Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“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?