“One more word and I’ll declare war on this barbarian country,” I said, sitting down on the armrest of Melamori’s armchair. She put her cold palm on top of my hand.

“Good day, Max.” She had the desperate eyes of a person dying from grief.

If you want me to build a raft and take you to Arvarox on it, just give me a holler. I decided to resort to Silent Speech. Some topics should be addressed without delay.

I probably do, but I won’t be hollering just yet. Don’t pay too much attention to me, Max. My mood is a variable, not a constant. It depends on the weather, among other things, by the way.

Then we need to change the weather.

According to the astrologists’ forecasts, it’s going to change later today. Thank you, Max, but let’s speak out loud now. The prolonged silence looks suspicious.

I submitted. “Don’t you guys want to keep me company?” I said to my colleagues. “Without your moral support, that blasted coronation will be the end of me.”

“Well, I’m definitely not leaving you alone,” said Juffin. “Unlike our king, I am required to be present at this momentous event.”

“That’s good news,” I said. “More volunteers, please?”

“I would love to accept your invitation, but as you know …” said Shurf Lonli-Lokli, and made a helpless gesture.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

“Not only have you gotten yourself into a scrape, you also want to spoil the evening for the rest of us,” said Sir Kofa. “No, thanks. I’m staying in the office. Someone has to stay behind and hold down the fort.”

“You know, Max,” whispered Melamori, “I think I’m going to betray you, too. The very idea of betrayal sounds so attractive. I’ve wanted to try it since childhood. Plus, I was going to watch a movie tonight.”

“I knew it. I know another lady who can’t wait until sunset. I’m willing to bet you promised her you’d bring a bottle from the cellars of your uncle Kima, too.”

“You are unbearable, Max. You know everything about everyone.”

“Well, not everything, but I do know my basic facts,” I said, laughing, and turned to Melifaro. “How about you, mister? Will you pass up the chance to rain on my parade?”

“Quit whining, I’m not going to abandon you,” my diurnal half said in the tone of a gentleman who has suddenly decided to marry one of the many victims of his masculine charms. “First, this ‘parade’ basically begs to be rained on. Second, I’d never pass up the chance of seeing an old friend of mine.”

“An old friend of yours?”

“Prince Ayonxa Rotri Shimaro, one of the grandees of the County Shimara. He’s a great fellow—you’re going to like him. His younger brother is also okay, but a bit too fierce for my taste. Prince Ayonxa, on the other hand, is a kind soul and very casual. He also owes me one.”

“When our Melifaro had just started his career in the Minor Investigative Force, he managed to pull Prince Shimaro out of a nasty situation,” said Juffin. “One of the prince’s acquaintances here in Echo was very fond of murder using Forbidden Magic. He liked to think he was avenging some relative who had died in the Battle for the Code. He was smart enough to blame poor Ayonxa, who had just arrived in the Capital for reasons unknown. The prince was looking at doing life in Xolomi. Boy, that was some scandal! His younger brother, Prince Jiffa, turned to me for help. Let me tell you something: on first sight, Jiffa is the one who looks older, yet he is, indeed, the younger one—almost two years younger. Then again, he has been looking after his careless older brother since childhood. Back to the story, though. The esteemed grandee Prince Jiffa had rushed to the Capital incognito, like a simple merchant, and headed straight to me, saying, ‘Help me, Sir Venerable Head! Reopen the investigation. We’re fellow countrymen, after all.’ I was swamped with work at the time—I had to sleep and eat on my feet—so I offloaded it all onto Sir Melifaro, without much hope, I must say. Poor boy was absolutely discombobulated and had no idea which end to begin from. Imagine my surprise when he brought to me the real murderer the next morning!”

“And then you finally realized how lucky you were to have me in your service,” said Melifaro.

“May I suggest that we continue to reminisce about the inimitable exploits of the Ninth Volume of Sir Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia at the foot of my throne,” I said, putting an empty mug on the desk. “Let’s go, guys. My subjects have been crying and whining there for half an hour already. Soon the ambassadors will join in.”

“You’re just jealous and bitter,” said Melifaro, laughing. “You hear words of praise, but they’re not for you. How sad.”

“Have I been praising anyone?” said Juffin. “Okay, let’s go, or Sir Max’s subjects will indeed start crying. I never thought you’d make such a caring monarch.”

For what it’s worth, ten minutes later the three of us did manage to get outside. Anday Pu was snoozing on the back seat of the company amobiler. The guy deserved a medal for patience.

“It seems you have brought the press along,” said Juffin.

“You know how vain I am. Can’t sneeze without my personal biographer knowing about it.” I switched to Silent Speech: Don’t worry. I’m not inviting him on the trip down Xumgat.

That would have been something.

The boss smiled a conspiratorial smile and sat down next to me.

“Move over, Sir Royal Voice. A hole in the heavens above you, buddy. There’s sure a lot of you,” said Melifaro, trying to squeeze in.

Anday wasn’t so fat as to take up the entire back seat, but he was shameless enough to place his sizable body right in the middle of it.

“Please don’t push me, Sir Melifaro,” said the descendant of Ukumbian pirates in the tone of the Queen Mother visiting a seaport tavern for the first time in her life.

“The way I see it, the Refuge for the Mad is a much more boring place than our organization,” I said, as though reporting my findings from the previous evening.

I grabbed the lever, and we set off to my royal residence. How on earth did I end up being the protagonist of a geopolitical intrigue unleashed by His Sly Majesty? I thought. Not that there was much to think with.

“Look, Juffin,” I said. “What is it exactly that I’m supposed to do there? I mean, are there some rules I should play by?”

“Just remember your amusing ruler Caligula and stick to his agenda,” said Melifaro.

“Thanks for the advice. The first thing I’m going to do is introduce capital punishment for bad jokes,” I said. “So, what about the rules, Juffin? Care to enlighten me?”

“Well, if there are any rules, only the wisest elders of your poor people will know them. Unfortunately, I don’t have the pleasure of belonging to that particular level of high society. So you can improvise and do whatever you see fit. The foreign ambassadors have no clue, the grandees from the provinces will think that’s just how it’s done in the Barren Lands, and your subjects will think you’ve already picked up our ‘barbaric customs.’ And I don’t think they’re going to get friendly enough to try to help you out into the clear.”

“I guess I’m in luck then,” I said. “Okay, I’ll improvise.”

“Attaboy,” said Melifaro.

I had the hardest time finding a place to park the amobiler and finally parked a whole block away from the Furry House. The sidewalks were crowded with my subjects’ antlered steeds, decorated with bric-a-brac. The rest of the street was packed with the amobilers of other visitors.

“Looks like they thought we’d arrive on foot,” said Juffin, hopping down to the mosaic sidewalk.

My friend Anday Pu followed us. His habitual brazen impudence had vanished. The poor thing was confused. He looked at me, beseeching, and was about to grab the folds of my Mantle of Death for moral support.

“Stand by, fellow,” I said to him. “I’m a king now and have the right to a personal scribe or any other such whim.”

“Here we go,” said Juffin, and I thrust open the front door of my residence.

The expression on my face morphed into the smile of a hallucinating imbecile: my mind refused to acknowledge the reality of what was going on. Perhaps it was all for the better.

After this momentary and slight lapse of reason, I found myself standing on the threshold of the Grand Reception Hall, formerly the reading hall. The enormous room was filled with people. I tried to find at least one familiar face in the crowd, but all the faces seemed to merge into a single undifferentiated blob. Could it have been panic?

“Can you see where my colleagues are?” I whispered to my “scribe.” He nodded. “Good. Go and join them. If you stick close to Sir Melifaro, you won’t even get bored.”

“I catch!” said Anday, and he disappeared into the crowd somewhere to my right.

I turned my head in the direction he had gone but didn’t see either Melifaro or Juffin. What the heck? I looked around and couldn’t see anything resembling a throne. Then again, a king that couldn’t find the throne in his own palace—exactly the kind of moronic joke that I was known for. I stopped panicking, and my mood improved. I can sit wherever I want to, I thought to myself. Even in the doorway. I’m the boss here.

Then I flung my arms into the air like some impostor prophet about to bestow on an ungrateful humanity his own complete and unabridged collected interpretations of “divine will.”

“Words cannot convey the ecstasy I feel at meeting all of you here. I am overcome,” I said and sat down in the doorway cross-legged. A murmur of amazement rolled around the hall, so I felt I had to explain my eccentric behavior. “My place will always be here, for the place of a sovereign is always on the threshold between the people and the heavens, separating one from the other and guarding them from each other.”

It seemed to me that my first solo number was a success, and it was only good manners that prevented the crowd from applauding me. But no one seemed to breathe.

For a moment, nothing happened. I even began to get annoyed at the sluggishness of my subjects, but then I realized that the poor souls were simply waiting for my command.

“You may approach now and do what must be done,” I said.

Turmoil broke out in the middle of the hall. I waited. Most likely there was a throne after all, smack-dab in the middle of the opposite end of the enormous room. All the participants in the ceremony had already taken their places at the foot of the throne and were now forced to relocate.

Now my subjects headed toward me at a solemn pace—perhaps not a particularly majestic sight but passable. Ever since I’d taught them to wear their headbands à la pirates, they looked almost handsome. There were several dozen of these “beach boys,” in wide knee-length Bermudas and short soft boots, with huge bags slung over their shoulders.

After approaching me, the fellows gave me a low bow but didn’t drop to their knees, praise be the Magicians. Apparently my lecture on the detrimental effect of genuflection had had a positive effect on them.

The procession was led by a robust middle-aged man. His beautiful muscular body was very close to that of a bodybuilder. I’d be willing to bet, though, that this guy could kick the living daylights out of any bodybuilder in the first round: unlike them, he had been gaining his muscle mass in a natural environment—not to show off his muscles on the beach but out of sheer necessity.

“Will you allow me to speak my name, Fanghaxra?” this giant said, his voice trembling with anxiety. I was happy. Huge fellows like him had never before spoken to me in a trembling voice.

“I will,” I intoned in the manner of a man who was willing to forgo his principles in the name of the betterment of mankind.

“I am Barxa Bachoy. I have been riding at the head of the warriors of the Xenxa people for forty-three years now.”

Oh, so that’s the name of this people, I thought. Shame on you, mister, for not bothering to learn it in all this time. That’s an F, sir. See me after class.

Barxa Bachoy continued his speech. “Until today, I have been responsible for your people before the heavens, O Fanghaxra, but the heavens have been reluctant to take heed of my voice. Today I ask you to relieve me of this burden.”

“Cool,” I said. “It’s a deal. From now on, everything’s going to change. I’m going to take the responsibility for my people before the heavens, and you’ll only be responsible for them before me. I promise you that, unlike the heavens, I’m going to take heed of your voice from time to time.”

Barxa Bachoy looked as though some inner light had flared up inside him. He was amazed, filled with gratitude. He mumbled something awkward and touching. I think he still didn’t understand that nothing had really had changed for him. All his responsibilities still stayed with him. Well, perhaps I relieved him of the need to pursue his fruitless attempts to contact the deaf and dumb heavens.

My new acquaintance, whom I now mentally referred to as the General, stepped aside and gave way to a short, lean old man. He had in his sinewy arms, it seemed, as much power as the muscled biceps that rolled back and forth underneath the tanned skin of the war chief. The grandpa deserves special mention. Something in his stature reminded me of the powerful Magicians of the forbidden Orders of the past epoch. My wise second heart knew very well that the old man could have become just as dangerous and powerful if his life had taken a slightly different turn.

“I greet you, Fanghaxra,” said the old man. “I am Fairiba, and wisdom condescends to me sometimes. I have come to call you by your True Name. When its sounds reach your heart, the curse that has followed your people since the day we lost you will be lifted. Ask your venerable guests not to hold a grudge against me for not opening my mouth while pronouncing your name: a king’s True Name cannot be pronounced out loud, for it would be against the wishes of the heavens.”

“I knew not that my people could use Silent Speech,” I said.

“Indeed. Your people do not practice such dangerous magic,” said the stern old man. “But I have enough power to reveal to you your True Name.”

Frankly, I didn’t doubt for a second that this Fairiba could do that and then some. The old man untied the leather straps of his travel bag and shook out its content in front of me. To my surprise, it was just a pile of soil, as though he had decided to do some gardening in my reception hall. Great, I thought. As soon as you get your own palace, this has to happen.

“Our customs demand that the kings of the Xenxa people learn their True Names while standing on their native soil,” said Fairiba. “The powerful King of the Unified Kingdom instructed us not to ask you to come with us, for you have responsibilities to him. I ask not the reason. Your people hold secrets sacred. That is why I have brought the soil of your steppes with me. I beg you to step onto it, Fanghaxra.”

I got up. Fairiba’s request seemed most timely: my legs had begun to grow numb from sitting. For a split second, I was worried that they’d ask me to take off my boots, which would be a tiresome ordeal, but my fears were groundless.

The old man produced from his bosom a small pouch. Out of the pouch he took a small box, and out of the box an even smaller bottle. For some reason, it occurred to me that Fairiba was about to release a genie, wild from millennia of solitude, but that was not what happened.

“Give me your hand, Fanghaxra,” said the old man.

I stretched out my left hand. I don’t know why I stretched out my left hand and not my right. Maybe because I used my left hand for most of the magic “tricks” I had learned so far.

“It is a sign from the heavens, Fanghaxra!” Fairiba whispered, his voice trembling. “For generations, all Xenxa kings have accepted their names with their right hand. But there lived a sovereign in the days of yore who, as you just did, proffered his left hand to his shaman. He was Droxmor Modillax, who subdued half the lands surrounded by oceans and then disappeared. You will be the greatest of our kings, O Fanghaxra!”

“No kidding,” I said.

Fairiba would be in for a deep disappointment. I was planning to abdicate in a couple of years and annex my Barren Lands to the lands of His Majesty Gurig VIII. No “subduing” in my plans, I’m afraid, but “disappearing” is another matter altogether, I thought. I can do that in my sleep, pardon the pun. Maybe this will comfort them somewhat?

The old man opened the bottle and poured onto my palm a few drops of clear liquid. “This water is from the sacred spring of the Lands of Fanghaxra,” he said.

He then took out a thin greenish plate from the box. I couldn’t determine what sort of material it was made from. Fairiba carefully lowered the plate onto my hand, which was still wet from the sacred water. I thought the smooth plate would slip and fall on the floor, so I clenched my hand.

To my astonishment, the plate felt so cold it burned, like a piece of dry ice from an ice cream vendor. I opened my hand and saw that the plate was gone, and that my left palm was completely smooth: no life line, no fate line, no heart line, no Mercury line (as they were called in a palmistry brochure I had once flipped through). Palmistry aside, this metamorphosis freaked me out big time.

A pictogram began to emerge on the smooth skin of my left palm. I had never seen anything resembling this alphabet in my life. A “simultaneous translation” began sounding in my head, albeit with a slight lag: Ayot Mu-o Limli Niixor, the Sovereign of Fanghaxra.

Fairiba’s Silent Speech almost trailed away halfway through, but he stoically went on with it all the way. I could sense that each word required an enormous amount of stamina on his part. I had once gone through the same pain while teaching myself Silent Speech, but my marvelous mentor Sir Juffin Hully—and the power that merely residing in Echo, the magic Heart of the World, bestowed on me—had both been working in my favor.

I found my “True Name” to be a tad on the long side. I had doubts that I’d remember this sumptuous abracadabra even after it had been imprinted on my palm for all eternity, but I decided not to insult my subjects with an untimely suggestion to shorten my precious True Name to at least half the size.

“It is done!” said the old man.

“It is done!” his company echoed.

“It is, isn’t it?” I said and sat down in the doorway again. “So how’s that old curse doing now? Lifted yet?”

The nomads didn’t say a word, but their eyes radiated pure joy and their stern faces assumed a serene expression. From that, I concluded that the curse had indeed been lifted for good—strange, considering I had never been the real Fanghaxra, all the mystical gibberish on my palms notwithstanding.

Meanwhile, the ceremony had reached a lull: everyone was waiting for my commands and I had no idea what to occupy them with. For starters, I decided to wrap up the part where I deal with my long-suffering people: “As you know, business forces me to stay here in Echo. I am happy that Fairiba and Barxa will be with you.”

