ERAST FANDORIN V

"JACK OF SPADES" UNLOADED

Balzaminov, who is Lyutikov. The ancestor did not graduate from the seminary, but passed on his stupid surname to his descendants. It’s good that they called Tulipovs, and not some Oduvanchikovs.
What a nickname! What about appearance? First things first, the ears: protruding to the sides, like handles on a chamber pot. You take it with a cap - they are self-willed, they strive to get out and stick out, as if they are propping up a hat. Too elastic, cartilaginous.
Previously, it used to be that Anisius would spin for a long time in front of the mirror. And so he turns around, and so, let his long, specially grown hair on two sides, cover his lop-eared - it seems to be better, at least for a while. But as pimples appeared all over his personality (and that was already the third year), Tulipov removed the mirror to the attic, because he was completely unbearable to look at his vile mug.
Anisius got up for the service before dawn, according to winter time, count it at night. The path is not close. The house, inherited from the deacon's aunt, was located in the gardens of the Intercession Monastery, at the very Spasskaya outpost. Along Empty Street, through Taganka, past the unkind Khitrovka, Anisius had to go to the service in the Gendarme Directorate for a whole hour at a fast pace. And if, as now, it freezes, and the road is covered with ice, then it’s quite a disaster - in tattered boots and a thin overcoat it didn’t come out painfully adventurous. You will gnash with your teeth, you will remember the best times, and carefree adolescence, and mother, the kingdom of heaven to her.
Last year, when Anisy entered the fillers, it was much easier. Salary - eighteen rubles, plus extra pay for overtime, and for night, yes, it happened, they even threw traveling people. Sometimes up to thirty-five rubles a month ran up. But Tyulpanov, an unfortunate man, could not hold on to a good, profitable position. Recognized by Lieutenant Colonel Sverchinsky as an agent unpromising and generally slobbery. At first he was convicted of leaving the observation post (how was it not to leave, not to drop into the house if sister Sonya had not been fed since the morning?). And then it turned out even worse, Anisy missed a dangerous revolutionary. He stood during the operation to seize a safe house in the backyard, at the back door. Just in case, for safety reasons - due to his youth, Tyulpanov was not allowed to be detained. And it must happen that the arresters, experienced wolfhounds, masters of their craft, missed one student. Anisy sees - a young lady in glasses is running at him, and her face is so frightened, desperate. He shouted "Stop!", But he did not dare to grab it - the young lady had painfully thin hands. And he stood like an idol, looking after her. He didn't even blow the whistle.
For this flagrant omission, they wanted to turn Tyulpanov out of the service altogether, but the authorities took pity on the orphan, demoted him to a messenger. Now Anisius was in a petty position, for an educated person, a real graduate of five classes, even shameful. And, most importantly, completely hopeless. And so you run through your whole life as a miserable yarryzhka, without having served a class rank.
To put an end to oneself at the age of twenty is bitter for everyone, but it is not even a matter of ambition. Live for twelve and a half, try it. He himself doesn’t need much, but you can’t explain to Sonya that his younger brother didn’t have a career. She wants butter, and cottage cheese, and candy should never be pampered. And firewood now, to heat the stove, - three rubles fathoms. Sonya is an idiot for nothing, but when it's cold, she mumbles and cries.
Before running out of the house, Anisy managed to change his sister's wet clothes. She opened her small, piggy eyes, smiled sleepily at her brother, and murmured, "Nishii, Nisii."
“Sit quietly here, you fool, don’t indulge,” Anisius punished her with mock severity, tossing and turning his heavy, sleep-hot body. He put a negotiated dime on the table for the neighbor Sychikha, who looked after the poor. Hastily chewed stale kalach, washed down with cold milk, and that's it, it's time for darkness, a blizzard.
Seeding across the snow-covered wasteland to the Taganka, and slipping every minute, Tyulpanov was very sorry for himself.

The detective novel by Boris Akunin "Special Assignments: Jack of Spades" tells about the next investigation of the hero Erast Petrovich Fandorin, beloved by many, a wonderful and very talented detective. In this novel, he will have an assistant, and it is through his eyes that the reader will see most of the story. On the other hand, the author allows readers to understand the psychology of the villain, sometimes showing events from his side. The perpetrator is very skeptical about attempts to detect him and is sure of his impunity. It should also be noted that this book is filled with humor, which significantly distinguishes it from other works about Fandorin.

The scene of action is Moscow, Erast Petrovich is an official for special assignments under the governor. He has to unravel a very difficult case. In the city, a group of scammers is pulling out big frauds. They deceive not only the rich, but even government organizations. At the same time, they do everything in such a way that it is difficult to expose them. The main criminal calls himself the Jack of Spades, he gets special pleasure from his activities, carefully thinks through each case, uses knowledge of psychology. He tries to make every crime special, beautiful and sometimes even funny. Erast Petrovich understands that everything is very confusing here. But how can you punish the guilty if you can’t prove his guilt, if you can’t approach him in any way?

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Boris Akunin

Special Assignments: Jack of Spades

"Jack of Spades" unbelted

In the whole wide world there was no person more unhappy than Anisy Tyulpanov. Well, maybe only somewhere in black Africa or Patagonia there, and closer - hardly.

