The Stranger

Chapter 5 King Banjee

IN MY HOMELAND, WE CELEBRATE THE NEW YEAR. HERE IN ECHO, AT the end of winter, they see the old year out. At home we say, “Happy New Year!” Here they say, “Another Year Has Passed.”

About a dozen days before the year ends, the citizens of Echo begin to recall that life is short, and they try to do everything they didn’t get around to in the past 288 days: fulfill the promises they have to others or themselves, to pay off their debts, receive what they are owed, and even willingly plunge into all kinds of unpleasantness so as not to sully the bright vista of life that awaits them (so they think) just on the other side of the “terrible year” now coming to an end. Practicality taken to an absurd extreme. In a word, the Last Day of the Year is no celebration, but a ridiculous excuse to begin—and just as suddenly to cease—mind-boggling activity.

This frenzy passed me by completely. Sir Juffin Hully was drawing up the annual report. After rushing around tearing his hair out for two days, he transferred this task onto the iron shoulders of Lonli-Lokli. The only thing I had to do was pay the debt I had run up at the Sated Skeleton, which took exactly fifteen minutes. In other establishments I always paid right away in cash, not so much out of contempt for local superstition, but rather in the hope that “touching metal” really would cool off love. In my case, however, it was ineffectual.

Troubles, it seemed, were not on the horizon for me. The bad habit of making promises didn’t apply to me, either. The only thing left to do was to pick up the rest of my annual salary from Dondi Melixis, the Treasurer of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, who, it must be said, parted with the treasury funds with such a display of relief that it seemed they were burning a hole in his hands.

After wrapping up my affairs, I was forced to contemplate the haggard faces of my colleagues. They glanced enviously at my healthy pink glow, that of a lay-about who got more than enough sleep. Sir Melifaro was the most assiduous of all during these trying days. His exuberance disappeared, and he even seemed to get thinner.

“It’s not just a matter of work and other troubles. I have too many relatives, too many friends, I’m too goodhearted to refuse them anything, and there are too few Days of Freedom from Care for me to be able fulfill my promises! Only orphaned ascetics like you, friend, are happy and free,” Melifaro said bitterly.

It was after midnight, about four days before the End of the Year. I had arrived, as usual, for night duty. Melifaro, working practically since dawn, had just finished putting in order the next of a pile of self-inscribing tablets, wherein records of 300-year-old interrogations, and letters from one Lady Assi, peacefully coexisted. (Melifaro swore on the health of his own mama and all departed Magicians that he had no clue who she was.) He dragged himself to my office to drink some kamra in more comfortable surroundings. About eighteen distant relatives from all corners of the Unified Kingdom, who had long ago been invited to visit, had descended on Melifaro’s house. I knew I had to save the poor guy.

“Send them a call and tell them . . . Well, for example, that someone is planning to assassinate Grand Magician Moni Mak, and no one but you can prevent this dastardly deed. Make something up. Then go to my place and get some sleep. True, I have merely four bathing pools as well as two cats, but when it comes to the lesser of two evils—”

Melifaro wouldn’t let me finish.

“O Lord of the Endless Plain! My savior! From this day onward I am forever in your debt. Max, you’re a genius. Now I know the value of true male bonding.”

The pale shadow of Melifaro began again to resemble that natural disaster to which I was accustomed. He even bounced slightly in his chair—a far cry from his normally unmitigated exuberance, but it was better than nothing.

“Nonsense,” I said, making light of Melifaro’s praise. “You can hit the sack as soon as you get there, and sleep as long as you like. I’ll stand in for you in the morning until you show up for work.”

“You’ll stand in for me? No offense, Max, but I’m irreplaceable. Although . . . maybe. Why not? Yes, of course! Oh, thank you!”

“I’m doing it for myself. I’m a person of habit. When I see you in this state, I feel like the World’s caving in. My offer is valid until your relatives pack up and leave for their respective homes.”

“The day after tomorrow. They’re leaving for the estate to torment my papa and mama. But that’s no longer my problem. Gosh, Max! I’m going to cry.”

“Cry in the morning when you want to take a bath. Don’t forget, I have only four bathing pools: just one more than a prison cell has.”

“Shall I let you in on a secret, Max? I have nine washtubs, but I usually finish after the second. I’m a terrible slob. Well, I’m off. To sleep, a hole in the heavens above, to sleep!”

I stayed alone with the slumbering Kurush, somewhat abashed by my own magnanimity.

An hour later I had left the bird all alone and was hurrying to the outskirts of the Old City, to a tavern with the gothic name of Grave of Kukonin. Sir Kofa Yox had sent a call for help.

The matter was more funny than serious. It struck me as some kind of “pre-holiday fireworks.” The unpleasant moment of paying the bill had arrived for a certain Mr. Ploss, one of the regular patrons of the Grave. A bill for the whole previous year, no less! He had no money on his person. Mr. Ploss would have had to wait only until the next day to get his salary for work and to discharge his debts.

If he had just explained this to the innkeeper of the Grave, everything would have been fine. People in Echo are peaceable and compassionate. But the chap had downed a few too many. I suspect that he just felt awkward asking for an extension in the presence of a dozen of his acquaintances. Mr. Ploss took the risk of casting a spell that required magic of the 21st degree. That’s a serious overdose of the stuff. He made the innkeeper “remember” that he had already paid off his debt the day before. The misled innkeeper even began apologizing for his mistake, saying it was a result of the confusion of that time of year. The scoundrel humbly accepted the apology.

Mr. Ploss could have gotten away with his little prank in the pre-holiday madness if Sir Kofa Yox hadn’t blown into the Grave of Kukonin like an ill wind. Our Master Eavesdropper has the unique talent of appearing just in that place where his presence might spoil the lives of basically good people to the maximum degree. The magic-meter on Sir Kofa’s miniature snuff box reported to him that someone was dabbling in Forbidden Magic. Discovering the fledgling sorcerer was just a matter of technique.

When Mr. Ploss realized that his naïve practical joke and the twenty crowns he saved were worth a decade in Xolomi, he figured he had nothing to lose, knocked back another glass of Jubatic Juice, and decided to do battle rather than surrender. To this day, I don’t understand whether it was courage or imbecility that drove him to this reckless act.

Locking himself in the bathroom, Ploss began to heckle the other patrons, claiming that his esoteric skills would suffice to turn everyone there into swine, which he could sell to the neighboring tavern for good money.

The other visitors, just in case, quickly fled from the establishment, and the innkeeper, in tears, began begging Kofa not to destroy his family, moreover right before the End of the Year. Then, at the request of numerous members of the public, Sir Kofa Yox summoned me. Our Master Eavesdropper could make short shrift of a dozen amateur Magicians like Ploss, but not with a gaggle of kitchen-boys sobbing in terror.

Wrapping myself tighter in the black and gold Mantle of Death, and twisting my face into a terrifying grimace, I burst into the tavern. The bells on my boots tinkled like a Christmas carol. My mouth kept twisting into a crooked smile. Unruly locks of hair stuck out every which way from under my turban. I didn’t resemble Death in the Service of the King so much as the victim of a pre-holiday tussle. But the innkeeper of the Grave sighed in relief. His workers gazed at me like intellectually backward adolescents ogling Arnold Schwarzenegger. Now that’s what reputation can do for you!

Stopping on the staircase that led to the bathroom, I sent a silent call to the hapless criminal. Sir Max here, pal. You’d best come out now, before I get real mad. Don’t play any games with me; the food in Xolomi is first-rate!

That worked. To my indescribable astonishment, Mr. Ploss abandoned his lavatory hideout then and there. He was so frightened that Sir Kofa and I had to bring him to his senses again. I even turned my pockets out for him, standing him a glass of Jubatic Juice. Actually, he had afforded me great pleasure. I think the owner of the Grave of Kukonin cherishes the coin he got from me to this day, certain that it is the most potent of protective amulets.

Finally, the officials from Xolomi arrived, summoned by Kofa Yox. We handed over our quarry, who by this time was in a hopelessly gloomy state of mind. It was the first time I had been present at the ceremony of taking someone into custody and it proved to be quite a show!

One of the officials, the Master of Accomplishment, raised a small, but weighty staff over the head of the arrestee. I was afraid that he was going to brain the poor fellow: bam! and that would be that. But that wasn’t what happened. What I witnessed was magic, not crude corporeal reprisal. The staff burst into scarlet flames above the head of the suspect, and a fiery number 21 hung in the air momentarily. This was precisely the degree of magic Mr. Ploss had used, according to Sir Kofa’s evidence.

Then an unwieldy tome of the Code of Krember in a snow-white binding was produced. On this “bible” of the Unified Kingdom, Kofa, myself, the innkeeper, and three kitchen-boys solemnly swore that we had truly witnessed the aforementioned silent fireworks. In fact, one witness is enough, but when there are more, servants of the Chancellery of Rapid Justice note down all of them. An abundance of names attests to their professional dedication. Your everyday bureaucratic tricks, in other words.

After these legal procedures, they led the poor, half-crazed fellow away. I was pleased to see Sir Kofa again, and I would gladly have prolonged the happy reunion, but . . .

“At the End of the Year there’s so much to do, Max. You understand,” our Master Eat-Drink-and-Be-Merry Eavesdropper replied to my innocent suggestion that we go together to the House by the Bridge to share some gossip over a jug of kamra. “But something is telling me, ‘Drop by the Tipsy Bottle, Kofa!’ So I am forced to decline your invitation.”

“Of course. Go, Sir Kofa, do what you must. Thank you for remembering Mr. Bad Dream. Was I ridiculous? My grand entrance, I mean.”

“Ridiculous? It was terrifying! Just like the good old days. I almost teared up with emotion.”

I went back to the Ministry.

An hour later Sir Kofa sent me a call, Max, I was right! Magic of the seventh degree. A lady tried to pass off a one-crown coin for a whole dozen. She was also trying to pay off her debt for the year, blast it! I’m going to the Hunchback Itullo to enjoy myself. My heart tells me it’s going to be hopping there tonight, too.

I was taken aback.

That’s the most exclusive establishment in Echo! It’s frequented only by highly respectable gourmets who don’t know what to do with all their money. Do you think they’ve started getting stingy?

The End of the Year is the End of the Year, Max. In any case, be on your guard. Over and out.

All the Secret Investigators had latched on to that expression, making Silent Speech feel like communicating via walkie-talkie.

Sir Kofa no longer needed my help, not because the Echo-dwellers had suddenly become more sensible, but because they simply didn’t put up such a fuss when they were being arrested. It allowed them to hope that they could get away with only a fine and a warning.

Juffin arrived at the House by the Bridge just before daybreak, and only for a moment. He didn’t even drink any kamra—an event hardly less significant than the end of the world. He took numerous parcels out of the drawer of the desk, told me confidentially that he was determined to lose his mind, and dashed off with a speed that Melifaro couldn’t fathom even in his wildest dreams.

Then Lady Melamori appeared in the doorway and began complaining about life.

“Sir Max. Just Max, I mean. You can’t imagine!” (The poor thing still stumbled over my name.) “You can’t imagine how awful it is to have a big family!”

“I can imagine it very well,” I sighed. “As we speak, another unhappy victim of family ties is snoozing over at my house, while his three million relatives think he’s saving the Unified Kingdom.”

“You mean Melifaro? Lucky man! I have it worse. My relatives are influential enough to free me from duty if duty interferes with family gatherings. So there’s no one who can save me. I’m glad the End of the Year doesn’t come every dozen days!”

“Have a mug of kamra,” I suggested. “Sit down with me for half an hour. It won’t be the most exciting adventure in your life, but you’ll be able to relax. Maybe you’ll even be inspired to comb your hair.”

Melamori stared at her reflection in the convex side of the glass mug.

“Oh, how embarrassing! You’re right, Max. A half hour of ordinary life wouldn’t hurt right now.” She took off the small lilac turban she was wearing and began arranging her wild tresses. “Well, never mind. In three days it will all be over.”

“I suggest celebrating your return to ordinary existence with the most exhausting of strolls.” I had decided that a little pressure wouldn’t hurt. “Crowded places, brightly lighted streets, and no monkey business.”

“Not necessarily,” Melamori said with an unexpected smile. “I mean, crowded places aren’t absolutely necessary. Who, I wonder, could protect me from Sir Max, the Terror of all of Echo? Boboota’s boys? Anyway, it’s bad form to promise something at the End of the Year. So I make no promises. When the year ends, though—”

“I get it. Next year I’ll try to make as many promises to as many different people as possible so I won’t feel I’ve just escaped from a Refuge for the Mad. I’ll be just like everyone else.”

“Thanks for the kamra, Max. I’ve got to run. My parents have finagled Days of Freedom for me—alas, not Freedom from Care, but from ordinary human existence. If they discover that I’ve come here only to wish you good morning rather than fulfilling the duties of a son—”

“You mean daughter.”

“No, I made no mistake. I meant what I said: a son. My father, Korva Blimm, desperately wanted a boy. He is sure to this day that I was born a girl purely out of stubbornness. Someday I’m going to run away to your Wild Lands, I swear by the World.”

Melamori, gloomy again, gave a dispirited wave and left the office and the House by the Bridge.

I yawned, more out of a feeling of helplessness than from want of sleep. The World was clearly at sixes and sevens.

Even the indestructible Sir Lonli-Lokli was destined to drink of the bitter cup at the end of the year. Even if the report Juffin had dumped on him appealed to his lower bureaucratic instincts, the guy still had worries piled up over the year waiting on his doorstep back home. And everyone needs to sleep, even Lonli-Lokli.

So he wasn’t looking his best. It was the first time his impassive face had looked completely human to me. It seemed to suggest that the fellow was sick of everything.

After he had downed my kamra as well as his own, Sir Shurf boldly embarked on the last part of the report.

I wasn’t the only normal person in this pre-holiday bedlam, though. The life of our Master Curator of Knowledge, Sir Lookfi Pence, didn’t seem to have suffered any change. Before it was even noon he dropped by for a chat. Well, if the chap has time for this, it must mean everything is as it should be, I surmised.

“It seems that you, too, are burdened neither by promises, nor by reports, nor by relatives,” I said, looking at the cheerful boyish countenance of Sir Lookfi with pleasure and relief.

“What makes you say that?” he asked in surprise.

“Because you’re the only other person whose face doesn’t bear witness to the exhausting send-off of the passing year.”

“What, is the year ending already?”

“In three days.”

“Goodness gracious! I completely forgot! I’ll have to ask Varisha if there’s anything I must do. Thank you for the reminder, Sir Max.”

Lookfi bounded headlong out of the office, upsetting a cup and overturning a chair. The remains of the kamra settled into the green pile of the carpet in the shape of a mournful question mark. I had no choice but to call the messenger. Someone had to clean up this mess!

