Vadim Panov fools die first download fb2. Victor Tochinov, Vadim Panov “Fools die first”

Vadim Panov, Victor Tochinov

Fools die first

“So God killed everyone: the good guys, the bad guys, and even Long Island Steve. But not me. And I know why..."

Cordoba, sixth century Hijri

Abu Imran Musa bin Maymun bin Abdullah al-Qurtubi, also known as Moshe ben Maimon and as Maimonides, a scientist of the widest profile: doctor, astronomer, naturalist, anatomist, alchemist, Talmudist and Kabbalist, was a fair joker, and his humor was specific. For example, when translating ancient opuses from Arabic into Latin for the University of Salamanca, he sometimes inserted passages he himself composed, which for many centuries left unfortunate researchers of antiquities scratching their heads. The master also produced biological exhibits of all sorts of wonders for university meetings, in order to educate students and fair exhibitions - they paid well. Simply put, Maimonides supplied preserved monsters of various models and types: either a lamb with two heads and six legs, or a human embryo with bat wings, a pig's snout, tail and hooves, or a hairless cat with terrible fangs.

Of course, most of the artifacts were pure fakes, skillfully put together from disparate parts, since there are many fairs in Europe, and two-headed calves are rarely born, not to mention babies with hooves and wings. There was no science behind them, and Maimonides himself considered fiddling with flasks and embryos as a side income, did not take it seriously and did not devote much time.

But one day the household were seriously surprised: work with the next exhibit delivered for dissection took four whole weeks. The master worked behind closed doors, and no one saw the person or people who delivered the exhibit, which is why every day the surprise of the household intensified, turning into cautious bewilderment.

How exactly the finished product left the master’s house also remains unclear. But the income from the creation of the next artifact turned out to be such that Maimonides spent another five months exclusively engaged in his favorite science.

Probably, the appearance of the mysterious exhibit would have remained a mystery if not for the sketch made in the margins of the manuscript that the master was working on at that time. The sketch depicted a creature enclosed in a container, which, without a doubt, is not found in nature. However, a short entry underneath showed that ben Maimon himself thought differently and was speculating with all his might about the origin of the strange creature.

The further fate of the artifact created by Moshe ben Maimon is unknown for several centuries. According to some information, in Prague, in the collection of Emperor Rudolf, a very similar exhibit was kept, but the meager and vague descriptions of eyewitnesses do not allow us to speak about this with confidence.

The flask appeared in 1719: the monster was purchased by the Russian envoy in The Hague Matveev for the Kunstkamera recently established in St. Petersburg. By that time, the thick glass flask created by ben Maimon was damaged - it cracked and was tied with a silver hoop with the inscription in Latin: “Monster of St. James.”

Who visits at night

Artur Nikolaevich Zavalishin hated Vyshny Volochyok.

No, he had nothing against the ancient Russian city and its inhabitants - he hated passing through it, and he had to do it often, thirty to forty times a year, that was Arthur Nikolaevich’s job.

The Moscow-St. Petersburg highway is already not very suitable for high-speed driving, since it is constantly clogged with heavy trucks - you can’t really accelerate. When the route goes around the city, you can still endure the inconvenience, but as soon as it goes inside, it’s a disaster; instead of at least some movement, you get a full-fledged collection of all the city traffic lights at a funeral pace.

Artur Nikolaevich’s Kalina was now standing at the entrance, at the first city traffic light, waiting for the permitting signal, and Zavalishin hoped that from the fourth switch on he would slip through - only a car carrier separated him from the intersection, two tiers loaded with four-wheeled products from the Renault company, delivered from Moscow to St. Petersburg. Tellingly, five minutes ago, exactly the same truck drove towards Artur Nikolaevich, with the same products from the same company, rolling from St. Petersburg to Moscow. Well, why, why don’t the marketing and logistics specialists of the two dealership companies meet, sit over a glass of tea and, through joint brainpower, come up with an ingenious plan that will allow significant savings on transportation costs and relieve at least a little of the congestion on the highway? Why? There is no answer and it is not expected. But there are multi-ton trucks going towards each other.

"Idiots..."

Behind the lowered window, a motorcycle engine roared, the thoughtful Zavalishin shuddered and, turning his head sharply, saw bikers dressed in black leather: a column of several two-wheeled vehicles drove along the axle, circling both the Kalina and the truck, and causing envious glances from drivers - this is what that they will leak through any traffic jams, even like this, even along the side of the road.

