juffin about that.

Jokes aside, the lady was indeed lovely. Her eyes twinkled with intelligence and humor. I had always thought those were two sides of the same coin. I sensed with all my body—only recently awakened to all the wonderful possibilities—the power that exuded from this little lady, no less dangerous than that of the phlegmatic Sir Lonli-Lokli, whose deadly hands I had already seen in action.

“I am happy to speak my name: Melamori Blimm, Master of Pursuit of the Fleeing and Hiding,” the lady introduced herself quietly. Much to my surprise she seemed visibly nervous. Sinning Magicians, what had they told her about me?

“It gives me joy to hear your name spoken,” said I. Not out of a sense of courtesy. I sincerely meant it.

Lonli-Lokli nodded at me politely with the surreptitious pride of an old friend and sat down next to Lookfi Pence. Melamori moved closer, and my head felt giddy from the pungent scent of her perfume.

“Forgive my familiarity, Sir Max, but I decided to come with a gift. Sir Juffin would surely think me a miser if I had done otherwise.” With these words she drew out a bottle from the folds of her looxi. “I am sure you have not tried wine of this kind before. I myself have rarely had the pleasure to enjoy it, although my uncle, Kima Blimm, favors me above everyone else in the family.”

Handing me the bottle carefully, she sat down on a stool next to Kofa. I examined the bottle.

“You’re a lucky man, Sir Max!” Juffin exclaimed. Suddenly he looked two hundred years younger. “That is indeed a rarity. Eternal Dew is a wine from the deepest cellars of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover! Kima Blimm, Melamori’s uncle, is the Supervisor in Chief of the Order’s wines. That’s why I hired her. There, there, don’t take offense, Lady Melamori! We didn’t meet just yesterday. You could very well make a list of Sir Juffin Hully’s Worst Jokes and sell it to the Echo Hustle and Bustle.”

“Well, Sir Max has just met me, and he’ll think that I got my job in the Secret Investigative Force because of my relatives,” Melamori said, sounding hurt.

“Sir Max knows me too well, my dear. Besides, I suspect he’s already sensed your worth. Not even half an hour ago he pointed out Sir Kofa, who came disguised as a lady of grand proportions, and asked me if he wasn’t one of the Secret Investigators. Isn’t that right, Sir Max?”

Three pairs of eyes fastened themselves upon me. I felt a strong urge to study the contents of my cup.

“You’re exaggerating, sir. Suppose that my guess was right, just for once . . . All right, I admit that when I saw Lady Melamori, I thought that she must be at least as dangerous as Sir Shurf, that’s all,” I said, winking at the pouting beauty. “Am I right?”

Melamori smiled like a cat who had eaten a filling meal.

“I think the men I dragged by the collar and threw into Xolomi, or someplace worse, would agree with you, Sir Max,” she said, then added with the expression of a sweet little girl, “Still, you do me too much credit. Sir Shurf is an unparalleled killer. Me? I’m still learning. But I am good at manhunting!” Melamori smiled again, showing her sharp little teeth. “And I need only start trailing a man for his luck to turn and his strength to wane,” the dangerous lady said, then looked at us quizzically. “Forgive me, I seem to have allowed myself to get carried away!”

“It’s quite all right,” said Juffin. “You should take advantage of Melifaro’s absence while you can, dear girl. At what point do you think he would have interrupted that fiery speech of yours?”

“Right after the second word,” said Melamori, and giggled. “That’s for sure! Although when Sir Melifaro and I are alone, his gallantry knows no bounds. He lets me say at least five or six words at a time. Can you believe it?”

“No, I can’t. Even I am rarely able to accomplish that; and I am the Most Venerable Head! By the way, Shurf, how did you manage to get past him?”

“That was easy. I asked your personal buriwok, Kurush, to quote from the section of the Code that Sir Melifaro received upon being appointed to his job. It clearly stated that—”

“I see,” said Juffin, laughing. “There is no need to continue. A hole in the heavens above you both! You’re two of a kind!”

Harmony in the Minor Secret Investigative Force, I surmised, was based on the ancient dialectical principle of the unity and struggle of opposites. Temperamental Melifaro and cold-blooded Lonli-Lokli; unpredictable Juffin and steady, reliable Kofa Yox; harmless, gangly Lookfi and the formidable little lady Melamori Blimm. I wonder, which of them I would have to counterbalance? I suppose it would have to be all of them at once. I am, after all, a creature from another world.

In the meantime, everyone’s attention seemed to be fixed on the bottle of Eternal Dew.

“May I ask you, Sir Kofa, to divide this luxury between all of us fairly?” My intuition told me that this elderly gentleman was a person one could depend on in such sticky everyday situations.

My generosity won me the heartfelt goodwill of all present. Later, Sir Juffin told me that if I had taken the gift home with me it would have been accepted as a matter of course—they know how to respect the gastronomic weaknesses of others here. But my decision came as a pleasant surprise to the gathering of gourmets.

During the tasting, Lonli-Lokli astonished me yet again. From beneath the snow-white folds of his looxi he produced a wooden cup, darkened with age, and handed it to Sir Kofa. This in itself did not surprise me: I could very well imagine Sir Shurf carrying an ancient family heirloom around with him everywhere he went for just such an occasion. Then I noticed that the cup had no bottom. Sir Kofa paid this no heed and impassively filled the holy chalice with the rare drink. Not a drop spilled from the cup. Juffin understood that I was in urgent need of a brief history lesson.

“Don’t look so surprised, Max. In his time, Sir Shurf was a member of the Order of the Holey Cup. He served there as a Fish-Fellow, Keeper of the Order’s Aquariums, which had as many holes as this honorable vessel. Members of the Order ate only fish, which they bred in those very aquariums, and washed down their meals with drinks from jugs with holes in the bottom. Isn’t that right, my friend?”

Lonli-Lokli nodded gravely, and downed his portion of the drink.

“Before the Troubled Times,” Juffin continued, “the Order of the Holey Cup was in good standing with the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover.” This he said with a respectfully comic bow in the direction of Lady Melamori. “So it was dissolved on very agreeable terms. Like his other former colleagues, our good Sir Shurf still has special permission to adhere to the ancient traditions of his order. In other words, he may drink from a holey cup. Because he is using forbidden magic, he is obliged to offset the potentially dire consequences of his actions with all his might. This he does every time, although it consumes a great deal of the power he gains from the ritual. Have I left anything out, Sir Lonli-Lokli?”

“You have explained the reasons and consequences of my action in a succinct and informative manner,” Lonli-Lokli intoned with a nod. He held the cup in both hands, and his impassive face radiated an intense serenity.

After a tray filled with pots of delicacies and a portion of Eternal Dew had been sent off to poor Melifaro at my insistence, I could be certain that from then on, every one of my colleagues would be willing to die for a smile from me. I wasn’t going to be the one to impose that fate on them, though. I smiled a lot that evening, and absolutely free of charge. I managed to maneuver around the thorny ethnographical questions that poured from the curious but trusting Lookfi, to flirt with Lady Melamori, to listen to Sir Kofa, to pronounce Lonli-Lokli’s name correctly, and to amuse Juffin. It was amazing! For the first time in my life I was the life of the party, and a significant one at that. When the number of dirty dishes finally exceeded the capabilities of any local dishwasher, we decided to part ways. Sir Kofa Yox kindly deigned to take Melifaro’s shift, and in an equally compassionate gesture, Sir Juffin Hully awarded them each an extra Day of Freedom from Chores. Then he extended an invitation to both of them for dinner tomorrow around sunset at the Glutton. So it seemed that Melifaro had only gained from missing today’s event.

The Ministry of Perfect Public Order had to do without me for one last night. I planned to spend it moving into my new place. The next day, after lunch, I was supposed to report to the House by the Bridge and officially begin my job. Put simply, I had to figure out what was required of me in the course of a few hours, though doubts about my abilities were gradually disappearing.

The family amobiler arrived for Lady Melamori. The fragile, petite Master of Pursuit smiled as we bid each other goodnight and told me quietly that Sir Max was a strange name: a bit too short, but it sounded nice all the same. And off she rolled toward home in truly royal pomp and splendor. Besides the driver, her amobiler boasted two musicians, whose job it was to fulfill the role of a car stereo.

Lookfi and Lonli-Lokli set off for home in the company amobiler. Everyone has the right to do this, though not everyone takes advantage of the privilege. Old Kimpa, Sir Juffin Hully’s butler, came to pick us up. Juffin always leaves for home in his own amobiler, which he justifies by saying that the company vehicle makes him feel like he‘s still at work. In his own amobiler, however, he feels like he’s already home. And you’d have to be the last fool on earth to refuse to knock off work a half hour early. I think that makes perfect sense.

On our way back home we sat side by side in silent contentment. When you know what to talk about with someone, it’s a sign of mutual sympathy. But when you are moved to be quiet together—well, that’s the start of a real friendship.

“Should we sit another half hour over some kamra?” asked Juffin. It wasn’t really a question, but more a statement of fact on his part, as we stood in the doorway of the house. Little Chuff met us in the foyer, wagging his stubby tail. Max has come! But he is leaving, going far far away, the mournful thoughts of the old dog reached me.

“I won’t be that far, Chuff!” I said to the dog. “I’d take you with me, but I know you couldn’t stand being away from your master. Besides, unlike Kimpa, I don’t know how to cook, and I know you have gourmet tastes. I’ll come visit you, all right?”

My furry friend sighed and licked his chops. You’ll come visit. For lunch, he responded with enthusiasm.

Sir Juffin was pleased.

“So you see, everything is taken care of. That a boy, Chuff! A healthy, pragmatic attitude, and no sentiment whatsoever!”

We settled ourselves in comfortable armchairs in the parlor, and Chuff lay down at my feet, allowing himself this slight disloyalty to Juffin in view of the occasion. Kimpa served us kamra and cookies. I enjoyed lighting up my last cigarette, as my reserves had finally run out. My new life was about to begin. I would switch to smoking a pipe or quit smoking altogether. Neither choice seemed particularly appealing, but there were no others in sight.

We exchanged a bit of gossip about my new acquaintances—Juffin’s curiosity seemed to know no bounds. Now he wanted to know my opinion: Did I like Kofa? What about Lookfi? And Melamori? Since the topic had come up anyway, I decided to ask about office romances. Were they outlawed by some regulation in the Code of Krember? Because if they were forbidden, Juffin was free to arrest me right then and there for criminal intent.

“I’m not aware that such things are forbidden. A strange idea, really . . . Is it where you come from? Forbidden, I mean?” he asked in surprise.

“No, not really. But having a relationship with someone at work is frowned upon. Although that’s all anyone ever does.”

“Your World is an odd place, Max! You think one thing, but you do the opposite. We don’t ‘think’ anything. The law stipulates what is required of us, superstition is a matter of inner conviction, traditions attest to our love of habit; but even so, everyone is free to do what he wishes. Go ahead and give it a try, if you feel like it. Although, I don’t think it’s such a good idea. Lady Melamori is a strange young woman. She’s an incurable idealist, and I do believe she enjoys her solitude. Melifaro has been courting her for several years now, without success. She enjoys telling everyone about it; but what good can come of it?”

“Oh, I can just imagine what Melifaro’s attentions are like! ‘Please be so kind as to remove your splendiferous backside from my presence, dear, for its divine shapeliness is distracting me!’”

Sir Juffin laughed. “You guessed it, Max! You really are clairvoyant!”

“Not at all. It’s just that some things go without saying.”

“Regardless, Melifaro is a favorite among the ladies. Although he is no redhead; but then again, neither are you! Do as you wish, though I fear your efforts will not meet with success.”

“I’ve never really had any luck with women in my life. Well, at first I was fairly lucky. Then all of a sudden, they all thought they had to get married for some reason. And not to me. It’s especially strange, because I almost always fell in love with very smart girls. Even that didn’t help matters. I don’t see how any intelligent person could seriously want to get married. In any case, I’m used to it.”

“Well, if that’s how it is, it means you’re either the most thick-skinned or the slipperiest son-of-a-werewolf in the entire Unified Kingdom.”

“Neither. This is probably another one of those cultural differences. We forget pain quickly, and those who can’t at least dull it are apt to inspire pity mixed with incomprehension. Their relatives may also try to persuade them to see a psychoanalyst. I suppose that’s because we don’t live very long, and spending several years on one sorrow would be a ridiculous extravagance.”

“How long do you live?” asked Sir Juffin in surprise.

“About seventy or eighty years. Why do you ask?”

“You die so young? Every one of you?”

“But you see, we’re old by that time.”

“How old are you, Max?”

“Thirty . . . at least, I will be soon. Perhaps I already am. When is my birthday? I’ve lost count since I came here.”

Sir Juffin became seriously alarmed.

“Still a child! Oh dear! I hope you’re not going to die prematurely in forty or fifty years time. Now, let me take a good look at you.”

Juffin jumped out of his chair. A second later he was poking my back with his hands, which suddenly became ice-cold and heavy. Then his hands grew hot, and I felt that my mind, which always used to occupy a place somewhere behind my eyes, was shifting, moving down my spine. I could “see” the warm radiance of his coarse palms with my . . . back! Then it ended, just as unexpectedly as it had begun. Sir Juffin returned to his place, thoroughly satisfied with the results of his examination.

“It’s all right, boy. You’re no different from me, though you may find it hard to believe. That must mean that it isn’t your nature, but your lifestyle that determines your life expectancy. Here in the World you can live for well over three hundred years—as long as no one kills you, that is. You had me frightened for a moment there, Sir Max! What kind of place is your homeland anyway? What sort of hellhole did I pull you out of?”

