Everyday Life in the Garden of Eden

The cat Depressiac looked like a walking reproach. Its mama was a nice and tidy Eden kitty, but papa was a run-away cat-monster from Gloom, with leathery wings, a tail with a notch, red eyes without eyelids, claws, and fangs, from which dripped poison. When they banished it from the Garden of Eden, two nervous guards fainted, and a third, well scratched, was taking the antidote for a long time. Depressiac, fruit of this short union, inherited if not all the best features of its papa, then indeed precisely the most outstanding.

It was naked, without a single wool strand, red-eyed, skin with folds, and membranous white wings, on which all arteries and veins could be seen. A walking biological atlas of unnatural essences and an obvious bio-vampire to other merits. After putting it on one’s lap for a minute, it was possible to be deprived of one’s good mood for a week. Only its nature was more nightmarish than its looks. Depressiac picked a fight with whatever necessary, right up to stone griffins, and the number of its scars was comparable only to its one-hundred-and-twenty sharp teeth, which grew in three rows. It had lost its right ear in a scuffle, and someone’s sharp claws had torn the left one into three parts, exactly like a flag shot through by shrapnel.

All day Depressiac flew around the Garden of Eden and hunted, dreaming of transforming some bird of paradise into a small carcass with the same name. Fortunately, the birds of paradise were on the alert. Depressiac did not dare attack the phoenix or the calm, serene falcons confident in themselves. Even if its brain was not functioning well, it was not suicidal.

Only Daph with her tendency towards unpredictable behaviour could have enough imagination to acquire for herself such a beastie. However, even Daph was justified by Depressiac establishing itself.

It happened this way. Once, an extremely unpleasant sound woke her up in the morning. Someone was ripping something up into shreds, and this something, in all likelihood, was the pillow on which she slept. After opening her eyes, Daph saw membranous wings and a crushed, dissatisfied whiskered snout.

Daphne in a hurry checked whether her wings were in place. The bronze wings were hanging by a leather cord on Daph’s neck. They were small, not exceeding half-a-hand in size. However, this was the most valuable thing that any guard of Light treasured and feared to lose most of all. To each guard of Light the wings were as dear as the darx to a guard of Gloom. However, a difference nevertheless existed. If in a darx were stored enslaved eide, then in the wings was accumulated the energy of appreciation of already rescued eide. It goes without saying that they were the ones the guards of Light were successful in winning back and snatching out from the tenacious paws of guards of Gloom.

All this time the cat continued to observe Daph. It had already stopped ripping up the pillow. Feathers were dancing in the air.

“What do you need, stray nightmare? You’re well aware that I hate cats, dogs, and small hamsters? My weaknesses are rattlesnakes, tarantulas, and chameleons,” said Daphne.

The cat kept silent — only looked at her with eyes red like burning coals, which first narrowed, then enlarged.

“You’re hypnotizing me? A lost cause!” Daph stated.

The cat continued to look. It clearly was not hurrying off anywhere.

“Okay: convinced, disgusting! Milk or shall we dance?” Daph gave up.

The cat meowed hoarsely.

“So, milk,” Daph translated. “And then take yours wings and shoo! I warned you: I don’t need cats!”

She approached the little cupboard and opened the creaky door. She adored any moronoid junk, which she secretly dragged here from the mortal world. They could be flown in and frequently they were; however, Daph somehow spit on that.

The cat refused the milk, only sniffed it with disgust. It also decisively ignored the canned fish, nectar, and even ambrosia.

“Well, excuse me! I don’t have anything better. Only sulphuric acid!” Daph, who recently brought it in for some experiment, said in exasperation.

Depressiac began to meow excitedly and, soaring, attempted to knock the bottle of sulphuric acid out of Daph’s hand. It even succeeded in biting off the neck with its triangular teeth.

“You’re sure you actually want it? Well, your risk! I very much hope that you’re immortal,” pensively pronounced Daph.

Without stopping to purr, the cat drank all the sulphuric acid from the smoking bowl.

“Well, I’ll be!” Daph said, after making sure that the cat was still living. “I like you. You won’t object if I’ll call you Depressiac? This name is simply created for you. I’m not inviting you to stay; however, you can hop in to see me from time to time.”

The cat indifferently flopped down on its side and began to lick a hind paw. It clearly did not need permission and wanted to spit on any cooing. So began their acquaintance. Later Daph already grasped that the cat could not be petted and held. Blisters would immediately appeared and the mood would instantly go down to minus. Depressiac’s claws left tracks even on iron and stone.

But then it turned out to be simply impossible to get rid of the cat. Depressiac was wonderfully oriented in space, including the fifth dimension. Several times, it disappeared for a long time, but afterwards found her wherever it wanted — in the most improbable places. Daphne was sure that it would sense her even on the Moon.

***

In the morning when everything began, Daphne — simply Daph — simply Da... on the whole, regardless what she was called... without any special purpose was roaming around the Garden of Eden. White clouds, the sun, sweet-smelling roses, cedars of Lebanon, arches twined with grapevines... It was all-normal and, as was customary all the time, plunged her into ennui. A blasphemous thought came to Daph’s mind that the Garden of Eden, putting it mildly, was somewhat dull.

Daph approached the pond, in which several mermaids (three mermaids were laughing aloud invitingly, and one, in an unrefined manner, was eating a raw fish), were splashing, and, after leaning towards the water, stared at their own reflection. Turned-up nose, long hair gathered into two of the longest bright tails standing up on end at unthinkable angles (nothing but the magical arranging of extremity of the third degree, in operation no more than seventy years after the imposition of invocation), chubby lips, and a generally bored expression of the face.

“Could be vampires here! Or, at least a couple of terrible ghosts clanging with chains! It would add a little peach into this sweet syrup!” Daph thought and with vexation threw a pinecone at the laughing mermaids.

This was not the best idea, because the mermaids immediately answered Daph with volleys of rotting algae and clay from the bottom, and the one who was eating a fish very successfully launched the unfinished head at her. Depressiac attempted to dive from above onto one of the mermaids and grab hold of her hair, but the mermaid very deftly caught it by the tail with the notch and dipped it into the pond. Depressiac climbed miserably out onto the shore and was very out of sorts.

Daph had to escape promptly behind the boxwood bush. Already behind the bush, smelling sweetly of warm resin, she understood that she could simply use magic protection — say, put a power cocoon in place — and then the mermaids could throw at her at least till the pond was complete drained. Even if a barrow of algae would grow around her — Daph did not care one way or the other about this. After all, she was one of the guards and mermaids were nothing but evil spirits. But, alas, all good ideas always come with a delay. And the better the idea — the bigger the delay.

