Макс Фрай - The Stranger

My observations were interrupted by the voice of Sir Juffin demanding an explanation from the policemen.

“Witnesses say that it was a very little man, sir,” said the policeman, perplexed.

“Where are the witnesses?”

A young couple emerged from the crowd of onlookers. They seemed pleasant, and very youthful, probably around sixty years old by local standards. The lady turned out to be more talkative than her companion.

“We were taking a stroll around the city, and we chanced upon this street. It seemed quiet enough; there wasn’t anyone around, just one lady with a basket, walking along ahead of us. Then all of a sudden a little man jumped out from behind that house.” Here the girl pointed to the ancient architectural masterpiece that I was already so sick of.

“Are you sure he was small?” asked Juffin.

“I’m sure, sir! You can ask Frud here. He was very small, like a baby, or even smaller. But he was dressed like a grownup, all nice and fancy. At first we didn’t understand what was going on. We thought that the man recognized the lady and ran up to hug her. Well, he jumped up; because of course how else could he hug her, being so little and all. We thought it was cute. But then the lady fell over, and we got scared. The man jumped up and down on top of her a few more times, and then left.”

“Where did he go?”

“He just left . . . Well, he didn’t come toward us, praise to the Magicians! Frud wanted to chase after him, but I got scared. Then we started crying for help.”

“Thank you my dear. Very good,” said Juffin. He then turned to the police officers. “Did you see anyone leaving the house, boys?”

“No, Sir Venerable Head! And we didn’t go inside, because—”

“And a very good thing you didn’t! Max, Shurf, let’s go!”

So we went to pay a visit to my neighbors, a thousand werewolves on their nuptial bed! Inside, the house was dark and very quiet—and very foul, I might add! A massive parlor laden with valuables gave the impression of an odious museum built in the foyer of hell, a collection comprised of belongings stolen from sinners. And I’m not saying that just because I suffered at the hands of the house’s owners. The atmosphere of the house was truly disgusting. Even Lonli-Lokli winced squeamishly; and I’m quite sure that doesn’t happen often.

For the first time since I arrived in Echo, the oversized spaces annoyed me. It took us several minutes to search the first floor, even though we worked very quickly; to no avail. Our search yielded nothing but a thoroughly rotten mood.

We went upstairs. The second floor was as dark and quiet as the first. Lonli-Lokli stepped onto the staircase that led to the third floor. I followed him with a feeling of certain doom. It would have been so nice to wake up just then, but I couldn’t have been more awake.

Hey Max, don’t get depressed! Juffin sensed that I was losing heart and magnanimously sent me a call. No matter what happens, this is work for Shurf; and it’s not difficult, either. You and I are just here out of curiosity. It’s not the most pleasant outing, but it’s nothing more than that. Chin up, my boy!

I felt a bit better. I even mustered a weak smile and had it sent General Delivery to Sir Juffin.

Finally we were on the top floor of the house. Above it there was nothing but sky.

They were waiting for us—Tolakan and Feni Enn: fabulously wealthy, smitten with love for each other, and happy together till the end of time. But, no, they’d been gone for a long time already. Only the formidable Phetan remained, extending his longevity with the two sequestered bodies.

The beast knew very well that the situation was hopeless, and knew what awaited him. It didn’t even try to put up a fight. Suddenly, I got an uneasy feeling. I think I was beginning to sympathize with this unknown beast, who was not even here of its own will; it was merely trying to survive in the only way it knew how. What if some crazy Magician summoned me? And with my talent for getting into trouble, even in my sleep . . . I felt a chill, and shivered.

Five snow-white rays raced toward the motionless couple. Sir Lonli-Lokli’s left hand smote the double-bodied beast quickly and efficiently. Painlessly, as well, I hoped.

“Juffin?” I asked in the ringing silence. “Is there anything left of the Enns themselves? A soul, I mean, or whatever the scientific word for that is . . .”

“No one kno—Oh, Max!”

Quick as lightening, he struck the back of my knees, and I collapsed to the floor. As I was falling, I realized there was something wrong with the nape of my neck. I felt a painful incision in the very place where the hair turns into frivolous fluff. Then a cold sensation spread over my neck. I cried out, and then lost consciousness.

After a few seconds of total darkness, I realized I was still alive. A sharp pain in my right knee and chin witnessed to that. The back of my neck was numb, as though from a shot of Novocain. Something warm was dripping down my neck. If that’s blood, then it’s goodbye to my favorite looxi, I thought darkly.

I felt a hot hand on the back of my neck. It was an extremely pleasant sensation. I relaxed and floated away into a land of tender forgetfulness. But I didn’t stay there for long.

When I opened my eyes, I felt better, though far from ideal. My knee and chin admitted that they had been badly mistreated and were on the road to recovery now. But my neck and the back of my head worried me. Sir Juffin Hully looked around fastidiously for something to wipe off his bloodied hands.

“The curtains,” I said, surprised at my own falsetto croak. “I doubt the heirs will sue you.”

“Good boy, Max! What would I do without you?”

“Drink kamra quietly in your office without a worry or care. What was that, Juffin?”

“It was the comprehensive answer to several theoretical questions that armchair philosophers sometimes feel compelled to examine. See for yourself. Come on, you can turn your head. I’ve stopped the bleeding, and the wound has closed. And it wasn’t such a bad injury to begin with. Your head didn’t fall off, anyway. And if it did, I’d sew a new one on you, even better than the last.”

“Very funny. So where is this comprehensive answer?”

“Here it is, Sir Max,” said sir Lonli-Lokli, and he kneeled down to show me two small objects, which he held in his right, less dangerous hand. It was a figurine broken in half, the figure of a small woman with a trident. The face, though not attractive, was extremely lifelike, and full of a threatening intensity that made it unforgettable. An impressive trinket.

“Sinning Magicians! What is it?”

“One of the masterpieces from the beginning of the Epoch of Orders,” he explained. “An amulet to protect the household. And a powerful thing it was. I think the ghost of Lady Feni picked it up randomly at one of those places at the market where prices start at several hundred crowns. As for the craftsman who made the thing—Sinning Magicians, may werewolves bite off his ears!”

“It is striking,” I agreed, “And look at the face . . . Was it a magical object?”

“Well, yes. In her time, this damsel protected the house from thieves and other unexpected visitors. And she did a good job of it, too; she was no less fierce than an armed thug. It’s all right as long as amulets like that end up in ordinary households of ordinary families. But in a house inhabited by a Phetan, anything can happen to a magical object. This is an age-old truth that is every so often called into question by certain armchair philosophers. The ancient object that attacked you went completely nuts. That’s what I call a comprehensive answer to theoretical questions. It was my fault, of course; you can never let your guard down in a place like this. If you and I had just waited a little longer with our conversation, then your neck would’ve been in much better condition now. Not to mention your morale. Anyway, let’s get out of here. The House by the Bridge is a good deal cozier. Or perhaps you want to go home and get some rest, Sir Max? You are injured, after all, and your house is just across the street.”