After midday I began to nod off and secretly to curse the sleepyhead Melifaro. I adore the opportunity to save a human life, of course; but charity begins at home. And that was just where I wanted to be.

Melifaro showed up before I had fully exhausted my supply of curses. He looked so healthy and robust that I felt like a saint. This was even more pleasant than scaring the population of Echo with my Mantle of Death.

“All hail, Sir Max, the one and only bestower of sweet dreams!” Melifaro exclaimed from the doorway.

He could have continued this panegyric until kingdom come, but I wasn’t in the mood to listen.

“I’m going home to bestow sweet dreams on myself. If someone tries to wake me up, I’ll start to spit, so beware,” I threatened, and called for a Ministry amobiler. Just then the ten-minute walk home didn’t seem like the best way of getting there. I so desperately wanted to sleep that I began undressing in the amobiler. But who would be surprised by that at the End of the Year?

The following two days passed in a similar fashion. The general tension continued to mount. But on the morning of the Last Day of the Year, I suddenly realized that everything was over.

Sir Juffin Hully arrived at the expected time, sat down in a chair, and was lost in contemplation for a time.

“You still haven’t learned how to make kamra, Max?” he asked out of the blue.

“I don’t think I have the knack for it. Do you remember my first attempts? The results were so disastrous I decided not to repeat the experiment.”

“Fine. Now I’ll teach you how to do it. Otherwise my conscience will bother me. Luring a person to a strange, unknown World, and then turning him loose without teaching him the most basic of skills . . .”

I was so surprised that I took the risk of agreeing to try. And we began casting spells over a miniscule brazier that he fished out of the bottomless drawer of his desk. Our joint creation was not bad at all, although it could never have competed with the “piece de resistance” of the Glutton. After this success I had to repeat it on my own.

“A hole in the heavens above you, Max,” Juffin grumbled, as he tasted my creation. “You’re never going to learn. It’s hopeless.”

“I’m a newfangled newcomer,” I announced proudly. “A barbarian, a savage, and an ignoramus. You should pity me, instruct me, and not criticize me. Besides, if you had warned me that you needed a fellow who could make kamra, I would immediately have admitted that you had come to the wrong address.”

“Ignorance is no sin,” said Juffin. “But I don’t understand. Why can’t you learn this one thing? You do much more difficult things with the greatest of ease.”

“Talent,” I insisted. “You need talent for everything. In this area of expertise, I happen to be all thumbs. It’s lucky for you, Juffin, that you never tried one of my omelets. Not to mention the rest of my culinary quirks. Sandwiches are the acme of my abilities.”

“Really? That’s terrible. Fine, let’s go to the Glutton. And if someone comes when we’re not here, Kurush will take care of him. Right, my dear?” Juffin said fondly, stroking the buriwok’s soft feathers.

Kurush looked very pleased.

Naturally, when we got to the Glutton, we couldn’t settle for just two mugs of kamra. We had a lengthy, hearty breakfast, and I was finally convinced that the pre-holiday nightmare had been left behind.

“Don’t even think of hightailing it home yet, Max! The Royal Showering of Gifts is scheduled for noon. If I’m not mistaken, you’re also on the list for receiving some unadulterated nonsense or other.”

“And Sir Kumbra Kurmak couldn’t be persuaded to part with my souvenir an hour earlier?”

“What a sly one you are! No, you’ll just have to be patient. Kumbra won’t show up before noon, anyway.”

“Maybe it could be a reward for saving Melifaro’s life two days in a row. The only thing I’m dreaming about is going to bed.”

“You’ll have to wait a while. Don’t pout, Max. I picked out an excellent present for you. It far outshines a present from the King.”

Juffin handed me a ceramic vessel with delicate cracks on it that witnessed to a venerable old age.

“This is—!”

“Sh-h-h. Yes, it’s the real thing!” The smile on the face of my boss revealed that this could be nothing other than Elixir of Kaxar, the sweet offspring of Forbidden Magic, the only potion capable of restoring my composure in any situation. Just in time!

“You’re hushing me up like someone is about to rat on us as we speak. I’d like to know who—is Sir Kofa somewhere around here?”

“It’s always the same,” grumbled a bald, sharp-nosed old man who had just seated himself at the next table.

Yes, it was none other than Sir Kofa Yox, in the flesh—though skillfully disguised, as usual, in the interests of the profession.

“And I was just about to arrest you, gentlemen. Well, never mind. I’ll insist on a bribe, though, Max. In contrast to you, I haven’t slept a wink for four nights straight. Well, hardly at all, anyway. A hole in the heavens above this Last Day of the Year!”

I began to open the bottle eagerly.

“You’re really letting yourselves go, boys,” Juffin smirked. “Magic of the eighth degree in a public place and abusing professional privileges, that’s what it is.”

“Oh, give us a break, Juffin! Well, do you want Max and me to turn ourselves in? We’ll turn you in, too, while we’re at it. I’d like to see what you would do if we tried.”

It had been a long time since I’d seen Sir Kofa so happy. He had grown younger by . . . oh, I’ve never been much good with numbers of that magnitude.

At midday we reported to the Chancellory of Minor and Major Inducements, where those who were eager for awards had already gathered. Never in my life have I seen so many cops in one place at the same time, I thought, and could hardly stop from laughing.

Luckily, ever since the irony of fate had wrapped me in the Mantle of Death, I could afford to overstep the protocol of almost any official ceremony. In the House by the Bridge I was granted almost everything my heart desired. Who cared about the trembling subordinates of General Boboota Box, and their boss, grunting and groaning under the weight of his own significance?

Actually, today Boboota was somewhat subdued. I recalled that it had been a while since I’d heard his refined soliloquies, redolent with a thorough knowledge of the techniques of defecation. Most likely the pre-holiday commotion had put a damper even on the brave General of the Police.

Finally, the corpulent and amiable Sir Kumbra handed me the generic Royal Trinket Box and I went home. For one thing, I had had only the smallest nip of the reviving tonic: these things must be saved for the appropriate occasion. And for another thing, the cats were waiting for me. The poor things were somewhat overwhelmed by their recent close confinement with Sir Melifaro. They, too, deserved some rewards and comfort.

“Max!” Juffin’s voice reached me just as I was on my way out. I turned around.

“Something else?”

“Yes. You still have an unfulfilled promise hanging over you. You should take care of it before the New Year.”

“What promise is that?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“The last time you were at my house you promised Chuff you would visit him soon.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a reminder. If my company hasn’t become irksome to you, just know that I’ll be home by sunset, and not a minute later. I don’t think anyone has to sit at the Ministry tonight. Kurush can manage without you until midnight, in any case, especially since there will probably be nothing to manage.”

“Thank you. Of course I’ll come. I’ll eat everything that’s put on the table. And then I’ll go rummage around in the closets.”

“I don’t doubt it. All right, go get some shuteye.”

Armstrong and Ella greeted me with petulant meowing. As a consequence of Melifaro’s deep sleep, they had received their breakfast several hours later than usual over the past few days, and they didn’t intend to welcome the innovation.

“That’s all over, my little furries,” I reassured them, filling their bowls. “Everything’s back to normal now.”

Curiosity proved to be stronger than weariness. Before I fell asleep, I opened the Royal Trinket Box to see what was inside. Not a hundred days had passed since I had tried to open just such a box. Now I did it almost mechanically. Hmm, yes. Magic of the fourth degree we had already mastered, and much else, besides, a hole in the heavens above!

This time I had received a surprisingly beautiful little medallion made of white steel, which is prized far more highly than gold in this World that lacks precious metals. On the medallion was the likeness of a fat, peculiar-looking, but very appealing little creature. Peering closely at it, I gleaned that the unknown artist had tried to depict Armstrong (or Ella, his nearly identical other half).

Three hours of sleep was more than enough. Even a tiny drop of Elixir of Kaxar can do wonders, it seems. In my joy, I straightened up the house, cleaned up after the cats, and even shaved. Then I sat in the living room, filling my pipe with the local tobacco, the taste of which I had never been able to get used to. But the ritual of fiddling with the pipe is itself one of the true pleasures of domestic leisure.

At sundown, I carefully packed myself into the amobiler and set out for the other side of the Xuron, to the quiet and respectable Left Bank. I drove through completely empty streets. Restaurant proprietors were peacefully nodding off in the doorways of their establishments, not really hoping to take in any profits that night. Birds wandered about on the mosaic pavements. The residents of Echo were resting from the cares of the year gone by. There was no trace of noisy celebration, only the deep, unbroken slumber for which the capital had so desperately longed.

Juffin opened the door for me himself. Kimpa, his butler, had gone to sleep right after he had laid the table. Our eagerness to stay up and talk had no doubt struck him as the height of eccentricity.

The first thing I did was embrace Chuff, who was practically swooning in ecstasy. The little dog licked my nose carefully, and then started in on my ear. I prefer other modes of washing, but I vowed to enjoy this one.

“I’ve come bearing no gifts,” I apologized, sitting down in a comfortable chair. “You know how thrifty I am. But I think I can find something for you, little fellow.”

I unwrapped a small parcel. Inside were Chuff’s (and my own) favorite cookies from the Hunchback Itullo, delicious beyond description, and just as pricey. Sir Juffin Hully claims that making this delicacy without resorting to forbidden degrees of magic is nearly impossible. Be that as it may, the chef there is above suspicion. They inspect him every dozen days, and no trace of mischief is ever found.

That’s what true culinary talent is—the lack of which, in yours truly, we were bemoaning only that morning.

Max is good. Chuff is fluent in Silent Speech. Better than I am.

“Did you squander your whole life’s savings on those cookies?” Juffin asked.

“Only half of it. The other half I squandered, as you put it, on this.” And with the dramatic flourish of a seasoned conjuror, I gave my left hand a shake, and a small, pot-bellied bottle of dark glass appeared on the table.

“You’re lying about the cost. These things can’t be bought or sold,” said Juffin in rapture. “Is it possible that Melamori is sharing again? I thought that she had broken your heart; but it seems to have been a well-laid plan. You’re a genius, Max! You discovered the only foolproof way of filching wine from the cellars of the Seven-Leaf Clover. Very practical! I’m impressed.”

“Do you think that she would filch something from her uncle to give to me, as if to a bosom buddy? No way. We just had a bet, and I won hands down.”

“You were betting?”

“Well, yes. She loves taking a gamble. But you must be aware of this.”

“I never attached any significance to it. What was the bet?”

“I told her I could talk to General Boboota for fifteen minutes without him using the words butt, crap, and gaseous expulsions, as it were. She didn’t believe it was possible. Then I went to Boboota and began discussing the latest news. As you can imagine, he listened, snorted, and nodded his head. In the privacy of his own thoughts he probably cursed me a thousand times. I simply took advantage of the situation. Melamori hadn’t been around for a few days and wasn’t aware that relations between me and Boboota had taken a new turn.”

“I heard about it, though. Some say he’s developed a nervous tic. Whenever Boboota begins to express the fruits of his contemplation out loud, he keeps glancing around furtively to see if you’re anywhere nearby. Gosh, Max, I never expected you could make me so happy!”

“There might have been an easier way—just hire some werewolf.”

“Life has proven that you are far more terrifying. So you won the bet?”

“There’s the evidence,” I said, nodding at the bottle. “Dark Essence, one of the best varieties, according to Melamori. She said that it was a fair exchange.”

“The girl is absolutely right, on both counts. You surprise me, Max. Wines like this are meant to be drunk in solitude, behind locked doors in a distant room, so that an evil wind doesn’t blow your best friends over on an inopportune visit.”

“And I’m sucking up to you. I gather that in your cellar you keep not only the skinned hides of magicians, but also a couple cases of Elixir of Kaxar.”

“Why should I store it away? I can make that stuff myself! It’s not forbidden to disregard the Code in the interests of the Crown. Grand Magician Nuflin Moni Mak thinks the same.”

“All the more. I share those views completely. It’s too bad I’ll never learn how to make it myself.”

“No, you probably won’t. You can’t even learn to make kamra, poor boy,” Sir Juffin Hully seemed to feel truly sorry for me.

“I have to have at least one fault,” I consoled my long-suffering teacher, and pushed the bottle of Dark Essence toward him.

By the time I got back to the office, I felt more like a human food vendor cart than a human being. I needed to stretch my legs and wiggle my toes.

Despite Sir Juffin Hully’s optimistic prognosis of a quiet night ahead of me, a matter awaited that wasn’t exactly business as usual. In the Chair of Despond in the Hall of Common Labor, a charming, middle-aged lady, wearing an expensive looxi that she had pulled on right over her everyday skaba, was wailing and keening. The damsel was in that stage of shock when incoherent mumbling is over, but the gift of speech has yet to return. For that reason I didn’t dispute the citizens’ right of our guest to quiet moaning, but obeyed some latent instinct and handed her the mug of kamra I had tried to make myself earlier. I decided that such liquid muck would restore her emotional equilibrium no worse than smelling salts—which, by the way, are prohibited here as magic of the third degree.

She gulped the stuff down mechanically and finally grew quiet. Even her sobs ceased. It was surprising that she was still alive at all.

Kurush was the only one capable of giving a full account of what had happened to the unfortunate visitor before she came to her senses. He was the sole witness of her surprise visit. I turned to him expectantly, and the buriwok conveyed the following information without a moment’s hesitation:

“My husband turned into a piece of meat, my husband turned into a piece of meat, my husband turned into a piece of meat.”

I looked at Kurush mournfully, then at the damsel, then at Kurush again, then—at the ceiling, which got in the way of the sky. Why, O Dark Magicians? I’m not such a bad person. You might even say I’m a very good person. So spare me, please!

The paltry “please” changed nothing. The madness progressed. Kurush kept up his refrain about a husband and meat. I knew that now he wouldn’t be quiet until he had scrupulously reported every word that had been spoken in my absence. Hearing her own monologue from the mouth of the talking bird, the lady made a reverse turn on the path toward tranquility and was soon back on the verge of hysteria. I forced another gulp of the black muck on her, and it helped. The poor woman raised her beautiful, forlorn eyes to me and whispered:

“It’s horrible, but in the bed there really is a huge piece of meat, and Karry is nowhere to be found.”

The buriwok finally fell silent. He seemed to be quite upset, too. I stroked his feathers gently.

“Good boy. What a smart fellow you are! Everything’s all right now. You were brilliant, Kurush. If I had known what was going on here, I wouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

Kurush puffed up in satisfaction. Sir Juffin Hully knew how to raise the most spoiled buriwok in the entire Unified Kingdom, though also the most kindhearted.

“People usually don’t come to the House by the Bridge on the Last Day of the Year,” he said. “So it’s not your fault, Max. It’s amazing you came back at all.”

