The Stranger

Chapter 6 Victims of Circumstance

WHEN I WOKE IT WAS NEARLY DARK IN THE BEDROOM. THIS WAS a record—it had been a long time had passed since I had slept till sundown.

Are you sleeping? Well, I’ll be, mate! Melifaro’s call resounded in my sleep-muddled brain. Good for me. I just earned a crown.

What for? I asked, uncomprehending.

Nothing much—it’s just that I made a bet with Melamori. She claimed you’d wake up before sundown, and I bet on later. I was ready to lose, but you’ve done me a good turn!

So now you owe me not one, but two meals, I said. Your debt to me is growing by leaps and bounds. Over and out.

I yawned and dragged myself downstairs, my head buzzing like I had a hangover. Ella and Armstrong were slumbering by their bowls in the middle of the front room. Urf, the farmer’s son, a junior official at the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, had most likely come in while I was sleeping. The cats looked full and contented, and their fur had been carefully groomed—not by me, of course. In childhood I sometimes frightened my parents by sleepwalking down the corridor, but I would hardly have known how to carry out such a delicate hairdressing operation with my eyes shut.

When most of the sticky cobwebs of sleep had fallen away, I began feeling like a person again. The delivery boy from the Sated Skeleton whined plaintively at the door. Just as I was about to answer it, I realized I hadn’t managed to get dressed yet, so I quickly wrapped myself in Armstrong’s colorful mat. It was a far cry from the Mantle of Death, but I wasn’t prepared to open the door completely naked. One look at the boy informed me that a cat’s mat wasn’t the most appropriate domestic attire either; but by then it was too late. My poor, beleaguered reputation!

I closed the door behind the disconcerted youth, returned the mat to its customary place, and happily sat down to breakfast. After the first mug of kamra, my head grew less fuzzy. It occurred to me that Lady Melamori could have found dozens of other pretexts for a bet with Melifaro. She probably wasn’t against taking a stroll with me, but she was embarrassed to take the initiative. The argument about the hour I awoke was an excellent way not only of getting information about my habits, but of tactfully reminding me of her existence. So I immediately got in touch with this incomprehensible creature.

Good day, my lady!

Not day—evening, Sir Sleepyhead. I lost a whole crown because of you!

I’m guilty. I repent. But I had a terrible night. I dreamed about Juffin. Can you imagine? You should pity me, not scold me. And I need to be aired out, as well, like an old winter looxi.

I’ll fetch you in half an hour. Sir Juffin informed me in strictest confidence that you would be free tonight, so I have great plans.

First I nearly died of happiness. Then I went to get dressed. If Lady Melamori caught me wrapped in Armstrong’s mat, my chances would plummet, no doubt. Or . . . would they?

When the Master of Pursuit appeared on my doorstep, looking a bit dazed by her own boldness, I was already in fine fettle and prepared for anything. “Anything” in this case meant walking thousands of miles, if need be, along Echo’s mosaic sidewalks, in the company of Lady Melamori. According to her, long walks in one another’s company are just what a man and a woman who are not indifferent to each other need. It was possible that I had been hasty with my conclusions about “each other”; but Melamori’s tender look confirmed my most daring conjectures.

This time we traipsed all the way to the New City (about an hour and a half from my house, by the way). Melamori managed to tell me heaps of new gossip, but I only listened out of the corner of my ear. I was too happy to be all ears.

“There’s a remarkable place around here,” she said, slackening her pace. “An old mansion with a garden. In the evening they sell some vile drink here, that’s why it’s so deserted.”

“I know of many deserted places with vile drinks. My house, for instance,” I laughed. “It wasn’t as far to seek.”

“This is a special place. It used to be the Country Residence of the Order of the Secret Grass. Back then, Echo was much smaller than it is now, you know. I’m sure you’ll like it. Here it is.”

We passed through the gateway, the appearance of which was none too promising esthetically. The first impression was deceiving. A narrow dark flight of stairs leading to a neglected garden, illuminated by the bluish light of tiny glass globes filled with some incandescent gas. Here there were none of your ordinary small tables—only low benches nestled among the evergreen Kaxxa bushes, which resembled the juniper of my homeland. The air was wonderfully cold and transparent. It didn’t slow the blood, but just chilled the skin, like menthol. My head spun. It seemed to me then that I was amazingly young, and the world around me was full of mystery. If you think about it, that was the honest truth, and just what I should have been feeling.

I broke into a smile.

“You’re right, this is a marvelous place!”

“Yes. But don’t even think of ordering kamra. It’s disgusting here. Better get something stronger—a drink like that can’t be spoiled under even the most adverse circumstances.”

“Stronger? Don’t forget, it’s still morning for me.”

“Oh yes. Of course . . . well, all the worse for you, Sir Max. I’m going to indulge, with your permission—it’s already long since evening for me.”

“Indulge to your heart’s content. I hope they can find water from some sort of sacred spring around here. That’s what I need right now.”

They didn’t serve water there, alas, so I was forced to content myself with a glass of some kind of sour fruit compote. Melamori and I made quite a couple—she, a delicate creature gulping down the most potent Jubatic Juice, and me, the hefty fellow in the Mantle of Death, sipping bland fruit compote.

“If you want to talk, this is where to do it,” Melamori blurted out, already blushing from the effects of her drink.

Then she went quiet, as though frightened at the sound of her own voice. Just as I was about to nudge her back to life, she started up again unexpectedly.

“As for my fears, Max—I’ve dug up a few things. So tell me, what color are your eyes?”

“They’re . . . brown, I think,” I stammered.

I was stunned. Sinning Magicians! What was happening to my memory? How could I forget the color of my own eyes?

“Um-hmm. You see, you don’t even know yourself. Take a look,” said Melamori and held up a small mirror she pulled out of the folds of her looxi.

A pair of gray eyes, round with surprise, stared back at me.

“What’s gotten into me? I completely forgot! Amazing!”

“You forgot? It’s no wonder you forgot. Yesterday they really were brown. In the evening, that is. And in the morning they were green, like a descendant of a Draxx. When I went to Headquarters three days before the End of the Year, they were blue. I even fancied they looked just like Uncle Kima’s.”

“It’s very sweet of you to pay attention to such trifles, Melamori. But it’s news to me. It’s even hard to believe. Are you sure you’re not confused yourself?”

“Do you want to bet?” Melamori said, grinning. “Look in the mirror an hour from now. They change constantly!”

“I’m not going to bet with you,” I mumbled, handing back the mirror. “You’ll have me penniless. But for the life of me, I don’t understand why that should fill you with fear. So my eyes change color. You call that a miracle? Your whole family is from the Seven-Leaf Clover. You can’t seem to get used to it.”

“That’s just it. I know a lot, but I’ve never heard of anything of the kind. Yesterday evening, when I finally realized I wasn’t just imagining it, I even asked Uncle Kima. I didn’t mention your name; I said I had noticed it in one of the messengers. Kima also told me I was imagining it, that such things just don’t happen. I didn’t want to insist, but today I asked Sir Juffin. You know what he said?”

“Let me guess. ‘The world is full of wonders, girl.’ Or, ‘Don’t fill your head full of nonsense, Melamori.’ Am I right?”

“Almost,” Melamori said with a sigh. “He let out a big guffaw and answered that this wasn’t your only achievement. And he added that this city was full of ordinary lads, without any eccentricities, and that’s why they weren’t working in the Force.”

“That’s very nice of him,” I said and smiled. “I’ll have to thank him next time I see him.”

“Joking aside, Sir Max, are you absolutely sure you’re human?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a laugh. “It’s not something I’ve ever really thought about!”

“Sir Juffin answered me the same way. And he laughed just like you. But what am I supposed to do? Leave the Force so that I don’t have to see you? Or drink too much before every meeting with you just to pluck up my courage? Answer me, Sir Max!”

I probably should have thought up some comforting drivel for her. It was in my own best interests. But I liked Melamori so much I couldn’t lie, and I didn’t want to try to wriggle out of the situation.

“I really don’t know!” I insisted. “I was always sure that you’d have to look far and wide to find a more normal person than myself, however strange that may sound. But don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, Melamori! You’re not such a coward, as far as I can judge.”

“No, I’m no coward, but . . . I grew up among special and unusual people, Max. My father was appointed to the throne during the Troubled Times, in the event of the deaths of both Gurigs. My aunt and uncle are from the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover, and my mother’s side of the family is descended from an ancient royal dynasty. You can imagine what it was like for me when I was growing up. And I’m used to being ‘special’ myself. The ‘most important,’ even. I grew up thinking I knew everything, understood everything, and could make anyone do my bidding. Well, nearly everyone. I’ve had to reconcile myself to the idea that Sir Juffin Hully is beyond my comprehension, insofar as I know the history of the Troubled Times not from books, but from witnesses. He’ll tell you, too, if he hasn’t already. But I want to love a person who—”

“Who will do your bidding?” I asked, suddenly realizing what she was trying to say.

“Yes, most likely. Moreover, that’s how I was raised. If I don’t understand something, it frightens me. This is what the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover stands for, if you’d like to know—circumspection and comprehension, precisely in that order! So since I know quite a bit, and can explain things to myself somehow, I’m usually no coward. But as soon as I look at you, Max, I just fall apart!”

“Then there’s only one way out for you,” I said with a wink. “Get to know me better. Throw caution to the winds and find out who I am. You’ll discover that I’m a terrible bore, and then everything will be fine. Hurry up, though. By the next full moon I’ll completely lose my human form.”

I couldn’t help feeling amused. I’ve had all kinds of problems with girls, but never this kind. It was usually other things they disapproved of. I had believed quite optimistically that putting Lady Melamori’s inchoate fears to rest would be a piece of cake. She’d get a closer look at me and realize that fear was the last thing she should feel around me. I’m not very convincing as some “beast flying on the wings of darkness.”

The evening ended with us indecorously sharing another bottle of the Order’s exclusive wine in Melamori’s living room. True, we weren’t alone. There were also eight (imagine!) of Melamori’s girlfriends keeping us company. The young ladies were all very pretty, and they chattered so incessantly it made me dizzy.

Melamori seriously overindulged in strong beverages, so when I was taking my leave I received a passionate kiss from her. Almost genuine. I was so taken aback that I decided just to be happy with what I had—come what may!

All the rest of the night I wandered through Echo, frightening the solitary passersby with my Mantle of Death. My mind was on fire with wild premonitions. Some atavistic instinct demanded immediate and desperate action. But my good upbringing prevailed, and in the end I did not scale the wall and crawl through Lady Melamori’s bedroom window.

I couldn’t fall asleep, either, even by midday. After tossing and turning under the covers for a few hours, I dispensed with my daily schedule and set out for the House by the Bridge, arriving much earlier than I was expected.

“You couldn’t sleep, Sir Max?”

I very rarely had the occasion to see my boss in a bad mood, but I couldn’t remember ever having seen him as happy as he was today.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Did Boboota Box die after all?”

“Don’t be silly, Max. He’s all right. He’s going to invite you and Melifaro over to visit him as soon as he can get out of bed. So prepare yourself! It’s hard to be General Boboota Box’s rescuer. I suspect the gratitude of this wonderful man will be much more tormenting than his rage. Be that as it may . . . Do you remember Chakatta Pie?”

“And how! Did you really manage to get another piece?”

“Look at things from a broader perspective! Even Chakatta Pie will be available to any Tom, Dick, and Harry in town. And us, too!”

“What do you mean by that?” I prodded cautiously. “Do you plan to rewrite the Code of Krember?”

“I always knew you had exceptional intuition. You guessed it! Not rewrite it completely, but . . . we’ll just make a small amendment. One neat and proper little change. Everything’s ready to go; we just need the official sanction of Grand Magician Nuflin. That’s why we’re going to see him. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean both you and me. Actually, three of us are going. Kofa is invited, too.”

“Juffin,” I stammered, almost losing the power of speech altogether. “Why would you need me there? I’m flattered, naturally. But are you sure that I’m someone you want tagging along with you to the Residence of the Seven-Leaf Clover? What about the color of my eyes? You don’t think they’ll clap you in Xolomi for consorting with an otherworldling? Lady Melamori would probably approve of such a harsh measure.”

“Oh, she unburdened herself to you already? Silly girl. Well, unlike her, Nuflin is a serious chap. He’s lived an exceedingly long life. He understands True Magic and all the rest. At the dawn of the Troubled Times his emissaries fell at my feet. By the way, it was because he was well-informed. Without people like me and Sir Maba, the Order of the Watery Crow—”

“The ‘Watery Crow’?” I asked, and burst out laughing.

“Go ahead and laugh. It doesn’t matter now. But a century and a half ago it wasn’t funny at all. He had a real Power behind him, and not some paltry bag of tricks. It was through their kind offices that the World was on the verge of going to wrack and ruin and succumbing to the Dark Magicians. The others just helped in whatever ways they could.”

“Still, it’s funny. So in fact the victory of the King and the Seven-Leaf Clover in the Battle for the Code was your doing?”

“Partly. I’ll tell you about it someday when we have time—when you’re ready to understand even half of what I say. Don’t be offended. Your ability to understand depends on your personal experience, and not on your mental powers. So, getting back to your question. I’m taking you and Sir Kofa with me for the simple reason that Nuflin requested me to. He’s the master of the house, he decides these things.”

“He wants to see a savage from the back of beyond?”

“He wants to take a look at my successor, if you really must know.”

I nearly fell out of my chair, but started to do Lonli-Lokli’s breathing exercises instead. I think they saved my life.

“Don’t worry,” Juffin grinned. “What does it matter to you what will happen in three hundred years? As far as I know, you never hoped to live that long. So just take it as information about my posthumous life. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I sighed. “All the same, don’t joke like that anymore, all right?”

“Who says I’m joking? Well, enough of your wailing and moaning. You knew from the very start why I was bringing you here. The fact that you concealed this from yourself is another matter altogether. Why don’t you brew up some kamra; you don’t want to lose your touch.”

“Oh, that’s more like it,” I said, getting down to business. “Now I’ll make a fool of myself, you’ll demote me to janitor, and everything will be fine.”

“No need for false modesty,” Juffin said, tasting my concoction. “Today it’s even better than last time.”

Exactly one hour before sundown, Sir Kofa Yox appeared, this time in his own guise, and enveloped in a splendid dark purple looxi. Never before had I seen such a rich hue. It almost seemed to glow from within.

“Only Sir Kofa has the privilege of dressing like that,” Juffin informed me. “After all, he’s been keeping the peace in this blasted town for two hundred years. Back then, the position of Head of City Police inspired far more respect than the title of Grand Magician. And it wasn’t just by chance—it was thanks to Sir Kofa that the philistines of Echo went almost unscathed in the Troubled Times. I could kill him for it: I’m sick of them, these philistines!”

“Mea culpa,” Sir Kofa muttered, his eyes downcast. “What could I do? I’d taken an oath.”

“But how did it come about that General Boboota occupied your post?” I asked. “Intrigue?”

Juffin and Kofa exchanged glances and exploded in laughter.

I blinked dully, uncomprehending.

“Boy, you still don’t understand where you’re working,” Sir Kofa said, after he had regained his composure. “Let me explain—it was a promotion. And what a promotion it was! What you don’t seem to realize is that Sir Juffin is second-in-command in the country.”

“After the King?”

“No, after Magician Nuflin, of course. And you and I and His Majesty Gurig VIII are trailing behind somewhere among the first twelve.”

“Well, I’ll be!” I said, shaking my head in vexation.

“Don’t worry, Max, that’s just the unofficial version of the ladder of hierarchy. It doesn’t change anything. Let’s go.”

And off we went to Jafax.

The Transparent Gates of Jafax Castle, the Residence of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover, the Single and Most Beneficent, open only twice a day: at sunrise and sunset. Early in the morning they are opened for representatives of the Royal Court and other important people. And at dusk, shady characters like us make our way inside. People think that the Minor Secret Investigative Force is the most sinister organization in the Unified Kingdom, though an initiate knows this is absurd.

The Grand Magician of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover, Nuflin Moni Mak, was waiting for us in a dark, spacious hall. It was nearly impossible to make out his face in the thick gloom. Suddenly I realized he hadn’t had a face for a long time already. To be more precise, the old man had forgotten what his own face looked like, and therefore no one else was able to descry its features. I also understood that the Grand Magician himself had seen fit to convey this silent information to me.

“You can’t imagine what a great joy it is that I’ve been able to stay alive until your visit, gentlemen! And what do you know, stay alive I did, until this very day!”

Magician Nuflin’s voice witnessed to a venerable old age, but its jangling chords concealed such incredible power that I shrank from him. He sounded slightly mocking and thoroughly amiable. He seemed to feel no need to intimidate his guests—like anyone who truly knows his own power.

“Have you been under Juffin’s tutelage for a long time already?” Nuflin Moni Mak asked, staring at me in frank curiosity. “How do you like it, this apprenticeship? They say you’re doing quite well. No need to be shy around Old Man Nuflin, Max. You should either be terrified of me, or not fear me at all. The first alternative seems rather pointless—we’re not enemies. You don’t have to answer, just sit down and listen to what the wise old folks say. You can tell your grandchildren about it. But then again, you can’t possibly have any grandchildren at your age!”

I took the Grand Magician’s advice and sat down on a comfortable, low divan. My older colleagues followed suit.

“Juffin, you are fond of a good meal,” Nuflin remarked affably. “It’s a wonder you waited so long with this amendment. My boys are simply thrilled about it. They say the opposition will be forced to shut up for two hundred years or more. Some theoreticians they are! Kofa, you’re a wise man. Tell me honestly, have you ever seen this ‘opposition’? I don’t believe in it, myself. It’s a childish fancy. My boys think that without enemies Old Nuflin will get bored with life. Tell me, Kofa, have I got things all wrong?”

“You’re quite right,” the Master Eavesdropper affirmed. “If there is an opposition, it’s not in Echo. And if someone’s grumbling about something in some Landalanda—”

“Ooooh, we’re scared, aren’t we?” Nuflin interjected. “We don’t even know where to hide. Well, that’s enough of that. Juffin, tell me how your little plan is going to work, and let’s be done with it. By the way, your boy here hasn’t had a wink of sleep in more than twenty-four hours. Are you aware of that? You shouldn’t drive your people so hard. You always were such a mean fellow.”

“He’s driving himself, without any outside help,” the boss said with a grin. “As for the reforms, for every chef an Earring of Oxalla, the same as your novices have. And let them experiment in the kitchen with Forbidden Magic, whether black or white. Only up to the twentieth degree, of course. More than that is out of the question.”

“Oh, Juffin. Why would they need more? That’s all an honest person needs to make a great meal.”

“Yes. And at the same time we can be sure that they will never resolve to ask for more. Whatever else it may be, it’s an extra safety measure.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner, Juffin? Were you waiting until I came up with the idea myself? They cook very well for me already. Who would have thought! Now everyone will be able to get a tasty meal, just like in the good old days! They’ll put up statues of us in front of every tavern! And young Gurig, too, so his nose won’t be out of joint.”

I followed the conversation with rapt attention, and while much of it was over my head, I was able to figure out that the Code of Krember would no longer prevent culinary masterpieces from seeing the light of day. This rather alarmed me. If I had been a terrible glutton until now, what would become of me under the new dispensation? What if I expanded to Boboota’s dimensions? Lady Melamori would fear me even more than she did already.

At a certain moment, I began to sense that there was another witness to our conversation—an invisible one. I even detected a familiar condescending chuckle. Was it possible that Maba Kalox’s curiosity extended to such pedestrian affairs? In any case, I knew only one person who was fond of being invisibly present at important events.

Magician Nuflin interrupted my musings.

“What do you think about all this, young man? Do you also like to eat well?”

“I do. True, you’ll never make a chef out of me. So my views on the subject completely coincide with those of Maba Kalox—it doesn’t matter where the food comes from, as long as it goes down well. Am I making myself clear?” I asked in a servile tone, fixing my gaze on a spot on the ceiling, from which Sir Maba seemed to be observing us.

Frankly speaking, this was a joke meant especially for Sir Juffin Hully. I thought my boss would pick up on the allusion, and that the others wouldn’t notice it at all. Instead, all three of them began staring at me like amateur botanists examining a rare carnivorous plant—in horror mixed with ecstasy.

“Oh, Juffin,” the Grand Magician exclaimed, breaking the silence. “What a nose your boy has! To sniff out the old rascal Maba—who would have thought? Where did you find him?”

“About where we buried Loiso Pondoxo in his time. A place even more remote, though.”

“What can I say Juffin—he’s worth his weight in gold!”

I instinctively sensed that the Grand Magician was staring at me again. I won’t say I was entirely happy about this, but I tolerated it patiently. Nuflin watched me intently for a time, and then began to speak again.

“Young man, ask that sly old fox Juffin when the last time was that old Nuflin was taken by surprise. Well, you don’t even have to ask him. If I don’t remember, he won’t remember either. But if someone asks you, you can tell him that old Nuflin was very surprised on the evening of the third day of the year 116 of the Code Epoch. And that would be the truth, because I was surprised today! What can I do for you, my boy? It’s better to say thank you right away for something like this, and not regret it later.”

