Methodius Buslaev. Third Horseman Of Gloom

© Dmitrii Emets, 2022

Translated from Russian by

Jane H. Buckingham

Translation edited by

Shona Brandt

Cover designed by

Eva Elfimova

Titles in the Series

Methodius Buslaev – The Midnight Wizard

Methodius Buslaev – The Scroll of Desires

Methodius Buslaev – Third Horseman of Gloom

Chapter 1

THE DEBUT OF THE AUNT OF INTUITION

“Depressiac!” called Daph.

Zero attention, a pound of contempt.

“Hey, garaaage! Hello! Depressiaaaac!”

Again nothing.

“Sulfur plugs in your ears, huh? I bet you hear the word ‘gobble’ right away!”

The cat, sitting on Daphne’s shoulder, turned its head lazily. A crimson flame splashed in the squinted eyes. A crow feather adhered to its snout. The infernal cat specifically resolved issues with food. The feather’s mistress did not even have time to croak, having met its fate.

“Oh, he heard! You’re not by any chance acquainted with a winged cat, which can be hastily handed over to a pet store in exchange for money? I’m dying to have something to eat. Huh? What do you say?”

The cat again refrained from answering. Instead, it yawned, after showing its teeth, which would give any dentist a stroke.

“Hmm-yes, your look isn’t marketable! Bald, red-eyed, bloodthirsty: an animal of acquired taste! Mass demand is in no way expected!” Daphne acknowledged dejectedly and scratched the cat’s chin with her thumb.

Depressiac purred. Its purr resembled the sound of rusty iron being cut by a very dull saw. When, not limiting itself to purring, Depressiac even meowed, several paranoid car enthusiasts immediately poked their noses out of office windows, checking whether it was time to celebrate the day of the tinsmith.

“Well, yes, yes: you’re completely right. I, a guard of Light, am proposing clear fraud to you. It’s horrible what I’ve come to!” Daph continued to reason. “Only, please, don’t pretend that you’re outraged. Or I’ll hint to Ed what happened to the cut of meat. He thinks that he forgot it on the subway. Well, what do you say? You think that I’m blackmailing you?”

The cat moved its tail indifferently. It no longer remembered about the meat. You never know what moments happen on the thorny path of life. Who stirs up the past, around which green flies hover?

The mentioned conversation with the cat was conducted on rosy, sun-drenched Petrovka Street beside the antique store. In its shop window, among the wooden elephants originating from India and the Turkish daggers originating from China, Daphne saw a girl of thirteen or fourteen, in a short leather jacket and with a backpack, from which a flute poked out. A cat in overalls hung from her shoulder like a shabby neckpiece.

Daphne raised herself on her tiptoes and then got down, comparing the impression. To catch her own reflection in phone booths, tinted car windows, shop windows, puddles, and even in the glasses of passers-by was one of her street amusements. Depressiac, meanwhile, accidentally pulled poplar fluff into its nose and sneezed with displeasure.

“Animal!” Daph said again. “You’ll shame me with your lethargic and scrawny look! I’m sure passers-by think that I torment you. Say something smart, Depressiac!”

The cat made a squeaky, throaty sound, which could be deciphered as “meow!”

“And in general, Depressiac! There are things which confuse me! In the last month I grew a couple of centimetres, no less. Pants have definitely become shorter. In Eden this would take a thousand years. At best,” Daph muttered anxiously. The fact that she had grown had occurred to her more than once, but only now, after examining the reflection in the shop window, was she finally convinced of it.

Wah-wah-wah, my cry-baby! This is not Eden!

Suddenly, someone giggled maliciously next to her. Daph turned around, but discovered no one. Moronoids flowed by in a puny stream along the sidewalk at a decent distance. The sun stuck to the glowing sky like a pancake to a frying pan. The only cloud, sufficiently well-worn in appearance, was lost in trolley wires and advertising banners. There was absolutely no suspect for the giggling.

The theory that the shop window could emit sound appeared unconvincing, therefore Daph, as a sensible guard of Light, immediately undertook several things. First, just in case, she checked whether the flute would be easily extracted from her backpack. Second, she quickly traced in the air with her index finger a rune known as the “rune of goodwill”. In the event that there were no otherworldly creatures beside her or they were not dangerous, the rune would melt, barely coming into being. However, now the rune was hanging in the air like a smoke ring. Daph calmed down. If the danger was serious, the rune would become crimson. However, a bluish smoke ring indicated that, more likely, someone, who was difficult to call a friend, needed something from her.

