Макс Фрай - The Stranger

He handed Juffin several self-inscribing tablets. These are an extraordinarily convenient little invention, let me tell you. Just think a thought or two, and it up and writes them down. It must be said that some people think less than grammatically—but there it is. That’s one thing you can’t change.

Juffin studied the tablets with respectful concentration.

“What I’d like to know is what Boboota Box does all day during working hours. And what part of his body does he use for thinking, when it becomes absolutely unavoidable. I doubt it’s his behind—it’s so big that it would be capable of coming to some weighty conclusions eventually. Okay, then. We’ll let him deal with the bungling sorcerers and smugglers. The counterfeiter and pickpocket we’ll keep for later.”

Sir Kofa nodded gravely.

“With your permission, I’d like to take my leave. I want to drink some kamra in the Pink Buriwok on my way home. They don’t know how to make it worth a darn, but the biggest tongue-waggers in Echo gather there early in the morning on their way from the market. I don’t think . . . although . . .”

Sir Kofa fell silent and almost mechanically passed his hand over his face, which underwent a sudden change. Rubbing his nose, which was growing before our very eyes, he went off to squander the remains of the treasury.

“Juffin,” I began in confusion. “Tell me, why don’t you give Boboota Box all the cases at once? He’s a jerk, of course; but a criminal at large—that’s not right, is it? Or have I misunderstood something again?”

“Have you misunderstood something? You’ve understood absolutely nothing! A petty criminal at large is a mild inconvenience, but a Boboota running around the House by the Bridge is a disaster! And I do have to try to get along with him. To my way of thinking, that means ‘taking charge of the situation.’ And ‘taking charge of the situation’ means that Sir Boboota Box will be forever in our debt. It’s the only state of mind that allows for constructive dialog. At the same time, we always need to have something up our sleeves that Boboota doesn’t know. What if we suddenly have to give him a present; or, on the contrary, to give him a scare? The gratitude of Boboota Box is as loud as the gases he lets out at his leisure—and as fleeting as their odor.”

“How complicated it all is!” I exclaimed ruefully.

“Complicated? It’s very simple, boy. And, by the way, what’s a ‘jerk’?”

“A jerk is—Sir Boboota Box. But you, sir, are a true Jesuit!”

“You can cuss a mouthful when you’re in the mood,” Juffin said admiringly.

“Excuse me,” said the stranger formerly known as Sir Kofa, peeping into the study. “That blasted pie made me completely forget about the most important thing. All night rumors have been circulating through the city that Burada Isofs died in Xolomi. I checked up on it—it’s true. He was in cell No. 5-Ow-Nox. How do you like them apples, Juffin!”

“I’m just wondering,” the boss muttered, “how do nighttime revelers find out things like that? All the more since it happened in Xolomi.”

“You said yourself that Echo is full of two-bit clairvoyants,” I reminded him.

“So I did. Thanks, Kofa! You’ve made me happy. How many people have expired in that cell over the last few years, Kurush?”

The sleepy Buriwok raised his head reluctantly, but starting recounting information about the 225th day of the 115th year.

“Dosot Fer died on the 114th day of the 112th year in cell No. 5-Ow-Nox in the Royal Prison of Xolomi. Tolosot Liv died on the 209th day of the 113th year in the same place. Balok Sanr died on the 173rd day of the 114th year. Tsivet Maron died on the 236th day of the 114th year. Axam Ann died on the 78th day of the 115th year. Sovats Lovod died on the 184th day of the 115th year. Burada Isofs died in the same cell on the 224th day of the 115th year, if I have understood Sir Kofa correctly. Somebody give me some peanuts,” Kurush concluded, on an unexpectedly informal note.

“Certainly, my dear fellow!” Juffin reached into the desk drawer for the peanuts, which were far more abundant than secret documents.

“You can be on your way, Kofa. Good work, for remembering to report that to me. Think about what our next step should be.”

Our incomparable Master Eavesdropper-Gobbler, as Melifaro had christened him, nodded, and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor. The door closed silently behind him. I shivered under the penetrating gaze of Sir Juffin Hully.

“Well, Max, what do you think? Will you take the case?”

“How do I get a handle on something like this?”

“You look for the only handle we have. You set out for Xolomi, and you sit in the cell yourself. If you throw yourself into the fray, you’ll find out what’s going on there. And circumstances will instruct you about how to proceed.”

“Me? In Xolomi?!”

“Where else, my dear friend. That’s where they’re dying. You’re leaving tomorrow. Oh, don’t look so alarmed! All things considered, it doesn’t look like it will take too long for events to unfold. And I’m certain no one can manage this case better than you can.”

“Manage how? By staying in prison?”

“That, too,” Sir Juffin said with an acid smile. “What’s wrong with you, Max? Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Somewhere out there. I’ll go look for it,” I said, with a dismissive wave of the hand, as if to show that things weren’t really that bad.

“Listen carefully, Max. Sooner or later it would have happened anyway.”

“What, you mean that sooner or later they’d clap me in Xolomi prison?”

“Enough already about the prison! I’m serious now. Sooner or later you’re going to have to start acting on your own. So it’s better that it happened now. It’s not a matter of earth-shattering importance for the World. And it’s not the most difficult case, it appears. I can jump to your aid at any moment, though I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I’m at your disposal, Max: day, night, tomorrow morning, and in between. Think, make a plan. Everything you need will be made available to you. And this evening, instead of reporting to duty, come to see me. The last supper for the future prisoner. Your every gastronomical wish will be fulfilled.”

“Thank you, Juffin.”

“You’re very welcome!”

“But now maybe you’ll explain to me—”

“No explanations, don’t even ask! Treating you to dinner—I’m always ready to grant that wish.”

At that we parted.

In the evening I set out for the Left Bank, armed with the hope that someone would finally tell me what the devil I was supposed to do in Xolomi. But what do you think—would that monster change his mind? Not on your life! You came here to eat, he’ll say. Well, make me happy, Max, and move your jaws. All this talk about work, work, work—that’s what I’m fed up with!

According to Kimpa, dinner had been personally prepared by his Master, the Venerable Head.

As it turned out, Sir Juffin Hully was an excellent cook. But I hungered for something completely different. I wanted instructions.

“Take it easy, Sir Max, relax. Tomorrow is tomorrow. Besides, I’m absolutely sure that once you get there, some silly thing will pop into your head, and it will turn out to be the only real solution to the problem. Take a bite of this, I dare you . . .”

Chuff, Juffin’s little dog and my best friend, began to whimper sympathetically under the table. Max worried. Bad , the dog’s compassionate Silent Speech reached me. Only you love me and understand me , I answered.

And I whined out loud, “Juffin, instead of compliments from you I would have preferred a piece of paper with the steps I should take carefully detailed and numbered, and with every action I should perform printed in bold block letters.”