Annotation

To investigate the new case, the entire special team of Tanya Sergeeva, accompanied by the chief, went to the Urals. There, in the small town of Loskutovo, the mayor died. Is it really centuries old - yes, that’s right! - has the enmity of two local clans, the Sharov and Brazhkin families, really reached the point of murder? It’s not like Chicago in the thirties, or like Italy during the Borgia era... Moreover, if the mayor was hit by a car, then several more people clearly died from poison. But the local sorcerers Kudryavtsevs, who prepared all sorts of potions, including very dangerous ones, are no longer alive! Is their potion, which caused something like the flu, capable of surviving to this day? As soon as Tatiana dug deeper, it turned out this...

Sorcerer's Love Potion

Sorcerer's Love Potion

Darya Dontsova

Chapter 1

"Never go to bed with a man who has more problems than you..."

Hearing this wonderful phrase, I looked up from studying the menu and looked at two young women sitting at the next table.

I love it! - One of them, a pretty blonde with shoulder-length hair and thick bangs, exclaimed excitedly at that moment. - Smart, beautiful, attentive, creative! Yesterday I brought a bouquet and said: “Darling, I wanted to give you red roses, but then I thought: this is too banal, and you are an unusual girl. So in the morning I went to the forest and picked wildflowers.” Agree, it’s very cute and original, none of our friends would do that.

Wildflowers are so called because they grow in fields and meadows, and not in the forest,” the second girl said instructively. - And you are too gullible. I think your precious lover is a common liar. He simply didn’t bother and rush around the neighborhood, but bought a bouquet at the “Venochek” boutique, where they sell just such things, allegedly picked with his own hands. He's a liar.

No! - her interlocutor got angry. - You, Katka, say nasty things out of envy, because you understand: we will get married soon. And some people don’t even have a boyfriend.

Olya, you’ve gone crazy,” Ekaterina continued. - I repeat: never go to bed with a man who has more problems than you. And even more so, you can’t marry someone like that. Your boyfriend has lost weight lately, he has bruises under his eyes, and he doesn’t look the best. He's definitely in a lot of trouble. Everything is bad for Romeo now, and it will be even worse.

Well, yes, there is grief in his family,” Olga said, “he’s worried.”

Maybe so, maybe not,” the friend did not give up, “it’s better to break off relations with him.”

Why? - Olya asked defiantly. - Whoever I want, I’ll marry him!

Well, in vain. With this you will kill your parents and grandmother. And no one will allow him to marry now,” Katya hissed. - And if you don’t give a damn about everyone and get married, then your parents won’t give you a penny. And then your “bunny” will have even more problems in life. Where will you live? Not in our city, you won’t be able to go outside here.

You, Katya, are very mercantile,” Olya pouted, “you shouldn’t just think about money, there are other values.”

For example? - Ekaterina became interested.

Love! - Olga exclaimed. - Such that at first sight, forever! Like a lightning strike! Has this happened to you?

Mmm... - Katya drawled, biting off half a eclair at once. - To be honest, I don’t remember anything. But what are my years, maybe I’ll still get hit with a bat from around the corner.

But this happened to me! “I met him, and the light turned upside down,” Olya jabbered. - I wish you too experience such a... uh... electric shock to the head.

Mercy, no need,” Katya refused, grinning. - After all, a head that has been hit with electric current stops working like a clock.

Do you think that your brain functions like the floor-standing Pavel Bure in your father’s office? - the beautiful blonde squinted.

Do you have any doubts? - Katerina chuckled.

I’m not talking about that, it’s just that now it’s clear to me why the cuckoo sometimes flies out of you,” Olya sang maliciously.

There was silence at the next table.

Have you chosen? - asked the waitress who approached me.

“Two pies with cabbage and tea,” I ordered. - Tell me, which drink is better?

Of course, it’s our signature,” the girl said proudly. - True, it’s a little more expensive than usual, but everyone really likes it. Here in the menu it is written in detail about it.

“Tea “English afternoon tea in Loskutovo.” Collected from the best plantations in India, processed using unique technology in Italy, packaged in sealed bags in France, this leaf came to us from Germany. We brew it with love according to the traditions of the Russian merchants of the glorious city of Loskutovo. Enjoy the aroma and taste of real English tea, which is preferred by royal courts. Have a wonderful appetite, Have a good mood, good luck and prosperity! The price for a teapot is eight euros.”

I closed the card and handed it back to the practiced smiling waitress. Can anyone explain why leaves from India, which visited a factory in Italy, then traveled along the route Apennine Peninsula - France - Germany - Russia and finally ended up overseas? Ural mountains in the city of Loskutovo, called “Real English tea”? Maybe somewhere in the depths of the kitchen of a cozy cafe there is a British citizen hiding? Is it he, having learned all the traditions of Loskutov’s merchants, who pours boiling water over the tea leaves? And why is the price indicated in euros? We're not in Europe. By the way, given the name of the drink, it would be more logical to issue an invoice in pounds sterling.

I looked at my neighbors again. Olga jumped up and used a napkin to blot her blouse, which had dark brown streaks all over it.

Are you crazy? - she shouted. - Now the blouse is ruined!

“All the complaints are against my cuckoo,” Katya answered calmly, getting up. “You said that she jumps out of me, and cuckoos always live up to other people’s expectations.” The bird heard your words and flew out.

Hey people! She poured coffee on me. Have you seen it? - Olya squeaked pitifully, looking after Katya as she left.

Since there was no one in the cafe except me and the waitress, I said:

When I turned around, the incident had already happened, I can’t be a witness.

Shut up! - Olya stamped her foot. - Since you are so vile here, I won’t pay the bill!

Having spoken, the beauty grabbed her bag and ran away.

Well well! - I was indignant. And she turned to the waitress: “You need to contact the police.”

The cafe worker reacted unusually calmly.

Forget it.

Will you let the impudent person just walk away? - I was surprised. - Judging by the empty cups and the remains of the cakes, the girls treated themselves to glory. The owner will deduct the cost of their order from your salary.

A guy leaned out of the service room.

Who was yelling here? Lena, what happened?

Olya and Katya had an argument, don’t worry, Nikolai Sergeevich,” the waitress answered.

A-ah-ah... - the young man drawled. - Okay, clear the table quickly.

