Methodius Buslaev. Ticket to Bald Mountain

Methodius Buslaev. Ticket to Bald Mountain
Dmitri Aleksandrovich Yemets

Methodius Buslaev #4
Аида Плаховна Мамзелькина, трудолюбивая старушка с косой в руках, пошла на серьезное должностное преступление, чтобы помочь Мефодию и его друзьям бежать от гнева главы Канцелярии мрака карлика Лигула. Мир лопухоидов велик, но в нем не спрячешься. Эдем и Тартар тоже отпадают: Эдема ученики мрака не заслужили, в Тартар же особенно торопиться не стоит! Остается только одно место, где Мефодия и его компанию не сразу догадаются искать… Лысая Гора. А еще Мамзелькин а посоветовала ребятам узнать тайну Лигула. Говорят, будто в молодости горбатый карлик провел несколько лет на Лысой Горе и очень невзлюбил это экстремальное местечко. Лигул же тем временем ищет Камень Пути, который даст ему упорство, силу, волю к победе в достижении главной цели – стать повелителем мрака…

Dmitrii Emets

Methodius Buslaev. Ticket to Bald Mountain

© 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

Methodius Buslaev – Ticket to Bald Mountain

Chapter 1

The Fairy Middlelina

Eddy Khavron yawned. Eddy Khavron Sighed. Eddy Khavron looked in the fridge, but discovered only soup from the day before yesterday, covered by a skin of congealed fat. He was hungry and angry. Only a handful of change jingled in his pockets, as if he pestered passers-by on the way to the subway.

His job at the fitness club had ended disgracefully a week ago, when, printing the next menu, Eddy, for the sake of mischief, changed its heading. In the new version the proud Queen of the Beach became Queen of Cellulite. According to Murphy’s Law, precisely this distorted menu was sent for radio ad preparation, and no one, of course, checked anything until the very last moment. Eddy’s boss did not appreciate the joke and, ejected from the quiet creek of cocktails and vitamin salads by a hostile coastal current, Eddy drifted further along the river of life.

Money quickly ran out. And then, his beloved sister Zozo, taking a long weekend, went off to a holiday centre near Moscow, where she attempted to arrange her fate once again. Daphne and Methodius had also disappeared somewhere, but Eddy hardly remembered them: there was no time for it. He, I repeat, was hungry and angry.

The doorbell tenderly chimed once, again, and suddenly had a fit. Khavron was surprised. He was not expecting anyone. “Who’s there?” he asked.

“Telegram!” he heard the reply.

Eddy opened the door. But, alas, he never got the telegram. If, of course, one does not count the telegram smacking his chin with a fist. He did not manage to dodge. The dusty doormat with the Demerdzhi Mountain was thoughtfully laid under his fallen body.

Nevertheless, Eddy had not lost consciousness and, lying on the mat, he watched three men stepped over his body and entered the apartment. The first was a stout, clean-shaven person in a white turtleneck and black jeans, over whose belt hung a fat and probably sweaty belly. The companions of the stout person were two typical mobsters dressed in tracksuits and sneakers. They differed from each other only in that one had auburn hair and the other had a scar across his cheek.

After slamming the door shut, the owner of the fat belly kicked Eddy.

“F***!” Eddy gasped.

“You’re it, you! Get up, sailor! We’ll talk!”

“Thanks. Better if I stay down. Had a rough day, you know,” Khavron declined, pensively touching his chin. He figured that if he got up, then he would most likely get it again.

“I said, get up!” the fat man said through his teeth and kicked him again.

Eddy got up reluctantly. He could understand intonations. They dragged him into the room and pushed him rudely into an armchair.

“I came to have a talk with you sailor to sailor. My name is Felix,” the stout person stated, straddling a chair.

Eddy wanted to ask why he called him sailor, but wisely kept silent. Call me sailor, just do not make me swim.

“Sailor, do you know why debts exist? In order to repay them! My job is to get money from those who don’t want to do this voluntarily,” Felix continued. The phrases poured out of him as if from a gramophone. Considerable experience and deep professional conformity were sensed.

“I don’t owe anything,” Eddy started to argue gloomily.

Refusing to own up, he hurriedly pondered over with which of his numerous debts this visit was connected. He owed a pile of people, but merely token amounts. In any case, there was no smell of a scuffle anywhere. At the most they would throw a cutlet or a tomato at him.

The fat man clicked his tongue. “Two years ago you worked in the Egypt restaurant?”

“Uh-h…” Eddy said, not daring to deny this. “Possibly. I worked in many places.”

“In the bar?”

“Well…”

Felix patted his cheek. “Smart boy, sharp! Remembers everything! So, sailor, you and your partner sold booze there and pocketed part of the takings. Then you quit. Your partner continued the previous stunt. He recently got caught… We already spoke with him,” the fat man looked at his own fist. “He repented and already paid a penalty. Besides that, he told us about you.”

“A real friend,” Eddy uttered miserably. Intuition advised him that denial was not the best idea in this case.

Felix chuckled approvingly. “Here’s a smart boy, understood everything! A real sailor! On the whole, three thousand from you, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Three thousand what? Roubles?” Khavron inadvertently blurted out and almost flew over the armchair. He did not even notice when the fat man swung. The pugnacious hulk definitely had a boxing past.

“No offence, sailor! Roubles aren’t considered here! This is so that you’ll be smarter. You’ll return the money?” Felix said.

“Yeah. No problem!” Eddy said maliciously, touching his cheekbone. “Oh yes, I forgot! I’ve donated it to the freezing of Antarctica! Please call my banker next week…”

The fat man’s fist took off again. This time Khavron caught the movement, which started in the hip, but, not having time to dodge, he again nuzzled his ear into the armchair.

“Listen, you! Keep your hands to yourself! What, do I look like one who has money?” Eddy yelled.

Frowning, Felix turned to his boys. The redhead, with great mental strain on his face, was cleaning his nails with a switchblade. The fellow with the scar was yawning openly, examining his sneakers. His long horse face was moody. Both were clearly bored with the routine work.