“The World of the Dead, apparently,” I said with a rueful laugh. “Your city’s taletellers had it almost right. But it’s not all that bad. When you’ve known only one world since childhood, it’s inevitable that it all seems natural. When I left home, I didn’t regret a thing. I doubt, though, that you’ll find many like me. I don’t count, anyway, because I was always a dreamer. I suppose I really was a classic loser. Most people would tell you that nothing good could come of dreaming. The life expectancy you have here, on the other hand, could get a lot of folks to switch sides. If you plan to recruit more of my people, keep that in mind.”

“As if I needed your countrymen.”

“What if another guy makes a habit of seeing you in his dreams?”

“Well, then we’d have to find another vacancy for him. Okay, okay; you’re right. I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.”

Alas, all things have the idiotic habit of ending at some point. Sir Juffin went to bed and I began to get ready to move.

I was sure that I had almost nothing to pack. Boy was I wrong! My earthly riches consisted of a catastrophically overgrown wardrobe and library. There were also Juffin’s gifts and the fruits of my walks about the city, when I had visited all kinds of shops, frittering away the advance I’d received on my salary. As for the library, it included the Encyclopedia of the World by Manga Melifaro, kindly given to me by his youngest son. That unwieldy eight-volume set was but a drop in the ocean of my possessions.

Along with all the rest, I packed the outfit I had been wearing on the day I first arrived in Echo. It was highly unlikely that I would ever again need to wear that pair of jeans and a sweater, but I couldn’t just throw them out, either. Perhaps I’d get a chance to go home for a visit, if only to pick up some cigarettes. Who knows?

Trips between my bedroom and my new amobiler parked by the gate outside took almost an hour. But even this work was finished eventually. I drove home with my heart beating happily and my head a complete void. “Home.” How strange the word sounded to me!

I crossed over the Echo Crest Bridge, full of the inviting lights of shops and bars, still doing a lively trade even at this late hour. Here in Echo people really get the meaning of night life. Maybe that’s because even permitted magic allows you to carouse for a night or two without seriously harming your health.

Across the bridge I found myself on the Right Bank. Now my path led straight to the heart of the Old City. I preferred to dwell in its narrow alleyways rather than the wide streets of the New City, Echo’s wealthy downtown.

The mosaic sidewalks of the Street of Old Coins had lost almost all of their original color. Still, I preferred the tiny stones of the ancient mosaics to the big bright tiles that covered the new streets. My newly gained experience told me that material objects remember events and can tell us about them. Juffin had taught me to listen to their murmurings, or, rather, the visions they transmit. I had always loved ancient history. I’d have something to do in my spare time, anyway!

My new house was glad to see me. Not long ago I would have thought I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Now I knew that I could trust my vague inklings as much as obvious facts. Well, good; we like each other, my new house and I. It was probably tired of standing empty. The landlord said that the prior inhabitants moved out some forty years ago, and since that time, the only visitors had been the cleaners.

I got out of the amobiler and took my belongings into the parlor. The room was almost empty, as is the custom here in Echo. I’ve always liked interiors like that, but until now I had never had the opportunity to develop this aesthetic. There was a small table covered entirely by a basket of provisions I had ordered from the Glutton Bunba, several comfortable armchairs like the ones Sir Juffin had in his sitting room, and several shelves nestled against the wall. What more does a man need?

I spent the next two hours arranging my books and trinkets on the shelves. After that, I went upstairs to the bedroom. Half the enormous space was taken up by a soft fuzzy floor: no risk of falling out of bed here! Several pillows and fur blankets were heaped together at the far end of the stadium-sized dream-dome. A wardrobe loomed somewhere in the distance, and there I stuffed a pile of colored fabric—my newly acquired clothes. My nostalgia garb—jeans, sweater, and vest—was stashed nearby. There was a little bathroom next to the bedroom that would only be suitable for my morning toilette. The other facilities were in the basement.

My work was done, and I was neither hungry nor sleepy; yet I didn’t want to leave the house to take a walk, either. I would gladly have sold my soul to the devil for a single pack of cigarettes.

I sat in the parlor, awkwardly filling my pipe with tobacco and bemoaning my bitter fate. In this hour of sorrow, the only comfort I found was in the view from the window. Just opposite stood an ancient three-story mansion with little triangular windows and a tall peaked roof. As someone who has spent most of his life in high-rise apartment blocks, my heart begins to beat faster at even the slightest patina of age. Here every stone cried out “days of yore!”

After I had my fill of the view, I went up to the bedroom with the third volume of Sir Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia under my arm. The book expounded on my so-called countrymen, the inhabitants of the County Vook and the Barren Lands. Everyone should love his homeland, even an invented one. It’s very important to study it—especially in my case, since I was aware of good Lookfi Pence’s curiosity and the grilling I expected to get from him. Besides, I found this reading to be dreadfully amusing. Page forty dealt with a certain tribe of nomads from the Barren Lands, who, in an act of unbelievable absent-mindedness, lost their juvenile chief in the steppe. After I reached the part of the chronicle in which these dunderheads put a curse on themselves, I fell asleep and dreamed my own version of this mad tale with a happy ending. Their chief, now an adult, appealed to our Ministry for assistance, and Sir Juffin and I helped the guy track down his poor people. In parting, Sir Lonli-Lokli drew up a clear and concise code of conduct for Tribal Nomad Chiefs in their far-flung workplace.

I woke up before noon, which by my standards is still very early. I spent a long time getting ready: after all, this was my first day on the job. I went downstairs and splashed around in my three bathing pools, one after the other. No matter what they say, three bathtubs are better than one . . . and way better than eleven, with all due respect to the snobs of the capital, headed by Sir Juffin Hully.

The hour had come to open the basket of provisions from the Glutton. To my great delight, I found a jug of kamra inside that I could reheat. As for attempting to make the drink myself, thus far I had had to dispose of all the fruits of my experiments. Sir Juffin Hully had suggested using my kamra as a deterrent to especially dangerous criminals. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he feared this method might be considered too ruthless.

So I warmed up the kamra on a miniature brazier (an indispensable feature of any civilized sitting room). It was a lovely morning. Finally I even lit the pipe I’d prepared for myself the evening before. It wasn’t so bad after all. Not even the unfamiliar taste of the local tobacco could put a dent in my optimism.

I went to work on foot. I planned to show off my expensive dark, intricately patterned looxi and black turban, which transformed me from your everyday good-looker into a prince. No one in the city besides me seemed to take any notice of this, though. People hurried about their business or stared dreamily into storefront windows in the Old Town. No gapes of wonder, no beautiful damsels eager to throw themselves into my arms in fits of trembling exaltation. So there was one thing that hadn’t changed.

I turned onto the Street of Copper Pots. I had just a short way to go before I took my first steps over the threshold of the Secret Door leading to the House by the Bridge. Before that day, I hadn’t had the right to enter the Ministry of Perfect Public Order through that door. Of course, I could have used the visitor’s entrance, but I decided against that. There had been nothing for me to do there before, anyway.

A short corridor led to the half of the building occupied by the Minor Secret Investigative Force, the organization that would soon be home to me. The other half of the building belonged to the Echo City Police Department, under the command of General of Public Order Sir Boboota Box, of whom I had never once heard a kind word spoken. I passed an enormous empty reception hall (the courier dozing off on the edge of his chair didn’t count) and entered the Hall of Common Labor, to find Lonli-Lokli writing something in an oversized notebook. I was immediately disappointed. Well, whaddayaknow: paperwork, even here! What about those self-inscribing tablets and buriwoks who memorize every word you say?

My worries were premature, though. Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli kept a personal work diary for his own pleasure. I was not inclined to disturb his bureaucratic serfdom, and went into Juffin’s office, which was a relatively small and comfortable room.

Sir Venerable Head was sitting at his desk, choking with laughter, while trying to scold Lady Melamori, who stood frozen before him with the look of a timid schoolgirl.

“Oh, it’s you, Sir Max. Your first mission is to go into the city and commit a bestial murder of some sort. The fellows are going mad with boredom. Do you know what the first and only lady of the Secret Investigative Force has been up to? She began shadowing Captain Foofloss, who is deputy, brother-in-law, and brother in arms to General Boboota Box. The poor fool started to get chest pains, and he was consumed by a terrible feeling of dread. For the first time in his life, he started asking himself the fundamental questions of life, and was none the happier for it. Only the quick wit of young Lieutenant Kamshi saved Mr. Foofloss from suicide. They sent him off to an estate to unwind, and Lieutenant Kamshi was obliged to write me an official report. The City Police is held together by people like that. If only Sir Kamshi were in Boboota’s place . . . Isn’t that hilarious?”

“You seem to think it is,” I said. “Don’t fight your natural inclinations; you look like you’re about to burst!”

Juffin nodded, and heeding my medical advice, gave vent to his laughter. Melamori looked at us almost reprovingly, as though she had broken the law once in a lifetime and we had the temerity to snicker about it.

“Well, what am I to do with you, young lady? Count yourself lucky that Kamshi seems to have taken a fancy to you. Can you imagine the uproar it would have caused if he had been eager to enforce the letter of the law, or had been more concerned about his boss’s state of mind?”

“Then we would have proven that Captain Foofloss was a criminal!” Melamori retorted, smiling her irresistible smile. “You’d be the first to enjoy it.”

“I assure you, I have enough to enjoy without your help. So this is how it’s going to be, Miss. As boredom seems to have addled your brain, you are being sent to Xolomi for three days. There you will help the commandant to study the Secret Archive. I don’t know anyone better than you for getting the job done. Keeping secrets is in your blood. You’ll feel like a prisoner, as well you should! If anything happens here, I’ll send for you. So pray to the Dark Magicians for a bloody crime. Oh yes, and don’t forget to bribe Sir Kamshi. A kiss would be cheaper, but I’d advise you to warm him up with something from your Uncle Kima’s wine cellars. That way you won’t have to make a commitment, and it will certainly surpass even his wildest expectations. Now off to jail you go.”

Lady Melamori rolled her eyes in mock martyrdom. “You see, Max? There you have it: the fist of tyranny! Sending me to Xolomi for three days because of an innocent prank!”

“That’s what you think!” Juffin said with a caustic chuckle. “The old commandant will treat you like royalty. Have you heard about his chef?”

“Yes, and that’s the only reason I haven’t poisoned myself right here in your office.” Melamori stopped short, and added petulantly, “Forgive me, Sir Juffin, but Foofloss is such an idiot. I couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m not surprised in the least!” And with that, Juffin started laughing again.

I had little doubt that in the past Melamori Blimm had gotten away with other, less innocent, pranks.

Before the lovely criminal was whisked off to Xolomi in one of the company amobilers, she whispered to me quickly, “I’m not always like this.” I’d have liked to believe it.

“I am afraid, Sir Max, that today I will have to address you on an official footing,” said Juffin, whose manner had become instantly solemn. “Let me first tell you a bit about Kurush.”

The story of Lady Melamori’s malfeasance had occupied my full attention. Only then did I notice the shaggy owl-like bird, seated on the back of an empty arm chair. The buriwok (and it was definitely a buriwok) deigned to study my personage from on high.

“It’s all right, he’ll do,” the feathered wonder said at long last. As far as I could make out, it was referring to me.

“Thank you, Kurush,” I said. I had wanted to joke, but it came out sounding quite serious. Sir Juffin nodded.

“That means a lot coming from him. If you only knew the things he said about the others!”

“What did you say about the others?” I asked the bird.

“That is classified information,” Kurush answered stolidly. “And you have business to attend to.”

The “business” was that Sir Juffin made me repeat some mumbo-jumbo in an unintelligible language. Apparently, it was a powerful ancient spell that bound me to serve the interests of the crown.

“But I don’t feel a thing,” I said in confusion, having gotten through the tongue-twisting text with some difficulty.

“You aren’t supposed to feel anything. At least, when I said it I didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary either. Maybe it’s just an old superstition. Then again, perhaps it does work; who knows? Now get ready. I must read you the Employee’s Code in Kurush’s presence. You don’t have to pay too much attention to it; just try to think about something pleasant. The reading will take some time. Kurush will be able to quote from any chapter, if necessary. Isn’t that right, dear?” Juffin looked tenderly at the buriwok, who in turn swelled with pride.

I won’t take it upon myself to repeat the instructions read to me. In a nutshell, I was told that I should do everything I am supposed to and not do anything that I am not supposed to do. To convey this simple truth, some bored court bureaucrat wasted several sheets of first-rate paper, and Sir Juffin spent more than half an hour reiterating this literary masterpiece. He finished with a sigh of relief. Another sigh escaped me at the same time. Only Kurush seemed to get any pleasure out of the procedure.

“Why do birds as smart as yourself work for humans?” I asked the buriwok. The question had been nagging me for the last half an hour. “There aren’t very many of us here,” the bird answered. “It’s hard to make a living, but some of us find living with people to be peaceful and interesting. Where there are more of us, we live in isolation and possess great powers. But here there are so many different words, so many stories!”

“That’s a good answer, Kurush,” Juffin said, smiling affectionately. “Do you understand, Max? They find us amusing!”

After that I was ceremoniously handed my “battle weapon,” a miniature dagger that looked more like a manicure accessory than a deadly instrument. There was a gauge in the hilt that signaled the presence of both forbidden and permitted magic. In fact, I had already seen one of these things in action and concluded that it wasn’t all that powerful. Well, all the better. It’s best not to be under any illusions from the outset.

Having finished with the formalities, we went up to the top floor of the House by the Bridge, where I was introduced to a plump, kindly little man in an orange looxi.