Moreover, the bikers at the Moscow-St. Petersburg motorcycle rally were frostbitten, not valuing their lives too dearly, but not caring at all about traffic rules: every single one of them was without helmets, their heads were tied with bright scarlet bandanas.

Or not bikers? They don’t seem to ride in twos, but here there are twelve riders for nine cars... Maybe not bikers. But still frostbitten.

The front motorcycle stopped, having reached the stop line, and the one at the end of the column found himself directly opposite the front seat of the Kalina, and his passenger stared blearily at Artur Nikolaevich. He withstood the dull gaze with dignity and, apparently, therefore received a hoarse question:

Are you bored, man?

Sorry? - Arthur Nikolaevich was surprised.

Are you drinking? - The owner of the red bandana took a flat bottle from his inner pocket, twisted the cap and handed it to the stunned man: - Here, have fun.

“I’m driving,” muttered Zavalishin.

And... - It was absolutely unclear what exactly to answer this question. And in general the situation looked extremely idiotic: a traffic jam, a strange guy, a strange conversation, a strange proposal... - And the fact that I have no right...

The creature is trembling,” the biker summed up. Then he took a large sip of whiskey, wiped his lips on the driver’s back and explained to the completely stunned Zavalishin: “Fuck, I remembered Dostoevsky.” The one with the axe.

“You always get sick when we go to St. Petersburg,” the driver grumbled dissatisfiedly, after which he pulled the bottle out of the passenger’s hands, took a sip and said: “Poor rider, blah.”

The traffic light turned yellow, the bikes took off - sharply, right off the bat. Whiskey lovers also rushed off, showering Zavalishin with a stream of exhaust gases, and his Kalina with small stones spraying from under the rear wheel...

“Bastards,” Arthur Nikolaevich thought angrily, driving off after the truck. And he wished to himself never to meet thugs in red scarves on the highway. And it’s better not to go off-piste.

The wish came true.

Fortunately for Zavalishin.

* * *

Kempius de Shu woke up from the feeling of approaching danger: something unknown was in unpleasant proximity, and the sixth sense gently, very friendlyly patted the knight on the shoulder: “This is not the time to wallow!”

And he instantly opened his eyes, staring into the pitch darkness of the small cabin and listening to the crash of the waves against the plastic side. It seemed that the water was eager to get inside the yacht frozen at anchor, but they, the waves, were in no hurry and for now politely asked permission from the owners. So far they were asking... And the rain was also pounding on the deck - in a different rhythm than the waves. Impatiently. The heavenly water also wanted inside, and, apparently, it wanted it much more than the sea water.

St. Petersburg is a city of water, it is always here and everywhere.

The knock of the outboard, the drumming of heaven, the even breathing of Michelle lying next to her - and not a single suspicious sound. By ear there was no danger, but Kemp was accustomed to trusting feelings, even - as now - very vague feelings, and was not going to change his habit.

He was on his feet quickly and silently, and just as quickly and silently the blade left the fireproof cabinet recessed in the bulkhead of the cabin. Kemp's sword might seem too elaborate - a decoration, an interior detail, but this was a necessary disguise; in reality, the knight had a powerful weapon in his hand.

Fast and silent.

Michelle didn't wake up, she just turned over and sighed. Well, let him sleep...

Kemp quietly went into the wheelhouse and then onto the deck. It took a matter of seconds for this; the plastic vessels of the Cobra project, although they were called yachts - just like the waterfowl property of other oligarchs - were not distinguished by their gigantic size or spacious layout.

And the speed was also explained by the fact that Kemp did not waste precious time getting dressed and putting on shoes. If uninvited guests really showed up, the owner could be forgiven for neglecting the formalities. If the feeling of anxiety worked in vain, it is all the more forgivable. De Schue climbed onto the deck in only his shorts and immediately “enjoyed” the spicy freshness of St. Petersburg - goosebumps ran down his skin.

The spring night was in no way reminiscent of the famous white nights, but it was not at all impenetrable. The spire of the Peter and Paul Cathedral, illuminated by spotlights, stood out as a dim spot of light, and the lanterns lined up along the Admiral Makarov embankment sufficiently illuminated everything that was happening above the flat surface of the Malaya Neva. There was enough light, and Kempius easily noticed a small boat heading towards the yacht.