Daph threw a dozen more cones from a distance at the mermaids, removed algae stuck to the bronze wings and, after restoring her peace of mind, continued the stroll around the Garden of Eden. A wet Depressiac meandered after her.

Daph had not been assigned in the morning. She was convinced of this when on a clearing she stumbled upon her former musmagic teacher Elsa Kerkinitida Flora Zaches, nicknamed Sniffka. Sniffka was in an Empire dress, which had come into fashion during the epoch of the Napoleonic wars. Fashion reached the Garden of Eden usually with a delay of a century. Elsa Flora Zaches slowed down yet another century, which also confused some people. Students surrounded Sniffka and she, according to her habits jumping and continually passing the back of her hand over her nose (they called her Sniffka for this habit), was teaching them to play the flute. In essence, Sniffka’s students were all still babies, who had barely reached seven or eight thousand years old.

“My children, the flute... eh-eh... as you very fascinatingly fknow... is a very basic magic finstrument. A guard of Light without a flute is as impossible as a guard of Gloom without a sword and his darx. Fdon’t part with your flute fday or fnight. The music of your very remarkable flute can create miracles. Astrolyabii, my friend, please be very kind, fdemonstrate to us maglody of transformation, which we covered yesterday!” Sniffka shrieked enthusiastically.

A chubby little boy with a large forehead stepped forward with his flute. In his little eyes shone eagerness for education. Even Daph, a good judge of excellent workers, shivered.

“What should I transform?” He asked in a business-like manner.

Sniffka looked uncertainly around the clearing and suddenly found Daph, who did not have time to step back into the brushwood. Sniffka even jumped — either from happiness or from anticipation that Daph had finally fallen into her clutches.

It goes without saying that Elsa Kerkinitida Flora Zaches recognized the one who had kept her busy for four long centuries when she taught Daphne to play the flute. Daph was not a bad student, but only indeed painfully independent. Instead of the usual maglody, she loved more to play the works of moronoid composers. Sniffka could in no way resign herself to this and in any suitable situation beat on the pride of the student with the sledgehammer of her teacher’s authority.

“Transform... indeed what to transform!” Sniffka muttered, sliding her glance along the grass. “AHA!”

“Will she indeed ask me to transform now?” Daph began to worry, searching with her eyes her own flute, hanging in a special case on her belt, slightly flicking away from the soft velvet in the case.

However, Sniffka acted smarter. She pretended that she was not paying any attention to Daphne. In any case, for the time being. Daph found herself in a complex situation: to leave now, when Sniffka’s glance had already stopped at her, would be unseemly. Especially as Sniffka and her students were standing directly in her path. To dive without rhyme or reason into the prickly brushwood would be really strange.

“Astrolyabii! Fdo you see this very remarkable cone? Fdo be kind, change it into a frog,” Sniffka said loudly.

The excellent worker thought for a bit, putting the maglody together in his head. Then he brought the flute to his lips and began to play. His chubby cheeks were puffing with inspiration. After several seconds, the cone started to stir, then it jumped, and after a minute, it produced green paws. Astrolyabii, very pleased with himself, lowered the flute, and looked over at Sniffka questioningly.

“Well?” He asked.

“Astrolyabii! You presented to me a fimmense disappointment in your modest abilities! This is not a frog!” Sniffka pronounced reproachfully.

“What do you mean not a frog?” The excellent worker protested.

“No, Astrolyabii, not a frog! This is a very banal ftoad! Please look, Astrolyabii! Superior skill consists of the precise mastery of nuances. Nuance — it’s what drives the world,” said Elsa Kerkinitida Flora Zaches.

She presented to her lips her ancient wooden flute in a rare shape, and with one short smooth trill, she completed the transformation. The toad, having become a frog, was satisfactorily croaking at the side of the pond.

“However, Astrolyabii, you’re not the fonly one who distresses me!” Sniffka continued. She turned for effect and found herself face to face with the approaching Daph. “Get acquainted, children! This is Daphne, my most gifted student! Fonce I very carelessly asked her to repeat a simple maglody to break a fglass, which, by the way, was already cracked. Only the fglass. Only needed a short trill! And what do you think? Her maglody broke all seven frystal spheres of Eden! And I’m still using the fglass now.”

At least twenty pairs of eyes were set on Daph. There was nothing left for her but to wave with an insincere smile to everyone. Was it for her to explain to these babies that she was out of sorts then, and, at the necessary moment instead of thinking about the glass, she created — in spite of her own will — an entirely different thought image? Murphy’s law — the most reliable and most immutable of all laws of the universe — kicked in. All the time she was afraid of breaking these spheres and for this very reason broke them at the inappropriate moment. It seems the same story happened to the Greeks when they tried to forget about the reckless Herostratus.

At the time, they treated Daph quite leniently — did not even scold her specially, although the damage was big enough. After all, foolishness is the most pardonable of all the vices, since it does not have a touch of evil intention. Perhaps, then Sniffka intermittently fell even more than Daph. Therefore, Sniffka decided that Daph had arranged this entire circus intentionally and harboured good. A guard of Light was not supposed to harbour evil according to official regulations.

Twenty young gifted ones continued not without malice to contemplate Daph. She herself knew: nothing delivers such sincere happiness as the contemplation of a full teapot, which they lower below the waterline in your presence.

“And now, my little fones,” Elsa Kerkinitida Flora Zaches continued in a sweet angelic voice, “Let’s ask Daphne for a very fnice favour. I’m certain this fimportant young fperson will not refuse us. Fdo you remember, you asked me to show you the parry maglody? It’s fone of the important combat techniques, fespecially useful in a clash with guards of Gloom and fother unexpected contingencies.”

“Only not this!” Daph thought. She could not stand the parry maglody, her fingers hardly managed to run along the holes of the flute. And, it goes without saying, who could know this better than her musmagic teacher?

“You will not refuse, Daph?” Sniffka asked with an even more fascinating smile.

“Of course not. It was my pipe dream,” said Daph.

Elsa Kerkinitida Flora Zaches smiled with the pleasant smile of a hungry crocodile, to which they reported that at noon today the finalists of the beauty pageant would be swimming in the Nile.

“Fwonderful, darling... I think so too! Then let’s not lose fany time! Time is money, and money is the appendicitis of civilization. Get your flute, Daph!”

Daph’s hand slid to her thigh. If anything, indeed she knew how to pull out the flute faster than an average American cowboy could draw from his holster. In the first decade of lessons, guards of Light already perfected this skill until it became automatic, since now and then, only it could help to preserve wings and life in the struggle with the guards of Gloom.

“Dear children, I remind you that parry is a fexceptional shielding magic. While you’re fusing this maglody, you are so absolutely protected against fall kinds of magic and moronoid aggression. Fexceptions consist of only swords and spears made of the fwood from the Judas tree; however, the chance of meeting them in combat is not so great. The main thing, never be out of tune... Now I’ll demonstrate feverything to you in an example. We gather these nice little cones and begin to throw them at Daph.”

