The Stranger tloe-1 Read online

  “That’s news to me! How did you manage that?”

  “Such was the order of things. The boy was my ward. You see, Nattis wasn’t a servant in the house. An ordinary servant, that is. Two years ago he came to Echo from Gazhin. He arrived with a note from his grandfather, one of my oldest friends. The old man wrote that his grandson was an orphan, and was still wet behind the ears. The kind of knowledge he could pick up in Gazhin wasn’t much use here in Echo. But the boy was quick-witted—that was plain as day. My friend asked me to help his grandson in any way I could. Sir Makluk promised to give him the highest recommendation. He even intended to set him up with someone at the Court. You understand, it’s a real privilege to be offered a place at Court! But in the interim, I taught him to the best of my abilities. Believe me, I had just as much reason to praise him when he was still alive. Occasionally we gave him a Day of Freedom from Some Chores. On those days he wasn’t free to go off on his own, as he was on ordinary Days of Freedom, but stayed home. He was relieved of his duties, however, and was expected to live the life of a gentleman.”

  At this point, I couldn’t repress a sigh of sympathy. Poor guy!

  Govins interpreted my sigh in his own way, shook his head sadly, and continued: “What I mean is that if you wish to go far in life, you need know not only how to work, but also how to give orders. On those days, Nattis got up in the morning, called for a servant, bathed and groomed himself, dressed like a gentleman, ate like a gentleman, read the newspaper. Then he would go for a walk on the Right Bank, and there he also did his best to look like a young gentleman of the capital rather than a young upstart from Gazhin. And on those days he was permitted to use Sir Olli’s bedchamber—the poor bloke had just died when Nattis arrived and began his apprenticeship. The fellow would sleep in that bedroom, and in the morning would call for a servant—and the servant was me! The idea was not only to put on a charade, but to be able to observe all his shortcomings and mistakes, and so to correct them. In short, on those days I was inseparable from the lad, and this was both instructive and pleasant . . . So on that fateful morning, I answered his summons, as usual. I brought in the bath water. Of course, this was only a ceremonial ritual—there is a bathroom attached to the bedchamber. But a real gentleman begins his morning by demanding his rightful portion of warm water for a bath!”

  At this point in the narrative I became a bit glum. I’d never become a “real gentleman”; and Sir Juffin wouldn’t either, I’m afraid. The finicky Sir Govins, in the meantime, went on with his story: “Nattis washed and went into the bathroom to shave. But the poor lad remembered all of a sudden how I had scolded him for this. As long as you’re god-knows-who, whether you shave in the bathroom or don’t bother to shave at all is no one’s business but your own. But if you’re a gentleman, you must shave in front of a proper looking glass! It turned out that my efforts hadn’t been for nought. The young chap came back into the room and very contritely requested a shaving kit. I feigned not to hear. Then he drew himself up, his eyes sparking—and I was there with the shaving kit and a towel, on the double! And then—how it could have happened, my mind simply cannot fathom. That a hale and hearty young fellow could cut his throat with a razor in a split second! I was standing a few steps away from him, as is the custom, with a towel and some balsam soap; but I had no time to do anything. I didn’t even realize what had happened . . . and what happened afterward! Well, you know as well as I do, if you’ve been trying to hush up this sorry affair.”

  “You’re a wonderful raconteur, Mr. Govins!” Juffin nodded approvingly. “So I will with great satisfaction hear the ending of the story from your lips. I was, of course, very busy during those days. All I could manage to do (and it was enough for me!) was to pick up the ‘suicide file’ from the department of General Boboota Box, whose subordinates so pestered everyone in this house. I had no time to delve into the matter more deeply.”

  The door opened, and fresh kamra was served to us. Govins cleared his throat, and resumed speaking. “There’s really nothing more to add. Of course, Sir Malkuk informed the House by the Bridge about what had happened. It was a straightforward case, so they sent it to General Box, Head of Public Order. Then his subordinates inundated our house—”

  “Listen, Govins, maybe you can tell me. Did they check the level of magic present in the room?”

  “It never even occurred to them. At first they thought it was all clear and simple: the man was drunk. When I told them that Nattis had never once been drunk in his whole short life, they decided again that it was all clear and simple: I had killed him. And then they just disappeared. As I understand, now, Sir Venerable Head, through your intercession.”

