ONE

GUGIMAGON’S SHADOW

I MUST ADMIT THAT THE WEATHER WAS NOT ENTIRELY SUITABLE FOR A PLEASure ride on the motorboat—or, rather, on the water amobiler, which looked very similar to a regular four-seat pleasure boat. The fierce river wind—too cold for the mild Uguland autumn— whipped up the waters of the Xuron so that the first ride I took down one of the finest rivers of the Unified Kingdom on my own was more like riding on the back of a giant kangaroo. The ride was n’t just bumpy; I was shaking so much that I kept kicking my chin with my knees. The ice-cold wind brought tears to my eyes. They flowed down my cheeks, mixing with splashes of river water and tiny droplets of drizzling rain. No idiot but me would willingly submit himself to such torture, especially at the very beginning of the Day of Freedom from Care, which Magic had bestowed upon me.

I was completely happy.

I had been meaning to get the hang of the local water transportation. From the very beginning, my reckless driving of regular land amobilers had become one of the capital’s most cherished subjects of gossip. I never thought that I deserved that fame, though: any countryman of mine who could more or less manage to drive a four-wheeled buggy with an engine would be a celebrity here. I had been meaning to get behind the lever of the water amobiler for quite some time, partly because in my previous life I had never driven a motor-boat. Nevertheless, I had mustered my courage and taken a few lessons from old Kimpa. I wasn’t too keen on losing my authority in the eyes of the junior employees of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, and Sir Juffin Hully’s butler had been looking after me back in those days when I couldn’t even manage unfamiliar cutlery.

Now I was gliding headlong down the dark waters of the Xuron in my own motorboat in complete solitude, soaking wet but very happy. The fact that I had managed to pick the only day of bad weather in the late sunny autumn just added fuel to the fire of my new passion: the riot of the elements turned the innocent pleasure ride into a small local apocalypse—exactly what I needed.

I had needed a good shake-up: the preparations for my accession to the throne of Fanghaxra were underway. My humble abode, the Furry House, former library of the Royal University, had once stood derelict, dusty, and somewhat mysterious. Now it was quickly turning into a vulgar bulwark of luxury and bliss. Even the floor of the small watchtower at the very top had been decorated with horrible carpeting that clashed with my taste. I had to enter it from time to time, if only to indulge Gurig, whose servants had wasted a great deal of money and time remodeling my would-be residence. At these moments, the reality that I had barely begun to get used to started feeling like another strange dream—not a nightmare, mind you, but a rather tiresome dream. The only thing I took solace in was that His Majesty Gurig VIII had sworn up and down that not a single dratted high official would ever make me stay there between the receptions when I granted audiences to my subjects, which, according to my calculations, would not happen more than a few times a year and would last no more than a couple of hours. His Majesty had given me his word, and one must believe the word of a king.

Yet while I was riding my flimsy vessel over the frothy waters of the Xuron, jumping over the crests of springy dark waves, those problems simply didn’t exist. I was not remembering anything, nor was I making plans for the future. There was only here and now, and the here and now were too wet and too cold for my liking.

Are you busy right now? The polite voice of Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli’s Silent Speech rang in my head. It was so sudden that I came to an abrupt stop. The tiny water amobiler tossed about helplessly on the waves of the Xuron.

I guess you could say no. Has anything happened? I answered.

I don’t think so. Still, I would like to discuss one peculiar event with you. It has to do more with my private life than our duties.

All the better, I said. In any case, I need to change into something dry and try to get warm. Just drop by Tekki’s, I will be there soon.

I am very sorry, Max. You know how much I love the Armstrong & Ella, but I would rather not discuss my problems in the presence of Lady Shekk. Matters of this kind call for confidentiality. Would it really disappoint you if I suggested we meet at some other place?

A hole in the heavens above you, Shurf! You know that I love mysteries. Then come to my place on the Street of Yellow Stones. If you get there first, just come right in. The door is unlocked; no one would dare break into my house of his own volition. Oh, could you also order a whole tray full of various hot stuff from the Fat Turkey?

I quickly steered my new toy to the Makuri Pier, where I had had my own mooring since yesterday. A phlegmatic, mustached old man came out of his shed, seemingly annoyed, to help me tie up my nifty little water transport. He looked at me with almost superstitious horror, not because he had recognized the “horrible Sir Max”—after all, I wasn’t wearing my Mantle of Death—but simply because any human being bold enough to take a pleasure ride down the river in this weather deserved to be viewed with nothing less than superstitious horror, at the very least, if not to be locked away in the nearest Refuge for the Mad.

I gave the doddering old fellow a crown, which probably made him doubt my mental state once and for all: the pay was far too high for such a small service. Such incongruity threatened to destroy his notion of the world—the dismal yet precious result of several hundred years of life. Yet the old man was a diehard: he batted his eyes, discolored over the years, mumbled the few words of gratitude that we’ve all known since childhood and save for such occasions, and hurried back inside his little hut, where I am sure a brazier with hot kamra was waiting for him.

I followed his stooping back with an envious gaze: a short but unpleasant trip back to the New City lay ahead of me. My freezing looxi would slap relentlessly on my back like a cruel wet bed sheet.

I climbed inside the amobiler and sped off as if an entire family of hungry werewolves were chasing me. Two minutes later, I dashed inside my living room on the Street of Yellow Stones.

Lonli-Lokli was already there. He sat motionless in the middle of the room. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had carefully measured the room to calculate its exact center. I couldn’t help but admire my friend. His snow-white looxi flickered mysteriously in the dark; his death-dealing hands in their protective gloves lay on his knees. He looked more like the Angel of Death than a human being.

“You beat me to it,” I said with sincere respect.

“This is not surprising: I sent you the call when I was on the Street of Forgotten Dreams. I thought I would find you in the Armstrong & Ella. I could not imagine that you had gone for a walk in this weather.”

“That’s me all right: mysterious and unpredictable,” I said, laughing. “Would you be so kind as to wait a few more moments? If I don’t change right away, I will definitely catch a cold, and I don’t even want to begin to remember what that is.”

“Of course you need to change. And if I were you, I would also consider a hot bath.”

“I have already considered that. It won’t take more than a few minutes. You know that I do everything fast.”

“Yes, I know,” Shurf said with a nod. “Perhaps I should send a call to the owner of the Fat Turkey and ask him to add something stronger to my order.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said as I ran down the narrow winding stairs. “It’s not so bad. I don’t have to get smashed.”

“My experience suggests that intoxication brings more pleasure and goes away faster than a cold, and you can trust my experience,” said this magnificent fellow.

I returned to the living room in the best of spirits. I had thawed out, put on a warm house looxi, and accepted a petition from my stomach claiming that it was fit enough to digest an entire herd of elephants, if need be.

The dinner table was chock-full of trays and jugs. For starters, I poured myself a full mug of hot kamra.

“Now I’m back,” I said after a few cautious sips.

“If you say so, it must be true. Well, this is not bad news at all,” said Lonli-Lokli.

I took a good look at his serious face, trying to catch the traces of a fast disappearing smirk. This game of catch, however, was not mine to win. As usual.

“By the way, at my place you can safely remove your gloves,” I said, pulling my plates closer. “Or do you prefer to keep them on in case I start telling stupid jokes so you can make me shut up once and for all? I’m going to have to disappoint you: some people say that my chatterbox mouth won’t close even after my death. So killing me is not the solution.”

“What a strange idea! I do not consider your life to be so meaningless as to require snuffing out due to such trifles. There is another reason for me to keep the gloves on.”

“Are you sensing danger?” I stopped eating and attempted to pull a serious face. Danger that threatens Lonli-Lokli himself definitely deserves to be taken seriously.

“No, Max, I am not sensing any danger. At least, not here and not now. I’m not taking off the gloves because I left the box I keep them in back in my office in the House by the Bridge. Did you really think that a weapon such as my gloves could simply be kept in my pocket?”

“I guess that would be against all safety codes,” I said, laughing. “All right, to Magicians with your horrifying mittens. Tell me what happened to your ‘private life.’ I’m dying to know.”

“Nothing really happened,” said Shurf. “Nothing that one should confide about to strangers. Nothing that people should worry about. Yet I feel somewhat uneasy about it. Max, do you remember how you once took me into your dream?”

“Of course I do. It was when we were on our way to Kettari. We had to sleep in a really small bed, and you offered me ‘the possibility of using your sleep,’ to borrow your own bombastic expression.”

“That is correct,” said Shurf, nodding. “Yet that was not what happened. Instead, we traveled to some amazing places from your dreams. Frankly, what happened didn’t look like an ordinary dream. I have always suspected that the nature of your dreams deserved a most thorough study. But I digress. Do you remember that among other visions there were endless sandy beaches at the shore of some strange motionless sea? Quite a hostile place, although in your company I enjoyed the trip very much.”

“Sure, I remember that. But how come you’re bringing this up now?”

“Simply because the time has come to bring this up,” said Shurf. “Recently I have been dreaming about that place too often. Without your intervention, as far as I can tell. And I no longer think that it is a place I enjoy visiting, be it in a dream or otherwise.”

“Definitely without my intervention,” I said. “For one thing, you and I sleep on different pillows.”

“Well, in theory, the distance between the heads of the sleepers only plays a role for such novices in these matters as myself. And if my estimation of your abilities is correct, you are quite capable of making me contemplate your dreams remotely. I am certain, however, that this was not your doing. I would have felt your presence had they been your dreams I was dreaming. Yet never once have I felt your presence in them, of that I am sure. I have always felt someone else, however. Someone whom I can never see. I do not like his presence, even though it is barely noticeable. What’s more, I think I know him.”

“Well, I’m outraged,” I said. “Some strangers have been wandering around in my favorite dream without my knowing it. I’m glad that you have reported the situation to me. Trust me, I would never intentionally drag you into my dreams, even if I could. And I can’t. At least I’ve never tried. I haven’t seen these beaches in my dreams for a long time myself. The last time I walked along those beaches was when I spent the night in the bedroom of Sir Melifaro’s grandfather. To be frank with you, I even began to forget about them. It’s not entirely surprising though. I forget about things that are much more important than dreams on a regular basis.”

“You are underestimating the situation, Max. Nothing is more important than certain dreams. I am surprised that I have to tell this to a man who gains his power from dreams,” said Lonli-Lokli, shaking his head in disapproval.

“You’re right,” I said, ashamed. “It’s just that recently reality has been playing a lot of practical jokes on me. In any case, what you’re saying is exactly what I have suspected all along.”

“I wanted to find out whether something similar was happening to you,” said Lonli-Lokli. “Apparently nothing is happening to you. Tell me, before, when you dreamed about those beaches, did you ever meet anyone there? Or perhaps you, too, felt someone’s ominous presence there?”

“No, I never felt anything like that. I’m very fond of that place, and have always thought that it belonged to me and me alone. You know how you sometimes have a strange, vague feeling of being absolutely sure about something, which is not based on anything concrete?”

“Absolutely,” said Lonli-Lokli. “In my view, one should trust such a feeling. Oh well, I guess you are of no help in this matter then.”

“What do you mean ‘no help’?” I said. “I’m the one who lured you into that unwholesome spot. Naturally I had no idea what I was doing and all that, but it doesn’t relieve me of responsibility for the possible consequences. After all, it’s my dream. Who else is supposed to take care of it but me?”

“And how are you going to ‘take care of’ the dream that you stopped seeing a long, long time ago?”

“I have to think about it.”

I put aside the plate, which was now empty, and gave a loud, resonant sneeze. The cold was definitely standing on my trace. It was licking its lips, anticipating how it would gobble me up.

“Perhaps you should put aside your childish belief in your invincibility and have a glass of hot wine. It is a tried-and-true method,” said Lonli-Lokli in the tone of a lecturer. “Authors of numerous books on medicine support the common notion that this beverage has a positive effect on those who have fallen victim to exposure to cold.”

Without waiting for an answer, he put the jug of wine on the hot plate.

“Well, perhaps from your holey cup. Do you have it on you?” I said. “Maybe this magic ritual will not just rid me of my cold but also help me collect my thoughts.”

“This is quite possible,” said Shurf, producing his ancient bottomless cup from the folds of his looxi. “This ritual will be no less effective on you than it was on the former members of my Order. It certainly won’t make matters worse.”

“They can’t get any worse,” I said as I discovered that I had become the proud owner of a few tons of fresh snot. “A hole in the heavens above my nose! This cold sure isn’t wasting any time.”

“Here you go.” Lonli-Lokli, his hand in the enormous protective glove covered in old runes, handed me the cup, one quarter full of hot wine. “I think this should be enough.”

“I sure hope so,” I said, snuffling, and carefully accepted the holey vessel.

I was worried that it wouldn’t work this time. When you have a cold, it’s difficult to maintain faith in your own powers. The powers were still with me, though: the liquid remained in the holey vessel as if I had spent half of my life as a novice at the Order of the Holey Cup, side by side with my magnificent colleague.

I drained the hot wine with one gulp and almost swooned with relief. I still had the cold, but it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered: I felt so light on my feet and indifferent that even more serious inconveniences wouldn’t have mattered.

I returned the magic cup to its owner and became very still, listening to the special broadcast coming from within the depths of my body. The cold retreated first. A slight but persistent pain in my throat increased momentarily and then abandoned me for good. Finally I coughed, but the bout was gone as soon as it had started. It turned out that I had come down with a cold, but this existential experience lasted little more than a minute rather than your usual dozen days or so.

“Well, I’ll be,” I said when I regained the ability to speak again. “That was awesome, Shurf! Your holey cup works a little differently every time. It’s as if it knows what I need from it. Now you and I won’t have to rummage through my house looking for a handkerchief, which I’ve never had to begin with. Instead, we can take on the case of the empty beaches.”

“Are you really willing to get down to the bottom of my dreams?” said Lonli-Lokli. “I am very honored to receive your magnanimity— although, knowing you, I will be so bold as to surmise that your primary motive is curiosity.”

“That’s as good a reason as any to begin an investigation,” I said, embarrassed.

“What is it that you’re going to do? Perhaps I should offer to share my dream with you again as I did when we were on our way to Kettari. But in this case we might lose a great deal of time, as I do not dream of your beaches every single day. The last time it happened was, in fact, last night. Who knows how long we will have to wait for the next opportunity? Three days? Five? A dozen? Besides, you still work nights, which complicates the task at hand even further.”

“Normally I work around the clock, praise be Sir Juffin Hully. There’s never a dull moment with him,” I said with a sigh. “You know what I think, Shurf? I think for starters I should pay a visit to the Melifaro homestead. It’s a piece of cake to control one’s dreams in the bedroom of his grandfather. Tell you what, I’m going there today. Not sure if the trip will turn out to be useful, but there’s no doubt that it’s going to be pleasurable. Darn, I sure know how to seize an opportunity, don’t I?”

“Do you have any reason to believe that my problem requires immediate action?” said Shurf.

