Winter was slowly coming to an end. The first rays of sunlight were breaking through the sky, which was still almost entirely covered with clouds. However, signs had already appeared in the sky and on the ground. They heralded that it was high time for spring cleaning at the Inn. And there were many signs. The basement, where the paint was peeling in patches, the hall, which for some reason smelled terribly of fish [when the topic was brought up, the receptionist always quickly changed it or left the room where it was mentioned], or even the attic, which was full of unnecessary things that "might have been useful someday." It needed cleaning, and the time had come....
"Everyone, please, come to me!" the owner called. "Everyone! Well, it's high time for spring cleaning! I'll assign everyone tasks right away...
" "Excellent idea!" the countess interrupted. "Tasks!" The Admiral will take care of the garden, and I will, of course, manage everything because of my excellent sense of intuition, but...
"Forgive me, Countess, but for you..." the owner held his breath. "I already have a special task. You... will help me make Marzanna. Later, of course, we'll drown her.
" "Excellent! Who else would be better suited for this?"
"Now that we've established that, I'll divide the tasks...
TASK ONE: THE ADMIRAL VS. THE FRENCH MAID."
The Admiral was to take care of the attic because he already had legs and wanted to use them at every opportunity. Not his own legs, because they had given up, but those made by the receptionist. He didn't know it was his doing, because then he probably would have thrown them away, but he was quite proud of them. Even despite a small flaw that caused them to start doing lively obereks or other dances at the most inopportune moments. The most important thing was that he had them and wanted to use them as often as possible. So he grabbed a broom, a can of spray for any creatures he might find there, and a smile, which he managed with some difficulty, as the countess might still be wandering around. Little did he know, however, that the smile would vanish like a hamburger thrown against a wall.
The attic was very... attic-like. And by that, I mean it was dark, dusty, and you could always hear all sorts of squeaking sounds behind you. And then there were the boxes and crates. Even if you thought you'd located them all, there would always be at least one to trip over. And fall into a pile of dust. So, before long, the Admiral was covered in grime and coughing, with brief pauses for sneezes.
He first began throwing down the crates, which contained the typical items found in attics: old photos, clothes, and anything you keep when you're sure you'll need them in the future.
"Mhhhyk!" – a rather loud sound came from one of the crates.
This posed quite a challenge. The Admiral, of course, wasn't a coward, but a corpse with a considerable reserve of courage, I'd even venture to say. However, there are moments in life, dead or alive, when one feels even a little uneasy. For the Admiral, one of those moments was the sound of "Mhhhyk!" coming from some old chest in the attic of the Inn, where everything in it was dead. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to give up and run away, because then it would probably turn out that the sound was made by something small and harmless. However, if he wanted to check it out, he would surely find that it wasn't small and harmless, but quite the opposite. And large and dangerous things have a tendency to eat smaller ones or harm them... And the Admiral was one of those smaller things.
"Uh... Well... ahem," he began as confidently as he could, "come out, or... Or I'll use my immense strength to kill you!"
"Mhhhyk!" the same voice replied. He seemed unfazed.
"You don't want me to kill you, do you!"
"Mhhhyk?
" "Okay, I was joking... I don't want to hurt you..."
At that moment, something emerged through a hole in one of the crates. It was small and... undefined. And the longer the Admiral looked at it, the harder it became to define. Nevertheless, it made another strange sound and fled. And that was good. Let someone else deal with it...
"Mon dieu!" someone shouted behind him. He turned quickly.
Before him stood a rather tall brunette in a French maid's outfit, holding a broom in her hand.
"Good morning, lovely lady..." He leaned in so he could kiss her pretty hand.
"How dare you trespass on my territory?
" "Uh... I'm just cleaning here?" he tried to explain.
"You English dog! That's my job! I'm a French maid!
" "Aha! French!" That would explain the mess here...
At that moment, the maid lunged at the Admiral and hit him with the broom. He staggered and fell, his left arm breaking off and rolling into the corner. If only he were a little younger...
For the next five minutes, he received unimaginable beatings from the maid until his bad legs saved him. Right after he'd taken the broom, the Foot Call in them kicked in, and they began swinging a fast can-can. The blows were so well-placed and so imprecise that the maid stood no chance. Five minutes later, she lay dead on the ground.
The Admiral didn't want to wonder where she had come from, or—wherever she was—if there weren't more of them. He reattached the arm, threw her out the window, and started cleaning up. Now he was the king...
TASK TWO: BOJ, THE RECEIVER, AND A TON OF COD.
The receptionist was a genuinely nice man with no major flaws. He did have a few minor ones. Unfortunately, those few minor flaws worked so effectively that they easily compensated for one major flaw. Ever since he stopped playing poker, he'd become a hobbyist inventing. And as we all know, you have to test an invention on someone. He was sane enough to test it on someone else. Someone mentally weak and impressionable. Someone he considered a friend, and he could always convince them with a sentence like, "It's completely safe!" and a smile. All he had to do was convince him....
