The Stranger's Woes (72 page)

“What’s with those microscopes, Nightmare?” said Melifaro. “You’ve been going on about them for quite some time. What do they look like?”

“Oh, it’s a well-guarded secret,” I said. “What I’d like to know is, would Madam Zizinda agree to send our dinner down here to the cemetery if we asked her nicely?”

“You’re full of brilliant ideas today,” said Kofa. “Let’s find out.”

Madam Zizinda turned out to be a fearless woman who valued a steady income above all else. Twenty minutes later we were all munching away. It was the strangest picnic in my life. The three of us sat comfortably on gravestones, and moments later we were joined by Lieutenant Apurra Blookey and the other policemen. Our heroic sculptors left their work from time to time, came up to us, and grabbed a piece of Chakatta Pie or a glass of Jubatic Juice. Not only did they feel comfortable, they had also cheered up considerably.

“Look, this one is a true beauty!” Occasionally, one of them showed us his creation proudly. The sculptors poured liquid stone on the zombies, which quickly hardened in the open air. The results could easily have served as the top draw at some infernal art biennial.

“Is that liquid stone hard enough?” I said to one of the sculptors.

“Harder than the natural stone,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”

But I felt uneasier by the minute.

“You don’t like your own idea anymore?” said Kofa compassionately. “It happens. Don’t be sad. I’m almost sure this is going to solve our problem.”

“That’s the thing—almost. Anyway, we’ll see about that.”

By the morning, our helpers were finished, and they went home.

“Shall we go?” said Melifaro, jittery with impatience. “All’s well that ends well. I think we’ve made a great gift to our beloved city, gentlemen. This will make one heck of a tourist attraction. They look like souvenirs from the Epoch of Orders. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

It really was a scene to behold. The stone-clad bodies of our restless undead comprised a phantasmagorical sculpture group. But I found it very unsettling. It was too realistic. I expected the lifelike stonework to start moving again at any second.

“You go ahead, fellows. I’m just going to sit here a bit longer,” I said. “I have this strange feeling in my heart . . . my two hearts, that is. After all, it was my crazy idea, so I need to deal with the consequences.”

“What are you talking about, Max? What consequences?” Kofa said. “It was an excellent idea. By the way, according to my estimations they should have started coming alive again already, but . . .”

He approached the figures lying on the ground and looked at them long and hard. Some minutes later, he turned to me and said, “Sinning Magicians, Max! You were right!”

“Are they moving?” I said, horrified.

“It’s starting again? Well, a hole in the heavens above this blasted World! The predictability is killing me,” said Melifaro with unexpected vehemence. Where had his benevolent spirits gone? I wondered.

“Either I’m hallucinating, or . . . Yes, they are definitely moving. No need to stare at them—the movement is almost impossible to discern with the naked eye. This liquid stone isn’t bad. Not bad at all,” said Kofa.

“You don’t seem to be too worried about it,” I said.

“Why should I be? Of course they’ve revived again, but they’re hardly able to stir at all, and that’s wonderful.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “Let them twitch all they want. At least they won’t run off now, which was what we wanted to prevent, I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Kofa.

Melifaro was smiling again. His bad moods were the most volatile substance in the world, praise be the Magicians.

I pondered the situation and said, “Still, I think I’m going to stay here. It would be rude to leave our innocent policemen alone with these newfangled sculptures. Who knows what’s going to happen? You’ve earned the right to get some rest. Melamori will be staying at Headquarters, and you can join her when you feel up to it.”

“As you know, I just need a couple of hours of sleep,” said Kofa. “Then I’ll help her.”

“And I, as you know, need much more than just two hours,” said Melifaro. “I’m taking a vacation. I’ve had it up to here.”

“Deal,” I said. “You’re on vacation, then. But only until noon.”

“You are a tyrant—nay, a despot,” Melifaro said. “I don’t envy your subjects.”

“Sure. When the delegation of nomads arrives in Echo, will you be a good sport and lecture them on my autocratic atrocities? Maybe they’ll change their minds about me. Good morning to you, guys.”

They left and I stayed, half asleep on a gravestone. A new shift of policemen had just arrived, headed by Lieutenant Chekta Jax. They were staring in horror at the sculptural group, the authorship of which I attributed to myself deep down in my two hearts.

