Akunin special instructions Jack of Spades read online. Special assignments: Jack of Spades. The "Jack of Spades" has let loose

Boris Akunin

Special Assignments: Jack of Spades

The "Jack of Spades" has let loose

In the whole wide world there was no more unhappy person than Anisy Tyulpanov. Well, maybe only somewhere in black Africa or Patagonia, but it’s unlikely that it’s closer.

Judge for yourself. Firstly, the name is Anisiy. Have you ever seen a noble man, a chamber cadet, or even a mayor called Anisy? So it immediately smells like lamp oil, a priest’s nettle seed.

And the last name! Laughter, and that's all. He got the unfortunate family nickname from his great-grandfather, a village sexton. When Anisiev, the founder, was studying at the seminary, the rector’s father decided to change the dissonant surnames of future church ministers to godly ones. For simplicity and convenience, one year named the students entirely after church holidays, another year after fruits, and the flower year fell on my great-grandfather: some became Hyacinths, some Balzaminov, some Lyutikov. The ancestor did not finish the seminary, but passed on the stupid surname to his descendants. It’s good that they called it Tulipov, and not some Danvanchikov.

What a nickname! What about the appearance? First things first, the ears stick out to the sides, like the handles of a chamber pot. If you take it with a cap, they become willful, they strive to get out and stick out, as if they were propping up a cap. Too elastic, gristly.

Previously, Anisy used to spend a long time spinning in front of the mirror. And he will turn this way and that way, let his long, specially grown hair fall on both sides, cover his pop ears - it seems to be better, at least for a while. But as acne popped up all over his personality (and this was already the third year), Tulipov put the mirror in the attic, because looking at his disgusting face had become completely unbearable for him.

Anisiy got up for work at the crack of dawn; according to winter time, it was still night. The path is not close. The house, inherited from the deacon, was located in the gardens of the Intercession Monastery, right next to the Spasskaya outpost. Along Empty Street, through Taganka, past the unkind Khitrovka, Anisius walked quickly for a full hour to serve in the Gendarmerie Department. And if, like today, it freezes and covers the road with ice, then it’s a total disaster - in tattered boots and a thin overcoat, it didn’t look too avant-garde. You’ll clink your teeth, you’ll remember and better times, and carefree adolescence, and to my mother, the kingdom of heaven to her.

Last year, when Anisiy joined the police, it was much easier. The salary is eighteen rubles, plus extra pay for overtime, and for night shifts, and sometimes they also gave traveling workers a raise. Sometimes it came up to thirty-five rubles a month. But Tyulpanov, an unhappy man, could not hold on to a good, profitable position. He was recognized by Lieutenant Colonel Sverchinsky himself as a hopeless agent and generally a slobber. First, he was caught leaving the observation post (how could he not leave and drop by home if his sister Sonya had not been fed since the morning?). And then it turned out even worse, Anisiy missed the dangerous revolutionary. During the operation to seize a safe house, he stood in the backyard, at the back door. Just in case, to be on the safe side, due to his youth, Tyulpanov was not allowed to actually be detained. And it must happen that the arresters, experienced wolfhounds, masters of their craft, missed one student. Anisiy sees a young lady in glasses running towards him, and her face is so frightened and desperate. He shouted “Stop!”, but did not dare to grab it - the young lady’s arms were painfully thin. And he stood like an idol, looking after her. He didn't even blow the whistle.

For this glaring omission they wanted to kick Tyulpanov out of the service altogether, but his superiors took pity on the orphan and demoted him to office boy. Anisiy now held a minor position, for an educated person, five classes of real graduate, even shameful. And, most importantly, completely hopeless. So you go through your whole life as a pathetic little boy, without earning a class rank.

It’s bitter for anyone to give up on oneself at twenty, but it’s not even a matter of ambition. Live for twelve and a half, try it. You don’t need that much yourself, but you can’t explain to Sonya that you have younger brother career didn't work out. She wants butter, cottage cheese, and some candy, and she always needs to be pampered. Nowadays, firewood to heat a stove costs three rubles per fathom. Sonya is an idiot for nothing, but she moos when it’s cold and cries.

* * *

Anisy, before rushing out of the house, managed to change his sister’s wet clothes. She opened her small, piggy eyes, smiled sleepily at her brother and stammered: “Nisiy, Nisii.”

