Traveler’s journal.

3. A Traveler's Inspiration
It's only fair to note that once again I didn't notice how I was getting to the next city. It wasn't clear where, how long, or how we were walking. All I remember is how, by early morning — while everyone should still have been asleep — we reached some town where there was no border of any kind and no one met us except the cold rain. The whole way, Alisa and Arthur were talking animatedly: now they'd be yelling about being best friends forever, now quarreling and ready to tear each other apart, now doing something else. She spent a long time wringing the promised money out of him, which she then joyfully recounted several times.
I didn't take part in their heated discussions, since I was still feeling unwell. On one hand, I saw what we'd done as a positive thing, since we had saved one — or perhaps more — innocent life. On the other, given that no one was going to change their attitude toward the system, we had simply removed one bloodthirsty ruler who would be replaced by another. And that made me sad, and our actions still seemed wrong to me.
Aliska and Arthur didn't quite understand what was wrong with me, and tried in every way, unsuccessfully, to cheer me up. And while I was mentally agonizing, my companions took care of finding lodgings for the night. In the end we slipped into some empty but well-kept house that didn't look abandoned at all, but none of us cared in the slightest. By that point I was feeling hunger, exhaustion, and an unwillingness to do anything all at once, and I think they were experiencing something similar.
There were several rooms in the house, so everyone settled wherever they wanted, and we all passed out until noon. We might have been glad to sleep longer, but from all sides we could hear music. A whole crowd was singing out in the street, which nearly made me fall out of bed. Then Aliska's shouts started drifting in, which forced me to finally end my sleep and see what was going on.
"SHUT THE HELL UP, OR I'LL SHOOT YOU DOWN LIKE DUCKS!" — my companion was expressing her indignation this way to the people who were dancing right outside the window. As far as I could tell, they were completely indifferent to her threats, because they didn't even pay attention to her and kept on with what they were doing.
"Who are you kidding? Even if they all stood stock-still, you'd only waste your shots for nothing, and then you'd be screaming that they moved too fast." — A dressed Arthur with a fairly cheerful look came into the room, which reminded me that Aliska was in the room in nothing but her underwear, and I myself was stripped down to my shorts, which made me feel deeply embarrassed. I demonstratively turned away, covered the most important spot, and walked quickly to get my clothes.
"Right now you stand still yourself and I'll hone my aim on you," Aliska hissed through her teeth, but I still managed to hear it before leaving.
"Pray tell, young lady, where would be best for me to stand?"
Those two started arguing, but I had already left and so I didn't hear what was going on. Not that it interested me — I wasn't even worried if they really did kill each other. Strange only that the undressed Aliska hadn't yet, with shouts, thrown Arthur out of her temporary room. What a shameless girl.
The singing and dancing in the courtyard, though, genuinely intrigued me. I couldn't make out what they were singing out in the street, but the melody itself was resonant. I was very curious to find out just what kind of performances were taking place in this town. And what kind of place it was.
Although I still felt awkward in the company of my companions, I decided nonetheless to continue traveling with them, to try to set these two on a better path, and at the same time to steer them toward the righteous way. So I waited for them to calm down, and together we all went to explore the new town — and at the same time to look for somewhere we could eat.
We tried for a long time to strike up a conversation with any of the citizens, but nothing worked — everyone just sang, made merry, and carefully ignored us. It was hard for me to tell whether that was good or bad, since such concentration on their work only made the residents' performances better. All around us were genuine musicals. Curiously, on every street they performed a completely different repertoire. And their costumes were all varied, but the style within each performance was mostly consistent. In one place people merrily sang of love, guys lifted girls in their arms, dropped to one knee, kissed the ladies' hands, and the girls sighed and sang of their tender feelings, pressing themselves languidly against their cavaliers. In another place people sang of hatred for one another and in dance mimicked a fight, without causing any physical pain but displaying splendid agility and flexibility that beautifully depicted a battle. On yet another street we came across a sad performance accompanied by the funeral of some young guy. There were many more different songs and dances dedicated to whatever entered the citizens' heads — for many it all went by the principle of "I sing what I see." On the other hand, no matter the theme, the main thing was that everyone's performances were wonderful.
The only confusing thing was that none of us could find the source of the music. Yes, in individual moments we saw this or that musical instrument in the performers' hands, but mostly the music came from somewhere outside. And another surprising fact was that nowhere did any cacophony arise, as if each performance were enclosed in some invisible dome that protected against the noise coming from other musicians.
