Kitabı oku: «Methodius Buslaev. Third Horseman Of Gloom», sayfa 2

“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.

She was ready for new questions, but her keeper had already satisfied his curiosity and only thoughtfully drawled, “Ahhh!” The subject had been exhausted.

A group of about fifteen fanatics rushed past them, jumping over the bench in panic. Another group of about fifty raced after them at some distance.

“How wonderful!” Essiorh said approvingly. “Instead of sitting in front of the TV, these youngsters are busy with sports.”

“Are you sure it’s sports?” Daph doubted.

“What else? Do you have another hypothesis? Well done, friends, good luck to you in your group race with obstacles!”

The first group of fanatics reached the alley, and the other group, more numerous, rushed to Daph and her keeper. Not analysing the way, the group burst right onto the small park, jumping on automobiles. The bench on which Daphne and Essiorh sat was overturned. Both were forced to leap up quickly.

“Hey, hey, friends! Don’t knock over my motorcycle!” Essiorh was alarmed, clinging to the handlebar of his iron horse.

One of the pursuers tried, in passing, to grab Depressiac from Daphne’s shoulder, but jerked his hand back with a howl. Blood slowly appeared from five fresh scratches. Depressiac thoughtfully licked its claws, determining the level of hemoglobin.

The first group of fanatics had reached the alley, where they suddenly received a solid reinforcement of about a hundred people. After locking together for a minute, the groups’ roles were reversed. Now the first group was pursuing and the second group was fleeing. And both groups again rushed past the astonished guards. This time, however, Daph and Essiorh had enough sense to press against the wall of a house.

“Perhaps I’ll go and see where they’re running to! What fervor, what expression! I’m sure this will be informative for me. See you later, Daph!” Essiorh said. He took the motorcycle from the stand and ran, pushing it. Then, after hopping nimbly onto the seat, shifted gear and dashed away, gunning the engine, enveloped in bluish fume.

“I’ll rent a brain. They aren’t offered second-hand!” Daph said after him. She imagined to herself advertising in the newspaper. Her guard-keeper was an impervious idealist. However, Daph liked this. Each gets the keeper he deserves.

* * *

After taking leave of Essiorh, Daph, having more or less satisfied her hunger, decided not to search for Eddy Khavron anymore, but simply stroll. However, Depressiac suddenly started hissing, broke away from Daph’s shoulder, and, on the run trying to free its wings from under the overalls, dived into a gateway. Daphne’s first thought was that it had seen a dog. The second one was that it had met a great and innocent love, the seventy-fifth according to count, which directly preceded the fleeting seventy-sixth and the incomparable seventy-seventh.

She rushed after Depressiac, but just into the gateway on one side was a house, and on the other side was the red brick fence of an unknown factory. Without attempting to climb over the wall, the cat slid into a manhole and disappeared, leaving its mistress in confusion.

“The escape of overheated cats! When you dispatch the brain for repair, write a return receipt!” Daphne thought.

She was about to follow the cat, using the magic of passing through objects, but recalled in time what this would be fraught with. The entire lunch eaten recently, which was pleasant, would remain on the wall outside, as it was ordinary, non-magical by nature of its substance, and it had no ability to pass through objects.

Daph was not seriously worried. Depressiac had run away from her so many times that this already gravitated towards bad infinity. One time it had disappeared for twelve years. True, this happened in Eden and not in the moronoid world. However, there was also nothing to fret about here. Daphne did not envy the car which would hit it, or the dog that would attempt to smother it, or the kamikaze, working for the city, who would try to shove Depressiac into a cat cage.

Still, she did not like parting with the cat. Winged cats, even with a nasty disposition, do not lie around on the road. Daphne wanted to fly over the fence and had already grabbed her backpack so that the materialized wings would not be entangled, when she suddenly experienced an acute unease of unknown origin. The unease was much stronger than in the case with the succubus. If it had only been a vague unease then, now Daph was simply beside herself with worry. Her heart leaped twice as if on an elastic, and then, after growing bolder, skipped two beats.

“Run! Hide! Do something! Ahh, mama, make this sleepyhead think quicker! They’ll finish her off and me together with her!” her inner voice howled in panic.

Daphne obeyed. She pulled the flute out of her backpack and, focusing in order not to slip, blew the maglody of invisibility. Her body became invisible first and slightly later also her clothing. Only the backpack dangled in the air as an eternal monument to obstinacy.

But Daph’s inner voice was not calmed down by this, demanding something more. After dashing to the kiddie sandbox, Daphne climbed in it and lay down, taking refuge behind the freshly-planed wooden border. She did not wonder whether this was a foolish act, trusting what was leading her.

“I don’t understand why intuition isn’t included in the list of basic feelings. A guard of Light without intuition is a corpse standing in line for burial! Mark my words, my nestlings, and let the scar remain in your memory!” Elsa Kerkinitida Flora Zaches loved to repeat.

She pronounced the word “scar-r-r-r-r-r” so menacingly and meanwhile rumbled in such a way that unripe fruits poured down from the pear of decency. Sniffka was probably difficult, but she taught her subject well. A good teacher, as is known, is an enthusiastic bore, not even permitting the thought of her tediousness.