Judge for yourself. First, the name is Anisy. Have you ever seen that a noble person, a chamber junker, or even a head clerk, was called Anisius? So immediately it pulls with lamp oil, nettle priestly seed.

And the surname! Laughter, and nothing more. I got the ill-fated family nickname from my great-grandfather, a village deacon. When Anisiev's ancestor studied at the seminary, the rector's father decided to change the dissonant names of future church ministers to charitable ones. For simplicity and convenience, one year he called the Bursaks entirely on church holidays, another year on fruits, and the flower year fell on his great-grandfather: who became Hyacinths, who were Balzaminov, who were Buttercups. The ancestor did not graduate from the seminary, but passed on his stupid surname to his descendants. It’s good that they called Tulipovs, and not some Oduvanchikovs.

What a nickname! What about appearance? First things first, the ears: protruding to the sides, like handles on a chamber pot. You take it with a cap - they are self-willed, they strive to get out and stick out, as if they are propping up a hat. Too elastic, cartilaginous.

Previously, it used to be that Anisius would spin for a long time in front of the mirror. And so he turns around, and so, let his long, specially grown hair on two sides, cover his lop-eared - it seems to be better, at least for a while. But as pimples appeared all over his personality (and that was already the third year), Tulipov removed the mirror to the attic, because he was completely unbearable to look at his vile mug.

Anisius got up for the service before dawn, according to winter time, count it at night. The path is not close. The house, inherited from the deacon's aunt, was located in the gardens of the Intercession Monastery, at the very Spasskaya outpost. Along Empty Street, through Taganka, past the unkind Khitrovka, Anisius had to go to the service in the Gendarme Directorate for a whole hour at a fast pace. And if, as now, it freezes, and the road is covered with ice, then it’s quite a disaster - in tattered boots and a thin overcoat it didn’t come out painfully adventurous. You will gnash with your teeth, you will remember the best times, and carefree adolescence, and mother, the kingdom of heaven to her.

Last year, when Anisy entered the fillers, it was much easier. Salary - eighteen rubles, plus extra pay for overtime, and for night, yes, it happened, they even threw traveling people. Sometimes up to thirty-five rubles a month ran up. But Tyulpanov, an unfortunate man, could not hold on to a good, profitable position. Recognized by Lieutenant Colonel Sverchinsky as an agent unpromising and generally slobbery. At first he was convicted of leaving the observation post (how was it not to leave, not to drop into the house if sister Sonya had not been fed since the morning?). And then it turned out even worse, Anisy missed a dangerous revolutionary. He stood during the operation to seize a safe house in the backyard, at the back door. Just in case, for safety reasons - due to his youth, Tyulpanov was not allowed to be detained. And it must happen that the arresters, experienced wolfhounds, masters of their craft, missed one student. Anisy sees - a young lady in glasses is running at him, and her face is so frightened, desperate. He shouted “Stop!”, But he did not dare to grab it - the young lady had painfully thin hands. And he stood like an idol, looking after her. He didn't even blow the whistle.

For this flagrant omission, they wanted to turn Tyulpanov out of the service altogether, but the authorities took pity on the orphan, demoted him to a messenger. Now Anisius was in a petty position, for an educated person, a real graduate of five classes, even shameful. And, most importantly, completely hopeless. And so you run through your whole life as a miserable yarryzhka, without having served a class rank.

To put an end to oneself at the age of twenty is bitter for everyone, but it is not even a matter of ambition. Live for twelve and a half, try it. He himself doesn’t need much, but you can’t explain to Sonya that his younger brother didn’t have a career. She wants butter, and cottage cheese, and candy should never be pampered. And firewood now, to heat the stove, - three rubles fathoms. Sonya is an idiot for nothing, but when it's cold, she mumbles and cries.

Before running out of the house, Anisy managed to change his sister's wet clothes. She opened her small, piggy eyes, smiled sleepily at her brother, and murmured, "Nishii, Nisii."

Sit quietly here, you fool, don't indulge, - Anisy punished her with mock severity, tossing and turning his heavy, sleep-hot body. He put a negotiated dime on the table for the neighbor Sychikha, who looked after the poor. Hastily chewed stale kalach, washed down with cold milk, and that's it, it's time for darkness, a blizzard.

Seeding across the snow-covered wasteland to the Taganka, and slipping every minute, Tyulpanov was very sorry for himself. Not only is he poor, ugly and untalented, but this Sonya is a collar for life. He is a doomed man, he will never have a wife, children, or a comfortable home.

Running past the Church of All Who Sorrow, he habitually crossed himself on the icon of the Mother of God illuminated by a lamp. Anisius loved this icon since childhood: it does not hang in warmth and dryness, but directly on the wall, in seven winds, only from rains and snows it is covered with a visor, and on top there is a wooden cross. The light is small, inextinguishable, burning in a glass cap, visible from afar. This is good, especially when you look out of the darkness, cold and wind howling.

What is it whitening there, above the cross?

White dove! She sits, cleans her wings with her beak, and she does not care about the blizzard. According to a true sign, on which the late mother was a great connoisseur, a white dove on the cross - fortunately and unexpected joy. Where does happiness come from?

The snow drifted along the ground. Oh, it's cold.