I turned to the woman again.

“What is your name, my lady?”

She smiled through her tears. (Excellent, Max. You’re a real play-boy, Mantle of Death notwithstanding.)

“Tanita Kovareka. My husband is Karry—I mean Karwen—Kovareka. We have a little inn here in the Old City, the Tipsy Bottle. Maybe you know it? But now Karry—” and she burst into quiet sobbing again.

“I think we ought to go to your house right away,” I said firmly. “You can explain everything along the way. If there’s anything you wish to explain, of course. You won’t object if we go on foot? As far as I know, it’s about ten minutes from here at the most.”

“Of course,” she said. “I could use some fresh air.”

Before leaving, I stroked Kurush again. Indulge him and indulge him some more—that’s the treatment both Juffin’s and my own heart insisted on.

The night’s warm velvety haze seemed to gather us into its comforting arms. Soon, Lady Tanita had almost calmed down. A person simply cannot suffer longer than she can suffer. When strength is exhausted, our attention turns to other things, whether we wish it to or not; and that is a great boon.

“Everyone’s always afraid of you, Sir Max, but I feel so peaceful in your presence.” Lady Tanita’s even embarrassed me with her compliments. “People gossip and say that Sir Venerable Head found you in the other world. Is that true?” she asked suddenly.

“Almost in the other world,” I confessed, trying to squirm out of this one. “On the border of the County Vook and the Barren Lands.”

“Too bad,” my companion sighed. “If it had been true, you would have been able to tell me how Karry was doing.”

Mr. Kovareka was a lucky man, I thought. Even if he were really dead, he had been wrapped in love and concern when he was alive, that much was certain.

“Don’t jump to conclusions yet, Lady Tanita,” I said, trying to console her. “Maybe nothing irreparable has happened.”

“It has!” she whispered. “It was not just an ordinary piece of meat, Sir Max. It was a piece of meat in the shape of a human being. And it was wearing Karry’s pajamas!”

Lady Tanita began sobbing again, but no tears fell from her eyes. She continued to talk, the only way she knew to relieve her pain.

“We were tired and went to bed very early. There were no customers. There are no customers anywhere tonight. Then I suddenly woke up. You know, Sir Max, I always wake up when Karry is in pain, or even when he’s thirsty. We’ve lived together a long time, now—I suppose that’s why. We married very young. Our parents objected, but they just didn’t understand. So I woke up absolutely certain that something was amiss with Karry. Then I saw that horrible piece of meat wearing his pajamas. There was even something resembling a face. Here we are, Sir Max. I don’t want to go up to the bedroom, though.”

“I’ll go upstairs alone. And you know what I suggest? If I were you, I’d find the company of my friends, or a relative, just in case worse comes to worst. Get them out of bed and tell them your sorrows. They’ll give you all kinds of potions, and finally you’ll grow tired of simple consolations and fall sound asleep. It may seem unbearable, but . . . it’s a way to keep from losing your mind. I’ll send you a call when I need to question you, but it will most likely not be before morning.”

“I’ll go over to Shattraya’s. She’s Karry’s youngest sister. Lady Shattraya Kovareka is her full name. She’s a good girl, and I’ll have to comfort her. And that’s better than . . . You’re a very kind person, Sir Max. Only a person who truly knows what pain is could give me such advice. Thank you.”

“Shall I accompany you?” I called into the darkness.

“Shattraya lives just on the next street over!” The faint voice of Lady Tanita melted away in the dull orange mist of the streetlights.

I went into the house through the relatively small living room. Of course, a large part of the house was occupied by the Tipsy Bottle, a cozy little restaurant whose atmosphere was completely incongruous with its silly name. I had been there once during the fall, I seemed to remember. I recalled that I had even chatted with the proprietor, a short, stocky man with an exceptionally thick crop of chestnut hair. At that time I wasn’t yet wearing the Mantle of Death, and I wasn’t constantly being bombarded with polite, strained smiles and terrified looks.

I went upstairs. If only Lady Tanita had known that, without her, I was as scared as a child whose parents risk leaving him alone for the first time to go to the movies! But there was nothing I could do about it.

I threw open the door to the bedroom with a heavy heart. My nose was greeted by a smell of tasty food so unexpected that I froze in my tracks. Then I groped around for the light switch. A warm orange light filled the room. Here in Echo, special glowing mushrooms are often used for lighting streets and interiors. They multiply eagerly in special vessels like lampshades. The trick is that the mushrooms begin to shine when something irritates them. The light switch sets brushes in motion that gently but insistently tickle the mushrooms caps. They react instantaneously.

The orange hue of the angry mushrooms doesn’t appeal to everyone. Many esthetes prefer candles, or spheres with glowing blue gas. Sir Juffin Hully is partial to the latter. I got used to blue light when I lived with him, and I acquired the same kind of spheres for my own living quarters. But now the orange illumination also seemed sweet to me; the people who lived here thought so, too, apparently.

Thus, the mushrooms worked themselves into a temper, and I was able to glance around.

Something was lying in the middle of the fluffy carpet among the scattered blankets. That something was indeed dressed in garb resembling pajamas—a roomy skaba made of soft fabric. I had never taught myself to use this unappealing garment. To romp around in a skaba and looxi, that was one thing. But to sleep in a shapeless parachute of a thing that looked like your grandmother’s nightgown—excuse me! That was asking too much. And in a good bed, one must sleep in one’s birthday suit—a time-tested rule.

The mysterious “something” clearly belonged to the opposing camp, since it was wearing pajamas. Its resemblance to a human being seemed to stop there, however. In front of me was a real piece of meat, well-cooked and appetizing. It gave off a dizzying, tantalizing, and vaguely familiar aroma.

I inched closer. This was very trying on the nerves. I almost got sick, despite the wonderful aroma. The meat really did have the wretched face of a human being. The remains of its features were encircled by a halo of chestnut curls that even I recognized as belonging to Karwen, though I had only once laid eyes on him. Lady Tanita was right. There were no grounds for hoping otherwise.

“Sinning Magicians,” I exclaimed aloud. “Now what am I supposed to do!”

I went down to the living room, entered the dark restaurant, and poured myself a full glass of the contents of the first bottle I grabbed. I couldn’t make out the name of the drink in the darkness, but the taste wasn’t too bad. Then I stuffed my pipe with tobacco. The taste of the local tobacco didn’t matter at all—under the circumstances, it was better than nothing.

I sat alone at the bar in the light cast by the dim orange nimbus of the streetlight, sipping the anonymous drink, and smoked. This simple ritual was enough to restore some semblance of order to my thoughts. I realized there was no need to bother Melifaro, and especially not Sir Juffin. Let them catch up on their sleep. I’m not such a moron that I can’t handle these routine matters. It’s my job, after all.

Having resolved my moral deliberations, I went back to the bedroom. The tantalizing smell again seemed familiar to me. Where could I have smelled it before? Not in the Glutton Bunba, that’s for sure. The smell in the Glutton is unique: sharper and spicier. Certainly not in the Sated Skeleton, which delivered my breakfast every morning. And not . . . it remained just out of reach. It didn’t smell like my grandmother’s kitchen. Although . . . I finally went completely astray, as so often happens when you try to fish out a single kernel in the rice pudding of your memories.

Abandoning this olfactory wild-goose chase, I dug into my pockets for the dagger. The gauge mounted on the handle showed evidence of magic of the second degree. This was not only officially permitted, but also absolutely logical, since I was in the presence of the remains of a restaurant proprietor. And who is more adept at practicing permissible Black Magic than a chef? This modest degree of conjuration, in my humble opinion, was nowhere near potent enough to transform a human being into something like what I saw before me. Fine, we’d deal with that question later. Now I had to remove the body to the House by the Bridge, I reasoned, because that was the proper procedure. Further, I couldn’t bear thinking of that abomination in the marital bower. Sooner or later the sweet Lady Tanita would return. What an incompetent figure I’d cut if she had to see that gruesome piece of meat again!

It wasn’t that I felt sorry for this woman, nor could what I experienced have been called pity. It was just that everything that had happened to her seemed to be happening to me, as well. Lady Tanita’s sorrows washed over me like the sound of a television blaring in the next room. It wasn’t inside me, but I couldn’t escape it. In short, I experienced in the flesh the literal meaning of “empathy.”

There is nothing simpler than carrying out the impossible. You just have to imagine what you must do, and turn your mind off completely. When you come to your senses, everything is already behind you.

I swear by the World that when I was wrapping the piece of meat in the blanket, I felt not a shred of emotion. I didn’t feel anything later, either, when I was enacting my favorite trick, as a result of which the disgusting mummy fit between the thumb and forefinger of my left hand. And while I was walking through the empty city to the House by the Bridge, my feelings were dormant, as though some part of myself, tender and vulnerable, had been put into cold storage until better times.

When I reached the Ministry, I wondered where I should unload my burden. Perhaps in the small, dark chamber, thoroughly insulated from the rest of the world, where material evidence was stored? Or in one of the chilly, spacious basement rooms that served as the morgue and were nearly always empty? I was so perplexed about this dilemma that I decided to consult Kurush.

“If you’re sure that this was once a person, it can only be a corpse,” said the wise bird.

I felt relieved. Here was some degree of certainty, in any case.

Only after the aromatic corpse was on the stone floor did I allow myself to become a bundle of nerves again.

I went to wash my hands. I washed them for a full half hour, scraping away at the skin with my fingernails.

After this ritual purification on my upper extremities, I felt better and went back to the office.

“An auspicious End of the Year, eh?” I said, winking at Kurush. “A visit from a beautiful damsel and a mountain of food.”

“Are you serious, Max?” asked the buriwok cautiously. “I don’t think you can eat that. In fact, people are constantly eating all kinds of junk they shouldn’t.”

“Of course I’m joking,” I said, petting the bird’s soft feathers. “Do you know whether there’s any good kamra left over around here, Kurush? The kind I didn’t make, that is?”

“In Melifaro’s office there’s most likely a whole jug of it,” the buriwok replied. “I saw them bring it in, and I know the master of the office left a few minutes later. They also had pastries with them, so who knows.”

“Great.”

I catapulted headlong into the office of my “daylight half.” On the table I found a jug of kamra and several pastries. The fellow had been so eager to return to his home, now emptied of relatives, that he didn’t bother to finish the treats, though at his habitual rate of consumption they should have been gone in seconds flat, so Kurush and I were in luck. We were unlikely to reach the ever-hospitable Madame Zizinda with a call. Any other time or season, sure, but not the Last Night of the Year.

Toward morning, I managed not only to drink all the kamra and help Kurush clean the sticky cream off his beak, I did more: I drew up a plan of action. I was ready to accept the challenge, in the spirit of Melamori and her gambling fever. It was the first time in my professional life that I had been on a case from the word go. With all my heart I wanted to see it through to the end, and to do everything properly. Naturally, there could be no thought of dealing with it all on my own. That wasn’t necessary. But I felt that when Juffin arrived, I simply had to greet him, not only with the news of the sordid case, but also with an aim to solving it.

Juffin, it seemed, had sensed something was up, arriving much earlier than he was expected.

“Couldn’t sleep,” the chief announced gloomily, sitting down in his chair. “Everything all right with you, Max?”

“With me, yes. But as for a certain sweet lady—no, I wouldn’t say so. This wondrous night has left a widow in its wake.”

Then I reported to Juffin what had happened, down to the last detail.

“Hm, is that why I jumped out of bed this morning like I had been stung? What I want to know is whether Zizinda has opened her lair already, or whether she’s still in the land of nod. Never mind, she won’t refuse to stir her stumps for such an old customer. Now I’ll just take a glance at your ‘piece of meat,’ and it’s off to breakfast. Let’s go, Sir Max.”

After a visit to the morgue, we went out to the Glutton. Just where was the logic in our actions, I wondered. Madame Zizinda greeted us at the door. Evidently, her intuition was in fine working order, too.

“Juffin, I’ve had some time to think,” I mumbled, turning red and staring at my plate. “Actually, I have a plan.”

“What’s wrong with you, Max?” the chief raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Where is your ever-ready supply of self-confidence?”

“Well, you see, when I was mulling it over I felt so smart and clever; but now . . . Of course, you’ll have your own plan of action. And mine is no match for it, I’m sure.”

“Nonsense,” said Juffin and patted me on the back. “So what if I have? And what makes you think I have one at all? Come on, then. Out with it.”

“This is what I think. It’s all very strange, of course. I don’t know whether this is unprecedented—maybe during the Epoch of Orders . . . In short, I would submit a request to the Main Archive. Let Lookfi question all the buriwoks. If there was a precedent, it could help us. Then we have to find out more about Mr. Karwen Kovareka. Maybe he got mixed up with some Mutinous Magicians, stumbled on a secret of the Order, for instance? We have to find out. I think for Kofa, finding out is just a matter of one, two, three. And Melamori probably has to visit the bedroom to discover whether anyone else was there who shouldn’t have been. I don’t think so myself, but just to make sure I can talk to Lady Tanita. She seems to like me. I gave her some advice about how not to lose her mind, and we made friends. Now, Melifaro, I think, should lead the parade. He knows how to ignite everyone’s interest, and he can manage Boboota’s boys, as well. That’s about it.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Juffin. “This means I can even retire tomorrow if I want to. You’re really a fine fellow, and I mean that with all my heart. Eat up!”

I tucked into my food, already growing cold, with relish.

“We’ll put your plan into action,” Juffin said in a decisive tone. “You seem to have all the bases covered. I have only one comment to make.”

“What is that?” I said, my mouth full of food, and happy that there was just one comment.

“You must remember how you recognized the smell,” he said earnestly.

“Oh, Juffin. I’ve already broken my head—my nose—over that one. It’s no use.”

“I know one thing for sure: it’s not from your world. You can trust me on this one. It’s a very strange scent, but it is indigenous to this World. There’s not the slightest doubt about it. So start walking around town. Visit one by one all the taverns you’ve been in before. And sniff them out. Who knows?”

“Okay, but what’s to say that when I find the place they’ll be serving the same thing?”

“You’re lucky, Max. That’s your only guarantee. The main thing is not to come down with the sniffles—this is absolutely the wrong time. Let’s go to the Ministry. You’ll be in command, and I can enjoy myself.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Why should I want to do that? Your plan deserves the highest praise. So implement it.”

“Juffin, it’s much easier for me to do things myself than to explain to a bunch of people what I think they should be doing.”

“I know. I’m the same way. But life doesn’t always live up to our expectations. You have to get used to that.”