I was completely stunned by what had just happened, but I decided that I shouldn’t explain or excuse myself. If Grand Magician Nuflin Moni Mak thought I was a genius—well, so be it! I was embarrassed, though Juffin looked pleased. And I did have a request.

“If you really want to make me happy, it’s all in your power,” I said, making an effort to be deferential, although this didn’t really seem necessary.

“Oy vey, Max, I already know that everything is in my power without you telling me so,” the old man said with a grin. “Just give it to me straight.”

“Please allow me to wear my regular clothes. Not when I’m on duty, of course, but in my free time.” I fiddled demonstratively with the hem of my black and gold Mantle of Death. “It’s crucial that I wear it at work, and it is truly very beautiful. But sometimes I just want to go unnoticed, to have a rest from people’s stares. All the more since it turns out that I don’t have to be angry or frightened to be poisonous. Experience has shown that this ability is always present in me. You needn’t be afraid of upsetting me, though. I’m very even-tempered when I keep myself in check.”

“Who would have suspected—such a good boy, and so lethal!” Nuflin exclaimed gaily.

“Thank Magician Maxlilgl Annox for that,” Juffin said, smiling. “Do you remember him?”

“How could I forget? Such a small fellow, and so serious. So he’s the one who presented you with that gift, Max? How wise of him—to do something of benefit to someone in the end. So, Juffin, does he speak the truth? Does he really have such a poisonous mouth? And is it possible to work with him even when he’s being kind?”

“Max isn’t wise enough to begin lying to you. Perhaps in about three hundred years . . .”

“Oy, Praise to the Heavens, I refuse to live that long! Here’s what I would say to you, Max. When you’re not working, dress however you please. And keep in mind that you’ll be in my debt for this favor! It’s not every day that old Nuflin changes established tradition.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you!”

I was elated. I had been granted freedom—the priceless freedom of being a person no one notices. I would be able to chat with pretty tavernkeepers, share my tobacco with nice old men, make friends with stray dogs. What else do you need to be happy?

“When you get older, you’ll understand that it’s not all these other silly people who need the Mantle of Death, but you yourself,” the Grand Magician said meaningfully. “Think about wise old Nuflin then! The Mantle of Death, like the Mantle of the Grand Magician, is a good way of saying no to the World. Other people have their own lives, and you have yours, independent of anyone else. Just don’t protest, saying you don’t want to say no to this World! Come to me again in about five hundred years, and let me hear what kind of tune you’ll be singing then.”

It seemed the old man had blithely forgotten his own recent promise not to live another three hundred years. Or did he believe he could still receive visitors after his demise? But who in the World knows what he’ll be able to do after death?

“I won’t take up any more of your valuable time, Nuflin,” Sir Juffin said, standing up. “I remember how trying you find visitors, even such worthy visitors as ourselves.”

“Now don’t sell yourself short, Juffin. For all I know, you just want to go get something to eat . . . and rake my old bones over the coals! You think I’ll try to stop you? Or invite you to dine with me? Well, then, you don’t know me very well yet! Take yourselves off to your Glutton. And you, get a good night’s sleep, boy. You’ll be needing it.”

Sinning Magicians, what did he mean by that?

We left Jafax via an underground passage that connected the castle to the House by the Bridge. I learned that this was a very important part of the ritual: one must enter the Residence of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover in plain view, but leave this sacred place in secret, through one’s own previously arranged exit. The services of a guide are not offered to guests, and they won’t even consider unlocking the gates for them.

“And who is this Loiso Pondoxo you buried who-knows-where?” I asked when we had crossed the threshold.

“Ah, Loiso, Grand Magician of that same Order of the Watery Crow—the name of which was such a source of amusement to you. Listen, go get some sleep, hero,” Juffin said with a wink. “Some Nocturnal Representative you are! You’re practically asleep on your feet. All the same, Sir Kofa and I will be working all night.”

“Working on such a sacred task is no chore,” Sir Kofa announced, nodding solemnly. “My congratulations, Juffin! It was so easy for you to push through those changes in the Code. You know how to wrap the old man around your little finger.”

“It’s a good thing I was the one to do it. Imagine what would happen to the World if someone else were able to do the same!”

“Horrors! Do as Juffin says, Max. Go to bed. You aren’t up to making any sense, anyway.”

I didn’t object. Making sense was a fairly remote prospect just now.

I was terribly drowsy on the way home. All the same I sent Melamori a call.

How are things, my lady?

Not much to report. While you were waltzing around Jafax, I had to entertain Melifaro. And the girls, of course. They all took to each other immediately. Poor fellow, his head’s probably still spinning after so much heavy-duty flirting. He’s used to taking on the ladies one by one. But here—what a range of possibilities!

And how did they like me?

I don’t know. I can’t remember. I really overindulged in the liqueur and the hard stuff yesterday. Sweet dreams, Max. I’m falling asleep.

Will I see you tomorrow?

Sure! Over and out.

Melamori had also picked up my inane little expression. It was pleasant, as though she had a keepsake of mine in her pocket that she took out to show her friends from time to time.

As soon as I fell asleep, my life—interesting though it already was—became even more interesting. I dreamed that an invisible guest had just made himself at home in my bedroom.

“Greetings, clairvoyant!” I recognized the voice of Maba Kalox instantly. “You were very clever to discover me back there. But in future, don’t show off, all right? Everyone already knows how smart you are, and I like to stay incognito.”

“I’m sorry, Sir Maba!”

I was already asleep, but I was still aware enough to understand just what he was saying.

“It wasn’t such a terrible faux pas. Those three would have sensed my presence even without your help. From now on, though, remember—if you want to talk to me, well, that’s what Silent Speech is for. Announcing to everyone that ‘Sir Maba is here!’ isn’t the thing to do. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I mumbled. I was ashamed of myself.

“Good. Now, since I just blew in on a wild wind, I’m going to give you a present.”

“What kind of present?”

“What do you mean ‘what kind’? A good one! Keep an eye on your pillow from now on. Make sure no one tries to move it from its proper place.”

“Why?”

“Because the pillow of such a great hero can be an excellent plug in the Chink between Worlds. Am I making myself clear?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Oh, Max. How does poor Juffin manage to teach you anything? I can’t imagine! Fine. Remember how I fetched all those silly treats for you from under the table?”

“Oh yes,” I said, smiling broadly in my sleep. “Do you mean to tell me that I can do that, too, now?”

“Well, let’s just say that you can’t do it like that yet, but if you set your mind to it, you may be able to rustle up a few of those funny smoking sticks from distant Worlds that you so crave. Try it when you wake up. And nail your pillow to the floor so it won’t get lost, is my advice to you!”

“What do I have to do?”

“Stick your hand under the pillow. Then everything will happen on its own. Only you must exercise patience, my boy. It takes a long time at first. You’ll see what I mean.”

“Well, Sir Maba, if I can get hold of just one regular cigarette, I’ll be forever in your debt!”

“That’s just fine. Your funny habit is the best guarantee that you’ll practice hard. Practice is what you need now.”

“Uh—will I dream you again?” I asked eagerly. “Maybe there’s something else I can learn from you.”

“Of course there is. Even without my help. I can’t promise I’ll visit you often. You’re young, and I’m so old. It’s not much fun for me to teach you. Let Juffin run around after you! All the more since you want to dream other things now. And it’s completely within your power.”

“What do you mean?”

But it was too late. Sir Maba Kalox had already disappeared. In his place, Melamori appeared at the window. I was glad, but somehow not surprised.

“Good dream, my lady!” I called out gaily. “How glad I am to see you!”

“Is this really a dream?” asked Melamori. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. And it’s my dream, not yours. I’m dreaming you.”

Melamori smiled and started melting away. Her fragile silhouette became completely transparent. I wanted to stop her, but suddenly I realized I couldn’t budge. I weighed a ton—no, who was I kidding? I weighed far more . . .

“Yes, I’m already almost home,” Melamori squeaked in surprise, and disappeared completely.

I woke up. It was early morning. Armstrong and Ella were breathing contentedly somewhere down by my heels. The kitties! They could accidentally nudge the pillow—the plug, that is—and other Worlds would come gushing into my poor bedroom! I fretted, only half awake.

I rushed over to the small cupboard at the far side of the room to find a needle and some thread. My stashing habits are sometimes truly remarkable. I got into bed again and sewed the corners of the pillow firmly to the thick sleeping-rug. I took a deep breath. Now everything was all right. I could sleep some more.

My head dropped onto the rug, next to the tightly secured pillow, and I blanked out. This time, no dreams came to me; none that I was aware of, anyway.

I finally woke up again around noon. The sun, enchantingly impertinent as happens only in early spring, peeped from behind the curtain. I stared at the firmly attached pillow in wonder—what kind of nonsense was this? Then I remembered.

Guess what I did next. I stuck my hand into the alleged Chink between Worlds and waited expectantly. I didn’t experience anything out of the ordinary. It must have looked absurd—a person on all fours, naked, one hand under the pillow, while on his face a look of tense anticipation of something miraculous. Thank goodness the windows were covered with shutters!

In about fifteen minutes, I began to think that Sir Maba Kalox had played a trick on me. A tiny trick, to be sure, but it was a fine way of taking revenge on me for recently blowing his cover. He had warned me it would be a lengthy process, however. So hope was still keeping itself warm in one of the dark corners of my heart—presumably the left ventricle.

Another ten minutes or so passed. My legs grew numb, my poor elbow screamed for mercy. Hope entered its final stages: the death throes. Then I realized that my right hand was no longer lying on the soft nap of the rug under the warm pillow. It was—horrors, it wasn’t anywhere at all! All the same, I was able to wiggle my fingers. To do this, though, I needed to make an effort of the will, rather than a physical effort of the muscles.

I was so afraid that I forgot about everything else in the world. My benumbed legs, my convulsively cramped shoulders—who cared?

Where was my poor paw, was what I wanted to know. Forget the blasted cigarettes! I’d smoke the stinking pipe tobacco. Just give me back my beloved hand!

Though I could do with a cigarette at a moment like this . . .

Suddenly I lurched backwards, so unexpectedly that I lost my balance and fell over on my side. Luckily, I didn’t have far to fall when I was already on all fours. I burst out in nervous laughter. My hand was with me again. More than that, between my middle finger and my forefinger I found a half-smoked, burning cigarette. There was a red lipstick stain on the filter. Aha! I had robbed some dame! The blue number 555 below the filter . . . Sinning Magicians, what’s the difference! I took a puff, and swooned. Deprivation had turned me into a terrible skinflint; seconds later I carefully put out the cigarette and went to wash. Then I warmed up the remains of yesterday’s kamra, sat in an armchair, and tenderly smoked the crumpled stub. What a glorious start to the day! It was as though I had dropped into the middle of a fairy tale.

Need I say that I didn’t emerge from the bedroom until sundown? I swear that even the desire to see Melamori couldn’t dislodge me until it was time for me to report to the House by the Bridge.

The first attempt, as it turned out, was the most successful. The next few times I had to wait even longer. Now, at last, I knew why I had to suffer. By the time I left for work, I had four cigarettes—three that someone had already smoked, and one whole one. After wrapping up my loot and carefully hiding it in the pocket of the Mantle of Death, I set out for the Ministry of Perfect Public Order. With all the excitement of these otherworldly experiments, I had even forgotten to eat.

After yesterday’s historic occasion, I must admit I expected a huge crowd of chefs at the visitors’ entrance, all of them longing for permission to apply magic of the heretofore-forbidden 20th degree in their kitchens, and to wear the Earring of Oxalla to top it off.

Nothing of the sort. There were no visitors, either outside or in the corridor, or even in the Hall of Common Labor, where a temporary reception space had been set up. Melifaro was sitting in state on the table with the bored expression of the well-rested.

Sir Juffin Hully came out of the office to meet me.

“Unbelievable, Max. You’re on time today, and not three hours early. What’s gotten into you?”

“Don’t you know? I saw Sir Maba in my dream.”

“Really? And was this vision too wonderful to wake up from?”

“You really don’t know? He taught me how to forage for cigarettes. Underneath my pillow!”

“How thoughtful of him. I never would have expected it. And did it work? It did, of course—it’s written in big letters across your happy forehead. Strange, Maba never was a very good teacher. He’s too impatient to bother with neophytes. We’re talking nonsense over here, Melifaro. Don’t give it a second thought,” said Juffin, finally noticing that the eyes of his Diurnal Representative were popping out in surprise. “It means you’re going to have to work that much harder, poor boy. It seems that from now on Max is going to be spending all his time fishing around under his pillow.”

“Well, that beats sitting in an office all day,” said Melifaro.

I was feeling magnanimous, like every truly happy person.

“I’m not yet a lost cause. But tell me, where are all the chefs? What happened this morning?”

“Not a thing,” said Melifaro and yawned. “Chemparkaroke, the innkeeper of the Old Thorn, dropped in. It was really something. He claims that he can prepare his house special, the Soup of Repose, without any magic whatsoever, as long as the seasoning herbs are potent. But the Earring of Oxalla, he said, was a beautiful thing, and the customers would like it. He’s quite a character. He insisted on looking into a mirror while the earring was being affixed, so he could see the whole process. I thought I’d have some fun, and called in the junior staff. The boys crowded around Chemparkaroke, each of them holding a mirror so that he might see his reflection from many different angles at once. I put the earring in, wailing some terrible incantations at the top of my lungs, half of them made up right on the spot. The fellow was ecstatic! He pirouetted in front of the mirror for half an hour, at the same time inviting all the policemen to his establishment. Finally he turned to me, told me he liked the earring, and left. Now there’s a full house at the Old Thorn, no doubt.”

“Do you mean to say that Chemparkaroke was the only one who came by for an earring? And he didn’t need magic at all, if he is to be believed? What is this, Juffin?” I asked my boss in consternation. “It was such an achievement—persuading Grand Magician Nuflin, and so forth. And now the idiots . . .”

“That’s precisely the point. They’re not idiots at all. They’re just sensible, cautious gentlemen. Do you think they would come running on the very first day? The Earring of Oxalla is no trifling matter. Do you know what will happen to the person who decides to indulge in magic of even the 21st degree if he’s wearing that little doodad? There aren’t many who could withstand the shock of pain that is inevitable in that case. Our amazing culinary wizards are living people, and they’re not quite ready to be hemmed in that way. Everyone thinks that if he breaks the prohibition only once he can hide from us, if he’s lucky. And it isn’t even the end of the world if he ends up in Xolomi. Almost half of the most important people in the Unified Kingdom have done time in Xolomi. But about the Earring of Oxalla there can be only one opinion—either you have it or you don’t.”

“Why not take it off?” I didn’t understand a thing. The day before I was so sleepy that I hadn’t managed to pin Juffin down and ask what the Earring of Oxalla really was.

“Oh, Max! Give me a break, Marvel of the Steppes!”

Melifaro held out for my inspection a fairly large ring of some kind of dark metal, clearly different from ordinary jewelry. It was solid, without any break in the hoop, nor was there any clasp. I took the thing in my hand. It felt heavy and warm.

“Affixing it to someone’s ear is quite easy, but it can only be done by a competent person. Me, for instance. This metal, as you see, can’t penetrate human flesh without the accompaniment of specific charms,” Melifaro explained. “And to remove it . . . In the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover there are several fellows who specialize in such procedures. To go to Jafax, however, and say, ‘Hey, guys, take this hardware out of my ear! I’m itching to make some magic!’—well, it’s not the wisest move. Am I right, Boss?”

“Absolutely,” said Juffin and yawned. “You are so very right that my presence here is becoming superfluous. I’m going home to sleep, fellows. I’m as tired as a mad murderer.”

“Wait, so it was all for nothing?” I asked. “Your diplomatic stunt, I mean. The cooks aren’t going to flock to you in record numbers?”

“Don’t be silly. Everything will fall into place. Today the whole city will throng to Chemparkaroke’s. Tomorrow a few of his bolder fellow-chefs will report to us. In the evening all his customers will be lined up at his door. The day after tomorrow another ten cooks will show up. In a week we’ll be fending them off. Everything in its own good time, you see.”

“Yes, I see,” I said. “I guess I’ll be able to hold out for a few days.”

“What a glutton,” Sir Juffin exclaimed in admiration. Melifaro rose.

“I suppose I’ll stop in at the Thorn. I’m very curious—was Chemparkaroke telling the truth when he said he wanted the Earring just for esthetic purposes, or did he have other motives? What kind of soup will he cook up now? Poor Mr. Bad Dream, you’ll never know, will you?”

“Big loss. Run along, you pathetic opium-eater, you.”

“What’s that? Your tongue really runs away with you sometimes. I take it that must be something very improper.”

“Why improper? In the Borderlands that’s what we call nomads who hanker after fresh horse dung—so much so that it can be habit-forming. They also claim that it ‘brings them repose.’”

“You’re just envious,” Melifaro said, putting an end to the matter. “Well, Magicians be with you, I’m off to enjoy myself.”

“Who isn’t going to enjoy himself?” I murmured as my colleagues departed.

When I was finally alone, I went to the office I shared with Juffin. I poured myself some kamra and took out a little stump of a cigarette. Life was already wonderful without the Soup of Repose.”

That night I didn’t go anywhere, since Lady Melamori, it turned out, hadn’t slept well the night before and was too tired to go for a walk. But I did get a promise in return: “Tomorrow your poor feet will be cursing you, Max!” In lieu of something better, that promise was quite satisfactory.

Juffin’s prognosis was correct. The next day, Madam Zizinda came to the House by the Bridge with her cook, and toward evening, yet another plump, red-haired beauty with violet eyes arrived, with two terrified cooks in tow. Since I had come to work fairly early, I was lucky enough to witness the spectacle. Only when Lookfi ran downstairs, red in the face and getting tangled in the hem of his looxi, did I realize this was the famous Lady Varisha, adored young wife of the Master Curator of Knowledge, and proprietress of a restaurant renowned throughout Echo: The Fatman at the Bend.

Sir Lonli-Lokli made a long speech about “how happy we were,” and so forth. Our Master Who Snuffs Out of Unnecessary Lives was simply indispensable in such situations. Melifaro stared at the guests in frank admiration, nudging Lookfi with his elbow occasionally, and bellowing with approval: “Good show, fellow! Good show!”

At last, flattered by our attentions, Lady Varisha left, gripping her treasure tightly. Poor Lookfi’s legs were buckling under him from the emotional strain. The cooks, whose ears were already adorned with the cunning embellishments, followed their mistress gloomily.

Then Melamori and I went out for a walk, leaving only Kurush behind in the Chancellory. The buriwok didn’t object—I promised to buy him a pastry.

This time there were no fraught conversations about my “non-human origins.” Alas, neither were there any passionate kisses when we parted. But I wasn’t bitter or sad. If this wonderful lady needed time to make room in her heart for me—so be it. I could allow myself the luxury of being patient. Nowadays, besides our waking meetings, I had my dreams, too.

I had only to close my eyes, and she appeared at the bedroom window. In contrast to her original, the Melamori of my dreams wasn’t the least bit afraid of me. She came very near, smiled, and whispered sweet nothings in my ear. She couldn’t touch me, though; it was as though an invisible glass partition sprang up between us every time. Nor could I take any action—it was so hard to move in this dream. I could begin to stir, but my mobility stopped there. Then she would disappear. I would wake up and toss and turn for a long time in bed, trying to pick up the pieces of my dream so I’d be able to hold it in my memory.

The days passed very quickly. At home I spent hours fumbling with my pillow. The process was still long and tiresome, but I didn’t mind. I was glad that at least something succeeded. How and why were questions I avoided asking myself. I couldn’t come up with anything sensible, so it was better if things just unfolded as they wished.

In the evenings I hit the streets with Melamori, and at night, on my shift, I twiddled my thumbs and chatted with Kurush. Then, a few hours before dawn, I went home to see another Melamori, the Melamori of my dreams.

Juffin seemed to guess that there were some strange things happening to me. In any case, he had nothing against my absences from duty. Whenever I saw him, I noted the flash of unfeigned curiosity in his eyes. A chemist leaning over his beaker—that’s what our Venerable Head looked like at those moments. Evidently, to him I resembled some sort of rare virus. I suppose I should have been pleased.

The culinary wizards really did start pouring into the House by the Bridge. After Mr. Goppa Tallaboona graced us with his presence (he was the proprietor of all the Skeletons: Sated, Tipsy, Fat, Happy, etc.), it was clear that Juffin’s brilliant idea had conquered the folk.

Goppa didn’t really need the Earring of Oxalla at all. Not only did he not know how to cook, but he ate his food cold and raw. Mr. Tallaboona brought two dozen of his head chefs to us. And while Melifaro performed the appropriate ritual on them, he gave his colleagues from the Secret Investigative Force an edifying lecture on the dangers of gluttony. The sly old fox knew no one would pay the least bit of attention.

It had been ten days since our historic visit to Jafax, when I received a call from Sir Kofa Yox an hour before sunset. I was just about to fish out a sixth cigarette butt from the Chink between Worlds. Getting more than five cigarettes before leaving for work was a rare achievement, but I kept right on trying.