My curiosity awoke.

Do you know these visitors?

No,” Elena snapped.

“We just called them by name,” I reminded.

It seemed to you.

You said: “Olya and Katya had an argument,” - for some reason I continued the meaningless conversation.

Are you not local? - the waitress asked her question. - From Moscow? You say it in the local way. My sister lives in the capital, in Chertanovo, I fly to her several times a year, I know how they say: Maskva-a?a... Each city has its own habits, in Loskutovo we call all unfamiliar women Olya and Katya. The men will see the cute girl and say: “Wow, Olga is coming!” Or Katka. Yes, that's how it is here. Bring some tea?

The bell rang and my boss, Ivan Nikiforovich, entered the cafe.

Where are you! I call, I call the number, you don’t answer. They're expecting us at five in the evening. Did you have time to eat?

Yes,” I lied and looked at the wall clock. - It’s sixteen forty-five now; It looks like we'll be late, we'll certainly get stuck in a traffic jam.

Let’s go on foot, the house is on the next street,” Ivan explained, “it’s five minutes at a leisurely pace.” And in blessed Loskutovo there are no congestions. I'm waiting for you outside, it's stuffy here.

The boss left. I got up.

Sorry, work is calling.

Would you like some tea or pies? - Lena clarified.

Next time,” I replied, “not today.”

As soon as we left the cafe, Ivan reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, held it in his hand, and then suddenly threw it into a trash can in the shape of a red penguin. When I saw her, I was amazed:

Well, you have to! These stood in Moscow during my childhood. They just seemed to be black and white. And now in the capital during the day with fire you cannot find such an urn. Listen, it looks like you threw away the whole pack. Or it seemed to me?

No, it didn’t seem like it,” the chief answered. - I am quitting smoking.

Current page: 1 (book has 16 pages total) [available reading passage: 3 pages]

Daria Arkadyevna Dontsova

Tatyana Sergeeva. Diet Detective #18

To investigate the new case, the entire special team of Tanya Sergeeva, accompanied by the chief, went to the Urals. There, in the small town of Loskutovo, the mayor died. Is it really centuries old - yes, that’s right! – has the enmity of two local clans, the Sharov and Brazhkin families, really reached the point of murder? It’s not like Chicago in the thirties, or like Italy during the Borgia era... Moreover, if the mayor was hit by a car, then several more people clearly died from poison. But the local sorcerers Kudryavtsevs, who prepared all sorts of potions, including very dangerous ones, are no longer alive! Is their potion, which caused something like the flu, capable of surviving to this day? As soon as Tatiana dug deeper, it turned out this...

Darya Dontsova

Sorcerer's Love Potion

"Never go to bed with a man who has more problems than you..."

Hearing this wonderful phrase, I looked up from studying the menu and looked at two young women sitting at the next table.

- I love him! – one of them, a pretty blonde with shoulder-length hair and thick bangs, exclaimed excitedly at that moment. – Smart, beautiful, attentive, creative! Yesterday I brought a bouquet and said: “Darling, I wanted to give you red roses, but then I thought: this is too banal, and you are an unusual girl. So in the morning I went to the forest and picked wildflowers.” Agree, it’s very cute and original, none of our friends would do that.

“Wildflowers are so called because they grow in fields and meadows, and not in the forest,” the second girl said instructively. - And you are too gullible. I think your precious lover is a common liar. He simply didn’t bother and rush around the neighborhood, but bought a bouquet at the “Venochek” boutique, where they sell just such things, allegedly picked with his own hands. He's a liar.

- No! – her interlocutor got angry. “You, Katka, are saying nasty things out of envy, because you understand: we will get married soon.” And some people don’t even have a boyfriend.

“Olya, you’ve gone crazy,” Ekaterina continued. – I repeat: never go to bed with a man who has more problems than you. And even more so, you can’t marry someone like that. Your boyfriend has lost weight lately, he has bruises under his eyes, and he doesn’t look the best. He's definitely in a lot of trouble. Everything is bad for Romeo now, and it will be even worse.

“Well, yes, there is grief in his family,” said Olga, “he is worried.”

“Maybe so, maybe not,” the friend did not give up, “it’s better to break off relations with him.”

- Why? – Olya asked defiantly. - Whoever I want, I’ll marry him!

- Well, in vain. With this you will kill your parents and grandmother. And no one will allow him to marry now,” Katya hissed. “And if you don’t give a damn about everyone and get married, then your parents won’t give you a penny.” And then your “bunny” will have even more problems in life. Where will you live? Not in our city, you won’t be able to go outside here.

“You are very mercantile, Katya,” Olya pouted, “you shouldn’t just think about money, there are other values.”

- For example? – Ekaterina became interested.

- Love! – Olga exclaimed. – Such that at first sight, forever! Like a lightning strike! Has this happened to you?

“Mmm...” Katya drawled, biting off half a eclair at once. – To be honest, I don’t remember anything. But what are my years, maybe I’ll still get hit with a bat from around the corner.

- But this happened to me! “I met him, and the light turned upside down,” Olya jabbered. “I wish you too experience such a... uh... electric shock to the head.”

“Mercy, no need,” Katya refused, grinning. - After all, the head, through which an electric shock struck, stops working like a clock.

– Do you think that your brain functions like the floor-standing Pavel Bure in your father’s office? – the beautiful blonde narrowed her eyes.

– Do you have any doubts? – Katerina chuckled.

“I’m not talking about that, it’s just that now it’s clear to me why the cuckoo sometimes flies out of you,” Olya sang maliciously.

There was silence at the next table.

- Have you chosen? – asked the waitress who approached me.

“Two pies with cabbage and tea,” I ordered. – Tell me, which drink is better?

“Of course, our signature,” the girl said proudly. – True, it’s a little more expensive than usual, but everyone really likes it. Here in the menu it is written in detail about it.

“Tea “English afternoon tea in Loskutovo.” Collected from the best plantations in India, processed using unique technology in Italy, packaged in sealed bags in France, this leaf came to us from Germany. We brew it with love according to the traditions of the Russian merchants of the glorious city of Loskutovo. Enjoy the aroma and taste of real English tea, which is preferred by royal courts. I wish you a wonderful appetite, good mood, kindness, good luck and prosperity! The price for a teapot is eight euros.”

