The Stranger's Woes by Max Frei
“Well, I kind of hoped they’d follow my advice and clean up,” I said. “And then I thought you’d be pleased to butcher them with your own hands.”
“It was the worst morning in my life,” said Melifaro. “I woke up with a headache and a heavy feeling in my chest. Besides, I had no clue how I’d gotten home and didn’t remember how the evening ended. How did it end, by the way?”
“You broke a glass.”
“Just one?” Melifaro was sad. “How unlike me. I’m ashamed.”
“Don’t fret,” I said. “You can always make up for it. Better tell me what happened in the morning.”
“Oh boy. So when I went down and saw those guys in their fur hats, I really did want to kill them. You know, if I had your talents—”
“Did they really stay until morning?”
“When I went down to the living room, they were right there, asleep in the armchairs. Guess what I did? The first thing I did was snatch off their hats and throw them out the window. But they didn’t wake up. I went to wash up because I knew I had to calm down. By the time I came back, I almost found the situation amusing. I pushed and prodded those men in pink tights until they woke up, and I told them to get out. That got them talking, as you might imagine. Mostly about my brains, of course.”
“Right. That’s almost all they talk about. It’s some kind of national obsession, I believe.”
“Anyway, I tossed two of them out the same window as their hats. I hadn’t expected it of myself. You should have seen them kicking and struggling. It was a hoot! Oh, and how they cursed . . . The third one left of his own volition.”
“And what about Rulen Bagdasys?”
“Oh, he’s another story,” Melifaro drawled. “At first I wanted to kick him out with the others. After all, if someone’s going to raise a ruckus in my house, it should be my own guests, not someone else’s, right?
“Absolutely. You should invite me someday. I’ll teach you how to raise the roof.”
“Really?” said Melifaro. “And how, may I ask, are you going to do that? You drink almost nothing except for Elixir of Kaxar, which only makes you want to work like a horse.”
“Only a sober man can get a good brawl off the ground,” I said with authority. “No one can wreak more havoc and destruction than an absolutely sober man who wants to turn the world upside down.”
“Hmm,” said Melifaro. “Never thought of it that way. I’ll have to try it sometime. Anyway, I decided I’d have to show this Isamonian the door. He could rent his own apartment and live as he saw fit. I was even prepared to give him some money just to get rid of him. But he started screaming something about my diminished mental capacities and other grievous shortcomings. Of course he didn’t hear a word I was saying. Mr. Bagdasys suffers from a peculiar variety of deafness: he can hear himself, and the small pieces of information he’s genuinely interested in. By the way, when I was explaining to him the rules of etiquette in the Quarter of Trysts, I was whispering yet he caught every single word.
“Anyway, about an hour into this, I was beginning to tire and then I . . . then I . . .” Melifaro started howling with laughter.
“Well, how did it end?”
I was expecting to hear him confess to committing involuntary manslaughter, and promised myself that I’d help my friend cover his tracks and get rid of any evidence. After all, I almost qualified as his accomplice: if I had taken Melifaro to my place on the Street of Yellow Stones, no one would have been hurt.
Melifaro, smiling from ear to ear, reached inside the pocket of his looxi.
“He’s in here now.”
He produced a signet ring with a large transparent stone. I stared at it, not quite comprehending what he was trying to say.
“Hold it up to the light,” he said.
I did as he said, and . . . no way! A tiny Rulen Bagdasys was frozen inside the slightly greenish crystal like a fly in a piece of amber.
“My friend,” I said, “I think it’s time for you to pack up and move to Xolomi. I wonder how long your term’s going to be for this.”
“Dream on. It was just the seventh degree of Black Magic. Since cooks have been allowed to use up to the twentieth degree, such an insignificant breach of the Code can hardly qualify as a crime. Mere disorderly conduct, if anything. I’ll be only too happy to pay the fine: it’s worth every penny.”
“He’s alive, isn’t he?” I asked.
“Of course he is. The trick is the same one you’re so fond of, except that I hid him not in my palm but in the first thing that turned up. It was a little more difficult but much more efficient. I can let him out at any time, but I don’t feel like it yet. Even without Rulen Bagdasys life is full of complications.”
