Clan Dominance - the Sleepless Ones 2

by Dem Mikhailov

  “I get that much. You’d lasted a hell of a long time; I’d be howling and banging my head on the floor in about a week. But what about that guessing business, anyway?”

  “Listen up. Three days later, on a bright snowy morning, the old mute guy failed to leave his shelter. No sign of him in the afternoon, either. I knocked; nothing. I pulled the handle; locked. I got around the shelter and scraped the hoarfrost off the glass the best I could. So I peeked inside and saw the old man lying on the floor by the bed, looking right at me, with a kind smile on his face.”

  “What do you... What do you mean, a smile?”

  “He’d died,” I replied casually, picking up the glass. “Down the hatch. Here’s to the dear departed.”

  “Hold on! You’re shitting me! What do you mean, died?”

  “The way people normally do. He just did,” I shrugged and downed the vodka in a single gulp, not even feeling the taste. “Could have been be the ticker or whatever.”

  “Shit... So what did you do?”

  “Well, I shouted and banged on the windows for a while like an idiot. Obviously, to no avail. I couldn’t get in, either, since the door was massive and you’d need to pull it; the windows were barred. It was a military installation, after all. And all the tools I had were a well-worn knife for peeling potatoes and a can-opener. No way of getting in; the old man had been keeping all the rest of the stuff in his shelter. So instead of two heated shelters there suddenly was one, as well as a mausoleum, with me playing the part of a honored visitor who could observe the venerated mummy, but not approach it. Like living next to Lenin’s Mausoleum on Red Square and visiting daily. Funny, isn’t it?”

  “You’re shitting me, Ros! This is the furthest thing from funny!” Claw barked, bulging his eyes at me. “And don’t smile like that, Ros, you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies! So, what did you do?”

  “What could I do? I started waiting for the helicopter. I’d had enough to eat — not much, but I didn’t starve. Pity I ran out of tea leaves soon; by the fifth day, I was out. I tried to re-brew the old leaves, but it’s not the same thing, as you understand. I ate, I read, I slept, I listened to the howling wind, and tried to scrape through the other shelter’s door with my knife. I also visited Nikitich every day, that’s what the old man’s name was. I’d scrape off the hoarfrost and watch. And he kept changing every day. It was warm in the shelter, after all, lights, heaters, everything. And he started smelling, too. Maybe there was a smell, maybe there wasn’t. There shouldn’t have been — the shelter had been sealed, after all, but I still got that impression. And the dead guy, well... He started to spoil, as it were... and to move gradually...”

  “What do you mean, move? Where?”

  “Toward the door, I think. He definitely moved a few inches,” I said, perfectly serious. “I may have been seeing things, but I got scared, so I stopped scraping the door, and even barricaded it with an empty oil drum. And piled some snow on top. Just in case. You never know. Then, around ten days on, Nikitich started to resemble corned beef. Or, perhaps, pasta Bolognese. You know, the decomposition process...”

  “Stop it, Ros! That’s way too much freaking detail! What happened next?”

  “The helicopter came,” I smiled wanly. “With my father on it. But it wasn’t in eleven days, but, rather, seventeen and a half. I’d been wolf hungry by that point, with nothing by canned stuff left, and I couldn’t eat any of that — I’d think of Nikitich each time I’d look at a can. I only found out that my father had specifically requested to delay the helicopter to come over personally and to have a serious conversation with his prodigal son. Six days weren’t critical, after all, and he’d had some important business at the Admiralty, and couldn’t come any sooner, but he did, eventually. The copter landed, he got out, all solemn, like, and giving me a heavy look from underneath his eyebrows while I was shuffling my feet toward him. Once we were some two paces apart, he gets very self-important, and says, ‘Son.’ I nodded. And then let him have it. Right in the eye.”

  “Your father?”

  “Who else? Him and none other. Then I started yelling, it was like a fit,” I gave a sad chuckle. “I kept shaking, spittle flying all over, arms and legs flailing. I did get him a few more times; then he overpowered me and shoved my face in the snow, barely able to hold me. The rest of them jumped out of the copter, baffled as hell — some uppity young lad punching a well-respected rear admiral in the kisser isn’t something you see every day. I kept howling, totally batshit, hurling all kinds of curses at them and all their kin. Then I managed to break loose, pounced at the pilot, and started to choke him with my hands, literally — all he could do was wheeze. It took three big guys to pull me away and to stick my face into the snow again. Hey, Vlas, cat got your tongue? Let’s have another one.”

  “Sure... Let’s,” he nodded sedately. “I could sure use a stiff one. But why the pilot?”

  “Well, he flies the helicopter,” I nodded. “And it didn’t arrive on schedule. Must have been that. I wasn’t really myself at that point. There’s nothing left to tell. They tied me up like a parcel, poured a stiff brandy down my throat, I came to my senses a bit. Told them what had happened. And that was the end of my polar odyssey.”

  “Did they take you home afterward?”

