The Stranger's Woes (2 page)

“What an innocent you are, Mr. Nightmare! Didn’t your parents teach you anything? Shame on their bald and graying heads!”

Melifaro was already tired of lying on the desk. He jumped down to the floor, covered the distance from one corner to another in a few determined leaps, and arranged himself comfortably on the windowsill.

“Boboota and Foofloss are sitting in the outhouse in neighboring stalls, doing their respective business. Foofloss finishes, looks around, and sees there’s no T.P. So he knocks on the wall to get Boboota’s attention. ‘Hey, boss. You have any T.P. over there?’ And Boboota says, ‘What’s the matter, is your skaba too short?’”

I snickered, a bit surprised. Could it really be just a coincidence?

“Tell me another.”

“Woo-hoo! I’m on a roll now! Go buy a ticket for the next show, first. Okay, okay, here’s another one. Captain Foofloss comes up to Boboota and asks, ‘What’s the deductive method?’”

I started laughing, again taken by surprise.

Melifaro went on: “Boboota puffs out his cheeks and turns red in the face, he’s thinking so hard. A half hour later he says, ‘I’ll make it plain and simple so even an idiot can understand. Did you eat yesterday? Yes, well then you’ve got a backside, too.’ ‘Goodness, boss. How did you guess?’ ‘I’ll explain it one more time, this time for total cretins. If you ate yesterday, that means you visited the outhouse today. If you visited the outhouse today, that means you’ve got a backside. And
that’s
the deductive method.’ Foofloss, very pleased with himself, runs into Lieutenant Shixola walking down the corridor. You realize, naturally, that the joke was started long before Shixola was promoted to captain. Foofloss asks, ‘Did you eat yesterday?’ ‘No, I didn’t have time.’ ‘Well then you have no backside!’”

Amazing. I knew those jokes inside out. I had heard them many times as a kid in my own World. Sure, the characters had different names, but there was no mistaking it—the jokes were otherwise the same, word for word. Which just goes to show that peripatetic stories and jokes travel between Worlds far more easily than storytellers and jokers.

“Whoa!” Melifaro said. “A delegation has arrived. The cream of the crop, the pride and joy of the City Police Department and our White List. Lieutenant Kamshi and Captain Shixola, heroes of the popular imagination. Well, this was predictable. So, fellows, have you brought a petition? Here’s your man, Sir Max himself. Grease his palm well, and he’ll spit at your boss right across his own dinner table.”

“Dream on,” I mumbled. “I don’t take bribes like some—”

“Like who?” Melifaro said.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m the only one in the Universe who refuses them.”

“No problem, mates,” my daytime half said. “He’ll wipe out your boss for free.”

“You may think it’s funny, gentlemen, but we’re in a very difficult position,” Kamshi said. Shixola made a mournful face.

“You’re not kidding,” Melifaro said in a jocular tone. “The Second Coming of General Boboota Box is nigh. If he’s already sucking up to this freak of nature”—here he jerked his head irreverently in my direction—“he must be on his way to the House by the Bridge. Your happy days are over, boys. I feel for you.”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Captain Shixola said. He looked like a prisoner waiting patiently on death row. “But it’s such an inconvenient time.”

“Ahem, and when would it be convenient?” Melifaro asked. “Anyway, guys, what gives? Something exciting?”

“Not exactly exciting. Let’s just say some old traditions are being revived. Outlaws are coming out of the shadows in the Magaxon Forest again.”

“Again?” Melifaro looked surprised. “It’s only been thirty years since the World saw the last of Jiffa Savanxa and his henchmen. I guess a new batch of them is ready to roll. Their leader no doubt has a life-size portrait of Sir Jiffa in full outlaw regalia hanging above his bed. Charming. Well, is that all?”

“Almost, except that now our chances of cornering him are very slim,” Kamshi said. “While Sir Boboota languishes at home in bed and his deputy Sir Foofloss goes pub-crawling, Shixola and I can act as we see fit. But what will become of our plans when General Box is back on duty? He’ll start barking orders that we’ll be forced to carry out. The gentlemen outlaws will be overjoyed, I’m sure.”

“Hmm, I see.” Melifaro nodded. “But what can we do to help? Cast a spell on Boboota that makes him allergic to giving orders? I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Of course. We were just thinking that hard work might undermine Boboota’s already delicate condition,” Kamshi said. “Perhaps you agree with us, gentlemen? And you could hint as much to Lady Box. Or, even better, you could inform General Boboota about your fears for his health.”

“We’re so worried we can’t sleep at night,” Melifaro said.

“I can tell Boboota that I spent all my free time learning the recipe for the pâté that poisoned him,” I suggested. “And the experiment proved that the unhappy victims of that—what was that stuff called? King Banjee, right—must under no circumstances overtax themselves. Otherwise they’re doomed. But why didn’t you try to bribe Abilat Paras? He’s in charge of healing your boss. A warning like that from him would carry more weight.”

“He is incorruptible, like Sir Max,” said Lieutenant Kamshi, bowing to me ceremoniously. “I think the poor fellow is sick to death of being our boss’s healer.”

“Poor little Bobooty, nobody wuvs him,” I said. “Should I adopt him? I can buy him candy and sit him down on the potty a hundred times a day. Wouldn’t that be sweet?”

Melifaro turned aside and snickered quietly. That must have meant my friend was amused. The policemen looked at us almost in horror.