But Anisy's working day has actually begun quite well today. It can be said that Tyulpanov was lucky. Yegor Semenych, the collegiate registrar who was in charge of the mailing list, glanced sideways at Anisiev's unconvincing overcoat, shook his gray head, and gave a good, warm assignment. Not to run a hundred ways around the endless, windswept city, but only to deliver a folder with reports and documents to his high nobility, Mr. Erast Petrovich Fandorin, an official for special assignments under his Excellency the Governor-General. Deliver and wait if there will be a return correspondence from the mister of the court adviser.

It's nothing, it's possible. Anisius cheered up and delivered the folder in an instant, he didn’t even have time to freeze. Mr. Fandorin lodged nearby - right there, on Malaya Nikitskaya, in his own outbuilding at the estate of Baron von Evert-Kolokoltsev.

Mr. Fandorin Anisy adored. From a distance, timidly, reverently, without any hope that the big man would ever notice his Tulip existence. The court adviser in Gendarmerie had a special reputation, although Erast Petrovich served in a different department. His Excellency himself, Chief Police Officer of Moscow Efim Efimovich Baranov, even though he was a lieutenant general, did not consider it shameful to ask an official for special assignments of a confidential council or even seek protection.

Still, every person, at least partly versed in big Moscow politics, knew that the father of the Mother See, Prince Vladimir Andreevich Dolgoruky, distinguishes the court adviser and listens to his opinion. They said different things about Mr. Fandorin: as if he had a special gift - to see through any person and to see through any, even the most mysterious secret, to the very essence.

According to his position, the court adviser was supposed to be the governor-general's eye in all secret Moscow affairs falling under the jurisdiction of the gendarmerie and the police. Therefore, every morning, Erast Petrovich was delivered the necessary information from General Baranov and from Gendarme - usually to the governor's house, on Tverskaya, but it happened that home, because the routine of the court adviser was free and, if desired, he could not go to the presence at all.

That's what a significant person Mr. Fandorin was, and yet he carried himself simply, without importance. Twice Anisy delivered packages to him on Tverskaya and was completely subdued by the courteous manner of such an influential person: he would not humiliate a little person, he treated him respectfully, he always invited him to sit down, he calls him “you”.

And it was also very curious to see a person up close, about whom truly fantastic rumors circulated in Moscow. It's obvious that he's a special person. The face is beautiful, smooth, young, and black hair at the temples with a strong grey. The voice is calm, quiet, speaks with a slight stutter, but every word is in place and it is clear that he is not used to repeating the same thing twice. Impressive sir, do not say anything.

Tyulpanov had never been to the home of a court adviser, and therefore, having entered the openwork gates, with a cast-iron crown on top, he approached the elegant one-story outbuilding with some bated breath. Such an extraordinary person has, it is true, also some kind of special dwelling.

"Jack of Spades" unbelted

In the whole wide world there was no person more unhappy than Anisy Tyulpanov. Well, maybe only somewhere in black Africa or Patagonia there, and closer - hardly.

Judge for yourself. First, the name is Anisy. Have you ever seen that a noble person, a chamber junker, or even a head clerk, was called Anisius? So immediately it pulls with lamp oil, nettle priestly seed.

And the surname! Laughter, and nothing more. I got the ill-fated family nickname from my great-grandfather, a village deacon. When Anisiev's ancestor studied at the seminary, the rector's father decided to change the dissonant names of future church ministers to charitable ones. For simplicity and convenience, one year he called the Bursaks entirely on church holidays, another year on fruits, and the flower year fell on his great-grandfather: who became Hyacinths, who were Balzaminov, who were Buttercups. The ancestor did not graduate from the seminary, but passed on his stupid surname to his descendants. It’s good that they called Tulipovs, and not some Oduvanchikovs.

What a nickname! What about appearance? First things first, the ears: protruding to the sides, like handles on a chamber pot. You take it with a cap - they are self-willed, they strive to get out and stick out, as if they are propping up a hat. Too elastic, cartilaginous.

Previously, it used to be that Anisius would spin for a long time in front of the mirror. And so he turns, and so, let his long, specially grown hair on two sides, cover his lop-eared - it seems to be better, at least for a while. But as pimples appeared all over his personality (and that was already the third year), Tulipov removed the mirror to the attic, because he became completely unbearable to look at his vile mug.

Anisius got up for the service before dawn, according to winter time, count it at night. The path is not close. The house, inherited from the deacon's aunt, was located in the gardens of the Intercession Monastery, at the very Spasskaya outpost. Along Empty Street, through Taganka, past the unkind Khitrovka, Anisius had to go to the service in the Gendarme Directorate for a whole hour at a fast pace. And if, as now, it freezes and grabs the road with ice, then it’s quite a disaster - in tattered boots and a thin overcoat it didn’t come out painfully adventurous. You will gnash with your teeth, you will remember the best times, and carefree adolescence, and mother, the kingdom of heaven to her.

