While working in the basement of the Winter Library, Ivan Braginsky, a shy and lonely outcast, stumbles upon "The Sunflower Diary" and lets loose an ancient demon named Alfred, a rather cheerful and affectionate lord of darkness. Alfred offers to make Ivan a king among men, but all Ivan wishes is that Alfred become his friend. Thus begins the strange, sordid adventures of Ivan and Alfred…
One
"True friends stab you in the front."
—- Sir Oscar Wilde
Headmaster Ludwig looked livid, as if the vein on his square forehead might actually burst. Spittle flew from the lips of his reddened face as he shouted at Ivan. Every now and again he paused to inhale. His fists slammed down on his oversized desk, adding to the dents and shifting the feather quills, stacks of papers, and lone ink pot. By the tenth hit, the ink pot had migrated close to the edge where Ivan stood with his head bowed and his eyes glued to the ends of his leather shoes.
"Do you have any idea the trouble you caused! Answer me, Braginsky!" Ludwig yelled, slamming his palms down. The ink pot hopped closer. Ivan opened his mouth to answer, but Ludwig continued, "Felicianio was terrified. He passed out from shock! And the potatoes…!"
Ludwig's words began to blend together, and Ivan found himself pretending to listen.
The shadow of a moth flitted across the flagstones and front of the mahogany desk, or maybe it was a butterfly. He debated whether he should risk a glance at the arched window its owner fluttered in. Moths reminded him of Babchoka, one of his first pets. Sweet Babchoka died within two days of Ivan's tender care.
"Braginsky!" Ludwig pounded his fists down hard. Now the ink pot was about to fall. Ivan weighed the risk of moving verse the risk of letting it fall.
He gripped the sides of his hooded robe — synched at the waist by a rope belt — to hide the tremble in his hands. Although he enjoyed listening to arguments, he hated shouting and noisy people. The tail of his beige scarf hung down the front of his robe.
"Braginsky!" Another hit. Two, maybe three more, and the ink pot would fall.
Ivan sniffed, wondering about the strange smell that lingered in Ludwig's office. It was almost masked by room's usual dusty odor. Pasta? That could not be it. Ludwig would never eat pasta in his office, so why did it smell like pasta in here.
"Braginsky!" This time Ludwig slapped his palms down and went quiet, staring expectantly.
Ivan realized Ludwig actually wanted an answer this time. His mind scrambled to remember what Ludwig had asked him. In his nervousness, he responded in Russian instead of German.
"D-Da. I mean… y-yes?"
The crevice in Ludwig's brow deepened; his thick blond eyebrows nearly joined into a unibrow that roofed grey-blue eyes, like the color of a stormy sea.
"What did I just say?"
Shit.
Ivan swallowed hard. Forcing his lips into a weak smile, Ivan said, "Erm… you… were…talking about my pet?"
"Pets!" Ludwig slammed a lone fist down. The ink pot teetered on the brink. "The Winter Library is not a petting zoo, Braginsky! It was bad enough when you brought in strays. Now you bring vermin!"
"I-I…" Ivan hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts. He looked up nervously, eyeing the ink pot. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. Krysa looked very sick. I couldn't leave her to suffer alone."
"So you left a rat in the pantry. A pregnant rat!"
"I thought she was dying. I didn't realize she was in labor."
Ludwig threw up his hands, opening and closings his fists several times as if trying not to explode. He breathed in and out, nostrils flaring with each exhale. When he had calmed, he asked in a tight voice, "What in God's green earth is wrong with you, Braginsky? Did you mother drop you on your head when you were an infant?"
"You keep asking that."
"Dammit, Braginsky!" Ludwig slapped the table with one hand. The ink pot wobbled over the precipice. "You get rid of rats. You don't keep them where we store the potatoes. Do you have any idea how much food is contaminated thanks to you?"
"She looked lonely."
Ludwig sighed heavily, leaned back to massage his temples. He continued in a level voice, "I have tried and tried to understand your quirks, but this is becoming too much. No one will work or live near you. One guy chose to live in a closet rather than near your room. You're a hassle and a distraction. Perhaps it's time you considered a different line of work."
"Nyet! Nyet!" Ivan said, grabbing the edge of the desk and pushing the ink pot back a couple inches. "I can change."
"You've said that before."
"I can do better. Don't sent me away. Becoming a scholar at the Winter Library has been my lifelong dream. I love working here."
"Your work is efficient and you are punctual," Ludwig said, fiddling with a dent on his desk. "You're one of the best and most dedicated, but your social skills are abysmal. And the creatures you bring in here. Last week it was a hawk."
"Yastreb." Ivan shut his mouth at Ludwig's leveled glare.