I closed the card and handed it back to the practiced smiling waitress. Can anyone explain why leaves from India, which visited a factory in Italy, then traveled along the route Apennine Peninsula - France - Germany - Russia and finally ended up beyond the Ural Mountains in the city of Loskutovo, are called “Real English tea”? Maybe somewhere in the depths of the kitchen of a cozy cafe there is a British citizen hiding? Is it he, having learned all the traditions of Loskutov’s merchants, who pours boiling water over the tea leaves? And why is the price indicated in euros? We're not in Europe. By the way, given the name of the drink, it would be more logical to issue an invoice in pounds sterling.

I looked at my neighbors again. Olga jumped up and used a napkin to blot her blouse, which had dark brown streaks all over it.

- Are you crazy? - she shouted. - Now the blouse is ruined!

- Hey, people! She poured coffee on me. Have you seen it? – Olya squeaked pitifully, looking after Katya as she left.

Since there was no one in the cafe except me and the waitress, I said:

“When I turned around, the incident had already happened, I can’t be a witness.”

- Shut up! – Olya stamped her foot. - Since you are so vile here, I won’t pay the bill!

Having spoken, the beauty grabbed her bag and ran away.

- Well well! – I was indignant. And she turned to the waitress: “You need to contact the police.”

The cafe worker reacted unusually calmly.

- Forget it.

“Are you going to let the impudent guy just walk away?” – I was surprised. – Judging by the empty cups and the remains of the cakes, the girls treated themselves to glory. The owner will deduct the cost of their order from your salary.

A guy leaned out of the service room.

-Who was yelling here? Lena, what happened?

“Olya and Katya had an argument, don’t worry, Nikolai Sergeevich,” the waitress answered.

“A-ah-ah...” the young man drawled. - Okay, clear the table quickly.

My curiosity awoke.

– Do you know these visitors?

“No,” Elena snapped.

“We just called them by name,” I reminded.

- It seemed to you.

“You said, ‘Olya and Katya had an argument,’” for some reason I continued the meaningless conversation.

-Are you not local? – the waitress asked her question. - From Moscow? You say it in the local way. My sister lives in the capital, in Chertanovo, I fly to her several times a year, I know how they say: Maskva-a?a... Each city has its own habits, in Loskutovo we call all unfamiliar women Olya and Katya. The men will see the cute girl and say: “Wow, Olga is coming!” Or Katka. Yes, that's how it is here. Bring some tea?

The bell rang and my boss, Ivan Nikiforovich, entered the cafe.

- Where are you! I call, I call the number, you don’t answer. They're expecting us at five in the evening. Did you have time to eat?

“Yes,” I lied and looked at the wall clock. – It’s sixteen forty-five now; It looks like we'll be late, we'll certainly get stuck in a traffic jam.

“Let’s go on foot, the house is on the next street,” Ivan explained, “it’s five minutes at a leisurely pace.” And in blessed Loskutovo there are no congestions. I'm waiting for you outside, it's stuffy here.

The boss left. I got up.

- Sorry, work calls.

– Would you like any tea or pies? – Lena clarified.

“Next time,” I answered, “not today.”

- Well, you have to! These stood in Moscow during my childhood. They just seemed to be black and white. And now in the capital during the day with fire you cannot find such an urn. Listen, it looks like you threw away the whole pack. Or it seemed to me?

“No, it didn’t seem like it,” the boss answered. - I am quitting smoking.

“Well done,” I approved. - For a long time? Yesterday you were still smoking.

“I’ve been without nicotine for an hour,” the boss said proudly. – I don’t understand why people say that it’s difficult to give up a bad habit? I don't experience any inconvenience.

“You're lucky,” I smiled. – When Dimon had a child, Korablev also gave up cigarettes. I suffered for six months, tried all the aids, and barely got out of the habit.

“I don’t want to offend anyone,” Ivan continued after a pause, “I know that Dima is yours.” close friend and a brilliant specialist...

“That’s right,” I agreed, “Korablev is the best computer scientist in the world, even our Robert admits this.”

“But his willpower is rather weak,” Tarasov finished his sentence, “that’s why he struggled with nicotine addiction for so long.” And I'm made of iron.

“Yeah,” I muttered. - Only, you know, just sixty minutes without smoking is very little and...

“You’re wrong,” Ivan interrupted me, “the first moments are the most difficult.”

- Yah? Who told you this? – I was surprised.

– And I downloaded the book – “Life without cigarettes. Simply and easily. “I read the advice of a nicotine specialist,” the chief explained.

- Nicotinologist? – I repeated in amazement. – This is the first time I’ve heard of such a specialist.

“When the world began to fight tobacco smoking, nicotinologists appeared,” Ivan explained condescendingly, “these are psychologists who help people cope with nicotine addiction.

“A-ah-ah...” I drawled.

“My mother advised me,” Tarasov clarified, “she has a lot of friends who quit smoking with the help of this book.” It says in great detail and in simple language how to behave in order to forget about the bad habit forever. Listen here.

Ivan Nikiforovich pulled out his iPhone from his pocket, opened the desired page and began to read:

– “Have you decided to quit smoking? You are well done. I am proud of you. Don't deviate from your intended path. I'm sure you can do it. You are a brave, strong-willed, strong person, you are the master of your body, not a cigarette. Remember this. Say “No” and throw the pack away immediately. If you have a habit of stuffing cigarettes into all your pockets, throw the “cancer sticks” in the trash as soon as you come across them. That’s your task for the first sixty minutes.”

– Cancer sticks? – I muttered. - Original.

Ivan was about to hide the phone.

And then a quiet squeaking sound came from the boss’s hand.

“The text message has arrived,” I said.

