The sixth book in the Guardians series. The book tells us the story of the most militant people in the universe - the asuras and their King Salidin Redgrave. What was his childhood and youth like? How did he become the Asura King? How much did Salidin pay for his throne? Against the backdrop of all the events, the history of the relationship between Salidin and Elreba is also revealed. Why do the two Kings hate each other so much, and how will their confrontation on the world stage of the War of the Guardians end? Salidin is trying to find a mysterious artifact - the Heart of the Desert, and uncover the secret of the lost Arushumari empire, save his love and friends. However, the fire of war is merciless and Ashfer will have to take the first hit. Will the city stand against the golden flame and how will the confrontation between the two Kings end?

Prologue 1

Chapter One - "I am the King of the Desert and only I know where her heart is" 1

Chapter Two - "The story of the sands that are forever covered in blood" 6

Chapter Three - "The Adventures of the Future King and His Four Generals" 10

Chapter Four - "Revenge-Fired Ascension to the Throne" 16

Chapter Five - "The Cursed Legacy of the Arushumari Empire" 21

Chapter Six - "New World, New Life, New Feelings, New Losses" 26

Chapter Seven - "The army of her heart recreated from the sand" 30

Chapter Eight - "The House of Wisdom Filled with Only Stupidity" 34

Chapter Nine - "And the darkness awoke, and at dawn the dead crawled out through the earth and shadows rose, and everything around was on fire" 39

Chapter Ten - "Battle for Ashfer" 45

Chapter Eleven - "The Poisoned Mercy of the Golden Dragon King" 51

Epilogue 57

Alina Mikhailovna Smirnova
Desert Heart

He is two-thirds god, one-third man...

About Gilgamesh.

Who is handsome among the heroes,

Who is proud among men?

Gilgamesh is handsome among heroes,

Enkidu is proud among men!

Gilgamesh's victory speech.

Prologue

About everything that has seen to the end of the world,
About the one who knew the sea, who crossed all the mountains,
About enemies conquered together with a friend,
About the one who comprehended wisdom, about the one who penetrated everything:
He saw the secret, he knew the secret,
He brought us news of the days before the flood,
I went on a long journey, but I was tired and resigned,
The story of the labors carved on the stone,
Enclosed with a wall is Uruk fenced,
The bright barn of Eanna the sacred.
Examine the wall, whose battlements are like copper
Look at the shaft that knows no likeness,
Touch the thresholds that have been there since ancient times,
And enter Eanna, the home of Ishtar -
Even the future king will not build such a thing, -
Rise and walk the walls of Uruk,
Look at the foundation, feel the bricks:
His bricks, are they not burned?
And the walls were laid not by seven wise men

Epic of Gilgamesh.

Chapter One - "I am the King of the Desert and only I know where her heart is"

The Asura King stood at the top of his palace's Tower of Sorrows and surveyed the vast desert lands that bathed his golden palace. He had been looking at the desert from this tower for many years, observing its invariability.

Why desert? Why did I watch the sands all the time ... and in all my long life I never once asked the question, why am I here? Right now? What do you think, Hisashi?

The King was always followed by his main assistant and ideological inspirer. Hisashi - that was his name, and he was not as simple as it might seem at first glance.

Because you're the only one who can handle this desert, aren't you? Your Majesty, why do you keep thinking about this? As if the trace of the past in your mind is so bright that you don’t want to think about anything else?

I want greatness, Hisashi. I want greatness and immortality among all the Gods, I almost achieved this during my lifetime. However, I was very wrong and now ... I have no right to do so.

In my opinion, you are loading yourself too much with thoughts about the past and the future. It's time for you to go to war, it's not calm on the borders of Aiesfer and Istola. Arranging preparations for a trip?

Salidin Redgrave again fell into despondency and looked longingly at the sand dunes. Hisashi thought that a long time ago Salidin had lost something important in this endless desert. Something important to him... his heart, and now, no matter how much he tries to find it, all attempts are useless.

Of course, arrange for preparations for the campaign. We'll leave no later than tomorrow night. Before the storm starts, let's get to the Chimera oasis.

Chimera Oasis? Do you intend to withdraw the main forces to the southern border? I don’t know something, but the activity of the spirits of Istola is the least active there, the main blow should have been delivered from the west.

Hisashi, who knew Salidin best of all, caught the coldness and detachment in his gaze, as well as sadness.

I know it, Hisashi. I know. I hope to meet someone if we pass along the southern border...someone I care about.

As you wish.