Last year, when Anisy entered the fillers, it was much easier. Salary - eighteen rubles, plus extra pay for overtime, and for night, yes, it happened, they even threw traveling people. Sometimes up to thirty-five rubles a month ran up. But Tyulpanov, an unfortunate man, could not hold on to a good, profitable position. Recognized by Lieutenant Colonel Sverchinsky as an agent unpromising and generally slobbery. At first he was convicted of leaving the observation post (how was it not to leave, not to drop into the house if sister Sonya had not been fed since the morning?). And then it turned out even worse, Anisy missed a dangerous revolutionary. He stood during the operation to seize a safe house in the backyard, at the back door. Just in case, for safety reasons, due to his youth, Tyulpanov was not allowed to be detained. And it must happen that the arresters, experienced wolfhounds, masters of their craft, missed one student. Anisy sees a young lady in glasses running towards him, and her face is so frightened, desperate. He shouted “Stop!”, But he did not dare to grab it - the young lady had painfully thin hands. And he stood like an idol, looking after her. He didn't even blow the whistle.

For this flagrant omission, they wanted to turn Tyulpanov out of the service altogether, but the authorities took pity on the orphan, demoted him to a messenger. Now Anisius was in a petty position, for an educated person, a real graduate of five classes, even shameful. And, most importantly, completely hopeless. And so you run through your whole life as a miserable yarryzhka, without having served a class rank.

To put an end to oneself at the age of twenty is bitter for everyone, but it is not even a matter of ambition. Live for twelve and a half, try it. He himself doesn’t need much, but you can’t explain to Sonya that his younger brother didn’t have a career. She wants butter, and cottage cheese, and candy should never be pampered. And firewood, to heat the stove - now three rubles a sazhen. Sonya is an idiot for nothing, but when it's cold, she mumbles and cries.

Before running out of the house, Anisy managed to change his sister's wet clothes. She opened her small, piggy eyes, smiled sleepily at her brother, and murmured, "Nishii, Nisii."

“Sit quietly here, fool, don’t spoil it,” Anisius punished her with mock severity, tossing her heavy, sleep-hot body. He put a negotiated dime on the table for the neighbor Sychikha, who looked after the poor. Hastily chewed stale kalach, washed down with cold milk, and that's it, it's time for darkness, a blizzard.

Seeding across the snow-covered wasteland to the Taganka, and slipping every minute, Tyulpanov was very sorry for himself. Not only is he poor, ugly and untalented, but this Sonya is a collar for life. He is a doomed man, he will never have a wife, children, or a comfortable home.

Running past the Church of All Who Sorrow, he habitually crossed himself on the icon of the Mother of God illuminated by a lamp. Anisius loved this icon since childhood: it does not hang in warmth and dryness, but directly on the wall, in seven winds, only from rains and snows it is covered with a visor, and on top there is a wooden cross. The light is small, inextinguishable, burning in a glass cap, visible from afar. This is good, especially when you look out of the darkness, cold and wind howling.

What is it whitening there, above the cross?

White dove! She sits, cleans her wings with her beak, and she does not care about the blizzard. According to a sure sign, for which the late mother was a great connoisseur, a white dove on the cross - fortunately and unexpected joy. Where does happiness come from?

The snow drifted along the ground. Oh, it's cold.

* * *

But Anisy's working day has actually begun quite well today. It can be said that Tyulpanov was lucky. Yegor Semenych, the collegiate registrar who was in charge of the mailing list, glanced sideways at Anisiev's unconvincing overcoat, shook his gray head, and gave a good, warm assignment. Not to run a hundred ways around the endless, windswept city, but only to deliver a folder with reports and documents to his high nobility, Mr. Erast Petrovich Fandorin, an official for special assignments under his Excellency the Governor-General. Deliver and wait if there will be a return correspondence from the mister of the court adviser.

It's nothing, it's possible. Anisius cheered up and delivered the folder in an instant, he didn’t even have time to freeze. Mr. Fandorin lodged nearby - right there, on Malaya Nikitskaya, in his own outbuilding at the estate of Baron von Evert-Kolokoltsev.

Mr. Fandorin Anisy adored. From a distance, timidly, reverently, without any hope that the big man would ever notice his Tulip existence. The court adviser in Gendarmerie had a special reputation, although Erast Petrovich served in a different department. His Excellency himself, Chief Police Officer of Moscow Efim Efimovich Baranov, even though he was a lieutenant general, did not consider it shameful to ask an official for special assignments of a confidential council or even seek protection.

Still, every person, at least partly versed in big Moscow politics, knew that the father of the Mother See, Prince Vladimir Andreevich Dolgoruky, distinguishes the court adviser and listens to his opinion. Different things were said about Mr. Fandorin: for example, as if he had a special gift - to see through any person and to see through any, even the most mysterious secret, to the very essence.

According to his position, the court adviser was supposed to be the governor-general's eye in all secret Moscow affairs falling under the jurisdiction of the gendarmerie and the police. Therefore, every morning, Erast Petrovich was delivered the necessary information from General Baranov and from the Gendarme - usually to the governor's house, on Tverskaya, but it happened that even home, because the routine of the court adviser was free and, if desired, he could not go to the presence at all.

That's what a significant person Mr. Fandorin was, and yet he carried himself simply, without importance. Twice Anisy delivered packages to him on Tverskaya and was completely subdued by the courteous manner of such an influential person: he would not humiliate a little person, he treated him respectfully, he always invited him to sit down, he calls him “you”.

