Methodius Buslaev. Third Horseman Of Gloom

The succubus stopped squirming, dashed back to the pavement, and with the greatest possible haste assumed his initial half-male-half-female guise. “How did you know about this? Who revealed the secret to you?” he asked, looking with fear at Daph.

“I’m a guard of Light after all. We there in Eden also don’t collect empty bottles,” Daph remarked. “And now, little succubus, tell me what you need, and scram! You bore me!”

Whimper licked his lips. “Anyway, listen! A woman, like a wolf, has to go search to find it. And a succubus more so – if you don’t run about, you won’t sniff out anything! A little birdie told me that soon they’ll try to steal Methodius. Don’t ask who, don’t ask when, but it’ll happen!”

“Nonsense!” Daph said, beginning to experience unease nevertheless.

“Indeed you can believe me, my wussy. I said ‘steal’, it means stealing him from you. In everything about love, I’m a pro!”

“Well, what of it?” Daph asked defiantly. Attack is the best defence.

“What of it? You’re a guard of Light! Have you forgotten? If you love someone, your feelings should be reciprocated. If not, you’ll forfeit eternity, wings, and flute! There’s some clause in your code, you know it better than I do. Light cannot be rejected. If a guard of Light has been cheated on or betrayed, he perishes. Ahh!”

“Well, what’s it to you?” Daph asked sullenly.

“With the best of intentions, nasty! The best of intentions! I wanted to propose a deal. It’s always pleasant for a simple modest succubus to provide service to a guard. You give me the wings and I’ll help keep Buslaev staying true to you. Huh? In my opinion, a fair trade. Meanwhile, the flute and eternity remain yours.” Here Whimper winked provocatively with the male eye.

“You’re so kind, downright stunning! Besides wings, do you need anything else? Perhaps, even Depressiac to pack in your backpack? Don’t be shy!” Daph suggested, regarding him with indignation.

The succubus looked sideways with unease at the cat. “Don’t need an animal now. Some other time, my wussy! So, about the trade? Shake on it?”

“Shake a leg!” Daph said and, waiting until the succubus was puzzled, added, “And even the ears and the nose! If someone needs Buslaev, let them steal him. I somehow don’t remember about arranging for ownership of him!”

“But you’ll perish! You’ll be deprived of eternity, the wings, and the flute!” Whimper exclaimed incredulously.

“And you’re feeling sorry for me, perhaps? We’ll now whine about this in full accordance with your name?” Daph retorted.

“Not for you, but sorry for the wings! You have no idea how Tukhlomon bragged when he brought two laces with golden wings! What an ass! Everyone knows that he didn’t chop the wings off the Light, but you did! You dealt with the golden-winged, and he only ripped the laces!” the succubus said enviously. “And now these two wingless guards are probably staggering somewhere here, in the human world.”

“How do you know? I thought they returned to Eden,” Daphne said in confusion.

“Return to Eden without wings? Disgraced? No way!” Whimper giggled. “Friends told me that they met this pair somewhere in town. They walk and look for someone. Who are they looking for, do you know?”

“I have no idea,” Daph said. She wanted to turn the succubus into a caterpillar again and this time would not pull him out from under the bus.

“Correct. The less you know, the quicker you move up the ranks,” Whimper agreed. “So, what about our deal? Wings in exchange for Methodius’ devotion? Huh, huh, huh? And no jealousy, my wussy! Never! Although, they say, jealousy is free attachment to love. Fans of freebies appreciate it.”

“No!” said Daph.

The succubus was not too upset. His levity outweighed his concern for business. After sighing for decorum, he stared at his hands, choosing with which to scratch his nose. The male hairy paw did not suit him, so he selected the delicate female one, and was satisfied with his own diligence.

“Well, no judgement on ‘no’. Do you want to lose everything else? Eternity and the flute? So, no you and no spirits of Gloom? Well, we’ll still return to this conversation. In the meantime, allow me to present you a gift! It doesn’t obligate you to anything! Not any trade, simply a gift!”

“I don’t accept gifts from Gloom!” Daph refused.

Whimper quickly pulled the poppy out of his buttonhole and forcibly thrust it into Daphne’s hand. “I implore you, my wussy! Don’t be silly! I’m like this, from a noble soul sizzling, no strings!” he said, squeezing Daph’s fingers with the strong male paw.

“What?” Daphne was taken aback.

“Well, selflessly! You’ll always have time to get rid of the flower. But in the meantime, pin it to your clothing and remember. The poppy is red – you are loved, everything comes up roses. No cause for concern. Pink – a slight cooling triggered by new emotions, magic, and whatever: already start worrying, but you still can live. Ah, darling! What subtlety, I’m thrilled!”