We returned to the House by the Bridge. Then Juffin went home to have a few dreams, since, as he said, his faith in me was absolute. He had finally convinced me of that. I also understood that I had to crack this case before sunset or die. Or at least burn up from shame, and become a silver residue of ash somewhere in a dark corner of the Ministry for Perfect Public Order. And it has plenty of dark corners.

I heaved a sigh, gathered my wits, and got down to work. I sent a call to Melifaro, to Sir Kofa, and to Melamori. I told them to report to work. All three of them were shaken down to the soles of their feet. I wasn’t so fluent in Silent Speech, though, that I could offer my colleagues the opportunity to say everything they thought about me and my idiotic appeal at daybreak on the First Day of the Year. “Over and out!” I barked, and signed off, realizing further cause for why Juffin had been so willing to give me a chance to prove my mettle.

There was no point in bothering Lookfi. The buriwoks from the Main Archive don’t open their beaks before noon. They have their own daily rhythm of existence. It’s only our Kurush who is a saint.

Melamori was the first to arrive. It seemed I had given her a reasonable pretext for escaping the parental embrace a few hours earlier than planned. In any case, she wasn’t angry.

“You look fabulous!” It was impossible for me not to gush. “Have you had enough sleep?” I gallantly filled her cup with kamra.

“Has something happened, or did you just miss me?” Melamori asked with a grin.

“Of course I missed you, but that’s no reason to wake you up at dawn. I’m not such an ogre as they claim I am. Well, I wouldn’t think twice about devouring a few dozen old men and babies. But not allowing a lady to sleep her fill?”

“Well, whatever has happened?”

“A corpse happened. And a strange one it was. You can come to admire it—and to enjoy the aroma at the same time. I’m not kidding: take a deep whiff. Then come back here. There will be another cup of kamra waiting for you, and an assignment.”

Melamori obediently carried out my orders and went down to the morgue.

She came back with a troubled expression on her lovely face.

“Smell familiar?” I asked.

“Yes! But I have no idea why.”

“Same here. Well, don’t worry. If you can’t remember, you can’t remember. Here’s your kamra. Drink up, and forward, march to the Tipsy Bottle.”

“What am I to do there? Drink myself into oblivion while the sun rises?”

“Precisely, and in between your eighth and ninth glasses of Jubatic Juice, don’t forget about going up to the master bedroom. Find out whether anyone besides the legal owners of the place was there last night. Except for me, of course.”

“So was that Karwen in the morgue? I’m slightly acquainted with his wife. Gosh! What a present on the Last Day of the Year!”

“The first day of the year, Melamori! Be optimistic. There’s a saying in my homeland: ‘The way you celebrate the New Year is the way you’ll live it.’ Can you imagine?”

“Do you believe that, Max?” Melamori looked at me in almost superstitious horror. “And nothing can be done to change it?”

“In my homeland, no. But in Echo, the silly signs and superstitions of the Barren Lands are not in force. So off you go to the Tipsy Bottle!”

“I’m going, I’m going. Just between you and me, you’re a worse tyrant than Juffin!”

“I hope I am. Speaking of tyranny, it seems I’ll have to hit all the diners and snack bars in town trying to track down that scent again. And since you recognized it, too, I order you to accompany me.”

“You’re ordering me to hit all the diners and snack bars in town with you, Sir Max? I mean, just plain Max?” said Lady Melamori with a laugh.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m abusing the privileges of office in the best of interests. I’ve dreamed of this my whole life, and here I am in the driver’s seat. Now you won’t be able to wriggle out of it.”

“I wouldn’t think of trying,” said Melamori, and gazed at me, so clearly delighted that I suddenly turned red as a tomato. Then she left to carry out the task I had so tyrannically assigned.

Sir Kofa Yox arrived exactly two seconds before Melifaro, and both of them were burning with curiosity about whether my poor head was still in working order. They were alarmed when I related the events to them. This was the first serious crime that had taken place in Echo on the Last Night of the Year since the beginning of the Code Epoch. This was what Sir Kofa Yox claimed; and that was saying something.

By the time they arrived, I was already very tired. So I laid out the plan of action for them, and when I issued my orders, I was so cool and matter-of-fact it seemed I had been issuing them my whole life.

“I don’t think poor Karwen could have been involved in any dark matters,” said Sir Kofa, plucking the hem of his looxi thoughtfully. “But you’re right, my boy. We need to investigate his recent activities. People are capable of things that are so out of keeping with their characters, you can hardly credit it.”

“Especially at the End of the Year,” I said with a grin.

“Precisely. I’ll return at sundown, and if I uncover anything unusual I’ll send you a call.”

Kofa passed his hand in front of his face, changing his features without missing a beat. He turned his purple looxi inside out, so the modest brown lining was facing outward. Our Master Eavesdropper was ready to embark on a hard day’s work.

“And what is your command for me, O Terrible Child of the Night?” Melifaro had already jumped up from his chair, ready for action.

“Take a whirl through the Ministry. Stop in at the morgue and admire my catch. If you’re in the mood you can have breakfast. Wait for Melamori. Find out what she’s dug up. Actually, I’m sure that no one but the master and mistress had been in the bedroom. Ask around on Boboota’s side of the Ministry. Maybe one of the policemen knows something. Even the devil has a sense of humor.”

“And who is this ‘devil’ who likes a good joke?”

“Well, something between a vampire and a Mutinous Magician.”

“Ah, something like yourself.”

“I saved your life! I hid you from your hordes of relatives under my own blankets,” I said reproachfully. “And instead of falling at my feet or inviting me to dinner, all I get is—”

“I’m a swine,” Melifaro admitted, sounding aggrieved. “I’m inviting you. Today. No matter how much work there is, we still have to fill our bellies.”

“It’s nice to hear such pearls of wisdom. Mind you, it’s the Hunchback Itullo or nothing.”

“I wouldn’t settle for less. Do I have your permission to depart, Sir Great Commander?”

“Permission granted. Hey, wake me up in about two hours, all right? I have a date with a beautiful lady.”

“Maybe I could stand in for you?” Melifaro said enthusiastically.

“Dream on. You’re not quite the man inconsolable widows are searching for. Moreover, you’ll be meeting the magnificent Sir Lookfi at that time. Have you forgotten? Anyway, let me get some sleep!”

“Right here?”

“Yes. If I go home, wild horses wouldn’t be able to drag me out from under the blanket.”

“True. It’s virtually impossible to get out from under your blanket,” Melifaro said with the confident air of an expert. “Did you cast a spell over it? And what if Juffin comes here and wants to get some work done?”

“It won’t bother me,” I said, rearranging the chairs into the pitiful likeness of a bed.

“It’s beginning to dawn on me,” Melifaro mused. “You’ve done away with our unfortunate chief, and now—”

“If you don’t let me get some sleep, I’ll do away with you,” I mumbled, already feeling the sweet tug of slumber. “I’ve changed my mind. Wake me up in two and a half hours, not two. In fact, make it three. And tell Urf to feed my cats. I just promised them yesterday that life was getting back to normal.”

“All right, go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything. Otherwise you might start spitting,” said Melifaro, and he disappeared out the door.

It seemed I had closed my eyes for no more than a minute. When I opened them again, Melifaro was there, looking down at me.

“Well, what now?” I said.

“What do you mean ‘what now’? You asked me to wake you up. Come on, upsy-daisy, Mr. Bad Dream. It’s time for me to go to the Main Archive. Besides, I’ve got some news for you.”

“A hole in the heavens above this World!” With a groan I tore my head away from the spot where normal people usually have a pillow. “It’s already been three hours? How unfair!”

“Three and a half,” said Melifaro, handing me a mug of hot kamra. “Juffin hides the Elixir of Kaxar in the lower left drawer of the desk. He made the bottle invisible, but you’ll find it if you fish around for it.”

“I know how to find it without your prompting,” I growled. I tore into Juffin’s desk drawer with the express goal of appropriating his personal property. A few seconds later, I was chomping at the bit to move a mountain or two.

“Now I can at least stand being around you,” Melifaro said approvingly. “Have you known about this hiding place a long time?”

“Since my first day on the job. After the scandalous adventure of the Soup of Repose, our chief realized that Elixir of Kaxar provided me with my only chance to wallow in vice. So, what’s the news?”

“First, our department: Melamori couldn’t find any traces of intruders or strangers. Except yours, of course. As you predicted. Master Mouthful-Earful hasn’t reported back yet. On the other hand, the City Police have a piece of news that makes everything else pale by comparison. Boboota has disappeared.”

“What?!” I spluttered, spewing kamra everywhere. “Are you serious?”

“Never been more so. He left for his meal right after the Royal Showering of Gifts. Since then, no one has seen him. His subordinates figured that the General had gone home, and were too happy to entertain any doubts. His servants at home thought Boboota was on duty. I think they were quite happy with the situation, as well. This morning, his wife finally decided to send a call to her beloved Boboota.”

“And?”

“Very strange, Max. He’s alive—Lady Box is sure of that. He’s alive, but he doesn’t respond to any calls, as though he is sleeping very soundly.”

“And Melamori? Has she been looking for him?”

“She’s still looking.”

“How’s that? I thought she worked fast.”

“That’s just it. In the Chancellery of Encouragement there’s not a trace of Boboota.”

“That’s impossible. Yesterday at noon he was stomping around over there.”

“That’s right, stomping around. Life, you know, is a complicated matter. It’s only in your homeland where everything is simple and straightforward: either there is horse dung, or there isn’t.”

I made a frightening grimace. Quick as lightning Melifaro hid under the desk, where he continued his story in the trembling voice of a scared little boy.

“Not in the Chancellory, not on the stairway, not by the entrance. There isn’t a trace of Boboota anywhere! Rather, the traces are everywhere, but they’re very old. Twelve days at least. They don’t count. Mr. Vampire, you’re not mad anymore, are you?”

Instead of answering, I laughed like a maniac, not so much at Melifaro’s antics as at the news. And what news!

“The entire City Police Force is looking for Boboota.” Melifaro went on. “If they don’t find him by sunset, they’ll hand over the official case to us.”

“Does Juffin know?”

“He certainly does.”

“Is he happy?”

“You bet he is. He’ll arrive here at sundown to start the investigation. Maybe he had a hand in the disappearance himself?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” I smiled. “Are you planning to stay under the desk until he gets here? What about the Main Archive?”

“You promise you won’t spit?”

“I might. The only thing that will save you is sheltering under the wing of a buriwok.”

“Fair enough.” Melifaro dashed out from under the desk, finished his kamra in a gulp, and disappeared into the corridor, waving goodbye.

Then I was alone. I sent a call to Tanita.

I’ll come in a quarter of an hour, Sir Max, she replied. You know, the advice you gave me—well, everything was just as you said. I didn’t lose my mind. I even slept for a few hours. Thank you.

I ordered the junior staff to straighten up the office, and then sent a call to the Glutton. If I had to turn poor Lady Tanita inside out for information, let her at least eat something. It was unlikely that anyone but me would be able to persuade her to take some breakfast. I wasn’t even certain I’d be able to, but I’d have to try.

Lady Tanita Kovareka arrived within fifteen minutes, as promised. She had managed to change her clothes, and she looked the picture of elegance. Here in Echo, they don’t have the custom of dressing in mourning. It is thought that each person’s pain is a private matter, and broadcasting your loss to passersby on the street is uncouth.

“Good day, Sir Max,” she greeted me, not without a trace of sarcasm. She had the courage to acknowledge the bitter irony of the traditional form of greeting. Lady Tanita rose even higher in my estimation.

“You know why I called you. I have to find out what your husband had been doing, especially in the recent past. I know it’s painful to talk about, but—”

“I completely understand, Sir Max. Things like that don’t just happen out of the blue. Of course you have to find out who . . . But I’m afraid I won’t be of any help here.”

“I know what you’re trying to say. There was none of that. It always seems that nothing was amiss until a misfortune befalls someone. Then it becomes clear that a few completely insignificant actions were the first steps along the path to calamity.”

I had devoured enough detective novels in my time to be able to resort to this commonplace. I just hoped that the authors of the books knew a bit about life.

“All right, Sir Max. I can still only tell you one thing, though. Our life was passing just as usual—”

“Right, Lady Tanita. But you understand—I’m an outsider. I don’t know how your life usually passes. So explain it in a bit more detail.”

“Of course. Every day Karry got up before daybreak and went to the market. We have plenty of servants, but he preferred to select all the meat and produce himself. Karry is—was—a very good cook. For him this was not just a way of making a living, but something more—an art—a matter of honor and love, you might say. When I woke up, he was almost always at the helm in the kitchen. We opened two hours before midday, sometimes earlier, if there were customers who requested it. Beginning in the morning, one of the servants was on duty at the bar, so Karry and I had time to do other things if we wished, or even rest a while. Toward evening Karry went into the kitchen to prepare one or two specialties of the house. Our employees took care of the rest. I stood behind the bar, but sometimes Karry let me go out for a walk. He adored serving the visitors and hearing their compliments. He usually went to bed before midnight, as he was used to getting up early. I stayed on at the restaurant. Not alone, of course—there were servants with me, as well. Right after midnight, I would retire upstairs. We have a young fellow by the name of Kumaroxi who is always happy to work nights, on the condition that we let him sleep during the day.”

“I understand. I’m the same way. Tell me, Lady Tanita, what did Mr. Kovareka do in his spare time? You have to take a break sometimes, even from your favorite work.”

“Karry wouldn’t have agreed with you. The only kind of leisure that he wanted was to stand behind the bar shooting the breeze with the customers. You may not believe me, but the only reason he ever went to other people’s taverns was to sniff out their secrets. And he was very good at it! Karry had never learned to cook; never studied to be a chef, I mean. In his younger days he served as a coachman at the Chancellory of Pleasure. You see, I inherited the Tipsy Bottle from my grandmother. In the beginning we had to rely completely on the servants. We didn’t even know how to brew kamra! For the first few years Karry hung about in the kitchen with the cooks, helping peel the vegetables. Then one day he threw a salad together. Just an ordinary salad; but people claimed they hadn’t tasted anything like it since the beginning of the Code Epoch! It turned out that he had just watched our cook prepare it and then come up with a few innovations to the recipe. That’s how it all began.”

“Did your husband go hunting often?” I asked. Lady Tanita stared at me, baffled. “I mean, hunting for other people’s culinary secrets.”

“Fairly often. Well, once every dozen days, and sometimes more frequently. He even learned to disguise his appearance, since chefs don’t like sharing their secrets with their colleagues.”

“You see, Lady Tanita? You said you lived a quiet life, yet all the while Mr. Kovareka was in disguise, delving into the culinary mysteries of his colleagues in disguise. You have to agree that not every Tom, Dick, and Harry behaves like that. Oh, please forgive my bad manners! I’m so used to expressing myself like—”

“Don’t worry, Sir Max. Even if you began talking like a gravedigger it wouldn’t change anything. It’s even better that way. When you smile, I forget Karry is gone.”

