“It doesn’t matter how much, but how you sleep . . . And today I’ll sleep like the dead. Thank you, Marilyn. Please tell Sir Max that it was an excellent idea.”
“I’ll tell him,” I yawned and waved to her. “Good morning, Melamori.”
I’d like to note that Marilyn also slept like the dead, which hadn’t been the case for a long time with my good old friend Max. This girl had a first-rate heart of stone, much more reliable than mine.
At sundown I reported to the House by the Bridge. I had a suitcase with me that accommodated a large bottle of Elixir of Kaxar, masses of clothes (Lady Marilyn enjoyed shopping), and my enchanted pillow—“Stopgap in the Chink between Worlds,” in the words of my greatest benefactor, Sir Maba Kalox. Whatever might happen, setting out for the unknown without my one and only miracle-method for getting a normal cigarette just wasn’t my style.
Sir Juffin Hully was chatting animatedly with some middle-aged, suntanned blond fellow in a light-blue and white looxi. He had the appearance of a sports coach: muscular arms, ruddy complexion, and a stern, unsmiling expression. Unwilling to interrupt their conversation, I sent my chief a call.
Are you busy, Juffin? Should I wait in the lobby?
“What do you mean, Lady Marilyn?” Juffin flashed a welcoming smile. “Did you think I had a visitor, Max? And who said we’d have a problem with Sir Shurf’s appearance? My compliments to both of you, boys. You make a perfect couple.”
“You look ravishing, Marilyn!” the unrecognizable Lonli-Lokli observed politely, rising to greet me, and (Oh, sinning Magicians!) considerately helping me to my seat.
“I must ask your forgiveness, Max, but from here on out I’ll be addressing you with various terms of endearment, since it’s customary between husband and wife.”
“There’s no need to ask my forgiveness. You can address me any way you like at any time, Shurf!”
“Now my name is Sir Glamma Eralga, dear Marilyn. Of course, you must simply call me Glamma.”
“Maybe we can just call each other by our regular names for the time being? It’s so disconcerting otherwise.”
“No, Sir Shurf is absolutely right. The sooner you get used to your new names the better. Later you’ll have bigger worries,” Juffin said.
What kinds of worries was he referring to, I would have liked to know?
I stared at Lonli-Lokli curiously. It was the first time I had seen him without his death-dealing gloves, which I tended to think of as his real hands. I knew, of course, that they weren’t. But the heart, which is stronger than reason, was certain that the shining hands were the real thing.
“Gosh, what’s wrong with your hands, Shurf? I mean, Glamma.”
“Nothing. If you are referring to my gloves, I have them with me, in the trunk. You don’t suppose, do you, dear Marilyn, that all citizens have gloves like that?”
“Of course I don’t, but I’ve never seen you without them, Shurf —er, dear!”
“Maybe this Shurf you speak of is still wearing them; your dearest Glamma, as you can see, is not.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said laughing. “And what’s with your fingernails?”
“These are the first letters of the words of an ancient spell. Without them, the gloves would be lethal for me, too. I’m afraid I’ll have to wear these.” Lonli-Lokli showed me some elegant gloves made from the thinnest blue leather. “On the road they won’t attract attention, but when I dine, I anticipate they might arouse suspicion.”
“It doesn’t matter in the least. Any person can have eccentricities. Let people think that you’re squeamish, that you’re just afraid of germs.”
“Greetings, sugar pie,” said Melifaro, bursting into the office. “Well, have you considered the possibility of remaining a girl and accepting my proposal? My mama would be ecstatic,” he said, leaning on the armrest of my chair. “Our Loki-Lonki is much improved in appearance—but I’m still better-looking!”
“Sir Melifaro, stop soliciting my wife,” said the transformed Lonli-Lokli. “And please be so good as to learn my name, at least by the time I return. You’ve known me for years.”
“You got that?” I asked bitingly. “I’m no damsel in distress.”
It was Juffin who got the biggest kick out of our absurd and spirited repartee, which was just as it should be. He’s the boss, after all.
“Juffin, I hope you won’t object?” asked Sir Kofa Yox, the incomparable Master Eavesdropper cum Personal Cosmetologist, entering the office and clutching a sizable parcel to his chest. “You still have time to explain to these unfortunate boys what kind of hellish place they’re going to. You have the whole night ahead of you, and I have something extremely yummy to help pass the time.”
“When did I ever object to parties, Kofa?” Juffin rejoined. “But why did you bring all this with you? We could have just called for a courier to deliver it.”
“No way! I won’t entrust a matter like this to just anyone. Shutta Vax, one of the virtuoso cooks in the ancient style, has retired from the profession and cooks only for himself now. But when I asked him for seven Chakkatta Pies, he couldn’t refuse. We’re lucky—it appears that he’s the only one left who has the slightest idea how to make them.”
“Do you mean that, Kofa?” Juffin looked truly alarmed.
“It’s no joking matter. Ladies first, so get over here before I reconsider.”
Melamori didn’t wait for him to repeat the invitation.
“Good evening, Marilyn,” she greeted me, placing her hand affectionately on my shoulder. “It’s too bad you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“But if we weren’t leaving, there wouldn’t be any Chakkatta Pies,” I said. “It’s the law of natural compensation.”
“We’ve forgotten about poor Sir Lookfi,” Melamori said. “We should call him.”
“I did, but he must first say goodbye to about a hundred buriwoks. Now bring on the pie, Kofa. I can’t wait.”
The dull thud of an overturning chair announced the arrival of the Master Keeper of Knowledge.
“Good evening. It’s so kind of you to remember to call me. Sir Kofa, you’re a good sort to arrange this celebration for all of us. And good evening, Sir Max. I haven’t seen you in a long time. What have you done to your hair? Is that the style these days?”
Melifaro nearly fell off the arm of the chair, Melamori and I exchanged bewildered glances, and Sir Kofa was crackling with annoyance. Sinning Magicians! What happened to my disguise? Could people really still recognize me as Max?
“Don’t worry, Max,” Juffin came to my rescue just in time. “And you, Kofa—you should be ashamed for being surprised. You know our Sir Lookfi sees things as they are, and not as they seem. How else could he tell all his buriwoks apart?”
“Sir Lookfi is a truly insightful person. I’ve always said that,” Kurush interjected. Juffin nodded, agreeing with the wise bird.
“Still, it’s disappointing. I considered this girl to be such a masterpiece,” muttered Sir Kofa Yox. “I thought I could fool even Lookfi.”
“Juffin, are there any other ‘truly insightful’ people among the collectors of Kettarian carpets?” I asked with a sudden rush of anxiety.
“No. I personally know of only one other natural phenomenon like Lookfi—the sheriff of the Island of Murimak, the most imposing personage on that entire scrap of dry land. I think his main duty is to count the hairs on the fur of the local species of Royal Polecats. So take it easy,” Juffin turned back to Lookfi. “Have you had time to notice by now that our Max has temporarily become a lady?”
“Ah, yes. Now I see. Your hair is longer,” Sir Lookfi Pence said with relief. “It’s good that this isn’t the new fashion. I don’t look good in hairstyles like that—and they’re so much trouble.”
The improvised party was a brilliant success. If I had known that they would give Lonli-Lokli and me such a sendoff, I would have gone on a journey every day. Finally, just the three of us remained behind.