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“You’ve heard of the Liar’s Paradox, I assume?”
***
It all began in an unremarkable little bar somewhere on the outskirts of Pier Point.
If you believed that Dr. Ratio — scientist, lecturer, and respected member of the Intelligentsia Guild — should abstain from simple human pleasures, you’d be gravely mistaken. Even someone with his track record could afford to forget about his accomplishments for a while; especially at the end of a long day filled with pain, suffering, deprivation… or, to be less poetic, filled with not-very-bright people, mountains of pointless bureaucracy, and vicious squabbles over grant money. Ratio wouldn’t say it had been totally unbearable — after all, he’d survived it, which would make such a claim technically false — but after a streak of days like that, a glass of something alcoholic was a matter of survival.
He didn’t get to relax for long. The smell of spices and wine reached him even before the mulled wine he’d ordered a minute ago did.
“Not often you see someone drinking alone. Feeling bored?”
Something rumpled, noisy, and utterly out of place hopped onto the barstool beside him. Ratio disliked them immediately. People like this usually wore loud, flashy facades to hide the complete lack of any meaningful substance beneath.
“As you can see, I am one of those rare specimens who does indeed drink alone. And no, I’m not bored,” Ratio replied politely, though without much warmth, giving the stranger a quick once-over. The kind of details that stood out at first glance only screamed louder at the second glance and every one after. This man looked like he’d followed the kind of criminal advice that goes: dress as brightly as possible so everyone remembers the ridiculous crimson jacket, not your face. The face itself was broad, angular, and far too cunning despite a faintly melancholy tilt to the eyes and a subtle droop to the brows. A memorable face, one Ratio could sketch into a police composite without much trouble.
He also smelled strongly — overwhelmingly — of spices. Not unpleasant, but impossible to ignore.
“So you really are here alone! What a haul,” the stranger declared theatrically, flinging his hands in the air. “Rough day, huh?”
“If you’ll excuse me, I would say that it only becomes rougher with every second of this dialogue passing”, grumbled Ratio, who was the last person today who wanted to entertain any dubious jesters.
“Come on, don't fall into such a joyless abyss! Drowning out life problems with alcohol alone is a very dubious strategy! Do you want me to entertain you? I’m a well-deserved jester, after all.”
Ratio blinked slowly and decided that the overly similar wording was a surprisingly accurate coincidence.
“You mean to say you’re trying to lure me in? I’m not your ‘haul’ yet…” He paused, rolling the thought over his tongue. “…but a target? Absolutely. Go ahead. I’m mildly curious to see what you can do, Mister…?”
“Sampo Koski. At your service.” His green eyes gleamed like a predator’s in the dim light. Unlike the rest of his mismatched appearance, his gaze was oddly fitting the situation — sharp and lucid despite what had to be a considerable amount of alcohol in his system. “Let’s start with something simple. Pick a card.”
A full deck fanned out between his hands.
“...Cheap card tricks?” Veritas felt a wave of astringent disappointment, followed by irritation. “Are you kidding me?”
“Perish the thought!” Koski shook the deck vigorously, somehow without spilling half of it onto the floor. “There’s no one in the world more serious than Sampo Koski at this very moment. Come on, try it! Who will be worse off?”
Me, Ratio almost answered, but something compelled him to draw a card. The ace of spades with a big shiny A printed on it. “A” was definitely not the grade he would have given to Mr. Koski's pointless efforts.
Grinning maliciously, the magician took the card back, hid it in a random place in the deck and shuffled it – it must be said, in an extremely show-off manner, as if trying to demonstrate all the tricks in his arsenal at once. Doctor Ratio was not impressed: sleight of hand is sleight of hand, it is nothing more than the result of long practice. Nevertheless, just in case, he carefully observed the magician’s movements in an attempt to catch the moment of a trick..
“This is your card?”
Ratio’s eyes widened — and he snatched his credit card from Koski’s hand.
“You—… What in the world do you think you’re doing?!”
“A trick!” Mr. Koski spread his now-empty hands wide. The deck had vanished entirely. “Nothing illegal, Mr. Stranger. I couldn’t use it without a retinal scan anyway.”