“Lady Tanita,” I said earnestly. “Remember, there are other Worlds besides this one. That’s something I can vouch for, at least. So he is somewhere, your Karwen; only this somewhere is far away. When my grandmother died—and she was the only one in the family I truly loved—I told myself she had just gone away. I also told myself, of course, that we couldn’t see each other, and that was bad—but all the same, she was somewhere. And life went on there, as it did here. Believe me, if anyone knows something about death, it’s me.” Here I twisted the black hem of my Mantle of Death significantly.

Who would have thought my childishly naïve belief was exactly what this unhappy woman needed? She smiled thoughtfully.

“You’re probably right, Sir Max. For some reason I feel that you’re always right. I would like to know what kind of other World it is, and if Karry is happy there. Actually, being in another world is better than being nowhere at all. And then, maybe when my time comes, I can find him there. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I very much hope so. There is always someone we all want to find beyond the Threshold.”

“You really are a good person, Sir Max.”

“Just don’t spread it around town, or I won’t be able to do my job. It’s better for everyone—as long as the criminals are afraid of my garb, there’s no need to resort to more dangerous weapons.”

Suddenly, the memory of the terrified Ploss brought an involuntary smile to my lips. It turned out to be very apropos. I finally knew what to ask her.

“Lady Tanita, think hard. Did your husband have any special plans for the Last Day of the Year? Maybe he made some sort of resolution that he shared with you? For instance, sniffing out another culinary secret, or inventing a new recipe? And maybe he even carried out his resolution.”

I couldn’t abandon my favorite hypothesis about the involvement of a mysterious Mutinous Magician. I was used to seeing the fraught legacy of the past behind every significant incident. A fellow is capable of consulting even such dangerous advisors in the interests of a consuming passion.

“Karry never let me in on the details of his culinary affairs. He loved surprises. You know, Sir Max, Karry felt that he himself was almost like a Grand Magician. That’s what he was, when he entered a kitchen. But come to think of it, you may be right. Recently he had been going off somewhere every day, for two or three hours at a time. In his hideous platinum blond wig. And, he bustled about in the kitchen when no one was there. That last evening, he looked so pleased! Yes, Sir Max, you’re absolutely right. I’m sure that Karry had found out someone’s secret, may it be cursed.”

“And do you know whose secret Mr. Kovareka might have wanted to find out?” I asked without much hope.

“No, Sir Max. I really don’t. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that Karry had no interest in anything but the very best. Are you familiar with the fare at the Sated Skeleton?”

“And how! I live in that quarter. I can admit this to you, Lady Tanita. When I found out that the chef dabbled slightly in magic of the second degree, I knew I could get a good breakfast there.”

“Precisely. Karry wasn’t interested in that degree of magic. It didn’t meet his expectations of fine cuisine.”

“Hm. The circle of suspects has just narrowed considerably. You’re certainly making my job much easier. What establishments met with his approval?”

“Let me think. He didn’t like praising competition, but the Glutton Bunba and the Hunchback Itullo>, it goes without saying. They’re the cream of the crop. The Greasy Turkey, Fatman at the Bend . . . Yes, and of all the Skeletons he was fondest of the Dancing Skeleton. You know, the chef there once worked under the legendary Vagatta Vax. Actually, Karry has always considered the best chefs to be those in the service of wealthy families. They have enough leisure time to devote themselves to the culinary arts, rather than ‘feeding any old junk to a bunch of tipsy hicks,’ as he put it. He dreamed of meeting Shutta Vax, son of the famous Vagatta Vax. But it was impossible. The family has its own social circle, very exclusive. Maybe Karry was able to insinuate himself into someone’s private kitchen? I doubt it, though. That would be too unlikely.”

“Thank you, Lady Tanita. This is more than enough for the time being. Don’t be angry if I send you a call again. My foolish brain might come up with a question at any hour of the day or night, so be prepared for the worst.”

“If only that were the worst of it,” Lady Tanita smiled. “Sir Max, I have no one else to ask for advice. Perhaps you could tell me what I should do now? So as ‘not to lose my mind,’ as you put it yesterday.”

“What should you do? I don’t know. I only know what I would do in your place.”

“What? What would you do?”

“I would leave everything behind. I’d begin a new life. I mean, I’d try to change everything completely, right away—a new house, even a new city; but a new house at the very least. I’d get a new job, if I had even the slightest chance of getting one. I’d start dressing differently, I’d change my hair. I’d make a bunch of new friends. Things like that. I’d try to work till I was dead-tired, so that sleep would seek me, and not the other way around. And in a dozen days I’d take a look in the mirror and see some unfamiliar person, someone who had never experienced the woes I had gone through. Strange advice, don’t you think?”

Lady Tanita stared at me in disbelief.

“It is very strange advice, but I’ll try it, Sir Max! It’s better than returning home, where there’s no Karry, anyway. What you’re saying is so simple—but it would never have occurred to me! Are you giving me advice based on your own experience?”

“Yes. Twice I’ve taken that step. The first time it wasn’t very successful. But it wasn’t a complete disaster, either, and I didn’t go mad. The second time, though, I managed very well. You might even say I was wildly successful.”

“Was that when you moved to the capital from the borders of the Barren Lands?”

“Just so. But I was lucky! If Sir Juffin hadn’t—”

“It was our luck!” Lady Tanita said. “If the Mantle of Death conceals such a fine person as you are, it means the World won’t collapse any time soon. Today I will move to the New City, to the very center of town. And I’ll open a new tavern. There is fierce competition there! And I’ll hire new people. By the time we’re able to stand on our own feet or go under, I think I’ll have had time to get used to the idea that Karry has just gone away.”

“Give it all you’ve got, my lady!” I said in all sincerity.

And I thought to myself that I hoped I had the courage to follow my own advice, if at some point the curious heavens chose to test the mettle of my foolish heart.

Lady Tanita took her leave, and I set out for the Main Archive. Sir Lookfi Pence wandered pensively among the preening buriwoks, absently knocking over chairs as he passed. Melifaro sat in state on the desk, dangling his legs, lost in thought.

“Well, anything to report?” I asked from the doorway.

“Nothing. Not a thing,” Melifaro said, enunciating each syllable. “For all intents and purposes, it looks like not a single crazy Magician has ever before attempted this simple way of preparing a quick and delicious holiday meal. Speaking of a meal, I’m ready to fulfill my side of the bargain right now, with you, Mr. Bad Dream. With you or without you, I’m going out to eat. Otherwise you’ll have one more corpse on your hands.”

“Will you accompany us, Sir Lookfi?” I asked.

“I can’t, Sir Max,” the Master Curator of Knowledge said apologetically. “I must stay here until sundown. And my wife is the proprietress of a restaurant, you know. A very good one. When we had just gotten to know one another, I promised Varisha—that’s her name—that I would never go to another establishment for as long as I lived. Except the Glutton, of course, but that’s in the line of duty. Working for Sir Juffin Hully, it’s impossible to avoid going to the Glutton. She understands that. I wanted to please her, and now I have no choice but to keep my word.”

“And what is the name of her establishment? I’d like to try it sometime.”

“Of course, Sir Max. It’s the Fatman at the Bend. It’s in the New City. Have you heard of it?”

I certainly had! The thought that the adored spouse of Sir Lookfi Pence was one of the prime suspects raised my mood considerably, and my appetite, too.

The Hunchback Itullo, the most expensive restaurant in Echo, is located at some distance from our Ministry, which explained why I had only been to the Hunchback twice. The first time I wandered in purely by chance, when I was studying Echo and its environs. The prices astounded me. They were extremely high, even by comparison with my beloved Glutton—not the cheapest place in town. This only whetted my curiosity. I simply had to find out what you could get with money like that.

But it was the interior of the place that surprised me most of all. I had never seen anything like it in Echo. There was no bar, nor were there small tables scattered about. Instead, there was a spacious hall and many small doors. A middle-aged lady with raven hair and a gloomy expression opened one of them for me. Behind the door was a small, cozy booth with a round table, in the center of which was a fountain. Tongues of rainbow-colored flames from myriad candles dispelled the soft darkness. Yes, the ambience was very impressive! And the food was no less so, though I came away feeling I lacked the education and background to appreciate the nuances of this sophisticated cuisine.

The second time I went there was quite recently, to buy the tiny packet of gourmet cookies for Chuff. From the looks of it, Melifaro wasn’t exactly a regular here, either.

“I feel like a complete dolt,” he admitted, sitting down at the little table. “A completely rich dolt who does nothing except torment his belly with delicacies.”

“That’s why I was so eager to come here,” I remarked.

“To feel like a rich dolt?”

“No, so that you could learn your own worth!”

“You’ve overindulged in your Elixir, Mr. Bad Dream. I feed him, and he mocks me! Mysterious Soul, Child of the Barren Plains—what will become of you?”

The door opened. The proprietor of the establishment had favored us with a visit. It was the legendary Hunchback Itullo himself, famous for preparing all three hundred dishes on the menu single-handed. For that reason, the customers of this elegant restaurant were required to have the patience of a saint. It was sometimes two hours before your meal was served.

“Please don’t close the door,” I requested as Mr. Itullo entered. “It’s stuffy in here.”

“I told you you went overboard with the Elixir,” Melifaro muttered with a knowing wink. “Shortness of breath is the first sign of poisoning.”

“Oh, you’d be singing a different tune if you had to go around smothered under this blanket,” I cried, nodding with repugnance at my splendid Mantle.

“Mr. Itullo, one of the secrets of the universe has been revealed before my very eyes. Now we know it for a fact: Death sweats! Sometimes, anyway.”

Melifaro mimicked an expression of inspired ecstasy, and waved his arms around under the proprietor’s nose. Alas, our host was not the most good-natured fellow in Echo. He smiled grimly, and placed a weighty tome on the table. It looked like a first edition of the ancient Gutenberg Bible. This was the menu.

I gave Melifaro free rein, since he was paying. If he wanted to waste half an hour of his life trying to understand the difference between Cold Sleep and Heavenly Body, who was I to deprive him of his intellectual enjoyment?

“Good gentlemen, if you prefer a crystal clarity of taste, I would advise you to turn your attention to this page,” Mr. Itullo announced with a flourish.

“And what would you recommend for a person who is accustomed to partaking of horse jerky?” Melifaro asked snidely.

“I have just the thing. This is a marvelous stew, which I prepare from the heart of a winded racehorse according to an ancient recipe. A very expensive pleasure, since one must pay for the whole horse. You do know, gentlemen, how much a thoroughbred costs, as well as the cost of the jockey’s labor? Not to mention the seasoning.”

“How about it, Sir Max?” Melifaro asked solicitously. “I’ll grudge you nothing, you know.”

“No,” I mumbled. “I’m more interested in the ‘crystal clarity of taste,’ if it comes right down to it. And it’s beastly to torment animals like that.”

“Some Child of the Steppes,” snorted the amateur anthropologist.

Disappointed, Melifaro poked his nose in the menu again. The hunchback muttered anxiously as my friend turned the pages in rapture; I listened out of the corner of my ear as their exchange dragged on. I held my burning face up to the cool draft that escaped into the booth from the hall. And suddenly . . .

Sir Juffin Hully was absolutely right about my luck. I was devilishly lucky. A weak aroma, that same wonderful smell of delicious food that was so out of place in the morgue of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, now tickled my nostrils again.

“That’s what I want,” I said triumphantly and pointed in the direction of the open door.

“What might that be, sir?” the host asked in alarm.

“Whatever that smell is. And that’s what you want, too, right?” I stared meaningfully at Melifaro, whose nose was already turning toward the door in wonder.

In just a fraction of a second, his dark eyes glittered with absolute comprehension.

“Yes, Mr. Itullo. We’ve made our decision. That smell is simply incomparable. What is that dish? Well, spit it out!”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, gentlemen,” the hunchback said, shaking his head vigorously. “And it’s not on the menu, so don’t bother looking for it.”

“Why isn’t it?” Melifaro asked, leaping out of his chair.

“The fact is that it’s a very expensive dish.”

“Excellent!” I exclaimed. “That’s just what we had in mind—something a bit more pricey. Isn’t that right, my poor friend?”

“Yes, my insatiable foe!” Melifaro didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Nevertheless, gentlemen, it can’t be done.” Our host was unyielding. “It takes more than two dozen days to prepare such a dish. I have several old customers who order it in advance. I am willing to accommodate you, but your order will only be ready in . . . I don’t quite know how many days, since some of the ingredients are supplied by merchants all the way from Arvarox. I can put you on the waiting list and let you know when it will be ready. But I can’t promise anything.”

“Fine,” I said, with a dismissive wave. “In that case bring me something with a ‘crystal clarity of taste.’ We’ll discover your skills by beginning at the beginning. But please, no horse’s hearts. Apart from that, we are placing ourselves in your hands.”

“I’d recommend that you consider numbers 37 and 89, gentlemen.” The hunchback clearly felt that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “The wait will be less than an hour. These are true culinary masterpieces! What would you like to drink in anticipation of the meal?”

“Kamra!” I almost shouted.

“Kamra? Before the meal? But your taste buds, your palate—”

“Yes, we’ll need a jug of water, too, to rinse the palate before the most significant culinary event of our lives. And don’t shut the door, please. It’s hot in here!”

When we were at last alone, Melifaro launched right in.

“That smell is the one in our morgue, a hole in the heavens above your long nose, Max! Am I right?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. My whole life I’ve wanted a larger nose. One like Juffin’s, at the very least.”

“You have terrible taste. Your nose is the very height of fashion.”

“Well, at least it’s good for something. Send a call to Kofa. Unfortunately, I grow tired too fast using Silent Speech. Let’s hear what our Mouthful-Earful thinks about all this.”

“Does it really tire you?” Melifaro asked in surprise.

“Try to imagine. Have you ever tried learning a foreign language?”

“I’ll say. My papa was always forcing us to memorize the mumbo-jumbo of some idiots who didn’t have the sense to learn normal human speech.”

“Well, then you know how it is for me.”

“I understand. Only it’s so funny to hear you try.”

“Come on, call Kofa, Mr. Ninth Volume of the Encyclopedia of Manga Melifaro. Or I may burst from curiosity.”

“All right, I’m sending the call,” Melifaro’s face assumed an intelligent expression to let me know that he had made contact with our Master Eavesdropper.

In a few minutes, two jugs were served to us, one containing kamra and one with water. Melifaro’s face melted into a more human expression again. As a matter of fact, the poor fellow was laboring under an overload of information and all the implications thereof. By the time the gloomy lady who was serving us had departed, Melifaro looked as though he was on the verge of fainting.

