The Stranger

Trips between my bedroom and my new amobiler parked by the gate outside took almost an hour. But even this work was finished eventually. I drove home with my heart beating happily and my head a complete void. “Home.” How strange the word sounded to me!

I crossed over the Echo Crest Bridge, full of the inviting lights of shops and bars, still doing a lively trade even at this late hour. Here in Echo people really get the meaning of night life. Maybe that’s because even permitted magic allows you to carouse for a night or two without seriously harming your health.

Across the bridge I found myself on the Right Bank. Now my path led straight to the heart of the Old City. I preferred to dwell in its narrow alleyways rather than the wide streets of the New City, Echo’s wealthy downtown.

The mosaic sidewalks of the Street of Old Coins had lost almost all of their original color. Still, I preferred the tiny stones of the ancient mosaics to the big bright tiles that covered the new streets. My newly gained experience told me that material objects remember events and can tell us about them. Juffin had taught me to listen to their murmurings, or, rather, the visions they transmit. I had always loved ancient history. I’d have something to do in my spare time, anyway!

My new house was glad to see me. Not long ago I would have thought I was letting my imagination get the better of me. Now I knew that I could trust my vague inklings as much as obvious facts. Well, good; we like each other, my new house and I. It was probably tired of standing empty. The landlord said that the prior inhabitants moved out some forty years ago, and since that time, the only visitors had been the cleaners.

I got out of the amobiler and took my belongings into the parlor. The room was almost empty, as is the custom here in Echo. I’ve always liked interiors like that, but until now I had never had the opportunity to develop this aesthetic. There was a small table covered entirely by a basket of provisions I had ordered from the Glutton Bunba, several comfortable armchairs like the ones Sir Juffin had in his sitting room, and several shelves nestled against the wall. What more does a man need?

I spent the next two hours arranging my books and trinkets on the shelves. After that, I went upstairs to the bedroom. Half the enormous space was taken up by a soft fuzzy floor: no risk of falling out of bed here! Several pillows and fur blankets were heaped together at the far end of the stadium-sized dream-dome. A wardrobe loomed somewhere in the distance, and there I stuffed a pile of colored fabric—my newly acquired clothes. My nostalgia garb—jeans, sweater, and vest—was stashed nearby. There was a little bathroom next to the bedroom that would only be suitable for my morning toilette. The other facilities were in the basement.

My work was done, and I was neither hungry nor sleepy; yet I didn’t want to leave the house to take a walk, either. I would gladly have sold my soul to the devil for a single pack of cigarettes.

I sat in the parlor, awkwardly filling my pipe with tobacco and bemoaning my bitter fate. In this hour of sorrow, the only comfort I found was in the view from the window. Just opposite stood an ancient three-story mansion with little triangular windows and a tall peaked roof. As someone who has spent most of his life in high- rise apartment blocks, my heart begins to beat faster at even the slightest patina of age. Here every stone cried out “days of yore!”

After I had my fill of the view, I went up to the bedroom with the third volume of Sir Manga Melifaro’s Encyclopedia under my arm. The book expounded on my so-called countrymen, the inhabitants of the County Vook and the Barren Lands. Everyone should love his homeland, even an invented one. It’s very important to study it—especially in my case, since I was aware of good Lookfi Pence’s curiosity and the grilling I expected to get from him. Besides, I found this reading to be dreadfully amusing. Page forty dealt with a certain tribe of nomads from the Barren Lands, who, in an act of unbelievable absent-mindedness, lost their juvenile chief in the steppe. After I reached the part of the chronicle in which these dunderheads put a curse on themselves, I fell asleep and dreamed my own version of this mad tale with a happy ending. Their chief, now an adult, appealed to our Ministry for assistance, and Sir Juffin and I helped the guy track down his poor people. In parting, Sir Lonli-Lokli drew up a clear and concise code of conduct for Tribal Nomad Chiefs in their far-flung workplace.

