The Stranger - Max Frei [172]
“Happy New Year, little furries,” I said to the cats. They yawned indifferently. I also yawned, and then blanked out.
CHAPTER SIX
VICTIMS OF CIRCUMSTANCE
WHEN I WOKE IT WAS NEARLY DARK IN THE BEDROOM. THIS WAS a record—it had been a long time had passed since I had slept till sundown.
Are you sleeping? Well, I’ll be, mate! Melifaro’s call resounded in my sleep-muddled brain. Good for me. I just earned a crown.
What for? I asked, uncomprehending.
Nothing much—it’s just that I made a bet with Melamori. She claimed you’d wake up before sundown, and I bet on later. I was ready to lose, but you’ve done me a good turn!
So now you owe me not one, but two meals, I said. Your debt to me is growing by leaps and bounds. Over and out.
I yawned and dragged myself downstairs, my head buzzing like I had a hangover. Ella and Armstrong were slumbering by their bowls in the middle of the front room. Urf, the farmer’s son, a junior official at the Ministry of Perfect Public Order, had most likely come in while I was sleeping. The cats looked full and contented, and their fur had been carefully groomed—not by me, of course. In childhood I sometimes frightened my parents by sleepwalking down the corridor, but I would hardly have known how to carry out such a delicate hairdressing operation with my eyes shut.
When most of the sticky cobwebs of sleep had fallen away, I began feeling like a person again. The delivery boy from the Sated Skeleton whined plaintively at the door. Just as I was about to answer it, I realized I hadn’t managed to get dressed yet, so I quickly wrapped myself in Armstrong’s colorful mat. It was a far cry from the Mantle of Death, but I wasn’t prepared to open the door completely naked. One look at the boy informed me that a cat’s mat wasn’t the most appropriate domestic attire either; but by then it was too late. My poor, beleaguered reputation!
I closed the door behind the disconcerted youth, returned the mat to its customary place, and happily sat down to breakfast. After the first mug of kamra, my head grew less fuzzy. It occurred to me that Lady Melamori could have found dozens of other pretexts for a bet with Melifaro. She probably wasn’t against taking a stroll with me, but she was embarrassed to take the initiative. The argument about the hour I awoke was an excellent way not only of getting information about my habits, but of tactfully reminding me of her existence. So I immediately got in touch with this incomprehensible creature.
Good day, my lady!
Not day—evening, Sir Sleepyhead. I lost a whole crown because of you!
I’m guilty. I repent. But I had a terrible night. I dreamed about Juffin. Can you imagine? You should pity me, not scold me. And I need to be aired out, as well, like an old winter looxi.
I’ll fetch you in half an hour. Sir Juffin informed me in strictest confidence that you would be free tonight, so I have great plans.
First I nearly died of happiness. Then I went to get dressed. If Lady Melamori caught me wrapped in Armstrong’s mat, my chances would plummet, no doubt. Or . . . would they?
When the Master of Pursuit appeared on my doorstep, looking a bit dazed by her own boldness, I was already in fine fettle and prepared for anything. “Anything” in this case meant walking thousands of miles, if need be, along Echo’s mosaic sidewalks, in the company of Lady Melamori. According to her, long walks in one another’s company are just what a man and a woman who are not indifferent to each other need. It was possible that I had been hasty with my conclusions about “each other”; but Melamori’s tender look confirmed my most daring conjectures.
This time we traipsed all the way to the New City (about an hour and a half from my house, by the way). Melamori managed to tell me heaps of new gossip, but I only listened out of the corner of my ear. I was too happy to be all ears.
“There’s a remarkable place around here,” she said, slackening her pace. “An old mansion with a garden. In the evening they sell some vile