“Your nose is really something!” he blurted out. “Sir Kofa is almost certain that he knows the dish in question: King Banjee Pâté. The most outlandish rumors have been circulating about it for a long time now. Even in the Epoch of Orders not every chef had it in his power to make a dish like that. The problem is that rustling up King Banjee requires magic of no less than the tenth or eleventh degree. But Itullo is the most law-abiding citizen in Echo. He’s never been caught so much as dabbling in the second degree since the Code was written! So there you have it. According to Kofa, the whole King Banjee business is shrouded in mystery. It isn’t anywhere on the menu. Sir Kofa himself tried ordering the infamous pâté several times, but he got some vague promise that they would ‘put him on the list.’ Sound familiar? Among the citizens of Echo, there are several people who, in their own words, have tasted the delights of this pâté. Sir Kofa has overheard talk of this unique experience of the taste buds. Another curious fact—the lucky ones were not terribly rich. They were average citizens, the kind who would come to the Hunchback a few times a year if they could afford it, but not more. And Itullo suggested to us that it was so expensive, a whole month’s salary wouldn’t buy a portion of the grub.”

“He doesn’t want to get mixed up with us, that’s for sure,” I said nodding.

“With the Secret Investigative Force? Stands to reason. There’s something fishy about this pâté.”

“Was that all the news?”

“No, there’s more. Do you know where Boboota ate yesterday?”

“Gosh, it wasn’t here, was it?”

“It most certainly was. And it wasn’t the first time. It turns out that General Boboota developed a passion for luxury a dozen days ago. And recently he’s been eating exclusively at the Hunchback.”

“I don’t think his salary is less than ours; but every day, that’s a bit excessive!”

A curious and thrifty little fellow with an inordinate interest in Boboota’s pocketbook suddenly took over in me.

“Oh, it’s much less, Max. A general of the Police Force makes half as much as an ordinary Secret Investigator. Didn’t you know?”

“Well, that proves my point. I don’t like the sound of this, Melifaro. Not one bit. From what I know of fellows like Boboota, they don’t like throwing their money around on the sly. They want everyone to see them. And here . . . these idiotic private booths! Like some underworld den. It’s convenient for a fellow like me. I can lose my appetite when I’m surrounded by the unpleasant faces of total strangers. But that can’t be a problem for Boboota. Why would he eat in such an expensive place, if not to let everyone see him indulging his taste buds in solitary contemplation?”

“What’s a ‘den,’ Max?” Melifaro asked. “You’re a fount of new words today.”

I scratched my head. How do I explain what a den is? And why were the characters of my favorite books, with Sherlock Holmes leading the procession, always hanging around in ‘dens’? Oh, right, to smoke opium! And how did those visits sometimes end up? Right! Poor Boboota. But would someone mind telling me how opium would have found its way into Echo? And of what possible use it would be for people who can absolutely openly and legally, in the company of their families at home, partake of their Soup of Repose and boggle their minds to their heart’s content?

“Kofa didn’t happen to say which booth Boboota had eaten in, did he?”

“Just a second, I’ll ask.”

Melifaro again seemed to turn to stone, this time only briefly.

“Great,” he said in a moment. “People always take notice when it’s such a renowned person. Several times Boboota was seen coming out of the far booth—the one on the right, if you’re standing at the entrance.”

“Excellent!” I said. “That’s just where I wanted to go. How about you, Melifaro?”

“Absolutely! Shall we go now, or after we eat?”

“However we can, without being noticed.”

“Why?” Melifaro asked in surprise. “Do you think anyone would dare try to stop us?”

“No. But all the same, I don’t want anyone to see us. We Borderlanders are so shy and inscrutable.”

“Yes, especially when you’ve had a drop too much of Elixir of Kaxar. Well, if you don’t want anyone to notice us, so be it. How do you suggest we pull it off?”

“For a start, we tactfully send a call to that booth, to find out whether anyone is there. If there is, we’ll just have to wait while they split their sides laughing. If not, we’ll have to hurry before someone comes. Shall we?”

“I’m only doing it for your sake. Yes, there’s one fellow in there. A very sleepy one! He didn’t notice a thing. He didn’t even twitch.”

“Well, we’re in luck. That means we’ll have time to eat.”

“I hope so. I was already starving when we were in the Archive, if you’ll remember. Then what will we do?”

“Nothing much. We’ll wait till that gloomy damsel returns to the kitchen. Then we’ll just slip into the booth and find out how it smells.”

“Smells? Do you think—”

“I don’t think anything. We’ll just have to wait and see. But I smell a rat.”

“A rat? What’s a rat, Max? Is it some delicacy from the Barren Lands and you recognize he smell?”

I was already weary of idiomatic misunderstandings, so I didn’t say anything.

The gloomy old lady, who entered bearing two trays in her muscular hands, distracted us from the talk of rats that so confounded my colleague. Then we attacked the food with gusto. ‘Crystal clarity of taste’ was a very apt description. Even I was able to appreciate it.

“Try to exercise a bit of restraint,” I suggested to Melifaro. “Don’t eat everything at once. Leave a bit on your plate.”

“Why should I? Oh, I understand. You mean we might have to hang around here a while. Don’t worry. The sleepyhead’s on his way out, I’m keeping track of him.”

“Ah! Well, don’t hold back, then. Dig in. I grant you permission.”

“Thank you,” Melifaro mumbled, his mouth full of food. When we both had nearly cleaned our plates, he said, “I think we can venture out now . . . no, wait a second. He’s still standing in the hall.” He paused. “Perfect. I needed to finish chewing that last morsel. Come on, Max. The moment has arrived. The old shrew isn’t anywhere in sight.”

We slipped out, and in a matter of seconds we were inside the booth, which the magnificent General Boboota had lately graced with his world-renowned presence.

“Sinning Magicians! That smell!” Melifaro whispered in alarm. “The smell was coming from here. The sleepyhead was feasting on King Banjee, or whatever the dish is called. They’ve already cleared away the dishes, but it smells just like the kitchen!”

“Not ‘like’ the kitchen. It’s coming from the kitchen.”

“No, Max. The kitchen is to the left of the entrance. Didn’t you see where the hunchback went with our order?”

“That means there are two kitchens,” I murmured. “Think about it. The smell is very powerful just here. And it’s the only smell around. Why don’t you tell me something else, Sir Ninth Volume—can your limitless wisdom lead us to find a door that a blockhead like me would have to look for until tomorrow morning?”

“A secret door? Good thinking, Max. Let me look.”

Melifaro closed his eyes. He shuffled around the room uncertainly. I froze, expecting the loud crash of overturned furniture.

It didn’t come. He carefully skirted a chair standing in his path, then continued to inch forward. By the far wall, he stopped, and got down on all fours. Then he went on with his search.

“Here it is!” Melifaro looked up at me, beaming. “Come here, Max. I’ve got something to show you.”

I shuddered. His half-closed eyelids shone with pale green phosphorescence in the murky semidarkness.

“Look!”

“Well? It’s just a regular floor. Ah, I see. It’s warm!” I discovered that one spot on the floor was almost hot to the touch.

“Warm!” Melifaro huffed. “Well, you could have found the blasted door yourself, then!”

“It would have taken me hours to find it, crawling around on my hands and knees. Your way is much better.”

I couldn’t admit that I still had no clue about my own abilities in this area.

“Do you want me to open it for you, too?” Melifaro inquired spitefully.

“It’s in your own best interests. Didn’t Juffin ever tell you how I once tried to open a box containing the Royal Gift?”

“He told us. He gathered us all together and said, ‘People! If you want to stay alive, don’t allow Sir Max to open cans of preserves in your presence!’ We were terribly frightened, and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.”

“‘Preserves’? Is that what you said, ‘preserves’?”

For some reason it struck me as very funny that there were also preserves in Echo. Well, where would I have seen them? I almost always ate in restaurants, or was invited to someone’s home as a guest.

“Are you hungry again already?” Melifaro asked in surprise, moving the floorboards aside with a careless gesture.

We stared into the darkness, from which a cloud of delicious odors wafted toward us.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Though we’ll look like a pair of fools if it turns out just to be a side entrance to the main kitchen.”

“Right, disguised like the secret passage into the garden of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover? Not likely, Max.”

We descended a narrow ladder. Melifaro replaced the false floor behind us, and we found ourselves in utter darkness.

“You don’t have a problem finding your way in the dark, I hope?” I asked.

“Do you?”

“I think I do. I don’t know. In any case, I can’t see a thing.”

“Fine, I’ll guide you. Some Child of the Night you are.”

Hand in hand we groped our way toward the divine aroma that grew stronger with every step. Gradually I discovered that I instinctively knew where to turn so as not to bump my forehead against a wall, and where to raise my foot a bit higher to step over an invisible, but hard impediment in our path.

“Are you joking at my expense?” Melifaro asked, trying to withdraw his paw from mine. “You sure don’t miss any opportunity to make me look like an idiot.”

“My whole life I’ve dreamed of holding hands with you, and now I’ve found a pretext. Don’t be so touchy. I’m absolutely serious. I don’t know whether I can find my way around in the dark or not. I never know anything for sure about myself beforehand.

“You are a lucky fellow, after all. What an interesting life you have. Here we are. We still need some light, though. You are a smoker, I recall.”

“To the degree that I can tolerate the rubbish that passes for tobacco around here. I do have matches, though, don’t worry.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be enough light. You’ll have to smoke your pipe. It’s the only light-bearing apparatus we have that gives off a steady glow.”

“Are you trying to hasten my demise? Well, so be it.”

I quickly filled my pipe. The idea was brilliant. I had only to draw on the pipe, and the dim reddish glow dispelled the darkness around us. We we were standing on the threshold of a small storeroom, stuffed to the brim with huge, oddly shaped cupboards. Strange furniture. I had seen things like this a number of times at home, but never here in Echo, where the spare, elegant objects that functioned as domestic furnishings looked more like works of art.

Since the capacity of my lungs was limited, we were once more plunged in darkness.

“What was that?” Melifaro tugged on the sleeve of my Mantle of Death. “Puff on that pipe one more time, please.”

“If you want to boss me around, you’d better learn to smoke,” I growled.

“When I was eighteen I swiped my older brother’s pipe, smoked nearly all the contents of the snuffbox, and got terribly sick. Please, Max. Give us some light! What are these things?”

I went right up to the nearest ‘cupboard’ and took a mighty draw on the pipe.

Holy cow! It wasn’t a cupboard at all, but a cage! And a person was trapped inside it. He seemed to be sleeping. In any case, the fellow didn’t react when we appeared right in front of him, and the clouds of tobacco smoke that enveloped him didn’t faze him, either.

“He’s neither alive nor dead,” Melifaro observed after a brief silence. “Try sending him a call, Max! Very curious sensation. It’s like talking to a sausage.”

I immediately regretted it. The ‘curious sensation’ turned out to be one of the most uncanny and horrible experiences of my life. I suddenly felt as though I myself was a large, living sausage that had somehow preserved the very human characteristic of being able to contemplate his essence and his fate. I was a sausage that dreams of the moment he will be eaten. I couldn’t extricate myself from the sticky spiderweb of nightmarish sensations. A slap in the face, fairly powerful, made me drop my pipe, then sent me reeling to the opposite wall where, I banged my knee against the corner of yet another cage.

“What’s wrong, Max?” Melifaro asked in a trembling voice. “What is happening to you? Who taught you to do that? What is it?”

“I don’t know,” I murmured, fumbling around for my pipe, which had gone out. Now a good draw on the pipe was just what I needed. Sausages don’t smoke, I knew that for certain. The foul taste of the substance that they mistakenly consider to be tobacco here in Echo convinced me I was a human being, and a moment later, I even remembered who I was.

“You know, friend, I sometimes surprise myself,” I admitted. “I’m afraid of myself. I’m a danger to my own existence—that’s what I think.”

“Maybe you’re just some former Grand Magician? And Juffin gave you a good whack, so you lost your memory?”

“I hope not. Speaking of good whacks, thanks for slapping me around there. You seem to have saved my life. You ever tried that with the deceased? Maybe it would work on them, too.”

“Nonsense, Max. I wanted to slap you around a long time ago, and now there was a reason. But really, what happened to you?”

“I sent him a call, and I probably tried too hard. Some hundredth degree of your blasted magic, instead of the second. It’s always that way with me. My whole life I’ve always put too much salt on my omelets, too. That’s the sort of thing that happens to me.”

“Hey, look over there, Max! There’s another curious spectacle.”

I turned around to look. That cage contained a person, too. I puffed on my pipe so we could see it better. Sinning Magicians! It was a piece of meat that still hadn’t lost the outline of its human form. A piece of aromatic meat dressed in a skaba and a looxi!

My nerves were ready to snap. We seemed to have unraveled this cursed affair, and much more quickly than we had anticipated. But I still felt no sense of relief.

“Do you see what I see, Melifaro? He cooks them! He cooks them, somehow, the swine! Send a call to our boys. We need Lonli-Lokli here. The sooner the better.”

“Yes,” whispered Melifaro. “And I really need the bathroom. I feel sick. We just ate what he cooked.”

“Go ahead and hurl,” I replied with a forced calm. “Don’t be ashamed. But I don’t think they fed us human flesh. I have a feeling the hunchback has only one Speciality of the House.”

“Lonli-Lokli will be here soon,” Melifaro reported. “I requested that he bring a few boys from the Police Force. What is this filth we’ve dug up, Max? Let’s go look at the rest.”

“Are you sure you want to? Go without me, then. I don’t want to barf after a good meal. I wasn’t raised that way. My mother thought that after visiting a good restaurant you shouldn’t even do number two for a week.”

“Still joking, Mr. Bad Dream? How would you have known about expensive restaurants living in the Borderlands? It can’t get worse than it already is. But what if there are live people in the other cages?”

“Maybe there are. Go take a look. I’ve seen enough.”

I turned away from the loathsome House Special and puffed on my pipe with genuine pleasure. Honestly, it wasn’t so bad after all, this local tobacco.

“Max, I was wrong!” Melifaro’s voice sounded improbably loud. “It just got worse! Come here and shed some light. Come on, puff on it one more time. You can close your eyes if you don’t want to look.”

I looked, of course. I had always known that my curiosity would be my undoing. A piece of meat in a looxi—that’s disgusting enough. But when above the belt there’s meat, and below, a pair of legs . . . Nevertheless, I didn’t get sick. My stomach is quite a reliable piece of equipment. No matter what kind of filth crosses its path in life, it continues to function. All of a sudden, though, standing upright became too much for me, and I sank to the ground with a dull thud, like an overloaded shopping bag.

Only then did I realize we were no longer alone.