The whole world of asuras arose at the request of Salidin, everything in this world was conceived exactly as he assumed, the desert should never have caused such feelings in him. So…

Why... why... - Left alone with his thoughts, Salidin lately felt that the desert was swallowing him up. His own desert. He chose not to build any palaces and luxurious cities inside the asura world, except for the capital of Esfer and his palace. He preferred to leave only small oases around, the world of war does not need cities, all of them would have disappeared without a trace in the endless cycle of war and death. And the sand hid everything, armies perishing in the constant wars of the asuras disappeared in the quicksand. False palaces and their rulers disappeared; Salidin had already seen all this. I saw with my own eyes. He wasn't someone who didn't have a past. He had it and sometimes pulled to the bottom. But in most moments, Salidin still clearly felt the time and his own place in the universe. Salidin strove for everything around to be clearly ordered and strive for its place in the universe.

Why? - the winds of the sands rumbled over the Tower of Sorrow, no one should have seen their King weak.

Because you're a traitor... - sounded a conscious communication channel in the head of the Asura King.

Every traitor has a chance to redeem himself!

But not just you. You betrayed me once. You will betray again. And again, this is the future. You should decide whether you will accept it as it is or try to change it? You try to change and the world around you will change ... do you want advice, Salidin?

What advice can someone give me who is forever doomed to sleep?

Haha, and you are still as arrogant and as arrogant as I used to know you in the past… though now you are not worthy of your former name, so bear the named name of Queen Redgrave, which allowed you to become King. So here's my advice to you, Salidin... run... while I'm still sleeping... run as far as you can run... to the most remote, the coldest, the most inaccessible and unimaginable world, side by side with someone who can still prolong your miserable life. life... to Evergreen... run, Salidin... because when I wake up... when I get to you, my wrath will fall on you and your desert... I will destroy you, Salidin...

Salidin turned away and strode along the golden wall away from the Tower of Sorrows. He was determined to become the true King, the King among all the Gods... the same as he once was, and for this it only remained to find him - the Heart of the Desert.

Olivia Gates

Desert Heart

Harris al-Shalaan adjusted the special mask on his head with slits for the eyes and mouth, continuing to control his target.

Sand lashed my face in the midnight wind. Harris lay sprawled on top of a dune.

He left his car two miles away. If he had driven closer, the sound of the engine would have clearly reverberated through the desert landscape.

He continued to watch what was happening, knowing that everything could change at any second.

At the moment, two sentries were standing by a makeshift container in which a fire had been lit. Three more guards were at the sand building. Light from a gas lamp filtered through the cracks between the bricks and the loose wooden shutters.

The al-Ossaibis clan, rivaling the al-Shalaan clan, built this building in a truly dead place. The nearest settlements were six hundred miles away, so the building was the perfect place to hold a hostage.

Harris came here precisely to free this prisoner.

Under other circumstances, Harris would have come with special forces, at the very sight of which anyone would have taken to their heels, just to save their own skin.

However, as Minister of the Interior, Head of the Intelligence Agency, and head of Zohaid's Department of Homeland Security, Harris has grown accustomed to trusting no one. Today, he took with him only the three most reliable fighters, to whom he was ready to entrust even his own life.

Harris closed his eyes. He still couldn't believe what was happening.

A plot to overthrow his father and King Atef al-Shalaan has been plotting right under Harris' noses for the past few months. Priceless jewelry - "Pride of Zoheid" - was a symbol of the royal family. According to legend, if these jewels are lost, it will mean that the ruler of Zoheid is an unworthy person.

Every year, the monarchs of al-Shalaan held celebrations, culminating in the Royal Exhibition, where the Pride of Zoheid jewels were displayed as proof of the legitimacy of King al-Shalaan's rule.

The Pride of Zoheid jewels were stolen and replaced with fake ones. Undoubtedly, during the Royal Exhibition, the thief planned to declare that the jewelry was fake, arrange chaos in the country and deprive King Atef of power.

In recent weeks, Harris has been investigating based on information provided by Brother Shaheen and his young wife, Johara. Early this morning, Harris received intelligence that could lead him straight to the mastermind behind the evil designs.

A man who identified himself as American journalist T.Zh. Burke said he had vital information about the conspiracy.

Twenty minutes after receiving the message, Harris arrived at the apartment rented by the journalist, but found no one there. The journalist has already been taken away. Harris was well aware that the kidnapping was organized by order of the elder of the al-Ossaibis clan.