Take your regular clothes with you today, Max. You’ll need them, Kofa advised.

Has something happened? I asked in alarm.

No, but something will, believe me. Wait for me after midnight, boy. Over and out.

I was so intrigued that I even forgot to be glad about the sixth cigarette, which I found in my hand.

At the House by the Bridge, the usual chaos reigned. An angry, already thinner Melifaro was fighting off hordes of cooks who were lusting after the Earring of Oxalla.

“I work until sundown, gentlemen. Sun-DOWN. You know what that is? It’s when the sun goes beddy-bye. Do you know what the sun is? It’s that shiny round object that crawls through the heavens! I think I’m making myself clear. Come back tomorrow!”

The cooks shuffled disconsolately around the Hall of Common Labor, hoping Melifaro might just be blowing off a little steam before getting down to work again.

“Indeed, why don’t you come back tomorrow, gentlemen?” I suggested amicably. “Or if you’re so determined, I guess I could try my hand at it. Any volunteers?”

The cooks began to depart, eyeing my black and gold Mantle of Death suspiciously. A moment later, Melifaro and I found ourselves alone.

“Thanks, Mr. Bad Dream!” Melifaro smiled wearily. “I never realized there were so many cooks in Echo. Today alone I obliged a hundred fifty of them. It is magic, after all. And I’m not made of steel, as this monster Juffin seems to think I am. I’m going home to bed. Tomorrow it’s sure be more of the same!”

I went into the office. Sir Juffin Hully had already left, most likely to some tavern to sow the sweet fruits of his government labor.

“Max!” Melamori peeked through the half-opened door. “Are you here, yet?”

“No,” I said, with a shake of my head. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Oh, that’s what I thought,” said Melamori and perched on the arm of my chair. This was a sudden change of events!

“Will you treat me to some kamra, Sir Max? Let’s sit here and talk a bit. I don’t feel like walking today. You know, I just can’t sleep these days. I wanted to ask you . . .”

“Ask away.”

At that moment, the delivery boy from the Glutton Bunba> interrupted us. Melamori poured herself some kamra and leaned her face over the mug to catch the soothing steam. I understood this meant we would begin to talk in another ten minutes or so. I was already familiar with all her little habits. After thinking a bit, I reached for a cigarette. To heck with conspiracy and discretion—if worse comes to worst, I’ll tell her the cigarettes were sent to me from my long-lost homeland.

But Melamori wasn’t concerned about my cigarettes.

“I dream about you every night,” she announced gloomily. “And I just wanted to know, are you doing this on purpose?”

I shook my head. I had a clean conscience. I really didn’t have anything to do with it. And I actually had no idea how to pull something off like that off “on purpose.”

“I dream of you, too. What’s so surprising about that? I think about you, and then I dream of you. That’s all. That’s the way it always is.”

“I’m talking about something else. Are you sure you don’t do even a bit of magic?”

I burst out laughing.

“I wouldn’t even know how to do any magic like that, Melamori! Ask Juffin. He has to make such an effort to teach me the simplest things.”

This was something of an exaggeration. I learned easily and quickly. It just seemed to me that it wouldn’t hurt to lay it on a bit thick. Let the lady think I was a dullard, and sleep soundly.

“Fine. I probably think about you, Max—but these dreams truly frighten me. I just wanted to say that if you do making magic, you don’t need to. You don’t have to force me into anything. I want to myself, but . . . just wait a while. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I have to get used to it.”

“Certainly! Everything will be just as you say, my Fierce Lady. I can wait. I can learn to stand on my head, or dye my hair red. I’m a very agreeable guy.”

“Dye your hair red! Red!? Oh, you’re joking!” Melamori laughed out loud, sounding relieved. “How did that idea ever enter your head? Can you imagine what you’d look like?”

“I’ll look magnificent!” I announced proudly. “You won’t believe your eyes.”

When I was alone again, I shook my head in amazement. My long-suffering, longed-for office romance was slowly but surely approaching the finish line. And the dreams—well, we had “stepped all over each other’s hearts,” as they say here in Echo. That’s why we each had the same dreams.

It never occurred to me that I should take Melamori’s questions more seriously. I should have realized that we were both having the very same dream, but I didn’t want to. Sometimes I’m surprisingly thickheaded; especially if it’s more convenient for me.

“Are you bored, boy?” Sir Kofa Yox appeared so suddenly that I jumped up. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“What do you mean ‘where’? To the place they make miracles. We’re going to work on your education. Change your clothes.”

“But who’s going to stay here?” I had already taken off the black and gold Mantle of Death, underneath which‚ Praise be the Magicians, I was wearing a completely neutral, dark-green skaba. I started changing my other clothes. Boots with bells on them and dragons’ heads would have blown my cover.

“Kurush. He’s the one who’s been holding down the fort while Lady Melamori dragged you around to hideaways only fit for ruining your digestion.”

“Max never stays in one place,” the buriwok complained. “He comes and goes. People are so flighty and fickle.”

“You speak the truth, clever fellow,” said Kofa. “But you don’t mind, do you?”

“I don’t mind, as long as you bring me some pastry,” the conniving bird replied.

“I’m bringing you at least a dozen, you smart thing,” I promised, wrapping myself in a modest swamp-colored looxi. I adore looking unobtrusive!

“I’m ready, Sir Kofa!”

“Ready? No, you’re not. You don’t want anyone to recognize you, do you? Do you think you have the most ordinary physiognomy in Echo? Come here.”

Sir Kofa scrutinized me for a minute. Then he sighed and began to massage my face gently. It was pleasantly ticklish. At the end, he gave my nose a tug.

“I think that’ll do. Come look in the mirror.”

I went into the hall and stared at myself in the mirror. I saw an unprepossessing character gazing back at me—beady eyes, a long nose, with a protruding lower lip and a powerful, receding forehead. My good old pal Max was nowhere to be seen.

“Sir Kofa, can you put me back the way I used to be?” I asked nervously. “To tell you the truth, I don’t much like this sort of guy.”

“A lot you know! Like him or not, the important thing is that no one will recognize you or pay much attention to you. Faces like that are a dime a dozen. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

“Regrettably, no. I’m very slow about certain things. I’m not against it for the time being—just don’t forget to give me back my old face!”

“It will come back of its own accord, no later than tomorrow morning. Tricks like this don’t work for very long. All right, now we can go.”

Kofa then altered his own features with a swift movement of the hand. Now he and I looked like a wise daddy and his not-so-bright sonny boy. Our new faces clearly belonged to the same general category, but Kofa’s looked older and slightly more intelligent.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked. I was bursting with curiosity.

“A hole in the heavens above you! Haven’t you guessed? We’re going tavern-crawling. A new era has begun: the Epoch of Good Food. I don’t want your poor training in this area to condemn you to a dreary existence in this wonderful new World. I’m actually a very good person—has it never occurred to you?”

“Do you mean to say that I skipped out on work to go on a pub crawl? Sir Kofa, that’s incredible!” I said, starting to laugh.

“I see nothing funny about it. I assure you, Juffin considers our outing to be a very serious matter, even if the House by the Bridge were to go to hell in a Dark Magician’s handbasket in your absence. Besides, I’m doing my job. And you’re assisting me.”

“By the way, Kofa, do you know what Melifaro calls you?”

“Of course I do. What do you expect from the Master Eavesdropper-Gobbler? I see nothing wrong with it. Who are you to laugh, Mr. Bad Dream?”

Much to my surprise, we went right past our favorite Glutton Bunba.

“You come here almost every day with Juffin, anyway. He’s so conservative,” Kofa said dismissively. “He’s convinced that the Glutton is as good as it gets. The cuisine in the Glutton is good, I admit. But every day the same thing—that’s too dull!”

First we went to the Merry Little Skeletons. The numerous Skeletons scattered about Echo reminded me of the McDonald’s of my homeland. I smiled.

“What is it?” Kofa asked, taking a seat in the far corner of the room.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that there are too many ‘skeletons’ in Echo.”

“Do you know the story behind them? Of course, you don’t. Juffin has never had a clue about which stories are the most interesting ones. So listen up. The proprietor of all the Skeletons is Goppa Tallaboona. You’ve seen him—he brought all his cooks over to the Ministry. The fellow comes from a wealthy family, the Tallaboona clan, descendants of gourmands. Back in the day, they were very influential people. These gentlemen so loved to eat, and to eat well, that sometime after the beginning of the Code Epoch they fell into despair. They gathered together and ordered their cooks to prepare food as they had done in the ‘old days’—that is, not neglecting to use Forbidden Magic. And they ate fit to burst. Those were happier times, back then; Juffin and I had our hands full already with other matters. When we were able to find a half-hour to look in on the Tallaboonas, there was no one to arrest: only dead bodies. Some of them weren’t able to eat so much, so they lost the spark. They got food poisoning. Nice story, isn’t it? Goppa received a huge inheritance, including the houses of his relatives, and in them he opened his taverns. It’s funny, since Goppa had always practiced asceticism in his youth. He constantly quarreled with his elders, and felt nothing but contempt for the family traditions. He didn’t take part in their final feast, of course. They say that to this day Goppa eats only sandwiches, and I believe it. The fellow has a very original sense of humor. Look over there.”

Sir Kofa pointed to a brightly lighted niche at the opposite end of the room. There was a small table with two small skeletons sitting in state.

“They’re real, Max. The real skeletons of Goppa’s late relatives. You’ll find them in every one of his establishments, if you recall. And the name of each tavern accurately describes the character of the deceased. The master and mistress of this house were a married couple—both of them small in stature and truly merry people. Good people. They were friends of mine. Now they’re going to serve us something special, so save your strength, Max. The chefs here are still the same ones. The Tallaboonas have always been able to afford the very best. The solemn moment has arrived—they’re bringing out the Big Puff!”

When I looked at the head chef wheeling his cart in the direction of our table, I was nonplussed. The fellow’s cart was laden with something that looked like Chinese dumplings, except that each dumpling was about three feet in width.

“Sir Kofa, I do love to eat, of course,” I whispered. “But I’m afraid you have overestimated my abilities.”

“Don’t be silly, boy. It’s going to be all right. Be quiet now, and watch.”

When he stopped at our table, the cook bowed in a dignified manner and placed two relatively small plates in front of us. I had no time to wonder how the small plates could accommodate the Big Puffs before the cook grasped the uppermost dumpling carefully between two small shovels. Then he began to blow on it. He blew as gently and patiently as a grandmother blowing on a spoonful of oatmeal, begging her beloved grandchild to outdo himself and take just one more bite.

Unlike a grandmother’s spoonful of porridge, though, the “dumpling” began shrinking rapidly. When the Big Puffs had become the size of a statistically average pastry, the cook quickly transferred it to Kofa’s plate, and he began to eat.

“Start right in, boy!” my culinary “Virgil” informed me with his mouth full. “Its best to eat it straight away.”

I considered it wise to heed his advice, so as soon as the pastry landed on my plate, I got down to business.

Inside the Big Puffs I discovered an ample, but light meat filling and a whole ocean of aromatic juices. It was divine!

The cook kept tossing more and more Puffs onto our plates, but we didn’t give up. Finally, the cart was empty and we were alone.

“Remember, Max, you should only order the Big Puffs here. It’s not the same in other taverns. Believe me, I’ve tried it.”

Kofa rolled his eyes to the heavens in delight.

“Once upon a time, it was the most ordinary dish imaginable. Over the last hundred years or so the cooks of the capital have forgotten the finer points of their profession. Never mind, they’ll make up for lost time and pick up their tricks again now. Time heals all. Let’s go, boy.”

And off we went.

“I’ve never failed to give the Skeleton cuisine its due,” Sir Kofa Yox said. “Of course, with legitimate magic alone they could never outdo Madame Zizinda or the Hunchback Itullo, may the Dark Magicians protect him. They’re Old School—without a good spell they don’t know how to butter a piece of bread. Aye, what’s true is true. Now their time has come again, though.”

“By the way, how could Goppa have been allowed to keep the cooks? Why didn’t you throw them in Xolomi?” I asked.

“In Xolomi? For what?”

“Well, you said yourself that they prepared food like in the ‘Good Old Days.’ They must have used plenty of spells, I imagine.”

“Ah, that . . . You see, Max, the cooks were just carrying out orders. They didn’t even have to try to defend themselves. Their superiors presented them with a paper that stated that they took all the responsibility. If any of the Tallaboonas had survived, they’re the ones we would have ‘thrown in Xolomi,’ as you put it.”

“Where I come from, everyone would have to bear the blame: the ones who gave the orders, as well as the ones who carried them out.”

“That’s absurd! How can you punish a person if he’s not acting on his own volition? What a system you have there in the Barren Lands.”

Kofa stared at me so attentively that I realized: he doesn’t believe Juffin’s legend about my origins. He doesn’t believe it, but he’s keeping mum. So I did, too.

Our next stop was the Happy Skeleton. Sir Kofa nodded toward another niche at the opposite end of the hall, just like the one we saw earlier. It was occupied by a solitary smiling skeleton.

“Here we’re going to eat ‘Hathor’ turkey,” Sir Kofa announced.

“What’s it called?” I wanted to make sure I had heard correctly.

“‘Hathor.’ It’s a completely baffling sort of animal god from another World. I can’t figure it out. I don’t know whether anyone can. One thing for sure—it has the head of a bull.”

“A cow,” I corrected him. “‘Hathor’ is female, so her head is that of a cow, not a bull.”

“Where did you study, boy?” Sir Kofa asked in astonishment. “The things you know!”

“Well, I certainly didn’t learn it in school,” I admitted. “I just read everything I that came my way. A good way of fighting insomnia.”

“Everything that came your way! Do you go out of your way, by any chance, to dip into the forbidden library of the Seven-Leaf Clover? Come on, you’ll never get me to believe that!”

I thought that informing Sir Kofa that the goddess Hathor was one of the many zoomorphic figures in the Egyptian pantheon probably wouldn’t be such a good idea. What if it was some kind of sacred mystery?

This time two hefty kitchen boys plunked down a huge platter on our table. On the platter was a horned bull’s head. A “braised” turkey’s carcass hovered between the horns. At first I thought it must be resting on a skewer, but then I realized that the delicacy really was floating weightless in the air.

“Don’t even think of putting the turkey on a plate,” Sir Kofa whispered. “It has to stay right where it is. Slice the meat with a knife using a fork to hold it steady . . . And don’t touch it with your hands. You’ll ruin the taste!”

I obeyed for that would truly have been a sin.

After the fourth tavern, I began to beg for mercy. I felt there was a good chance I would share the sad fate of the Tallaboona family.

“What a weak stomach you have, boy! I never would have expected it. There’s one more excellent establishment I want to show you. They have delicious desserts, and very small portions. Honest!”

“All right,” I grumbled. “But this is the last one. For today, anyway.”

The tavern was called the Irrashi Coat of Arms Inn.

“Who’s Irrashi?” I asked without thinking.

“Come off it, lad! You know who Hathor is, but forget the name of the neighboring country?”

“I just ate so much I can’t think straight anymore.”

I felt ashamed. Even though the eight-volume Encyclopedia by Manga Melifaro had long ago found its way from the bookshelf to my bedside table, the geography of the World was still not one of my strong points.

Sir Kofa Yox shook his head disdainfully, and we entered.

“Xokota!” a friendly bartender called to us in greeting.

“Xokota!” Sir Kofa answered solemnly.

“What did you just say?”

“Ah, that’s one of the the nice customs of this place. The proprietors are all locals, from Echo. But the cuisine is Irrashi, and they try to speak to the customers in broken Irrashi, to the best of their abilities. It’s funny—Irrashi is one of the few countries where they don’t speak in normal human language. Our homegrown snobs consider their babbling to be the height of refinement.”

“Right. And you just greeted each other, as I understand it.”

“Of course. Look over there, Max. You see that fellow in the gray looxi? He’s dressed very strangely, don’t you think?”

“Strangely? Why do you say that, Kofa?”

I looked over at the modestly clad, middle-aged stranger who was hunched over his mug at the bar.

“You didn’t notice? And the belt?”

“I can’t see any belt from where I’m sitting. Move over! Ah! Sinning Magicians, that’s beautiful!”

The stranger was wearing an elegant, broad belt under his looxi—a remarkable thing that glistened like bright mother-of-pearl.

“That’s what I was talking about. Hm, it really is quite strange. The fellow is dressed modestly in the extreme. He couldn’t be dressed worse, in fact. His skaba is downright tattered, did you see?”

“What a nit-picker you are, Kofa!”

“That’s my job. Oh, here’s our dessert.”

The portions were indeed quite small. We were each served a piece of weirdly oscillating pie. It didn’t resemble jelly—the pie seemed to move of its own accord, not as a result of its internal consistency. And the spoons they gave us! They were gigantic. I couldn’t imagine how we were supposed to eat our dessert with them. They would never fit into a human mouth.

“Excuse me, my fine friend,” I said to the young waiter. “This is not a spoon; it’s a travesty, a mockery of a spoon at best. Couldn’t you find some other kind of utensil for us?”

“Xvarra tonikai! Okir blad tuu.”

After this utterance, the fellow disappeared. I looked quizzically at my dinner companion.

“What was he saying, Kofa?”

“Magicians only know. I’m no Irrashi interpreter. First he apologized, then . . . I think he said he’d go look for something. But you’re selling yourself short, Max. These amusing ladles are one of the charms of the Coat of Arms. Such a refined dessert—and such enormous spoons! You won’t see anything like it anywhere else in Echo.”

“I can do without the ‘charms.’ There’s no way I’m going to eat with that shovel! I’d rather eat with my fingers. Oh, where is my Mantle of Death when I need it? If I were wearing it, the proprietor of this place would have pulled out the family silver passed down from his great-grandmother. Sir Kofa, my old face hasn’t returned yet, has it? I’m about to start raising a ruckus.”

I was having fun. So was Sir Kofa, judging by the look on his face.

“Is it hard being an ordinary mortal? Nuflin was right when he warned you. Oh, well, go ahead, kick up a fuss. And I’ll eat. I like these spoons.”

But I didn’t have to make a scene. The fresh-faced waiter was already hurrying over, waving a small spoon above his head victoriously. It was just what I imagined an ideal dessert-eating instrument to be.

“Shoopra Kon!” the fellow said, bowing obsequiously, and handed me the wonderful utensil. Then he turned to Sir Kofa and mumbled: “Xvarra tonikai! Prett.”

“Never mind,” Sir Kofa mumbled back. “Get along now, you poor fellow.” Then he turned to me. “Well, you’ve really done it now, boy. You don’t even need the Mantle of Death. People are afraid of you without it. Instinct, most likely. For Sir Max they find a spoon; but not for me, it seems. Incredible . . .”

I felt very satisfied with my petty victory. And the dessert lived up to my highest expectations.

“Don’t look now, Max!” Sir Kofa nudged me. “There’s another one. I don’t understand: is this some kind of new fashion?”

“Another what? I don’t—” I was brought up short.

I only had to glance toward the entrance, and everything was clear to me. A handsome young man in a splendid yellow looxi froze on the threshold. Underneath his elegant overcoat was a tattered skaba and a magnificent mother-of-pearl belt, the same kind that the fellow at the bar was wearing.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” Kofa said with a sniff. “It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever seen anything like that—and, suddenly, along comes his twin! Look, they’ve spotted each other! Well, well, well . . .”

The belted ones did a double-take, staring intently at one another. The face of the youthful newcomer in yellow registered surprise, fear, and, it seemed, even sympathy.

He opened his mouth, made a step as if he was going up to the bar, then turned on his heels and left. The first fellow was getting ready to rise, but he waved over the proprietor, instead. The tavern-keeper placed another mug in front of him, and the fellow began studying its contents again with great intensity.

“How do you like them apples, Max?”

“It is strange,” I replied uncertainly. “Oh, he’s leaving! Shall we follow him?”

“Hold your horses, hero! We don’t need to follow him.”

“Why not, Kofa?”

“Because . . . how can I explain it? It’s just not done. Secret investigators don’t go rushing around Echo, chasing down every suspicious Tom, Dick, or Harry that comes along. Preventing crime is not our job. But if something happens and they ask us politely to look into it—well, that’s another story. In short, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Well, you know best.”

I must admit, I was disappointed.

“That’s the way it is, boy,” Sir Kofa said with a wink. “Don’t be sad. All your chases and crime-hunting are still ahead of you. For the time being, you should just enjoy life.”

“Enjoy life? You’re making fun of me, Kofa. After tonight I’ll never be able to look at food again.”

“You’re in for a surprise. Now I’m going to reveal to you the oldest secret of Old Cuisine.”

“No!” I grimaced and shook my head. “With all due respect, Kofa, I refuse.”

“Never indulge in hasty decisions. You don’t know what’s in store for you yet. Don’t worry, Max. I’m not going to feed you, but cure you of your culinary overindulgence. Honest.”

“In that case—onward!” I exclaimed happily. “If I’ve ever needed a cure like that, now’s the time.”

And with that we left the Irrashi Coat of Arms.

