Methodius Buslaev. Ticket to Bald Mountain

“Yes, but…”

“You don’t notice anything suspicious? That’s right! A smoldering fuse! Throw it, idiot!”

Moshkin obediently threw it. A white flash tossed the sneaker up and tore it to shreds. Tongues of flame danced on the curtains. Eugeny put them out with water left in the carafe the minute he glanced at it.

“Zudu-u-uka!” Chimodanov screamed, shaking his fist. “Zudu-u-ka! I’m going to kill you!”

The bald monster, giggling, hid under the sofa, on which the actor playing Othello, overdoing it, once strangled the actress playing Desdemona.[4 - The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice (1603) is a Shakespearean play. Othello, having been manipulated, smothered his innocent wife Desdemona out of jealousy.] There was no possibility whatsoever to pull Zuduka out from there. After kicking the sofa several times for order, Chimodanov squatted down and picked an empty small box off the floor. Then another, and another…

“Everything’s clear. It stuffed the whole sneaker with match heads! It must have been planning a big bang!” he informed them.

“Why?” Moshkin asked.

“Just because. It’s a genius of malicious thoughts. You didn’t offend it?” Chimodanov asked.

“No. I didn’t even look at it!” Moshkin said, losing confidence with each following word.

Petruchio nodded. “Clear,” he said.

“What’s clear?”

“It’s angry that you didn’t pay it any attention. Zuduka is terribly self-centred.”

“And who would?” Nata chuckled. “His owner is solid ‘b-but!’ with double underscores.”

Nata got up and, having approached the mirror, began to examine herself attentively. She did not do this like teenage boys and their fathers, i.e. statically, without changing anything in himself and only visually evaluating the width of the shoulders and how the suit fits, but very actively, in a feminine way. Her hands flittered, now fixing her hair, now anxiously touching different parts of her skin, which must have seemed problematic to her.

“How do you like it here? This house in the centre and the other absurdities?” she asked languidly.

“It’s quite something… If we forget that we were recently nearly finished off,” said Chimodanov. “Besides, there’s no need to hide monsters from anyone! Even if Zuduka smashes all the walls here, Ares only grunts. At home, if you accidentally break the TV, you’ll be nagged to death… ‘Think about your behaviour! Do you need to put road signs in the hallway?’ And all that… What, is it my fault that Zuduka found a chainsaw? Huh?! Why did you saw the legs off the nightstand, scamp?” Petruchio kicked the sofa again. Something moved under the sofa.

“Do you miss your mother?” Moshkin asked.

Chimodanov shrugged his shoulders uncertainly. “I see her a couple of times a week. That’s enough for me. I didn’t think she would give in to me studying in some boarding school, but Glumovich charmed her terribly! He joined her in the civil commission! Counts traffic lights on Tverskaya Street, translates letters into English, and recently unscrewed a No Entry sign somewhere and presented it to her together with a bouquet,” he yawned.

“And if your mama has a fancy to appear unexpectedly at the school to visit you there?”

“Don’t think so. Ares swore that she wouldn’t even have such thoughts,” Petruchio said confidently.

“And you, Moshkin, how do you like it here?” Nata asked.

Eugeny honestly thought about it. “I don’t know. Still not used to it. Although Ares said that, in addition to water, I’ll possibly be able to control fire in a couple of years. It seems, I only need to grasp the essence… The main thing is primary magic and the gift of a guard. The rest is here!” he touched his forehead with a finger.

“And how do you like it here?” Chimodanov asked.

“It’s cool here,” Nata said. “Better than home. A massive room with an oak bolt. No one can poke his nose in.”

“Don’t you miss home?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t want to be home! I essentially didn’t have a home,” Nata stated.

“How’s that?”

“It’s like this. Mama has a new husband. All the time this ‘attention!’ Butts in telling me how to dress. ‘This is indecent! You’re running around with such hair?’ And all that. And then my older sister got married. If mother’s husband is a soldier, then this one is a bozo. He put a password on the computer. Takes my tapes without asking and writes some of his own nonsense on them.”

“How many rooms do you have?”

“Two,” Nata said.

“Oho. Fun for you! And you didn’t think to… well, you know?” Petruchio uttered.

“Zombify? Are you kidding? Then where would I go to get away from those two baboons? They so hate each other. Mama’s husband is this soldier all over, while Inka’s husband dodges the army.”

Nata said this so disdainfully, as if her mother and sister were married not to people but to some irksome cockroaches. Moshkin thought that it was better not to pity her now. You would only get it in the nose for pity.

Nata’s gaze stopped pensively at Methodius’ door. “By the way, who thinks what about Buslaev? In my opinion, he’s all right, a normal guy, although this girl that’s with him… pfff…”

“Are you talking about Daph?” Chimodanov asked dreamily.

“Yeah. Some walking absurdity! How she squints her eyes when she’s angry! I’m, you know, good and all that, but you got to me. The enthusiasm? The backpack? A cat with wings! And the balalaika in a holster?”

“I emphasize: it’s a flute,” Chimodanov said drily. Whatever Nata might say, he liked Daphne. But he liked Methodius considerably less. Although, it was not surprising. People are much more lenient to creatures of the opposite sex. They willingly forgive everything that, for which their own sex would have been smeared on the wall long ago.

Nata looked at Chimodanov very sourly. “You already emphasized. Imagine, I surmised…”

“Apparently, you’re provoking us to disapproval. Are you sure that it’s the correct way?” Moshkin said. Like the majority of timid people prone to reverie, he was very smart and observant.

“And you, cornstalk, jump on one leg and keep quiet! You’ll soil your nose!” Nata frowned.

Zuduka crawled out from under the sofa, holding in its teeth a kind of fly swatter on a long handle, the wide end of which was all studded with nails, and began to sneak up on Nata. Chimodanov discreetly showed it a fist. Pictorially playing bewilderment, Zuduka sat down on the floor and started to scratch its back with the fly swatter handle.

* * *

Methodius and Daphne returned at about ten in the evening. After disgustedly dumping about three dozen rat skins and two dog skins into the corner, Methodius washed his hands for a long time.

“We in Eden write on birch bark, effortless and pretty. Or on papyrus. Or on eucalyptus leaves. You write and you appreciate the fragrance!” Daph said, teasing him.

“Birch bark is the skin of birches. If so, then I prefer a well-skinned rat,” Methodius said and leaned over, pretending that he wanted to snatch a rat skin with his teeth.

Daphne recoiled in fear. Depressiac, having accidentally dozed off on her shoulder, fell down into the wine fountain and, after jumping out, sticky and disgusting, began to scamper around reception, toppling everything that could be overturned in theory and in practice.

On hearing the noise, Nata, Chimodanov, and Eugeny Moshkin went down.

* * *

About two hours later Julitta arrived. Alone. She was pale and exhausted. She looked bad. Her plump, usually rosy, full-of-life face resembled a balloon from yesterday’s party, which had already begun to deflate. There were blue shadows under her eyes. Having just teleported, she went up to the fireplace hall, went to an armchair, and collapsed into it, worn out.

Daph silently nudged Methodius with an elbow. “Ares!” she whispered. “Why is she alone?”