The Stranger - Max Frei [119]
While I was lost in reminiscences, the amobiler, manned by Sir Juffin Hully, was winding in and out among the luxuriant gardens of the Left Bank. Finally, we turned into a narrow driveway that seemed to be paved exclusively with semiprecious stones. At first I didn’t see the house amid the thick undergrowth. Sir Maba Kalox is probably a philosopher, and his philosophy requires that he become one with nature. That’s why he lives in a garden without any architectural superfluities, I thought cheerfully, just before we nearly ran smack into the wall of his house, all but invisible under the opaque curtain of vines.
“This is what you call camouflage!” I exclaimed admiringly.
“You can’t imagine how right you are, Max. Now do you see why I sat behind the levers of this blasted buggy? During my lifetime I have paid several hundred visits to Maba, and I have always been forced to find my way to his lair by guesswork. It’s impossible to memorize the way here. Every time you just have to arm yourself with the hope that you’ll get lucky. Maba Kalox is an unsurpassed master of discretion!”
“Is he hiding from someone?”
“No, not at all. People just have a hard time discovering his whereabouts. It happens of its own accord, with no help from him. One of the side effects of studying True Magic.”
“And why is your house so easy to find?”
“In the first place, we all have our eccentricities. And, second, I’m by no means as old as he is.”
“Do you mean to say—”
“I don’t mean to say anything. But I have to, since you asked. The Order of the Clock of Time Backwards has existed . . . let me see . . . yes, around 3,000 years. And I have yet to hear that there has been a succession of Grand Magicians.”
“Wow!”
I had nothing more to add.
Sir Juffin turned behind the well-concealed building. There we came upon a decrepit plywood door, more fitting for a toolshed than a Grand Magician’s villa. The door opened with a creak, and we found ourselves standing in the middle of a large, rather chilly hall.
Maba Kalox, the Grand Magician of the Order of Time Backwards, was known for having peacefully disbanded his Order several years before the onset of the Troubled Times, after which he managed nearly to disappear from sight without ever leaving Echo. This living legend was waiting for us in the sitting room.
The “living legend” was quite ordinary looking. He was a shortish, stocky fellow of indeterminate age with an animated expression. His merry, round eyes were the true embellishments of his face. If he could have been said to resemble any of my companions, it would have had to be Kurush, our wise buriwok.
“Haven’t set eyes on you in ages, Juffin!”
Sir Maba Kalox said this with such unfeigned enthusiasm that it seemed Sir Juffin’s presence filled him with cosmic joy.
“I’m happy to see you,” he said to me, making a low exaggerated bow. “You could have brought your marvel around sooner, Juffin. May I touch him?”
“Go ahead. As far as I know he doesn’t bite. He doesn’t kick. It’s even safe to drop him on the floor.”
“On the floor! That’s a good one.”
Maba Kalox really did probe me with his index finger, then immediately drew back as if he were afraid of getting burned. He winked at me conspiratorially, as if to say, “You and I know this charade is just for Juffin’s sake—so bear with me. Let’s humor the old geezer.” Sir Maba didn’t use Silent Speech, but somehow I knew just what the wink meant. I liked his approach, in spite of the fact that he had called me “marvel” and pinched me like fresh dough.
“Sit down, friends,” Sir Maba Kalox said, gesturing broadly toward the table. “I’ll rustle up some of your best black poison.”
By “black poison” he meant kamra, of course.
“It will probably be some potion of boiled herbs again,” Juffin commented peevishly. He could grow savage when someone took aim at one of his little weaknesses.
“Well, at least it’s not any of that liquid tar of yours. Whoever decided that was fit for drinking at all? No matter how often those misery-mongers muttered spells over it. Don’t pout, Juffin. Just