“Sit here quietly, you fool, don’t spoil her,” Anisiy punished her with feigned severity, turning his heavy body, hot from sleep. He put the agreed-upon ten-kopeck piece on the table for his neighbor Sychikha, who was looking after the poor woman. I quickly devoured a stale roll of bread, washed it down with cold milk, and that was it, it was time to head into the darkness and blizzard.

Mincing along the snow-covered wasteland towards Taganka and constantly slipping, Tyulpanov felt very sorry for himself. Not only is he poor, ugly and untalented, but this Sonya is a lifelong hanger. 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 at the icon of the Mother of God illuminated by a lamp. Anisiy loved this icon since childhood: it does not hang in the warmth and dryness, but right on the wall, in the seven winds, only covered from rain and snow with a visor, and on top is a wooden cross. The light is small, unquenchable, burning in a glass cap, visible from afar. This is good, especially when you look out from the darkness, cold and windy howl.

What is that white thing there, above the cross?

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

The drifting snow continued to curl across the ground. Oh, it's cold.

* * *

But Anisy’s work day actually started off quite well today. One might say that Tyulpanov was lucky. Yegor Semenych, the collegiate registrar who was in charge of the mailing list, glanced sideways at Anisie’s unconvincing overcoat, shook his gray head and gave a good, warm assignment. Don’t run all over the endless, windswept city, but just deliver a folder with reports and documents to His Highness Mr. Erast Petrovich Fandorin, an official of special assignments under His Excellency the Governor-General. Deliver and wait to see if there will be any return correspondence from Mr. Court Counselor.

It's okay, it's possible. Anisiy perked up and delivered the folder in an instant, without even having time to freeze. Mr. Fandorin lived nearby - right there, on Malaya Nikitskaya, in his own outbuilding at the estate of Baron von Evert-Kolokoltsev.

Anisy adored Mr. Fandorin. From afar, timidly, with reverence, without any hope that big man will ever notice him, the tulip existence. The court councilor in Gendarmersky had a special reputation, although Erast Petrovich served in a different department. His Excellency the Moscow chief of police Efim Efimovich Baranov, even though he was a lieutenant general, did not consider it shameful to ask an official for special assignments for confidential advice or even to seek patronage.

Of course, every person at least partially knowledgeable in big Moscow politics knew that the father of the first throne, Prince Vladimir Andreevich Dolgoruky, distinguishes himself as a court councilor 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 instantly see through any, even the most mysterious secret, to the very essence.

By virtue of his position, the court councilor was supposed to be the governor general's eye in all secret Moscow affairs that fell under the jurisdiction of the gendarmerie and police. Therefore, every morning Erast Petrovich was delivered the necessary information from General Baranov and from the Gendarmersky - usually to the governor’s house, on Tverskaya, but it also happened at home, because the court councilor’s schedule was free and, if he wanted, he could not go to the presence at all.

This is what a significant person Mr. Fandorin was, and yet he behaved simply, without importance. Twice Anisiy delivered packages to him on Tverskaya and was completely captivated by the courteous manner of such an influential person: he would not humiliate the little man, treat him respectfully, always invite him to sit down, and call him “you.”

And it was also very interesting to see up close a person about whom truly fantastic rumors were circulating in Moscow. It’s immediately obvious that he is a special person. The face is beautiful, smooth, young, and the raven hair at the temples is heavily streaked with gray. The voice is calm, quiet, speaks with a slight stutter, but every word is appropriate and it is clear that he is not used to repeating the same thing twice. Impressive gentleman, you can’t say anything.

Tyulpanov had never been to the house of the court councilor, and therefore, entering the openwork gate with a cast-iron crown on top, he approached the elegant one-story outbuilding with a certain sinking heart. Such an extraordinary person probably also has something special in his home.

The "Jack of Spades" has let loose

In the whole wide world there was no more unhappy person than Anisy Tyulpanov. Well, maybe only somewhere in black Africa or Patagonia, but it’s unlikely that it’s closer.

Judge for yourself. Firstly, the name is Anisiy. Have you ever seen a noble man, a chamber cadet, or even a mayor called Anisy? So it immediately smells like lamp oil, a priest’s nettle seed.