  “How typical that is of Boboota’s boys,” Juffin groaned, clasping his hand to his forehead. “Sinning Magicians, how very typical!”

  Our interlocutor remained tactfully silent.

  Just then, three of the twelve wise crones arrived. It was revealed that six more of them were keeping watch over patients, two were simply nowhere to be found, and one old woman, according to the messenger, refused point-blank to return to “that black house.” She’s gone off her rocker, poor thing, I thought compassionately.

  Juffin thought for a moment, then ordered all three of them at once to come in. I received a silent explanation about this from him: When you want to interrogate several women, it’s best to question them all together. Each of them will try so hard to outdo the other that they will end up telling you more than they intended. The only problem is trying not to lose your mind in the hubbub!

  And so the ladies entered the parlor and seated themselves ceremoniously at the table. The eldest was called Mallis. The two others, by no means young, were Tisa and Retani. I grew a bit sad. For the first time I was in the company of otherworldly ladies, and just my luck—the youngest of them was pushing 300!

  Juffin’s behavior deserves separate commentary. First, he sculpted his face into the gloomiest frown that you can imagine. Then, in addition to the mournful expression of his physiognomy, the grannies were fated to witness him cover his eyes with the palm of his hand in a pathetic gesture, and further to hear the emotionally burdened recitative of his initial greeting. His intonations were wracked with a wailing of the spirit, more akin to the cadences of tragic drama than an interrogation. The order of his words and sentences started slipping around in the most peculiar way. Of course, in Echo one must address wisewomen with due respect and solemnity, as one would be expected to address a university professor in my homeland. In my opinion, however, Mr. Venerable Head went a little overboard. But my opinion would hardly have interested any of those present, which is why I modestly lowered my eyes and kept my mouth shut. Actually, I returned to my kamra, which I had clearly drunk too much of already, since it was there for the taking.

  “Excuse my haste and the inconvenience I may have caused you, my wise ladies,” Juffin declaimed with lofty precision. “But without judicious counsel, my life has no meaning or purpose. I have heard that your wondrous powers were able to extend the measure of life of an inhabitant of this house, one who had lost the Spark, to a most remarkable degree.”

  “Ah, yes; Olli, one of the young Makluks,” Tisa replied knowingly.

  One of the young Makluks? I must admit, I thought the old woman had gotten it all wrong, but Juffin nodded right back at her. Then again, she had most likely known their common grandfather. (Later I found out that the crones were far older than I could ever have imagined. Here in Echo, the lifespan of an ordinary person is three hundred years, and greater longevity is a matter of personal stamina. So in their line of work, at the age of five hundred you’re still a spring chicken!)

  “Olli was very strong,” Lady Mallis announced. “And if you think about the fact that the twelve strongest ladies in Echo guarded his shadow, you will understand that his life was too short by far! We, of course, thought that the Spark would return to him. In days long ago, that happened often, though you young ones don’t believe it. Young O
lli didn’t believe it, either; but that wasn’t necessary. He still had a chance to get back the Spark!”

  “I’ve never heard the likes of it, my Lady!” Juffin declared, his curiosity piqued. (Later he admitted to me that he had lied—“just to liven up the conversation.”) “I thought the poor fellow had lived surprisingly long, but it turns out that he died before he should have!”

  “No one dies too early or too late; everyone dies in his own time. But you, a Kettari man, should know that! You look into the darkness, don’t you? But it wasn’t our fault that Olli died.”

  “Of course, I have never had any doubt on that score, my Lady!”

  “You doubt everything, you sly old fox. And that’s as it should be. I can tell you one thing—we don’t know why Olli died. And we should know. We need to know.”

  “Braba knows, but won’t tell,” Lady Tisa broke in. “That’s why she refused to come to the house of the Makluks. And she won’t come. But there’s no need for this. Retari visited her the day after Olli’s death. Tell them, Retari! We never asked you about it, because we had other worries. But now, it seems the Kettarian has only one worry—to find out why Braba is afraid to come here. And until he finds out, he’s not going to give us a moment’s peace.”

  Silence reigned. Then Juffin bowed graciously to Lady Tisa.