“And can we throw lumps of dirt?” Astrolyabii asked.

“Dry bird dung? Stones?” Instantly someone improved on it.

“Ah, children! You’re such fnaughty kids, such fidealists! How will you throw dung so far to the middle of the clearing? In your fplace I fwould move closer... But here stones, perhaps, we shouldn’t. Daph, of course, is a smart person, but her shield... he-he... is not entirely ideal. Begin!”

The gifted ones bent down at once, and in the next instant a hail of projectiles rained down on Daph. A lump of dirt, launched with good aim by the young genius Astrolyabii, outdistancing the volley of cones, scratched Daph on the cheek. She was going to try to jump, but understood in time that all the same she could not dodge at once from twenty idlers, and began to play in a hurry.

A large piece of bark flying at Daph’s head struck an invisible obstacle and bounced. In order not to be distracted and not to dodge on reflex, which could damage the correctness of the performance, Daph closed her eyes and concentrated on the maglody. It was not very long — approximately half a minute of pure sounds. The maglody, resembling a light puff of wind among the leaves, turned into a rhythm similar to quick breathing, and stopped suddenly on a high, interrogative note — in which sounded something from the hymn of the loving heart to the universe. Further, the maglody paused for two or three bars and repeated itself in a circle.

Daph heard how the hail of projectiles outside drummed on the shield. Her fingers quickly ran along the holes of the flute, and consciousness gave birth to a customary chain of images. The great power of a maglody lay precisely in them, in the unity of images and music — the flute itself contained a minimum of magic and was only the transmitting component. Individually they would not possess sufficient force even to deflect the flight of grit.

“Instead of cones and dirt, as I intend to remark wisely, it can be everything, anything!” Sniffka said loudly. “Stones from a sling, moronoid rockets, bewitched Death-Pursues-Me spears, cold steel... It has no key importance. As you see, not a single one of the cones has reached its target. And now, very dear children, memorize the main thing: the force is in you yourself and not in the one who attacks you. The main thing is not to be frightened and not to be distracted. Think about the maglody, dream, and spit on those, who attempt to harm you... Then nothing will happen to you!”

The shower of cones and lumps of dirt did not weaken. Moreover, one of the young experimenters found a stick somewhere and, running around Daph, was beating on different places of her shield, attempting to find a breach. His round close-cropped head with large inquisitive eyes irritated Daph terribly.

“Nice good kiddies! A good young generation will grow up, my dear mama! Were we really like this? We were humane, responsive... Ah! What a skunk, he’s found a hole after all!” Daph thought, driving off sweet childhood recollection about how she jammed the head of one specimen between the locker and its door so that it would be more convenient to give him a kick.

She was already playing the maglody for the fifth time and was beginning to get tired. Now it was most dangerous to be engrossed in the motion of the fingers and the correctness of breathing instead of creating images and thinking about the maglody. This instantly shifted the maglody into commonplace material and killed any magic. Daph had already made mistakes twice, and then the shield disappeared. One time a little lump of dirt flew very near Daph’s neck, and another time a stick, after passing through the weakened barrier, scratched her shoulder. The children had not yet noticed this; however, this did not escape the experienced Elsa Kerkinitida Flora Zaches.

“And this is what I’m talking about! There is nothing more dangerous for art than good old-fashioned professionalism! Dilettantes merely vulgarize art, but professionals kill it!” She said didactically.

Daph inopportunely reflected on her words and immediately a lump of dirt almost knocked the flute out of her hands, forcing her to flounder. Immediately an entire shower of odds and ends rained down on her, things only nimble creatures knew how to collect on a meadow in Eden.

Daphne understood that it was time to slip away. True, they had not yet lifted the ban on her flying around in Eden, but, after all, had they taken away her wings? Yes or no? And why then leave her the wings if you want to ground her in earnest? Is it not for her to take off occasionally on a full schedule?

She somersaulted, leaving the firing zone, and during the spin already groped for the bronze wings. The lace as usual slid along her hand, and Daph touched with a finger the small opening between the bronze wings. In that same moment, Daph felt a resilient push. It was from behind, behind her back, was caused by magic as ancient as the world, and enormous wings materialized. Daph brought them forward as if scooping air, and then sharply pushed them back, after making two or three sequential strokes. She felt how the wind strained the wing-feathers. On the ground, a powerful force already caught and tossed her above the clearing.

This was a motion activated nearly automatically — the magic of flight, which always turned out excellently for Daph. Much better than standard maglody, which she had to cram till she was blue in the face.

A volley of cones and dirt lumps passed over a taking-off Daph, and then she saw only the enraptured faces of the young gifted. The child prodigy Astrolyabii, also rashly summoning his wings — small and weak as a chicken’s — with magic, bounced and attempted to take off; however, the most he could get off from the ground was about two metres.

“I also want to! Why can she but not me?” He howled passionately.

However, Daphne knew that nothing would turn out for him. Earlier than ten thousand years after birth, the wings of a guard of Light rarely gather enough strength for flight. Only later did the wings begin to become stronger and the wing feathers grow. Even Daph took off no earlier than her third century of the eleventh millennium. Until that time, she had in essence hurt her nose badly while attempting to learn to glide from the rocks.

“So! You can whistle more into your reed-pipe!” Daph thought with a sense of superiority and, after executing a beautiful turn — the right wing up and forward, and the left with two strokes down, she disappeared beyond the trees. It seems this was the grove of creative dreams, although not excluding the usual home-grown hallucinations — matters concerning magic botany were unimportant to Daph.

Daph flew past the vineyard of eternal bliss, when below appeared Retired Fairy. A long pink dress with ruches, bows, and flowers made her look like a flowerbed from above. A network of comely wrinkles covered her face. Glasses in a copper frame gleamed on the bridge of her nose. In her hand, Fairy held a magic wand of respectable calibre. In the catalogue of artefacts the wand was designated by the abbreviation WFDMA — Wand for the Fulfilment of Desires of Multiple Activities. The power of this wand would be sufficient to change a whole division of second-rate magicians into cacti. The main flaw of this wand was the duration of its charge. After the fulfilment of fifty serious desires in a row, it had to be soaked for a long time in elderberry juice with the addition of nectar, clover, and St. John’s wart. If the desires were to be fulfilled with dirty tricks or the wand was intended for military purposes, it was necessary to use viper poison instead of the nectar.

Having noticed Daph, Fairy waved at her, entreating her to come down. Daph obediently descended beside her, not quite understanding what Fairy needed.

