The Stranger's Woes (3 page)

The painting struck me as horrible. It was pitiful to look at poor Melifaro, though—he was fighting a losing battle against his urge to guffaw.

Our host, in the meantime, launched into a lecture.

“This masterpiece is the work of Galza Illana himself. I was very lucky. Sir Illana was the Senior Master of Depiction at the court of His Majesty Gurig VII, may the Dark Magicians protect him. And who, if not he, could preserve the spirit of this outstanding and memorable event? It is an excellent rendering, is it not, gentlemen? Not like the work of our modern paint slingers. They may as well be smearing their backsides with their own crap.”

The most striking thing was that good old General Boboota, our hospitable host, uttered this phrase in such a quiet and colorless voice that it sounded like an intelligent, even eloquent, critique.

“And what are those medals?” I said, my curiosity getting the better of me. “Amulets?”

“Right you are, Sir Max. Protective amulets made for us, the Royal Guard, by the Order of the Seven-Leaf Clover, the Single and Most Beneficent. In those days it would have been impossible to get along without them. We were up against the Orders of Magic! And a sharp sword and brave heart aren’t going to get you very far against an enemy like that. If it weren’t for those amulets, I wouldn’t have had the joy of—”

“Joy of my heart,” Lady Ulima interrupted him gently. “Don’t you think it’s time to feed the guests? That is why they’re here, you know—to eat.”

“Of course, my dear.” Boboota turned to us, somewhat abashed. “Do you like the painting, gentlemen?”

Melifaro and I nodded silently. We were a hair’s breadth away from desecrating the idyllic vision with a most irreverent explosion of laughter, but we managed to contain our glee.

For this we were rewarded with the call to dine. Dinner wasn’t as unexpected as the prelude to the meal. Everything was
comme il faut
. The presentation of the dishes was lovely, Lady Ulima’s society gossip was engaging, and the gallant Boboota deferred politely to her.

Weary of suffering in silence, I sent a call to Melifaro.

I wonder if he
’
s always so proper when he
’
s at home? Or could this be a lingering symptom of poisoning?

With such a sweet and affectionate wife around
,
it
’
s possible he
’
s always like this at home
, Melifaro answered in Silent Speech.
The guy still can
’
t figure out how he landed such a paragon of womanhood
.
For Lady Ulima
,
Boboota will refuse to speak above a whisper
.
He
’
ll go down on his knees to put her dainty slippers on her little feet
.
At work
,
though
,
he cuts loose from the bottom of his soul
,
and it
’
s no holds barred
.

Here I was forced to admit that the harebrained Melifaro understood people far better than I did.

My body has its own notions of what constitutes good manners. For some reason that I can’t fathom, it feels that when you are invited to dinner, halfway through the feast it’s time to head for the john. Over the course of many years I struggled heroically against this urge, but I finally tossed in the towel. It was a losing battle.

The formal dinner at General Boboota’s was no exception. In any case, I didn’t have to worry too much. In this house, a little detour of that nature could only inspire indulgent approval on the part of my host. I left the dining room without troubling to invent all kinds of excuses.

Downstairs there was yet another surprise in store for me.

I had long before grown used to the fact that every house in Echo has at least three or four bathing pools. Usually there are many more. This could turn bathing into a complicated affair.

But a dozen
toilets
of various heights gurgling a discordant welcome to the visitor—well, this I was seeing for the first time. Even Sir Juffin Hully, the unsurpassed sybarite of all nations and epochs, gets along with just one, not to mention ordinary Echoers. I couldn’t deny that Boboota Box was one of a kind.

I must have been looking somewhat bewildered when I finally returned to the dining room. My colleagues, especially the irreproachable Sir Lonli-Lokli, were always trying to persuade me to disguise my feelings, or at least not to wear them on my sleeve (right next to my heart). But my facial muscles gave me away every time.

Lady Ulima threw me a sharp glance, then burst out laughing.

“Take a look, dear! It seems that even gentlemen Secret Investigators can be caught by surprise.”

“You’re bringing shame on our organization, Sir Max,” Melifaro said with a sniff. “Is this the first time it’s ever happened to you? Didn’t you know that all people do that sort of thing from time to time?”

“Very funny,” I said. “Go have a look yourself.” Here I switched to Silent Speech.
He
’
s got a dozen toilets in there
,
I kid you not!

Melifaro raised his eyebrows in disbelief and shut up. Just in case.

“No secrets, gentlemen,” Lady Ulima said, smiling all the while. “It’s a perfectly appropriate subject for conversation—even at the dinner table, by way of exception. Tell them, dear.”