“If you ever overeat like this again, you must go to the Empty Bowl,” Sir Kofa informed me. “Remember this address, friend: 36 Street of Reconciliation. I have a feeling you’ll be coming here often.”

The Empty Bowl was full of people, but they worked fast there! In just a few minutes a cook with a small cart came up to us. He rattled the bottles and vials with the concentration of an experienced pharmacist. I looked at the cart. Sinning Magicians! I almost threw up. The fellow drew out of a jar what looked like a huge piece of soft, greenish bacon grease and placed it on a tiny brazier. A minute later he poured the turbid, runny fat into a tall colored glass. He then plopped the second piece of fat onto the brazier. I shuddered, swallowed back some of my own saliva, and turned away. Sir Kofa took the glass calmly and emptied it down, without so much as wincing.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, boy. Drink up. I’m not joking—I want to help you. Some hero you are! Well, sniff it, at least.”

I sniffed it obediently. The smell was not in the least nauseating. On the contrary, a pleasant menthol scent tickled my nostrils. I sighed and gulped down the terrible looking stuff. It wasn’t so bad. Not bad at all, in fact. It was like drinking a glass of mint liqueur, diluted with water.

“Well, how did you like it?” Sir Kofa asked in concern. “You certainly are impressionable. I would never have expected it. Fine, let’s go. For your information, it’s called River Rat Bone Marrow. A strange name, of course. Remember it, though—it’ll come in handy.”

When we were outside again, Sir Kofa studied me attentively.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Max? We can stop into a few more places . . .”

“Magicians be with you, Kofa! I don’t even want to think about it!”

“Well, suit yourself. Now then, run along to the Ministry. It will be morning soon, anyway. Don’t forget to take Kurush the snacks you promised him. He’s earned them.”

“Of course. Thanks for the experience. It’s a night I won’t soon forget.”

“That’s the spirit. Good night, Max.”

On the way to the Ministry, I carried out my promise, stopping by the Glutton to pick up a dozen pastries. Kurush wouldn’t be able to eat all that—but it’s no sin to skip out on work and then try to make up for it later.

The delicious aroma of freshly baked pastry made me think it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a little bite to eat myself. Sinning Magicians, was I crazy? How could I eat after a night like that?

Kurush was delighted, and he started right in on them. I changed into the Mantle of Death and went to look at myself in the mirror. What a bizarre sight! My own features could already be made out under the unattractive false face. I had two distinct faces, one showing through the other. I shuddered and went downstairs to wash up. On the way back I glanced in the mirror again. Finally! There was my trusty old mug looking back at me. I wanted to cry with relief. I was, after all, quite a guy. It’s a matter of taste, of course, but it was a face that agreed with me.

I went back to the office. Kurush had just finished the fourth pastry, but his enthusiasm was flagging. I looked at the bird enviously, and—well, I ended up eating five whole pastries myself! I really had worked up an appetite already. That River Rat Bone Marrow was a devil of a concoction. Wonder of wonders, I felt I hadn’t eaten in days.

At home I dreamed of Melamori again. The invisible wall dividing us disappeared all at once, and she sat down next to me. She was amused by my immobility. Not only was she amused, but it made her very brave. I was showered with kisses, such real ones that it almost made me start thinking that . . . But my poor brain didn’t want to think at all, and then she disappeared. And I woke up.

Melamori always disappeared from my dreams at about the same time, just after dawn—the time people wake up to go to work. But I tried not to pay attention to this coincidence. Once I get hold of something, I’ll hold onto it for dear life, even if it’s only a dream, and in my case, especially if it is a dream.

Not long before noon I dozed off again to the deep, guttural purrs of my cats. Almost immediately, I got a call from Sir Kofa.

Enough lounging around, Max. Something very interesting is happening here, so—

Time to eat again? I asked, horrified.

No, time to work. Remember those clowns with the belts?

And how I do! Oh, Kofa, do I have an hour, at least? To wash.

What a squeaky clean rascal you are! Fine, go hose yourself down. But we’ll be expecting you in an hour.

I jumped out of bed. Armstrong was so deep in sleep he didn’t twitch an ear. Ella woke up with a diminutive feline roar and rushed down to her bowl. After feeding the cats and bathing, it turned out that I had no time to replenish my tobacco supply with my pillow prestidigitation. It’s a good thing I hoard things like a squirrel: I had hidden away several cigarette stubs for a rainy day. Like today.

The Hall of Common Labor was swarming with chefs again. I gave Melifaro a sympathetic nod, and continued through to our office. An unrecognizable Sir Kofa Yox (curly haired, ruddy faced, large eyes) was whispering to Juffin. When he saw me he fell silent.

“Secrets?” I inquired. “Dreadful ones? Or not very?”

“Somewhere in between,” Juffin said. “How’s your stomach, hero? Are the city toilets running over after your busy night?”

“Are you trying to compensate for the absence of General Boboota? That’s not your forte, Juffin. Moreover, Boboota’s irreplaceable.”

“Well, just take a little walk to the morgue and back. It’s bound to be an instructive excursion. We’ll just finish up our secret-swapping session while you’re gone—and don’t let your nose get out of joint. In fact, these are secrets of Grand Magician Nuflin. Not very exciting.”

I dutifully set out for the morgue, which was located on the premises of the Echo City Police. Sinning Magicians, I sure hadn’t expect everything be this simple! There lay the fellow we had seen yesterday in the elegant yellow looxi. Only now his belt was gone. Was it murder with the intent to rob? Not the most popular kind of crime in Echo. I twirled my magic dagger in my fingers. The gauge didn’t budge. No Forbidden Magic around here. But if Juffin wanted me to see it, there must have been some foul magic involved. What kind, though? For one thing, there was no blood nor any trace of violence. Had he been poisoned? No. If this were just about “murder with the intent to rob,” Juffin wouldn’t have been summoned in the first place

I looked at the dead man one more time. There was something about him . . . something very obvious that still eluded my grasp.

I went back to the office without having figured it out. Preoccupied with heavy thoughts, I bumped right into Shixola, the former lieutenant of the City Police. After the remarkable rescue of Boboota, Shixola had been promoted to captain, which (unlike most of his colleagues) he richly deserved.

The fellow reeled, but stood his ground.

“Did you come to admire our discovery, sir?” asked the unfortunate victim of my absentmindedness, rubbing his bruised chin.

“Yes. There’s something not quite right about your discovery,” I said and looked at Shixola thoughtfully.

“I agree. There must be. First Sir Kofa came by, then Sir Venerable Head himself graced us with his presence, and now you arrive. This ragamuffin is really running you ragged.”

“Ragamuffin . . . ?”

The expensive yellow looxi and the fancy boots of the dead man seemed very much at odds with that description. Then it dawned on me. Underneath this expensive looxi the man was wearing the old, tattered skaba I had glimpsed yesterday. It looked as though the fellow hadn’t changed it for years. This glaring contrast seemed significant.

“Yes, a ragamuffin, of course!” I shouted enthusiastically, and rushed off, leaving Captain Shixola bewildered and alone.

“Well, what do you say?”

Juffin smiled broadly, as though getting the chance to look at the corpse had been a birthday present, perhaps the best I had ever received.

“Nothing much to say. The fellow’s not dressed too well. I’ll be honest with you, it took a while for me to realize it. It looks like he hadn’t changed his clothes in years. By the way, who took his belt away from him? The killer, or you?”

“Whoever did, it wasn’t us, unfortunately.”

“How did he die? I didn’t see any wounds. Was he poisoned?”

“Possibly. It’s not clear. You have something to add?”

“No, nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Well, my heart lurched unpleasantly. That happened yesterday, already, when Kofa and I saw him in the Irrashi Inn. There was nothing more concrete than that.”

“I’m not interested in anything ‘concrete.’ What really intrigues me are the messages your darn-fool heart sends out. If you had a few hearts to spare, I’d pass them out to our boys instead of those good-for-nothing gauges. Every time something halfway interesting happens, they stick at zero and refuse to budge. It’s ridiculous! Imagine, Kofa and I didn’t sense that anything at all was amiss. Your new friend sure did, though.”

“Who’s my new friend? Shixola?”

“What a short memory you have,” said the chief and grinned. “Grand Magician Nuflin Moni Mak was kind enough to send me a call an hour ago. He says it’s urgent that we get to the bottom of this case. He has a terrible foreboding, and no clues whatsoever. Are you related to him, by any chance?”

“You should know,” I said, heaving a sigh. “You’re the one and only expert on my genealogy. Give me some kamra, Juffin. First I don’t get enough sleep, then I have to gaze on a corpse . . . life just all-round sucks.”

“What, the trick with the pillow didn’t work?” Juffin laughed out loud. “Well, win some, lose some. And make your own kamra. Why did I waste my time teaching you? And don’t grind your teeth like that, Sir Max. Kofa hasn’t tasted your culinary invention yet. Please.”

“You can’t fight the magic word,” I muttered, mollified. “What a despot you are, Sir Juffin.”

“Could be worse.”

I carried out the motions mechanically, but the results were the best ever! Even Sir Kofa didn’t turn up his nose at it.

A feeling of justified pride dispelled the forebodings that had taken hold of me since my visit to the morgue. I pulled a parcel of cigarette stubs out of the folds of my Mantle of Death. My senior colleagues frowned in distaste, but I couldn’t have cared less. If people are doomed to smoke some reeking muck that they mistakenly consider to be pipe tobacco, one can only pity them.

“In what country do they make those belts?” I asked. “You must know, Kofa.”

“Good question, Max. At this point, I don’t have the answer. That is, as far as I’ve been able to tell, they aren’t made anywhere. But that’s clearly insufficient information. Actually, I was just about to go to the Customs. Since we’ve decided to take the bull by the horns, we can’t get by without Nulli Karif. That’s his job, to be in the know about all our dear foreign visitors. That’s why I woke you up, so you’d keep me company.”

“Did you like it?”

“What, your company? How could I not have liked it? It was a barrel of fun. Especially your heroic struggle over the spoon!” Kofa burst into peals of laughter.

“Well, I have had about all I can take, Sir Kofa,” I exclaimed. “I’m abandoning you for General Boboota. You’re cruel, and he’s kind and good. We’re going to go to the can together, sit in stalls side by side, and tap on the walls.”

“Why tap on the walls?” My colleagues were now beside themselves with mirth.

“So we can understand each other without words,” I explained. “It’s a spiritual bond you two could never even dream of.”

“Let’s get going, genius,” Sir Kofa said. “I can’t promise you spiritual bonds, but I guarantee you won’t be bored.”

The Head of Customs of the Unified Kingdom, Sir Nulli Karif, was a remarkable character in all respects. Small, garrulous, and, I assumed, very young. Round glasses in thin frames completed the image of this delightful personage.

“Well, whom do we have here! Sir Kofa! And you must be Sir Max. Splendid! Has something happened? You don’t have to answer that. I understand. Otherwise you wouldn’t have dragged yourselves over here from the other side of town. How’s Melifaro? What’s the news about his older brother? Is that pirate going to descend on Echo any time soon? They say Melifaro fastened the Earring of Oxalla on Chemparkaroke with such a powerful spell that no one will ever be able to remove it, even someone in the Seven-Leaf Clover. So much has happened around here! Do you remember Kaffa Xani, Sir Kofa? Well, he’s not with us anymore. He rented a ship and set sail for Magicians know where. Splendid! Attaboy! Way to go! Have you killed a lot of people, Sir Max? I don’t doubt you have. Is that true about Chemparkaroke? Has something indeed happened, Kofa, or did you just drop by to shoot the breeze?”

The monologue of the Head of Customs threatened to go on indefinitely, but Sir Kofa thought of a way to dam up the torrent of words, if only temporarily.

“Are you going to make us wait out here forever, or will you invite us into your office?”

“Oh, it’s not much of an office, really. Look here, Kofa. It’s a pantry, a storage room, not an office. This is where half the confiscated goods end up, since storing the junk elsewhere is too dangerous. And the fellows from Jafax can’t be bothered with nonsense like that. It’s a vicious circle. Soon I’ll have to start receiving guests right at the docks. Well, I’ll just set my chair down there and . . . oh, did you know our Kaffa Xani had become a captain? I suspect he’ll join the pirates and end up on the gallows in some Tasher jungle or remote Shishin Caliphate. But that’s how it goes. What sense is there in being a sailor if you don’t ship contraband? It’s foolish, that’s what it is. I don’t understand people like that. All the same, Sir Kofa, it’s splendid that you dropped by for a visit—though I don’t believe for a minute that’s the only reason you came to see me. I’m right on target, aren’t I?”

“Of course you are, Nulli. But perhaps you’ll offer us some kamra and keep quiet for three minutes? I’d never think of requesting five, I realize that’s out of the question. Well, are you finished?”

“But of course! They’ll bring us kamra directly. What kind do you prefer, Max? Local or Irrashi? Or maybe you’re a fan of Arvarox kamra? Though I think they already drank that up. The boys in this outfit do nothing but drink kamra—and from such enormous mugs.” He spread his small arms out wide to illustrate this phenomenon. I was duly impressed.

“If you aren’t exaggerating, Sir Nulli, the poor fellows must be hard at work,” I said. “It’s even hard to fathom the existence of a mug that big.”

“Certainly, Sir Max. We’re not playing the fool here. Those lads have to sweat,” said the remarkable fellow, without missing a beat. “I must say, though, the pay here is quite good. That same Kaffa Xani worked all of three years for us, and he’s already managed to hire a ship. Didn’t I tell you? Now he’ll sneak in contraband, and I’ll have to catch him. Magnificent! Ah, here’s the kamra.”

Sir Nulli sniffed the contents of the jug and launched into another flood of words.

“That’s Irrashi. It’s actually rubbish; but then, it’s imported. Where else can you get anything like that? Help yourselves, gentlemen. Though I’d prefer to just pour it out, I’m so sick of it. Well, if it isn’t old Tyoovin!” Nulli gestured toward the corner of his office, filled to the brim with all manner of bales and bundles, where a blurry white spot was just visible. “Sir Max, you haven’t yet met our Tyoovin. Let me introduce you to my predecessor, Sir Tyoovin Salivava, who was killed in the fifty-second year of the Code Epoch when he attempted a raid on the most famous smuggler of the Epoch of Orders. A great man, when all is said and done. I don’t remember his real name. They called him the ‘White Bird,’ and sometimes ‘Slippery Sun.’ Smugglers have always been a romantic bunch. But the fellow didn’t survive the brawl. Old man Tyoovin was a sight to behold. If he hadn’t had so much to drink that night, White Bird would never have caught him. Marvelous, don’t you think?”

“So, you mean he’s a ghost?” I interjected, staring incredulously, staring at the distant blur.

“Of course he’s a ghost. What else could he be? The old man’s not in very good shape today. By that I mean that Tyoovin usually appears with a completely human outline. I guess he’s feeling shy. Actually, Mr. Salivava was so drunk when they killed him that his ghost is never fully aware of what’s going on. But he’s a fine fellow. He’s a big help to me. It’s enough for him to materialize in front of some dapper, jaunty captain and bark, ‘Worthless nincompoops!’, and the chap starts spilling all his secrets at once, without any effort on our part. I can just go to sleep, which is usually exactly what I do. He’s quite something, that Tyoovin. He does love his work. Yes, indeed. But Sir Kofa, what on earth is wrong? I can see in your eyes that this isn’t just a social visit.”

“Nulli, I’ll give you another ten seconds. If, by then, you don’t shut up of your own accord, Max and I will tie you up, gag you, and then get down to business. Is that clear?”

“What do you mean, Sir Kofa? When have I ever refused to get down to business with you? I guessed right. You do have something to talk over with me. Excellent! I’m all ears, gentlemen. But first tell me: this concerns Melifaro and Chemparkaroke, am I right?”

“Sinning Magicians!” Sir Kofa rolled his eyes heavenward. “Of course not! You should know better than that. Why are you so wrought up over Chemparkaroke? Now, Nulli, put on your infamous thinking cap. This has nothing to do with smuggling, so—”

“Well, then, I’m not the one you should be talking to,” Sir Nulli Karif prattled on merrily. “I know who you need to see.”

“First hear me out!” Sir Kofa roared.

This had the desired effect. The fellow went quiet, adjusted his round spectacles, and focused his attention on Sir Kofa, who heaved a sigh of relief and continued.

“I know that you notice any little thing that smacks of the unusual. I want you to try to remember whether you’ve seen anyone lately whose belt kindled your imagination in any way. Wait a minute, though. Don’t even think about giving me the run-down on every belt you’ve ever seen in your life! I’m interested in a certain wide belt made from some unknown substance that looks a bit like mother-of-pearl, only much more vivid. Okay, you can open your mouth now. You’ve been very patient. It was good of you, Nulli.”

“I have seen it!” Sir Nulli Karif proclaimed victoriously. “I saw one, and not so very long ago. Now I have to remember where, and on whom. You know how many people there are hanging about here, Sir Kofa. That stands to reason—it’s a port. Why should it exist at all, if people are going to go around it, instead of passing through? Right? Well, it happened this year. Less than a dozen days ago, to be exact. What else? Um, yes, well, I saw the belt and said to Doo Idoonoo, ‘I’d arrest those pirates in the wink of an eye, if you and I were counted among the more fashion-conscious blokes in town!’ Not singular, but plural—pirates—so there were two of them in those belts. Maybe more. And it just so happened that Doo Idoonoo and I were there together, and then he didn’t show up at work for half a dozen days. He was sick. He’s quite a sickly chap . . . or he’s a malingerer. I don’t know to this day. My head is filled with Magicians-know-what kind of nonsense, but Doo Idoonoo will remember what he was doing before he fell ill. He’s a real hypochondriac. When he comes down with something, he starts to recall every person he’s come into contact with, and tries to make his wife believe they cast the evil eye on him. I’ll send him a call and ask him, and you help yourselves to some kamra, gentlemen. If it runs out, they’ll bring more. You can’t imagine how much of that junk we have here.”

Sir Nulli Karif went quiet, then grew tense. I realized he was engaging in Silent Speech.

A half hour later it was clear to me that Silent Speech had not made our host any less loquacious. Sir Kofa grimaced and coughed loudly. Nulli nodded, shrugged apologetically, and went back into a trance. A few minutes later he got up from his desk and left the office. I glanced at Kofa in bewilderment.

“He’s trying to be discreet, Max,” he explained. “There’s a rumor going around that I can eavesdrop on other people’s Silent Speech.”

“Only a rumor?” I asked.

“Well, actually, I can, but it’s too taxing. And it’s bad for my health. You know, son, there are some things that are better left alone. All the more since it’s easier to read the thoughts of my interlocutors once they’ve finished their conversations. So I had no intention of . . . But there’s no way of convincing anyone of that, so he might as well hide.”

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” said Nulli Karif. His face expressed more satisfaction than compunction. “Speaking frankly, I also felt the call of nature. Have you seen our new facilities? The boys have decorated it with all the smuggled talismans that held no interest for Jafax. Quite an educational spectacle! I found the answer to your question, Sir Kofa, so don’t fret.”

“Well, spit it out, Nulli. We’ll talk about your privy some other time.”

“That’s too bad, Sir Kofa. You’ll never see anything like it again. Well, it’s up to you, of course. It’s all fresh in my memory now. It was a ship owner from Tasher and his captain. They dropped anchor in the port on the morning of the fifth day of this year. They had a magnificent washtub of a vessel, better than many of our own. You can see for yourselves, it’s still moored there. It’s called the Old Maid. Funny, isn’t it? That’s what seamen sometimes call their perfectly innocent ships—it’s enough to make you split your sides! Now let me tell you the name of the ship owner . . .” Nulli rummaged around in the desk, found a stack of registry records and buried his nose in them. “Aha! His name is Agon. That’s all. Tasherians have such short names. Yes, Doo Idoonoo reminded me that their cargo did contain belts like that. We were joking that we would have liked to have been able to pin something on them, and confiscate the belts for ourselves. It was only White Magic of the fourth degree, though, nothing forbidden. We had to let them through.”

Sir Kofa took the records and began studying them.

“Very curious,” he said after some time. “It looks like they had nothing to sell but those belts. Some tourists!”

“They said they were planning to buy goods in Echo. That’s their right,” said Nulli Karif.

“Hmm, quite interesting indeed. Buying here, and selling back home in Tasher, where the prices are much lower. What a wise merchant this Agon is, how well he carries on his trade! A commercial operation like that makes sense only when you’re stealing goods from the capital, not buying them. Now that’s an idea. Is there anyone on the vessel, Nulli?”“Naturally. The captain and some of the crew. They’re either saving on the cost of a hotel or standing guard over their old tub. She’s worth it, a floating bathtub like that, didn’t I tell you? But there’s nothing there that would interest you, Sir Kofa. I’ve gone over everything with a fine-tooth comb.”

“Now we’ll find out what kind of ‘floating bathtub’ this is, and whether there really is anything of interest in it. Thank you for the kamra, Nulli, but let me give you some advice. Go back to the local brand. I suspect that foreign muck is just what’s making your assistant sick. It burns, and gives you a stomach ache. And keep your ears open—if you hear anything else about those belts, send me a call right away, day or night. I’m taking all the papers on the Old Maid— let me sign for them.” Kofa slapped his hand on a fat little tablet Nulli had produced from under his turban. “There we go. Good day, Nulli. Let’s go, Max.”

