The Stranger - Max Frei [181]
Need I say that I didn’t emerge from the bedroom until sundown? I swear that even the desire to see Melamori couldn’t dislodge me until it was time for me to report to the House by the Bridge.
The first attempt, as it turned out, was the most successful. The next few times I had to wait even longer. Now, at last, I knew why I had to suffer. By the time I left for work, I had four cigarettes—three that someone had already smoked, and one whole one. After wrapping up my loot and carefully hiding it in the pocket of the Mantle of Death, I set out for the Ministry of Perfect Public Order. With all the excitement of these otherworldly experiments, I had even forgotten to eat.
After yesterday’s historic occasion, I must admit I expected a huge crowd of chefs at the visitors’ entrance, all of them longing for permission to apply magic of the heretofore-forbidden 20th degree in their kitchens, and to wear the Earring of Oxalla to top it off.
Nothing of the sort. There were no visitors, either outside or in the corridor, or even in the Hall of Common Labor, where a temporary reception space had been set up. Melifaro was sitting in state on the table with the bored expression of the well-rested.
Sir Juffin Hully came out of the office to meet me.
“Unbelievable, Max. You’re on time today, and not three hours early. What’s gotten into you?”
“Don’t you know? I saw Sir Maba in my dream.”
“Really? And was this vision too wonderful to wake up from?”
“You really don’t know? He taught me how to forage for cigarettes. Underneath my pillow!”
“How thoughtful of him. I never would have expected it. And did it work? It did, of course—it’s written in big letters across your happy forehead. Strange, Maba never was a very good teacher. He’s too impatient to bother with neophytes. We’re talking nonsense over here, Melifaro. Don’t give it a second thought,” said Juffin, finally noticing that the eyes of his Diurnal Representative were popping out in surprise. “It means you’re going to have to work that much harder, poor boy. It seems that from now on Max is going to be spending all his time fishing around under his pillow.”
“Well, that beats sitting in an office all day,” said Melifaro.
I was feeling magnanimous, like every truly happy person.
“I’m not yet a lost cause. But tell me, where are all the chefs? What happened this morning?”
“Not a thing,” said Melifaro and yawned. “Chemparkaroke, the innkeeper of the Old Thorn, dropped in. It was really something. He claims that he can prepare his house special, the Soup of Repose, without any magic whatsoever, as long as the seasoning herbs are potent. But the Earring of Oxalla, he said, was a beautiful thing, and the customers would like it. He’s quite a character. He insisted on looking into a mirror while the earring was being affixed, so he could see the whole process. I thought I’d have some fun, and called in the junior staff. The boys crowded around Chemparkaroke, each of them holding a mirror so that he might see his reflection from many different angles at once. I put the earring in, wailing some terrible incantations at the top of my lungs, half of them made up right on the spot. The fellow was ecstatic! He pirouetted in front of the mirror for half an hour, at the same time inviting all the policemen to his establishment. Finally he turned to me, told me he liked the earring, and left. Now there’s a full house at the Old Thorn, no doubt.”
“Do you mean to say that Chemparkaroke was the only one who