It moved slowly, almost silently, and only by listening carefully could one discern the electric motor humming quietly, at very low speeds.

The boat - flat-bottomed, with low sides - was quite spacious, designed for one and a half or even two dozen passengers. Such boats, completely unseaworthy, capable of sailing only on calm water, transported tourists around St. Petersburg, squeezing even into the narrowest canals and under the lowest spans of bridges, where neither a river bus, nor even a pleasure boat could go. Some boats were equipped with electric motors - tourists feel more comfortable when the guide's voice does not boom from the speakers, drowning out the noise of a gasoline engine - and it was just such a boat that was now approaching the yacht. And Kemp had no doubt that the people floating in it were not late tourists, and the purpose of the visit was not an excursion: the rules of river navigation prohibit night sailing without lights on, and there was no need for peaceful onlookers to sneak up so secretly and silently.

Let's see who we have here...

De Shu waited until the boat was two hundred yards from the yacht, quickly scanned it - this action was possible even for weak magicians like him - and felt a slight disappointment: foreheads... foreheads, and not yet covered with any kind of magical protection, which means , The sword can be used as the most common melee weapon.

And the knight had no doubt that he would have to use it. If the matter had taken place in the Baltic Marina, or in the Apostolic Harbor, or in any other local marina, among many other moored yachts, one could still doubt that it was the Morion that was the purpose of the visit. But Kemp deliberately - there were reasons for this - moored at the embankment not far from a sign that categorically prohibited such actions, already had a conversation about this with GIMS employees, and only Apikrena’s amulet made it possible to do without a fine and without a bribe.

"I wonder who it is this time?"

The knight watched the boat, hiding behind the smokebox. He really hoped that his exit from the wheelhouse went unnoticed by the visitors, that they were sure: the yacht’s crew was sleeping peacefully in the cabin. It was hard to believe that the boarding on the Malaya Neva was started by random people. And the non-random ones know well that Kemp is a tough nut to crack, and the four of them could go after him only in anticipation of an absolutely sudden attack. Although no, no... not four or five of us. Another man, who had previously been bent over and doing something at the bottom of the boat, straightened up, and his dark silhouette was clearly outlined against the light background of the vessel.

The spring night turned out to be not just cool, it deserved another epithet - cold. However, Kemp stopped feeling discomfort - the anticipation of a fight warmed him better than any thermal underwear. He did not consider himself a brave man or a hero who despised danger - he always believed that it was better to bypass the tenth expensive pillbox spitting fire than to try heroically to plug the embrasure with his own body: there are many pillboxes with embrasures in the world, but his own body is the only one; that it is better to retreat before a superior force than to attempt miracles of heroism; and firmly believed that you can enter into battle only by independently choosing the place, time and weapon and - preferably! - without notifying the enemy about it. But now there was nowhere to retreat.

The barely audible sound of the electric motor stopped. For some time the boat moved by inertia, and then absolutely silently touched the side of the yacht - old tires tied along the low hull absorbed the slight impact.

The last doubts disappeared: the guests were heading precisely to him, to Kemp. But there was still a faint hope for a coincidence, in case... For an ordinary crime, to put it simply. Maybe there is a kind of Coastal Brotherhood here that has a habit of plucking the feathers of rich foreign yachtsmen who moor in the wrong places?

However... what's the difference now? Now we need to fight.

The tallest visitor jumped, caught on the edge of the side, pulled himself up... and ended up - nominally, according to the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea - on the territory of the French Republic, since the yacht's home port was Le Havre. The big man stood silently for a couple of seconds, listening, and after making sure that everything was quiet and calm in the foreign land, he bent down and helped his shorter comrade grab the post of the railing. He straightened up, turned around - and saw Kemp. And he hardly had time to appreciate how funny a half-naked man looked with a fake sword in his hand - the steel quickly cut through the air, and a fraction of a moment later, through the throat of the uninvited visitor.

Everything happened quickly and almost silently. The man was still alive, he was still trying to scream, but instead of a scream, only a weak, barely audible scream escaped from the wound. Well, and blood, of course, where would we be without it?