“Do ants in my pants count as a reason? Just yesterday, Juffin was needling me about why the heck I demanded two Days of Freedom from Chores instead of one. He insists that R & R is not my area of expertise. According to him, I have absolutely no talent for it. As far as I’m concerned, our boss is right. It’s not even sunset and I’m already moonlighting, if you’ll pardon the pun. Speaking of the boss, why haven’t you told Juffin about your terrifying dreams? He is old and wise and knows almost everything there is to know about the dark side of life. I know that those dreams are something I dream from time to time, but everything else about them is beyond my ken.”

“That is an amusing way of putting it,” said Shurf, approvingly.

And that’s just quintessential Shurf. You never know which one of the silly things I say is going to fly in one of his ears and out the other, and which one he will jot down in his notebook.

“As for Sir Juffin Hully,” said Shurf, putting his terrifying notebook back under the fold of his looxi, “you see, Max, this matter concerns your dreams, not mine. If a third party is to learn about them, you should be the one to divulge this information. In theory, every person has the right to keep private secrets. It says so in the Code of Krember.”

“It says a lot of things,” I said, smirking. “I’m afraid Juffin knows more about my ‘private secrets’ than I do myself. But you’re right, let’s not pester the boss with trifles. Maybe I’ll be able to figure out what’s wrong with my empty beaches on my own, and then we’ll see. I’m sure Melifaro will be on cloud nine if I take him to his parents’ estate on the spur of the moment. At least some good will come out of our undertaking.”

“I admire your determination, Max,” said Lonli-Lokli. He placed the empty cup on the table and stood up. “Thank you. I hope you will not be offended if I tell you that I have some other unfinished business.”

“I have been told more than once that hope is a darn-fool feeling. On the other hand, being offended is also a darn-fool feeling, an even greater one. And so I’m not offended. If you give me a few moments, I can change and give you a lift to Headquarters. Does this unfinished business of yours glumly hang around outside the doors of your office, by any chance?”

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary. My business usually hangs around in other places,” said Lonli-Lokli, nodding. “I must hand it to you, sometimes you combine words in a very eloquent manner. Good night, and please keep me posted.”

As he was heading toward the exit, I admired his upright stance. People as tall as he have a natural inclination to stoop. But Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli broke the laws of gravity, as well as other laws of nature.

“Thanks for dumping your troubles on me,” I said to his back. “Compared to my recent enthronement, this sure smells like a good adventure.”

“I would like it very much if it didn’t smell like anything of the sort,” said Shurf, turning around. “But as Sir Aloxto Allirox used to say, there are very few creatures in this World whose desires really matter. He was a particularly observant person, that sad Arvaroxian war chief, don’t you think?”

Without waiting for my answer, Sir Lonli-Lokli went out the door, leaving me with the lightest imaginable load on my chest. I shrugged it off, kicked it as far as it would go, put on the first warm looxi I could find, and left for the Armstrong & Ella.

On my way there I sent a call to Melifaro.

You might like my plans for tonight.

Have you finally decided to open an imperial brothel? said Melifaro. It’s high time that you did.

After my colleagues—at the cunning suggestion of Sir Juffin—had watched Caligula with Malcolm McDowell and had more or less recovered from mild culture shock, they wouldn’t get off my back. They said that now they knew exactly what methods I was going to employ to enforce the policies of the Unified Kingdom in the poor Lands of Fanghaxra. Little by little, I had begun to feel that they were going a bit too far with this. I had even resorted to threatening that I would send the video collection they had grown so fond of back into the bowels of the place from whence it had come. Alas, no one fell for my empty threat.

Actually, I was thinking of starting small and practicing in the company of your venerable folks, I said. Would you care to join me, buddy? You’re going to love it, I promise.

What royal impudence! said Melifaro. What disrespect for the private lives of ordinary citizens! This nutcase of a barbarian king is going to introduce my folks to the inhumane customs of his boundless steppes. Verily, you are a great man, O Fanghaxra!

Quit being such a show off. As if I have nothing better to do than listen to your Silent Speech. It makes my head swell. What if it gets too big for my crown? I’m going to be in trouble. Just meet me at Tekki’s. Once you have thoroughly licked my boots, I will condescend to take you to your parents’ house. Then, in the morning, I will deposit you back at the House by the Bridge. And here’s the best part: this whole thing is not going to cost you a penny. Now who’s going to make you a better offer?

No one, said Melifaro. But you could’ve just swallowed your pride and admitted that you were dying to curl up in a dark corner of the mysterious bedroom of my legendary grandfather. All right, all right. I’m coming. But you owe me one, mister.

Over and out, I said. But if you’re not here in thirty minutes, I’m going to draw and quarter you.

It was a good time to end our silent conversation. I had just arrived at the Armstrong & Ella.

“My goodness, Max! You were supposed to be soaking wet and miserable, yet here you are, dry and smiling from ear to ear. Pretty suspicious, if you ask me.” Tekki did her best to try and look fierce. Still, if there was anyone smiling from ear to ear, it was none other than Tekki.

“What are you so surprised about? After all, I am a powerful sorcerer. All it takes is the nine hundred ninety-ninth degree of Purple Magic, and a miserable, soaking-wet person becomes dry and happy in an instant.”

“Why Purple?” said Tekki.

“I don’t know. It’s a pretty color. You can’t limit yourself to just Black and White Magic. It’s so conservative.”

“Sir Shurf dropped by,” said Tekki. “I told him that you had gone to take a pleasure ride down the Xuron, but I think he thought I was joking. In any case, he honestly tried to smile. By the end of the third minute, he had almost succeeded.”

“Consider yourself lucky—that is a rare feat. On second thought, maybe not that rare, at least not recently. He’s tried to pull it off a couple of times today. I already saw him. On top of that, I also managed to take a bath, change my wet clothes, have lunch, get a cold, get rid of the cold, go insane, offer Sir Melifaro an all-night trip to the country, and get him to agree to it. Would you say that I lead an eventful life?”

“You can say that again,” said Tekki. “Are you serious about that night trip with Melifaro?”

“Sure. By the way, you don’t have to take such candid delight in the prospect. I am a wicked man, and I would like to think that my absence makes you unhappy.”

“If you stayed, I’d have to babble on for hours about how I hate to walk around town in this weather. Besides, just this morning, Sir Juffin told me that he had dug up some incredible movie from your collection,” said Tekki with downcast eyes. “He says I’m definitely going to like it even though it’s full of ‘nonsense.’ You know, the usual deal with him.”

“Oh, what’s the name of it?” I said. I had to know what movie that scoundrel Juffin had recommended to my girlfriend. After all, one could expect anything from him.

“It has a very strange name: Played Runner.”

I almost choked on my hot kamra. The title had been garbled almost beyond recognition, and Blade Runner was one of my favorites.

“Juffin’s right. It’s a great movie,” I said. “No objections to that. By the way, you didn’t have to take such a gloomy view of your prospects for the evening. I’m no monster.”

“Sometimes you’re worse,” said Tekki with a dreamy smile.

“Right you are.”

I have no idea when that son of a gun Melifaro had appeared behind my back. Lucky for him, it had taken him less than thirty minutes, so I didn’t have to draw and quarter him.

“You are a monster,” Melifaro began his old refrain. “Dragging me off somewhere in the middle of the night. I was going to take your girlfriend to your place to see a movie tonight. We could have been making out in the dark, with just a bit of light flickering from that funny box with moving pictures. Am I right, Tekki?”

“Sure. The only other light would have been Sir Juffin’s fangs gleaming in the dark. He’s recently been known to grow them occasionally. I’m sure he saw them in one of those movies. It even scared me.”

“He’s just flirting with you,” said Melifaro. “Well, that’s too bad. Looks like he’s not going to let us make out in peace. He’s such a meanie. Although, compared to this monster”—he made a mocking bow in my direction—“Juffin is as mild-mannered as a saint.”

Having discussed me and Juffin, they started picking on other mutual friends. According to them the entire city of Echo was full of evildoers and villains. The only true angel was Melifaro himself. And Tekki, too, of course, what with her being the daughter of Loiso Pondoxo—although I couldn’t agree more with that last opinion.

“All right, let’s go,” I said half an hour later when I realized that those two could mock and scoff till the cows came home if nobody stopped them. “As I understand it, Tekki, you’ve already decided about your plans for tonight. I mean, it would be useless for me to crawl at your feet, choking on my own tears, and beg you to come with us, right?”

“Choking on your own tears, huh? Tempting, very tempting,” said Tekki. “But I think we can put this orgy off until some other time. There is no hurry. Keep in mind, though, that in the morning I’ll begin to miss you. Don’t make me regret the chance I let slip, okay?”

“Never, my love,” I said. “In any case, early in the morning I’m going to have to take your spurned lover to work. So please try not to entertain too many naked men in my house, and generally be a good girl.”

“All right,” said Tekki, giving me a hug. “I’ll bring over just a few naked men, if it matters so much to you. Just five or six. I want you to be happy. Will you be happy?”

“I will.”

“Sinning Magicians, it takes so little to make some people happy,” said Melifaro, laughing.

“Yep, I’ve always been an ascetic,” I said.

When we arrived at Melifaro’s family estate, we were still in high spirits. I had almost forgotten why we were taking the trip in the first place. I was about to inquire of Melifaro why he had invited me to visit his parents, but thankfully I remembered why we were there myself.

In the spacious den of the mansion, we found an idyllic, unworldly scene: Sir Manga, quite content, was sitting comfortably in a large armchair. His better half was braiding his long red hair. She had just managed to finish half the braid when we arrived. She had a lot of work ahead of her.

“Sinning Magicians, what a surprise!” said Lady Melifaro.

“This is no surprise. It’s just our son and Sir Max,” said Sir Manga. “These gentlemen will live to see far scarier things, so do go on please.”

“I’d rather you had a harem,” his wife said, sighing. “At least I’d have someone to do all the dirty work for me.”

“A hundred and fifty years ago, dear, you had a completely different opinion on this matter. That you have changed it now is not my fault. Boys, will you excuse me if we skip the passionate embraces this time?”

“If you were to rush up and gave me a passionate embrace, Dad, I’d cry bitter tears and haul you off to the nearest Refuge for the Mad,” said Melifaro.

“Do you get so lonely there that you need company?” said Sir Manga. “But never mind. I think you’d better put something in your mouth and start munching right away. Otherwise I’ll never be able to look Sir Max in the eye, after all the nonsense we’ve been spewing out in his presence.”

“Frankly, I don’t see how you can look me in the eye after spewing out this nonsense, once upon a time,” I said, pointing my finger at Melifaro Junior. “However did you manage that, Sir Manga?”

“For your information, I wasn’t home at the time. Kindly address your complaints to my wonderful wife,” said Sir Manga, giving his wife a scornful look. “What can you say in your own defense?”

“Mom, don’t listen to these ridiculous people,” said Melifaro. “You did a great job. In any case, I’m very happy with the results.”

“At least someone is,” his mother said. “All this notwithstanding, your father’s offer still stands: you should have something to eat. It’s not often that such brilliant thoughts occur in Manga’s head.”

“You’re quite wrong there, my dear. Thoughts about food occur to me on average six or seven times a day,” said Sir Manga. “How’s my hair coming along, by the way?”

“You’ll know that it’s done when you hear a loud sigh of relief escape my lungs,” said his wife.

I was enjoying the scene. The more members of the Melifaro family gather in one place, the more kicks I get from it.

“Where has my brother Baxba disappeared to?” my colleague said, sitting at the table.

“Magicians only know,” said Sir Manga. “If I recall correctly, in the morning he mumbled something about a trip to Landaland. He said he was going to the fair in Numban to buy some household junk, but frankly I wasn’t paying much attention.”

I imagined the gigantic Baxba “mumbling something” and couldn’t contain a smile. The Melifaros would make a great soap opera that should air around the clock. It’s too bad that none of the many powerful Grand Magicians who have inhabited Echo since the foundation of the Unified Kingdom have thought to invent television.

My indefatigable colleague was the first to turn in that evening. Muttering something about his working schedule for the coming day, he deserted us and retreated into his bedroom.

“Oh, dear, dear me!” his mother said. “It was no more than a hundred years ago that my little boy swore he would refuse to sleep when he grew up.”

“Ah, so he’s also a perjurer,” I said. “What a nice young man.”

“It runs in the family,” said Sir Manga with pride. “Granted, Anchifa is the crowning glory of my upbringing methods. The first real pirate in the family. That’s quite something, I’ll tell you.”

“If I understand correctly, he’s already left?” I said.

“Of course. Anchifa has never stayed home for more than a couple dozen days.”

“Good for him,” I said in a dreamy voice. “You know, I sometimes think I should quit my job and ask him to hire me as a regular sailor on his ship.”

“I’d advise you not to. A shikka isn’t exactly a resort for a sailor: a barbarian Ukumbian contraption, no magic, and—as a result—too much work for everyone, including the captain. And I wouldn’t say the passengers fare much better: the vessel is subject to violent rocking. Yet my son wouldn’t hear of buying a new ship, even though he could easily afford one, and then some. The boy tries to imitate his mentors in every possible way. This is a case of typical Ukumbian bravado. The local pirates believe that a man can only be considered a true captain if he has sailed the same shikka for no less than five dozen years.”

“What’s a shikka? A kind of a ship?”

“Indeed. The swiftest and most maneuverable there is, and not quite what one would consider a pleasure boat, believe me. I once had the misfortune of hiring a Ukumbian shikka, and I lived to rue the day I decided to go on an around-the-world journey. If I hadn’t managed to transfer to a regular three-mast karuna equipped with several magic crystals when we reached the next port, this World would have lost four of the eight volumes of my sinning encyclopedia, and myself to boot.”

“All right then. I guess I won’t try to hire myself out as a sailor to your Anchifa after all,” I said. “Thanks for warning me. I think I’ll go to sleep instead. After all, it’s the cheapest way to travel in comfort.”

“If you are referring to the bedroom of my prodigal father, Filo, you couldn’t be more correct. As for the other bedrooms, I’m not so sure. Do you remember where it is, or do you want me to show you the way?”

“Do you think my feeble intellect would suffice to find anything in the endless labyrinth you call your house? You’re flattering me, Sir Manga.”

“Oh, but of course I am,” the greatest encyclopedist of the World said with a yawn. “All right then. Let’s try to find that sinning door together, shall we?”

For some time, we wandered through the spacious hallways of the mansion. Sir Manga did his best to play the part of a lost child. It wasn’t very believable, but I was noble enough to play along, insofar as my humble acting abilities allowed.

At last I was alone in the small dark bedroom I was already so fond of. When I’m there, I always think that Filo Melifaro, the famous grandfather of my colleague and one of the powerful Elder Magicians of the Order of the Secret Grass, had me in mind when he built his wonder-working bedroom. He somehow knew that his efforts would benefit more than just his own kin. Hey, if you think about it, it’s quite possible that such a great man could sniff out in advance my even tual presence on his territory. For instance, I could have appeared to him in a dream. Why not? People are known to have all kinds of nightmares from time to time.