“Dr. Veritas Ratio,” he muttered grudgingly, honoring the bare minimum of polite introductions. He held his card tight for a moment. “…Fine. I admit — that was mildly amusing.”
“There you go! You’ve perked right up,” the stranger chuckled. “Who needs alcohol now… well, you might as well drink it, since they’ve already brought it over. Ah! Don’t move!”
“What are you—”
“Or you’ll spill it,” Sampo reached over and plucked a full-to-the-brim glass of mulled wine off the top of Ratio’s head. “Rather questionable method of serving a drink, don’t you think?”
Veritas found himself shamelessly letting a chuckle out. The whole situation was incredibly stupid... but perhaps not in the sense he had always despised. Deliberate stupidity was hardly idiotic; and this man seemed to be deliberately driving the situation to the point of complete absurdity, so that it would be so bad to the point of becoming amusing.
He took the glass and took a decent sip. The smell of spices coming from the stranger surrounded Dr. Ratio from all sides. He immediately felt warm and a little cheerful. Cheerful enough to allow himself to watch a few more acts of this ridiculous theatrical performance. The trick with the missing finger actually made Mr. Kosky slide off his chair and look for the lost finger somewhere under the bar. The trick with guessing the numbers led to them solving a logarithmic equation with three unknowns on a piece of napkin for several minutes.
By the time the glass was empty, Ratio could confidently say the day — unbearable in every sense — had ended on a surprisingly tolerable note.
Then the new acquaintance’s gaze darted nervously toward the entrance, and he flinched. Ratio followed his eyes to a rank-and-file IPC employee and began to wonder what exactly Sampo Koski was doing in Pier Point in that case.
“Oh-oh-oh, business calls… Time for me to vanish, Doctor. Maybe we'll meet again. You can blow my whistle, baby, whistle, baby, anytime,” Sampo winked and sauntered away with a little bounce in his step, leaving Ratio to wonder what that whole charade had been about — and why had Mr. Koski mentioned whistles all of a sudden.
Ratio didn’t know how to whistle.
But the next morning, he found a cheap plastic whistle in the pocket of his coat.
***
”The Liar's Paradox? That charming little statement, ‘I'm lying right now’?”
***
The whistle was burning a hole in his pocket for weeks.
Ratio couldn’t explain why he hadn’t thrown the silly thing away yet — a trinket so cheap it practically reeked of its owner’s penny-pinching nature even to the touch. Seriously, what was it made from? Melted soda-bottle caps fished out of a dumpster? In a way, Sampo Koski did look like the sort of man who would climb into a garbage bin in search of treasure.
And yet, for some reason, Ratio couldn’t bring himself to part with it. Could it be called a gift? By a stretch. Fortunately, a Doctor of Science by default must possess the skill of forcing a square peg into a round hole (even in such a vulgar metaphor). A couple of square-roundish pegs later, he decided the whistle was a sort of peculiar token from a no-less peculiar man — and peculiarities were something Ratio had always valued highly.
Still, he thought with a grumble, Mr. Koski could have put in a little more effort. Maybe he could have chosen a type of plastic that didn’t feel unpleasant to hold — and Veritas was supposed to put it in his mouth!
One day, after the administration had been especially nitpicky, the students — utterly hopeless, the paperwork — suffocating, and, for the cherry on top, the weather decided to pelt him with hailstones the size of chicken eggs, Dr. Ratio decided… no, not to blow the whistle. To take a relaxing bath. You didn’t think he’d lose his head so easily chasing a quick hit of dopamine, did you?
But when even the bath failed to help — which Ratio considered a paradox in itself — he finally decided to give the mysterious stranger from the Pier Point bar a chance. The one who had, somehow, managed to lift his mood back then. It took scraping his weary body off the bottom of the tub, roughly drying his hair, and tossing aside all notions of rationality.
Feeling like a complete idiot, Ratio raised the whistle to his lips and blew a piercing, ear-splitting trill.
“Well? Do you feel like a complete idiot?” asked Sampo Koski right behind his back and earned a piece of chalk to the forehead in the same instant.