The trees of the Garden of Eden were seen through the figure of Fairy. Retired Fairy was a spectre preserving a large enough amount of magical power. She first wandered among moronoids, precisely playing solitaire with their fates, and then showed up in the Garden of Eden. It was not possible to drive her away. “If she were an egoist, it would be possible to still deny her entrance. But here — no chance! Eden is safeguard against those with ill intentions, but not against idealists and happy lunatics!” The guards of Light said sadly.

Fairy looked at Daph inquisitively and, elegantly picking up her skirt, she sank down onto the little bench appearing beside her. More precisely, hovering in the air above the bench. Spectres adore maintaining conventions, which connect them to the world of the living. It is especially sad to observe as they drink tea and it, spilling through their body, flows to the floor. If this perplexes anyone — the spectres immediately understand that a complete fool is in front of them.

“Hello, Daph! I see you’re bored! Do you know who I am?” Smiling nicely, Fairy asked.

“Aha. The spectre of a fairy,” Daph said lightly, offering her hand. At the moment when Fairy touched it, Daph experienced a small tingling.

Somehow, they had already met in passing. It seemed at one of those merry parties, where they handed out euphoria in clay jugs, and, blindfolded, they broke crystal wine glasses by a spell of distant vandalism. These wild parties were full of ghosts. Still — what are the poor wretches to do for a fool’s eternity if not to roam among a shady crowd?

“Precisely. I’m a spectre,” confirmed Fairy. “And do you know what such spectres are?”

“Well, roughly...”

“To know roughly means not to know anything. Spectres are hostages of complex situations. In life, we could not get out of them and now time after time we painfully go through our past mistakes, Gloom takes them! Since our own lives adhere to conventions, we actively interfere in those of others. Daph, kiddo, allow me to fulfil any of your desires!” Retired Fairy proposed.

Daphne smiled with understanding. She had already heard about this eccentric Retired Fairy. Once having started granting wishes, Fairy could not stop and demanded new ones all the time. So she continued hour after the hour and day after the day, until desires in a poor wretch finally ran low. Fairy took to the fulfilment of only genuine, true desires at that. Wishes of the type “Fetch my slippers,” “Take this tea away, it’s cold!” or “Turn on the light! Air is not visible to breathe in the dark!” were not rated primordial. Such wishes would not do for Fairy: they tackle problems of one’s complex. Only global tasks were of interest, she willingly left trifles to insects and others of that ilk.

“Fetch your own slippers, your hands won’t fall off! Magic wands are indeed magical because they don’t waste time with trifles!” Fairy said decisively.

When true desires came to an end, she shrugged her shoulders, destroyed everything that the wretch had time to wish for, and took herself off, disappointed, leaving the wretch no better off than before. She proved to these that indeed there were actually not so many genuine wishes — one or two at best, but all the rest were trifles and banal waste. After meeting Fairy, a poor guard was only left with bitterly contemplating the shell of his own broken hopes his entire life.

Daphne, this very sensible girl, in spite of her youth knew all of Fairy’s tricks very well. Therefore, she was going to ask for nothing for herself. This was the best way to leave Fairy with nothing.

“A wish? Sure! Pet my cat!” Daph lazily proposed.

Depressiac, having long been casting interested looks at Retired Fairy, tried to rub against her leg and meowed with disappointment. It is not simple to rub against the leg of a ghost. Fairy leaned over and scratched the back of the cat’s neck with the magic wand. Depressiac began to spark. Both its eyes turned several times in the eye-sockets and expressed complete bliss. He had never received so much energy so fast. For a while, the cat even became an optimist. Then it crashed back down to the earth, and the paws crawled away.

“Drugged!” Fairy said understandingly. “Still, you have a splendid little bio-vampire, it drew out a lot magic. What’s it called?”

“Depressiac.”

“How many s’s?”

“Don’t know. It has no ID. But just in case I put down four. Won’t go wrong.”

Fairy looked at Daph with interest.

“You’re a strange guard of Light, kiddo! Somewhat irregular. You don’t try to save the world, you acquired for yourself a screwy cat with a craving for absurd brutality, and young men are not important to you. You could have been playing the flute with someone already long ago. Such a magical duet,” she remarked.

Daph hesitated:

“Yes well, this flute bores me... I don’t want to be a guard of Light. It’s boring. I want to be an actress.”

“An actress? Not such a bad dream. I would call it a dream of a statistically average moron. Perhaps, you even want them to rename the chocolate ‘Downty’ in your honour?”

“You don’t understand, but still, Fairy...” Daph sighed, examining her own reflection in the glasses in a copper frame.

With full consciousness of the conditionality of her actions, Retired Fairy passed a finger along the bridge of her nose, adjusting the frame.

“Not much, darling. I understand more than Doctor Ziggy in his best years. Simply it has long bored me to understand. Do you want me to make you an actress? It’s simple for me,” she proposed, checking with her tongue the residual magic charge of the magic wand, as the small square battery was occasionally checked.

“Ne-a, no need. I know your tricks. You will make me an actress of some burnt theatre. I’ll have to play the eighth lamppost on the boulevard and believe that there are no bit parts, only bit actors. Thanks. Better that I somehow become disillusioned with everything by myself later,” refused Daph.

Fairy threatened her with a pale transparent finger.

“I’ll be, you guessed! You didn’t read my mind, no? Approximately what I would have done. Instead of the eighth post it would be: ‘Eat what’s given! Drinking your own booze is forbidden!’ Do you know how reality differs from fantasy? When dreams come true, everything happens not in the manner that you imagined. A rose, the most excellent of colours, has thorns. The throat hurts from eating ice cream. Dysphoria always sets in after euphoria and so on. Fulfilling the desires of my clients, I bring this principle to absurdity rather than have a good time... By the way, did I ever tell you how I died?”

“Ne-a.”

“The story turned out to be absurd. Cinderella’s prince poisoned me. I think this happened about four hundred years ago...” Fairy said.

“Poisoned? You?” Daph could not believe it. From surprise, she even passed onto the informal ‘you’.

“Well, yes... To tell the truth, one can understand him. I left him awfully vulnerable. Cinderella’s nature was very nasty. Flies and mice died from her evil eye. Her own father was afraid of her, and she simply harassed the daylights out of the poor stepmother and her daughters. And even the prince too. He was stooping and his white horse was limping. And on the whole it was even a mare.”

“Why then did he fall in love with Cinderella?” Daph asked, taken aback.

Fairy smiled radiantly.

“Riddle of nature. Love of evil,” she said and stroked her magic wand significantly.

Daph thought for a bit.

“Good. I understand you used the standard charm spell and strengthened it with round-the-clock magic, operating till midnight within the bounds of a calendar day. At this moment, reverse transformation of enchanted materials and loss of its acquired properties took place: the coach became a pumpkin, and the horses mice. But how about the beautiful fairy tale?” She asked, disappointed.

