Dark Silence

Prologue

“Welcome to the bar “Night!” the barman greeted a new customer who appeared from another side of the counter. “What can I offer you?”

“Whiskey,” said briefly the man in a black leather coat sitting on a high chair.

Darnell O’Dell was watching the young pal craftily fulfilling his order. When he turned away ready to leave for other customers, the man knocked his glass and called him back.

“Hey, repeat.”

The barman looked at him with a bit of surprise and came back. After filling the glass, he stared at his gloomy visitor for a couple of seconds and prepared to leave again.

“You are new here, right?” asked Darnell, pulling out a pack of smokes and putting it in front of him. “Haven’t seen you around before.”

“It’s my first shift today. Smoking here is not allowed,” the barmen said disapprovingly, watching the customer.

“But I do smoke,” proclaimed Darnell putting a cigarette into the mouth. He shoved his hand into the pocket of the coat looking for a lighter.

“Leave him alone, Mik,” a man with a beard came from the back of the younger barmen. He was dressed in a plaid shirt and always reminded Darnell of a Norwegian lumberman. He moved his subordinate aside. “Go to that side of the counter, there are lots of customers there.” He addressed Darnell who had time to light up his cigarette and was slowly puffing plumes of smoke. “Why are you scaring away my youngs?”

“Me? I’m not scaring anyone. The boy hasn’t seen life but tries to teach me.”

“Here’s your bottle, and don’t pick on him anymore,” said the senior bartender and placed a bottle of whiskey and a glass ashtray in front of him.

“Now you're speaking my language.” Darnell waved the barman letting him go.

The bar was full as always. The man tried not to attract attention after the recent problems in the Agency but couldn’t help his Sunday visiting of the favorite public place. Darnell was really fond of this place for its permanent semi-darkness and not too loud heavy music. He had been visiting this bar for the last 5 years, from the moment it had just opened, and saw all its ups and downs. As well as its permanent barman Walter saw all the ups and downs of Darnell that he was ritually drowning away with whiskey sitting behind this very counter.

Hiding in the furthest corner, he was painstakingly getting drunk, smoking one cigarette after another. If people were looking less askance at him, he would prefer drinking right from the bottleneck. But, to save the remnants of human shape, he had to use a glass. When the whiskey reached the middle of the bottle, a demon fell onto the chair next to him, shoving him with a black wing. The newcomer was dressed in a snow-white shirt with two unbuttoned upper buttons that bared his yellowish skin, and classic black pants with a wide leather belt. Darnell was always curious about how the demon managed to put this shirt on having the wings of almost his body size.

“You are so damn wide, Cyril,” commented the man on the appearing of the dark creature.

“Oh, I didn’t notice you, you are…”

“...dressed in all black, blending into the darkness,” finished Darnell for him. “How old is this witty joke of yours?”

“Are you downing whiskey again?” Cyril grabbed his interlocutor’s glass and stuck his long crooked nose into it.

“Give it back,” answered the man taking it. “And yes, smoking as usual.”

“Just look at you!” sniveled the demon. “You are only 32, but look like you are at least 40 years old! Do you know how long you will last out acting like this? Do you want me to tell you the date of your death?”

“No,” Darnell slowly shook his head, pouring himself another glass of beverage. “I’m not going to pay you for the information, we’ve discussed this a million times.”

“Too bad, too bad,” Cyril grinned with sharp, even, yellow teeth. “Hey, barman!” he waved his hand, and Mik approached him, casting a sidewalk cautious glance.

“Yes, sir?”

“Oh, look whom we’ve got here! Are you the new worker?” the demon propped his chin in his hand with long black nails. “Do you wish to get an immediate promotion? To earn money quickly? This will make your girlfriend really happy.”

The barman stared at Cyril in surprise. He had probably guessed the reason due to which the guy risked taking a job in the mixed bar for both people and demons. Darnell coughed and when Mik shifted his gaze at him, slightly shook his head.

“Oh, thanks, but no,” Mik roused himself. “So, what may I offer you?”

“Pour some brandy with ice,” answered the demon saddened with the refusal.