T.Zh. Burke. This man is a real mystery. Harris was unable to find information about him in any of the media databases. One had the impression that the journalist Burke had only been born a week before, when he arrived in Zoheid.

Harris found only one T.Zh. Burke, an American information technology professional who worked for an international company in Azmahar. However, this man returned to the States just over a year ago. Not so long ago, he was convicted of massive hacker attacks, hacking sites and stealing important information that he committed while in Azmahara. The man is now serving a five-year prison sentence.

Anyone who pretends to be a journalist T.Zh. Burke, either intentionally or accidentally, used his name. Harris thus concluded that the man was none other than a spy.

However, Harris decided to save the ill-fated Burke, even if he turns out to be the devil himself. Once Burke was safe, Harris would pry whatever information he needed out of him.

The sentries sitting by the fire began to nod off. Harris signaled to Mansour, the fighter, who relayed his order first to Yazid, who was stationed at the south wall, then to Mohab, who was at the back of the building.

Yazid and Mohab simultaneously knocked out two sentries at the fire by shooting them with the strongest sedative. Then the guards at the building were put to sleep.

Harris jumped up. In a few seconds, he jumped over the immobilized sentries and took a soundless step up the stone steps leading to the door of the building. The rest of the soldiers followed him.

After exchanging nods and nods with his fighters, Harris pushed open the door, and it creaked open, breaking the silence.

Harris glanced quickly around the dim interior. There was no one in the room. But there was another room ahead. Burke must be there.

Slowly opening the door, Harris saw a thin, bearded man in a sand-colored jacket. Even in low light, Harris noticed that he had blue eyes, a beautiful tan, and shiny short golden hair. The prince experienced an incomprehensible excitement.

In the next second, he tore his eyes away from the man and assessed the situation. Burke was in the bathroom from which he was about to escape. He had already opened the high window, even though his hands were tied in front.

Harris rushed to the man, grabbed his hands and immediately felt such pain that his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. It took him a second to realize what had happened.

The man hit him.

Harris barely managed to dodge the torrent of punches that the supposed Burke unleashed on him.

Stop resisting, you fool," Harris hissed. - I'm here to save you.

Either the man couldn't make out Harris's words, or he didn't believe them. The man kicked Harris sharply on the left shin, causing him to fall to his knees.

Don't make me hit you and then carry you around like a bag of dirty laundry. I don't have time to put up with your antics. Do as I say if you want to get out of here alive.

Harris noticed that Burke's eyes softened.

Suddenly, a shootout began - reinforcements arrived.

Drawing a dagger from his belt, Harris cut the straps that bound Burke's arms, then bent down to push him and help him out of the window. Burke took off and in a few moments he was free. Harris heard the characteristic sound of hitting the ground - Burke landed successfully.

“Is this guy an acrobat, or a special forces soldier,” thought Harris.

Once outside, Harris ordered Burke to follow him. He didn't resist.

They ran across the sand dunes, guided by Harris's phosphorescent compass. He could not turn on the flashlight to find his way to the car. A beam of light in the dark would be an excellent beacon for the enemy.

Ten minutes have passed. Harris noticed that Burke continued to run beside him, never lagging behind. He moved much more gracefully than Harris and could easily overtake him if he wanted to.

Approaching the open-top SUV, Harris quickly ordered:

Sit behind me.

Without blinking an eye, Burke jumped into the seat. As they drove through the desert, Harris experienced strange feelings, feeling the closeness of this mysterious man.

What did he experience? A rush of adrenaline. Discomfort. Without doubt. What else could it be?

Approaching the helicopter, Harris abruptly disengaged Burke's arms and jumped out of the car. Burke trotted after him, deftly and gracefully, like a cat. Blue-eyed and fair-haired, he looked like a moon elf.

Climb inside, get in the passenger seat and buckle up! Harris ordered aggressively. He was indignant, because he could not understand the reason for the throwing of crazy thoughts and the inexplicable reaction of the body to the proximity of an unfamiliar man. - I'll drive the car into the luggage compartment.

Suddenly shots were heard.

Burke's eyes widened in horror. Harris felt a sharp pain in the heart.

Despite the shelling, Burke rushed even faster to the helicopter. A few seconds later, both were in the cockpit, and Harris started the engine. He was in a hurry, afraid of losing a lot of blood and control over the situation.

Gaining altitude, after a while he looked at the fuel gauge. The pursuer shot through the fuel tank, so they can't get to the capital. We'll have to fly to the nearest oasis.

However, the leaky tank was not the only problem. The navigation system was faulty, the helicopter abruptly lost altitude.

