What’s wrong? he asked innocently.
What’s wrong! Lonli-Lokli was just here with a whole orchestra!
Are you upset? Melifaro asked in a sympathetic tone. My father said that was the custom where you come from. You didn’t like it? Does our Lonli-Lokli have a bad voice? I’d always heard his voice was most pleasant.
Well, that beats all!
I still didn’t know whether to laugh or to get angry. So I decided to take refuge in dreamland.
And it was the right thing to do. As it turned out, it was my last chance to get some sleep. That evening I went off to work—and ended up being detained for several days, embroiled in one of the most desperate of classic criminal cases.
The nightmare began suddenly, and coincided precisely with my arrival at the House by the Bridge. A block away from the Ministry, I heard a familiar bellowing:
“Buffalo tits! If those bony-butts can’t find their own crap in an outhouse full of it, they can eat it until the hole is empty! Give the case to those Secret Investigative Crapsuckers? Those Generals of Steppe Outhouses who can’t extricate themselves from their own crap without a horde of bare-butt barbarians?”
I was amused. The old geezer was waxing so eloquent that he didn’t hear the warning bells on my boots.
You just wait, my fine fellow! I’ll fix you, I thought with irrepressible glee, as I neared the Secret Entrance to the Ministry of the Perfect Public Order.
Right, “Secret” . . . as if! The door was wide open, and at the threshold stood General Boboota Box, no longer red, but purple with malevolent rage.
“Now those bare-butt denizens of barren outhouses will be wiping the foam from my crap!”
At this point, Boboota noticed me, and he shut up so fast it seemed that the World had stopped.
I looked wonderful, in my own humble opinion, my Mantle of Death unfurled and my face bright with fury. I summoned all my meager acting abilities so that my malice appeared convincing. The nervous tic—which, according to my directorial method, was supposed to strike Boboota with fear that my venomous spit was headed his way—was particularly effective. I don’t know how believable I really was, but it worked on Boboota. Fear hath a hundred eyes.
There are many grounds for reproach of the Dashing Swordsman Boboota Box, though cowardice is usually not one of them. But there is an immutable law of human nature: all people are mortally afraid of the unknown. My newly acquired gift, which had caused so much speculation in the city, belonged to the realm of the unknown. So you could understand the poor guy.
General Boboota gulped frantically. Captain Shixola, his hapless audience, looked at me almost with hope. I advanced toward them steadily. I wanted to push the joke to its bitter conclusion, to spit at him just to see what would happen. Theoretically, my spit didn’t threaten the life of the Chief of Police, since I was neither angry nor afraid. But I stopped myself just in time. I decided that it might put too great a strain on the poor fellow, and I would be left to clean up the mess afterward. So I traded malice for mildness, and smiled good-naturedly.
“Good evening, Sir Box! Good evening, Captain!” My politeness dealt the final blow to Boboota, though it seemed to disappoint his subordinate. I left them to their perplexity and sailed off to Sir Juffin Hully’s office, which was considered a safe haven for me, his right-hand man.
Juffin was there, and in high spirits.
“Have you heard, Max? We’ve just been assigned a very unusual murder case. It’s really not our department, but Boboota’s boys can’t cope with it. He’s aware of that himself. That’s why the poor fellow just isn’t himself today. You probably heard his harangue out there. Well, let’s go look into this murder.”
We went out into the corridor. There we were joined by Lady Melamori, gloomy as I’d never seen her before. Strange, for I had cheered her up considerably that very morning. Or was it the murder that had gotten her upset? Doubtful. For me a human death was an event—for Melamori it must have already been routine.
“Why is it so quiet?” Juffin wondered aloud, listening to the whispering behind the wall that separated our rooms from those of the City Police. “I thought Boboota was going to keep up his ranting until dawn. Could it be that he has lost his voice? I don’t believe it. It would be too good to be true.”
“Well, I was just passing by, and I pretended to be angry,” I announced modestly.
Juffin stared at me in amazement.
“Sinning Magicians! I’ll arrange it so that your salary is bigger than my own. You’re worth it!”
Melamori didn’t even smile. It was as if the brave General Boboota had never even been her favorite butt of jokes. Rather, she looked as though she were about to cry. I put my hand on her shoulder and was about to make some lighthearted, offhand remark, but I didn’t get a chance. When I touched her I understood everything. I can’t imagine how the secret mechanisms were set in motion, but now I knew exactly what Melamori was feeling as well as she knew it herself. Our Master of Pursuit was temporarily out of order. The unsuccessful attempt to trail me had upset the delicate balance of her dangerous gift.
She needed time to put things to rights again.
It’s like the flu, which, thankfully, is unknown to the people of Echo. Whether or not you want to admit it, getting better takes time. And now Melamori was going to the scene of a crime as though to her own funeral, for she already sensed what the outcome would be—failure, and a new blow to her self-confidence. But she was going anyway, because she was not used to backing down, even before insurmountable obstacles.
And however foolish, I would most likely have done the same. I was starting to like the damsel more and more.
I sent Juffin a call.
Melamori can’t work today. She won’t be able to do her stuff. And she knows it. Why did you call her here? To teach her a lesson?
Juffin stared at me intently, then at Melamori, and suddenly smiled his blinding smile:
“Go home, on the double! March, my lady!”
“Why on earth should I?”
“You know why. Your gift belongs not to you alone, but to the Secret Investigative Force of the Unified Kingdom. And if there is something that endangers your gift, you must take measures to protect it. That’s also a talent, like all the rest of it. And no shifting your problems onto the shoulders of a tired old boss, who will inevitably forget about them. Is that clear?”
“Thank you,” Melamori murmured. It was painful even to look at her.
“You’re welcome,” Juffin snorted. “Go home, Melamori. Better yet, drop by to see your Uncle Kima. He’s a great Master. He’ll patch you up in no time. In a few days you’ll be right as rain. The sooner the better.”
“How will you find the murderer?” she asked uncertainly.
“Sir Max, this lady is insulting us,” the chief said with a grin. “She considers our intellectual faculties to be on the wane. She thinks that we’re good-for-nothing nincompoops who can only cling to the skirt-tails of the Master of Pursuit, hot on the trail of the criminal. Shall we get offended, or kill her on the spot?”
“Oh, please, I didn’t mean it that way,” said Melamori, and a timid smile spread across her face. “I’ll get better. I’ll bring you something from Uncle Kima. And please forgive me, won’t you?”
“I will forgive you, of course,” Juffin assented. “But Sir Max, here—they say he’s terrible when he’s angry. General Boboota completely lost his bearings!”
“I’ll make it up to Sir Max somehow,” Melamori assured him.
Understandably, I was beside myself with joy.
The darling of my demise graciously retreated and disappeared around the corner, toward the parking lot for official amobilers.
Her parting smile was the last pleasant moment of the day. The rest of it was too lousy for words.