And here Daph, one of the victims of the mentioned training, had already been lying for almost a minute with her stomach on the green sand, which smelled of cats. Judging by some tactile signs, non-magic cats. A crushed nicotine-smudged filter stuck out from the sand in front of her nose. Daph grimaced with disgust. She wanted to crawl away, but she did not dare. Her inner voice demanded full immobility. Moreover, it even wanted her to bury her face in the sand and almost burrow in it, but Daph could not go through with this. Not a chance! No need to steal bread from ostriches.

From where she was hiding, Daphne saw perfectly the gateway through which she had recently ran, following the cat. Danger radiated precisely from there; it stretched out to her just like a draft. No one entered the gateway. By the dumpster, on the spot, pigeons were feeding, cooing, and coupling. The wind was flapping a duvet drying on the balcony of the third floor. On the duvet were stout blue hippopotami with bulging eyes. When the wind blew the fabric, it seemed that the hippopotami were about to scatter from the balcony like a hailstorm.

“How is it possible to nestle with such a duvet? How gross! They would even decorate it with hanging squirrels! Ahhhhh! I’m done! I’ll now grow roots if I lie here any longer!” Daph thought towards the middle of the third minute.

Her present position smacked of idiocy. Three minutes in a row she was hiding in a sandbox, contemplating the artistically lightly-buried cigarette butts. And all this was guided by an unconscious unease. It felt ridiculous to Daph. She wanted to get up and leave. “I’ll count to a hundred and, if nothing happens, I’ll move away to mourn my stupidity!” she thought and turned her gaze, intending on looking up at the sky, checking whether golden wings shone there. Precisely at that moment a terrible elastic force pressed her into the sand. What was that? It was something combining an explosion, a flash, fire, and light. A terrible, panicky thought flickered in Daph that her eyes were scorched. Pain, fear, emptiness… Daph understood that she was being attacked by the magic of destruction. Darkness with a white whirl of flares sucked her in. It seemed to the girl that she had broken up into hundreds of little screaming Daphnes, and that she no longer existed at all.

“Told you, wimp, face in the sand! Squeamish about cats! Ooh, how delicate we are! Got it?” Perhaps the inner voice should be more polite, but Daphne was not so gentle with herself. The number one rule of life says: if one is gentle with oneself, others are not so gentle.

Several tormenting seconds later her sight began to return. Daph felt relief. She had not been blinded! She was saved by looking up, shifting her gaze. Nevertheless, for now she saw only outlines, silhouettes, and shadows, nothing more. In the strange dance of shadows and flares, it seemed to her as if the stones in the gateway opened up, and a man stepped out of the reddish brick onto the road. Daph lay low, fearing to breathe, to stir, not daring to change the position of her body. She no longer trusted the maglody of invisibility. After all, it had not helped her before the explosion.

She felt rather than saw the unknown person stopped and looked around.

“If anyone from Light was here, he no longer exists. Only the one who hid in a pine coffin would survive,” the man uttered in an undertone and, after turning his back to Daph, walked out of the gateway. Under his arm he was carrying a long object wrapped in burlap.

The voice was distorted: it jumped, sounding sometimes like a falsetto, sometimes like a bass, and Daph would not risk assuming whether it belonged to a man, a girl, or an adolescent. “Look at how he protected himself! The spell of voice change. Plus the magic of distraction, attached to the rune of falsity of the second level. You see an old lady or a packed donkey, but in reality it’s a massive Cyclops, to whom the doctor prescribed cannibalism to boost hemoglobin, or a combat unicorn!” she thought. “Eh! Moscow is becoming a boring, weird place. A little longer, and it’ll breed so many wizards that moronoids will become an attraction. But why did I survive?”

After deciding that it was time to leave her hideout, Daphne started to get up, but the back of her head struck painfully against something. She twitched and pricked her shoulder with a carelessly driven nail. She rolled away fearfully, imagining heaven knows what, with her hair sliding along the wet sand, leaped up quickly and… her gaze was captured by the recently planed side of the sandbox – two boards below and one horizontally for the comfort of resting mommies.

Do not throw sand in mommy’s eyes! You will get your hands dirty!

“Indeed, the sandbox is pine! A board on the side and a board overhead!” Daph thought. She suddenly wanted to burst out laughing, fall down and, rolling on the sand, repeat, “Well, have you eaten?” Realizing that she had started to become hysterical, she bit her hand painfully. The pain brought her to her senses.

Daph approached the arch, examined and even felt it. Her returned sight informed her that in front of her was plaster with a cheerful pattern of mould, and brick under the plaster. The arch was like an arch. Fully moronoid in every respect. There was no confirmed presence of a permanent magic teleport. So, the passageway was temporary.

So, here was the fatal danger Essiorh had imagined! A temporal shift had befallen the hapless keeper, and he had seen a threat that had not yet happened at that moment. If not for the appearance of the succubus confusing them, Essiorh’s help would have come opportunely.