And it was also very curious to see a person up close, about whom truly fantastic rumors circulated in Moscow. It's obvious that he's a special person. The face is beautiful, smooth, young, and black hair at the temples with a strong grey. The voice is calm, quiet, speaks with a slight stutter, but every word is in place, and it is clear that he is not used to repeating the same thing twice. Impressive sir, do not say anything.

Tyulpanov had never been to the home of a court adviser, and therefore, having entered the openwork gates, with a cast-iron crown on top, he approached the elegant one-story outbuilding with some bated breath. Such an extraordinary person has, it is true, also some kind of special dwelling.

He pressed the electric bell button, prepared the first phrase in advance: "Courier Tulips from the Gendarmerie to his honor with papers." Recollecting himself, he stuffed his obstinate right ear under the cap.

The carved oak door swung open. On the threshold stood a short, thick-set Asian with narrow eyes, thick cheeks and a crew cut of coarse black hair. The Asian was wearing a green livery with a gold braid and, for some reason, straw sandals. The servant stared at the visitor with displeasure and asked:

- Sevo nada?

From somewhere in the depths of the house came a sonorous female voice:

- Masa! How many times do you have to repeat! Not "sevo nada", but "whatever you want"!

The Asian squinted angrily somewhere back and reluctantly muttered to Anisia:

- What do you want?

“Courier Tulips from the Gendarme Administration to his honor with papers,” Anisius hastily reported.

“Come on, go,” the servant invited and stepped aside, letting him through.

Tulipov found himself in a spacious hallway, looked around with interest, and at first was disappointed: there was no stuffed bear with a silver tray for business cards, and what kind of a manor apartment is it without a stuffed bear? Or do they not go to an official for special assignments?

However, although no bear was found, the entrance hall was nicely furnished, and in the corner, in a glass case, there were some outlandish armor: all made of metal strips, with an intricate monogram on the armor and with a helmet horned like a beetle.

From the door leading to the inner chambers, where, of course, the courier was ordered to enter, a lady of rare beauty in a red silk dressing gown to the floor looked out. Lush dark hair of the beauty was styled in an intricate hairstyle, a slender neck was bare, white, arms crossed all over in rings on a high chest. The lady looked at Anisius with disappointment with her huge black eyes, slightly wrinkled her classic nose and called:

- Erast, this is for you. From presence.

For some reason, Anisius was surprised that the court adviser was married, although, in essence, there was nothing surprising in the fact that such a person had a beautiful wife, with a regal posture and haughty gaze.

Madame Fandorina aristocratically, without parting her lips, yawned and hid behind the door, and a minute later Mr. Fandorin himself came out into the hallway.

He was also in a dressing gown, but not in red, but in black, with tassels and a silk belt.

“Hello, T-Tyulpanov,” said the court adviser, fingering the green jade rosary, and Anisy already froze with pleasure - he did not assume that Erast Petrovich remembered him, and even more so by his last name. You never know any petty riffraff delivers packages to him, but go and see.

– What do you have there? Let's. And go into the living room, sit down. Masa, take Mr. Tulipov's overcoat.

Timidly entering the living room, Anisius did not dare to stare around, sat modestly on the edge of a chair upholstered in blue velvet, and only a little later began to slowly look around.

The room was interesting: all the walls were hung with colored Japanese engravings, which, Anisius knew, were very fashionable these days. He also made out some scrolls with hieroglyphs and on a wooden lacquer stand - two curved sabers, one longer, the other shorter.

The court adviser rustled the papers, from time to time marking something in them with a golden pencil. His wife, ignoring the men, stood at the window and looked bored into the garden.

"Honey," she said in French, "why don't we go anywhere?" It is ultimately unbearable. I want to go to the theatre, I want to go to the ball.

“You yourself d-said, Addy, that it was indecent,” replied Fandorin, looking up from his papers. - You can meet your friends in St. Petersburg. It will be awkward. I don't really care, really.

He glanced at Tulipov, who blushed. Well, it’s not his fault, after all, that even through a stump-deck, he understands French!

It turned out that the beautiful lady was not Madame Fandorina at all.

“Ah, sorry, Addy,” said Erast Petrovich in Russian. - I did not introduce Mr. Tyulpanov to you, he serves in the Gendarmerie Department. And this is Countess Ariadna Arkadyevna Opraksina, my d-good friend.

It seemed to Anisius that the court adviser hesitated a little, as if he did not quite know how to certify the beauty. Or maybe it just seemed that way because of the stuttering.

“Oh my God,” Countess Addy sighed in pain and hurried out of the room.

“Masa, get away from my Natalya immediately!” March on, you bastard! No, it's just unbearable!

Erast Petrovich also sighed and returned to reading the papers.

Then there was a chirp of a bell, a muffled noise of voices from the hallway, and the old Asian rolled into the living room like a kolobok.

He hummed in some kind of gibberish, but Fandorin motioned him to be quiet.

“Masa, I told you: when visiting, address me not in Japanese, but in Russian.”

Anisius, promoted to the rank of guest, drew himself up, and stared at the servant with curiosity: wow, a living Japanese.

"From Vedisev-san," Masa announced curtly.

- From Vedishchev? Frol G-Grigorevich? Ask.

Who is Frol Grigoryevich Vedischev, Anisy knew.