I bade farewell to the friendly customs officer, and we went to the port to look over the Old Maid and meet her captain.

The contours of the elegant sailing vessel were a vision to behold, The captain was equally impressive. A handsome, stately man with a long braid and a beard that fell below his belt met us at the mooring. A severe black suit put the finishing touches on his appearance: baggy trousers and a loose-fitting tunic down to his knees. The belt, if he was indeed wearing one, was concealed beneath this garment.

“Captain Giatta, at your service, gentlemen,” he intoned drily.

The captain spoke with an amusing drawl. Praise be the Magicians he’s not from Irrashi. We’d have a hard time finding an interpreter, I thought to myself.

“The Secret Investigative Force of Echo. Allow us to board your ship, Mr. Giatta,” Sir Kofa Yox replied no less drily.

“This vessel is the personal property of Mr. Agon, and I’m not authorized to take strangers on board.”

“Anywhere in Unified Kingdom the Secret Investigative Force is fully authorized to turn inside out not only your ‘personal property,’ but also your personal backside, if we think we might find something interesting there.” In Sir Kofa’s voice I detected notes I hadn’t heard before—mellifluous and ominous at the same time.

“There’s only one thing I can tell you, gentlemen. I was ordered not to let anyone onto the ship. I have only one option: to die carrying out my duty. I’m very sorry.”

Captain Giatta did not in the least resemble a dull-witted fanatic. He also had no likeness to a dyed-in-the-wool criminal, though who knows what a dyed-in-the-wool criminal is supposed to look like. The captain had sad, tired eyes, and he pronounced the word “die” almost dreamily.

Sir Kofa sent me a call, Be on your guard, Max. I wouldn’t want to kill him, but... you can see for yourself that this fellow is a bit shady.

Then Kofa turned to the captain again.

“Well, I understand that an order’s an order. In that case you’ll just have to take a ride with us in the amobiler. I hope your boss has no objections to that?”

“No,” Captain Giatta said uncertainly, but with evident relief. “There was no mention of that. So I won’t refuse.”

“Excellent. Command your subordinates to guard the ship, and you’ll have a clear conscience.”

The captain went to give the orders, and I looked at Sir Kofa in some confusion.

“Is this normal behavior for Tasherians, Kofa?”

“Of course not. The chap is bewitched, it’s as clear as day. But there’s an aura of White Magic of only the fourth degree emanating from him, and that’s perfectly legal. Juffin will figure him out, you’ll see. That will be interesting for you, too.”

“And the ship?”

“Never mind the ship. I’ve already sent a call to the House by the Bridge. Lonli-Lokli and a dozen policemen will be here in half an hour. They’re the best team for a first-rate search. Here comes our brave captain now. We’re lucky, all the same, that he decided to come with us,” Kofa whispered as our new companion returned.

“I’m at your service, gentlemen,” Captain Giatta said with dignified bow.

The captain stared out the window in rapture the whole way. He seemed completely unfazed that he was under arrest and was being transported to the House by the Bridge; rather, he was thoroughly enjoying the sightseeing excursion. I shared his enthusiasm: Echo really is a dazzlingly city. I should have grown used to it, but I was still awestruck by its beauty.

Meanwhile, big changes were underway at the House by the Bridge. The Hall of Common Labor was deserted. The cooks had been abandoned to the whims of fate for the time being. Neither Melamori nor Melifaro were anywhere to be seen. They were probably running around chasing after the tantalizing loose ends of secrets, which are abundant in every respectably good-sized mystery. Sir Juffin Hully greeted us practically licking his chops and staring at Captain Giatta like a hungry cat eyeing a bowl of cream.

At first the interrogation seemed improbably dull to me. In his questioning, Juffin zeroed in on some details concerning the technicalities of the ship’s rigging, the commercial practices of the captain’s boss, and the biographies of all the crew members. Mr. Giatta calmly answered some of the questions, and resolutely refused to answer others—questions that seemed completely innocuous to me. Sir Juffin greeted this obstinacy with perfect serenity.

“So you say that your assistant, what’s his name—ah, yes, Mr. Xakka. He used to be employed on vessels of the Unified Kingdom? That’s very interesting, Captain,” Juffin said. “Very interesting, indeed.”

Suddenly the handsome captain rolled his eyes and collapsed on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Juffin wiped the sweat off his brow wearily.

“He’s a tough one. Real tough. And scared to death. I was hardly able to pacify him,” said Juffin. He sighed and continued as though he were delivering a lecture. “You must be very careful with a bewitched man, Max. I could put a strong spell on the captain, but we don’t yet know what exactly they’ve done to him. You know, the combination of spells sometimes leads to unpredictable results. When I was a young and foolish deputy sheriff in the city of Kettari, I came across a bewitched lady once in the line of duty. She was behaving like she was possessed, and I had to practice some sorcery just to save my own skin. This happened far from Echo. The magic in the provinces is far more primitive than we’re used to here. No one expected any surprises. But then my suspect screeched and exploded into pieces. I was absolutely stunned, and my boss, the old sheriff of Kettari, had to devote many days and nights to returning me to my senses.”

Juffin smiled dreamily, as though it were the most pleasant memory of his entire youth.

“So what have you done to him? Was it hypnosis?”

“I have no idea what you mean by ‘hypnosis.’ I just pacified him. Very effectively. Our captain has never been so tranquil, Magicians’ honor! Now we can take that ghastly tunic off him.”

As was to be expected, Captain Giatta’s black garment concealed a valuable belt, an exact replica of the one we had seen yesterday.

“This is a serious matter, of course,” Juffin smiled. “Kofa, Max, look closely at his unkempt clothes. Can you draw any conclusions, Max?”

“Well, it’s not easy to keep up your appearance on a long journey,” I surmised.

“Nonsense. The captain’s trousers and tunic are perfectly neat and tidy. No other ideas?”

“He just hasn’t taken his shirt off in a long time,” Sir Kofa said, taking pity on me. “That’s because—”

“Because he’s wearing the belt over the shirt!” It suddenly dawned on me. “It’s impossible to remove the belt, right? So that other guy in the morgue, he wasn’t a ragamuffin. He just couldn’t remove his belt and was forced to wear his old skaba for days and days.”

“Now you’re talking!” Juffin exclaimed. “By the way, about that fellow in the morgue—he hadn’t taken off his skaba for much longer than just several days. Perhaps a few years. That was plain to see. But the Old Maid sailed into Echo only eight days ago. You’ve got to get to the bottom of this, Kofa. Get in touch with Nulli Karif and ask him to dig around in the archives. You can occupy Melifaro’s office for the time being. I sent him to find out who the victim was. I have a feeling that it won’t be easy. Max and I will work on the poor captain. You can’t assist us there, anyway.”

“Juffin, what do I need with your mysteries? I have enough of my own to solve,” Sir Kofa said with a sly grin, and shut the door behind him.

“You sent him away, because—” I ventured cautiously.

“Yes, yes. Don’t ask foolish questions. Practicing True Magic in the presence of strangers—well, Sir Maba Kalox might be able to permit himself such luxuries, but I can’t. Nor can you. And without True Magic we’ll end up killing our brave captain. That would be unjust, for one thing. And for another, he can tell us a thing or two. For the time being, just watch me, Max; we never know how something will pan out when you’re involved. If you sense that you can help me in some way—be my guest. If not, don’t try to show off.”

Juffin sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and began tapping lightly and rhythmically with his fingertips—not on the mother-of-pearl belt, but in the air. His fingers stopped just fractions of an inch away from the belt. His movements were mesmerizing, and I seemed to doze off in spite of the obvious importance of what was transpiring.

I slept and I dreamed that I was Captain Giatta. I felt rotten, since I knew what was going to happen. This queer old fellow, the Honorable Head of something or other, wanted to help me. But I knew only too well that all he had to do was touch the Belt (in my own mind it had now become a belt with a capital B)—all he had to do was to touch it with the aim of taking it away, and I would die. And my death would be worse than death. It would be an infinitely long and tormenting demise.

“Juffin!” I cried, hardly able to get my tongue around the word, so drowsy was I. “Don’t do it! We’ll end up killing him, no matter how you go about it. It’s something I know.”

“You’re not the one who knows it, Max.” Juffin countered calmly. “It’s Captain Giatta who knows. But he only knows what they told him. Consequently, it might not be true. Take it easy. Don’t allow your empathy to distract you. That can be dangerous.”

And Juffin’s hands finally touched the belt.

A dark wave of pain enveloped my head. It wasn’t simply pain, it was death. What imbecile said that death is a soothing balm? Death is nauseating helplessness and infinite physical pain, gnawing the body into tiny pieces with the voracious teeth of oblivion. In any case, that’s what the death of Captain Giatta was like.

But I’m not Captain Giatta, thought someone next to me. No, not “someone,” of course. That was me doing the thinking, me, Max, a living being, not one of the rough, sinewy scraps of the body of the unfortunate Tasherian captain. Realizing this bare fact held out the promise of salvation.

The alien sensations subsided, and my own returned to me slowly and solemnly, like lazy dancers to Ravel’s Bolero. To see, to breathe, to feel the hard seat of the chair with my own backside—it was wonderful! My clothes were wet through, but even that seemed like something miraculous. I thought of the ridiculous local saying “The dead don’t sweat,” and smiled.

Juffin got up from his crouching position and looked at me in amazement. The cursed mother-of-pearl belt flopped onto the carpet.

“Everything all right, Max?”

“I’m checking. And the captain? Is he dead?”

“No. You saved him, boy.”

“Saved him? Me? Sinning Magicians, how could I have done that?”

“You took on half of his pain for your own. A strong person is quite capable of surviving half of it. I’ve never seen anything so strange—the belt itself was pretending, Max. It was putting on an act, like a regular cunning human being. And when I had ascertained that it was already harmless—well, you now know it all.”

I nodded, exhausted. My head was spinning, and it wasn’t so much that the world seemed to be receding from me as that it was trembling like jello. Juffin’s voice seemed to reach me from someplace very far away.

“Come on. Take a gulp of your favorite potion.”

Juffin poured some Elixir of Kaxar into my mouth. That meant I would be in tiptop shape in no time. Soon the world did stopped quivering, although I still didn’t experience my usual buoyancy.

“You both underwent the same thing, but it will no doubt be some time before the captain begins to function normally again,” Juffin observed. “Never mind, we’ll turn him over to Sir Abilat now. You’ll see, by morning he will have recovered. I think everything will be much easier when our brave captain begins to talk. By the way, Max, now you can imagine what the effects are when some daredevil begins casting spells while wearing the Earring of Oxalla. Do you remember asking why they were afraid? Well, there’s no better answer to your own question than personal experience. Well done, Max!”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m a victim of circumstance,” I sighed. “I had no choice about whether I wanted to save the poor bloke or not. Now if I had really done all of that of my own free will—”

“That’s just fruitless sophistry,” Juffin declared dismissively, with a wave of his hand. “If you did it, you did it. That’s what matters. You don’t really have to know exactly what you’re doing or why. You did it because you could. And that’s why I say you’ve done well. Am I making myself clear?”

“Clear enough. Give me some more Elixir, or you’ll be seeing the corpse of the great hero by dinnertime. You can add it to your stew of dried Magicians.”

“Take it, but don’t get carried away,” Juffin handed me the bottle. “Listen, you probably haven’t heard the news yet. Now you can buy this potion in any store, since magic of the eighth degree is all you need to brew it. It didn’t occur to me to tell you before.”

“Now I’ll never die,” I said with a blissful smile. “No one’s going to wipe me off the face of the earth. Finally, my life has a meaning! I’ll drink a bottle of Elixir a day, and reach enlightenment.”

“That sounds like our good old Max,” Juffin announced happily. “Just a moment ago there was some pale, washed-out shadow in our midst . . . Still, I think you ought to rest. Go home, try to sleep, or at least just lounge around for a while. We’ll manage until morning.”

“Go away at the most interesting moment? Do you take me for a fool?”

“There won’t be any more surprises tonight, Max. Kofa and I will sniff out what we can, and we’ll wait till Captain Giatta wakes up. I’ve already dismissed Melamori for the day, and Lonli-Lokli is heading for home right after the investigation at the port. I’ll let Melifaro go, too, as soon as he tells me the name of our deceased friend. You, Max, would be getting at least a dozen Days of Freedom from Care if it weren’t for this blasted case. So, homeward, march! That’s an order. Can you stand up?”

“After three slugs of Elixir? I could do a jig!” I said.

I stood up—then collapsed in a heap on the floor. My legs knew what they were supposed to do, but they refused to obey.

“I suspected as much,” Juffin sighed. “Well, let me give you a hand.”

“Strange, I felt fine until I tried to stand up,” I said, leaning on his shoulder. “Now I feel more like a bag of potatoes than a human being.”

“Never mind, it will pass,” the boss said, trying to console me. “By morning you’ll be as right as rain. Be here by noon, all right?”

“Of course! I can be here even earlier.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m no good as a nurse. I hate looking after invalids.”

Juffin stuffed me in the back seat of the official amobiler, relieved to get me off his hands. And home I went.

I was able to get out of the amobiler on my own devices and made it to my living room without too much effort. Things weren’t going badly, all things considered. After a while, I sent a call to the Sated Skeleton. I had just managed to hobble to the bathroom when the delivery boy arrived, so I had to turn around and go back. My rate of progress was nothing to brag about.

I stripped off my clothes, still damp with sweat, splashed around in the water, and then had something to eat. An hour later I felt much better. My exhaustion gradually turned into a pleasant fatigue, so I crawled into bed. I fell asleep before midnight. Some night owl I was!

My sweet dream visited me afresh. Melamori appeared at the window, paused, then started to approach. I tried to move, but as always in these marvelous dreams, I could only just raise myself off my pillow. Melamori came still closer, and sat down beside me. I lifted my hand and tried to embrace my vision. The vision didn’t protest.

I still don’t know whether it was the unpleasant recent events that were to blame, or whether the hefty portion of Elixir of Kaxar had given me unprecedented strength. This time, though, my heavy, unwieldy body, and she who was the cause of my grief, both obeyed me. When the vision of Melamori was finally under my blanket, I mentally congratulated myself on my victory.

Then something happened that couldn’t be explained by any stretch of the imagination. I got scratched. I actually got scratched; and the culprit was the sharp edge of a medallion adorning the lovely chest of my wondrous vision. For a moment, I stared bewildered at the tiny droplet of blood on my palm. Then I woke up. At that very instant, I received a monstrous jab in the belly.

“That was . . . that was worse than swinish, Max!” Melamori shrieked—a flesh and blood Melamori, who was drawing her elegant little foot up for the next attack.

The lady was aiming for the place that should never be targeted under any circumstances. Without even thinking, I grabbed hold of her bare foot, and yanked with all my might. Melamori collapsed onto the floor, curled up into a ball, and rolled into the far corner of the bedroom.

“You did cast a spell after all!” she hissed. “I asked you not to, but you had to bare your fangs and do it anyway! You’re worse than the ancient Magicians! At least they didn’t lie when they performed their malicious tricks!”

“I didn’t lie to you!” I said with the equanimity of absolute shock. “Don’t you see I’m just as surprised as you are? I didn’t really do anything unusual. I just dreamed about you, and I felt glad that I did. I don’t see that there’s any reason for a brawl. You should be glad that miracles—”

“I don’t need any of your filthy miracles!” Melamori snapped.

I was astonished at how much venom could fit into such a small lady.

“No sniveling vampire would dare force me to do such a thing! It’s disgusting! To go to sleep in your own home and wake up in someone else’s bed. In the bed of some creature who doesn’t even deserve to be called human. It’s outrageous! You make me sick, Max! Do you know what I’m going to do now? I’m going to the Quarter of Trysts. At least there I’ll be able to meet a real live man and forget about this nightmare. I’d kill you if I could! You’re lucky that I can only kill humans!”

Slowly, my blood began to boil. When someone dumps so much rubbish on you all at once, no amount of breathing exercises promoted by Lonli-Lokli will do any good.

“Fury! Shrew!” I bellowed. “Coward! Go find some weakling whose head you can turn with your pathetic wiles! You need a man you can kill at the drop of a hat! ‘Get on his trail’ and it’s all up with him! I’m telling you, there was no spell! It was a wonder—a mi-ra-cle!”

“You dare say that to me, after all you’ve done?” Melamori asked, her voice tight with rage.

“I’ve done? I didn’t do anything. I just went to bed, closed my eyes, and dreamed about you. That’s the extent of my ‘magic.’ If you don’t believe me—fine! Suit yourself.”

I remembered how happy my dream had made me, and the consciousness of loss gave me a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. A new wave of rage swept over me. A dense ball of bitter saliva collected in my mouth. Lady Melamori was lucky that I was able to control myself. I spat on the floor, then stared dully at a hole in the carpet that gave off a cloud of reeking steam. When I got a grip on myself, I turned around. Melamori had shrunk into the corner, trembling. I felt sad and ashamed. At that moment life struck me as some monumental joke.

“I’m sorry, Melamori. I said some very foolish things. And you did, too, believe me. Take my amobiler and go home. We’ll talk later.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” Melamori said, creeping out of her hiding place and inching toward the door. “Even if you’re not a liar, all the worse! That means you can’t help it! Never mind—I’ll find a way. No one will ever force me to do anything! You hear me?”

She slammed the door so violently that one of my small fragile cabinets crashed to the floor. I clutched at my hair and shook my head—everything had gotten completely out of hand! It seemed my romance was smashed to smithereens. Yes, Max, that’s exactly what had happened.

I got out of bed and went downstairs. Dirty, rotten vampires like me have the bad habit of pouring gallons of kamra into themselves after forcing themselves upon sweet ladies. Besides that, we smoke our revolting, stinky cigarettes from another World, and this creates an illusion of emotional equilibrium in us. True, it doesn’t last very long. I was so tense and on edge that my lethargy evaporated like magic. Adrenalin is a powerful thing.

The fact is, I don’t have a drop of patience. If something goes wrong in my life, I’m not able to wait for an auspicious moment to remedy the situation. I’d rather spoil everything once and for all, as long as it’s today, than subject myself to anguished expectation and breathing exercises with an eye toward the future. Of course, it’s stupid, but there are things that are stronger than I am. Waiting and hoping is a path that may lead to sudden madness, but running amuck through town like a complete idiot—that’s sometimes just the ticket! Almost any action I take gives me the illusion that I’m stronger than unmerciful circumstances. I have to do something. This is my form of reasoning: a protective reflex, the uncouth, visceral reaction of a body in trouble. In short, what I truly hate is sitting in one place and suffering.

I went back to the bedroom and started getting dressed. I thought—I was absolutely certain—that I was going to go to work. I’d go help Juffin. What kind of work would he have me do, though? In any case, with a sip of Elixir of Kaxar in the morning I’d feel as good as new.

Only when I had gone outside did I realize that I was dressed not in the Mantle of Death, but in the swamp-colored looxi I had been wearing during my recent gluttonous outing with Sir Kofa. I shrugged. I didn’t have the strength to go back and change. The house awakened painful memories, too fresh for me to want to run up against them again. But going to work in these clothes wasn’t exactly appropriate, either.

I’ll take a walk through town, calm down a bit, do some thinking, and then we’ll see, I decided, turning into the first alleyway I came to.

My legs carried me along wherever they wished. I tried not to interfere. My memory, and the urge to get my bearings in my surroundings, were suspended for the time being. My thoughts also seemed to have taken a short vacation, and this was wonderful. I must admit, I hadn’t counted on this kind of relief.

My headlong flight through the night was interrupted by the rind of some exotic fruit. I slipped, plopping down on the sidewalk in the most inelegant manner. It was good I wasn’t wearing the Mantle of Death—this clumsy footwork could easily have soiled my sinister reputation. The unexpectedness of my fall from grace also jolted my memory, letting loose a stream of curses from my far-off homeland, long slumbering in the recesses of my memory. Two men who were coming out of a tavern stared at me in unfeigned delight. I went quiet, and realized I should pick myself up off the mosaic sidewalk. Praise be the Magicians, at least it was dry.

I got up and looked at the signboard over the establishment from which the two men had just emerged from. The name of the tavern struck me as more than fateful: The Vampire’s Dinner. I smiled bitterly and went inside. What I found was fully in keeping with my expectations, and filled me with a sense of foreboding. In the semidarkness stood the solitary silhouette of the barkeeper. His hair was disheveled and his eyelids glowed phosphorescent. From his ear, naturally, dangled the Earring of Oxalla. I began to feel more cheerful. This is where I should have brought Melamori for our discussion today. I think the proprietor of this establishment would certainly have been on my side.

I sat down at the table farthest from the door. The surface was daubed with red paint. These were supposed to represent spots of blood. I considered for a moment, then ordered something from the Old Cuisine. I was lucky that unhappiness always improved my appetite.