What a nickname! What about the appearance? First things first, the ears stick out to the sides, like the handles of a chamber pot. If you take it with a cap, they are willful, they try to get out and stick out, as if they were propping up a cap. Too elastic, gristly.

Previously, Anisy used to spend a long time spinning in front of the mirror. And he’ll turn this way and that way, let his long, specially grown hair fall on both sides, cover his pop ears – it seems to be better, at least for a while. But as acne popped up all over his personality (and this was already the third year), Tulipov put the mirror in the attic, because looking at his disgusting face had become completely unbearable for him.

Anisiy got up for work at the crack of dawn; according to winter time, it was still night. The path is not close. The house, inherited from the deacon, was located in the gardens of the Intercession Monastery, right next to the Spasskaya outpost. Along Empty Street, through Taganka, past the unkind Khitrovka, Anisius walked quickly for a full hour to serve in the Gendarmerie Department. And if, like today, it freezes and covers the road with ice, then it’s a total disaster - in tattered boots and a thin overcoat, it didn’t look too avant-garde. If you clink your teeth, you will remember better times, and carefree adolescence, and mamma, may she rest in heaven.

Last year, when Anisiy joined the police, it was much easier. The salary was eighteen rubles, plus additional pay for overtime, and for night shifts, and sometimes they also gave traveling workers a raise. Sometimes it came up to thirty-five rubles a month. But Tyulpanov, an unhappy man, could not hold on to a good, profitable position. He was recognized by Lieutenant Colonel Sverchinsky himself as a hopeless agent and generally a slobber. First, he was caught leaving the observation post (how could he not leave and drop by home if his sister Sonya had not been fed since the morning?). And then it turned out even worse, Anisiy missed the dangerous revolutionary. During the operation to seize a safe house, he stood in the backyard, at the back door. Just in case, to be on the safe side, due to his youth, Tyulpanov was not allowed to actually be detained. And it must happen that the arresters, experienced wolfhounds, masters of their craft, missed one student. Anisiy sees a young lady in glasses running towards him, and her face is so frightened and desperate. He shouted “Stop!”, but did not dare to grab it - the young lady’s arms were painfully thin. And he stood like an idol, looking after her. He didn't even blow the whistle.

It’s bitter for anyone to give up on oneself at twenty, but it’s not even a matter of ambition. Live for twelve and a half, try it. You don’t need that much yourself, but you can’t explain to Sonya that his younger brother’s career didn’t work out. She wants butter, cottage cheese, and some candy, and she always needs to be pampered. And firewood to heat the stove costs three rubles today. Sonya is an idiot for nothing, but she moos when it’s cold and cries.

Anisy, before rushing out of the house, managed to change his sister’s wet clothes. She opened her small, piggy eyes, smiled sleepily at her brother and stammered: “Nisiy, Nisii.”

“Sit here quietly, you fool, don’t spoil me,” Anisiy punished her with feigned severity, turning his heavy body, hot from sleep. He put the agreed-upon ten-kopeck piece on the table for his neighbor Sychikha, who was looking after the poor woman. I quickly devoured a stale roll of bread, washed it down with cold milk, and that was it, it was time to head into the darkness and blizzard.

What is that white thing there, above the cross?

The drifting snow continued to curl across the ground. Oh, it's cold.

* * *

Anisy adored Mr. Fandorin. From a distance, timidly, with reverence, without any hope that the big man would ever notice his tulip existence. The court councilor in Gendarmersky had a special reputation, although Erast Petrovich served in a different department. His Excellency the Moscow chief of police Efim Efimovich Baranov, even though he was a lieutenant general, did not consider it shameful to ask an official for special assignments for confidential advice or even to seek patronage.

Of course, every person at least partially knowledgeable in big Moscow politics knew that the father of the first throne, Prince Vladimir Andreevich Dolgoruky, distinguishes himself as a court councilor and listens to his opinion. They said different things about Mr. Fandorin: for example, that he had a special gift - to see through any person and to instantly see through any, even the most mysterious, secret to the very essence.

And it was also very interesting to see up close a person about whom truly fantastic rumors were circulating in Moscow. It’s immediately obvious that he is a special person. The face is beautiful, smooth, young, and the raven hair at the temples is heavily streaked with gray. 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 gentleman, you can’t say anything.