It was impossible to delay. You should land the helicopter as soon as possible, otherwise they will crash.

Harris turned sharply to Burke.

Get ready for a hard landing.

Burke nodded sharply, his eyes wide with fear. But Harris didn't have time to calm him down.

Over the next few minutes, he used all his skill to land the helicopter with difficulty.

Harris leaned back in his seat, then unbuckled his seatbelt and turned on the cockpit lights to maximum before turning to Burke.

He decided to deal with his wound after. Right now it is necessary to check whether his passenger is hurt.

Burke turned to him, their eyes met.

He didn't understand what was happening. Most likely, this is a consequence of the injury.

“Stop falling into insanity! Harris told himself. "Check to see if Burke is hurt."

He reached for it, but the man flinched at the gentle touch, as if Harris had hit him with a bare electric wire.

Harris grabbed him by the shoulders, intending to pull him closer to the light source. Burke began to resist.

Stop writhing. I need to check if you're hurt.

I'm fine," he replied hoarsely.

And then it hit Harris. No, he doesn't start hallucinating from the injury and blood loss. His body can react so violently only in one case.

Harris ran his fingers through the supposed T.J.'s golden hair. Burke and heard him gasp. Burke's breath touched his cheek, and Harris again felt a surge of uncontrollable desire.

He smiled contentedly.

Now tell me why you pretended to be a bearded journalist T.Zh. Burke? You would be more suited to the image of a modern Mata Hari, hung with jewels.

Breathless, Burke abruptly pulled away from her savior and said in a trembling and deliberately rude voice:

Did you hit your head during the landing?

The man did not move, but his massive figure filled the entire space, and the wide cockpit of a military helicopter seemed tiny. Although he looked at her cheerfully with golden eyes, she did not feel safe.

The stranger spoke again in a low, velvety voice, drawing out his words:

The only blows of today have been dealt to me by your well-groomed and skillful hands.

Since I intended to smash your head in, I must have blown your brains out and made you lose your mind.

The man moved closer to her. She felt his fresh breath and felt the energy of authority and masculinity that he radiated.

Oh my mind is fine. In order to blow my brains out ... - The stranger slowly and carefully examined her body, and she got the feeling that he was caressing her, - it will take a dozen like you.

I would have dealt with you alone, - snorted T.Zh. Burke. - I almost knocked you out. And that's with their hands tied.

You can really knock me out, but not with fighting techniques. Your influence on me has nothing to do with physical strength. By the way, you're too strong for your physique.

So you only noticed my physique?

I think you have an excellent figure.

T.Zh. Burke smirked.

You definitely have a concussion. Or do you talk like that to all men?

Hearing the obvious insult, her savior grinned wickedly:

I don't even talk to women like that. But that's how I'll talk to you. And not just talking.

T.Zh. Burke pressed herself against the passenger door.

So you got it into your head that I'm a woman? And that's why you attacked me? Just a few minutes ago, we almost died, then landed in a godforsaken place. Don't you think you're talking nonsense?

Did you really think that a curly beard and a disgusting haircut would help you get rid of femininity? I instantly figured everything out. Why don't you stop pretending and say your real name?

My name is T.Zh. Burke!

Harris stretched his beautiful lips into a smile, revealing snow-white teeth that seemed to glow in the twilight.

My bearded beauty, only one of us now has elevated testosterone levels in the blood. Don't make me show you exactly who, - he said with a threat in his voice.

T.Zh. Burke glared at him, trying not to betray her weakness and fear:

Are you trying to show me that you're attracted to petite blondes?

She shuddered as she heard the man's muffled and terrifying laughter.

We will continue the conversation, but first you must learn that I am not affected by your insults. As soon as I saw you, I immediately understood: something is unclean here. Therefore, either you yourself admit that you are a woman, or I will forcefully rip out the confirmation of my words.

Just try to touch me, you idiot, and I'll bite your finger off," she muttered in a trembling voice.

My body reacts very violently to you. What I want more than anything right now is for you to bite me a little. Your so-called threat is more proof of being female. The man would promise to rip my arm off, or break it, or something like that.

So men often threaten you? Do women bite the parts of your body that they can get to?

He squinted, clearly amused to hear her.

You are a woman. Stop pretending. I'm excited even though I'm injured.

Are you injured? - Eyes T.Zh. almost jumped out of orbit.

He nodded.

So will you take pity on the wounded man and state your name? Tell me your real name. And let me see your face behind the beard.

Oh shut up! Are you really hurt or are you lying?