Known personality, nickname Gray Cardinal. From childhood he was with Prince Dolgoruky, first as a boy, then as a batman, then as a lackey, and for the last twenty years as a personal valet - since Vladimir Andreevich took the ancient city into his firm, tenacious hands. It seems like a small valet bird, but it was known that without advice from the faithful Frol, the smart and cautious Dolgoruky would not make any important decisions. If you want to approach his Excellency with an important petition, manage to flatter Vedishchev, and then, consider, half the work is done.

He came into the drawing-room, and perhaps ran in, a bright-eyed fellow in the governor's livery, frequented from the threshold:

- Your Excellency, Frol Grigorievich is called! Be sure to come in the most urgent manner! We have a booze, Erast Petrovich, insanity! Frol Grigorievich say, without you, nothing! I'm on the prince's sleigh, we'll fly in an instant.

- What is a "buza"? - the court adviser frowned, but got up and threw off his robe. - Okay, let's go see.

Underneath was a white shirt with a black tie.

- Masa, vest and coat, quick! shouted Fandorin, shoving the papers into the folder. - And you, Tulipov, will have to ride with me. I'll read along the way.

Anisius was ready for his high nobility anywhere, which he demonstrated by hastily jumping up from his chair.

I didn’t think - the courier Tulipov didn’t guess that he would ever have a ride in the governor-general’s cart.

The carriage was noble - a real carriage on runners. Inside it is sheathed in satin, the seats are yuft, in the corner there is a stove with a bronze chimney. Truth is, unlit.

The footman sat down on the goats, and four dashing Dolgorukov trotters cheerfully took a run.

Anisia smoothly, almost gently rocked on the soft seat, designed for much more noble buttocks, and thought: oh, no one will believe.

Mr. Fandorin cracked his sealing wax as he opened some sort of dispatch. He furrowed his high clean forehead. How good, without envy, Tulipov thought with sincere admiration, watching askance as the court adviser tugged at his thin mustache.

They rushed to the big house on Tverskaya in five minutes. The carriage turned not to the left, to the presence, but to the right, to the main entrance and the private quarters of the “Grand Duke of Moscow”, Volodya the Big Nest, Yuri Dolgoruky (as soon as the all-powerful Vladimir Andreevich was not called).

“Excuse me, Tyulpanov,” Fandorin said quickly, opening the door, “but I can’t let you go yet. Then I'll sketch a couple of lines for the Colonel. I'll just deal with the "buza" first.

Anisy climbed out after Erast Petrovich, entered the marble chamber, but then lagged behind - he became shy when he saw an important porter with a gilded mace. Tulipov was terribly afraid of humiliation - that Mr. Fandorin would leave him stomping around at the bottom of the stairs, like some kind of little dog. But he overcame his pride and prepared to forgive the court adviser: how can you bring a little man in such an overcoat and cap with a cracked visor to the governor's apartments?

– Are you stuck? Erast Petrovich turned around impatiently, having already reached the middle of the stairs. - Keeping up. See what the hell is going on here.

Only now did it dawn on Anisius that something out of the ordinary was indeed going on in the governor's house. And the look of the high-ranking porter, if you look closely, was not so much important as bewildered. Some smart peasants brought chests, boxes, boxes with foreign letters from the street into the lobby. What is the relocation?

Tulipov skipped over to the court adviser and tried to stay within two paces of him, for which at times he had to trot undignified, because his nobility's step was wide and fast.

Oh, it was beautiful in the governor's residence! Almost like in the temple of God: multi-colored (maybe porphyry?) columns, brocade curtains, statues of Greek goddesses. And the chandeliers! And the paintings are in golden frames! A mirror parquet with inlay!

Anisius looked back at the parquet and suddenly saw that his shameful boots left wet and dirty marks on the wonderful floor. Lord, if only no one saw it.

In the spacious hall, where there was not a soul, and armchairs stood along the walls, the court adviser said:

- Sit here. And hold the p-folder.

He himself went to the high, gilded doors, but they suddenly flung themselves open to meet him. At first there was a hubbub of heated voices, and then four people came into the hall: a stately general, a lanky non-Russian-looking gentleman in a checkered coat with a cape, a skinny, bald old man with enormous sideburns, and a bespectacled official in a uniform.

In the general, Anisius recognized Prince Dolgoruky himself and, trembling, pulled himself into line.

Up close, His Excellency turned out to be not so youthful and fresh as if one looked from the crowd: his face was all in deep wrinkles, his curls were unnaturally magnificent, and his long mustache and sideburns were too chestnut for seventy-five years.

- Erast Petrovich, by the way! exclaimed the governor. - He distorts French so much that you won’t understand a word, but in our opinion, not a belmes at all. You know English, so explain to me what he wants from me! And as soon as they let him in! I've been explaining myself to him for an hour, and it's all in vain!

- Your Excellency, how can you not let him in when he is a lord and enters you! - apparently, not for the first time, the bespectacled man squeaked weepingly. How was I to know...

Here the Englishman also spoke, addressing the new person and indignantly waving some kind of paper, completely covered with seals. Erast Petrovich began to impassively translate:

“It's not a fair game, they don't do that in civilized countries. I visited this old gentleman yesterday, he signed the bill of sale for the house, and we sealed the contract with a handshake. And now, you see, he's changed his mind about moving out. His grandson Mr. Speyer said that the old gentleman was moving into the Home for Napoleonic War Veterans, he would be more comfortable there, because there was good care, and this mansion was for sale. Such inconstancy does not do credit, especially when the money has already been paid. And a lot of money, a hundred thousand rubles. Here is the purchase!