But none of this really mattered. It was just another fairy tale, the kind it’s nice to tell yourself before you fall asleep while staring, enchanted, at the ancient crisscrossing beams of the ceiling somewhere above your head in the darkness of the room.

This time I crossed the border between reality and dreamland so slowly that I probably could have marked the path I traversed with white pebbles, like Hansel and Gretel. In this dream, however, I didn’t have any white pebbles with me.

First I wandered around in a few blissful dreams, not fully understanding who I was or what I was doing there. Only when I ended up on the barren sandy beach—which, after all, was the goal of this journey—did I begin to remember myself as I was in real life. This was not as easy as one might think, but in certain fundamental dreams, recurring dreams I’ve had since childhood, it always happens in the end—of its own accord, without any apparent effort from me.

The difference this time around was that I was returning to myself very slowly and painfully, as though I were trying to recall what I had done while drunk. I was able to recollect the evening I had spent in the company of Melifaro’s parents, the trip through the twilit countryside, Tekki’s “promise” to bring home naked men, and then, finally and very unclearly, the conversation with Shurf Lonli-Lokli that had worried me. Then I looked down and saw footprints in the sand.

The footprints, somewhat akin to those of sneakers, had been left by someone wearing soft Uguland shoes. I concentrated, and it suddenly dawned on me that the footprints belonged to Sir Shurf himself. I didn’t guess or deduce it by any clues—I simply felt it. I knew it in my heart (and it was clear which one of the two). This had happened to me more than once in real life, too. Recently I had noticed a kind of one-way connection between my colleagues and myself, the nature of which I did not fully comprehend. Moments before one of them appeared, I would begin to detect a faint scent only emitted by that particular person. And if I happened to enter a room where one of my crew had just been, I would know without the shadow of a doubt who had been there. Maybe that’s how loyal dogs anticipate their master’s return, I explained to myself. No, that’s ridiculous. Dogs use their sense of smell, and I was using … I was using … Gosh, I had no idea what it was.

Neither had I the time to think about man’s best friends. My head began to spin. No wonder: my mind had just gotten a good kick. In my dream, I had just found actual footprints of another person who had recently seen this very dream. It looked as though we had both walked along the sand somewhere on the shore of a very real, wet, and salty sea, each of us following the footsteps of the other.

I decided that the best thing to do would be to scream and wake up—the sooner the better. It was all too much for me.

“Shut up,” I said to myself. “After all, you’re here on business. You can have a tantrum in the morning in Sir Manga’s bathroom if you so choose.”

My stupid habit of talking to myself often proves to be very helpful. Having yelled at myself, I realized that I was quite capable of putting off my hysterics until later. Not until morning—in the morning I would still behave myself. I would hold off on my hysterics until I was in Juffin’s presence. The boss would probably bestow upon me two or three of his highly theoretical yet thoroughly pacifying explanations. I would then pretend that I understood them, and I would feel great.

I found the courage not to wake up. Instead I walked for a long time up and down the barren beach, trying to find any trace of the presence of the evil stranger Shurf had been talking about. I had found nothing and I was already dead tired. Each step required an enormous amount of effort. I don’t recall ever experiencing anything more dispiriting in any of my dreams than what I felt on this walk.

Having expended all my energy, I woke up. Peace and quiet reigned in the cozy bedroom built by the magical hands of Filo Melifaro. Outside everything was dark and quiet—even the birds hadn’t woken up yet. The runes on the beams in the ceiling were doing their magic: it took them only a few seconds to calm down my restless hearts, and then a few minutes more to lull me to sleep. This time, the switchman angels that watch over dreamers as they arrive at their destinations took mercy: I dreamed some meaningless but very sweet nonsense. I couldn’t ask for more.

I woke up at dawn, happy and content. Unsolved mysteries did not spoil my mood. It was even pleasant to think that the barren sandy beaches that I had grown to love did indeed exist, and that I might have the chance to see them in real life one day. Something similar had once happened to me: while walking around the mountains near Kettari, I discovered the town from my childhood dreams. It turned out that the sandy beach was good news rather than bad—that is, if the news was ever amenable to such primitive terms, and the usual morning grogginess notwithstanding.

“Sir Filo,” I said in a tender voice, addressing the ceiling, “I adore you. I don’t know what I would do without you, and so on and so forth. Just keep me in mind when you begin recruiting new grandchildren.”

Naturally, the ceiling was silent, yet after this insane tirade, my mood improved even more. I had to go down the narrow stairs leading to the bathroom sideways—otherwise my smile wouldn’t fit.

Moments later, I was flying down to the dining room. I had the rare opportunity to have breakfast alone, then wake up my colleague and observe his suffering, deriving a sadistic pleasure out of it. Generally, Sir Melifaro Junior was no keener to get up in the morning than I had been as a schoolboy. That was strange, though, considering he was going to be spending another great day in the House by the Bridge rather than meeting the principal.

Today, however, my colleague had gotten up all by himself and was feeling not too bad, to put it mildly. I had the presence of mind not to be upset about it.

“Well, does everything please Your Majesty?” he said when he entered the dining room.

“Yeah, I think I’m not going to execute you this year,” I said. “After that, we’ll see about it.”

“Dream on. I’m not one of your subjects yet, praise be the Magicians.”

“We’ll see what tune you’re singing when my boys are galloping down the streets of Echo on their antlered nags. I’ll let you in on a big secret: my personal plan for the unification of the Barren Lands and the Unified Kingdom differs somewhat from the official one. I figured it’d be better if I annexed the lands of His Majesty Gurig VIII to mine rather than the other way around.”

“Is that so?” said Melifaro, shoving an enormous sandwich in his mouth. “I think I’m going to denounce you then, if that’s okay with you. I’ve never done this before, but better late than never, I guess.”

“Please don’t. I’ll make you my prime minister.”

“Tempting, very tempting. Fine, give me a ride on your amobiler for starters, mister. Then I’ll think about it.”

“Can do. At your service, sir.”

“This has been the dream of my miserable life—to make you my personal chauffeur,” said Melifaro with a sigh. “You should give this lengthy consideration. It’s the only talent you have that’s worthy of the name, anyway.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, snorting. “I know how much a chauffeur makes. I’ve already been poor once, and didn’t like it one bit.”

“You? Poor? When?” said Melifaro. “All right, let’s go. I’m really running late for work now.”

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been standing in the doorway shuffling my feet for thirty minutes already.”

We were tearing along toward Echo through the sleepy suburbs on this gloomy morning. Melifaro, who loved sunny weather, looked visibly downcast. At one point, he demanded that I entertain him, but I said I had to keep my eyes on the road. He calmed down and even began to doze off from boredom.

I was completely entranced by the beautiful gloomy morning. Each raindrop on the windshield looked like a tiny inimitable wonder. Just recently, I had noticed that even rain in this World was different from the usual precipitation I had spent my first thirty years soaking in. Sure, it was just water, but the sweet scent of the pollen, the barely noticeable purple tint of the streaks of rains, the …

It was nice to remember that I still was a newcomer in this beautiful World. Deep inside, I hoped that this feeling would stay with me a lot longer. So many new ways to get myself in trouble, so many opportunities to be amazed over trivial things. The latter—the blissful opportunities to be amazed over trivial things—filled my life so fully that I could almost afford not to wish for anything else. Frankly, that morning, I didn’t wish for anything else.

Once I had dropped off my daytime half by the House by the Bridge, I decided it was a good idea to drop by myself. I had to tell Juffin the mysterious story of my silly dreams.

Sir Juffin had not yet arrived. I guessed that at that time of the day I could probably find him on the Street of Old Coins: he still hadn’t sated his craving for late-night movie screenings. I carefully weighed the options and decided that Shurf’s (and, by extension, my own) problem could wait until the evening—unlike Tekki, who had probably begun tossing and turning by now. Yesterday she had said she might regret the chance she had let slip. I couldn’t allow my beautiful lady to fall so low. From time to time, I discover that I have principles that I simply cannot forego.

I returned to the House by the Bridge only an hour before sunset and went straight to the office that I shared with Juffin. Kurush was the only occupant. He sat on the back of the armchair with an all-important look.

“Where’s the boss, O wise one?” I said.

“I don’t know,” said the bird. “He came and went, came and went. People, as you know, are known to be somewhat restless.”

“That we are,” I said, sighing, and sent Juffin a call.

It’s the second time I’ve come to the Headquarters today and not found you here.

It’s your own fault. You should work on your sense of timing, said Juffin. It’s high time that you learned to come exactly when I’m in. More to the point, however: What on earth are you doing there? As I recall, I gave you two days off—at your own persistent request, may I remind you. What happened? Couldn’t bear the life of a loafer?

Nah, loafing wasn’t the problem. It’s my absentmindedness—I thought it had already been two days, I said. Then I added with a sigh, Juffin, to be honest, I have a few questions that you’re the one most likely to have the answers to.

Well, I’ve had a rough day, so if your confession can wait, let’s put it off until tomorrow, said Juffin. Otherwise, you can come to the Street of Old Coins tonight. You’ll definitely find me here. It won’t even matter if your sense of timing is off.

Thank you, Juffin. I’ll do that.

Good. Now get out of my office. I know you all too well. First you’ll drink two or three mugs of kamra, and then you’re going to say that you had to work overtime.

Hey, it’s my office, too! I said. All right, all right. I’m gone already.

Liar!

You can’t fool the boss, I thought. I gave a loud, deep sigh, rose from the armchair where I had just curled up, and went to the Hall of Common Labor. Shurf Lonli-Lokli wasn’t there, so I decided to take my chances and look for him in his lair.

He wasn’t in his huge, almost empty, and sterile office either, but I sensed that he would show up any minute now. I had gotten so used to trusting my instincts that I didn’t bother to burden myself with Silent Speech. Instead, I grabbed a random book from a small white bookshelf over his desk, sat on the only (and very hard) chair in the room, and prepared to wait.

The book was The Pendulum of Immortality. I had seen Shurf reading it many times already. I didn’t have the chance to dip into this literary monument, however. Moments later, the door at the far end of the office opened with a quiet creak. I’m a fast reader, all right, but not that fast.

“You came even sooner than I expected,” I said, getting up from the owner’s chair. I rushed to put the book back on the shelf—I knew what a pain in the neck Shurf was.

“I am happy to see you, Max,” said Lonli-Lokli. His stone face looked almost friendly. “But I should be very much obliged if you returned the book to the place you took it from.”

“Wait, what did I just do?”

“You put it on the shelf—you didn’t return it. The book was the third from the right, and now it is the rightmost item on the shelf. Do not get me wrong, Max. I am all for changes in general, yet untimely changes do not facilitate a good mood.”

I submitted without a murmur and returned the book to its original place. Then I couldn’t contain myself and laughed. “Oh, this is just brilliant, Shurf! Sometimes I think that the World stands on your back.”

“It may well be true,” said this wonderful fellow in an indifferent tone. “Do you have any news for me, or have you just decided to pay a visit?”

“Yes and yes. But my news requires a more intimate setting: a candlelit dinner and whatnot. Got a minute?”

“Must it be candlelit?” said Lonli-Lokli. “There are not many taverns in Echo that use candles, you know. Illuminating gas is much more practical.”

“Fine, we’ll do away with the candles,” I said in the tone of a person who was willing to sacrifice the most sacred principles in the interests of business. “To be perfectly straight, we can do away with the dinner, too. I don’t have much in terms of news. I just like to combine business with pleasure.”

“So do I,” said Shurf, grinning. “And since you mentioned candles, we could go to the Vampire’s Dinner. Their cuisine is not bad, and I think they still don’t have too many customers there. They even have candles. Would this be agreeable to you?”

“The Vampire’s Dinner is a marvelous place. I had no idea you ever went there.”

“At one time, it was one of my favorite taverns, and I still find it pleasant. I used to dine there almost every day.”

“‘Used to’? Was it during your Merry Fishmonger days, by any chance?” I said.

“Oh, no. Much, much later. Incidentally, it was there that I met my wife. She caught my fancy by ordering precisely the dishes that I found virtually inedible. I thought that studying that woman would grant me access to a new side of human life that hitherto had been unknown to me. A side that does not find the taste of Kuankulex wine or Loxrian xatta revolting.”

I shook my head, bewildered. This fellow baffled me every now and then. Sometimes I thought he did it on purpose, and not entirely without ulterior motives. I’m sure he keeps a special notebook at home where he writes down how many times a day he has baffled me. He then rubs his hands together in his fancy laced gloves and chortles when nobody can see him.

The interior of the Vampire’s Dinner was as dramatic as its name: candles, semidarkness, and tabletops with splashes of red paint suggesting blood. A large but friendly fellow was dozing off behind the bar. He had gone through the trouble of putting on some evening makeup, whitening his face, blackening his eyebrows, and painting some fluorescent formula around his eyes. Gobs of red lipstick were supposed to create the impression that this nice guy had just quenched his thirst with a few glasses of blood from his innocent victims.

I shook my head in amusement. The first time I had walked into the Vampire’s Dinner had not been the best day of my life. Yet even then, the place had lifted my spirits. Now, when I was feeling so wonderful and so complete, I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be.

Shurf and I were the only visitors in the tavern. We sat down at the table farthest from the door. The proprietor, happy with the sudden arrival of customers, promptly brought us the menu. He was friendly and courteous. Neither the protective gloves covering the death-dealing hands of Sir Lonli-Lokli, nor my Mantle of Death—both well known in the Capital—seemed to bother him. On the contrary, they seemed to complement the mood of the place.

“I remember once having a Breath of Evil here,” I said. “An excellent treat, I must say, Shurf. I highly recommend it.”

“Strange. I do not recall seeing it on the menu before.”

“That’s because you used to come here back in the unpalatable times right after the ratification of the Code of Krember. I came here in the good old days when every chef was ordered to wear the Earring of Oxalla and allowed to cook whatever he wanted.”

“Oh, I see. It’s one of the dishes of the old cuisine. Indeed, I have not come here at all since Sir Juffin solicited a relaxation of restrictions for the chefs. Still, Max, you are exaggerating, as usual. Last time I was here was not more than four years ago—not a hundred and seventeen, as one might assume based on your unreasonable assertion. Well, I should not pass up the chance of becoming acquainted with the dish you have recommended. Perhaps I should try the Breath of Evil.”

Shurf spoke in such a serious tone that it sounded as though he was talking about choosing a weapon that would (or wouldn’t) save our lives.

After the small pieces of cake on our plates had “blown up” like popcorn on a hotplate, and Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli had deigned to approve my choice of dish, I decided it was time to talk business.