I woke up before noon, which by my standards is still very early. I spent a long time getting ready: after all, this was my first day on the job. I went downstairs and splashed around in my three bathing pools, one after the other. No matter what they say, three bathtubs are better than one . . . and way better than eleven, with all due respect to the snobs of the capital, headed by Sir Juffin Hully.

The hour had come to open the basket of provisions from the Glutton. To my great delight, I found a jug of kamra inside that I could reheat. As for attempting to make the drink myself, thus far I had had to dispose of all the fruits of my experiments. Sir Juffin Hully had suggested using my kamra as a deterrent to especially dangerous criminals. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he feared this method might be considered too ruthless.

So I warmed up the kamra on a miniature brazier (an indispensable feature of any civilized sitting room). It was a lovely morning. Finally I even lit the pipe I’d prepared for myself the evening before. It wasn’t so bad after all. Not even the unfamiliar taste of the local tobacco could put a dent in my optimism.

I went to work on foot. I planned to show off my expensive dark, intricately patterned looxi and black turban, which transformed me from your everyday good-looker into a prince. No one in the city besides me seemed to take any notice of this, though. People hurried about their business or stared dreamily into storefront windows in the Old Town. No gapes of wonder, no beautiful damsels eager to throw themselves into my arms in fits of trembling exaltation. So there was one thing that hadn’t changed.

I turned onto the Street of Copper Pots. I had just a short way to go before I took my first steps over the threshold of the Secret Door leading to the House by the Bridge. Before that day, I hadn’t had the right to enter the Ministry of Perfect Public Order through that door. Of course, I could have used the visitor’s entrance, but I decided against that. There had been nothing for me to do there before, anyway.

A short corridor led to the half of the building occupied by the Minor Secret Investigative Force, the organization that would soon be home to me. The other half of the building belonged to the Echo City Police Department, under the command of General of Public Order Sir Boboota Box, of whom I had never once heard a kind word spoken. I passed an enormous empty reception hall (the courier dozing off on the edge of his chair didn’t count) and entered the Hall of Common Labor, to find Lonli-Lokli writing something in an oversized notebook. I was immediately disappointed. Well, whaddayaknow: paperwork, even here! What about those self-inscribing tablets and buriwoks who memorize every word you say?

My worries were premature, though. Sir Shurf Lonli-Lokli kept a personal work diary for his own pleasure. I was not inclined to disturb his bureaucratic serfdom, and went into Juffin’s office, which was a relatively small and comfortable room.

Sir Venerable Head was sitting at his desk, choking with laughter, while trying to scold Lady Melamori, who stood frozen before him with the look of a timid schoolgirl.

“Oh, it’s you, Sir Max. Your first mission is to go into the city and commit a bestial murder of some sort. The fellows are going mad with boredom. Do you know what the first and only lady of the Secret Investigative Force has been up to? She began shadowing Captain Foofloss, who is deputy, brother-in-law, and brother in arms to General Boboota Box. The poor fool started to get chest pains, and he was consumed by a terrible feeling of dread. For the first time in his life, he started asking himself the fundamental questions of life, and was none the happier for it. Only the quick wit of young Lieutenant Kamshi saved Mr. Foofloss from suicide. They sent him off to an estate to unwind, and Lieutenant Kamshi was obliged to write me an official report. The City Police is held together by people like that. If only Sir Kamshi were in Boboota’s place . . . Isn’t that hilarious?”

“You seem to think it is,” I said. “Don’t fight your natural inclinations; you look like you’re about to burst!”

Juffin nodded, and heeding my medical advice, gave vent to his laughter. Melamori looked at us almost reprovingly, as though she had broken the law once in a lifetime and we had the temerity to snicker about it.

“Well, what am I to do with you, young lady? Count yourself lucky that Kamshi seems to have taken a fancy to you. Can you imagine the uproar it would have caused if he had been eager to enforce the letter of the law, or had been more concerned about his boss’s state of mind?”

“Then we would have proven that Captain Foofloss was a criminal!” Melamori retorted, smiling her irresistible smile. “You’d be the first to enjoy it.”

“I assure you, I have enough to enjoy without your help. So this is how it’s going to be, Miss. As boredom