The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three (16 page)

Later I learned that ordinary human hair was completely unsuited for achieving such impressive results. More serious materials were needed: pet hair, bits of wild animal fur, even feathers, not
to mention the numerous magic spells that were required to hold together all these foreign materials and to make them take root on the human skull.

I carefully threaded my way through the colorful crowd of foreigners, who had begun to tire me, and approached my colleague.

“This is Sir Ayonxa and Sir Jiffa, the fairy-tale princes of the County Shimara, whose deputy I could have become a dozen years ago if I hadn’t been such an idiot,” said
Melifaro. “Right, guys?”

“It’s all right, buddy. I’m sure you’ll reconsider,” said one of the princes. The other just shrugged. He looked too grown-up and serious to enjoy any prolonged
exposure to our Sir Melifaro. It was probably Sir Jiffa, the younger of the princes.

I tried to embellish my official smile with as much charm as possible and gave the sovereigns of the County Shimara a low bow.

“Actually, I was going to reintroduce you to some other old friends of yours,” I said to Melifaro. “Remember your Isamonian buddies? The ones you launched out of your
window?”

“Whoa! Are they here, too?” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for repeating the show, but I can’t help but feel for the poor fellows. The first time was
enough for them, I think.”

“Enough is enough,” I said. “Do you know that His Majesty and I are going to shell out some funds and feed you and Juffin?” I turned to the Shimara princes and said,
“If you truly enjoy the company of this monster, I will be happy to see you at our table.”

Prince Ayonxa burst out laughing, and Prince Jiffa looked at me with poorly concealed amazement. He probably had his own notions of how a king should behave. Me, I simply couldn’t behave
myself when I was standing just three feet away from Melifaro: he would never have forgiven me.

I spent the next half hour being introduced to the grandees of the remaining provinces of the Unified Kingdom. Among them were the Venerable Head of Gugland, Valiba Valibal; Lord Eki Banba Uriux
of Uryuland; the Venerable Head of Uguland, Yorix Malivonis; and two burgomasters of the free city of Gazhin, Sir Valda Kunyk and Sir Zebi Xipilosis. Gazhin, one of the wealthiest seaports in the
land, is one heck of a place—a single burgomaster just didn’t cut it. Valda Kunyk, a big, jolly red-haired guy, was apparently the protégé of the ancient shipbuilding
aristocracy, and the lively gray-haired Zebi Xipilosis protected the interests of the town merchants. Or was it the other way around? No idea.

Following the burgomasters was Sir Yoka Yoxtoxop, the sheriff of the Island of Murimak. I remembered Juffin telling me that this man had perfect memory and could see things “the way they
were,” just like our Lookfi—although, unlike Lookfi, the sheriff of Murimak resembled a warrior rather than a mad scientist. Even the amusing Murimak slang wasn’t enough to make
him funny.

Just as the reception was ending, Togi Raxva the Golden Eye, Venerable Head of Landaland, approached me. One of his eyes was indeed a bright amber-yellow, just like our Kurush’s. The other
eye was plain gray. I remembered that it was the wonderful yellow eye that had led to the appointment of Sir Togi Raxva to his position of utmost responsibility: it is a common belief in the
Unified Kingdom that one should never disregard such a good sign. By the way, the belief had turned out to be correct. Once an arid country, Landaland had suddenly become the wealthiest
agricultural province of the Unified Kingdom. The famous fair in Numban alone was a sight to behold. And if one were to believe the rumors, Togi Raxva was by no means a financial wizard. Rather,
under his magical golden eye, the once barren soil of Landaland had become so fruitful that crops could be harvested almost half a dozen times a year.

The official part of the coronation finally reached its last gasp and fizzled out. My honorable guests disappeared one after another through the front door, no doubt to wander around Echo
looking for a place to have a good meal. I had worked up a heck of an appetite myself, but I still had to go into seclusion with my subjects and receive my gifts. If only they had baked me some
pies—but no, they were sure to start flinging some inedible precious stones at my feet. Drat it.

I approached Juffin, who seemed to be enjoying the social whirlwind. “It would be great if you took the responsibility for the remaining part of the evening into your own hands,” I
said. “You’re good at it. Tell the servants to show you to the pantry and help yourself. I’m going to join you a little later: I have a romantic rendezvous with my people. See, my
people want to give me some souvenirs for keepsakes. I’m afraid I’m looking forward to receiving the decaying remnants of my ancestors’ throne.”

“Receiving gifts is a sacred tradition,” said Juffin. “Grab whatever they give you as long as it’s free.”

“Right. Will you make sure the servants leave me a small crust of bread or something? I’ve been meaning to learn more about the royal diet, and here’s the
opportunity.”

“A small crust of bread I can guarantee you. If worse comes to worst, I’ll break off a piece of my own heart. You’ll choke on it and then go around telling stories to naive
young women about how kings live on dried crusts of bread alone.”

I had to cut short our highly intellectual exchange and go to the former archive. A few dozen representatives of the people of Xenxa were consuming pastries there. The stern-looking nomads were
covered in cream from head to toe, just like Kurush, our wise connoisseur of all things sweet.

When they saw me, the fellows tried to swallow whatever they had in their mouths and stand at attention.

“That’s all right,” I said like a loving grandmother. “Keep on chewing. It makes me happy to see my people eat heartily, so do give me the pleasure of contemplating
it.”

The subjects dutifully grabbed two pastries each and began consuming them with great relish. They took my token of hospitality for a command. Amazing discipline for a bunch of nomads.