The man suddenly sat up and pulled her right hand towards him. T.Zh. Burke was pressed against a powerful torso, her head rested on his neck. At first she felt as if she had been given an electric shock. And then she felt some kind of viscous liquid flowing down her arm.

T.Zh. before she had time to move away, he already ran his fingers through her hair and lifted his head, forcing her to look into her eyes:

Do you feel? I'm bleeding. I got shot while I was saving you. I can die. Are you so cruel that you will let me die without telling my name?

T.Zh. escaped from the stranger's arms, touching his warm and sticky blood-drenched clothes with her hand.

Shut up, huh?

He chuckled evilly.

I will be silent if you start talking.

You don't need my confessions, but my help.

I'll take care of myself, and you tell me.

Don't be an idiot. And suddenly the intercostal artery is damaged, and then you will lose a lot of blood. Your blood pressure may drop suddenly. If this happens, you will indeed die!

You speak like a connoisseur. Have you experienced something like this? - he asked.

I had to take care of the wounded people, and they were smart enough not to refuse my help.

Will you show me your face or not?

I can not believe this! You can lose consciousness from shock at any moment, but you continue to prove your theory!

The man just grinned impassively.

OK. - T.J. gnashed her teeth in impotence. - I'll tell you everything after I treat the wound.

I'll let you take care of my wound only after you tell me everything.

Enough! Where is the first aid kit?

I'll show you where she is when I hear what I want from you.

I already told you everything, but you didn't believe me.

The man recoiled when T.Zh. stretched out her hands, wanting to check the wound.

Uh no... You won't touch me until you admit you're a woman. Only women can touch me.

T.Zh. she stared fiercely into the man's eyes - mischievous sparks danced in them.

You really don't understand how serious your situation is, do you? What difference does it make if I'm a woman or a man? In the end, I will not touch you, but will only stain my hands in blood, - she argued furiously.

He looked at her appraisingly.

I knew from the very beginning that you were a bloodthirsty witch, because you almost destroyed me with your cruel gaze.

Khmuraya T.Zh. couldn't help but smile.

The man teased her, although he was on the verge of death. His wound should be carefully examined as soon as possible.

And at first you seemed smart to me. Still, appearances are deceiving.

The man grimaced.

And who is telling me this?

Yes, but it turns out that my appearance did not deceive you if you felt that I was a woman.

The man sighed and nodded, pretending to be helpless.

Yeah. But you betrayed yourself. Remember this.

Enough. - T.J. exhaled breathlessly and scratched at her beard, then tore it off her.

With a yelp, she began to rub her lips, which were burning as if from the touch of a blowtorch. Then she looked gloomily at her tormentor.

Are you satisfied now, you stupid stubborn bull?

Yes, you are a first-class makeup artist! You're even prettier without the beard," he said.

Burke glared at the stranger as he carefully peeled off the remains of her beard from her face. Then he began to stroke her cheeks and chin with his fingers. T.Zh. groaned as she felt her whole body engulfed in excitement.

The man groaned in response.

What a beauty you are. I thought I saw a lot of beautiful women, but I've never met one like you. It seems that you are woven from light, gold, energy and precious stones.

His words sent warmth through Burke's body. When he found her in that building in the middle of the desert, T.J. shivered from the cold. Now she was unbearably hot.

Every cell of her body came to life, she looked up at the stranger.

Burke still couldn't believe he saw a woman's face under the beard. She arrived in Zoheid a week ago, and so far no one has guessed anything. The kidnappers took Burke for a man, and she spent the whole day in their tenacious paws. However, this man almost instantly felt her femininity, despite the twilight, the danger that threatened them both, and the disguise.

Bending down, the stranger pressed his face against her neck, sighed and groaned contentedly:

Even after applying men's cologne, you smell divinely good, just like a woman. And by the way, you never told me your name, dear.

As if awakening from his hypnotic influence, she said:

Do you think that the more often you ask my name, the more willingly I will introduce myself?

He stared at her, then nodded as if he had made up his mind.

So your name is T.Zh. What does this abbreviation mean?

She blinked.

The discovery of diamond placers in Cordon-Brune was accompanied by a craving for civilization. We are only interested in the opening of a brilliant cafe. Among the rest of the public, we note here three skeptical minds - three artistic natures - three lost souls, undoubtedly talented, but who have ceased to see zepH about. In different ways they came to the fact that they saw one watewow y.

