The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three (20 page)

“Looks like you can lose your temper on occasion after all.” I heard Juffin’s mocking voice behind my back. “Too bad Sir Dondi Melixis wasn’t here to see you. He
would have given you a raise. Dear, dear, look at you. You used to be such a nice boy. You should be ashamed of yourself, Sir Max.”

“Well, I’m not,” I said in an indifferent tone.

“Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be,” said Juffin, smiling and sitting down next to me. “Maybe it was a trifle. You’ve learned to fight your mirages. That’s a good
start. There’s just one small thing you still have to learn: how to do the same to the one who sends them.”

“Sure thing. Bring him on,” I said, still indifferent.

“Ha! ‘Bring him on,’ he says. You’re in no shape for battle, son. I don’t think you’d be able to kill a chicken after the performance you’ve just put
on. Which was exactly what our friend Gugimagon was counting on, by the way.”

“Was it him?” I didn’t feel like I could be bothered to care. I was as imperturbable as Sir Lonli-Lokli, if not more so.

“Wasn’t me, for sure.” Juffin took the turban off my head and, with the cunning smile of a provincial magician, pulled a clay pitcher out of it. The pitcher was a replica of
the pitchers in the Glutton Bunba.

“I think a sip of kamra wouldn’t do you any harm. Don’t pretend you can’t drink it without a cup. I can’t be bothered to fetch one for you. Why are you looking at
me like that? Did you think you and our precious Maba Kalox were the only ones in the whole World who could do this trick?”

“No,” I said and smiled. “Deep down inside I’m sure there isn’t any trick you can’t do, and that you’re the boss of everyone and everything. It’s
just funny that you pulled a pitcher out of the turban.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. When old Mackie Ainti taught me the trick of the Chink between Worlds, he posited that for best results one should search the chink just below one’s
back,” said Juffin. “Back then, I was easily shocked by such statements. I even thought of quitting my studies, thinking Magic was a dirty business.”

“Hey! This kamra really is from the Glutton,” I said.

“Of course. You thought I’d treat you—and me—to some poison?”

Juffin grabbed the pitcher out of my hands and took a few gulps. I put my hand in the pocket of my Mantle of Death for a cigarette. Then I snapped my right fingers to light it. That was a bit
too much for me. I was more or less used to performing miracles on demand, but this was almost mechanical. Time out.

“Are we waiting for something in particular, or are you just giving me time to catch my breath?” I said.

“Both. We’re waiting for the blissful moment when I’m sure you’re fully restored. Then I’ll summon that elderly rascal Gugimagon.”

“I’m not fully restored?”

“Well, how shall I put this? A half hour ago, you looked pretty bad to me.”

“Where were you all the time I was . . . fighting my mirages?”

“I was standing on the Threshold of this World, up to my chin in a sea of pleasure, watching your immortal feats. I decided to keep my distance, though, just in case.” Juffin laughed
heartily, as if he thought I was the greatest comic of all times and my massacre of the beachgoers was one of my best acts.

“Were they really just mirages?” I said.

“Not ‘just’ mirages, but . . . Well, sure, they were mirages, all right. You see, I think I managed to trick Gugimagon. Until the very last minute, he was sure you’d come
here alone because he thought I’d stay with Sir Shurf, guarding his precious body and his no-lessprecious soul.”

“Why did he think that?”

“Last night, I gave Shurf a little of my blood and told him to drink a drop of it each time he felt his Rider approaching. A magician who is not too experienced in such matters could
easily mix up Shurf’s body with mine. My bet was, first, that Gugimagon wasn’t very experienced in these matters; and, second, that I still scared the hell out of him. And I was right,
which I’m very glad about.”

“Was that the secret you didn’t want to tell me about yesterday?”

“Indeed. My trick couldn’t have worked any better. Gugimagon thought you’d come to fight him alone. He was well prepared for you. Gugimagon calculated that your fit of rage
would completely exhaust you, which is what happened. You know, Max, he’s scared of you, too. Not scared to death but still scared. And he really, really dislikes you. Shurf was right:
it’s personal.”

