The Stranger's Magic: The Labyrinths of Echo: Book Three by Max Frei Page A

didn’t sense anything special. I just sat on the floor and stared at the sleeping lunatic. If I were interrogating his blanket, I already would have gotten all the
information I needed. Then I felt something like a jolt from within. It felt similar to the way your heart pushes against your ribs when a truck turns from around the corner and heads right toward
your car.
    Following the jolt came a steady stream of mixed visions that seemed to lack any plot or narration. These bright pictures, however, were pitiful inkblots in comparison with the overwhelming
loneliness of the creature lost in the Corridor between Worlds, or “sliding back and forth along Xumgat,” as Juffin had put it—though this wording sent shivers down my spine.
    Juffin shook my shoulder.
    “Hey, come back, Max. We’ve got to hurry. I already found out everything I needed to know. You also felt something at the end, didn’t you?”
    “I think so.”
    I shook my head to pull myself together: some part of me was still wandering in that mysterious place—a significant part of me, I should say. My existence without it was hardly complete.
Shaking my head didn’t help much, so I had to resort to slapping my face. I did it from the bottom of my heart; it even came with a complimentary ringing in the ears.
    “Need a hand?” said Juffin.
    “Thanks, I think I can manage on my own. What I really need is five minutes and a bucket of cold water.”
    “Done. This little door leads to the bathroom. But I can’t give you more than two minutes. We need to hurry.”
    I went to the bathroom, took off my turban, and stuck my head under the spigot. The water temperature was ideal: not quite so freezing as to give me another cold, but cool enough to wash off the
residue of that poor person’s emotions. Juffin stood in the doorway contemplating my suffering with apparent curiosity.
    “I’ve learned some amazing things, Max. I’m sure you’ve also learned them, but you don’t have the experience yet to translate them into a language you
understand.”
    “To transmogrify,” I said. I thought the word was very appropriate in this context.
    “Another strange word . . . Anyway, we can find more victims of our mysterious Rider in this Refuge for the Mad. A lot more. Many more than I suspected. But let’s not waste time: the
culprit of this whole ordeal is also in this Refuge. In fact, he has been here for a long, long time. He has kept this last fellow we’ve interrogated in captivity for eighty years, right from
the moment the guy arrived here. I’ve got to hand it to him, though: the old man is a master of disguise. And who in his right mind—pun definitely intended—would search for the
most powerful of the Senior Magicians of the Order of the Staff in the Sand in a Refuge for the Mad? Even I wouldn’t think of it. Even I!”
    “So, I take it you two know each other,” I said, grabbing a towel.
    “And how! Magician Gugimagon and I go way back. Back in the Epoch of Orders, he stuck to me like a wet raincoat, hoping that I’d break down and agree to teach him the secret of
Invisible Magic. As if it were up to me. The guy had no talent for those things. It was written on his forehead in letters this big.”
    Juffin stretched his arms like a fisherman boasting to the world of his latest whopper. It seemed as though it was important that I learn, once and for all, how big the letters had been.
    “Some friends you’ve got, Juffin,” I said. “Did that poor fellow tell you which room we could find your old buddy in, by any chance?”
    “No, he doesn’t know. They’ve never met in reality. Or did you think Gugimagon was the sort to drop by for a cup of kamra?”
    “I know nothing about the customs of you evil sorcerers,” I said.
    “Okay, let’s go then, Mr. ‘Good Guy’ Magic,” said Juffin, laughing. “I know you’re back in business, so quit your feigning. Great deeds await us. A
heart-to-heart talk with Sir Slobat Katshak, for