Methodius Buslaev. Third Horseman Of Gloom

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 - The Nagant M1895 revolver, designed by Belgian industrialist Léon Nagant (1833–1900), was adopted by the Russian Empire in 1895 as standard issue firearm.] 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 - The copper mines of Timna Valley in Southern Israel had been attributed to King Solomon, but most archaeologists considered them to be earlier than Solomon’s era.]

“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 - Vladimir Ivanovich Nemirovich-Danchenko (1858–1943) was a Russian and Soviet theatre director, playwright, producer, and co-founder of the Moscow Art Theatre.] 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.