"The week before it was a dog."
"Sobaka."
"And that thing… whatever the hell it was."
"Yenot."
Ludwig's scowl silenced him. "The point is, one more incident, Braginsky, and you're fired. I don't care what you're family connections are. This charade has gone on long enough. If I find one more pet, you are gone. Understand?"
"But wh—."
"One more," Ludwig interrupted, holding up a forefinger for emphasis.
"D-Da… yes. I understand," Ivan said in defeat. Without his pets he would have no friends.
"Good. Now I want to speak about another matter." Ludwig slid a folder over, one that had migrated to the left edge. He opened it, nodded, and then said, "You're going to be transferred."
"Tr-transferred? But you said I had another chance."
"Not from the Library. I'm changing your job position. Since work with people doesn't suit you, perhaps you'd do better in place with very little social interaction," Ludwig explained. "Starting tomorrow, you'll work in the Dungeon."
Ivan's gaze shot up, heart speeding up. "The Dungeon?"
He knew the rumors of the dark, windowless, catacombs beneath the Library where thousands and thousands of ancient relics and artifacts had been stored until they could be sorted. It was said to be an eerie place, and no one lasted the Library for long once they transferred to what some called 'the Pit of Despair'.
"Am I really being sent to the place 'where hope goes to die'?"
"I'm afraid so." Ludwig's expression softened, almost became sympathetic. "I didn't want it to be this way."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Ivan said, unable to continue his joy. A giggle even escaped, despite his sister's warning for him not to do that since it disturbed people coming from someone as large and bulky as him. "I always dreamed this day would come."
"You did?" Ludwig's mouth fell open and he gaped at Ivan in stunned horror. "You understand the place I'm talking about?"
"Of course ~" Ivan said cheerfully. "Can I start today? The sun is still up."
"You can't seriously want to go down there," Ludwig said, placing his hands on his desk and leaning forward. He stared as if Ivan was insane. "You're joking, right?"
"Joking? About what?" Ivan asked in confusion.
The vein stood out again on Ludwig's forehead. His face turned the shade of a beet, and he trembled with rising anger. "Get out of my office."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Out!" Ludwig pointed at the door and Ivan quickly retreated.
"May I go to the Dungeon then?"
"Someone will take you there tomorrow," Ludwig grated out in a tight voice. "Tomorrow."
Ivan paused, hand on the brass door handle, and looked over his shoulder. "Do you smell pasta? Has Feliciano been here?"
For some reason Ludwig turned the deepest shade of red that Ivan had ever seen the man go. Then he exploded, "Out! Out, Braginsky!"
"But I w—."
"OUT!" Ludwig slammed both fists down hard, and there was a sharp crack as the ink pot shattered on the floor.
Black ink oozed toward the rug, the lone decoration in the room. A tense pause followed. Ludwig's brain seemed to be processing what had happened.
"I can see this is a bad time," Ivan said and hurried out the door.
After about two steps, he heard Ludwig's agonizing wail, one that chased him down the hall.
Candles in little cubby holes in the wall lit the way down the stairs to the cafeteria, a low-ceilinged room full of rows and rows of long tables and benches wedged between thick pillars. There was a glass lantern burning on each end of the tables.
Only a few seats were occupied since the cafeteria staff had just begun to serve food. The people that trickled in threw wide-eyed glances at Ivan before giving him a wide berth. It was as though an invisible bubble cocooned him, one that no one could enter.
Their whispered conversations reached his keen ears. He kept his smile plastered on, pretending not to hear. They said things like:
"I hear he killed Feliciano."
"Don't be dumb. Feli's not dead."
"The potatoes are ruined. He let rats in. On purpose."
"Crazy runs in his family. And cruelty."
"The freaks belong in the circus."
"I wish he'd just disappear."
His heart sank, smile straining.
On the verge of leaving and returning near closing, he froze when the most beautiful laugh in the world pierced the cacophony. Heart thudding, he searched for the source and found it, his beloved Yao.
After all his weeks of following and observing Yao from afar, he had not realized that Yao ate dinner this early, likely because Ivan usually worked during this time.
There was Yao, seated in the middle of what appeared to be a cluster of new recruits, with his head craned back and his dark-red lips split wide on his porcelain face, laughing happier than Ivan had ever seen. Ivan focused on burning that image in his brain, envying all the young men and women lucky to be so close to that sight.
Often Ivan fell asleep to fantasies of crushing Yao's slender figure to his broad chest and running his fingers through those silky, ebony locks. In his dreams those oaken-brown eyes gazed up in lust, and that oval face scrunched up in a haze of pleasure as Ivan kissed him all over.
Yao glanced at Ivan suddenly and his happy expression evaporated.