“I am glad to speak my name. I am Sir Qumbra Qurmac, Chief of Great and Minor Awards for the Ministry of Perfect Public Order. I am one of the most personable subjects in the whole of this forbidding place, as I am in charge of awarding prizes and other such pleasant things,” said the friendly man, who vaguely resembled a tangerine.

“Sir Qumbra Qurmac is the only official representative of the Royal Court in the Ministry,” Juffin added. “So no matter how intensive our efforts, without the weighty backing of Sir Qumbra they would vanish into obscurity.”

“Don’t believe a word Sir Hully says,” the fat man countered, clearly flattered. “He is one person whose opinion is always welcome at court. Still, I do believe, Sir Max, that I was the first one to report your outstanding deeds to the King.”

I stared at my boss, dumbfounded. What outstanding deeds? asked my bewildered expression.

“He means the affair with old Makluk’s mirror,” explained Juffin. “Of course you weren’t yet employed in the Ministry, but that makes it all the more of an honor! The Unified Kingdom must celebrate its heroes.”

“You, Sir Max, are the first person I recall entering the service with an award already under your belt,” said Sir Qumbra Qurmac, and bowed. “And believe me, I have been in the service for many years. I ask that you kindly accept this gift.” He gave me a little box made of dark wood. I knew that upon receiving a gift in Echo one is expected inspect it very closely. I tried to open the box, to no avail.

“Max, that is a gift from the King!” Juffin chastised. “You can’t open it just like that. I believe white magic of the fourth degree is required. So you’ll have to open it at home; casting spells in public places is forbidden. And there is a reason for that: one should enjoy a royal gift in private.”

“I’m sorry,” I said blushing. “I’ve never gotten a gift from the King before.”

“It’s quite all right, Sir Max,” Sir Qumbra said consolingly. “Just think of how many employees there are here who know exactly what to do with a gift like that, but have never had the honor of receiving one. I’d say you’re in an enviable position.”

I thanked the King and his court, and in particular Sir Qurmac, profusely. Then Juffin and I departed.

“You should have told me,” I grumbled. “But you enjoy watching my blunders, don’t you?”

“Believe me, it’s better for everyone that way. What kind of ‘barbarian from the borderlands’ would you be if you did everything right? Have faith, my boy; conspiracy is a great power, indeed!”

“Yeah, right. Give me a hand with this box, will you? I don’t think I can do it myself.”

“Don’t be so modest. You try first, and if nothing comes of it then I’ll give you a hand. Let’s lock the door first, though. It’s all right, don’t worry! Stranger things have taken place in my office.”

I put the box on the table and tried to relax, recalling all the things I had been taught. Nothing happened. Ashamed, I made a helpless gesture.

“Sir Max, I am afraid I could be mistaken. Let’s see here . . . Yes, all you need is magic of the fourth degree. You know that already; give it another try.”

Then I got angry. Angry at the box, angry at the King who had foisted it on me in the first place, angry at Juffin who just didn’t want to help . . . Fine, we’ll try something different for a change! In my rage, I called for the courier so imperiously that he probably fell off his chair in alarm. I even imagined that I heard the smack as he hit the floor, although that was impossible, of course. A few seconds later, he knocked on the door timorously. Sir Juffin was taken aback.

“What’s come over you?”

“I won’t be able to get through this without a warm cup of kamra!”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

The frightened courier, his whole body shaking, left the tray on the edge of the table right underneath my nose and promptly vanished. Juffin stared at the door in bewilderment.

“What was wrong with him? I know they’re afraid of me, but not that afraid!”

“Not you; it’s me he’s afraid of. I think I went a little overboard when I summoned him.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then. They should be afraid of you. You’re new here. If you don’t frighten them right from the start, you’ll end up spending the rest of your days waiting for the lazy fellows to answer your calls. But Max, are you really angry?”

“Yes!” I barked. I drank the mug of kamra in one gulp and hit the table with my pinky finger near the box, just as I had been taught to do. To my astonishment, the box turned to dust. But the small object that was hidden inside fortunately remained intact. I relaxed.

“Uh-oh,” I said, “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing much. You just used magic of the sixth degree instead of the fourth. And black instead of white. And you ruined a nice little trinket to boot. But it could happen to anyone, really. Anyway, all’s well that ends well. It’s a good thing that my office is sealed off from the other rooms. I can only imagine what a fuss they’d make at the Ministry!” The boss seemed thrilled by my escapade.

“But Juffin, you didn’t teach me that, and I wasn’t much of a student to begin with. How can that be?”

“Who in the name of Magicians knows, Max. I said it before, and I’ll say it again: you’re a wild wind! Please limit the area of destruction to this office, and everything will be just fine. Let’s see what’s inside.”

We both stared at the little bundle lying in the pile of ashes. Carefully I unfolded the fine cloth. A pea the color of dark cherry was hidden inside. I rolled it around on the palm of my hand.

“What is it?”

Juffin smiled pensively.

“That, Sir Max, is a myth. Something that doesn’t exist. It is a Child of the Crimson Pearl of Gurig VII. The funny thing is that no one, not even the late King himself or his heir who now reigns, has ever seen the ‘mother’ of this pearl. Her presence in the palace was discovered by a wise old Magician—a good friend of mine, by the way. He decided not to tell anyone the exact location of this miracle. He said he didn’t know; but I think he could have come up with something a little more convincing. Her children turn up regularly in all the palace’s nooks and crannies. His Majesty gives the ‘orphans’ to citizens who have proven themselves worthy. I have three of them already. But you got yours very quickly. I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, though. You had a rough time of it at my neighbor’s house the other day.”

“Are they magic pearls?”

“Yes and no. It’s clear that they have some power. But what exactly is it? Someday we’ll find out; but for the time being, no one has discovered it. You can keep it at home or have the jeweler mount it for you, whatever suits your taste.”

“I suppose I’ll go for the first option. I never much cared for baubles.”

“A typical sentiment for a barbarian, you scourge of couriers, you!” said Juffin with a laugh.

After this I was left to the winds of fate. Juffin left me in charge and headed for the Glutton Bunba to have dinner with Melifaro.

“Tell him he owes me one!” I called after my boss as he slipped away. “A whole helicopter of humanitarian aid; and it had better be on him!”

“Humanitarian aid? Is that a hot appetizer?” asked Sir Juffin.

“That just means a whole lot of food at the right moment,” I explained.

That night was so uneventful that I was slightly disappointed. Kurush amused me as best he could. The wise bird turned out to be just as much of a night owl as myself. As a kindred spirit, I was obliged to tell the buriwok my life story. But before I did, I made Kurush take a dreadful oath to keep the information confidential and file it under Far More Secret Than Top Secret. The buriwok bore himself like an Indian chieftain, which greatly impressed me.

The following morning began with a visit from Kofa Yox, who arrived before the first light. He, too, often worked at night, since his main job was to listen to the idle talk in Echo’s taverns and glean grains of useful information from the idle chitchat. When the Master Eavesdropper showed up at the House by the Bridge most mornings, he would transform his ever-changing countenance into one appropriate to the harsh realities of life. He would share these intriguing facts, and occasional brilliant ideas, with Sir Juffin Hully over a cup of kamra.

“In the city they’re saying that you’re the King’s illegitimate son, my boy!” Kofa Yox greeted me. “My conclusion is that you received a royal honor on your first day at work. Juffin and I even made a bet. He wagered in your favor, and I against. The old fox earned six crowns on your luck and His Highness Gurig VIII’s sentimental mood. No matter though, I won several handfuls at dice, so at least I have something to pay him with.”

“Where do rumors come from, Sir Kofa?” I was truly curious to know the answer.

“Where don’t they come from? I suppose the majority of rumors are a combination of leaked information and the astounding imaginations of numerous storytellers. And, of course, the hope that things aren’t really as boring as they seem on the surface. I don’t know, Max, I just don’t know . . .”

“People love to talk,” Kurush noted condescendingly.

“Do you know what sorts of things people say about our Most Venerable Head?” Kofa asked. “We start half of those rumors ourselves: the Secret Investigative Force has to inspire superstitious fear in the general populace. Did you know, for example, that Sir Juffin Hully is said to have a ring called the Master of Lies that lets off invisible deadly rays? Anyone who tells a lie in his presence soon dies a painful death. The first version was far more modest. It went something like this: Sir Juffin can tell a liar with the help of a magical object. We owe the story’s terrifying details to the common folk.”

“What else?” I asked.

“That Juffin eats the dried flesh of rebellious Magicians, whom he holds captive in his basement. One should never look directly into his eyes, or one will lose the Spark forever and pine away. Oh, and of course, Juffin takes the Spark for himself. Hmm, what else . . . That he is immortal; that his parents are two ancient Magicians who modeled our boss out of sand and their own saliva; that he had a twin brother whom he ate; that he becomes a shadow at night, and—”

“Gossiping about me again?” asked the hero of urban folklore, as he fell into his armchair.

“I’m just trying to warn the poor young man,” Kofa said and smiled.

“‘Poor young man?’” You should see him when he turns into a vampire! So how was the night, hero?”

“Boring,” I complained. “Kurush and I chatted and rummaged through the gifts that you and Melifaro have received. Terrible.”

“My night was nothing to write home about, either,” said Sir Kofa. “Just a few small house robberies in rich neighborhoods. The thieves took the most valuable possessions; but it’s a case that even Boboota can solve. The boy is right, it’s terrible! Echo, for so long a stronghold of criminal romance, is becoming a provincial swamp.”

“That isn’t terrible, it’s wonderful! It’s terrible when things really start hopping here. Go get some rest, Sir Max. Take advantage of the opportunity.”

So I set off to get some sleep. When I got near the main doors to the street, I heard a roar coming from outside.

“Bull’s tits! You can save that for your own tail end in the latrine!” A powerful bass, sometimes breaking into a shrill falsetto, shook the old walls. “I’ve been in this cesspit for sixty years, and not one single butt—”

I threw the door open. A bearded goon of impressive stature draped in crimson silk, who looked like a cross between a sumo wrestler and an athlete, was hanging over the frightened driver of the official amobiler of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order.

“Silence!” I barked menacingly. “The Most Venerable Head of the Minor Secret Investigative Force has vowed to smite anyone who dares disturb him! And don’t you yell at the coachman; he is in the King’s Service!”

I pulled the aged hooligan off the driver and got into the amobiler. I had wanted to walk home, but now I would have to help the driver out: I couldn’t just leave him there to be tormented by that bully.

“Bull’s tits! So who is this new turd in my cesspit?” It seemed that the gift of speech had returned to the brute.

“You must have had a bit too much to drink, sir.” I was having fun. “Your latrine is at your house; this> is the Ministry of Perfect Public Order of the capital of the Unified Kingdom. Do yourself a favor and think about that, because there are quite a few angry men around here who didn’t arrest anyone last night, and are raring to go. Let’s move it!” I said, addressing the driver, and we rode off to the sound of another volley of improvisations on the topic of latrines.

“Thank you, Sir Max,” said the old coachman, and bowed to me.

“Why did you let him yell at you like that? The guy looks frightening and all, but you work for the King and Sir Juffin Hully. You’re an important person, my friend.”

“Sir Boboota Box doesn’t usually take things like that into account. He thinks I shouldn’t have parked the amobiler so close to the doors; but his own driver parks practically inside the corridor every day!”

“So that was General Boboota Box? Whoa! He’s gonna get it!”

The foul-mouthed culprit reminded me of one of my old bosses. I felt an ominous satisfaction. That’s it, your time is up; now Sir Max will assign you each a latrine. Such spitefulness does me no honor, but what can I do? I’m a human, not an angel. This is who I am.

As soon as I got home I realized I was exhausted. The coziest bed in the Unified Kingdom was at my disposal. As for dreams, I guess you could say that they betrayed me.

Dreams have always been an extremely important part of my life, so a bad dream can throw me into a funk more easily than real misfortune. That morning there was a nightmare in store for me.

I dreamed I couldn’t go to sleep, which I guess shouldn’t have come as a surprise, considering that I was lying on top of the living room table. I lay there like a hearty lunch, gazing at the windows in the building opposite, that elegant architectural masterpiece of the olden days that I had admired during my first night in the apartment. In my waking hours, I had liked the building. Now it inspired a vague but powerful loathing in me. The gloom behind the triangular windows didn’t promise anything good. I knew that the inhabitants had died long ago, and only seemed to be alive. But by themselves they didn’t pose any danger.

For some time, nothing happened. I just couldn’t move, and I felt very uneasy about that. More than that, I disliked the strong premonition I had that something was about to happen. Something began to approach me from afar. It needed time—and it took it.

This arduous process seemed to drag on an without end. I began to think that it had always been that way, and always would be. But at a certain point I was able to wake myself up.

With a headache, wet and sticky from sweat—the vile companion of nightmares—I was happy. Waking up was so wonderful! I dug around in the closet and found the precious bottle of Elixir of Kaxar. “Take care of this, Max; it should be for special occasions, not every day,” Juffin had advised me. But my body was begging for mercy, and I didn’t torment myself with doubt, either. Before I had gotten my hands on a bottle of that wonderful remedy, a dream like that could have stripped me of all spiritual strength for weeks. Now, I felt immediate relief, and I hoped that it would last for a while. I smiled at the afternoon sun and went downstairs to enhance the pleasant change I was experiencing with a bath and some good kamra.

In an hour’s time I was fully dressed, but it was too early to go to work. I spent some time in the living room with a book on my lap. The view from the window no longer pleased me as it used to; but for some reason I didn’t dare turn my back on the scene.

