“Moreover, he just has a last name, and I only have a first name. Together we make up one whole person.”
“True, that. Were you really born on the border of the County Vook and the Barren Lands? I don’t recall meeting any young fellows like you there.”
“Me either,” I had to shrug indifferently. “Maybe I’m just one of a kind.”
“It looks that way. Sir Max, I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”
“Sinning Magicians, why?”
“While Melifaro’s still sleeping I can let you in on a secret. Recently he asked me about some customs of your countrymen. Now I understand why he needed to know.”
“Close friendship rituals?”
“Exactly. Did Melifaro already engage in some strange antics?”
“No, but someone else did.”
“A hole in the heavens above, Sir Max! You see, I’m quite vain. And when there’s something I don’t know . . . In short, I couldn’t shame myself in front of my youngest son. I had to think up a story about singing some idiotic songs outside at midnight.”
“That fellow sang them at midday. Besides, I work the night shift, so I couldn’t be present for a midnight serenade. But I came to an agreement with him. He promised to limit himself to the music that sounds in his irreproachable heart.”
“Praise be the Magicians! Because I got carried away and told him that—”
“That on the Last Day of the Year we had to clean each other’s toilets? That certainly came as a surprise to me.”
“Oh no, Max. I could never have said anything of the sort! I know a thing or two about the Barren Lands. There are no toilets to speak of, much less to found a friendship on!”
“Hm, so that was a collaborative invention. Melifaro swore on the veracity of your story.”
“Don’t give me away, Max! It could be very awkward,” Sir Manga begged, laughing heartily.
“Throw you to the lions to be torn apart limb from limb? Never!” I swore. “But only on the condition that you let me taste some of that dish over there.”
I helped myself to the tiny crumbling pastries in culinary ecstasy.
After breakfast I left the house without waiting for Melifaro to wake up, and wandered about the countryside until I got hungry. I rolled around lazily in the grass, sniffed the flowers, and filled my pockets full of little colored stones. I stared at the clouds in wonder. In short, it was one of the pleasantest days of my entire life.
In the evening I met Melifaro’s mother, whose monumental stature gave away the secret of the giant Baxba’s origins. At the same time she was so beautiful that it took my breath away. Not a human being, but a sculpture; moreover, a vibrant, life-affirming one.
I was surprised at myself. I fell asleep just after midnight like a good boy! And I had a serious motive. That night the little room treated me to another round of magical dreams. And I was worn out after a long day of prancing through the fields and meadows.
Morning began with a race with the wind in the amobiler. I had to deliver Melifaro, who had overslept, to the House by the Bridge in record time. He received no pleasure from the race, as he was in dreamland, blissfully unaware in the back seat. I had a hard time persuading the Diurnal Representative of the Venerable Head not to carry on his engaging pastime in his own office after we finally arrived. Upon my success, I went home to enjoy the advantages of my nocturnal schedule: I crawled under the covers again, back in the company of Armstrong and Ella.
At sunset I reported to the House by the Bridge and was pleasantly surprised. Lady Melamori had already returned, cheerful and ready for new feats of derring-do and renown.
“Well, you’re a sight to behold!” I said from the doorway. “You owe me a walk, my Lady, remember?”
“I remember. Shall we go now? Sir Juffin will let you go.”
“Sure I’ll let you go,” the gloomy voice of the boss resounded through the door to his office, slightly ajar. “I’ll be here till late, anyway.”
“Has something happened?”
“Has something happened? The annual report to the Royal Court happened. In a dozen days this blasted year ends, remember? But in a disaster of this magnitude, you can’t assist me, unfortunately. So enjoy life—but only till midnight.”
I whistled ecstatically—there were still five hours left until midnight, by my calculations. Somehow, things had recently taken a sharp turn for the better. It even made me a bit wary.
“I have just one condition, Sir Max,” Melamori announced as we were about to leave. “No amobilers. I’ve heard frightening tales about your driving.”
“All right,” I agreed. “We’ll go on foot, along crowded, well-lighted streets. When the full moon rises and I start turning into a werewolf, you can call for help. By the way, you can follow the example of Melifaro and drop the ‘Sir’ when you address me. Why stand on ceremony with werewolves?”
Melamori smiled, somewhat taken aback.
“Oh, I can’t simply call you ‘Max.’ I wasn’t raised that way.”
“But I can call you Melamori. Practice for ten minutes or so—and I’ll just be rude for the time being, all right?”
“Of course, Sir Max. You probably think I’m silly, but—actually, your suggestion about a crowded place is just what I had in mind. For the time being.”
“‘For the time being.’ That sounds promising. Onward, my lady!”
We walked very chastely and modestly through the center of Echo. Only I kept having the feeling that something was missing. Then I realized: Melamori didn’t have a bag or a purse that I could offer to carry, to display my chivalry. Nonetheless, at the very end of our sojourn we enjoyed the local version of ice cream in a small artificial garden on the Victory of Gurig VII Square. Thus, the illusion of childhood revisited was complete. I felt I had grown younger by about twenty years, and Lady Melamori, all things considered, by ninety. Our babbling conversation was playful and innocent, until I felt it was proper to touch upon a matter that greatly interested me.
“Melamori, I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time—”
“Don’t, Max! I think I know what you want to ask, dear Sir, uh, yes—”
“Really? I’ll bet a crown that you can’t guess what it is.”
“Can’t guess!” she cried, her voice growing shrill.
I had found the perfect ruse. She was as reluctant to let a wager slip as a habitué at the horse races.
“You wanted to ask why I was afraid of you,” she blurted out. “Hand over the crown!” She blushed with pleasure at this absurd, small victory.
“Take it, my lady,” I plunked down a gold coin on the table where we were sitting. “Shall I wrap it into something, or are you superstitious?”
“Please do. I’m not superstitious, but . . . you never know.”
“Excellent! But I’ll bet ten crowns that you don’t know yourself why you’re afraid.”
“Don’t know? I’m not so crazy as to be afraid of who-knows-what nonsense. It’s just that you, Sir Max, are —I don’t know what you are! And the unknown is the only thing I’m afraid of. You lose, Sir Max. Money on the table! I’ll treat you to something a bit more pricy. Would you like some King’s Sweat?”
“How about some King’s Piss! Whatever is it?”
“The most expensive liqueur available. Over the counter, that is.”
“Fine. We’ll order some of your ‘Sweat.’”
“Not mine, the King’s! Anyway, it looks like you have managed to loosen my tongue after all, Sir Secret Investigator.”
“Frankly, I don’t understand. I’m a fairly ordinary person. Well, not without a few quirks that may be explained by my origins. Sir Manga Melifaro could deliver a whole lecture on the subject.”
“I don’t give a flying buttress about his lectures. Let him read them to Lookfi, he adores any sort of