I gave Juffin a puzzled look. He shrugged, made a helpless gesture, and even raised his eyebrows, as if to say, yeah, that’s just how it is, buddy, nothing more to discuss.

“The first thing he decided to do was to throw everything you hate at you. Things that you least wanted or expected to encounter in your World. And this is, indeed, your World, your very
own World,” he said.

“What do you mean ‘my own World’? I know I’ve been seeing it in my dreams for a long time, and I’ve always loved this place. But how can anyone own a whole
World?”

“It’s simple: without you, this coast wouldn’t exist. First you dreamed of fragments of a World that had never before existed. Then a miracle happened—one of the few
phenomena that we cannot explain and have traditionally called ‘miracles.’ This place became real. It materialized. It became real enough to exist even after you die. There are many
Worlds that began as someone’s dream. Most of them are as unclear and ephemeral as their creators. But you, you have a rare talent that allows you to give your fantasies a long-lasting
existence. The beautiful nameless city in the mountains, the predatory enchanted garden that you brought into existence near Kettari, and now this place . . . Strange that Gugimagon took a fancy to
it. Perhaps because it’s easier to enter a newborn World?”

I kept staring at the boss. What metaphysical nonsense! He must have been mocking me. Oh, whatever. Let him mock me all he wants. I just didn’t want to live with this new truth about me
and inhabited Worlds. A solipsist wakes up one morning with a terrible hangover and . . . there is nothing around him. What a sad joke.

The ground was disappearing from under my feet again. How many more times was that going to happen this autumn?

“Are you pulling my leg, Juffin?” I said without much hope.

“Why would I? And what are you so worried about? As though this is some groundbreaking news. It’s funny how scared you are sometimes of a simple statement of facts.”

“Yeah, it’s hilarious,” I said. “Actually, after all that’s happened to me, I could probably do without your last ‘statement of facts.’”

“Indeed. But if I were you, I’d be dancing with joy. Or does the thought of your own omnipotence not thrill you?”

I analyzed my feelings and shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry. But if you give me back that pitcher of kamra, it’d probably cheer me up a bit. I’m a very
primitive creature, you see.”

“Fine, here’s your slop, you primitive creature. It’s almost cold now,” said Juffin, handing me the pitcher.

I finished the lukewarm kamra and decided it was time to have some fun. “You know, I feel I’ve taken a good rest and I’m ready for action. How about you summon Gugimagon real
quick, I punch him in the face, and we go home?”

“You won’t be ‘ready for action’ for at least another couple dozen days,” said Juffin. “I don’t mean your mood or how you feel physically. I mean your
potential for repeating your recent exploit. But that’s irrelevant. I can handle Gugimagon myself—that’s a piece of cake. The problem is that I might hurt you by accident while
killing that fellow. You’re too weak. I’d love to send you home, but you’re in no shape to go anywhere now.”

“Is it really all that bad?” I said.

“Bad? No, everything is just fine. Better than fine, even. You can stand up, you can even make fire with your fingers—though you technically shouldn’t be able to. We have two
options. Option number one: you can take a vacation and stay here for a couple dozen days until you acquire the status of ‘conquering hero,’ just like you’re supposed to.
That’s an excellent idea in many respects. There’s a catch, though. During this time, our friend Gugimagon may pack up his suitcases and head somewhere at the other end of the Universe.
At least that’s what I would do if I were him.”

“And option number two?”

“Oh, that I like even more than option one. I’m going to bury you right now and then summon Gugimagon.”

“B-b-bury me?” I said.

“That’s right. Earth offers excellent protection from all kinds of things, especially the earth of your own World. I believe it’s going to be something special. Now stop making
sad eyes at me, Max. Your head is going to be sticking out. You’ll be able to breathe all you want, and you’ll get to see the battle of the titans. Boy, do I love performing before a
live audience!”