“I was there last night, Shurf,” I said. Shurf raised his eyebrows in perplexity, so I had to clarify. “In our dream—yours and mine. I went to sleep in Filo Melifaro’s bedroom and found myself on that sinning beach. I didn’t find any strangers there, though. The beach can still hold the title of Most Desolate Place in the Universe. What I did find there, however, was your footprints in the sand. Frankly, it shook me to the core.”

“It did, did it not?” said Shurf. “Are you sure those were my footprints and not someone else’s?”

“Positive. If I weren’t, I’d have told you that I found footprints that could be yours, but I’m absolutely certain those were your footprints. By the way, the footprints were made by boots. Do you keep them on while sleeping?”

“That is nonsense. Naturally I take my footwear off before I go to sleep. Yet in my dream, I was wearing boots, that is true. Hold on a moment, Max. Are you saying that you always walk in your dreams naked?”

“Uh, no, of course not,” I said, taken aback. “But this dream … See, Shurf, this beach isn’t just a dream—it’s a real place. I’m sure of it now. I wish I knew which World it was in. Also, you know what I think? I think there are no people there. Not just people—there is no living soul at all. I’ve had dreams of empty places before, but not so empty that they gave me the willies. The other places had some kind of fathomable ‘human’ emptiness, so to speak. I mean, the assumption was that there was someone there, just somewhere far, far away. And let me tell you, I was pretty happy in those dreams. So I thought that my desolate beach was someplace like that—abandoned, but fathomable and safe.”

“And you do not think that anymore?” said Lonli-Lokli.

I shook my head. “I’m telling you: for starters, it’s real. It isn’t just part of some kind of dream you can discard and forget while you’re brushing your teeth. Second, that place is absolutely empty now. And it wasn’t before. See, before, I wasn’t scared of that place—I liked it. I’m not such a complicated person that I love something I fear. Long story short, I don’t want you to go there anymore, Shurf. But it’s not up to you, if I understand it correctly?”

“It is true. I, unfortunately, have no control over the situation,” said Shurf. “What are you going to do about it? I have studied you long enough to know that you are not going to leave this alone. Am I right?”

“I wish I could just leave it alone,” I said, sighing. “I just don’t think I can.”

“Then I guess I am lucky,” said Lonli-Lokli with a barely noticeable hint of doubt in his voice. “I presume you are going to discuss this with Sir Juffin.”

“Of course I am. Even if you didn’t approve of it, I’d have to. All my problems have something to do with or somehow affect Juffin. I think it’s just one of Nature’s laws. And at this point, it’s the only thing I can do. I don’t know where to begin such an investigation. Maybe he knows.”

Shurf carefully picked up a small cup of kamra, took a sip, and put it back on the table. I still can’t figure out how he manages to do this without taking off his massive protective gloves. I guess I never will.

“Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Why, by the way, did you think I might not approve of it?” he said.

“I don’t know. Just a thought. In any case, you’re a free man and you have the right to have personal secrets. And I’m not the one to pry into them. Then again, I’m not too eager to obtain your permission to do so either.”

Lonli-Lokli gave me a long, piercing look. His gray eyes, which usually radiated icy calm, lit up with such blinding fury that I almost choked on the air I was inhaling.

“I am not a free man. I am the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives. ‘Death in the Service of the King,’ as you put it. Therefore I have no right to personal secrets. Such luxuries may come at too high a price for those who have no obligation to pay for me.”

The oratorical fury of my ferocious friend extinguished itself as suddenly as it had ignited. His eyes dropped, and he continued in a quiet voice. “I am telling you this only because you and I are in the same situation. We should not entertain meaningless illusions about our freedom and ‘right to have personal secrets.’ This is not a tragedy—simply a certain period in our lives. Perhaps one day it will end, but for the time being we must play by the rules. It is imperative that you tell Juffin this story, no matter what I think about it.”

“Has something happened, Shurf?” I said, taken aback. “Is this conversation bothering you? I’ve never heard you speak with such passion before. Even the Mad Fishmonger that I had the pleasure of meeting in Kettari wasn’t such a passionate speaker.”

“Something has happened,” said Lonli-Lokli, nodding. “And the sooner I find out what it is, the better. This conversation is indeed bothering me because there is a part of me that does not want you to talk to Juffin. So I was talking to myself, rather than to you. It would pain me deeply if I learned that I had offended you.”

“Hey, I don’t take offense that easily, Shurf. But you got me worried. All for the better, I guess. Now I’m going to dive right into this.”

“Very well,” said Lonli-Lokli. “The sooner you do it, the better. You know, I have a feeling that I will indeed require your help, even though I cannot put into words why. It is a rather peculiar feeling: I am not used to needing or relying on someone else’s help. I prefer to think of myself as the only living creature in the Universe, neither requiring nor expecting anyone else to help me. Such a conviction does not make life more comfortable, but it gives me steadily good, practical results.”

“You yourself have said on more than one occasion that one should not dismiss an opportunity to gain new experience,” I said, laughing. “All right. Let’s have one last shot of the blood of innocent babes and head out into the open air. You, I’m sure, want to get back home, and I’m going to spoil our boss’s placid serenity with my incomprehensible monologue about the mysterious nature of my precious dreams.”

“What do you call the ‘blood of innocent babes’?” said Shurf. “I do not recall seeing anything like that on the menu. Is this a new house beverage?”

“Nah,” I said. “But considering our reputation, any drink that we order can be considered to be the blood of innocent babes, don’t you think?”

“I am sorry, but I do not find this funny,” said Shurf in an injured tone.

“Yeah, well, you’re not alone there,” I said. “I don’t find it very funny either. The joke was more along the lines of Sir Melifaro Junior. Too bad he’s loafing around somewhere instead of hanging on my every word around here.”

I ended up demanding another cup of kamra, which, alas, was not the best kamra in Echo. On the other hand, I had reason to believe that it wouldn’t be the last cup in my life, and in this respect, I was quite satisfied with it. Shurf, upon considering the matter for a short time, ordered himself a glass of some dark wine.

“Aren’t you going to pour it into your holey cup?” I said, disappointed, watching as my colleague brought the glass to his lips. “I was just going to ask for a sip. I like to stick my nose into other people’s business, as you know.”

“Presently, I do not feel the need to call upon the power of the holey cup. I do not consider the day I have lived to have been particularly difficult. Besides, I am feeling somewhat excited. I believe that your conviction that the barren beach is a real place has affected me.”

“Let me tell you, it’s nothing compared to how it’s affected me,” I said. “But I’ve resigned myself to it and tried to think about doing something else. It’s one of my little rules: whenever a situation gets out of hand, I try to think about doing something else. You can always do something else; the tricky part is to start. Anything that distracts you from an unsolvable problem will do fine. Because when you try to control something beyond your capacities, the world can explode into a million pieces in your hands.”

“This is one of the strangest lines of reasoning that I have ever heard,” said Shurf, nodding in approval. “Still, I do not think that such an extraordinary piece of advice will be of use to anyone but yourself.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “I sometimes need a piece of good advice, too, though. Say, Shurf, do you think I can borrow your cup? I have this premonition that I simply must not pass up the chance of drinking out of your magic vessel.”

“Must you?” said Lonli-Lokli. “You are beginning to behave like a true former Magician of our Order, Max. It is quite funny. Why, you should get your own holey cup.”

“Oh, yeah? But how? I don’t know any of your rituals.”

“You have the most peculiar notions about magic,” said Shurf. “What rituals? Either a man has the power to hold liquids in a bottomless vessel or he does not. Rituals are for scaring novices with—well, to instill a certain mood in them, rather.”

“But I am a novice. No need to scare me, but a ‘certain mood’ is just the thing for me.”

“No,” said Shurf. “You can already do away with rituals.” He produced his famous bottomless cup from somewhere in the folds of his snow-white looxi and handed it over to me. “What are you going to drink from it?”

“Well, how about this kamra?” I said. Then I poured the contents of my cup into Lonli-Lokli’s holey cup and drained the now almost cold beverage in one gulp.

“Are you feeling anything?” my friend said, surprised. “You see, kamra is not exactly the drink that helps achieve the best effect.”

“Really? I think that I’m about to lift off. Seriously! Like any second now.”

“It does not in truth matter what you think. The power assists one to fly in actuality, not simply to enjoy the illusion of flying. I hope I will have an opportunity to explain certain aspects of the ways of the Order of the Holey Cup to you, if you wish. But I already know that you will: curiosity has always been one of your strengths. We should go now. It is getting late, and as you know, I live in the New City. I even intend to ask you to give me a ride: unlike the drivers of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, you drive very fast. It would take me at least an hour if I chose to use one of the official amobilers.”

“Jeepers! Of course I’ll give you a lift. I’ll get you home in less than a dozen minutes.”

“I should be very grateful to you for this. My wife prefers to spend evenings in my company whenever possible. Frankly, I am quite surprised: I am not sure I am a very good interlocutor.”

“Well, I’m not surprised at all. It’s safe around you, Shurf. While you’re around, one doesn’t have to worry that this wonderful World might come to an end.”

“A most peculiar thought,” said Lonli-Lokli, frowning. “Well, in any case, it is time to go.”

We paid our bill to the cute “monster” in makeup still dozing off at the bar and went outside. The dim orange light from the streetlights was doing a poor job of dispersing the darkness. The moon that night refused to take part in illuminating the streets: the sky was covered in clouds so thick they seemed to have been made by some pedant like Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli. I could easily imagine Shurf, in all seriousness, distributing thick, dense patches of autumnal clouds across the sky. Just the job for him.

I sat behind the lever of the amobiler. Shurf sat next to me, and I took off as fast as I could. Kamra may not be the right beverage for drinking out of a holey cup, but I enjoyed the strange lightness that was pouring into me like champagne pouring into a glass: it might start overflowing any moment.

“Look, Shurf, I have another question for you,” I said. Frankly, I didn’t think the question I had in mind was that important. I just wanted to chat a little more. “About our mutual dreams … I don’t quite follow how you manage to sense the presence of that hypothetical stranger. You told me yourself that you never got to see him. Then, at the same time, you’re sure he’s there, and you’re almost sure you don’t know him. So it appears that something’s going on between you two. Does he talk to you, or what?”

“I am not sure that he talks to me,” said Lonli-Lokli. His voice lacked the usual confidence. “But anything is possible. You know, Max, for some reason it is hard for me to focus when I try to remember what happens in these dreams. I remember the barren beaches, I remember my conviction that someone else is there, and I remember the threat emanating from that someone. When it comes to remembering what happens between him and me, I draw a complete blank. I am truly sorry.”

“Hey, that’s all right, Shurf. You know, when I want to remember my dreams, I close my eyes and try to doze off. Not to fall asleep for real but just to doze off, to enter the border state between reality and dreamland. This is important. It’s not going to help you now—it only works right after you wake up—but you should definitely try it next time.”

“Are you sure you want me to remember?”

I was a little unnerved at the unfamiliar sarcasm in Shurf’s voice, but I wasn’t surprised. All evening he had been a little too uptight—well, to the degree that the imperturbable Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli could be uptight. Besides, I was focusing on the road: I was flying down the narrow streets of the Old City at such speed that I couldn’t afford to relax even for a split second.

“I think it makes sense to try to remember everything that happens to you, even in your dreams,” I said, smiling, and turned my head to my colleague.

I rotated it just slightly, just enough to adhere to my own standards of courtesy while keeping my eyes on the road. That courteous, barely detectable movement was enough for me to be able to notice something unusual—no, not just unusual, something that went against everything I knew to be within the realm of possibility. Shurf had just finished taking off the protective glove from his left hand. His death-dealing inner glove—the former hand of the dead Magician Kiba Attsax—shone in the twilight of the evening, cutting through the orange mist of the street lamps with its dangerous whiteness.

If I had allowed myself even a second to evaluate the situation, if I had wasted any time on doubt, reflection, or even panic, death—my indefatigable companion—would definitely have caught up with me that night. Yet I didn’t even bother to assess the situation. Praise be the Magicians, I didn’t waste time trying to understand something that could not be understood. Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli, my most predictable and reliable friend, who, according to my naive, childish notions, held the World on his shoulders, was about to kill me there and then without elaborating on the details of his eccentric intention, to put it mildly.

I hit the brakes, and the amobiler stopped as abruptly as it could. Even lucky boys like me rarely get away with a trick like that, but I was spared. Something cracked in my right wrist, which had been squeezing the lever, but unlike the face of my passenger, mine didn’t hit the windshield. He hadn’t expected such a turn of events, so he catapulted out of his seat. Instinctively, he threw his left hand with the death-dealing glove forward, to protect his head. The windshield died a quick and painless death, leaving only a pile of silvery ashes behind. Barely realizing what I was doing, I picked up the protective glove from the floor of the amobiler, grabbed the arm with the lethal hand just below the elbow joint, and yanked the protective glove onto it. I think I acted faster than was humanly possible: the entire operation took less, much less, than a second.

“Quit it with your stunts, you reptile!” the creature hissed.

What else would you call it? That voice didn’t belong to my friend Shurf. No way. Not in a million years.

It had taken the creature an instant to recover; it was spoiling for a fight. I was surprised I had managed to pull anything off at all, but I didn’t have time to be puzzled. I didn’t have much time for anything.

Completely on their own, the fingers of my left hand snapped a short, dry snap, producing a tiny green fireball, a Lethal Sphere. None other than Shurf Lonli-Lokli himself had taught me this trick way back when. It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d ever run me through a test that would cost me my life if I failed it.

“What a load of crap! All your tricks are useless, you snake. You haven’t learned a thing,” my colleague said, laughing, and he caught my Lethal Sphere with his right hand, in the protective glove covered in runes.

The green glow wobbled and disappeared. At the same time, Lonli-Lokli’s left arm dislodged itself from my grip without any visible effort. I had never been a strong guy and didn’t stand a chance against Lonli-Lokli himself.

I had to admit he was telling the truth. I didn’t have too many tricks in my arsenal—at least none that could stand up to the Master Who Snuffs Out Unnecessary Lives, a veritable killing machine whose “skillful hands” many an ancient Grand Magician had failed to escape. Maybe I could shrink him and hide him between my thumb and my index finger?

I was sure, however, that my favorite trick would be tantamount to suicide: however small Sir Shurf might be, nothing was going to prevent him from exposing his death-dealing hands even while he was curled up in my fist. And then I’d be dead. Very, very dead.

Spit at him! Spit at him now, you idiot! my mind was yelling, but this uninvited adviser had to stuff it. I wasn’t going to waste precious time on experiments, the results of which were already obvious to me.

My logic was approximately as follows: Sir Shurf was my colleague, my comrade in arms, my partner in many perilous adventures—my mentor, one could say. Since he himself had taught me a great deal of magic, he knew what to expect from me. Moreover, one would assume, he was prepared for everything, as well. For example, I was sure he had some kind of protection from my venomous spit. To get out of this alive, my primary objective was to forget all of my old tricks and pull off something absolutely unimaginable, something that shattered all his preconceptions of me and, indeed, my own preconceptions of myself.

