The Stranger's Woes (44 page)

“To the people of Arvarox it doesn’t matter,” said the buriwok. “Nothing matters after a man dies.”

“That’s a very healthy attitude,” said Juffin.

We went to the Hall of Common Labor. Skalduar Van Dufunbux, a good-natured, portly gentleman who carried out the responsibilities of a coroner, hurried into the office with a preoccupied air, nodding to Juffin on the way. Sir Shurf lifted his head from his book, sized up the situation, gave a sympathetic nod, then went on with his reading. I grabbed a mug of kamra and took a sip, but couldn’t taste anything. Then I remembered a good method to improve my mood and come to my senses: chatting with my colleagues. Sure beats staring at the same spot in utter silence. Fortunately, I had a lot of questions.

“There’s something I don’t understand. If Arvaroxians are so indifferent to death, why is Mudlax hiding from his pursuers so diligently? And why did he flee to begin with? I mean, he could have chosen to die fighting or to strangle himself, like that other hero, and called it a day. As Sir Aloxto Allirox put it, ‘It’s easier to die,’ right?”

I was counting on an answer from Juffin, but the boss was not forthcoming. Lonli-Lokli, on the other hand, put down
The Pendulum of Immortality
and said, “Oh, that’s a very good question. Naturally, this isn’t about saving one’s life. No Arvaroxian would put so much effort into staying alive. This is clearly a matter of honor. It is one thing for a warrior on the side of the victors to accept death and die in battle. That is an honorable death. When a vanquished warrior dies, however, it means his complete and ultimate defeat. Robbing the victor of the opportunity to take your life is the last chance of the defeated to even the score, his last chance to gain a small but memorable victory.”

“This is true,” said Kurush. The buriwok was pleased to play his new role of chief expert on Arvaroxian psychology.

“I see you have soaked up some of their philosophy, Sir Shurf,” said Juffin. “You’re not planning to emigrate to the land of Toila Liomurik, Conqueror of Arvarox, are you? Don’t get too carried away.”

“I never get carried away. I am simply stating a few facts that I already knew,” said Lonli-Lokli. “It’s amazing the information contained in some books . . .”

“Gentlemen, something unbelievable has just happened!”

Lookfi Pence, tangled in the folds of his looxi and grabbing the railing, ran down the stairs.

“It’s the first time this has happened as far back as I can remember.” He was almost shouting. “I read that it was almost impossible!”

“What? What happened?” said Juffin.

“The buriwoks in the Main Archive had a nestling! It happened just now! Can you believe it? The strangest thing is that I hadn’t even seen the egg. How did they manage to hide it from me all this time?”

“They didn’t hide it. It is extremely rare for people to spot a buriwok egg. One moment there’s nothing there, and the next thing you know there’s a nestling and some broken pieces of eggshell. That’s just the way it is,” said Kurush. He paused for a moment and then added, “I told you that an Arvaroxian can sometimes fulfill his dream and become reborn as a buriwok nestling when he dies. I don’t know how the people do it, but they do.”

“Not a bad ending to the story, huh?” I said.

“Yes, Max, such things happen,” said Kurush.

“Do you think I can take a look at it?”

“I think you can. But not for too long. Little creatures get tired of too much ogling.”

With Kurush’s blessing I went up to the Main Archive. Sir Lookfi Pence followed me up.

“This is amazing, simply amazing,” he kept saying. “Buriwoks rarely lay eggs, and they need to be left alone for a long time to be able to do so. They almost never have offspring even in their natural habitat, not to mention when they live among people. No one would ever have thought that something like this could happen here in the House by the Bridge.” He opened the door of the Main Archive and threw me a questioning glance. “Would you mind waiting here for a moment, Max? I’m going to walk in first and ask them if you can come, too.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll do whatever they say. No offense taken.”

A moment later Lookfi poked his head out. “They say they don’t mind. They say that you can come in.”

I smiled from ear to ear and went inside the Main Archive. I said hello to the buriwoks and hesitated, looking around.

“The nestling is in that corner,” said Lookfi. “You can come up a little closer.”

And come up a little closer I did. A tiny fluffy ball was crawling around on a soft mat. Unlike the adult buriwoks, the nestling was white and had touchingly cute little pink legs. Its large yellow eyes, however, were as wise and indifferent as those of the adult birds.