I looked at my newly appointed deputies. They stood with arms akimbo, seeming almost taller now. Their companions also looked happy: despite fears to the contrary, the new boss had confirmed the supreme status of his predecessors—everyone do a jig! Good, good. Hooray for the wise me.

“I want you to make these people happy,” I said to my chosen ones. “If you encounter an obstacle while doing so, do not hesitate to inform me by sending a messenger, since you are averse to Silent Speech. I promise to answer you promptly. How long does a good rider need to reach Echo from the Barren Lands?”

“Forty days, if misfortunes do not follow him on his way,” said Barxa Bachoy.

“Not too bad,” I said. I was happy. It seemed that I wouldn’t be burdened by my royal obligations too often.

“We have brought gifts for you, Lord Fanghaxra,” said Fairiba. “Our customs demand that we give them to you alone, but if you wish to share your joy with your guests, I dare not impede.”

“No need to break the customs. Alone it will be. That makes it even more interesting. But now I need to be with my guests. Take my gifts to the archive: it’s a large room to the right down the hallway. Tell my servants to show you the way and bring you some food and refreshments. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The nomads picked up their bags and were off. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a good dozen servants following them. The generosity of His Majesty King Gurig, who had lent me this band of loafers, knew no bounds, and his notion about my needs was in acute conflict with reality.

Today, however, it was all for the better. I was happy with my own idea of sending my exalted subjects away to another room, giving them their own “children’s table” with cookies and candy so they didn’t get under the feet of the “grown-ups”—the grandees of the provinces of the Unified Kingdom and foreign ambassadors. I suspected that it wouldn’t be easy for them to find common ground and interact with one another. Besides, I doubted that I myself would find much common ground with these important gentlemen—but then again, there wasn’t much I could do about that.

When the last bright headband disappeared behind the doors, I stood up and looked around, trying to find my colleagues. Sir Juffin Hully was already walking toward me.

“Good job,” he said. “Lean and mean. His Majesty King Gurig will have to take a few lessons in court etiquette from you. And he considers himself to be so democratic. He should’ve seen you crouching on the threshold. Now that’s what I call humility.”

“Glad you liked it. But did you see what these guys did to my hand?” I showed the letters on my left palm to Juffin.

“Yes, now your name is the only thing it bears, Max,” said Juffin. “Hey, look! It’s the ancient alphabet of Xonxona. It was used back in the days when the entire population on our blessed landmass was as nomadic as your subjects are now. It turns out that there are still keepers of ancient knowledge among the people of Xenxa. Funny.”

“Is it?” I said. “So, is this writing not going to come off?”

“I’m afraid not. But it’s all for the better. One couldn’t wish for a better protective amulet than his own True Name written in a forgotten language. You’re in luck, my boy.”

“Right, but … I don’t think this inscription can be my True Name. I’m sure this name belongs to the true king of Xenxa, the poor child who once got lost in the steppes, the last of the Fanghaxras. It has nothing to do with me.”

“If it weren’t your name, it couldn’t possibly be imprinted on your paw. Plus, what makes you so sure you’re not ‘real’? I happen to think that getting lost in the steppes is just the thing you would do,” said the boss.

“Oh, come on, Juffin! You know better than anybody where I come from. If there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I never got lost in the steppes.”

“If I were you, I’d try not to think I was too sure about anything,” said Juffin, winking at me. “Anything but this one fact: that your True Name is exactly what that esteemed old gentleman said it was.”

“Well, I’ll be,” I said, laughing. “Ayot Mo-a … Ma-o … There’s no way I’m going to remember it.”

“You don’t have to remember it, nor should you try to say it out loud. It’s a mystery, Max, remember? Back in the good old days, you would have had to kill that wise old man personally so that the secret of your True Name belonged to you and you alone. It’s only in the past millennium that people have become so frivolous about such things. If you don’t remember your name, don’t lose sleep over it. When Eternity wants to get acquainted with you, your palm will always be at its service. Eternity, you know, is a highly educated and sophisticated lady. Forgotten languages are her hobby. But I doubt you’ll need your True Name under any other circumstances. ‘Sir Max’ will do just fine.”

“Never a dull moment,” I muttered. “Just what I need—an introduction to Ms. Eternity. Maybe I should try it out on the ambassadors first. Do you think these gentlemen will live through it if I thrust my mystical palm under their noses and skip the small talk?”

“They’ll get over anything as long as they can get out of here as soon as possible,” said Juffin. “There’s no catering at official ceremonies such as your coronation, and no one wants to hang around here with an empty stomach until midnight.”

“So how come they’re not running away?” I said. “By the way, I’m already feeling a little peckish myself.”

“You can eat—you’re home. Okay, here’s a good piece of advice for you: go ahead and quickly make the acquaintance of each one of them. These gentlemen have come here with a single purpose in mind: to get introduced to the new king. As soon as they have spoken their inimitable names to you, their missions will be over. Then we can all have dinner here, provided you’ll grant me and Melifaro an invitation.”

“Dream on. You’ll empty my coffers in no time.” I made a face that expressed an extreme form of stinginess, bordering on insanity.

“Sometimes you look too much like Grand Magician Nuflin,” said Juffin, laughing. “Now I get it: you’re not a sovereign of Fanghaxra, you’re Moni Mak’s illegitimate grandson. What if I told you that all the expenses in this house are on the tab of His Majesty Gurig VIII?”

“Really? Oh, but that’s wonderful,” I said, smiling a hospitable smile. “How can I pass up the opportunity of sharing my humble royal meal with my friends!”

“How quaint,” said Juffin. “Then go ahead and announce to these nice folks that you’re dying to learn their names, and make it quick. My belly is as empty as the Corridor between Worlds.”

“You mean the Xumgat?” I said, sighing. And then I decided it was indeed time to face my guests.

A little man was already standing behind me. His head barely reached my waist. The midget’s attire was an elegant compromise between the fashion of the Capital and the garments of my people. Underneath his classical black looxi, he wore wide pants that reached down to his knees. His tiny torso was clad in chain mail, and on his head he wore a beautiful shawl, the ends of which dangled down and swept the floors.

“I see you as though in a waking dream. I am happy to say my name: Rixxiri Gachillo, Count Vook. I’m sorry we never became neighbors, Sir Max. They say you’re one of a kind,” said the gnome in a low voice.

“That’s what they say about you, too,” I said, staring at my new acquaintance.

I had no idea that the infamous Count Dark Sack, the former mentor of the late King Gurig VII and one of the most odious personages in the Unified Kingdom, would be so compact.

“And it is true,” said Count Vook. “But let us not despair prematurely. Perhaps we will have the opportunity to entertain each other in the future. Your subjects are a very unreliable people. Well, good night to you, fellow countryman. I have to admit that I’ve grown weary of this reception: tons of people and nothing to drink.”

“Good night,” I said, unable to take my eyes off this fellow.

Count Vook nodded, turned around, and headed toward the exit. Watching the retreat of his haughty figure, I found myself wondering whether he was a midget, or whether the rest of us were all just deformed giants.

Then a rather motley crowd surrounded me. First Sir Rep Kibat and Count Kayga Atalo Vulx, ambassadors from Irrashi, one of the few countries that has its own language, introduced themselves to me. I had managed to learn a few Irrashian words in my days as a habitué of the Irrashi Coat of Arms Inn, so I conquered the hearts of the ambassadors once and for all by saying, “Xokota!”—a traditional Irrashian greeting.

Tol Goyoxvi, an amicable representative of Tulan, smiled at me. I remembered how Sir Manga Melifaro reminisced about that distant country with great tenderness. Then there was Verlago Gabayoxi, Prince Gorr, the ambassador from the County Xotta, which bordered with my land. This whole business of my coronation was in fact merely a pretext for annexing that province. He was dressed almost exactly like my unsophisticated subjects but looked as serious as a professor’s widow. Next there was Marquis Niiro Uvilguk Van Baunbax from Loxri, wearing something that looked like an extravagant warm evening gown. Then Sir Burik Pepezo from Tarun appeared before me. He was the head of the artists’ guild of that distant land. A good half of its inhabitants were artists, so his position, however humble it may have seemed at first glance, gave him power over almost the entire adult population. If I understood correctly, he had come to the Unified Kingdom with the sole purpose of collecting some guild tax from the numerous Tarunian artists who decorated our lives for a living. The ambassador from the distant Kumon Caliphate, Sir Maniva Umonary—who, as chance would have it, was passing through Echo and had dropped by my house—shocked me to the core. He was lying on something that looked like a giant divan. Almost a dozen servants moved the “divan” whenever the man wished to change his location. He looked much more kingly that I did. His obese body reeked of the vulgar luxury of the Arabian Nights.

A tanned pirate’s face distracted me from my contemplation of the blissful luxuriance of the Kumonian. My first impression had not deceived me: it was the ambassador from Ukumbia, Sir Chekimba the Beaten Horn. I found out that Beaten Horn wasn’t his surname or nickname; it was the name of his ship. It turned out that the right to replace an ancestral name with the name of a ship was a privilege of the eldest and most honored citizens of that pirate state.

Then I was swarmed by the honored citizens of Tasher: Sir Zunakki Chuga Tlax and Sir Chumochi Droxa Vivvi. My head was spinning from the unfamiliar faces and names, but I managed to remember about my friend Anday, who had been dreaming of moving to Tasher, and introduced him to the Tasherian ambassadors—just in case.

Finally my eyes alighted upon a familiar sight: brightly colored tights, short jackets, and oversized fur hats. These attributes belonged to Mr. Ciceric, Mr. Maklasufis, and Mr. Mikusiris, the happy citizens of beautiful Isamon, the very same three people poor Melifaro had once thrown out the window of his living room. They attempted (rather poorly) to pretend we’d never met. They announced their titles to me. Mr. Ciceric was the head of the fur industry tycoons of Isamon, Mr. Maklasufis was Mr. Ciceric’s personal Wise Mentor, and Mr. Mikusiris was the Grand Specialist in questions of culture for the Unified Kingdom, something of a technical expert. I had no idea what these Isamonian furriers were doing at my reception—my royal reception—but at the end of the day, I didn’t mind. Their silly colorful tights livened up the atmosphere.

I looked around for Melifaro. I thought it would be an interesting experiment for the Isamonians and him to come face to face and look one another in the eye, just to see what would happen. Melifaro was standing nearby in the company of two pleasant-looking gentlemen whose appearance didn’t betray anything exotic at first glance. Only when one of them flung back his burdensome hood—a sartorial detail characteristic of the winter looxi of Shimarian highlanders, who still considered our turbans to be too frivolous a form of headgear—did I open my mouth in amazement. And my amazement was justified. The intricate and colorful structure on the stranger’s head was truly a masterpiece of the art of hairdressing.

Later I learned that ordinary human hair was completely unsuited for achieving such impressive results. More serious materials were needed: pet hair, bits of wild animal fur, even feathers, not to mention the numerous magic spells that were required to hold together all these foreign materials and to make them take root on the human skull.

I carefully threaded my way through the colorful crowd of foreigners, who had begun to tire me, and approached my colleague.

“This is Sir Ayonxa and Sir Jiffa, the fairy-tale princes of the County Shimara, whose deputy I could have become a dozen years ago if I hadn’t been such an idiot,” said Melifaro. “Right, guys?”

“It’s all right, buddy. I’m sure you’ll reconsider,” said one of the princes. The other just shrugged. He looked too grown-up and serious to enjoy any prolonged exposure to our Sir Melifaro. It was probably Sir Jiffa, the younger of the princes.

I tried to embellish my official smile with as much charm as possible and gave the sovereigns of the County Shimara a low bow.

“Actually, I was going to reintroduce you to some other old friends of yours,” I said to Melifaro. “Remember your Isamonian buddies? The ones you launched out of your window?”

“Whoa! Are they here, too?” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for repeating the show, but I can’t help but feel for the poor fellows. The first time was enough for them, I think.”

“Enough is enough,” I said. “Do you know that His Majesty and I are going to shell out some funds and feed you and Juffin?” I turned to the Shimara princes and said, “If you truly enjoy the company of this monster, I will be happy to see you at our table.”

Prince Ayonxa burst out laughing, and Prince Jiffa looked at me with poorly concealed amazement. He probably had his own notions of how a king should behave. Me, I simply couldn’t behave myself when I was standing just three feet away from Melifaro: he would never have forgiven me.

I spent the next half hour being introduced to the grandees of the remaining provinces of the Unified Kingdom. Among them were the Venerable Head of Gugland, Valiba Valibal; Lord Eki Banba Uriux of Uryuland; the Venerable Head of Uguland, Yorix Malivonis; and two burgomasters of the free city of Gazhin, Sir Valda Kunyk and Sir Zebi Xipilosis. Gazhin, one of the wealthiest seaports in the land, is one heck of a place—a single burgomaster just didn’t cut it. Valda Kunyk, a big, jolly red-haired guy, was apparently the protégé of the ancient shipbuilding aristocracy, and the lively gray-haired Zebi Xipilosis protected the interests of the town merchants. Or was it the other way around? No idea.

Following the burgomasters was Sir Yoka Yoxtoxop, the sheriff of the Island of Murimak. I remembered Juffin telling me that this man had perfect memory and could see things “the way they were,” just like our Lookfi—although, unlike Lookfi, the sheriff of Murimak resembled a warrior rather than a mad scientist. Even the amusing Murimak slang wasn’t enough to make him funny.

Just as the reception was ending, Togi Raxva the Golden Eye, Venerable Head of Landaland, approached me. One of his eyes was indeed a bright amber-yellow, just like our Kurush’s. The other eye was plain gray. I remembered that it was the wonderful yellow eye that had led to the appointment of Sir Togi Raxva to his position of utmost responsibility: it is a common belief in the Unified Kingdom that one should never disregard such a good sign. By the way, the belief had turned out to be correct. Once an arid country, Landaland had suddenly become the wealthiest agricultural province of the Unified Kingdom. The famous fair in Numban alone was a sight to behold. And if one were to believe the rumors, Togi Raxva was by no means a financial wizard. Rather, under his magical golden eye, the once barren soil of Landaland had become so fruitful that crops could be harvested almost half a dozen times a year.

The official part of the coronation finally reached its last gasp and fizzled out. My honorable guests disappeared one after another through the front door, no doubt to wander around Echo looking for a place to have a good meal. I had worked up a heck of an appetite myself, but I still had to go into seclusion with my subjects and receive my gifts. If only they had baked me some pies—but no, they were sure to start flinging some inedible precious stones at my feet. Drat it.

I approached Juffin, who seemed to be enjoying the social whirlwind. “It would be great if you took the responsibility for the remaining part of the evening into your own hands,” I said. “You’re good at it. Tell the servants to show you to the pantry and help yourself. I’m going to join you a little later: I have a romantic rendezvous with my people. See, my people want to give me some souvenirs for keepsakes. I’m afraid I’m looking forward to receiving the decaying remnants of my ancestors’ throne.”

“Receiving gifts is a sacred tradition,” said Juffin. “Grab what ever they give you as long as it’s free.”

“Right. Will you make sure the servants leave me a small crust of bread or something? I’ve been meaning to learn more about the royal diet, and here’s the opportunity.”

“A small crust of bread I can guarantee you. If worse comes to worst, I’ll break off a piece of my own heart. You’ll choke on it and then go around telling stories to naive young women about how kings live on dried crusts of bread alone.”

I had to cut short our highly intellectual exchange and go to the former archive. A few dozen representatives of the people of Xenxa were consuming pastries there. The stern-looking nomads were covered in cream from head to toe, just like Kurush, our wise connoisseur of all things sweet.

When they saw me, the fellows tried to swallow whatever they had in their mouths and stand at attention.

“That’s all right,” I said like a loving grandmother. “Keep on chewing. It makes me happy to see my people eat heartily, so do give me the pleasure of contemplating it.”

The subjects dutifully grabbed two pastries each and began consuming them with great relish. They took my token of hospitality for a command. Amazing discipline for a bunch of nomads.

