The Stranger - Max Frei [70]
“Oh, right! Sleep is just what I need now, while you stuff yourselves with pastries and make a big fuss about our adventures today. The only way you’ll get rid of me is to kill me!”
“Curiosity and gluttony will be the death of you in this job,” Juffin said. “Well, then, let’s be off.”
Lonli-Lokli helped me stand up; but to do this he had to wrap his hand in the cloth of his cape, since he had forgotten his protective gloves in the amobiler. It occurred to me that leaning on the elbow of a fellow like him was probably as dangerous as passing the time by throwing a party at a nuclear power plant. So I tried to make it downstairs without assistance. I made my way down, not exactly bouncing, but energetic nonetheless.
We had just gotten to the amobiler when Juffin’s face suddenly looked like he had eaten a whole lemon.
“Dinner’s postponed, boys. Melifaro is screaming for help. I think they’re in big trouble. And if even Sir Melifaro is complaining, then it must be something serious. The poor fellow didn’t even have time to explain himself. He says an evil force is abroad, and it’s running amuck. Sounds like fun. So we’re heading for the Street of Little Generals. Get behind the wheel, Sir Max! We could use some of your reckless driving right now. As for you, son, get back to the House by the Bridge and read the paper there or something. Come on now, clear out!” said Juffin, and nudged the bewildered driver from the driver’s seat.
I took his place, and we were off. Juffin hardly managed to keep up with my driving, shouting “to the left, now right, now left again!” I believe that evening I was able to squeeze sixty miles per hour out of the technological miracle.
Our speed was justified, as the Street of Little Generals was all the way on the western edge of the city; but we made it there in about fifteen minutes. Juffin needn’t have taken the trouble to announce that we had arrived. To be honest, I didn’t doubt it for a minute.
I can’t say that Echo is the quietest place in the world in the evening. Even so, it’s unusual for locals to run around in groups of twenty to thirty, dressed only in their underwear and accompanied by their young children and hysterical domestic animals. As far as I know, shrieking so loud that the sound carries above the rooftops is not common, either. But that is precisely what everyone was doing at the moment.
“Juba Chebobargo’s house. It’s that dirty pink chicken shed over there,” said Juffin, pointing.
A barefoot man, whose firm body was only just covered by some pathetic scraps of a ragged tunic, ran out of the building just described to me in such unkind terms. A bright shiny object, too large to be a piece of jewelry, was attached to the hem of the tattered garment. The next instant I noticed that the “object” was alive.
A rat! I thought. Could it really be a rat? Ugh!
I’ve been afraid of rats since childhood. This common phobia even has a long scientific name, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is.
A moment later I calmed down. I told myself that multicolored rats like that don’t exist in nature. The creature known as a rat has to be the same grayish or dun color, no matter what world it’s in. Besides, this thing had clearly anthropomorphic features.
“It’s a little man!” I shouted happily. “Just a little man! Exactly like the one the girl described!”
The white flame that leaped out of Lonli-Lokli’s left hand consumed the little man completely, leaving not