This worldview directed their abilities to mystification as a vocation. Hoax became their religion. And they have reached perfection in their way. So, for example, the legend of a diamond of eighteen hundred carats, sarcastically and subtly crafted by them between glasses of champagne and the aria of Jocelin, produced a powerful effect, leaving thousands of rogues in search of a miracle to the Alpetri waterfall, where, as if above the water, in the rock, sparkled monster. And so on. Thanks to them, Stella Dijon gained confidence that Harry Evans, who was hopelessly in love with her (which was not), out of desperation, married the girl O "Nel. There was a drama, the shameful outcome of which did no honor to anyone: Evans Withthat l dmindatb about Stella and shot himself.

Garth, Weber and Conseil were having fun. Visions arising in the picture from the smoke of strong cigars determined their slyly carefree life. One morning they sat in a cafe in comfortable rocking chairs, silently and smiling like augurs; pale, despite the heat, friendly, thoughtful; without a heart and a future.

Their yacht was still moored in Cordon Rouge, and they hesitated to leave, savoring the impressions of diamond excitement among the mud and predatory eyes.

The morning heat had already vanished in the shade of the bananas; the open doors of the Café Kongo showed behind the alley smoky heaps of earth with a pickaxe soaring over it; among the mounds white pith helmets and straw hats glowed; the buffaloes pulled the wagon.

The cafe was one of the few wooden buildings of Cordon-Brune. Here are mirrors, a piano, a mahogany sideboard.

Hart, Weber and Conseil drank. Enter Emmanuel Style.

The newcomer differed sharply from the three African snobs in his beauty, strength of constitution and childish faith that no one would want to do him any harm, shining in his serious eyes. He has big and heavy hands, the figure of a warrior, the face of a dupe. He was dressed in a cheap paper suit and fine boots. The handle of a revolver protruded under the blouse. His hat, with a white handkerchief sewn to the back of its wide brim, looked like a tent containing a giant. He spoke little and nodded charmingly, as if bowing his head with the whole world listening to his interest. In short, when he entered, I wanted to step aside.

Conseil, shaking his head gently, looked at Garth's dry, evasive smiling face; Garth looked at Conseil's marble forehead and blue eyes; then both exchanged winks with Weber, fierce, bilious and black; and Weber, in turn, threw a very thin arrow from under his glasses, after which everyone began to talk.

A few days ago, Style sat drinking and talking to them, and they znaland his. It was a full-length conversation of internal, dry laughter, with a slightly naive faith in everything that amazes and attracts attention; but Stil did not even suspect that he was being joked.

"That's him," said Conseil.

“Mist Man,” Garth said.

“In the fog,” Weber corrected.

– In search of a mysterious corner.

“Or the fourth dimension.

- Not; it's a curiosity seeker,” said Garth.

What did he say then about the forest? Weber asked.

Conseil, parodying Style, said quickly:

“This vast forest that stretches thousands of miles deep into the mainland must hide the mines of King Solomon, the tale of Scheherazade, and a thousand thousand things waiting to be discovered.

End of introductory segment.

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The discovery of diamond placers in Cordon-Brune was accompanied by a craving for civilization. We are only interested in the opening of a brilliant cafe. Among the rest of the public, we note here three skeptical minds - three artistic natures - three lost souls, undoubtedly talented, but who have ceased to see grains about. In different ways they came to the fact that they saw one husks y.

This worldview directed their abilities to mystification as a vocation. Hoax became their religion. And they have reached perfection in their way. So, for example, the legend of a diamond of eighteen hundred carats, sarcastically and subtly crafted by them between glasses of champagne and the aria of Jocelin, produced a powerful effect, leaving thousands of rogues in search of a miracle to the Alpetri waterfall, where, as if above the water, in the rock, sparkled monster. And so on. Thanks to them, Stella Dijon gained confidence that Harry Evans, who was hopelessly in love with her (which was not), out of desperation, married the girl O "Nel. There was a drama, the shameful outcome of which did no honor to anyone: Evans one hundred l think of Stella and shoot himself.

Garth, Weber and Conseil were having fun. Visions arising in the picture from the smoke of strong cigars determined their slyly carefree life. One morning they sat in a cafe in comfortable rocking chairs, silently and smiling like augurs; pale, despite the heat, friendly, thoughtful; without a heart and a future.

Their yacht was still moored in Cordon Rouge, and they hesitated to leave, savoring the impressions of diamond excitement among the mud and predatory eyes.

The morning heat had already vanished in the shade of the bananas; the open doors of the Café Kongo showed behind the alley smoky heaps of earth with a pickaxe soaring over it; among the mounds white pith helmets and straw hats glowed; the buffaloes pulled the wagon.