I was served a harmless-looking piece of pie with no outward signs of the vampire esthetic. When I made a tiny incision, the pie literally blew up like a piece of popcorn that explodes over a sizzling hot fire. On my plate there was now an airy cloud of a substance so delicious I had to order another one as soon as the first portion was gone. By the way, this culinary confection was called Breath of Evil.

When I had fallen into a blissful stupor, I ordered some kamra and began to fill my pipe. On top of all the other misfortunes, my meager supply of cigarette butts had dried up. That’s how it always was with me: if it rains, it pours.

I smoked, and stared at my fellow patrons with the lively interest of an imbecile. One of them was about to leave. His hairdo was just like that of Captain Giatta, whose life I had inadvertently saved: a braid down to his belt and an ample beard. Was this fellow perhaps from the Old Maid? Some ship’s cook adding to his stockpile of trade secrets? I scrutinized the stranger more carefully. He was just fishing around for his wallet in the mysterious depths of his flowing robe. Sinning Magicians! The dull gleam of mother-of-pearl: a belt. More precisely, the Belt! Another bewitched sailor. I’d have to do something.

Of course, I could simply have arrested the fellow. It was my duty to do so. But I understood very well the remarkable behavior of Captain Giatta. A bewitched man was quite capable of believing that he had to face death rather than surrender. So I decided just to follow him. My clothes, Praise be the Magicians, were completely unobtrusive. Why not do a little spying? A much better diversion than moaning over my broken heart. I tossed a crown down on the blood-spattered table. This was, of course, too much to pay for a few pieces of pie in a dive like this, but I felt very sympathetic toward the proprietor of the Vampire’s Dinner. The disheveled slyboots caught the gleam of shiny metal and his eyes lit up. I put a finger to my lips and slipped out the door. My bearded friend was just disappearing around the corner. I quickened my pace.

I didn’t recall having been in this part of Echo before, or perhaps it was just that at night it was hard to recognize. Anyway, I wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing. I didn’t take my eyes off the back of the stranger. Where was he taking me? I already envisioned how I would discover the hideout of a whole band of belted long-beards, and Juffin and I would swoop in and save them from their benighted existence. Actually, I wasn’t too eager to repeat my recent flirtation with someone else’s death. Never mind, we’d get out of it somehow.

Sinning Magicians, who would have thought! The bearded object of my undivided attention had led me not just anywhere, but into the very heart of the Quarter of Trysts. Bewitched or not, it seemed he still suffered from loneliness and wanted to try his luck. I smiled bitterly. Lady Melamori was kicking up her heels somewhere nearby, if she hadn’t reconsidered her vow to come here seeking oblivion from my repellent embrace. I couldn’t just let this smart fellow slip away, getting his happiness for a night! And jumping into bed with the happy couple was out of the question.

But life was wiser than I was. I didn’t have to find a way out of a ridiculous situation. The stranger stopped short and turned to me.

“You’re too late, mate,” he said in the same distinctive Tasherian drawl that Captain Giatta spoke with. “Do you know how many people there are all around us? If you take another step I’ll shout for help.”

Then it dawned on me. He thought I was trying to rob him. Of course, what else would a wealthy stranger think if he had been pursued by a suspicious character in a nondescript looxi for the last half hour?

“I’m no robber,” I said, with my most charming smile. “I’m much worse. There’s no stopping me. You came at it from the wrong end. I’m from the Secret Investigative Force of the Unified Kingdom. Are you in the mood for a walk to the House by the Bridge?”

I winked at the bearded chap. The stupid circumstances of my conversation with the suspect in the middle of the Quarter of Trysts suddenly filled me with a senseless buoyancy. I swiveled my hips suggestively and pursed my lips in a Cupid’s bow.

“Tonight, I am your fate. What’s your name, handsome?”

“Handsome” gasped for air. My unbridled approach seemed to have disarmed him. But the Tasherian’s voice remained firm.

“I can’t go with you, sir. I very much regret it, but I am forced to stand my ground.”

And the bearded one drew an enormous butcher knife from under his looxi—the kind of knife that is probably considered to be an ordinary dagger in distant Tashera.

“No one loves me,” I concluded. “Fine, let’s fight it out. All the more since I know your weak point, my friend. I’m not going to slice you up into pieces. I’ll just undo your wonderful belt and see what happens. Well, have you changed your mind? Give me your little toy.”

Recent events had made me absurdly reckless. I was even surprised at myself. I seemed to have decided I had nothing to lose. My opponent seemed to think likewise.

“It’s all the same to me,” the stranger said gloomily, grasping his instrument more deftly. “We’ll have to fight. I’m very sorry, sir.”

With a sudden movement of the hand, a silver bolt of lightning pierced my stomach. Rather, it should have pierced me—only I suddenly had no stomach for it to pierce.

To tell the truth, to this day I don’t understand what happened. I was behaving like a second-rate hero of a B movie, so I should have died right there, on the mosaic sidewalk of the Quarter of Trysts. Why didn’t it happen? It’s hard to say. I think that some of Juffin Hully’s lessons must have gotten through to me, though I’m still not sure he taught me anything of the sort.

The knife fell on the mosaic, and I tried to figure out what was happening. I wasn’t there. I just wasn’t. That’s all. I had disappeared somehow, gone “nowhere” and ceased to be “something”—for the space of a second. Then I appeared again. Just in time to step on the knife with my foot, as well as on the hand of the stunned would-be killer.

“Hi!” I said. “Now we’re going to undress. Or we’ll just go straight to the House by the Bridge. As you wish, darling. Take your pick. Today is your day.”

The bearded fellow jerked with such force that I almost flew head over heels, along with my tasteless jokes. It finally dawned on me that my chances for winning this contest of wills were very slim. The Mantle of Death and lots of good food had made a very benign fellow out of Max. An uneasy feeling of doom had crept up behind me and was about to leap out and put an end to my existence. I didn’t like it a bit.

I knew very well that I wouldn’t spit at the bearded chap. It would be cruel to kill him, not to mention foolish. Who knew what kinds of secrets the angry old salt was keeping inside him? On the other hand, how could I fight a strapping fellow like that? I had never been any good with my fists. Making a big noise, yes, but standing my ground in a fight to the death was not my cup of tea. Whatever Sir Juffin Hully said about the possible dire consequences of mixing two curses, I had to take the risk and do a bit of sorcery.

Praise be the Magicians, at least I knew how to do something. With a practiced gesture, I hid the long-beard between the thumb and the forefinger of my left hand.

Exhausted, I sat down on the pavement and hung my head between my knees. I should take this souvenir to Juffin, I thought gloomily. I’ll go presently. Let me just sit here a minute, then on to the House by the Bridge, blast it!

I felt stunned. It seemed as if an enormous heavy stone had settled on me, and I couldn’t move.

Then I felt a gentle hand come to rest on my shoulder.

“Has something happened, sir? We heard some noise. Perhaps you need some help?” asked an elegant, bright-haired lady in a richly adorned looxi.

Her broad-shouldered companion sat on his haunches and stared searchingly into my face. What could I tell them, these fine, upstanding young people?

After all, just recently I had been Sir Max, the most lighthearted, frivolous civil servant on either side of the Xuron.

“It’s all right, kind people,” I said with a smile. “I came here with a friend, and that idiot refused point blank to visit the Trysting House. He cried half the night about how lonely he was, but as soon as we were here he got cold feet. I’m ashamed to say that he was afraid. He punched me and then ran off.”

“Your friend must be crazy,” the lady said, shaking her head in disapproval. “How can someone fear his own destiny?”

“It turns out that it’s possible,” I said, staring at my left hand, where, inconceivably, the arrestee was being held. “So I’m all right. Thank you kindly. Good night to you.”

“We certainly will have a good night,” the lady said, smiling.

Her companion finally stopped studying my face and took the woman by the hand.

“Magicians be with your mad friend. Drop in yourself and meet your destiny. Morning is a long way away,” she grinned archly, waving goodbye.

Left alone, I looked pensively at the Trysting House. Had this fair-haired stranger bewitched me? I didn’t know why, but I suddenly wished very much to go inside. After all, I still hadn’t been with a woman in this World. Except in my dreams—but that didn’t quite count.

As though from a distance, I observed a tall young man in a modest garment, who stood up from the pavement and reached for the doorknob. That young man seemed to be me. In any case, I discovered that I was already on the threshold of that establishment. When someone asked me to pay two crowns, I dug nervously in the pocket of my looxi. The building was located on that side of the street where the Seekers were men, and the Seeker paid a double entrance fee.

I paid the money, but had no idea what to do next. Melifaro’s explanations had evaporated from my memory. What the heck was I thinking, coming here with an arrestee in custody! I felt slightly panicky. I realized that in my other hand I was grasping a tiny, smooth ceramic tag with the number 19 stamped on it. How and when I had managed to come by it was a mystery.

I stared thoughtfully at a huge glass receptacle that was sitting on the floor by the entrance. It was full of tags of the same kind. I had probably taken it from there. What now? I wondered in horror. I started to tremble. I no longer remembered that I had come here to meet an unknown woman, to meet my own destiny. I had only one goal: not committing another blunder. I had already screwed up enough for one night!

“What are you waiting for, sir?” the affable host asked in surprise. “Your number is 19. Go meet your destiny, my friend.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me why I came here. People are so absent-minded; and I’m a person, after all.”

I finally remembered what I was supposed to do. I slowly entered the rooms where the Waiters, lonely women both beautiful and plain, were biding their time. An absurd thought flickered through my brain: I was no doubt the first cop who had ever sought a lover with an arrestee in his fist!

One, two, three . . . I couldn’t even make out any faces. They all swam together in a blurry mass, and I walked through it with a foolish grin on my face. Six, seven . . . too bad, I have another number, sweetheart. Ten, eleven . . . May I get past, please? Eighteen, nineteen . . . You’re the one I’m looking for, my lady.

“Are you doing this on purpose? Are you casting spells again?” asked a familiar voice. “You shouldn’t be doing this, Max. Well, anyway, that’s that. You can’t fool fate, can you?”

I finally managed to focus my eyes. The pale splotch of a face slowly acquired a sweet, familiar outline. Lady Melamori looked at me guardedly. It seemed she couldn’t decide what to do—whether to throw herself at me in a warm embrace, or run for her life.

“That’s it!” I said. “This really is the limit!”

Then I sat down on the floor and began to laugh. I couldn’t have cared less about propriety and all the rest. My good sense simply refused to take part in this implausible adventure.

My little tantrum seemed to convince Melamori better than any rational argument could that there was no plot against her, and never had been. Ever.

“Let’s get out of here, Sir Max!” she begged, sitting on her haunches next to me. She carefully stroked my poor, crazy head, and whispered, “You’re scaring the visitors. Let’s go. You can laugh all you want when we’re outside. Come on, get up.”

I leaned obediently on the strong, small hand. Sinning Magicians, this delicate lady lifted me up without any effort at all!

Outside, the fresh breeze seemed to put everything in its proper place, and I no longer felt like laughing.

“Strange things have been happening lately, Melamori,” I said. Then I was silent. What else was there to say?

“Max,” she cried. “I’m so ashamed. When I was in your bedroom—well, now I understand that I did something very foolish, but I was so frightened! I completely lost my head!”

“I can imagine,” I said. “You fall asleep in your own house, and you wake up the devil knows where.”

“What’s ‘the devil’?” Melamori asked.

It wasn’t the first time I had had to explain my way out of such idiomatic scrapes. Now I didn’t even try.

“It doesn’t matter. But you know, I really don’t know what I did. I still have no idea how it happened.”

“I believe you,” Melamori said, nodding. “Now I realize you didn’t know your own powers, but . . . it’s too late.”

“Why?”

“Because it has already happened. Only we’re going to your place, not mine. I live too close. Let this last walk be a long one.”

“The last walk? Are you out of your mind, Melamori? Do you think I’ll bite your head off in a burst of passion?”

I tried to be upbeat, so that I could raise my spirits.

“Of course you’re not going to bite my head off. It wouldn’t fit in your mouth,” Melamori replied with a weak smile. “But that’s not the point. Don’t you realize where we just met, Max?”

“In the Quarter of Trysts. You’ll never believe how I got there. Think what you wish, but I ended up there in pursuit of a fellow in a mother-of-pearl belt. You remember all that business with the belts, don’t you?”

Melamori nodded, and I went on.

“We had a little scuffle on the street, and then I arrested him. He’s still here.” I pointed to my left fist.

“Do you mean to say—” Melamori burst out laughing.

Now it was her turn to sit down on the sidewalk. I sat next to her, my arm around her shoulders as she howled with laughter.

“And I thought that you—Oh, it’s too much! You’re the most extraordinary fellow in the World, Sir Max! I adore you! What a shame!”

At long last, we got up to go.

“Have you never been to the Quarter of Trysts?” Melamori asked suddenly.

“No. In the Barren Lands everything is much simpler. Or much more complicated, depending on how you look at it. So, no. This is the first time.”

“And you don’t know—” Melamori’s voice broke into a whisper. “You don’t know that people who meet in the Quarter of Trysts are supposed to spend the night and then part forever?”

“In our case that’s absolutely impossible,” I said, and smiled, although my heart was slowly sinking down to my toes. “We aren’t both going to quit our jobs, I suppose.”

Melamori shook her head.

“That’s not necessary. We can see each other as often as we like, Max, only we will be strangers. I mean—well, you know what I mean. It’s the tradition. You can’t do anything about it. It’s my own fault. I went there to get back at someone. I don’t know who, or why . . . I shouldn’t have gone there, and you shouldn’t have either. Although, who knows whose fault it is? People don’t really have any choice in the matter.”

“But—”

I was completely bewildered. My mind was such a mess I should have just shut up.

“Let’s not talk about this, all right Max? Tomorrow is still a long way away, and . . . they say destiny is wiser than we are.”

“We won’t if you don’t want to. But I think all this sounds like primitive malarky. We can decide for ourselves what to do. Why do we need all those silly traditions? If you wish, we can just walk around today as though nothing happened. No one will tell anyone anything, and then—”

“I don’t want to, and it’s impossible,” Melamori sighed, smiling, and covered my mouth gently with her ice-cold hand. “I’m telling you, enough about that, all right?”

We continued on our way in silence. The Street of Old Coins was quite close already. Another few minutes, and we entered my dark living room. Ella and Armstrong began meowing pitifully. Day or night, in female company or all alone, as soon as I walk in the door they demand food! I was distracted for a moment by the feline distress signals. Melamori examined the cats with astonishment.

“So those are the parents of the future Royal Cats? Where did you get them, Max?”

“What do you mean? They were sent from Melifaro’s estate, didn’t you know?”

“Why does the whole Court consider them to be an unknown breed, then?”

“Magicians only know. I just started taking care of them. It seems never to have occurred to them that cats need to be groomed. Melamori, are you sure everything’s all right? More than anything on earth I hate coercion.”

“I already told you. Nothing depends on us, Max. It’s out of our hands. What’s happened has happened. The only thing we can do now is waste even more time than we have already.”

“All right. I won’t argue with you. For now,” I said, and put my arms around her. “I’m not going to waste any more time, either.”

“Just try not to let your arrestee escape. The one thing I’m not planning on doing tonight is chasing him all over the house.”

Melamori smiled a sad, ironic smile. I tried to imagine our pursuit, and laughed so hard I almost fell down the stairs, taking Melamori with me. Melamori struggled with her imagination for a second and then started giggling, too. Perhaps we weren’t behaving too romantically, but that was just what we needed. Laughter spices up the passions much better than the languid seriousness of lovers clinging to one another in melodramas. And I hate melodramas.

Of course, the thing that kept nagging at me was that crazy talk about “the last time,” which Melamori had started and ended so abruptly on our way to my place. They say that the anticipation of parting heightens pleasure. I’m not too sure about that. I think that night might have been perfect if it hadn’t been for the thought that morning would soon arrive, and I would have to wage a hopeless struggle against the prejudices and superstitions of my newly acquired treasure. These thoughts did not enhance my desperate attempts to be happy.

“How strange,” Melamori said. “I was so afraid of you, Max. But now I find that it’s all so peaceful and easy to be with you. So peaceful and easy . . . As though it was all I had ever needed my whole life. How stupid it all is.”

“What are you calling stupid?” I smiled. “I hope you aren’t referring to what just happened.”

“Well,” said Melamori, laughing. “That wouldn’t be the right word for it. It’s not exactly an intellectual activity.”

Now we were both laughing. Suddenly, Melamori broke out in a wail I wouldn’t have been able to imagine possible. I was so upset that it took me a whole minute to think of a way to calm her down. Some “thinker” I am!

The dawn that I had been dreading the whole night nevertheless crept up in the heavens at the appointed hour. Melamori dozed on my embroidered pillow, smiling in her sleep.

At that moment, I became absolutely certain of what I must do. The plan of action, a very simple but effective one, was as clear as the morning sky. I simply wouldn’t let her go. I’d let her sleep, and when she woke up I would sit beside her. I’d throw my arms around her. She would start to squeal and try to break free, and would spew all kinds of nonsense about traditions, and I would silently hear her out and wait as long as necessary for her to be quiet. Then I’d say to her, “Sweetheart, while you were asleep I came to an understanding with destiny. It won’t object if we stay together a little bit longer.” And if Lady Melamori still protested, I just wouldn’t listen.

I finally started feeling a bit better, and I even felt sleepy, but I couldn’t afford to take any chances. I took a hearty swig of Elixir of Kaxar. My drowsiness evaporated, muttering an apology. There remained one problem to take care of: I really wanted to use the toilet. I didn’t want to leave my outpost, but my upbringing wouldn’t allow me to wet the bed.

A half hour later I realized that there were a few things a person couldn’t postpone indefinitely, and I looked attentively at Melamori. She was sleeping, there could be no doubt about it. I left the room on tiptoe, and shot downstairs like a speeding bullet. The trip didn’t take too much time. When I got back up to the living room, my heart suddenly cried out, wrenched with pain: “That’s the end of that, boy!”

Completely dejected, I slumped down on the step and heard the outside door slam followed by the clacking of my own amobiler. I realized it was all over. This was truly the end.

I wanted to send a call to Melamori, but I knew it wouldn’t help. Nothing would. The destiny that I had reached an understanding with thumbed its nose at me.

After I had somehow mastered my emotions, I bathed, got dressed, and went to work. After all, the bearded arrestee, who might have been considered quite an effective love potion, was still balled up in my fist. The fact that this bizarre talisman hadn’t brought me luck was another matter altogether.

The amobiler wasn’t in front of the door, of course. I wondered whether stealing the personal property of a lover from the Quarter of Trysts was also a hallowed tradition.

I had to go to the House by the Bridge on foot. Every stone on the pavement screamed out my loss. “A few hours ago you were passing us together,” the ancient, one-story houses on the Street of Old Coins reproached me heartlessly. I felt absolutely forlorn. Then I did the only thing that promised to bring me any relief: I sent a call to Sir Juffin Hully. I’m on my way, Juffin. I’m bringing a present. In the meantime, how are things?

They almost did you in last night, didn’t they? the chief inquired.

Yes. Last night, and then again this morning—in a manner of speaking. Not more than fifteen minutes ago. But that’s beside the point right now. Talk to me, Juffin. Just tell me how the case of the belts is going, all right?

Silent Speech, as always, required my full concentration, so I couldn’t think about anything else when I was using it. And that was just what I needed.

Of course. When have I ever refused to save time? Listen carefully. First, Melifaro was able to identify the victim yesterday. He was a young man named Apatti Xlen. Ah yes, this name doesn’t say anything to you. It was a celebrated case, Max. It happened about two years ago, in the Moni Mak family home. Yes, Max, it was Sir Ikas Moni Mak, grand nephew of Magician Nuflin himself. He had received a visit from some old friends of his wife, the Xlens, who had settled on their estate in Uruland during the Troubled Times. When it was time for young Apatti to decide what to do with his insignificant life, they sent him to the capital, where the boy lived for half a year in the home of Moni Mak. I think he was going to school. Then he disappeared, taking with him the White Seven-Leaf Clover. We know for certain that not long before this Apatti had bought an elegant, gleaming belt in one of the harbor shops. Sir Ikas remembered this object, so there can be no doubt—

“Good day, Sir Max. You walk almost as quickly as you drive.”

Silent Speech broke off, and live conversation started up, for I was already in the office I shared with Juffin.

“Or I drive as slowly as I walk. But there’s something I don’t understand. What did he swipe from the magician’s grandnephew? I asked, trying to put up a good front, as though nothing at all had happened to me. Juffin should hardly have had to pay for my fatal inability to lead an office romance to a “happily ever after.”

The boss shook his head and thrust a mug of kamra into my hand. His eyes expressed ordinary human compassion. Or was I just imagining it?

“He stole the White Seven-Leaf Clover, Max. That’s just a pretty bauble—only a copy of the Shining Seven-Leaf Clover, the amulet of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover. Already during the Epoch of Orders there were rumors about the extraordinary power of this object, but I’ll tell you a terrible state secret: all these rumors were complete hogwash. The only thing the Shining Seven-Leaf Clover is capable of is bringing personal happiness to Sir Nuflin . . .”