“You think there was no PR in the Middle Ages? Fie, mon amie, there has always been PR. Do you know what size Cinderella’s slippers were in reality? Forty-six! For this very reason, no more than one girl in the kingdom could fit into them! Later on they turned it into an advantage,” said Fairy.

Daph looked at the azure sky, where correct little cloudlets were floating. The special division of comeliness and silence answered for their shape. It never rained in the Garden of Eden. Only planned downpours from four to four-fifteen in the morning. This was completely sufficient for irrigation.

“I’m bored here!” Daph complained. “They don’t entrust important tasks to me, and it’s a green ennui in the Garden. Other guards fence or play on the lute day and night. And their only conversations are that they cut the darx off some guard of Gloom and recaptured dozens of eide or someone performed a virtuoso piece on the harp without the aid of magic.”

Fairy gave her a meaningful look.

“Kiddo, be more careful with the wings! A guard of Light, who puts the lace with his own wings on the neck of a mortal, will fall in love with this person and will love her eternally! And indeed sometimes it’s necessary to separate them!” She said.

“There are no mortals in the Garden of Eden,” Daph quickly objected.

Fairy did not answer. Daph turned around surprised. The bench was empty. Fairy had disappeared. Spectres love sudden disappearances and unexpressed thoughts.

Daph thought for a bit. She already grasped that she had to deal with prophecy. However, any guard of Light and Gloom who felt like it made predictions, so that they were too lazy even to write down a large part of the prophecies.

***

Unexpectedly a suspicious noise reached her from the clearing. There was definitely trouble.

Daph, having the talent to be caught in all fishy stories, certainly could not remain on the side. She squeezed her way through the prickly bushes of dangerous desires — must be, all these thoughts were also suggested to her by the smell of its resin warmed in the sun — and carefully stuck her head out.

However, even if she had not done this so carefully, no one would have noticed her appearance. Everybody was too occupied with what was going on. Four house-spirits from the squad of defenders of traditions — all strong fellows in bast sandals and red shirts — were purposefully beating up a western gnome. The gnome, evidently having slipped through at night from the western sector of Eden, was kicking hopelessly but accurately, trying to hit the house-spirits in the stomach and on the knees. Now and then, this was successful for him; however, this did not lessen a bit the just indignation of the house-spirits. A minute had not passed and the house-spirits had knocked the gnome down on the ground, pulled a red cap over his eyes, and efficiently tied up his hands with a belt. However, even unable to see, the gnome continued to sullenly spit and kick. At the same time he was smart enough not to yell and to kick in complete and even ominous silence. The sorting out of house-spirits and gnomes must not exceed the scope of decency — this rule was thoroughly learned.

The house-spirits, having looked around, rolled from somewhere a small cannon, shoved the gnome into it head first, and started to ignite the fuse. The house-spirits clearly did not see Daphne; otherwise they would behave more prudently.

“No more spies here, westerner! Next time it’ll be worse!” A house-spirit stated, looking out of his eyelids at the three younger ones.

The obstinate gnome, even sticking out of the cannon, attempted to kick at the voice. The grenade launcher shot out. Having traced an arc in the air, the gnome flew past the forest and soon landed already in the western sector of Eden. His angry howl swept over the Garden.

Only now, Daphne recalled that she, as a guard of Light, was obligated to keep order, disrupted by the most insolent means.

“Ahem... Daphne, junior guard of Light! What’s happening here? Please report the situation!” She ordered.

Three house-spirits immediately advanced forward, blocking Daphne’s way, and the fourth hurriedly dragged the cannon into the bushes.

“Nothing is happening!” The house-spirits briskly stated.

“A lie! I saw how you recently launched the gnome!” Daphne stated.

The house-spirits became agitated.

“It’s accidental. He climbed into the cannon, apparently wanted to measure off some gunpowder, and it went off and bang!” The ruddy one briskly squealed.

“There was no need to poke his nose into our territory. Today a gnome, tomorrow the landing of the elves, and soon even the trolls will show up. The main thing here is not to give any slack. Someone comes to us with a sword, we use bricks on him!” The grey-bearded house-spirit stated.

“According to the law for violation of boundary he was supposed to be given only a warning!” Daphne said uncertainly.

“Then why do these gnomes hit us? Only crossed the boundary by chance, and already scores of them — with picks and lanterns. Until you break all their lanterns, you’ll have black-eyes,” complained the ruddy one.

The third house-spirit, the youngest, said nothing but only sniffed. He was barely five hundred years old, and was deprived of the right of a voice.

Daphne thought for a bit. The war of house-spirits and gnomes did not begin today and, apparently, would not end tomorrow. Moreover, house-spirits were, whatever you may say, our own, folkloric through and through, while the gnomes were strangers. And the house-spirits understood this excellently.

“Well, so what? No one saw anything, no one heard anything? Are we leaving?” Winking, grey-bearded asked.

Daphne cleared her throat. What she intended to do was entirely not by the book, but not have to fill in a pile of scrolls, after all, formalizing a fight in the Garden of Eden.

“Okay, quick away from here! But if this happens again...” She began sternly.

“Naturally, Daph! I’ll disappear on the spot! We’ll meet their ballroom pianists with flowers! With buttercups, with belladonnas! You understand, like the doctor prescribed!” Ruddy said chummily.

“Quick, I said!” Daph repeated.

Grey-bearded and the youngest of the house-spirits did not begin to wait for the proposal to be repeated and disappeared. The fourth house-spirit, having already hidden the cannon, looked with curiosity out of the brushwood. Only Ruddy did not go away and persistently loomed before her eyes.

“May I ask something? You’re that Daphne, who... well, about whom all kinds of rumours are going around? As if you’re to be kicked out of the guards to somewhere far away for a long time?” He asked and, although only reaching slightly higher than Daphne’s elbows, walked around her, insolently examining her.

“You heard them?” Daph softly asked.

“Not such bad wings! And this is a guard of Light! Five, six, seven black feathers! Not sickly, no? Reminds you of anyone?” Ruddy giggled, and again started running from behind. He jumped and, after gripping Daph by a wing-feather, attempted to pull it out.

Daphne, having forgotten to use a bronze talisman and de-materialize the wings, was angry. This was no longer simply a request. This was explicit impudence, which in no way could be allowed. Even in the Garden of Eden. Smiling, so that the house-spirit would suspect nothing, she concentrated and mentally uttered the short formula of the liberation of energy, which consists of two words, each of which would be fatal for any non-guards, if, it goes without saying, they were uttered with the necessary intonation and the proper degree of internal concentration:

“Non possumus!* (*No can do! (Lat.). Formula of flat refusal. — Author’s annotation)” Daph said, extracting the flute with one motion.