The next guest, who was just pulling himself onto the yacht, heard something suspicious. And he froze without finishing the movement, trying to figure out what kind of sounds came to him. Hanging on half-bent arms, he tried to quietly ask a question to his comrade, who was still on his feet... But the question did not sound: Kemp stepped forward and slashed him in the head. The blade was supposed to break her in half, up to the neck - and it did. The man fell into the boat.

Obviously, the arrivals had clear instructions: if they could not take de Shu by surprise, retreat. Or they spat on all the instructions, concerned only with the safety of their skins. Be that as it may, the electric motor howled, instantly going to full speed, the boat jerked and began to quickly pick up speed. His comrades were not concerned with the fate of the big man who remained on the yacht.

But Kemp was not going to let them go, because he believed that such things were not done halfway.

He touched the red gem embedded in the guard of the Sword with the thumb of his right hand - optimists and romantics could consider it a ruby, realists - cheap jewelry, and with his left he took hold of the multifaceted metal ball crowning the handle and thus closed the circuit necessary for activating the artifact - in this case it is possible it was possible to do without a spell.

The sword made a low, barely audible hum and vibrated. Kempius carefully directed it towards the retreating boat and moved it slightly to the side, exerting considerable effort, as if it was necessary to overcome the resistance of an invisible, but very viscous medium.

The sword worked for exactly four seconds. De Shu then lowered it and scanned the boat again.

Everything is over. The boat continued to sail as it sailed, but there were no survivors on board.

Kemp estimated the vessel’s trajectory: perhaps, if it doesn’t crash into the bridge support, it will get to the Bolshaya Neva, - and grinned contentedly: “That’s great, the farther from the yacht they are found, the better. And let them guess, let them rack their brains..."

It’s a pity, of course, that you have to leave the yacht - it was a convenient refuge - but you can’t risk the contract.

The knight carefully searched the dead man, but all the fellow’s pockets turned out to be defiantly, defiantly empty, not even a harmless little thing like a comb or lighter was found. On the neck there are no amulets, no amulets, no cross. But a clip-receiver was found in the ear, which instantly went overboard.

The clip showed that the fellow could receive instructions from observers from the shore, that is, the yacht was still under control and he would have to leave with a cunning maneuver. But Kemp was ready for this.

He silently lowered the dead man overboard - for the rest of the night the current would carry him quite far - he carefully examined the deck, getting rid of the blood that had not yet reached the rain, and then headed to the cabin to take a shower and collect his things.

There will be no repeated attack, but the retreat cannot be delayed.

When he returned to the cabin, the light was already on and Michelle was sitting on the bed.

What was it? - Alarmed, but undressed, waiting. - What's happened?

Ignoring the question, de Shu padded barefoot into the tiny shower stall, stood for a couple of minutes, waiting for the flow-through heater to bring the water temperature to the required temperature, and smiled broadly... Oh, good! There is no comparison with the streams pouring from the chilly skies of the gloomy city.

Will you tell me what happened or not? - Michelle asked when he came out of the shower.

Kemp silently pulled the towel off the hanger and began to sharply rub his muscular body, looking indifferently at his friend.

Ex-girlfriend.

The next stage is becoming a thing of the past, and Michelle leaves with it. The knight did not tolerate farewells accompanied by a stormy showdown; he usually left in English, but now it didn’t work out, and he sadly realized that he would have to part for real. But, as luck would have it, there were no suitable words, and Kemp put off starting the conversation as best he could.

Leo, you're scaring me. - She only knew his name: Leo Katz, a successful broker from the City of London.

I received... very unpleasant news.

From whom?

He stopped at the closet and began to quickly put on clothes: underpants, socks, a shirt, trousers, a turtleneck sweater, a jacket with leather patches on the elbows - on the one hand, the set is quite discreet, not attracting unnecessary attention, but on the other hand, all things are from the best fashion designers from the latest collections, you can go through face control at the entrance to the most elite establishments, the security there is well trained in such nuances.

From whom is the news?

From Gogol,” Kemp sighed “heavily,” carefully combing his hair in front of the mirror. And he clarified: “You don’t know him.”

Your friend?

My lawyer.

What's wrong?

De Shu sighed again...

