The Stranger

There was nothing there. Nothing! By then, I wasn’t surprised, and I just filed it away.

We returned to the living room. The sky was growing light behind the window. We had a nice little sit-down, I remarked to myself indifferently. It had been twelve hours since Sir Makluk’s messenger arrived! Think of that!

The kamra was exquisite. The imperturbable Kimpa brought us a plate with tiny cookies that melted in the mouth. A sleepy Chuff came out to join us, wagging his tail. Right away, Juffin and I began a silent contest: who could feed Chuff the most cookies? Chuff succeeded in pleasing and amusing both of us, flying through the room like a small, shaggy torpedo. Having eaten his fill, he settled down between us under the table.

“Max,” Juffin said, suddenly sad. “Now I’m not sure whether Melifaro has even the slightest chance. We can’t just grab him by the scruff of the neck, pull him out of the room, and then bring him to his senses. He already belongs to the mirror, and it’s impossible to break those kinds of ties while life is on hold. When the mirror comes to life again, it will demand its victim, and take it anywhere it can get it—even from another world. I could, of course, destroy the monster. Shurf Lonli-Lokli can, too. But I’m not sure that anyone will be able to kill it fast enough to keep Melifaro on this side of life. And I can’t let everything remain as it is now. That can’t go on indefinitely. I must put an end to the mirror and its ravenous Master. But you can’t just destroy anything you want to while the world stands still! To kill the monster, I need to wake him up. And that means sacrificing Melifaro to him after all. You understand that that isn’t a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I don’t even want to consider the possibility! It’s a vicious circle, Max, a vicious circle.”

I reached for another cookie absently. I was sad. Before this, it would never even have entered my head that Sir Juffin, a man who had transferred me from one world to another in his spare time (tell me, what could be more improbable!) could grow so despondent and weary. I understood that there were limits to his might. This made me feel lonely and uncomfortable. I crunched my cookie loudly in the quiet room. A vicious circle . . . suddenly, an idea took my breath away. No, it couldn’t be as simple as that! If it had been that simple, Sir Juffin would certainly have thought of it himself. And yet . . .

“Juffin!” I called out hoarsely. I stopped, cleared my throat, and began again. “This is probably very stupid —but you said ‘a vicious circle.’ So, when one mirror is placed opposite another, that’s also a vicious circle. I was thinking—maybe if the monster sees its own reflection, they’ll want to feast on each other?” I finally plucked up the courage to look Juffin in the eye. He was looking at me, his mouth agape. Then the dam burst.

“Sinning Magicians! Do you have any idea what you’ve just said, lad? Are you aware of what a unique specimen you are? Tell me honestly!”

I must admit, I never expected such a storm of enthusiasm. The first few seconds I enjoyed the effects of my performance; then I began to feel embarrassed. I hadn’t made any shocking discovery. And it wasn’t even certain whether it would work, though something told me it would. A similar presentiment seemed to flood Juffin’s heart. “It will work—and how, it will work!” he cried jubilantly.

I stood up from the table, stretched, and went over to the window. The beauty of the sunrise could compensate for any sleepless night. I’ll tell you, the dawn is much more impressive when it comes as a surprise than when you dread its arrival.

“Go to sleep, Max,” Juffin urged me. “I’ve summoned Lonli-Lokli. He’ll be here in a few hours. Sir Shurf and his wonder-working hands. You’ll like him. But now you can rest awhile. I’m not going to let this chance slip by, either.”

“What do you mean by ‘wonder-working hands’?”

“You’ll see, Max, you’ll see. Sir Lonli-Lokli is our pride and joy. Try not to garble his name—he’s a real stickler in the matter of his own moniker . . . and not just that. I can’t begin to convey to you the pleasure that’s in store. But now—beddie-bye!”