Besides the music, which in a very short time had managed to get on our nerves fairly quickly, the town was distinguished by rather varied architecture. In one place there were huge panel apartment blocks where you could house a whole crowd and from which live music also emanated; in another stood something resembling a shack; somewhere you'd come across tidy cottages; but most of the town was made up of unique buildings that differed too greatly from one another. A small castle and a mansion of metal bars could stand side by side; there was also an absolutely black house "decorated" with all kinds of slime, dirt, cobwebs, and paint stains that they passed off as blood (at least I very much hope it's just realistic paint), and part of the boards were rotten and falling off the house, and yet it still looked lived-in. There was also a house built upside down (I don't know how it held up, but everything looked as if it were built to last). I think the unique buildings could be listed forever, which is probably further proof of the creativity of the residents of this interesting town.
Finally we spotted a sign reading "Inspiring Food" and realized we'd at last stumbled upon a public eatery. Such a promising name led me to think that we'd finally be in a real restaurant, and not some mediocre or lousy dive where the main dish was alcohol.
That day I learned one important thing: you have to stop believing advertising signs and reviews. In reality, this establishment turned out to be worse inside than those I'd had occasion to visit in Wildvest and Flige (not to mention my magnificent Raissky, where there could be no question of any den of vice whatsoever). Instead of the expected luxurious interior, we beheld dirt, half-ruined wooden tables and chairs with crooked legs, as if they'd been thrown onto a dump and then given a second or even third life. The room was very gloomy; lamps appeared only on a few tables, so it was hard to make out what was going on in the place. The patrons I managed to make out were somehow strange — some, in an incomprehensible state, stared into emptiness, while others, on the contrary, were actively discussing, planning, drawing, and writing something.
We took the most decent table with relatively sturdy chairs and began to wait for a waiter, who noticed us almost immediately and came over to us after delivering some flowers to one of his clients. This long-haired guy turned out to be fairly well-built and possibly even attractive, because Aliska couldn't tear her enchanted gaze away from him for a very long time. I, by the way, only now reflected that for a night in a new town this girl had done nothing with her appearance. Probably the pull of sleep was stronger than the desire to transform herself.
Although my travel experience isn't very great, it came as quite a surprise to me that the waiter didn't recognize the three of us as outsiders. He reacted so strangely to questions about what kind of town this was, why everyone here sang, where such incomprehensible architecture came from, and so on. The guy first thought for a long time, then gradually began telling us about this town and giving us advice on what we needed to do to feel at home here.
This town was nicknamed Muzas, and it is a whole focal point of creativity, where every person is able to unlock their abilities and create something magnificent. People here are divided into several types: those who sing and dance, those who draw and build, those who write. Each person here has mainly one inclination, more rarely two, but only one person (or perhaps more, but some simply don't unfold) is able to unite within themselves the abilities for all these activities — and it is precisely that person who becomes the mayor, in order to help people unfold to the maximum.
At present, a fairly young and — as the waiter noted — creative girl runs everything here: Nateya Ilifin. She sings beautifully, writes songs and poems, paints stunning pictures, designs chic houses (and sometimes issues orders to tear down old buildings, in order to help young talents develop). On one hand, very many residents of the town are satisfied with her rule, especially those who love to draw and plan new original buildings. On the other hand, the rest of the people — those who love to sing, dance, and also write poems, epics, and stories — feel not very comfortable, since instead of doing what they love, they have to engage in construction, because according to the mayor, artists have a very delicate nature, and so they can't be bothered with construction — they have to do all the planning and calculating.
Before the waiter — whose name, unfortunately, we never learned — continued his story about the town, we all decided to order food and juices, since we felt a fairly strong hunger. We all chose different dishes from the meat of some dubious animals. But since everything came out beautifully and deliciously, justifying the establishment's name, we had nothing to complain about, and when everything was brought we pounced on the food with pleasure. I had a baked furaz with vegetables (no idea what that is, but according to the waiter it's a very tasty bird from some neighboring town). Aliska had a salad with the same meat as mine. And Arthur was brought a stew of glomot, also brought from some other town. The guy claimed he'd already encountered this animal, and so didn't want to risk it and chose something familiar to him.
While we dined, the waiter continued telling us that Muzas is always very glad to receive guests, and so anyone who wishes can be introduced to various sources of inspiration that can acquaint the visitor with the culture of this town as closely as possible. Moreover, the first impression is always provided free of charge.