“Ow! What was that for?!”
“For everything good in life,” Ratio snorted, leaning down to pick the chalk up again. “I have to admit, you caught me off guard. How did you get in here?”
“Trade secret.” Sampo rubbed his forehead, entirely unbothered by the fact that he had illegally broken into someone’s home. “Counter-question! Why’d you drag me out of a business deal? Not that I wouldn’t rush to you from the ends of the earth, but still…”
“A business deal?” Ratio’s surprise was genuine. “I was under the impression you were just a street magician.”
“That’s just for the soul. Believe it or not, I’m a very successful businessman! Big money passes through my hands. Huuuuge money! Though sometimes… spending increases. But enough about that. You still haven’t answered me. Did you miss my tricks?”
“In a sense, yes,” Ratio replied unperturbably — and the expression on Sampo’s face shifted into a hilarious mix of surprise and delight. “I remembered you promised to entertain me sometime.”
“So you didn’t just blow the whistle out of curiosity?” Sampo pressed a hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “I’m touched! Totally worth failing a deal — though I will lose a fair bit of money… I trust we can find some way to fix that little problem, hm?”
Ratio arched a brow at the enthusiasm radiating from the man’s face.
“You don’t look like someone who has lost a lot of money.”
“Of course I don't. I haven’t lost it yet.”
Fair point. Ratio coughed to disguise a laugh — no need for Sampo to know he’d lifted his mood simply by showing up. Let him earn that. Ratio still hadn’t forgiven him for the abominable whistle.
Sampo did, in fact, put in the effort.
Normally, Ratio never enjoyed guests at home — but since he’d been reckless enough to summon an entire “mental exterior repair crew” straight into his living room, he made an exception. And it was worth it.
From their first meeting, Ratio had drawn the right conclusions: the man’s apparent foolishness was a carefully constructed facade. Small talk with no real direction was rarely stimulating, but Sampo Koski somehow made it… interesting.
Late that night, as Ratio was ushering his guest toward the front door (Koski, for some reason, kept trying to leave through the window), he realized he wouldn’t mind blowing the whistle again sometime.
The next morning, however, he discovered that the whistle had been snatched. In its place sat a weighty, polished metal one.
***
“That’s right. The Liar’s Paradox is one of the most basic logical puzzles — ‘I am lying right now.’ The greatest minds in the multiverse have wrestled with it, and no one’s found a definitive answer. I’d like to see how the peculiar mind of a Masked Fool would handle it.”
***
It was their thirty-fourth meeting.
Only eight of those had been prompted by Dr. Ratio’s bad mood.
The new metal whistle had only been used fourteen times.
Once, Sampo asked whether he was a good stress toy. Ratio told him yes — but not an authentic one, since he didn’t squeak when squeezed. Sampo argued. And in argument, truth is born: Ratio discovered that actually, yes, he did squeak. Loudly and amusingly.
Lately, Ratio suspected his standards for “amusing” had become a bit lenient.
Truth be told, Sampo was remarkably good at his “stress toy” duties — surprising, given that for the vast majority of people, he was a stress multiplier. Ratio liked being on the short list of exceptions — being exceptional to an exceptional person.
But that wasn’t what he valued most. Not the way Sampo could turn a bad day into an acceptable one. Not the way he could drag him out of melancholy by the hand. Not even the strange, almost physical warmth and calm that Sampo seemed to radiate, like an overgrown space heater.
All of that was a lovely bonus — a complimentary dessert to the main course.
The real draw was that Sampo Koski was strange. Strangeness clung to him, seeped into the air around him, trailed after him like a shadow — Ratio would bet it had taken up residence in his basement (if he even had a permanent home, which was doubtful given the nature of his profession — a fact Sampo had revealed at their thirteenth meeting).
And in Ratio’s personal dictionary, strange and non-mundane were synonyms.
Sampo Koski was not “normal” in the conventional sense of this word, but Ratio had never sought normalcy anyway.
He probably wouldn’t have even thought to kiss a normal person.
To kiss them multiple times.
At their twenty-fourth, twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth, thirtieth, thirty-first, thirty-second, and thirty-third meetings.