“No, the reminder worked,” Tarasov perked up. “So I lasted the first sixty minutes without a cigarette.” What's next? "Dear friend! The next difficult period: two hours without nicotine. To survive it, you need to behave correctly. Tell your parents, friends, and colleagues that you never intend to touch “goat legs” again. If you feel a strong desire to poison yourself with nicotine, go outside and tell passers-by about your decision to quit smoking. You are a man of your word. You are ashamed to break it. The whole world knows that you are planning to give up tobacco. Are you really going to give up? Are you really going to admit your own lack of will? No no no! So, the most important hundred and twenty minutes begin. Survive them with your head held high. You can. I believe in you. I admire you. You are made of iron. You are cast iron. You are flint! – The boss put the iPhone in his pocket. – It’s not for nothing that this book is very popular; it’s a very inspiring text. So cleverly built! It should not be read in one fell swoop. You buy it, download it to your phone, and the program starts working - in right time you receive another piece of information. I lasted an hour, began to feel the urge to smoke - boom, a page appeared with the right words. Suddenly the desire to smoke disappeared. So, I already told you about my decision, mom knows, I’ll have to inform the whole team... We’re here. This is the Sharovs' house.

I looked at the three-story mansion with balconies.

- A majestic building. And even with a memorial plaque.

Ivan Nikiforovich came closer to the wall and began to read aloud:

“The building was built by the architect Kutov by order of Mikhail Ilyich Sharov, owner of the Sharov Posuda plant.” Architectural monument. Guarded by Loskutov City Hall.”

The door of the house opened and a girl came out onto the porch.

– You are probably policemen from Moscow? – she asked. - Father is waiting for you. Please pass.

“Look upstairs,” Ivan whispered when we entered the oval hall.

I raised my head and saw a domed ceiling decorated with a fresco, which would most appropriately be called “Tea Party of the Gods in Loskutovo.” The painting depicted heroes of Greek myths on Mount Olympus, in principle a very common subject for masters of past centuries, but it was distinguished by one detail: Zeus, Hera, Apollo and other celestials of Hellas were treated to a drink from porcelain cups with the bright inscription “Sharov’s Ware”, and the center of the table was decorated with a teapot with the same logo.

“The house was decorated by craftsmen from Italy,” the girl explained, noticing that I was looking at the ceiling panel, “but Mikhail Ilyich, our great-great-grandfather, himself thought out the interior of the mansion, each room has its own name.” Now we are in the front hallway of the “Gods of Olympus”; through the “Roman Holiday” corridor we will get to the small living room “Spring of Florence”. Vasily Petrovich, my father, carried out renovations, and the house became even more beautiful.

“It’s gratifying when people honor the memory of their ancestors,” noted Ivan Nikiforovich, “a person who does not remember kinship does not inspire respect.”

“All the Sharovs think the same,” the girl nodded, leading us into a square room furnished with upholstered furniture, upholstered in soft green fabric with small flowers.

A tall man stood up from his chair and walked towards us.

– Good afternoon, gentlemen, I’m glad that you found the time to fly. How did you get settled? Are the rooms comfortable? I asked Oleg Lazarevich, the owner of the hotel, to accommodate my guests in the best possible way.

Ivan did not keep up small talk for long.

– Thank you, the rooms are good. Let me introduce you to the head of the special brigade, Tatyana Sergeeva. Let's get right to it. We only have general information, we would like to know more details.

The owner of the house pointed to the sofa.

- Please, take a seat. I think you understand that I am Vasily Petrovich Sharov. The beauty who met you is my eldest daughter Anna, she is in charge of the VIP client department at our factory, which produces sets, vases and other custom items.

“Everything the clients ask,” Anya explained, smiling, “any theme, painting according to their wishes, there are no limits to their imagination.” “Then she suggested: “Tea, coffee?”

-Can I have a cappuccino? – I asked.

“Of course, with great pleasure,” the owner’s daughter nodded. And looked at my boss. - And you?

“Any tea to suit your taste,” he answered.

- Oh no! – Vasily Petrovich suddenly protested. “I don’t recommend focusing on her preferences.” She drinks exclusively Lapshang Susong, and especially sensitive people, catching its aroma, faint. A drink with the smell and taste of spoiled fish, frankly speaking, is not for everyone. Anya, do me a favor, don’t scare the Muscovites, treat yourself to espresso in their presence.

“Well, it’s not all that bad,” the girl said cheerfully, “it’s just that dad has a heightened sense of smell, he was even offered to become the “nose,” that is, the person who creates perfume.

- So, what's the problem? – Ivan asked busily, looking after Anna as she moved towards the exit from the living room.

Vasily Petrovich wiped the socialite’s smile from his face.

– I’ll try to tell you sequentially.

I quietly turned on the tiny but very sensitive voice recorder in my pocket.

“In order for you to understand the essence of the issue, you will have to start from afar,” warned the owner of the house.

“We’re not in a hurry,” I said, “the more information, the better.”

“Great,” Sharov was delighted and started a story.

...For a long time, the residents of Loskutovo made their living by producing dishes. The village was very fortunately located near a large ravine, where there was a lot of clay. Local people made simple lopsided bowls, fired them in stoves and sold them at the market. The Loskutovites could not engage in ordinary peasant labor, that is, grow grain crops or vegetables and fruits - nothing good grew on the clay soil. Although, to be honest, the situation with the dishes didn’t matter either; they were ugly and didn’t last long. Pots, jugs, plates quickly became covered with cracks, leaked, people took them only because left-handed craftsmen agreed to an exchange: they gave a bunch of mugs and bowls for a small amount of flour or a bag of rutabaga.

Everything changed in the thirteenth century, when a certain Martha, a widow with three children, sheltered a soldier in her house. The woman let the servant spend the night out of pity; he looked painfully unhappy: long, thin, stooped. A week later, local gossips began to interrogate Marfa how long the soldier would stay in Loskutovo, and she stunned her girlfriends with the announcement that she and Emelyan would go to the priest for a blessing for the wedding. The gossips decided that Martha had completely lost her mind, three always hungry, ragged boys weren’t enough for her, and she also decided to put who knows who on her neck. In short, everyone began to wait for the former serviceman to start beating his young woman.

And a year later, all of Loskutovo, except for the family of Fyodor Brazhkin, worked for Emelyan. Sharov turned out to be not at all stupid, and, as it turned out, he had money. Out of nowhere, the soldier’s friends arrived in Loskutovo, and before the local people could gasp, they launched a frantic activity, organized an artel, and began making dishes, which turned out to be much better than what the local men were making.

