The Stranger - Max Frei [145]
“Thank you. Of course I’ll come. I’ll eat everything that’s put on the table. And then I’ll go rummage around in the closets.”
“I don’t doubt it. All right, go get some shuteye.”
Armstrong and Ella greeted me with petulant meowing. As a consequence of Melifaro’s deep sleep, they had received their breakfast several hours later than usual over the past few days, and they didn’t intend to welcome the innovation.
“That’s all over, my little furries,” I reassured them, filling their bowls. “Everything’s back to normal now.”
Curiosity proved to be stronger than weariness. Before I fell asleep, I opened the Royal Trinket Box to see what was inside. Not a hundred days had passed since I had tried to open just such a box. Now I did it almost mechanically. Hmm, yes. Magic of the fourth degree we had already mastered, and much else, besides, a hole in the heavens above!
This time I had received a surprisingly beautiful little medallion made of white steel, which is prized far more highly than gold in this World that lacks precious metals. On the medallion was the likeness of a fat, peculiar-looking, but very appealing little creature. Peering closely at it, I gleaned that the unknown artist had tried to depict Armstrong (or Ella, his nearly identical other half).
Three hours of sleep was more than enough. Even a tiny drop of Elixir of Kaxar can do wonders, it seems. In my joy, I straightened up the house, cleaned up after the cats, and even shaved. Then I sat in the living room, filling my pipe with the local tobacco, the taste of which I had never been able to get used to. But the ritual of fiddling with the pipe is itself one of the true pleasures of domestic leisure.
At sundown, I carefully packed myself into the amobiler and set out for the other side of the Xuron, to the quiet and respectable Left Bank. I drove through completely empty streets. Restaurant proprietors were peacefully nodding off in the doorways of their establishments, not really hoping to take in any profits that night. Birds wandered about on the mosaic pavements. The residents of Echo were resting from the cares of the year gone by. There was no trace of noisy celebration, only the deep, unbroken slumber for which the capital had so desperately longed.
Juffin opened the door for me himself. Kimpa, his butler, had gone to sleep right after he had laid the table. Our eagerness to stay up and talk had no doubt struck him as the height of eccentricity.
The first thing I did was embrace Chuff, who was practically swooning in ecstasy. The little dog licked my nose carefully, and then started in on my ear. I prefer other modes of washing, but I vowed to enjoy this one.
“I’ve come bearing no gifts,” I apologized, sitting down in a comfortable chair. “You know how thrifty I am. But I think I can find something for you, little fellow.”
I unwrapped a small parcel. Inside were Chuff’s (and my own) favorite cookies from the Hunchback Itullo, delicious beyond description, and just as pricey. Sir Juffin Hully claims that making this delicacy without resorting to forbidden degrees of magic is nearly impossible. Be that as it may, the chef there is above suspicion. They inspect him every dozen days, and no trace of mischief is ever found.
That’s what true culinary talent is—the lack of which, in yours truly, we were bemoaning only that morning.
Max is good. Chuff is fluent in Silent Speech. Better than I am.
“Did you squander your whole life’s savings on those cookies?” Juffin asked.
“Only half of it. The other half I squandered, as you put it, on this.” And with the dramatic flourish of a seasoned conjuror, I gave my left hand a shake, and a small, pot-bellied bottle of dark glass appeared on the table.
“You’re lying about the cost. These things can’t be bought or sold,” said Juffin in rapture. “Is it possible that Melamori is sharing again? I thought that she had broken your heart; but it seems to have been a well-laid plan. You’re a genius, Max! You discovered the only foolproof