The Stranger - Max Frei [182]
“That’s precisely the point. They’re not idiots at all. They’re just sensible, cautious gentlemen. Do you think they would come running on the very first day? The Earring of Oxalla is no trifling matter. Do you know what will happen to the person who decides to indulge in magic of even the 21st degree if he’s wearing that little doodad? There aren’t many who could withstand the shock of pain that is inevitable in that case. Our amazing culinary wizards are living people, and they’re not quite ready to be hemmed in that way. Everyone thinks that if he breaks the prohibition only once he can hide from us, if he’s lucky. And it isn’t even the end of the world if he ends up in Xolomi. Almost half of the most important people in the Unified Kingdom have done time in Xolomi. But about the Earring of Oxalla there can be only one opinion—either you have it or you don’t.”
“Why not take it off?” I didn’t understand a thing. The day before I was so sleepy that I hadn’t managed to pin Juffin down and ask what the Earring of Oxalla really was.
“Oh, Max! Give me a break, Marvel of the Steppes!”
Melifaro held out for my inspection a fairly large ring of some kind of dark metal, clearly different from ordinary jewelry. It was solid, without any break in the hoop, nor was there any clasp. I took the thing in my hand. It felt heavy and warm.
“Affixing it to someone’s ear is quite easy, but it can only be done by a competent person. Me, for instance. This metal, as you see, can’t penetrate human flesh without the accompaniment of specific charms,” Melifaro explained. “And to remove it . . . In the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover there are several fellows who specialize in such procedures. To go to Jafax, however, and say, ‘Hey, guys, take this hardware out of my ear! I’m itching to make some magic!’—well, it’s not the wisest move. Am I right, Boss?”
“Absolutely,” said Juffin and yawned. “You are so very right that my presence here is becoming superfluous. I’m going home to sleep, fellows. I’m as tired as a mad murderer.”
“Wait, so it was all for nothing?” I asked. “Your diplomatic stunt, I mean. The cooks aren’t going to flock to you in record numbers?”
“Don’t be silly. Everything will fall into place. Today the whole city will throng to Chemparkaroke’s. Tomorrow a few of his bolder fellow-chefs will report to us. In the evening all his customers will be lined up at his door. The day after tomorrow another ten cooks will show up. In a week we’ll be fending them off. Everything in its own good time, you see.”
“Yes, I see,” I said. “I guess I’ll be able to hold out for a few days.”
“What a glutton,” Sir Juffin exclaimed in admiration. Melifaro rose.
“I suppose I’ll stop in at the Thorn. I’m very curious—was Chemparkaroke telling the truth when he said he wanted the Earring just for esthetic purposes, or did he have other motives? What kind of soup will he cook up now? Poor Mr. Bad Dream, you’ll never know, will you?”
“Big loss. Run along, you pathetic opium-eater, you.”
“What’s that? Your tongue really runs away with you sometimes. I take it that must be something very improper.”
“Why improper? In the Borderlands that’s what we call nomads who hanker after fresh horse dung—so much so that it can be habit-forming. They also claim that it ‘brings them repose.’”
“You’re just envious,” Melifaro said, putting an end to the matter. “Well, Magicians be with you, I’m off to enjoy myself.”
“Who isn’t going to enjoy himself?” I murmured as my colleagues departed.
When I was finally alone, I went to the office I shared with Juffin. I poured myself some kamra and took out a little stump of a cigarette. Life was already wonderful without the Soup of Repose.”
That night I didn’t go anywhere, since Lady Melamori, it turned out, hadn’t slept well the night before and was too tired to go for a walk. But