Altogether there are three such sources in the town, and all of them, if you believe the waiter, are not only harmless but even beneficial to the body. The first is orange furan grass, which is stuffed into some device and smoked, after which a person begins to see various interesting images. Very often after such visions a person can paint an entire work of art. I wasn't attracted by the fact that it had to be smoked, and thanks to my edifying conversations with Alisa I understood that smoking is bad and harmful. This girl, by the way, also refused this grass, since she can't draw and hates it. But Arthur was pleasantly surprised and said that smoking grass was great, especially if they promised him a benefit.
The second source of inspiration turned out to be tsuntuk — a pretty flower possessing shining (no really, you could say they glowed in the dark of the room) blue petals. By inhaling its fragrances, a person feels an inner lightness and is drawn to sing beautifully and dance. Naturally, such a description and presentation inspired both Alisa and me, but I got scared that I would look as foolish as those strange guys on the street, and so I changed my mind and listened to what else they could offer me.
The third source turned out to be an emerald infusion made from a combination of these two gifts of nature. It awakens literary talents in a person, and he turns all the thoughts that come into his head into delightful text. This liquid aroused my suspicion, since I again remembered alcohol and the consequences it could lead to. But the waiter didn't understand the meaning of the word "spirit," and so he swore that this delightful drink in no way had anything to do with anything bearing such a disgusting, uninspiring name, but rather, on the contrary, possessed healing properties for the body. And given the pleasant sweet taste sensations that I experienced from the first sip, I was ready to believe his words, and so I began greedily drinking this infusion. We are always glad for something beneficial.
At first none of us felt any effect, and so my companions called it a botch job. To be honest, I myself was a bit hurt, since I had hoped to be inspired to tell in my diary about the trip to Flige, about which I had a lot built up.
Arthur got bored and asked the waiter for a few sheets and a pencil to draw something, while smoking at the same time. Aliska, with a sad look, hummed some melody, from time to time sniffing the flower. I moved off to a separate table and started writing about Flige — moreover, I intended to write down exclusively bad things.
While I was thinking about what words I should use to characterize my impressions, a very pretty blonde with sky-blue eyes sat down beside me. The girl began peering at my notes, which I immediately covered, since I didn't want some stranger reading them just like that. I felt a bit awkward in front of her and thought that my actions might have offended her, but she only smiled and then began to move her lips. And I was ready to swear that her words reached not my ears, but exclusively my mind.
"It seems to me you should speak not only about the bad moments. Try telling everything as it is, and I will help you with that. I'm sure you yourself will like it better that way."
And she began to tell me, in sequence, everything about our trip, as if she herself had been nearby the whole time. At first I sat with my mouth open, taking in her words, but after her remark that I was wasting time for nothing, I lowered my eyes to the notebook and began to reproduce her monologue in the notebook almost verbatim. But from time to time I took a break, listening to her joking comments about this or that occasion; I didn't consider all of them appropriate, and the girl herself wasn't demanding about my scribbling.
The blonde finished speaking when her narrative reached the moment of our arrival in this town. I lifted my head from the notebook, but beside me was empty. Whether it was a hallucination, a real muse, or a girl who had secretly been watching me, remained a mystery. But I still wanted to believe that this lady had come to me to bestow inspiration.
I folded my notebook and returned to the table, where Arthur was finishing drawing something. My attempts to find out what he had drawn ended in failure. The fellow merely rolled up his creation and put it away, so that no one else could see it.
"And what did you scare off that amusing lady for? She could have told and shown me so many more interesting things, and now..."
It dawned on me at once that Arthur had seen the girl, who most likely was visible only to him. It became obvious, of course, that the thief, along with me, had sensed the presence of someone special who had helped him materialize his thoughts. I told him about the wonderful blonde; he in return told me about a petite redhead who had told him something sensible and demanded that he sketch everything in detail. The guy was convinced she was as real as the rest of us, but now understood it had only been a vision. An inspiring, charming vision.
We chatted for a long time on various topics, including asking the waiter — who had cleared all our sources of inspiration from the table — where we could stay for the night. He described several abandoned buildings slated for demolition, listing among them the very one we had just slept in. How nice that we hadn't done anything illegal and were saving on lodging to boot.
It was already getting on toward evening, so we asked to be brought the bill for the services provided, and only then did Arthur and I realize someone was missing. Someone very noisy, nasty, a bit irritating — and, most importantly, solvent. We did have enough coins to pay, of course, but without Alisa — who, by the way, had left her things with us — something felt off.
