Authors: Max Frei,Polly Gannon
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Horror, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic
The Stranger (35 page)
“Got it.”
“Excellent.” With that, he threw open the door, took a sizable package from the hands of a courier, and tossed it on my lap. “Now try this on.”
I opened the package, and out fell a black looxi embroidered in gold, a black skaba, a turban in the same style, and a pair of marvelous boots. On the boots were stylized heads of toothy dragon-like creatures; the black boot-tops were strewn with tiny golden bells. Of course, I would never wear anything like that in my homeland—but here in Echo, I was stylin’!
“Is this a gift, Juffin?”
“Something like that. But please do try it on.”
“Thanks!” I started pulling on the boots.
“You’re very welcome. Do you like these?”
“I’ll say!” I plunked the black turban on my head. It was decorated with the same tiny gold bells.
“And the looxi?
“Just a second.”
I wrapped myself up in the black and gold garment and looked at myself in the mirror. It turned out that the gold patterned embroidery formed glittering circles on my chest and back, like targets.
“It’s great! Fit for a king.”
“Well, as a matter of fact it is for a king. I’m glad you like it, Sir Max. Now you have to wear it.”
“Gladly. But why do I have to? And it’s a pity to wear such finery on a daily basis.”
“You’ll get as many outfits as you need. You still haven’t understood the main thing. These are your work clothes, so to speak. Your uniform. You’ll have to wear it all the time from now on.”
“Fine, but I still don’t understand. You yourself said that in contrast to the police, members of the Secret Investigative Force don’t wear uniforms. What is this, some kind of innovation?”
“Not exactly. This uniform is just for you. You, Sir Max, have become Death. Death in the service of the King. And for such occasions, one must wear the Mantle of Death.”
“And when people see me passing by, they’ll run from me like the plague. Is that it?”
“It’s not all that bad. When they see you, they’ll tremble blissfully and think with nostalgia about the good old Epoch of Orders, when people in garments like this were much more common. Your social stature is so high that . . . to put it bluntly, you are a Very Important Person of the highest rank. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Ah, a ‘big boss,’ eh? Well, I can deal with that. But why don’t you wear a uniform like this, Shurf? You of all people should be wearing one.”
“At one time I really did wear the Mantle of Death,” Lonli-Lokli confirmed with a nod. “But times change. The time for white garments has come for me now.”
“Oh, and I thought your clothes were just a matter of personal taste. And what do your white clothes mean?”
Lonli-Lokli didn’t reply. He clearly didn’t want to discuss the subject.
“The times when Shurf was Death have passed,” Juffin announced solemnly. “Now he has become Truth. At least, that’s how his position is listed in the Secret Registry of Practicing Royal Magicians. To put it more simply, our Sir Lonli-Lokli isn’t capable of anger, fear, or taking offense—in contrast to you, for example. He can bring death, it’s true, but only when it’s absolutely necessary, not because he wants to himself. Not even when he is ordered to do it. If, let’s say, I order Sir Shurf to pulverize an innocent person, he will, in the line of duty, try to carry out my orders, but his hand will refuse to obey its master. So it turns out that our highly disciplined Sir Shurf, for the most part, answers to no one. That is why he is greater than death. He is Truth because he is, in the last instance, as impassive as the heavens. Whew! I’m getting carried away. All that is, of course, a shameless mixtures of naïve philosophy and bad poetry. But you understand the gist of it.”
“I’m glad I don’t have to wear orange or raspberry,” I said. “Still, I’m not crazy about this idea.”
“You don’t have to be crazy about it. Come to terms with it, and try to get some satisfaction out of it, at least. Case closed. You won’t be working tonight, at least, so let’s go to the
Glutton
. I’m starving, and so are you. Any questions?”
Glutton
. I’m starving, and so are you. Any questions?”
“Yes,” I muttered. “Who’s paying?”
By the end of the evening, all the Secret Investigators were sitting around the table. There was nothing unusual in this, of course. Juffin had probably sent out a silent call and told everyone to join our little feast, though it was nice to think that there was some mysterious connection between my colleagues and me, and that walking around the city, everyone inevitably gravitated toward the place where the others had gathered. We attract each other by some principle of collective magnetism: that’s how I imagined it.
When she took her leave, Lady Melamori, who hadn’t taken her eyes off me the whole evening, invited Melifaro and me to visit her at dawn to drink a mug of kamra. According to her strategic plan, we would arrive together and neutralize each other. I wondered whether she was making fun of us or—worse—whether she, herself, didn’t understand what she wanted.
“Spit at her, man!” Melifaro hissed. “Spit at her, I dare you. She deserves it!”
“No kidding,” I murmured. “But my spit is a matter of state. To use it for my own purposes is abuse of office. And I’m just out of Xolomi.”