And Whimper, extremely pleased, blossomed into a half-smile, which could belong equally to both a self-assured, positive, funny little man from a film about the state border and the winner of a beauty contest.

“Poke, my wussy!” he said and coquettishly touched the tip of Daph’s nose with a manicured finger. Depressiac waved its paw, but, alas, was too late.

“Further attention!” the succubus continued. “Blue is the colour of boredom. It means that you’re bored. Alas, everyone goes through this. Few know that there’s also a way to that side… This, therefore, is the next stage after pink. A brown poppy is the colour of contempt. Yellow is betrayal. Black is hate, such, right to pieces. Grrr! Well, darling, I suppose, you’ll never get to it. Although, moronoid passion is different! Sometimes red-black, black-red! Blinks like this so that you’re exhausted. No drama, no patch up!”

“Stop!” Daph said, turning away. The succubus winced too openly.

“The flower works around the clock. It doesn’t wilt, require batteries, watering, or fertilizers. Doesn’t burn in fire, doesn’t drown in alcohol: you’ll always know how the one beside you relates to you.”

“I don’t need artifacts of Gloom!” Daphne said doubtfully, examining the poppy.

The succubus chuckled hollowly. He knew well how to detect nuances. Daph imagined that a dry pea was rattling inside him.

“What arts? What facts? I entreat you, my wussy, don’t make mankind laugh! This, is a bauble, a pretty trinket! If you want, throw it away. I don’t insist. And now, excuse me, I have a date. A certain ministry worker is going to give away his eidos for a rendezvous with his first student love!”

“What kind of love?” Daph asked.

“Ahh, nothing special! This superficial girl with teeth and legs,” the succubus said with such contempt, as if having teeth and legs was something reprehensible. “I wonder, will he at least wonder why she hasn’t changed in thirty years? By the way, the original lives with her grandsons and two dogs three streets away from him, but that has no value for our friend. Dreams, dreams! Sometimes they’re worth more than reality. Well, I’ll depart on the wings of love! Don’t pass up Methodius, my wussy!”

“I won’t!” Daph said to herself under her breath.

“Your love – indeed trust me on the word – hangs on a wing and a prayer, strengthened by a thread! Need my help, just whistle! Wings, and I’m yours!”

“No!” Daph said firmly.

The succubus formed a ring with his fingers and looked at Daphne through the hole. “So be it! I’ll give you some advice!” he said magnanimously. “As much good as free. When the poppy becomes brown or yellow, you’ll still be able to return it to its previous colour, and Methodius’ love together with it. So, interested?”

“How?” Daph asked involuntarily.

Whimper looked around furtively. “It will be sufficient to sprinkle the poppy with something crimson!” he said in a loud whisper.

“Crimson?”

“Precisely, my wussy! Crimson! What can be more crimson than the blood of a mortal? Only the blood of a guard of Light!”

“I won’t kill anyone!” Daph said contemptuously.

“No need to kill anyone. Quite enough blood from your finger. When the poppy becomes red again, pin it on Methodius’ shirt near the collar. No shirt, a T-shirt will do. Well, time for me to go, Light! Smooch-smooch!”

“Smooch-smooch!” Daph repeated, smiling involuntarily.

“Cheer up! Dream of me sometime! Bye, sweetie!” The succubus wriggled his fingers coquettishly.

Daph shuddered. To see a succubus in dreams is a bad sign. Dreams are their element. They drink strength and soul in dreams.

“You dream of me, my sweet!” Daph said, paying him back.

Whimper flinched, as if all his teeth were aching at once. Whoever strikes with some weapon also fears that weapon. Pretty much how gypsies are frightened on hearing the words “I’ll tell your fortune!” uttered with the necessary degree of conviction. The promise to dream of a succubus is more effective than any curses. A succubus, after seeing a guard of Light in his dream, long afterwards will not get out of Tartarus into the human world. Whimper vanished into thin air.

For some time, Daph pensively examined the poppy, nested in her hand. Dispose of it or not? Pulling out the flute, Daph checked the poppy with a short maglody, which would obliterate the flower if it presented direct danger to her. However, the poppy safely survived. It only changed colour, blazing still more brightly.

“Aha! It seems someone loves me! I wonder who? Depressiac?” Daph thought with curiosity, after looking sideways at the cat. Sticking out its terrible violet tongue, the cat licked its hind paw and, if it loved her, then in the background, in extremely unobtrusive mode.