Only the waiter was able to shed light on this, saying that while the two of us were busy with our own affairs, the girl had sniffed the flower and attempted to sing something. But since creating distracting noise in "Inspiring Food" was forbidden, the girl was immediately asked to leave the establishment until her inspiration had run its course. I would sooner have believed a half-ruined room and Alisa belting out a song before my eyes than her calmly leaving the establishment. But the facts were plain to see, and so we had to gather all our things and set out in search of our crazy companion.
The decision to try our luck and risk heading toward our temporary lodging turned out to be a good one. Not far from there, our incomparable singer was performing in the company of people. Everyone was making merry and dancing, cheerful music was playing, and our Aliska was belting it out at the top of her lungs before the crowd. And she was doing it, it must be admitted, much better than when she had pretended to be drunk in Flige.
You'd expect from this particular person some kind of bawdy lyrics about drinking, brawling, debauchery, and so on, but she was singing a light, cheerful song about love. Arthur and I decided not to distract her from her engrossing activity. I was completely charmed by her voice, her singing, and how beautifully the people around her danced (she herself moved much less, perhaps because she lacked such grace). And my companion said he'd step away for a bit but would be back soon.
When Alisa finished the love song, the cheerful light melody was replaced by a slow, sad one. Now the girl launched into a sad song about the fate of an unhappy girl whom life had forced to sell her body. From the lyrics I immediately understood that the song was about herself. If she hadn't distorted anything, and I understood everything correctly, then poverty combined with a pleasure in the process had pushed the girl onto such a path. And although she had always dreamed of love, attempts to give love to those she genuinely liked ended in the death of her beloveds, which landed the maiden behind bars. And then she launched into yet another song that literally continued this one. Now it was about a handsome young policeman who had become both her best friend and her beloved. In this song she sang with a smile that, even though her beloved had married another, she would always keep warm thoughts of him in her heart. On the last verse our companion even shed a tear, which made me uncomfortable, although it was precisely this text that touched me more than the others. It all looked so very sincere. But there she ended, and upset, she hurried in my direction, though she passed right by me, clearly without noticing.
"That was a wonderful song. I'm sorry if the person in the song really broke your heart."
"If I told you that during my confinement that type plied me with alcohol, brought tasty dishes to my cell, and taught me to shoot from the very pistol that, by the way, he then gave me as a gift, you probably wouldn't talk like that."
"So he taught you everything bad?"
"No, I coped with that task successfully on my own. If anything, I was the one teaching him bad things. But with the weapon — yes, he helped, in gratitude for my assistance with his beloved."
In her song Aliska hadn't mentioned that she herself had helped her beloved fall into the hands of her rival, and so I didn't hesitate to ask. It turned out that in reality the convict had initially befriended her warden by virtue of the fact that her excessive passion had ruined his chief rival for the heart of his beloved. The policeman wanted to be friends with Alisa and took her advice as friendly. She, in turn, overcame her own sincere feelings and helped the guy become happier, and so gave genuinely sound love advice that was able to help him. This guy still occupies a huge place in our companion's heart, but now she swears she feels only warm and friendly feelings toward him and his chosen one. She even came to their wedding, which took place shortly before her trip to Wildvest.
And yet, it was visible that Aliska was very sad, so I decided to offer friendly support, hugging her and pressing her close so that the dancing and singing crowd, which continued its merrymaking without her, wouldn't suspect anything. We stood like that for several minutes until happy Arthur came up to us, whose appearance wiped all the sadness from our companion's face.
"What a wonderful and profitable repertoire! Alisa, if your performances cause the same furor everywhere, we'll get rich!"
"What are you talking about, she sang absolutely for free?"
"Better you don't know, or you'll be completely disappointed in this gnome. By the way, where's my share for keeping quiet and unwittingly helping?"
Arthur, with a displeased look, gave the extortionist a few coins — taking into account the amount spent on her behalf in "Inspiring Food" — after which she, satisfied, walked ahead, while I remained somewhat bewildered. What profit was being discussed, and why was it better for me not to know?
I started pumping them for information that I really shouldn't have heard. While I stood and enjoyed the singing of our artist, the insolent thief had picked the pockets of a few onlookers. Arthur's deed deserved condemnation, and I meant to say so, but I wasn't given the chance. Instead, the guy decided to change the subject, which was fairly surprising to me.
"I've heard a lot in different towns about the exploits of Alisa Bonier of Listvenny, who made both her own town and her own name famous with her pranks, but I'd never have thought I'd get to see with my own eyes a person capable of killing with a single night of love. Ah, but you wouldn't tell from your looks that you come from that amazing little town of charming people."
