Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“Don’t forget the treat,” Kurush reminded us.

All the while we were at the Glutton Sir Juffin was the embodiment of paternal concern. It was amazing—he really showed sympathy for me and my silly problem.

“Whatever it is, Max, you’re not the type of kid to get a nightmare from acid indigestion. Sometimes your dreams are unusual. If this happens again, I think you had better spend a few days at my place, at least until we get to the bottom of it.”

“Thank you, Juffin. But I don’t want to leave my house. All my life I’ve wanted a house like that, with a bedroom beneath the eaves, a living room downstairs, stairs that creak, and no extra furniture. Now, at last I’ve found the house I’ve been looking for. And you know what? Like hell they’re going to chase me out of it!”

“So you’re going to sleep at home and entertain yourself with a half dozen nightmares every night?”

“I certainly hope not. Maybe it won’t happen again. Everyone has nightmares, and they usually don’t mean anything at all.”

“And what about your chest pains when you went outside? You think that was just a coincidence? A cat has nine lives, but you’re no cat.”

I jumped in surprise at hearing the old turn of phrase.

“Do you have cats here?”

“Who doesn’t!”

“Why haven’t I seen one yet?”

“Where could you have seen one? You’ve never been to the countryside. We don’t keep cats at home; they’re like cows and sheep.”

“That’s odd. I guess yours are the wrong sort of cats.”

“You mean yours are the wrong sort of cats,” Juffin retorted. “ Ours are the rightest sort of cats in the entire Universe!”

Then we parted ways. Juffin Hully set off for a stroll around the Street of Old Coins, and I went to the House by the Bridge to hang out. Kurush got a cream pastry. According to my colleagues, they’re his favorite. It turned out that the buriwok was unable to clean the sticky cream off his beak, and I had to run around the office in search of a napkin.

Then I went upstairs and regaled Sir Lookfi Pence and a good hundred or so buriwoks with tales from the Barren Lands, which I’d borrowed from the third volume of Encyclopedia . When the long twilight shadows had thickened into night, Sir Lookfi began getting ready to go home, knocking over chairs all the while. That was how I learned that his working day lasts from noon to nightfall. The rest of the time the buriwoks like going about their own business, and it’s best not to disturb them. They looked upon dear old Kurush as something of an oddball for spending all his time with humans.

I invited Sir Lookfi for a mug of kamra in my office. He seemed pleased and shy at the same time. He sent a call to his wife, after which he said:

“Varisha has agreed to miss me for another hour. Thank you, Sir Max! I apologize that I didn’t accept your invitation immediately. You see, we’re newlyweds and . . .” Embarrassed, the poor fellow got tangled up in the folds of his own looxi. I had to catch him so he wouldn’t fall.

“Don’t apologize,” I said, smiling. “You did just the right thing, my friend.”

Once I was back in the office, I called for the courier, who darted in seconds later and looked into my eyes with fawning devotion. I could just see it, the title of a horror movie: Max, Devourer of Underlings . Quite a nice ring to it, I thought!

Lookfi sipped his kamra with evident enjoyment, all the while soaking the intricately-patterned hem of his looxi in his cup. I didn’t waste any time, and started asking him about the buriwoks. I had already heard Kurush’s take on things, and now I wanted to hear the opinion of one of the other parties involved.

“I was offered this job by the buriwoks themselves,” said Sir Lookfi. “I don’t know why they chose me, but one day, a long time ago—a long long time ago—a courier came to my house and brought me an invitation from the House by the Bridge. The birds said that they would find my presence most suitable. They rejected the other candidates out of hand—even the cousin of the King’s Advisor. Do you know why, Kurush?”

“I’ve told you many times—because you can tell us apart.”

“Kurush, you’re just as much of a joker as Sir Juffin! Who in the world wouldn’t be able to tell you apart?”

“I would probably have a hard time telling one buriwok from another,” I confessed in perplexity.

“There you have it. I’ve been telling him the same thing over and over for more than a hundred years, and he still doesn’t believe me,” Kurush grumbled. “Although, it’s true, his memory isn’t too bad; for a human, of course.”

“I suppose I do have a good memory,” said Lookfi. “Yet all my life I thought others were forgetful and I was only average.”

“He remembers how many feathers each of us has,” Kurush told me confidingly.

“No kidding!” I whistled. “If that was the one and only thing you remembered, Lookfi, I would still be a dimwit compared to you.”

“Don’t say that, Sir Max,” said Lookfi. “You’re not a dimwit at all; you’re just a bit absent-minded.”

Sinning Magicians, I thought, look who’s talking!

Finally, Lookfi took his leave, and Kurush and I were left alone together. I think the buriwok had fallen asleep. I found some newspapers on Juffin’s desk; some fresh, and others less recent. It’s good to be new in someone else’s world: the evening papers are as enthralling as a fantasy novel. The only difference is that you can open the door at any moment you please and go for a walk in this imaginary world.

Sir Kofa Yox arrived again before dawn. He grumpily informed me that there was no news and that none was expected: four more house robberies for the valiant police force to deal with. So boring! That was why he was turning in for the night. I nodded sympathetically, sighed, and became absorbed once more in a copy of the Echo Hustle and Bustle dating back to the previous year.

Sir Juffin Hully showed up for work rather early, demanded some kamra, and then stared at me thoughtfully.

“No news yet, Max. I mean no real news, at any rate. But I do have one idea. This is what it comes down to. My house is always open to you, you know that. But you were right. Try sleeping at your place for another day or two. If you don’t have any more nightmares, great! If you do, though . . . I understand that it isn’t pleasant, but there’s a chance the plot might start to unfold. Perhaps something interesting will come to light.”

“What do you think? What should I prepare myself for?”

“Honestly? I think you should prepare for the worst. I didn’t like the look of that house from the start. I didn’t like it one bit, but there was nothing I could put my finger on. I can’t remember anything like this happening before. Maybe my imagination is running away with me out of boredom, but I don’t think so. I think we’ll dig something up on that house. When Lookfi gets here we’ll find out something about the owners. And about the neighbors, as well. About how they feel living there. For the time being, take this.” Juffin offered me an unsightly scrap of cloth. “Wrap this around your neck before going to sleep. This will definitely wake you up.”

“What? Could it really be that dangerous?”

“Life is full of extremely dangerous things. Most dangerous of all are the things we don’t understand. Or things that don’t exist at all. All right, let me know when you wake up.”

A sense of obligation is not the best kind of sleeping pill. After tossing restlessly from side to side, I surrounded myself with volumes of Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia and began studying its excellent illustrations. I was interested in the local cat species and hoped to find pictures of them. It took me a long time to find them, but at last I was successful. At first glance, these wondrous beasts seemed like ordinary fluffy cats. What was striking about them, though, was their size. These furry shortlimbed creatures were no less than three feet in length. Their shoulder height was around a foot and a half. I determined this by comparing the picture of the cat with that of a gentleman in a knitted looxi. Turning to the accompanying text, I learned that the gentleman was none other than a shepherd . Reading further I discovered that “the peasant folk of Landaland breed cats for their warm coats.” Just like sheep! I was surprised and fascinated. Maybe it’s time I got myself a kitten. So what if the snobs from the capital consider them to be petty livestock that should be kept on farms? A barbarian from the Barren Lands, I was certain, would be forgiven more serious eccentricities than that.