“Okay, boys, we’ll do our best,” Melifaro said. “Boboota will be white with fear by the time we’re done with him. We’ll take a great interest in the workings of his long-suffering intestines, and Sir Max will lecture him on the dangers of overexertion. With the Dark Magicians as my witness, we’re on your side. Go forth, capture your brigands, and enjoy life.”

The policemen left the office on wings of hope.

“You know this Lieutenant Kamshi isn’t destined to stay too long with the City Police,” Melifaro said after our guests had closed the heavy door behind them. “Sir Marunarx Antarop is already very old, and the post of Warden of the Prison of Xolomi is an onerous job.”

“You think Kamshi will be the one to fill it?”

“Me? I don’t think anything. But Sir Juffin once remarked that Kamshi was just the one to keep an eye on the walls of Xolomi. Juffin says he’s made of the right stuff, heart and soul, and it’s lucky if someone like that is born once in a century. Who do you think appoints someone to the post?”

“I don’t doubt for a second that it’s Juffin himself. And that’s all for the best.”

“And how! Well, are you ready to party?”

“No. And I’ll never be ready for a party like this one. But if it’s time to go, let’s boogie.”

Boboota Box’s mansion, the size of a stadium, loomed on the edge of the swanky Left Bank, where property started to get cheaper and neighbors were few and far between. The Left Bank was populated by those who didn’t deign to take an interest in the price of land, or prices of any kind. People who wished to economize were rare in these parts. Only one or two houses, surrounded by greenery, were visible from Boboota’s. This seemed to be where Echo ended.

“The old man sure lives in a grand style,” Melifaro said. “This place looks like a fortress.”

“Too grand for my tastes,” I said. “Do you remember my apartment on the Street of Old Coins? For me that was already on the large side.”

“Is this your inner real estate agent speaking?” Melifaro said. “To hear you talk, one would think you preferred living in a closet.”

“You may find it hard to believe, but that’s about what I was living in not so very long ago. How I managed to fit into it I can’t imagine.”

“You were probably just skinnier back then,” Melifaro said, grinning. “And you slept standing up.”

General Boboota Box met us at the door. He had grown so pale and thin during his illness that he actually resembled a human being. He no longer looked like a charging bull. He might even have been able to maneuver in a china shop without any upsets.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Boboota said in his most genteel manner.

His voice had become uncharacteristically mild. Melifaro and I exchanged wary glances. Was
this
gentle fellow the terror of his side of the House by the Bridge? What had happened to him, poor thing? Of course, as our host, he was obliged to be gracious and polite. Besides, we had saved his life, and he still feared me like he feared losing the spark, but this change in his demeanor was beyond comprehension.

After we had exchanged a few pleasantries, we went inside, where we were greeted by Boboota’s wife. Strange as it may be, she was neither a harridan nor a doormat. As far as I’ve been able to judge, bullies like Boboota usually go for one extreme or the other when choosing a mate.

Lady Box was a very sweet, still pretty middle-aged redhead. She managed to be hospitable and unassuming at the same time.

“Thank you for saving my sweet dumpling, boys,” she said with a bright smile. “It’s hard to change your habits at my age, and I was already so used to falling asleep to the sound of his snores.”

“Hush now, Ulima,” Boboota murmured in embarrassment.

“Hold your tongue, worrywart! Have you forgotten our agreement? You invite the guests, and I amuse them, since the few times we tried to do it the other way around, it wasn’t exactly a success. This way, please, gentlemen.”

We were shown into the living room, where I was in for yet another surprise.

I was already familiar with the practice in Echo of cultivating luminous mushrooms in vessels that function as lampshades. These fungi are used to illuminate both streets and living spaces. When something irritates them, the mushrooms begin to glow. The light switch simply activates some bristles that gently but insistently tickle the caps of the mushrooms. General Boboota preferred this form of lighting, and it wouldn’t have surprised me, but . . .

An enormous translucent vessel occupied the center of the living room. I suppose your average whale might have found it a bit cramped, but the whale still would have been able to fit inside it. The vessel contained a radiant mushroom of truly mammoth proportions. The ones I had seen before this were seldom larger than a three-year-old child. This enormous specimen not only cast a warm orange glow but also buzzed like an angry bumblebee. I was astonished. By the looks of it, Melifaro was as unsettled by the thing as I was.

“Are you impressed? This is my pride and joy.” General Boboota was grinning from ear to ear. “I grew it myself. It’s so smart, you can’t imagine. You see, gentlemen, it began to glow as soon as we came in. And I didn’t even have to go near the switch. It just knows when to light up.”

“I’m afraid that mushroom simply hates my husband,” Lady Box whispered to me. “When anyone else enters the room, glowing is the last thing on its mind. I always have to flick the switch.”

“I believe my mushroom is the only one of its kind in the World,” Boboota said, glowing himself.

“You, sir, are also the only one of your kind,” Melifaro said with unfeigned enthusiasm.

“Thank you,” Boboota said, making a deep bow. “And here, gentlemen, is another family heirloom.”

He gestured toward a huge canvas that covered almost the entire wall. It depicted a battle scene. The foreground was dominated by General Boboota Box himself, decked out in some bizarre uniform and dripping with medals and bric-a-brac. His manly chest blocked from view a smallish elderly man with a bright expression and wind-tousled snow-white hair. Some claw-like fingers on a pair of emaciated dark hands were reaching out toward Boboota from the nether regions of the painting, while the General threatened them with his broadsword. In the background, a flock of wholesome, fresh-faced youths were cheerfully vanquishing some unattractive, unkempt gentlemen.