"Oh, come on, one night was never enough for me." — The girl was all flushed, but I got the firm impression that these words sounded to her like a compliment. — "If fictitious fame didn't so precede me, I'd have gotten married long ago and lived quietly."
"Alisa, you're from Listvenny?" — I was practically untroubled by this girl's fame; I considered only the name of the town I was planning to travel to important.
"Those dead guys and live clients composing tales of your joint adventures — are they fictitious too?" — Arthur, as if ignoring my words, kept pressing our companion.
"What happened with those young men was an accident — don't blame me for the weaklings. The fame of the adventures is also exaggerated, everything was gray and uninteresting; most of them can't even be called little outings. And yes, Maksim, I'm from Listvenny."
As we walked toward our temporary lodgings, Arthur kept mocking Alisa, telling of his acquaintances with males of various ages who prided themselves on the time spent with the wanton. At the same time, I was thinking about asking her about my uncle. On one hand, they might well have been acquainted; on the other, I'd feel uncomfortable if my relative ended up on the list of this madwoman's past glory.
"Ugh, on you — aren't you ashamed to mock a girl? Maybe it's hurtful for me to hear filth about myself?" — A pouting Aliska demonstratively picked up her pace, far outpacing the two of us.
"I'm simply proud that I got to meet a celebrity! I hope you're not planning to make corpses out of Maksim and me? We're not as sturdy as that proud old grandpa from Vonch, and burying us will be a real chore."
It was unclear to me what old man he could be talking about, and so I attached no significance to the thief's words. But Alisa stopped, sharply turned around, and tried to slug the teaser in the face, though Arthur deftly dodged the blow.
"Why waste precious strength on a wretched shorty. I can arrange a quick death for you without that — luckily I have a pistol for it."
"That's no fun — with such a poor shot as you, the whole supply will go to waste."
"Stop quarreling, both of you!" — We were already not far from the temporary housing, and I didn't want them, on account of this quarrel, to go off in different directions, leaving me to choose one of them. Especially not when I was preoccupied with the question connected to the thrill-seeker's hometown. — "Arthur, you're behaving in a manner unworthy of a gentleman. Alisa, stop clowning around and accept the reputation you've earned as it is. And while you're at it, better tell me about Listvenny."
"What is there to tell you about it? A town like any town, there are plenty like it around."
"And you, miss, aren't you ashamed to deceive a naive fellow? Perhaps he wants to hear about the luxurious ladies with serpents' hearts that overrun the place." — Arthur was probably well acquainted with this place, otherwise he wouldn't be sharing about the fair half of Listvenny's contingent.
"If I wanted to hear about puffed-up women, I'd have asked about them right away," Aliska snorted with disgust.
"No need about the girls — I have Marina. But about the town itself I would like to hear. You see, Aliska, my uncle is supposed to be living there right now, and I actually want to visit him first and foremost. And besides, I'm curious — maybe you happened to meet him."
"From what seems a decent family, and even you have a relative who messes around with prostitutes!" — We were just entering the abandoned house, and the girl patted me sympathetically on the shoulder, which I perceived as humiliation. — "Many travelers have visited Listvenny in order to get better acquainted with the famous 'goddesses.' Only I remind you that I left that disgraceful little town back at the age of sixteen, and so it's unlikely I can know him."
I had nothing to say to Alisa, since the accusations against my uncle were offensive to me. On one hand, my father could have gotten the name of the town wrong, since I didn't want to believe that his brother was married to a woman who sold her body. On the other hand, I had never in my life met this man, and so it's hard to draw conclusions about him. In the end I tried my luck and told my companion the little that I knew about Uncle Filipp, including naming his name.
In response I expected to encounter either another portion of humiliation or words to the effect that my uncle was someone Alisa didn't know at all. However, instead, my companion joyfully embraced me and began to shriek:
"Why did you keep quiet all this time and tell me nothing about having such cool relatives? Why, you'll be like a brother to me now!"
A brief silence followed, during which Aliska pressed me tightly to herself, so that I gradually began to suffocate, while Arthur and I maintained a steady incomprehension of the situation. The girl released me from her tenacious hands only when I started barely getting the words out that I was choking. And only then did she begin to clarify the situation.
Alisa told us about my uncle, who many years ago had married her foster mother Violetta. He had traveled the world for many years, but even so, my relative had still not managed to travel around the entire world. In many towns Filipp Sinsky is a well-known figure, and I turned out to be a simple fool who hadn't even once thought to ask about him anywhere.
