The Stranger tloe-1 Read online

  “Don’t forget the treat,” Kurush reminded us.

  All the while we were at the Glutton Sir Juffin was the embodiment of paternal concern. It was amazing—he really showed sympathy for me and my silly problem.

  “Whatever it is, Max, you’re not the type of kid to get a nightmare from acid indigestion. Sometimes your dreams are unusual. If this happens again, I think you had better spend a few days at my place, at least until we get to the bottom of it.”

  “Thank you, Juffin. But I don’t want to leave my house. All my life I’ve wanted a house like that, with a bedroom beneath the eaves, a living room downstairs, stairs that creak, and no extra furniture. Now, at last I’ve found the house I’ve been looking for. And you know what? Like hell they’re going to chase me out of it!”

  “So you’re going to sleep at home and entertain yourself with a half dozen nightmares every night?”

  “I certainly hope not. Maybe it won’t happen again. Everyone has nightmares, and they usually don’t mean anything at all.”

  “And what about your chest pains when you went outside? You think that was just a coincidence? A cat has nine lives, but you’re no cat.”

  I jumped in surprise at hearing the old turn of phrase.

  “Do you have cats here?”

  “Who doesn’t!”

  “Why haven’t I seen one yet?”

  “Where could you have seen one? You’ve never been to the countryside. We don’t keep cats at home; they’re like cows and sheep.”

  “That’s odd. I guess yours are the wrong sort of cats.”

  “You mean yours are the wrong sort of cats,” Juffin retorted. “Ours are the rightest sort of cats in the entire Universe!”

  Then we parted ways. Juffin Hully set off for a stroll around the Street of Old Coins, and I went to the House by the Bridge to hang out. Kurush got a cream pastry. According to my colleagues, they’re his favorite. It turned out that the buriwok was unable to clean the sticky cream off his beak, and I had to run around the office in search of a napkin.

  Then I went upstairs and regaled Sir Lookfi Pence and a good hundred or so buriwoks with tales from the Barren Lands, which I’d borrowed from the third volume of Encyclopedia. When the long twilight shadows had thickened into night, Sir Lookfi began getting ready to go home, knocking over chairs all the while. That was how I learned that his working day lasts from noon to nightfall. The rest of the time the buriwoks like going about their own business, and it’s best not to disturb them. They looked upon dear old Kurush as something of an oddball for spending all his time with humans.

  I invited Sir Lookfi for a mug of kamra in my office. He seemed pleased and shy at the same time. He sent a call to his wife, after which he said:

  “Varisha has agreed to miss me for another hour. Thank you, Sir Max! I apologize that I didn’t accept your invitation immediately. You see, we’re newlyweds and . . .” Embarrassed, the poor fellow got tangled up in the folds of his own looxi. I had to catch him so he wouldn’t fall.

  “Don’t apologize,” I said, smiling. “You did just the right thing, my friend.”

  Once I was back in the office, I called for the courier, who darted in seconds later and looked into my eyes with fawning devotion. I could just see it, the title of a horror movie: Max, Devourer of Underlings. Quite a nice ring to it, I thought!

  Lookfi sipped his kamra with evident enjoyment, all the while soaking the intricately-patterned hem of his looxi in his cup. I didn’t waste any time, and started asking him about the buriwoks. I had already heard Kurush’s take on things, and now I wanted to hear the opinion of one of the other parties involved.

  “I was offered this job by the buriwoks themselves,” said Sir Lookfi. “I don’t know why they chose me, but one day, a long time ago—a long long time ago—a courier came to my house and brought me an invitation from the House by the Bridge. The birds said that they would find my presence most suitable. They rejected the other candidates out of hand—even the cousin of the King’s Advisor. Do you know why, Kurush?”

  “I’ve told you many times—because you can tell us apart.”

  “Kurush, you’re just as much of a joker as Sir Juffin! Who in the world wouldn’t be able to tell you apart?”

  “I would probably have a hard time telling one buriwok from another,” I confessed in perplexity.