The rest was like a dream. A second that seemed to last a whole lifetime—that’s what they usually say. “A whole lifetime” is an exaggeration; but that a few hours fit into the span of this second is something I’ll stake my life on.

In the doorway, I saw a darkness thicker than that which surrounded it and a short, stooped silhouette. The chef was hurrying to restore order to his kitchen. He was enraged, and wasn’t thinking about the consequences. One split second was enough for me to become this person, then to stop being him, and to realize—he’s a madman.

Itullo the hunchback was armed with a hatchet and a silk noose, which they use here to kill turkeys before plucking and roasting them. The hunchback had come to kill us, filthy rotten little boys who were making mischief with his frying pans. From the very start he didn’t stand a chance; but madmen don’t bother their heads with such trifles.

I turned around and looked again at the monstrous creations of this kitchen wizard. There are many ways to meet one’s death, but people shouldn’t have to die like that. Not that way.

I wanted to fly into a rage. I wanted to desperately, but it didn’t happen. I remained utterly calm. It was almost a matter of indifference to me. The breathing exercises that Lonli-Lokli had taught me turned the nervous Max into an extremely steady and composed beast. That meant there would be no show. As long as I was calm and good, spitting was useless. It would flop.

The hunchback did try his best to enrage me, poor thing! He charged at me, flourishing his implements of destruction, the tools of his trade. I think the certainty of this “culinary genius” that he could really kill me and Melifaro with his paltry weapons was the last straw for me. Truly, what was there to be angry about? I grew downright cheerful.

Since I hadn’t managed to lose my temper, I decided at least to scare Itullo a little, and to amuse Melifaro, who was looking terribly serious just then.

I winked conspiratorially in the darkness and spat juicily at the distorted face of our hospitable host. Then I drew back my right hand for a good blow to the throat of our attacker with the back of my palm—it was already clear that there would be no getting around a fight.

What does a snake feel when it sinks its teeth into the flesh of a stranger that disturbs its repose? At that moment, I knew: it feels nothing in particular. Nothing, really, at all.

What was bound to happen sooner or later happened just then. The monstrous gift of Grand Magician Maxlilgl Annox finally manifested itself in the full glory of its power. Contrary to Juffin’s prognosis, it happened when I was neither angry nor afraid. Itullo the Hunchback fell dead, conquered by my spittle, the deadly power of which now left no room for doubt.

“Oh, boy,” Melifaro stared at me in unfeigned rapture. “You’re reviving the best traditions of the Epoch of Orders. Without you the World would be a terribly dull place.”

“Did I kill him?” I asked in disbelief, still needing confirmation.

“Do you have any doubts about it? Do you think you just told him ‘Begone, creep!’?”

Melifaro, praise be the Magicians, doesn’t have the weakest nerves in the World. His smile stretched from ear to ear.

“You know what? I’m happy,” I said frankly. “I’ve never in my life seen anything so lowdown and loathsome in my life. Feeding people such filth, and at such outrageous prices! That mad chef has spoiled my appetite for a long time to come, and he has been fairly punished for his services. By the way, Melifaro,” I remarked, “I did spare your wallet. You never paid for the meal, did you?”

“A good way to save money, I can’t deny it. Not to mention that this Grand Magician of the Order of the Giant Sausage was planning to cut you into little pieces and serve you up in a gravy made from my blood I’m sure.”

“I’m still wondering, though.” My senses were rapidly returning to me. “That fellow, Karry; Mr. Karwen Kovareka. He was transformed into meat at home in his bed, instead of in some cage . . .”

“Leave it to me, Sir Max. Your job is to kill far-from-innocent people. I’ll deal with everything else. Believe me, in about two hours I’ll be able to answer all your questions. I’ll send a call to Lonli-Lokli and let him know he can just take it easy, maybe go out for a quiet meal. You’ve put the poor fellow out of a job. What I really need now are a dozen of Boboota’s smartest men.”

“No problem, friend. You just need to arrange it with their boss,” I muttered. “Did it never occur to you, genius?”

“You think—”

“I don’t think anything. Thinking is your job. My job is killing far-from-innocent people. General Boboota ate here, then disappeared without a trace. Take my matches and go look for him. If he’s already well done, we’ll put him aside for Juffin. Who knows, maybe Sir Venerable Head wants to eat him for dinner.”

“Ugh! That’s revolting. Hand over the matches.”

A few minutes later, Melifaro’s jubilant voice echoed through the room.

“Juffin’s going to fire us, Mr. Bad Dream! Boboota’s here, but he seems to be all right. He doesn’t even look like a sausage—he’s just sleeping.”

“He’s been here since yesterday. Evidently, turning into pâté is a fairly lengthy process. Oh, if it hadn’t been for my darned good luck, poor Juffin would have been so happy! It looks like it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“What’s going on here? Are you here, Sir Melifaro?” It was the voice of Lieutenant Shixola, a policeman, and our good friend.

“Over here. Keep it down, boys. Your boss, it seems, is taking a nap.”

“What?! Our boss?”

Shixola quickened his pace, and tripped over the corpse of the mad chef at a rapid clip. I managed to catch him at the very moment his thoroughbred nose was an inch from the floor. His colleague, following close behind, miraculously avoided the same fate, and several more policemen reached for their weapons in alarm. Melifaro guffawed.

“Good day, Sir Max,” Shixola mumbled, freeing himself from my embrace. “Lucky for me you have excellent reflexes. What did I trip over?”

“Over the body of a state criminal—a poisoner, a cannibal, and the abductor of General Boboota. Mr. Itullo tried so hard to make your life easier and more pleasant! Truly, gentlemen, Sir Melifaro and I are terribly sorry. We are to blame. Here is your boss, healthy and all in one piece.”

“Not ‘we’—just you, Max!” Melifaro hurried to rid himself of the undeserved laurels. “I just came here for dinner. So, gentlemen, if you have come to punch the living daylights out of the one who rescued your boss, Sir Max is your man. I ask you to observe the proper protocol!”

The policemen looked at Melifaro as though he were a slow-witted sick child. It seemed to them that saying such things about a person wearing the Mantle of Death, in his presence, no less, was not courage, but suicide. I made a horrible grimace and showed Melifaro my fist. One shouldn’t let down one’s defenses in front of strangers, all the same. Otherwise, how could you keep them quaking in fear?

“I won’t disturb your work, gentlemen,” I said, bowing to Melifaro. “Carry on.”

“And you?” Melifaro asked indignantly.

“What more is there for me to do here? I’ll go cheer up Juffin. By the time you get there, he will already have had time to kill me for the good news. Then, you’ll see, you’ll be relieved. I’m saving your skin, friend. It’s nothing to me—I’m immortal.”

The poor policemen listened to me, mouths agape.

As I was going out the door, Melifaro’s voice reached me. “Were you serious about that immortality business, Max?” I sighed and resorted to Silent Speech, which I had been avoiding all day, Who knows who I am? I told you.

I set out for the House by the Bridge. I really couldn’t wait to repent before my boss. And I hadn’t seen Melamori since the morning.

Since I was driving the amobiler, I was in Sir Juffin Hully’s office, in less than ten minutes.

“I never expected you to be so prompt, Max. Finding Boboota a dozen seconds after sunset! That’s a record even for our office—cracking a case less than a minute after it was officially opened. We have something to celebrate. Let’s go to the Glutton. And you can stop peering around in hopes of seeing Lady Melamori. She has been home for two hours already, by my estimation. I let her off, poor thing: first her relatives, then that foolish call from you at sunrise. What brought that on? A surge of tender emotion? Come on, let’s go.”

“Did Melifaro manage to report everything to you while I was on my way here?” I was a bit hurt. “And here I thought my tongue would drop off before I finished telling my tale.”

“What do I need with someone’s report? I’m always with you, in a manner of speaking. And not because I so desperately want to be.”

“Always!?” I was flabbergasted. “That’s news to me!”

“Oh, Max. Don’t exaggerate. I would go off my rocker if I had to keep an eye on you all the time. But when I’m worried, it’s easier just to look in on how things are going than to keep fretting about you. Take it easy.”

“Well, as long as you don’t peek when I’m in the bathroom . . . I guess I won’t fret about it. But were you really worried?” I asked uncertainly, and accidentally bumped my forehead against the doorframe.

“Do you think yours is the only heart that sends out distress signals?”

Juffin finally took pity on me and casually placed an icy palm on my sore forehead, which relieving the pain instantly.

“Let’s go! If you stare at the door another minute, it may disappear altogether. Don’t get vindictive, now: you made two major blunders, which only someone as lucky as you could have gotten away with.”

“Blunders?” I echoed, mortified. “But I thought this was when you’d start praising me.”

We entered the Glutton.

“I am praising you. In our profession, being lucky is much more important than being thorough or quick on the uptake. Luck isn’t something you can learn. Don’t pout, son. You don’t need me to tell you about all your genius and the consequences thereof. What will you order?”

“Nothing!” I exclaimed in disgust. “After a spectacle like that . . . Well, maybe I’ll have some pastries. Anything, as long as it’s not meat.”

“Are you that impressionable? Well, it’s up to you. How about a drink?

“No. That is . . . If only . . .”

“Good golly! That potion’s going to be the death of you! Fine. Take it—but just a drop, mind you.”

Juffin held out the invisible bottle of Elixir of Kaxar.

“Oh, you brought it along!”

I broke into a grateful smile and took a sip. That was all I needed.

“Tell me about my blunders, Juffin. Now I’m ready even for a public thrashing.”

“To begin with, Max, you forgot to ask Sir Kofa to go to the morgue to sniff out and identify the smell. He would immediately have told you what it was. And you might have been able to get along without your uncanny good luck. What made you decide to eat at the Hunchback, of all places? Can you explain that to me?”

“I can. My preternatural intuition,” I said, and burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself. “Not really. It was my preternatural pettiness. Melifaro owed me a good meal in exchange for the use of my favorite blanket. I value my blanket very highly, so we had to go to the most expensive restaurant.”

“Hm. Life hasn’t seemed this entertaining in a long time! All right, then. You got the point about Kofa?”

“Got it,” I said. “Sheer stupidity on my part. At least I did send all the others down there.”

“A sound decision. Never mind, it happens to everyone.”

“What else?” I asked dully. “What else did I do wrong?”

“You and Melifaro didn’t sense the danger. Do you know the hunchback had every intention of poisoning you? From the very first, he was sure you had come to look for Boboota, and because madmen have their own logic, I myself didn’t anticipae it until it was too late. Or maybe it’s just hard to see through a madman. In short, after you had sniffed the King Banjee, Itullo was determined to treat you to a good dose of poison.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nothing, obviously. I was all ready to intervene, but the hunchback just forgot to do it! As soon as he entered the kitchen, the decision evaporated from his sorry head. So you were spared, and I was very surprised. I haven’t been so surprised in, well, about five hundred years! That a poisoner forgets to add the poison—well, that flies in the face of the basic laws of the universe.”

“You said yourself I was lucky,” I said with a shrug. I finally decided to ask a question that had been bothering me for a long time. “Did you say about five hundred years? How old—”

“How old am I? Not as old as I might seem. Just seven hundred, and then some. Compared to Maba Kalox I’m just a spring chicken.”

“Seven hundred? You’ve got to be kidding!” I shook my head in admiration. “Will you teach me?”

“This, coming from the fellow who frightened poor Melifaro with his talk about immortality? Better keep quiet . . .”

At that moment, a flaming red comet seemed to burst into the Glutton, collapsing in the chair next to me. Melifaro’s speed astonished me—this force of nature had even managed to change his clothes!

“Everything’s fine, Sir Juffin. I can imagine how upset you were, but at least a few dozen days without Boboota are guaranteed. He has been taken to Abilat Paras. This great healer claims that bringing Boboota around will be difficult—and Boboota was lucky. The others can already be buried: the changes were irreversible. How crafty that hunchback must have been to lure them into his clutches!”

“Have a drink, you poor fellow! I won’t offer you food, if even Sir Max turns up his nose at it.”

“Well, perhaps a little something sweet,” Melifaro drawled. “Only, please—no meat!”

“How fastidious my reps are! Who would have thought,” Juffin said grinning. “Eat your pastries then. I’ll get down to something more serious.”

The chief solemnly lifted the lid off the pot filled to the brim with Madame Zizinda’s renowned hot pâté. Melifaro and I exchanged queasy glances, before launching right into the platter of sweet confections—just to take our minds off the days’ horrors, of course.

“All right, let’s hear it, son,” Juffin demanded with his mouth full. “Max here is bursting with curiosity; and, I must admit, it’s not all that clear to me, either. How do you think he lured them there?”

“Rumors about that blasted pâté had been doing the rounds in Echo for a long time. Lots of people went to Itullo’s to partake of the secrets of old cuisine. The fellow really had learned to make the dishes without resorting to Forbidden Magic. I found his papers, and the police questioned the servants already, so I can explain everything with some certainty. This is how it worked. The hunchback made a list of gourmets. He collected information about them, and then invited them, preferably those who both lived alone and were prosperous, to his establishment. There he fed them his foul delicacy. As soon as they tried it, some people—not all, only the weakest and most vulnerable—were instantly hooked. They felt they couldn’t live without it. When a customer like that came to Itullo in the middle of the night, fell on his knees, and offered his whole fortune in exchange for a serving of the pâté, the chef knew that he had caught another one in his snares. He started making them pay in earnest; and they had to pay a high price to be led down the garden path to the grave-yard. The poor fellows sank into debt and would even begin selling their property to buy the cursed dish. One of them sold two houses, at least; I know that for a fact. Within a few dozen days, the hunchback succeeded in reducing the poor gluttons to rags. By then they were ready to be lured to the next step. One fine day, the customer would just fall asleep over his plate. To be more exact, he would fall unconscious. It didn’t take much effort for the hunchback to put him into a cage in the cellar. Then the last stage of feeding began. The denizens of the cellar were fed another mixture of ingredients: the vile invention of the great chef, resembling the pâté itself in taste and aroma, but much more radical. Another few days, and a heaping portion of King Banjee was ready to be served to a new batch of unfortunate gourmets. What will they do now, poor things?”

“Go to the wisewomen,” Juffin said. “Better late than never. So the pâté itself reduced them to a state of stupor, then knocked them out completely. After which they were fed some other junk that turned them into pâté themselves. Extraordinary! What a brilliantly devised vicious circle! And he did all this without resorting to Forbidden Magic? Now that’s talent, a hole in the heavens above him! What a waste.”

“Poor Karwen!” I blurted out. “Hunting for culinary secrets turned out to be a dangerous pastime. He no doubt found his way into Itullo’s covert kitchen and swiped the first pot he came to that smelled like King Banjee. He took it home, studied it, tasted it, of course—then perhaps got carried away and ate it all at one sitting. What terrible luck!”