“You can say that again,” I said. “Haven’t you been tempted to flush him down the toilet?”
“I have to admit, that was the first thing I thought of. Then I calmed down and decided it wouldn’t be wise to throw away a family heirloom. It’s quite handsome, though, don’t you think?”
“Sure. It’s a nice little trinket. Give it to your brother—it will make him happy. Plus, it’s going to make a great memento.”
“No,” said Melifaro. “I have someone else in mind as the recipient of this precious stone.”
“Who?”
“All in due time, my friend. All in due time,” said Melifaro mysteriously. “You’ll see.”
“I hope I’m not going to be the lucky one. I beg you, please don’t let it be me,” I said. “What I really want to know is what’s going on in the search for ‘filthy Mudlax.’ I’m getting sick and tired of the whole thing.”
“Oh, look who’s talking,” said Melifaro. “He’s sick and tired, huh? If anyone should be sick and tired, it’s me. You barely make it to work these days. You’re too busy polishing your crown, paying visits to your new friend Gurig, or spending time in pubs.”
“Yes, with you, by the way.”
“Okay, with me,” said Melifaro. “Still.”
“Look, quit grumbling and tell me what’s going on with the Mudlax case.”
“Yesterday, while we were out carousing, Sir Juffin had a quiet little conversation with the inimitable master of disguise, the dark legacy of the Epoch of Orders. Judging by the fact that Sir Varixa Ariama went home on his own and all in one piece, the boss was delighted with the results of the meeting. What we got out of the bargain was not just a detailed description of Mudlax’s new face but also his home address. I already stopped in this morning—no dice, of course. He fled three days ago. It seems as though Mudlax disappeared the second the ship from Arvarox touched the Admiral’s Pier. Was he able to smell his compatriots, or what? Anyway, I had fun interrogating his neighbors. They were very keen on describing what it was like to rub elbows with the fugitive king. Unfortunately, I had such a hangover that I couldn’t enjoy their stories to the fullest.
“While I was collecting rumors, our buriwoks found eight more Arvaroxians on the streets of Echo. Sir Juffin had a heart-to-heart talk with every one of them. They didn’t know much about Mudlax because they turned out to be his mortal enemies. Then again, they didn’t exactly get along with the Conqueror of Arvarox, either. Also, they were about to kill each other. Such sweet, gentle people, these Arvaroxians. But where could that blasted Mudlax be? Do you have any idea?”
“If I were him, I’d try to commit some crime and get locked up in Xolomi,” I said with a smirk. “The safest place for him, in my book.”
“Brilliant!” said Melifaro. “Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Say what before?”
“Your idea about Xolomi, of course!”
“Sinning Magicians,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Relax. It was just a joke.”
“Oh, it was just a joke, was it?” Melifaro was getting fidgety. “We should check your lead right away. Let’s go over to Headquarters.”
“You go,” I said. “I still have a full plate.”
“The third one,” said Melifaro. “Fine. Kee
“Can’t you wait for, like, three minutes?”
“Three minutes I can wait. But I’m timing it.”
Sir Juffin Hully was giving an audience to the “Sternlooking Master of two times fifty Sharptooths.” I was beginning to view Aloxto Allirox as either our new employee or a distant relative from the provinces, one we all shared.
“Ah, it’s great that you’ve come, boys,” said Juffin. “Sir Allirox was just about to share his ideas on the whereabouts of Mudlax with us. Yes, of course, filthy Mudlax. Don’t give me that look, Mr. Allirox. Please do go on, though.”
“I told Thotta, my shaman, to ask the Dead God where the filthy Mudlax was. Thotta received the answer, but I did not understand it. I think this is because I don’t know the city as well as the locals. Thus, I’ve decided to pass the words of the Dead God along to you. Thotta says that Mudlax is ‘in the middle of Big Water, in a place that is easy to enter but impossible to leave.’ Do you know of such a place?”
