Дмитрий Емец: No Way Out at the Entrance

“The courageous rider of the hyeon. This is what you wanted to say?” Guy prompted with understanding. “He was obligated to either shoot the young or take it with him. But not to discard it… Arnaud, tell Till! Let him sort it out.”

The secretary made a note. An ideal secretary. Obliging, forgetting nothing, surprised by nothing. Ordered to kiss, he will kiss. Ordered to cut the throat, he will cut the throat. Ordered to kiss and cut the throat as well, he will do even this, moreover without a reminder and in the time indicated. Smoothed-over forelocks, a timely smile. He was a person surprising even for Guy, who was a good judge of scoundrels.

Once, not being able to resist and having taken the marker at his first dive, Arnaud cut heaven off himself, and so successfully that not even a scar remained. Now everything outside of the scope of his own body, his safety, comfort, and pleasures, was for Arnaud nonexistent. To obtain the maximum happiness, including happiness from juggling the fates of others, and to become clay. But he considered this period non-essential.

Where is Queen Cleopatra now? Did her beautiful body not become brick in some Egyptian cow shed? Is the French king Louis not eaten by worms, pecked by a bird, eaten by a fox, into which flies lay their larvae? On the whole, live in style, and your fly will come flying after you… Only one thing did not give Arnaud peace – Duoka . Why is this world empty? For whom?

“Bring the berserker’s head?” Arnaud clarified.

“Why?”

“Well, what do you mean why? Till for sure will propose it.”

“Work situation. Let Till sort it out himself,” Guy made a face.

“It’s still not grown, a pup. But lets itself be held. True, only by the owner. The others, no,” the young person in the sweatshirt continued ingratiatingly.

Guy frowned. “You yourself saw this? That it allows being held? Without a muzzle? Without something attached to the neck? Without electric shock?”

“Haven’t seen it myself. Our people described it. Unable to bring the hyeon onto the grounds of HDive. They hide it somewhere.”

“Who are they?”

“Rina, Athanasius, Ul, well and all the others with them,” the hdiver instantly responded.

Guy winked at him with a deathly pale eye, in which the reflection of a lamp was floating like the moon in a puddle. “Others with them? Broadly said. So, you’re not with them?” he said merrily.

“Well, they trust me, but I…” the youth began uneasily.

“I don’t care about your ‘I’. Kill her!” Guy interrupted.

The fellow in the sweatshirt was uneasy. “Who? Rina?” he asked, startled.

“For the time being, the hyeon,” Guy politely set him straight. “Find it and finish it off! I advise you to hurry. It’s approximately three months old. That’s the age when a hyeon usually takes wing. This one’s growing without a mother; therefore, possibly, it’ll take wing a little later. But all the same must hurry.”

The youth moved his eyes frantically. He did not intend to go so far. “Why? Perhaps I’ll simply find a place, and you’ll… well on the whole… take it away? Let it serve you,” he began to babble.

“It’s of no use to us. A hyeon that trusts someone is a freak. And freaks must be destroyed. Do you agree with me?” Guy’s voice tinkled slightly.

“Y-yes,” hurrying, the youth said.

“Let him go!” ordered Guy. The hands holding the hdiver unclenched.

The berserker looking like Grandfather Frost mockingly straightened his sweatshirt. “Don’t forget to clean up! And here, you’ll have to find a new lace for your trinket,” he said, returning the clms .

“One more thing!” recalled Guy. “About the hmm-m… Gorshenya. You said it interfered with you at the beehive. What does it generally do in the Labyrinth?”

“Don’t know. It often hangs around there. Especially if the moon is out,” said the hdiver.

“And when there’s no moon?”

“When there’s no moon it goes off to the park and disappears there till morning.”

“Strange,” Guy drawled. “Why go to the shady park on moonless nights, where you’ll see little even with the moon? If it wants to frighten or catch someone, enough to stand up by the path, which leads to the stable.” “Sweatshirt” looked at him with surprise, not understanding how the geography of HDive was so well known to him.

“Follow Gorshenya! Where it goes, why!” ordered Guy. “I want to know what it does each second of a moonless night. And try this with the bees!” He, not looking, stretched out his hand and immediately the attentive secretary put in his hand a small glass jar. Something similar to milk separated by water was splashing about inside. “Grease the roof of the beehive with this. Well, and other places where the bees rest. Only a thin layer. And use gloves. The poison is very dangerous,” said Guy.

The youth stretched out his hand and, having touched Guy’s dry finger for a moment, fearfully took the jar. “Bees are immortal. What have our novices not done with their bees!” he warned almost joyfully.

The corner of Guy’s mouth sagged with annoyance. “Bees are constantly cleaning their queen. When this passes to it through their legs, it will become barren and perish. There won’t be new bees, sooner or later there won’t be HDive.” The youth shuddered and straightened up. It seemed for a second that he would now fling the jar at Guy, but then he stooped and hid it in his pocket.

“What are you waiting for? Move!” ordered Guy. The youth did not leave. Even when they grabbed his shoulder and nudged slightly, he remained on the spot. Pressing the clms against his chest, he was looking around with uneasiness at Guy. “Well, what’s the matter?” Guy asked impatiently but with secret teasing encouragement in his voice.

“You promised!” the youth said anxiously.

“Ah, well yes… So be it!” Guy stretched lazily and, making his face a rubber mask, with a bitten nail touched the youth’s forehead.

The young fellow in the sweatshirt shuddered. A wave of pleasure passed throughout his body. He tried to hide it but his face gave him away. His mouth smiled weakly. His eyelids grew heavy. Droplets of sweat came out on his forehead. When Guy took his finger away from the forehead, the youth did not even notice. Then, losing his balance, he took a step and bumped his tummy into the chair. The berserkers guffawed with understanding.

“Only don’t abuse it!” advised Guy.

“I can stop any time!” the youth said obstinately.

“I know you can,” Guy agreed willingly, lovingly shaking down the shoulders of his dusty sweatshirt. “But all the same don’t spend it all immediately. I’m begging you!”

The youth pulled his collar with a finger and, having nonchalantly pushed aside a berserker in his way, went to the edge of the platform. He was stepping lightly, getting up on his toes, and felt an unaccustomed ease in his body. He wanted to push off and fly, but here was the trouble – a low ceiling.

At the edge of the platform, the youth felt something rolling in the sleeve of his sweatshirt and scratching his skin. He pulled up the sleeve. A dead bee with folded wings fell out. He leaned over it. Then he straightened. Something buzzed in the tunnel, approaching. The youth in the sweatshirt looked around. A yellow cyclopean eye was hitting his face. The young man burst out laughing, slipped the unlaced clms onto his arm, took a run and, after jumping directly towards the eye, teleported the moment before collision with the train.

Guy and his secretary Arnaud exchanged glances. “If our young friend knows about the hyeon, it means so does Kaleria. And she hasn’t interfered. Thereby, she sets up the whole situation…” Guy said slowly.