"No, no, and no again!" Boj began to yell.
"But why not?!
"Let's think about it..." Boj pretended to think for a moment, then added, "Because it's YOUR IDEA?! And they always end badly for ME?!
"But you're dead anyway, so what bad thing could happen to you?!
"I could be humiliated..."
"You jumped from a mountain with wax wings, blew up half the Inn..." Could you be more humiliated?"
The receptionist was referring to previous events. And indeed, if you thought about it, what new thing he could have come up with, how demonic this plan would be, how much he couldn't possibly be damaged... He couldn't be more humiliated.
"And if I agree, will you leave me alone?!
"Yes... yes... YES!" the receptionist shouted in euphoria.
He didn't usually behave like this, but he'd seen in one of the videos that scientists behaved this way. They were usually hunchbacked too, but walking hunched over all day was tiring for him, so he limited himself to these kinds of "demonic," as he called them, matters. "
So this is my new invention. If it goes well, we'll never have to paint those stupid hall walls again. Get some glue and stick them to the walls," then remembered and added, "It's completely safe!"
Boj didn't even ask any more questions when he saw what he was supposed to be sticking. He had no energy left and really didn't want to know how a ton of codfish glued to the walls was supposed to prevent painting. He also didn't want to know where the receptionist had gotten so much sock-scented glue. It was unnecessary information that could only further depress him... If that were possible.
After about three hours, one of the codfish glued to the wall decided to attack Buj and simply fell off the wall, sticking to his forehead.
"Can you tell me how to remove it..." he asked, hoping he wouldn't hear the answer he was about to hear.
"It's impossible. You see, it's a very strong glue..." As if that weren't enough, he added something that terrified Buj even more: "My recipe."
"But... I... Codfish..."
"You look good like that! I know at least a dozen people who've dreamed of having a codfish stuck to their forehead! You look very... hmmm... sexy," he smiled, hoping he was good at lying.
"A codfish on your forehead isn't sexy!" but he couldn't lie.
"Think positively... Why spend the rest of eternity thinking you have a hideous codfish on your forehead that everyone will laugh at?"
His breath caught, and he couldn't say a word. He turned and went to his room.
The receptionist, however, surveyed the wall with a proud expression. Now the entire lobby was covered in codfish. And he looked truly... fishy. Because that's probably the only apt description...
TASKS THREE: ZOMBIE CLEANS THE BASEMENT.
The zombie had to be given the task just like everyone else, because he was in a really good union, and if they found out he was even slightly discriminated against, it would be really bad. That's why he was tasked with cleaning the basement. There were no cables, valuables, or anything else that might upset the owner if it broke.
Nevertheless, for a zombie, such things aren't a detail that would make the job easier. Sure, they would be if he could think for himself, if he were creative, etc. And since he wasn't, he could destroy even a single thing. His need for imagination was never a hindrance...
The owner wanted it clean, and he truly wanted to stop being yelled at. So he started cleaning. Literally. After he'd taken out all the broken chairs that didn't really bother anyone and cleaned up all the dust, he realized it was still filthy. So he started peeling off the plaster from the walls. When he was finished, he came to the rather constructive—for his rotten brain—conclusion that the place still needed cleaning. So he started tearing down the walls and carrying out the rubble.
"Finally...freedom at last!" someone shouted from behind the wall.
"
Moooo
...
And for the next half hour, the poor owner had to listen to who the countess was using to make marzanna, how she knew what she was doing, and other very uninteresting stories. Even if they had even a hint of charm, it was brutally stripped away by the countess's screeching voice, like nutritional value from hamburgers.
But it was worth it. If anything was worth listening to the countess, it was precisely what he had planned. These tragic moments would pay off one hundred percent....
"Well, countess..." he began, trying to sound very convincing, "I would like you to become marzanna... Because you are, well, so... distinguished and all...
" "Hyyyyp!" – only in this way could the sound of the countess's rapidly drawn air be fully conveyed. "You won't be disappointed! No one drowns with such conviction and drama as Countess Vrakula!"
And so, the dream of the owner, and probably all the inn's guests, was soon to come true. If the owner had calculated everything correctly, the current would carry the countess hundreds of kilometers before she surfaced. And with a bit of luck, she wouldn't find her way back to the inn. And everyone would live long and happy....
"This straw is so little straw! When I was young..."
She'd endure a little more of this and it would all be over. Of course, he made sure to stuff her outfit with stones. After all, no one wants her to surface too quickly....
After a few hours, her outfit was ready, and he called everyone to the bank of a nearby river. Everyone smiled with great joy. The countess believed it was because of her magnificent appearance. The rest were convinced it was because they were seeing her for the last time.
After a moment, they threw her vigorously into the river. The sun was already setting, still casting rather dull, red rays on the river. The countess slowly receded until only a small, black speck remained on the horizon. Everyone returned happily to the inn, and they too fell asleep.
Except for the owner who was looking for the receptionist to ask him where the hell the cod on the wall came from...
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