I had nothing to lose—I was virtually a dead man. Sir Shurf was already taking off his left protective glove. Fortunately, he was doing it slowly and carefully, which was a usual safety measure. Unfortunately, however slowly he was fiddling with his gloves, I still didn’t have a chance in hell for survival.

All I could do was try to have a good time dying, and to go out in style. Why not? My scant but sad postmortem experience suggested that I wouldn’t have much time for it after the fact.

I laughed like a madman and jumped onto my feet, not quite realizing why I was doing it. Was I going to challenge my friend Shurf to play a game of chase? Then again, knowing me …

The next thing I knew, my feet were no longer touching the ground. The wonderful lightness that had poured into me after the ritual with the holey cup had finally overflowed. A moment later I was contemplating the spiky rooftops of the Old City with surprise. The street lamps were glowing somewhere down there. I hadn’t merely levitated; I had shot up into the sky: a merry lightweight force had jolted me, then launched me upward like a cork from a bottle of champagne.

I was still laughing like crazy. Maybe I was crazy. What else would happen to a man if his most trustworthy and predictable friend was going to kill him? The fact that I was hovering above the Echo night like Winnie-the-Pooh at the end of his balloon complemented the crazy events of the evening very nicely.

A piercing white flash somewhere down below brought me to my senses. Until that moment, I had had no idea of the range of Lonli-Lokli’s deadly left hand. For a moment, I thought it was curtains for me. Yet I was about to learn some good news: the distance to the target mattered. The snow-white lightning flashed and fizzled out somewhere above the roofs of the Old City. I was much higher and, apparently, completely beyond reach.

Gotta see Juffin right now, I thought. What I really need now is to curl up and shelter under Sir Juffin Hully’s wings. I don’t think I can solve this problem myself.

I clutched at this thought like a drowning man grasping hold of someone else’s lifebelt. For a few moments, I thought only about how desperate I was to see Juffin: I rehearsed my performance, imagined the boss’s possible reaction, and prayed to the indifferent heavens to arrange this meeting for me. When I finally forced my mind to shut up and made myself look down, I saw that the ground was much closer than it had been before. If Sir Lonli-Lokli wanted to give his long-range shooting experiment another go, he had a very good chance—a hundred percent chance, rather—to complete it and tuck it under his belt as the crowning glory of his brilliant career.

Then I realized that neither Lonli-Lokli nor the remains of my favorite amobiler were anywhere to be seen. This was a different street. I was just a few blocks away from the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, and it was in my best interests to be on the ground—the sooner the better.

No sooner had I thought about it than my feet touched the sidewalk. I didn’t even try to understand how I had managed first to defeat gravity and then to join the Greater Pedestrian Community as though nothing had happened. I dashed to the House by the Bridge. Quite possibly, I beat the sprint record that night, however meaningless it was under the circumstances. Fortunately, my heart, though indignant at the inexcusable overexertion, hadn’t blown up in my chest, although I have to admit it tried to the best of its ability. My other heart—the mysterious one—simply ignored the situation, which was either below its dignity, beyond its comprehension, or simply out of its jurisdiction.

When I crossed the finish line on the Street of Copper Pots, I remembered that the boss’s shift had long been over, so I didn’t bother going inside Headquarters and instead sank into the driver’s seat of one of the company amobilers. Praise be the Magicians, I didn’t have to explain anything to the driver. The fellow had probably gone off to have a cup of kamra in the company of his colleagues. That was very wise (and timely) of him: I could not possibly have uttered a single comprehensible word at that moment. I’d no doubt have scared him to death if I tried.

I grabbed the lever and tore along to the Street of Old Coins: Juffin had said that I could find him there tonight. I really hoped I would. I seriously doubted that I could use Silent Speech: it would have been as difficult as making a phone call under general anesthesia.

I hit the brakes by the door of my old apartment on the Street of Old Coins almost as hard as I had a few minutes before when I had to save my own precious skin. Well, maybe not quite that hard.

I didn’t have to get out of the amobiler: Juffin was standing in the doorway. I nearly died from relief when I saw him. I was so happy, I was about to demonstrate a mixture of hysterics and a swoon, but I got a grip on myself just in time.

It’s not over yet, I said to myself. Far from it. If you think about it, it’s just the beginning.

“Someone tried to kill you,” said Juffin. He didn’t ask—he stated it.

I nodded. I still couldn’t speak: I needed a little more time to come to my senses. Praise be the Magicians, I could use the breathing exercises that—oh, the irony—Lonli-Lokli had taught me.

Juffin watched me very calmly, and I think I even detected a hint of curiosity in his gaze. He noticed the effort I was making to calm down and recover, nodded in approval, and got into the amobiler beside me.

“Let’s go to the House by the Bridge,” he said. “It’s the best place to solve any problem. Actually, that’s what it was built for.”

I nodded again, and we drove back. Now I was driving at a normal, human speed, maybe even a little slower than usual: Sir Juffin Hully’s presence, along with the breathing exercises, had a most salutary effect on me.

The boss was lost in thought all the way back. He spoke only when we were already in the hallway leading to our office: “I still don’t understand who was trying to kill you.”

“Shurf,” I said in a wooden tone. Then again, a wooden tone is better than none.

“I see. Are you certain it was him?”

“If there’s anything I’ve ever been really certain about, it’s that it was him when we left the Vampire’s Dinner. And it was him sitting next to me in the front seat of the amobiler. And then the person sitting next to me in the amobiler tried to kill me. Logic suggests that it was Shurf who tried to kill me. There was no one else there. Yet I refuse to accept this kind of logic,” I said, sinking into my armchair.

“So do I,” said Juffin. “All the more since this is not the only kind of logic known to me. Just the most primitive. I’m afraid that the fellow is in even deeper trouble than you are, if being in deeper trouble is even possible.”

“It is,” I said, shuddering at the thought of what might have happened to my friend. “After all, I’m still alive, as far as I can tell. I’m even sitting here talking to you. I wish Shurf could say the same about himself.”

Juffin nodded a slow, thoughtful nod and stared somewhere behind me with a motionless gaze.

“I have good news,” he said suddenly. “Sir Shurf can say the same about himself—or, more precisely, will be able to very soon. He just sent me a call and will join us in a few minutes.”

My body tensed up in an unnatural way, and then I felt the already familiar sensation of supernatural lightness. I had to exert an enormous amount of effort not to float up toward the ceiling. The only thing that stopped me was the fear of piercing the roof of the House by the Bridge with my tender head.

Juffin contemplated my inner struggle with visible pleasure. “Come on, Max. Everything is all right,” he said. “It is Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli and not some crazed channeler. And do you really think I couldn’t put a stop to anything untoward that might happen in my presence?”

“Sure you can. Maybe. It’s just that it’s a bit too much for me.”

“Oh, shush. Stop your whining,” said Juffin. “‘Too much for me.’ You’d be surprised if I told you how many surprises you could gobble down before you have the right to wince.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Okay, you know best. I have a business proposal for you, though. First you treat me to a big cup of kamra and offer me one free psychoanalysis session. Then you can present me a ceremonial dessert spoon.”

“A dessert spoon? What are you talking about, Max?” said Juffin.

I swear he was ready to take his words back. He probably thought he had overestimated the strength of my poor mind.

“You thought I’d agree to ‘gobble down’ your surprises with my bare hands?” I said. “Please, Juffin, I do have some dignity. Ask your butler.”

The joke was below average, but Sir Juffin laughed so loud that the windows trembled. I think he was just glad that I had recovered so quickly. I was pretty glad about it myself: marvelous are thy deeds.

Boomshakalaka!

The courier came in and placed a tray with kamra on the desk. Juffin stuck the huge mug right under my nose. “Now, in return, you’re going to tell me everything that happened to you. Be clear, concise, and take it from the top please. Can you manage that?”

“I think I can.” And I began telling Juffin about the dreams Shurf and I were having. It was the confession that, as it had turned out, I should have hurried to make from the very start.

I made another amazing discovery, perhaps the most amazing discovery of the entire crazy evening: I could recount my thoughts in a coherent and concise manner if I really wanted to. By the time I finished my improvised lecture on the mysteries of dreams, the kamra in my cup was still hot, and I didn’t even need to put it on the burner.

“Quite a story,” said Juffin. “Especially the ending. Just like in the good old days. No, I take that back: it’s even too much for the Epoch of Orders. I wonder how many lucky stars were shining on you when you were born?”

The door opened and slammed shut. I shivered. Juffin, on the other hand, smiled a broad, friendly smile.

“Oh, come in, Sir Shurf,” he said. “I’m dying to interrogate you under torture. I’m under the impression that some bastard has decided to sneak through Xumgat on your back. Am I right, or am I right, eh?”

“You are most certainly right. I have been asking myself why I could not guess what had been happening to me,” said Lonli-Lokli. “And I am not the only one in trouble here. I was straddled while I was asleep—or, rather, while I was taking a stroll through Sir Max’s dream, which, according to his latest conjecture, is a ‘real place’ in another World. My Rider had to get there somehow in the first place.”

He stopped by my armchair and carefully put down a box covered in faded runes on the desk. Then he cautiously put his hand on my shoulder. I saw that he wasn’t wearing either the outer protective gloves or the inner death-dealing ones.

“I never thought you would be able to escape from me, Max. But you did, praise be the Magicians! I can just imagine how disappointed that monster must be. He was so confident in his success.”

“I would be, too, if I were him,” said Juffin. “By the way, why did you say ‘he’?”

“I am not sure,” said Shurf, sitting down beside me. “As far as I can trust my own feelings, the creature is most certainly male. I think you should put away this box with my gloves, sir, the sooner the better. My guest might return any moment. You know as well as I do that Riders who have taken a fancy to wandering through Xumgat do not like to leave their steeds for long.”

“‘Riders’? ‘Xumgat’? ‘Wandering through’?” I said. “You guys should tone down your metaphors. I don’t understand a thing.”

“It is actually quite simple,” said Juffin. “Xumgat is the ancient name of the Corridor between Worlds. I don’t particularly like using that term: it smacks of some ancient mystical posturing. It’s much easier to call things by their actual names, right? But then the Corridor between Worlds—it’s still an open question who knows more about that place.”

“You, naturally,” I said. “Sure, I ran around there a bit, but I definitely lack the theoretical background.”

“Naturally. But in these matters, you need theory like a buriwok needs an amobiler,” said Juffin, laughing. “The question is: Can you get to that place or not? Most people can’t, including the powerful ancient Magicians. Among the few who can are our mutual friend Maba Kalox, Sir Loiso Pondoxo (a vampire under his blanket!), and such brilliant fellows as you and me. One either has the gift of practicing Invisible Magic—which is what brings us to that mysterious place—or one doesn’t. There’s no in between. It’s a gift. Some can multiply twelve-digit numbers in their heads and some can’t, all their university education notwithstanding.”

“True, but an education helps you manage even when you have no talent whatsoever,” I said. “One can learn to do long multiplication tables on paper, for instance—or, better yet, to use a calculator.”

“Do such things really exist?” said Lonli-Lokli.

“Shurf, you wouldn’t believe the magical things in the World,” I said. For the first time since he had arrived, I found the courage to look him in the eye. I smiled from an immense sense of relief: it truly was the old Shurf Lonli-Lokli—strong and imperturbable, never passing up the opportunity to add something else to his already huge encyclopedic knowledge. And that meant that life was wonderful. That meant that maybe, just maybe, there would be a tomorrow for you, Sir Max, if you were lucky enough, and if destiny would agree to keep putting up with your silly ass, and if you could learn this lesson well: you can’t offload your own heavenly vault onto someone else’s shoulders. You can trust anyone you want to, but you can only rely on yourself. Everyone has his own vault to carry; everyone is the Atlas of his own world. It’s no one else’s fault that you were only beginning to understand the rules of the game after thirty-something years.

Juffin pried me away from my thoughts.

“You know, Max, you yourself just came up with a brilliant metaphor with those calculators of yours. That is approximately what is going on here. When a powerful Magician realizes he cannot enter the Corridor between Worlds by himself, he can turn into what is called a Rider. He finds a person who is capable of traveling between Worlds, and then he captures that person’s spirit. For someone who has mastered the higher degrees of Apparent Magic, this is a piece of cake. Ideally, of course, you’d want to capture the spirit of some madman: they are often very talented, and what’s more, they have no clue about their own talents or the possible uses thereof. Besides, their spirits don’t belong to anyone anyway.”

Juffin fell silent and took a good look at Lonli-Lokli. Apparently he liked what he saw, so he continued. “Given enough magical power, one can capture or possess not just someone’s spirit but also his body. The body of someone who was born for magical travels. Now, if one really tries, one can also capture all the powers of one’s captive. The captive then dies, and the lucky captor keeps a great deal of the victim’s talent. People like you or me are of no interest to him: we are too dangerous to deal with since we know what we do, more or less, and can put up resistance.”

Another pause. Now the boss was looking at me.

“Although … You know, I wasn’t going to tell you this so as not to scare you beforehand. Now you know, and this knowledge might come in handy. One such clever fellow already tried to straddle you when you traveled back to your home World. He failed, but you almost lost your memory, thanks to him: the bastard really stunned you. So, how do you like them apples?”

I was shocked and dismayed, but recovered quickly. No doubt I had begun getting used to unpleasant surprises.

“So that’s why I couldn’t remember anything about my life in Echo! If I were a little weaker, I’d have thought I’d just seen a wonderful dream. But you should have told me sooner, Juffin. I should know such things about myself.”

“What’s the point? If I’d told you, you might have been too scared to even try traveling between Worlds again,” said Juffin. “I was going to look for your fellow traveler, but then I got hooked on your ‘cartoons’ and thought I could put off looking for the Rider for a while. You weren’t in any immediate danger: after such a crushing defeat, the Rider wouldn’t have tried to bother you—believe me, I know his kind.”

“Fine,” I said. “Magicians be with you and that failed tourist.” I turned to Lonli-Lokli. “So does this mean you can travel between Worlds, too, Shurf?”

“Not yet. But I will someday. That time has not yet come. In my life, everything happens slowly. It is my destiny.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to the thought that that time has already come,” said Juffin. “Don’t you get it? It didn’t go exactly how you and I had planned it, Sir Shurf. This fidgety fellow”—he nodded in my direction—“stirred you up a bit sooner than he should have and was punished for it.”

“Hey! I didn’t stir anyone up,” I said. “Quit speaking in riddles.”

