The Stranger - Max Frei [17]
“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