I did finally make it home that night, and was greeted by Armstrong and Ella, looking sleek, well-fed, and well-groomed, as promised. I decided that from now on I would use the services of the courier, who had been charged with looking after my little beasts. Unlike me, the fellow was made for this kind of work.
All night I stuffed my furry friends with delicacies from the
Glutton
and was rewarded by their grateful purring. I at last grew weary of this pastime; but they wouldn’t leave me in peace.
Glutton
and was rewarded by their grateful purring. I at last grew weary of this pastime; but they wouldn’t leave me in peace.
I was awakened by a knock at the door. Only a civil servant of a fairly low rank would dare knock so boldly. Sleepy, grumpy, and befuddled, I crawled over to open the door. Armstrong marched beside me on my right, and Ella spun around in circles on my left, meowing indignantly. It must have been a sight to behold.
At the door stood an extremely proper-looking gentleman whose elegant, gold-rimmed glasses and graying temples cast an aura of intelligence over his pedigreed face.
“Please accept my apologies, Sir Max,” he said, bowing. “Allow me to introduce myself, Kovista Giller, Master Verifier of Sad News. I know that it isn’t entirely proper to appear at your door at this time of night, but His Majesty King Gurig VIII insisted on it.”
My innate sense of hospitality and the servile tone of the visitor conspired to make me invite him in. Moreover, there was nearly a full jug of kamra from the
Glutton
and a pretty assortment of tidbits, as well. I just had to find some clean mugs. In a large house that’s not so easy.
Glutton
and a pretty assortment of tidbits, as well. I just had to find some clean mugs. In a large house that’s not so easy.
“What happened?” I inquired when the objects of my search were found. “What is this ‘sad news’ you wish to verify? Did someone finally rat on me? We’ll have to celebrate that.”
“I’ll explain everything to you, Sir Max, but please don’t be alarmed. Nothing untoward has happened, I assure you.”
“Judging from what you’ve just told me, you already know about my new position,” I remarked acidly. “To be honest, I wasn’t about to get alarmed. Whatever may have happened, the death penalty is not held in high repute here, and I just returned from Xolomi. I had a lovely stay there, I hasten to add . . .”
“Generally speaking, my main occupation is to verify the legitimacy of denunciations that make their way to the Royal Court. That really is true,” my guest admitted, somewhat abashed. “But I beg you, Sir Max, do not think that the King gave any credence to General Boboota Box’s memo. I’m here about another matter altogether.”
“Well, well, well! Our conversation has taken a much more interesting turn! Do me a favor, sir, and tell me what kind of memo that might have been. I haven’t been at the Ministry for three days. I was carrying out an investigation on the orders of the Venerable Head. What, according to General Box, was I up to?”
“I’m embarrassed even to mention such trifling matters to you, Sir Max. General Box found out that in your absence one of the junior staff members of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order visited your home and—”
“And fed my animals,” I nodded. “It’s the truth. He groomed them, too. What else are junior staff for?”
“I agree with you one hundred per cent, Sir Max. I’ll let you in on a secret: General Box always forgets that the Secret Investigative Force and his Police Force are very different organizations, that what is acceptable in his half of the House by the Bridge is not necessarily so in yours. Boboota Box has not seldom delivered denunciations about the behavior of the Venerable Head himself, not to mention your other colleagues.”
“And what exactly does Boboota object to?”
Kovista Giller broke into a shy smile.
“Well, he objects to everything. For instance, that Sir Kofa Yox doesn’t show up at work when he should be on duty, because he rarely leaves the tavern.”
“Well, yes,” I agreed. “That truly is bad form! He should just stay in his office, occasionally making a trip to the john to hear Boboota’s underlings rake him over the coals in secret. Instead, he haunts all the dives in town.”
My visitor nodded in satisfaction.
“The King even collects letters of denunciation about your department. He sticks them in a special album and illustrates them personally. He says he’s going to give the album to Sir Juffin Hully when the pages run out. That’s why His Majesty read General Box’s letter carefully before adding it to the others. The King was curious: why do you keep beasts at home, and what kind of pleasure do you derive from this?”
“See for yourself,” I smiled tenderly. “Look how beautiful my Armstrong and Ella are. And so smart!”
The instigators of social discord heard their names and clambered into my lap. I groaned under their bulk, which was nothing to joke about. The long, carefully groomed fur flowed down almost to the floor. Blue eyes peered out from fuzzy cheeks, and their plume-like tails tickled my nose. I had reason to be proud of them!
“If you only knew how sweet it is to sleep to the sound of their purring,” I murmured dreamily. “That, if you will permit me, is pure delight.”
“Where did you get them, Sir Max?” my guest asked.
To this very day I don’t know what made me tell a fib. I think I felt the cats would be hurt if I admitted to a complete stranger the secret of their plebeian origins.
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