Ignat raised an eyebrow. "A neighbor?" And what, he turned out to be some kind of supervillain?
– No, it's worse. He turned out to be… a drummer," I whispered, as if uttering a terrible curse. – And not just a drummer, but a death metal drummer. At three o'clock in the morning. Every day.
Ignat nodded sympathetically. – It sounds like a personal hell.
"Exactly. I tried to talk to him, asking him to moderate his enthusiasm at least a little. But he only replied that
"music is his life" and "art requires sacrifice." My complaints to the police also led to nothing – the noise was within the acceptable level.
19.
I sighed. – Anyway, I decided that I need a plan. An ingenious plan that will allow me to get rid of this drum hell. And then I remembered my new friend. Ignat grinned. "A goblin from the sewers?"
–A goblin from the sewers." And anyway, he has a name,
Breivor, I hope I pronounced it correctly. I thought that he probably had connections in the criminal world of the
Underworld. And who better than goblins to deal with a noisy neighbor? I explained. – I went down to the sewer and told about my problem. He listened to me sympathetically and promised to help.
"And what did he come up with?" Ignat asked, without losing his enthusiasm.
– Breivor said that he knows a rat band. Rats, he says, are very musical animals, especially if they are properly
motivated. And then one night, when the neighbor drummer was particularly upset, I heard… music. No, not death metal. It was a cacophony of squeaks, screeches, and screeching. A rat band performing jazz improvisation on trash cans," I said.
"Rat jazz?" It sounds like the apocalypse," Ignat commented.
20.
– That was the case with my neighbor. The rats surrounded his house and staged a real concert. The drummer ran out
into the street in a rage and tried to disperse them. But the
rats were smarter. They started gnawing on his drums, his car, and even his favorite death metal raincoat," I continued.
– And what happened to the drummer? Ignat asked.
"He moved out the next day. He left behind only a hole in the wall and the smell of rat urine. And I took a huge piece
of cheese to the rat orchestra as a thank you," I replied. – That's the story, Ignat. I think I've got myself into a crime situation after all.
Ignat laughed. – Yeah, you have a talent for attracting trouble! But, frankly, the rat orchestra is brilliant. We will need to take this into account.
"Just remember that you have to pay for rat jazz with cheese,– I warned. – And also… it seems that animal welfare agents are watching me now. They say it's cruel to use rats for musical purposes.
"What are you going to do?" Ignat asked.
– I'll try to negotiate. Maybe I'll offer them rat yoga classes. Or, at the very least, I'll escape into the sewers
and become a citizen of the underworld," I said, sighing. – In general, it's probably time to start another hobby.
Knitting, maybe?
Ignat nodded. "Knitting?" That sounds good. Just imagine:
You're knitting a sweater for a goblin. It's going to be epic! And then my phone rang. I looked at the screen. An unfamiliar number. "Hello?" I replied.
– Hello. It's from the Unicorn Protection Society. We have learned that you… have been in contact with the underworld. And that you were seen in the company of goblins.
I felt cold. The Unicorn Protection Society? How did they know about the sewers?