He pressed the electric bell button and prepared the first phrase in advance: “Courier Tulipov from the Gendarmerie Department to his honor with papers.” Having come to his senses, he stuffed his obstinate right ear under his cap.

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

– Sevo nada?

From somewhere deep inside the house came a loud female voice:

- Masa! How many times do I have to tell you! Not “sevo nada”, but “whatever you want”!

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

- What do you want?

“Courier Tulipov from the Gendarmerie Department with papers to his honor,” Anisiy hastily reported.

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

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

However, even though there was no bear to be found, the hallway was beautifully furnished, and in the corner, in a glass cabinet, there was some strange 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 the courier, of course, was not allowed to enter, a lady of rare beauty in a floor-length red silk robe looked out. The beauty's voluminous dark hair was styled in an intricate updo, her slender neck was bare, her white, ringed arms were crossed on her high chest. The lady looked at Anisy with huge black eyes with disappointment, slightly wrinkled her classic nose and called:

- Erast, this is for you. From presence.

For some reason, Anisius was surprised that the court councilor was married, although, in essence, there was nothing surprising in the fact that such a man had a beautiful wife, with a regal bearing and an arrogant gaze.

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

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

“Hello, T-Tulpanov,” said the court councilor, fingering the green jade rosary, and Anisy was already dumbfounded with pleasure - he never imagined that Erast Petrovich remembered him, and especially by his last name. You never know how many small riffraff deliver packages to him, but here you go.

-What do you have there? Let's. And go into the living room and sit. Masa, accept Mr. Tyulpanov’s overcoat.

Timidly entering the living room, Anisy did not dare to stare around, he modestly sat down 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 covered with colorful Japanese prints, which, Anisy knew, were in great fashion these days. He also saw some scrolls with hieroglyphs and on a wooden lacquer stand - two curved sabers, one longer, the other shorter.

The court councilor rustled the papers, from time to time marking something in them with a gold pencil. His wife, not paying attention to the men, stood at the window and looked into the garden with a bored look.

“Darling,” she said in French, “why aren’t we going anywhere?” It is ultimately unbearable. I want to go to the theater, I want to go to the ball.

“You yourself s-said, Addie, that this is indecent,” answered Fandorin, looking up from his papers. – You can meet your friends in St. Petersburg. It will be awkward. Actually, I don’t care.

He looked at Tyulpanov, and he blushed. Well, it’s not his fault, after all, that he understands French, even if only through a stump!

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

“Oh, sorry, Addie,” said Erast Petrovich in Russian. – I didn’t introduce you to Mr. Tyulpanov, he serves in the Gendarmerie Department. And this is Countess Ariadna Arkadyevna Opraksina, my good friend.

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

“Oh God,” Countess Addie sighed painfully and quickly left the room.

- Masa, get away from my Natalia immediately! Go home, you bastard! No, it's simply unbearable!

Erast Petrovich also sighed and returned to reading the papers.

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

He began to purr in some kind of gibberish, but Fandorin motioned for him to be silent.

- Masa, I told you: when you have guests, address me not in Japanese, but in Russian.

Anisy, promoted to the rank of guest, became dignified and stared at the servant with curiosity: wow, a living Japanese.

“From Vedisev-san,” Masa announced shortly.

- From Vedishchev? Frol G-Grigorievich? Ask.

Anisy knew who Frol Grigorievich Vedishchev was.

A well-known personality, nicknamed the Gray Cardinal. From childhood he was under Prince Dolgoruky, first as a boy, then as an orderly, then as a footman, and for the last twenty years as a personal valet - since Vladimir Andreevich took the ancient city into his firm, tenacious hands. The valet seemed like a small bird, but it was known that without advice from the faithful Frol, the wise and cautious Dolgoruky did not make any important decisions. If you want to approach His Excellency with an important request, manage to flatter Vedishchev, and then, consider half the job done.

A red-haired fellow in the governor's livery entered the living room, and perhaps even ran in, and began shouting from the doorway:

- Your Honor, name is Frol Grigoryich! Be sure to come as soon as possible! Our bullshit, Erast Petrovich, is insanity! Frol Grigoryich they say, it’s impossible without you! I'm on a princely sleigh, we'll get there in no time.

– What kind of “buza”? – the court councilor frowned, but stood up and took off his robe. - Okay, let's go w-we'll see.

