Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“Whores,” I prompted. “He probably said ‘all women are whores.’”

“That’s it, Sir Max! You’re not a medium, by any chance?”

“No, it’s just that maniacs like this guy usually get fixated on one idea or phrase, and they keep repeating it over and over. He said the same thing to the red-headed lady. He called her an ‘old whore.’”

“What does it mean?” Melifaro wanted to know.

“Nothing, really. Something like ‘bad woman.’ Or, let’s say, ‘very bad, depraved woman.’”

When he heard my translation, Melifaro colored deeply. But I thought it necessary to continue my lecture.

“Guys like that always bear grudges against women—against all of them without exception, or just against blondes, or plump ones, or tall ones. It all depends.”

“Let’s not get sidetracked, here,” Juffin grumbled. “Let Kofa have his say.”

“Chemparkaroke was in ecstasy over this incomprehensible word. So he agreed with his guest out of politeness. The guy asked whether Chemparkaroke had anything to relieve his suffering. The innkeeper concluded that the visitor wanted to taste some of his legendary soup. He poured him some of the most potent stuff. At first the visitor didn’t want to eat it, but Chemparkaroke swore on his mother’s grave that it was the best cure for suffering. So the fellow tasted it. He liked it. Did he ever like it! Chemparkaroke claims that he had never witnessed such unequivocal enthusiasm about his homemade soup. When the visitor had finished, he fled. Chemparkaroke realized that the fellow had no money and didn’t know that the King picked up all tabs for the hungry in Echo. Visitors are often unaware of this, and so end up getting into scrapes. Chemparkaroke was used to it. He was happy with the new acquisition for his ‘oddball collection’ and returned to his innkeeping tasks.

“An hour later, his newfound friend came back. Chemparkaroke noticed that he was shuffling his feet uncertainly in the doorway, and shouted to him to come in, since he wasn’t obliged to pay for anything if he didn’t have the money. Then he served him some more soup. The fellow kept muttering about ‘relieving his suffering. ’ By the time I dropped in to the Old Thorn , curiosity-seekers were already gathering. Chemparkaroke was doing a brisk business, so his generosity was rewarded tenfold. And people got what they were looking for. Something extraordinary was happening to the visitor. After the second bowl of soup, he began to babble, and after the third, he broke into the most enigmatic dance I’ve ever seen. It was probably some kind of folk dance. Then he dozed off, and I thought he was there for the long haul, since he was in no condition to leave. Chemparkaroke promised to keep an eye on him, because by then it had occurred to me that this strange bird could well be one of your clients. I even started to wonder—is he really a human being? But what didn’t occur to me was to recall Chemparkaroke’s story about how you, Juffin, dragged this poor boy into the Thorn one day.”

The “poor boy,” of course, was me. Juffin sighed penitently, remembering his recent blunder.

At the threshold the Old Thorn I winced. It was no doubt a great place, but my digestive system refused to agree with that opinion, and a feeling of nausea hit me the moment I entered. The Thorn was so packed that it looked as though the entire citizenry of Echo had received a Day of Freedom from Care at the same time. When our rather intimidating posse entered the tavern, the patrons slowly began to disperse. The red-haired Chemparkaroke assumed a knowing expression and began wiping off the already spotless dishes.

My countryman was asleep on a broad wooden bench. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be one of my childhood friends. That would have been too much. As for his age, he could have been my father—or perhaps the pressure of being a maniac had aged him before his time. This guy looked ghastly—a dirty raincoat, wrinkled trousers, week-old stubble, dark circles under his eyes . . . poor thing. Moreover, he had clearly overindulged in Soup of Repose. His ragged breathing was not a sign of physical well-being. If he had died right then and there, it wouldn’t have surprise me. It looked like that’s where things were heading.

Juffin sniffed fastidiously.

“We’ve spent a whole day looking for this . . . this natural phenomenon? Ugh, how unattractive! Take him, Max, and get him out of here. Chemparkaroke, do you have anything to add to Sir Yox’s story?”

The good-natured redhead shook his head:

“What’s there to add, Sir Venerable Head? An ugly affair. At first he was so funny. Then he started to snore, to moan, to chase an invisible person around the tavern. The customers were amused. People love a clown, even a sick one. But then he fell on the bench and went to sleep. Only I think that soon he’ll be chatting with the Dark Magicians. I often get a hunch about things like that. If you give him something to drink, his legs will start twitching, and it’ll be all over.”

“Thanks for the good news, old boy. I’m all for it,” Sir Juffin muttered. “Good work, Chemparkaroke.”

The innkeeper was flattered, but he clearly didn’t understand why he was being praised. Juffin looked at him wearily.

“Take him, Max. What are you waiting for? He’s not going to dance anymore, that’s for sure.”

I sighed and did the usual prestidigitation with my left hand. The half-dead maniac fit comfortably between my thumb and my forefinger. Chemparkaroke’s jaw dropped. He had arrived in Echo during the height of the Code Epoch and was unaccustomed even to small wonders. I frowned in distaste, and we left. I even had to drive the amobiler holding this fistful of iniquity.

In the Hall of Common Labor I was able to rid myself of this unpleasant burden, depositing my countryman right on the rug.

Then I went to wash my hands. I’m a typical neurotic, so things like this can easily knock me off course. And I really didn’t like this maniac. It was probably because we had too much in common. At the same time, his appearance was extraordinarily repellant to me. I steeled myself and plunged back into the fray.

“Should I bring him back to his senses?” Sir Juffin Hully pondered aloud, staring at our quarry with unconcealed disgust. “It would be a lot of fuss and bother, but I’d like to know.”

It seemed I could imagine what my boss wanted to know. Blessed are the ignorant!

“Don’t worry about it, Sir Max,” Juffin said jovially.

Usually he begins to understand what I’m feeling before I even notice a change of mood in myself. But today he seemed to lag behind a bit with his consolations.

“This is no test of your nerves. It’s a form of pleasure, because we have a chance to find out something we didn’t know before. Keep your chin up, son!”

“I’m not so sure that this arcane knowledge is going to improve my appetite,” I murmured.

Sir Kofa and Melifaro looked at us with incomprehension.

“It’s nothing,” Juffin told them. “Just a little family quarrel. I’ll deal with this handsome devil.”

“I’m afraid it’s already too late to help him,” I replied. “Remember, I was almost done in by one bowl of it. This lucky man polished off three.”

“I wasn’t planning to help him. But perhaps he wants to make a confession.” Juffin crouched down beside the malefactor and began massaging his ears. Then he reached for his throat. The rhythmic motion soothed and lulled me, if no one else.

Better turn away, Max. The silent advice of Juffin resounded in my head. You really don’t have to play any part in this.

I averted my gaze reluctantly. And just in time. Sir Juffin Hully executed a feat that I never would have expected from such a staid, respectable, middle-aged gentleman.