Juffin, on the other hand, smiled a broad, friendly smile.
“Oh, come in, Sir Shurf,” he said. “I’m dying to interrogate you under torture. I’m under the impression that some bastard has decided to sneak through Xumgat on
your back. Am I right, or am I right, eh?”
“You are most certainly right. I have been asking myself why I could not guess what had been happening to me,” said Lonli-Lokli. “And I am not the only one in trouble here. I
was straddled while I was asleep—or, rather, while I was taking a stroll through Sir Max’s dream, which, according to his latest conjecture, is a ‘real place’ in another
World. My Rider had to get there somehow in the first place.”
He stopped by my armchair and carefully put down a box covered in faded runes on the desk. Then he cautiously put his hand on my shoulder. I saw that he wasn’t wearing either the outer
protective gloves or the inner death-dealing ones.
“I never thought you would be able to escape from me, Max. But you did, praise be the Magicians! I can just imagine how disappointed that monster must be. He was so confident in his
success.”
“I would be, too, if I were him,” said Juffin. “By the way, why did you say ‘he’?”
“I am not sure,” said Shurf, sitting down beside me. “As far as I can trust my own feelings, the creature is most certainly male. I think you should put away this box with my
gloves, sir, the sooner the better. My guest might return any moment. You know as well as I do that Riders who have taken a fancy to wandering through Xumgat do not like to leave their steeds for
long.”
“‘Riders’? ‘Xumgat’? ‘Wandering through’?” I said. “You guys should tone down your metaphors. I don’t understand a thing.”
“It is actually quite simple,” said Juffin. “Xumgat is the ancient name of the Corridor between Worlds. I don’t particularly like using that term: it smacks of some
ancient mystical posturing. It’s much easier to call things by their actual names, right? But then the Corridor between Worlds—it’s still an open question who knows more about
that place.”
“You, naturally,” I said. “Sure, I ran around there a bit, but I definitely lack the theoretical background.”
“Naturally. But in these matters, you need theory like a buriwok needs an amobiler,” said Juffin, laughing. “The question is: Can you get to that place or not? Most people
can’t, including the powerful ancient Magicians. Among the few who can are our mutual friend Maba Kalox, Sir Loiso Pondoxo (a vampire under his blanket!), and such brilliant fellows as you
and me. One either has the gift of practicing Invisible Magic—which is what brings us to that mysterious place—or one doesn’t. There’s no in between. It’s a gift. Some
can multiply twelve-digit numbers in their heads and some can’t, all their university education notwithstanding.”
“True, but an education helps you manage even when you have no talent whatsoever,” I said. “One can learn to do long multiplication tables on paper, for instance—or,
better yet, to use a calculator.”
“Do such things really exist?” said Lonli-Lokli.
“Shurf, you wouldn’t believe the magical things in the World,” I said. For the first time since he had arrived, I found the courage to look him in the eye. I smiled from an
immense sense of relief: it truly was the old Shurf Lonli-Lokli—strong and imperturbable, never passing up the opportunity to add something else to his already huge encyclopedic knowledge.
And that meant that life was wonderful. That meant that maybe, just maybe, there would be a tomorrow for you, Sir Max, if you were lucky enough, and if destiny would agree to keep putting up with
your silly ass, and if you could learn this lesson well: you can’t offload your own heavenly vault onto someone else’s shoulders. You can trust anyone you want to, but you can only rely
on yourself. Everyone has his own vault
“Oh, come in, Sir Shurf,” he said. “I’m dying to interrogate you under torture. I’m under the impression that some bastard has decided to sneak through Xumgat on
your back. Am I right, or am I right, eh?”
“You are most certainly right. I have been asking myself why I could not guess what had been happening to me,” said Lonli-Lokli. “And I am not the only one in trouble here. I
was straddled while I was asleep—or, rather, while I was taking a stroll through Sir Max’s dream, which, according to his latest conjecture, is a ‘real place’ in another
World. My Rider had to get there somehow in the first place.”
He stopped by my armchair and carefully put down a box covered in faded runes on the desk. Then he cautiously put his hand on my shoulder. I saw that he wasn’t wearing either the outer
protective gloves or the inner death-dealing ones.
“I never thought you would be able to escape from me, Max. But you did, praise be the Magicians! I can just imagine how disappointed that monster must be. He was so confident in his
success.”
“I would be, too, if I were him,” said Juffin. “By the way, why did you say ‘he’?”
“I am not sure,” said Shurf, sitting down beside me. “As far as I can trust my own feelings, the creature is most certainly male. I think you should put away this box with my
gloves, sir, the sooner the better. My guest might return any moment. You know as well as I do that Riders who have taken a fancy to wandering through Xumgat do not like to leave their steeds for
long.”
“‘Riders’? ‘Xumgat’? ‘Wandering through’?” I said. “You guys should tone down your metaphors. I don’t understand a thing.”
“It is actually quite simple,” said Juffin. “Xumgat is the ancient name of the Corridor between Worlds. I don’t particularly like using that term: it smacks of some
ancient mystical posturing. It’s much easier to call things by their actual names, right? But then the Corridor between Worlds—it’s still an open question who knows more about
that place.”
“You, naturally,” I said. “Sure, I ran around there a bit, but I definitely lack the theoretical background.”
“Naturally. But in these matters, you need theory like a buriwok needs an amobiler,” said Juffin, laughing. “The question is: Can you get to that place or not? Most people
can’t, including the powerful ancient Magicians. Among the few who can are our mutual friend Maba Kalox, Sir Loiso Pondoxo (a vampire under his blanket!), and such brilliant fellows as you
and me. One either has the gift of practicing Invisible Magic—which is what brings us to that mysterious place—or one doesn’t. There’s no in between. It’s a gift. Some
can multiply twelve-digit numbers in their heads and some can’t, all their university education notwithstanding.”
“True, but an education helps you manage even when you have no talent whatsoever,” I said. “One can learn to do long multiplication tables on paper, for instance—or,
better yet, to use a calculator.”
“Do such things really exist?” said Lonli-Lokli.
“Shurf, you wouldn’t believe the magical things in the World,” I said. For the first time since he had arrived, I found the courage to look him in the eye. I smiled from an
immense sense of relief: it truly was the old Shurf Lonli-Lokli—strong and imperturbable, never passing up the opportunity to add something else to his already huge encyclopedic knowledge.
And that meant that life was wonderful. That meant that maybe, just maybe, there would be a tomorrow for you, Sir Max, if you were lucky enough, and if destiny would agree to keep putting up with
your silly ass, and if you could learn this lesson well: you can’t offload your own heavenly vault onto someone else’s shoulders. You can trust anyone you want to, but you can only rely
on yourself. Everyone has his own vault
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