Underneath the robe was a white shirt with a black tie.

- Masa, vest and frock coat, quickly! – Fandorin shouted, stuffing papers into a folder. - And you, Tulipov, will have to take a ride with me. I'll finish reading on the way.

Anisiy was ready to follow his honor anywhere, which he demonstrated by hastily jumping up from his chair.

I didn’t think - the courier Tyulpanov didn’t even think that he would ever have the chance to ride in the Governor General’s carriage.

The cart was noble - a real carriage on runners. The inside is lined with satin, the seats are yuft, and in the corner there is a stove with a bronze chimney. True, unlit.

The footman sat down on the box, and the four dashing Dolrukovsky trotters cheerfully took a running start.

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

Mr. Fandorin crunched his sealing wax as he opened some kind of dispatch. His high, clean forehead frowned. How good he is, without envy, but with sincere admiration, Tyulpanov thought, watching sideways as the court councilor tugged at his thin mustache.

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

“Excuse me, Tyulpanov,” Fandorin said quickly, throwing open the door, “but I can’t let you go just yet.” Afterwards I’ll jot down a couple of lines for the Colonel. I’ll just deal with the “buz” first.

Anisiy climbed out after Erast Petrovich, entered the marble palace, but then fell behind - he became timid when he saw the important doorman with a gilded mace. Tulipov was terribly afraid of humiliation - that Mr. Fandorin would leave him to stagnate at the bottom of the stairs, like some kind of little dog. But he overcame his pride and prepared to forgive the court councilor: how can you bring a little man in such an overcoat and a cap with a cracked visor into the governor’s apartments?

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

Only now did Anisy realize that something out of the ordinary was actually happening in the governor’s house. And if you look closely, the high-ranking doorman looked not so much important as confused. Some efficient peasants were carrying chests, boxes, and boxes with foreign letters from the street into the lobby. What kind of relocation?

Tyulpanov skipped up to the court councilor and tried to stay no more than two steps away from him, which at times required an undignified trot, because his highness’s stride was wide and fast.

Oh, it was beautiful at 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 gold frames! And the mirrored parquet with inlay!

Anisiy looked back at the parquet floor and suddenly saw that his shameful boots were leaving wet and dirty marks on the wonderful floor. God, I wish no one saw it.

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

- Sit here. And hold the p-folder.

He himself headed towards the tall, gilded doors, but they suddenly swung open to greet him. At first there was a hubbub of heated voices, and then four people came out into the hall: a stately general, a lanky gentleman of non-Russian appearance 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, Anisiy recognized Prince Dolgoruky himself and, trembling, stood at attention.

Up close, his Excellency turned out to be not as dashing and fresh as if you looked from the crowd: his face was all deeply wrinkled, his curls were unnaturally lush, and his long mustache and sideburns were too brown for a seventy-five year old.

- Erast Petrovich, by the way! - the governor cried. “He distorts French so much that you can’t understand a word, and in our language he doesn’t understand anything 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 talking 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 comes to you! – apparently, not for the first time, the bespectacled man squeaked tearfully. - How could I have known...

Then the Englishman spoke, addressing the new man and indignantly waving some kind of paper completely covered with seals. Erast Petrovich began to translate dispassionately:

“This is not a fair game; they don’t do this in civilized countries.” I visited this old gentleman yesterday, he signed the deed for the house, and we sealed the agreement with a handshake. And now, you see, he has changed his mind about moving out. His grandson, Mr. Speyer, said that the old gentleman was moving to the Home for Veterans of the Napoleonic Wars, he would be more comfortable there because it was well looked after, and the mansion was for sale. Such inconstancy does not do honor, especially when the money has already been paid. And a lot of money, one hundred thousand rubles. Here is the bill of sale!

“He’s been waving this piece of paper for a long time, but won’t give it to him,” remarked the bald old man, who had been silent until that moment. Obviously, this was Frol Grigorievich Vedischev.

- Am I Speyer's grandfather? - the prince stammered. – Me – to the poorhouse?!

The official, creeping up behind the Englishman, stood up on tiptoes and managed to look into the mysterious paper.

“Indeed, it’s a hundred thousand, and it’s certified by a notary,” he confirmed. – And our address: Tverskaya, house of Prince Dolgoruky.

Erast Petrovich asked:

– Vladimir Andreevich, who is Speyer?

