Authors: Max Frei,Polly Gannon

Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Horror, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic

The Stranger (87 page)

BOOK: The Stranger

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Are you busy, Juffin? Should I wait in the lobby?

“What do you mean, Lady Marilyn?” Juffin flashed a welcoming smile. “Did you think I had a visitor, Max? And who said we’d have a problem with Sir Shurf’s appearance? My compliments to both of you, boys. You make a perfect couple.”

“You look ravishing, Marilyn!” the unrecognizable Lonli-Lokli observed politely, rising to greet me, and (Oh, sinning Magicians!) considerately helping me to my seat.

“I must ask your forgiveness, Max, but from here on out I’ll be addressing you with various terms of endearment, since it’s customary between husband and wife.”

“There’s no need to ask my forgiveness. You can address me any way you like at any time, Shurf!”

“Now my name is Sir Glamma Eralga, dear Marilyn. Of course, you must simply call me Glamma.”

“Maybe we can just call each other by our regular names for the time being? It’s so disconcerting otherwise.”

“No, Sir Shurf is absolutely right. The sooner you get used to your new names the better. Later you’ll have bigger worries,” Juffin said.

What kinds of worries was he referring to, I would have liked to know?

I stared at Lonli-Lokli curiously. It was the first time I had seen him without his death-dealing gloves, which I tended to think of as his real hands. I knew, of course, that they weren’t. But the heart, which is stronger than reason, was certain that the shining hands were the real thing.

“Gosh, what’s wrong with your hands, Shurf? I mean, Glamma.”

“Nothing. If you are referring to my gloves, I have them with me, in the trunk. You don’t suppose, do you, dear Marilyn, that all citizens have gloves like that?”

“Of course I don’t, but I’ve never seen you without them, Shurf —er, dear!”

“Maybe this Shurf you speak of is still wearing them; your dearest Glamma, as you can see, is not.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said laughing. “And what’s with your fingernails?”

“These are the first letters of the words of an ancient spell. Without them, the gloves would be lethal for me, too. I’m afraid I’ll have to wear these.” Lonli-Lokli showed me some elegant gloves made from the thinnest blue leather. “On the road they won’t attract attention, but when I dine, I anticipate they might arouse suspicion.”

“It doesn’t matter in the least. Any person can have eccentricities. Let people think that you’re squeamish, that you’re just afraid of germs.”

“Greetings, sugar pie,” said Melifaro, bursting into the office. “Well, have you considered the possibility of remaining a girl and accepting my proposal? My mama would be ecstatic,” he said, leaning on the armrest of my chair. “Our Loki-Lonki is much improved in appearance—but I’m still better-looking!”

“Sir Melifaro, stop soliciting my wife,” said the transformed Lonli-Lokli. “And please be so good as to learn my name, at least by the time I return. You’ve known me for years.”

“You got that?” I asked bitingly. “I’m no damsel in distress.”

It was Juffin who got the biggest kick out of our absurd and spirited repartee, which was just as it should be. He’s the boss, after all.

“Juffin, I hope you won’t object?” asked Sir Kofa Yox, the incomparable Master Eavesdropper
cum
Personal Cosmetologist, entering the office and clutching a sizable parcel to his chest. “You still have time to explain to these unfortunate boys what kind of hellish place they’re going to. You have the whole night ahead of you, and I have something extremely yummy to help pass the time.”

“When did I ever object to parties, Kofa?” Juffin rejoined. “But why did you bring all this with you? We could have just called for a courier to deliver it.”

“No way! I won’t entrust a matter like this to just anyone. Shutta Vax, one of the virtuoso cooks in the ancient style, has retired from the profession and cooks only for himself now. But when I asked him for seven Chakkatta Pies, he couldn’t refuse. We’re lucky—it appears that he’s the only one left who has the slightest idea how to make them.”

“Do you mean that, Kofa?” Juffin looked truly alarmed.

“It’s no joking matter. Ladies first, so get over here before I reconsider.”

Melamori didn’t wait for him to repeat the invitation.

“Good evening, Marilyn,” she greeted me, placing her hand affectionately on my shoulder. “It’s too bad you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“But if we weren’t leaving, there wouldn’t be any Chakkatta Pies,” I said. “It’s the law of natural compensation.”

“We’ve forgotten about poor Sir Lookfi,” Melamori said. “We should call him.”

“I did, but he must first say goodbye to about a hundred buriwoks. Now bring on the pie, Kofa. I can’t wait.”

The dull thud of an overturning chair announced the arrival of the Master Keeper of Knowledge.

“Good evening. It’s so kind of you to remember to call me. Sir Kofa, you’re a good sort to arrange this celebration for all of us. And good evening, Sir Max. I haven’t seen you in a long time. What have you done to your hair? Is that the style these days?”