Still, these were not the worst months in his life: Michelle is beautiful and knows how to please, she is not educated enough, of course, but one can come to terms with this. The contracts brought in decent income. Traveling on a yacht turned out to be quite exciting and romantic, especially around Middle-earth, but... but everything comes to an end someday. Apparently, the Order realized that the “black sheep” had settled down too well, and decided to ruin Kemp’s life. They hinted that he needed to once again pay for his stubbornness, and they would not leave him alone until he changed his identity.

Fools die first Victor Tochinov, Vadim Panov

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Title: Fools die first

About the book “Fools Die First” Viktor Tochinov, Vadim Panov

The book “Fools Die First” is a work co-authored by Vadim Panov and Viktor Tochinov. The reader knows the first author from the long-running science fiction novel series “The Secret City.” In the new book, the action also takes place in an alternative universe where Russia exists. True, no longer in Moscow, but in St. Petersburg. Fans and simply lovers of the writer’s work will delight themselves with a new, separate story that will reveal completely different characters, new locations and secrets of the updated world. However, I also remember well-known characters who come and go from other books by Vadim Panov.

The story of the book “Fools Die First” takes place in an alternative St. Petersburg, where an ancient and very dangerous artifact has rested on the banks of the legendary Neva River for more than a hundred years. A strange name that cannot be found in ordinary books - the Monster of St. James. Many centuries ago, a terrible monster was imprisoned with the help of strong magic in shackles. Now he has become a meek and immobilized exhibit. And not just somewhere in a cave, catacombs or a coffin buried under the thickness of the earth, but in the most visible place - in the Kunstkamera Museum of a huge city.

No one suspected that every day thousands of people watch this monster and do not notice anything abnormal. But the secret always sooner or later becomes clear. The third millennium became significant for the Monster of St. James - human greed, curiosity, greed and thirst for money did its dirty work. An ordinary mechanic who worked at the museum damaged the monster's silver hoop. But it was he, and not the transparent flask, that kept the monster in a state of deep sleep. Now things won't go so smoothly.

A fatal accident threatens to bring down on St. Petersburg not just a cascade of failures, but a whole tsunami of the most incredible events. No one could even imagine that a magical world existed outside of reality. And now it's open. However, surprises will come across not only ordinary people who previously did not believe in magic. The supernatural inhabitants of the Secret City will not stand aside either. Victor Tochinov and Vadim Panov create a new reality that exists on the edge of the real and magical worlds. The novel “Fools Die First” will tell about how the main characters will extricate themselves from troubles and unusual situations that will be set up by a thousand-year-old monster embittered by imprisonment.

On our website about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free without registration or read online the book “Fools Die First” by Viktor Tochinov, Vadim Panov in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

Lots of drawn-out, boring passages. Either a description of a house for a couple of pages, or a dream for six pages, or something else like that. As a result, there are not enough events for the total volume of text.

The plot itself and its implementation are not very clear (you pass the middle of the novel, and there are still two unclear plot lines, and the main one, from the annotation, is especially unclear). Only towards the end does something somehow unwind...

Many points, before they are clarified in the finale, when reading, simply do not stand up to any criticism and seem like nonsense or just an array of text to increase the volume, like these events:

Spoiler (plot reveal)

(for the sake of killing with a firearm, lure a woman and a man into a completely dark sewer. Otherwise, people in the entrance with a pistol are not very good at killing... I’m keeping quiet about Sveta’s subsequent many-many-multi-page wanderings through the sewer. Until the explanation in the finale - why all this, it looks completely unnecessary, stupid, tedious, written just for the sake of winding up the volume of text).

Yes, everything was explained to us in the finale. But we read the entire novel before these explanations, and reading these pieces of text was strange, boring and uninteresting.

And what to add as a plus...

Well, it’s still not the hack work of a literary black man.

There are excellent comparative phrases, phrases, and other successful finds by type

Spoiler (plot reveal) (click on it to see)

“she was no longer waiting for the prince on the white horse, but she still listened to the clatter of hooves” or “...and the frightened Shas is like a frightened skunk, not only runs away, but also shits.”

Puzzles. Some kind of movement. Again, the intrigue was sustained to the end - who is who, what they are doing and what is happening is unlikely to have been predicted by many in advance.

In general, there is a feeling that here the co-authorship (or simply Panov’s editing) only hindered the authors and harmed the work. You can’t really feel either Tochinov or Panov (I’m exaggerating. You can really feel Tochinov, only edited, as if he wasn’t allowed to run wild). Something average came out. There is no author's originality. But you read Panov’s books in their pure form avidly, no matter what he writes, and you couldn’t turn up your nose at Tochinov’s works, even the early trashy ones, they captivate you.

