Нотка бергамота

«March 15th, 1969,» a minute later started Arseny, glancing at his guest. «Here is the place of his birth and it is blurry: Zvezditsky was born in Transbaikalia.»

«Will do.» Marmarov nodded.

On the table suddenly materialized an open book in textile cover. Finger of Marmarov skated through its lines, his lips went to soft motion.

«The Book Of Fate!» stunned Arseny his amazed colleagues.

As usual, it was difficult to understand was he joking or not.

Boris peered over the shoulder of the guest. On yellowish pages appeared some strange characters and small digits. And on the left, in the corner of the book, emerged a sketch of a circle similar to a compass. Compass\' arrow pointed upward.

Finally, Marmarov turned away from the book and conspiratorially winked. Everybody were huddled over their curious visitor. The shadow of Sherlock Holmes has covered the entire group.

* * *

«At the time of Zvezditsky\'s birth Uranus got up high, into zenith: from rags to riches .»

«Entertaining.» chuckled Boris.

«This is only a prelude. I can say it in other way: Uranium in zenith is a hymn to a genius, a luck, and take off …»

«Are there many of those whose fate depends on lucky chance ?»

«In a changing world, yes.»

«For example?»

«Marie Antoinette, Karl Marx, Lazar Kaganovich, Saddam Hussein, Boris Yeltsin. Different times, countries, destinies … The trend is one: the rise occurs in overnight, suddenly … Possibility of Uranium at its zenith, akin to a magic wand.»

«Lucky men.» sighed Natalya.

«It\'s hard to say,» shrugged his shoulder Marmarov. «Uranus in zenith is unstable. Unlike stern Saturn, pleasant Jupiter, and the planet of dreams Neptune. They are the ones who rule long— life-ball, without sharp ups and downs. Ah. Here is a trap. Saturn is transit and shadowing Zvezditsky \'s Uranium. And here is the Cross of Fate: depression and spleen. In quadruple froze the Black Moon: someone\'s malicious eye, evil genius, temptation. In the asset — a secret enemy. Wicked …»

«What about treasure?» suddenly applied the voice of Peter.

«Alas. I see there no treasure or other hidden possessions. Its master of treasures is in a shadow. Leading dimension is partnership. Now he is in black zone. But his life is doomed to be supported by business people, wife …»

«Wife? She died …»

«Not a good sign. He had to pray for her, to take care, to cherish … That\'s a payback: his own fear kills him.»

«Zvezditsky and fear are things incompatible.» Nata looked with same prick.

«All the same! Bad luck in his fate is not a fiction. Zvezditsky was born in an eclipse which gives him fatality …»

«And what is for us ?» lodged in Boris.

«I think, Boris, you should try to remind him about an interview. He was led not by aplomb but fear. He is completely taken by it. Your appearance happen to be at wrong time. In the worst case scenario he forgot about you. Most likely, he regrets about having such a reception for you. Call him.» Marmarov threw his wrist out with a massive chronometer on in. «Now! While the Moon is not off its course. A meeting would be good to be scheduled for tomorrow.»

«Why is it tomorrow?»

«One hour later, the Moon will be in very tense aspect with Uranus: volatility and nervousness will not contribute to your conversation. Don\'t burn your fingers twice, Boris. Yah! Here is a such transit to Neptune happening… No. He will not accept you. Im-pos-si-ble. He will be very sleepy and tired. In best case.»

«And in worst?» caught his word Arseny.

«Let\'s stop on that … It is similar to the effect of drugs, to hallucinations. In one hour he will be out of shape.» 

Under aim of Fate

Verhny Khutorok Village, June 26, 2009 evening.

«Not even a one move» admitted Ilya after letting branch of nut tree into his open window.

However, voices down below alerted him.

Hey! That was a guard chewing the rag. With someone of those locals…

He could hear only clumps of phrases. Burst of laughter suddenly broke infused by gummy fluids, ominous air. And after sharp whipping words:

«The man went nuts… Only doctor can help…»

Ilya recoiled. Looked around. He felt for it.

Hastily made «cosmetics» highlighted the shabbiness of his place; from freshly painted walls the smell of varnish materials guttered brain into pain. He left in rush forgetting bottle of favorite perfume. It had thrown him off the aesthete image, but apparently didn’t wipe it out completely.

«Back to Moscow! To home!» His heart fluttered.

But then stung by accusations: everything there recall the past. About Inessa. Shacked off unwanted tears. Gasped breath. Even the sky in compassion squeezed a few tears out, but hard to breath.

Inessa … It shouldn’t happen even to a dog. Barcelona. Hotel. Fire. Seventeen victims and Inessa among them.

He killed her, because the idea has to be material. Didn’t thought about all of the pros and cons. Such a fool. Got involved in an adventure with Maestro, with the «flying killer». The price of freedom…