“If there’s anything I’m really certain about, it’s that I’m tired of speaking in riddles,” said Juffin, mocking my earlier line. “Fair enough, I’ll explain. You accidentally, one might say out of sheer idiocy, dragged Shurf into your dreams. I believe you both know what I’m talking about. Then there were your joint walks around the outskirts of Kettari. All of this resulted in Sir Shurf being in dangerous—or, I should say, dubious—situations: he is already quite capable of journeying between Worlds, but he is not yet ready to consciously put his talents to good use. Currently, he’s no better than some of the inhabitants of the Refuge for the Mad … Hold on, boys. That’s where we need to sniff around a bit. I have no idea where we will find our client, but we have a pretty good chance of encountering a couple of his victims in the Refuge for the Mad. You’re absolutely right, Shurf—there’s no way you could have been his first prey. You are way too tough for a novice traveler through Xumgat. What we’ve got here is a very, very experienced Rider.”

“I believe you are correct,” said Lonli-Lokli, nodding. “It is unfortunate that I will not be able to take part in the search. The timing could not have been worse.”

“Very true,” said Juffin. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now. Do you want to stay here? I’d rather you stayed here, although, frankly speaking, you’d be much more comfortable in Xolomi.”

“Naturally, I shall stay here. Comfort is not the topmost priority at the moment. The small room in your office where we used to keep prisoners is exactly what I need now. It is as isolated from the world as Xolomi is. At the very least, I shall be nearby and you will be able to observe me safely. In addition, I may perhaps bring some benefit without even leaving these premises.”

I glanced in perplexity first at Juffin, then at Lonli-Lokli. Shurf noticed my confusion and raised the corners of his mouth in a sympathetic smile. “This Rider might straddle me yet again,” he said in a soft voice. “I gave Sir Juffin my gloves, but I am quite a capable Magician even without them. You know, as far as I understand, he feels something akin to personal hatred toward you. I had to be subject to his emotions, so I can assure you that his attempt on your life was born of a passionate desire to kill you, not a necessity. If that creature was afraid of your telling Sir Juffin about my problems, he would have made me silent from the outset: he is powerful enough to do that. When he comes, I have nothing to counter him with—a disgusting feeling. For this reason, I will have to be locked up for the time being—at least until you and Juffin are done with this creature that has straddled me. You know, you were not the only one walking on the edge today. I still cannot fathom the magnanimity you must have had not to spit your venom at me. You had more than one opportunity to do so.”

“Nah, it’s not magnanimity,” I said, embarrassed. “To demonstrate magnanimity, I’d have needed a little time for consideration, and there wasn’t any time. No time to decide to spit or not to spit. I just didn’t. Why? Magicians only know. Maybe because I was sure that it wouldn’t work on you. I thought that the only right thing to do would be to do something completely unexpected, something I’d never done before, something you’d have no idea I’d be capable of doing. Actually, now, in retrospect, it’s hard for me to reconstruct how my logic worked back then. Chances are I didn’t use any logic at all.”

“Allow me to assure you that I had no ready-made antidotes to your poison. I am a living human being, and I would have died from your spit just as any other person would, provided I had not been able to shield myself with my protective glove. The creature that possessed me had no particular reason to value my life. Had I died, my Rider would have found another ‘horse’ for the joint descent to Xumgat. I believe he has enough of them in his ‘stables.’ I just wanted you to know that you stood a very good chance of finishing me off.”

“Good golly!” I said. “It would’ve been almost as bad as your finishing me off. Or worse?”

“There is nothing worse than your own death, for when it arrives, everything else collapses. Other events may only destroy a part of your personal universe,” said Lonli-Lokli in a didactic tone. He thought for a moment and then added, “Although sometimes even this part may seem disproportionately large. Then, when that part collapses, it takes everything along with it.”

“It happens,” said Juffin. He looked like someone who knew what he was talking about. “Very well now. I hope you won’t have time to get bored in your voluntary incarceration, Sir Shurf. I doubt your Rider will appear in my presence. If he does, he’ll regret it. I’m going to let you out from time to time for exemplary behavior. I’d suggest that you refrain from sleeping for the time being, though.”

“I think I should, too,” said Lonli-Lokli. “I will easily manage to stay awake if you disarm my Rider in three to four days’ time. If not—well, you will have to resort to minor violations of the Code of Krember, just like the good old days.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Juffin. “We won’t have to take it to court. That, I promise.”

“I have never doubted it, even for a second,” said Shurf. “Every cloud has a silver lining: I have quite a few books in my office I have been meaning to read.”

“Very well then. Consider this adventure an extended vacation. You can start right now because Sir Max and I need to go to the Refuge for the Mad.”

“You think we’re that bad?” I said, smiling.

“Even worse: no one can help us,” said Juffin, “so we won’t stay there long. We’ll just visit our fellow comrades in distress and try to find out what sorts of dreams they dream. And that will be it. Now be a good sport and bring Shurf’s books to him. I don’t want to look into the face of some scared courier.”

“Aw, Juffin,” I said, shaking my head. “You could’ve come up with a more convoluted pretext for kicking me out of your office. If you and Shurf need to talk secret stuff behind my back, you could have used Silent Speech.”

“How insightful,” said Juffin. “Look at the kid: he’s a regular genius! ‘Secrets.’ What secrets? I just wanted to make you run up and down the hallway so you don’t feel like you’re a great hero and a poor victim all at once.”

“Right,” I said, walking out of the office.

Whatever Juffin was saying, my wise other heart was positive that they were going to talk secrets. The boss reeked of mystery, and I could smell it a mile away. But I was magnanimous enough to leave the two of them alone. It would be tactless of me, in any case, to gallop up and down the hallway and return a minute later. I decided to give them enough time to talk all the secrets they wanted.

Slowly, very slowly, two-steps-forward-one-step-back slowly, I crossed the Hall of Common Labor, walked backward down the hallway, and went into Lonli-Lokli’s spacious office. I picked a stack of books from the white bookshelf over his desk and smiled an involuntary, bewildered smile when I remembered Shurf’s recent grumbling about The Pendulum of Immortality, which I had put in the wrong place. The guy was probably my best friend: after all, we even dreamed the same dreams—well, some of the same dreams, anyway.

Funny. I hadn’t thought anything of that sort before he tried to kill me.

I returned and put the books on the desk in front of Shurf. He stared at them, thinking.

“Perhaps this will be enough for a while. But not for long. May I ask you, gentlemen, to bring something else from my office?”

“Sure,” said Juffin, nodding. “By the way, the old university library has accidentally come into the possession of this soon-to-be-crowned monarch of Fanghaxra. He inherited it along with his residence.”

“Hey! That’s true,” I said, remembering. “You can make a list, and I’ll dig through the books tomorrow. Then the next day I’ll—”

“Dream on,” said Juffin. “Tomorrow you’re meeting your subjects, and then it’s your official coronation. Have you already forgotten?”

“Gosh, I did forget. All right, I’ll rummage through the books right after the coronation. It’ll save me a trip to that blasted palace, anyway.”

“Will you listen to him?” said Juffin. “‘That blasted palace.’ Any normal person would be thrilled to live in that luxurious place and wouldn’t come out for years.”

“Well, you know me,” I said. “I love a cold yurt at the outskirts of the Barren Lands, a hard wooden barstool in the Armstrong & Ella, or, if worse comes to worst, the armchair in this office. Luxury items only overload my impoverished intellect.”

“Then I hope you’re going to love the simple interiors of the Refuge for the Mad,” said Juffin. “Sir Shurf, you’re under arrest, so off you go to the cell. And if your Rider pops his head in, try to follow my advice. Will you be able to sense the right moment?”

“I have reason to believe that I might be able to accomplish this task,” said Lonli-Lokli.

He walked over to the farthest wall of our office, to the Secret Entrance to our “detention cell.” The cell was just as good as Xolomi: you couldn’t leave, you couldn’t perform magic, and you couldn’t even send a call to anyone from it. On the upside, however, you could easily hide from someone else’s magic in it. Juffin had built this magic room at the dawn of the Code Epoch, right in the very beginning of his present job. A regular prison cell, you understand, couldn’t keep even a minor Magician of some worthless Order, and back then the Secret Investigative Force had to deal with much more serious clients on a daily basis.

For as long as I could remember, the detention cell had mostly stood empty. Only once did we have to lock up the dead-but-quick Jiffa Savanxa from the Magaxon Forest there. Even so, as it had turned out, we should’ve known better.

“Precisely,” said Juffin to Shurf as he locked the Secret Door. “I, too, believe that you are capable of accomplishing this task.”

“Okay, so we’ve arrested Lonli-Lokli. Now we can head to the Refuge for the Mad,” I said. “Boy, are we having fun!”

“I’m liking it, too,” said Juffin. “Let’s go, Sir Max.”

“Where to?” I said as I was getting behind the lever of the amobiler.

“First to the New City through the Gates of Three Bridges, then straight down parallel to the Xuron. I’ll show you the way when we reach the outskirts.”

“It’s a bit far,” I said.

“With you behind the lever, the distance doesn’t matter.” Juffin was unusually generous with his compliments, but he soon composed himself and added the proverbial fly to the ointment: “Just try not to get us into some silly fatal accident, or instead of doing time, poor Shurf will do life.”

“Yeah, I guess the sentence for attempted murder would be too long for Shurf. Well, instead of scaring me, why don’t you tell me what we’re going to do in the Refuge for the Mad? Or is that another one of your secrets?”

“No, rather a review session for poor students such as yourself. Do you remember what I taught you about finding out about the past of things?”

“Do I? I’m a good learner and almost an A student. How can I forget the very basics of your lectures? You probably won’t believe me, but I even practice on occasion.”

“Well, I wouldn’t think you’ve had much time for practicing lately,” said Juffin. “But maybe it’s all for the better and you’ll be able to help me tonight. That would be mighty fine.”

“Are we going to interrogate furniture again?”

“No, not furniture. My latest lecture on this fascinating topic explains that people can be treated much the same as any inanimate object. The only difference is that an object will tell us about the events that occurred in its surroundings and a person will divulge information about himself. Sometimes he will even reveal things he didn’t know he knew. Granted, it’s much more difficult to work with people, and sometimes this kind of sorcery will only work on a sleeping person. We’re in luck, though. It’s close to midnight, and soon most of our potential witnesses will be sleeping like logs. The others will also be sleeping, in fact, just not quite like logs. Not much we can do about that.”

I broke into an involuntary smile. “So that’s why you had me sleep at your place after each dangerous adventure. And then the next morning, you looked all important and told me you were tired as all get-out and that it was ‘all clear to you now.’”

“Did you think I was just crazy about your snoring? Don’t try to play the fool, mister. You knew it all along; you just didn’t bother to admit it to yourself. Am I right, or am I right?”

“I suppose so,” I said, sighing. “You know best. You’re the world’s greatest expert in the science of knowing me.”

“True, that. Now take a right. We’re almost there.”

About two minutes later I stopped the amobiler by a low decorative fence. Until now, I had thought that the Refuge for the Mad would be guarded as securely as the famous Nunda Royal Prison of Hard Labor in Gugland. It turned out I couldn’t have been more wrong; even the gate wasn’t locked. Of course, it didn’t really matter: a fence like that could only stop someone who preferred crawling around on his stomach.

We left the amobiler by the gate, crossed a grand but very neglected garden, and finally arrived at our destination. Two large windows glowed with a cozy orange light in the middle of the garden, among the thick branches of trees.

“Pick up the pace, Max. They’re waiting for us,” said Juffin, rushing toward the light like a giant moth.

“How come there’s no security?” I said. “Don’t tell me it’s just one of the things that ‘aren’t done.’”

The boss’s eyebrows flew up. “Of course it isn’t done. Why? Who would ever think of attacking these poor fellows?”

“I mean the other way around,” I said. “You need the security to keep the loonies in.”

“Why would they not want to stay in? They are treated well here—better than in other places, anyway. Our wisemen can ease any torments of the soul. They have even returned many of the inhabitants of this place back to their normal lives. Hold on a minute, Max. Are you saying locking them in is one of the pleasant little customs of your homeland?”

“It is. Did you get a chance to watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? I highly recommend it. Very educational. It makes the habits of your legendary villain Loiso Pondoxo look like child’s play.”

I noticed that I was trembling in helpless fury, as though I was the one being tortured and not the defiant brawler McMurphy. Talk about the magic of cinema.

“Don’t overdo it,” said the boss. “We’ve come to see a wiseman. He’s a scholar. He’ll suspect something as soon as he sees you like this. You’ll end up with an extraordinary vacation and I with a boatload of troubles. Do me a favor, Sir Max—get a grip on yourself.”

I reined in my righteous fury, took a deep breath, and said in a very different tone, “Actually, locking up the loonies isn’t a form of mindless torture. It’s a necessity. You saw one of my crazy fellow countrymen yourself. Remember how happy he was slitting the throats of those poor women? What would you do with a guy like that? Give him pills and walk him through the garden?”

“Well, I doubt that even our wisemen would’ve been able to cure that guy,” said Juffin. “But at the very least, they would have given him the Crystal of Submission. That would have done the trick.”

“That easy?”

“Sure. Piece of cake. If you don’t believe it, here’s your last chance. Starting tomorrow, you’re going to be treated like royalty. And you know what they call crazy kings—eccentrics. No one will say a word, even if they start dancing naked on the market square. All hail Your Majesty!”

The boss gave me a mocking bow—Sir Melifaro himself would have died of envy—and opened a heavy, ancient door.

The cozy windows we had seen from afar were on the second floor. We ascended a wide staircase covered with a very soft carpet, in case, I guess, one of the crazy inhabitants of this hospitable house decided to count the stairs with his own lower jaw.

“Good night, Sir Hully. I see you as though in a waking dream, Sir Max. The Refuge is honored by your visit. I am happy to say my name: Slobat Katshak, Master Keeper of the Peace of Mind, or Chief Nocturnal Wiseman, to put it simply,” said a delicate young man in a light-turquoise looxi.

“Also, the former Junior Magician of the Order of Spiky Berries,” said Juffin. “And as much of a night owl as you are, Max.”

The little wiseman was about to burst from his enormous hospitality. “Be my guests, gentlemen. My heart will be broken into a million pieces if you decline this humble meal.”

“Secret Investigators turning down free food?” said Juffin. “Rest assured, Slobat, Sir Max and I will not leave as much as a crumb of bread on our plates.”

Calling it a “humble meal” was, of course, an understatement. The table was densely populated with all manner of trays with food. Still, all Juffin’s Rabelaisian bravado notwithstanding, the meal didn’t take more than a quarter of an hour: the boss was eager to get down to business.

“Slobat, Sir Max and I must inspect the rooms of the charges in your care,” he said. “Perhaps we will need your help, but perhaps not. I think you should come with us and wait in the hallway. This is a classified affair. I am sorry. I know this is not the most entertaining way to spend the night. I guess tonight isn’t your lucky night.”

“Not the most difficult or unpleasant undertaking, either,” said the wiseman. “Where would you like to start?”

“From the most hopeless cases, those whose spirits roam the Universe like waifs and strays during the Troubled Times.”

“Sinning Magicians,” I said, getting up from the table. “You’re a poet, Juffin.”