  “There you have it. I’ve been telling him the same thing over and over for more than a hundred years, and he still doesn’t believe me,” Kurush grumbled. “Although, it’s true, his memory isn’t too bad; for a human, of course.”

  “I suppose I do have a good memory,” said Lookfi. “Yet all my life I thought others were forgetful and I was only average.”

  “He remembers how many feathers each of us has,” Kurush told me confidingly.

  “No kidding!” I whistled. “If that was the one and only thing you remembered, Lookfi, I would still be a dimwit compared to you.”

  “Don’t say that, Sir Max,” said Lookfi. “You’re not a dimwit at all; you’re just a bit absent-minded.”

  Sinning Magicians, I thought, look who’s talking!

  Finally, Lookfi took his leave, and Kurush and I were left alone together. I think the buriwok had fallen asleep. I found some newspapers on Juffin’s desk; some fresh, and others less recent. It’s good to be new in someone else’s world: the evening papers are as enthralling as a fantasy novel. The only difference is that you can open the door at any moment you please and go for a walk in this imaginary world.

  Sir Kofa Yox arrived again before dawn. He grumpily informed me that there was no news and that none was expected: four more house robberies for the valiant police force to deal with. So boring! That was why he was turning in for the night. I nodded sympathetically, sighed, and became absorbed once more in a copy of the Echo Hustle and Bustle dating back to the previous year.

  Sir Juffin Hully showed up for work rather early, demanded some kamra, and then stared at me thoughtfully.

  “No news yet, Max. I mean no real news, at any rate. But I do have one idea. This is what it comes down to. My house is always open to you, you know that. But you were right. Try sleeping at your place for another day or two. If you don’t have any more nightmares, great! If you do, though . . . I understand that it isn’t pleasant, but there’s a chance the plot might start to unfold. Perhaps something interesting will come to light.”

  “What do you think? What should I prepare myself for?”

  “Honestly? I think you should prepare for the worst. I didn’t like the look of that house from the start. I didn’t like it one bit, but there was nothing I could put my finger on. I can’t remember anything like this happening before. Maybe my imagination is running away with me out of boredom, but I don’t think so. I think we’ll dig something up on that house. When Lookfi gets here we’ll find out something about the owners. And about the neighbors, as well. About how they feel living there. For the time being, take this.” Juffin offered me an unsightly scrap of cloth. “Wrap this around your neck before going to sleep. This will definitely wake you up.”

  “What? Could it really be that dangerous?”

  “Life is full of extremely dangerous things. Most dangerous of all are the things we don’t understand. Or things that don’t exist at all. All right, let me know when you wake up.”

  A sense of obligation is not the best kind of sleeping pill. After tossing restlessly from side to side, I surrounded myself with volumes of Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia and began studying its excellent illustrations. I was interested in the local cat species and hoped to find pictures of them. It took me a long time to find them, but at last I was successful. At first glance, these wondrous beasts seemed like ordinary fluffy cats. What was striking about them, though, was their size. These furry shortlimbed creatures were no less than three feet in length. Their shoulder height was around a foot and a half. I determined this by comparing the picture of the cat with that of a gentleman in a knitted looxi. Turning to the
accompanying text, I learned that the gentleman was none other than a shepherd. Reading further I discovered that “the peasant folk of Landaland breed cats for their warm coats.” Just like sheep! I was surprised and fascinated. Maybe it’s time I got myself a kitten. So what if the snobs from the capital consider them to be petty livestock that should be kept on farms? A barbarian from the Barren Lands, I was certain, would be forgiven more serious eccentricities than that.

  Lulled by thoughts of my future status as the first cat-owner of Echo, I finally fell asleep. Alas, it would have been better if my insomnia had continued! The merciful sleep of oblivion quickly dissolved into a clear vision: again, I was lying on the table in the living room, helpless and motionless.

