good?”
“You bet!”
“Then tell me your story. I can take an oath of silence if you wish.”
“I need no oath from you, Melamori. Just watch and listen. Lady Marilyn and I are real storytellers.”
And I narrated in great detail the story of the strange costume ball, with me starring as the beauty queen. Melifaro the lover was the hero of the finale.
“My goodness! I’ve never laughed so hard in my life!” Melamori said, wiping away tears. “Poor Melifaro. He has no luck with girls. You should have given him a chance, Marilyn. Where will you find another boy like him?”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll take your advice into consideration. Look, it’s already getting light! Will you have time to get some sleep?”
“Oh, I’ll just be late for work. No big deal. I’ll tell Sir Juffin that I was giving you lessons in feminine wiles.”
“Yes, those will come in handy, considering who my future life companion is supposed to be.” I struggled to get up from the low divan. “I’m going to go get some sleep, Melamori. It’s time you did, too. Better too little than none at all.”
“It doesn’t matter how much, but how you sleep . . . And today I’ll sleep like the dead. Thank you, Marilyn. Please tell Sir Max that it was an excellent idea.”
“I’ll tell him,” I yawned and waved to her. “Good morning, Melamori.”
I’d like to note that Marilyn also slept like the dead, which hadn’t been the case for a long time with my good old friend Max. This girl had a first-rate heart of stone, much more reliable than mine.
At sundown I reported to the House by the Bridge. I had a suitcase with me that accommodated a large bottle of Elixir of Kaxar, masses of clothes (Lady Marilyn enjoyed shopping), and my enchanted pillow—“Stopgap in the Chink between Worlds,” in the words of my greatest benefactor, Sir Maba Kalox. Whatever might happen, setting out for the unknown without my one and only miracle-method for getting a normal cigarette just wasn’t my style.
Sir Juffin Hully was chatting animatedly with some middle-aged, suntanned blond fellow in a light-blue and white looxi. He had the appearance of a sports coach: muscular arms, ruddy complexion, and a stern, unsmiling expression. Unwilling to interrupt their conversation, I sent my chief a call.
“What do you mean, Lady Marilyn?” Juffin flashed a welcoming smile. “Did you think I had a visitor, Max? And who said we’d have a problem with Sir Shurf’s appearance? My compliments to both of you, boys. You make a perfect couple.”
“You look ravishing, Marilyn!” the unrecognizable Lonli-Lokli observed politely, rising to greet me, and (Oh, sinning Magicians!) considerately helping me to my seat.
“I must ask your forgiveness, Max, but from here on out I’ll be addressing you with various terms of endearment, since it’s customary between husband and wife.”
“There’s no need to ask my forgiveness. You can address me any way you like at any time, Shurf!”
“Now my name is Sir Glamma Eralga, dear Marilyn. Of course, you must simply call me Glamma.”
“Maybe we can just call each other by our regular names for the time being? It’s so disconcerting otherwise.”
“No, Sir Shurf is absolutely right. The sooner you get used to your new names the better. Later you’ll have bigger worries,” Juffin said.
What kinds of worries was he referring to, I would have liked to know?
I stared at Lonli-Lokli curiously. It was the first time I had seen him without his death-dealing gloves, which I tended to think of as his real hands. I knew, of course, that they weren’t. But the heart, which is stronger than reason, was certain that the shining hands were the real thing.
“Gosh, what’s wrong with your hands, Shurf? I mean, Glamma.”
“Nothing. If you are referring to my gloves, I have them with me, in the trunk. You don’t suppose, do you, dear Marilyn, that all citizens have gloves like that?”
“Of course I don’t, but I’ve never seen you without them, Shurf —er, dear!”
“Maybe this Shurf you speak of is still wearing them; your dearest Glamma, as you can see, is not.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said laughing. “And what’s with your fingernails?”
“These are the first letters of the words of an ancient spell. Without them, the gloves would be lethal for me, too. I’m afraid I’ll have to wear these.” Lonli-Lokli showed me some elegant gloves made from the thinnest blue leather. “On the road they won’t attract attention, but when I dine, I anticipate they might arouse suspicion.”
“It doesn’t matter in the least. Any person can have eccentricities. Let people think that you’re squeamish, that you’re just afraid of germs.”
“Greetings, sugar pie,” said Melifaro, bursting into the office. “Well, have you considered the possibility of remaining a girl and accepting my proposal? My mama would be ecstatic,” he said, leaning on the armrest of my chair. “Our Loki-Lonki is much improved in appearance—but I’m still better-looking!”
“Sir Melifaro, stop soliciting my wife,” said the transformed Lonli-Lokli. “And please be so good as to learn my name, at least by the time I return. You’ve known me for years.”
“You got that?” I asked bitingly. “I’m no damsel in distress.”
It was Juffin who got the biggest kick out of our absurd and spirited repartee, which was just as it should be. He’s the boss, after all.
“Juffin, I hope you won’t object?” asked Sir Kofa Yox, the incomparable Master Eavesdropper
“When did I ever object to parties, Kofa?” Juffin rejoined. “But why did you bring all this with you? We could have just called for a courier to deliver it.”
“No way! I won’t entrust a matter like this to just anyone. Shutta Vax, one of the virtuoso cooks in the ancient style, has retired from the profession and cooks only for himself now. But when I asked him for seven Chakkatta Pies, he couldn’t refuse. We’re lucky—it appears that he’s the only one left who has the slightest idea how to make them.”
“Do you mean that, Kofa?” Juffin looked truly alarmed.
“It’s no joking matter. Ladies first, so get over here before I reconsider.”
Melamori didn’t wait for him to repeat the invitation.
“Good evening, Marilyn,” she greeted me, placing her hand affectionately on my shoulder. “It’s too bad you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“But if we weren’t leaving, there wouldn’t be any Chakkatta Pies,” I said. “It’s the law of natural compensation.”
“We’ve forgotten about poor Sir Lookfi,” Melamori said. “We should call him.”
“I did, but he must first say goodbye to about a hundred buriwoks. Now bring on the pie, Kofa. I can’t wait.”
The dull thud of an overturning chair announced the arrival of the Master Keeper of Knowledge.
“Good evening. It’s so kind of you to remember to call me. Sir Kofa, you’re a good sort to arrange this celebration for all of us. And good evening, Sir Max. I haven’t seen you in a long time. What have you done to your hair? Is that the style these days?”
Melifaro nearly fell off the arm of the chair, Melamori and I exchanged bewildered glances, and Sir Kofa was crackling with annoyance. Sinning Magicians! What happened to my disguise? Could people really still recognize me as Max?
“Don’t worry, Max,” Juffin came to my rescue just in time. “And you, Kofa—you should be ashamed for being surprised. You know our Sir Lookfi sees things as they are, and not as they seem. How else could he tell all his buriwoks apart?”
