in the midday sun. The long sharp nails cut through the air, then took refuge under the snow-white looxi. I blinked my eyes, dumbstruck, unable to express my admiration in any other way. Then I suddenly remembered—I had seen something like this, and not so very long ago. Where, I wondered, in a nightmare, perhaps? Sir Juffin took pity on my poor head and prompted in a whisper, “Remember we were studying the memory of a pin? The ceremonial severing of a hand? The Order of the Icy Hand—remember?”
I remembered, and opened my mouth to ask how the severed hands had become the hands of our esteemed colleague. But Juffin had anticipated my question:
“They’re gloves. I’ll explain later. Now it’s time to get down to work!”
With these words Juffin approached the motionless Melifaro. He stood at a vantage point that allowed him to observe the reflections of both mirrors. Then he stood absolutely still, on tiptoe. I held my breath, waiting.
This time there was no dance. But Juffin’s face and stance betrayed an unbelievable tension. Then, suddenly relaxing, Juffin made a slight gesture, as if he were removing a delicate covering from a priceless vase. At almost the same moment, and with all his might, he shoved the poor Melifaro. The body, immobile at first, then bent over convulsively, flew to the other end of the room, and collapsed onto the soft floor that served as a bed. Sir Lonli-Lokli immediately rushed over to him. Hiding his left hand behind his looxi, with his right hand he seemed to be rummaging about the figure of the stunned Melifaro. I realized what he was doing: Lonli-Lokli was destroying the glistening fibers that had enveloped the unlucky fellow. This was no small task; it was like looking for fleas on a stray dog. Sir Juffin stood out of the way, not taking his eyes off the mirror.
“Max!” he shouted all of a sudden. “We’re quite a pair! Amazing! It’s working! You can take a look—but be careful, even more careful than yesterday.”
Not everything was visible from where I stood, but I sensibly decided not to step any closer.
The mirror began to move. The newly awakened mirror-dweller was hungry and cranky; but its double was already stirring to life in the second mirror. The two monstrosities groped toward each other in curious wonder. I stared at the heavy, formless body of the creature, which looked more like the body of a huge, white frog suffering from obesity than anything else. The creature’s body was covered in the same disgusting, living hair that surrounded its mouth—dark, moist, drawing me in with a magnetic attraction . . .
I averted my eyes, but the mouth still stayed in the inmost depths of my consciousness. Then I forced myself to remember the bracing taste of Elixir of Kaxar. That helped, but only somewhat. If only a flagon of the potion was within reach!
To rid myself of the hallucination, I boxed my own ears and screamed silently, get a grip on yourself, man! After a few seconds I was so sober and clear-headed that curiosity got the upper hand. I looked again at the mirrors.
The first thing I saw was the silhouette of Lonli-Lokli, hanging over a sticky, mucous-like ball between the two grappling monsters. The powers were evenly matched. The double—I have to give him that—was not to be outdone by its original. The vile little ball rolled along the floor, and I went faint at the thought that it might make a rush for my leg. I didn’t even think about the danger, so great was my feeling of revulsion.
Lonli-Lokli’s left hand swept upward, slowly and solemnly—it was a strikingly beautiful gesture, laconic and powerful. The tips of his fingers shot out sparks, like sparks from a welder’s arc. A shrill scream, undetectable by the human ear, which nevertheless seared my insides, forced me to bend over in pain. Then the scream stopped just as abruptly as it had begun. The creatures erupted into white flames. I thought that these fireworks signaled the
I remembered, and opened my mouth to ask how the severed hands had become the hands of our esteemed colleague. But Juffin had anticipated my question:
“They’re gloves. I’ll explain later. Now it’s time to get down to work!”
With these words Juffin approached the motionless Melifaro. He stood at a vantage point that allowed him to observe the reflections of both mirrors. Then he stood absolutely still, on tiptoe. I held my breath, waiting.
This time there was no dance. But Juffin’s face and stance betrayed an unbelievable tension. Then, suddenly relaxing, Juffin made a slight gesture, as if he were removing a delicate covering from a priceless vase. At almost the same moment, and with all his might, he shoved the poor Melifaro. The body, immobile at first, then bent over convulsively, flew to the other end of the room, and collapsed onto the soft floor that served as a bed. Sir Lonli-Lokli immediately rushed over to him. Hiding his left hand behind his looxi, with his right hand he seemed to be rummaging about the figure of the stunned Melifaro. I realized what he was doing: Lonli-Lokli was destroying the glistening fibers that had enveloped the unlucky fellow. This was no small task; it was like looking for fleas on a stray dog. Sir Juffin stood out of the way, not taking his eyes off the mirror.
“Max!” he shouted all of a sudden. “We’re quite a pair! Amazing! It’s working! You can take a look—but be careful, even more careful than yesterday.”
Not everything was visible from where I stood, but I sensibly decided not to step any closer.
The mirror began to move. The newly awakened mirror-dweller was hungry and cranky; but its double was already stirring to life in the second mirror. The two monstrosities groped toward each other in curious wonder. I stared at the heavy, formless body of the creature, which looked more like the body of a huge, white frog suffering from obesity than anything else. The creature’s body was covered in the same disgusting, living hair that surrounded its mouth—dark, moist, drawing me in with a magnetic attraction . . .
I averted my eyes, but the mouth still stayed in the inmost depths of my consciousness. Then I forced myself to remember the bracing taste of Elixir of Kaxar. That helped, but only somewhat. If only a flagon of the potion was within reach!
To rid myself of the hallucination, I boxed my own ears and screamed silently, get a grip on yourself, man! After a few seconds I was so sober and clear-headed that curiosity got the upper hand. I looked again at the mirrors.
The first thing I saw was the silhouette of Lonli-Lokli, hanging over a sticky, mucous-like ball between the two grappling monsters. The powers were evenly matched. The double—I have to give him that—was not to be outdone by its original. The vile little ball rolled along the floor, and I went faint at the thought that it might make a rush for my leg. I didn’t even think about the danger, so great was my feeling of revulsion.
Lonli-Lokli’s left hand swept upward, slowly and solemnly—it was a strikingly beautiful gesture, laconic and powerful. The tips of his fingers shot out sparks, like sparks from a welder’s arc. A shrill scream, undetectable by the human ear, which nevertheless seared my insides, forced me to bend over in pain. Then the scream stopped just as abruptly as it had begun. The creatures erupted into white flames. I thought that these fireworks signaled the
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