Centuries have passed. In the mid-nineteenth century, products from Sharov were in almost every Russian family, and a huge factory was operating in Loskutovo. The village had long ago turned into a city, a good half of which belonged to the Sharov merchants. The descendants of Emelyan and Martha were not only engaged in the production of porcelain, but also opened schools, built several churches, and trained workers. Many in Loskutovo prayed for the health of the owners, who gave the population stable work with a good salary and, as they say now, a social package. However, in the sea of people's love for manufacturers there was a liter of poison.

Those who hated the Sharovs also lived in Loskutovo; these were the descendants of Fyodor Brazhkin and their friends. Why did enmity arise between the Brazhkins and the Sharovs? Legend has it that Emelyan, having married Marfa and opened a workshop, had a strong fight with Fyodor, who, living up to his name, brewed mash and sold it. It seems that Sharov demanded that his neighbor stop illegal trade, and when he did not listen, he reported him to the police, and Fedor was sent to hard labor. Brazhkin’s wife was left alone with a bunch of children, all of whom soon died of hunger.

A terrible story, the veracity of which is questionable. Loskutovo in those patriarchal times was a godforsaken place, a tiny village. Were the police there? Did gendarmes exist in Rus' long ago? And if all the poor woman's children went to better world, then how were Brazhkin’s descendants born? But that’s what a legend is for, to be believed in, despite the lack of logic. The main thing: from then on, the Sharovs and Brazhkins bared their teeth at each other. Both families, which had always been the richest in the area, fought tirelessly and measured their wealth.

When, at the end of the nineteenth century, Mikhail Ilyich, Vasily Petrovich’s great-grandfather, built a luxurious mansion, Brazhkin immediately built an estate five kilometers from the town. Sharov developed a crockery business, and Pyotr Fedorovich sold food, had a license to sell alcohol, and his carts traveled around Russia. Mikhail Ilyich sent his son to study in France, Brazhkin took his boys to Germany. At Christmas, the Sharovs gave gifts to the poor - of course, it was dishes. The Brazhkins also did not forget about mercy and with the words: “What is the use of a bowl if it is empty?” They brought food to the poor, and among the dishes there was always a bottle of “little white”. Therefore, the Sharovs accused the Brazhkins of getting the people drunk.

But still, people of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were more loyal than their distant ancestors. Mikhail Ilyich and Pyotr Fedorovich did not start fist fights, did not set fire to houses or shops, and did not put poison in each other’s food. But this has happened before. From generation to generation, Loskutovo members passed on stories about how, God knows what time, one of the Sharovs hacked to death Brazhkin with an ax, for which the son of the deceased allowed the “red rooster” into the killer’s factory. Was it true? There is no answer to this question. But the inhabitants of Loskutov believed the hunting tales. The city was long ago divided into two camps: the Sharovites and the Brazhkinites. People selflessly discussed how ancient opponents were building luxurious houses and trying to outdo each other in everything.

In nineteen seventeen, the Bolshevik revolution broke out, and hostility flared up like a bright torch. The Sharovs were for the Whites, the Brazhkins for the Reds, the power in Loskutovo changed several times... Many books have been written on this topic, there is no need to talk at length about how the descendants of Emelyan and Fedor began to destroy each other. Then 1937 happened, then war broke out. Two of the Sharovs survived: Mikhail’s youngest son, Ilya, and Peter, Ilya’s son, who was born before the war, but due to his young age did not participate in it. There are also two Brazhkins left: Semyon, who was born the same year as Petya, and his father, Konstantin Fedorovich, the same age as Ilya Mikhailovich. The rest of the Sharovs and Brazhkins died. But even the death of all their relatives did not reconcile Ilya and Konstantin. Children appeared in families, and they early childhood inspired: Sharov and Brazhkin are enemies.

When perestroika began, Ilya Mikhailovich’s grandson, Vasily Petrovich Sharov, privatized a dying tableware factory and in a short time managed to make it a successful enterprise. He bought the house of his ancestors, where Soviet years there was a city council, made repairs and now lives safely in a mansion with three daughters, his mother and his beloved wife.

And Konstantin Fedorovich’s grandson, Igor Semenovich Brazhkin, continuing the traditions of his ancestors, opened a large food market, which he eventually converted into supermarkets. Brazhkin's stores have long ceased to be signs only of Loskutov; branches are located in many cities.

In a word, both Vasily Petrovich and Igor Semenovich achieved material success. Besides, they are both happy in family life.

Sharov is married to the quiet Svetlana Alekseevna. The marriage was concluded by passionate love, although Alevtina Stepanovna, Vasily’s mother, told him:

- Son, why do you need a girl without a family, without a tribe? She has neither a father, nor a mother, nor any relatives; she has no idea where she came to Loskutovo from. Now you like Sveta, but what will happen in five years, when the passion subsides? What are you going to talk to her about? What kind of housewife would an awkward girl make? Will she be able to manage her money carefully? Look around, there are many worthy brides equal to you in origin and upbringing. For example, Karolina Kruglova, the heiress of a wonderful wealthy family, is a beauty. And Sveta, forgive me for being frank, is inconspicuous, skinny, has a pale face, speaks barely audibly, and doesn’t know how to smile. Well, what did you find in her?

But, despite Alevtina Stepanovna’s speeches, Vasily got married and has been living with his wife in perfect harmony for many years. They have three daughters: Anya, Katya and Olya. All three girls are smart and beautiful, the pride of their parents.

Pyotr Ilyich Sharov, Vasily’s father, unfortunately, died shortly after the birth of his son. But Ilya Mikhailovich, the grandfather, stepped over the centennial anniversary, replaced his grandson’s father, raised him and died, having managed to see how Vasily Petrovich revived the production of tableware and became rich.

Alevtina Stepanovna, thank God, is alive and quite vigorous; despite the ailments of old age, she manages the household with a strong hand. Svetlana Alekseevna trained as an endocrinologist and is the head physician of the central Loskutovo hospital...

A quiet tinkling sound was heard, and Anya returned to the living room with a tray in her hands. She began putting cups, cookies, and sweets on the table. The father calmly waited until his daughter left again and continued the story. I again quietly turned on the recorder in my pocket and turned into hearing.

