Epoch, when antique stores in the Old City weren’t yet open and the demand for luxury goods was just starting to grow. Best time to buy. I’m afraid it was the most expensive mirror in the whole Left Bank—I gave a whopping five crowns for it. And now look—ah, the sacrifices one has to make!”
We all went into the hall. The mirror was truly gigantic, and it seemed to me that it was worth every bit of five crowns, though at the time I wasn’t very knowledgeable about the local economy.
Well, we’ve got our work cut out for us! How are we going to haul it over there? I wondered in dismay. Although, with the three of us . . . maybe.
But Juffin had something else in mind.
“Pick it up, Sir Shurf, and let’s get a move on!”
I was about to conclude that this ceremonious Sir Lonli-Lokli had a mystical weightlifting gift. That would have come in handy. But the fellow had no intention of lifting a finger to carry it. Instead, he casually ran his hand, encased in its huge glove, over the surface of the mirror from top to bottom. The mirror disappeared—as far as I could tell—into his hand. My jaw dropped.
Jufffin, could you teach me that?
I had enough presence of mind not to shout it out loud, but to use the opportunity for Silent Speech—just in case.
Sure , Juffin replied calmly. Or Sir Shurf will teach you. Remind me sometime, when we’re taking it easy .
Upon return, Makluk’s house resembled a huge, abandoned crypt. Sir Lonli-Lokli, observing official protocol, opened the door and was the first to step over the threshold to the bedchamber. We followed close behind. The room was exactly as we had left it.
At the sight of poor motionless Melifaro, I must admit that my spirits plummeted. How could I have been so certain that I could save the day? What if my idea didn’t work? What would that make us, then—murderers? Or just fools? Good question. Rather, a moral dilemma. Bring on the anguish!
Sir Lonli-Lokli took a simpler view of things. “It’s a good thing he’s silent,” said this compassionate man, nodding in Melifaro’s direction. “If only he were always like this!”
In his tone there wasn’t a trace of spite—it was just a factual observation that he liked Melifaro more when he was quiet than when he was chatty. A purely aesthetic preference. Nothing personal.
Having expressed his opinion, Lonli-Lokli shook his fist vigorously, then opened it up and spread out his hand. The huge mirror from Juffin’s hallway dropped neatly to the floor between the Statue Melifaro and the secret entrance to another, baneful dimension.
“It’s a little crooked,” Juffin remarked. “Let’s try moving it a bit to the right, the three of us together.”
“Why all together, Sir?” the magnificent Lonli-Lokli asked. “I can manage on my own.” And with stunning carelessness, he shifted the huge bulk of the mirror with just his left hand. It turned out that the “mystical weightlifting gift” existed after all. I looked at him and held my breath in wonder, like a scrawny adolescent looking at a real-life Hercules.
Juffin looked over the layout critically. Everything was ready: the reflection of the bedchamber mirror fit snugly into ours, with even a bit of surplus around the edges. And the most important thing—the valuable antique of Sir Juffin’s completely concealed Melifaro.
The Chief of the Secret Investigative Force threw a parting glance at his treasure and began issuing commands.
“Get ready, Shurf! Max, get behind my back. Or, better yet, go stand by the door. You’ve already done everything you could. Your job now is to stay alive. I’m serious, Max!”
I took up position by the door. I had no objections to staying alive.
Sir Lonli-Lokli finally deigned to remove his gloves. Only then did I realize that what everyone said about Lonli-Lokli’s “capable hands” was not just a pretty expression. My eyes beheld two hands that were semi-transparent, and shone brilliantly
We all went into the hall. The mirror was truly gigantic, and it seemed to me that it was worth every bit of five crowns, though at the time I wasn’t very knowledgeable about the local economy.
Well, we’ve got our work cut out for us! How are we going to haul it over there? I wondered in dismay. Although, with the three of us . . . maybe.
But Juffin had something else in mind.
“Pick it up, Sir Shurf, and let’s get a move on!”
I was about to conclude that this ceremonious Sir Lonli-Lokli had a mystical weightlifting gift. That would have come in handy. But the fellow had no intention of lifting a finger to carry it. Instead, he casually ran his hand, encased in its huge glove, over the surface of the mirror from top to bottom. The mirror disappeared—as far as I could tell—into his hand. My jaw dropped.
Jufffin, could you teach me that?
I had enough presence of mind not to shout it out loud, but to use the opportunity for Silent Speech—just in case.
Sure , Juffin replied calmly. Or Sir Shurf will teach you. Remind me sometime, when we’re taking it easy .
Upon return, Makluk’s house resembled a huge, abandoned crypt. Sir Lonli-Lokli, observing official protocol, opened the door and was the first to step over the threshold to the bedchamber. We followed close behind. The room was exactly as we had left it.
At the sight of poor motionless Melifaro, I must admit that my spirits plummeted. How could I have been so certain that I could save the day? What if my idea didn’t work? What would that make us, then—murderers? Or just fools? Good question. Rather, a moral dilemma. Bring on the anguish!
Sir Lonli-Lokli took a simpler view of things. “It’s a good thing he’s silent,” said this compassionate man, nodding in Melifaro’s direction. “If only he were always like this!”
In his tone there wasn’t a trace of spite—it was just a factual observation that he liked Melifaro more when he was quiet than when he was chatty. A purely aesthetic preference. Nothing personal.
Having expressed his opinion, Lonli-Lokli shook his fist vigorously, then opened it up and spread out his hand. The huge mirror from Juffin’s hallway dropped neatly to the floor between the Statue Melifaro and the secret entrance to another, baneful dimension.
“It’s a little crooked,” Juffin remarked. “Let’s try moving it a bit to the right, the three of us together.”
“Why all together, Sir?” the magnificent Lonli-Lokli asked. “I can manage on my own.” And with stunning carelessness, he shifted the huge bulk of the mirror with just his left hand. It turned out that the “mystical weightlifting gift” existed after all. I looked at him and held my breath in wonder, like a scrawny adolescent looking at a real-life Hercules.
Juffin looked over the layout critically. Everything was ready: the reflection of the bedchamber mirror fit snugly into ours, with even a bit of surplus around the edges. And the most important thing—the valuable antique of Sir Juffin’s completely concealed Melifaro.
The Chief of the Secret Investigative Force threw a parting glance at his treasure and began issuing commands.
“Get ready, Shurf! Max, get behind my back. Or, better yet, go stand by the door. You’ve already done everything you could. Your job now is to stay alive. I’m serious, Max!”
I took up position by the door. I had no objections to staying alive.
Sir Lonli-Lokli finally deigned to remove his gloves. Only then did I realize that what everyone said about Lonli-Lokli’s “capable hands” was not just a pretty expression. My eyes beheld two hands that were semi-transparent, and shone brilliantly
Similar Books
