No Way Out at the Entrance
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“What, me personally?” Guy doubted.
Sergey Ilich lowered his eyes so shyly that one wanted to give him some money. “No, of course not. I spent three months in order to come to you. Several times the thought flickered in me that there exist neither hdivers nor warlocks. So many centuries have gone by. I despaired, and here’s a piece of luck! I discovered on the Net the description of a strange anomaly – an enormous column of water on the Moscow River. Someone shot it with his cell phone. Immense! Such could only be done by a hdiver marker, the description of which was on the reverse side of the skin. And you yourself know only who could drop it… hee-hee… So I came to Gomorrah. The rest is a technical matter.”
“Not bad!” Guy showed approval. “I see you’ve done some good work. Can I have a look at the hourglass and the skin?”
The antique dealer looked cautiously at Till. Till was calmly chewing a piece of dill, which was hanging from the right corner of his mouth as from a horse’s mouth. “They’re at my place. No, no, it goes without saying, not with me! First we agree on a price!”
“What will the price be?” asked Guy.
“High. Transactions of this grade happen once in a lifetime,” the antique dealer said firmly. “I’ll ask three things, quite normal.”
“What are these three things?”
“Money. Health. And I want to know always what threatens me!”
Guy drew a circle with a wet finger on the polishing. “Why the last one? With money and health?” he asked.
The cheerful person looked tritely downcast. “I don’t like to move blindly! You can see that my work is also tricky. I’m always meeting people I don’t know. All or nothing. That’s my motto.”
“Great,” Guy approved. “Are you sure that I’m capable of supplying you all this?”
“Sure, I could demand even more. Three wishes is quite modest, taking into account that the sand in the hourglass has almost trickled through.”
Guy stopped examining the chin of his collocutor and looked him in the eyes for the first time. “Sand? Do you mean to say it has been flowing all this time? All these decades?”
“Yes,” touching the napkin, Sergey Ilyich confirmed. “It’s a strange hourglass. The sand runs only in one direction. And very slowly. One grain of sand a day at dawn. Must admit, I tried to cheat. Turned the hourglass over. And then the grain of sand – I swear! – fell from the bottom to the top!” Sergey Ilyich looked sharply at Guy, checking what impression his words would make.
“You’re observant. Difficult to notice one grain of sand a day. You probably have a lot of free time,” Guy acknowledged.
“I used a web cam and examined slowly at high magnification.”
Guy stretched, getting up. Overtaking the waiter, Nekalaev dashed to move aside the chair. The antique dealer also jumped. “Well, fine, my dear!” said Guy after a long pause. “We’ll fulfil your wishes if the hourglass actually belongs to… what did you call him?”
“Mityai Zheltoglazyi,” smiling with understanding, the antique dealer prompted. “When will you be ready?”
“I’m always ready,” said Guy, listening to something going on inside him. “At least health and the knowledge of the future I’m ready to give you now. As for the money… possibly we’ll have to make a couple of calls!” He looked at Till.
Looking sombrely, Till promised that he would find the money even without Dolbushin. From his small personal reserve. “And we still haven’t settled our misunderstanding with Albert,” he acknowledged.
“Soon?”
“Yes, perhaps I’ll manage in an hour. You need so much,” Till said complacently. “Bring the hourglass!”
Sergey Ilyich anxiously turned pink. He thought for several seconds, knitted his brows, and made a decision. “I’m quick! I had the feeling that everything would be decided today.”
“So the thing is with you?” Guy was surprised.
“No, no, not at all! A friend is waiting for me not far from here,” he acknowledged.
Guy smiled. “Ingvar! The money!” Guy reminded Till, who got up reluctantly and began to get down tottering. He returned quickly. The berserkers accompanying him unloaded from the trunk an enormous TV box glued together with Scotch tape.
Their recent guest emerged from the parking lot simultaneously with Till. Apparently, he had been watching from the bushes. His boots were wet. He was holding in his hands a briefcase stained with soil.
“Saw your friend?” Guy asked with irony. “Let’s have a look!”
The antique dealer nervously looked sideways at the box. “This is ridiculous! You’re a serious person. Of course you won’t cheat me!” he said, having convinced himself, and handed the briefcase to Guy.
Guy wiped with his sleeve the soil from the lock. He took out a bulky, thick hourglass with a copper stand. The sand inside the hourglass was bluish. “No doubt. The work is truly his,” Guy acknowledged in an undertone. “Look, Ingvar! What do the numbers 300 and 1 mean?”
Till took the hourglass from Guy, looked at it, and poked at the stand with a rigid finger. “I don’t know about the numbers. Doesn’t this clay idol remind you of anyone?” he asked, wheezing.
Sergey Ilyich gave a cough, drawing attention to himself. Guy turned to him. “It seems you said something about some skin!” he reminded him. The antique dealer hurriedly shoved a hand into the briefcase and with readiness handed Guy a ripped leather rag covered with writing. The other half was missing.
“This is all? I hope you don’t have the other half? And then it’ll surface in a month for an additional three wishes,” Guy asked severely. The antique dealer hastily shook his head. He held before himself the briefcase, clutching it with both hands.
“Ah yes! The wishes!” Guy recalled and with disgust nudged the box with his foot to the antique dealer. Then he stretched out his hands and simultaneously touched the right and left temple of his guest. Sergey Ilyich took a sip of air. For a moment, it even seemed to him that Guy’s hands met inside his head. At the same time, the fingers of one hand were icy while those of the other were almost white hot.