...Not so long ago, Vasily Petrovich decided to become the mayor of Loskutov - a successful businessman decided to build a political career and improve life in his hometown. It’s clear that the employees of the association “Sharov’s Ware” gathered together to vote for the boss. Vasily is a good owner, he is respected and loved. But the former mayor wanted to run for a second term and was not going to give up his position without a fight. In fact, there were five candidates for the high post, but everyone understood perfectly well that there were two real contenders, and the rest would not get even one percent of the votes. And here’s the most interesting detail: the name of the current mayor, who does not want to give up the chair to Sharov, Igor Semenovich Brazhkin.

The election struggle flared up, during which the opponents at first behaved correctly, but then resorted to claws and teeth. Vasily Petrovich reminded the mayor of his promise to build a new hospital building.

“And where is the building equipped with the latest medical technology? – asked Sharov. -Where are the spacious chambers? Where is the ultra-modern tomograph? Where did the money allocated for the construction of the clinic go? We see a mothballed pit.”

Igor Semenovich was not taken aback and announced the misfortune that happened at Sharov’s factory.

“The general public has not heard anything about this, but I learned that worker Sergei Vakhrushin died when one of the furnaces failed. Vasily Petrovich silenced the deceased’s family with money, and there was no fuss. But if a person is not able to restore order in his own enterprise, will he be able to manage the city economy?

And there was an exchange of “compliments” that became angrier and angrier. And then Brazhkin died in a banal accident... - Vasily Petrovich fell silent, then asked:

- Do you understand?

“Of course,” I nodded. – Now Loskutovo and the surrounding area are probably actively discussing what happened. Friends of Igor Semenovich openly say that Sharov decided to remove his competitor, they recall the history of enmity between two families...

“To the point,” the owner frowned.

– My son is incapable of mortal sin! – a ringing voice came from the corridor, and an elderly lady in a beautiful dark burgundy dress entered the living room. – But Brazhkin is a criminal, this is a known fact.

Vasily Petrovich stood up.

– Meet, gentlemen, Alevtina Stepanovna, my mother. Mom, these are specialists from Moscow, Ivan Tarasov and Tatyana Sergeeva.

“It’s very nice,” the boss and I said in unison.

– Are you husband and wife? – Sharova inquired.

“No,” I quickly answered, “colleagues.”

“Mom, they are from Moscow,” repeated Vasily Petrovich, “I called the best of the best to find the scoundrel who hit Igor.”

Alevtina Stepanovna raised her right eyebrow.

- The bastard? Well, well... Gentlemen, my son is too tolerant. The scumbag in this situation is Bukhalkin.

“Brazhkin, mom,” the son corrected.

“Whether in the forehead or on the forehead,” the parent angrily waved it off, “the essence does not change.” The man who ran over Bukhalkin bought a bottle of vodka in his store, drank it and got behind the wheel. God simply restored justice; you cannot deceive the Almighty. Who is to blame for Bukhalkin's death? Himself! He shouldn’t have soldered the Russian people. And you want to punish the unfortunate person who cleared the world of black mold.

Vasily Petrovich listened silently to the elderly lady. It was clear: he understands that arguing with his mother is useless; she will remain unconvinced.

- Grandma! – a girl’s voice shouted from the corridor. - Olya broke the blue decanter!

The hostess jumped up.

- The ugly thing has caused trouble again... I’m on my way already!

Alevtina Stepanovna moved towards the door, but on the threshold she turned around and looked her son straight in the eyes.

- You started a stupid thing. Remember our boy, unfortunate Stepan, and think who is to blame for his untimely death.

Sharov was silent for a minute. Ivan Nikiforovich coughed.

– I also live with my mother. Unfortunately, she is sometimes inclined to make hasty conclusions, and it is difficult for her to agree with other people's opinions. Let's return to Igor Semenovich. What happened to him? Of course, we can find out everything ourselves, but I would like to hear the story from you.

– The local police chief Fedor Mikhailovich Dubov will help you. “He’s a mutual friend of ours with Garik,” the businessman sighed, “he was always copying homework from him, then from me, Fedya and I sat at the same desk.

– Was Brazhkin your classmate? – I clarified.

“Now in Loskutovo there are many educational institutions to choose from,” the interlocutor smiled. – Both private and municipal, there is even a gymnasium where Latin and Ancient Greek are taught. But during our childhood, Garik and I had only one, as they say now, elite school. I won’t be surprised if I say that the competition was organized not for children, but for parents. Igor, Fedya and I were included in the first “B”.

– And how did the children behave, whose ancestors had been in irreconcilable hostility since time immemorial? – Ivan asked.

“It’s stupid at first,” admitted Vasily Petrovich. – Until the sixth grade, we fought for any reason, and then we became friends. But, realizing that our parents would not like our friendship, they hid it. Not a single person knew that we often spent time together after school.

– Did Loskutovo begin to grow after perestroika? – I clarified.

“Yes, in the mid-nineties, new houses appeared very quickly - our factory created jobs, and this attracted people from all over Russia,” Sharov nodded. “I am proud that I raised a city-forming enterprise from the ruins. Now it is one of the largest in Europe. Loskutovo expanded and merged with neighboring Novokozhinsk, where there is a factory where they make fan belts and much more from leather. Then the villages of Matveevsk, Brunovo, Lapino joined the conglomerate, Filimonovo also joined a couple of years ago, and the districts of Loskutov began to be called by their names. If this continues, we will have to think about building a metro. Well, this is still a joke, although there is a lot of truth in it.

“Now it’s not at all difficult for two boys who have decided to hide their friendly relations,” I said, “I got into a minibus after class, drove away from the city center, for example, to Matveevsk, and you won’t meet any acquaintances there.” But how did you manage to be friends? Has no one seen the offspring of the local Montagues and Capulets on joint walks and notified their parents?

© Dontsova D. A., 2015

© Design. Eksmo Publishing House LLC, 2015

* * *

Chapter 1

"Never go to bed with a man who has more problems than you..."

Hearing this wonderful phrase, I looked up from studying the menu and looked at two young women sitting at the next table.

- No! – her interlocutor got angry. “You, Katka, are saying nasty things out of envy, because you understand: we will get married soon.” And some people don’t even have a boyfriend.

“Well, yes, there is grief in his family,” said Olga, “he is worried.”

“Maybe so, maybe not,” the friend did not give up, “it’s better to break off relations with him.”

- Why? – Olya asked defiantly. - Whoever I want, I’ll marry him!

