The Stranger - Max Frei [51]
After this I was left to the winds of fate. Juffin left me in charge and headed for the Glutton Bunba to have dinner with Melifaro.
“Tell him he owes me one!” I called after my boss as he slipped away. “A whole helicopter of humanitarian aid; and it had better be on him!”
“Humanitarian aid? Is that a hot appetizer?” asked Sir Juffin.
“That just means a whole lot of food at the right moment,” I explained.
That night was so uneventful that I was slightly disappointed. Kurush amused me as best he could. The wise bird turned out to be just as much of a night owl as myself. As a kindred spirit, I was obliged to tell the buriwok my life story. But before I did, I made Kurush take a dreadful oath to keep the information confidential and file it under Far More Secret Than Top Secret. The buriwok bore himself like an Indian chieftain, which greatly impressed me.
The following morning began with a visit from Kofa Yox, who arrived before the first light. He, too, often worked at night, since his main job was to listen to the idle talk in Echo’s taverns and glean grains of useful information from the idle chitchat. When the Master Eavesdropper showed up at the House by the Bridge most mornings, he would transform his ever-changing countenance into one appropriate to the harsh realities of life. He would share these intriguing facts, and occasional brilliant ideas, with Sir Juffin Hully over a cup of kamra.
“In the city they’re saying that you’re the King’s illegitimate son, my boy!” Kofa Yox greeted me. “My conclusion is that you received a royal honor on your first day at work. Juffin and I even made a bet. He wagered in your favor, and I against. The old fox earned six crowns on your luck and His Highness Gurig VIII’s sentimental mood. No matter though, I won several handfuls at dice, so at least I have something to pay him with.”
“Where do rumors come from, Sir Kofa?” I was truly curious to know the answer.
“Where don’t they come from? I suppose the majority of rumors are a combination of leaked information and the astounding imaginations of numerous storytellers. And, of course, the hope that things aren’t really as boring as they seem on the surface. I don’t know, Max, I just don’t know . . .”
“People love to talk,” Kurush noted condescendingly.
“Do you know what sorts of things people say about our Most Venerable Head?” Kofa asked. “We start half of those rumors ourselves: the Secret Investigative Force has to inspire superstitious fear in the general populace. Did you know, for example, that Sir Juffin Hully is said to have a ring called the Master of Lies that lets off invisible deadly rays? Anyone who tells a lie in his presence soon dies a painful death. The first version was far more modest. It went something like this: Sir Juffin can tell a liar with the help of a magical object. We owe the story’s terrifying details to the common folk.”
“What else?” I asked.
“That Juffin eats the dried flesh of rebellious Magicians, whom he holds captive in his basement. One should never look directly into his eyes, or one will lose the Spark forever and pine away. Oh, and of course, Juffin takes the Spark for himself. Hmm, what else . . . That he is immortal; that his parents are two ancient Magicians who modeled our boss out of sand and their own saliva; that he had a twin brother whom he ate; that he becomes a shadow at night, and—”
“Gossiping about me again?” asked the hero of urban folklore, as he fell into his armchair.
“I’m just trying to warn the poor young man,” Kofa said and smiled.
“‘Poor young man?’” You should see him when he turns into a vampire! So how was the night, hero?”
“Boring,” I complained. “Kurush and I chatted and rummaged through the gifts that you and Melifaro have received. Terrible.”
“My night was nothing to write home about, either,” said Sir Kofa. “Just a few small house robberies in rich neighborhoods. The thieves took the most valuable possessions; but it’s a case that even Boboota can solve. The boy is right, it