  Worst of all, I had lost all sense of myself. Who I was, what I was like, where I was from, where exactly I was just then, what I was doing, say, a year ago, what type of women I preferred, what my friends’ names were, where I had lived as a child—I didn’t have the answer to any of those questions. Worse yet, I didn’t have any questions. My understanding of the world was limited to the sitting room and the triangular windows of the house next door. That, and great fear. Yes, that’s how it was: all I knew about the world around me was that it was a terrifying place, and that I felt wretched.

  At last, the window of the house began to open slowly. Someone was staring at me from inside the room. Then, in the window, someone’s hand appeared briefly. A handful of sand flew out of the darkness, but instead of scattering onto the sidewalk below, it froze in midair like a small golden cloud. Then came another handful of sand, and another, and another. Now there was much more than just a cloud—a whole pathway was quivering in the sky. It was a short path and I was certain I knew where it led. So, the plot is developing, I thought. Well now, isn’t this just dandy? The plot has to unfold . . . Wait, that isn’t even my own thought, those are Juffin’s words! That’s just what he said, word for word.

  As soon as I remembered my conversation with Juffin, I remembered who I was, too. That made me feel a bit better. The fear, unfortunately, remained; but it was no longer the sole component of my existence. Now I knew that I was sleeping. And I knew that I wasn’t simply sleeping, but sleeping with the purpose of observing the nightmare unfold. I also knew that I needed to wake up just then, but for some reason I couldn’t.

  Idiot! I forgot to put on that scrap of cloth! I thought in panic. Praise to the Magicians, I suddenly woke up. Lowering my feet down off the table—

  Heavens above! So I did fall asleep on the living room table and not in the comfortable bed upstairs, surrounded by eight volumes of the Encyclopedia of the World. What nonsense! No, it wasn’t just nonsense. It looked like a fairly solid storyline for your average B horror movie.

  I went upstairs. My knees were trembling. More than anything I was afraid of finding another Max sleeping in my bed. Go figure which one of us was the real one. The bed was empty. With shaking hands I reached for the bottle of Elixir of Kaxar that I’d had the foresight to leave at the head of the bed. I took a gulp, then another. I felt a great deal better. I collapsed onto the bed. Even if I didn’t get any sleep, I could rest a bit, at the very least. But I had to get in touch with Juffin. Luckily, I had something to report to him, as well.

  I’m awake, Juffin. Things are pretty bad.

  Well, if you’re awake then all is not lost. Come to the Glutton, I’ll treat you to breakfast. In fact, I have some news for you as well.

  I’ll be there in an hour. Over and out.

  “Over what?”

  Over and out. It means: that’s all, this thought-exchange is over.>

  Over and out, Juffin repeated with delight.

  The Glutton is a truly magical place. Those walls could make anyone feel right at home. I was describing my adventures and starting to relax. That was more than I could say for Juffin, who looked like someone paying a scheduled visit to the dentist’s office.

  “So you say that you woke up on the table. That means things are more serious than I thought. I think you should move back to my place for a while. But I am going to spend the night in your bed. Maybe I’ll dream of some horrible thing as well.”

  “I have a better idea. How about I sleep at home, and you hold my hand like a kindly nurse?”

  “I had a similar idea to begin with, but—”

  “But what, Juffin? It’s already happening to me, and the plot is unfolding; but if you stay there, you’ll have to start watching from the first episode, then the second. We’ll lose two days that way.”

  “That may be, but I don’t like the way this whole thing is affecting you. I’m afraid you’re still too vulnerable when you’re asleep.”

  “Well, that depends on how you look at it. Because I did remember that it was a dream. And I woke up, even though I forgot to put on that scrap you gave me.”

  “Oh, but that was very unwise, Max! You can’t neglect things like that. By the way, that ‘little scrap,’ as you call it, is merely the personal kerchief of the Grand Magician of the Order of the Secret Grass.”

  “Isn’t he one of those guys whose dried flesh you partake of daily to strengthen your powers?”

  Juffin gave a quick laugh and then scowled again.