Finally, I had to admit that it was no use. I put aside the third volume of Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia and went out into the street to get a closer look at the house opposite. I got out my brand new dagger and took a look at the gauge on its hilt. The building was innocent as a babe. There were traces of permitted second-degree black magic. Perhaps the owners were making kamra, or trying to remove oil spatterings, which they had every right to do.

But my heart was of a different opinion. “This is a foul place,” it thumped anxiously. That invaluable muscle had become a good advisor to me of late. I knew I should heed its judgment; but I wanted something entirely different. I wanted to calm down and go on living. I did my best.

You have to stop listening to scary stories before bedtime, my dear boy! I told myself breezily.

To distract myself, I took my new toy down the block, checking my neighbors’ observance of the Code of Krember as I went along. Judging by the gauge, they were law-abiding and singularly devoted to culinary experiments. Black magic of the second degree oozed out of almost all the windows. When after a time the needle began to careen dangerously between the permitted two and the highly undesirable three, I looked around. In front of me was a small tavern with the menacing name of The Sated Skeleton. The cook there must really love his work, I thought, and decided to stop in for breakfast. The Glutton Bunba is, of course, my all-time favorite; but I do like to try new things for a change.

Nightmares or not, I had a good appetite that called for more than my usual humble breakfast rations. At the table next to mine, two local women were discussing a certain Lady Alatan, who had been robbed while she was out shopping; and “those whelps taught her a good lesson!” In my thoughts, I gave my condolences to the hapless lady: I had already met the gentleman whose duty it was to protect her possessions. But even that didn’t spoil my appetite.

After breakfast I set off leisurely for work, tracing a concentric circle around the Old Town. There I spent all the money I had in my pocket on completely useless but charming housewares. Where I come from, it is believed that retail therapy can save housewives ground down by routine. I can bear witness to the fact that it also saves certain gallant members of the Secret Force from the vestiges of the previous night’s bad dreams.

Weighed down with packages, I arrived at the House by the Bridge only a half hour earlier than I was supposed to.

“Settling into your home, then, are you, O Policeman’s Blight?” asked Juffin, as he studied my packages. “You know, Max, Boboota thinks that because you yelled at him, you have the right to do so. He respects you. I believe he is also looking forward to strangling you. Good job, my boy. Tell me the truth, did you really think he was just a run-of-the-mill ruffian?”

“He was being a troublemaker! It’s inappropriate for government officials to act like that. I’ll have this place cleaned up in no time!” I made a scary face and then admitted, “I’ve always dreamed of being in a position of power, sir.”

“That’s good,” said Juffin. “Maybe together we could tame him. What’s the matter with you, Max? You seem a bit odd today.” I was shocked.

“Is it really that noticeable? I thought—”

“It is to me. I hope Boboota hasn’t hired a witch. No, he wouldn’t do that. He’s actually one of the most law-abiding of citizens. He even has his wife do permitted magic at home, and he doesn’t lift a finger. So what happened, Max?”

I was glad for the opportunity to get it off my back. Maybe that’s why I ended up getting to work early.

“It’s nothing really, just a dream I had last night. In my case, though, it’s a problem. I had a nightmare, that’s all. A disgusting nightmare; nothing really even happened in it but it left me with the most loathsome feeling.” And I told him my dream down to the last detail.

“Did you check the house when you woke up?”

“Yeah. Black magic of the second degree. I guess the former tenants brewed kamra. But you know better than I do that sometimes the sensor can be wrong.”

“I know; but sealing off a house in such a way that the needle doesn’t stay at zero, and shows more or less average readings . . . theoretically, it’s possible, but who would be capable of doing that? I certainly wouldn’t. No, not even me, boy! I may not be the most powerful wizard in the world, but I am certainly not in the minor leagues. You said that you had an unpleasant reaction?”

“To put in mildly. My heart almost gave out in the madness.”

“Well, Max, I’m going to take a little walk around that neighborhood on my way home. I had nothing planned anyway. I even gave my diurnal rep permission to go frolic at his parents’ mansion. And Sir Lonli-Lokli returned home an hour earlier than usual, which hasn’t happened in several dozen years. Let’s go to the Glutton for a glass of kamra. Will you look after things here, Kurush? Max will bring back something tasty for you. Maybe later, we can take a stroll down to the Main Archive. I don’t know about your kinsmen, but Sir Lookfi Pence would be thrilled. Anyway, my heart tells me that tonight will be even quieter than last night, if that’s possible. Let’s go, Max.”

“Don’t forget the treat,” Kurush reminded us.

All the while we were at the Glutton Sir Juffin was the embodiment of paternal concern. It was amazing—he really showed sympathy for me and my silly problem.

“Whatever it is, Max, you’re not the type of kid to get a nightmare from acid indigestion. Sometimes your dreams are unusual. If this happens again, I think you had better spend a few days at my place, at least until we get to the bottom of it.”

“Thank you, Juffin. But I don’t want to leave my house. All my life I’ve wanted a house like that, with a bedroom beneath the eaves, a living room downstairs, stairs that creak, and no extra furniture. Now, at last I’ve found the house I’ve been looking for. And you know what? Like hell they’re going to chase me out of it!”

“So you’re going to sleep at home and entertain yourself with a half dozen nightmares every night?”

“I certainly hope not. Maybe it won’t happen again. Everyone has nightmares, and they usually don’t mean anything at all.”

“And what about your chest pains when you went outside? You think that was just a coincidence? A cat has nine lives, but you’re no cat.”

I jumped in surprise at hearing the old turn of phrase.

“Do you have cats here?”

“Who doesn’t!”

“Why haven’t I seen one yet?”

“Where could you have seen one? You’ve never been to the countryside. We don’t keep cats at home; they’re like cows and sheep.”

“That’s odd. I guess yours are the wrong sort of cats.”

“You mean yours are the wrong sort of cats,” Juffin retorted. “Ours are the rightest sort of cats in the entire Universe!”

Then we parted ways. Juffin Hully set off for a stroll around the Street of Old Coins, and I went to the House by the Bridge to hang out. Kurush got a cream pastry. According to my colleagues, they’re his favorite. It turned out that the buriwok was unable to clean the sticky cream off his beak, and I had to run around the office in search of a napkin.

Then I went upstairs and regaled Sir Lookfi Pence and a good hundred or so buriwoks with tales from the Barren Lands, which I’d borrowed from the third volume of Encyclopedia. When the long twilight shadows had thickened into night, Sir Lookfi began getting ready to go home, knocking over chairs all the while. That was how I learned that his working day lasts from noon to nightfall. The rest of the time the buriwoks like going about their own business, and it’s best not to disturb them. They looked upon dear old Kurush as something of an oddball for spending all his time with humans.

I invited Sir Lookfi for a mug of kamra in my office. He seemed pleased and shy at the same time. He sent a call to his wife, after which he said:

“Varisha has agreed to miss me for another hour. Thank you, Sir Max! I apologize that I didn’t accept your invitation immediately. You see, we’re newlyweds and . . .” Embarrassed, the poor fellow got tangled up in the folds of his own looxi. I had to catch him so he wouldn’t fall.

“Don’t apologize,” I said, smiling. “You did just the right thing, my friend.”

Once I was back in the office, I called for the courier, who darted in seconds later and looked into my eyes with fawning devotion. I could just see it, the title of a horror movie: Max, Devourer of Underlings. Quite a nice ring to it, I thought!

Lookfi sipped his kamra with evident enjoyment, all the while soaking the intricately-patterned hem of his looxi in his cup. I didn’t waste any time, and started asking him about the buriwoks. I had already heard Kurush’s take on things, and now I wanted to hear the opinion of one of the other parties involved.

“I was offered this job by the buriwoks themselves,” said Sir Lookfi. “I don’t know why they chose me, but one day, a long time ago—a long long time ago—a courier came to my house and brought me an invitation from the House by the Bridge. The birds said that they would find my presence most suitable. They rejected the other candidates out of hand—even the cousin of the King’s Advisor. Do you know why, Kurush?”

“I’ve told you many times—because you can tell us apart.”

“Kurush, you’re just as much of a joker as Sir Juffin! Who in the world wouldn’t be able to tell you apart?”

“I would probably have a hard time telling one buriwok from another,” I confessed in perplexity.

“There you have it. I’ve been telling him the same thing over and over for more than a hundred years, and he still doesn’t believe me,” Kurush grumbled. “Although, it’s true, his memory isn’t too bad; for a human, of course.”

“I suppose I do have a good memory,” said Lookfi. “Yet all my life I thought others were forgetful and I was only average.”

“He remembers how many feathers each of us has,” Kurush told me confidingly.

“No kidding!” I whistled. “If that was the one and only thing you remembered, Lookfi, I would still be a dimwit compared to you.”

“Don’t say that, Sir Max,” said Lookfi. “You’re not a dimwit at all; you’re just a bit absent-minded.”

Sinning Magicians, I thought, look who’s talking!

Finally, Lookfi took his leave, and Kurush and I were left alone together. I think the buriwok had fallen asleep. I found some newspapers on Juffin’s desk; some fresh, and others less recent. It’s good to be new in someone else’s world: the evening papers are as enthralling as a fantasy novel. The only difference is that you can open the door at any moment you please and go for a walk in this imaginary world.

Sir Kofa Yox arrived again before dawn. He grumpily informed me that there was no news and that none was expected: four more house robberies for the valiant police force to deal with. So boring! That was why he was turning in for the night. I nodded sympathetically, sighed, and became absorbed once more in a copy of the Echo Hustle and Bustle dating back to the previous year.

Sir Juffin Hully showed up for work rather early, demanded some kamra, and then stared at me thoughtfully.

“No news yet, Max. I mean no real news, at any rate. But I do have one idea. This is what it comes down to. My house is always open to you, you know that. But you were right. Try sleeping at your place for another day or two. If you don’t have any more nightmares, great! If you do, though . . . I understand that it isn’t pleasant, but there’s a chance the plot might start to unfold. Perhaps something interesting will come to light.”

“What do you think? What should I prepare myself for?”

“Honestly? I think you should prepare for the worst. I didn’t like the look of that house from the start. I didn’t like it one bit, but there was nothing I could put my finger on. I can’t remember anything like this happening before. Maybe my imagination is running away with me out of boredom, but I don’t think so. I think we’ll dig something up on that house. When Lookfi gets here we’ll find out something about the owners. And about the neighbors, as well. About how they feel living there. For the time being, take this.” Juffin offered me an unsightly scrap of cloth. “Wrap this around your neck before going to sleep. This will definitely wake you up.”

“What? Could it really be that dangerous?”

“Life is full of extremely dangerous things. Most dangerous of all are the things we don’t understand. Or things that don’t exist at all. All right, let me know when you wake up.”

A sense of obligation is not the best kind of sleeping pill. After tossing restlessly from side to side, I surrounded myself with volumes of Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia and began studying its excellent illustrations. I was interested in the local cat species and hoped to find pictures of them. It took me a long time to find them, but at last I was successful. At first glance, these wondrous beasts seemed like ordinary fluffy cats. What was striking about them, though, was their size. These furry shortlimbed creatures were no less than three feet in length. Their shoulder height was around a foot and a half. I determined this by comparing the picture of the cat with that of a gentleman in a knitted looxi. Turning to the accompanying text, I learned that the gentleman was none other than a shepherd. Reading further I discovered that “the peasant folk of Landaland breed cats for their warm coats.” Just like sheep! I was surprised and fascinated. Maybe it’s time I got myself a kitten. So what if the snobs from the capital consider them to be petty livestock that should be kept on farms? A barbarian from the Barren Lands, I was certain, would be forgiven more serious eccentricities than that.

Lulled by thoughts of my future status as the first cat-owner of Echo, I finally fell asleep. Alas, it would have been better if my insomnia had continued! The merciful sleep of oblivion quickly dissolved into a clear vision: again, I was lying on the table in the living room, helpless and motionless.

Worst of all, I had lost all sense of myself. Who I was, what I was like, where I was from, where exactly I was just then, what I was doing, say, a year ago, what type of women I preferred, what my friends’ names were, where I had lived as a child—I didn’t have the answer to any of those questions. Worse yet, I didn’t have any questions. My understanding of the world was limited to the sitting room and the triangular windows of the house next door. That, and great fear. Yes, that’s how it was: all I knew about the world around me was that it was a terrifying place, and that I felt wretched.

At last, the window of the house began to open slowly. Someone was staring at me from inside the room. Then, in the window, someone’s hand appeared briefly. A handful of sand flew out of the darkness, but instead of scattering onto the sidewalk below, it froze in midair like a small golden cloud. Then came another handful of sand, and another, and another. Now there was much more than just a cloud—a whole pathway was quivering in the sky. It was a short path and I was certain I knew where it led. So, the plot is developing, I thought. Well now, isn’t this just dandy? The plot has to unfold . . . Wait, that isn’t even my own thought, those are Juffin’s words! That’s just what he said, word for word.

As soon as I remembered my conversation with Juffin, I remembered who I was, too. That made me feel a bit better. The fear, unfortunately, remained; but it was no longer the sole component of my existence. Now I knew that I was sleeping. And I knew that I wasn’t simply sleeping, but sleeping with the purpose of observing the nightmare unfold. I also knew that I needed to wake up just then, but for some reason I couldn’t.

Idiot! I forgot to put on that scrap of cloth! I thought in panic. Praise to the Magicians, I suddenly woke up. Lowering my feet down off the table—

Heavens above! So I did fall asleep on the living room table and not in the comfortable bed upstairs, surrounded by eight volumes of the Encyclopedia of the World. What nonsense! No, it wasn’t just nonsense. It looked like a fairly solid storyline for your average B horror movie.

