The Stranger - Max Frei [71]
“Should I stop him?” asked Shurf.
Juffin shook his head. “It’s not Juba. Let him run around, there’s no harm in that. And what on earth are you so pleased about, Max? Is it something to do with the little man?”
“Not exactly.” I felt myself blushing. “I was just glad it wasn’t . . . a rat.”
“A rat? What’s a rat?”
“You don’t have rats here?”
“I guess not, unless we call them something else. Let’s go see what’s going on inside the house. Sir Shurf, you go first; and you, Max, keep your wits about you. Today doesn’t seem to be your lucky day.”
That day I realized that I truly enjoyed being in the company of Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli. Shurf was a consummate killer. To be standing so close to death, and yet to be certain it won’t touch you, is a unique feeling. It gives you an unfounded but absolute confidence in your own powers. It made my head spin!
In the hallway of the pink chicken coop, my inappropriately buoyant mood hit the skids. Another little tot was smacking his lips and chewing happily as he sat on the stomach of an ample, middle-aged dead man, upon whose innards he was snacking. Lonli-Lokli quickly put an end to this grotesque scene. If it had gone on a second longer, I would have run the risk of parting with the pastries I myself had eaten only a short time before.
“Why, that’s Krelo Shir!” Juffin exclaimed, approaching the mutilated body. “What a shame! I never would have thought Juba could afford such an excellent chef. Poor artist my foot!”
We entered the living room. The scene before us deserved to be sculpted in bronze. The heroic Sir Melifaro, in a cloud of fluttering remnants of a turquoise looxi, was ripping apart a writhing, angry little body with his bare hands. A good ten miniature bodies lay motionless, strewn about like a splendid backdrop to this immortal exploit. I couldn’t help but laugh. Lonli-Lokli shot out of the room like a bullet.
“Was he really that repelled by my laughter?” I asked Juffin in confusion.
Melifaro brandished the beheaded torso, and grinned at the same time. He was probably imagining how this scene must look to an outsider.
“Oh, no, Max, not at all. I simply sent him to go after the others.”
“There’re more?”
“No less than a dozen running about. And Mister Juba made a run for it, too. But I wouldn’t worry about him. Our friend Melamori doesn’t take kindly to men who don’t lavish attention on her,” Melifaro assured me. “She’ll smoke him out wherever he is.”
“Just what are these little freaks? Can you tell me, O slayer of trolls?”
“Why do you call them freaks? They’re sweet, really; take a look!” Melifaro held out a little head that had been separated from its body. I winced. Then I saw that the head was made out of wood. And the face was truly lovely. Sinning Magicians!”
“Is that a doll? The same one you gave Melamori?”
“The same one, or a different one. It doesn’t matter. There were several dozen of the little monsters and they just went mad. When we first arrived they were having a meeting, discussing whether they should kill Juba or swear loyalty to him. He was a sorry sight.”
“Let’s go, fellows,” Juffin said, cutting short our intriguing conversation. “We’re no match for Sir Shurf, but we should each try to make ourselves useful, insofar as our humble abilities will allow us. Where, by the way, is good Sir Shixola? Could he possibly have deserted?”
“Just about! No, just joking. He called for a backup, too, and now he’s heading up the races on the rooftops, in the company of the city police. I hope they’ve managed to catch one or two. Patch me up, will you, Juffin? Jokes aside, I don’t think I’m in very good shape.”
I watched, enchanted, as Sir Juffin Hully stroked Melifaro’s arms, which were covered in tooth marks, with the tips of his fingers. Melifaro winced.
“That’s nothing; my stomach is in a much worse state.”
“Ah-hah!