The Stranger - Max Frei [90]
I washed myself, drank a mug of kamra, and began to go over things in my mind. My predecessors in the cell had died only at night. A coincidence? Or was the reason much simpler—they died at night because they slept at night, like all normal people? And because of me the local ghouls had had to change their schedule? Questions, questions, and no answers.
But what unnerved me most of all was my own equanimity. For some reason, I was still not afraid of anything. Not of what had already happened, not of what, theoretically, could happen still. Somehow I had become certain that nothing bad would ever happen to me. Not here, nor in any other place. Never. Bravery verging on lunacy. Until recently I had never suffered from such a syndrome. Maybe the secret of my courage was the trick up my sleeve—or at the end of my fingertips: the well-concealed Sir Lonli-Lokli. But maybe the person whose identity I was interested in discovering derived some advantage from dealing with a myopic daredevil? And he was boosting my mood, unbeknown to me?
For whatever reason, I didn’t fall asleep again that day. Until twilight, I kept pouring myself mugs of kamra, and I read my beloved Encyclopedia, which made me smarter with every line.
Then I came to understand that events were unfolding precisely in the tradition of fairy tales. The first and second nights I was just teased mildly. Predictably, the real horror was postponed until the “fateful” third night.
When dusk set in, I was overcome by a heavy somnolence. This was more than strange, since I usually experience an excess of liveliness and energy at that time, regardless of how I spent the day.
Now, though, I had to stave off sleep, and I didn’t manage very well. I tried to spook myself by summoning up the lurid horrors that lay in wait for me on the far side of my closed eyelids. No use. Even thinking about the unprecedented shame that would cover me if I failed didn’t work. Melifaro’s stinging remarks, Juffin’s consoling gestures, and (the apotheosis) Lady Melamori’s contemptuously pursed lips. Even that didn’t help. A blissful drowsiness enveloped me like a downy pillow, the weapon of choice of a gentle strangler. I was just one wink away from the land of nod.
A bottle of Elixir of Kaxar saved me from slumber. It was pure luck that I had decided to bring it with me. I had to drink quite a bit. But I’m not complaining—Elixir of Kaxar is not only a powerful tonic, but darned tasty, too.
Afterward, Juffin explained that drinking the elixir galvanized the force into action. Apparently, the mysterious being decided that if I was using magic only of the eighth degree for self-defense, I was-n’t a force to contend with. My seeming helplessness forced it to take the most thoughtless course of action in all its strange career.
I didn’t want to argue with Juffin; all the same, it seemed to me that this malevolent chap, fairly unhinged by the loneliness of his transparent existence, just couldn’t wait anymore. It wasn’t a matter of logic at all. The dead Magician wanted to take my life. He was compelled to try—the sooner, the better. Most likely, my “Spark,” or whatever it is, was just the amount or intensity he needed. He had been moving toward his goal for so long already! Drop by drop he had absorbed the strength of those who had ended up in that cell. The time came when Maxlilgl Annox was strong enough to take the first life of another—a life he needed to redeem his own, partly spent, life. Then he was able to claim another, and another . . .
The last portion made the ghost of the Grand Magician so powerful that he was able to invade the dreams of the inhabitants of the neighboring cells, who were soundly