“Of course we do!” cried Melifaro. “Imagine, Sir Juffin, Max and I came to tell you the very same thing. The fellow is hiding in Xolomi. It’s perfectly clear now.”
“Did you ask a shaman, too?” said Juffin.
“Something like that,” said Melifaro. “Max stuffed himself with food, entered into a state of trance, and performed some ventriloquism.”
“Actually, it was just a bad joke,” I said. “Or a good one.”
“It’s so nice of you to discuss work even when you’re eating,” said Juffin. “I’m touched.” Then he gave Aloxto a compassionate look. “We’re going to check this out. But if your shaman is right, you’re going to face a long, long wait before the sweet hour of vengeance arrives. No one will let you or your Sharptooths into the Royal Prison. It’s the law.”
“I can wait,” said Aloxto. “But first I need to find Mudlax—that’s the most important task. Waiting is not the worst thing that can happen to a man.”
“Really?” said Juffin. “Well, all the better, then. As soon as we find out something I’ll send you a call. Oh, wait, how can I send you a call if you don’t know Silent Speech?”
“I do now,” said Aloxto proudly. “Lady Melamori has been teaching me. It is not very difficult.”
“Talk about talent,” I said with envy. “I still find it difficult.”
“That’s because you’re not used to focusing on the task at hand, oblivious to everything else,” said Juffin. “For the people of Arvarox it’s the norm.” He turned to Aloxto. “Even better, then. I’ll send you a call once the situation becomes clear.”
“Thank you,” said Aloxto with a bow. “I should like to leave now, if you do not mind.”
“Why should I mind?” Juffin was surprised. “As far as I know, only the Conqueror of Arvarox can appeal against your decision.”
“It is true, but I was told that it is your custom to come to a mutual agreement on decisions with others. I believe you call this courtesy.”
“We do,” said Juffin. “That’s exactly what we call it. That said, I really don’t mind you leaving.”
“Thank you. Good night, gentlemen.” Aloxto bowed again and left.
“Our Melamori is demonstrating excellent pedagogical skills,” said Juffin. “Who would have thought? What did Kamshi say, Sir Melifaro?”
It turned out that while we had been saying goodbye to Aloxto, Melifaro had sent a call to the new warden of Xolomi, Toiki Kamshi, former lieutenant of the City Police Department. He had already received an answer. The exchange, however, didn’t seem to improve his mood.
“I’ll tell you in a minute. Max, may I try your otherworldly smokes?” said Melifaro, sitting down on the window ledge. “I’ve found local tobacco revolting since I was a kid, and I desperately want to smoke.”
“Here you go,” I said, handing him a cigarette. “Hey, I’m expanding my clientele. First Boboota, now you. I should quit the Force and open up a tobacco shop. I won’t have any competition, that’s for sure. Except for Sir Maba Kalox, perhaps. But knowing him, he’s going to get bored with it pretty fast.”
“That he would,” Juffin said, and turned to Melifaro. “Well?”
“Mmm, your smoking sticks are really good, Max,” said Melifaro. “Right, Sir Juffin. Don’t drill a hole in me with your stare. I digressed, I admit.
“Kamshi told me that they hadn’t had any new prisoners lately, but just this morning they got a new one by the name of Bakka Saal. His description couldn’t be further from that of Mudlax, but that’s absolutely irrelevant, because you know why he was put in Xolomi? For the murder of Sir Varixa Ariama, the very same Varixa Ariama that—”
“I know very well who Varixa Ariama is,” said Juffin impatiently.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” said Melifaro. “I got carried away.”
“Who’s on the case?” said Juffin. “Why didn’t they report it to us?”
“They thought it was unnecessary. The murderer turned himself in to the Office of Expedited Reprisals. He just sent them a call and reported his own crime. The guys drove up to the scene of the crime, quickly filled out all the papers, and took him to Xolomi. Sir Baguda Maldaxan deems promptness to be the highest virtue among his subordinates, as you know. Now I think Mudlax—for it must be him—is facing about two hundred years in Xolomi. Our fair-haired friend had better move to Echo for good and keep his health in top shape. Otherwise, he’s not going to live to see his moment of sweet, sweet revenge. There’s no way Kamshi will let him—”
“Two hundred years, you say? Why so long?” Juffin interrupted him. “As far as I know the standard term for murder is five to six dozen years. Considering that he turned himself in, he can’t get more than three dozen.”