Upon reflection, Daphne did not discard the poppy, just as she did not pin it in the buttonhole. Instead, she did something in between, just shoved it into her pocket. The middle path is always the simplest. It is another matter that it rarely leads to the right direction.

Hunger, driven away for a while by the succubus’ intrusion, again returned and started to cough insistently behind Daph’s back. A growing organism required cement and bricks for further building itself, the beloved.

“Why don’t I visit Eddy Khavron? He works somewhere not far from here!” Daph thought. The map of Moscow, and the motley small fonts on those small alleys that were much shorter than their names, was woven thoroughly in her memory with scuffs on the creases.

However, by the will of fate, the meeting with Eddy Khavron took place much later and entirely not even at Ladyfingers. Meanwhile, one more meeting awaited Daphne.

Finding her way to Khavron, Daphne began to meander along the alleys. At first, the alleys retained some dignity: they boasted of old homes, cast iron fences of embassies, and idyllic booths with police peak caps dozing in them. But as Daphne moved away from the centre, the alleys became increasingly pitiful. Dumpsters, earlier hidden in the corners, now jumped out right in the eye. Birches, astounded by their own cheerful impudence, stuck here and there out of the cracked walls of homes.

When Daph, bored by the alleys, turned into the courtyards, there was already rubbish everywhere. Abandoned mastodons, with rotting wheels invariably propped up by bricks, were rusting between the gleaming foreign cars. Geraniums peacefully went bald on the windowsills of the ground floors, and only the new drain pipes bragged that, you know, we here in the wilderness, also do not blow our nose into our sleeve. It was difficult to believe that this was the city centre.

Daph crossed two or three more alleys and came out onto a lively street. While she was searching the blue rectangle of a signboard with her eyes, wondering where to go further, gunshots were heard to her right. Depressiac pressed back its ears. While Daph’s imagination was conjuring up all possible criminal and romantic pictures on the theme of dwarves armed to the teeth fleeing a bank with bags of money, a motorcycle, shrouded in bluish smoke, flew up to her. It was its muffler – or rather the lack thereof – producing loud bangs, which Daph had taken for gunshots.

A little before reaching Daph, the motorcycle sneezed hypochondriacally and stopped. A broad-shouldered giant hastily dismounted from the motorcycle. When he swung his leg over, a belt with a buckle shaped like a skeleton’s hand flashed at his waist.

“Hello, Essiorh!” Daphne said, shifting her gaze from the motorcycle to the keeper and from the keeper to the motorcycle. She could not decide whose appearance struck her more strongly. Essiorh likely deserved more attention. On the other hand, she was seeing the motorcycle for the first time.

Having run up to Daphne, the keeper looked around in bewilderment. His huge hands were clenched into fists. But, alas, there was no one to fight with at all. Unless it was with the drain pipe plastered with ads, but it could perfectly fight back, falling on his head.

“Where?” Essiorh shouted.

“Where what?” Daph did not understand.

“The enemies! I felt that danger threatened you and hotfooted it here at once. Unfortunately, my motorcycle stalled on the way.”

Daph hunched down, examining what Essiorh called a motorcycle. “Mmm-yes,” she said. “Would never have thought that it’s possible to knock together from old scrap such a wonderful wheelbarrow for transporting junk! It’s another joke of the drunk Kulibin!”[4]

“This is not a wheelbarrow!” Essiorh was offended. “The bike is outstanding! It’s based on the Ural,[5] but the rest is solid improvisation. The frame, for example, is welded to a Zhiguli wheel. I invested a little money here, but a love of railway cars. Only love has a value in determining the true value of objects. Pity the battery just died! I removed the muffler myself.”

“Aha, it happens. Eddy Khavron recently also removed the door from the washer. He had to reach for something from the top shelf and thought of getting up with a foot on the door. Now they do laundry at the neighbour’s. They pay her with produce: a potato for each pillowcase. Socks go under an individual rate,” Daph remarked peacefully, patting the bike seat.

Essiorh turned red. Daph thought that if someone hit upon the idea of touching his forehead with an unlit cigarette, it would flare up by itself. “I ACTUALLY removed the muffler myself,” Essiorh said, glowing with anger.

“Okay, okay. Am I arguing? Depressiac, Uncle Essiorh unscrewed this muffler himself! With his own hands! He likes to ride on the motorcycle so that everyone thinks that the city is a war zone. Oh, oh, oh! Depressiac, help! Uncle Essiorh will now unscrew my head! I’ll be the first guard of Light in the world finished off by his keeper!”