Melifaro nearly fell off the arm of the chair, Melamori and I exchanged bewildered glances, and Sir Kofa was crackling with annoyance. Sinning Magicians! What happened to my disguise? Could people really still recognize me as Max?

“Don’t worry, Max,” Juffin came to my rescue just in time. “And you, Kofa—you should be ashamed for being surprised. You know our Sir Lookfi sees things as they are, and not as they seem. How else could he tell all his buriwoks apart?”

“Sir Lookfi is a truly insightful person. I’ve always said that,” Kurush interjected. Juffin nodded, agreeing with the wise bird.

“Still, it’s disappointing. I considered this girl to be such a masterpiece,” muttered Sir Kofa Yox. “I thought I could fool even Lookfi.”

“Juffin, are there any other ‘truly insightful’ people among the collectors of Kettarian carpets?” I asked with a sudden rush of anxiety.

“No. I personally know of only one other natural phenomenon like Lookfi—the sheriff of the Island of Murimak, the most imposing personage on that entire scrap of dry land. I think his main duty is to count the hairs on the fur of the local species of Royal Polecats. So take it easy,” Juffin turned back to Lookfi. “Have you had time to notice by now that our Max has temporarily become a lady?”

“Ah, yes. Now I see. Your hair is longer,” Sir Lookfi Pence said with relief. “It’s good that this isn’t the new fashion. I don’t look good in hairstyles like that—and they’re so much trouble.”

The improvised party was a brilliant success. If I had known that they would give Lonli-Lokli and me such a sendoff, I would have gone on a journey every day. Finally, just the three of us remained behind.

Sir Juffin Hully devoted a large part of the night to telling me and Lonli-Lokli the fabricated story of our conjugal life, for it was very likely we would meet curious travelers who wished to chat over dinner. I must admit, I only listened with half an ear, since I’d be with Lonli-Lokli, sturdy and reliable as a cupboard. He wouldn’t forget a word of the boring biography of Sir Glamma Eralga and Lady Marilyn Monroe.

“That’s all well and good, Juffin,” I said, staring thoughtfully at the steadily brightening dawn sky. “But I must admit, I still don’t understand why we’re going to Kettari.”

“Precisely for that reason: to understand why you need to go to Kettari once you’ve arrived. I can tell you honestly, Max—when I sent you to confront the ghost of Xolomi, I really was a bit greedy, that is, I kept a few things to myself until you asked me the question I was patiently awaiting. But this time it’s different. You really do know everything I know myself. So I’m sending you to Kettari to find answers to questions that are still a complete mystery to me. If you want my advice, when you get there, you should lie low for a few days. Don’t do anything. Walk around the city with Shurf, buy some carpets. Maybe the secret will find you, you have that lucky streak. But if nothing happens—well then, try leaving the city without the caravan or any other company, and then just return. Take your time, though, it seems to me that it would not be very wise to hurry. Right now I’m not sure of anything, though. All right, boys, it’s time. The caravan to Kettari leaves in one hour. You can each take a swallow.”

Juffin handed me his famous invisible bottle of Elixir of Kaxar, almost empty due to my efforts. I gladly took a gulp of the tasty drink, capable of relieving not only morning somnolence, but almost any other serious complaint.

“Have some, dear. There’s a bit left,” I offered the bottle to Lonli-Lokli.

My “significant other” declined politely, saying, “Thank you, Marilyn. But I don’t drink.”

“As you wish. We have a whole day of travel ahead of us.”

“There are special breathing exercises that dispel exhaustion far more effectively than your drink,” Lonli-Lokli said loftily.

“Will you teach them to me?” I asked.

“I’ll teach you, but only after you master the exercises I’ve already shown you.”

“But I already—”

“You just think you ‘already.’ Forty years from now you’ll understand what I mean.”

“Oh! As the Great Magician Nuflin likes to say, ‘I’m just glad I won’t live to see the day.’ Fine, let’s be off, honey.”

“Yes. Get a move on,” Juffin nodded. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk. The road is long. And don’t forget to bring me a souvenir from my homeland.”

Sir Lonli-Lokli eased in confidently behind the levers of the amobiler.

“Maybe we should change places?” I suggested.

“You want to drive the amobiler right after you’ve imbibed Elixir of Kaxar? No, you may not do that. I’ve told you that before. When we’re on the road you’ll have to relieve me sometimes, Marilyn. But are you sure you can drive like normal people do? If our amobiler keeps overtaking all the others, we’ll end up without a Master Caravan Leader. Not to mention shocking our fellow travelers.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Unlike our friend Max, Lady Marilyn is a careful damsel. Everything will be fine. I’ll step on the throat of any song.”

“What’s that, some secret spell?” Lonli-Lokli asked quaintly.

“Yep. I could teach you, but it would take forty or fifty years,” Lady Marilyn’s tongue was as sharp as that of my old friend Sir Max.

BOOK: The Stranger

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