The Stranger

long. All right, now we can go.”

Kofa then altered his own features with a swift movement of the hand. Now he and I looked like a wise daddy and his not-so-bright sonny boy. Our new faces clearly belonged to the same general category, but Kofa’s looked older and slightly more intelligent.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked. I was bursting with curiosity.

“A hole in the heavens above you! Haven’t you guessed? We’re going tavern-crawling. A new era has begun: the Epoch of Good Food. I don’t want your poor training in this area to condemn you to a dreary existence in this wonderful new World. I’m actually a very good person—has it never occurred to you?”

“Do you mean to say that I skipped out on work to go on a pub crawl? Sir Kofa, that’s incredible!” I said, starting to laugh.

“I see nothing funny about it. I assure you, Juffin considers our outing to be a very serious matter, even if the House by the Bridge were to go to hell in a Dark Magician’s handbasket in your absence. Besides, I’m doing my job. And you’re assisting me.”

“By the way, Kofa, do you know what Melifaro calls you?”

“Of course I do. What do you expect from the Master Eavesdropper-Gobbler? I see nothing wrong with it. Who are you to laugh, Mr. Bad Dream?”

Much to my surprise, we went right past our favorite Glutton Bunba.

“You come here almost every day with Juffin, anyway. He’s so conservative,” Kofa said dismissively. “He’s convinced that the Glutton is as good as it gets. The cuisine in the Glutton is good, I admit. But every day the same thing—that’s too dull!”

First we went to the Merry Little Skeletons. The numerous Skeletons scattered about Echo reminded me of the McDonald’s of my homeland. I smiled.

“What is it?” Kofa asked, taking a seat in the far corner of the room.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that there are too many ‘skeletons’ in Echo.”

“Do you know the story behind them? Of course, you don’t. Juffin has never had a clue about which stories are the most interesting ones. So listen up. The proprietor of all the Skeletons is Goppa Tallaboona. You’ve seen him—he brought all his cooks over to the Ministry. The fellow comes from a wealthy family, the Tallaboona clan, descendants of gourmands. Back in the day, they were very influential people. These gentlemen so loved to eat, and to eat well, that sometime after the beginning of the Code Epoch they fell into despair. They gathered together and ordered their cooks to prepare food as they had done in the ‘old days’—that is, not neglecting to use Forbidden Magic. And they ate fit to burst. Those were happier times, back then; Juffin and I had our hands full already with other matters. When we were able to find a half-hour to look in on the Tallaboonas, there was no one to arrest: only dead bodies. Some of them weren’t able to eat so much, so they lost the spark. They got food poisoning. Nice story, isn’t it? Goppa received a huge inheritance, including the houses of his relatives, and in them he opened his taverns. It’s funny, since Goppa had always practiced asceticism in his youth. He constantly quarreled with his elders, and felt nothing but contempt for the family traditions. He didn’t take part in their final feast, of course. They say that to this day Goppa eats only sandwiches, and I believe it. The fellow has a very original sense of humor. Look over there.”

Sir Kofa pointed to a brightly lighted niche at the opposite end of the room. There was a small table with two small skeletons sitting in state.

“They’re real, Max. The real skeletons of Goppa’s late relatives. You’ll find them in every one of his establishments, if you recall. And the name of each tavern accurately describes the character of the deceased. The master and mistress of this house were a married couple—both of them small in stature and truly merry people. Good people. They were friends of mine. Now they’re going to serve us something special, so save your strength, Max. The chefs here are still the same ones. The Tallaboonas have always been able to afford the very best. The solemn moment has arrived—they’re bringing out the Big Puff!”

When I looked at the head chef wheeling his cart in the direction of our table, I was nonplussed. The fellow’s cart was laden with something that looked like Chinese dumplings, except that each dumpling was about three feet in width.

“Sir Kofa, I do love to eat, of course,” I whispered. “But I’m afraid you have overestimated my abilities.”

“Don’t be silly, boy. It’s going to be all right. Be quiet now, and watch.”

When he stopped at our table, the cook bowed in a dignified manner and placed two relatively small plates in front of us. I had no time to wonder how the small plates could accommodate the Big Puffs before the cook grasped the uppermost dumpling carefully between two small shovels. Then he began to blow on it. He blew as gently and patiently as a grandmother blowing on a spoonful of oatmeal, begging her beloved grandchild to outdo himself and take just one more bite.

Unlike a grandmother’s spoonful of porridge, though, the “dumpling” began shrinking rapidly. When the Big Puffs had become the size of a statistically average pastry, the cook quickly transferred it to Kofa’s plate, and he began to eat.

“Start right in, boy!” my culinary “Virgil” informed me with his mouth full. “Its best to eat it straight away.”

I considered it wise to heed his advice, so as soon as the pastry landed on my plate, I got down to business.

Inside the Big Puffs I discovered an ample, but light meat filling and a whole ocean of aromatic juices. It was divine!

The cook kept tossing more and more Puffs onto our plates, but we didn’t give up. Finally, the cart was empty and we were alone.

“Remember, Max, you should only order the Big Puffs here. It’s not the same in other taverns. Believe me, I’ve tried it.”

Kofa rolled his eyes to the heavens in delight.

“Once upon a time, it was the most ordinary dish imaginable. Over the last hundred years or so the cooks of the capital have forgotten the finer points of their profession. Never mind, they’ll make up for lost time and pick up their tricks again now. Time heals all. Let’s go, boy.”

And off we went.

“I’ve never failed to give the Skeleton cuisine its due,” Sir Kofa Yox said. “Of course, with legitimate magic alone they could never outdo Madame Zizinda or the Hunchback Itullo, may the Dark Magicians protect him. They’re Old School—without a good spell they don’t know how to butter a piece of bread. Aye, what’s true is true. Now their time has come again, though.”

“By the way, how could Goppa have been allowed to keep the cooks? Why didn’t you throw them in Xolomi?” I asked.

“In Xolomi? For what?”

“Well, you said yourself that they prepared food like in the ‘Good Old Days.’ They must have used plenty of spells, I imagine.”

“Ah, that . . . You see, Max, the cooks were just carrying out orders. They didn’t even have to try to defend themselves. Their superiors presented them with a paper that stated that they took all the responsibility. If any of the Tallaboonas had survived, they’re the ones we would have ‘thrown in Xolomi,’ as you put it.”

“Where I come from, everyone would have to bear the blame: the ones who gave the orders, as well as the ones who carried them out.”

“That’s absurd! How can you punish a person if he’s not acting on his own volition? What a system you have there in the Barren Lands.”

Kofa stared at me so attentively that I realized: he doesn’t believe Juffin’s legend about my origins. He doesn’t believe it, but he’s keeping mum. So I did, too.

Our next stop was the Happy Skeleton. Sir Kofa nodded toward another niche at the opposite end of the hall, just like the one we saw earlier. It was occupied by a solitary smiling skeleton.

“Here we’re going to eat ‘Hathor’ turkey,” Sir Kofa announced.

“What’s it called?” I wanted to make sure I had heard correctly.