Recollecting himself, Essiorh took a step back and stared at his hands with horror. “Ahem. It seems I overreacted! So, what’s up with you? Where’s the scoundrel, or scoundrels, that attacked you?” he asked in a dispirited voice.

“The scoundrels left, after presenting a flower to me!” Daph explained, showing Essiorh the poppy.

He took it, examined it critically, twirled it in his fingers and, after shrugging his shoulders, handed it to Daphne. The poppy remained red.

“I must admit, I expected something different,” said Essiorh.

“What precisely? And why you did say ‘scoundrels’? It was indeed just one succubus. I’d have handled him myself,” asked Daph.

“One succubus? Really? Are you sure?” Essiorh elaborated incredulously.

“Yes. I count to one very well. Haven’t been wrong once yet,” Daphne bragged.

Essiorh went to his motorcycle and ran his big hands along his face, just attempting to bring his thoughts in order. When he took away his hands, traces of machine oil remained on his face. “Well, I don’t know, I don’t know! I had an insight – it’s a special feeling, accessible only to a keeper – that mortal danger threatens you. Could there be someone else still hiding next to the succubus? Maybe the succubus was simply distracting you? Huh?”

Daphne honestly tried to recollect, but failed to remember anything. “Who knows? Possibly. I checked the succubus with a rune, he was clean. But I didn’t scan anymore… Somehow didn’t guess!” she acknowledged.

“Here you see!” Essiorh said, aiming a finger threateningly like a pistol at her. “Oh, heavens, what a hick I have to deal with! They almost nailed her and she blinked and missed everything!”

“Okay, okay. No need to mix me up with ashes! Less than removing the mufflers! If you would have been next to me and all that! Whom are you guarding after all? Me or your tricycle?” Daph snapped. The keeper was silent in shame. The reproach was justified.

“Essiorh! Another question. Do you have any money?” Daphne continued.

The keeper looked at her indignantly. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. Since when do they issue an allowance to those appearing from the Transparent Spheres? Why do you need money?”

“I want to eat. It’s simply scary. My body has decided to grow. Now and then it seems to me that I would even eat Depressiac, if I had the appropriate sauce,” Daph acknowledged. Two red eyes stared at her with reproach. “Be still, nightmare of a practicing vet! No offence! It was just a figure of speech,” Daph assured it.

The keeper pondered, contemplating the front wheel of his motorcycle.

Daphne had the suspicion that he was not quite thinking of lofty matters. “Hey!” she reminded him. “The child is starving!”

“Yes. Hunger isn’t an auntie. It’s an uncle. An angry uncle with forks instead of teeth, sandpaper tongue, and a seething stomach,” Essiorh uttered importantly, unwillingly turning away from the motorcycle. “You haven’t tried finding an old piece of iron somewhere and turned it into gold?”

“Are you mocking me?” Daph asked. “Any magic of transformation is under the control of the golden-winged. It doesn’t appeal to me very much to be nabbed. Am I really still wanted?”

Essiorh nodded despondently. “I’m afraid that while Buslaev’s eidos is in limbo and has reached neither Light nor Gloom, nothing will change. Transparent Spheres won’t dare to intervene in order not to expose you to Gloom by its intercession. So, the golden-winged continue to search for you. It’s a matter of principle for them. They loved Populus and Rufinus, and indeed precisely you deprived them of their wings.”

“Sort of,” Daph said gloomily.

Essiorh wanted to pat her on the head encouragingly, but squinted at Depressiac and, instead of Daph’s hair, patted the seat of his motorcycle. “Perhaps there’s something I can do for you all the same,” he decided, touching his silver wings.

A tray of food materialized in front of Daph’s nose: fried potatoes, crunchy chicken legs, saltines, a plate of dried shredded squid, and a large glass of orange juice.

“Well? You can sit down over there! In my opinion, it’s a suitable bench. No mothers with children, lovers, or old ladies,” Essiorh said, after looking around and scouting the locale.

“Did you buy this? Somehow I didn’t see you pay,” Daph said with doubt. She could also steal dinner from moronoids herself. It is another matter that this was not the best pursuit for a guard of Light. Each act of this type would be a minimum of one darkened feather.

Essiorh dejectedly clicked his tongue. “No, I didn’t pay. But my excuse is that this was an unlucky dinner,” he said.

“Unlucky in what sense? In my opinion, it’s quite a good dinner,” Daph said, contemplating the tray and its contents.