The cafe was one of the few wooden buildings of Cordon-Brune. Here are mirrors, a piano, a mahogany sideboard.

Hart, Weber and Conseil drank. Enter Emmanuel Style.

2

The newcomer differed sharply from the three African snobs in his beauty, strength of constitution and childish faith that no one would want to do him any harm, shining in his serious eyes. He has big and heavy hands, the figure of a warrior, the face of a dupe. He was dressed in a cheap paper suit and fine boots. The handle of a revolver protruded under the blouse. His hat, with a white handkerchief sewn to the back of its wide brim, looked like a tent containing a giant. He spoke little and nodded charmingly, as if bowing his head with the whole world listening to his interest. In short, when he entered, I wanted to step aside.

Conseil, shaking his head gently, looked at Garth's dry, evasive smiling face; Garth looked at Conseil's marble forehead and blue eyes; then both exchanged winks with Weber, fierce, bilious and black; and Weber, in turn, threw a very thin arrow from under his glasses, after which everyone began to talk.

A few days ago, Style sat drinking and talking to them, and they knew him. It was a full-length conversation of internal, dry laughter, with a slightly naive faith in everything that amazes and attracts attention; but Stil did not even suspect that he was being joked.

"That's him," said Conseil.

“Mist Man,” Garth said.

“In the fog,” Weber corrected.

– In search of a mysterious corner.

“Or the fourth dimension.

- Not; it's a curiosity seeker,” said Garth.

What did he say then about the forest? Weber asked.

Conseil, parodying Style, said quickly:

“This vast forest that stretches thousands of miles deep into the mainland must hide the mines of King Solomon, the tale of Scheherazade, and a thousand thousand things waiting to be discovered.

“Let’s suppose,” said Garth, pouring cognac over a fly that was already drunk in a puddle of wine spilled on the table, “let’s say that he said something wrong. His thought sounded vague then. But its essence is this: “in the forest ocean this should be the center of the largest and most striking unknown impression, a kind of Himalaya of impressions scattered continuously.” And if he knew how to find this zenith, he would go there.

“Here is the strange mood in Cordon Brune,” remarked Conseil, “and rich material for the game. Let's try this guy.

- How?

- I thought over the little thing, as we did more than once; I think I'll lay it out pretty steadily. You are only required to say "yes" to every questioning glance from the outside. material.

“Okay,” Weber and Garth said.

- Ba! Conseil immediately exclaimed. - Style! Sit down with us.

Style, who was talking to the barman, turned around and approached the company. He was given a chair.

3

At first, the conversation was of a normal nature, then moved on to more interesting things.

“Sloth,” said Conseil, “you, Style!” They raked several thousand pounds in one hole and calmed down. Have you sold your diamonds?

“It’s been a long time,” Stil replied calmly, “but there is no desire to undertake anything else of this kind. As a novelty, I liked the mine.

- And now?

“I am new to this country. She is terrible and beautiful. I'm waiting for when and what will pull me inside.

- I noticed a special warehouse of your nature from our last conversation, - said Conseil. “By the way, the day after that I had to speak with the hunter Pelegrin. He took a lot of ivory on the other side of the river, five hundred miles from here, among the forests that captivate your heart. He told me about a curious phenomenon. Among the forests rises a small plateau with a lovely human nest, which is unexpectedly encountered, as the tropical thicket in its luxurious semi-darkness is unexpectedly intersected by high log walls that form the back side of buildings, the outer facades of which open onto a dense inner garden full of flowers. He stayed there one day, meeting a small colony already in the evening. He heard the sound of a guitar. Shaken, for only a forest, only one forest, could be spread out here, and in all directions there was not even a Negro village closer than fourteen days' journey, Pelegrin moved towards the sound, and was given warm hospitality. Seven families lived there, closely connected by the same tastes and love for blooming abandonment - it is certainly difficult to imagine greater abandonment among the almost inaccessible depths. An interesting contrast with the quite cultural arrangement and furnishings of the houses was the occupation of these Robinsons of the desert - hunting; they lived by hunting alone, floating the booty on boats to Tancos, where there are industrial agents, and exchanging it for everything you need, down to electric light bulbs.

Alexander Stepanovich Green

Desert Heart

The discovery of diamond placers in Cordon-Brune was accompanied by a craving for civilization. We are only interested in the opening of a brilliant cafe. Among the rest of the public, we note here three skeptical minds, - three artistic natures, - three lost souls, undoubtedly talented, but who have ceased to see the grain. In different ways, they came to the fact that they saw one walk.