“That’s no small thing!”

“Yes, but on the other hand it’s not all that much. And the White Seven-Leaf Clover can’t even do that. It’s just a pretty, useless gewgaw. But the boy snatched it and disappeared for two years. We checked up on it: the Old Maid was anchored in our harbor at that time, so I personally haven’t a single doubt that poor Apatti spent a long vacation in Tashera, and has now come home, only to be killed. Do you know how he died?”

“He decided to foreswear all ornamentation? Took off the belt?”

“You guessed it. Almost. The fellow didn’t do anything so foolish of his own accord. He was robbed. And because the robber was interested in the belt, he removed it right then and there. You can imagine what happened to Apatti. A terrible death.”

I shuddered.

“But why are you so sure that it was a robber? Maybe the fellow decided to challenge the ban on removing it. Maybe he decided to do just what he felt like doing?”

“And experience all the charming consequences firsthand? Don’t you think that hypothesis is a bit too daring? Besides, they already found the robber. Dead. He was being fitted for some new clothes and he took off the belt, poor chap. The police took him to the morgue yesterday evening, soon after you left. Now the two of them are lying there side by side, a vision to behold.”

“I see,” I replied. “And what about our captain?”

“He’s sleeping sweetly after a heart-to-heart talk. Here’s what he told us: Agon the merchant hired him four years ago for a trading voyage. He gave him the belt as a ‘token of friendship.’ The captain immediately put it on and fell right into the trap. They showed him the power of the belt. Not the full extent of its power—but enough, as a warning. Then Mr. Agon explained to the poor blighter that his job was to carry out orders unquestioningly. If he did, everything would be fine. The captain didn’t have to do anything very unusual. He just sailed the Old Maid from Tashera to Echo and back. And he protected it from curious eyes. Giatta recruited his crew himself, although before the last journey Agon brought a new cook on board. He didn’t consult Giatta about the decision—he just showed the old cook the door. The main thing was that the new cook wasn’t wearing a belt. All the while, Giatta is sure that Mr. Agon was afraid of his own protégé. Do you smell an intrigue, Max? I think that’s our protagonist. Never mind, we’ll get around to him eventually. By the way, when the cook arrived in Echo he disappeared, so food was brought to the crew from a nearby inn. Actually, he didn’t really help us out all that much, the great Captain Giatta, belts notwithstanding. Agon understood that you can’t trust captives or slaves. By the way, the captain intends to devote the rest of his long life to kissing your feet. He believes you saved his skin and his soul, and he’s absolutely right.” Juffin paused.“So, what kind of ‘present’ have you brought for me?”

“Another happy belt-owner. He was about to slash me to pieces. But everything turned out all right in the end, as you see. I still don’t know how I managed. I witnessed a knife pierced my insides, after which I disappeared, and then suddenly I was there again—completely unharmed.”

“I know,” Juffin grinned. “You managed that trick very well. All the rest was pretty awful, though. You behaved like a child, Sir Max. Aren’t you ashamed?”

“Nah. I’m a fool, of course—but I always suspected it. I didn’t need any more proof.”

I recalled how I had frightened the stranger with my bawdy antics, and smiled involuntarily.

“Melifaro would have been amused, don’t you think?”

“I do think so,” Juffin said laughing. “But the way you followed him—that was a very poor performance. The fellow spotted you within a few seconds and made a beeline for the nearest populated area. I’m afraid it won’t be any easier to teach you the art of shadowing than it was to make a decent cook out of you. Turning you into a ghost was less difficult.”

“Juffin,” I asked cautiously. “Were you watching me the whole time?”

“As though I have nothing better to do! I only came near when I smelled trouble. I wanted to help you, but you wriggled out of it somehow on your own. Do you remember how you did it?”

“Are you joking? I had no idea what was going on!”

“Naturally. That’s the misfortune of talented people, Max. You act first, and then you try to understand how it got you into trouble. We ordinary folks are much more reliable. All right then, let’s examine your discovery.”

“Shall I let him out?” I asked, getting ready.

“Wait, don’t make any rash decisions. First, tell me, what does he look like, this unsuccessful butcher of live meat? I was watching you, not him.”

I began describing the appearance of my companion from the Quarter of Trysts, but as I babbled away, bitter memories clutched at my heart again. I fell silent and stared dully at the floor.

“Excellent, Max!” Juffin held himself aloof from my worldly sorrow. “Do you know who you’ve captured? It’s the owner of the Old Maid himself—Mr. Agon in the flesh. Your famous luck is better than any amulet.”

“Great,” I said morosely. “You can tear me to pieces and dole me out to the poor and suffering. I won’t object. So what should I do with him now? Keep him as a memento of a wonderful night?”

“That’s not such a bad idea. I suspect that Mr. Agon is closer than anyone to solving the unpleasant mystery of these foolish belts. Among the other bans placed on him by the owner of the belt is no doubt the prohibition against having anything to do with the authorities. Once he’s in the House by the Bridge, he’s bound to die. We simply won’t be able to save him.”

“And if I do what I did yesterday?” I suggested. “I’ll share the pain with him, and he’s sure to survive!”

“Would you really agree to that? I wouldn’t advise it.”

I shrugged.

“What else can we do? Besides, I’ve never felt as bold as I do today. Carpe diem!”

“That’s all I need,” the boss muttered. “To bury you while saving this worthy son of the distant south. No, today we’ll be wiser. We’ll go to Jafax. The women of the Seven-Leaf Clover will think of something. All the more since we’re making efforts for their boss.”

“For Magician Nuflin? Wait, Juffin—are there really women in the Seven-Leaf Clover?”

“Whatever made you think that there weren’t?” Juffin asked. “There are more women than men. That was the case in all the other Orders, as well. Didn’t you know?”

“How could I have known? I’ve never seen any of them. And all the Grand Magicians I’ve heard about are men.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But, you see, women are inclined to secrecy. When they enter the Order, they break their ties with the world so effectively that it’s almost impossible to have any contact with them. There are quite powerful personages among them, but no one has been able to persuade them to accept an important office. They claim that it would ‘distract them from the most important things.’ In a way, they’re right. You’ll see for yourself when we get there.”

“But what does Magician Nuflin have to do with this?” I asked as I settled behind the levers of the amobiler. “You said we were doing this for him.”

“Where is your renowned intuition, Max? You can figure it out. The young man who became a captive of the mysterious belt stole the copy of the Shining Seven-Leaf Clover, which is only good for a souvenir. Now people are appearing in Echo again with similar belts. What do you think they might want?”

“Magician Nuflin’s real amulet?”

“Congratulations, you hit the nail on the head!”

“I wonder how they intend to pilfer that little trinket from Jafax?”

“It’s very simple. If they managed to put the same kind of belt on Nuflin, he’d give them anything they wanted.”

“How could they foist something like that on the Grand Magician himself? That’s impossible, Juffin.”

“Well, it would probably be hard to get it on Nuflin himself. But that’s not really necessary. There are many people in the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover, and there are secret passageways connecting Jafax with Echo—like our House by the Bridge, for instance. It would be enough to fasten a belt like that on one of our messengers for him to dive into hell and bring out a bunch of Dark Magicians, not to mention the Shining Seven-Leaf Clover. If he’s lucky, of course. But people sometimes are! In short, lad, someone who had the wits to forge those belts would be fully capable of clinching a deal like that. I know I could.”

“You, Juffin?”

“Among the Mutinous Magicians were young men who were much more sharp-witted than I was. What they weren’t smart enough to do was to take a critical view of foolish superstitions.”

“So you think there is some Mutinous Magician behind all of this?”

“Of course. Who else do you think would need the blasted amulet? Unless it were a jeweler—but there are many more valuable things in the World. We’re here, Max, don’t you see?”

“Oh, yes. I didn’t even notice. It’s neither dawn nor dusk, though. How will we pass into Jafax?”

“Through the Secret Door. It’s the only way of reaching the women of the Seven-Leaf Clover.”

Juffin climbed out of the amobiler and I followed behind him. The boss walked along a high dark wall, then stopped and slapped his palm hard against a slightly protruding greenish stone.

“Follow me, boy. Better close your eyes—it will steady your nerves.”

Without looking back at me, the boss began walking directly into the rock.

There was no time to think. I closed my eyes obediently and plunged after him. My muscles tensed instinctively, bracing in anticipation of a blow. But none was forthcoming. A moment later, Sir Juffin intercepted me, my body still poised to ward off obstacles in a fierce struggle.

“Where did you think you were going, Max?” he asked gaily. “We’re here. Open your eyes now if you don’t believe me.”

I looked around. We were standing in the middle of the thick undergrowth of an ancient overgrown garden.

“Good day, Juffin. How’s the earth treating you, you old fox?”

A vibrant voice resonated from behind my back. I shuddered and turned around. The voice was coming from someone who resembled the fairytale ideal of a grandmother: a shortish, plump lady with silver hair and a benevolent smile, and cheeks graced charming dimples.

“What a fine boy, Juffin!” she said, looking me up and down with undisguised admiration. “Are you Sir Max, dear? Welcome!”

The old lady embraced me with unexpected affection. I felt I had returned home after a long absence.

“This is Lady Sotofa Xanemer, Max,” the chief said. “She’s the most frightening creature in the Universe, so be on your guard.”

“No more frightening than you are, Juffin,” Lady Sotofa laughed. “Let’s go, gentlemen. You and Nuflin have some problems on your hands, Juffin. That’s for sure. And you must come with me and have something to eat, my dear,” she added for my benefit.

“What a good idea,” Juffin said drily.

“No matter what, you’re always ready to eat,” she remarked to Juffin. “I know you. But I love you all the same. Where have you been lately? You stopped visiting me. Maybe you think you bore me? Well, listen here, you old coot. You are tiresome, but my heart goes its own way, and it’s always glad to see you. And one must listen to one’s heart.”

Lady Sotofa scurried ahead, showing us the way and looking back now and then with a comical expression to illustrate her running commentary. Her little hands gestured wildly, her looxi fluttered in the breeze, and her dimples became ever more pronounced. I simply couldn’t credit her with great magical powers, however hard I tried.

Finally we arrived at a cozy garden pavilion that seemed to serve as Lady Sotofa’s office. There we were greeted by another sweet lady, somewhat younger than Lady Sotofa. With age she promised to become an exact replica of her elder associate. She already had the soft plumpness and the charming dimples.

“Oh, Sotofa! You’re always entertaining men! Don’t you want to take a rest?”

Her laughter rang out like tinkling bells.

“Of course I entertain them, Reniva. Don’t you remember? We agreed that I’d bring the menfolk around, but you would feed them. Now scoot! Off to the kitchen with you! The silly youngsters that pass as our chefs will never be able to cook as well as you can.”

“Are you suggesting that the food should be tasty?” Lady Reniva asked, arching her brows. “I thought men didn’t care what they ate as long as it filled their bellies. Fine, I’ll feed your swains, but you’ll have to reckon with them in the meantime.”

She disappeared behind a partition, and the three of us were alone.

“Well, Sir Max, were you frightened?” Lady Sotofa giggled. “Did you think that this daft Juffin had brought you here to see some crazy old biddies? You don’t have to reply. I can see in your eyes that that’s what you thought. Well, give me your fist. Come on, come on—don’t be timid.”

I stared at Juffin in confusion. He looked at me sternly, and nodded. I extended my sweaty left hand to Sotofa, the one in which Mr. Agon, the no-good Tasherian merchant, had been languishing for the last dozen hours. The merry old lady stroked my fingers cautiously, lingered a moment, frowned, and then broke into a smile again, displaying her enchanting dimples.

“Easy as pie, Juffin! I’m surprised you didn’t manage to do it.”

“You know I could have,” the Venerable Head of the Secret Investigative Force muttered. “It’s just that everything comes to you so naturally.”

Lady Sotofa shook her head reproachfully and applied a sudden sharp pressure at the base of my palm. I yelped in surprise and pain, and opened my fingers. The unfortunate merchant tumbled onto the carpet, and Lady Sotofa triumphantly displayed the marvelous mother-of-pearl belt, which, by some miracle, she was left holding.

“There you are, Juffin! Are you starting to regret that nature has rewarded you with this old crone you’re still so proud of?”

“Don’t exaggerate, my lady,” he murmured. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve you haven’t yet learned.”

“What do I need those for? Your tricks don’t put bread on the table.” She turned to me, “How did you like that, my dear?”

I nodded in astonishment and stared at my recent captive.

“Is he alive, Lady Sotofa?”

She waved her hand with a flippant air.

“Why wouldn’t he be? I could revive him right now, but it makes more sense to do it just before you leave. I don’t intend to feed this blockhead, and if we eat while he looks on—well, it wouldn’t be very polite, would it?”

After dinner, which affected me like a dose of horse tranquilizers, Lady Sotofa leaned over the immobile body of the merchant Agon.

“How long can you just loll around like that, you no-count?” she roared in an alien, shrieking voice. The unfortunate chap began to stir.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Juffin,” said Sotofa, beaming. “It’s possible to return any person to life if you shout in his ear the same thing he was used to waking up to in childhood. As you see, the mother of this gentleman couldn’t control her emotions. Just like my own mother, in fact. Do you remember my mamma, Juffin, may she rest in peace? I think she was what turned us into such good sorcerers: we had to save our skins somehow. Well, collect this dolt, boys, and clear out! You have work to do, and so do we. Life’s not just for pleasure.”

We loaded the gradually reviving merchant whose life we had just saved into the amobiler. I was so taken aback by what I had seen that I didn’t even ask any questions.

“Well, what do you think of her?”

I had never known Juffin’s voice to sound so tender.

“Oh . . . I can’t even imagine what all the others are like.”

“You can take it from me that the others are no match for her. Sotofa is the cream of the crop. Even Grand Magician Nuflin is scared of her. Has this shaken your faith in me, Sir Max?”

“Not at all, but she’s really something.”

“Sotofa hails from the same place I do. Did you catch that?” Juffin smiled. “She’s my closest friend from those parts, although we see each other rarely, and mostly on official matters. About five hundred years or so ago we had a very stormy romance. The people of Kettari were tickled to death when, after the latest in a long chain of quarrels, I arrested her in the ‘name of the law’ and escorted her to the House on the Road. That’s what the local Ministry of Perfect Public Order is called. Five hundred years ago, can you believe it? Then Sotofa got it into her head that she had to enter some Order, and she tripped off to the capital. I was devastated by her little escapade. But life proved the girl right—there was a place in the Order for her.”

I stared at Juffin.

“Are you telling me this for a particular reason?”

“Naturally—you need to know why she treats me with such a lack of decorum,” the chief said, winking at me. “Otherwise you might start thinking that any woman older than three hundred can wrap me around her little finger.”

At the House by the Bridge Melifaro dashed out to meet us.

“Juffin,” he said in a mournful whisper. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Melamori has locked herself in my office, and she won’t let me in. I think she’s crying.”

“Well, let her have a good cry,” the boss advised him. “Why shouldn’t a good person cry when times are bad? Everything will be all right, just don’t try to comfort her. She’ll kill you on the spot, and I won’t be able to jump in and set things right. I’ll be too busy. Find Lonli-Lokli. Let him drop whatever he’s doing and wait for us here. And don’t you go anywhere, either. Tell Melamori that in half an hour we’ll be working to beat the band. She can join us if she wishes. Let’s go, Max.”

Without giving me time to reconsider, Juffin gripped the unfortunate merchant Agon under his arms and dragged him into his office. I shuffled after them.

“Now then, Max,” the chief addressed me in a clipped, energetic tone, seating our captive in an armchair. “I hate interfering in other people’s affairs, but sometimes one must. This is one of those times. Don’t even think of pursuing this affair of the heart—it will only make matters worse. Lady Melamori is feeling as miserable as you are, if not more so. But she is under no illusions about what happened this morning. She knows something that you don’t know. For example, she knows what happens to people who fly in the face of tradition and try to fool fate. It’s not customary to speak of such things aloud, since it’s common knowledge—common for everyone but you and other newcomers, that is.”

“What is it, then? What does everyone know?” I wailed.

“You see, one of the lovers who ignores the ban on subsequent trysts will surely die. Which of them it will be cannot be predicted. But I’d be willing to bet that it won’t be you, since . . . well, never mind. Take my word for it: you’re luckier than Melamori. That’s just the way it is.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” I muttered. “And, excuse me, but I don’t believe it. It’s like some cheap mystery romance.”

“For some time now your whole life has been some cheap mystery romance, as you put it. Why would I lie to you? You and I, Praise be the Magicians, didn’t find each other in the Quarter of Trysts.”

“That’s true,” I said with a crooked smile. “But I don’t like any of this one bit. I thought the lady was just shy and superstitious. I had hoped I might persuade her eventually.”

“You might be able to if you try. But I wouldn’t advise it. ‘Not my girlfriend’ is much more pleasant to the ear than ‘dead girlfriend,’ don’t you think? A solid friendship has its advantages over a flaming passion, which you will come to realize sooner or later. Okay? So case closed. Back to work.”

I looked at Juffin, stupefied. He shrugged, as though giving me to understand that the laws of nature didn’t depend on him.

“I trust you won’t try to strangle me if I give this pathetic specimen a few drops of your precious elixir?” he asked casually.

“No, not if you give me some, too. I’m as tired as can be.”

“Certainly, you sponger. Why haven’t you bought yourself a bottle yet? I told you—”

“I’m economizing. Is that more than you can fathom?”

Sir Juffin Hully laughed out loud. He seemed relieved that I was behaving like my old self again. And truly, knowing that my grief was shared half and half was enough to return me to life. Something similar had happened yesterday with Captain Giatta. I came to understand that I wasn’t a “spurned lover” from a mawkish novel, but simply a person compelled to accept his fate. It was painful, but much more tolerable.

After he had swallowed some Elixir of Kaxar, our captive began to understand what was what. When the merchant finally grasped the fact that he was no longer wearing the belt, he tried to kiss our feet, which didn’t flatter us in the least.

“We’d rather you spilled the beans, on the double!” Juffin grumbled. “Who fastened that silly belly-embellishment on you in the first place?”

“His name is Xropper Moa. He’s from your part of the world, sir.”

“Say no more.” Juffin turned to me. “The one and only Grand Magician of the Order of the Barking Fish. The Order was a lightweight outfit, but the fellow always had an uncommonly vivid imagination.”

Juffin scrutinized the merchant again. The merchant shuddered under his gaze. I can understand why: Juffin’s range of meaningful stares includes some that are absolutely terrifying.

“What did he want from you, Agon?”

“He wanted to steal something, some ‘Great Talisman.’ I myself am not sure what it is. My task was a petty one—to palm the belt off on certain people. Then Xropper sent them a call or met them personally, and told them what was required of them.”

“Excellent. On whom did you foist the belt during the present journey?”

“No one. This time Xropper came with me himself. He seemed to have realized that without his participation it wasn’t going to work. I did everything he told me to do, but . . . my single greatest success was the boy Apatti. He procured only a useless copy, though. After this fiasco Xropper fumed for a whole year, and then thought for another one. Finally we set out for Echo again, and he promised that it was our last voyage. After that he would set me free.”

“And you would conveniently be able to carry on your business, isn’t that right?” Juffin asked, narrowing his eyes. “Those belted lads make very good thieves, don’t they? They do everything you tell them to, and they never give away their boss. You liked that—admit it, Agon! How much wealth from the capital were you able to cart off to sunny Tashera?”

“I didn’t—”

“Hold your tongue, Agon! I’ve studied all the unsolved cases of apartment burglary that plague the conscience of our municipal police. The dates of these memorable events correspond fairly exactly to the dates when your Old Maid was anchored in our docks. Shall I go on?”

The bearded fellow stared at the floor in embarrassment. Sir Juffin smirked.

“I see that won’t be necessary. Now then, you tell me where your friend Xropper is. And if I can find him with your assistance, consider yourself lucky. You’ll pay your captain; I’ll send you away from the Unified Kingdom with no right of return—end of story! Your exploits don’t fall under my jurisdiction, after all. But if I don’t find him—well, I’ll just buckle this marvelous little trinket on you again, this amazing belt fashioned by Magician Xropper Moa himself. Are you feeling lucky, merchant?”

“I don’t know where Xropper is!” Mr. Agon stammered in panic. “He didn’t tell me anything!”

“Commendable precautions,” Juffin agreed affably. “It would be strange if he reported to you. But you still have one more chance. Imagine that I would be satisfied if you told me where he was yesterday. I ask for no more than that.”

“Yesterday . . . Yesterday, we met at the Golden Rams after dinner, but I don’t know—”

“It’s good that it was after dinner and not for it,” Juffin said, screwing up his face with disdain. “A vulgarly expensive dive with terrible food. Just the ticket for a rogue like Xropper! Fine, Sir Max. Pack up our guest. We’ll take him with us. He might come in handy.”

I stared at the chief in perplexity until it dawned on me what he wanted.

“Sure!”

With one deft movement, the merchant occupied his usual place between the thumb and the forefinger of my left hand. It began to seem that Mr. Agon and I would be together forever.