The trill was short and spectacular. After all, four hundred years of practice. The house-spirit, taken aback, was teleported directly into the chamber of the cannon hidden in the brushwood. A shot thundered. The house-spirit, somersaulting, flew over Daphne’s head. She noticed not without pleasure that the cannon was aiming in the necessary direction.

Judging by the dual howls, the echo of which soon informed them, Ruddy had satisfactorily reached the western sector of the Garden of Eden and even met the same gnome, who not so long ago conscientiously shook out dust. Only now, the gnome was already in the company of his comrades.

“The most disgusting! Somehow, I’m so not myself today! Spiteful, petty...” Daph guiltily said.

House-spirits, bathhouse spirits, mermaids, elves, gnomes, wood-goblins and other essences, having partially moved to the Garden of Eden after barely a safe corner remained on Earth, were characterized in majority by enviable health and longevity. It was extremely complicated to seriously injure them, it goes without saying, if we do not use special magical means. Earlier, as inferior spirits connected to paganism, they would never be allowed into Eden; now its gates were thrown open willy-nilly to ancient folks. Some of them were now under the guardianship of elementary magicians and their Jerky Magciety, and the keepers of Light took on the care of the others. In the hospitable Eden the ancient folks quickly settled in, divided into sectors — Russian, Western, Chinese, Indian, very soon they quarrelled and now they got into skirmishes continually. They had not become serious clashes only for the efforts of the keepers.

The question of whether it was wise to invite the ancient folks into the Garden of Eden had remained one of the most contentious here for almost a hundred years already. On one hand, these were evil and unclean spirits, on the other — the times had changed, and those, who once ruled the swamps and the forests, clearly needed protection and patronage now.

***

All of a sudden, high under the transparent dome of the heavens, a white speck appeared. It had just become perceptible. After getting accustomed, Daphne understood that it was one of the guards, moreover not an ordinary one but a messenger from the House of the Highest Light. This was already evident from the spread of his snowy wings, which exceeded the spread of Daphne’s wings by almost one-and-a-half times. Daph experienced something similar to professional envy. The wider the spread of the wings, the greater the acrobatic manoeuvres. Although this messenger, as Daph determined when he flew nearer, had race wings, poorly adapted for manoeuvring. Daph’s own wings were more for piloting, and could even keep a not bad speed. The golden mean. Daphne immediately wanted to compete with him in flight, although she also understood that this was not acceptable.

Moreover, Daphne sensed slight uneasiness. Such messengers were not sent to the store for a flask of essential oil. He was clearly bearing an important message to someone.

“Who is it he’s going to?” Daphne thought, after noticing that the messenger, tracing circles, was coming down gradually. And almost immediately she got the answer.

“And there will be Light!” The messenger greeted her.

“And Gloom will vanish!” Daphne fearfully uttered the second part of the greeting.

The third part of the greeting: “And the heart is ablaze with eagerness!” had to be pronounced by the same one who uttered the first, but it was usually omitted for brevity. Who wants to bother to listen all day to one and the same — the guards of Light were no exception. Right away, the messenger immediately switched over to business.

“Daphne, Guard №13066, Third Battalion of Light?” He asked.

“Well... eh-eh... generally speaking, yes...” said Daphne.

“Guard General Troil demands your presence! A summon of the first urgency! House of the Highest Light, Third Heaven!” The messenger informed her and, after gathering height, began to blend in with the cumulus clouds.

“Hey! But when must I be there?” Daphne shouted after him.

“Immediately!” A voice responded from the cloud.

Daph became not quite herself. “What have I done?” She began to worry.

Daph had never run into Guard General Troil before, had not even seen him. And on the whole, what could the Guard General want from a junior guard? This was not explained the way as, say, when a high school student was summoned to the principal. However, it was not worthwhile to linger.

The hierarchy of the guards of Light was arranged very simply. The greater the merits, the smaller the number. So, Daphne was registered on the 13066^th list, and Guard General Troil was on the first list of guards. Do you get the difference?

Daphne looked around, considering whether it would be worthwhile to bring the cat with her, but Depressiac, having taken in excess energies after meeting Fairy, was still not standing firmly on its feet. And in general, Depressiac hardly belonged to that breed of dear kitties, which forces hearts to melt and hands to reach for the downy fur. At the sight of Depressiac, any hand would reach for anything except the mouser.

Daphne took a run, straightened her wings, and took off. The airflow caught her, and here under her already was the Garden of Eden — a garden of eternal summer, where fruits never disappear from the trees. Olives of wisdom, bunches of grapes of tenderness, pears of generosity, plums of honesty, nuts of immortality and invulnerability (their taste is dreadful, not everyone would dare, and the shells are such that you can hardly overpower even with a nuclear explosion). Here below are prickly bushes of beauty, the small white berries protected. There, much more to the right, small yellowish catkins of sentimentality is blooming. During dozens of sunny days, the wind will spread pollen in the Garden, and then even in the most distant corners of the Garden it will be possible to hear sweet sobbing. Even withered bureaucrats in the House of Highest Light are languidly lost in thoughts, dropping contemplative tears onto unfinished parchments with reviews of the deeds of individual moronoids.

Reigning above the Garden, the tree of knowledge grows on the hill in the middle of Eden. Its branches break because of the fruits, leaning on the ground. No one among the guards dares to touch them — for this, they expect the unavoidable loss of eternity and an exile among the moronoids. Some caterpillars alone gnaw its fallen apples. They know both good and evil, but they will never say anything.

Daphne descended and directly in flight deftly tore off a large peach from the tree of bravery. When you go to management of this level, surplus bravery will not hurt. Especially when you are not on the best footing with the authorities.

The incident, after which they forbade her to fly, was not pretty. Out of curiosity, Daphne had drawn a rune commonly used by guards of Gloom. Moreover, she had not simply drawn it but had even taken a step into it. The rune should not have worked, since magic does not put up with substitution, but it did. There was such a flash that keepers from the entire Garden of Eden congregated. Everybody had the possibility to admire the sooty and smoking Daphne.

New feathers soon grew on her singed wings, but for some reason they were black. Since then many looked askance at her with suspicion. What is this with the junior guard, who has a good ten dark feathers on one of her wings? However, wings could not be exchanged. They were issued once and for life. It was considered that the colour and the shape of the plumage reflected the internal life of a guard of Light and his experience.

The most annoying — Daphne herself was totally afraid to acknowledge this — was that it flew out of her head precisely what rune she had drawn then. She remembered only that the rune was complex, and the whole time, when she was guiding the branch on the sand, the sensation that someone was controlling her hand did not leave her.

