I shook my head.
“It means that the main occupation of the city’s inhabitants is arts and crafts of various kinds. From time immemorial Kettari has been known for its carpets. Even when I was a boy they were inimitable, though there used to be many more fantastic things in the World than there are now. No one makes such fine rugs anywhere else. Naturally, the Capital is eager to do trade with Kettari: they like luxury here.”
“That enormous carpet the color of dark amber lying in your drawing room is from there. Am I right?”
“Right you are. How did you guess?”
“Because . . . because on the edges there is an embroidered inscription ‘Kettari Honey.’” I burst out laughing. Juffin did, too, of course.
“A vampire in your mouth, son! Are you going to listen or not?”
“Yes, yes.” I poured myself some more kamra and assumed an expression of intense concentration.
“Several dozen years ago in Echo it became customary to travel to Kettari in large caravans. It was quite convenient, so no one was surprised by the new practice. Even early on, I noticed that a native of Kettari always accompanied every caravan. I figured that if my countrymen wanted to earn a little money, what right did I have to prevent them? Of course, at first not everyone who wanted to go shopping was willing to go in a large group and pay for the services of a guide. There were a few curious incidents: for example, some of the blockheads from the Capital couldn’t find the road to Kettari. They returned home distraught and spread around some nonsense about Kettari being destroyed. That was no surprise, since idiots abound everywhere, and a person will invent all kinds of justifications for his stupidity. But all these stories convinced our merchants that a small fee for the Master Caravan Leaders, as my countrymen like to call themselves, is the lesser of evils. No one wants to lose time, to suffer setbacks, and to become a laughing stock, do they?”
“You say that grownup people with all their wits about them couldn’t find the road to your Kettari?” I asked, amazed. “Are the roads in the Unified Kingdom really so bad?”
“Good question, Max. A lot of people were amazed about this. How was it possible to get lost? The County Shimara is not the most outlying province, and Kettari is hardly what you might call the sticks. The caravan leaders claimed that most of the towns around Kettari were destroyed during the Troubled Times. Since life in these population centers depended solely on the needs of provincial Residences of the Orders around which they were built, there was no sense in reviving them.
“They mentioned that the roads had been destroyed, as well. That already seemed a bit strange. I never heard of anyone destroying roads, even during the Troubled Times. Why should it have happened now? There was a curious incident involving one of the Magicians of the Order of the Secret Grass—a close relative of our own Melifaro, by the way. When he was leaving the Capital, he anticipated that he would be pursued, and he caused the road along which they were traveling to veer up skyward. It must have been a strange spectacle—you’re traveling along a road and suddenly you realize you’re moving up into the clouds! I even proposed to Magician Nuflin that he leave everything that way; but in those days he wasn’t very compliant. They brought the road back to earth almost immediately; and that happened not in County Shimara, but right here outside of Echo. So I was very skeptical about the stories of ruined roads.
“Then I started thinking: if the local inhabitants are saying it, they must know what they’re talking about. And what difference does it make to me anyway? In short, the guides all believed it, and they believe it to this day. And why not? Our merchants return from Kettari loaded down with carpets. They also complain about the terrible condition of the roads. Kettarian carpets, by the way, become finer all the time, and the travelers are all unanimous in praising the beauties and riches of my native city. I don’t remember Kettari being a flourishing cultural center, although everything changes, and it’s a good thing when it’s for the better.”
“And you, Juffin, how long has it been since you were there?”
“A very long time. I seriously doubt whether I’ll ever go back. I have neither family nor friends in Kettari anymore, so I have neither ties of tenderness, nor obligation to this dot on the map, and I am not at all sentimental. In this I resemble you, by the way. But that’s not really why I don’t want to go there. I feel there’s some sort of inner ban on my returning there. I know that not only do I not need to go to Kettari—I shouldn’t. And my experiences witness to the fact that an inner ban is the only authentic kind. Are you familiar with that feeling, Max?”
I fiddled with the cigarette butt pensively.
“I think I know what you mean. A genuine inner ban is a thing of great power. Only I often can’t distinguish it from the other inner stuff: self-defeating, paranoid thoughts, superstitions, habits of mind.”
“Don’t fret about that. Emotional clarity is something that comes with time. Now then, back to the matter at hand. A few years ago, a bizarre chain of events began to unfold. In this very office, two fugitives from the law showed up. One of them kept shouting maniacally that they wanted to turn themselves in to Mr. Venerable Head personally. The other didn’t say a word, just stared at the same spot the entire time. They had been sent to the City Police Department for some trifling offense and had been able to escape the guards, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. Considering the chaos that reigns in Boboota’s office, I’d say it was predictable, if not inevitable.
“One of the fugitives, someone by the name of Motti Fara, turned out to be a countryman of mine. Like me, he hadn’t been in Kettari for quite some time—since the beginning of the Code Epoch, at least. When he got into trouble, he decided that his native city wasn’t the worst place to hide from the police of the Capital. So the two of them set off for Kettari. And got lost.”
“And that seemed too unlikely to you, right?” I asked, and added knowingly, “Maybe your countryman just had something wrong with his head? That happens sometimes, you know.”
“My countryman did not strike me as an idiot,” Juffin said drily. “In my humble opinion, Mr. Fara had quite enough intelligence to make it back to his hometown. But nothing came of it. After that failure, the fugitives returned to the Capital. Instead of hiding, they went straight to the House by the Bridge, which in itself is quite improbable, and started begging for a meeting with me. My curiosity did not allow me to ignore their request—people don’t often commit such foolhardy acts.”
“Oh, yes they do,” I murmured. “Even worse ones.”
“You’re right, for the most part,” Juffin smiled. “But for us, natives of Kettari, pragmatism is in the blood. Pay attention now; the best is yet to come. Don’t let your mind wander.”