  “You read my heart like an open book, my Lady!”

  The old wisewoman smiled coquettishly at Juffin and winked. After this interlude of gallantry, everyone present stared intently at Lady Retari.

  “Braba doesn’t understand a thing herself, but she’s mortally afraid. She hasn’t been able to work since then, so fearful is she—like a young girl. She says someone lured away Ollie’s shadow and nearly snatched her own. We were all sure that his shadow had departed on its own. We didn’t know why; but it departed. Quickly—like a woman who doesn’t want to give her love. But Braba says someone lured it away. Someone she couldn’t discern. But she was so frightened that we decided, why bother asking? You can’t get the shadow back. Why take on someone else’s fear?” and Lady Retari fell silent, at least a year, it seemed.

  The witches sipped kamra in the stillness and crunched their cookies daintily. Sir Juffin meditated. Mr. Govins was portentously silent. I gazed at this quaint group of people in innocent admiration. Without warning, however, I felt the air in the room had grown so thick that it was impossible to breathe. Something horrible and disgusting entered for a moment, then instantly retreated, not touching anyone in the room except myself. And even I hadn’t time to realize what was happening; but a viscous lump of absolute terror penetrated my lungs when I breathed in as the shadow of some vile enigma encroached upon me, and then to my great relief disappeared as abruptly as it had come. It was probably “someone else’s fear,” as the old crone had just mentioned; but at the time I considered the episode to be a groundless mood shift—something very familiar to me. I didn’t even consider sharing this silly inner anxiety with Sir Juffin.

  Later, I understood that I had been imprudently reticent. Those “silly inner anxieties” were an extremely important part of my future occupation, for it is the sacred duty of an employee of the Secret Force to report every vague presentiment, nightmare, skip of a heartbeat, or other spiritual tremor (though analysis of the situation and other deductions you can and ought keep to yourself). At the time, though, I just tried to forget about this unpleasant lump of someone else’s fear. My efforts met with almost immediate success.

  “I know how a shadow departs,” Juffin finally announced. “Tell me wise Ladies, did none of you except Braba really sense that something was amiss?”

  “We all sensed it,” Lady Mallis said. “Sensed it—and that was that. None of us knows what it was we sensed. We can’t always say what it is. It’s too strenuous a task for us, and it will be for you, though you peer into the darkness much more often than we do. And the lad there won’t be any help, either.”

  I suddenly realized with horror that the old woman had focused her undivided attention on me.

  “’Tis a secret, Sir. Just someone else’s bad secret,” Lady Tisa said, saving me. “None of us likes it. We didn’t wish to talk about it, for it’s pointless to talk about what you don’t know. But when you’re in the company of two gentlemen whose fate it is to peer into the darkness—well, we decided to tell all, though it won’t be of any benefit to you.”

  And the three old crones, with the gracefulness of young felines, disappeared through the door.

  Juffin! I started badgering him with my Silent Speech as soon as they were gone. What was that business about “two gentlemen peering into the darkness”? What did that mean?

  Don’t concern yourself with nonsense. That’s just how these ladies see you and me. They know precious little about Invisible Magic; that’s why they imagine it to be “darkness.” It’s simpler for them that way. In general, you shouldn’t attach too much importance to what they say. Those old wisewomen aren’t too bad in practical matters—but in matters of theory, they’re no great shakes.

  And with that Sir Juffin Hully stood up from the table.

  “We’re leaving, Govins. We’ve got to do some thinking. Tell the master that he need not send anyone to the House by the Bridge. I’ll take care of all that myself. In the morning I’ll send you written permission allowing you to bury the poor fellow. But I can’t promise that everything else can be taken care of as quickly as the bothersome paperwork. You’ll just have wait it out, and moreover, I’ll be very busy in the next few days. And make sure no one hangs around in that bedchamber. Let it remain untidy, for Magicians’ sake! If I don’t show up for a time, Sir Makluk shouldn’t worry; I won’t forget about this matter, even if I wish I could . . . but if—”

  “Yes, Sir. If something happens?”

  “Let’s just hope nothing does. Better not go in there, all the same. See to it, dear Govins.”

  “You can rely on me, Sir Venerable Head.”