But who, why — this she did not know and preferred not to think about.

***

The House of the Highest Light resembled most of all a column of light or fire piercing the heavens. Somewhere on the level of First Heaven, the clouds hid the House of the Highest Light. Indeed Second and Third Heaven were lost in the boundless heights, not allowing even the most dedicated guard of Light to see the apex. Some claimed that when this happens, the end will encroach upon the universe, but they claimed without special rigidity, with that portion of distrust, with some retelling of ancient apocryphal stories.

At the entrance, two enormous stone griffins were standing still. They were located here from the day of the founding of the Garden of Eden and had time to be covered with a network of cracks. This was effective protection. Griffins possessed well-developed deep sight. If a guard of Gloom tried to penetrate the House of the Highest Light, the revived griffins would immediately tear him, under whatever mask he hid himself, to pieces. There were already such cases in history.

Guards of Light quietly passed between the griffins, without paying them any attention, but every time Daph felt a strong discomfort, as if she was precisely not a respectable guard but an insolent impostor. Here and now, she slipped past between them as fast as possible. The left griffin remained motionless; however, the right one turned its head slightly. In its opened stone eye, Daph saw with horror an attentive dark pupil. A living pupil, shrewdly studying her. There was no hatred in this pupil, but then there was rapt and hostile attention.

Daph licked her lips. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Griffins paid her no more attention than to any of the peacocks strolling around Eden. Earlier, but not now... Now the griffin definitely suspected something!

There was no time or possibility to reflect further on this theme. Daph already flew into the hall, enormous as a dragonball stadium of elementary magicians, and lowered herself onto the marble floor next to the transport rune. Two guards were vigilantly on duty by the rune. Even the flutes they had were special — they had a short fixed bayonet with a curve for cutting off darx and quick parrying of the thrust of cold steel. To bring the flute to the lips also needed time...

These were soldiers from the regiment of golden-wings — the guards of Eden. On the neck of each hung a thin chain with gold wings — the highest award for courage. The wings of the rest of the guards could only be bronze. Daph had heard that in order to obtain gold wings, it was necessary to make no less than three excursions to the home front of Gloom and to return from a mission with at least one captured darx, complete with recaptured eide. But indeed you can believe that those in Gloom do not meet guards of Light with open arms. To lose one’s head and wings there is simpler than playing Murka on the flute. The names of the golden-wings that did not return from a mission flared up in the same hour in purple letters on the marble plaque mounted in the Eden barracks.

One of the guards — with thin lips and a regular Greek nose — stared persistently at Daph. “Senior Guard Populus,” Daph read on his shimmering badge. The name was as contrary as its possessor was.

“And there will be...” Daph began.

“And ablaze!” The guard interrupted dryly. “Who are you seeing, girl?”

“Third Heaven! Guard General Troil!” Daph proudly reported, trying to suppress her suddenly emerging antipathy. “When will I finally stop judging guards on first impression?”

“He’s waiting for you?” The other guard, slightly more good-natured in looks, asked. On his badge was registered “Senior Guard Rufinus.”

“Aha, he’s waiting!” Daphne said.

She rashly attempted to get into the rune; however, the thin-lipped guard barred her way.

“Wait, kid! Don’t have to rush, you have time! First show the pass to Third Heaven!”

“My pass is only for First. But Troil summoned me! It’s the truth!” Daphne said, adding into her voice the required bit of sweet naiveté and presenting the guards a smile.

Usually this worked; however, now before her were obviously cold hard sticks.

“In writing or orally?”

“Orally,” confessed Daph.

The golden-wings exchanged significant glances.

“Perhaps, even personally?”

“No, not personally. Through a messenger...”

“Hm... Name of messenger? His number?”

“The messenger’s? How would I know?”

“You didn’t look at his number?”

“Ne-a.”

“Thoughtless. But you do remember your name?” Rufinus smiled. In Daph’s opinion, he was a little softer than Populus, and even treated her not so suspiciously.

“Daphne! Guard №13066, Third Battalion of Light,” Daph said resentfully, showing the inside of her bronze wings, where this number was cast.

Populus nodded. The roll of omniscience appeared in his hands. Populus examined it and compared the imprint of aura. “Let someone say now that among the guards of Light there are no skunks and pains-in-the-neck,” thought Daph, almost physically sensing how the tip of one of her feathers had grown dark. In Eden, such rebellious thoughts were not encouraged. Theoretically, they also could not wander into the correct head of a correct guard.

“Mmm... Amusing story. Not very likely that this is actually your aura. In the roll of omniscience, it’s much pinker. And even the halo is somewhat suspicious. According to the shape, like that of guards of Gloom, although, perhaps, they don’t happen to have this nuance. I don’t like this!” Populus grumbled.

“What, you think that I’m not me?” Daph asked.

“I think nothing. My task is establishing the truth,” sternly said Populus. “Age?”

“Whose, mine?” Daph did not understand.

“No, mine!”

“How would I know yours? I don’t go to second-hand stores!” Daph was astonished.

“What, have you gone nuts?” Populus asked unexpectedly quietly. “Eh? Your age, yours!”

“An impolite question to ask a girl! For such questions, they drop candelabrum onto the head! Then raise and drop it again!” Daphne was in a huff.

Rufinus lowered a hand onto her shoulder.

“Stop irritating him, kid. He’ll explode now and I’ll have to be on duty alone. If you want to reach Troil, you have to say how old you are,” he said.

“Well, okay. Thirteen thousand five hundred and eighty-seven years!” Daphne unwillingly forced it out. No sense in lying. All the same, her age was stated in the roll of omniscience.

Populus shrugged his shoulders. On his stern face was clearly read: “They hire all kinds of babies for work!”

“But I look more grown-up! Almost no one gives me less than fifteen thousand!” Daphne hastily added.

Rufinus started to laugh.

“I would give you all of eighteen thousand. In a good light. In a very good light,” he said noncommittally.

Daph stared sadly at the ground. Guards mature slowly. Thousands of times slower than moronoids.

“If only... But for the time being I’m only thirteen!” She sighed.

“No matter, kid. Don’t lose heart! Five thousand years will pass quickly. You won’t even have time to blink. Several moronoid civilizations will turn over, Egyptian pyramids will become sand — nothing more,” Rufinus said in encouragement, without any dirty tricks. Daph began to like him.

But then Populus stuck to the roll of omniscience like a leech.

“Status in the battalion!” He demanded.

“Junior guard!”

Golden-wings glanced into the parchment.

“Junior guard? A hitch! You’re registered only as an assistant to junior guard. How will you explain that, ha?”

“That’s not true!” Daph was agitated. “I’m already a junior guard... Well almost... They promised to promote me to junior guard, if...”

“If what?”

