The Stranger - Max Frei [73]
It was indeed comforting.
An unusually heartwarming sight awaited us when we returned to the House by the Bridge. We found Melamori lounging upon the table in the Hall of Common Labor. She looked disheveled, but very happy. Her narrow feet, covered in scratches, were clamped around the muscular neck of a sturdy blond young man whose face had gone burgundy for lack of oxygen. He had had no choice but to settle into a position so uncomfortable that if I had been the Venerable Head of the Office of Quick Retribution (the Supreme Court, in other words), I would have thought such a punishment to be more than enough.
“He’s all yours, Sir Melifaro,” the sweet lady twittered. “I’ve been sitting with him here for an hour already.”
“It’s your own fault. You could have settled for a less ravishing pose. We would have appreciated you anyway,” Juffin grumbled. “Get that fright into Melifaro’s office. I can’t bear the sight of him. What hands, what talent! And to waste it all churning out those odious monsters. What’s up, genius? Were you too broke for a jug of kamra?”
Juba Chebobargo was not in the mood for conversation. He didn’t seem to understand what was going on. Lady Melamori hopped off the table gracefully. The poor fool didn’t even react to his sudden liberation from her embrace. She grabbed him roughly by the wheat-colored locks that sprouted from the top of his head, and dragged the mountain of meat into Melifaro’s office with no visible effort. Melifaro followed after them, shaking his head in amazement.
As soon as I sat down at the table, I began to whine. With the exhausted manner of a hero of all world wars in succession, I demanded that we put in our order at the Glutton without waiting for the rest of our colleagues to return. To be honest, I suspect that events would have shaped up that way even without my insistence. Juffin himself was in a hurry to get his kamra.
“I think we should add a few bottles of good wine to our order. I feel a tad tired today,” said Lonli-Lokli. “I don’t think anyone would object.”
Indeed, no one had any objections. The devil take it, we had something to celebrate! Just a few hours ago we had unmasked and disarmed a Phetan, one of the most formidable forces of evil in this World. Not to mention our joint munchkin-extermination mission, and our happy introduction to Juba Chebobargo, the person with the magical hands.
When the trays arrived from the Glutton, Lonli-Lokli produced the familiar cup with the hole in the bottom from under the folds of his looxi. But he slyly managed to surprise me a second time. Uncorking a bottle of Shining, Sir Shurf took his time pouring its entire contents into his cup. Of course, the size of the cup would not seem to accommodate such greed. It turned out, however, that nothing would spill over the brim of the cup, either. The quivering aromatic column of greenish-yellow wine froze above the vessel. Lonli-Lokli sipped from the top of this liquid iceberg.
I felt the urge to cross all my fingers, just to be on the safe side; but then thought better of it, as this could be interpreted as magic of some forbidden degree.
“Do you feel better, Shurf?” asked Juffin.
“I certainly do. Thank you, sir,” said Lonli-Lokli. And, indeed, not a trace of weariness remained on his face.
There was still much that remained unclear to me, so I requested an explanation.
“So it was Juba Chebobargo who made those dolls come alive?”
“Almost. As I understand it, Juba’s skills were so great that he made the dolls using only permitted magic—and his amazing hands, of course! It wasn’t that the dolls were really alive; but they were very lifelike, and they could perform certain simple tasks. Collecting all the money and valuables they could carry, for example. And he taught them to return to their master. It was an excellent plan, I’ll grant him that. If Melifaro hadn’t taken on the case, I don’t think anyone would have caught on for a few more years; and by then he would have made a fortune. Although today’s events