Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“To Sir Maba?” I asked, brightening.

“Dream on! Life can’t be one unbroken chain of pleasures. We’re going to Jafax.”

“To the Main Residence of the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover!”

“Right you are. We’re going to reshape history.”

“What do you mean by that, Juffin?”

“I’ll tell you later. Go get some rest. Good morning, Max.”

When I got home, I snuggled down under the blanket on my bed and buried my nose in Armstrong’s soft flank. Ella purred loudly in my ear.

“Happy New Year, little furries,” I said to the cats. They yawned indifferently. I also yawned, and then blanked out.

WHEN I WOKE IT WAS NEARLY DARK IN THE BEDROOM. THIS WAS a record—it had been a long time had passed since I had slept till sundown.

Are you sleeping? Well, I’ll be, mate! Melifaro’s call resounded in my sleep-muddled brain. Good for me. I just earned a crown.

What for? I asked, uncomprehending.

Nothing much—it’s just that I made a bet with Melamori. She claimed you’d wake up before sundown, and I bet on later. I was ready to lose, but you’ve done me a good turn!

So now you owe me not one, but two meals, I said. Your debt to me is growing by leaps and bounds. Over and out.

I yawned and dragged myself downstairs, my head buzzing like I had a hangover. Ella and Armstrong were slumbering by their bowls in the middle of the front room. Urf, the farmer’s son, a junior official at the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, had most likely come in while I was sleeping. The cats looked full and contented, and their fur had been carefully groomed—not by me, of course. In childhood I sometimes frightened my parents by sleepwalking down the corridor, but I would hardly have known how to carry out such a delicate hairdressing operation with my eyes shut.

When most of the sticky cobwebs of sleep had fallen away, I began feeling like a person again. The delivery boy from the Sated Skeleton whined plaintively at the door. Just as I was about to answer it, I realized I hadn’t managed to get dressed yet, so I quickly wrapped myself in Armstrong’s colorful mat. It was a far cry from the Mantle of Death, but I wasn’t prepared to open the door completely naked. One look at the boy informed me that a cat’s mat wasn’t the most appropriate domestic attire either; but by then it was too late. My poor, beleaguered reputation!

I closed the door behind the disconcerted youth, returned the mat to its customary place, and happily sat down to breakfast. After the first mug of kamra, my head grew less fuzzy. It occurred to me that Lady Melamori could have found dozens of other pretexts for a bet with Melifaro. She probably wasn’t against taking a stroll with me, but she was embarrassed to take the initiative. The argument about the hour I awoke was an excellent way not only of getting information about my habits, but of tactfully reminding me of her existence. So I immediately got in touch with this incomprehensible creature.

Good day, my lady!

Not day—evening, Sir Sleepyhead. I lost a whole crown because of you!

I’m guilty. I repent. But I had a terrible night. I dreamed about Juffin. Can you imagine? You should pity me, not scold me. And I need to be aired out, as well, like an old winter looxi.

I’ll fetch you in half an hour. Sir Juffin informed me in strictest confidence that you would be free tonight, so I have great plans.

First I nearly died of happiness. Then I went to get dressed. If Lady Melamori caught me wrapped in Armstrong’s mat, my chances would plummet, no doubt. Or . . . would they?

When the Master of Pursuit appeared on my doorstep, looking a bit dazed by her own boldness, I was already in fine fettle and prepared for anything. “Anything” in this case meant walking thousands of miles, if need be, along Echo’s mosaic sidewalks, in the company of Lady Melamori. According to her, long walks in one another’s company are just what a man and a woman who are not indifferent to each other need. It was possible that I had been hasty with my conclusions about “each other”; but Melamori’s tender look confirmed my most daring conjectures.

This time we traipsed all the way to the New City (about an hour and a half from my house, by the way). Melamori managed to tell me heaps of new gossip, but I only listened out of the corner of my ear. I was too happy to be all ears.

“There’s a remarkable place around here,” she said, slackening her pace. “An old mansion with a garden. In the evening they sell some vile drink here, that’s why it’s so deserted.”

“I know of many deserted places with vile drinks. My house, for instance,” I laughed. “It wasn’t as far to seek.”

“This is a special place. It used to be the Country Residence of the Order of the Secret Grass. Back then, Echo was much smaller than it is now, you know. I’m sure you’ll like it. Here it is.”

We passed through the gateway, the appearance of which was none too promising esthetically. The first impression was deceiving. A narrow dark flight of stairs leading to a neglected garden, illuminated by the bluish light of tiny glass globes filled with some incandescent gas. Here there were none of your ordinary small tables—only low benches nestled among the evergreen Kaxxa bushes, which resembled the juniper of my homeland. The air was wonderfully cold and transparent. It didn’t slow the blood, but just chilled the skin, like menthol. My head spun. It seemed to me then that I was amazingly young, and the world around me was full of mystery. If you think about it, that was the honest truth, and just what I should have been feeling.

I broke into a smile.

“You’re right, this is a marvelous place!”

“Yes. But don’t even think of ordering kamra. It’s disgusting here. Better get something stronger—a drink like that can’t be spoiled under even the most adverse circumstances.”

“Stronger? Don’t forget, it’s still morning for me.”

“Oh yes. Of course . . . well, all the worse for you, Sir Max. I’m going to indulge, with your permission—it’s already long since evening for me.”

“Indulge to your heart’s content. I hope they can find water from some sort of sacred spring around here. That’s what I need right now.”

They didn’t serve water there, alas, so I was forced to content myself with a glass of some kind of sour fruit compote. Melamori and I made quite a couple—she, a delicate creature gulping down the most potent Jubatic Juice, and me, the hefty fellow in the Mantle of Death, sipping bland fruit compote.

“If you want to talk, this is where to do it,” Melamori blurted out, already blushing from the effects of her drink.

Then she went quiet, as though frightened at the sound of her own voice. Just as I was about to nudge her back to life, she started up again unexpectedly.

“As for my fears, Max—I’ve dug up a few things. So tell me, what color are your eyes?”

“They’re . . . brown, I think,” I stammered.

I was stunned. Sinning Magicians! What was happening to my memory? How could I forget the color of my own eyes?

“Um-hmm. You see, you don’t even know yourself. Take a look,” said Melamori and held up a small mirror she pulled out of the folds of her looxi.

A pair of gray eyes, round with surprise, stared back at me.

“What’s gotten into me? I completely forgot! Amazing!”

“You forgot? It’s no wonder you forgot. Yesterday they really were brown. In the evening, that is. And in the morning they were green, like a descendant of a Draxx. When I went to Headquarters three days before the End of the Year, they were blue. I even fancied they looked just like Uncle Kima’s.”