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

– Speyer is a very nice young man. With excellent recommendations. He was introduced to me at the Christmas ball...um...who? Oh no, I remembered! 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 so unhappy. He was on the Kushkinsky campaign, wounded in the spine, and since then his legs have not been able to walk. He gets around in a self-propelled wheelchair, but he hasn’t lost heart. He is involved in charity work, collects donations for orphans and donates huge sums himself. I was here yesterday morning with this crazy Englishman, he said that he was the famous British philanthropist Lord Pittsbrook. He asked me to allow him to show the Englishman the mansion, because the lord is an expert and connoisseur of architecture. Could I refuse poor Speyer such a trifle? So Innokenty accompanied them. – Dolgoruky angrily pointed at the official, and he clasped his hands.

- Your Excellency, where could I be... After all, you yourself ordered that in the most kindest way...

“Did you shake Lord P-Pittsbrook’s hand?” - asked Fandorin, and Anisius thought that a certain spark flashed in the eyes of the court councilor.

“Well, of course,” the prince shrugged. “Speyer first told him something about me in English, this lanky guy beamed and came over with a handshake.

-Did you sign any paper before?

The governor furrowed his eyebrows, remembering.

– Yes, Speyer asked me to sign a welcome address for the newly opened Catherine’s Shelter. It’s such a holy thing to re-educate young 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 it to the Englishman, said something and put it in a folder. He had a folder in his gurney. – Dolgoruky’s face, already menacing, became darker than a cloud. - A, merde! Really...

Erast Petrovich addressed the lord in English and must have earned complete trust from Albion’s son, because he received a mysterious paper for study.

“Drawed up in full form,” muttered the court councilor, scanning the bill of sale with his eyes. - And the official seal, and the stamp of the Mobius notary office, and the signature... What is this?!

Fandorin's face showed extreme bewilderment.

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

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

– “Jack of Spades”... Excuse me, in what sense is “Jack”?

“Here you go…” Vedischev drawled. - Okay then. "Jack of Spades" again. Well well. We made it, queen of heaven.

- "Jack of spades?" - His Excellency could not comprehend everything. “But that’s what they call a gang of swindlers.” Those who last month sold the banker Polyakov his own trotters, and at Christmas they helped the merchant Vinogradov wash gold sand in the Setun River. Baranov reported to me. We are looking, he said, for villains. I was still laughing. Did they really dare me... me, Dolgoruky?! – the Governor-General pulled the gold-embroidered collar, and his face became so terrible that Anisius pulled his head into his shoulders.

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

- Vladim Andreich, even an old woman can get screwed, why bother! Now I’ll take some drops of valerian and call the doctor to open the blood! Innokenty, give me a chair!

However, Anisiy was the first to arrive in time to the high authorities with the chair. The agitated governor was seated on a soft seat, but he kept trying to get up and kept pushing the valet away.

- Like some kind of merchant! What am I to them, boy? I'll give them a poorhouse! – he shouted not too coherently, Vedishchev made all sorts of soothing sounds and once even stroked his excellency’s dyed, and perhaps even fake, curls.

The governor turned to Fandorin and said plaintively:

– Erast Petrovich, my friend, what is this! The robbers have gone completely wild. Insulted, humiliated, ridiculed. Over all of Moscow in my face. Get the police and gendarmerie back on their feet, but find the scoundrels. Put them on trial! To Siberia! You can do anything, my dear. Consider this from now on your main business and my personal request. Baranov can’t handle it on his own, let him help you.

“It’s impossible to police,” the court councilor said with concern to this, and no sparkles in his blue eyes any longer sparkled; Mr. Fandorin’s face now expressed only concern for the authority of the authorities. - The rumor will spread - the whole city will break their tummies. This cannot be allowed.

“Excuse me,” the prince fumed again. – So, what can they get away with, these “jacks”?

- In no case. And I'll take care of this d-matter. Only confidentially, without publicity. – Fandorin thought for a while and continued. “Lord Pittsbrook will have to return the money from the city treasury, apologize, and not explain anything about the “jack.” Like, there was a misunderstanding. The grandson became willful.

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

“Frol Grigorievich will come up with something plausible for the servants.” And I'll start searching.

– Can you really find such scoundrels alone? – the valet doubted.