“You are very mercantile, Katya,” Olya pouted, “you shouldn’t just think about money, there are other values.”

- For example? – Ekaterina became interested.

- Love! – Olga exclaimed. – Such that at first sight, forever! Like a lightning strike! Has this happened to you?

“Mmm...” Katya drawled, biting off half a eclair at once. – To be honest, I don’t remember anything. But what are my years, maybe I’ll still get hit with a bat from around the corner.

- But this happened to me! “I met him, and the light turned upside down,” Olya jabbered. “I wish you too experience such a... uh... electric shock to the head.”

“Mercy, no need,” Katya refused, grinning. - After all, the head, through which an electric shock struck, stops working like a clock.

– Do you think that your brain functions like the floor-standing Pavel Bure in your father’s office? – the beautiful blonde narrowed her eyes.

– Do you have any doubts? – Katerina chuckled.

“I’m not talking about that, it’s just that now it’s clear to me why the cuckoo sometimes flies out of you,” Olya sang maliciously.

There was silence at the next table.

- Have you chosen? – asked the waitress who approached me.

“Two pies with cabbage and tea,” I ordered. – Tell me, which drink is better?

“Of course, our signature,” the girl said proudly. – True, it’s a little more expensive than usual, but everyone really likes it. Here in the menu it is written in detail about it.

“Tea “English afternoon tea in Loskutovo.” Collected from the best plantations in India, processed using unique technology in Italy, packaged in sealed bags in France, this leaf came to us from Germany. We brew it with love according to the traditions of the Russian merchants of the glorious city of Loskutovo. Enjoy the aroma and taste of real English tea, which is preferred by royal courts. I wish you a wonderful appetite, good mood, kindness, good luck and prosperity! The price for a teapot is eight euros.”

I closed the card and handed it back to the practiced smiling waitress. Can anyone explain why leaves from India, which visited a factory in Italy, then traveled along the route Apennine Peninsula - France - Germany - Russia and finally ended up beyond the Ural Mountains in the city of Loskutovo, are called “Real English tea”? Maybe somewhere in the depths of the kitchen of a cozy cafe there is a British citizen hiding? Is it he, having learned all the traditions of Loskutov’s merchants, who pours boiling water over the tea leaves? And why is the price indicated in euros? We're not in Europe. By the way, given the name of the drink, it would be more logical to issue an invoice in pounds sterling.

I looked at my neighbors again. Olga jumped up and used a napkin to blot her blouse, which had dark brown streaks all over it.

- Are you crazy? - she shouted. - Now the blouse is ruined!

- Hey, people! She poured coffee on me. Have you seen it? – Olya squeaked pitifully, looking after Katya as she left.

Since there was no one in the cafe except me and the waitress, I said:

“When I turned around, the incident had already happened, I can’t be a witness.”

- Shut up! – Olya stamped her foot. - Since you are so vile here, I won’t pay the bill!

Having spoken, the beauty grabbed her bag and ran away.

- Well well! – I was indignant. And she turned to the waitress: “You need to contact the police.”

The cafe worker reacted unusually calmly.

- Forget it.

A guy leaned out of the service room.

-Who was yelling here? Lena, what happened?

“Olya and Katya had an argument, don’t worry, Nikolai Sergeevich,” the waitress answered.

“A-ah-ah...” the young man drawled. - Okay, clear the table quickly.

My curiosity awoke.

– Do you know these visitors?

“No,” Elena snapped.

“We just called them by name,” I reminded.

- It seemed to you.

“You said, ‘Olya and Katya had an argument,’” for some reason I continued the meaningless conversation.

-Are you not local? – the waitress asked her question. - From Moscow? You say it in the local way. My sister lives in the capital, in Chertanovo, I fly to her several times a year, I know how they say: Maskva-a-ah... Every city has its own habits, in Loskutovo we call all unfamiliar women Olya and Katya. The men will see the cute girl and say: “Wow, Olga is coming!” Or Katka. Yes, that's how it is here. Bring some tea?

The bell rang and my boss, Ivan Nikiforovich, entered the cafe.

- Where are you! I call, I call the number, you don’t answer. They're expecting us at five in the evening. Did you have time to eat?

“Yes,” I lied and looked at the wall clock. – It’s sixteen forty-five now; It looks like we'll be late, we'll certainly get stuck in a traffic jam.

The boss left. I got up.

- Sorry, work calls.

– Would you like any tea or pies? – Lena clarified.

“Next time,” I answered, “not today.”

“No, it didn’t seem like it,” the boss answered. - I am quitting smoking.

“Well done,” I approved. - For a long time? Yesterday you were still smoking.

“I’ve been without nicotine for an hour,” the boss said proudly. – I don’t understand why people say that it’s difficult to give up a bad habit? I don't experience any inconvenience.

“You're lucky,” I smiled. – When Dimon had a child, Korablev also gave up cigarettes. I suffered for six months, tried all the aids, and barely got out of the habit.

“I don’t want to offend anyone,” Ivan continued after a pause, “I know that Dima is your close friend and a brilliant specialist...

“That’s right,” I agreed, “Korablev is the best computer scientist in the world, even our Robert admits this.”

“But his willpower is rather weak,” Tarasov finished his sentence, “that’s why he struggled with nicotine addiction for so long.” And I'm made of iron.

“Yeah,” I muttered. - Only, you know, just sixty minutes without smoking is very little and...

“You’re wrong,” Ivan interrupted me, “the first moments are the most difficult.”

- Yah? Who told you this? – I was surprised.

– And I downloaded the book – “Life without cigarettes. Simply and easily. “I read the advice of a nicotine specialist,” the chief explained.

- Nicotinologist? – I repeated in amazement. – This is the first time I’ve heard of such a specialist.

“When the world began to fight tobacco smoking, nicotinologists appeared,” Ivan explained condescendingly, “these are psychologists who help people cope with nicotine addiction.

“A-ah-ah...” I drawled.

Ivan Nikiforovich pulled out his iPhone from his pocket, opened the desired page and began to read:

– Cancer sticks? – I muttered. - Original.

Ivan was about to hide the phone.

And then a quiet squeaking sound came from the boss’s hand.

“The text message has arrived,” I said.