“He has been waving this piece of paper for a long time, but he won’t give it to his hands,” observed the bald old man, who had been silent until now. Obviously, this was Frol Grigoryevich Vedischev.

- Am I Speyer's grandfather? murmured the prince. - Me - to the almshouse ?!

The official, having crept up behind the Englishman, raised himself on tiptoe and contrived to look into the mysterious paper.

“Indeed, a hundred thousand, and notarized,” he confirmed. - And our address: Tverskaya, the house of Prince Dolgoruky.

Erast Petrovich asked:

– Vladimir Andreevich, who is Speyer?

The prince wiped his purple forehead with a handkerchief and spread his hands:

– Speyer is a very nice young man. With great recommendations. He was introduced to me at the Christmas ball... mmm... who? Oh no, I remember! Not at the ball! He was recommended to me by a special letter from His Highness the Duke of Saxe-Limburg. Speyer is a very nice, courteous young man, with a heart of gold and such an unhappy one. He was in the Kushkinsky campaign, wounded in the spine, since then his legs have not walked. Moves in a self-propelled wheelchair, but did not lose heart. He is engaged in charity work, collects donations for orphans and donates huge sums himself. Was here yesterday morning with this crazy Englishman, said he was the famous British philanthropist Lord Pittsbrook. He asked me to let the Englishman show the mansion, because the lord is a connoisseur and connoisseur of architecture. Could I refuse poor Speyer such a trifle? Here Innokenty accompanied them. - Dolgoruky angrily pointed at the official, and he threw up his hands.

“Your Excellency, how could I have… After all, you yourself ordered that I, in the most gracious way…”

“Did you shake hands with Lord P-Pitsbrook?” Fandorin asked, and it seemed to Anisius that a certain spark flashed in the eyes of the court adviser.

“Well, of course,” the prince shrugged. - Speyer first told him something about me in English, this lanky one beamed and poked his head in with a handshake.

“Did you d-sign any paper before?”

The governor furrowed his brows, remembering.

- Yes, Speyer asked me to sign a welcome address for the newly opened Catherine's shelter. It is such a sacred thing to re-educate child harlots. But I didn't sign any bill of sale! You know me, my dear, I always carefully read everything I sign.

- And where does he address the cases then?

- I think he showed the Englishman, said something and put it in a folder. He had a folder in his gurney. - Dolgoruky's face, already formidable, became darker than a cloud. - Ah, merde! Really…

Erast Petrovich addressed the lord in English and must have earned the full confidence of Albion's son, because he received a mysterious paper to study.

"Done in full form," muttered the court counselor, glancing over the bill of sale. - And the official seal, and the stamp of the Mobius notary office, and the signature ... What is this ?!

Extreme bewilderment was reflected on Fandorin's face.

“Vladimir Andreevich, take a look! Look at the signature!

The prince squeamishly, like a toad, took the document, moved it as far as possible from far-sighted eyes. And read aloud:

- "Jack of spades" ... Excuse me, in what sense is "jack"?

- Here are those na-a ... - drawled Vedishchev. - Okay then. Again "Jack of Spades". Well well. Survived, queen of heaven.

- "Jack of spades?" - all could not understand his lordship. “But that’s the name of a gang of swindlers.” Those who last month sold his own trotters to the banker Polyakov, and at Christmas helped the merchant Vinogradov to wash up gold sand in the Setun River. Baranov reported to me. We are looking for, said, villains. I still laughed. Did they really dare me ... me, Dolgoruky?! - The governor-general pulled at the collar embroidered with gold, and his face became so terrible that Anisius drew his head into his shoulders.

Vedishchev rushed like an alarmed chicken to the angry prince, cackled:

- Vladim Andreich, and there is a hole in the old woman, why kill yourself! Here I am now with drops of valerian, and I will call the doctor, open the blood! Innocent, give me a chair!

However, Anisius arrived in time to the high authorities with a chair first. The excited governor was seated on a soft bed, but he kept trying to get up, kept pushing away the valet.

- Like a merchant of some kind! What am I to them boy? I will give them an almshouse! - he shouted not too coherently, while Vedishchev made all sorts of soothing sounds and once even stroked his excellency over his dyed, and maybe not real curls.

The governor turned to Fandorin and said plaintively:

- Erast Petrovich, my friend, what is it! Completely unbelted, robbers. Insulted, humiliated, ridiculed. Over all Moscow in my face. Put the police, the gendarmerie on their feet, but look for the scoundrels. To judge them! To Siberia! You can do everything, my dear. From now on, consider this your main business and my personal request. Baranov himself can not cope, let him help you.

“It’s impossible for the police,” the court adviser said anxiously to this, and no sparks in his blue eyes any longer sparkled, Mr. Fandorin’s face now expressed only anxiety for the authority of the authorities. - The rumor will spread - the whole g-town will tear their tummies. This cannot be allowed.

“Allow me,” the prince boiled over again. - So, what, should they get away with something, these “jacks”?