I went upstairs. My knees were trembling. More than anything I was afraid of finding another Max sleeping in my bed. Go figure which one of us was the real one. The bed was empty. With shaking hands I reached for the bottle of Elixir of Kaxar that I’d had the foresight to leave at the head of the bed. I took a gulp, then another. I felt a great deal better. I collapsed onto the bed. Even if I didn’t get any sleep, I could rest a bit, at the very least. But I had to get in touch with Juffin. Luckily, I had something to report to him, as well.

I’m awake, Juffin. Things are pretty bad.

Well, if you’re awake then all is not lost. Come to the Glutton, I’ll treat you to breakfast. In fact, I have some news for you as well.

I’ll be there in an hour. Over and out.

“Over what?”

Over and out. It means: that’s all, this thought-exchange is over.>

Over and out, Juffin repeated with delight.

The Glutton is a truly magical place. Those walls could make anyone feel right at home. I was describing my adventures and starting to relax. That was more than I could say for Juffin, who looked like someone paying a scheduled visit to the dentist’s office.

“So you say that you woke up on the table. That means things are more serious than I thought. I think you should move back to my place for a while. But I am going to spend the night in your bed. Maybe I’ll dream of some horrible thing as well.”

“I have a better idea. How about I sleep at home, and you hold my hand like a kindly nurse?”

“I had a similar idea to begin with, but—”

“But what, Juffin? It’s already happening to me, and the plot is unfolding; but if you stay there, you’ll have to start watching from the first episode, then the second. We’ll lose two days that way.”

“That may be, but I don’t like the way this whole thing is affecting you. I’m afraid you’re still too vulnerable when you’re asleep.”

“Well, that depends on how you look at it. Because I did remember that it was a dream. And I woke up, even though I forgot to put on that scrap you gave me.”

“Oh, but that was very unwise, Max! You can’t neglect things like that. By the way, that ‘little scrap,’ as you call it, is merely the personal kerchief of the Grand Magician of the Order of the Secret Grass.”

“Isn’t he one of those guys whose dried flesh you partake of daily to strengthen your powers?”

Juffin gave a quick laugh and then scowled again.

“I think you got a little carried away with the Kaxar, Max. Your joie de vivre is beginning to frighten me.”

“It scares me, too. So, do you agree to sing me a lullaby?”

“I suppose I could try, though I suspect that the presence of a person awake, especially one as notable as me, might hinder events as they develop.”

“At least I’ll get some sleep. What if we both go to sleep?”

“Yes, I suppose we could try that. Although,” Juffin grew more animated, “who says I have to be in the same room? I can watch you without even leaving my office. It’s settled, then. I think that’s what we should do. But first I’ll spend a night at your house, to be on the safe side.”

“The house is at your disposal. But I only have three bathing pools, remember? Not even that will dissuade you?”

“What lengths wouldn’t one go to for the peaceful well-being of the Unified Kingdom . . . and for one’s own well-being, for that matter! I had a bad feeling about that place from the very beginning; I shouldn’t have let you move into that doghouse at all!”

“It’s all right,” I said, trying to comfort my boss. “When I grow up and I’m big and strong, I’ll learn to take bribes, and then I’ll build a palace for myself on the left bank. What about your news? You said you were going to consult the buriwoks.”

“That’s what I spent half the day doing. I have some news, and it’s rather worrying. It’s just too bad that I didn’t take on this case a couple of years ago. But if it hadn’t been for your dreams, it never would have occurred to me to make a connection between some of the facts that on their own just aren’t very interesting. Let’s go to the Ministry, so you can hear for yourself.”

And we headed straightaway to the Main Archive.

“Lookfi, I’d like to listen again to the information that you gathered today.”

“Of course, Sir Hully. Good day, Sir Max; you’re here early today! They say nothing much has been happening lately.”

Lookfi approached one of the buriwoks.

“Please tell us one more time about the Street of Old Coins, Tatoon.”

It looked to me like the bird had shrugged, as if to say, “I’d rather not repeat the same trivial story twice, but since it’s my job—here we go again.” With that, the buriwok began to recite:

“Information regarding owners of real estate as of Day 208 of the Year 115. Street of Old Coins, house #1. Owner: Ms. Xarista Aag. No criminal record. Lives in the countryside. In the year 109 of the Code Epoch, the house was temporarily leased to the Poedra family. Three dozen years’ rent was paid up front. In the year 112, Gar Poedra lost the Spark and died. His wife, Pita Poedra, and daughter, Xitta, are known to inhabit the premises to the present day. The daughter still suffers from a childhood illness, but does not seek the assistance of specialists and does not leave the house. They live in a reclusive fashion and do not entertain guests. No criminal record.

“House #2. Owner: Kunk Stifan. Lives in the house with two underage sons. His wife, Trita Stifan, died in the year 107. In the year 110, he was suspected of killing the maid, one Pamma Lorras. He was proven innocent and received compensation for damages. A witch-doctor confirmed that his wife died in her sleep of heart disease. Uses the services of a daytime maid and four tutors for the boys. Does not employ full-time help. He was obliged to leave his position at the Ministry of Big Money due to illness at the beginning of this year.

“House #3. Owner: Rogro Zhil, editor-in-chief of the Royal Voice and co-owner of the Echo Hustle and Bustle. His detailed dossier is kept in the archives. He currently lives on Ginger Dream Street in the New City. The house on the Street of Old Coins is neither for rent nor for sale, as the owner is in no need of funds.”

“His dossier is something of an epic poem,” whispered Juffin. “But at the moment that’s not what we are interested in. You may enjoy reading it, though, in your spare time. I highly recommend it.”

Houses #4, #5, #6 . . . All the stories bore a certain resemblance to one another. The inhabitants of the Street of Old Coins turned out to be the most miserable wretches in all of Echo: they got sick, lost their loved ones, and then they died. No criminal records, no suicides, nothing mysterious. But a whole street full of terminally ill widows and orphans? And in Echo, of all places, where your average witch-doctor was nearly capable of bringing the dead back to life! Talk about coincidence.

“House seven,” the bird repeated patiently, “Owner: Tolakan Enn; wife: Feni Enn, no children. In the year 54 of the Code Epoch, the house was left to him by his father, Sir Genelad Enn, the Royal Court’s Chief Supplier. Altogether his inheritance was worth a dozen million crowns.”

I whistled in surprise. Sir Tolakan was absurdly wealthy. You could live for a week on just one crown—if, of course, you didn’t buy large quantities of the expensive nonsense that is displayed in the windows of antique shops.

“No criminal record,” the buriwok continued. “They do not socialize. A detailed dossier on these individuals can be found in the archives.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Sir Juffin remarked. “For the last five dozen years already, one unfathomably rich man has been a resident of this wretched slum. Oh, sorry Max, don’t get me wrong. I was just quoting public opinion on the matter. Anyway, of all the people on the whole street, he and his wife are the only ones who are neither stricken with illness nor on their deathbeds.”

“House eight,” the buriwok continued in a monotonous voice. “Owner: Gina Ursil. No criminal record. The house’s prior owner, Lea Ursil, Gina’s mother, lost the Spark and died in the year 87 of the Codex Epoch. Since then, the house has been empty, as the owner lives in her Estate in Uruland.”

“I assume you’ve already heard the most important bits,” said Juffin and sighed. “It goes on and on like this. Empty houses, sick widows, frail widowers, dead parents, and children in weak health. And, finally, your little bachelor pad, which, as we already know, has its own mournful history. Well, thank you Tatoon. I think that will be all for now. I’ll ask Kurush for the details.”

“What about the pub?” I asked. “The Sated Skeleton. I had breakfast over there yesterday. Is it all right?”

“That’s the brightest place on your cheery little street. Mind you, people work there and eat there, of course, but they don’t sleep there. Even the proprietor, Goppa Talabunn, lives above the Drunken Skeleton, one of his other pubs. I think he has about a dozen of them, but the word skeleton figures in all their names. Goppa thinks it sounds amusing, and most of his clientele thinks the same.”

Juffin thanked Lookfi and the buriwoks and we set out for the office. Kurush, as always, was dozing on the back of an armchair.

“Wake up,” said Juffin, tenderly ruffling the feathers on the buriwok’s soft neck. “We need to get some work done.”

Kurush opened his round eyes and said, “Peanuts first.”

While the smarty-pants consumed his peanuts, Juffin and I managed to drink down a mug of kamra and even ordered refills.

“I’m ready,” Kurush announced finally.

“In that case, start digging through your memory, buddy. We are interested in anything that has to do with Number Seven on the Street of Old Coins. Once you’ve collected all the material, you may begin reciting it. Sir Max is collecting gossip about his neighbors, so I do hope you come up with something worthwhile.”

Kurush puffed himself up and then fell silent. I imagined him quietly humming like a small computer. Several minutes later, the buriwok shook his feathers, and began.

“Number Seven on the Street of Old Coins is one of the oldest in Echo. It was built in the year 1140 by a Master Blacksmith, one Stremmi Broh, and later inherited by his son, Kardu Broh, then by his heiress, Vamira Broh. In 2154, during the Epoch of Orders, Vamira Broh sold the house to the Gusot family. Mener Gusot, known as Grand Magician of the Order of Green Moons was born in the house in 2346. Later the house was presented to him as a gift after his coming of age, and he lived there, cut off from the rest of the world. As everyone knows, in the year 2504, Mener Gusot founded the Order of Green Moons. Until the power of the order became common knowledge, they held their meetings at the Grand Magician’s apartment. Number seven on the Street of Old Coins never stood empty. Even after a new residency was built for the Order in 2675, the Grand Magician said that he was involved in ‘especially important work’ there.

“During the Troubled Times, the Order of Green Moons was one of the first to fall, because it belonged to a number of groups that made no secret of their rivalry with the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover. Almost all the Order’s disciples, novices, and Magicians were killed. The Grand Magician, Mener Gusot, committed suicide in the courtyard of the burning residency of the Order on the 233rd day of the year 3183 of the Epoch of Orders, five years before the beginning of the Code Epoch. It is known that twelve initiates of the movement survived. According to information from the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover they all left the Unified Kingdom immediately. Information about each of them can be found in the Main Archive and is updated whenever new information becomes available.

“All the late Mener Gusot’s property, including the house on the Street of Old Coins, passed into the possession of the King. In the 8th year of the Code Epoch, the house was sold by order of the highest authority to Sir Genelad Enn, Chief Supplier to the Royal Court. In the year 10, Sir Genelad Enn died and Sir Tolakan Enn, Chief Advisor to the Department for the Dispensation of Allowances, and the only son of the deceased, inherited the house. The Estate stood empty until the year 54, when the Enn family moved back from their country home. In the year 55, Sir Tolakan Enn left his position at the Department for the Dispensation of Allowances. Since then, they have lived in a reclusive fashion, employing only day servants. Popular opinion attributes the adoption of such a lifestyle to the extreme stinginess sometimes found in the very wealthy. And give me some more peanuts.”

After that imperious demand, Kurush fell silent.

“What a story, Sir Max.” Juffin chuckled, gathering peanuts from his various desk drawers. “So, the father gets the house and dies two years later. All is fine while the house stands empty. In 54 an heir moves in. Not even a year goes by and he undergoes a complete personality change. He leaves his job for no apparent reason, dismisses all the help, and becomes one of Echo’s most reticent inhabitants. And Lady Feni, the most famous socialite of the first half of the century, doesn’t object? His old friends don’t get any explanations, believe me, I’ve checked. There is no solid proof of foul play, however, and when it comes to people’s private lives . . . well, even the richest man in the city has the right to keep to himself. Everyone is perplexed by it at first, but then they just forget about it and get on with their business.”

“So those two just never leave their house?”

“Well, not exactly; Lady Feni does. She goes out at least once every dozen days or so. And she is just as cold and impenetrable as back in the day when her beauty was the greatest sensation at the royal court. But she makes no visits of any kind. Lady Feni goes shopping. She buys mounds of stuff—sometimes necessary, but for the most part useless. She seems to have set herself the task of acquiring the most extensive range of hodgepodge in the shortest possible time. However, for a woman of her standing, and with the fortune and the amount of free time she has at her disposal, such behavior is completely normal.”

“Juffin, you’ve done a lot of research!”

“Oh Max, I’m afraid I haven’t done enough; but it was all I could manage in such a short amount of time. Just thank the Magicians that you can rest at work. Gather your strength and enjoy life. I’m off to your place. I’ll try my best to sleep in that slum. A hole in the heavens above you, Max! Just when I thought my days of ascetic adventurism were over . . .”

Sir Juffin left, and I stayed at the House by the Bridge. All night long I tried to go about honorably fulfilling my boss’s orders to rest and enjoy life. Not the easiest task in the world, but I did my best.

Morning began, as always, with Sir Kofa’s arrival. He looked befuddled. I must add that this expression suited him far better than his usual squeamish grimace of unending boredom.

“The robberies have continued, Max,” he reported. “You know, this is starting to get absurd. And absurdity is always unnerving. People are now saying that the robberies are being committed by the same person. But how does this elusive creature manage to visit houses at opposite ends of Echo at the same time? That’s what I want to know. And if the perpetrators are indeed different people, then what manner of genius was able to train them so well? And, more important, why? So that even Boboota gets the news that it might be a single criminal gang working together? Right then, son. Tell Juffin to get in touch with me if he gets bored. Of course, these events aren’t really interesting, nor are they matters for our department to deal with. But as the saying goes, at night even a skinny woman can seem like a blanket.”

