Sir Makluk’s emissary was somewhat nonplussed, perhaps because at that time I still hadn’t gotten rid of the accent that so grated on the ears of the capital-dwellers. But my debonair appearance and deliberate manner, and maybe a sign from old man Kimpa that went unnoticed by me, had the desired effect.
“Sir Makluk requests that I inform Sir Venerable Head that old Govins has disappeared. In fact, no one has seen him since morning, something which hasn’t happened in more than 90 years! In addition, Sir Makluk commanded me to report that he is troubled by dark forebodings.”
I dismissed the emissary with a stern nod of my head. There were no two ways about it: I had to alert Juffin immediately. I had had no experience with this kind of situation until that moment, and while it isn’t so hard to use Silent Speech when your interlocutor is sitting right next to you, communicating with him when his whereabouts are unknown is an entirely different game. Sir Juffin had once tried to convince me that it didn’t make any difference. If it had worked once, the next time it would work just as easily. I was of another opinion, but perhaps I just lacked the experience or imagination.
Of course, I could have asked Kimpa’s help. There were no obstacles to this—it was not classified information, and my own ambition wouldn’t have stood in the way.
The truth is, it just didn’t occur to me to turn to Kimpa. And Kimpa, the most tactful of servants, wouldn’t have dared interfere in my affairs.
And so I tried to establish contact with Sir Juffin. Within the space of three minutes, I was wet with perspiration, disheveled, and on the verge of despair. It wasn’t working! I felt I was pinned up against a wall. That’s a short route to the conclusion that you’re a worthless nothing.
When I had given up all but the faintest of hopes, I tried one last time. And suddenly—it worked! I made the connection with Sir Juffin, though I can’t imagine how.
Juffin had summed up the situation in no time.
He had tried many times in the past, always unsuccessfully, to challenge me to this metaphysical problem for “the advanced learner.” So he had reached a corresponding conclusion—“If this blockhead has finally managed to get through to me, the circumstances that prompted it must be dire, indeed!”
I gathered my wits about me and tried to explain it all in a single thought.
Having done my part, I sighed with relief and went to change—I hadn’t sweated like that in a blue moon! Kimpa looked at me with indulgence, but he tactfully refrained from making any remarks, God bless him!
By the time Juffin had arrived, I was completely ready—but still I neglected our “witness number one”: the little box with balsam. I would probably have remembered it with time, but Juffin wasn’t alone when he arrived and I got distracted. He was with his second-in-command, Sir Melifaro, and believe me, meeting this gentleman is like being at the epicenter of an earthquake that registers 5 to 6 on the Richter scale. Sir Melifaro is not only the Diurnal Representative of the Head of the Minor Secret Investigative Force—he is the main traveling show of Echo. I’m sure you could get people to pay to see him. I’d buy a ticket myself once every dozen days if I weren’t forced to have this pleasure on a daily basis free of charge, as a bonus for good work.
On that day, though, I still didn’t know what was in store for me.
Into the living room rushed a handsome, dark-haired fellow—judging by appearances, of the same age as me. He was a “type” that was much coveted in postwar Hollywood, the kind that was recruited to play the “good” boxer or detective. However, the stranger’s attire made an even stronger impression on me than his face. Underneath his bright red looxi, an emerald-green skaba was just visible. His head was piled high with an orange turban, and bright yellow boots the color of egg yolk adorned his feet. I’m sure that if the daily costume of Echo- dwellers consisted of a hundred pieces, this clotheshorse would have chosen for himself every imaginable color and shade. But social custom did not yet permit him to blossom in his full glory.
The newcomer flashed his dark eyes, and raised his eyebrows so high that they disappeared under his turban. He covered his face with his hands in a theatrical gesture, and wailed, “I see you as in a waking dream, O marvelous barbarian, and I fear that your image will haunt me in my nightmares!” Then he turned a complete pirouette on the shaggy carpet, as though it were made of ice, and collapsed into an armchair, groaning from the exertion. After that, he froze as still as death (he even seemed to stop breathing), and studied me with a penetrating gaze, unexpectedly serious and somehow empty, completely at odds with his recent acrobatics.
I realized I had to greet him in some manner, too, so I covered my eyes with the palm of my hand, as one is supposed to do. But all I could utter was: “Okay.”
Melifaro grinned and unexpectedly (as everything he did was unexpected) winked at me.
“You, Sir Max, are quite a guy! The future nocturnal backside of our ‘Venerable Head.’ Don’t worry, I’m his diurnal backside, have been for sixteen years now. A person gets used to everything, you know.”
“It’s just a matter of time before the reputation of our office is toppled once and for all in the eyes of Sir Max!” Juffin hurried to intervene. “All my labors will turn to dust. He’ll realize that I’m a humble director of a Refuge for the Mad and rush back to the Barren Lands, suddenly seeing the advantages of life in the fresh air.”
I blinked helplessly.
“Was that everything you knew?” Juffin asked me. “No more news?”
“That wasn’t enough for you?”
“Of course it wasn’t, old chap!” Melifaro retorted. “They failed to tell you where the fellow disappeared to, what happened to him, and who’s to blame in all of this. And they didn’t take the trouble to bring the criminal to justice. So now we have to do their work for them!”
“Melifaro! Sir Max has already figured out that you’re the wittiest, the most irresistible, and the most magnificent of them all. He is beside himself with joy, having discovered the very source of the glory and might of the Unified Kingdom. And now we’re going to get down to work,” Sir Juffin commanded, somehow very calmly and tenderly. Melifaro snorted, then started issuing instructions.
“Max, you’re coming with us. Three is a crowd. I signed an order granting Sir Lonli-Lokli and his magic hands five Days of Freedom from Chores, and he wisely left town yesterday morning. Melamori is relieved of duty, as her influential daddykins missed her. And Sir Kofa Yox is keeping watch at our Pleasure Factory by the Bridge, instead of methodically chewing a steak in some
We snacked abundantly, but in great haste. Sir Melifaro, by the way, attempted to make it into the Guinness Book of Records in that category of strapping fellows who consume sources of nourishment in huge quantities before you could say Jack Robinson.
All the while, he regaled us with questions, asking me whether it was difficult to get along without sun-cured horsemeat, and asking Sir Juffin whether it might be possible to get a sandwich with the meat of some pickled mutinous Magician or other. (I was able to appreciate this joke only later, when Sir Kofa Yox gave me a comprehensive lecture about the most enduring urban legends.)
We walked over to Sir Makluk’s house in silence. Sir Juffin was thinking troubled thoughts, Melifaro whistled a tune absently, and I waited expectantly for my first slice of true adventure. I’ll say right off that I got much more than I had bargained for.
The usual man in gray admitted us at a small side door. I immediately felt ill at ease—not so much frightened as sad and disgusted. I had experienced something like this before, in those rare cases when I had to visit my grandmother. In that hospital there had been a special ward for the terminally ill and dying. Sweet little place . . .
Juffin cast a warning glance at me.
“What is it?” I asked aloud, confused. Melifaro turned away in amazement, but said nothing.
Juffin preferred Silent Speech.
“All right, let’s go into the bedchamber. My heart tells me that the old man couldn’t resist and popped in this morning to tidy up. Melifaro, today you’ll take Lonli-Lokli’s place.”
“I won’t be able to pull it off. I can’t puff out my chest like he does.”
“Never mind. You don’t have to, just throw yourself into the scorching fire; that’s all there is to it. According to instructions, I can’t subject you to the risk of being deprived of my company. And Sir Max doesn’t have a clue
