The Stranger (12 page)

Read The Stranger Online

Authors: Max Frei,Polly Gannon

Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Horror, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Epic

BOOK: The Stranger
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Juffin noticed my surprise.
“It’s just Black Magic of the Second Degree. That salve isn’t half bad! Kimpa rubbed it on your hand yesterday while you were making up your mind whether to return to consciousness. Why are you so surprised?”
“Oh, because of everything.”
“That’s your right. Oh, look! We’re all here.”
Sir Lonli-Lokli, whose absence had grieved his colleagues more than me, seemed to have been created with the specific purpose of shaking me down to the soles of my shoes. Me, and no one else, mind you! The indigenous people of Echo will never be able to appreciate the fellow’s merits until the Rolling Stones have played this World. Therefore, no one but me will be surprised at the remarkable likeness of Sir Lonli-Lokli to drummer Charlie Watts.
Add to that the stony immobility of his facial muscles; the exceptional height, combined with exceptional leanness, of his physique; wrap the result in the white folds of a looxi; crown him with a turban the color of alpine snow; and top it off with enormous leather gloves adorned with the local version of ancient runes . . . Well, you can imagine my surprise!
On the other hand, the ceremony of introduction to my future colleague unfolded without any deviations from the protocol. Having just finished with the formalities and sat down decorously at the table, Lonli-Lokli consumed his due portion of kamra. I kept waiting for him to draw some drumsticks out from under his armpits; I was on pins and needles in anticipation.
“I’ve heard all about you, Sir Max!” my new acquaintance exclaimed courteously, turning to me. “In my spare time, I often delve into books, and so I am in no way surprised at your upcoming appointment. Many authoritative sources mention the remarkable traditions of the inhabitants of the Barren Lands, which foster the development of certain magic skills that we, inhabitants of the Heart of the World, are deprived of. Sir Manga Melifaro himself called attention to your countrymen in the third volume of his
Encyclopedia of the World.
”
“Melifaro?” I cried out in astonishment. “You mean to say that that chap also wrote for the
Encyclopedia
? I would never have suspected that!”
“If you mean my colleague, I completely endorse your suspicions. Sir Melifaro hardly has a bent for systematic scholarly labor,” Lonli-Lokli agreed. Then he went quiet, not bothering to explain himself.
“Manga Melifaro, the author of the
Encyclopedia of the World,
is the father of the candidate for the position of forever being in your debt,” Juffin explained. “If the imminent adventure ends well, I’ll make Melifaro promise to present us each with a set. He’ll be delighted—the poor man’s house is so stuffed with his father’s scribblings there’s no room to turn around.”
“You didn’t allow me to finish, gentlemen. I had intended to say that in the third volume of his
Encyclopedia
Sir Manga Melifaro wrote, ‘The border area of the Barren Lands is inhabited by the most diverse, sometimes extraordinarily powerful people, and not just wild barbarians, as capital-dwellers are sometimes inclined to believe.’ Therefore, I am glad to see you here, Max.”
On behalf of all the inhabitants of the Borderlands, I expressed my gratitude to the magnanimous Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives. (Such was the official name of the position held by this gentleman, extraordinary in every way.)
 
“The time has come, gentlemen!” Juffin said finally, getting up from the table. “By the way, Sir Shurf, we need to take a mirror with us. The largest one is hanging in the hall. I bought it at the Murky Market, at the very beginning of our Codex Epoch, when antique stores in the Old City weren’t yet open and the demand for luxury goods was just starting to grow. Best time to buy. I’m afraid it was the most expensive mirror in the whole Left Bank—I gave a whopping five crowns for it. And now look—ah, the sacrifices one has to make!”
We all went into the hall. The mirror was truly gigantic, and it seemed to me that it was worth every bit of five crowns, though at the time I wasn’t very knowledgeable about the local economy.
Well, we’ve got our work cut out for us! How are we going to haul it over there? I wondered in dismay. Although, with the three of us . . . maybe.
But Juffin had something else in mind.
“Pick it up, Sir Shurf, and let’s get a move on!”
I was about to conclude that this ceremonious Sir Lonli-Lokli had a mystical weightlifting gift. That would have come in handy. But the fellow had no intention of lifting a finger to carry it. Instead, he casually ran his hand, encased in its huge glove, over the surface of the mirror from top to bottom. The mirror disappeared—as far as I could tell—into his hand. My jaw dropped.
Jufffin, could you teach me that?
I had enough presence of mind not to shout it out loud, but to use the opportunity for Silent Speech—just in case.
Sure
, Juffin replied calmly.
Or Sir Shurf will teach you. Remind me sometime, when we’re taking it easy
.
 