- In no case. And I'll take care of this d-thing. Only confidentially, without publicity. Fandorin thought a little and continued. “Lord Pittsbrook will have to return the money from the city t-treasury, apologize, and don’t explain anything about the “jack”. Like, there was a misunderstanding. The grandson was self-willed.

Hearing his name, the Englishman anxiously asked the court adviser about something, he briefly answered and again turned to the governor:

- Frol Grigorievich will come up with something plausible for the servants. And I will search.

- Can you find such swindlers alone? the valet hesitated.

- Yes, it's hard. But it is undesirable to expand the circle of initiates.

Fandorin glanced at the bespectacled secretary, whom the prince called "Innokenty", and shook his head. Evidently, Innokenty was not fit to be an assistant. Then Erast Petrovich turned to Anisy, and he stiffened, keenly aware of all his unpresentability: young, skinny, ears sticking out, and even acne.

"What am I... I'll be mute," he murmured. - Honestly.

- Who else is it? his excellency barked, as if seeing for the first time the pitiful figure of the messenger. - Pach-what is here?

“It's tulips,” Fandorin explained. - From the Gendarmerie Department. Experienced agent. Here he will help me.

The prince glanced at the shrunken Anisius, and raised his formidable eyebrows.

- Well, look at me, Tulipov. If you are useful, I will make you a man. And if you break firewood, I will grind it into powder.

When Erast Petrovich and the maddened Anisy went to the stairs, Vedishchev was heard to say:

- Vladim Andreich, your will, but there is no money in the treasury. Is it a joke - a hundred thousand. The Englishman will manage with some apologies.

A new shock awaited on Tyulpanova Street.

Pulling on his gloves, the court adviser suddenly asked:

– But was it true that they told me that you support an invalid sister and refused to give her to state care?

Anisius did not expect such awareness of his domestic circumstances, however, being in a numb state, he was less surprised than he should have been.

“You can’t have it on the government,” he explained. - She will wither there. Very, stupid, got used to me.

It was then that Fandorin shook him.

“I envy you,” he sighed. - You are a lucky man, Tulipov. At such a young age, you already have something to respect yourself for and something to be g-proud of. For the rest of your life, the Lord has given you a rod.

Anisius was still trying to figure out the meaning of these strange words, and the court adviser had already taken the conversation further:

“Don't worry about your sister. Hire a nurse for her during the investigation. Of course, at public expense. From now until the end of the Jack of Spades case, you are at my disposal. Let's work together. I hope you won't be bored.

Here it is, unexpected joy, Tulips suddenly realized. Here it is, happiness.

Oh yes white dove!

A new book by Boris Akunin about the adventures of Erast Petrovich in the 19th century.

The last time we met with Erast Petrovich Fandorin was when he applied his deductive method in the fight against Japanese crime. This was the novel "Diamond Chariot" and the story "Sigumo", which migrated to "Jade Rosary" from "Cemetery Stories". All other texts here are new. Their geography has expanded significantly: the action of stories and novels is transferred from Moscow to Siberia, from England to America. And even...

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On March 15, 1878, a terrible murder was committed on the Rue de Grenelle in Paris. Lord Littleby and nine of his servants are killed. The offender did not take anything from the house, except for the figurine of the god Shiva and a colored scarf. The investigation leads Police Commissioner Ghosh to the luxury ship Leviathan bound for Calcutta. The killer on the ship, but who is it? Among the suspects, each of whom hides his secret, the English Ar...

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The memory of the 19th century, when literature was great, faith in progress boundless, and crimes were committed and revealed with grace and taste.

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Rodion Vanzarov, deputy head of the detective police of St. Petersburg, takes on the investigation into the circumstances of the mysterious death of a young lady. He finds out that the death of the girl is connected with the activities of a mysterious organization, and its cause is the elixir of the gods of the ancient Aryans, which can turn a person into a puppet. But is the truth so important when the truth eludes?

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As if fate itself had fallen upon the beautiful aristocrat Elizabeth Cameron. Having dared, having a fiancé, to love another man, she lost everything: both her lover and the respect of society ... Two years of suffering, then short months of a happy marriage, and then again betrayal, loneliness and pain. Will Elizabeth ever be able to return her beloved and earn the BLESSING OF HEAVEN?...

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The action of the new novel by the honored worker of arts, laureate of the State Prize of the RSFSR writer Yulian Semenov, takes place at the end of the 40s, when the alliance between the Nazi criminals SD and the Gestapo with the CIA began to take shape. The author tells about the stay of the protagonist of the book Maxim Maksimovich Isaev (Stirlitz) in Francoist Spain....

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"State Counselor" (political detective) is the seventh book by Boris Akunin from the series "The Adventures of Erast Fandorin".

1891 Minds are fermenting, revolutionary ideas are popular among the youth, revolutionary circles are springing up everywhere. But it's not just fashion for everyone.

A group calling themselves "B. G." works accurately and boldly. The Siberian governor-general was killed, the killer is the man who presented the documents of Erast Fandorin. Erast Petrovich accepts the challenge and takes on the investigation. Who is behind the letters "B. G....

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The most voluminous novel by B. Akunin! Five Fandorins in one novel!

Just as any mystery can be solved and told, the criminal mystery also needs to be guessed and a sophisticated train of thought.

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