The Stranger

been fine. People in Echo are peaceable and compassionate. But the chap had downed a few too many. I suspect that he just felt awkward asking for an extension in the presence of a dozen of his acquaintances. Mr. Ploss took the risk of casting a spell that required magic of the 21st degree. That’s a serious overdose of the stuff. He made the innkeeper “remember” that he had already paid off his debt the day before. The misled innkeeper even began apologizing for his mistake, saying it was a result of the confusion of that time of year. The scoundrel humbly accepted the apology.

Mr. Ploss could have gotten away with his little prank in the pre-holiday madness if Sir Kofa Yox hadn’t blown into the Grave of Kukonin like an ill wind. Our Master Eavesdropper has the unique talent of appearing just in that place where his presence might spoil the lives of basically good people to the maximum degree. The magic-meter on Sir Kofa’s miniature snuff box reported to him that someone was dabbling in Forbidden Magic. Discovering the fledgling sorcerer was just a matter of technique.

When Mr. Ploss realized that his naïve practical joke and the twenty crowns he saved were worth a decade in Xolomi, he figured he had nothing to lose, knocked back another glass of Jubatic Juice, and decided to do battle rather than surrender. To this day, I don’t understand whether it was courage or imbecility that drove him to this reckless act.

Locking himself in the bathroom, Ploss began to heckle the other patrons, claiming that his esoteric skills would suffice to turn everyone there into swine, which he could sell to the neighboring tavern for good money.

The other visitors, just in case, quickly fled from the establishment, and the innkeeper, in tears, began begging Kofa not to destroy his family, moreover right before the End of the Year. Then, at the request of numerous members of the public, Sir Kofa Yox summoned me. Our Master Eavesdropper could make short shrift of a dozen amateur Magicians like Ploss, but not with a gaggle of kitchen-boys sobbing in terror.

Wrapping myself tighter in the black and gold Mantle of Death, and twisting my face into a terrifying grimace, I burst into the tavern. The bells on my boots tinkled like a Christmas carol. My mouth kept twisting into a crooked smile. Unruly locks of hair stuck out every which way from under my turban. I didn’t resemble Death in the Service of the King so much as the victim of a pre-holiday tussle. But the innkeeper of the Grave sighed in relief. His workers gazed at me like intellectually backward adolescents ogling Arnold Schwarzenegger. Now that’s what reputation can do for you!

Stopping on the staircase that led to the bathroom, I sent a silent call to the hapless criminal. Sir Max here, pal. You’d best come out now, before I get real mad. Don’t play any games with me; the food in Xolomi is first-rate!

That worked. To my indescribable astonishment, Mr. Ploss abandoned his lavatory hideout then and there. He was so frightened that Sir Kofa and I had to bring him to his senses again. I even turned my pockets out for him, standing him a glass of Jubatic Juice. Actually, he had afforded me great pleasure. I think the owner of the Grave of Kukonin cherishes the coin he got from me to this day, certain that it is the most potent of protective amulets.

Finally, the officials from Xolomi arrived, summoned by Kofa Yox. We handed over our quarry, who by this time was in a hopelessly gloomy state of mind. It was the first time I had been present at the ceremony of taking someone into custody and it proved to be quite a show!

One of the officials, the Master of Accomplishment, raised a small, but weighty staff over the head of the arrestee. I was afraid that he was going to brain the poor fellow: bam! and that would be that. But that wasn’t what happened. What I witnessed was magic, not crude corporeal reprisal. The staff burst into scarlet flames above the head of the suspect, and a fiery number 21 hung in the air momentarily. This was precisely the degree of magic Mr. Ploss had used, according to Sir Kofa’s evidence.

Then an unwieldy tome of the Code of Krember in a snow-white binding was produced. On this “bible” of the Unified Kingdom, Kofa, myself, the innkeeper, and three kitchen-boys solemnly swore that we had truly witnessed the aforementioned silent fireworks. In fact, one witness is enough, but when there are more, servants of the Chancellery of Rapid Justice note down all of them. An abundance of names attests to their professional dedication. Your everyday bureaucratic tricks, in other words.

After these legal procedures, they led the poor, half-crazed fellow away. I was pleased to see Sir Kofa again, and I would gladly have prolonged the happy reunion, but . . .

“At the End of the Year there’s so much to do, Max. You understand,” our Master Eat-Drink-and-Be-Merry Eavesdropper replied to my innocent suggestion that we go together to the House by the Bridge to share some gossip over a jug of kamra. “But something is telling me, ‘Drop by the Tipsy Bottle, Kofa!’ So I am forced to decline your invitation.”

“Of course. Go, Sir Kofa, do what you must. Thank you for remembering Mr. Bad Dream. Was I ridiculous? My grand entrance, I mean.”

“Ridiculous? It was terrifying! Just like the good old days. I almost teared up with emotion.”

I went back to the Ministry.

An hour later Sir Kofa sent me a call, Max, I was right! Magic of the seventh degree. A lady tried to pass off a one-crown coin for a whole dozen. She was also trying to pay off her debt for the year, blast it! I’m going to the Hunchback Itullo to enjoy myself. My heart tells me it’s going to be hopping there tonight, too.

I was taken aback.

That’s the most exclusive establishment in Echo! It’s frequented only by highly respectable gourmets who don’t know what to do with all their money. Do you think they’ve started getting stingy?

The End of the Year is the End of the Year, Max. In any case, be on your guard. Over and out.

All the Secret Investigators had latched on to that expression, making Silent Speech feel like communicating via walkie-talkie.

Sir Kofa no longer needed my help, not because the Echo-dwellers had suddenly become more sensible, but because they simply didn’t put up such a fuss when they were being arrested. It allowed them to hope that they could get away with only a fine and a warning.

Juffin arrived at the House by the Bridge just before daybreak, and only for a moment. He didn’t even drink any kamra—an event hardly less significant than the end of the world. He took numerous parcels out of the drawer of the desk, told me confidentially that he was determined to lose his mind, and dashed off with a speed that Melifaro couldn’t fathom even in his wildest dreams.

Then Lady Melamori appeared in the doorway and began complaining about life.

“Sir Max. Just Max, I mean. You can’t imagine!” (The poor thing still stumbled over my name.) “You can’t imagine how awful it is to have a big family!”

“I can imagine it very well,” I sighed. “As we speak, another unhappy victim of family ties is snoozing over at my house, while his three million relatives think he’s saving the Unified Kingdom.”

“You mean Melifaro? Lucky man! I have it worse. My relatives are influential enough to free me from duty if duty interferes with family gatherings. So there’s no one who can save me. I’m glad the End of the Year doesn’t come every dozen days!”

“Have a mug of kamra,” I suggested. “Sit down with me for half an hour. It won’t be the most exciting adventure in your life, but you’ll be able to relax. Maybe you’ll even be inspired to comb your hair.”

Melamori stared at her reflection in the convex side of the glass mug.

“Oh, how embarrassing! You’re right, Max. A half hour of ordinary life wouldn’t hurt right now.” She took off the small lilac turban she was wearing and began arranging her wild tresses. “Well, never mind. In three days it will all be over.”

“I suggest celebrating your return to ordinary existence with the most exhausting of strolls.” I had decided that a little pressure wouldn’t hurt. “Crowded places, brightly lighted streets, and no monkey business.”

“Not necessarily,” Melamori said with an unexpected smile. “I mean, crowded places aren’t absolutely necessary. Who, I wonder, could protect me from Sir Max, the Terror of all of Echo? Boboota’s boys? Anyway, it’s bad form to promise something at the End of the Year. So I make no promises. When the year ends, though —”