“Oh, okay,” I said, happy that I wouldn’t be buried alive. “But then you’re going to have to leave my hands sticking out, too, so I can applaud.”

“No way, mister. Right now your hands are your most vulnerable assets, what with all the things you’ve done with them.”

“Suit yourself. You’ll get no applause then,” I said, stretching out on the warm sand. “Do whatever you want with me, Juffin. I think I’m going to take a quick
nap.”

“Don’t even think about it. No naps while Gugimagon is alive.” Juffin produced a small ceramic bottle of Elixir of Kaxar from the pocket of his looxi. “How come
you’re the one drinking this stuff and I’m the one who remembers to bring it?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s called specialization.”

I took two bracing gulps of the tastiest tonic in the World—in all the Worlds. It was an overdose, of course, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t choke on it,” said Juffin.

He rose to his feet and moved a few paces away from the water. He hesitated a little and gave an approving nod. He then picked up a small rock from the ground, turned it over and over it in his
hands, and hurled it to the ground at his feet. A bright column of sand launched into the sky, quivered, and scattered into millions of shiny grains. It looked like a miniature explosion, except
that it was completely noiseless.

“Your little burrow is ready,” he said. “It’s time to bury you, before you start wanting to brawl after overindulging on your potion.”

“Have you ever seen me start a brawl after drinking it?” I said.

“Praise be the Magicians, I haven’t. Yet. And I pray to the heavens I won’t ever see it,” said Juffin, laughing. “Your show today impressed me immensely. I could
have sworn that Loiso Pondoxo had risen from the dead. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was your favorite schoolteacher: you emulated his style today. For your information, out of
all of my acquaintances, he was the only one who could do those tricks with his hands.”

“I’m sure you’re trying to flatter me, but your praise doesn’t make me feel any better,” I said. “That infamous Loiso Pondoxo of yours—he turns up
everywhere! He even managed to be the father of my girlfriend, of all things. Are you sure you killed him, Juffin? Recently I’ve begun to suspect he’s going to swoop down on my head one
of these days.”

“I did a very good job killing him,” said Juffin, though he paused to think about it. “I put him in a rapidly disappearing place. I believe Loiso disappeared along with that
place long, long ago. But even if he didn’t, I don’t think he’ll ever ‘swoop down on your head.’ I locked his personal Door between Worlds after him. And believe me, I
locked it very well. Loiso was an unsurpassed master of Apparent Magic—I was no match for him—but in questions of travel between Worlds, he was no better than a novice, much like you
are. The trickiest part was to lure him into Xumgat. The rest was easy.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Some other time, perhaps. I’m kind of busy here. Hop into your hole, Max. We’ll look silly if Gugimagon gets away from this World. Naturally, it won’t be easy for him.
He’d need to find a good ‘horse’ for that. He probably won’t be able to get to Shurf, and those who brought him here are all dead. Still, we shouldn’t underestimate
him. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out he has other involuntary helpers besides those unfortunate mental patients and our Sir Shurf. After all, he has been preparing for this journey
for no less than a hundred years.”

Juffin chattered away while carefully pouring sand between me and the walls of the deep hole. I felt like a root crop, a gigantic carrot. It was funny, and under the influence of the overdose of
Elixir of Kaxar, I giggled like a madman.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” said Juffin. “I love dealing with you. I’m practically burying you alive in a desert at the edge of the Universe; I’m about to summon
Gugimagon, who, by the way, is craving your blood; and there you are, neighing like a drunk horse.”

“Why a ‘drunk horse’?” I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Because sober horses behave themselves, especially under similar circumstances. Fine, you’ve convinced me. I’m going to have lots of fun, too,” said Juffin.

He turned around and walked toward the middle of the beach in quick, long strides. When he was about forty yards away from me, he stopped and yelled, “Gugimagon, you son of a werewolf! Get
your backside down here now!”