Well, I would like to turn to the author I respect and love, Panov. This novel was inspired and formulated.

You gave the enclaves to everyone only when you yourself completed the cycle. It’s no wonder they didn’t do the same with the Secret City. Yarga's line is frozen. There has been nothing really fresh for a long time, even from your pen, they turned a series of novels into a series. And now authors third-party to the series have come to write third-party plots based on the promoted surroundings (no matter how well they write, I like Tochinov’s books, it’s not even a matter of quality). The reader feels deceived. Complete the cycle beautifully, at your level, at the level of the first ten to one and a half novels of the Secret City, and then let the fans and colleagues add background nuances. And that's right, it's a shame.

Vadim Panov

Victor Tochinov

FOOLS DIE FIRST

“So God killed everyone: the good guys, the bad guys, and even Long Island Steve. But not me. And I know why..."

Wooldoor Sockbat

Cordoba, sixth century Hijri

WHO VISITS AT NIGHT

Artur Nikolaevich Zavalishin hated Vyshny Volochyok.

No, he had nothing against the ancient Russian city and its inhabitants - he hated passing through it, and he had to do it often, thirty to forty times a year, that was Arthur Nikolaevich’s job.

* * *

“So God killed everyone: the good guys, the bad guys, and even Long Island Steve. But not me. And I know why..."

Wooldoor Sockbat

Prologue

Cordoba, sixth century Hijri

Abu Imran Musa bin Maymun bin Abdullah al-Qurtubi, also known as Moshe ben Maimon and as Maimonides, a scientist of the widest profile: physician, astronomer, naturalist, anatomist, alchemist, Talmudist and Kabbalist, was a fair joker, and his humor was specific. For example, when translating ancient opuses from Arabic into Latin for the University of Salamanca, he sometimes inserted passages he himself composed, which for many centuries left unfortunate researchers of antiquities scratching their heads. The master also produced biological exhibits of all sorts of wonders for university meetings, in order to educate students and fair exhibits - they paid well. Simply put, Maimonides supplied preserved monsters of various models and types: either a lamb with two heads and six legs, or a human embryo with bat wings, a pig's snout, tail and hooves, or a hairless cat with terrible fangs.

Chapter 1
Who visits at night

Artur Nikolaevich Zavalishin hated Vyshny Volochyok.

No, he had nothing against the ancient Russian city and its inhabitants - he hated passing through it, and he had to do it often, thirty to forty times a year, that was Arthur Nikolaevich’s job.

"Idiots..."

A motorcycle engine roared behind the lowered window, the thoughtful Zavalishin shuddered and, turning his head sharply, saw bikers dressed in black leather: a column of several two-wheeled vehicles drove along the axle, circling both the Kalina and the truck, and causing envious glances from drivers - this is what that they will leak through any traffic jams, even like this, even along the side of the road.

Moreover, the bikers at the Moscow-Petersburg motorbike turned out frostbitten, not valuing their lives too dearly, but not caring at all about traffic rules: every single one of them was without helmets, their heads were tied with bright scarlet bandanas.

Or not bikers? They don’t seem to ride in twos, but here there are twelve riders for nine cars... Maybe not bikers. But still frostbitten.

- Are you bored, man?

- Sorry? – Arthur Nikolaevich was surprised.

-Are you drinking? - The owner of the red bandana took a flat bottle from his inner pocket, twisted the cap and handed it to the stunned man: - Here, have fun.

“I’m driving,” Zavalishin muttered.

– And... – It was absolutely unclear what exactly to answer this question. And in general the situation looked extremely idiotic: a traffic jam, a strange guy, a strange conversation, a strange proposal... - And the fact that I have no right...

“The thing is trembling,” the biker summed up. Then he took a large sip of whiskey, wiped his lips on the driver’s back and explained to the completely stunned Zavalishin: “Fuck, Dostoevsky came to mind.” The one with the axe.

The traffic light turned yellow, the bikes took off - sharply, right off the bat. The whiskey lovers also rushed off, showering Zavalishin with a stream of exhaust gases and his Kalina with small stones spraying from under the rear wheel...

