The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three Page 15

  “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 t
hat 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 blackand-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 genuinel
y 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.”