Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“No, eating you is no problem. Neither is touching. Someone could even use your silverware or a towel after you with no dire consequences,” said Juffin. “There’s just one danger. If you become angry or scared, your saliva will become poisonous. The most deadly kind of poison, I might add. It kills instantaneously if it so much as touches the skin—of a person, at least. And you will spit this venom at your offender come what may. Let me assure you that self-discipline and training is of no use here. No amount of willpower will change the situation. It’s not a matter of choice. You’ll spit even if you decide not to. The only thing you can do if you wish to avoid the instantaneous destruction of your offender is to spit off to the side somewhere. So look to your character, boy. Don’t let trifles annoy you, or you’ll spit the whole of Echo into oblivion.”

“It’s not all that bad,” I observed uncertainly. “I’m not malicious. If something like this happened to Boboota, humanity really would be in grave danger. Of course, it would be nice to try, at least once. If you don’t watch out, I’ll leave to become Sir Shurf’s assistant.”

“Well, that wouldn’t hurt,” Lonli-Lokli remarked, maintaining his placid, unruffled demeanor. “You know yourself, Max, that I sometimes have more work than I can handle.”

“And what about my personal life, Juffin?” I sighed. “No girl will want to kiss such a monster! Maybe we should keep the news a secret?”

“Explain to the girls that kissing you is completely harmless. As long as you’re not angry, at least,” Juffin shrugged. “As for keeping it secret—I wasn’t intending to call a press conference about it, but you know that—”

“. . . that Echo is full of two-bit clairvoyants,” I finished his thought.

“Precisely.”

“But why did this happen to me, anyway?”

“It’s your fate, boy. When you’re mixed up in magic at high levels, it affects you differently from how it would affect . . . let’s just say ‘normal people.’” Juffin then glanced over at Lonli-Lokli meaningfully.

Sir Shurf is as trustworthy and reliable as a cliff inside a safe inside a Swiss bank, but it was perhaps not worth announcing to him that I was a refugee from another World. Besides, everything was already as clear as day to me.

“You never know beforehand what or how something will affect you,” Juffin added. “Remember what happened when we were at my neighbor’s house?”

“But I was only very briefly a vampire,” I objected plaintively. “After a few hours everything was back to normal.”

“Right. Because my spell was the kind that is only short-term. But the ghost wanted to kill you. That’s why the spell he put on you worked like a charm, so to speak—a very permanent one. What can be more permanent than death?”

“Well, you’ve consoled me. Thanks a million!”

“Deal with it, Max. Don’t think this incident is the last one in your life. Everything is for the best! At Makluk’s house you became a bit wiser. Now you have a useful weapon at your disposal. Who knows what’s next?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

For a few seconds I sincerely tried to feel sorry for myself. Then I shook my head and burst out laughing.

“Maybe I just need to see a wiseman. I’ll come to him and say, ‘Doctor, I have poisonous saliva. What should I do?’ And he’ll say, ‘No problem. A strict diet, a walk before bedtime, and an aspirin for the night. In five hundred years, you’ll be right as rain!’”

“Aspirin? What’s that?” Lonli-Lokli asked.

“Oh, it truly is a magic potion. It’s made from horse dung, and it helps everything!”

“Well, I’ll be! And our scholars write that in the Borderlands sorcery is very backward. It does seem to be the case that reason often falls victim to prejudice.”

Sir Juffin clutched at his head.

“Stop, gentlemen! I can’t laugh anymore. My face will become permanently contorted. A last piece of advice, Max. I suggest you consider yourself to be very lucky. You have plenty of useless and inoffensive habits. It’s about time you acquired some dangerous ones. Your new acquisition might come in very handy in our profession. And if some hysterical lady refuses to kiss you, just spit in her direction and all will be well. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Excellent.” With that, he threw open the door, took a sizable package from the hands of a courier, and tossed it on my lap. “Now try this on.”

I opened the package, and out fell a black looxi embroidered in gold, a black skaba, a turban in the same style, and a pair of marvelous boots. On the boots were stylized heads of toothy dragon-like creatures; the black boot-tops were strewn with tiny golden bells. Of course, I would never wear anything like that in my homeland—but here in Echo, I was stylin’!

“Is this a gift, Juffin?”

“Something like that. But please do try it on.”

“Thanks!” I started pulling on the boots.

“You’re very welcome. Do you like these?”

“I’ll say!” I plunked the black turban on my head. It was decorated with the same tiny gold bells.

“And the looxi?

“Just a second.”

I wrapped myself up in the black and gold garment and looked at myself in the mirror. It turned out that the gold patterned embroidery formed glittering circles on my chest and back, like targets.

“It’s great! Fit for a king.”

“Well, as a matter of fact it is for a king. I’m glad you like it, Sir Max. Now you have to wear it.”

“Gladly. But why do I have to? And it’s a pity to wear such finery on a daily basis.”

“You’ll get as many outfits as you need. You still haven’t understood the main thing. These are your work clothes, so to speak. Your uniform. You’ll have to wear it all the time from now on.”

“Fine, but I still don’t understand. You yourself said that in contrast to the police, members of the Secret Investigative Force don’t wear uniforms. What is this, some kind of innovation?”

“Not exactly. This uniform is just for you. You, Sir Max, have become Death. Death in the service of the King. And for such occasions, one must wear the Mantle of Death.”

“And when people see me passing by, they’ll run from me like the plague. Is that it?”

“It’s not all that bad. When they see you, they’ll tremble blissfully and think with nostalgia about the good old Epoch of Orders, when people in garments like this were much more common. Your social stature is so high that . . . to put it bluntly, you are a Very Important Person of the highest rank. You’ll see what I mean.”

“Ah, a ‘big boss,’ eh? Well, I can deal with that. But why don’t you wear a uniform like this, Shurf? You of all people should be wearing one.”

“At one time I really did wear the Mantle of Death,” Lonli-Lokli confirmed with a nod. “But times change. The time for white garments has come for me now.”

“Oh, and I thought your clothes were just a matter of personal taste. And what do your white clothes mean?”

Lonli-Lokli didn’t reply. He clearly didn’t want to discuss the subject.

“The times when Shurf was Death have passed,” Juffin announced solemnly. “Now he has become Truth. At least, that’s how his position is listed in the Secret Registry of Practicing Royal Magicians. To put it more simply, our Sir Lonli-Lokli isn’t capable of anger, fear, or taking offense—in contrast to you, for example. He can bring death, it’s true, but only when it’s absolutely necessary, not because he wants to himself. Not even when he is ordered to do it. If, let’s say, I order Sir Shurf to pulverize an innocent person, he will, in the line of duty, try to carry out my orders, but his hand will refuse to obey its master. So it turns out that our highly disciplined Sir Shurf, for the most part, answers to no one. That is why he is greater than death. He is Truth because he is, in the last instance, as impassive as the heavens. Whew! I’m getting carried away. All that is, of course, a shameless mixtures of naïve philosophy and bad poetry. But you understand the gist of it.”