- Yes, it’s a little difficult. But it is not advisable to expand the circle of initiates.

Fandorin looked at the bespectacled secretary, whom the prince called “Innocent,” and shook his head. Apparently, Innokenty was not fit to be an assistant. Then Erast Petrovich turned to Anisy, and he froze, acutely aware of all his unpresentability: young, skinny, ears sticking out, and even acne.

“What am I... I’ll be dumb,” he muttered. - Honestly.

-Who else is this? - His Excellency barked, seeming to see the pitiful figure of the delivery boy for the first time. - Pach-what is here?

“This is Tulipov,” Fandorin explained. - From the Gendarmerie Department. Experienced agent. So he h-will help me.

The prince looked at the cowering Anisiy and knitted his menacing eyebrows.

- Well, look at me, Tulipov. If you are useful, I will make you a man. If you break the wood, I’ll grind it into powder.

When Erast Petrovich and the distraught Anisiy walked towards the stairs, Vedishchev was heard to say:

- Vladim Andreich, it’s your choice, but there’s no money in the treasury. It's no joke - a hundred thousand. The Englishman will get by with just an apology.

A new shock awaited Tyulpanov on the street.

Pulling on his gloves, the court councilor suddenly asked:

– Was it true that they told me that you support your disabled sister and refused to give her up to government care?

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

“You can’t give it to the government,” he explained. - She will wither there. She's really used to me, you fool.

This is where Fandorin shocked him.

“I envy you,” he sighed. – You are a happy person, Tulipov. At such a young age, you already have something to respect yourself for and something to be p-proud of. The Lord has given you a core for the rest of your life.

Anisiy was still trying to understand the meaning of these strange words, but the court councilor had already taken the conversation further:

- Don't worry about your sister. Hire a caregiver for her during the investigation. Of course, at government expense. From now on 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, Tulipov suddenly realized. This is happiness.

Hey white dove!

ERAST FANDORIN V

"JACK OF SPACE" UNLOCKED

Balzaminov, who is Lyutikov. The ancestor did not finish the seminary, but passed on the stupid surname to his descendants. It’s good that they called it Tulipov, and not some Danvanchikov.
What a nickname! What about the appearance? First things first, the ears stick out to the sides, like the handles of a chamber pot. If you take it with a cap, they become willful, they strive to get out and stick out, as if they were propping up a cap. Too elastic, gristly.
Previously, Anisy used to spend a long time spinning in front of the mirror. And he will turn this way and that way, let his long, specially grown hair fall on both sides, cover his pop ears - it seems to be better, at least for a while. But as acne popped up all over his personality (and this was already the third year), Tulipov put the mirror in the attic, because looking at his disgusting face had become completely unbearable for him.
Anisiy got up for work at the crack of dawn; according to winter time, it was still night. The path is not close. The house, inherited from the deacon, was located in the gardens of the Intercession Monastery, right next to the Spasskaya outpost. Along Empty Street, through Taganka, past the unkind Khitrovka, Anisius walked quickly for a full hour to serve in the Gendarmerie Department. And if, like today, it freezes and covers the road with ice, then it’s a total disaster - in tattered boots and a thin overcoat, it didn’t look too avant-garde. If you clink your teeth, you will remember better times, and carefree adolescence, and mamma, may she rest in heaven.
Last year, when Anisiy joined the police, it was much easier. The salary is eighteen rubles, plus extra pay for overtime, and for night shifts, and sometimes they also gave traveling workers a raise. Sometimes it came up to thirty-five rubles a month. But Tyulpanov, an unhappy man, could not hold on to a good, profitable position. He was recognized by Lieutenant Colonel Sverchinsky himself as a hopeless agent and generally a slobber. First, he was caught leaving the observation post (how could he not leave and drop by home if his sister Sonya had not been fed since the morning?). And then it turned out even worse, Anisiy missed the dangerous revolutionary. During the operation to seize a safe house, he stood in the backyard, at the back door. Just in case, to be on the safe side, due to his youth, Tyulpanov was not allowed to actually be detained. And it must happen that the arresters, experienced wolfhounds, masters of their craft, missed one student. Anisiy sees a young lady in glasses running towards him, and her face is so frightened and desperate. He shouted “Stop!”, but did not dare to grab it - the young lady’s arms were painfully thin. And he stood like an idol, looking after her. He didn't even blow the whistle.
For this glaring omission they wanted to kick Tyulpanov out of the service altogether, but his superiors took pity on the orphan and demoted him to office boy. Anisiy now held a minor position, for an educated person, five classes of real graduate, even shameful. And, most importantly, completely hopeless. So you go through your whole life as a pathetic little boy, without earning a class rank.
It’s bitter for anyone to give up on oneself at twenty, but it’s not even a matter of ambition. Live for twelve and a half, try it. You don’t need that much yourself, but you can’t explain to Sonya that his younger brother’s career didn’t work out. She wants butter, cottage cheese, and some candy, and she always needs to be pampered. Nowadays, firewood to heat a stove costs three rubles per fathom. Sonya is an idiot for nothing, but she moos when it’s cold and cries.
Anisy, before rushing out of the house, managed to change his sister’s wet clothes. She opened her small, piggy eyes, smiled sleepily at her brother and stammered: “Nisiy, Nisii.”
“Sit here quietly, you fool, don’t spoil me,” Anisiy punished her with feigned severity, turning his heavy body, hot from sleep. He put the agreed-upon ten-kopeck piece on the table for his neighbor Sychikha, who was looking after the poor woman. I quickly devoured a stale roll of bread, washed it down with cold milk, and that was it, it was time to head into the darkness and blizzard.
Mincing along the snow-covered wasteland towards Taganka and constantly slipping, Tyulpanov felt very sorry for himself.

