Макс Фрай - The Stranger

I woke up before noon, which by my standards is still very early. I spent a long time getting ready: after all, this was my first day on the job. I went downstairs and splashed around in my three bathing pools, one after the other. No matter what they say, three bathtubs are better than one . . . and way better than eleven, with all due respect to the snobs of the capital, headed by Sir Juffin Hully.

The hour had come to open the basket of provisions from the Glutton . To my great delight, I found a jug of kamra inside that I could reheat. As for attempting to make the drink myself, thus far I had had to dispose of all the fruits of my experiments. Sir Juffin Hully had suggested using my kamra as a deterrent to especially dangerous criminals. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he feared this method might be considered too ruthless.

So I warmed up the kamra on a miniature brazier (an indispensable feature of any civilized sitting room). It was a lovely morning. Finally I even lit the pipe I’d prepared for myself the evening before. It wasn’t so bad after all. Not even the unfamiliar taste of the local tobacco could put a dent in my optimism.

I went to work on foot. I planned to show off my expensive dark, intricately patterned looxi and black turban, which transformed me from your everyday good-looker into a prince. No one in the city besides me seemed to take any notice of this, though. People hurried about their business or stared dreamily into storefront windows in the Old Town. No gapes of wonder, no beautiful damsels eager to throw themselves into my arms in fits of trembling exaltation. So there was one thing that hadn’t changed.

I turned onto the Street of Copper Pots. I had just a short way to go before I took my first steps over the threshold of the Secret Door leading to the House by the Bridge. Before that day, I hadn’t had the right to enter the Ministry of Perfect Public Order through that door. Of course, I could have used the visitor’s entrance, but I decided against that. There had been nothing for me to do there before, anyway.

A short corridor led to the half of the building occupied by the Minor Secret Investigative Force, the organization that would soon be home to me. The other half of the building belonged to the Echo City Police Department, under the command of General of Public Order Sir Boboota Box, of whom I had never once heard a kind word spoken. I passed an enormous empty reception hall (the courier dozing off on the edge of his chair didn’t count) and entered the Hall of Common Labor, to find Lonli-Lokli writing something in an oversized notebook. I was immediately disappointed. Well, whaddayaknow: paperwork, even here! What about those self-inscribing tablets and buriwoks who memorize every word you say?

My worries were premature, though. Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli kept a personal work diary for his own pleasure. I was not inclined to disturb his bureaucratic serfdom, and went into Juffin’s office, which was a relatively small and comfortable room.

Sir Venerable Head was sitting at his desk, choking with laughter, while trying to scold Lady Melamori, who stood frozen before him with the look of a timid schoolgirl.

“Oh, it’s you, Sir Max. Your first mission is to go into the city and commit a bestial murder of some sort. The fellows are going mad with boredom. Do you know what the first and only lady of the Secret Investigative Force has been up to? She began shadowing Captain Foofloss, who is deputy, brother-in-law, and brother in arms to General Boboota Box. The poor fool started to get chest pains, and he was consumed by a terrible feeling of dread. For the first time in his life, he started asking himself the fundamental questions of life, and was none the happier for it. Only the quick wit of young Lieutenant Kamshi saved Mr. Foofloss from suicide. They sent him off to an estate to unwind, and Lieutenant Kamshi was obliged to write me an official report. The City Police is held together by people like that. If only Sir Kamshi were in Boboota’s place . . . Isn’t that hilarious?”

“You seem to think it is,” I said. “Don’t fight your natural inclinations; you look like you’re about to burst!”

Juffin nodded, and heeding my medical advice, gave vent to his laughter. Melamori looked at us almost reprovingly, as though she had broken the law once in a lifetime and we had the temerity to snicker about it.

“Well, what am I to do with you, young lady? Count yourself lucky that Kamshi seems to have taken a fancy to you. Can you imagine the uproar it would have caused if he had been eager to enforce the letter of the law, or had been more concerned about his boss’s state of mind?”

“Then we would have proven that Captain Foofloss was a criminal!” Melamori retorted, smiling her irresistible smile. “You’d be the first to enjoy it.”

“I assure you, I have enough to enjoy without your help. So this is how it’s going to be, Miss. As boredom seems to have addled your brain, you are being sent to Xolomi for three days. There you will help the commandant to study the Secret Archive. I don’t know anyone better than you for getting the job done. Keeping secrets is in your blood. You’ll feel like a prisoner, as well you should! If anything happens here, I’ll send for you. So pray to the Dark Magicians for a bloody crime. Oh yes, and don’t forget to bribe Sir Kamshi. A kiss would be cheaper, but I’d advise you to warm him up with something from your Uncle Kima’s wine cellars. That way you won’t have to make a commitment, and it will certainly surpass even his wildest expectations. Now off to jail you go.”

Lady Melamori rolled her eyes in mock martyrdom. “You see, Max? There you have it: the fist of tyranny! Sending me to Xolomi for three days because of an innocent prank!”

“That’s what you think!” Juffin said with a caustic chuckle. “The old commandant will treat you like royalty. Have you heard about his chef?”

“Yes, and that’s the only reason I haven’t poisoned myself right here in your office.” Melamori stopped short, and added petulantly, “Forgive me, Sir Juffin, but Foofloss is such an idiot. I couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m not surprised in the least!” And with that, Juffin started laughing again.

I had little doubt that in the past Melamori Blimm had gotten away with other, less innocent, pranks.

Before the lovely criminal was whisked off to Xolomi in one of the company amobilers, she whispered to me quickly, “I’m not always like this.” I’d have liked to believe it.

“I am afraid, Sir Max, that today I will have to address you on an official footing,” said Juffin, whose manner had become instantly solemn. “Let me first tell you a bit about Kurush.”

The story of Lady Melamori’s malfeasance had occupied my full attention. Only then did I notice the shaggy owl-like bird, seated on the back of an empty arm chair. The buriwok (and it was definitely a buriwok) deigned to study my personage from on high.

“It’s all right, he’ll do,” the feathered wonder said at long last. As far as I could make out, it was referring to me.

“Thank you, Kurush,” I said. I had wanted to joke, but it came out sounding quite serious. Sir Juffin nodded.

“That means a lot coming from him. If you only knew the things he said about the others!”

“What did you say about the others?” I asked the bird.

“That is classified information,” Kurush answered stolidly. “And you have business to attend to.”

The “business” was that Sir Juffin made me repeat some mumbo-jumbo in an unintelligible language. Apparently, it was a powerful ancient spell that bound me to serve the interests of the crown.

“But I don’t feel a thing,” I said in confusion, having gotten through the tongue-twisting text with some difficulty.