The Stranger - Max Frei [261]
Now, I’ve never been especially observant, so if it hadn’t been for the very common practice of first trying to locate the place you’re staying on the map of a strange city, I might never have noticed. Never mind my lodgings—on this map there was no Old Riverfront whatsoever! There was, however, a Cool Riverfront, which was not on the map I had bought a half hour earlier. I put the two maps side by side and peered at them closely. They were similar, very similar, but in addition the name of the riverbank I had already grown to love, there were several other discrepancies. I shook my head in wonder. It looked like the first map I had bought was the right one. I had checked my route against it. Or perhaps both of them were misleading in their own ways?
I drank down the rest of my kamra, grabbed my enigmatic souvenirs, and went outside. I read the street sign carefully: Circle Lane. Then I peered at my little leather map. This time everything corresponded. There was Circle Lane. But the first map told me I should be standing on Seven Grasses Street. Interesting.
It looks like there’s a doggone mystery on my trail, I thought. And it doesn’t look pretty.
Now I was only interested in bookstores and souvenir stands that sold maps. I amassed maps of Kettari, haggling like a gypsy and wheedling the storekeepers down to less than five times the asking price. Where there’s a will there’s a way. The only thing I didn’t manage was to force the merchants to pay me for taking their wares off their hands.
By sundown, I was tired and hungry, and a quick glace around proved I was standing under a sign that read Down Home Diner. The tavern was on the corner of High Street and Fisheye Street, so there were two entrances. The door around the corner from where I stood seemed to be the main entrance. Above that door was picture of an old lady of epic proportions armed with a ladle. The immediate entrance was far more appealing, an ordinary wooden door draped with some local variety of wild grapevine. I pulled it toward me with a decisive tug, but the door wouldn’t budge. It looks like I’ll have to pass under that cannibal of a cook! I said to myself unhappily. But first, I tried the overgrown door once more, and on my third try I realized that I had to push, rather than pull. This is one of my more embarrassing personal traits—I always have to struggle with new (and sometimes even long-familiar) doors. They say the malady is incurable.
After I had made my peace with the door, I went inside the nearly empty dining hall, chose the farthest table, and plopped down in a comfortable, soft chair.
No sooner had I sat down than a cheerful, plump lady appeared and handed me a weighty menu. I was duly impressed. It’s not every restaurant, even in the Capital, that offers such abundant fare.
“A cup of kamra, please,” I said. “I think I’ll have to study this beautiful book for some time.”
“One kamra, coming up!” The tavern-keeper smiled graciously. “Kamra, and something a bit stronger, as well, miss?”
“If I drink something stronger I’ll fall asleep in the chair before my meal arrives. I’d like something more vitalizing,” I said. The Elixir of Kaxar was resting safely in my travel bag in the house at 24 Old Riverbank St., which I had located on only six of the eleven maps of Kettari. Needless to say, this did not infuse me with optimism.
“I’d highly recommend Elixir of Kaxar,” suggested the tavern-keeper, brightening. “Ever since the rules for cooks were relaxed in the Capital, we have been able to stock this marvelous drink. Are you familiar with it?”
“And how!”
I noted to myself that I had probably discovered the “best darn diner in this crazy town,” as Sir Juffin Hully would have said. What luck!
The mistress of the tavern left, and I buried my nose in the menu. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the