The thirty-fourth — sadly — hadn’t offered the opportunity yet. Though Ratio had been thinking about it, as they sat curled up together in quiet conversation. Which probably meant he was just as abnormal.
“You’re kidding, right? Intelligentsia Guild? Me? As if I, an idiot, could…” at some moment Sampo sighed with such unfeigned resignation that Ratio’s sudden impulse to commit indecent advances evaporated.
“You’re not an idiot, Sampo,” Ratio interrupted with a frown. And then, knocking the pile of stones off the man’s shoulders, he dropped an anvil in their place:
“But you could certainly be identified as a fool.”
The flicker of bafflement that crossed Sampo’s face for half a second was priceless.
“You thought I wouldn’t figure it out?” Ratio asked after a long pause.
“…Hah! I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”
“No offense, but it was so obvious you didn’t need to be an Intelligentsia member to guess it.”
“Oh, sure, they were already theorizing about it even before the version one-point-four…”
“I’m not even going to ask.”
“And you shouldn’t. You’ll need that bright head of yours intact.”
Silence stretched for several minutes — unusual, given that in any other situation Sampo Koski was impossible to be shut up. Now he laid curled at Ratio’s side, head on his sharp shoulder (ridiculous, given his huge build), staring into space and — apparently — thinking. Which was odd, considering he was the sort to talk first, then think. Well… or maybe think while talking.
“So it’s true, then. You really are a Masked Fool,” Ratio finally broke the silence. “That opens up some interesting possibilities for me.”
He’d crossed paths with Masked Fools before — non-mundane, yes, but unbearably irritating people, most of whom had long since lost any sense of brake. Sampo Koski, apparently, performed regular maintenance on his brake pads, so he only fit the description of a Fool halfway. Conveniently, the half that drew Ratio in so much.
“Huh? What kind of possibilities?” Sampo glanced at him sideways. “Thinking I should spice up our personal life in an Elated manner? Or are you hinting you’ve always wanted to see a Masked Fool in bed?”
“By the Aeons, no.” Ratio paused. “Though… let’s put a pin in that curious thought for later. That’s not what I meant. I’ve heard that you Fools have a sort of… common meeting place. A tavern called ‘The Edge of the World.’”
“Riiight…” Sampo’s tone shifted — a flicker of tension beneath it.
Unlike Sampo, who conducted everything through detours and innuendo, Dr. Ratio preferred to deliver his desires head-on, like a tram.
“I’d like you to take me there. I’ve always wanted to see a place that rejects rationality as a concept.”
“You… sure about that?” Sampo asked warily. “Could be dangerous. Especially for an unprepared mind.”
“Absolutely. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And they don’t only let Fools in, do they? It’s a… tavern, after all. Not a conference hall for your faction’s annual meetings or something.”
“They let in anyone willing to pay the price. And the currency there is laughter. Make someone laugh — even yourself — and you’re welcome. Meetings of the Fools aren’t really planned. Sometimes you just blink and find yourself there… but there’s nothing stopping you from visiting on purpose. Well, except common sense...”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know how to suppress common sense when necessary,” Ratio assured him. “How could I refuse an opportunity like that, especially when it’s offered by such a charming young man?”
“Going straight for the trump cards, huh?”
“Of course. Works every time. Though I wouldn’t call it a trick, since there’s not a trace of deception in it.”
“Oh, you’re just…” Sampo didn’t finish the sentence, shaking his head. Whatever mix of emotions crossed his face, Ratio couldn’t quite identify — not least because you could rarely trust his expressions. “Alright. Whistle when you’re ready for a little walk.”
The sturdy metal whistle held pride of place on a shelf beside a plaster bust.
***
“Ha-ha-ha… You know, I’ll answer that question a little later. I need to set up some very specific conditions to illustrate my point. It’ll be crystal clear, I promise!”
***
”The tavern is called The Edge of the World, and it is situated accordingly — but Sampo Koski always knows a shortcut! Of course, it still means walking… just a little bit… but when you’re this inspired, it’s worth it!”