Melifaro peeked into the office.

“Everyone’s assembled, Juffin. You shouldn’t work so hard, Mr. Bad Dream. You don’t look yourself at all!”

“I’m longing for fresh horse manure,” I informed him gloomily. “They call it nostalgia.”

“Ah, well, why didn’t you say so? I thought you had just grown tired of killing people. It’s no surprise—Lonli-Lokli himself gets tired of it sometimes.”

“Any job grows wearisome,” I said didactically.

I left the Hall of Common Labor like I was jumping headfirst off a skyscraper: fast, determined, and with no regard for the consequences.

“Let’s go, boys,” Juffin’s voice rang out cheerily behind me. “Destination: the Golden Rams. Lady Melamori, remember: yours is the first move.”

“With pleasure,” Melamori nodded. She tried not to look at me, which was probably wise. “Attagirl! Way to go!” Sir Nulli Karif would no doubt have said.

“It’s a formidable adversary: Magician Xropper Moa. Heard of him?”

“Ah, from the Order of the Barking Fish? Formidable my foot!” Melamori twitched her shoulders haughtily.

“Certain Orders of Magic that had no pretensions to supremacy had very dangerous secrets,” said Sir Lonli-Lokli, shaking his head in disapproval. “You should keep this in mind, Lady Melamori, in the interests of your own safety. And the interests of the case, naturally.”

“Do you understand? Don’t put on airs,” Juffin said. “Let’s be off. Sir Max, get behind the levers. Your folly will serve us well now. Every minute counts. This is your one chance to bury the Minor Secret Investigative Force nearly in its entirety. What Kofa and Lookfi will do without us I find hard to imagine.”

“What do you mean? Sir Kofa will keep on eating, and Lookfi never notices anything anyway,” Melifaro snorted. “And no one will shed a tear over our mangled bodies.”

“I think a catastrophe like that would be a serious loss for the Unified Kingdom,” Lonli-Lokli said in an imposing voice.

Melifaro snickered with quiet mirth, but refrained from his usual guffaw.

“No time to bemoan your fate; here we arrive at our destination,” I said with a grin. “Some heroes you are! Jump out. Forward, march, Lady Melamori! Show all those Magicians from the Grunting Kitty-Cat what a pound of Boboota’s crap is worth in a bad harvest year!”

My outburst surprised even me. Juffin and Melifaro exchanged glances and exploded in laughter. Even the glum Melamori smiled. Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli looked at us like we were all unruly but beloved children, and got out of the amobiler.

Then the Master of Pursuit took off her elegant boots, entered the tavern, and circled through the large hall.

“He’s been here! Magicians are always easier to track down, Sir Juffin,” she shouted. “Here is his trail. He’s somewhere nearby, I swear by your nose!”

“Swear by your own, girl. I need mine.”

Sir Juffin Hully looked like a fisherman who had caught a twenty-pound trout.

Melamori left the tavern, then set off by herself, hot on the trail. We piled back into the amobiler to await her summons. After half an hour, I felt Juffin’s hand on my shoulder. He said:

“The Street of Forgotten Poets, Max. You know where it is?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Is there a street with such name?”

“No time to wonder—just press on the levers and let’s get going. Drive toward Jafax, it’s in that direction. It’s a small alleyway. I’ll show you where to turn.”

The Street of Forgotten Poets lived up to its name. It was so deserted that tufts of pale white grass grew between the intricate designs of the paving stones.

There was only one house on this street—but what a house! It was a veritable castle, surrounded by a high wall that still bore the indistinct traces of ancient inscriptions. Beside the gate, tapping her bare little foot impatiently, stood Melamori. She displayed a reckless, nervous joy that I found somewhat unsettling.

“He’s here,” the Master of Pursuit said through clenched teeth. “When he sensed me near, the little stinker first grew sad, and then started losing the remaining scraps of his pathetic mind. It’s too bad you made me wait for you, Juffin! I could have already been through with him. Well, I’m off. Follow me!”

“Not so fast!” Juffin barked. “Lonli-Lokli will go in first. That’s his job. It would be far better for you just to stay behind in the amobiler. Where is your praiseworthy caution, lady?”

“What do you mean, stay behind in the amobiler?” Melamori erupted in fury. “I’m the one who tracked him down. I should go in first.”

She spoke with a vituperative intensity I had never before witnessed in her. Even during our heated row the night before, the gleam in her eyes hadn’t filled me with such alarm.

What’s all the rush about, my dear? I wondered to myself. Then I understood.

“That’s not Melamori talking! Or, rather, it’s Melamori, but she doesn’t know what she’s saying. He’s ‘caught’ her, too, Juffin! Melamori sniffed out Xropper, but he . . . well, he caught hold of his end of the trail she was following, when he realized what was going on. I don’t know how else to put it. The fellow thinks that he’s only being followed by one person, and he’s in a hurry to do battle. It’s a wonder she even waited for us at all.”

Sir Juffin squeezed my shoulder hard.

“That’s exactly right, only I—very well. Is that clear, Melamori? Are you going to let the Magician of some paltry third-rate Order make your decisions for you? Now get yourself over here, on the double!”

Melamori stared at us in astonishment and shook her head.

“I can’t, sir . . . I really can’t. And I’m sure we have to go into that house before he gets away. Vampires under your blankets, though, you’re right! These aren’t really my thoughts. And I didn’t want to wait for you. If you had come just a minute later . . .”

Meanwhile, Lonli-Lokli had managed to get out of the amobiler and pick up Melamori, lifting her high in the air without any visible effort.

“There we go! Do you feel better now, lady?” he asked, seating the bewildered Melamori on his shoulders. “Why don’t we study the aforementioned phenomenon a bit later, gentlemen?” suggested this remarkable individual in his most imperturbable manner.

We exchanged glances.

“Indeed, why not?” Juffin asked, and Melifaro and I peeled our backsides from the seat of the amobiler in seconds flat. The chief was right behind us.

“Well, do you agree to wait for us in the amobiler, girl?”

“Right now I’ll agree to anything.” Melamori clutched at Lonli-Lokli’s neck like a monkey. “I’m terrified of heights! But maybe you’d let me go in with you, after all? I’ll stay in the back, honest! I don’t want to have to sit in the amobiler.”

“All right, I suppose you may come. Only put your shoes on. You won’t have to do any more tracking for the time being, and you’re bound to cut yourself on a shard of glass,” Juffin said. “Do you know whose house this is? This is where old Sir Gartom Xattel Min lives. About a hundred years ago, terrible stories went the rounds about the disorderliness of his home, until everyone finally grew bored with the topic. Sir Shurf, let the lady down. Then grab Max and get a move on! The three of us will follow you.”

Sir Shurf looked me up and down, and then picked me up with the gallantry of a professional stevedore.

“Shurf, I can walk!” I shouted. “Juffin didn’t mean it like that.”

“Is that true, Sir Juffin?” Lonli-Lokli asked politely.

“What? Oh, Sinning Magicians! You’re driving me out of my wits, boys! Of course I only meant for you to go in together. What kind of an outfit is this? Secret Investigative Force, terror of the universe, my foot! It’s a circus, that’s what it is!”

Lonli-Lokli and I finally entered the yard, and then the dark, dank-smelling hall of the enormous deserted building.

“How are we going to find this fellow, Shurf?” I asked in panic. “This house is as big as a town!”

“Yes, the house is rather sizable,” Lonli-Lokli agreed. “Don’t worry, Max. At this distance, even I’m able to pick up his scent. I have quite a bit of experience in this area: before Lady Melamori joined our force, we had to get along without a Master of Pursuit. It’s a very rare talent, and finding the right person for the job is difficult. Our previous Master of Pursuit, Sir Totoxatta Shlomm, met his end in a situation very much like this one. Only his adversary was much more formidable—he had acquired a glove like my own.”

I gave a low whistle.

“Sir Totoxatta was an unimpeachable Master of Pursuit, though not one distinguished by his caution. You know Max, it’s still very painful for me. We began working in the Secret Investigative Force on the same day, and we became fast friends—go left and sidestep this shard of glass, no boot could withstand a specimen like that— that’s why I warned Lady Melamori that all the Orders, even those that are not too powerful, have their dangerous little secrets. She was in serious danger. Get back! Quick!”

Lonli-Lokli’s white looxi flitted through the darkness like an eccentric ghost. His shining right hand, which brought not death, but petrifaction, illuminated a frightened elderly face for one split second. Then everything went dark again.

I inched closer and found myself staring at a wrinkled, swarthy old man in a tattered looxi. His body lay immobile on the floor in an unnatural pose. His hands were raised above his head, and his legs were bent at the knee. It could have been the pose of a toppled statue, but not of a living being, conscious or otherwise.

“Is this the Grand Magician?”

Lonli-Lokli shook his head.

“No, Max. This is the master of the house, Sir Gartom Xattel Min. See, he’s wearing the same kind of belt as the others. That was very shrewd of Xropper to have a complete stranger lie in ambush. When a Master of Pursuit is close to her prey, she has no awareness of anything else: that’s how they are. That’s why he wanted Lady Melamori to enter alone. I consider that to be justified only when tracking down simple civilians, but even then it’s undesirable to my mind.”

“But what could this old man have done to her?” I asked, confused. “Surely he’s no great warrior.”

“Never judge too hastily, my friend. Once a person has learned to shoot from the Slingshot of Babum, he never loses the skill. And a shot to the head is capable of killing anyone, even the Master of Pursuit. Do you see what he has in his hands?”

My head was spinning. Melamori could have died by some primitive slingshot in the junky recesses of a dank old corridor—this was too much! Never mind my ill-used broken heart. Let her do what she wishes. Let her even get married, like countless other old girlfriends of mine; but let her stay alive! I don’t really know whether a good friendship has advantages over a flaming passion, as Juffin claims it does, but it has a decided advantage over death!

“Let’s hurry and get out of here, Shurf,” I said hoarsely. “We’ll get rid of this Xropper character, and then scram.”

Lonli-Lokli had no objections, and we went on our way, wandering through littered corridors and steep staircases until we found ourselves in a basement room.

“Stay behind me, Max,” Lonli-Lokli said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Today hasn’t been the most uneventful day, and there may be more excitement in store. He’s somewhere nearby, so . . .”

The lustrous white shimmer of Lonli-Lokli’s death-dealing hands began cutting intricate designs in the darkness.

“What are you doing, Shurf?”

“It’s better to force your victim out than to seek him yourself. Do you really think that killing is my only accomplishment, Max? My profession requires a much wider spectrum of skills.” He paused and squinted into the darkness. “See? There he is. This spell is foolproof—with people, that is. Yowzer shazam, bim bam!”

His final exclamation was accompanied by a bright explosion, and I realized that Sir Xropper Moa, the Grand Magician of the Order of the Barking Fish, had left the world of the living. At that moment, his name assumed an honorable place on the list of the latest accomplishments of the Secret Investigative Force.

“There you have it,” Lonli-Lokli said, pulling on his gloves. “Finishing a case is always easier than starting it. Have you ever thought about that, Max?”

“No, but I promise I will.”

“As always, Sir Shurf has been equal to the task!” Juffin’s voice rang out from behind us. “I apologize, but we were detained, boys. I used the opportunity to lecture Lady Melamori over the body of the slovenly old codger.”

“I told you we would miss the most interesting part,” Melamori protested in an injured tone. She was still shrouded in darkness. “Everyone’s already been killed. How disappointing!”

“The most interesting part, you say?” Juffin’s eyebrows shot up. “Gentlemen, do you know what’s in this basement?”

“Of course we do,” Melifaro’s face appeared in the doorway. “Somewhere here is the secret entrance to Jafax. The eldest son of Sir Gartom Xattel Min is one of the most prominent junior Magicians of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover, hallowed be its name, and greetings to your Uncle Kima, Melamori. Is that what you meant, Sir?”

“It’s impossible to surprise any of you,” Juffin said, pursing his lips in mock displeasure. “My congratulations, boys. Today Grand Magician Nuflin will be able to sleep peacefully, which doesn’t happen every day. It’s too bad, of course, that you had to kill Xropper, Sir Shurf.”

“But you know yourself, Sir Juffin, that this is the lot of every Mutinous Magician who has made three attempts at murder, whatever the outcome.”

“Don’t take it amiss, Sir Shurf. Your actions were perfectly correct. I just wanted to know what this madman intended to do with the Shining Seven-Leaf Clover. As far as I know, this object is of no benefit to anyone else in the World but Magician Nuflin. Perhaps I’m wrong?”

The tremor of uncertainty in Sir Juffin Hully’s voice lent a certain charm to the end of the case. Besides, there was still trouble in store for us.

We returned to the House by the Bridge and put old Xattel Min in a a detention cell for those awaiting trial. It was decided not to revive this poor apology for a marksman while he was still wearing the belt. Why borrow trouble?

“Go home to rest, boys,” Juffin ordered. “Everyone but . . . How about you, Max? Are you ready to roll?”

“I’ll say!” I admitted readily.

I was even afraid to think of going home. Armstrong and Ella were waiting for me; but so were sweet memories that were better kept at bay.

I looked at Melamori, who was intent on studying the floor under her own feet. The prospect of going home to rest clearly did not fill her with enthusiasm, either. She was as unhappy as I was, proof that I wasn’t alone in having found at last what I had sought for so long. Sooner or later she would have to try to make her life bearable—and the sooner the better. So I did the first thing that occurred to me: I sent a call to Melifaro.

If you don’t walk her home, friend, you’re a miserable louse!

Melifaro nearly fell off his chair in astonishment, then looked at me quizzically.

Do what you’re told!>

What’s gotten into you, Mr. Bad Dream? I always thought you dwellers of the endless plains were as jealous as—

But I’m a crazy dweller of the endless plains, so . . . hold your tongue, Ninth Volume of the Encyclopedia! Over and out!

I saved face by running off and closing myself in the office that Juffin and I shared. Since I really am “as jealous as . . . ,” I do wonder “what,” or “whom”?

Sir Juffin Hully joined me after a few minutes.

“Are you sure you can hold out one more night, Max? I can probably do without your help. Only you’ll have to release your bosom buddy. Can you get along without him?”

“Bosom buddy? Oh, Sinning Magicians, Juffin! I completely forgot!”

Now this was amusing: I had grown so used to carrying around Agon the miniscule merchant that I had ceased paying any attention to him at all. “Do you need him now?”

“Not really. You can wait a while if you’re not in any hurry. Lady Sotofa promised to arrive in a few hours. I need Agon to send a call to his captives, all those belted fools. They’ll come to the House by the Bridge and Lady Sotofa will undress them. That’s nothing to her, as you know.”

“In that case, I’m not going anywhere. Lady Sotofa is a queen among women! Don’t you think so?”

Sir Juffin sniffed.

“That she may very well be. Well now, Sir Max. We’ll have some dinner, and you can set your companion free a bit later. You aren’t very anxious to go home, am I right?”

“You know I don’t want to,” I said.

“Excellent. That means that I won’t be the only one who’s dead tired at daybreak. But you know what? Your favorite Elixir of Kaxar can help you for another two or three days. Four if you’re lucky.” Juffin looked at me closely. “Has it ever occurred to you that it would be easier and much more practical to pack up and move, rather than shuffling around Headquarters with your eyes glued shut?”

“No, it didn’t. I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“Yes, now and then,” Juffin said smiling. “So do you want to stay in the Old City or move to the New? Then you’d have the chance to demonstrate your chief talent every day—driving the amobiler into the ground.”

“If you need to change things, you should do it all at once. I’ll move to the New City! Somewhere there a sweet lady has opened a tavern. At one point I had the sense to give her the same advice I just heard from you. Funny, isn’t it, how much harder it is to take advice yourself than to give it to other people? By the way, you’re slandering me. I’ve never driven the amobiler so hard it broke down.”

“Not yet, anyway. Here, take the key, and remember this address: 18 Street of Yellow Stones. I tried to find something awful, so you’d think it was cozy.”

“I have a feeling there won’t be fewer than ten bathing pools.”

“Only eight. Of course, there are sometimes fewer, even in the most elegant houses in the New City; but you see, I have principles I find hard to ignore.”

“For certain things you should just say thank you immediately, so that you won’t be kicking yourself later, as Grand Magician Nuflin said.” I had just realized the magnitude of what my boss had done for me. “Juffin, you’re saving me! Do you want me to kiss the hem of your looxi? I see you don’t . . . But when did you have time to arrange all of this?”

“What do you think Silent Speech is for? And the junior officials of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order? Better to eat now than spoil your appetite worrying about trifles. One of the messengers can move your menagerie and other household effects. How about good old Urf? He’s already used to helping you with your household affairs.”

“You’re so wise, and I’m a dolt. You know, I’ll probably keep the house on the Street of Old Coins. I have a pillow fastened somewhere there, a plug in the Chink between Worlds.”

Juffin began to laugh. That’s not the right word for it, though. He let out a guffaw that came from the bottom of his soul, infectious and long. I stared at him blankly. Whence this merriment?

“What a bunch of baloney, Max! Maba was just joking with you. He loves practical jokes. You didn’t have to fasten that pillow to anything. You can take it with you wherever you wish, and continue your activities with the same amount of success. The secret isn’t under the pillow. It’s not even inside the pillow . . . Oh, Max, you’re so funny, you really are!”

“So he was pulling my leg?” I felt a bit embarrassed. Still, I somewhat liked Sir Maba’s joke.

“It’s all right, Juffin. Let there be one more deserted house on the Street of Old Coins. Who knows, maybe I’ll want to return there someday.”

“Time will tell. Now then, release your captive.”

Agon the Merchant, completely discombobulated by his metamorphosis, immediately sent a call to all his comrades in misfortune, after which he went into the detention cell.

I rested my head on the table, exhausted. After all, we were all comrades in misfortune: the fashionable dandies in their gleaming belts, the chefs of the capital sporting the Earring of Oxalla, Melamori and I, and other visitors to the Quarter of Trysts, and the countless dwellers of all Worlds, bound hand and foot by spells, obligations, and destiny.

“It’s not so bad, dear,” Lady Sotofa’s voice jerked me out of my dark whirlpool of homegrown philosophy into the bright world, where fresh kamra and a bracing nightshift awaited me.

I smiled. “As soon as I meet a good person, I find out that her favorite hobby is reading my mind.”

“Why would I need to do that, Max?” The old lady sniffed. “It’s just that you looked wise and mournful, like all boys when they’re thinking about their silly problems. Well, where are your poor devils hiding?”

“You arrived nearly an hour before you promised,” Juffin exclaimed. “So don’t be too hard on us. You’ll have to wait.”

“Oh, what luxury! I can’t remember the last time I had a whole hour to do nothing.”

“Don’t count on having a whole hour. They could start arriving any minute now. What did I tell you? Here comes the first one.”

The first one, by the way, was the same fellow that Kofa and I noticed in the Irrashi Inn at the very beginning of this story. Such coincidences do happen.

Lady Sotofa’s hands worked wonders. Her lips weren’t still for a second. She managed to sympathize with every patient, and to joke with us at their expense simultaneously. The recent hostages of the belts, now free, informed her where they could be found in the upcoming dozen days. Kurush grumbled at the large amount of tedious work, but managed to process all the information. With a memory like his, he couldn’t forget anything if he tried.

“They haven’t run afoul of the law, have they?” I wanted to know.

“No, of course not,” Juffin assured me. “How can you condemn someone who had no choice? The only candidate for unpleasant repercussions is your friend Agon, since he took some of the illegal actions on his own initiative. But let him set sail for his sunny Tashera. I don’t ever want to see his backside again. Ah, yes, Sotofa! We have one more handsome specimen for you. You’ll like him, I promise. Let’s go.”

Soon Xattel Min, the old Slingshot King, appeared in the doorway of the office, his eyes blinking in confusion. Seeing him now didn’t awaken any negative emotions in me. In a few minutes, the old man was dismissed, after being provided with a long list of qualified repairmen and housecleaners, though there wasn’t much hope he would make use of it.

I greeted the dawn in my new house. Ella and Armstrong pattered about through all six rooms, meowing in delight. Sir Juffin Hully had strange notions about a “modest dwelling.” After a perfunctory glance around the house, I collapsed on the new bed and fell fast asleep. This time I didn’t dream about Melamori. As before, I had no hand in it. That part of my life had simply receded forever into the past, it seemed.

At sundown, I was awakened by a call from Sir Kofa.

I’m waiting for you at the Golden Rams, Max. Do you know how to get here?

But Juffin said the food there was terrible! I objected sleepily.

Of course he’d say that. Juffin’s the biggest snob in Echo. He’s like all provincials who’ve lived here a hundred years. I promise you’ll like it. Besides, your debtor is with me.

Oh, Kofa, let me wake up first. What debtor?

Captain Giatta. You saved more than just his life, and the fellow is determined to repay the kindness. To tell you the truth, Max, I don’t envy you. The captain has an extremely serious expression on his face, and his intentions are every bit as serious. He’s ready to wait three hundred years, if he has to, to return the favor you’ve done for him. In other words, the sooner you come, the more food you’ll get. Over and out.