Sweat broke out on Bartholomew's forehead. He wiped it off with a napkin, then ran his hand over the scar on his cheek and whispered softly through his teeth:
– Drummer…
***
Quest. The Drummer's Soul. Part 2
The city is tired of busy Friday. Someone had already left for the weekend in the family nest, someone was sitting at a party, dreaming that this celebration of the next birthday of a not so close friend was over as soon as possible, someone was sitting in front of the TV with a bottle of beer and was happy.
Victoria walked through the Park, enjoying the twittering of birds and murmuring softly to herself the verses of her favorite poet. She didn't even notice that two tough guys were blocking her path at both ends of the narrow path, and only heard:
"In the name of a great cause!"
In the hand of the forward fighter, the blade of a knife flashed, which was already a meter away from its victim. The girl only managed to gasp, but then stopped, looking around. The road was clear, and there was no one on the narrow path.
"It's going to look like this," she said aloud, and then she looked around again, and then she picked up her pace and went home.
***
Seeing the disappearance of the accomplice, the strong man who stood behind Victoria ducked into the bushes, quickly realizing that it was bad. The incident was reported to Tao, who in turn reported to the Teacher:
– Everything went according to plan, but at the fatal moment the performer seemed to disappear into thin air, and quite quickly. We don't know where he is or what really happened.
"You have often brought me bad news, Tao.
– Only events around girls go not on plan, with the second time, its as if someone protects, on the rest of the issues I have full order.
"That's why you're still alive."
"You know, Master, I am loyal to you, and I do everything in my power for the common cause.
"Sit down."
Tao sat down on a carved chair. Bartholomew took a folder from the file Cabinet containing the missing employee's personal file.
"Lost this one?" he asked Tao.
"Yes, that was his assignment.
Bartholomew took a photo of the missing guy from his personal file, ran his hand over his photo, took a blank sheet of paper, put a point on it with a pencil, but then tore the neck off the canvas and looked at Tao in surprise.
"He's dead, isn't he?" the assistant asked warily.
– No.
"Alive?" Where is he?
– No.
"How?" And neither alive nor dead? What does this mean, Teacher?
"Your boyfriend isn't here.".. it is simply not among the living or the dead. I don't know what that means. There is some faint signal, but it is inherent only in the presence…
Bartholomew interrupted himself, glancing at Tao, and explained otherwise:
– In General, when a person was not born yet.
"Could Gideon have done this?" He's probably looking after the girl.
"No, he doesn't need it. This was done by someone else, someone who has access to the much greater power of the layers of space… Go, don't touch the girl anymore, let her live.
"But she knows about us, doesn't she?"
"She won't say anything to anyone.
"She saw Your face, and now she probably knows who You really are." Really…
– Chchch.... the Abbot raised the index finger of his left hand and interrupted the assistant. There are exceptions to each rule, and we will accept one today. Leave the girl alone. The question is closed.
Tao bowed and left.
***
The men were drinking heavily in the kitchen. Working days had receded, and now the wife of the owner of the house, sitting in a far room, only dreamed that the weekend would pass as soon as possible. My husband had an inveterate habit of walking with friends on weekends. The festivities consisted of a hopeless drunkenness, and the weekend began with Friday night. And during this period, it was better not to approach the exuberant male company.
– Well, you Mikhalych, gave, – with a grin on his face, admired Nikifor, – at once crushed a half-liter. Strong!
"Oh! "Yes," said the landlord proudly.
– And most importantly, we drink about the same all, and on Monday only Mikhalych cucumber! "what's the secret, my friend?" Share with friends. And while you're rocking, you're already getting a few reprimands.
– Come on, Mikhailovich, tell me, what's the solution? nikephoros leaned on his arm, intrigued, staggering from side to side.
"Come on, men. I'm just healthy by nature, that's all…
Mikhalych was prevented from finishing by a knock from the basement. The stool under Gavrila, which stood on the hatch cover, began to play.
– Not understand. Who are you holding there? "what's the matter?" the drinking companion asked, getting up from his seat.
"I don't understand it myself." I haven't been there for two months.
"Open up, damn you!" "what's wrong?" came a voice from the underground.
Gavrila stepped aside and the landlord opened the hatch.
"Out of the way!" – threatening with a knife, the fighter shouted, rising from the dusty basement. His eyes darted wildly around.
"Who are they?" Who threw me into this pit? Who, I ask?
The owner of the house, taken aback by what was happening, looked at the visitor with a mute question. The companions crowded behind the solid back of the Teddy bear.
"Cool down, man, and be nice to your father, or you won't see him again."… I wanted to see my Creator-take the parcel… a measured voice came from somewhere in the void, and everyone in the kitchen turned to look at it.
Mikhalych's wife rushed to the noise and, clasping the jamb with her hands, froze in a frenzy when she heard the strange statement of a voice from the void.
"Who said that?" nikephoros asked, peering into the void.
But there was no response…
***
–Here is so as something, – ottryakhivaya their fingertips, has he spoken Tikhon, returning in cleanest from layer past in linear calculus thirty years ago, – canvassed communicate, can mind will gain both.
The drummer watched Victoria's flickering heels, grinned at the quivering bushes at the top of the alley, and whispered:
– Greetings to you, Bartholomew from me, another. Don't get bored, we'll see you soon…
***
Nikifor, Gavrila, Mikhalych, his wife, and the boy sat silently at the table in the smoky kitchen. Spilled on the second.
– What, let me ask, do you have a calendar for 1989? Collecting rarities? – paying attention to the tear-off calendar, which I saw only as a child, the fighter asked, removing the knife from his eyes, assessing the peacemaking position of the environment.
The locals looked at the calendar in surprise, then at the guy.
"What year do you think should be on the calendar?" "what is it?" the landlord asked cautiously.
– It's 2019, don't you know? – what is it? " the intruder asked sarcastically, overturning his glass. But when he met the genuinely startled stares, he removed the grin from his face.
"Gavrila, Nikifor-it's time for you to leave us," Mikhalych's wife said rudely. The husband's drinking companions had not heard this tone from the humble