And finally, the last thing that Daphne did was squint at Depressiac. The cat sensed danger considerably more keenly. Here, one can also be drawn into a dependency on worn-out style and write that the cat’s fur would stand on end. But, alas, all the hair on the infernal cat would not be enough for even the most modest brush. And even its whiskers would have to be cut off. But then, the minute Depressiac sensed something, the dry skin on its scruff would gather into an accordion like the top of an old boot; the wings, usually pressed against its back, would rear up like a hump under the overalls; and a short slanting wrinkle would lie on the bridge of its nose. Now the cat’s face scrunched up. Its ears, torn in many battles, pressed against its head. The raised lip revealed small teeth. A few drops of acidic saliva fell from the blue tongue and almost burnt the asphalt near Daph’s feet.

This proved that beside her was a creature of a different, magic world. Hesitating no more, Daph adjusted to true sight and, after looking around, saw a strange being. It stood half-turned, with its back leaning against the shop window, and smiled. The smile was nasty. As if it was running with syrup and, hitting a group of billiard balls, for some reason made one think of burnt sugar.

“Someone here – let’s not get personal – thinks that she’s grown up! But what do you want, buttercup? The world below is the world below. Life here flies swiftly, like a suicide from a balcony,” the stranger stated.

At first, Daph decided that before her was a man – with dark hair, a square chin, and a five o’clock shadow on a swarthy face. Such a handsome man, eating female hearts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But when the creature turned, Daphne discovered that the second-half of its face was female – plump doll-like lips, long wheaten hair, and a naive big blue eye.

Along the centre of the face, where the halves joined, ran a scattering of small scars. The impression was that the face was once stitched together, using a normal sewing machine. On looking closer, Daph also distinguished scars on the neck. Traversing the collar bones, they disappeared under the shirt. It meant that not only the face but also the subject’s body was made this way. One hand – short-fingered, with yellowish nails and a hairy wrist – could belong to a boxer or a Mafioso, the other – slender and graceful, with a gold chain bracelet on the wrist – a beauty of the night. An enormous ruby-colored poppy blazed in the buttonhole of a two-coloured coat.

“A succubus, perhaps?” Daph asked in an informed manner. She was relieved. There was no sense in pulling out the flute. She would manage a succubus even without the flute.

The stranger eagerly nodded. His head moved so freely and laxly on his neck that Daphne would not be surprised if it rolled down to the asphalt.

“Whimpus Squealary Hystericus the Third himself – hu-hu! – in person… At your service, my wussy! But you can simply call me: my friend Whimper! Two enamored cockroaches met for four days and died in one day from pesticide! Huh, my wussy? What did I say? Like I said!” The entity was delighted and from the strength of his feelings he turned three times around his axis. Here flashed mismatched ears – one flattened, with a rigid tuft of genuine hair sticking out of the auricle, and the other – pink and clean, created by nature for whisperings of all sorts of amorous nonsense.

For the time being, the succubus was ranting, and his voice, adjusting, changed intonation – from a harsh bass to insinuating babble. This irritated Daphne terribly. Just as the rapid chaotic movements of the entity.

“Listen, can you not change all the time? You should determine whether you’re a boy or a girl!” said Daph.

The succubus reproachfully scratched the air with a manicured pinky. The gesture came out so florid, vague, and beautiful that Daph involuntarily wanted to repeat it.

“Everything to the mistress’ will! For me personally, this isn’t a question!” Whimpus Squealary Hystericus the Third said preposterously. “If the mistress wants, I apologize, a doggie, I’m ready to become a doggie! Shall we proceed? Arf-arf!”

The succubus got down on all fours and with a foot made a reckless, full movement of challenge, which a dog resorts to when, after completing its secret business, it tosses dirt behind with a paw. His face began to stretch out suspiciously. The eyebrows closed in and crawled upward already as red fur. In an instant, an Irish setter on hind paws had completed its transformation in front of Daph.

Something sharp-clawed, predatory, and angry flickered in the air.

“I don’t need a doggie! I already have a cat!” Daph said sullenly, miraculously managing to seize Depressiac’s collar. Without a moment’s hesitation, the cat was already going to make the dog crooked in one eye. The infernal cat did not bother with reflections at the main entrance on who was guilty and where the dog came from at all. Philosophy is the lot of philosophers, but we are cats of action. Meow!