“Bastards,” Arthur Nikolaevich thought angrily, driving off after the truck. And he wished to himself never to meet thugs in red scarves on the highway. And it’s better not to go off-piste.

The wish came true.

Fortunately for Zavalishin.

* * *

And he instantly opened his eyes, staring into the pitch darkness of the small cabin and listening to the crash of the waves against the plastic side. It seemed that the water was eager to get inside the yacht frozen at anchor, but they, the waves, were in no hurry and for now politely asked permission from the owners. While they were asking... And the rain was also pounding on the deck - in a different rhythm than the waves. Impatiently. The heavenly water also wanted inside, and, apparently, it wanted it much more than the sea water.

St. Petersburg is a city of water, it is always here and everywhere.

The knock of the outboard, the drumming of heaven, the even breathing of Michelle lying next to her - and not a single suspicious sound. By ear there was no danger, but Kemp was accustomed to trusting feelings, even – as now – very vague feelings, and was not going to change his habit.

Fast and silent.

Michelle didn't wake up, she just turned over and sighed. Well, let him sleep...

And the speed was also explained by the fact that Kemp did not waste precious time getting dressed and putting on shoes. If uninvited guests really showed up, the owner could be forgiven for neglecting the formalities. If the feeling of anxiety went on empty, it is all the more forgivable. De Schue climbed onto the deck in only his shorts and immediately “enjoyed” the spicy freshness of St. Petersburg - goosebumps ran down his skin.

It moved slowly, almost silently, and only by listening carefully could one discern the electric motor humming quietly, at very low speeds.

The boat - flat-bottomed, with low sides - was quite spacious, designed for one and a half or even two dozen passengers. Such boats, completely unseaworthy, capable of sailing only on calm water, transported tourists around St. Petersburg, squeezing even into the narrowest canals and under the lowest spans of bridges, where neither a river bus, nor even a pleasure boat could go. Some boats were equipped with electric motors - tourists feel more comfortable when the guide's voice does not boom from the speakers, drowning out the noise of a gasoline engine - and it was just such a boat that was now approaching the yacht. And Kemp had no doubt that the people floating in it were not late-arriving tourists, and the purpose of the visit was not an excursion: river navigation rules prohibit night sailing without lights on, and there was no need for peaceful onlookers to sneak up so secretly and silently.

- Let's see who we have here...

And the knight had no doubt that he would have to use it. If the matter had taken place in the Baltic Marina, or in the Apostolic Harbor, or in any other local marina, among many other moored yachts, one could still doubt that it was the Morion that was the purpose of the visit. But Kemp specifically - there were reasons for this - moored at the embankment not far from the sign that categorically prohibited such actions, already had a conversation about this with GIMS employees, and only Apikrena’s amulet allowed him to get by without a fine and without a bribe.

"I wonder who it is this time?"

The knight watched the boat, hiding behind the smokebox. He really hoped that his exit from the wheelhouse went unnoticed by the visitors, that they were sure: the yacht’s crew was sleeping peacefully in the cabin. It was hard to believe that the boarding on the Malaya Neva was started by random people. And the non-random ones know well that Kemp is a tough nut to crack, and the four of them could go after him only in anticipation of a completely unexpected attack. Although no, no... not four or five of us. Another man, who had previously been bent over and doing something at the bottom of the boat, straightened up, and his dark silhouette was clearly outlined against the light background of the vessel.

The spring night turned out to be not just cool, it deserved another epithet - cold. However, Kemp stopped feeling discomfort - the anticipation of a fight warmed him better than any thermal underwear. He did not consider himself a brave man or a hero who despised danger - he always believed that it was better to bypass the tenth expensive pillbox spitting fire than to try heroically to plug the embrasure with his own body: there are many pillboxes with embrasures in the world, but his own body is the only one; that it is better to retreat before a superior force than to attempt miracles of heroism; and firmly believed that you can enter into battle only by independently choosing the place, time and weapon and - preferably! - without informing the enemy about it. But now there was nowhere to retreat.

However... what's the difference now? Now we need to fight.

Vadim Panov fools die first download fb2. Victor Tochinov, Vadim Panov “Fools die first”

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About the book “Fools Die First” Viktor Tochinov, Vadim Panov

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Prologue

Chapter 1 Who visits at night

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Chapter 1
Who visits at night