Inquisitor by Dem Mikhaylov Page B

were not interested in the mill – moreover, at that moment the waterwheel wasn’t working, as it was not harvest season and there was nothing to mill. From time to time the miller came to check the wheel and the mill stone performance as well as to see if the dam wasn’t washed down. But he did it because he was used to it. In fact due to heat and drought the water level had decreased so much that the waterwheel hardly touched the pond surface.
    The boys were interested in the hammer-pond in front of the dam – it was the place where the giant whiskered host of the deep water had always been living. A spotted catfish. It was quite friendly fish that was spending most of its time lying on the oozy bottom of the pond and lazily moving its fins. Despite of the huge size, the catfish’s jaw was as big as an adult’s fist, as for its small teeth, it was almost impossible to see them.
    On warm days kids loved diving down to the bottom and slightly patting the catfish’s slimy skin covered with water weed and shells. Certainly Flatis and Lery were not an exception, rather the organizers of such games.
    Flatis’s father disapproved that fun and always threatened to punish his disobedient son. But once – to Flatis’s unutterable delight – his father confessed with embarrassment that thirty years ago he used to dive in the dark deep water to pat the catfish on its back. Then Flatis’s old-aged grandfather told him that the catfish had settled down in the pond long before his birth but it used to be twice smaller than at the moment.
    The catfish had been living in the pond so long that became its integral part. When the peasants came to the mill, they often brought some treat for the fish – morsels of stale bread, tripe of slaughtered livestock and poultry. Seeing people approaching the pond, the catfish swam up to the surface, ate its treat promptly and after thanking the quests by waving its tail, descended to the bottom again where it usually got frozen to digest the food. Fishermen knew the catfish’s favorite rest place and didn’t throw nets there in order not to bother the host of the pond – besides, it was useless – it was impossible to drag such a corpse out of the water without tearing the nets apart. And it could be harmful – despite of the local priest who told off the peasants – the village gossips believed that in fact it was not catfish but a water ghost that protected the village against any trouble. Men were secretly laughing at their superstitious wives and mothers but no one dared to argue – as no one wanted to sleep at the hayloft instead of the warm family feather bed with the beloved wife who was softly snoring at the side.
    They laughed at gossips but nevertheless even the old generation didn’t remember an incident when a villager sank. Fires did happen. And once or twice a predator attacked. But there were no incidents in water or nearby. So no one offended the old catfish. No one tried to bother it in vain. Every spring the fat miller – Nikephoros – wanted to open the dam gates to clean the hammer-pond from sand and branches properly but every time when he saw the catfish sunbathing in shallow water, he postponed his idea for next year. It would be safer as he thought.
    Young girls ran to the hammer-pond to foretell their husband-to-be – they beckon the catfish to come to the surface, treated it with delicacies and whispered their lover’s name and then holding their breath were watching the way the catfish was descending to the bottom. If it did it calmly and quietly, their family life would be peaceful and nice. But if it hit its tail against the water surface and stirred the ooze, then they wouldn’t get on well with their husband who would enjoy physical punishment.
    When a new priest appeared in the village to replace Father Ceriny that passed away because of the old age, he learnt about the host of the deep water and all the legends connected with it, he certainly got