The Stranger - Max Frei [34]
Jufffin, could you teach me that?
I had enough presence of mind not to shout it out loud, but to use the opportunity for Silent Speech—just in case.
Sure, Juffin replied calmly. Or Sir Shurf will teach you. Remind me sometime, when we’re taking it easy.
Upon return, Makluk’s house resembled a huge, abandoned crypt. Sir Lonli-Lokli, observing official protocol, opened the door and was the first to step over the threshold to the bedchamber. We followed close behind. The room was exactly as we had left it.
At the sight of poor motionless Melifaro, I must admit that my spirits plummeted. How could I have been so certain that I could save the day? What if my idea didn’t work? What would that make us, then—murderers? Or just fools? Good question. Rather, a moral dilemma. Bring on the anguish!
Sir Lonli-Lokli took a simpler view of things. “It’s a good thing he’s silent,” said this compassionate man, nodding in Melifaro’s direction. “If only he were always like this!”
In his tone there wasn’t a trace of spite—it was just a factual observation that he liked Melifaro more when he was quiet than when he was chatty. A purely aesthetic preference. Nothing personal.
Having expressed his opinion, Lonli-Lokli shook his fist vigorously, then opened it up and spread out his hand. The huge mirror from Juffin’s hallway dropped neatly to the floor between the Statue Melifaro and the secret entrance to another, baneful dimension.
“It’s a little crooked,” Juffin remarked. “Let’s try moving it a bit to the right, the three of us together.”
“Why all together, Sir?” the magnificent Lonli-Lokli asked. “I can manage on my own.” And with stunning carelessness, he shifted the huge bulk of the mirror with just his left hand. It turned out that the “mystical weightlifting gift” existed after all. I looked at him and held my breath in wonder, like a scrawny adolescent looking at a real-life Hercules.
Juffin looked over the layout critically. Everything was ready: the reflection of the bedchamber mirror fit snugly into ours, with even a bit of surplus around the edges. And the most important thing—the valuable antique of Sir Juffin’s completely concealed Melifaro.
The Chief of the Secret Investigative Force threw a parting glance at his treasure and began issuing commands.
“Get ready, Shurf! Max, get behind my back. Or, better yet, go stand by the door. You’ve already done everything you could. Your job now is to stay alive. I’m serious, Max!”
I took up position by the door. I had no objections to staying alive.
Sir Lonli-Lokli finally deigned to remove his gloves. Only then did I realize that what everyone said about Lonli-Lokli’s “capable hands” was not just a pretty expression. My eyes beheld two hands that were semi-transparent, and shone brilliantly in the midday sun. The long sharp nails cut through the air, then took refuge under the snow-white looxi. I blinked my eyes, dumbstruck, unable to express my admiration in any other way. Then I suddenly remembered—I had seen something like this, and not so very long ago. Where, I wondered, in a nightmare, perhaps? Sir Juffin took pity on my poor head and prompted in a whisper, “Remember we were studying the memory of a pin? The ceremonial severing of a hand? The Order of the Icy Hand—remember?”
I remembered, and opened my mouth to ask how the severed hands had become the hands of our esteemed colleague. But Juffin had anticipated my question:
“They’re gloves. I’ll explain later. Now it’s time to get down to work!”
With these words Juffin approached the motionless Melifaro. He stood at a vantage point that allowed him to observe the reflections of both mirrors. Then he stood absolutely still, on tiptoe. I held my breath, waiting.
This time there was no dance. But Juffin’s face and stance betrayed an unbelievable tension. Then, suddenly relaxing, Juffin made a slight gesture, as if he were removing a delicate covering from a priceless vase. At almost the same moment, and with all his might, he shoved the poor Melifaro. The body, immobile at first, then