By their thirty-fifth meeting, Sampo had shed every trace of hesitation or worry. Ratio almost wished he’d brought sunglasses — the man’s enthusiasm was practically radioactive. Most people would’ve been put off. Veritas, on the other hand, found it even more magnetic. He took the gallantly offered arm, and together they set off towards… well, “adventure” was as good a word as any.
While Sampo chattered about everything under the sun, his face changing expression every few seconds, Ratio found it hard to look away. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t notice right away when their surroundings began to blur — subtly at first, then losing all definition. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of smeared colors. Only Sampo’s figure stayed sharp enough to focus on; everything else made his eyes want to split in opposite directions.
Ratio wasn’t alarmed. Thirty-five (mostly close) encounters had been enough to assure him that Sampo almost always knew what he was doing — and once he set a goal, he went straight for it. Unlike other Masked Fools, he never left things to chance. In fact, he was more of a… sort-of-a-Fool.
At some point, Sampo winked — and the colors around them settled into the warm brown tones of dark wood. A bar counter took shape, along with several tables scattered about.
Ratio hesitated mid-step, swaying slightly as if trying to coax his balance back into place. Sampo’s hand found his waist, steadying him.
“So this is The Edge of the World…” he murmured, taking in the surprisingly cozy interior, brushing off the last of his disorientation, and following Sampo to the nearest empty table.
The Edge was quiet tonight. The real chaos was happening anywhere but here — in every other reachable and unreachable corner of the universe. Still, a few patrons lingered nearby… though Ratio couldn’t quite count how many. Three and a half, perhaps? Despite their low numbers, the noise was as if someone had dragged an entire football stadium into this relatively small tavern.
Everyone here wore a mask.
Except the guest.
And, for some reason, Sampo Koski.
“Since you went to the trouble of bringing me here, Sampo…” Ratio began, settling into a solid wooden chair. “Allow me to buy you a drink as a thank you. Or… whatever they serve to people like you here?”
“You think they’ve got some special feed reserved for my kind? Well, you’re not entirely wrong…” Sampo chuckled. “But bringing you into deculturized shock wasn’t exactly my plan.”
He waved to the bartender with his fingers arranged in some elaborate gesture… wait… were there more fingers than usual? Ratio stared at him, torn between mild confusion and growing curiosity.
“I ordered something simple!” Sampo assured him. “But I can’t guarantee my dear friend behind the bar will stick to the brief… sometimes even I’m surprised.”
“Don’t worry. I’m used to surprises. Especially when I’ve signed up for them willingly.”
When Sampo lowered his hand, the number of fingers was perfectly normal again. Huh. Must’ve been his imagination!
“That’s what I like about you, Doc! Not every respectable person can visit the Edge and keep their sanity… then again, not many respectable people actually want to come here. This place is the antonym of ‘normal.’”
Though here, in contrast, Ratio realized the only other person who looked suspiciously “normal” was Sampo Koski. And that normalcy was relative — everywhere else, Sampo’s strangeness was a fountain. Here, it was the opposite: he stood out precisely by not being part of the madness.
And madness it was — a blend of whispering masks, flashing lights, drifting smoke and confetti, and the faint scent of joy long since gone stale at a carnival that had ended too soon. In the corner, a stack of chairs began to tap-dance in perfect rhythm with the surrounding cacophony.
(The only place Sampo Koski looked truly relevant was in Dr. Ratio’s apartment.)
“Either everything happening here is one big joke…” Ratio mused, watching as two potted plants on a nearby table suddenly began debating quantum mechanics. Their argument was weak at best — if they were his students, he wouldn’t give them higher than a C-minus. “…Or the result of irreversible cognitive impairment.”
“Spot on! It is a joke, Doc! Everything in this place is one huge, terrible, unfunny joke!” Sampo spread his arms wide, though even that couldn’t do justice to the current level of absurdity. You’d have to take the span between his arms, add a couple extra fingers, a fish head, a motorcycle, and a rolled-up copy of Intelligentsia Guild Monthly. Only then would you get an accurate scale. “Don’t worry, my friend — your cognitive functions are fine… for now.”
“For now?”