  “Yeah, but first they got some military doctor to see me. Another old guy; I think he worked with submariners. Checked if they were fit for service, talked to them, asked them all kinds of questions, and so on. So they took me to see him first, and do you know what the doctor’s name was? You won’t believe it — Andrei Nikitich! Nikitich, no less! Once I heard that, I started giggling, and couldn’t stop for about forty minutes. But he turned out to be a fine guy, after all, really understanding. Before I knew it, I’d already told him everything about my life since childhood. And I got a pleasant surprise from him as he left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, once he’d finished talking to me, he apologized politely, and departed to pay a visit to the next office, my father’s, that is. And the walls are paper-thin there. He yelled like crazy, you should have heard him. I even picked up about five new swearwords. Then they took me home to mom. So that’s the story, Vlas. I spent a few months at home, took some meds, and left as soon as I got back to my senses. My father gave me some money, so did my mother, and I moved here. Sorry for not having let you know. I really don’t know why. Maybe I deserved that punch. You can give me another.”

  “Stop it, Ros. After what you’ve told me...” Claw shook his head. After a while, he smiled widely and barked, “Although, if you’re offering, I can punch you in the noggin again!”

  “Just you try!” Kyre appeared in the doorway, dressed in pajamas and with a towel wrapped around her head. “I’ll beat the shit out of you!”

  “Oops... So, how long have you been eavesdropping, my dear walking epidemic?” Vlas inquired.

  “Like I’m gonna tell you!”

  “You’re supposed to be in the shower!”

  “For a whole hour? What am I, a mermaid? Ros!”

  “Let’s have a drink,” I interrupted the girl hastily. “Then it’s my turn.”

  “Your turn for what?” Claw looked surprised.

  “A shower! What else?”

  “No, brother,” Vlas disagreed, and added knowingly, “With that much vodka inside of you, hot water will make you a zombie. No way, José. You can do it after the restaurant. No one’s going to smell you. But we can totally have a drink. Kyre, what would you like? Wine again, or something stronger?”

  “Vodka,” the young woman replied, sitting down next to me.

  “That’s the way we do it,” the big guy looked pleased. “Kyre, chips are snacks, they’re not for stuffing your face with a whole bunch! Keep your hands to yourself! And who was the rat who’d gobbled up the other pack from the stash?”

  The girl ignored Vlas and his outrage, pointing her finger at the piece of metal hanging on the wall, asking,

&nbs
p; “So... What’s this thing? Or is it some horrible secret once again?”

  “Secret, my foot,” I made a dismissive gesture, irritated. “Just an old piece of rusty iron that belongs at the scrap yard, which is where it came from in the first place.”

  “Don’t even think about it!” Vlas looked incensed. “It’s a rarity! I’d kept it carefully for years... in the corner of my garage. It’s a legendary weapon! Epic class, with lots of mighty bonuses! The vorpal sword of Ros himself!”

  “Vlas!” I barked. “Oh, never mind! Kyre, don’t listen to him, let me tell you how it was. We got into a fight once because of those two idiots — Skinhead Pasha and the one that’s pouring the vodka now.”

  “Watch it now!”

  “Idiots, I say,” I resumed mercilessly. “It’s just that he’d gone as Dumpling rather than Claw in those days.”

  “Ros!”

  “He does look like one,” Kyre admitted, taking a good look at Vlas’ mighty frame.

  “We could have handled everything peacefully, but Vlas couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, and Pasha headbutted the first guy he saw, as usual. So it all kicked off. There were about twelve of them and five of us. That’s when I chanced across this piece of metal. I waved it around a few times, got someone on the skull, and that was that. Then those idiots nicknamed me Katana, even though this piece of junk looks nothing like a sword,” I glanced at the rusty artifact sideways.

  “No way! That’s not how it was! We were near this garage lot, late at night, it was almost pitch black. Ros got kicked a few times and fell into the gutter, so we started thinking we were one man down. Then there was this really loud yell, he pops out of the ditch like a jack-in-the-box with this thing in his hands, and decks someone over the head with it. The guy’s lights go out. Ros turns around and thrusts it into another guy’s midsection. He folds and starts howling, ‘I’ve been stabbed! He’s got a sword!’ Well, so that was the end of the fight.”

  “That’s the very thing I said,” I chuckled, recollecting those halcyon days. “Didn’t I tell you to park the car next to the apartment block? It would have been safe and sound. But Max got all paranoid, like, ‘They’ll steal it! They’ll scratch it! We can’t!’ Well, look where those garages got us.”

  “But we still got the car to safety!”

  “We sure did,” I agreed. “Only Max got his arm broken, and you still have a scar on your face.”

  “Vlas, didn’t you tell me you got the scar in a fight when you managed to defeat six thugs on your own?”

  “Did I?” Vlas looked surprised and shrugged. “I can’t remember. I must have been drunk.”

  “I’ll call you Dumpling from now on,” Kyre promised somberly.

  “Kyre!”

  “Dumpling, liar, pants on fire!”

  “Kyre!”

  “And take this crap off the wall! There’s rust flaking off all over the bed!”

  “It’s an artifact! I have kept it faithfully all these years to return it to its rightful owner!”

  “Long words don’t suit you... Dumpling.”