“That’s not what we agreed to, my wussy! Don’t sic any cat on me! I’m a miserable creature, defenceless! What hasn’t been set on me! Both hounds and mastiffs! And I’m no longer hinting at vulnerability. What haven’t they hurt me with: spears and swords, and, excuse me, even a Nagant revolver![1] Well, as I said, as I said! Hu-Hu!” The succubus was excited, hurriedly getting rid of the canine form. Fur peeled off him in tufts and hastened to melt in the air.

Depressiac, having managed to nestle anew on Daph’s shoulder, scrutinized the succubus with great suspicion. “Now I know what a suspicious character you are in reality! You were disguised as a dog!” its whole appearance said.

“Listen, Whimper, have we already met or not?” Daph asked.

“Perhaps in dreams, my wussy!” the succubus uttered sweetly, packing some meaning into this.

“In the residence of Gloom, on Dmitrovka Street?”

After folding his lips into a small tube, the succubus delicately spat on his pinkies and wiped his eyes with a gesture full of coquetry. “What awareness, my wussy! Poor us, poor us! No secrets from Light! No, I have not been there, nasty!”

“You really don’t need to renew registration? Indeed, Tartarus drags away a spirit with registration not renewed!” Daph was surprised.

Having finished rubbing his eyes, the succubus plunged his pinkies into his shell-shaped ears and started to poke there with such zeal, as if he was not extracting modest sulfuric deposits but Solomon’s mines.[2]

“Oh, it drags! It takes and drags directly!” the succubus confirmed, shaking his head. “Only I, little nasty, am from another department. We have many departments, especially on secret assignments… So, wussy, they won’t drag me, have no fear!”

It seemed to sharp Daph that alarm flickered fleetingly on the succubus’ face. “Aha! Now you begin to worry! Blurted out something needlessly?” she thought.

After cleaning his ears and stomping on the spot, the fidgety succubus devised new amusement. Not put off by the glass, he poked his hand through the shop window and, after taking a dagger, proceeded to scrape the part of his neck overgrown with stubble. Just like a junior sales manager, who, fearfully looking sideways at the door, on which impatient colleagues are drumming, dry shaves with a disposable razor in the staff washroom before an evening date. Having finished with the shave, Whimpus Squealary Hystericus the Third discarded the dagger and, having fetched lipstick from the air, started to retouch his lips coquettishly.

“Not tired of playing the fool? Don’t clown around! Say what you want or get out of here!” Daph said, recalling the bluish hue of the rune. It was well known to her that succubi, as well as agents, would do nothing without gain for themselves or without hope for gain. Especially not for guards of Light. The succubus pretended that he was offended. The blue feminine eye began to blink and shed a tear. The second eye, meanwhile, looked at her insolently and smartly.

“I wanted to caution you, my wussy. You indeed like Methodius? Our young master? Ah, what a pair! I’m not even jealous! I’m touched!” Whimper exclaimed.

Daph angrily took a step towards him. Depressiac jumped on her shoulder like a rider. The air smelled of violence upon the poor succubus. “Buslaev? You’re raving! Why do I need him? I don’t work in the pet store!” Daph shouted.

Whimper grinned. A finger again scratched the air. “I beg you, little nasty! Deceive a succubus in matters of love? I know more about love than any cupid. And what can they even know about feelings, those fat diathetic brats? Their arrows burn in whom they fall, and they don’t even take eide for this! If cupids are superior to anyone in matters of love, then only agents! Agents are trash, underlings! Love isn’t their kind of sport!”

“You don’t like agents very much. Do you know Tukhlomon?” Daph asked, trying to steer the conversation in a safe direction.

Whimper winced at the word “Tukhlomon”.

“Disgusting competitor! A baddie! A bully, a bore, and not at all any wussy of mine! Steals my eide, the shameless amoeba! Even though he is in another department, nevertheless a snake!”

“I sympathize! A thief stole a club from a thief!” Daph said with mockery, glad that she had quickly found the succubus’ vulnerable spot.

“Don’t you pity me, nasty wussy! Pity yourself!” Whimper flared up. “Let’s return to Methodius. I understand why you don’t acknowledge that you’re quite fond of him. A man’s time is brief. Do you know how many men live in days? Twenty to twenty-five thousand! Of them, only ten thousand are young! That’s all! Arrogant, with plans! Stuck-up! But there, time’s up, and that’s all! Pack your bags!”