“Barxa! Fairiba! Could you come here for a second?” I said. “I need to talk to you about how we are all going to live from now on. You can stay here until you leave, of course. I sleep at another place anyway. Speaking of which, when did you say you were leaving?”

“Whenever you tell us to leave, sire,” said Barxa Bachoy. He looked puzzled, as though surprised that a king would ask such a thing.

“Splendid. Then make it tomorrow,” I said. “Tell my people the good news. Okay, now I’m ready for some gifts, if you insist.”

I grabbed a pastry from the nearest tray. Normally I wasn’t too crazy about honey balls with rainbow cream, but I was starving. I hadn’t been king for a day and was already suffering from deprivation.

“May I speak with you first, O Fanghaxra,” old Fairiba said diffidently.

“Sure,” I said. “You can talk to me anytime. You’ll be surprised to learn how easy it is to strike a deal with me.”

“It is also easy to strike a deal with Death,” said the old man. “Day after day, for centuries, we beg him, ‘Not today!’ He agrees and retreats. It’s a pleasure doing business with him. Only once does he have it his way, but this one time is all it takes.”

“Never a truer word spoken, Fairiba,” I said, smiling. “What you just said about Death is dead right, if you’ll pardon the pun. And it’s probably true about me, too.”

“Yes, about you, as well,” said the old man. “But I wanted to talk about something else. Your people have brought gifts. They know not of your preferences and, if I understand this correctly, you have no need for our gifts. But we merely do as our customs tell us. I wish to ask you to accept our gifts even if you don’t like them. When a king rejects gifts from his people, a curse is cast upon them. I know you would never mean to harm your people, but you have grown up among barbarians and do not know all the laws of your land. We have become weary of living with the burden of curses—such a life is not worth much. Please avoid bringing another curse upon us, O Fanghaxra.”

“Oh, of course I won’t,” I said. “No curses, even if you’ve brought me all the horse manure you’ve collected over a century.”

“We would never do such a thing,” said Fairiba, surprised. “What strange things you say!”

He turned to his compatriots, who were still diligently consuming the pastry. That’s right, I thought. I haven’t ordered them to stop “eating heartily.”

“Bring in the gifts! The king is ready to accept them.”

And the downpour of gifts began. For starters, there were several baskets of exotic fruit. The one that made me the happiest was a huge melon. I had extensive experience tasting the cuisine of the Unified Kingdom, but I had never seen or tasted a single local melon. I smelled it and realized that it was indeed a real melon, even though its size surpassed my most lavish notions of Mother Nature’s generosity.

“Awesome,” I said. “You can’t imagine how much I like this … thing. What’s it called again?”

“This is a berry of the steppes. Have you forgotten?” The old man shook his head in disapproval. He looked like a botany teacher who was giving an exam to a bad student.

“A berry, huh?”

I tried to lift the “berry” but failed at the very first attempt. I didn’t try anymore after that.

The gifts were not limited to the fruits of nature. I became the happy owner of a whole stack of touching handmade mats and a plethora of colorful kerchiefs, shorts, and other exotic garments. Some things looked brand new, yet others seemed to be secondhand stuff. It looked as though the members of the official delegation had stripped naked everyone at home before setting off on the long journey. I shuddered but didn’t say anything. After all, I had promised Grandpa Fairiba to behave myself.

My patience was rewarded: one of the nomads brought a huge furry dog. The dog looked like a grander version of a snowy white Old English sheepdog, a kindly giant sticking out its charcoal-black tongue in ecstasy.

“Sinning Magicians, will you look at this beauty!” I said. “I’ve always wanted a dog, and here it is. I must have felt it coming.”

“This is the best of my sheepdogs,” said Barxa Bachoy. “These sheepdogs have always lived in the king’s house. We know, sire, that you have no need for several hundred dogs to protect you, so we have brought only one, just to keep up the tradition.”

“And you’ve done exactly the right thing. He’s great, but several hundred would’ve been a bit over the top.”

I squatted by the dog and carefully put my left hand on the back of his neck. The dog yelped and turned over on his back, exposing his furry belly.

“Ah, you do still remember how to tame these beasts!” said Fairiba. “Now he will die defending you if you so wish.”

“Jeepers!” I said. “That won’t be necessary. I can grapple with my own death, thank you very much. I need this dog alive.”

“It is very lucky for us, sire, to have guessed your wish,” said Barxa Bachoy. “I hope you will also like our final gift.”

I looked up and saw three tall, slim, and virtually identical young women standing in front of me, looking scared to death. They had huge black eyes, charming long noses, and short dark hair. (Later I learned that all women in the Barren Lands cut their hair short because they consider the hassle of dealing with long hair to be beneath their dignity.) My goodness! These girls were not just the spitting image of one another: three replicas of the great Liza Minnelli stood before me. Just what a man needed to lose all his marbles quickly and painlessly.

I plopped down on the floor right by my new four-legged friend, who immediately stuck his hairy snout under my hand. I mechanically stroked the dog, much to his visible delight.

“Who are these young ladies?” I said.

“They are your wives, sire,” said Fairiba.

“My wives?” I said, horrified. “Oh, boy.”

This could only happen to me. That was my special brand of luck. I was about to give these simple folk a short but emotionally charged lecture on the inadmissibility of attempts to ruin their king’s personal life, but the imploring look in the eyes of old Fairiba made me shut my mouth. Fine, I thought, we’ll set tantrums aside for the time being. It’s unlikely that these guys will have the temerity to sneak into my bedroom and verify how my marital life is unfolding. But they’ve got to explain themselves, drat it!

“Is it customary among the men of my people to have many wives?” I said.

“Sometimes it happens, sire,” said Fairiba. “When women deem it necessary.”

“I see,” I said, although I didn’t see anything. “Do these young ladies really deem it necessary to marry me off? All three of them?”

The three peas-in-a-pod copies of Liza Minnelli were silent. I think they were about to faint. I had no idea anyone could be that scared of me.

“This is also part of the tradition,” said Fairiba. “These three are not regular women. They are the daughters of Isnouri herself.”

“Oh, wow. That explains everything,” I said, without trying to conceal my sarcasm.

“Do you wish to banish them, sire?” Fairiba said with trepidation.

“That wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” I said, angered. “Fine, since I promised not to incur curses, they can stay. But please don’t ever bring me any more wives, okay? What I just got should be enough for the rest of my life. Now be a good sport and tell me who that Isnouri is. I must know at least something about my mother-in-law.”

The old man’s wrinkled faced lit up. “Isnouri is a very old woman of our people,” he said. “She is at least three thousand years old, maybe even much older. No one knows for sure, for she does not live among the people. Isnouri rides the steppes alone, without friends or retinue. They say she even sleeps without dismounting her menkal.”

“Her what?”

“Her menkal—the animal that we ride. Have you forgotten that, too, sire?”

“I have,” I said, mentally making note that it was easy to forget something you never knew in the first place. “Okay, now I know where your legendary Isnouri spends the night. Go on.”

“From time to time, Isnouri visits her people to leave one of her daughters with them. We believe Isnouri does not need a man to conceive a daughter. For she lets no one touch her—neither man nor woman. Not even to hold her hand.”

“Yet the kids just keep coming, is that it?” I said. “How many has she had so far?”

“Those who taught me the wisdom remembered that Isnouri had left her daughters with us fourteen times. Seventy years ago, she brought us these three sisters. It was a first: never before had she brought us more than one child at a time. We thought they were destined to be alone forever. The daughters of Isnouri had always married the kings of the Xenxa people, and we had no hopes of ever finding you.”

“Wait, they married the kings?” I said. “I thought it was the man who decided whom to marry, not to mention the king.”

“The man never decides anything,” said Fairiba. “Many men have learned to convince themselves that they make the decisions, yet I assure you, sire, it was the daughters of Isnouri who chose to marry your ancestors, and not the other way around.”

“Okay, fine. So they did,” I said, growing gloomier. Then I turned to the scared triplets. “And you’ve chosen me. Well, congratulations, girls. A really smart choice, I must say. Can you please tell me your names? I can’t marry three strange girls at once.”

“Xeilax, Xelvi, Kenlex,” whispered the most synchronous trio in the world.

“Marvelous. Now I’m warning you, though, that I’m going to mix you up all the time,” I said, “so no offense. You’re going to live here for the time being. I’ll call for the help; they’ll show you the house. Pick any rooms and make yourself at home. You can ask anything you want. You’re the king’s wives, after all.” I gave a nervous chuckle and continued. “Get settled, grow roots. Meanwhile, I’ll mull over what to do with you. In a day or two, I’ll come visit you here and we’ll have a chat. It’ll make me very happy if it turns out you can say a few words other than your names.”

Then I looked at Fairiba. “That’s all, I hope?”

“That is all, sire,” said the old man.

“Sweet. I’ll ask the servants to accommodate you for tonight, and tomorrow you’re heading back home. I’m sure you and Barxa Bachoy know how to rule over my people to make them happy. You can send me messengers sometime in the middle of next winter. If there’s an emergency, let me know immediately. Now I’m off.”

“We will do as you wish,” my newly appointed “prime ministers” said in unison.

“I’m sure you will,” I said and sent a call to the butler.

A dozen servants appeared in the doorway. I told them to take care of my subjects and my wives. Who would have thought I’d be giving this command one day? Confusion, which is usual in such situations, arose, and I decided it was time for me to sneak out.

“Let’s go, buddy,” I said to my furry friend and pulled him gently by his ear. The dog got up and started pacing around me. I thought that the gigantic melon would feel honored to adorn my dinner table and tried to take it out of the basket one more time. This time, I managed to budge it a tad, but it was clear there was no way I could carry it under my arm. It didn’t occur to me to call the servants—I was too unaccustomed to them. Instead, I put the melon back on the floor and gave it a gentle kick. The melon rolled in the desired direction. I should probably introduce soccer to this place, I thought. The usual pastime of starving barbarian kings.

The dog ran alongside me and even helped push the melon. Attaboy, I thought.

“I think I’m going to name you Droopy,” I said to my four-legged friend. “Your size notwithstanding, what else would I call the dog of a Secret Investigator? I guess I could go with Hound of the Baskervilles, but I’m afraid it would affect your personality in the wrong way. So Droopy it is. Okay?”

He was okay with it, or at least he seemed to be. Unlike the dogs of my home World, he didn’t wag his tail. He flapped his ears instead.

When Droopy and I reached the dining hall, the company greeted my new friend with a unanimous Awww! My manner of serving fruit also caused quite a furor. The melon itself, though, didn’t make much of an impression.

“It has a weird taste,” said Juffin. “Are you sure this ‘berry of the steppes’ won’t make you sick? Because if you get sick tonight, it’ll be the most devastating disaster in the history of Magic Chases.”

After this remark, Melifaro didn’t even want to taste the melon. The Shimaro princes each took a bite, politely put their pieces back onto their plates, and refrained from commenting.

“Fine, I get to eat it all then,” I said, biting into the melon. The boss’s ominous prophecies would not stand in the way of this gastronomical orgy. The melon tasted exactly how I’d thought it would. Even better.

“So how do you like your new job so far?” said Melifaro. “Do you like being the barbarian king? I’ve always wanted expert advice on this matter.”

“Well, what can I say? It comes with some benefits. Have you seen my dog? It’s a gift from my vassals. What would I do without them? They brought me a whole bunch of useful things. Like a harem, for instance.”

“A harem? Dream on,” said Melifaro. “What would you do with a harem?”

“That, my friend, is exactly the issue here. The sooner I resolve it, the better.”

“Resolve it? Resolve what?”

“The issue. The harem. My harem. They brought me a bunch of these girls, you see. Now I’m going to have to quit investigating because I’ll have to be a full-time daddy. I’m going to have to tie their bows, buy ice cream, and so on. I think I’m definitely going to have to jump rope with them, too. First and foremost.”

Melifaro blinked in confusion, trying to understand why I was making such absurd jokes.

“Seriously, Melifaro,” I said, sighing and sinking my teeth into another piece of melon. “I’m not joking. It’s all true.”

“Funny,” said Juffin. “How many wives did you say you had?”

“Three.”

“Ha! Call that a bunch? Look on the bright side. If you were a queen and got three husbands instead, now that would’ve been a problem. Besides, you need someone to live in this beautiful house, which you are incapable of fully appreciating.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I said. “That’s why I allowed them to stay.”

“Well, I’ll be darned,” said Melifaro, who had just realized that all this talk about my wives wasn’t a joke. “How come some people are so darn lucky, huh? A hole in the heavens above you, Nightmare! Why, why is this sinning World so unfair? You get everything, and some good people get nothing!”

“‘Good people’? Meaning you? Okay, stop whining. Do you want me to ask my subjects to bring you a dozen wives? I’m not greedy.”

“I do!”

“You should get used to the fact that you command your subjects; you don’t ask them, Sir Max,” said Prince Jiffa. He sounded as though everything we had been saying up until this moment was perfectly logical and fine, and only in this particular instance did I make a tiny mistake.

“But of course,” I said. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll definitely command them. Our Melifaro will have the largest harem in the Unified Kingdom. Don’t fret, my friend.”

“Sorry, no go,” said Juffin. “You are a king from another land. You can do whatever you please, and then some. Melifaro, on the other hand, is an ordinary citizen, his many immortal exploits notwithstanding. He’ll have to do without a harem.”

“Oh, I see,” I said and turned to Melifaro. “I thought you were a regular person, but in fact you’re an ‘ordinary citizen.’ No harem for you then, I’m afraid.”

“Okay, Ayonxa. Now I’m really quitting this job. I’m going to be your deputy,” Melifaro said to the older Shimaro. “Nobody appreciates me for what I’m worth here.”

“It’s high time you quit,” said Prince Ayonxa. “Don’t worry. You and I, we’ll pass a new law, get our own harems, live long and happy lives, and rule wisely and … Jiffa, help me out here. How does one rule? Wisely and …?”

Prince Jiffa said nothing but looked at his older brother and Melifaro as if they were his own slow-witted but beloved children.

And that was the end of the dinner.

I told Droopy to keep his spirits up and handed him over to the strangers that thought of themselves as my servants. Then Juffin and I headed to the House by the Bridge, and Melifaro and the Shimaros went elsewhere to “finish up the evening.” I was a little worried, but Jiffa’s serious face gave me hope that the citizens of the Capital were in no danger.

“It didn’t take too long, did it? It went even faster than I thought,” said Juffin, getting into the amobiler. “You were great, Max.”

“Not me, but whoever first decided not to feed guests at such events. Can you imagine what would have happened if all those ambassadors and grandees had found their way to my dinner table? They would have stayed until the next morning.”

“Absolutely. That’s why they don’t serve food or drinks at official receptions.”

“Is that so? How thoughtful of them to take pity on us poor helpless monarchs.”

“Well, that’s not the only reason, of course. It’s considered beneath the ruler’s dignity to feed every guest. We usually sit at a table with those we consider to be our equals or those whose company we enjoy, right? Any ruler, including His Majesty King Gurig, has the right to entertain whomever he considers to be his friends. You and I have both had dinner in his palace on more than one occasion. But to feed every single visitor? A royal court is not a tavern. After all, if someone really wants to eat at the expense of His Majesty, he can go to any tavern and ask the proprietor to put his meal on the Crown’s tab. The law says that the king must pay for all the poor and starving.”

“How quaint!” I said. “And if someone decides to eat at my expense, he can take a ride to the Barren Lands, order a melon-stuffed menkal, and put it on my tab.”

“What’s a melon-stuffed menkal?” said Juffin.

“Menkals are the antlered steeds of my so-called homeland. And melons are what you thought would make me sick.”

“Werewolves forbid, Max,” said Juffin. “I think you’ve overindulged yourself in this suspicious vegetable. Sometimes I even begin to believe you were born in the Barren Lands.”

“You’re probably going to laugh, Juffin, but those things grow in my World and I’ve always loved them. Trust me: I used to eat tons of them and nothing’s ever happened to me.”

“Hmm,” said Juffin. “Talk about coincidence.”

