Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“Fine. Goodbye then. Don’t forget to let me know about the mysterious mustachioed creature when you figure him out.”

“And you come back in a dozen or so days, or even before, but not with such a despondent countenance. You come, too, Max. With Juffin or by yourself. If you can find me, of course. But I can’t help you there. Well, gentlemen, you have given me great pleasure, dropping in like this and dumping your personal problems on me. That’s a true art. Farewell.”

And Sir Maba overturned the table we were sitting at with a violent shove. The table crashed to the floor, shards of dishes went flying in all directions. I ducked instinctively, the chair flipped over, and in the wink of an eye I had landed on the most reliable of all points of rest, after executing a somersault à la Sir Melifaro.

A moment later I realized I was sitting not on Maba’s floor, but in the luxuriant grass beside a garden path. I glanced around, stunned. Next to me sat Juffin, roaring with laughter.

“Maba adores surprising novices. After meeting him for the first time I found myself at the bottom of a lake, crawling on all fours looking for some stairs, since I had completely forgotten I knew how to swim. In fact, the very notion that there existed such a useful skill as swimming never entered my head! It was several hours before I reached shore, and several years, if I remember correctly, before I understood how I had ended up there. But by then I couldn’t be angry at Maba, even if I tried very hard. Believe me, Sir Max, he was very humane in his treatment of you.”

“You call that humane? All the same, I liked Sir Maba very much.”

“I’m glad you did. Let’s go. You can sit at the levers—finding the way back is a piece of cake.”

“What were you and Maba discussing just before we left, Juffin?” I asked when I had come to my senses after our unorthodox parting from the Grand Magician. “I’m pretty quick on the uptake, but that was too fast even for me. ‘Couldn’t we—’ ‘No, we couldn’t.’ Forgive me for being importunate, but I’m terribly curious.”

Sir Juffin Hully waved his hand vaguely. “It’s no mystery. I meant to ask whether we might be able to find your countryman more quickly using you . . . well, as a model. Maybe there is some scent from your world so subtle that I can’t detect it. Or something of that nature, which might speed the case up a bit.”

“So?”

“You heard him—it’s impossible.”

“You mean my homeland has no smell? That’s disappointing.”

“It may very well smell, but you, Sir Max, are no reliable model.”

“I’m hurt,” I admitted in dismay.

“You needn’t be. Studying True Magic has already changed you too much. You yourself may not notice these changes, but you can take my word for it. If we use you as a model, we might just as likely find me—or Maba Kalox himself.”

“That’s also relevant,” I remarked. “You yourself said that seeking him out to pay a visit was no easy matter.”

“Yes, but I’d prefer to find this ‘lunatic’ for a start—and only then undertake a more intellectual pursuit. Sleeping, for instance. Ah, here we are already.”

“And his clothes, Juffin?” I asked, getting out of the amobiler. “I’m willing to bet they are no more fitting for a walk around Echo than the trousers I showed up in.”

“Oh, but this is the capital of the Unified Kingdom. There are dozens of visitor here at any given time. It’s no secret to the local residents that half the World wears trousers, including those very citizens of the free city of Gazhin, not to mention the inhabitants of the Borderlands so dear to your heart. Trousers will surprise no one here. The time when locals were ready to gawk at every foreign costume is long since past. Now they don’t even turn their heads. How are things, Melifaro?” Juffin asked our colleague, whom we found stretching his legs in the main foyer of the House by the Bridge, nonchalantly studying the artwork that adorned the walls.

“Not bad, that is to say, no more corpses,” Melifaro reported briskly. “The fellow has wound down, I suppose. He really should take better care of his health. Sir Juffin, are you ready to save my skin from this poison-spewing monster? Not long ago he threatened to do me in!”

I stared at Melifaro in bewilderment.

“When was that?”

I had already clean forgotten about Lonli-Lokli’s serenade yesterday, after which the ‘diurnal backside’ of the Venerable Head really had run the risk of my wrath. Vanity of vanities, to be sure.

“You won’t be offended, Melifaro, if I do you in later? In light of recent events, murder seems like a terribly trivial and humdrum affair. I don’t want to be just a pale imitation of an unsung genius.”

“Give me a break! The victims are ladies, and I’m a man at the height of my powers.”

“Death has no gender preferences.”

“Spoken like a true philosopher,” Juffin remarked approvingly. “Come with me, Melifaro. We need a quick-witted ne’er-do-well like yourself who isn’t completely befuddled by these goings-on. I’ve already sent a call to Sir Kofa. He promised to join us in half an hour.”

“Right. He just has to consume half a pie and listen to another new joke,” Melifaro quipped, nodding vigorously. “You can’t hold it against him, though; it’s his job.”

When he got to the office, Juffin collapsed in a chair and smiled broadly.

“We’ve done all we could, Melifaro. Now it’s your move. It’s clear beyond the shadow of a doubt: the killer is Max’s countryman. What do you suggest?”

“Clothes are out,” Melifaro observed coolly. “Time was when a person in pants was considered a novelty.”

“I told you,” Juffin said, turning to me.

“Likewise his accent. Well, we have a few leads to work with, but it’ll take some time,” Melifaro said, slipping his fingers under his turban.

“Think, Max. What else is there that would distinguish your compatriot from, er, normal people? No hard feelings, of course. Is there anything that might draw attention, something impossible to conceal in a motley crowd?”

“I have to concentrate,” I replied. “And the best place to do it is sitting on the porcelain throne. Maybe there a brilliant idea will dawn on me. Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll return in a moment.”

I left for the shortest vacation of all—a rest stop to which every person in any imaginable world has an inalienable right.

Passing down the corridor, I heard one of my favorite “arias” again, and I decided to sneak over to catch another performance.

“Bull’s tits! What kind of crap does she want from you, Foofloss? She can go over there, where they wallow in it!” General Boboota Box looked around warily and glimpsed my friendly face just as I rounded the corner.

“. . . insofar as those good people will undoubtedly be interested in everything she has to say,” Sir Boboota finished in a hollow voice without taking his eyes off my face.

In response, Captain Foofloss, his relative and deputy, eyes popping out of his head, carried out the curious and entertaining breathing exercise know as spluttering.

“I was just giving orders that a material witness in the case Hully has been investigating since yesterday evening be sent to you,” Boboota reported respectfully. He can actually express himself decently when he wishes! I marveled.

“Excellent,” I drawled. “You have acted fully in accordance with the law, Sir Box.”

I could have sworn he sighed with relief.

I returned to find a cheerful hubbub in Juffin’s office. A spry, red-haired lady in an expensive bright-red looxi was holding a mug of kamra in her hand and beaming coquettishly at Melifaro’s chiseled Hollywood features. I had thought that the heyday of the frivolous flirt had passed, but the lady herself clearly knew otherwise.