“If I’ll not get underfoot till the end of the century!” She wanted to say, repeating the words of her immediate superior, but thought that this information would be already excessive.

“If my further help will be so invaluable!” Daphne stated.

She wanted to add that all junior guards had already turned down such an assistant as her, therefore management simply had no other way out but to promote her also, though they decided that it was better to keep quiet about this.

“Populus, in my opinion everything is in order with the girl!” Rufinus said conciliatorily.

“Now let’s check...” Populus said slowly through clenched teeth. He blinked and, without raising his voice, said, after tuning to the necessary telepathic channel: “Office! Senior Guard Populus, rune guard... Please confirm invitation! Daphne, № 13066, to Guard General Troil!”

Daphne was certain that they would send her away, saying: ‘Girl, go for a walk! Troil also knows nothing about you,” but the voice of the clerk indifferently pronounced:

“Registered on the list... Summons is confirmed.”

Populus moved aside unwillingly, obeying the order, and Daphne took a step into the rune. Not able to control herself, she waved good-bye to Populus and sent him an air kiss.

“Bye, pink and downy! You’re simply a very nice person! I’ll ask Troil to appoint me your chief and I’ll check your documents every day. In the evening and in the morning. You’ll like that!” She said.

Rufinus laughed aloud. Populus turned away with annoyance and activated the rune. The rune flared up. Several instants later Daphne materialized in the other hall.

***

It was the first time Daphne had gotten up so high. Third Heaven! She is on Third Heaven! She, Daph, whose pass extends only to First! Even Second Heaven seemed almost unattainable to her earlier. In order to be on it, it was necessary to serve Light without blemish for no less than twenty thousand years. And still another ten thousand years in order to get a pass to Third. Even hardly all golden-wings had it; the reason Populus was keen on finding faults.

Having stepped out of the rune, the edge of which continued to be slightly gilded, Daphne looked around. She was standing on a slope surrounded by a low marble border.

Here was no trace of any kind of confused flickering, which First Heaven was always disadvantageously noted for. Neither surplus guards nor bustling house-spirits with brooms and vacuums nor spectres with harps — nothing distracting. Peace and quiet were complete but not excessive. On the floor, with their magnificent decadent tail feathers spread out, peacocks were strutting about with an important air. In the corner on a copper tripod in a modest clay pot, the cactus of true greatness was blooming with homely little flowers. A fountain murmured, nudging even those, who never did so in their lives, to think. A flock of white doves took to their wings towards Daphne. A white unicorn with contemplative pensiveness in its convex eye went past. Daph thought that a unicorn here was not quite the right theme. It would be much more comfortable below on the green pastures of Eden. Having read her thoughts, the unicorn gratefully snorted and attempted to rub against Daph cordially with its horn of almost a metre.

Dodging with great difficulty, Daph proceeded further. The unicorn was about to follow right behind, but quickly slowed down, squinting with a violet eye. Bright light flowed through the transparent walls in the hall. It literally stunned endlessly, splashing happiness. Daphne sensed how cheerfulness was beginning to fill her. She was ready not only to take more — drag further, but also to attack alone a legion of guards of Gloom.

But here Daph’s mood dropped slightly. She saw the plaque:

Careful! The atmosphere of Third Heaven contains saturated euphoria. Do not make the mistake of taking deep breaths on the first visit! Do not go out on the balconies and do not look with unprotected eyes at the sun. This can lead to the dissolution of personality.

“Aha! And here’s also the spoonful of tar in this barrel of dynamite! I so knew that there would be something like this!” Daph thought disenchanted.

She took a step forward. Double doors, so enormous that their upper part was lost somewhere in the skies, opened noiselessly. Daph turned out to be in reception. At the long table, standing sideways to the door and covered with parchments and folders, sat a sad, very thin guard, on the bridge of whose nose the glass of a pince-nez was gleaming. He was so tall that, even sitting, he was taller than the standing Daphne. Daph carefully approached him from the side. It seemed to her that the lanky person was writing, but he, with his tongue sticking out from enthusiasm and as if that was helping him, was cutting something from the paper using small scissors. He did not notice Daph.

Daphne stood for half a minute beside him, and then irresolutely gave a cough. The lanky person jerked up his head, was embarrassed, and hastily covered his work with a folder. This seemed sweet to Daph: imagine that — this giant also has such a touching domestic hobby.

“I’m listening,” said the lanky person in an unexpectedly thin and high voice.

“Are you Troil?” Daph asked.

“I’m his secretary, Berenarii.” The lanky person hid the scissors. “You’re Daph?”

“Yes.”

“Go in, Guard General Troil is waiting for you!”

She knocked and found herself in an unexpectedly small comfortable office. Troil did not love excessive space. Several trophy swords and daggers with the characteristic notches for cutting darx were hanging on the wall, on a tapestry. In his youth, the Guard General served as golden-wings, won several victories in complex scuffles with the guards of Gloom, and loved to recall these battles.

When Daph entered, Troil was sitting at a desk and writing something in a thick notebook almost two-thirds full. The feather, with which he was tracing on the paper, from time to time dipping into the inkpot, was white with a golden tip. A typical wing-feather of Pegasus. Recently such feathers had come into fashion in the highest governing body of Light. Taking into account that Pegasus indeed did not have too many wing-feathers and they grew slowly, the plucked Pegasus was ashamed to fly to moronoid writers and instead of itself sent winged jennets. Jennets were easily tempted by sugar and they willingly carried on their wide backs to publishing houses the manuscripts of fruitful writers, which they also stamped with a back hoof.

Daph gave a cough, reminding him of her appearance. The Guard General first finished the sentence and only then, putting down the feather, raised his head. Troil was not tall, refined, with a bright bald spot, and vividly green, exactly emerald eyes. In profile, he looked slightly like old Andrei Bolkonsky, after surviving the unpleasant episode with the shot and escaping with a light contusion. His chain with the golden wings had been taken off and simply lay on the edge of the table. This slightly astonished Daph.

Troil remained silent, examining her with curiosity. He was clearly in no hurry to begin the conversation. Daph already began to get nervous, when he softly asked:

“What do you have on your lower lip?”

“Nothing. What about it?” Daph was frightened, just in case touching the lip with her tongue.

“I’m asking about the gold ring.”

“Ah-ah-ah, it’s a piercing!” Daph came to the conclusion.

“Oh, Light! To walk around with a punctured lip! It’s uncomfortable!”

“I’m already used to it. At first, of course, it interferes, but then you forget about it,” stated Daph.

Troil pensively chewed his lips.

“A guard of Light with a piercing... Unusual. And what compelled you to pierce yourself? Asceticism? Imitation of African sorcerers? A necessity for informal expression?” He softly asked.

Daph decided that he was cl

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 618