Our discussion about melons and menkals ended soon after it had started: we had arrived at the House by the Bridge. Juffin jumped out of the amobiler and disappeared behind the door at the speed of bad news. I slapped my forehead: with all this hullabaloo I had completely forgotten about Shurf’s books.

What’s taking you so long, boy? Juffin showed his impatience by sending me a call.

I forgot to bring books for Sir Shurf. He’s going to try to kill me again, and this time he’ll have every right to do so. I’m thinking I should probably go back real quick.

It’s up to you, though you’ll be missing out on your share of kamra.

Ouch, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Okay. I’ll be with you in a second.

I already had a plan. I stuck my hand underneath the seat of the amobiler, trying to probe the Chink between Worlds. It was a great opportunity to keep in shape.

I remembered how I had produced a box of cigars out of thin air for General Boboota. I had had to strain my imagination thinking about the presumed owners of those cigars: coffee cups in their hands, wooden humidor on the desk, and all. Now I tried to use the same method, summoning up in my imagination the bookshelves in a library. It triggered a strange association in my head, and I remembered The Library Policeman, a novella by Stephen King. I smirked at myself and thought, Yeah, ransacking that library wouldn’t be such a great idea. These thoughts kept me from focusing properly, but a few minutes later a paperback book fell out of my numb fingers onto the floor. I picked it up and read the title: Our Time Has Gone by one Ingvar Stefansson. Neither the name of the book nor the author’s name rang a bell. No wonder, though. Even though I used to be a voracious reader, there was no way I could have even made a dent in everything my scribbling compatriots had ever written. With my trophy tucked under my arm, I headed to the House by the Bridge.

A courier from the Glutton was bustling about in our office. Sir Juffin had decided to feed the prisoner. Lonli-Lokli, just out of his cell, was playing absentmindedly with a cup of kamra.

“I thought you went to the palace,” said Juffin, “to pick up a book and sing a lullaby to your harem.”

“You know what? I’ve had it up to here today with Melifaro’s snide little quips,” I said. “I sure don’t want to hear the same ones from you.” I turned to Shurf. “Here’s a book for you, buddy. Just one, but it’s from another World. I figured no one besides me would bring you a book like this.”

“Indeed,” said Lonli-Lokli, his usually stony face expressing ordinary surprise. “A book from another World! Who would have thought? Oh, it is so much better than anything one could find in the old university library.”

“Well, not necessarily. Actually, I haven’t read it, nor have I ever heard of the author, so I can’t guarantee you this will be a quality read.”

“A quality read? I think that is quite irrelevant. I have never read books written in another World before. To me, this is more than just a book.”

“Well, of course.”

I imagined how I would react if someone had lent me a book from another World five or six years ago, before I had become Sir Max from Echo or had dared hope that these other Worlds even existed. I doubted I’d be interested in the literary value of such a book. It probably would be “more than just a book” to me, too. Shurf was absolutely right.

“A book from your World?” said Juffin. “Oh, my. You write books there? I thought that movies were enough to entertain you. How do you manage all this in just seventy years, or however long you live there?”

“We’re smart and quick,” I said. “Can’t you tell by looking at me?”

“I sure can. Are you smart and quick enough to descend to Xumgat already?”

“Let’s go back to the good old terminology,” I said. “Those words you’re using now reek of some ancient mystical bunkum, as you yourself admitted the other day. I’m sort of ready for a stroll down the Corridor between Worlds, but to ‘descend to Xumgat’? Uh-uh, sir. No way.”

“You know, I had a similar reaction when certain allegedly powerful Magicians used such words in my presence,” said Juffin. “Maybe that was why I captured so many Magicians—Grand and not so grand—back in the day. I was sick of their manners of expression. The rest was just a pretext.”

“Sounds like it could be true,” I said, laughing. “So this is the confession of the famous Kettarian Hunter. All the bloodshed could have been avoided, but their highfalutin terminology proved to be the ultimate undoing of the poor little Magicians.”

“You sure are in great spirits,” said the boss. “Let’s go now while you’re still in this mood.”

“Do we need to go somewhere? I thought you could open the Door between Worlds anywhere.”

“I can. Well, not just anywhere: there are places in the World that facilitate such undertakings and places that inhibit them. But today we must use your personal Door. You have only one so far, and it’s in your former bedroom.”

“Is there a difference between these Doors?” I said. “I thought—”

“Never mind what you thought. When two people travel through Xumgat—I mean the Corridor between Worlds—one of them must be the guide, the other the guest. We need to get to the World from your dreams, so you will be the guide. That’s why you and I are going to the Street of Old Coins.”

“And kick two beautiful ladies out of the movie theater?” I said. “They’re going to scratch my eyes out for this.”

“I’m sure they will. Let’s go, hero. Sir Shurf, I’m sure you can’t wait for us to get out of here so you can be alone with this mystical monument of otherworldly literature, huh?”

Lonli-Lokli didn’t contradict him. He sighed and looked at the cover of the book with undisguised tenderness. We locked him up in his detention cell and proceeded to the Street of Old Coins.

I wasn’t worried or scared about the upcoming journey. I had never been what you would call brave, but having Sir Juffin Hully at my side was the best calmative I knew: with him I could go to Hades itself. So on our way, I wasn’t haunted by premonitions and chatted about inconsequential things with Juffin instead.

“By the way, why were there no women at my reception?” This question had been bothering me all evening. “Neither among the grandees of the provinces, nor among the ambassadors. Looks like women have a hard time climbing up the government ladder in the Unified Kingdom.”

“Can you stop thinking about women for a minute?” said Juffin. “Then again, you have a harem now. You’re partly right: all the grandees of our provinces are men. And you won’t find too many women in the Royal Court, either. But it’s not because someone holds them back from occupying higher positions in the government. Usually they don’t wish to move up themselves. You see, these jobs normally require being in the public eye and a great deal of fuss and bother. Wise women can’t stand that sort of thing, and no one needs stupid women in the government service any more than he needs stupid men. If some eccentric lady does want to try her hand at government affairs, she’s usually much better at her job than most of her male colleagues. She quickly becomes far too important to be seen hanging around the residences of foreign kings. You know, women are much more radical than we are: it’s all or nothing with them. I already told you this once, when you asked me why there were no women Grand Magicians. If a woman becomes a member of an Order, she won’t be interested in such petty things as nominal power over her fellow members. If she gets a government job, she quickly becomes one of the Secret Ministers under almost any government.”

“I see,” I said, laughing. “In the World where I was born, people still think that, as a rule, women are not good enough to hold a high post. Here you think they’re too good for it. But the results are just the same.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t understand it,” said Juffin. “The results are radically different, even if it doesn’t seem so at first glance. Back in the day, Grand Magician Nuflin turned to seek my help only because our friend Lady Sotofa Xanemer wanted him to. He would have preferred not have me anywhere near Uguland. Better yet, he’d rather have had my head on a platter: back then Nuflin thought everyone would have benefitted from that. And that’s just one example.”

“Whoa! So someone like Lady Sotofa is behind each pivotal decision made by our government officials?”

“Almost. There are some pleasant exceptions. Take me, for example. I’m an independent guy. Which is for the better. Speaking of women: you’d better start thinking up a way to explain to your girlfriends why we have to pry them away from the TV. We’re almost there.”

Just as I had suspected, Melamori and Tekki were sitting in my former bedroom, glued to the TV and giggling like tipsy schoolgirls. The show they were watching—a weightlifting competition—baffled me. Where on earth did this come from? I wondered. I’d never tape something like that in a million years. The tape was probably a humble contribution of the former owner of the collection. So much for knowing someone like the back of your hand.

When they saw us, the ladies were visibly embarrassed. They even blushed. “We’re busted. Caught red-handed, right in the middle of some hot stuff,” said Tekki. She buried her face in Melamori’s shoulder, and they both giggled.

“We’re Secret Investigators; it’s our job to bust people,” I said. “And what, pray tell, is this ‘hot stuff’ you’re referring to?”

“Oh, this?” said Melamori, pointing to the TV. “I’ve never seen a more vulgar spectacle than these huffing and puffing, half-naked fat guys. Or anything funnier. Is this the usual pastime in your homeland, Max? Have you ever done this?”

“Well, see, I don’t exactly have the right constitution,” I said. “Besides, this isn’t a pastime. It’s a way of determining who’s the strongest person. Not the smartest way, if you think about it, but still …”

Meanwhile, Juffin was staring at the TV. On the screen, a giant in a pink leotard was trying, and failing, to lift a five-hundred-thirty-pound barbell.

“Disgusting,” he said. “Ladies, are you really enjoying this?”

“And how,” said Tekki. “We’ve watched it twice already.”

“You have, have you? Well, now turn it off and get out of the room. Go have a cup of kamra and get spiffed up. You can come back in thirty minutes and continue your highly intellectual activities since you’ve grown so fond of these horrible creatures.”

“Oh, I see. You need to go somewhere from here,” said Melamori.

“No, we want to admire these beauty boys, too. We’re just embarrassed when you’re around,” I said.

“Ah, okay then,” said Melamori.

Tekki was already standing in the doorway, smiling at me. It was the kind of desperate smile you would adopt to see off a hero when he’s about to embark on a journey down Xumgat, I thought. Jeepers.

“Good night, ladies,” said Juffin, bowing to them. “And don’t stay here until dawn, or you risk having us land on top of your beautiful heads when we return.”

“Not to worry, sir. Our heads are hard enough. But you just might hurt yourselves,” said Melamori. Tekki didn’t say anything, just shook her head. Then they both walked out of the room.

“Will you look at that?” I said. “They’re best friends now. So much for old family feuds.”

“Are you joking? Melamori would love to be best friends with Loiso Pondoxo himself, not just with his daughter, just to annoy her daddy. She and Korva have been competing to annoy each other for as long as I can remember. And I think Ms. Melamori is ahead of the game.”

“Starting from the fact that she was born a girl, in spite of his dream of having a son.”

“Precisely. Now, while we’re on the subject, have you noticed that your Tekki is a lot like yourself? You two look different, of course, but the way she talks and walks and—”

“I know. It was the first thing I noticed about her,” I said. “And, like any normal narcissistic jackass, I thought it was the best thing that’d ever happened to me. I still do.”

“She is a mirror,” said Juffin. “Like all Loiso Pondoxo’s children, Lady Tekki becomes the reflection of her interlocutor. And their famous daddy was one of the best mirrors around, believe me. It’s the most devastating kind of personal charm. Only when she’s very scared, sad, or alone does the true Tekki come out, which doesn’t happen all that often, right? While you were having a vacation in your World, I dropped by the tavern a few times. Then we often met here in this room to watch movies. Trust me, chatting with Lady Tekki feels like having a split personality, in a nice way. When Tekki spends time with Melamori, she becomes her replica. Disarming, right? No one can resist. The most logical step is to become best friends.”

“You can say that again,” I said, perplexed. “Are you … sure you know what you’re talking about? I mean, I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. But I know very well what I’m talking about.”

“I thought Tekki really was a lot like me,” I said in a plaintive voice. “Now it turns out I don’t even know the real Tekki.”

“Well, you do know the real Tekki a little. The night she poisoned you by mistake, that was the real Lady Shekk. She was very, very scared then. But, as I understand it, that was when you fell in love with her,” said Juffin. “Besides, when you look at her, she looks like you for real. This isn’t some cheap acting, boy. This is Magic. And what do you care about what’s going on with her when you’re not around? If you think about it, it’s none of your business.”

“Right.”

“Here’s something to ponder. You can’t actually know the ‘real’ anybody. Including yourself. Why should Lady Shekk be a sad exception to this beautiful rule?” said Juffin.

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “But why are you telling me all this now?”

“Now is as good a time as any. Besides, it might not have occurred to you for the next thousand years.”

“Recently the ground seems to keep disappearing from under me,” I said. “When it returns, I realize that it’s all for the better. It’s like a miniature death—the World becomes more beautiful afterward.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Juffin. “Now let’s get down to business. We just kicked out two beautiful ladies and are sitting here gossiping. As if your bedroom is the only place in the World one can have a good long talk.”

“Maybe it is,” I said. “So what do we do now?”

“You lie down in your favorite spot and fall asleep, the same way you do when you want to sneak into the Corridor between Worlds. I know it’s too early for you and you don’t feel tired, but I’ll help you. Trust me on this. Now, when you find yourself in the Corridor, look for the Door to the World with sandy beaches that you and Shurf were talking about, and enter it. I’ll be right behind you. You’re in luck here: I’m an experienced traveler. You won’t have to do anything to help me. You’d have a much harder time with a novice. Now go lie down and try to sleep.”

I settled in the middle of the soft bedcover. The rack with the video gear was pressing against my back. This inconvenience felt as pacifying as the presence of Juffin himself. Now I really was prepared for anything.

“This is the best way to treat insomnia,” said my boss, producing a huge cartoonish hammer out of thin air. “Don’t even think of dodging, or it won’t work. How do you like my new trick, Max? Much more fun than the old ways.”

I was so taken aback that I didn’t know how to reply. Things like this didn’t happen to me very often. A bright pink hammer smashed down on my poor head.

I didn’t feel the hit, of course. Nothing much happened, in fact, except that I felt really sleepy. It didn’t resemble general anesthesia: my sleepiness felt very natural, as though I hadn’t slept for days and had just now finally reached the bed. I even had the illusion that I could wave off this drowsiness if I wanted to—but I didn’t want to …

And then I fell asleep. What else could happen to a person when Sir Juffin Hully sang him a lullaby?

And again I was in that improbable place where there was nothing—nothing at all. Even I wasn’t there in a sense. I can’t explain what the Corridor between Worlds is. Experience isn’t a boon here. Rather, the more often you end up in this bizarre place, the more you realize that you’ll never be able to explain it to those who haven’t been there. Our ancestors, unfortunately, didn’t provide us with the necessary vocabulary when they created the languages we must resort to now, for lack of anything better.

I am still surprised that some part of me is fully capable of finding its bearings in this irrational space. Somehow I knew exactly which of the Worlds I had to allow to envelop me, which of the shining dots I had to allow to grow until they obscured all the others so that I could again feel the bright sand crunching under my feet on the empty beaches of my childhood dreams.

I sat down on a warm, red-gray rock and looked around.

Something was amiss with this alien yet so familiar World. A few moments later, I knew what was wrong. There were other people here besides me—far away by the water, but not so far away that I couldn’t see them. But I remembered this World as empty and abandoned. That was one of its signature qualities. For this is how we construct a picture of someone we love in our memory: facial features, the voice, a mannerism, a way of responding to an event—all these things make the person predictable, recognizable, and, thus, beloved. When one of these features changes, it unnerves us, for we lack the courage to say goodbye to our old friend and let a stranger into our lives.

Recently I had had to learn to accept such changes without giving way to tantrums. Things had just happened the way they had; I had no choice but to accept them. But the changes that had taken place in the World of sandy beaches I used to love disgusted me right from the start. Even if I could have written that feeling off as a reflex, that emotion was soon replaced by a strong sense of foreboding.

I got up from the warm rock, forgetting that I should probably wait for Juffin, and walked to the sea. To the sea, where there were people who shouldn’t have been there at all. They just couldn’t be there, period.

A small motley crowd was walking toward me: tattered old gypsy women in colorful skirts and headscarves that glittered with golden threads. One of them carried a scruffy baby in her arms. Another kid, a bit older, was grabbing onto the skirt of a different woman. They began to nag and whimper. Their voices, as piercing as the shrieks of a seagull, were plaintive and brazen. Of course they demanded money, using their dirty babies as an argument. One of the women offered a range of esoteric services by way of bait and lost no time in urging me to “cross her palm with silver.”

“I can see your destiny, pretty boy! You’ll live a long life. You’ll be rich—if you don’t die today, that is.”

The woman sidled up to me at the speed of a race car. How can she run so fast in the sand? I thought. Then I reminded myself that anything was possible in this World.

And then I lost my mind.

I still can’t explain why a bunch of grungy gypsy women made me so furious. Moderate run-of-the-mill irritation would have been an appropriate response to being surrounded by a school of brazen, slatternly beggars. Yet a wave of insane, uncontrollable rage engulfed me and began dragging me away with it.