In no mood to protest, I headed for my room. I fell onto the soft floor and wrapped myself in a furry blanket, as happy as I had ever been. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until that moment. All the same, something interfered in my bliss. I raised my head with difficulty; I almost had to pry open my eyelids with my fingers. Of course—on the pillow lay a single slipper, left there by a small fetishist named Chuff. The soft tap-tap of paws warned me that the culprit wasn’t far. I put the footwear back in its proper place. Then Chuff decided there was room for two on the pillow. I had no objections.

“Wake me up when this handyman Lonli-Lokli shows up, okay?” I asked, turning away from the excessively moist nose.

Chuff gave a conciliatory snuffle. Max sleeping. Tomorrow guests. Need to get up. Wake him. The logical deductions of this understanding dog drifted through my brain. And then I wasn’t there.

Strangely enough, I woke up without any help an hour before I needed to. I felt amazingly well. It was probably the aftereffects of that bracing Elixir of Kaxar. Wonderful stuff!

Chuff wasn’t around. He was probably wandering about in the hall, eager not to miss the arrival of Sir Lonli-Lokli so that he could carry out his instructions. For another ten minutes I just lolled around, stretched, and lazily indulged in the morning thoughts that afford real pleasure only when you’ve have a good night’s sleep. Then I got up, washed with enjoyment, and even made myself shave—a man’s daily forced labor; only the bearded are truly happy and free. I confess that the bathroom mirror awakened no unpleasant associations in me. It wasn’t that I was so thick-skinned; I just knew that it was an ordinary mirror. And I had come to know a bit more about things in my midst after my metamorphosis into a vampire the day before. Hm, yet another glorious page in my biography. I’ll definitely have something to talk about with girls—if only there were any girls. As for bedtime stories, there’s no shortage of those.

I went into the living room. Kimpa materialized by the table, a tray in his hands. Then Chuff appeared, surmising correctly that a good half of the breakfast would be coming his way. I gathered the dog in my arms, settled him on my lap, took my first cup of kamra, opened yesterday’s paper, and fished a cigarette from my domestic supply out of my pocket. I hadn’t had any luck trying to switch to the local pipe tobacco, the taste of which threatened to cast a pall over my existence. In this sense I am very conservative. It seems that it’s far easier for me to change my profession, my place of domicile, and even my perception of reality, than to get used to a new kind of tobacco.

“It’s good you didn’t remain a vampire, Max!” Juffin said by way of greeting. “Or I wouldn’t know what to feed you! I’d say to Kimpa in the morning: ‘Please, dear fellow, kamra and some toast for me, and a ladle of blood for Sir Max!’ I’d have to exterminate the neighbors one by one, use the privileges of office, cover up the tracks. I wouldn’t want to drive away such a clever and useful chap over such paltry nonsense. I just praised you, did you notice?”

“You’re just rubbing salt into the wounds!” I smiled, automatically examining the palm that had been hurt yesterday, which I had completely forgotten about. It wasn’t hard to forget, since the hand was almost completely healed already. The very faint, thread-like scar, which could pass for an extension of my lifeline, looked like it had been there for a few years already.

Juffin noticed my surprise.

“It’s just Black Magic of the Second Degree. That salve isn’t half bad! Kimpa rubbed it on your hand yesterday while you were making up your mind whether to return to consciousness. Why are you so surprised?”

“Oh, because of everything.”

“That’s your right. Oh, look! We’re all here.”

Sir Lonli-Lokli, whose absence had grieved his colleagues more than me, seemed to have been created with the specific purpose of shaking me down to the soles of my shoes. Me, and no one else, mind you! The indigenous people of Echo will never be able to appreciate the fellow’s merits until the Rolling Stones have played this World. Therefore, no one but me will be surprised at the remarkable likeness of Sir Lonli-Lokli to drummer Charlie Watts.

Add to that the stony immobility of his facial muscles; the exceptional height, combined with exceptional leanness, of his physique; wrap the result in the white folds of a looxi; crown him with a turban the color of alpine snow; and top it off with enormous leather gloves adorned with the local version of ancient runes . . . Well, you can imagine my surprise!

On the other hand, the ceremony of introduction to my future colleague unfolded without any deviations