Bridge, but things move slowly in Echo. I submitted the request for your appointment to the Court . . . yes, the day after our trip to the Glutton. As all matters in my department are decided with maximum efficiency and promptness, everything should be settled within two or three dozen days.”
“You call that ‘maximum efficiency and promptness’?”
“Yes, and so must you.”
Then we were home. Juffin went to his room, and I stayed behind, alone, just the time to think about the darkness into which I was peering. Those dames had given me a scare! And then Juffin, with his lecture about the secret reasons behind the jumps and starts in my moods . . . arghhh!
When I was in my own room, I pulled out the salvaged “box-in-distress” from the pocket of my looxi. Take it easy, sweetheart, Uncle Max may not be all there, but he’s kind and good! He’ll protect you from all misfortune; he’s just going to peer into the darkness . . . But at the very moment of the deepest flowering of my honestly acquired phobia, a warm clump of fur jumped out this very darkness: Max sad—don’t be sad! My little friend Chuff wagged his stumpy tail so violently that the devilish darkness scattered into little bits. I relaxed, banished from my mind the paranoid murmurings of the matronly sirens, and Chuff and I went to the living room to find something to eat while we read the evening news.
As it turned out, I didn’t go to sleep before dawn that day. I waited for Juffin to talk over the events of the evening one more time over a mug of kamra. I must admit, I expected that from that moment on, Sir Juffin would be wracking his brains over the mysterious murder. In other words, like good old Sherlock Holmes, or the equally old and good Commissioner Maigret, he would suck on his pipe for hours on end, and wander about at the scene of the crime. And at the end of yet another sleepless night, and not without my help, he would crack the case of the “ABC Gum Corpse.” Then everyone dances with delight.
I was sorely disappointed. Our morning conference lasted all of twenty minutes. The entire time, Sir Juffin speculated about my lonely future—that is, how I would survive the next three days without him. It turned out that the time for his annual friendly visit to the Royal Court had rolled around, and as this joyful occasion is granted by King only a few times a year, he was generally in no hurry to release his charming vassal. On average, according to Sir Juffin’s calculations, these forced circumstances lasted about three or four days. Then the cries of distress of his subjects, abandoned temporarily to the caprices of fate, would force the monarch to loosen his embrace and return his captive to the World again.
I must say, I understand His Majesty. In the literature of the Unified Kingdom, the detective novel does not seem to exist at all, and newspaper articles and dry accounts of the courtiers about all the other courtiers cannot compete with the juicy worldly gossip of Sir Juffin Hully, Venerable Head of all that transpires.
For my part, I coped fairly well with the loneliness. I walked a lot, gazed at passersby, learned the names of streets. At the same time I inquired about the prices of houses for lease. I was very particular about my choice of a future home. I wanted it to be close to the Street of the Copper Pots, at the end of which stood the House by the Bridge, the residence of the Headquarters of Perfect Public Order. At night I “did my homework”—again and again I grilled the objects of material culture about their past. It was pleasant to realize that I could already perform these tricks without Juffin’s guidance. Objects were increasingly willing to share their memories with me. Only the box from the bedchamber of the late Sir Makluk-Olli held its tongue with the obstinacy of a partisan of the Resistance, we observed no more outbursts of uncontrollable fear in it. Thank goodness for that!
Late on the
“You call that ‘maximum efficiency and promptness’?”
“Yes, and so must you.”
Then we were home. Juffin went to his room, and I stayed behind, alone, just the time to think about the darkness into which I was peering. Those dames had given me a scare! And then Juffin, with his lecture about the secret reasons behind the jumps and starts in my moods . . . arghhh!
When I was in my own room, I pulled out the salvaged “box-in-distress” from the pocket of my looxi. Take it easy, sweetheart, Uncle Max may not be all there, but he’s kind and good! He’ll protect you from all misfortune; he’s just going to peer into the darkness . . . But at the very moment of the deepest flowering of my honestly acquired phobia, a warm clump of fur jumped out this very darkness: Max sad—don’t be sad! My little friend Chuff wagged his stumpy tail so violently that the devilish darkness scattered into little bits. I relaxed, banished from my mind the paranoid murmurings of the matronly sirens, and Chuff and I went to the living room to find something to eat while we read the evening news.
As it turned out, I didn’t go to sleep before dawn that day. I waited for Juffin to talk over the events of the evening one more time over a mug of kamra. I must admit, I expected that from that moment on, Sir Juffin would be wracking his brains over the mysterious murder. In other words, like good old Sherlock Holmes, or the equally old and good Commissioner Maigret, he would suck on his pipe for hours on end, and wander about at the scene of the crime. And at the end of yet another sleepless night, and not without my help, he would crack the case of the “ABC Gum Corpse.” Then everyone dances with delight.
I was sorely disappointed. Our morning conference lasted all of twenty minutes. The entire time, Sir Juffin speculated about my lonely future—that is, how I would survive the next three days without him. It turned out that the time for his annual friendly visit to the Royal Court had rolled around, and as this joyful occasion is granted by King only a few times a year, he was generally in no hurry to release his charming vassal. On average, according to Sir Juffin’s calculations, these forced circumstances lasted about three or four days. Then the cries of distress of his subjects, abandoned temporarily to the caprices of fate, would force the monarch to loosen his embrace and return his captive to the World again.
I must say, I understand His Majesty. In the literature of the Unified Kingdom, the detective novel does not seem to exist at all, and newspaper articles and dry accounts of the courtiers about all the other courtiers cannot compete with the juicy worldly gossip of Sir Juffin Hully, Venerable Head of all that transpires.
For my part, I coped fairly well with the loneliness. I walked a lot, gazed at passersby, learned the names of streets. At the same time I inquired about the prices of houses for lease. I was very particular about my choice of a future home. I wanted it to be close to the Street of the Copper Pots, at the end of which stood the House by the Bridge, the residence of the Headquarters of Perfect Public Order. At night I “did my homework”—again and again I grilled the objects of material culture about their past. It was pleasant to realize that I could already perform these tricks without Juffin’s guidance. Objects were increasingly willing to share their memories with me. Only the box from the bedchamber of the late Sir Makluk-Olli held its tongue with the obstinacy of a partisan of the Resistance, we observed no more outbursts of uncontrollable fear in it. Thank goodness for that!
Late on the
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