“No, the reminder worked,” Tarasov perked up. “So I lasted the first sixty minutes without a cigarette.” What's next? "Dear friend! The next difficult period: two hours without nicotine. To survive it, you need to behave correctly. Tell your parents, friends, and colleagues that you never intend to touch “goat legs” again. If you feel a strong desire to poison yourself with nicotine, go outside and tell passers-by about your decision to quit smoking. You are a man of your word. You are ashamed to break it. The whole world knows that you are planning to give up tobacco. Are you really going to give up? Are you really going to admit your own lack of will? No no no! So, the most important hundred and twenty minutes begin. Survive them with your head held high. You can. I believe in you. I admire you. You are made of iron. You are cast iron. You are flint! – The boss put the iPhone in his pocket. – It’s not for nothing that this book is very popular; it’s a very inspiring text. So cleverly built! It should not be read in one fell swoop. You buy it, download it to your phone, and the program starts working - at the right time you receive the next piece of information. I lasted an hour, began to feel the urge to smoke - boom, a page appeared with the right words. Suddenly the desire to smoke disappeared. So, I already told you about my decision, mom knows, I’ll have to inform the whole team... We’re here. This is the Sharovs' house.

I looked at the three-story mansion with balconies.

- A majestic building. And even with a memorial plaque.

Ivan Nikiforovich came closer to the wall and began to read aloud:

“The building was built by the architect Kutov by order of Mikhail Ilyich Sharov, owner of the Sharov Posuda plant.” Architectural monument. Guarded by Loskutov City Hall.”

The door of the house opened and a girl came out onto the porch.

– You are probably policemen from Moscow? – she asked. - Father is waiting for you. Please pass.

Darya Dontsova

Sorcerer's Love Potion

© Dontsova D. A., 2015

© Design. Eksmo Publishing House LLC, 2015

* * *

"Never go to bed with a man who has more problems than you..."

Hearing this wonderful phrase, I looked up from studying the menu and looked at two young women sitting at the next table.

- No! – her interlocutor got angry. “You, Katka, are saying nasty things out of envy, because you understand: we will get married soon.” And some people don’t even have a boyfriend.

“Well, yes, there is grief in his family,” said Olga, “he is worried.”

“Maybe so, maybe not,” the friend did not give up, “it’s better to break off relations with him.”

- Why? – Olya asked defiantly. - Whoever I want, I’ll marry him!

“You are very mercantile, Katya,” Olya pouted, “you shouldn’t just think about money, there are other values.”

- For example? – Ekaterina became interested.

- Love! – Olga exclaimed. – Such that at first sight, forever! Like a lightning strike! Has this happened to you?

“Mmm...” Katya drawled, biting off half a eclair at once. – To be honest, I don’t remember anything. But what are my years, maybe I’ll still get hit with a bat from around the corner.

- But this happened to me! “I met him, and the light turned upside down,” Olya jabbered. “I wish you too experience such a... uh... electric shock to the head.”

“Mercy, no need,” Katya refused, grinning. - After all, the head, through which an electric shock struck, stops working like a clock.

– Do you think that your brain functions like the floor-standing Pavel Bure in your father’s office? – the beautiful blonde narrowed her eyes.

– Do you have any doubts? – Katerina chuckled.

“I’m not talking about that, it’s just that now it’s clear to me why the cuckoo sometimes flies out of you,” Olya sang maliciously.

There was silence at the next table.

- Have you chosen? – asked the waitress who approached me.

“Two pies with cabbage and tea,” I ordered. – Tell me, which drink is better?

“Of course, our signature,” the girl said proudly. – True, it’s a little more expensive than usual, but everyone really likes it. Here in the menu it is written in detail about it.

“Tea “English afternoon tea in Loskutovo.” Collected from the best plantations in India, processed using unique technology in Italy, packaged in sealed bags in France, this leaf came to us from Germany. We brew it with love according to the traditions of the Russian merchants of the glorious city of Loskutovo. Enjoy the aroma and taste of real English tea, which is preferred by royal courts. I wish you a wonderful appetite, good mood, kindness, good luck and prosperity! The price for a teapot is eight euros.”

I closed the card and handed it back to the practiced smiling waitress. Can anyone explain why leaves from India, which visited a factory in Italy, then traveled along the route Apennine Peninsula - France - Germany - Russia and finally ended up beyond the Ural Mountains in the city of Loskutovo, are called “Real English tea”? Maybe somewhere in the depths of the kitchen of a cozy cafe there is a British citizen hiding? Is it he, having learned all the traditions of Loskutov’s merchants, who pours boiling water over the tea leaves? And why is the price indicated in euros? We're not in Europe. By the way, given the name of the drink, it would be more logical to issue an invoice in pounds sterling.

I looked at my neighbors again. Olga jumped up and used a napkin to blot her blouse, which had dark brown streaks all over it.

- Are you crazy? - she shouted. - Now the blouse is ruined!

- Hey, people! She poured coffee on me. Have you seen it? – Olya squeaked pitifully, looking after Katya as she left.

Since there was no one in the cafe except me and the waitress, I said:

“When I turned around, the incident had already happened, I can’t be a witness.”

- Shut up! – Olya stamped her foot. - Since you are so vile here, I won’t pay the bill!

Having spoken, the beauty grabbed her bag and ran away.

- Well well! – I was indignant. And she turned to the waitress: “You need to contact the police.”

The cafe worker reacted unusually calmly.

- Forget it.

A guy leaned out of the service room.

-Who was yelling here? Lena, what happened?

“Olya and Katya had an argument, don’t worry, Nikolai Sergeevich,” the waitress answered.

“A-ah-ah...” the young man drawled. - Okay, clear the table quickly.

My curiosity awoke.

– Do you know these visitors?

“No,” Elena snapped.

“We just called them by name,” I reminded.

- It seemed to you.

“You said, ‘Olya and Katya had an argument,’” for some reason I continued the meaningless conversation.

-Are you not local? – the waitress asked her question. - From Moscow? You say it in the local way. My sister lives in the capital, in Chertanovo, I fly to her several times a year, I know how they say: Maskva-a-a... Every city has its own habits, in Loskutovo we call all unfamiliar women Olya and Katya. The men will see the cute girl and say: “Wow, Olga is coming!” Or Katka. Yes, that's how it is here. Bring some tea?