Upon return, Makluk’s house resembled a huge, abandoned crypt. Sir Lonli-Lokli, observing official protocol, opened the door and was the first to step over the threshold to the bedchamber. We followed close behind. The room was exactly as we had left it.
At the sight of poor motionless Melifaro, I must admit that my spirits plummeted. How could I have been so certain that I could save the day? What if my idea didn’t work? What would that make us, then—murderers? Or just fools? Good question. Rather, a moral dilemma. Bring on the anguish!
Sir Lonli-Lokli took a simpler view of things. “It’s a good thing he’s silent,” said this compassionate man, nodding in Melifaro’s direction. “If only he were always like this!”
In his tone there wasn’t a trace of spite—it was just a factual observation that he liked Melifaro more when he was quiet than when he was chatty. A purely aesthetic preference. Nothing personal.
Having expressed his opinion, Lonli-Lokli shook his fist vigorously, then opened it up and spread out his hand. The huge mirror from Juffin’s hallway dropped neatly to the floor between the Statue Melifaro and the secret entrance to another, baneful dimension.
“It’s a little crooked,” Juffin remarked. “Let’s try moving it a bit to the right, the three of us together.”
“Why all together, Sir?” the magnificent Lonli-Lokli asked. “I can manage on my own.” And with stunning carelessness, he shifted the huge bulk of the mirror with just his left hand. It turned out that the “mystical weightlifting gift” existed after all. I looked at him and held my breath in wonder, like a scrawny adolescent looking at a real-life Hercules.
Juffin looked over the layout critically. Everything was ready: the reflection of the bedchamber mirror fit snugly into ours, with even a bit of surplus around the edges. And the most important thing—the valuable antique of Sir Juffin’s completely concealed Melifaro.
The Chief of the Secret Investigative Force threw a parting glance at his treasure and began issuing commands.
“Get ready, Shurf! Max, get behind my back. Or, better yet, go stand by the door. You’ve already done everything you could. Your job now is to stay alive. I’m serious, Max!”
I took up position by the door. I had no objections to staying alive.
Sir Lonli-Lokli finally deigned to remove his gloves. Only then did I realize that what everyone said about Lonli-Lokli’s “capable hands” was not just a pretty expression. My eyes beheld two hands that were semi-transparent, and shone brilliantly in the midday sun. The long sharp nails cut through the air, then took refuge under the snow-white looxi. I blinked my eyes, dumbstruck, unable to express my admiration in any other way. Then I suddenly remembered—I had seen something like this, and not so very long ago. Where, I wondered, in a nightmare, perhaps? Sir Juffin took pity on my poor head and prompted in a whisper, “Remember we were studying the memory of a pin? The ceremonial severing of a hand? The Order of the Icy Hand—remember?”
I remembered, and opened my mouth to ask how the severed hands had become the hands of our esteemed colleague. But Juffin had anticipated my question:
“They’re gloves. I’ll explain later. Now it’s time to get down to work!”
With these words Juffin approached the motionless Melifaro. He stood at a vantage point that allowed him to observe the reflections of both mirrors. Then he stood absolutely still, on tiptoe. I held my breath, waiting.
This time there was no dance. But Juffin’s face and stance betrayed an unbelievable tension. Then, suddenly relaxing, Juffin made a slight gesture, as if he were removing a delicate covering from a priceless vase. At almost the same moment, and with all his might, he shoved the poor Melifaro. The body, immobile at first, then bent over convulsively, flew to the other end of the room, and collapsed onto the soft floor that served as a bed. Sir Lonli-Lokli immediately rushed over to him. Hiding his left hand behind his looxi, with his right hand he seemed to be rummaging about the figure of the stunned Melifaro. I realized what he was doing: Lonli-Lokli was destroying the glistening fibers that had enveloped the unlucky fellow. This was no small task; it was like looking for fleas on a stray dog. Sir Juffin stood out of the way, not taking his eyes off the mirror.
“Max!” he shouted all of a sudden. “We’re quite a pair! Amazing! It’s working! You can take a look—but be careful, even more careful than yesterday.”
Not everything was visible from where I stood, but I sensibly decided not to step any closer.
The mirror began to move. The newly awakened mirror-dweller was hungry and cranky; but its double was already stirring to life in the second mirror. The two monstrosities groped toward each other in curious wonder. I stared at the heavy, formless body of the creature, which looked more like the body of a huge, white frog suffering from obesity than anything else. The creature’s body was covered in the same disgusting, living hair that surrounded its mouth—dark, moist, drawing me in with a magnetic attraction . . .
I averted my eyes, but the mouth still stayed in the inmost depths of my consciousness. Then I forced myself to remember the bracing taste of Elixir of Kaxar. That helped, but only somewhat. If only a flagon of the potion was within reach!
To rid myself of the hallucination, I boxed my own ears and screamed silently, get a grip on yourself, man! After a few seconds I was so sober and clear-headed that curiosity got the upper hand. I looked again at the mirrors.
The first thing I saw was the silhouette of Lonli-Lokli, hanging over a sticky, mucous-like ball between the two grappling monsters. The powers were evenly matched. The double—I have to give him that—was not to be outdone by its original. The vile little ball rolled along the floor, and I went faint at the thought that it might make a rush for my leg. I didn’t even think about the danger, so great was my feeling of revulsion.
Lonli-Lokli’s left hand swept upward, slowly and solemnly—it was a strikingly beautiful gesture, laconic and powerful. The tips of his fingers shot out sparks, like sparks from a welder’s arc. A shrill scream, undetectable by the human ear, which nevertheless seared my insides, forced me to bend over in pain. Then the scream stopped just as abruptly as it had begun. The creatures erupted into white flames. I thought that these fireworks signaled the successful end of the operation; but then something happened that was completely not of this world. The mirrors themselves actually began to move. The abyss behind the mirror and its reflection attracted each other like magnets. Their collision, I understood, threatened us with unpredictable consequences.

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