At first I suspected my uncle of an association with a vulgar woman, but the storyteller swore that this Violetta of hers was practically a saint, and one of the few in Listvenny who would never have allowed herself to be smeared by all and sundry. That gave me hope, but most important for me was to hear pleasant accounts of my relative. Aliska saw him as an interesting, intelligent, brave, and self-assured man who was good at absolutely everything. At the same time, she stressed that I was rather the opposite of my uncle, and the only thing that might unite us was unconventional thinking. Still, that's not bad either — it's nice when your uniqueness is acknowledged.
For some time we continued to converse on the subject of Uncle Filipp, since Arthur too had something to tell us from the gossip he had heard in other towns. It was amusing to listen to stories about this interesting person, since from my father I had learned absolutely nothing. For example, when he was out of money, he often got involved in various merry escapades that, though not always lawful, turned out either very successfully and left a positive mark on his reputation, or not so successfully, which left funny memories of him. By the way, he had a huge number of stormy romances, and in some places he gained fame as a ladies' man; however, his acquaintance with the beautiful Violetta radically changed his life, thanks to which he renounced a life full of adventures in favor of a peaceful and quiet existence.
Then we talked about our visions in the "food," and it came as a sudden revelation to me that, instead of a luxurious beauty, Aliska had seen the ideal man for herself, with whom she could have bound up her entire life, if only he had been real. This in turn inspired Arthur to once again remind the girl of her past.
"I wouldn't be surprised if you'd have taken money from him too."
Aliska only snorted contemptuously at this remark, but preferred to refrain from answering. But this only spurred the thief on, and he decided to continue his mockery:
"You're a strange one. You're famous for a criminal, lustful past, and at the same time you dream of family happiness with some terrific man. Haven't you thought about changing your name there, changing your way of life?"
"I'm not ashamed of my past — I'm proud of my talents. The man who loves me and is ready to do anything for our happiness has the right to know what he's getting involved with."
Aliska smiled so sweetly as she answered Arthur's jabs that he had no choice but to surrender. Although at the end he snorted that then this lady had no hope of finding herself a man, she only showed indifference, saving face.
We chatted pleasantly for some time more, after which everyone went to sleep. And in the morning our companion appeared before us with white hair and green eyes — I was already starting to get used to that, while the thief at first was bewildered but later shrugged and accepted things as they were, as if he didn't care. Again a noisy and cheerful atmosphere stood out in the street. And again our honest company was getting ready to go to "Inspiring Food," with the goal of getting closer to art. On one hand, something inside me wanted to talk my companions out of this undertaking and choose to explore the town itself; on the other, I was very attracted to the prospect of seeing the beautiful muse again. Besides, it was all harmless and maybe even beneficial. Well, how do you argue with arguments like that?
In the end we again arrived at that gloomy place, sat down at a table, and were again served by that same long-haired waiter. Our company started again with simple food, after which we moved on to the inspiring kind. This time Aliska decided to inhale the furan smoke, Arthur took up the infusion, and I set about enjoying the flower. This time there was no effect at all, or at least so it seemed to us. For some time we anticipated meeting our charming muses, but nothing happened. Properly speaking, we should have turned to that guy and asked him why nothing was working this time. However, my companions persuasively argued that the whole point was that each of our bodies had grown accustomed to a specific source of inspiration, and so we should return to the one we'd started with.
You'd think that was a very good and well-founded idea, but here too failure awaited us. An hour passed, but nothing changed. The waiter the whole time never once paid us any attention, and my disappointed companions were ready to send it all to hell and leave this town. I'd never have thought that those two possessed such high spirituality and dreamed of being inspired by excellent ideas. The awkward wait for a miracle drove each of us to try previously untested sources, after which we began to discuss the next plan of action.
Aliska promised she would definitely escort me to Listvenny, even despite her hatred for that town. Arthur promised he'd be rid of us two as soon as he repaid his debt to each of us. I, for my part, commented that being in Muzas had turned out fairly calm, and that for me that was even somewhat unexpected. My companions just waved that off and added that it's by no means this much fun everywhere as it had been for us recently. Honestly, the thought that the dangerous adventure in Flige could be considered fun rather struck me, and so I decided to voice my opinion.
"Despite my acceptance of what happened in Flige, don't go claiming that it was fun."
"Maksim, come on, why do you start, you only ruin everything again."
Alisa expressed her negativity toward my words with her face; Arthur only pretended to ignore the conversation.