“Better a small fish than an empty dish,” I translated automatically. “I’ll give him your message, Sir Kofa, but I have a feeling Sir Juffin won’t be bored today. I found a little job for him to do . . .”

“Oh, to hell with the robberies, then! They can wait for a rainy day. Have fun, Max. I’m planning to stop in at a few more places on my way home, so if you’ll excuse me.”

I waited around for another half an hour before receiving a message from Juffin. I’m quite fine, except for the bath that awaits me in your tiny tubs. I’ll be out soon, so let’s call over to the Glutton for breakfast.

With great enjoyment I took to fussing over our menu. By the time Juffin arrived, our office had all the qualities of a good restaurant: a splendid centerpiece on the table, tempting aromas, and a hungry gourmet exemplified in my person. Sir Venerable Head was satisfied.

“Allow me to report, sir,” said Juffin, who parodied a new recruit just returned from his first assignment. “The results of the investigative experiment just conducted prove that: a) there is something inhabiting the house opposite, and b) it is scared of me. Or, alternatively, it is disgusted by me. Or finds me unappetizing. Or it subscribes to the Echo Hustle and Bustle and is an admiring and devoted fan. In any case, no one so much as touched a hair on my head. No, it was more amusing than that. At first, I dreamed I was lying on that dinner table of yours; but it lasted for only a second. Then I stopped dreaming. All at once there was nothing. I was free as a bird and I could sleep for as long as I wished! But I wouldn’t let myself off the hook. I tried to close in on our mysterious friend myself. He had already surrounded himself with such unassailable defenses that inside that worthy mansion I wasn’t able to find anyone except its owners, who were fast asleep. Still, we did find out something new.”

“Like what?”

“That this could not possibly be the work of human hand. That is to say, there might have been someone who awoke other, inhuman, forces that are inhabiting the house. As a matter of fact, I suspect that history even preserved that person’s name for the curious. Of all the former inhabitants of the house, who but the Grand Magician of the Order of Green Moons could have pulled off such a prank? That doesn’t change the fact that you are being harassed by some wretch from another world, though. Pretty exotic, huh?”

“I thought I was the exotic one,” I spluttered. “Well, what does it want from me, anyway?”

“What do you think? Yum-yum!” said Juffin, and let out a bloodthirsty chuckle. “In any case, its intentions are unkind, make no mistake! Why else would residents of the neighborhood be kicking the bucket left and right? Let’s see, what else do we know about the enemy? Judging from last night, I would say that he acts carefully and is choosy. He wouldn’t risk coming up against a serious opponent such as myself. Furthermore, our little friend makes mistakes sometimes, which became quite clear today when he first invaded my dreams and then shamelessly fled. That’s comforting. I do not like getting involved with unmitigated evil—it’s a lot of bother. No matter how you look at it, Sir Max, the information that we have now is simply not enough. So you’re going to have to undergo nightmares for the sake of the cause for another few nights. I’ll shut myself up in the office and oversee your adventures from here. But don’t you even think of going to bed tonight without the protective amulet I was considerate enough to provide you with!”

“You mean that rag?”

“I mean the kerchief of the Grand Magician of the Order of Clandestine Weeds. Your frivolousness is killing me! Without that ‘rag,’ as you so irreverently call it, no one can guarantee that you will ever wake up again. Do you fancy that prospect?”

“Not particularly. I won’t forget, Juffin. I can’t believe I forgot about it yesterday! Could that unknown beast, hidden in ambush, have caused my absent-mindedness?”

“That could very well be. All the worse, Sir Max, all the worse.”

“If you really are going to be looking out for me, then please recite the safety measures to me just before I climb into bed. I’m either becoming absentminded, or the creature is turning me into an idiot.”

“You’re right. Stranger things have happened. In any case, an extra reminder never hurt anyone. You’re not eating enough. Don’t let nonsense like this spoil your appetite. Problems come and go, but your belly stays with you. Its needs are sacred.”

“I promise I’ll be good, sir.”

And indeed I was. I devoured a plateful of food, and after wiping my plate clean, I reached for a second helping. Sir Juffin Hully looked at me with the approval of a loving grandmother.

Soon it was time to go back home and see this night’s screening of Nightmare on Elm Street, starring poor Max. I can’t say that I was really looking forward to it. Now I was struck by my own idiotic heroism, under the influence of which I had refused to stay over at Juffin’s the other day. It was supposedly in the “interests of our mission,” but to tell the truth, it was just plain stubbornness.

Home was cozy, in spite of it all. Rays of sunshine beat through the new chocolate colored curtains I had procured to turn the bright light of day into the warm half-gloom of an underwater grotto. Of course, the main reason for my purchase had been to get rid of the view from the window, which only a few days before had been one of the main arguments in favor of my choosing this place as my home.

I noticed the evidence of Juffin’s presence in the living room (an unwashed glass and an empty kamra jug), and in the bedroom (the pillows and blankets had migrated to the far corner of the gigantic bed, and my library at the head of the bed had undergone thorough censorship, with the consequent scattering of all books deemed improper about the room). Following a strange logic of free association, I started thinking about cats. As soon as this is all over and done with, I’m getting a kitten, I promised myself. I tried to settle in more comfortably.

Hey Max, Juffin’s call jangled in my head, importunate as the sound of an alarm clock. Don’t forget to put on the scarf!

Sinning Magicians! I nearly forgot the talisman! How was it possible? I was so frightened there could have been no question of absent-mindedness. I quickly wrapped the protective cloth around my neck.

Looks like you were right, Max. You’re able to focus your attention on anything but matters of your own safety. Thoughts about the amulet were blocked, and in a very interesting way, I might add. It’s too bad you wouldn’t be able to understand my explanation of the matter yet. It seems we’ve come upon a very curious phenomenon. Perhaps you have some other amulets as well? Just objects that you especially like, or things that calm you down, like a child with his favorite toy. Lie down with things like that arranged from head to toe. They can’t do any harm, and who knows what small talismans are capable of? And don’t huff and puff so much trying to send me a message! I’m near you all the time in a sense. I see everything and I hear everything. Everything is under control. So just relax. What was it that you said recently? Over and out? Well, that’s all. So long!

I tried to think. Amulets. What sorts of amulets could I have? Actually, I do have one thing I could probably use: the balsam box from Sir Makluk’s bedroom, which was my very first trophy. I had removed it from the place it had so clearly not wanted to stay, and I had the feeling that the trinket was especially fond of me. So I placed my little friend carefully at the head of the bed.

But what else? Was that all? Except maybe the Child of the Crimson Pearl, which was, after all, a royal gift. It couldn’t hurt to have it around. And the third volume of Sir Manga Malifaro’s Encyclopedia of the World, too. I really had grown used to falling asleep with it, like a child with its teddy bear.

I built an elegant barricade of amulets and touched my neck to make sure that the magic rag was still there. Then I lay down in bed with a distinct feeling of despair. I flipped through a book for a while. Sleep crept into my eyes stealthily and quickly, although at first I was sure that today’s experiment might fail due to “technical difficulties.” To tell the truth, I usually get insomnia from fear and stress. But not tonight. I felt as though I’d been pumped full of sleeping pills; and I bet that Freddy Kruger next door had seen to it that his patient had no problems with fitful sleep. I must remember to ask Juffin whether that was true, I thought, falling asleep. Then again, why bother. Wasn’t it obvious?

This time the nightmare wasn’t as horrid. I was conscious of the fact that I was sleeping. I remembered who I was, why I was there, what I was waiting for, and so forth. I didn’t feel Juffin’s presence, but at least I knew who he was subconsciously.

I lay on my dining room table again, in the usual ostentatious serving-dish pose. The curtains, of course, had been parted by some invisible jerk, so I couldn’t escape the lovely view of the ancient palace. My heart tightened in terror, as if an invisible hand was giving me painful intramuscular injections, but for the moment I had the strength to resist. To my great surprise, I even started getting angry. Of course, anger didn’t help me in any way; but then again, I didn’t know what would happen next. In any case, I latched onto this rage, as it seemed to me to be one of the better alternatives to fear.

Some wretch won’t let me get a good night’s sleep in my own house, which I pay good money for, for crying out loud! Some foul, loathsome thing is preventing me from getting any rest! And instead of a suspenseful nightmare, I am being subjected to this moronic boredom, I told myself angrily. I did all I could to get myself worked up. And I ended up getting myself worked up with a vengeance.

Good show, Max! Juffin’s voice in my head interrupted my furious inner monologue. Good show, and it’s working! Now try to be scared again. Your fright is excellent bait. If you don’t show any fear at all, this thing might leave you alone. And we have to lure it out of its foxhole somehow. Be a good boy now, act as if you’re giving up.

It’s easy enough to tell someone to “be scared.” By then I was ready to go on a rampage and smash everything in sight. On the crest of my own righteous anger, I think I was nearing victory over the horrible stupor that had turned me into the most helpless creature in the universe.

One good thing about this kind of situation is that if you really want to be frightened, then all the scary stories in the world of nightmares are at your disposal. I needed only to focus on the dark triangular window in the house across the street, and the pathway of sand leading from it, and all my anger turned to a fear that was almost panic. By way of experiment, and for my own emotional well-being, as well, I tried to get angry again. It worked! I enjoyed being able to change my own mood at will. Not having to choose the lesser of two evils, but rather having both at my command—that was variety for you!

At last I managed to find a balance between fear and anger: to be frightened, but not to the point of losing all other feeling; to be angry, but to remain conscious of my own helplessness.

Then the hand inside the darkness again threw a fistful of sand, then another, and another. The ghostly path between our windows grew longer. An eternity went by, and a second eternity followed. As a third eternity drew to a close, my heart again tried to refuse to take part in the drama, but I was able to negotiate with it. I could have woken up, but I didn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow to see the next episode. If Juffin wanted to get a glimpse of the star in this matinée, I would try to give him the pleasure. I would tolerate as much as I could, and then just a bit more. It was sort of like going to the dentist: the kind of satisfaction you don’t want to drag out for too long.

When the edge of the sandy path neared the table with the heap of fear and anger formerly known as Max lying on it, I actually felt relief. The denouement was near.

Sure enough, a dark silhouette appeared in the window and took the first step along the ghostly pathway. Step by step, he drew nearer to me: a middle-aged man with indistinct facial features and empty, shining eyes.

All of a sudden, I realized I was no longer in control of the situation. Not because the whole situation was too ghastly, and not even because the creature was not (and could not be) human. In theory, I was ready for that. But I could already feel some kind of connection between us, and it was a great deal worse than any fear or spiritual turmoil. I not only felt, but saw, how something started pouring out of my body. It wasn’t blood; it was some kind of invisible substance. All I knew was that my further existence in any form would be impossible without it.

Something started squeezing my throat. I can’t say it was violent, but it was unexpected enough to wake me up. So the “rag,” the merits of which Sir Juffin Hully had talked so much about, worked beautifully. And most important of all, it had worked just in the nick of time! One more second, and I’m not sure there would have been any of me left to wake up.

I swung my legs down off the dining room table, unsurprised by anything anymore. The frame of the open window creaked balefully in the wind. I closed the window and shut the curtains with relief. My body hinted, embarrassed, that it felt like fainting dead away. I shook my fist in reply: just you try!

Good morning, Max! Juffin’s energetic voice was honey to my tormented senses. Good show, boy! Good show! Congratulations on reaching the end of this unpleasant adventure. Now we know everything we need to know, so the finale can’t be too far away. Take a swig of Elixir of Kaxar as though it’s your wedding day, brush off your feathers, and run over to my place. Righto? Over and out.

All right, I answered, and dragged my feet back into the bedroom. Five minutes later, I went down to the bathroom with a hop, skip, and a jump, restored to life by the most medicinal of all drinks in this World.

Juffin’s words about “reaching the end of this unpleasant journey” only now began making sense to me. Did that mean it was over? Could it possibly mean that I would never have to have that terrible nightmare again? Sinning Magicians, what else did a man need to be truly happy!

On my way to work I decided that one thing a man definitely needs is a light breakfast at the Sated Skeleton. With that, I turned off into the warm half-gloom of the pub. Sir Juffin Hully never required his subordinates to go to work on an empty stomach, even in the line of duty.

There were more people than usual at the House by the Bridge. Sir Lonli-Lokli was crouched on the edge of a chair writing in a thick notebook in a pose so uncomfortable that it was painful even to look at him. Sir Melifaro, who had only just returned from a visit to his parents’ estate, leaped out of his office like a genie from a bottle. He crowed that the most famous of illegitimate princes was among us and that he was unspeakably glad to bask in the glow of my fame. I thought that the poor guy had gone nuts until it occurred to me that he was referring to the royal gift that had been given to me three days . . . no, an eternity ago. Nightmares can convince anyone that life is all vanity of vanities and weariness unto death. Shaking my fist at my daytime counterpart, I swore I would “tell Dad,” and went to see Juffin.

I found Lady Melamori in his office, looking much too gloomy for a recently released “prisoner.”

“Glad you could come so quickly, Max. Our business can wait for an hour. It seems that we have some family matters that need taking care of. I think I should call the others in as well.”

“Family matters? What do you mean?” I asked in dismay.

“I’ve been robbed,” Melamori said. “I came home and saw that everything had been turned upside down. All of my jewelry boxes were opened. A hole in the heavens above that thief! I am so upset! When I joined the Secret Investigative Force I was sure that crooks would go three blocks around my house to avoid me.”