“Why to order alcohol if you don’t get drunk?” asked Darnell, watching Cyril dipping his long snaky tongue into the glass at first and then sipping from it.

“To bear you the company, of course!” resumed he happily. “Cause when you drink alone - this is alcoholism, but when you do this together with someone - this is an informal rest!”

A succubus passed by them, waving her hips seductively, dressed in a black hugging grid costume put on a naked body. Cyril waved her naughtily with his fingers and murmured:

“Hi, Morra.”

She looked at him with a haughty glance from under long eyelashes, shook her carbon-black hair, and went away.

“Still tells you to go whistle?” asked Darnell compassionately, taking out another cigarette. “For how long have you been obsessed with her?”

“Maybe for 200 years… I don’t remember exactly…” answered Cyril in a sad voice following the succubus with his eyes as she was walking away. “Oh well, forget it. Let’s better play our game! Maybe today the luck will be on your side, and you’ll guess whose minion I am?” The demon turned to the man and propped his chin in his hand again. He fixed his amber-colored eyes on Darnell.

“Well,” the man moved the glass away and turned his broad black finger-ring on the left hand. “I’ve already named Procel.”

“Right,” the demon nodded.

“And Naberius too.”

“That was really abusive.”

“Nybras?”

“Oh, missed again,” Cyril smacked the counter with disappointment.

“You do understand that it is impossible to guess whose minion you are when you call yourself some made-up name and look almost like a human, right?” commented the man in a bad temper knocking another glass of whiskey.

The demon kept silent for a minute, watching Darnell flicking the old scratched Zippo with an engraving.

“By the way, I’ve heard about Friday. No, not like that - FRIDAY, in capital letters! You’ve done so much that day!” the demon laughed hoarsely and flapped his wings. 

“I've done?” Darnell pulled a long face.

“Sure, who else! They say the boss was bawling so loud that it could be heard in my world?”

“Are you asking me?” the man specified.

“Of course you, you are the one he was yelling at,” the demon teased him.

“Listen, but you are the one who knows well: I must have dispersed that minion.”

“But he was only the minion of Gusion! He would have answered your questions and just got out of there.”

“Answered?!” Darnell lost his temper. “Do you know what Gordon has done after seeing him?”

“That inscriber?”

“Yes, the inscriber!” the man nodded abruptly. “That blockhead daubed a pentagram and a circle of protection! Outside! And it started to rain! Everything was washed out to hell! The demon was so happy that he jumped on Gordon, and do you know what that p***y did?”

“Of course I do!” Cyril tried to stop his verbal stream.

“He shrieked like a pig and put a whole magazine of bullets into him! I say, the common ones! And just ran away leaving me alone!” Darnell waved his hand and nearly dropped the almost empty bottle, but the demon caught it easily and returned to its place. “And for this, the boss was shouting at me for over a damn hour!”

“Ours are also discussing this occasion. You know well that according to the Treaty it is not allowed to simply kill minions…”

“Your kind is discussing”, grumbled the man angrily. “He’ll revive in your world anyway, so who cares?!”

“If you had finished your course a couple of years ago, you could have been an official inscriber by yourself”, the demon reminded him. “But you decided “to show” them all.”

“The commission is a bunch of puffed gobblers, you know that”, Darnell killed a bottle of his whiskey and looked at the empty glass with squinty eyes.

“Well, well, things will work out, as they always do”, Cyril patted him friendly on his shoulder. “By the way, shouldn’t you be in the office tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, in the office”, the man waved his head weakly.

“Darn, looks like you are done”, the demon pointed out with care.

“Done”, the man sighed back.

He got up wiggling. He took out a few banknotes from his pocket and threw them on the counter not even looking at them. After this, he carefully passed over his chair.

“Just don’t tell me you’re on your old rattletrap”, the demon watched him go.

“No. I’m on foot,” mumbled Darnell.

“Oh well. Then, catch you tomorrow!” The demon happily twitched his membranous wings and blew off the heap of ash that was sprinkled by his interlocutor. The man waved him in return and went to the exit. "There is no way you gonna know how right you are trying to get yourself down by everything you do," smirked Cyril and turned back to the bar looking for somebody to have fun this evening.