“Barxa! Fairiba! Could you come here for a second?” I said. “I need to talk to you about how we are all going to live from now on. You can stay here until you leave, of course.
I sleep at another place anyway. Speaking of which, when did you say you were leaving?”

“Whenever you tell us to leave, sire,” said Barxa Bachoy. He looked puzzled, as though surprised that a king would ask such a thing.

“Splendid. Then make it tomorrow,” I said. “Tell my people the good news. Okay, now I’m ready for some gifts, if you insist.”

I grabbed a pastry from the nearest tray. Normally I wasn’t too crazy about honey balls with rainbow cream, but I was starving. I hadn’t been king for a day and was already suffering
from deprivation.

“May I speak with you first, O Fanghaxra,” old Fairiba said diffidently.

“Sure,” I said. “You can talk to me anytime. You’ll be surprised to learn how easy it is to strike a deal with me.”

“It is also easy to strike a deal with Death,” said the old man. “Day after day, for centuries, we beg him, ‘Not today!’ He agrees and retreats. It’s a
pleasure doing business with him. Only once does he have it his way, but this one time is all it takes.”

“Never a truer word spoken, Fairiba,” I said, smiling. “What you just said about Death is dead right, if you’ll pardon the pun. And it’s probably true about me,
too.”

“Yes, about you, as well,” said the old man. “But I wanted to talk about something else. Your people have brought gifts. They know not of your preferences and, if I understand
this correctly, you have no need for our gifts. But we merely do as our customs tell us. I wish to ask you to accept our gifts even if you don’t like them. When a king rejects gifts from his
people, a curse is cast upon them. I know you would never mean to harm your people, but you have grown up among barbarians and do not know all the laws of your land. We have become weary of living
with the burden of curses—such a life is not worthmuch. Please avoid bringing another curse upon us, O Fanghaxra.”

“Oh, of course I won’t,” I said. “No curses, even if you’ve brought me all the horse manure you’ve collected over a century.”

“We would never do such a thing,” said Fairiba, surprised. “What strange things you say!”

He turned to his compatriots, who were still diligently consuming the pastry. That’s right, I thought. I haven’t ordered them to stop “eating heartily.”

“Bring in the gifts! The king is ready to accept them.”

And the downpour of gifts began. For starters, there were several baskets of exotic fruit. The one that made me the happiest was a huge melon. I had extensive experience tasting the cuisine of
the Unified Kingdom, but I had never seen or tasted a single local melon. I smelled it and realized that it was indeed a real melon, even though its size surpassed my most lavish notions of Mother
Nature’s generosity.

“Awesome,” I said. “You can’t imagine how much I like this . . . thing. What’s it called again?”

“This is a berry of the steppes. Have you forgotten?” The old man shook his head in disapproval. He looked like a botany teacher who was giving an exam to a bad student.

“A berry, huh?”

I tried to lift the “berry” but failed at the very first attempt. I didn’t try anymore after that.

The gifts were not limited to the fruits of nature. I became the happy owner of a whole stack of touching handmade mats and a plethora of colorful kerchiefs, shorts, and other exotic garments.
Some things looked brand new, yet others seemed to be secondhand stuff. It looked as though the members of the official delegation had stripped naked everyone at home before setting off on the long
journey. I shuddered but didn’t say anything. After all, I had promised Grandpa Fairiba to behave myself.

My patience was rewarded: one of the nomads brought a huge furry dog. The dog looked like a grander version of a snowy white Old English sheepdog, a kindly giant sticking out its charcoal-black
tongue in ecstasy.

“Sinning Magicians, will you look at this beauty!” I said. “I’ve always wanted a dog, and here it is. I must have felt it coming.”

“This is the best of my sheepdogs,” said Barxa Bachoy. “These sheepdogs have always lived in the king’s house. We know, sire, that you have no need for several hundred
dogs to protect you, so we have brought only one, just to keep up the tradition.”

“And you’ve done exactly the right thing. He’s great, but several hundred would’ve been a bit over the top.”

I squatted by the dog and carefully put my left hand on the back of his neck. The dog yelped and turned over on his back, exposing his furry belly.

“Ah, you do still remember how to tame these beasts!” said Fairiba. “Now he will die defending you if you so wish.”

“Jeepers!” I said. “That won’t be necessary. I can grapple with my own death, thank you very much. I need this dog alive.”

“It is very lucky for us, sire, to have guessed your wish,” said Barxa Bachoy. “I hope you will also like our final gift.”

I looked up and saw three tall, slim, and virtually identical young women standing in front of me, looking scared to death. They had huge black eyes, charming long noses, and short dark hair.
(Later I learned that all women in the Barren Lands cut their hair short because they consider the hassle of dealing with long hair to be beneath their dignity.) My goodness! These girls were not
just the spitting image of one another: three replicas of the great Liza Minnelli stood before me. Just what a man needed to lose all his marbles quickly and painlessly.

I plopped down on the floor right by my new four-legged friend, who immediately stuck his hairy snout under my hand. I mechanically stroked the dog, much to his visible delight.

“Who are these young ladies?” I said.

“They are your wives, sire,” said Fairiba.

“My wives?” I said, horrified. “Oh, boy.”

This could only happen to me. That was my special brand of luck. I was about to give these simple folk a short but emotionally charged lecture on the inadmissibility of attempts to ruin their
king’s personal life, but the imploring look in the eyes of old Fairiba made me shut my mouth. Fine, I thought, we’ll set tantrums aside for the time being. It’s unlikely that
these guys will have the temerity to sneak into my bedroom and verify how my marital life is unfolding. But they’ve got to explain themselves, drat it!