In the whole wide world there was no more unhappy person than Anisy Tyulpanov. Well, maybe only somewhere in black Africa or Patagonia, but it’s unlikely that it’s closer.

Judge for yourself. Firstly, the name is Anisiy. Have you ever seen a noble man, a chamber cadet, or even a mayor called Anisy? So it immediately smells like lamp oil, a priest’s nettle seed.

Anisiy got up for work at the crack of dawn; according to winter time, it was still night. The path is not close. The house, inherited from the deacon, was located in the gardens of the Intercession Monastery, right next to the Spasskaya outpost. Along Empty Street, through Taganka, past the unkind Khitrovka, Anisius walked quickly for a full hour to serve in the Gendarmerie Department. And if, like today, it freezes and covers the road with ice, then it’s a total disaster - in tattered boots and a thin overcoat, it didn’t look too avant-garde. If you clink your teeth, you will remember better times, and carefree adolescence, and mamma, may she rest in heaven.

It’s bitter for anyone to give up on oneself at twenty, but it’s not even a matter of ambition. Live for twelve and a half, try it. You don’t need that much yourself, but you can’t explain to Sonya that his younger brother’s career didn’t work out. She wants butter, cottage cheese, and some candy, and she always needs to be pampered. And firewood to heat the stove costs three rubles today. Sonya is an idiot for nothing, but she moos when it’s cold and cries.

Anisy, before rushing out of the house, managed to change his sister’s wet clothes. She opened her small, piggy eyes, smiled sleepily at her brother and stammered: “Nisiy, Nisii.”

What is that white thing there, above the cross?

The drifting snow continued to curl across the ground. Oh, it's cold.

Of course, every person at least partially knowledgeable in big Moscow politics knew that the father of the first throne, Prince Vladimir Andreevich Dolgoruky, distinguishes himself as a court councilor and listens to his opinion. They said different things about Mr. Fandorin: for example, that he had a special gift - to see through any person and to instantly see through any, even the most mysterious, secret to the very essence.

The detective novel by Boris Akunin “Special Assignments: Jack of Spades” tells about the next investigation of the beloved hero Erast Petrovich Fandorin, 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 criminal is very skeptical about attempts to detect him and is confident in 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 is Moscow, Erast Petrovich is an official on special assignments under the governor. He has to unravel a very difficult case. In the city, a group of scammers is pulling off major frauds. They deceive not only the rich, but even state 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 takes special pleasure from his activities, carefully thinks through every case, and uses knowledge of psychology. He tries to make every crime special, beautiful and even sometimes funny. Erast Petrovich understands that everything here is very confusing. But how can you punish the guilty if you can’t prove his guilt, if you can’t approach him in any way?

On our website you can download the book “Special Instructions: Jack of Spades” by Boris Akunin for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read the book online or buy the book in the online store.