“What’s the problem, my lady?” I asked. “Start tracking the scoundrel and the case will be closed before you know it.”

“But there’s not a track to be found!” said Melamori. “It’s as though everything missing simply picked up and left.”

“I’ve always said that living alone is not the life for a lovely little lady!” announced Sir Melifaro as he entered the office. “If I had been in your bedchamber, nothing like this could have happened, my precious!”

“I’d rather get a dog,” said Melamori pursing her lips. “It would guard the house, and eat a whole lot less too. They say that dogs can even understand human speech, which is more than I can say for you.”

Lonli-Lokli politely let Sir Kofa enter the room first. Everyone was there except for Lookfi, who, as I understood, was not usually called in on such occasions. Our affairs had little to do with his work at the Main Archive.

“Well, what do you think of the news?” Juffin asked, fixing each of us with a hard gaze. “We’ve taken a hit! I hope you all agree that Melamori’s possessions should be returned immediately! The lady is upset, which does not bode well for our general humor, and the whole city is waiting on pins and needles to witness the retaliatory acts of the Secret Investigative Force. Dear girl, I know that you haven’t told anyone anything, but Echo is full of two-bit clairvoyants. Sir Melifaro, I’m assigning this to you. Do whatever you see fit. Max and I have other urgent matters to attend. I’m sorry.”

Melifaro immediately seated himself on the arm of Melamori’s chair. I noted without any particular pleasure that she buried her nose in his shoulder.

“I need a list of the stolen objects, sweetie,” said Melifaro, toying with the ends of his colleague’s long bangs.

“Thirty-eight rings, all with the Blimm family crest on the inside. Money . . . I don’t know how much there was, I didn’t count . . . A lot of money. A couple thousand crowns maybe . . . In other words, I don’t know. Eight necklaces, also with the family crest on the clasp. In my family we always engrave precious jewelry. I’ve always teased my parents about it. I guess I shouldn’t have . . . I think that’s about it. They didn’t touch the talismans. Oh, I almost forgot, they also took the little doll that you gave me on Middle of the Year Day. Remember Sir Melifaro?”

Melifaro winced.

“Of course I remember. You don’t easily forget such huge burns in your pocket! It was a beautiful toy. Strange that they would have taken that. It stands to reason they’d want the rest of the stuff. Sir Juffin, perhaps you’ll treat us to some kamra, since we’re all here. Then we can think through this one together and chat. I’ve been feeling a bit listless in that little village lately. I’m sure that your important business can wait for just another half hour, can’t it?”

“Anything can wait for half an hour, except the bodily functions General Boboota is so fond of discussing! All right, may there be a sea of kamra brought over from the Glutton; only you’ll have to work to deserve it, old boy!”

“Don’t I know it! Say Juffin, don’t you think it’s a bit odd to steal the smallest and most expensive things in a house, which one can carry away in the pocket of a looxi, and then grab a doll that’s the size of a three-year-old child as an afterthought? It isn’t a worthless trifle, of course; but in that case, why not take all the dishes, or the armchair from the living room? As far as I know, they would have been more valuable than the doll.” Melifaro had left his place on the arm of Melamori’s chair and was squatting next to the boss, who was forced to look down at him from above.

“I knew you’d catch that. You already deserve one portion of kamra.”

“I may have deserved it, but if we are to drink, then let’s do it together! Well, then, Sir Kofa, which of the honorable city policemen comes first on our White List?”

“Sir Kamshi, but he’s not at the Ministry right now. Try to get in touch with Lieutenant Shixola. He occupies fourth place, and he also specializes in burglaries.”

“All right, I’ll be back in just a moment. Anyone who so much as touches my kamra will choke on it!” With that, Melifaro was gone.

His pace impressed me. If somebody wanted to make a movie about the great Investigator Sir Melifaro of Echo, they’d have to settle with filming a series of shorts.

“What’s this White List?” I asked Sir Kofa. He laughed heartily. Even Lady Melamori let out a giggle.

“Oh Max! That’s just a little game of ours. From time to time we make an objective list of a dozen of the brightest members of the Police Force. The ones we’d want to be involved with, should the need arise. In fact, they do have smart people working over there, but with bosses like Boboota and Foofloss the poor fellows will still end up a laughing stock. And making it onto our White List is a great honor for them. They swell with pride if they get listed. For them it’s even more important than Royal Gratitude, which Boboota is awarded once a year because of his rank. I see you’ve caught on!”

I’ll say! I couldn’t stop laughing, impressed with the clever idea of such a chart. “The Top Twelve” at the House by the Bridge! Extra, extra, read all about it! Get your copy of the new chart!

Even Lonli-Lockli livened up.

“The White List really helps bolster the work ethic over there, Sir Max,” he said in an edifying manner.

“Sir Shurf is one of the movers and shakers behind the List,” chuckled Juffin. “And here is our kamra!”

The jugs of kamra weren’t even visible from behind the mountain of treats that arrived from the Glutton. Melifaro reappeared instantly, as if led by his own nose, and he came bearing a pile of self-inscribing tablets. He leapt over the back and into his chair, and was the first to snatch a pastry and pop the whole thing into his mouth. He looked a bit like Kurush: rumpled, smeared with pastry cream, but very happy. He emptied his cup in one gulp and buried himself in a tablet. For a minute and a half—an eternity by his standards—he read, deep in concentration. Then he jumped up for another pastry, and began holding court with his mouth full. A few seconds later his speech became comprehensible for the rest of us.

“Ah-hah! Just as I thought! In every case a doll like that one was stolen. Besides a load of valuables, of course. But the main thing is that dolls feature in each and every list of stolen goods. Unbelievable! Darling, it seems I gave you a rotten apple. And not without reason! Slighted suitors are terrible in their fury. Now, where did I buy that thing? At some stall in Twilight Market. Well, no matter. I’ll turn the place upside down when I get there.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Sir Kofa. “Tell me, what kind of doll was it? What did your doll look like, Melamori?”

“It looked like a redheaded boy of around twenty years old. It looked almost like a real boy; just shorter. Very handsome face. And the hands were made so beautifully. I examined them closely. Long slender fingers—even the palms were lined. It was wearing some foreign attire made of expensive cloth. I can’t say I know where it was from. The garment began above waist length and flowed down to the floor. And it had a splendid collar, something like a short looxi. It was even a little bit warm, like a human. I was somewhat afraid of it. I put it in the parlor, although people usually keep gifts like that in their bedrooms.”

“Enough said, my girl! There is no need to go to Twilight Market, Melifaro. Eat, take your time. I’ll wager there’s only one craftsman in all of Echo who does that kind of work: Jubo Chebobargo, the man with the magic hands!” Kofa announced triumphantly.

“Sweet,” Juffin purred. “Now all three of you have something to do this evening. And Max and I will take Sir Shurf and go introduce ourselves to . . . Oh, what is it now! A hole in the heavens above you, boy!” This was addressed to a terrified courier who had blundered in to the room without even knocking.

“An evil force is on the loose!” He mumbled breathlessly. “An evil force is on the loose in the Street of Old Coins! It savaged someone already!”

“Oh, I see. An emergency call; that’s what it is. An emergency call,” said Juffin impassively, giving him a curt nod. “Run along then, boy. Why are you shaking like a leaf? Haven’t you ever seen an evil spirit before? Are you new here?”

The courier nodded feverishly and dissolved into the gloom of the corridor.

“Let’s go, boys,” said Juffin. “I can’t imagine why such a thing would want to savage a human. As far as I know, creatures like that usually prefer other games. If it hadn’t been for your appetite, Sir Melifaro, we wouldn’t have missed the beginning of the show! Okay, you have your own business to attend to. Cheers!” Then he turned to me. “Don’t just sit there. Let’s go!”

The whole time we were in the office I had been feeling somewhat sedated, and at that moment I can’t say my condition had improved. Nonetheless, I did somehow manage to stand up and drag myself to the amobiler.

More than anything else I wished someone would tell me what was going on. But Juffin made it clear he had no idea himself.

“You see, Max, you kept a firm grip on yourself, and that gave me time to study the beast. I was absolutely certain that it wasn’t capable of that—of attacking people in broad daylight . . . By the way, Sir Shurf, keep in mind that there is only one course of action in this situation: destroy it. So you’ll be the only one getting your hands dirty. We’ll just watch. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Lonli-Lokli said, nodding. His face looked as though he’d just been told to wash the dishes.

“Do you know what was visiting you, Max? The remains of your honorable neighbor: Sir Tolakan Enn himself.”

“How’s that possible?”

“I think he made a mistake moving into that house. The place is inhabited by a Phetan; it’s clear to me now.”

“A Phetan?”

“A Phetan is a spirit from another world, taught to do specific tasks and sent on a mission here. Even during the Epoch of Orders, the appearance of such beasts was extremely rare, because as they master new skills they become more useful, but also more dangerous. The longer a Phetan lives, the more powerful it becomes. Sooner or later it rebels against the Magician who summoned it, and . . . Most of the time the Phetan will take the body of its master. You see, Phetans miss having a body of their own; and once they get one, they set off in search of food.

“It’s not too difficult to destroy a Phetan—you’ll see that for yourself very soon—but it’s next to impossible to detect its presence. A Phetan surrounds itself with an almost impenetrable protective field. Its main goal is not to attract too much attention. This protective field prevents you from homing in on it. You can’t even detect it. Even if you do notice something, you won’t be able to recall it later. The Phetan feeds its new body on the energy of sleeping people, and after they wake up—if they wake up—they can’t remember what happened. We really are lucky, Sir Max. Very lucky! I’ll tell you why later; that’s another story. There’s one thing that still bothers me, though. Since when does a Phetan attack someone who’s not asleep? I’ve never heard of such a thing before. But no matter—we’ll figure this thing out.”

“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.

“Is that how you punish disobedient children in the Barren Lands?” asked Melifaro with acerbic admiration. “Let’s go look for some more to finish off. Maybe we’ll get lucky!”

But lucky we were not. No sooner had we started our excursion around the block when we came upon Sir Lonli-Lokli, who looked tired, but absolutely calm. His snow-white looxi was still flawlessly draped.

“That’s that,” he announced. “I told the police to start restoring the peace. There are no dolls left.”

“Are you sure there are no more of them?” I almost asked, but restrained myself in the nick of time. If Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli says something, then it must be true. I should have learned that by now.

“Thank you for your expediency, Sir Shurf. I have been dying for some kamra for an hour and a half now,” Juffin said, and yawned.

“That is just why I made haste, sir.”

If I didn’t know Lonli-Lokli better, I would have sworn that he was teasing. We went back to the amobiler, but on the way a familiar operatic growl caught our attention.

“Crap like that should stay in a pig’s toilet where it belongs! Bull’s tits! You’re going in there, and you’ll eat your own turds until they stop coming out of your skinny little butt!”

“Boboota’s leading the operation?” I asked.

“But of course!” said Juffin. “It’s great publicity, restoring the peace and whatnot. Do you really think he’d miss a good opportunity to go wild? Boboota jumps at the chance to wave his sword around. It’s his only talent, after all. Praise to the Magicians, have my dreams come true? Looks like one of the little monsters managed to bite him!”

“No, sir,” said Lonli-Lokli. “Captain Foofloss arrived along with General Box. Sir Foofloss, as you know, is a very disciplined soldier. If ordered to open fire with a Baboom slingshot, he does it.”

Juffin and Melifaro exchanged glances and guffawed.

“Captain Foofloss is the worst marksman under the sun!” Juffin explained through his laughter. “If he aims for the ground right under him, he shoots into the sky.”

Then he turned to Lonli-Lokli, “So, what happened?”

“Captain Foofloss’ shot ricocheted off the wall and hit General Box. The injury isn’t serious, but it’s liable to cause him a good deal of discomfort. I mean it will be difficult for him to sit down for a while.”

I joined in the mirth with my colleagues.

Finding myself in the driver’s seat of the amobiler, I decided that I, too, needed a bit of kamra. So we drove back even faster than we had on our way here. I’d swear the darned jalopy was about to take off flying. If anyone besides me got pleasure out of the ride, it was Melifaro. In any event, I had to promise that I would reveal the secret of speed to him. As if it was a secret!

All of a sudden I thought, I’m one to laugh at Captain Foofloss! I don’t even know how to shoot a Baboom! In fact, I don’t even know what it is.

Juffin intercepted my inner monologue, and rushed to comfort me. If you like, we could practice a bit together at the shooting gallery in our free time. But you must keep in mind that we are Secret Investigators, and thus find it beneath our dignity to be involved in such nonsense. And keep your eye on the road, for goodness’ sake!

It was indeed comforting.

An unusually heartwarming sight awaited us when we returned to the House by the Bridge. We found Melamori lounging upon the table in the Hall of Common Labor. She looked disheveled, but very happy. Her narrow feet, covered in scratches, were clamped around the muscular neck of a sturdy blond young man whose face had gone burgundy for lack of oxygen. He had had no choice but to settle into a position so uncomfortable that if I had been the Venerable Head of the Office of Quick Retribution (the Supreme Court, in other words), I would have thought such a punishment to be more than enough.

“He’s all yours, Sir Melifaro,” the sweet lady twittered. “I’ve been sitting with him here for an hour already.”

“It’s your own fault. You could have settled for a less ravishing pose. We would have appreciated you anyway,” Juffin grumbled. “Get that fright into Melifaro’s office. I can’t bear the sight of him. What hands, what talent! And to waste it all churning out those odious monsters. What’s up, genius? Were you too broke for a jug of kamra?”