“I’m sorry, Juffin. I don’t seem to be very cheerful, today.”
“That’s an understatement, if I’ve ever heard one. You’ve been so lacking in spirits lately that it’s nauseating just to look at you!” the chief said with a sigh.
Then he got up from his chair, came up to me, and tugged at my ear. It made me feel so awkward that I began to laugh nervously. When I stopped laughing, I realized with amazement that my mood really had noticeably improved. Even my broken heart felt like it had been reassembled.
“You deserve a break,” Juffin said. I felt his heavy hand on my shoulder. “It’s my little gift to you. To be honest, everything that is happening to you, you’ll have to come to terms with yourself, without anyone else’s help. But one can stray from any rule—if not too long, or too far. All the more since I need all your attention right now, not pathetic little shreds of it. Right-o?”
I nodded silently, delighting in the absence of the familiar gnawing pain in my chest, the trusty companion of every loss I ever experienced. Juffin went back to his chair and continued his story.
“My countryman seemed to be mortally afraid. He swore that Kettari had disappeared. Or, rather, that it lay in ruins. His companion was in a twilight state of consciousness, and the stench of madness hung about him like the smell of sweat on a farmer. The poor thing should have been sent to a Refuge for the Mad, not to prison. He couldn’t even say his own name, but mumbled incoherently. However, Motti Fara seemed to be a very sensible gentleman, however. He announced that the two years in Nunda Prison that he had been sentenced to were nothing compared to the disappearance of our native city. Then this true patriot of Kettari did this,” (here, Juffin tapped the tip of his nose with the index finger of his right hand) “and asked that, as one countryman to another, I not extend his sentence for running away.
“That’s our favorite Kettarian gesture, Max. It means that two good people can always come to an understanding. I was so moved I was ready to let him off altogether. Unfortunately, Boboota’s boys already knew that the sly fellow had found his way under my wing. Now that’s something I understand: old fashioned patriotism!”
I couldn’t suppress a smile, so loaded with irony was the chief’s remark.
“To continue, Max. A few days later, another caravan arrived, loaded with carpets from Kettari. Here were a few dozen reliable witnesses from the flourishing town. I could take comfort in the knowledge that my fugitives had simply gotten lost, after all. Yet a nagging voice inside me kept insisting that it wasn’t all as straightforward as that; and if I lose sleep over a problem for more than one night, it’s a sure sign that something smells fishy. When all is well in the World, I sleep soundly. That’s just the way I’m made. You’re the same way, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Me, sir? Why my rest depends on more down-to-earth matters. If I don’t forget to go to the bathroom before I go to bed, I sleep like the dead. If I forget, I toss and turn, and I’m tormented by gloomy premonitions about the imminent demise of the Universe. My constitution is very primitively designed, didn’t you know?”
Juffin grinned and poured me some kamra.
“To add to my own suspicions, my countryman wrote me letters nearly every day. I can still see that seal of the Nunda Royal Prison of Hard Labor in my mind’s eye. I even had to create a special box for his correspondence so it wouldn’t get mixed up with the other papers. The content of the letters was not distinguished by its variety. Here, take a look at one of them. It is paper, of course. Prisoners aren’t allowed to use self-inscribing tablets. But you’re used to paper, aren’t you?”
Juffin opened a small box, extracted a little square of thick paper from it, and handed it to me. With a voyeuristic thrill, I started reading the crabbed handwriting of this missive meant for someone else:
Sir Venerable Head, I’m afraid that all the same you didn’t believe me. But Kettari true enough is no more. There is just an empty place, a pile of ancient ruins. I could not have gotten lost. I know every stone for miles around. I remember the seven Vaxari trees by the city gates. They’re still there. But the gates are gone! There’s just a bunch of stones that still bear the remains of the carving of old Kvavi Ulon. And behind them, just dusty rubble.
I handed the letter back to Juffin, who turned it over in his hands a few times and then placed it in the box again.
“Then he died, this unlucky fellow. It was more than a year ago now. Here’s his last letter. It’s different from the others. Another law of nature: the farther you go, the more interesting things become. Take a look, Max.”
I took the next folded paper square from him, and stumbling over fragments of the small, unfamiliar handwriting, began to read:
Sir Venerable Head, I have once again decided to take pen in hand and take up your time. I hope they are passing my letters along to you. Last night I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the ruins that greeted me from behind the tops of those trees. And I remembered how Zaxo and I wandered around in those ruins for a long time. Probably that was when he lost his senses. As for me I just lost my memory. You see up until now I was sure that we had just left right away, and I couldn’t understand why Zaxo lost his mind. He isn’t from Kettari, so if someone was going to go off his head, it should have been me!
But last night I remembered that we went into the destroyed city, and I even found the ruins of my old home. But Zaxo said that I shouldn’t worry—there is the square, he said, and there are the tall houses, and there are people walking around everywhere. But I couldn’t see anything. My friend ran in that direction, and I was looking for him for a long time. And sometimes I could hear people’s voices, somewhere far away, so I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Only once I heard very clearly that they were talking about the old sheriff, Sir Mackie Ainti, and I was very surprised. He disappeared about 400 years ago, before my parents were even born, and someone said that he was on his way and that he would take care of everything.
Then I found Zaxo. He was sitting on a rock, crying, and he couldn’t answer any of my questions. I took him away from there, and we set out for Echo again. Sir Venerable Head, don’t think I just made all of this up on the spot. I really only remembered these details last night, and I doubt very much I remembered everything that happened to me there. I beg you, please try to find out what happened to Kettari. I love that city, and I left my younger sister behind there. I would like to find her when I leave Nunda, and that will happen very soon.