Boboota began his story as if on cue. “When I was a young lad and had just entered the Royal Guard, about two hundred years ago, I lived in the barracks. They were glorious times, I’m not complaining. But something happened once—”

Lady Ulima chortled again. She clearly knew this saga by heart and was anticipating what was to come. General Boboota grew tongue-tied.

“You won’t be shocked by hearing such an . . . unappetizing story during dinner, gentlemen? I can tell you the story later, over dessert, if you’d prefer.”

Melifaro and I exchanged glances, then guffawed, unable to suppress our merriment any longer.

“You see? No need to mince words with these boys,” Lady Box said, urging him on. “I’m not sure they’d be shocked even if you showed them. But do go on, please.”

“Well, it wasn’t even something you’d call an event,” Boboota continued shyly. “I had a buddy in the service, one Shartzy Nolla, an excellent fellow. A real giant—a head taller than me, and with the physique to match. One day he and I received a Day of Freedom from Care and went to visit his aunt, Madam Catalla. Back then she was the proprietor of an excellent tavern, so our Shartzy was a lucky dog—and he was fed like a king. Since we were together that day, I lucked out, too. You might say we outdid ourselves, so much food did we consume. The next morning we returned to the barracks, and Shartzy made for the outhouse. He beat me to it, the old crapper!

“Back then we lived in barracks. There were four of us to a room, and we all shared one outhouse, if you can believe it. Well, I held it in, and held it in. Half an hour. An hour. The joker still wouldn’t come out. He later claimed he was constipated, but I think he took his time on purpose. Anyway, holding it in any longer was beyond my control.”

Melifaro made a terrifying spectacle. He was bright red from suppressed laughter. I even feared for his life, if not just for his sanity.

“Just let it out, Sir Melifaro,” Lady Ulima said. “Why not? It’s a funny story!”

“And that’s when I decided,” Boboota said in a solemn voice, “I decided that if I ever got rich, I’d have a dozen blasted toilets at my disposal at any given time.”

Melifaro and I exploded into wild fits of laughter. We sounded like madmen. The General and his wife looked on benevolently. We were probably not the first guests who had laughed themselves silly after being regaled with this venerable tale.

The dinner finally came to an end. Out of the folds of the Mantle of Death I ceremoniously drew a box of Cuban cigars. I had come by these rare delights when I was in Kettari. I had fished them out from the Chink between Worlds, where up until then I had found only cigarettes. Since that day I’ve never known what I would find when I reach my hand into that sinning Chink. In any case, I’ve learned that everything comes in handy sooner or later. Well, nearly everything.

To my shame, I had never liked cigars—or, rather, I had never really known how to smoke them. My coworkers had turned out to be even more clueless in this department than I was. Boboota was my last hope.

“What are these, Sir Max?” Boboota said.

“They’re meant for smoking,” I said. “I just received them from Kumon, the capital of the Kumon Caliphate. I’ve got kinfolk there, you see.”

I was already in the habit of referring to the Kumon Caliphate whenever I had to explain the origin of the strange objects that turned up in my poor pockets more and more often. The Kumon Caliphate is so far away that the only person who might have caught me in the lie was Sir Manga Melifaro, author of the famous eight-volume
Encyclopedia of the World
(and of the infamous Ninth Volume, Melifaro Junior).

“You don’t say! The Kumon Caliphate?” said Lady Ulima.

“Yes.” I sighed. “Whenever I discover new relatives, it seems they always manage to migrate to the outer reaches of the World.”

General Boboota, in the meantime, had lit up a cigar. “Sir Max!” The erstwhile victim of my cruel experiment gave a sigh of delight. “Even in my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined that such things exist. Are they really all for me?” His hands were trembling.

“They’re all yours,” I said, nodding. “I’ll have my relatives send more if you like. They’re too strong for me, but it’s a matter of taste, of course. Glad you enjoy them.”

“It’s . . . it’s . . .” He couldn’t seem to find an uncensored word to describe his euphoria. Neither could I. The scoundrel with a big fat cigar between his teeth—that was a sight to behold. And Melifaro’s restraint (he hadn’t said a word through all of this) deserves a special word of praise. That was what you call a surprise.

Just before we were about to leave, I recalled that the fellows from the Police Department had begged me to find something out for them.

“Sir Box,” I began cautiously. “Have you fully recovered from your illness?”

“Yes, Sir Max. Thank you for asking after my health. I’m in tip-top shape now.”

I sighed. Poor gentlemen police officers—though Boboota seemed to have become quite harmless. “So you plan to return to the House by the Bridge soon?”