"I'm not ruining anything. I simply don't approve of murder, even if we're talking about punishing an even more dangerous cannibal."
"My dear and closest friend, if it'll help you, I'd like to tell you something." — Arthur licked his lips and his face took on a rather sly expression, but now he'd decided to take part in the conversation. — "So you condemn our light-minded companion for having encroached on the life of a bloodthirsty monster. But what do you say about the fact that today and before, you ordered and ate meat. You don't really think that it comes from plants, or that a living creature cuts a piece off itself when it's ripe and offers it to a person for cooking, while the vanished part of the body regenerates?"
"Ugh, lord, that's disgusting! Meat is different. It's obtained completely differently; no one has to be killed for it!"
"Interesting — then tell us how."
Honestly, I had nothing to answer to Arthur's question, because I had seldom in my life reflected on how food is obtained. I would probably never have supposed that the fine farmers of Raissky were capable of killing an animal in order to then feed it to people. Lord, that's awful. We are all disgusting creatures. It hadn't really occurred to me in general that a creature had to die for meat products to be obtained — I thought the process of obtaining meat was something like getting milk.
"I've never seen anyone kill an animal. And the cooked meat never ran around alive in front of me — I didn't converse or interact with it, so it's all not the same thing."
"A fine point of view, but since you don't approve of bloodshed, you must reproach absolutely everyone who eats meat and enjoy exclusively vegetables, fruits, and plants." — Arthur smiled like a victor, which irritated me greatly.
"No, that's not so. I didn't personally kill this creature. Besides, presumably only animals that have already died of old age or illness go for meat."
"Usually you shouldn't eat such meat — it's harmful and unpalatable." — Alisa chimed in; apparently she completely shared Arthur's opinion. Or was it all a diversion against me?
"How do you know? Maybe it's better to go straight to the people who bring the meat products and ask them?"
They could dissemble as much as they liked, but I didn't back down. If the process of obtaining meat were as awful as my comrades considered, it would have been banned long ago. However, a shadow of doubt had nonetheless formed in me — perhaps there were towns in which the eating of meat was forbidden.
"Fine, let's ask the waiter how they obtain meat for this establishment." — Arthur smiled a broad smile, as if he knew exactly what the answer would be. I had the feeling he was mocking me, and at the same time this excessively strong confidence put me on my guard, and I shifted to a tactical retreat.
"You can buy the opinion of a waiter, as of any other person in the world, and so I'll prefer to take his word for it but not think about how my breakfast today might have greatly suffered on my account."
"Maybe I should also tell you where scrambled eggs come from, if you've ever eaten them?" — Arthur sensed his victory and decided to keep pressing me.
"Enough, I get it. I'm bad, I eat animal products, I must be reproached and so on. But since I didn't kill anyone with my own hands and it was already a prepared product, it doesn't count. And don't forget that we all eat in order to live!"
Arthur took on the expression of someone explaining something to a child. But our companion joined the conversation and, in a very loud, lively voice, asked me:
"Well then, what do you want from us? The cannibal woman also died so that you two could live! All you can do is whine about all kinds of useless nonsense."
Now I understood what this whole conversation about meat had been leading to, and so I preferred to silently end it. I started looking at all of it a little differently; however, I still saw the events in Flige, as well as the fear of the unknown I'd experienced in Wildvest, more in a negative light than a positive one.
While we argued on this less-than-pleasant topic, I didn't even notice the room filling with a large number of women. I simply hadn't seen them, and so when I started looking around, I was somewhat taken aback. They were all saying something, apparently to me. And when I managed to catch part of their conversations, I began to understand that the muses had come to me. Only, if last time I had occasion to encounter just one, here there were no fewer than a hundred!
They all differed in appearance from one another, but each was beautiful in her own way. Some whispered for me to paint their portrait, others sang wonderful songs, still others gave advice for winning the heart of my beloved Marina. The rest I simply couldn't make out in this crowd of voices.
In my eyes everything was as if in a fog, as if I'd sunk into a wonderful dream. One moment I heeded the love advice of one black-haired muse who looked exactly like Marina, the next I caught out of the corner of my eye Arthur trying to sneak up from behind on some person, as if merely walking past. And now I saw Alisa approaching the waiter and offering him all kinds of indecencies.
Then it got even more interesting. The waiter began to scold us, saying we'd done something wrong, violated something, and so on, but none of us could have cared less, since each of us was absorbed in our own affairs (accosting, thievery, and daydreams of love). Later we were rudely thrown out of the establishment, but even that we were completely indifferent to. We walked through the town and gladly took in everything around us, looking at the condemning faces of the townsfolk, who had even ceased their wonderful songs and dances.
