by Dark, Masha
“What is it this time?” asked Dalana, peering at her reflection.
She needed to tinker with a few more details.
“Water,” replied Vasilisa. “In order to call forth that fire demon you needed a spark. Doesn’t it follow that in order to make a water demon appear, all you would need to do is turn on the tap?”
“You are clever, but only by half,” smirked Dalana.
“How so?”
“Well, if you were more foolish, you would never have guessed that there is a, as you expressed it, water demon,” explained Dalana. “But if you were just a bit wiser, you would have realized that the Khan of Water only lives in natural springs, and definitely not in this mixture of chlorine and oil that you call water.”
“Cool,” said Vasilisa approvingly. “Tell me, what are these Khans really? Well, I mean, I understand that they too are Begotten of Old…but how did they come about and all that?”
“It’s possible that I will tell you how ‘and all that’,” Dalana mimicked the girl, not unkindly. “But not right now. A matter far more important than your enlightenment awaits me.”
“Yes, I understand.” Vasilisa nodded her head. “I don’t even know what to wish you. Good luck?”
“You’d be better off wishing not to stick your nose out of the apartment, so you don’t bring any more problems down on our collective asses.”
Vasilisa did not dare to object – last night’s lesson was too fresh.
Within half an hour Dalana was sitting behind the wheel of a brand new car, once again marveling at how conscientious Stockholm drivers were…conscientious and slow. Her journey today led to the main office of the holding company SDA, where she was to meet with its CEO. He would help her dispose of the five million dollars she had received from Vasilisa.
Finding herself in a small traffic jam, Dalana turned on the radio. Music flowed from the speakers – someone was singing a version of a timeless Dalida song. Disengaging herself from the words, Dalana listened to the musical accompaniment for several minutes with pleasure. With the last chord of the song, the line of cars began to move.
Just as Dalana had expected, the SDA building was as impressive on the inside as it was unpretentious on the outside. Located in an alley near the Stortorget it was a lovely, solid and ancient building, and it managed to synthesize simplicity with elegance.
The secretary in the waiting room glanced at Dalana without any special respect. Well, that meant that her disguise had come off extremely well.
“Go in, Victor is waiting for you. Straight down the corridor, you’ll see the door with the sign,” the secretary said.
A jaunty silver title on a matte-black base laconically read ‘CEO’. Dalana pushed the door open and walked into the office.
“Good God!” she exclaimed, glancing around. “Half the country could be fed if all these things were auctioned off. Vic, is that really an original Renoir hanging in your office?”
Victor, a robust, dark-haired man, got up from his desk to greet Dalana.
“But of course,” he replied. “I have a Renoir, a Faberge and a Surikov, all original. It’s good to see you again, Dee.”
He gallantly inclined his head, simultaneously kissing Dalana’s outstretched hand. She lightly touched his beard with her fingers. The man shivered.
“The feeling’s mutual, Vic,” said Dalana in reply.
Recalling his dislike of telepathic communication, Dalana was ready to deliver all her replies aloud. Out of respect for Victor, she also planned not to rummage around in his thoughts. She trusted him, although, for the sake of prudence, ten minutes ago while sitting in her car, she had still scanned the entire length and breadth of the building.
“Please take a seat. You look stunning. But then again, you always do.”
“In this get-up? Don’t make me laugh,” Dalana replied dismissively.
“You smell the same as before,” said Victor.
“It’s the same perfume,” laughed Dalana.
She sat in the chair in front of his desk.
“You’ve hardly changed at all. Well, except maybe you’ve gone a bit greyer around the ears. You know, if anything you’re even more handsome than you were before. However, to business. Here.” Dalana expressively raised up her left hand, which held the Louis Vuitton bag. “An even five million. I need to put it somewhere more fitting than a handbag. Somewhere, as they say, with a view to the future.”
“It’s always business with you,” Victor said in disappointment. “We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years and you aren’t even interested in how I’ve spent all that time?”
“Well, judging from your circumstances, you’ve been thriving as always,” Dalana said, smiling.
“I’ve missed you, Dee,” said Victor in a serious voice. “These are all just knickknacks. When I received your message yesterday, it was like I was at that hotel again…. Do you remember? That night in Santa Cruz…I thought I’d found my only love…you, Dee…but you disappeared in the morning and I never saw you again. I searched for you, you know, for quite a long time.”
“I know,” Dalana nodded.
“Then I came to terms with it,” continued Victor. “You won’t believe it, but I was even going to get married. I was on the verge of a second wedding. She’s the one who left me, strangely enough…”
“Was she human?” Dalana frowned inquisitively.
“Yes.”
“Then that is definitely strange,” Dalana marveled. “You’re fabulously wealthy, handsome and good in bed. What else does a human woman need?”
“But what do you need?” Victor asked.
It seemed to Dalana that a hint of pain had slipped into his splendid, rich baritone. Was he really still in love with her? After fifteen years? What enviable constancy.
“Vic, you know that I have never experienced profound feelings towards any creature. Sometimes – not very often – I feel the need for sex. But I’ve never had sex twice with the same partner.”