To my surprise, I liked my rage. I liked letting it take me wherever it wished. I liked riding the crests of its waves. I was ecstatic. Quite physically ecstatic. Each square inch of my body quivered in joy, anticipating a tempest, and the air around me also quivered in the same sweet way, as though the air was an extension of myself. I could no longer sense where my body ended and the surrounding environment began. I had never felt better, however insane that might sound.

The gypsy ladies did not seem to sense any misfortune in the offing. They didn’t change their course. They kept coming toward me, mumbling something about my destiny and their starving children.

“So you’re a fortune-teller, honey?” I whispered to the loudest of them, surprised at the tender trembling of my own voice. “Too bad you couldn’t foretell your own death, sweetheart.”

I didn’t spit at them, even though my poison would likely have killed them all instantaneously. At that moment, it seemed that I would derive too little pleasure from such a primitive procedure. With the utmost delight, as though stretching my body after a good night’s sleep until the joints cracked, I stretched my arms toward her. My forearms were already covered in long dark spikes. I somehow knew that each spike was as poisonous as my spit, but piercing through someone’s body with the spikes was infinitely more enjoyable than spitting. I had never felt anything like it in my whole life!

When the spikes pierced her, the woman fell dead on the sand and turned into a heap of dirty, lice-ridden rags. This was no metaphor: her body had indeed disappeared. Only the colorful, tattered fabric was left lying there. The woman—the human—had never existed. I should have guessed sooner. There were no people here, only a series of mirages—each one more disgusting than the next.

The raucous friends of my first victim hesitated, but I didn’t wait for them to reach me: I ran after them. The left side of my mouth was smiling a voluptuous smile, but the right side remained senseless and immobile, like after a shot of Novocain. Thank goodness no one offered me a mirror. I doubt that Sir Max from Echo would have liked the spectacle.

Moments later, everything was over: an unattractive heap of assorted colorful rags lay on the sand, and I moved onward. I walked to where the dark silhouettes of other apparitions that desecrated my beautiful once-empty World could be seen against the background of silvery-white water. Frankly speaking, at that moment I wouldn’t have been able to forgive real people for such trespassing. I was determined to kill anyone who happened to get in my way, no matter what their damn bodies were made of.

The strangest sensation was the ringing quiver of space around my arms, delightful and tormenting at the same time. The horrendous spikes were gone, but I had no doubt they would appear again as soon as I neared the next victim.

I knew in advance what I would see by the water. Yet when I came close enough to make out the details, I gasped: this was too much! On the bright sand of my beach was all I had once hated—with a helpless, inexplicable but tormenting hatred—about the seaside. Ugly, fat women in bright bathing suits, eating food from plastic bags melting in the heat of the sun, their thin-legged, big-bellied husbands sipping warm beer from burning-hot bottles. Raspberry-pink sunburned girls in bikinis, with disgusting pieces of paper stuck to their peeling noses, and their bow-legged companions in skin-tight swimming trunks. Drunk teenagers, obese men in boxer shorts, loud old hags …

I remembered one trip to the beach with my parents. I was around five—a horrible age when you have just begun to realize your absurd but absolute dependence on the will of grown-ups, but you have as yet no strategy for a guerrilla war against them. Nothing particularly memorable had happened to me that day, but when I got home, I snuck into a closet and cried there in the dark, my face buried in the folds of an old coat that smelled of mothballs. “I don’t want to grow up! Take me away from here!” I said again and again, addressing no one, fearing that being among those horrible, ugly creatures would turn me into one of them. That I would grow a beer belly, my face would turn purple, and then … then I would die, obviously. What else was there to do? Loiso Pondoxo couldn’t even begin to imagine the black magic of my home world.

“Oh, what an excellent idea,” I whispered. “I don’t know who decided to pollute my wonderful World with this human garbage, but letting me kill them all at once was a brilliant plan!”

Then I picked up the familiar sweet mixture of beach smells—perspiration, sunblock, fortified wine, boiled eggs—and lost my human form. Not metaphorically but literally. The creature running around the beach like a hurricane could not have been human. Its (my?) arms turned into something unspeakable and started ripping the pink and chocolate flesh all around into shreds. It was sublime.

“This is my world, get it?” I yelled. “Everything here will be the way I want it to be! And I don’t want you here! Get out of here, you bastards! Go to hell, to your resorts, to Golden Sands, to the Florida Keys, to Palm Beach! Just get out!”

Sometimes they died a regular organic death. Sometimes, how ever, I noticed that the meat of the flesh turned black and shrank like burned paper. I didn’t care.

I regained my senses when it was all over. I found myself sitting on the wet sand. Kind, lazy waves were licking my boots. They had already turned my footwear into a mess that was painful to look at. I felt peaceful and empty inside. The preceding events seemed like a vague but sweet dream. I felt quite emotionless about it.

“Looks like you can lose your temper on occasion after all.” I heard Juffin’s mocking voice behind my back. “Too bad Sir Dondi Melixis wasn’t here to see you. He would have given you a raise. Dear, dear, look at you. You used to be such a nice boy. You should be ashamed of yourself, Sir Max.”

“Well, I’m not,” I said in an indifferent tone.

“Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be,” said Juffin, smiling and sitting down next to me. “Maybe it was a trifle. You’ve learned to fight your mirages. That’s a good start. There’s just one small thing you still have to learn: how to do the same to the one who sends them.”

“Sure thing. Bring him on,” I said, still indifferent.

“Ha! ‘Bring him on,’ he says. You’re in no shape for battle, son. I don’t think you’d be able to kill a chicken after the performance you’ve just put on. Which was exactly what our friend Gugimagon was counting on, by the way.”

“Was it him?” I didn’t feel like I could be bothered to care. I was as imperturbable as Sir Lonli-Lokli, if not more so.

“Wasn’t me, for sure.” Juffin took the turban off my head and, with the cunning smile of a provincial magician, pulled a clay pitcher out of it. The pitcher was a replica of the pitchers in the Glutton Bunba.

“I think a sip of kamra wouldn’t do you any harm. Don’t pretend you can’t drink it without a cup. I can’t be bothered to fetch one for you. Why are you looking at me like that? Did you think you and our precious Maba Kalox were the only ones in the whole World who could do this trick?”

“No,” I said and smiled. “Deep down inside I’m sure there isn’t any trick you can’t do, and that you’re the boss of everyone and everything. It’s just funny that you pulled a pitcher out of the turban.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. When old Mackie Ainti taught me the trick of the Chink between Worlds, he posited that for best results one should search the chink just below one’s back,” said Juffin. “Back then, I was easily shocked by such statements. I even thought of quitting my studies, thinking Magic was a dirty business.”

“Hey! This kamra really is from the Glutton,” I said.

“Of course. You thought I’d treat you—and me—to some poison?”

Juffin grabbed the pitcher out of my hands and took a few gulps. I put my hand in the pocket of my Mantle of Death for a cigarette. Then I snapped my right fingers to light it. That was a bit too much for me. I was more or less used to performing miracles on demand, but this was almost mechanical. Time out.

“Are we waiting for something in particular, or are you just giving me time to catch my breath?” I said.

“Both. We’re waiting for the blissful moment when I’m sure you’re fully restored. Then I’ll summon that elderly rascal Gugimagon.”

“I’m not fully restored?”

“Well, how shall I put this? A half hour ago, you looked pretty bad to me.”

“Where were you all the time I was … fighting my mirages?”

“I was standing on the Threshold of this World, up to my chin in a sea of pleasure, watching your immortal feats. I decided to keep my distance, though, just in case.” Juffin laughed heartily, as if he thought I was the greatest comic of all times and my massacre of the beach-goers was one of my best acts.

“Were they really just mirages?” I said.

“Not ‘just’ mirages, but … Well, sure, they were mirages, all right. You see, I think I managed to trick Gugimagon. Until the very last minute, he was sure you’d come here alone because he thought I’d stay with Sir Shurf, guarding his precious body and his no-less-precious soul.”

“Why did he think that?”

“Last night, I gave Shurf a little of my blood and told him to drink a drop of it each time he felt his Rider approaching. A magician who is not too experienced in such matters could easily mix up Shurf’s body with mine. My bet was, first, that Gugimagon wasn’t very experienced in these matters; and, second, that I still scared the hell out of him. And I was right, which I’m very glad about.”

“Was that the secret you didn’t want to tell me about yesterday?”

“Indeed. My trick couldn’t have worked any better. Gugimagon thought you’d come to fight him alone. He was well prepared for you. Gugimagon calculated that your fit of rage would completely exhaust you, which is what happened. You know, Max, he’s scared of you, too. Not scared to death but still scared. And he really, really dislikes you. Shurf was right: it’s personal.”

I gave Juffin a puzzled look. He shrugged, made a helpless gesture, and even raised his eyebrows, as if to say, yeah, that’s just how it is, buddy, nothing more to discuss.

“The first thing he decided to do was to throw everything you hate at you. Things that you least wanted or expected to encounter in your World. And this is, indeed, your World, your very own World,” he said.

“What do you mean ‘my own World’? I know I’ve been seeing it in my dreams for a long time, and I’ve always loved this place. But how can anyone own a whole World?”

“It’s simple: without you, this coast wouldn’t exist. First you dreamed of fragments of a World that had never before existed. Then a miracle happened—one of the few phenomena that we cannot explain and have traditionally called ‘miracles.’ This place became real. It materialized. It became real enough to exist even after you die. There are many Worlds that began as someone’s dream. Most of them are as unclear and ephemeral as their creators. But you, you have a rare talent that allows you to give your fantasies a long-lasting existence. The beautiful nameless city in the mountains, the predatory enchanted garden that you brought into existence near Kettari, and now this place … Strange that Gugimagon took a fancy to it. Perhaps because it’s easier to enter a newborn World?”

I kept staring at the boss. What metaphysical nonsense! He must have been mocking me. Oh, whatever. Let him mock me all he wants. I just didn’t want to live with this new truth about me and inhabited Worlds. A solipsist wakes up one morning with a terrible hangover and … there is nothing around him. What a sad joke.

The ground was disappearing from under my feet again. How many more times was that going to happen this autumn?

“Are you pulling my leg, Juffin?” I said without much hope.

“Why would I? And what are you so worried about? As though this is some groundbreaking news. It’s funny how scared you are sometimes of a simple statement of facts.”

“Yeah, it’s hilarious,” I said. “Actually, after all that’s happened to me, I could probably do without your last ‘statement of facts.’”

“Indeed. But if I were you, I’d be dancing with joy. Or does the thought of your own omnipotence not thrill you?”

I analyzed my feelings and shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry. But if you give me back that pitcher of kamra, it’d probably cheer me up a bit. I’m a very primitive creature, you see.”

“Fine, here’s your slop, you primitive creature. It’s almost cold now,” said Juffin, handing me the pitcher.

I finished the lukewarm kamra and decided it was time to have some fun. “You know, I feel I’ve taken a good rest and I’m ready for action. How about you summon Gugimagon real quick, I punch him in the face, and we go home?”

“You won’t be ‘ready for action’ for at least another couple dozen days,” said Juffin. “I don’t mean your mood or how you feel physically. I mean your potential for repeating your recent exploit. But that’s irrelevant. I can handle Gugimagon myself—that’s a piece of cake. The problem is that I might hurt you by accident while killing that fellow. You’re too weak. I’d love to send you home, but you’re in no shape to go anywhere now.”

“Is it really all that bad?” I said.

“Bad? No, everything is just fine. Better than fine, even. You can stand up, you can even make fire with your fingers—though you technically shouldn’t be able to. We have two options. Option number one: you can take a vacation and stay here for a couple dozen days until you acquire the status of ‘conquering hero,’ just like you’re supposed to. That’s an excellent idea in many respects. There’s a catch, though. During this time, our friend Gugimagon may pack up his suitcases and head somewhere at the other end of the Universe. At least that’s what I would do if I were him.”

“And option number two?”

“Oh, that I like even more than option one. I’m going to bury you right now and then summon Gugimagon.”

“B-b-bury me?” I said.

“That’s right. Earth offers excellent protection from all kinds of things, especially the earth of your own World. I believe it’s going to be something special. Now stop making sad eyes at me, Max. Your head is going to be sticking out. You’ll be able to breathe all you want, and you’ll get to see the battle of the titans. Boy, do I love performing before a live audience!”

“Oh, okay,” I said, happy that I wouldn’t be buried alive. “But then you’re going to have to leave my hands sticking out, too, so I can applaud.”

“No way, mister. Right now your hands are your most vulnerable assets, what with all the things you’ve done with them.”

“Suit yourself. You’ll get no applause then,” I said, stretching out on the warm sand. “Do whatever you want with me, Juffin. I think I’m going to take a quick nap.”

“Don’t even think about it. No naps while Gugimagon is alive.” Juffin produced a small ceramic bottle of Elixir of Kaxar from the pocket of his looxi. “How come you’re the one drinking this stuff and I’m the one who remembers to bring it?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s called specialization.”

I took two bracing gulps of the tastiest tonic in the World—in all the Worlds. It was an overdose, of course, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t choke on it,” said Juffin.

He rose to his feet and moved a few paces away from the water. He hesitated a little and gave an approving nod. He then picked up a small rock from the ground, turned it over and over it in his hands, and hurled it to the ground at his feet. A bright column of sand launched into the sky, quivered, and scattered into millions of shiny grains. It looked like a miniature explosion, except that it was completely noiseless.

“Your little burrow is ready,” he said. “It’s time to bury you, before you start wanting to brawl after overindulging on your potion.”

“Have you ever seen me start a brawl after drinking it?” I said.

“Praise be the Magicians, I haven’t. Yet. And I pray to the heavens I won’t ever see it,” said Juffin, laughing. “Your show today impressed me immensely. I could have sworn that Loiso Pondoxo had risen from the dead. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was your favorite schoolteacher: you emulated his style today. For your information, out of all of my acquaintances, he was the only one who could do those tricks with his hands.”

“I’m sure you’re trying to flatter me, but your praise doesn’t make me feel any better,” I said. “That infamous Loiso Pondoxo of yours—he turns up everywhere! He even managed to be the father of my girlfriend, of all things. Are you sure you killed him, Juffin? Recently I’ve begun to suspect he’s going to swoop down on my head one of these days.”

“I did a very good job killing him,” said Juffin, though he paused to think about it. “I put him in a rapidly disappearing place. I believe Loiso disappeared along with that place long, long ago. But even if he didn’t, I don’t think he’ll ever ‘swoop down on your head.’ I locked his personal Door between Worlds after him. And believe me, I locked it very well. Loiso was an unsurpassed master of Apparent Magic—I was no match for him—but in questions of travel between Worlds, he was no better than a novice, much like you are. The trickiest part was to lure him into Xumgat. The rest was easy.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Some other time, perhaps. I’m kind of busy here. Hop into your hole, Max. We’ll look silly if Gugimagon gets away from this World. Naturally, it won’t be easy for him. He’d need to find a good ‘horse’ for that. He probably won’t be able to get to Shurf, and those who brought him here are all dead. Still, we shouldn’t underestimate him. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out he has other involuntary helpers besides those unfortunate mental patients and our Sir Shurf. After all, he has been preparing for this journey for no less than a hundred years.”

Juffin chattered away while carefully pouring sand between me and the walls of the deep hole. I felt like a root crop, a gigantic carrot. It was funny, and under the influence of the overdose of Elixir of Kaxar, I giggled like a madman.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” said Juffin. “I love dealing with you. I’m practically burying you alive in a desert at the edge of the Universe; I’m about to summon Gugimagon, who, by the way, is craving your blood; and there you are, neighing like a drunk horse.”

“Why a ‘drunk horse’?” I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Because sober horses behave themselves, especially under similar circumstances. Fine, you’ve convinced me. I’m going to have lots of fun, too,” said Juffin.

He turned around and walked toward the middle of the beach in quick, long strides. When he was about forty yards away from me, he stopped and yelled, “Gugimagon, you son of a werewolf! Get your backside down here now!”