  “Guys, why can’t we all just get along?” I asked, with a sigh. “So, are we going to a restaurant?”

  “Sure thing!” Vlas replied confidently. “Just let’s finish the second bottle. We still have time.”

  “Who’s driving?”

  “Pasha will pick us up in his SUV. So, here’s to the return of Ros! Kyre, leave the chips alone!”

  “By the way, Ros, Ms. Bobrikov told us to thank you for the cake.”

  “Come again? What cake?”

  “While you were inside the cocoon, we gave her a huge glazed cake on your behalf. Decorated with a heart and the words ‘To the best neighbor ever!’ We’d also wanted to write her name on it, but there wasn’t enough space.”

  “Are you nuts? Why the hell?!”

  “Are we drinking or are we not? Stop warming up the vodka!”

  “What do you mean, why? That’s how it’s done. She makes pastries as a token of apology, and we send her a cake as a token of our appreciation.”

  “Who asked you to?! Mamma mia...”

  “Bottoms up! By the way, your neighbor’s great! And she makes a mean cup of tea with cardamom, too!”

  “So she invited you in?!”

  “What else were we supposed to do for three hours? Watch you in your cocoon?”

  “But why the hell...”

  “What’s done is done! Cheers!”

  “Cheers! As for that rusty thing, Vlas, take it anywhere you like but here, I don’t like it.”

  “Cheers! Mamma mia...”

  Chapter Five

  Whining and Complaining as a Way of Getting Rich. The Return to the Feast of Life and Minor Chores. The Treacherous Merry Man.

  THE SMILE ON MY FACE was wide enough to make any politician green with envy. Little wonder, that — I was genuinely happy for once.

  No hangover! None! Not even a trace of it.

  As soon as I submerged into the world of Waldyra, the throbbing pain in my temples vanished completely. A true blessing no words could ever describe — like going to heaven without having to die first.

  I was sitting on a bench next to a respawn location in the village of Selene, squinting at the rising sun with true delight, ruminating on the morning’s events, and waiting for my courier.

  I’d woken up half an hour ago, finding myself in my own bed, thankfully. Embracing Kyre, for the love of God. Nothing remotely lewd about the scenario — she was in her pajamas, and I had my t-shirt and my tracksuit bottoms on (I’d checked first thing). And it wasn’t me hugging her, but the other way round... I didn’t remember changing, either. My recollection of any events that had happened after 2 AM was fuzzy at best.

  I got out of bed instantly, covered Kyre, who was still sleeping blissfully, with a blanket, and then rushed toward the kitchen, where I took an aspirin and downed about half a gallon of water. My mouth felt like it had been used as a litter tray by all the cats in the neighborhood.

  I carefully took my phone out of the room, moving it to the kitchen — fortunately, the wire’s length allowed it. I waited for the kettle to boil, made a strong cup of joe, and then dialed a familiar cell phone number.

  “Hello!” The voice sounded hideously chipper and upbeat, and indicated that its owner had slept well last night. I couldn’t have guessed I was calling someone who’d just been in a traffic accident.

  “Gosha?” I inquired, somewhat confusedly.

  “Ros! Whuddup!” The voice became even louder, making my head ring like a bell. “How’s tricks?”

  “Just peachy,” I replied. “Glad to hear you’re fine.”

  “You could have paid your wounded comrade a visit, you know,” Gosha said gruffly. “Or at least send some flowers and a basket of oranges. Even sour apples would do.”

  “I couldn’t have,” I refuted the accusation vehemently. “I’ve been hiding Kyre all along, remember?”

  “Sure you have. Didn’t seem to stop you from partying with old friends, but visiting a comrade at the hospital sure was beyond you, what with you hiding Kyre, and all that... By the way. I’m really grateful to you for helping out me and Kyre. I owe you a hefty bonus for that one.”

  “You don’t, Gosha. I wasn’t doing it for money.”

  “I know. OK, we’ll discuss it later. As for Kyre — she’ll be moving out tonight; tomorrow morning the latest. We’ve taken care of all the problems, and twisted the perpetrators’ balls counterclockwise with enough force to get the message across. So, just hold on for a little bit longer.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling,” I chortled, glancing sideways at the bedroom door. “There’s something else...”

  “Need help with money?”

  “Yeah. But not real world money. Waldyra money. As well as a few other things. Sorry for pestering you about it, but I kinda have my back against the wall here.”

  “Chill, Ros. What exactly do you need?”

  “At least
a hundred gold pieces as petty cash and a dozen scrolls, from Algora to any location and back,” I rolled the entire list cheerfully, wincing at my own impertinence. “Also, I could really do with some equipment for a Level 20 battle mage. No Epic class stuff, I’ll take anything.”

  “Level 20?” The banker’s voice started to sound somewhat irritated. “Is that how far you’ve gotten?”

  “Not quite. I’m Level 23.”

  “Same difference. All right... Kyre hasn’t made any progress at all, anyway. So, you need a bag of gold, a few portal spells, as well as equipment for a Level 20 mage. Consider it done. When are you logging in, and where will you be?”