“Oh, Transparent Spheres!” Essiorh exclaimed in horror. “What did they teach you in ten thousand years? You really didn’t work with predicting the fates of the simplest objects?”

“What, did I have to? I was probably sick at that time,” Daph assured him carelessly.

“Well, and your health is poor! Prediction of fates is at 300 years and again repeats in seventy years!”

Daph was not too impressed. “Don’t be a bore!” she said. “Or else I’ll shower your bike with mud again! So, what’s with the dinner? Why is it unlucky?”

“This is about insight into fate. According to the theory of universal space, the tray with this dinner was supposed to crash down near the cash register, when its mistress was hailed by her friend. The mistress of the tray would slip and break her ankle. While she was lying in the hospital, her fourteen-year-old daughter would drop out of school, her husband would drink a glass of poison by mistake and burn his stomach, and a truck would run over her beloved dog. Now none of this will happen. So, arguing logically, I did a good deed.”

“So, aside from getting your hands on the dinner, you also did a good deed? The approach of a guard of Light is immediately noticed: combine the good with the pleasant and not come out worse off at the same time!” Daph clarified mockingly, putting a straw into the orange juice.

“Well then, give it back!” Essiorh was angry, leaped up and tried to take the tray away from her. “Ungrateful pig! Give it back right now!“

“Don’t! Oh! Okay, okay, okay! I won’t do it anymore!” Daph became alarmed, blocking the tray with her body.

Snorting indignantly, Essiorh removed his hands. “You reason like a Dark! Young lady, are you sure that nothing was messed up? That training didn’t take place in Tartarus, but in Eden?” he asked in fury.

“Please hush!” Daph brushed him off. “For what it’s worth, you saved me from starving to death. Let’s finish off your dinner, before it again decides to fall near the feet of the poor woman whose kinfolk are inclined to drink poison and drop out of school.”

Daph took a chicken leg and almost took a bite of it, when a sharp-clawed paw flickered before her eyes. In the next moment, the leg simply disappeared. “Whoa! Crows aren’t enough for someone! That’s gall, young man! It will be even more gall if the bones of this chicken are later discovered in my hair,” said Daphne.

They occupied the bench. While Daph was finishing the potatoes, dipping them in ketchup, Essiorh rolled the motorcycle and put it beside her. Daph pulled away just in case. She feared that the motorcycle would fall from the stand and crush her foot. Taking into account her keeper’s general bad luck, this outcome was more than probable.

“In my opinion, you more often roll your motorcycle than it takes you somewhere,” Daph remarked.

“Not true!” Essiorh was outraged. “We have an understanding. It strictly stalls at a traffic light. But starts quite obediently when you accelerate afterwards.”

“And your motorcycle, is it also an unlucky motorcycle? Or did you hijack it in the routine way?”

“You insult me,” Essiorh said, getting furious. “This evening, this motorcycle was supposed to take away another man’s wife. And then two days later, it would be stolen, the exchange bureau would be robbed, and then it would be dumped in the swamp outside the city. What vandalism! What abuse to motorcycles!”

“But now, of course, none of this will happen. You did a good deed again, didn’t you?” Daph asked.

Essiorh coughed. It seemed like he did not much like the question. “Koff, koff… Well, how to tell you…” he muttered.

“Tell it like it is.”

“Eh, eh… well… Actually, to be honest, reality will change a little. They’ll rob the Exchange using a Zhiguli, and take someone else’s wife away on the subway. Moreover, she’ll pay for the ticket herself.”

“But they won’t dump the motorcycle in the swamp?”

“Of course not. Just let them try!” Essiorh uttered challengingly.

Daph finished the potatoes and disappointingly slurped with the straw in the empty juice glass. Depressiac, meanwhile, had dealt with the dried shredded squid. Only the tray, presenting no gastronomical interest, remained of the dinner. “So, someone else’s wife will be taken away on the subway! Phew, how unromantic! This damsel would be sort of proud to be kidnapped on a motorcycle, but now she’ll only snort!” Daph said. This thought had already been troubling her for about two minutes.

“It’s her problem! But generally, they may say thanks. Rail transport is much safer than the wheel!” Essiorh retorted sternly. He clearly intended on defending his motorcycle against all sorts of attempts.

“Well, it’s all bull!” Daph said, having already had time to fall under the verbal charm of Eddy Khavron.

“What’s bull?” Essiorh asked without understanding.

“Well, bull, it’s like… hmm… crap,” Daph explained authoritatively.

“What’s crap?”

“Crap, it’s bull! What, don’t you understand?” Daph said, no less authoritatively.