The Stranger - Max Frei [97]
“Well, you’ve consoled me. Thanks a million!”
“Deal with it, Max. Don’t think this incident is the last one in your life. Everything is for the best! At Makluk’s house you became a bit wiser. Now you have a useful weapon at your disposal. Who knows what’s next?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
For a few seconds I sincerely tried to feel sorry for myself. Then I shook my head and burst out laughing.
“Maybe I just need to see a wiseman. I’ll come to him and say, ‘Doctor, I have poisonous saliva. What should I do?’ And he’ll say, ‘No problem. A strict diet, a walk before bedtime, and an aspirin for the night. In five hundred years, you’ll be right as rain!’”
“Aspirin? What’s that?” Lonli-Lokli asked.
“Oh, it truly is a magic potion. It’s made from horse dung, and it helps everything!”
“Well, I’ll be! And our scholars write that in the Borderlands sorcery is very backward. It does seem to be the case that reason often falls victim to prejudice.”
Sir Juffin clutched at his head.
“Stop, gentlemen! I can’t laugh anymore. My face will become permanently contorted. A last piece of advice, Max. I suggest you consider yourself to be very lucky. You have plenty of useless and inoffensive habits. It’s about time you acquired some dangerous ones. Your new acquisition might come in very handy in our profession. And if some hysterical lady refuses to kiss you, just spit in her direction and all will be well. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Excellent.” With that, he threw open the door, took a sizable package from the hands of a courier, and tossed it on my lap. “Now try this on.”
I opened the package, and out fell a black looxi embroidered in gold, a black skaba, a turban in the same style, and a pair of marvelous boots. On the boots were stylized heads of toothy dragon-like creatures; the black boot-tops were strewn with tiny golden bells. Of course, I would never wear anything like that in my homeland—but here in Echo, I was stylin’!
“Is this a gift, Juffin?”
“Something like that. But please do try it on.”
“Thanks!” I started pulling on the boots.
“You’re very welcome. Do you like these?”
“I’ll say!” I plunked the black turban on my head. It was decorated with the same tiny gold bells.
“And the looxi?
“Just a second.”
I wrapped myself up in the black and gold garment and looked at myself in the mirror. It turned out that the gold patterned embroidery formed glittering circles on my chest and back, like targets.
“It’s great! Fit for a king.”
“Well, as a matter of fact it is for a king. I’m glad you like it, Sir Max. Now you have to wear it.”
“Gladly. But why do I have to? And it’s a pity to wear such finery on a daily basis.”
“You’ll get as many outfits as you need. You still haven’t understood the main thing. These are your work clothes, so to speak. Your uniform. You’ll have to wear it all the time from now on.”
“Fine, but I still don’t understand. You yourself said that in contrast to the police, members of the Secret Investigative Force don’t wear uniforms. What is this, some kind of innovation?”
“Not exactly. This uniform is just for you. You, Sir Max, have become Death. Death in the service of the King. And for such occasions, one must wear the Mantle of Death.”
“And when people see me passing by, they’ll run from me like the plague. Is that it?”
“It’s not all that bad. When they see you, they’ll tremble blissfully and think with nostalgia about the good old Epoch of Orders, when people in garments like this were much more common. Your social stature is so high that . . . to put it bluntly, you are a Very Important Person of the highest rank. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Ah, a ‘big boss,’ eh? Well, I can deal with that. But why don’t you wear a uniform like this, Shurf? You of all people should be wearing one.”
“At one time I really did wear the Mantle of Death,” Lonli-Lokli confirmed with a nod.