I decided to play it safe.

“Chekta,” I said. “Send one of your boys to the city. We need a rope or a thin metal wire. At least two hundred yards. The more the better. I’ll explain what to do with it when I wake up.

I stretched out on the lush cemetery grass and fell asleep. I dreamed I was going back to the World where I had been born. I think I was on the same streetcar that had once taken me to Echo. This time, though, I had to pay the fare, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember where those “little round metal objects,” as Anday Pu put it, had gone. The ticket taker was leaning over me, threatening to throw me out if I didn’t pay—out where, as far as I knew, there was nothing but complete and utter emptiness. I heard a menacing cough from the driver’s cabin. In the dream, my situation was getting worse by the minute. If I hadn’t been lucky enough to wake up, I would have been a goner for sure.

I awoke to a clamor of loud chattering. The policemen had brought the rope and wire. It took me a while to remember why I’d asked them to fetch it. When I woke up I was absolutely certain there was only one thing that could put the undead out of their misery forever: holy water. Magicians only knew which particular low-budget horror film I had gotten this idea from, but my idée fixe seemed to augur a bout of upcoming madness.

This time, however, I managed to drive my obsession away and even remembered what I was going to do with the ropes.

“I want you to do some work for me, boys,” I said. “I want you to tie up those sculptures. Tie their legs and arms. Tie them tightly, like you’d tie a real criminal. Mind you, I’m not going to help you, so you’re going to be on your own. It’s in your best interests to do your job as well as you can.”

The policemen got down to work. Lieutenant Chekta Jax walked around them looking dissatisfied, and barked out unnecessary orders. I wanted to intervene, but then I thought, what business did I have poking my nose into the way he treats his subordinates? He wasn’t going to change. It was a sober and reasonable thought, but it was too unlike the regular thoughts of the Max I liked to be. I was about to start brooding about the matter, but then I dropped it altogether. It was clear that I was just tired. Too tired for that kind of self-scrutiny.

“It moved!” I heard some young policeman scream. “This statue, it—”

“Shut up!” said Chekta. “Keep doing what you were doing and stop talking nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” I said quietly. “They are moving. That’s why you are tying them up, not because it gives me some kind of perverse pleasure.”

And I lay down on the grass again. Lieutenant Chekta Jax looked at me in disbelief but didn’t say anything.

An hour later, the policemen had finished the job. The stone-clad bodies of the undead lay on the ground, their legs and hands bound. I was free to go home, which I did very happily.

On my way, I mustered my remaining strength to stop by the House by the Bridge. To my delight, Sir Kofa Yox was already there.

“I told the policemen to tie them up,” I said. “Now they can twitch and jitter all they want. Juffin’s going to be back in a week, and everything will be fine then.”

“A week? What’s a week?” said Kofa.

“Just seven days,” I said. “There’s a strange place where people have devised this peculiar way of counting days.”

“Just don’t tell me that’s the way they do it in the Barren Lands,” said Kofa, smiling. “I don’t like prying into other people’s secrets, but I’m tired of pretending to be an idiot.”

“Fine, then I won’t bother telling you that that’s the way they do it in the Barren Lands,” I said.

“Good. Go get some sleep, Max. You look exhausted. I think you can relax now that you’ve told the policemen to tie up our fidgety friends.”

“But if anything happens—”

“If anything happens, I’ll send you a call. I promise. Now, scram, and go dive under your blanket.”

I went home to the Street of Yellow Stones. It wasn’t Tekki’s fault that the undead kept coming back to life, so it wouldn’t be fair to make her suffer having to contemplate my gloomy face—which definitely wasn’t all that attractive at the moment.

Even though I was wiped out, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and thought about my little bedroom on the Street of Old Coins. I would surely have fallen asleep there in no time. All I’d have to do was close my eyes, and the Door between Worlds would open . . . A feverish fog appeared before my eyes, purging the rest of my thoughts. I was burning up. That’s not good, I thought.

I thrashed around under the covers for about three hours. Then I went down and took a bath, and drank a whole glass of Elixir of Kaxar. It was an overdose, but I was feeling wretched. I had begun to forget that you could feel like this, and that you had to struggle against it.