“Ah, the hapless proprietor of the Tipsy Bottle,” Juffin sighed. “This is not an auspicious start to the New Year, boys. Echo has lost two of its finest cooks. We’ll have to do something about it.”

“Still, there’s something not quite right here,” I objected. “If the hunchback chose his candidates so scrupulously, how did General Boboota get caught up in this mess? He can’t be considered a lonely man by any stretch of the imagination. After all, he’s the Head of Public Order. Did the hunchback go completely mad?”

“He certainly did go completely mad!” said Melifaro. “But there was more to it than that. There was a curious misunderstanding. One day Boboota took his wife to Itullo’s. It was a festive family outing, everything was very sweet, until the General saw Sir Balegar Lebda, one of his former colleagues, in one of the booths. He was a lonely old retired General of the Royal Guard. The same one, by the way, whose appearance just about did me in today.”

“The one who had become pâté above the belt?”

“That’s the one. That night they had served the unlucky fellow his final helping. The door opened, Boboota saw his old comrade, ran to embrace him, and helped himself to a morsel from his plate, as a sign of their friendship. The next day he appeared before the hunchback demanding more. The hunchback tried to send him to the wisewomen; he realized the risk he was running. But Boboota raised a ruckus.”

“I can imagine,” Juffin said with a grin.

“In short, the hunchback was afraid that Boboota would bring the entire City Police Force to his door, and he chose the lesser of two evils. By the way, I saw the accounts. Boboota’s culinary pleasures were almost free of charge, in contrast to what the others laid out, of course. That’s the whole story, Max.”

“Not quite all,” Juffin corrected. “The most interesting task is still ahead of us. Now we have to save the reputation of Boboota Box, brave General of the City Police Force. We’ll have to give him your laurels, boys.”

“Why?” I protested, nearly choking. “You longed to send him into retirement, and this is the perfect pretext!”

“Max, you’d better stay away from politics. Just leave it to your daytime half. No, on second thought, better not. I see the same baffled look on his face. I might have expected you to understand, Sir Melifaro.”

“Do you mean to say—” Melifaro’s dark eyes lit up a flash of understanding.

“Well, yes. Topple Boboota and make the City Police Force the laughing stock of everyone in Echo? And how will they work then, those brave boys? And who will do their job? The seven of us? No, thank you very much. Moreover, every cloud has a silver lining. We’ll report to the King how the brave General Boboota went right into the thick of it to expose the criminal. But we’ll keep the truer version on hand for future use. So Boboota will be as good as gold. Although, even without that the poor thing is so scared of Max he’s developed a nervous tic.”

“And I was sure you’d kill us for finding him so soon,” I sighed in disappointment. “What a schemer you are.”

“Scheming is the most exciting thing in the world, Max. Magic alone isn’t enough to provide first-class entertainment. Ah, Sir Shurf is here! Where’s my office, anyway: in the House by the Bridge, or here in the Glutton?”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Shurf Lonli-Lokli bowed with perfect aplomb and sat down next to Juffin. “I’m not disturbing you?”

“Did you miss us, Lonki-Lomki?” Melifaro inquired acidly. “Did Mr. Bad Dream steal your job again?”

“My name is Lonli-Lokli,” said the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives in an even tone. “And our colleague is called Sir Max. You have a terrible memory for names, Melifaro. There are many exercises for improving the memory, you know.”

Sir Shurf grabbed the last cream puff and popped it into his mouth. I was stunned. Could Lonli-Lokli have learned how to joke? No, I must have imagined it. There were no exercises for developing a sense of humor—not in this World, nor in any other.

“Did you actually use your Gift, Max?” asked Lonli-Lokli. “I was certain that at this stage in our studies it wouldn’t be easy for you to lose your spiritual equilibrium. I probably underestimated the fieriness of your temperament.”

“No, on the contrary. My temperament is just fine. Something strange happened, though. I wanted to tell you, Juffin, so I stored it away in my memory. I didn’t get angry, and I didn’t get scared, during all that commotion, although I understood that under the circumstances that was exactly what was required of me. But the hunchback was so pathetic, with his absurd hatchet and his turkey-strangler, that I decided to play around. I thought that after all the rumors about my poisonous spittle he might be afraid of regular spit, too. It’s good that I hadn’t tried any games like that before.”

“Are you serious, Max?” Juffin stared at me with the most fearsome of his icy gazes. After a moment he sighed wearily. “Of course you’re serious. Well, it turns out you’re not the only one who can make blunders. On the other hand, it’s not a bad thing that questions of life and death don’t just depend on your unreliable emotions. You’re always dangerous! Always. It’s good that you know that now. We’ll just have to take life as it comes. You haven’t changed your minds about the pâté, fellows?”

Melifaro and I shook our heads vigorously.

“What affectation! Do you think I buy into your delicate spiritual sensibilities? Perhaps you’re even planning to request a vacation?”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” I protested, “especially if you’ll allow me to return what you have in your pocket to its proper place.”

“No way! The amount you downed already is enough until the day after tomorrow.” Juffin was trying very hard to be a gruff boss. “All right, here’s what we’ll do. You’re in luck, Melifaro, you can go home. And Shurf, it wouldn’t do you any harm to relax for a while. This End of the Year has wound everyone up—everyone except Sir Max. So let him report to duty. That clear, hero?”

Juffin looked at me so meaningfully that I knew there was something else in store.

“Right then, I’m off!”

Just as I was standing up to leave, I remembered something and grinned cunningly. “You still owe me dinner, Melifaro! As far as I remember, you didn’t have to pay a farthing in the Hunchback.”

“There’s only one thing on your mind!” Melifaro exclaimed. “As soon as you get up from one table, you’re making a beeline for the next. Don’t you care about anything in the World besides food?”

“Besides food? Of course I do! I’m also fond of bathrooms. Like my best friend, General Boboota Box. He’s taught me a lot.”

“But that’s very unfortunate, Max,” Lonli-Lokli said mournfully. “There are so many wonderful things in the World. Don’t you like to read?”

“I was only joking, Shurf,” I said, and left with a dignified air to the accompaniment of the friendly guffaws of Juffin and Melifaro. Only Lonli-Lokli had the presence of mind to wish me goodnight.

Juffin’s call reached me when I was already in the office.

I didn’t let you go home because I wanted you to try to fall asleep in my chair. You must try it, at least by around sunrise. I’m not joking! Other than that, do as you wish. Over and out.

I was puzzled. In any case I didn’t feel like sleeping. “Do as you wish.” That sounded tempting. I thought a bit, then sent a call to Melamori. I was glad to learn that she was in good spirits.

I’m very sorry. We closed the case already, so my morning order about the eateries has become invalid.

I know, Max. But maybe the hunchback had accomplices? They could be making King Banjee in my favorite café on the Victory of Gurig VII Square. Sir Kofa went home to sleep before I did. So if you’re ordering me to—

Of course I’m ordering you. The Unified Kingdom will simply perish if we don’t carry out an inspection. And I can’t go there alone. I’m terribly scared of the dark. I’m waiting for you. Over and out.

I even tossed my head in delight—how beautifully everything was turning out!

She arrived in half an hour, gazing at me in joyous anticipation, as only she could.

“Only no dark, deserted streets,” Melamori whispered with a smile. “But who will take your place on duty?”

“Kurush, of course. Who else?”

The buriwok opened one eye just a crack, then puffed up its feathers again.

We went for a walk along the well-lighted streets. And where else was there to walk, may I ask? In Echo, praise be the Magicians, there are no dark alleyways or backstreets.

“I’m probably a terrible bore, Max,” said Melamori. “I promised you that I would try to figure out why I was afraid of you. But I haven’t been able to. And that’s probably very bad, because—well, because . . .” her voice trailed away and she stared gloomily at her glass.

“What is there to understand?” I grinned. “I’m just a very scary fellow. Don’t worry. Everyone’s afraid of me. And don’t make a tragedy out of it. In fact, you don’t have to try to figure anything out. In matters like this, people should just consult their hearts.”

“But I have two hearts!” Melamori retorted. “One that is brave, and another that is wise. And they want completely different things!”

“Well, then you’ll just have to draw up a schedule. Let one of them lead the way today, and tomorrow it will be the other one’s turn. That’s a solution.”

“Why are you in such a hurry, Max? Life is so long. It’s good not to know everything there is to know, and everything that is to come. When everything has already happened . . . something wonderful disappears . . . I don’t have the words to explain this.”

“We’ve had different upbringings, Melamori. I prefer things to be more definite. Somewhat, anyway.”

“Take me home, Max,” Melamori said suddenly. “I’ve overestimated my own abilities—in all respects. Please don’t be angry.”

“Oh, I’m not angry,” I said. “Maybe we can just do this more often? Walking together, I mean. While your two hearts are trying to sort things out between them, I would have a bit more happiness.”

“Certainly, Max,” Melamori said, “as long as it doesn’t annoy you. The walks, I mean. They’re not exactly what people expect when they have feelings for someone. I just happen to be a stubborn exception to the rule.”

“When I was young, living very far away from here,” I intoned like a thousand-year old man, “I had some difficult times. Let’s just say I had only one pie, but I wanted to have ten. But I never threw away that single pie just because I wanted more. I’ve always been a sensible fellow, Melamori.”

“I understand, Max,” said Melamori, and smiled. “I would never have believed that you had to get by on just a single pie.”

“I still do, as you see, in a certain sense. Let’s go, you look like you’re about to drop off to sleep.”

“I feel like I’m already dreaming,” Melamori murmured. Then I took her home.

When we arrived I was rewarded with a playful, smacking kiss on the cheek. Don’t let yourself be seduced by that, I thought to myself. That innocent kiss doesn’t mean anything But my head was spinning with joy. My breathing exercises were powerless to combat it.

I took a roundabout way back to the office. It was easier to think while I was walking than it would be sitting in the chair, and I certainly had things to think about. About Melamori’s two hearts, for instance. If it were any other girl, the confession about the two quarreling hearts would have struck me as a silly, high-flown metaphor. But what did I actually know about the physiology of the inhabitants of Echo? Very little, when it came right down to it.

Returning to the House by the Bridge, I sent a call to Lady Tanita. My modest experience in matters like this told me that she would hardly be sleeping soundly, even at this late hour.

Good night, Lady Tanita. I wanted you to know that at around sundown I killed the man who caused Karwen’s death.

I decided not to explain to the widow that her husband’s horrific death had come about, in fact, by chance. It was unlikely to comfort her in any way.

Thank you, Sir Max, she answered. Revenge is better than nothing. You know, I took your advice. I’ve already moved so I can start a new life. And that’s better than nothing, too.

When you open a new tavern, send me a call. I’ll definitely come by and save you from any possible chance of bankruptcy. Good night, Lady Tanita.

I don’t think you’ll care much for what my new cook prepares, but you must come anyway. Good night, Sir Max. And thank you again—for the advice, and for avenging me.

When the invisible connection with Lady Tanita was broken, I was again alone, except for the sweetly sleeping Kurush. Soon, sleep stole over me, as well, and recalling Sir Juffin’s order, I dozed dutifully in his chair.

I was extremely uncomfortable. My back ached, my legs went numb. I woke up every five minutes, then slipped immediately into slumber again. “Don’t fidget, don’t get distracted,” the voice of Maba Kalox, the most mysterious creature in this improbable World, repeated to me in my dream. I couldn’t really see his face, though. Toward morning, I also dreamed about Juffin, but I didn’t have the strength to understand, much less remember, the contents of these importunate visions.

“You look terrible, Max.”

The cheerful voice of Juffin restored me to life. It was morning. I felt quite sick.

“Were you playing tricks on me me?” I asked wearily. “What were you and Sir Maba up to?”

“Do you remember?” Juffin asked. “Do you remember what you dreamed?”

“Not really. Only that you were there, and it was exhausting, I hasten to add. Well, and Sir Maba’s voice—he told me ‘not to fidget.’ What was it about, Juffin?”

“Never mind. You’ll go home, sleep a bit, and you’ll be as good as new. Before you go, though, try making some kamra again.”

“Juffin, are you taking revenge on me for Boboota?” I asked. “What a beast you are, after all.”

The chief looked at me with genuine compassion.

“Why, is it that bad? Please, Max, try it. I beg you. Honestly, I’m not teasing you. Or if I am, just the very slightest bit.”

I went downstairs and had a good wash. I did feel better, though my body still ached all over. Returning to the office, I clattered the dishes around humorlessly. Sir Juffin Hully behaved like a director on premier night. He was terribly nervous, but he tried hard to conceal it. I hurried to get the culinary experiment over with.

“Here,” I said. “Who are you planning to torture? What’s that you say—the hunchback’s waitress wouldn’t talk? Let her drink that, the old shrew.”

To my surprise, Juffin not only sniffed the contents of the pot, he even tasted it himself. When he tasted it a second time, my jaw dropped as far as it could without falling off altogether.

“Don’t you want to try it, Max?”

“Come off it,” I said, sighing. “That’s all I need.”

“As you wish.” Sir Juffin filled his mug to the brim. “It’s not quite as good as the kamra in the Glutton; but still, I like it.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you drinking that stuff? Are you getting stingy? I can put it on my tab in the Glutton—I’m rich and generous. Don’t do it, sir!”

“Don’t you get it, Max? Try it yourself—stop fooling around!”

I tried it. The kamra wasn’t as good as the Glutton’s; but it was better than the kamra in the Sated Skeleton in my neighborhood.

“Did you teach me how to make kamra in my sleep?” The truth was starting to dawn on me.

“Not me—Maba! It wasn’t within my powers. In time I may be able to teach you to move between Worlds—but not how to cook. It wasn’t even easy for Maba.”

“But why? Do you need a new chef?”

“Far from it, son. There’s no power in the World that will make a good chef out of you. To be honest, Maba and I just wanted to find out what we were worth. We weren’t sure we could do it. But now we know that no one else can match us. And it may come in handy for you. Go home to bed, poor fellow. Tonight you can enjoy life. Come back tomorrow exactly one hour before sunset. We have an important call to pay.”

“To Sir Maba?” I asked, brightening.

“Dream on! Life can’t be one unbroken chain of pleasures. We’re going to Jafax.”

“To the Main Residence of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover!”

“Right you are. We’re going to reshape history.”

“What do you mean by that, Juffin?”

“I’ll tell you later. Go get some rest. Good morning, Max.”

When I got home, I snuggled down under the blanket on my bed and buried my nose in Armstrong’s soft flank. Ella purred loudly in my ear.

“Happy New Year, little furries,” I said to the cats. They yawned indifferently. I also yawned, and then blanked out.