“That’s Xolomi, Max. The Xolomi prison is there. A splendid little place!”

“Splendid?”

“From the point of view of the Head of the Minor Secret Investigative Force, such as I am, if you will remember, it is the most exquisite place in the World!” Juffin gave a short snort.

“Oh, I forgot who I was contending with . . .”

I glanced at Juffin. He twisted his face into an evil grimace, winked, and we both burst into laughter.

After we composed ourselves, we continued on our way until there it was, the Right Bank. Juffin began issuing abrupt commands: “Right, right, now to the left!” in response to which I assumed the dignified bearing of an army chauffeur, though where that particular bent came from I have no idea. A bit farther and we were on the Street of the Copper Pots.

“Over there is our House by the Bridge,” Juffin remarked, waving his hand toward the orange mist under some street lights. “But your visit there is yet to come. As for now—stop! We’re here.”

I halted the amobiler and stepped onto the mosaic sidewalk of the Right Bank for the first time. Oh, was it really the first time? But I suppressed the dangerous dizziness, nipped it square in the bud, and passed over the threshold of the Glutton Bunba Inn. Of course—it was the pub from my dreams, the very place I had met Sir Juffin Hully and frivolously accepted the strangest job offer anyone could ever imagine!

Without even thinking, I walked over to the familiar spot between the bar and a window onto the yard. A plump brunette smiled at me as though I was an old customer (this was Madam Zizinda herself, granddaughter of the original glutton named Bunba). But why “as though”? I was, indeed, an old, a very old, customer.

“This is my favorite little spot,” Juffin announced. “I’ll tell you a basic principle for choosing future colleagues. If they like the same food and, in particular, the same table you like, psychological compatibility with the team is guaranteed.”