The nestling looked at me, blinked its eyes, and turned away. I could have sworn it looked at me as though it knew me. No particular emotions, though. It just recognized me, nodded, and turned away. That made sense: I hadn’t been friends with Mr. Naltix Ayemirik, the late shaman of King Mudlax. We didn’t even know each other very well. My frightened face was the last thing he saw before he died.

I gasped. Whew, it looked like I had just brushed against a mystery so incredible that my recent trip between Worlds seemed like nothing more than a walk in the country by comparison.

Lookfi tugged on the fold of my looxi. I nodded and tiptoed toward the exit.

“Well?” Juffin said with unconcealed impatience.

“It’s him. I swear it’s him.”

I tried to describe my impressions of the newly hatched buriwok for Juffin. It turned out that words for describing it in human language were lacking, but Juffin understood me anyway. He nodded and stared at his empty mug for a long time while he processed the information.

“To die and be reborn. An unusual and strange endeavor,” said Lonli-Lokli.

“Indeed. What hoops people are willing to go through to entertain themselves,” I said.

We might have gone on talking about life and death for a long time, but a courier rushed into the Hall. “Sir Max, your . . . they say they are your subjects. They’ve come to see you,” he said.

“My subjects?” I said. “Sinning Magicians! That’s all I need.” I turned to Juffin. “Have you already released that—what’s his name? Not Mudlax but—”

“Jimax. Yes, yesterday already. I think they came to thank you. Let them in, then. The more the merrier.”

“Whatever you say,” I said. “Although I don’t find them particularly merry.”

The nomads came in—babushkas, brightly colored shorts, large rucksacks and all. This time they didn’t kneel, praise be the Magicians. That’s right, I thought. I had told them not to kneel before anyone anymore. The proud inhabitants of the Barren Lands simply made a deep bow. The gray-haired old man from before, the head of this small horde, pushed forward a tall, wide-shouldered middle-aged man. “Thank your king, Jimax,” he said sternly.

The man opened his mouth, then shut it, bowed so that his head almost touched the floor, and finally mumbled, “You have saved a man of your people, Fanghaxra. From now on, my soul belongs to you, and my body belongs to you, and my horses belong to you, and my daughters—”

“Thank you, thank you, but I’ll do fine without your soul, body, horses, and daughters,” I said dryly. “Keep them and be happy.”

“Did you hear that?” said Jimax, turning to his companions. “Fanghaxra told me to be happy!”

The nomads looked at him as though he were a saint. The indefatigable old man stepped up and said, “We’ve come to ask for your mercy, O Fanghaxra. Your people have been cursed ever since the day we lost you. Forgive us, Fanghaxra!”

“Okay, okay. You are forgiven,” I said.

That was easy, I thought.

“And please return to us,” the old man went on. “You must rule your people, O Fanghaxra. You are the law!”

I gave Juffin an imploring look. He was treacherously silent. I knew I had to deal with it on my own.

“I will not return to you,” I said. “I have unfinished business here in Echo. I am the law, so submit.”

“We will wait for you to finish your business,” the old man assured me.

“I will never finish my business. My business is simply impossible to finish. You know, I am Death in the Royal Service. Have you ever heard of Death finishing his business? So go back home and live in peace.”

I’m afraid my monologue left them cold. Perhaps the guys weren’t too keen on listening to what I had to say and just enjoyed the sound of my voice. I gave Juffin another look of desperation. He was smiling from ear to ear, but he wasn’t going to interfere. Lonli-Lokli had closed his book and was watching my sufferings very attentively.

“Your people cannot live without you, Fanghaxra,” said the old man with the tone of an experienced blackmailer.

“Of course my people can,” I said. “My people have been living without me all this time. Don’t tell me you just dug yourselves up out of your graves.”

It was clear that my “compatriots” had no sense of humor. They looked at each other and then stared back at me. Pleadingly.

“Goodbye, gentlemen,” I said firmly. “Finish up your business and go home. Say hello to the boundless steppes of the County Vook, follow the command of His Majesty Gurig, and you’ll be all right. M’kay?”

My “subjects” bowed and left in silence. To my horror, I noticed an expression of hope mixed with stubbornness on their faces.