This worldview directed their abilities to mystification as a vocation. Hoax became their religion. And they have reached perfection in their way. So, for example, the legend of a diamond of eighteen hundred carats, sarcastically and subtly crafted by them between glasses of champagne and the aria of Jocelin, produced a powerful effect, leaving thousands of rogues in search of a miracle to the Alpetri waterfall, where, as if above the water, in the rock, sparkled monster. And so on. Thanks to them, Stella Dijon gained confidence that Harry Evans, who was hopelessly in love with her (which was not) in desperation, married the girl O "Nel. There was a drama, the shameful outcome of which did no honor to anyone: Evans thought hard about Stella and shot himself.

Garth, Weber and Conseil were having fun. Visions arising in the picture from the smoke of strong cigars determined their slyly carefree life. One morning they sat in a cafe in comfortable rocking chairs, silently and smiling like augurs; pale, despite the heat, friendly, thoughtful; without a heart and a future.

Their yacht was still moored in Cordon Rouge, and they hesitated to leave, savoring the impressions of diamond excitement among the mud and predatory eyes.

The morning heat had already vanished in the shade of the bananas; the open doors of the Café Kongo showed behind the alley smoky heaps of earth with a pickaxe soaring over it; among the mounds white pith helmets and straw hats glowed; the buffaloes pulled the wagon.

The cafe was one of the few wooden buildings of Cordon-Brune. Here - mirrors, piano, mahogany sideboard.

Hart, Weber and Conseil drank. Enter Emmanuel Style.

The newcomer differed sharply from the three African snobs in his beauty, strength of constitution and childish faith that no one would want to do him any harm, shining in his serious eyes. He has big and heavy hands, the figure of a warrior, the face of a dupe. He was dressed in a cheap paper suit and fine boots. The handle of a revolver protruded under the blouse. His hat, with a white handkerchief sewn to the back of its wide brim, looked like a tent containing a giant. He spoke little and nodded charmingly, as if bowing his head with the whole world listening to his interest. In short, when he entered, I wanted to step aside.

Conseil, shaking his head gently, looked at Garth's dry, evasive smiling face; Garth looked at Conseil's marble forehead and blue eyes; then both exchanged winks with Weber, fierce, bilious and black; and Weber, in turn, threw a very thin arrow from under his glasses, after which everyone began to talk.

A few days ago Stil sat and drank and talked to them, and they knew him too. It was a full-length conversation of internal, dry laughter, with a slightly naive faith in everything that amazes and attracts attention; but Stil did not even suspect that he was being joked.

It's him," said Conseil.

The man from the fog,” Garth said.

In the fog, Weber corrected.

In search of a mysterious corner.

Or the fourth dimension.

Not; it's a rarity seeker, Garth said.

What did he say then about the forest? Weber asked.

Conseil, parodying Style, said quickly:

This vast forest, which stretches thousands of miles inland, must hide the mines of King Solomon, the tale of Scheherazade, and a thousand thousand things waiting to be discovered.

Let's suppose, - said Garth, pouring cognac on a fly that was already drunk in a puddle of wine spilled on the table, - let's suppose that he said something wrong. His thought sounded vague then. But its essence is this: “in the forest ocean this should be the center of the largest and most striking unknown impression, a kind of Himalaya of impressions scattered continuously.” And if he knew how to find this zenit, he would go there.

Here is the strange mood in Cordon-Brunet, - remarked Conseil, - and rich material for the game. Let's try this guy.

How?

I thought over the little thing, as we did more than once; I think that I will state it quite firmly. You are only required to say "yes" to every questioning glance from the side of the material.

Okay, Weber and Garth said.

Ba! Conseil immediately exclaimed. - Style! Sit down with us.

Style, who was talking to the barman, turned around and approached the company. He was given a chair.

At first, the conversation was of a normal nature, then moved on to more interesting things.

Sloth, - said Conseil, - you, Style! They raked several thousand pounds in one hole and calmed down. Have you sold your diamonds?

It's been a long time, - Style answered calmly, - but there is no desire to undertake anything else of this kind. As a novelty, I liked the mine.

And now?

I am new to this country. She is terrible and beautiful. I'm waiting for when and what will pull me inside.

I noticed a special warehouse of your nature from our last conversation, ”said Conseil. - By the way, the next day after that I had to talk with the hunter Pelegrin. He took a lot of ivory on the other side of the river, five hundred miles from here, among the forests that captivate your heart. He told