“So that’s all I was to you – a one-night stand?” asked Victor sullenly.
But he immediately tried to assuage himself, “I don’t believe it! Our mutual attraction – I don’t believe that it died out or that between us it was…”
Victor stood up and walked over to Dalana.
“I would like,” he said hoarsely, “to rip off that wig and bury my face in your hair. Dee, can’t you understand that I have been unable to forget about you, even after all these years?”
He reached out to her.
“Victor!” Dalana raised her hand. “Have you by chance forgotten who I am?”
“Of course not,” the man exclaimed passionately.
“Then I hope,” continued Dalana, “that you also remember what to a large degree humans are for me. They are food. And I regard you, my sweet Victor, as almost human.”
Victor lowered his eyes. He knew she was right. His veins flowed with only one-eighth of the blood of a Begotten of Old. Victor was far past the age of sixty, but for the past three decades he had looked like a thirty-year old man. By human measures, Victor would live for quite a long time – several centuries – providing that he did not receive a fatal injury. But in the end he would still get old and die. Dalana herself did not know why she suddenly decided to break her own rule and sleep with a customer. Though, in truth, she did not really regret it. She disappeared from his life as stealthily as she had entered it, but she did periodically check up on Victor’s accomplishments. Now he ran a large holding company which really did not have any competitors. The uniqueness of SDA consisted in the fact that it represented the interests not only of humans, but also of the Begotten of Old. Of course, it did the latter secretly. As a matter of principle, very few individuals knew that SDA united the financial streams of both worlds. Just like his mother and grandfather, Victor possessed a Gift, and therefore wealth and success still walked hand in hand with him in his new business.
When Vasilisa informed her that she would pay
with cash, Dalana decided that the time had come to visit Victor. She was in dire need of his professional talents and was ready to pay for his qualified assistance.
Dalana realized that the silence had stretched on for too long.
“Let’s close this subject, Vic” said Dalana. “I, at any rate, would prefer to see you as a friend and not as a lover.”
“I’ll be your friend,” said Victor. “Let’s…It’s better so…even if it’s just occasionally – it’s better with you than without you.”
In the depths of her soul, Dalana was touched. But she could not allow herself to weaken and give way to emotions. For not that long ago a similar weakness had cost her too much.
“Well, then, let’s return to the heart of the matter.”
With these words, Dalana placed the bag on Victor’s desk.
“Here is five million dollars.”
“Are the bills marked?” asked the CEO in a businesslike tone.
“That’s impossible to say,” said Dalana. “So care should be taken. I would like to convert one million dollars into gold as future emergency funds.”
Victor nodded his consent.
“I want to invest one and a half million in some high-yield venture. Real estate, for example…or, what do you call it? – construction investments. Dispose of this sum as you see fit. I have full confidence in your expertise.”
“Thank you for your confidence,” smiled Victor. “I will certainly warrant it.”
“Of course you will,” nodded Dalana. “Well, finally the last piece of the pie. Vic, I would like to transfer this two and a half million to a different country in such a way that no single living soul besides the two of us knows about it. Well, except for the person who transports the money. This needs to be done quickly, on the day of the receipt of my signal.”
“You need a Courier.”
“That’s true,” replied Dalana. “From the Upper World. It is indispensable.”
“You do me an injustice, Dee,” said Victor. “I don’t employ any others.”
“Excellent, but that’s not all, Vic,” continued Dalana. “I need an account. In a dependable bank with a reliable reputation,” Dalana laid stress on the last phrase. “Soon a large sum of money will enter this account. This should not elicit questions, but at the same time it should be official and, as far as possible, legal. I wouldn’t want to lose this money.”
“I understand,” replied Victor. “Do you already have a new biography?”
“I plan to resolve that matter in the course of two or three days.”
“Perhaps you need my help?” asked Victor, gazing at Dalana with hope.
“For the time being, no, Vic,” said Dalana. “For starters, deal with my finances.”
And she stroked the top of the bag with her palm.
“Of course. We will make sure everything is to your satisfaction,” assured Victor, taking the suitcase to his side of the desk. “But…if something should happen, remember that I am always ready to help you, Dee.”
“Thank you,” Dalana smiled warmly. “It’s possible that I may still take you up on that offer.”
Dalana stood up.
“There’s no need to see me out.”
“I hope I see you again, Dee,” said Victor softly.
As she was exiting his office, Dalana involuntarily overheard how he was grappling with himself, forcing himself not to dash after her.
The hands of the clock pointed to half past one. Dalana was annoyed that it wouldn’t yet be dark when she got to the next item on her agenda. And so it was. She was in place before darkness fell, regardless of several traffic jams that she had to deal with along the way. Dalana would have to sit there for at least two hours waiting for the daylight hours to give way to dusk.
Having parked the car in a quiet corner, which to her relief there were quite a few of on this section of the road, Dalana became submerged in thought. If everything had more or less worked out with Victor and the bag, then the prospects for the forthcoming meeting were unclear.
