Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“Max, you’re coming with us. Three is a crowd. I signed an order granting Sir Lonli-Lokli and his magic hands five Days of Freedom from Chores, and he wisely left town yesterday morning. Melamori is relieved of duty, as her influential daddykins missed her. And Sir Kofa Yox is keeping watch at our Pleasure Factory by the Bridge, instead of methodically chewing a steak in some Sated Skeleton or other, the poor bloke. But we ourselves will have a little snack, otherwise Sir Melifaro will lose the ability to think once and for all. And you are always up for that, as far as I’ve been able to find out, aren’t you?”

We snacked abundantly, but in great haste. Sir Melifaro, by the way, attempted to make it into the Guinness Book of Records in that category of strapping fellows who consume sources of nourishment in huge quantities before you could say Jack Robinson.

All the while, he regaled us with questions, asking me whether it was difficult to get along without sun-cured horsemeat, and asking Sir Juffin whether it might be possible to get a sandwich with the meat of some pickled mutinous Magician or other. (I was able to appreciate this joke only later, when Sir Kofa Yox gave me a comprehensive lecture about the most enduring urban legends.)

We walked over to Sir Makluk’s house in silence. Sir Juffin was thinking troubled thoughts, Melifaro whistled a tune absently, and I waited expectantly for my first slice of true adventure. I’ll say right off that I got much more than I had bargained for.

The usual man in gray admitted us at a small side door. I immediately felt ill at ease—not so much frightened as sad and disgusted. I had experienced something like this before, in those rare cases when I had to visit my grandmother. In that hospital there had been a special ward for the terminally ill and dying. Sweet little place . . .

Juffin cast a warning glance at me. Max, do you notice it, too?

“What is it?” I asked aloud, confused. Melifaro turned away in amazement, but said nothing.

Juffin preferred Silent Speech. It’s the smell of a foul death. I’ve come across this before. None of this bodes any good. He then continued out loud.

“All right, let’s go into the bedchamber. My heart tells me that the old man couldn’t resist and popped in this morning to tidy up. Melifaro, today you’ll take Lonli-Lokli’s place.”

“I won’t be able to pull it off. I can’t puff out my chest like he does.”

“Never mind. You don’t have to, just throw yourself into the scorching fire; that’s all there is to it. According to instructions, I can’t subject you to the risk of being deprived of my company. And Sir Max doesn’t have a clue about what to do after you enter the room.”

“So in that case, you won’t miss me, will you? I know, I know, you got sick of me a long time ago. Maybe you can just kick me out of the service and you’ll have a clean conscience? Think about it before it’s too late!” Sir Melifaro said with a smirk.

“Yes, you see, I’m planning to take your place,” I explained. “And for your boss, it’s easier just to kill someone than to offend him without cause. So—”

“Well, fine,” Melifaro replied with a sigh of resignation. “Of course, otherwise why would he have fed me? He was granting me my last wish.”

“Gentlemen, could you perhaps be so kind as to shut up?” said Juffin.

We bit our tongues and fell in step behind our stern leader until he halted by the door to the bedchamber.

“It’s here, Melifaro. Welcome.”

Melifaro didn’t try to pull any stunts in the tradition of a brave storm-trooper from the movies. He simply opened the door and entered the empty chamber. The epicenter of the “smell of a foul death” was right here—judging by how unwell I felt. But what must be done, must be done! And so I followed right behind Melifaro.

For a brief moment it seemed to me that I had died many years before. Then I began to feel wracked with a longing for death—a peculiar kind of nostalgia; but a tiny part of the phlegmatic, sensible Max was still alive in me. So I got a grip on myself—or, rather, the sensible kid gathered up all the rest of the Maxes, all howling in a frenzy of morbid longing.

Sir Melifaro, who until that moment had remained blissfully ignorant, was now also on the alert. He mumbled gloomily, “Not the cheeriest place in Echo, Chief. Why did you drag me in here? Bring on the music and the girls!”

Then Sir Juffin spoke in a voice that sounded like it came from someone else:

“Back off, boys! This time my pipe is going off the scales!”

The dial on the pipe was calibrated to detect magic up to the hundredth degree. This should be plenty, as even during the romantic Epoch of Orders, masters who had greater abilities were few and far between. So if the wand was going “off the scales,” the magic here must be greater than the hundredth degree—say, the 173rd or 212th. From my perspective, it was all the same at that point.

“What’s going—?” Melifaro tried to ask, but Juffin shouted:

“Clear out! On the double!”

In the same instant, he tugged me by the leg, and I crashed onto the floor, just in time to notice Melifaro’s legs flying up in a bizarre somersault as he jumped out of the window. Well, almost jumped out. The sound of shattering glass rang out, and shards flew everywhere, but Melifaro’s flight was broken off abruptly. He slid down onto the floor, turned around, and started walking slowly away from the window.

“Where are you going, you fool! Get out, I say!” Juffin shouted, but without much hope. Even I understood that the fellow wasn’t walking of his own accord. I thought I could see a spiderweb, glistening like cold crystal, envelop Melifaro. His face became completely childlike and helpless. He looked at us from someplace far away, from a dark, intoxicated distance. He smiled awkwardly, blissfully. Slowly, he walked toward the source of the web that had ensnared him, toward what had recently been the large, antique mirror.

Juffin raised his hands above his head. It seemed to me that a warm yellow light flared up inside him, and he began to glow like a kerosene lamp. First the spiderweb that enveloped Melifaro became illuminated; then Melifaro himself grew bright. He stopped and turned toward us. Now he’ll be all right, I thought. But the warm yellow glow faded, and died. Melifaro, still smiling his beatific smile, took another step toward the mirror’s dark maw.

Juffin bunched himself up into a tight mass and started hissing. The spiderweb shuddered, and several threads broke off with a strange sound that made my stomach churn. In the darkness, the thing we took to be a mirror started to shimmer and shift. Two empty eyes were staring at us, gleaming with the same crystalline chill as the spiderweb. Something that looked like the face of a dead ape materialized around the brilliant, fiery eyes. In the place where mammals usually have a mouth, a gaping, moist darkness appeared, repulsive and yet captivating. The cavernous black hole was framed by what appeared at first to be a beard, but peering closer, I saw with horror that the “beard” was alive. Around the creature’s hideous mouth, hairy growths like spider legs wriggled madly, writhing of their own accord. The creature gazed at Melifaro with a cold curiosity; it didn’t seem to notice us at all. Melifaro smiled, and said quietly, “You can see that I’m on my way.” And he took another step.

Juffin tore off like a whirlwind. Screaming in an unnatural, strangled voice, and beating the floor rhythmically with his feet, he crossed the room at a diagonal, then again, and yet again. The rhythm of his stamping and shouting, oddly enough, comforted me. I stared transfixed at this dizzying shamanic frenzy. The spiderweb trembled, then faded and went dark. I watched the mirror creature follow Juffin’s every move with its fading gaze.