Juba Chebobargo was not in the mood for conversation. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on. Lady Melamori hopped off the table gracefully. The poor fool didn’t even react to his sudden liberation from her embrace. She grabbed him roughly by the wheat-colored locks that sprouted from the top of his head, and dragged the mountain of meat into Melifaro’s office with no visible effort. Melifaro followed after them, shaking his head in amazement.

As soon as I sat down at the table, I began to whine. With the exhausted manner of a hero of all world wars in succession, I demanded that we put in our order at the Glutton without waiting for the rest of our colleagues to return. To be honest, I suspect that events would have shaped up that way even without my insistence. Juffin himself was in a hurry to get his kamra.

“I think we should add a few bottles of good wine to our order. I feel a tad tired today,” said Lonli-Lokli. “I don’t think anyone would object.”

Indeed, no one had any objections. The devil take it, we had something to celebrate! Just a few hours ago we had unmasked and disarmed a Phetan, one of the most formidable forces of evil in this World. Not to mention our joint munchkin-extermination mission, and our happy introduction to Juba Chebobargo, the person with the magical hands.

When the trays arrived from the Glutton, Lonli-Lokli produced the familiar cup with the hole in the bottom from under the folds of his looxi. But he slyly managed to surprise me a second time. Uncorking a bottle of Shining, Sir Shurf took his time pouring its entire contents into his cup. Of course, the size of the cup would not seem to accommodate such greed. It turned out, however, that nothing would spill over the brim of the cup, either. The quivering aromatic column of greenish-yellow wine froze above the vessel. Lonli-Lokli sipped from the top of this liquid iceberg.

I felt the urge to cross all my fingers, just to be on the safe side; but then thought better of it, as this could be interpreted as magic of some forbidden degree.

“Do you feel better, Shurf?” asked Juffin.

“I certainly do. Thank you, sir,” said Lonli-Lokli. And, indeed, not a trace of weariness remained on his face.

There was still much that remained unclear to me, so I requested an explanation.

“So it was Juba Chebobargo who made those dolls come alive?”

“Almost. As I understand it, Juba’s skills were so great that he made the dolls using only permitted magic—and his amazing hands, of course! It wasn’t that the dolls were really alive; but they were very lifelike, and they could perform certain simple tasks. Collecting all the money and valuables they could carry, for example. And he taught them to return to their master. It was an excellent plan, I’ll grant him that. If Melifaro hadn’t taken on the case, I don’t think anyone would have caught on for a few more years; and by then he would have made a fortune. Although today’s events probably would have put an end to his scheme, anyway.”

“So what happened? What made the dolls go mad like that? Nothing like that has ever happened before, has it?”

“It certainly hasn’t! What do you think—who was the kid that jumped out of your neighbors’ house and gave the poor lady that overly passionate kiss?”

“One of Juba Chebobargo’s dolls!” It finally dawned on me. “Lady Feni bought it, along with the rest of the antique junk that she collected. And the doll went crazy in that lovely little house, just like the protective amulet that attacked me. I can’t say I blame them. I’d probably go nuts in that place, too. But what happened to all the other dolls? Was it some kind of epidemic?”

“You can be very perspicacious when you wish to be, Max. That is exactly what it was, an epidemic. The crazed object returned home, and thus made a huge contribution to science. Now it is clear beyond the shadow of a doubt that the properties of magical objects not only change in the presence of a Phetan, but can also share their newly acquired qualities with other magical objects. Today was quite a fruitful day in the area of scientific discovery. And in the area of bodily injury, for that matter.”

“And conflicts with one’s neighbors,” I grumbled.

“I told you not to move there from the very start, if you would care to recall,” said Juffin, and kindly poured me some more kamra. “And I told you from the very start that by moving there I was acting in the line of duty. How many souls would he have destroyed if he hadn’t come across me?”

“Inhabitants of the Borderlands have a highly developed faculty of intuition; I’m convinced of this now more than ever,” said Lonli-Lokli, summing things up.

“And a highly developed lucky streak,” said Juffin. He turned to me and said, “You have no idea how lucky you were to receive that royal gift when you did. And I have one more scientific discovery that I can share with you. I hope it’s the last one today. I was able to discover the magical properties of the Children of the Crimson Pearl.”

“Ah, while we’re toiling away, state secrets are being revealed in here,” said Lady Melamori, flushed and disheveled, as she appeared in the doorway. She stood at attention, then reported.

“Everything is fine, Sir Juffin! Melifaro will join us in just a moment. He’s finishing the interrogation of Juba with Mister, oh what’s-his-name, from the police. You know, the one who’s fourth on the List. He really is a nice guy. Poor Juba isn’t in his right mind. When I started trailing him, I was already terribly angry. I’m even a little ashamed of myself now. He still isn’t in very good shape after the run-in with his babies. Still, why is Shixola only fourth on the List? I think he deserves to be second, at the very least.”

“If I am not mistaken, Lieutenant Shixola’s intellect manifests itself in the following: he is smitten with you, my lady, and does nothing to hide it.”

“Nothing of the sort!” Melamori retorted. “We only talked about work.”

“As far as I’m aware, that’s all that’s necessary. There, there; I’m just joking! Go on my girl, what were you saying?”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter. I see you have more interesting news here. Sir Juffin, you look truly elated. Come now, don’t keep it a secret!”

“I wasn’t planning on it. You were the one who interrupted me. Couldn’t you have just listened quietly from behind the door? So, gentlemen, in answer to Max’s question about Phetans: these creatures are capable of concealing the recollections that people have of them in the dimmest recesses of people’s consciousness. The poor victims are unable to remember their terrifying nightmares. They blame their sickly state on other factors. So they stay home and rest, and in their slumber they again fall victim to the hungry beast. In observing your dream today, I had the opportunity to see the Child of the Crimson Pearl in action with my own eyes. It wasn’t even necessary to keep it at the head of your bed. It was enough for you hold it in your hands just once. It turns out that the pearls help their owners recall events under any circumstances. That’s it! Finish chewing that morsel, Melamori, and tell us what went on over there.”

Melamori, heedless of this wise piece of advice, began speaking with her mouth full. Dining etiquette was obviously not held in very high regard among the Echo aristocracy—though I must admit that this sight only made her more attractive to me.

“I told you; everything’s fine. I started tracking Juba Chebobargo. Not that it was really necessary—his home address is certainly no secret—but I was really furious. It was all for the best, though. By the time we arrested him, the criminal was as tame as a kitten. Well, we set off for the Street of Little Generals, Melifaro and I and the handsome Sir Shixola. When we arrived, Chebobargo appeared to be in quite a pickle. He was sitting on the floor in the parlor, with those little beasts swarming over him from head to toe. They were trying to decide what to do with him. From what we could make out, some of the dolls considered him to be a sort of parental figure, and the other camp dubbed him a tyrant. When we arrived, they were in a heated discussion. Oh, gentlemen, they weren’t actually saying anything at all. They just ground their teeth rhythmically, like a cross between normal and Silent Speech. When we killed a few of the dolls from the doorway, total chaos broke out. They were running every which way, and Chebobargo, too. I don’t know whether he was running from them or from us! I guess the poor fellow didn’t really know what was going on at that point. So I went after him, and Melifaro and Shixola stayed behind to kill the little critters. You know the rest. Oh, one more thing. The police found almost all the stolen valuables in Juba Chebobargo’s bathroom—and mine too, of course. They were on top because I was the last person to be robbed. What about that important business that you fellows had to take care of? What have you been up to? Tell me!” And Melamori gave Lonli-Lokli a pleading look. She’d certainly picked a loquacious bard!

“Sir Juffin will tell you himself, I am sure.”

Yes, Sir Shurf was far from being the greatest gossip in the Unified Kingdom.

“I’ll tell you when everyone else gets here. Don’t be angry dear, I just can’t stand repeating the same thing over and over.”

“Fine! But I may drop dead of curiosity right here in your arms, I warn you!”

Before half an hour had passed, Melifaro arrived. In contrast to everyone else, he had already managed to change his clothes. He was wearing a lettuce-green skaba and red and blue checked looxi. Maybe he kept a whole closet full of garments at work, I mused.

Soon Sir Kofa poked his head into Juffin’s office. He said he was just passing by and decided to drop in to find out how things were, because there were amazing rumors making the rounds in the city. For instance, it was said that Juba Chebobargo was the leader of a gang of midgets. And Mister Venerable Head had apparently killed Tolakan Enn, former Heir to the Throne, with his bare hands, because of some debt at cards from way back. And he knocked off the wife of the victim while he was at it. He then falsified the report, to the effect that the Enns were involved in forbidden black magic and were penpals with two dozen Rebel Magicians.

“Nice rumor,” Juffin said with a grin. “There’s a moral to be learned from it. People should remember it’s best to pay their gambling debts on time!”

But the real joke of the day was sir Boboota Box, who, despite his serious injuries, had already written up an official report in which he said that the “city police were following up on a lead that could result in solving the mystery of the recent robberies that had been taking place in Echo.” Luckily for Boboota, his more intelligent subordinates were in no great hurry to send the letter and prudently saved their boss from embarrassment.

Juffin spent the rest of the evening telling everyone about our adventures. I almost fell asleep in my chair, lulled by the warmth, my own full stomach, and the opportunity to hear the story of my own adventures recounted so thrillingly, even though the story was horrifying.

“Sir Max, I am sending you home,” Juffin announced. “All the mysteries have been solved, and all the pastries have been eaten. What you really need now is to sleep for twenty-four hours without a single nightmare.”

“I have no objections to that,” I said with a smile, “but I have one last question. Sir Melifaro, do you have any cats at your estate?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I promised myself that when this ordeal was over, I would get myself a kitten. But since two missions have come to a close at the same time, I’ll need two kittens.”

“I could give you a dozen if you ask; but tell me what do plan to do with them? Do you eat them?”

“We Border Dwellers eat anything!” I announced. Then, taking pity on my nonplussed colleagues, I said, “I’m going to stroke them, and they are going to purr. Those, I believe, are the ideal relations between humans and cats.”

Before half an hour had passed, Melifaro arrived. In contrast to everyone else, he had already managed to change his clothes. He was wearing a lettuce-green skaba and red and blue checked looxi. Maybe he kept a whole closet full of garments at work, I mused.

Soon Sir Kofa poked his head into Juffin’s office. He said he was just passing by and decided to drop in to find out how things were, because there were amazing rumors making the rounds in the city. For instance, it was said that Juba Chebobargo was the leader of a gang of midgets. And Mister Venerable Head had apparently killed Tolakan Enn, former Heir to the Throne, with his bare hands, because of some debt at cards from way back. And he knocked off the wife of the victim while he was at it. He then falsified the report, to the effect that the Enns were involved in forbidden black magic and were penpals with two dozen Rebel Magicians.

“Nice rumor,” Juffin said with a grin. “There’s a moral to be learned from it. People should remember it’s best to pay their gambling debts on time!”

But the real joke of the day was sir Boboota Box, who, despite his serious injuries, had already written up an official report in which he said that the “city police were following up on a lead that could result in solving the mystery of the recent robberies that had been taking place in Echo.” Luckily for Boboota, his more intelligent subordinates were in no great hurry to send the letter and prudently saved their boss from embarrassment.

Juffin spent the rest of the evening telling everyone about our adventures. I almost fell asleep in my chair, lulled by the warmth, my own full stomach, and the opportunity to hear the story of my own adventures recounted so thrillingly, even though the story was horrifying.

“Sir Max, I am sending you home,” Juffin announced. “All the mysteries have been solved, and all the pastries have been eaten. What you really need now is to sleep for twenty-four hours without a single nightmare.”

“I have no objections to that,” I said with a smile, “but I have one last question. Sir Melifaro, do you have any cats at your estate?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I promised myself that when this ordeal was over, I would get myself a kitten. But since two missions have come to a close at the same time, I’ll need two kittens.”

“I could give you a dozen if you ask; but tell me what do plan to do with them? Do you eat them?”

“We Border Dwellers eat anything!” I announced. Then, taking pity on my nonplussed colleagues, I said, “I’m going to stroke them, and they are going to purr. Those, I believe, are the ideal relations between humans and cats.”

Home, sweet home. My nightmares were over, and I was exhausted by the ordeal I had been through. I lay down in bed and stretched so exquisitely that I almost cried with joy. I slept, not like a baby, but rather like a bear in its den. And I only came to on the evening of the following day. I was hungry. Unlike a member of genus ursus, I lacked a layer of fat to sustain me.

An hour later, there was a knock at my door. It was the young courier from the Ministry of Perfect Public Order.

“A package from Sir Melifaro for Sir Max,” the boy reported, and handed me an enormous basket. I could hardly lift it. Closing the door after the courier, I removed the ornate blanket that covered the basket. Two dark fuzzy creatures with bright blue eyes were peering out at me. I took them out of the basket. Each of them weighed more than a grown cat in my homeland! I studied them carefully. The black one was a boy, and the coffee-colored one was a girl. The kittens seemed possessed by an utter calm that bordered on extravagant laziness. Naturally, plump as they were! I was so thrilled with my acquisition that I sent a call to Melifaro.

Thanks, buddy! The beasts are awesome! Totally awesome!

Sinning Magicians, Max. You speak so oddly when you use Silent Speech, who would have known . . . They’re just cats, no big deal. Bon appétit!

What else was I expecting to hear? I named the boy Armstrong and the girl Ella. The idea came to me when they reminded me in their low-pitched mews that animals must be fed. My pets definitely knew how to croon. And in the old days, before I was Sir Max of Echo, I used to like listening to a bit of old jazz.