  “Wonderful. Sir Max, are you still alive? And you haven’t turned into a jug of kamra? Because that stuff can do that to you, you know . . .”

  “Juffin, may I go into the room one last time?”

  He raised his brow in surprise.

  “Of course, although . . . all right, we’ll go together.”

  We entered the twilit bedchamber. Everything was quiet and tranquil. The needle on Sir Juffin’s pipe jerked, and began again to seek a compromise between the “2” and the “3.” But that wasn’t why I wanted to return. Looking around, I immediately found the box with balsam soap that we unsuccessfully tried to charm earlier in the evening. It was still lying on the floor, halfway to the corridor. I lifted the box and put it in the pocket of my looxi, praise to the skies, an opportunity furnished by the local fashion.

  I looked at Juffin guiltily. He chuckled. Never mind, Juffin would be none the worse for it; and he certainly deserved some light entertainment.

  “What do you need that thing for, Max?” Juffin asked, when we had gone out into the garden and were traipsing toward home. “Do you always clean up the premises when you’ve been on a visit? Why did you rob my neighbor—’fess up!”

  “You’ll laugh . . . you’re already laughing, Magicians be with you! But you saw yourself how scared it was! I just couldn’t abandon it there.”

  “A box? You’re talking about a box?”

  “Yes, the box. Why? I felt its fear, I saw it try to roll away, and if things can remember the past, it means that they are sentient, they are able to perceive and feel. That means they live their own inscrutable lives, doesn’t it? In that case, what’s the difference whether one rescues a damsel in distress or a box?”

  Juffin burst out laughing. “I suppose it’s a matter of taste, of course! What an imagination you have, young man! Good going! I’ve lived a long time on this earth, but I’ve never taken part in the rescue of a box!”

  He teased me until we reached the gate, then grew suddenly serious.

  “Max, you’re
a genius! Fantastic! I’m not sure about the inscrutable lives of boxes, but if you remove it from a zone of fear . . . Sinning Magicians! You’re absolutely right, Max! Of course we may be able to charm at home! Not right away, of course, but perhaps it may remember something, your sweet little thing. You thief you! And the old crone can eat her skaba! As if you and I can’t solve this case together! We’ve had harder nuts to crack, and we managed.”

  I decided to take advantage of the fortuitous moment and inquire cautiously: “But still—what do you think they meant when they were talking about the darkness we peer into? That all makes me a bit uneasy.”

  “And you should be uneasy about it,” Juffin snapped. “It’s completely understandable. Remember how you got here?”

  “I do,” I murmured. “But I try not to think about it.”

  “Very well. You’ll have plenty of time to think. But you have to agree, it doesn’t happen to everyone—to flit from one world to another, with all your wits about you and your body in one piece! You and I are the kind that happens to—and that’s not all that happens to us. The old crones practice magic, but not like everyone else here—once a year in their own kitchens. They practice very long and hard. You might say it’s the only thing they do. And experience tells them there’s something not quite right about us. That ‘not quite right’ is what they call ‘darkness.’ Understand?”

  “Not really,” I admitted.

  “Okay, let me put it this way, then. Are you sometimes scared, or happy, just like that, out of the blue, apropos of nothing? You hurry out on some stupid errand, and suddenly you feel a thrill of improbable, intense, boundless joy? Or it happens that everything seems to be in its rightful place, your beloved is sleeping sweetly next to you, you’re young and full of as much energy as a puppy—and suddenly you feel you are suspended in emptiness, and a leaden sorrow clamps down on your heart, as though you were dead. Not only that, but as though you had never been alive. And sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror, and you can’t remember who that chap is, or why he’s there at all. Then your own reflection turns around and walks away, and you watch silently as it retreats. You don’t have to say anything. I already know that this happens to you from time to time. The same thing happens to me, Max; only I’ve had enough time to get used to it. It happens because something ineffable is reaching for us—we never know where and when it will show up and start tugging on our sleeve. The fact is, you and I have a talent for a strange craft that no one really understands. And, frankly, I can’t tell you anything about it that makes any sense. You know, it’s not customary to talk about this aloud. And it’s dangerous. Things like this should stay secret. There is one person here in Echo who understands more than we do about these things. You’ll meet him at some point. But until then—nary a word. Agreed?”