Claws of Mercy

Ruslan paid attention to the figure of the Scandinavian Loki, who had a cunning expression on his face. It seemed that evil gods were honored here, as well as gods of funerary cults. The statue of Anubis in the corner glittered with gilt. The three-faced Hecate occupied a separate niche lined with alabaster skulls. Several painted wood figures depicted fox demons. The kimono-clad beauties had tails and fox masks in their hands. Looking at the collection, Ruslan approached the empty pedestal in the center again. It was obvious that it had a special place. So there must be a special deity standing on it. It would probably become the head of the local pantheon.

Ruslan stopped near the central pedestal with golden letters and the inscription “Alais”.

“I don’t know of such a goddess,” he admitted.

“It seems to be a goddess from Ancient Egypt,” illiterate Dima suddenly showed erudition. “I saw a teaser of a movie about her.”

So that’s where his erudition comes from! From a primitive movie! Ruslan grinned crookedly.

“Is the pedestal made of real gold?” He was genuinely surprised when he touched the ornament.

“I think so.”

Ruslan whistled.

“When people have easy money, they don’t know where to put it, and everything becomes gold!“444

“A lot of money has been spent on this palace,” Dima agreed.

“My husband doesn’t even give me money for doctors,” a slender blonde woman suddenly came out from behind the column. “But the statue of his favorite will be made of gold of the highest standard.”

The blonde looked enviously at the statue of Alais. Apparently, this blonde is the oligarch’s wife.

Ruslan felt embarrassed. A loose tongue could get him fired and cause a lot of trouble. It’s better not to argue with rich people, they have the courts and the police under their thumb. Everyone knows that the one with the most money is always right. But the pretty blonde was angry at her husband’s spending, so she looked at Ruslan with approval and sympathy.

Usually blondes do not like light-haired guys. They prefer brunettes. But the oligarch’s young wife was not a blonde. There were dark roots in her dyed platinum hair.

“I’m Valentina Vladimirovna,” she introduced herself. “But for you it’s just Valentina when we’re in private. In public, however, you’d better address me by my first name and patronymic.”

And she is a rather prim person. Any young girl would just call herself Valya.

Dima introduced himself and Ruslan. The conversation seemed to take place in an ordinary company of young people, but it gave off the novelty of aristocratic arrogance.

Valentina Vladimirovna had something to be proud of. She had a figure and appearance like a photo model, even better. The sequined dress would have been more suitable for the evening, but she wore it now. Probably she is going to some kind of reception after she’s given the building a hostess’s eye.

“Is your husband going to visit us?” Ruslan asked politely.

“Why is it?” The blonde was genuinely surprised and flapped her painted eyelashes.

“Well, to see how things are going here…”

“There’s a solicitor and managers for that.”

“I suppose you must like the building first and foremost? Your husband’s building it for you, isn’t he? Is it a wedding present?”

“It is more like a temple for them,” Valentina looked at the statues with distaste.

As if they could come down from their pedestals and become her living rivals! Ruslan marveled at the lady’s nervousness. It must be hard to keep a rich husband under her thumb.

Valentina took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her shiny clutch. She wanted to smoke, but for some reason she came to her senses and put everything back in her purse. Either she remembered that cultured men did not approve of women smoking, or she was afraid to smoke in the presence of ancient gods. Probably it is the second. Wives of powerful husbands are often very superstitious. Ruslan would not have been surprised to hear that Valentina traveled to psychics, mediums, and other charlatans for sessions. But she suddenly brought up the subject of the old medical center.

“There is an amazing medical center nearby. I’ve been urging my husband to donate to it for a long time, but he refuses. Sometimes superstitious fear is more powerful than common sense.”

“Is it because of the angels at the entrance?” Ruslan guessed. After all, the angels are from the Christian religion, which is not supported here. If they were Egyptian gods, the hospital would have gotten grants long ago. He chuckled at his own impressionability.

“It’s all because of old stories,” Valentina muttered.

“What stories do you mean?” Ruslan and Dima asked in unison.

“Those silly stories that go back to the serfdom era, when there was not wasteland here, but villages, hamlets, and some noble manor, which was destroyed during the revolution.”

Ruslan remembered from the stories of his ancestors that the estates were not destroyed, but taken away in favor of red commanders and party chairmen, but he kept silent. His family’s traumas did not concern Valentina Vladimirovna or Dima.

“What was going on here?” Ruslan asked for the sake of politeness.

“Well, I don’t know anything for sure, I’m not from here,” the oligarch’s wife began to justify herself. “I myself moved to St. Petersburg from the Rostov region at a young age, and later moved to Moscow. It is boring to live in the suburbs. I like noisy megacities, spas, restaurants, clubs, entertainment. From the very beginning, I was against building a house in the middle of nowhere.”

“So, what was going on in the middle of nowhere?” Ruslan interrupted her.

“Rumor has it, a lot of things. Are you interested in local superstitions?”

“I am just curious.”

Valentina crumpled, not wanting to speak, and then she blurted out in one breath:

“Allegedly, out of love for angels in this wilderness a lot of creepiness created.”

How strange it sounded! Ruslan instantly remembered the black-covered notebook he had found. There were notes about evil angels in it too.

“Did you find any broken angel figurines here?” He asked, focusing on the notes.

“I wasn’t looking for any!” Valentina was extremely surprised. “I’m not going through the garbage.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Ruslan objected hastily. How do you tell a woman you barely know that someone else’s notebook was thrown into his car, and instead of throwing it away, he started to read it like an idiot. Now he wants to check the information.

The oligarch’s wife was no longer listening to him, but was fixing her hair. A bob haircut with small snaking curls suited her very well.

“By the way, here’s my business card, in case you need anything,” Valentina rummaged in her purse and held out a thin rectangular card, filled in only on one side.

Ruslan accepted the card. He was already aware that if the name and contacts on the back of the card were not duplicated in English, it meant that the person had no international connections. All influential people have business cards on both sides: one side in the usual Russian, the other in English. Apparently, her husband keeps Valentina Vladimirovna in tight grip. He is the influential person here, not she. For some reason, the business card had Verbina’s last name on it, not Vereskovskaya. It was probably Valentina’s maiden name, but it was awkward to ask. Ruslan did not encourage those who lived in unregistered marriages and thought it was humiliating to talk about such topics aloud. If you ask about something, people will immediately have to justify to everyone why they consider a receipt in the Registry Office unnecessary. Many even call such a marriage civil, but this is a mistake. Although also do not want to explain to anyone that civil marriages are those that are registered, but not married. Otherwise you have to get into discussions with people. Ruslan didn’t like to argue or have someone point out his place.

It was likely that Valentina Vladimirovna’s surname was a well-known one, and the woman didn’t want to change it when she got married, but there was a one-in-a-hundred chance of that. Most married women prefer to take their husbands’ surnames so that the marriage can take place according to all the rules.

“And what will be on this pedestal?” Ruslan decided to check Dima’s assumption.

“Some Egyptian goddess,” Valentina Vladimirovna confirmed.

“Is it another one? It feels like the leading figure of the whole multinational pantheon should stand here.”