  “I think you got a little carried away with the Kaxar, Max. Your joie de vivre is beginning to frighten me.”

  “It scares me, too. So, do you agree to sing me a lullaby?”

  “I suppose I could try, though I suspect that the presence of a person awake, especially one as notable as me, might hinder events as they develop.”

  “At least I’ll get some sleep. What if we both go to sleep?”

  “Yes, I suppose we could try that. Although,” Juffin grew more animated, “who says I have to be in the same room? I can watch you without even leaving my office. It’s settled, then. I think that’s what we should do. But first I’ll spend a night at your house, to be on the safe side.”

  “The house is at your disposal. But I only have three bathing pools, remember? Not even that will dissuade you?”

  “What lengths wouldn’t one go to for the peaceful well-being of the Unified Kingdom . . . and for one’s own well-being, for that matter! I had a bad feeling about that place from the very beginning; I shouldn’t have let you move into that doghouse at all!”

  “It’s all right,” I said, trying to comfort my boss. “When I grow up and I’m big and strong, I’ll learn to take bribes, and then I’ll build a palace for myself on the left bank. What about your news? You said you were going to consult the buriwoks.”

  “That’s what I spent half the day doing. I have some news, and it’s rather worrying. It’s just too bad that I didn’t take on this case a couple of years ago. But if it hadn’t been for your dreams, it never would have occurred to me to make a connection between some of the facts that on their own just aren’t very interesting. Let’s go to the Ministry, so you can hear for yourself.”

  And we headed straightaway to the Main Archive.

  “Lookfi, I’d like to listen again to the information that you gathered today.”

  “Of course, Sir Hully. Good day, Sir Max; you’re here early today! They say nothing much has been happening lately.”

  Lookfi approached one of the buriwoks.

  “Please tell us one more time about the Street of Old Coins, Tatoon.”

  It looked to me like the bird had shrugged, as if to say, “I’d rather not repeat the same trivial story twice, but since it’s my job—here we go again.” With that, the buriwok began to recite:

  “Information regarding owners of real estate as of Day 208 of the Year 115. Street of Old Coins, house #1. Owner: Ms. Xarista Aag. No criminal record. Lives in the countryside. In the year 109 of the Code Epoch, the house was temporarily leased to the Poedra family. Three dozen years’ rent was paid up front. In the year 112, Gar Poedra lost the Spark and died. His wife, Pita Poedra, and daughter, Xitta, are known to inhabit the premises to the present day. The daughter still suffers from a child
hood illness, but does not seek the assistance of specialists and does not leave the house. They live in a reclusive fashion and do not entertain guests. No criminal record.

  “House #2. Owner: Kunk Stifan. Lives in the house with two underage sons. His wife, Trita Stifan, died in the year 107. In the year 110, he was suspected of killing the maid, one Pamma Lorras. He was proven innocent and received compensation for damages. A witch-doctor confirmed that his wife died in her sleep of heart disease. Uses the services of a daytime maid and four tutors for the boys. Does not employ full-time help. He was obliged to leave his position at the Ministry of Big Money due to illness at the beginning of this year.

  “House #3. Owner: Rogro Zhil, editor-in-chief of the Royal Voice and co-owner of the Echo Hustle and Bustle. His detailed dossier is kept in the archives. He currently lives on Ginger Dream Street in the New City. The house on the Street of Old Coins is neither for rent nor for sale, as the owner is in no need of funds.”

  “His dossier is something of an epic poem,” whispered Juffin. “But at the moment that’s not what we are interested in. You may enjoy reading it, though, in your spare time. I highly recommend it.”

  Houses #4, #5, #6 . . . All the stories bore a certain resemblance to one another. The inhabitants of the Street of Old Coins turned out to be the most miserable wretches in all of Echo: they got sick, lost their loved ones, and then they died. No criminal records, no suicides, nothing mysterious. But a whole street full of terminally ill widows and orphans? And in Echo, of all places, where your average witch-doctor was nearly capable of bringing the dead back to life! Talk about coincidence.