Last night after Vasilisa finally went to bed, Dalana carefully, step-by-step, retraced in her memory the events of the night they had barely escaped from the crusaders. She smashed the glass and flew outside. Then she tired of flying and landed in a wood. Then there was the hurricane, called forth by the White Raven…But wasn’t there something else? Something else before the crusaders burst into the club? That’s it! The creature from the bog! It tried to tell Dalana something right before the raid. She had to visit that creature. Being aware of the fact that the Toad hated the transmogs, who had drained its native swamp, Dalana was sure it could tell her something interesting. Such as – how did the crusaders know about the existence of the club?
Dalana assumed that the club had escaped attention before. So now she was waiting for darkness to settle in so she could sneak into the basement of Wing in the hope of finding the yellow-eyed creature there. Dalana hoped it would still be alive, and she meant to talk to it…
Dalana left the car as soon as the sun began to sink behind the horizon. She needed some time to find a way through the cordon that the crusaders had set up around the house. A pair of agents, still quite young, had been on duty in the house for two days. They were most worried about when command would finally remember to send someone to relieve them. One wanted to watch a new blockbuster movie; the second was itching to bring his girl to a recently built recreation center. Neither understood what kind of a place they were guarding or what they were waiting for.
Sneering, Dalana soundlessly broke the lock off the basement doors and landed in the midst of stale darkness an instant later. The humans above were unable to smell the basement’s stench, but Dalana needed to hold her nose shut. A long moment went by before her nostrils grew accustomed to inhaling the foul-smelling air.
The thing she was searching for was in the most obscure and fetid corner of the basement.
I…am dying,“ the creature informed her, focusing its mental stream with difficulty.
It had shrunk to half its size and weakened so much that it could no longer raise its eyelids.
Humans infiltrated and killed the masters of this house. What do you know about this?
The masters…of this house?
The Toad attached so much contempt and hatred to this question that Dalana had felt chills rush up her back.
I lived here…almost from the beginning…this was my home, and I was its mast…
The thoughts of the creature broke off. For a second it seemed to Dalana that the Toad was dead, but then it stirred again. At its core, this beast with the golden eyes was far less powerful and mighty than a Khan or even an Edzen, but for many years it had been merged with its bog into an integrated whole. Was it possible to condemn it for its hatred of the transmogs?
They brought death to my home, continued the Toad after a fairly long pause. I brought death…to them.
The humans who killed your enemies, Dalana hastened to get the thought out, fearing that she did not have enough time to learn what was crucial. How did they come here? Did you summon them?
Those who drank from the bloody chalice…answered the creature. The human race fears them and…hates them… This hatred can… transform the victims into the hunters…
Was it you who summoned the humans? Dalana repeated.
The Toad again fell silent, completely ignoring her question. Dalana was curious about how the creature was connected to the crusaders.
Answer me! she demanded.
… in the end…
The thoughts of the creature flickered, as if they were a dozen tiny candles.
…everyone turns to ash…both humans, and those who ceased existing because of them…
At times the conversation style of the Begotten of Old seriously annoyed Dalana. So many different images had to be reproduced in one’s consciousness in order to communicate even the most primitive information. Human languages were far simpler. Humans valued convenience, whereas the Bego
tten of Old, to their detriment, chose fidelity to tradition. The Toad, who had managed to get out this bombastic rant, still had not managed to say anything of importance. The dying creature clearly did not want to disclose its secrets. The Toad was not so primitive that it would be possible to drag out the necessary information by force. Also, Dalana had the impression that an overly powerful mental blow would simply kill the beast, and all her efforts might come to naught.
That meant it was time for a different tack. Just so she didn’t actually make this painfully long trip for nothing, Dalana planned to thoroughly probe the crusaders who had invaded the house. If it could no longer be worked out with the Toad, then at the very least she needed to extract from the minds of those boys as much information as she could about the enigmatic CRUSS and about Marisa, whose death sentence had been sealed. Execution must never be pardoned. Vasilisa often reminded Dalana of the capricious young queen in Samuil Marshak’s fairy tale about the twelve months.
Dalana was about to leave when suddenly the beast raised its withered eyelid. The eye under it was already completely faded: it had turned from gold into a ghastly grey.
I hate both the one and the other, the Toad declared.
The malevolence that was bleeding into its mental stream gave it renewed strength.
Dalana froze in place and gazed intently at the creature.
I am already too weak, it continued, as its discolored eye gleamed without luster. I will not be able to… I will impart to you, Red Daughter, who it was that helped me.
3.
How can I praise the gods when I think them wicked?
Sophocles.
Marisa stepped out of her car and looked around. Here, just outside Stockholm, the morning was significantly colder than within the city limits and the breath of impending autumn could be clearly felt.
“There’s his mansion, beyond the wall,” Pavel said, grimacing as he climbed out of the car. “Like a prison, damn it.”
The massive wall enclosed a broad area and almost completely hid Soigu’s luxurious villa from the outside world.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that there isn’t a single guard?” Volsky asked.