This impolite summons did more than just thunder above the beach, like a normal human holler. Each word Juffin uttered materialized as it flew out of his mouth. An enormous orange inscription hovered in the air over his head like a speech bubble in a comic book. The letters expanded, and at the same time the color began to fade. A few seconds later, they became pale yellow and covered almost the entire sky. Juffin raised his right hand and made a commanding gesture. The glowing letters flowed like milk out of a pitcher into his outstretched palm. He gave his hand a violent shake, and the transparent fabric of the writing turned into a thin cane, the color of ivory.

“Come here now!” Juffin roared, plunging the cane into the sand. He sounded very compelling. I’d have submitted to his voice myself if he hadn’t immobilized me in advance. Then Juffin relaxed, nodded, and returned to me. “He’s coming,” he said, winking at me. “I’ve pinned him down. He’ll naturally flounder a bit at first, for half an hour or so, until he’s exhausted. But he’ll come all right.”

“That was beautiful, what you just did there,” I said.

“Thank you. It was for your benefit,” said Juffin. “I could have done the same without resorting to visual effects. I blame your movies for this. I never used to be such a show-off. But, you know, I like it. I have the right to make a routine job enjoyable.”

“‘Routine job’?”

“Of course. Chasing Gugimagon, that unfortunate talentless romantic and sucker for long journeys, through the remote corners of Xumgat is terribly routine.”

“I thought I’d gotten myself into one of the most dangerous adventures of my life,” I said.

“You thought right, but one doesn’t exclude the other. Besides, you were only in real danger when you were giving a lift home to your friend Shurf Lonli-Lokli. Now if you had been stranded here all by yourself, that would’ve been something different. I can only imagine what would have happened then.”

“Well, I can’t. Which is probably a good thing.”

“Hey, will you look at that!” said Juffin, pointing to the sea. “It seems Gugimagon has been eavesdropping on us. Now he’s offended and wants to prove to me that hunting him will not be as boring as I thought.”

I looked in the direction Juffin was pointing and froze in horror: the rippled surface of the sea was no longer a continuation of the level of the beach. The sea stood on end and hung over us like a wall, defeating all the laws of physics, optics, and reason. The angle decreased at a dangerous speed: the wall of water was leaning toward us and was about to come down like the lid of an enormous box.

Juffin sighed, got up, and made a nonchalant gesture. “Back off,” he said in the voice of a sleepy dog owner trying to get rid of a pet who has decided he wants to go for a walk at three in the morning. From my own experience, I knew that it could take until morning to reason with a dog. In contrast, calming down the sea was a piece of cake. A moment later, the sea was a smooth surface of lively shimmering turquoise, stretching all the way from the sand to the horizon again.

“Don’t pay any attention to that, Max,” said Juffin. “That was also a mirage. Who does he think I am, a senile old man? I think I’m about to lose my temper now.”

Juffin probably liked his own idea. In any event, he began implementing it without a moment’s hesitation.

“Come here!” he said, hitting the knob of the cane. “Come here! Move it! Faster! Faster! NOW!”

He was bellowing so loudly, I thought my nerves would snap. The last howl sounded positively inhuman. People are simply incapable of screaming in such a voice, low and shrill at the same time. I would gladly have burrowed into the sand all the way, so that I wouldn’t have to hear Juffin’s voice anymore.

Finally, a large tall silhouette reminiscent of a weight lifting champion appeared in front of Juffin. From my vantage point, it looked like a giant. Behind Juffin, I saw another giant looking exactly like the first one. Skinny Juffin didn’t look like a match for them. He didn’t look much like anything. Thank goodness this wasn’t an Olympic event.

“Oh, look who’s here! It’s Mr. Gugimagon himself. And he’s brought his Shadow with him. How nice!” said Juffin in a thin voice, doing an about-face at the speed of lightning.

He grabbed one giant by the haunches without any visible effort and tore the bulky dark body in half, as though it were made out of cardboard. Then he giggled, jumped up like a flea, and grabbed the leg of the other adversary.

“Poor old Sir Gugimagon. He no longer has a Shadow,” said Juffin.

He lifted up the giant like a feather and smashed its head into the ground with all his might, exactly like Muscles, Jerry’s cousin from the Tom and Jerry cartoons. I’m sure Juffin, a hard-core fan of MGM shorts, reenacted that scene intentionally.

“Did you like it, Max?” said Juffin, smiling one of his most charming smiles. He was still holding his adversary by the leg, waving him nonchalantly in the air. I blinked my eyes, not saying a word. What could I say?

“Sinning Magicians, Max, have I finally made you lose the faculty of speech? Now that’s what I call a miracle!” He approached me, dragging along the huge Gugimagon.

“You’re not going to kill him?” I said.

“Why are you so bloodthirsty?” said Juffin. “If you had your way, all the Worlds would be as barren as this one. He’s as good as dead now, actually. No one can outlive his own Shadow—well, maybe for an hour or two. Enough time for me to have a good heart-to-heart talk with my old buddy.”

“Great,” I said. “Can you dig me up now?”

“No way! You are completely unshielded. It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to walk around the territory where two elderly men just engaged in Magic of the two hundred and twenty-eighth degree.”

“Wow!” I said. “Almost the highest degree of Magic!”

“Almost. You know, it turns out it’s much easier to perform at that level in a newly created World. A peculiar effect. Now I understand how you managed that wonderful battle scene with the beachgoers. I don’t think you’d be able to pull it off at home, which is probably all for the best.”

“And I thought I really was that powerful and ferocious. Fine then. If not, so be it.”

“All in due time, Max. All in due time.”

Juffin sat down beside me—or, rather, beside my head. I had the feeling that I had nothing left but my head. My body seemed to have mixed with the sand and dissolved, and I even liked the feeling.

The boss shook Gugimagon’s body like a rag. His victim sat up, his head lolling on the shoulder of his tormentor.

“Sit up straight!” said Juffin.

To my surprise, the body obeyed and straightened up. I could see the face now. Unattractive but impressive, it reminded me of the proud faces of Indian chiefs—not the real ones, of course, but their Hollywood incarnations. His right eye was shut, and his left one stared at me with a heavy, unblinking stare. The iris was dirty white. The pupil, bright as the sun, had the shape of a crescent. I remembered the conversation between Juffin and the wiseman from the Refuge for the Mad: Gugimagon was blind in his left eye. Could’ve fooled me.

And then I remembered something I couldn’t have known or even suspected a second before: This blind white eye had stared at me like this once before, the day I had been stupid enough to decide to visit my home World.

I still shudder when I think about that adventure. From the beginning, everything went wrong: there was no Corridor between Worlds, no search for the right Door, not a single conscious step in the right direction. I fell asleep in my enchanted bedroom on the Street of Old Coins and then woke up under my old checkered blanket in the wretched shack that I once had called home, thinking that the two years of my life in Echo had been a wonderful dream I could already hardly remember.

I had gotten out of that mess, found myself in a worse one, and, for better or for worse, gotten out of that one, as well. After I had returned, I learned to live as though nothing had happened, keeping my memories at bay, not panicking at the sight of checkered blankets. I had even stopped screaming in my sleep. But now, when my eyes met the pale blind eye of Gugimagon, I realized in an instant what had been wrong with my first journey, and why.

Of course I had gone through the Corridor between Worlds. I’d fallen into it as soon as I’d closed my eyes on the Street of Old Coins. But on the border of the invisible and the unthinkable, in the place where a person is left alone with himself—without himself, rather—this very same one-eyed fellow had been waiting for me, wishing to … I couldn’t quite put into words what it was he wanted to do. But now I knew that I had been in danger that was worse than death—which, allegedly, is as bad as it gets.

“You remembered him now, right?” said Juffin. “Yes, it was he who hunted you when you traveled to your World. Gugimagon stunned you good then. And still you managed to escape from him. Good boy. I wonder how many guys like you weren’t so lucky.” Juffin gave his captive a light flick on the forehead. “Come on, look alive, buddy. I have a question for you. You, Sir Gugimagon, have gone too far. It was one thing to slaughter those unfortunate madmen—I might have done the same if I were you. If Xumgat doesn’t accept you, you must hone your skills and rely on the help of the homeless Shadows that wander there—that would be a noble solution. But why on earth did you think you had the right to use the power of the true minions of Xumgat? Answer the question!”

“You know as well as I do that this bastard isn’t human,” said Gugimagon. Not only did he say it, he pointed his finger at me in a most rude manner. “And I really needed your other guy. I wouldn’t have messed with you and risked everything if I could’ve done without him.”

“They say that one who feasts too much on the powers of the mad becomes mad himself,” said Juffin. “Looks like they say right. How quaint. Well, I guess we have nothing more to talk about. Summon the others, Gugimagon, and let’s get this over with.”

“The others? What ‘others’?” said the giant.

“I know there are other minions of Xumgat here—or, rather, the parts of their spirits that you have managed to straddle. I can imagine what happens to the poor remains of those fellows, burning out without their better halves, not realizing what has happened to them. I can summon them myself, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt them even more. They’re in trouble as it is. Your game is not over yet, Gugimagon. Did you think I’d just kill you and that would be it? No, buddy, we haven’t seen each other for ages. You probably don’t even know that I can stretch out your death till the end of this World. The two hundred and thirty-third degree of White Magic—just one step short of the Green Fire. You don’t remember me fooling around with such tricks back in the day, huh? Would you like to die slowly? Let me tell you, this wonderful World is going to exist for a very, very, very long time. Am I right, Sir Max?”

I nodded, even though I had no idea what they were talking about. The dialogue between the two old Magicians had completely drained me of the ability to think. The only thing that concerned me was this one-eyed fellow’s confidence in denying my human nature, not to mention his calling me a bastard. Not that I could be bothered by his opinion of me, but the information was worrying.

“Since when have you paid attention to the delirium of madmen?” said Juffin. “If I’d known you were so sensitive, I’d have buried you up to the top of your head.”

“And a minute later you’d have noticed my curious ears peeking out of the sand,” I said. “I could have pulled off such an innocent trick, trust me.”

“I do,” said Juffin, who then turned back to his captive. “Come on, Gugimagon. Move it!”

“I am not going to indulge your whims, Juffin,” Gugimagon said. “Do what you want, but those bastards stay here. All of you are brazen, ungrateful, senseless creatures. You were born with a wonderful gift, and you are incapable of understanding what it means to be a man who is doomed to stay where he was born. I paid a very high a price for my journey, and I want everything to stay the way it is now.”

“You haven’t paid squat!” said Juffin. “It was others who had to pay your fare, and they didn’t even get to see the wonders for which you almost put out their Spark. That’s what drives me to fury! Summon those who can still return to you, Gugimagon, or else … You’ve known me for a long time. You know I always get what I want.”

“Everything will stay the way it is!” said Gugimagon.

“We’ll see.”

Juffin lifted Gugimagon’s body and threw it upward. Instead of one, two bodies fell on the sand. Lightning fast, Juffin tore one of them in half, exactly the way he had done so a few minutes ago.

“A Shadow can resurrect fast, but it can die even faster. Right, Gugimagon? I can go on like this for as long as necessary.” Juffin’s voice was quiet, almost tender. “I know it hurts, but you leave me no choice. Summon your captives before it’s too late. I can get carried away, and then, who knows, maybe Sir Max will want to take a few lessons from me.”

“You could let me die a different death,” moaned Gugimagon. “You already got your people back. What do you care about the others?”

“You sure do hate those poor souls,” said Juffin. “But envy has never set anyone on the right path. Quit fooling around and summon them, Gugimagon.”

“All right,” said the giant. “But … Can you make me die in Xumgat and not here? I know you can. Will you do this for me if I summon those people?”

“Sure, why not?” said Juffin, softening suddenly. “You should have begun with that request. You fully deserve this reward, Gugimagon. After all, you’ve done the impossible. But first I must release your prisoners. Summon them while you still can.”

Now the one-eyed old man looked almost happy. His stubbornness, hatred, and fury were gone.

He is a madman, I thought. What difference does it make where you’re going to die? A death is a death. Or not?

Juffin suddenly pulled my ear. His face looked mischievous, but his eyes betrayed seriousness and even sadness—a very untypical combination for him.

“They are here, our comrades in misfortune. Can you feel them, Max?”

“I don’t feel a thing. Who are ‘they’? You mean those ghosts?”

“What ghosts?” said Juffin.

“Well, those transparent, shimmering shadows by the water. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. You see them in a peculiar way. I see them completely differently. Rather, I don’t see them at all. You and I interpret the same phenomenon in two different ways. Perhaps it’s all for the better. How many ‘ghosts’ do you see?”

“Let me count.” I counted. “Seventeen.”

“That’s correct. Seventeen. Ten definitely can find the way back; the others will have to take their chances. Look, Gugimagon, they treated you with the Crystal of Memory in the Refuge for the Mad. Hand it over. These guys could use some right now.”

“Take it,” said Gugimagon, handing Juffin a dark, shiny object that looked like a piece of anthracite. “Why do you care so much about them? What difference does it make what’s going to happen to those Shadows? They don’t belong to your people.”

“Of course they don’t. They’re not even from Echo, not even from the outskirts of the World, except for one woman from Tulan. Magicians only know what they were doing here. Okay, I need to divide the Crystal of Memory into seventeen pieces: ten larger ones and seven smaller ones. Let’s see if I can make a good wiseman’s apprentice.” Juffin began to tap the dark stone rhythmically. “Done. There you go, folks!”

He tossed the dark pieces of crystal into the sea. I saw the glowing transparent figures start to move. Something resembling hands stretched toward the pieces that were slowly sinking to the bottom of the sea.

“Try to get back to your homes, people,” said Juffin with surprising tenderness. “And try to remember at least something of this story. The memory of it might help you later, when you enter the Corridor between Worlds of your own accord—if you ever do. Now I’m going to open the Door for you.”

He raised his hand and, with visible effort, drew a large rectangle in the air. It looked like he was cutting very thick fabric with a very dull knife: the corners took the greatest amount of effort. At last, he succeeded. I saw the contours of the rectangle glowing with a pale reddish light.

The seventeen ghostly creatures rushed toward Juffin, one after another. They vanished once they touched the glowing outline of the invisible Door. Less than a minute later, everything was finished. Juffin sat down again by the remains of Gugimagon. The giant’s game was definitely over: he looked less and less like a living person. But Juffin didn’t pay any attention to him. He turned to me and smiled a disarming smile.

“Long, long ago,” he said, “when I was a very young lad, the same thing happened to me. Someone like this fellow here”—he nodded in the direction of Gugimagon’s immobile body—“stole my spirit. A small part of it—I was lucky. Naturally, back then, I didn’t realize what had happened. On the outside, I remained an ordinary boy. No one would have thought of taking me to the Refuge for the Mad. Something was missing, though I didn’t realize it. I was very young and didn’t know what other people felt. I thought the emptiness I felt inside was a regular human feeling, that life felt empty, stupid, and cheerless for everyone else, too. I couldn’t muster a genuine interest in anything. It all seemed pointless: boring and gloomy days that all looked alike, nights without dreams, and a weariness that seemed endless.

“I wandered around, miserable, my eyes dull and unseeing. They saw nothing but my own reflection in a million mirrors, and the reflection made me sick. I’m speaking metaphorically, Max. There are no words to describe just how horrible I felt. The worst part was that there was a piece of me that still remembered it could be otherwise. It pained me, and the pain was unconscious and indescribable. This went on until old Sheriff Mackie Ainti offered me a position as his deputy. Now I realize that the first thing he did when he got to know me a little better was to go to Xumgat, find that little piece of me that was missing, and probably kick someone’s butt while he was at it. He released my spirit from captivity. And then I knew the taste of true life again.”

Juffin lay on his back, stretched his legs, and put his hands behind his head. He sighed, it seemed, not so much from physical relaxation but from the emotions that filled him.

He continued. “That night I was on the nightshift at the House by the Road. It was my second nightshift—or was it my third one? I dozed off in the armchair and then suddenly woke up. I jumped as though I’d been stung. The wind had opened the window, and I realized that beyond it were beautiful things like raindrops and the smell of wet leaves of the shott tree. It was as magnificent as some purple sunrise at the opposite end of the Universe.

