Methodius Buslaev. The Scroll of Desires. Дмитрий Емец

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СКАЧАТЬ this?” Julitta asked. “And this is… a suicide. The wretch swallowed sleeping pills. She decided to frighten her husband a little. Twice she did it and they pumped them out. Did it the third time and here her husband was detained at work… Someone brought him a game disk! As if all these aren’t attached to our Chancellery,” willingly explained Mamzelkina. “Careful with the parchment, Juliatta, my little birch not yet sawn! Here the eidos is glued underneath, so as not to be mislaid. Take some pains with the receipt! Eide without a receipt will cost you dearly. Later you can’t render an account!”

      Julitta unwillingly wrote a receipt, took the stamp pad out of the box, and began to stamp with loathing where needed. She had hardly finished as bloody letters oozed on Mamzelkina’s copy.

      Delivered: Mamzelkina A.P.

      Senior Manager of the Necro-department

      Accepted: witch Julitta,

      Russian Division of the Chancellery of Gloom

      Secretary and Laboratory Assistant

      Witness: Buslaev M.I.

      Student of Gloom

      Mamzelkina had not yet read the parchment when the letters suddenly became milky and that part of the record, which concerned the witness Buslaev M.I., vanished into thin air. Methodius began to blink dumbfounded. The old woman sternly threatened him, “Oh, I know whose trick this is! It’s all your unsold eidos making a row! Doesn’t matter, I implicated a witness for the pile. And it’s okay without him,” muttered the old woman.

      Aida Plakhovna carelessly put the receipt into the knapsack and, staggering, picked up the scythe. “I’m going, kids, I’ll mow a wee bit. Already the legs don’t walk but the hands toil over everything. Well, if I take to my bed for good, how will people on Earth die, my hearts? Take care, Juliatta, take care, little orphan! Look after Ares, it’s hard for him. Ares suffers, indeed I feel for him. It’s all the cursed memory! And you, Methy, be healthy! Here, I know, trouble will come with such speed that you’ll be in a terrible mess!”

      “What trouble?” Methodius asked. “A-a-and, my dear, one immediately sees how green you are! Who asks Death about the future! If I answer you, then I’ll have to cut you down! So, interested?” Mamzelkina glanced at Met so pointedly that he even stepped back. A hot and empty abyss blazed in Aida Plakhovna’s small eyes. “No, don’t!” he said in a hurry. “As you wish! Suit yourself, paradise saved! Ciao, clear-eyes, and you know to watch over your eidos. Perhaps your eidos isn’t better than others’. I’ve transferred many of them, I know the price of each… But indeed awfully powerful forces stand behind it, your eidos, they do, they do… Here’s like in the casino: now and then, the seven is so bound to the eight that even an ace can’t butt in! Clear?” “Clear.”

      The old woman smirked. “I love intelligence. Are you indeed intelligent?” “Yes.” “That’s nice. And look after your Daphne! Indeed a painfully bright girlie – lest something doesn’t work out. Because of her. And… with her… Understand me?” It seemed to Methodius there was a hint – a very clear hint – in the old woman’s words. But to what extent her prophecy had to do with the near future – this he did not know. Buslaev felt that everything was not so simple here. Oh, how complex!

      Aida Plakhovna left, dragging her legs. Her dry, efficient cough reached them from the outside, and almost immediately somewhere on an adjacent street the siren of an ambulance howled heartrendingly. Whether these events were connected, Methodius did not know. Although he would not be surprised to find out that the old woman started her work while she was still here. True pros of the necro-department never stop working for a moment. Their scythe shoots up and falls down ten times a minute.

      After the departure of the industrious old woman, Methodius and Julitta remained in reception together. Julitta, on whom Mamzelkina dumped a pile of parchments requiring sorting, was again in a bad mood. After the succubae and agents, she, according to her own expression, took a long time restoring the acid-alkaline balance in her soul. Moreover, she had the usual date in the evening and had to scrape on the walls and gather together at least a bit of good emotion. Not wanting to be like a sponge taking in her dark mood, Methodius, for something to do, set off for the room adjacent to reception.

      This was a tight and gloomy nook by the stairs; the furniture there was only a sofa so decrepit that Methodius would not be surprised to find out that Noah himself slept on it in his ark. Something was gnashing in the dark, exactly a key turning in a lock, and a hoarse voice said, “The old sinner Protagor said, ‘Man is the measure of all things: of things which are, that they are, and of things which are not, that they are not.’ With these words he wanted to say, ‘If a man believes in the gods, then they exist, if he doesn’t, then they don’t.’”

      “Who’s here? I ask: who’s here?” Methodius nervously asked. He did not receive an answer, but wings started to flap, and Buslaev realized that Ares’ ancient prophetic raven was talking to him. The raven was so old that its feathers had come off in some places and dull pink skin peeped out. Now and then Methodius was surprised that the raven was still alive. Neither Ares nor Julitta ever fed it and generally, they extremely rarely recalled its existence. However, Methodius knew precisely that the raven was with them even in the lighthouse.

      His eyes gradually grew accustomed to the semidarkness. Methodius saw that the door of the cage was wide open. The raven was sitting on the back of the sofa and looking about askance. “Pour some water for you perhaps?” Buslaev proposed. The raven ruffled up indifferently. Methodius did not know whether the bird understood human speech or thoughtlessly repeated phrases heard sometime long ago. He sat in the semidarkness, listening as the large bird stirred in the dusk, sat for nearly half an hour, thinking about something vague. At first in his thoughts was Irka, whom he had treated rather poorly, not visiting her for a long time, and then finally Daph with her enormous white wings supplanted her.

      When Methodius was going to return to reception, the raven suddenly pecked the back of the sofa and said, “Into the cloth of centuries is interweaved this parable. She was a guard, and she threw onto his neck the lace with the wings, not knowing that she has to fall in love with him and share immortality with him. She did not know that the moronoid world would begin to draw her in, so that at some point in infinity hearts and fates will unite. So let the flute play!”

      Methodius quickly took a step towards the raven. “What are you talking about? Daph? What does it mean?” he nervously asked. However, the bird had already become silent again and was only indifferently walking along the back of the sofa. Whether this parable was from the past or the future, whose cloth was not yet woven, it was impossible to understand. After struggling with the raven for about ten minutes, Methodius nevertheless secured from it the next phrase, “He said: Dhul-Qarnayn! Gog and Magog are doing harm to this land; shall we pay tribute to you so that you would set up a barrier between us and them?” the bird said hoarsely, finally baffling Methodius. Buslaev angrily turned and left.

      He expected Julitta alone in reception, but during his absence there appeared Daphne and Tukhlomon, having already had time to forget that he had gotten it on the nose with the press, returned for some reason. “Strange that I did not hear them come in,” thought Methodius, turning around to look at the closet. “Interesting, did Daph hear how I tried to find out about her from the raven? Although, perhaps not.”

      Daph removed the overalls from the cat, leaving only the collar, and now the naked and terrible Depressiac, after stretching its wings, flew around reception. Occasionally it hung onto the heavy velvety drapes or with furious mewing ripped with its razor-sharp claws into one of the spying pictures. Julitta, in her leisure fond of shooting with the pistol at the pictures or practising throwing a dagger at them, treated this vandalism with moderate benevolence.

      Tukhlomon СКАЧАТЬ