“What bags?” Daphne did not understand.

“Better ask: where to! According to the purchased tickets, either on a freight train to Tartarus or on the express to Eden. You, my wussy, have guaranteed new eternity ahead. It’s foolish to fall in love if you have such inherently different possibilities. Even though he’s the future lord of Gloom, he’s mortal, alas, like all born of dust.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Daph said seriously.

The succubus quickly squatted and looked at her in the eyes from below. Daphne saw on the top of his head the strip where the dark short hair meshed with the long blond hair. “So, you acknowledge after all that you have fallen in love?” Whimper asked in a conspiratorial whisper. “You, an immortal, have committed yourself to a mortal? Huh?”

Daphne stamped her foot. What business is it to this loathsome creature whether she experiences some feelings or not? What’s the good of getting into someone else’s life instead of living one’s own?

“Stop! Calm down!” she said to herself. “And what if Ligul sent this character? But who else? If he doesn’t report to Ares, then Ligul! What if he sniffs around because I’m here, that I’m Methodius’ guardian, and I want that Gloom hasn’t gotten his gift? After all, Ligul doesn’t know that I threw the lace with wings around Methodius’ neck in the labyrinth and have bound myself to him for life.”

“I’m only immortal until someone cut off this here. Will it really be you?” Daph said, defiantly swinging the bronze wings on a lace.

Whimper flushed shamefully. “Ugh, what a nasty baddie! I swear by my dear only mama, I didn’t even think about that!” he said in a hurry.

“You don’t have a mama. Will you swear by your essence, true name, the black moon, and the license for returning from Tartarus? Perhaps, such an oath will suit me!” Daph specified affectionately. Ten thousand years on the school bench is sufficient time to grasp the basics of the science of guards.

The succubus hiccupped uneasily. The desire to swear by his true name and essence was not reflected in his sly eyes. And he certainly was not going to risk the license for returning from Tartarus. “Fine, we’ll hush, my wussy! But now the prize of the game! Now we’ll do a general rehearsal for your great feeling!” the succubus interrupted, wriggling his fingers enthusiastically and subtly starting to resemble someone. He pronounced the word “feeling” this way: “feeiling!” and this pronunciation acquired some new, clammy-corny content.

While Daph was trying to understand what it was all about, Whimper was busily muttering something. This was purely internal, technical muttering. The succubus was tuned in, became sublimated, and got into character. “Now I’m all that. Well, that’s all of me! So: the plan of the hunchback Ligul, Nemirovich, and the other Danchenko![3] Here are the ears, the nose. Under the eyes let’s place a small shadow from lack of sleep, here we’ll drop a couple of birth marks. What else do we have? Hair? Ah, how nice, simply imitate agreeably! The chipped tooth: why did he let himself go like this? Excuse me, there’s cosmetic dentistry,” he mumbled in an undertone. “And even the future sovereign of Gloom! If he wants, he would grow a hundred teeth!”

“No need for a hundred teeth. Depressiac won’t tolerate competition,” Daph refused.

She suddenly became uncomfortable. Right in front of her was Methodius. She knew, of course, that this was just the succubus, but her heart nevertheless treacherously froze in her chest, making a strange pause after each third beat. If she, Daphne, a guard of Light, would behave this way, what could be side about poor enamoured moronoids! No wonder they bring their eide to a cursed succubus for the mere right of temporarily possessing a spectre! Even Depressiac was also a little confused and stopped hissing. As is known, it had a soft spot for Buslaev, which always irritated Daphne.

The succubus had completed the transformation and went around Daph in the new guise, showing off. “Oh, my sunshine, I love you! Let me carry your wings for a while!” he said in a voice, possibly a little more hollow than that of the real Methodius.

Feeling that he had gotten carried away with the lie, the succubus glanced shrewdly at Daph and corrected the voice. “So, excuse me, what about the wings? Will you let me carry them? And perhaps I’ll kiss you for this. And maybe I won’t kiss! I’m so changeable!”

Daph was furious. The allure vanished. Moreover, she still continued to use true sight, and through the image of Methodius, Whimper’s vile form showed from time to time. “Stop meddling in other’s business! One more bit of nonsense in this spirit and I…” she threatened.