Ivan averted his eyes and hurried into the dinner line. His body felt warm all over. He had been caught looking at his secret crush, a man who existed beyond Ivan's reach.
The person in front of Ivan grumbled about the lack of potatoes when his friend paled and pointed at Ivan. They both gasped, then left the line, as did everyone else. Ivan became free to pick up his bowl of stew, loaf of bread, and an apple. The moment he headed for his seat, the line magically reformed as if he had never existed.
He maintained his calm face as he headed for his usual spot, a seat in the corner that faced a wall. As soon as he sat down, the table cleared and everyone sat elsewhere.
Ivan sighed, tearing his bread into small pieces to dip in his stew before eating. Why did everyone abandon him? What was he doing so wrong?
He had tried giving gifts, but the high-quality knives and letter openers were not well received, nor the antique brass knuckles and bottles of vodka. Ivan tried to make peace with one man who used to worry that Ivan would poison him with Nightshade by giving that man the antidote to Nightshade wrapped in a red bow with the message:
You might need this soon.
— I.B
That got Ivan quite the scolding from Master Ludwig.
Everything he did was misconstrued.
He longed for a friend, for someone who understood that Ivan wasn't a monster and he didn't belong in a circus. He was just Ivan.
Ivan's replayed Yao's laughing face over and over, each time it became more sparkly in his memory. It haunted him all the way to his room which sat past nineteen unoccupied rooms at the the end of a corridor.
Yao was an angel that would never be Ivan's. Did Yao even like men? It was impossible to tell.
Turning the brass knob, Ivan carefully pushed open his door — which got stuck sometimes — and opened it wide enough to slide in. The front edge of his desk had many dents from where the door had banged against it.
After shutting the door, Ivan dropped his leather satchel on the floor and set his lantern on the desk between his box of chess pieces and his stack of books. He pulled out his stool from under the desk, then lifted up the cover of his bed, draped low enough over the side to touch the floor. He reached under, patting around his hand until he found each of hits pets' containers and pulled them out one by one and set them on the desk.
First came Pauk's glass jar with pinpricks in the metal lid. Pauk reared up, backing his legs up the glass. Next came Zmeya's small crate-like container. She hissed inside, parts of her scaly body visible between the gaps. Finally came the metal contain that housed Lyuagushka who gave a ribbit as Ivan removed the lid and peered inside.
Ivan sat down heavily, clasping his fingers together and taking a few deep breathes to calm down. His throat constricted to a pinhole; the words would not leave.
He ran his fingers through his pale hair, fingering his scarf nervously. His gloves hid the clamminess of his hands.
With a deep inhale, he began, "I have bad news. I must release you."
Silence followed until Lyagushka gave a ribbit.
"I know you're heartbroken. I don't want to let you go. Ever. But if the Headmaster found you…"
He shut his mouth and buried his face in his palms, smelling the leather of his gloves.
Lyagushka gave another ribbit.
"You're my only friends. And you, Lyagushka, you've lasted the longest of any of my pets. Three weeks. It's a record. Try to understand. My sisters would be devastated if I failed here, at least Katyusha would."
Another ribbit.
"And I cherish you. I'll find you a good home. Master Ludwig has a lily pond in his private garden. He won't notice an extra guest. We have to be stronger."
Ribbit, ribbit, the frog continued in a steady beat.
Unable to take anymore, Ivan reached under the thin mattress of his bed and pulled out one of his many hidden flasks of vodka. Alcohol was not allowed in the Library, but he could not do without it.
After emptying the fifth flask, he fell asleep snuggling Pauk's jar, moaning that he wanted to keep them forever.
"Oh Pauk, will I ever have a friend?" Ivan slurred as he snuggled the jar.
Ivan drifted into a dream of a beautiful man laughing in a field of sunflowers. For the first time it wasn't Yao he dreamed up, but a man he had never seen before. A beautiful man who kept his back to Ivan, a man with hair as gold as wheat…
tbc…
In a dark, dark Dungeon is a dark, dark box and in this dark, dark box is a dark, dark secret…
Note: Sorry if this started a bit slow, but we're getting to the good stuff soon. The Rusame remains on the distant horizon. I want to emphasize the isolation of Ivan in this first chapter. He's despised by his peers and considered a "freak".
Summary
Ivan is a shy, lonely outcast whose pets always die or escape, and who people avoid like the Black Death. One day, while working the catacombs of the Winter Library, he discovers "The Sunflower Diary" and unleashes the ancient Demon Lord Alfred Jones from his prison in the pages. The two strike a contract to turn Ivan from social pariah into the most popular man in the Library, but they both may get far more than either bargained for… Rusame.