“Nothing to brag about. The premises dispose one to it.”

We had to leave the house and walk toward the middle of the garden. Finally, we reached a relatively small one-story building.

“This is the final abode of those who have no hope of ever finding their light half,” said the wiseman. “You may inspect the bedrooms. I’ll wait outside, if you don’t mind.”

“Not only do we not mind, we insist,” said Juffin, smiling.

We entered a dark hallway. In an effort to economize, the administration of the Refuge hadn’t bothered to put up a lamp or even a candle here. This wasn’t a problem: I had long ago learned to find my way in darkness, and Juffin, like any other inhabitant of the Unified Kingdom, had had this ability since birth.

“What do I do?” I said in a whisper. “How do I take part in your ‘medical exam’? I’ve never tried it on people before, you know.”

“For starters, just watch me. Maybe you’ll figure it out on your own. Or maybe we won’t have to do anything at all. There’s no guarantee that we’ll find what we’re looking for here. Praise be the Magicians, I only need to enter a bedroom to see if its occupant holds any interest for us.”

“By the way, why here? Is this Refuge for the Mad special?”

“You bet it is. It’s the only Refuge for the Mad in the Capital. The others are all in distant provinces,” said Juffin. “Maybe even this one will move soon. Some respected wisemen believe that staying in the Heart of the World thwarts the healing of mental patients. Now those who’ve decided to sneak through Xumgat, on the other hand, need all the power of the Heart of the World they can get. I doubt that they’d want to go all the way to somewhere in Uryuland. If our Rider really gains his power from the mentally ill, his victims should be here somewhere.”

We entered the first room. The soft part of the floor, which served as a bed, took up almost all the available space. At the farther end of the room, someone was breathing heavily under a pile of blankets.

“Okay, this lady is definitely of no interest to us,” said Juffin. “Her poor spirit is wandering Magicians know where, and it has never descended to Xumgat. Of that, I am certain. Let’s move on.”

“How did you know it was a lady?” I said, carefully closing the door behind me.

“It was a lady—a beautiful one, too. Wait a second, why are you so surprised? I understand that at your age all women seem like mysterious and wonderful creatures, but did you think they never went mad?”

“Of course I know they do. And how,” I said. “So we’re in the women’s ward?”

“You’re talking nonsense again. Why would anyone build special wards for men and women? This is a hospital, not a Quarter of Trysts. Another tradition of that homeland of yours?”

“Indeed,” I said, blushing. “In our hospitals, women and men are kept separately.”

“Are the inhabitants of your world so unrestrained in their passion that they are eager to jump on one another at any opportunity?” said Juffin, surprised. “Even the crippled, the lame, and the sick? I just can’t wrap my mind around this. Strange that your behavior is fairly decent. I’m sure you could easily pass for a basket case and end up in one of your horrible and well-guarded Refuges for the Mad back home.”

“Spot on, Juffin,” I said. “But I deceived them by keeping a low profile.”

“Okay, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss your ruined youth later,” said Juffin. “Now we have pressing business at hand.”

We inspected several more bedrooms.

“No, not this one,” Juffin would say, and we would move along. We had covered well over half of the hallway when I felt an unpleasant sensation at the threshold of one of the rooms.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I just sensed that the person who was sighing deeply underneath a blanket, several paces from where I was standing, felt very cold and lonely. I was all too familiar with that piercing, ice-cold, absolute loneliness—the loneliness without self, without the slightest chance of understanding what was happening to you, without the hope of ever coming back. I had once felt something similar when I fell asleep in the amobiler in the Magaxon Forest and found myself in the Corridor between Worlds. Boy, was I scared then!

“Even if I didn’t know anything about such matters, I could easily use your face as an indicator,” said Juffin. “It’s as crooked as it can be. Looks like we’ve found what we were looking for, unless the disconcerted spirit of this poor fellow slides back and forth along Xumgat in complete solitude.”

“You’re definitely on a roll today,” I said, letting out a nervous laugh. “I don’t remember you ever using such turns of phrase before.”

“Indeed. As I said before, the premises dispose one to it,” said Juffin, sitting down on the floor. “Pay attention now, and don’t distract me. I’m going to ask the poor fellow to tell us his story, so to speak. You sit down beside me and try to tune in. Do what you’d normally do, as if this weren’t a person but a regular box or, I don’t know, a broom. You use the same principles when working with people; it’s just more difficult to establish the connection. Unlike inanimate objects, a person is reticent by nature—any person, mind you, not just a madman.”

I sat down next to Juffin and leaned against the wall. The wall was soft and elastic. In this respect, the bedrooms in the Refuge for the Mad on the outskirts of Echo were similar to regular rooms for the violently insane in my “historical homeland.”

Then I stared at the shapeless dark hump at the edge of the bed. Our subject seemed to me to be a frail creature. His blanket was pulled over his head. I understood, however, that it didn’t really matter. He could just as well be hiding from an X-ray machine under that blanket.

For a few moments, I didn’t sense anything special. I just sat on the floor and stared at the sleeping lunatic. If I were interrogating his blanket, I already would have gotten all the information I needed. Then I felt something like a jolt from within. It felt similar to the way your heart pushes against your ribs when a truck turns from around the corner and heads right toward your car.

Following the jolt came a steady stream of mixed visions that seemed to lack any plot or narration. These bright pictures, however, were pitiful inkblots in comparison with the overwhelming loneliness of the creature lost in the Corridor between Worlds, or “sliding back and forth along Xumgat,” as Juffin had put it—though this wording sent shivers down my spine.

Juffin shook my shoulder.

“Hey, come back, Max. We’ve got to hurry. I already found out everything I needed to know. You also felt something at the end, didn’t you?”

“I think so.”

I shook my head to pull myself together: some part of me was still wandering in that mysterious place—a significant part of me, I should say. My existence without it was hardly complete. Shaking my head didn’t help much, so I had to resort to slapping my face. I did it from the bottom of my heart; it even came with a complimentary ringing in the ears.

“Need a hand?” said Juffin.

“Thanks, I think I can manage on my own. What I really need is five minutes and a bucket of cold water.”

“Done. This little door leads to the bathroom. But I can’t give you more than two minutes. We need to hurry.”

I went to the bathroom, took off my turban, and stuck my head under the spigot. The water temperature was ideal: not quite so freezing as to give me another cold, but cool enough to wash off the residue of that poor person’s emotions. Juffin stood in the doorway contemplating my suffering with apparent curiosity.

“I’ve learned some amazing things, Max. I’m sure you’ve also learned them, but you don’t have the experience yet to translate them into a language you understand.”

“To transmogrify,” I said. I thought the word was very appropriate in this context.

“Another strange word … Anyway, we can find more victims of our mysterious Rider in this Refuge for the Mad. A lot more. Many more than I suspected. But let’s not waste time: the culprit of this whole ordeal is also in this Refuge. In fact, he has been here for a long, long time. He has kept this last fellow we’ve interrogated in captivity for eighty years, right from the moment the guy arrived here. I’ve got to hand it to him, though: the old man is a master of disguise. And who in his right mind—pun definitely intended—would search for the most powerful of the Senior Magicians of the Order of the Staff in the Sand in a Refuge for the Mad? Even I wouldn’t think of it. Even I!”

“So, I take it you two know each other,” I said, grabbing a towel.

“And how! Magician Gugimagon and I go way back. Back in the Epoch of Orders, he stuck to me like a wet raincoat, hoping that I’d break down and agree to teach him the secret of Invisible Magic. As if it were up to me. The guy had no talent for those things. It was written on his forehead in letters this big.”

Juffin stretched his arms like a fisherman boasting to the world of his latest whopper. It seemed as though it was important that I learn, once and for all, how big the letters had been.

“Some friends you’ve got, Juffin,” I said. “Did that poor fellow tell you which room we could find your old buddy in, by any chance?”

“No, he doesn’t know. They’ve never met in reality. Or did you think Gugimagon was the sort to drop by for a cup of kamra?”

“I know nothing about the customs of you evil sorcerers,” I said.

“Okay, let’s go then, Mr. ‘Good Guy’ Magic,” said Juffin, laughing. “I know you’re back in business, so quit your feigning. Great deeds await us. A heart-to-heart talk with Sir Slobat Katshak, for instance.”

The boss moved from words to action and gave me a light push in the butt with his knee. He really got carried away.

We went out to the porch and sat down on the stairs next to the wiseman, who had begun to get bored.

“Have you found what you were looking for?” he said.

“Some of it,” said Juffin. “Now it’s your turn to help us.”

“With great pleasure,” said Katshak, smiling as though Juffin were about to treat him to some candy.

“We must locate one of your patients here as soon as possible,” said Juffin, and fell silent, looking for the right words. “You shouldn’t feel any pangs of conscience about it: the man we’re looking for isn’t really mad. He’s just a very talented malingerer. The best malingerer I know. Okay, that takes care of that. Moving right along … First, he’s been here for quite a while, at least eighty years, but he arrived before the Code Epoch. Last time I saw him was shortly before the Code of Krember was established. Three days before that, to be precise. Second, he’s a fairly old man. He’s always looked older than me, for as long as I’ve known him. Very tall, big but not obese. He could have easily changed his appearance but not his stature. Also, he’s blind in his left eye.”

“Oh, but this is old Kotto Halis you’re talking about!” said the wiseman. “We only have one patient who’s blind in his left eye. But he couldn’t have done anything. If only I could tell you how strong the smell of his madness is! Besides, the old man has never regained consciousness, no matter how many Crystals of Memory we give him.”

“Yes, just as I suspected. In a ‘conscious state,’ he’d have nothing whatsoever to do here. Take us to him. The sooner the better.”

“Let’s go then.” Katshak stood up. He looked stunned. “His room is in the building next to this, among the same poor hopeless cases you’ve just seen.”

Moments later, we were going up the stairs of another one-story building. Sir Juffin Hully had gained such speed that the wiseman and I were clear outsiders in the race. I took it the boss was rushing to give his old friend a bear hug.

This time, Sir Slobat Katshak entered the building with us and walked us to the farthest room in the right wing of the hallway. Juffin stormed into the dark chamber and froze so abruptly that I crashed into his back at a fast clip. The boss withstood the shock and didn’t move an inch.

“Blast it,” he said. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” I said. And then I saw it. The bed was empty. On its soft surface, dead center, was a single dent. The shape of the dent suggested that the occupant had lain there completely still and then disappeared. Vanished. If he had gotten up from it in the usual manner, there would have been other dents. The material used for floor coverings in bedrooms here in Echo readily takes the shape of the body but is reluctant to return to its original shape. That takes some time—at least a few hours.

“So he did it!” said Juffin, his voice betraying sincere admiration. “He slipped into Xumgat completely—lock, stock, and barrel—and it’s not easy for people like him. Slobat, my dear boy, I have bad news for you. You should immediately check how many new dead bodies you have in your Refuge. If I had to guess, I’d say it would be at least a dozen. For his last journey, Gugimagon would have to grab all their strength, without leaving anything to them. Still, I’m surprised he’s managed to pull this off!”

“If you say so, I must immediately begin the inspection,” said the wiseman. “Will you manage without me, gentlemen?”

“Yes. Moreover, we’re leaving. Thank you for your help, Slobat. If someone dares berate you for all the trouble that happened during your shift, please do not hesitate to send me a call. I will be more than willing to give your superiors a lengthy lecture that will undoubtedly restore your reputation. After all, it wasn’t you whom sly Gugimagon tricked into thinking he was a madman. But I hope you won’t be needing my protection.”

“To Magicians with my reputation,” said Sir Slobat, sighing. “But I’d give a lot to have stayed home tonight. I hate it when terminal patients die under my care. I feel so sorry for them. I can’t help them anyway, so I’d rather I didn’t have to see them go. It’s nights like this when I consider trying to find another occupation.”

“Indeed. This night has left a lot to be desired,” said Juffin.

We went out into the garden and headed toward the gate.

“Do you think your friend killed everyone he traveled through the Corridor between Worlds with?” I said. “What about our Sir Shurf? A hole in the heavens above him, we can’t even send him a call while he’s in that detention cell of yours!”

“Shurf is doing just fine, trust me. He’s not going to sleep, and Gugimagon is never going to be able to grab the strength of a person who’s awake. I don’t think anyone can do that. Besides, I left Sir Shurf a good weapon.”

“What is it?” I said. “Or is that a secret?”

“Not much of a secret, really. But it’s best not to speak of it before it has done what it’s supposed to do. You see, words can sometimes kill one’s powers. Just try to be patient a little while longer. I’ll tell you everything after I’ve made sure that Shurf doesn’t need my protection anymore.”

“And that’s why you sent me to fetch the books, so I wouldn’t bother you with my questions, right?”

“No, I was afraid you’d sell all of my secrets to the Royal Voice sooner or later,” said Juffin. “Especially now, when you and Rogro sing in unison on account of your quarrels with that old grumbler Moxi.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Speaking of which, I haven’t been to the Juffin’s Dozen in a long while. I keep getting distracted with this or that. What a life I lead!”

“Don’t fret,” said the boss, sitting next to me in the amobiler. “You’ll have time to catch up on everything soon.”

I took hold of the lever and finally decided to ask what was really on my mind. “What are we going to do now? We can’t just leave it as is, or can we?”

“Of course not. Now, Sir Max, you and I will have to go to Xumgat and look for the shelter of my old friend there.”

“He’s probably gone to the World that Shurf and I keep dreaming about. The one with the barren sandy beaches,” I said.

“What makes you think so?” said Juffin.

“I have no idea. Except that I don’t ‘think’ so; I know so.”

“Excellent,” said Juffin, nodding. “We’ll look for him there then. First thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I said. “Why not now?”

“What’s with the hurry?” said Juffin, shaking his head in disapproval. “What we really should do now is call Sir Kofa, sit him down in your armchair, and then go hit the sack. Besides, you have a crown fitting tomorrow, remember? It would be a shame if you got lost in Xumgat and missed your own coronation.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I said.

“Sure it would. His Majesty King Gurig has put so much effort into preparing everything for the event. He even has summoned big shot VIPs from all corners of the Unified Kingdom. If you and I just disappeared, the king wouldn’t understand, his respect for our mysterious work notwithstanding. After the ceremony, though, we can disappear for a dozen years at a time—he won’t even notice.”

“Won’t even notice? Right.”

“Okay, I’m exaggerating. But even if we wander through a few of those sinning Worlds for a few years, no more than a dozen hours will have passed here. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Will you?” I said. “Will you teach me how to do that? It seems like such a useful thing to be able to do. Anyway, now I really don’t understand why we can’t start chasing your ingenious friend right away.”