From somewhere far off, with difficulty, one could make out shouts to the effect that we were terrible and that we should be driven out of town, but at the same time everyone was afraid to come close to us. But we couldn't care less about that either, since each was absorbed in interaction with his charming inspirer.
For the first time in the whole trip, I wasn't worried about the opinion of those around me. It's just that I'd grown tired of all these outcries from people who didn't understand into what delight we had plunged, and so, having heeded the advice of one of the beautiful muses, I proposed to my companions that we leave this boring town and enjoy the journey to the fullest. But we decided not simply to leave Muzas, but to do it with a song.
Music struck up, and the three of us sang as if we'd been preparing the performance for several months running. Aliska danced erotically but beautifully, Arthur nimbly bounded down the street around the involuntary spectators, and I provided the lead vocals and joyfully sang of merry adventures. But despite the fact that we performed stunningly, there were faces who were displeased with our impromptu concert. But we couldn't care less. Even when they started throwing objects at us, we deftly jumped over them and went on with our business, as if there were no one around. Later there were also those who approved of our boldness, and so after that the young people danced and sang along with us. When the songs about travel ended, everyone moved on to romantic music. And later, when we got tired of performing, we realized that the residents of Muzas had completely forgotten about us, and so we decided to calmly take our leave of it.
Afterward, our stroll went as if in a dream. The three of us felt no fatigue and did nothing but heed our muses and, from time to time, do everything they said. One town remembered us thanks to the fact that Aliska tried to publicly seduce some attractive young man. In another town we were shamed because Arthur had tried to quietly make off with a huge golden statuette from the mayor's house, maintaining his seriousness to the last and insisting that it was HIS thing and that everyone makes mistakes. There was also a town in which only I cast myself in a negative light, when, having heeded the advice of one attractive red-haired muse, I tried to teach the townsfolk the way of life as in Raissky, asserting that only thus would they find happiness. They, you see, didn't need worthless preachers. Sometimes we also accompanied our adventures with a good drinking bout, in the course of which we most often forgot that no one but us could see the muses, and so we tried to get them drunk too. The only good thing in all of it was that by no means in all regions did we give our names, and so not all information about our merrymaking would turn into rampant gossip — which means not all the news about me would reach Raissky.
We lost count of time, but I'm ready to bet that interaction with our inspirers lasted about a month. In that time Alisa managed to receive more rejections than, as she herself claims, in all her previous years of travel. Arthur, meanwhile, "accidentally found" an enormous quantity of coins that could have fed several starving families. And I, not without the help of my beautiful muses, told everyone around what they needed to do in order to find true happiness with the girl they loved, and also tried to teach people to live correctly — to which people reacted variously. One could safely assert that each of us was going mad, but at the time we were convinced that everything was going as it should. The constant humming in the head was taken for granted.
After some time I even started noticing that the muses grew fewer with each day, but that hardly bothered me. I think the girls disappeared only when they managed to get through to me. The ideas of some of them were even brilliant, and one could have written a whole book about it — or maybe several — but unfortunately I was too busy listening to the rest, and so many sound thoughts slipped out of my head, replaced by others. Or maybe I was raving here too — it's hard to judge now.
It's embarrassing to admit, but I remembered practically none of the towns we visited, since I was mainly concerned only with conversing with the muses. Even the last day of my interaction with them I remember only for the fact that, after several glasses of strong drinks, one full blonde took me by the hand and said that I should look at the world while I was young. And so I made my comrades set out on the road, even though all of us were excessively exhausted. Only they insisted on grabbing a couple more bottles with us to enliven our march, and I didn't particularly object. I had already managed to grow accustomed to the fact that the transition between two towns is barely registered by the body, and so one might as well drink for fun.
If I'd been smarter earlier, I would have said to myself even then that it was better not to get involved in this whole muse business, and most importantly to stop consuming alcohol completely. But at the time I was happy, and so I considered everything we did to be correct and good. Even if we had greatly harmed someone, I would still have maintained the confidence that everything was going as it should.
And so, we had already covered a certain distance, and I was listening to yet another of the judgments from some muse that had become commonplace. But suddenly it went quiet. All the girls around had vanished, and only my companions remained with me. It was the dead of night, it was hot, and the sand under our feet was very soft. Apparently the muses had left my comrades too. And so we all breathed a sigh of relief and, without a second thought, collapsed onto the ground, sinking into a deep sleep.