“I jumped out the window and took a walk through the city. I crossed every single bridge—do you remember how many bridges there are in Kettari, Max? I drank some horrible drink in an all-night tavern, amazed at its taste. I touched everything I could get my hands on, just to make sure it was real … or that I was real. And it was true: that night I finally became ‘real’ again and almost went crazy from the sensation. I am still ecstatic about the fact of my own existence and the existence of every single blade of grass under my feet. I have something to compare it to because I can’t forget the time that I lived among all of this and felt almost nothing.

“Then I got a grip on myself and returned to work. That sly fox Mackie reprimanded me for hours for my spontaneous leave of absence. Now I realize that he was reprimanding me so I wouldn’t go insane from happiness—although I’m not sure he chose the most efficient method.”

Juffin smiled dreamily, as though the reprimand from Mackie Ainti, the old sheriff of Kettari, had been the most delightful event in his life. And maybe it had been, in a sense.

“So now you … you sort of paid back the debt?” I said.

“You got it!” said Juffin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. You can’t imagine how happy I am now, thinking about those poor souls. Maybe some of them have even gone mad with the fullness of sensation, the sudden return of feelings. It’s the most charming form of madness, if I do say so myself.”

“I think I understand,” I said. “When I ended up on the path of the Tipfinger, got lost in my World and forgot myself, and then began to remember again, slowly, step by step … It probably wasn’t exactly the same, but still …”

“Yes,” said Juffin, nodding. “All stories about finding yourself are, in essence, one and the same story. Of course you know what I’m talking about. You of all people should know.”

He turned to Gugimagon and put his hand on the old man’s pale forehead. “I hope you listened carefully. I could have told the story to my colleague later, but I wanted you to know what happened to those you’ve been stealing strength from. One might say it’s pointless to preach to someone who’s about to die, but no one really knows what happens to those who die in Xumgat. It may not be real death, but that’s what you’re counting on, right? If I could choose where to die, that’s where I’d choose to die, too.”

Gugimagon didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell if he’d heard anything of what Juffin had been saying. The boss shook his head in disbelief and turned back to me. “This is all fine and dandy, but you and I should get out of here. I’m beginning to feel homesick.”

“Me too, but how am I supposed to get out of here if you don’t let me dig out of my own grave?”

“Easy. I’ll simply open our Door right at the bottom of your grave, as you call it. What a terrible term you’ve chosen!”

“Comes with the outfit,” I said. “It’s my Mantle of Death. I have to wear it all the time, and it affects my outlook.”

“Well, well,” said Juffin, getting up. “It’s best for you to close your eyes. It makes it easier for me to open the Door and will protect you from unnecessary stress.”

I submitted and closed my eyes, but even through my eyelids I could see the straight lines glowing with the now familiar reddish light. Juffin was probably cutting the fabric of space with the metaphysical counterpart of a blunt knife again.

Then the absolute coldness of the Corridor between Worlds embraced me, and one of the myriad glowing dots was the Door to Echo, right into my bedroom on the Street of Old Coins.

Try to stay here for a moment, Max. This was Juffin’s call, no doubt about it. I was surprised. I had thought that there wasn’t room for anything in this absolute emptiness, even for Silent Speech. I wanted to reply but couldn’t, just like in those distant times when I had only begun to master the basics of Silent Speech.

Don’t try to answer. First, you don’t yet know how to do it here. Second, it takes a lot of strength, which you don’t have at the moment, Juffin continued. Try staying here until you see me. I think you can do it. If you can’t, no big deal. In that case, just allow our World to take you. I just wanted you to see how people die in Xumgat. It’s not every day that you see this.

I had no idea how I could “stay” in this place. The Door to my bedroom on the Street of Old Coins was ready to let me in—or, rather, it was ready to take me away from here. Inhabited Worlds usually won’t let an inexperienced traveler hang out on their thresholds for long. They are as impatient as angry mothers who pull their disobedient offspring by the scruff of the neck.

“May I wait for Juffin?” I said in an indecisive tone.

I had never tried to speak out loud in this mysterious place, so I was scared of my own voice and the long reverberation, which wasn’t so much a sound as a strange sensation in my body. Yet I was positive that this silly monologue might be a good way to bargain with … I don’t know … whomever. I mustered my will and added, “I have to stay here a little longer. I want to.”

My wheedling worked, for better or for worse. I was free. The Door to my World still loomed ahead, but its pull had abated.

“Thank you,” I said, just in case. I thought a little courtesy wouldn’t hurt.

Then I saw Juffin. He was very near, although when you’re in the Corridor between Worlds, familiar terms like “near” and “far” are meaningless. Still, it seemed I could touch him if I dared stretch out my hand. Yet … Heck, I wasn’t sure I even had hands. I couldn’t feel my body. All I could do was watch.

Juffin’s body seemed huge and shining. The longer I looked at him, the larger and brighter his outlines became. Beside him glimmered some shapeless clump. I realized it was Gugimagon, the formidable traveler between Worlds, the local Freddy Krueger. It occurred to me that he must already be dead: only a dead man could remain so small and dim in this place.

Then something incomprehensible happened. I thought I saw Juffin scoop up his captive with enormous hands that he then rubbed together, grinding the rarified matter of the body. Then he carefully shook the remains off his hands. Mesmerized, I watched how millions of shiny specks of dust poured into the emptiness. They disappeared but were not extinguished. I couldn’t explain why, but I knew that these particles continued to exist a strange, indescribable existence.

Juffin was now very close to me—so close, in fact, that he pushed me in the chest so hard that I crashed onto my own bed, just barely missing the rack of video gear.

“Sorry, boy. I think I overdid it a tad. Did you hurt yourself?” said Juffin. He was sitting on the window ledge. His predatory profile stood out against the window—a perfect profile to put on a coin.

“Is that it?” I said, smiling a silly smile. “Are we home? Everything’s over?”

“Well, not everything, praise be the Magicians,” said Juffin. “Our lives aren’t over, for example. They go on, which may call for a little celebration. I suggest we head to the House by the Bridge and free Sir Shurf from his incarceration. He hasn’t had a wink of sleep, and he hasn’t been having as much fun as we have.”

“Of course,” I said, jumping up. Then I made a face. “I’d rather change first. I’m all covered in this darn sand.”

“You’ll change when you get home,” said Juffin. “Let’s go, Max. You’ll need more than just a change. You’ll need a bath, and while you’re splashing in your four bathing pools, I’ll start watching a movie, and poor Shurf will have to stay in his cell until noon, at least. In other words, cleaning up will have to wait. That’s an order.”

“As you wish. But I’ll track sand all over Headquarters.”

“That’s definitely not going to be my problem,” said Juffin. “That’s why we keep the junior staff.”

“I keep forgetting that we have them,” I said. “Some king I am.”

“You’ll get used to it. It’s easy to get used to such things as an army of servants. The problems begin later when you have to get out of the habit.”

“Thanks. That really made me feel better,” I said.

I had to gallop just to keep up with the indefatigable Sir Venerable Head, who had descended the stairs by sliding down the railing—a favorite sport of primary schoolchildren and mean sorcerers in all Worlds.

“By the way, how did you manage to stay on the Threshold?” he said when I caught up with him on the street. “I didn’t dare hope you’d be able to. You’re still not in the best shape after the battle.”

“Easy. I just asked for permission to wait for you.”

“You asked? What do you mean ‘asked’?” said Juffin.

“I don’t know. I just did. I even said thank you, so it’s all right.”

“Are you telling me that you just opened your mouth and politely expressed your request?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“Well, I’ll be! Congratulations, Max. Once again, you’ve demonstrated that life is an amazing thing. I’ve never heard of anything like it. You know, it very well may be that you’ve made a great discovery. So far as I know, no one has ever thought of talking out loud in the Corridor between Worlds. Maybe that’s the easiest way to bargain with it?”

“That’s exactly what I thought. And you know, I didn’t even have to make an effort. Heck, I didn’t even know what kind of effort I needed to make.”

“I’m going to try it myself next time. Maybe it’ll work. You never can tell.” Juffin looked at me with candid astonishment. Technically, I was supposed to be suffering a major fit of megalomania, but I wasn’t. I had probably been inoculated against it.

The House by the Bridge was quieter than usual. Such massive, porridge-thick silence you can only catch at dawn, and then only if you’re lucky.

Our office was empty, but a burner with a pitcher of kamra was already standing on the desk. Sir Juffin, Magicians bless him, had sent a call to the Glutton Bunba beforehand. His order had arrived even before we did. Such promptness could well be tantamount to lifesaving, at least when it came to my life.

I fell into the armchair and grabbed my cup. Meanwhile, the boss began a heroic struggle with his own spells: I wouldn’t recommend opening a Secret Door sealed by Sir Juffin Hully himself as a family pastime. He used a great deal of inappropriate language during the procedure. Finally, the evil Door was defeated.

“Am I a great wizard, or what!” said Juffin. “Sir Shurf, you are now free. Consider this to be an amnesty in honor of the coronation of your buddy, His Majesty the King of the Lands of Fanghaxra. As for my old buddy Gugimagon, he’s dead as a doornail. And don’t you dare tell me it’s bad news.”

“It is good news, indeed. It took you quite a while, did it not?” said Lonli-Lokli, closing his book. “As for me, I cannot say that I was pleased with last night’s events. My Rider kept trying to get at me. I think he was particularly desperate to possess my body after you began destroying his own. It was a good thing that I had your blood, Juffin. Even after he stopped thinking I was you, your blood helped me gain control over the situation. Finally, an hour ago, I was able to relax.”

“I’ll be damned. That cunning Gugimagon resisted until the very last minute!” said Juffin, shaking his head in amazement. “That’s why he was so listless. I think I underestimated my old buddy a little. Do you want to sit and chat with us, Sir Shurf, or do you want do go home?”

“I will stay awhile,” said Lonli-Lokli, nodding and sitting next to me. “By the way, you promised to give me a lift home two days ago, Max, yet I am still here. It seems that rumors of the speed at which you drive your amobiler are slightly exaggerated. Perhaps you would care to keep your promise?”

I was stunned at his impudence. If Sir Lonli-Lokli had begun to resort to irony, I should just shut up. I didn’t even try to come up with a decent retort.

“Well, if no one’s planning another assault on the driver, then why not?” I said.

“And I have your stuff here somewhere, Sir Shurf,” said Juffin. He fumbled in the numerous drawers of his desk, most of which, I was sure, opened up to some “fourth dimension”—they were capable of holding too much stuff. After a short search that was spiced up with a few masterpieces of cursing, the boss produced from his desk the magic box with Lonli-Lokli’s death-dealing gloves. “There you go. Welcome back to the Royal Service, Sir Shurf. I’m glad that your retirement was temporary.”

“Just don’t put them on yet, okay?” I said. “Or I’ll crash into the nearest lamppost from fear.”

“All right, if it makes you feel better,” said Lonli-Lokli.

He looked innocent. He scrutinized the box and shook his head.

“Why are you looking at it like that?” said Juffin. “What could possibly have happened to it?”

“Dust,” said Shurf.

“Nonsense. Where would it come from in my desk?”

“Nevertheless, the box is dusty,” said Lonli-Lokli. He examined the box once again and then wiped it with none other than the black-and-golden fold of my Mantle of Death. I opened my mouth and shut it again because I didn’t know how to react to such unprecedented, barefaced impudence. I just stood there, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water.

“Unlike mine, your clothes are already dirty,” he said in a brazen manner. “A little bit of dust will not make any difference.”

Then he took a sip out of his cup. The issue had clearly been settled. Juffin laughed so hard that the windowpanes trembled. Finally, the humor of the situation dawned on me and I joined him. Better late than never.

“You’ll make an excellent double act, gentlemen. All venues will be sold out on day one,” said Juffin when he stopped laughing. “Okay, all’s well that ends well. Go get some sleep, both of you.”

“Can’t stand looking at us anymore?” I said.

“I can’t stand looking at anything. My eyelids are drooping. Plus, Kimpa’s already here to take me away from this Refuge for the Mad and deliver me right under my favorite blanket.”

Juffin gave a contagious yawn and left the office first.

Since Lonli-Lokli and I had combined our efforts to turn my personal amobiler into a heap of scrap metal, we took one of the official ones.

“So how do you like the book so far?” I said as we pulled off. “Outstanding. It seems to be a legend or prophecy of some sort— I am not quite sure yet. It talks about the end of humanity.”

“Oh, a dystopia,” I said, yawning. “It’s a popular genre. At least it’s not a romance novel.”

“What strange terminology,” said Shurf.

“Tell me more,” I said. “I forget, did I tell you I’d never read the story or heard of the author?”

“You did. Are you genuinely interested?”

“Of course I am. Do you think I’m just trying to keep up the conversation? When was the last time I was so willing to listen rather than talk? You think I can’t find a topic for a long, exhausting monologue? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“All right, you have convinced me. The story is about the inhabitants of your World, who suddenly begin to die out one after another: the air becomes unsuitable for breathing, or the people become unsuitable for breathing the air of their World. It seems that someone gave them the evil eye, except that the book uses a different term, which I cannot recall at the moment. Only a few hundred people survive. First they wander about by themselves, and then they find one another. It turns out that while the air was fine, they were all deeply involved in some breathing exercises—similar to those you have been too lazy to learn—and these exercises seemed to have helped them to adapt to the new air. They think that the World is coming to an end and wait for the inevitable demise. Then they realize that life goes on: the animals and plants are unaffected; only the humans have suffered. The surviving people decide to settle on an island with a good climate. If I understand it correctly, it is a special place, used for recreation.”

“A resort,” I said, nodding. “How does the story end?”

“I have not finished reading it, but so far, everything seems to be fine. Several years have passed since the disaster. The survivors manage to start a new life on the island and now realize that they live better than they did before the disaster. I think they stopped growing older, or perhaps the aging process has slowed down. They have almost no children: only one child has been born during the time they have been on the island, and everybody is surprised. One of the main characters decides to circumnavigate the World by means of a flying machine, the principle of operation of which is not entirely clear to me. He discovers that the places where people once lived are now inhabited by birds. A species that used to live only in cities along with people.”

“Pigeons,” I said. “Or sparrows?”

“Yes, pigeons. The character notices that their behavior suggests that they have become much more intelligent than they used to be. They have somehow restored the things that they found useful and destroyed the rest. The person watching them thinks that the birds have come to replace people. Then he continues his journey and arrives at an island inhabited by turtles. He can communicate with the turtles by means of something similar to our Silent Speech. The turtles tell him that a long time ago a similar disaster had struck their turtle ancestors, who had been replaced by people. And before turtles there were other ‘Masters of the World’—that is what they called them. They were trees. Let me find the exact name—perhaps it will be of importance to you.” Shurf opened the book, flipped a few pages, and nodded. “Yes, the trees were called sequoias. Before the trees, there were something else—dragons of some sort, I think. This is where I have gotten to so far. A truly strange book. I have never read anything like it in my life.”

“Neither have I. Now show me where to go from here. I still don’t know where you live.”

“You are on the right course. I will tell you when to make a turn. Max, can you fetch more books from your World? I find them much more fascinating than the movies.”

“Okay, just don’t tell Juffin. He’s unbearable when he gets mad,” I said, chuckling. “I’ll try to get more books for you, Shurf. Don’t get your hopes up, though: I never know beforehand what’s going to turn up. What if luck abandons us and I produce an arithmetic textbook for the second grade from the Chink between Worlds? Although, knowing you, you might like it. In other words, I need to keep trying. And I will, as soon as I get some rest after my latest adventure.”

“Thank you, Max. Now you should take a left. My house is on the bank of the Xuron. It is sad that you have never visited me there. I should be honored to extend my invitation to you,” said Shurf.

“All roads lead to the House by the Bridge,” I said, sighing. “That’s the problem.”

Having said goodbye to Shurf, I thought for a bit and decided it wouldn’t be appropriate to barge in on a beautiful girl after my stormy adventures. What I should do, I thought, is go to my house on the Street of Yellow Stones and have a good, honest three-day-long sleep there.

Then I turned the amobiler and drove straight to Tekki’s house on the Street of Forgotten Dreams. I’m an expert at making reasonable decisions—but following them through? No sirree, Bob!