“Because it’s a rather risky undertaking, Max. I personally cannot guarantee that nothing bad is going to happen to us. And before you set out for a dangerous journey, you must finish all your business at home, if fate is kind enough to grant you time to do so. If you go out wearing several looxis and their folds are dangling all around you, passersby will step on them, and sooner or later you’ll fall on the sidewalk. The first thing to do is to get rid of all the unnecessary stuff, or at least to pull up the dangling folds. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“So nice of you to pretend you understand what I’m saying,” said the boss. “I’m not quite in the lecturing mood right now.”

Despite my boundless trust in Sir Juffin Hully, who assured me that Lonli-Lokli was going to be fine, I remained uneasy until I could see it for myself.

Juffin humored me by opening the Secret Door to the cell. Shurf was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, his spine perfectly straight, his gaze fixed on the pages of The Pendulum of Immortality. He wasn’t too enthusiastic about seeing us. He recovered quickly, though, and even expressed a readiness to have a cup of kamra in our company.

Then Shurf returned to his ivory tower, trusty Kimpa came to pick up Juffin, and Sir Kofa Yox sent me a call, saying he would come to the House by the Bridge in a few minutes.

It wasn’t necessary for me to wait for Kofa and I could have gone home right away if I had wanted to. The idea didn’t really appeal to me, however: I had just tried to send a call to Tekki and found out she was fast asleep. I, on the other hand, was wide awake. Maybe later, when it was almost morning, I would be able to close my eyes and catch a few winks, but not now.

My recent skirmish with Lonli-Lokli had done more damage to me than I had previously thought while I still had my favorite sedative, in the form of the omnipotent Sir Juffin Hully, by my side. I had to admit that I was only eager to go look for that wicked genius Gugimagon because it was not a bad way of distracting myself from my personal problems and anxieties.

“Good night,” said Sir Kofa, entering the office. I looked up at him and saw a face with thick, bushy eyebrows rapidly becoming Kofa’s own. “You’re still here, boy? And what kinds of werewolves, pray tell, are you contemplating at the bottom of your empty cup?”

“I could use a full cup right now—you’re spot on—and that’s easy enough to fix. Sit down and help yourself to anything you can find. If there’s something you can’t find, we can take care of it in no time, praise be Dondi Melixis, who has been paying our bills from Madam Zizinda’s place.”

“I always knew that your working methods were something else,” said Sir Kofa.

“Thanks to you. You were the one who taught me that one should spend one’s office hours in taverns at the company’s expense. Now you can sit back and admire the results of your labors. You have the right.”

And we sent a small order to the Glutton Bunba. The capacity of my stomach was staggering. Today I had started munching at dawn and had hardly stopped munching since, except for that brief intermission when I had waged a little war against my friend Lonli-Lokli and flown hither and yon above the spiked roofs of Echo.

I was finally able to appreciate the comic side of my recent adventures—it was about time, too—and laughed in relief. For that reason Sir Kofa was privileged to hear my narration of the evening’s events in the genre of black comedy rather than Shakespearian tragedy. Thank goodness at least someone derived some real pleasure from the story.

“Okay,” he said when he stopped laughing, “you have convinced me that you had a great deal of fun. Now you only need to convince yourself of the same thing.”

“Yeah, that’s not as easy as it may sound,” I said. “Not to worry, though. Tomorrow I’ll be as good as new.”

“Tomorrow? Of course. Tomorrow you’re having a different kind of adventure. But you like change, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “Usually it takes the form of a rapid change in my decision about which tavern to while away my evening in.”

“I think you’ll find tomorrow’s event more than amusing,” said Kofa. “The guests alone will be worth it.”

“You mean my subjects? Actually, ever since I taught them to tie their headbands the right way, they haven’t looked half bad.”

“Well, to each his own, of course, but I didn’t mean your subjects. I meant the grandees from our provinces. You’re in for a sea of pleasure.”

“Are they really funny?” I said.

“Oh, yes. Each in his own way. Besides, His Indefatigable Majesty Gurig VIII has invited almost every foreign ambassador who happens to be in Echo at the moment.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Why do they ‘happen to be’ here? Aren’t there always ambassadors in the Capital of the Unified Kingdom?”

“No. Why?” said Kofa. “We don’t need them here. That’s actually not a very good idea, Max. It’s bad enough that they bring their backsides to Echo every time they want something from us. Then again, they always want something from us.”

“I see. Tell me about our ‘grandees,’ Kofa,” I said. “I don’t feel sleepy, and I desire to be entertained.”

“Telling won’t do them justice. You need to see them. And tomorrow you will. Well, you’ve already heard about your notorious ‘fellow countryman,’ I presume?”

“Count Gachillo Vook? Sir Dark Sack? Of course. But frankly, I don’t know much about him. I’ve heard that he got pretty bored in his castle and got all excited when he heard he’d have me as a neighbor. Fortunately, his hopes were all in vain. Oh, and I also heard that he’s a fierce warrior. One heck of a miscreant.”

“Very true. By the way, the old Count Gachillo taught the art of war to the late father of our king. The Dark Sack can easily take half the credit for the epic hundred-year war, with the Battle for the Code as the grand finale, whatever Grand Magician Nuflin Moni Mak thinks about it.”

“Why is he called Dark Sack, by the way?”

“Oh, there’s a whole story behind it. Count Gachillo abides by two firm principles. Number one is that he should always travel light. Number two is that it’s beneath his dignity to lack the most necessary things when traveling away from home. Since old Gachillo is a decent magician, especially considering that he was born far, far away from Uguland, the count found a simple way of reconciling these two contradictory principles. He simply cast a dozen spells on his old traveling bag. Since then, he’s always come to the Capital with no luggage whatsoever except the empty traveling bag strapped to the saddle of his antlered steed. Whatever he needs he can produce from the bag—everything from an outfit for a festive occasion to an army of loyal vassals in full regalia. Hence the name Dark Sack. As far as I know, Count Gachillo is very fond of his nickname.”

“How ingenious!” I said. “I should make friends with him. Better yet, I should become his apprentice. I completely and wholeheartedly share his two firm principles. All your stuff in one bag—what could be better than that?”

“See? And you didn’t want to become the ruler of the Barren Lands.”

“I’d rather Count Gachillo ruled them,” I said. “I’m sure he’d feel right in his element.”

“You underestimate your own people, Max,” said Kofa. “Your subjects would rather die than be subjugated to some ‘barbarian,’ as they call anyone who wasn’t blessed with having produced his first cry in the boundless steppes of the Lands of Fanghaxra. And the ‘rather die’ part is something Count Gachillo would love to do for them. He’s very eager to wield his sword, given the opportunity. Believe me.”

“I believe you,” I said. Suddenly I yawned, taking myself quite by surprise.

“Are you ready to have some quality time with a pillow?” said Kofa. “Good. Tomorrow’s going to be a difficult day for you.”

“Not the whole day, though, just the evening, praise be the Magicians. The fun doesn’t start until almost dusk. Still, I just realized that my pillow is one in a million. I think I’m going to go cuddle with it. Thank you, Kofa. You’ve set me up on my feet again.”

“Knocked you off your feet, rather. Then again, it was just what you needed, wasn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” I said, getting up and yawning again. “If there’s a hue and cry about an official amobiler being stolen in the morning, know that I’m the culprit. That wicked Lonli-Lokli destroyed mine, and all the stores are already closed. Good night to you, Kofa.”

“And good night to you, too,” said our Master Eavesdropper.

I sincerely hoped that his words would come true.

And come true they did. As soon as I found myself in Tekki’s cozy bedroom, where she was snoozing happily, I got under the blanket and fell fast asleep, and my dreams resembled a documentary on the Garden of Eden. So I slept soundly all the way through to lunch—who could say if there would ever be a rerun?

Waking up was pleasant, too. Tekki was magnanimous enough to leave a small burner with a jug of kamra by the head of the bed. She herself was nowhere to be found. She had probably buried her head in the morning issue of the Echo Hustle and Bustle behind the bar. I sent her a call to thank her.

Don’t mention it, baby. I’m just trying to get used to my new role as king’s concubine, she replied.

Will you come up?

I’m sorry, I’ve got customers, and the help is nowhere to be found. It’s all my fault: I told her she could come in late today. So make yourself presentable and come down.

Anything you say, ma’am.

And slowly, one step at a time, I made my way to the bathroom, where I dipped myself in each of the eight bathing pools. Then I donned my black-and-gold Mantle of Death and proceeded to the first floor of the house, the Armstrong & Ella tavern.

Indeed, there actually were a few customers there. Their haggard faces discouraged morning chitchat, to put it mildly. But there, on a barstool, sat my old friend Anday Pu. I still hadn’t gotten him his longed-for ticket to Tasher. To my utter surprise, he was drinking kamra. For as long as I had studied his habits, he had preferred much stronger beverages at any time of the day.

Tekki greeted me with one of her most beautiful smiles. Then again, I’ve never known her to smile any other way.

“A hole in the heavens above my coronation,” I said. “It’s so great being here. Instead, I have to go somewhere else and dabble in international politics and other such nonsense.”

Anday Pu jumped on his barstool, perturbed, then turned to me. “Max, you don’t catch! It’s super cool to be a king! Then you can just tell everyone else to stuff it! If I were you—”

“Yeah. If you were me. That would be something. I’d love to see it. Preferably through a keyhole,” I said. “What’s going on with you today, buddy? You’re suspiciously sober and all dressed up. Wait, don’t tell me you’re going to the coronation.”

“Sir Rogro Jiil, praise be the Magicians, does catch that I’d do a much better job there than some know-it-all writer for the society pages,” said Anday. “Because—”

“Because they don’t allow journalists in to such events at all,” I said. “Now you, on the other hand, as a friend of mine, do stand a chance to gain admission, right? You don’t have to answer—I know I’m right. Being my friend is a unique advantage.”

“You don’t catch, Max,” said Anday. “Sometimes you can be so cynical, sound the alarm!”

I laughed to conceal embarrassment. I didn’t know what had gotten into me. It’s easy enough to offend an artist, not to mention a poet making a living as a reporter. Anday was devastated. It pained me to look at him.

“Hey, stop pouting, Blackbeard Junior,” I said, winking at him. “It doesn’t matter what I’m blabbing about. What matters is that I’m inviting you to the celebration, seeing that you’re all dressed up already.”

Anday winced. “I told you my head starts to spin when you call me those strange names. You don’t catch, Max. My name is the only thing that keeps me rooted.”

“You don’t need to be rooted,” I said. “You should fly for a change. It’s loads of fun, trust me. I tried it myself the other day.”

Tekki studied me with candid curiosity, but Anday Pu turned a deaf ear to my inadvertent confession.

“Still, I’m not prepared to be deprived of my only name,” he said.

His forced sobriety didn’t improve his mood, which even at the best of times was of a somewhat gloomy cast. My ambitious prophecy that living high on the hog and enjoying a brilliant career would one day improve the temper of this hotheaded creature had been no more than wishful thinking.

I gave up, finished my mug of wonderful kamra (I sometimes thought that the daughter of Loiso Pondoxo had been using up all of her sinister inheritance of Magic solely on making this godly beverage), looked out the window, and realized that it was time for me to go.

“Consider yourself lucky,” I said to Tekki, “because I’m out of here. First the sinning coronation. Then, later tonight, I’m going to be doing the devil knows what.”

“That ‘devil’ you mention with such regularity, does he really know that much about you?” said Tekki. “By the way, the people I watch sometimes through that magic box of yours also use the word ‘devil’ a lot. I still don’t understand whether this is a spell or just a manner of speaking.”

I stopped and contemplated the question for a while; it was worth thinking about. Sir Anday Pu, the descendant of Ukumbian pirates, was so preoccupied with himself, thank goodness, that he wasn’t paying any attention to my conversation with Tekki. Giving him access to the secrets of the magic of the cinema was out of the question—the fellow had not been designed for keeping secrets. Not only would he have given it away in the first tavern he visited afterward, he would also have written a dozen articles about it.

Tekki was looking at me, waiting. It seemed as thought she was genuinely interested in the whole devil business.

“I think it originally used to be a spell but has since become a manner of speaking,” I said. “That happens when spells lose their power.”

“You bet it does,” said Tekki in the voice of an expert. “Okay, now I’m beginning to understand. Go ahead and have fun, honey. You know how I spend my evenings nowadays.”

“And how. To think that I was the one who brought that damn box here! Well, no one to blame but myself. Anyway, now I really have to go.”

I jumped down from the barstool and shook Anday, who had fallen asleep. “Wake up, you wordsmith!” He almost said something rude to me but bit his tongue just in time and trotted along toward the door.

Have a nice trip through Xumgat, Sir Max. And watch your head there. I like you much better with it than without.

Tekki’s Silent Speech was so strong that it almost felled me. I stood fast, however, and even had the strength to turn around. She smiled a sad smile and waved.

“Thanks for the advice,” I said out loud. “My head is something I’m really very attached to.”

All the way to the House by the Bridge, Anday and I were silent. I had a few things to think about—for example, how Tekki had found out about the dangerous trip Juffin and I were about to take. Not that I considered it a big secret, but I hadn’t had time to talk about it with her. When I returned home the night before, Tekki had already been asleep. When she got up, I was still snoozing. The only short time we had together, we wasted on mindless chitchat.

It’s one of two things, I thought. Either I really talk in my sleep, or … Or I have to keep reminding myself who she is. Then again, she is the daughter of Loiso Pondoxo. Clairvoyance is probably the least of her abilities.

I stopped the amobiler by the staff entrance of the House by the Bridge and sighed: I had to admit I didn’t know much about her. If anything.

“You can wait for me in the amobiler. I’ll be back soon,” I said to the journalist.

Funny, but the fellow still lost his peace of mind in the presence of the harmless members of the city police force. At the same time, my Mantle of Death had never made him even remotely timid from day one. Marvelous are thy deeds, indeed.

“I’m okay. I’ll wait here. You have things to do there,” said Anday, nodding.

The hallway on our side of the Ministry of Perfect Public Order was empty, and so was the Hall of Common Labor. No wonder: the entire Minor Secret Investigative Force was partying in Juffin’s office. Even Sir Lonli-Lokli had temporarily left his cell. He was feeding Kurush pastries from the Glutton Bunba and discussing new titles in the city library with Melamori in a low voice. From what I could gather, he was all right. Good, I had one less thing to worry about.

“Lucky you,” I said. “You’re partying here, and I have to head to the palace. I’m jealous.”

“Not yet, you don’t,” said Juffin. “You’re a king, after all. You can arrive last. If His Majesty King Gurig were planning to attend your coronation, then, sure, you’d have had to hurry up. But since politics and etiquette prevent him from appearing at the ceremony, you have the right to a quick glass of something and even one cookie, at the very least.”

“‘One cookie, at the very least’ equals three in my book,” I said. “It’s the best piece of news I’ve heard in the past dozen years. What are we celebrating anyway?”

“Your enthronement, of course!” said Melifaro. He tried to guard the tray of pastries with his body. “Hands off! Don’t they feed you at the palace?”