The succubus chuckled (or, more precisely, chortled), pleased that he had irritated her. At this moment, he seriously did not hope to obtain Daph’s wings, but only mocked, following a long-standing habit. “Well, well! What will you do to me, little nasty? Set the cat on me? Banish me with the sounds of the flute?” he asked mockingly.

In contrast to agents, succubi did not much fear maglody. No, they, it goes without saying, disappeared when they were banished, but they already returned again after a couple of minutes, as if nothing had happened.

Daph pensively bit the hangnail on her thumb. “Why immediately use the flute? There are also other means…” she said and, having stepped back, whispered something.

“Whisper, whisper! Spells don’t work on me!” Whimper said laughingly.

He continued to bounce and wriggle mockingly, but was doing this less and less confidently. Uneasiness slowly appeared on his face. Then he stopped and stared at his legs. They had shortened and merged together, beginning from the waist and below to his knees. Not only had his legs changed. His face was dripping like wax. In full view, his body was rounding, becoming swollen, sprouting something thick, brown, with dark tan markings. His arms were pulling into his shoulders. His spine bent and heeled to the ground, unable to bear the weight of the long, clumsy body.

When his legs finally grew together and the feet had disappeared, the succubus could not stand and collapsed heavily onto the asphalt. At first he was frightened, but he suddenly realized that it was much more convenient on the asphalt. He folded his body, tried to crawl, and realized that he was simply excellent at it.

“What have you done to me, Light? What was that spell?” he shouted at Daph.

“What’s this got to do with a spell? Ooooh, how glad I am that you’ve become a caterpillar! Oh, how I dreamed about this! How I want you to crawl along the pipe and tumble down! Crawl and tumble! Crawl and tumble! Do this, dear! Do this for me! Oooh!” Daph said, exhaling passionately. Now she no longer whispered and was speaking loudly.

“Stop! What, are you out of your mind? I don’t want to climb anywhere!” Whimper squeaked in panic, feeling that his body had started to comply. In spite of himself, he was already crawling up the drain pipe, up to the second floor, and flopped onto the asphalt, splattering greenish stinky slime. Passers-by screwed up their faces. They still saw nothing; however, the smell was accessible even to the perception of the underworld.

“Oh, how fantastic this is! Do that again, dear! Fall from the pipe!” Daph said vindictively and, after recollecting that she was speaking in her usual voice, exhaled passionately a couple of times just in case.

“Stop! How do you know? I thought it’s a secret!” the succubus pleaded, obediently climbing along the slippery pipe.

Daph looked at him with disgust. Guards of Light had long figured out that succubi were endowed with the innate characteristic to adjust and to adapt, transforming into what their companion wished for. Gloom created them for that. Moreover, transformation materialized against the will of the succubi themselves. There was one condition: the wish must be uttered with the appropriate voice. Otherwise the succubi would not comprehend it.

“Oh, how I want you to crawl out onto the road under the wheels of a truck! Oooh! I so dream about this! This is my fantasy, dear!” Daph said, prudently holding Depressiac by the collar. If she did not do this, the cat would have slashed the vile creature long ago with its claws.

The enormous caterpillar, bending, began to crawl out onto the road. Already on the very edge it tried to be stubborn, but Daph hastened with her three passionate “oooh!”s and one hyper-passionate “OOOH!” Moreover, the hyper-passionate “OOOH!” was in reality simply a disguised yawn.

“Oh yes, yes! This is so wonderful! Crawl faster, dear! Faster! Oooh! Otherwise you’ll be late to fall under that wonderful tour bus!” Daphne said, peering into the distance.

“Stop!” Whimper began to squeal. “Stop, Light! What are you, a sadist? Out of your mind? I’m an artistic figure! I work with my face! They’ll laugh at me in Tartarus if I fall under the bus, especially in the guise of a worm! I’ll have to sign out a new body! In the meantime, they’ll sew, grow it together, and impose magic on it!”

“But what do I care? Oh, what wonderful wheels the bus has! They’re getting closer! Oooh, dear, how wonderful this is!”

“Stop now! Help! Murder!” the succubus began to squeal in complete panic.

“Do you surrender? You won’t change into Methodius anymore?” Daph asked.

“I will, nasty! I don’t take orders from you!”

“Well then, dear, you asked for it! Oooh!”

“Only no ‘oooh’! I surrender!” the miserable caterpillar howled, squinting with horror at the wheels of the bus.

Daph sighed, considered, and magnanimously waved her hand. “Light be with you! Live!” she said.