“Correct, but also considering that the murder was committed using White Magic of the hundred and seventieth degree, he’s lucky that he didn’t get put away for life,” said Melifaro.
“Which degree?” Juffin was shouting. “The hundred and seventieth? Well, I’ll be! Melifaro, take Kurush and rush over to Xolomi. We must be absolutely sure that the new prisoner is our ‘filthy Mudlax.’ Send me a call as soon as you find out anything. And remember: all we need from him now is his real name. Don’t ask him any other questions. Magicians only know what he may do. What if he decides that it’s ‘easier to die’? It’s best not to second-guess these Arvaroxians. Sir Max, get up. We’re going out for a ride.”
“Where to?”
“To the scene of the crime, of course. Better late than never. And I think we may need Melamori’s help. We need to find the real murderer, the sooner the better.”
“What do you mean ‘the real murderer’?” I said. “Wasn’t Mudlax—”
“Mudlax could easily kill his victim with his mighty ‘flyswatter’ or simply cut his throat,” said Juffin. “Use your head, boy. Do you think a foreigner can handle Forbidden Magic, let alone the hundred and seventieth degree? I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he hadn’t even gotten the hang of Permitted Magic. Only a very experienced Magician can handle the hundred and seventieth degree. I’m pretty sure the murderer was some wise guy from one of the old Orders. It’s clear as—”
“You’re right,” I said. “But how come the guys from Expedited Reprisals didn’t think of that?”
“They just didn’t. It’s not their job, by the way, to conduct interrogations. Usually, their clients go through us first, but this time it’s going to be the other way around. How come you’re still here and not in the amobiler?”
“Because I’m listening to you, and you’re still here,” I said, opening the door.
Juffin followed close behind me. “Finally, this Mudlax case is getting interesting,” he said searching his pockets for his pipe. “It’s high time it did.”
There was no one in the house of the late Sir Varixa Ariama, the former Senior Magician of the Order of the Brass Needle.
“I’d like to know where his son’s gone,” I said.
“I am.” Melamori was standing at the threshold. “For your information, I had to come here all the way from the New City. You should be proud of me.”
“We are, we are,” said Juffin in a placating voice. “Look around the house, my lady. Somewhere here there should be the trace of a very powerful Magician. Can you distinguish it from the rest?”
“Pfft. Easy peasy,” said Melamori. “Max, don’t just stand around loafing. As if you can’t do it yourself—I know you can. And don’t tell me I’m unique and irreplaceable because I’m not going to believe that.”
“But you know how lazy I am,” I said.
“Sir Max is loafing because as a Master of Pursuit he poses too great a danger for the suspects,” said Juffin. “And I need our client alive and well. I prefer to get information from the original source. It would be sad if our monster’s trail ended at the clean-picked skull of his poor victim. Besides, Max is too inexperienced to distinguish the trace we’re looking for from others. So you are unique and irreplaceable, Melamori.”
“Well, if you say so, I’ll do it,” said Melamori, flattered.
She took off her shoes and walked around the living room.
“Okay, this is the trace of the late Sir Varixa Ariama . . . This is Shurf’s, and this is mine—I was here yesterday, too. Some other traces, nothing interesting. Maybe Baguda Maldaxan’s boys. Oh, and here’s where that ‘filthy Mudlax’ must have been hanging around. I told you that the trace of any Arvaroxian is different from the rest. Not significantly, but it is . . . Okay, here’s someone else’s trace, but he’s not the one you’re looking for. It seems he’s very ill, but I may be wrong.”
“Must be Ariama Junior’s,” I said.
“Possible,” said Juffin. “We’ll have to talk to him, too, but that can wait. I saw the young man. No Grand Magic about him, trust me.”
“Sure,” I said. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. Maybe he’s in trouble. I mean, since Melamori says he may be ill, who knows what could have happened to him?”