ordinary person is three hundred years, and greater longevity is a matter of personal stamina. So in their line of work, at the age of five hundred you’re still a spring chicken!)
“Olli was very strong,” Lady Mallis announced. “And if you think about the fact that the twelve strongest ladies in Echo guarded his shadow, you will understand that his life was too short by far! We, of course, thought that the Spark would return to him. In days long ago, that happened often, though you young ones don’t believe it. Young Olli didn’t believe it, either; but that wasn’t necessary. He still had a chance to get back the Spark!”
“I’ve never heard the likes of it, my Lady!” Juffin declared, his curiosity piqued. (Later he admitted to me that he had lied—“just to liven up the conversation.”) “I thought the poor fellow had lived surprisingly long, but it turns out that he died before he should have!”
“No one dies too early or too late; everyone dies in his own time. But you, a Kettari man, should know that! You look into the darkness, don’t you? But it wasn’t our fault that Olli died.”
“Of course, I have never had any doubt on that score, my Lady!”
“You doubt everything, you sly old fox. And that’s as it should be. I can tell you one thing—we don’t know why Olli died. And we should know. We need to know.”
“Braba knows, but won’t tell,” Lady Tisa broke in. “That’s why she refused to come to the house of the Makluks. And she won’t come. But there’s no need for this. Retari visited her the day after Olli’s death. Tell them, Retari! We never asked you about it, because we had other worries. But now, it seems the Kettarian has only one worry—to find out why Braba is afraid to come here. And until he finds out, he’s not going to give us a moment’s peace.”
Silence reigned. Then Juffin bowed graciously to Lady Tisa.
“You read my heart like an open book, my Lady!”
The old wisewoman smiled coquettishly at Juffin and winked. After this interlude of gallantry, everyone present stared intently at Lady Retari.
“Braba doesn’t understand a thing herself, but she’s mortally afraid. She hasn’t been able to work since then, so fearful is she—like a young girl. She says someone lured away Ollie’s shadow and nearly snatched her own. We were all sure that his shadow had departed on its own. We didn’t know why; but it departed. Quickly— like a woman who doesn’t want to give her love. But Braba says someone lured it away. Someone she couldn’t discern. But she was so frightened that we decided, why bother asking? You can’t get the shadow back. Why take on someone else’s fear?” and Lady Retari fell silent, at least a year, it seemed.
The witches sipped kamra in the stillness and crunched their cookies daintily. Sir Juffin meditated. Mr. Govins was portentously silent. I gazed at this quaint group of people in innocent admiration. Without warning, however, I felt the air in the room had grown so thick that it was impossible to breathe. Something horrible and disgusting entered for a moment, then instantly retreated, not touching anyone in the room except myself. And even I hadn’t time to realize what was happening; but a viscous lump of absolute terror penetrated my lungs when I breathed in as the shadow of some vile enigma encroached upon me, and then to my great relief disappeared as abruptly as it had come. It was probably “someone else’s fear,” as the old crone had just mentioned; but at the time I considered the episode to be a groundless mood shift—something very familiar to me. I didn’t even consider sharing this silly inner anxiety with Sir Juffin.
Later, I understood that I had been imprudently reticent. Those “silly inner anxieties” were an extremely important part of my future occupation, for it is the sacred duty of an employee of the Secret Force to report every vague presentiment, nightmare, skip of a heartbeat, or other spiritual tremor (though analysis of the situation and other deductions you can and ought keep to yourself). At the time, though, I just tried to forget about this unpleasant lump of someone else’s fear. My efforts met with almost immediate success.
“I know how a shadow departs,” Juffin finally announced. “Tell me wise Ladies, did none of you except Braba really sense that something was amiss?”
“We all sensed it,” Lady Mallis said. “Sensed it—and that was that. None of us knows what it was we sensed. We can’t always say what it is. It’s too strenuous a task for us, and it will be for you, though you peer into the darkness much more often than we do. And the lad there won’t be any help, either.”
I suddenly realized with horror that the old woman had focused her undivided attention on me.
“’Tis a secret, Sir. Just someone else’s bad secret,” Lady Tisa said, saving me. “None of us likes it. We didn’t wish to talk about it, for it’s pointless to talk about what you don’t know. But when you’re in the company of two gentlemen whose fate it is to peer into the darkness—well, we decided to tell all, though it won’t be of any benefit to you.”
And the three old crones, with the gracefulness of young felines, disappeared through the door.
And with that Sir Juffin Hully stood up from the table.
“We’re leaving, Govins. We’ve got to do some thinking. Tell the master that he need not send anyone to the House by the Bridge. I’ll take care of all that myself. In the morning I’ll send you written permission allowing you to bury the poor fellow. But I can’t promise that everything else can be taken care of as quickly as the bothersome paperwork. You’ll just have wait it out, and moreover, I’ll be very busy in the next few days. And make sure no one hangs around in that bedchamber. Let it remain untidy, for Magicians’ sake! If I don’t show up for a time, Sir Makluk shouldn’t worry; I won’t forget about this matter, even if I wish I could . . . but if—”
“Yes, Sir. If something happens?”
“Let’s just hope nothing does. Better not go in there, all the same. See to it, dear Govins.”
“You can rely on me, Sir Venerable Head.”
“Wonderful. Sir Max, are you still alive? And you haven’t turned into a jug of kamra? Because that stuff can do that to you, you know . . .”
“Juffin, may I go into the room one last time?”
He raised his brow in surprise.
“Of course, although . . . all right, we’ll go together.”
We entered the twilit bedchamber. Everything was quiet and tranquil. The needle on Sir Juffin’s pipe jerked, and began again to seek a compromise between the “2” and the “3.” But that wasn’t why I wanted to return. Looking around, I immediately found the box with balsam soap that we unsuccessfully tried to charm earlier in the evening. It was still lying on the floor, halfway to the corridor. I lifted the box and put it in the pocket of my looxi, praise to the skies, an opportunity furnished by the local fashion.
I looked at Juffin guiltily. He chuckled. Never mind, Juffin would be none the worse for it; and he certainly deserved some light entertainment.
“What do you need that thing for, Max?” Juffin asked, when we had gone out into the garden and were traipsing toward home. “Do you always clean up the premises when you’ve been on a visit? Why did you rob my neighbor—’fess up!”
“You’ll laugh . . . you’re already laughing, Magicians be with you! But you saw yourself how scared it was! I just couldn’t abandon it there.”
“A box? You’re talking about a box?”
“Yes, the box. Why? I felt its fear, I saw it try to roll away, and if things can remember the past, it means that they are sentient, they are able to perceive and feel. That means they live their own inscrutable lives, doesn’t it? In that case, what’s the difference whether one rescues a damsel in distress or a box?”
Juffin burst out laughing. “I suppose it’s a matter of taste, of course! What an imagination you have, young man! Good going! I’ve lived a long time on this earth, but I’ve never taken part in the rescue of a box!”
He teased me until we reached the gate, then grew suddenly serious.
“Max, you’re a genius! Fantastic! I’m not sure about the inscrutable lives of boxes, but if you remove it from a zone of fear . . . Sinning Magicians! You’re absolutely right, Max! Of course we may be able to charm at home! Not right away, of course, but perhaps it may remember something, your sweet little thing. You thief you! And the old crone can eat her skaba! As if you and I can’t solve this case together! We’ve had harder nuts to crack, and we