Apparently Tekki had also decided to sleep for three days. In any case, she was sound asleep when I got there. Her face looked so stern that I didn’t dare ruin her plans. I got into bed next to her and conked out.

Sinning Magicians, what was I thinking! Not only had I not taken a bath, I hadn’t even bothered to undress. For which I paid dearly. Not immediately, but some time later.

“I’m trying to find a good reason not to kill you, and I can’t. Look at my bed! It’s full of sand. Were you dumping sacks of it here all night?”

Tekki was pulling at my nose. Perhaps she thought it was a good idea, but it sure hurt like heck.

“You can’t kill me, I’m a king! Without me, everything’s going to fall apart here, and my new harem will sink in a sea of tears. Plus, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tekki sounded surprised, as if she had thought she was just tormenting a stone statue.

“Yeah,” I said, releasing my poor nose from her tenacious fingers. “Besides, what kinds of werewolves were you looking for under my blanket? I just fell asleep.”

“Just fell asleep? It’s evening already.”

“It is?” I said. I looked around: the windows were dark; a lantern was glowing in the far corner of the room. It was evening all right.

“I wouldn’t have woken you up, but Sir Juffin sent me a call and demanded that I commit this travesty. He said he was under the impression that you should be in your office at this time of the day.”

“The brute!” I said. “He’s ‘under the impression,’ huh? Wait, has something happened?”

“I don’t think so,” said Tekki, smiling. “He and Sir Kofa want to watch another movie, and someone has to stay in the office. He told me himself, although he didn’t want you to know.”

“Oh, I see,” I said. “A movie is a very good reason—I can’t argue with that.”

Moaning, I went downstairs to take a bath. Better late than never. Five minutes later, I realized I was feeling great, life was great, and Juffin’s office at the House by the Bridge was a great place to spend the night. Better late than never, indeed.

The Armstrong & Ella was empty. Praise be the Magicians, it did happen from time to time: the local drunks, like the ocean waters, are subject to the mysterious forces of ebbs and flows. Today they were on the ebb. I was in luck.

“Now open your mouth and tell me everything,” said Tekki, putting a pitcher of the best kamra in the Universe in front of me. “I have the right to derive some pleasure from our horrible relationship.”

“Yeah, we’ve really been missing out on the pleasure side recently,” I said. “Wait, how about the wonderful show you and Melamori were watching yesterday? The fat men in leotards? You were both glued to the set. That’s my doing, if you remember. Who else could have brought you that horrendous entertainment from the other end of the Universe but me?”

“You’re right. I forgot about that,” said Tekki. “Still, spill it out! I’m sure you’ve got a dozen or two mind-boggling stories under your tongue.”

“Just two. But both are pretty mind-boggling, you’re right. One is about the dastardly Magician Gugimagon and his evildoing in the Corridor between Worlds. The other is about my harem. Which do you want to hear first?”

“The one about the harem, of course. All those silly mystical escapades of yours and Juffin’s pale in comparison with this romantic drama,” said Tekki. “Sir Melifaro, by the way, kept bugging me all day, trying to find out any savory details. I don’t remember what I told him just to get rid of him. So I’m warning you, I’m not going take the blame for it.”

“Neither will I. He’ll have to die of envy,” I said. “Okay, so here’s the harem story.”

And I told her an abridged version of my coronation that culminated in my receiving the most absurd gift of my life. Tekki listened carefully, sometimes nodding in approval but never interrupting me or making a comment. It was a little suspicious. Usually she interrupted me after the second sentence.

“That was a strange story,” she said after I finished, and reached for the cookies that I was having for breakfast.

“It is, isn’t it?” I said. “And very untimely. I feel like I’ve suddenly become the father of a very large family. They are just too young, these so-called wives of mine. I guess they need educating and coaching in manners. For starters, someone has to teach them how to wear the looxi and use tableware, like old Kimpa once taught me. But I don’t even know where to begin. On the other hand, I could forget all about it and leave everything as it is, but that wouldn’t be right, would it? I don’t think their careers as my wives will be very long-lasting. In any case, they deserve better. At the very least, they’ll have to learn how to stand up on their own two feet.”

“Well, I can teach them how to dress and so on. But you’ll have to tell them to obey me. I’m sure they’ll make good students, given their origins. Their legendary mother, that Isnouri—she’s the strangest thing in this whole story, Max. I have heard plenty of stories of the creatures that inhabited the Barren Lands in the old times. You may have ended up with the most wonderful piece of the most remarkable of all the old legends.”

“I’d rather have ended up empty-handed,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll make a good guardian. I never even had enough time for Armstrong and Ella. I only played with them every now and then, and then put the burden of taking care of the kittens onto your shoulders. A regular swine is what I am. And these girls are people—they will probably require quite a bit more time than the cats.”

“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, if I were you,” said Tekki, laughing. “Cats, people … If only it were that simple. How do you know what they are, those three sisters, and what they need from you?” She stopped laughing and showed me the door. “Okay, go to the House by the Bridge before your furious boss comes here spitting purple flames out of his fire-breathing mouth. Back during the Troubled Times, he was too lazy to kill me, even after the admonitions of that paranoid old Magician Nuflin. If he now learns that you have been delayed because of me, I’m as good as dead.”

“I know. If Juffin can’t watch a movie three nights in a row, we all face some truly dire consequences,” I said. “But it’s completely unfair on his part. I have the right to a personal life.”

“Speaking of your personal life, I think I’m going to go straighten things out with your harem,” said Tekki, “and admire the palace while I’m at it. I’ve always wanted to have a dozen servants, and here’s my chance. Please send them a call and tell them that they should prostrate themselves as soon as they hear my voice and quiver in anticipation of my orders.”

“That’s cute,” I said. “You should be sitting on that throne, not me.”

“Deal,” said Tekki. “The next throne is mine.”

And I left the Armstrong & Ella.

“Ah, finally!” Juffin was about to fling his arms around my neck. “You should have been here three hours ago. What have you been doing all this time?”

“Believe it or not, I was sleeping,” I said.

“With all your wives at once?” That was Melifaro’s voice coming from behind me.

I didn’t flinch at the remark. I sat down in the armchair, yawned, and smiled a languorous smile.

“With my wives, the wives of my ministers, the wives of their servants, and all the other wives I could get my hands on,” I said, winking, and turned to Juffin. “But as soon as I remembered I had a girlfriend, you had to go and spoil everything.”

Juffin was inexorable. “I see. You were counting on two extra Days of Freedom. Sorry, you’re not getting any. If you’ve noticed, last night I was just as busy as some other people, but I came to work right after noon.”

“You are in a different league altogether. I’m still too young and inexperienced.”

I looked over at Melifaro. The poor boy was completely distraught. After Juffin had said he had also been busy last night, Melifaro looked like he might start tearing his hair out.

“Okay, I’m off,” said Juffin. He was already in the doorway. “I’m off to witness something much more entertaining than your interrogation under torture, courtesy of this innocent victim of a monogamous society. Listen carefully: if you dare take me away from the TV tonight, I’m going to turn you into the Pink Panther.”

“Why the Pink Panther?”

“It would be the easy: you’re the spitting image of him already,” said Juffin, and he left Melifaro and me alone.

Melifaro was sizing me up, his eyes burning with curiosity. He wasn’t a man but a living and breathing question mark.

“If you want me to talk, you must feed me first,” I said. “You can imagine my appetite after such a wild night.”

“Yes, I can,” said Melifaro. “But who’s going to stay in the office? Kurush?”

“He’s been up for it all along,” I said, stroking the buriwok. “They only called me down here so I’d know who’s boss. But since I am already here, it makes no sense to leave right away. It would be logical to have the food delivered.”

“Absolutely.” Melifaro was so interested in my “cooperation with the authorities” that he didn’t show off or try to mock my idea of spending the evening in the office. Instead, he immediately sent a call to the Glutton Bunba, and minutes later I was enjoying a hearty breakfast.

“So what’s the life of the master of a harem like?” said Melifaro.

“Mmm, it’s really something, let me tell you,” I said with my mouth full. “The most eventful night of my life. First I slid down Xumgat, then I fell apart in Xumgat, then I stayed in Xumgat, then—”

“Hold on, Max. What are you talking about?”

I decided that a joke that went on too long was a sign of bad taste. “Forget it. I was joking. Look at me: Do you see the ‘master of a harem’?”

“Well, Tekki told me that—”

“But of course she did,” I said. “You know how she usually is. She was joking, too.”

“Darn it,” said Melifaro, shaking his head. “That’s not a good joke. I didn’t believe her at first, but then I thought that with you, one could expect anything.”

“One could, indeed,” I said. “I have nothing against expectations.”

An hour later, I was alone. After the story about my polygamous relationships had turned into a report about the battle with Gugimagon, Melifaro had begun to doze off. I walked him to his amobiler, returned to the office, put my feet up on the messy desk, and realized that my life had returned to normal—although that was a matter of opinion.

The days were flying like butterflies in the wind. Before I knew it, a whole dozen had gone by.

“Max, will it kill you to drop by the Furry House and see the results of my labors?” said Tekki one morning. “Don’t pretend you want to sleep now. You do that at work all night long.”

“You read me like an open book,” I said. “No, I’m not going to sleep now, but that doesn’t mean I won’t find other pleasant things to do.”

Still, two hours later, I had to get up, wash, and get dressed. Even shave. Tekki had taken it into her head that she had to drag me to my royal residence, and she succeeded.

To my surprise, I found the house quite livable—and lived in. Tekki had a talent for turning royal palaces into cozy abodes suitable for ordinary people. My friend Droopy, the huge shaggy dog I hadn’t visited in all this time, rushed out to greet us.

“Oh, shame on me! How could I forget about you, buddy?” I said, hugging the dog, who was overcome with joy. “See? Your master is a swine. Why does he still love me?”

“Because he’s still not very smart, Max,” said Tekki. “He’s a puppy.”

“A puppy!” I almost fainted. “This thing?”

“The sheepdogs from the Barren Lands are the largest dogs in the World. Didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d better not fall out with him.” Although, looking at the dog’s good-natured mug, I couldn’t imagine I could ever fall out with him.

“Good day, Sir Max,” said the cute triplets.

My “wives” had undergone a drastic change in these few days. The elegant looxis that had replaced their short warm jackets suited them perfectly. Only their huge eyes—all three pairs of them—still betrayed a guarded look.

“Very good,” I said. “‘Sir Max’ sounds much better than ‘Lord Fanghaxra.’ Now, if they could just drop the ‘Sir.’”

“They think they should be polite,” said Tekki.

“With me? That’s nonsense,” I said, smiling.

I was a little shy myself, though not as shy as they were. I think Tekki knew that, judging by that playful look she gave me.

“I think you and I should take them for a short walk,” she said.

“As you wish, ma’am,” I said. “Your wish is my command. I’m just a little barbarian king. You are the ultimate truth. Like Sir Lonli-Lokli, but much more beautiful.”

“Now we’re talking,” said Tekki. “Off you go to start up the amobiler.”

After this exchange, the triplets began looking at her as though she were an omnipotent being. I decided to level the final blow. “Everybody talks to me like this here, girls. You’re very unfortunate. You were married off to a king with no authority. Next time, you should be more careful.”

The sisters blinked in surprise, but one of them giggled quietly, covering her mouth with her hand.

“This is Xelvi,” said Tekki. “Xeilax and Kenlex are serious ladies.”

“Well, somebody has to be. So where do you ladies want me to drop you off?”

“You don’t need to drop them off anywhere. Just show them the Old City. Then we’ll see.”

I seated the doe-eyed girls in my new amobiler and drove around the Right Bank for two hours at the lowest speed I could manage—no more than thirty miles an hour. I reasoned that the girls’ nervous systems were still too weak for faster rides.

Tekki had the natural talent of a first-class guide. The girls listened to her raptly, their mouths agape. I recalled Juffin’s strange lecture about how Tekki was a mirror that reflected her interlocutor and thought it would be interesting to see the four of them alone. That might be a surprising sight. I gave it another thought and decided I had had enough surprises for the time being.

Max, are you busy now? Melifaro’s call was most timely. My new job as a school bus driver was certainly not the job of a lifetime, and I was tired already.

I am. I’m so busy you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. But if you’re hinting at dinner for you and me, then I’m free as a bird.

You’re clairvoyant. Come then. I haven’t decided where to go yet.

How about Moxi’s? I haven’t been there in a while. It’s a quiet place, not too many people.

Oh, the famous Juffin’s Dozen? That’s a great idea. See you there in fifteen minutes.

“Okay. The tour is over,” I told Tekki and the girls. “And no whining. That will get you nowhere with me. Tekki, stop trying to tear off my ear—you didn’t let me finish! We’re going somewhere for lunch. Thank you, my dear. So nice of you to let me live.”

Mr. Moxi Faa was inimitable, as usual. He grumbled a hello, his leather looxi squeaking, sized up my female company with a stern look, gave me a reproachful look, and then slammed a heavy menu down on the table. I thought he was fighting the temptation to smack me in the head with it. But that’s Moxi for you.

Soon Melifaro arrived. When he saw the company I was keeping, his jaw fell onto his chest with a loud crack. These are the moments that make life worth living, I thought. All the rest is piffle.

For two minutes, Melifaro was silent. He opened his mouth, thought for a bit, then closed it again. Before this, I wouldn’t have thought it possible. He continued to be silent throughout the entire lunch. He did drop a few words, but compared to his usual garrulous self, he was absolutely mute.

The sisters didn’t say much, either. They were still very shy, but more than that, the lunch was their first test at using tableware. I could only feel for them. Tekki watched over them like a school-teacher. The girls turned red, then grew pale and dropped the pie tongs on the floor—just as I had done not so long ago.

As for the table talk, all credit went to Moxi. He used the opportunity to mumble a long lecture on the unique cultures of the peoples of the World whose cuisines we had just dared to sample. I didn’t remember a single word of it, but Moxi sure did relieve the tension.

At last our social event came to an end.

“No other client has ever brought so many women with him at one time,” said Moxi, handing me the bill. “Congratulations, Sir Max, this is a record. Have a nice day and come again.” He said it as though he was forbidding me ever to cross the threshold of Juffin’s Dozen again. But that was the zest that made Juffin’s fellow country-man the best tavern keeper in Echo. Where else could you get excellent food and a good reprimand thrown into the bargain, and at that price?

Melifaro seemed to have forgotten that he had to go back to work. He sat in the back seat of my amobiler, crowding the triplets, who had grown very quiet. He looked befuddled—a sight to behold.

I drove the sisters back home, and then there were just three of us. Tekki gave Melifaro a searching look and burst into laughter. I couldn’t contain myself, either.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny,” said Melifaro. But it was too late: we couldn’t stop. Then Melifaro said something that almost killed me. “Max, will you get too mad if I lure one of your wives away from you?”

“Which one?” I said and burst out laughing again.

“I … don’t know,” he said. “Is there a difference?”

“Of course there is,” said Tekki. “A big difference. First you’ll have to guess which one of them stepped onto your heart.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem,” said Melifaro. “If push comes to shove, I can use some magic here. I hope the boss won’t throw his best employee in Xolomi for such a trivial breach of the law.”

“His what employee?” I said. “I certainly hope he won’t throw you in Xolomi, either. There’s no way I’d let any of my wives have anything to do with a criminal. So watch your step with the law.”

“Are you giving me official permission?” said Melifaro, brightening up.

“As if you need it,” I said. “Do what you want, friend. It’s your life. Issuing permission is not my area of expertise. I’m a simple barbarian king. I don’t decide anything.”

“You’re so modest, Your Majesty,” said Melifaro.

“Yeah, kings have their quirks,” said Tekki.

I listened to them with half an ear. I had been meaning to find out whether I could drive the amobiler with my eyes closed, since this mysterious vehicle, as I had once been told, submitted to the will of the driver. And I decided to try it now. Just like that, out of the blue.

Well, whaddya know? It worked.

Curiouser and curiouser, Alice’s voice echoed in my head. Yup, curiouser and curiouser. I couldn’t have said it better myself.