“For now,” Sampo leaned back in his chair and waved to the plants, urging them to make their argument more convincing and to stop dragging flourless omelets into the discussion. “Rough day, huh?”
“…What?”
“Come on, don't fall into such a joyless abyss! Drowning out life problems with alcohol alone is a very dubious strategy! Do you want me to entertain you? I’m a well-deserved jester, after all.”
Ratio studied Sampo’s satisfied grin and felt a sudden doubt about his own grip on reality. The man took a sip from a glass — when had that appeared in his hand? — filled with something that fizzed and sparkled. Ratio had the distinct sense it would taste like the color yellow and coat his tongue in spider silk. The scent reached him even from here, making him wrinkle his nose: he had never liked grated potatoes.
“Sampo. Be honest — are you playing along with the joke?”
“Perish the thought!” Sampo blinked in confusion, his smile freezing unnaturally in place. “There’s no one in the world more serious than Sampo Koski at this very moment. Come on, try it! Who will be worse off?”
The spice-heavy air thickened around him, and the room dimmed into a half-light. Familiar voices murmured in the Pier Point dialect. Something was pressing down on the top of Ratio’s head; he carefully lifted a brimming glass of mulled wine from it.
The déjà vu was impossible to ignore, and it was quite understandable where had it come from — the harder question was what to do with it, and how to snap Sampo out of… whatever this was. He wasn’t wearing a mask, but Veritas couldn’t shake the unpleasant sense that his face alone could pass for a grotesquely cheerful theatrical mask.
And then his companion bursted into booming laughter.
When Ratio blinked, Sampo Koski was gone.
So was the bar on the outskirts of Pier Point.
So was the Edge of the World tavern.
Now Ratio sat on his own couch, and something… indefinable curled up against his side, resting its head (head?) on his sharp shoulder. It was silent — unusual, given that you could never shut Aha up in any other circumstance.
Ratio stared at the mess of confetti, ribbons, and masks, and no description fit better than Aha.
He couldn’t move. Breathing wasn’t really happening too — but that was the lesser evil. More frustrating was the fact that he wanted, at the same time, to voice both outrage and admiration… and found himself unable to do either.
“You’ll need that bright head of yours intact,” the thing laughed in many voices at once, as it rose weightlessly from his shoulder. “Ooooh, you’re soooooooooooooo interesting! And funny! You don’t like grated potatoes! No wonder my little protégé set his sights on you! But only! only! only! starting from version one-point-six. Before that, you didn’t exist.”
Something soft and hard at once tapped against his teeth — a theatrical mask. It felt suspiciously like a prelude to a kiss. Ratio recalled that some time after that line of a bright head, he and Sampo had kissed for the eighth time. It seemed Aha was trying, clumsily, to reenact that scene. But… why?
“To avoid creating time paradoxes,” Aha explained. Ratio wasn’t surprised. Sampo Koski had the same unnerving knack for reading his unspoken contexts. At least now he could be sure of his power as an emanator. “Speaking of paradoxes! You never finished that adorable little conversation!”
“…What conversation?”
“What do you mean what? The one spread across the whole text of the work! He never told you about the Liar’s Paradox? Tsk-tsk-tsk, how could he? Oh, wait — that’s my fault! He just didn’t get the chance! Sorry-sorry… I was terribly curious who my little Sampling was fooling around with! Well, I’m satisfied. You’re a delightful specimen. Just as curious as I am. And you’re far less serious than people think! Even the AO3 tag says so!”
Ratio inhaled the scent of flowers from Belobog’s underground greenhouse. He was holding Sampo Koski’s elbow, walking with his back straight along a crisp gravel path between fluffy shrubs. This was their twenty-fourth meeting, three system-months ago.
“The Liar’s Paradox is easy to solve,” Sampo said out of nowhere. “Nothing can be true. Nothing can be false. Nothing has meaning when you’re around a Masked Fool. And if you suddenly find yourself in the tavern at the edge of the world, you can forget about logic entirely. If someone tells you they’re lying right now — believe them with all your heart.”
“Ironic,” Ratio replied, “that the paradox can only be resolved in a place full of paradoxes.”