“Guns and Bells” Roman Zlotnikov, Mikhail Remer. “Guns and Bells” Roman Zlotnikov, Mikhail Remer Guns and Bells alternative history

Roman Zlotnikov, Mikhail Remer

Cannons and bells

Dark. The sound of hurried shuffling steps reverberating off the sweaty walls of an invisible tunnel. Repeatedly amplified, it is already more reminiscent of the roar of marching ranks, through which the hoarse breath of Nikolai Sergeevich, panting from running, breaks through heavily.

Having fallen into the catacombs, he spins on the spot and, every now and then bumping into cold, damp walls, tries in vain to get out of the trap. But initially there was no sign of trouble! It is unknown how he found himself in the arena of a seedy booth, dressed as an entertainer to the cheerful laughter of [See. book two, “Secrets of the Metropolitan.” // No one heard his words, alas, // But the dead man did his best: // “I swam much further than you thought, // And I didn’t wave my hand, but drowned.” // Poor guy, he always loved to joke // And now he’s not suddenly lying here dead. // My heart gave in: the water was cold, - // They were talking around. // “Oh, no, no, no, the water was always cold,” // The dead man silently bent everything. - // All my life I swam to where the bottom is not visible, // And I didn’t wave my hand, but drowned.”] Dmitry Ivanovich Donskoy, deftly and naturally took out wonders from his hat, unspeakably amazing the spectators gathered for fun, richly dressed in brocade. At first, staging entire performances in the style of Akopyan, the pensioner, accelerating and properly warming up, grabbed the props and, shaking them, turned them over, pouring onto the floor a whole heap of incredible trinkets packed in colored candy wrappers: sheets of paper, some kind of British cabs, palanquins, spinning wheels with foot drive and so on. Carried away, he did not even notice how the scenes behind him opened and an incredibly bulky structure slowly rolled onto the stage, assembled, like Professor Frankenstein’s monster, from pieces of completely different ships: the body is from an ordinary fishing boat, on which three shaky masts are installed, some -as if tied together and attached to the sides in an absolutely incredible way. The picture was completed by mismatched, as if hastily cut, sails, randomly attached here and there, strongly reminiscent of sheets and pillowcases hanging on ropes. Rocking dangerously, the incomprehensible creation rolled out to the middle of the stage, where, unable to withstand the next roll, it fell on its side with a crash.

Knyazhich! Almost ruined the prince, you scoundrel! Where's the gunpowder?! Murderer, but you won’t get any gunpowder! Ugh, abyss! To hell!!! - The prince’s powerful hands easily grabbed the distracted pensioner and, tearing him off the ground, threw him to the floor. The fall was not hard. On the contrary, the playpen, springing up like a trampoline, threw the teacher a little upward, and a moment later split into two parts, letting the terribly swearing Bulytsky pass down into the cold, damp catacombs. Already there, having come to his senses, he tried to orient himself and at least see something in the pitch darkness, but in vain. The darkness was so dense that even at arm's length it was impossible to see anything. Moreover, as the alien realized, having stumbled upon cold walls a couple of times, he ended up not in a cut, but in some kind of underground labyrinth...

Nikola, my husband, come here,” someone’s painfully familiar melodic voice called out to the now completely desperate pensioner, and he, having grasped the direction, carefully moved towards the call.

Catching echoes, Bulytsky trudged along the long damp corridor, which gradually became wider and cleaner. A few steps, and judging by the sounds coming, the teacher walked out into a huge hall.

My husband is hot-tempered, and sometimes like a foolish youth; Even though your hair is already white, it’s all the same - you have to play the fool and make it weird in your own way.

Who are you? - Nikolai Sergeevich shouted into the darkness, blindly putting his hands forward in an attempt to feel the wall.

Alyona. Your wife is legitimate. Forgot, or what?

“Sister Tverdova,” the woman invisible in the darkness laughed loudly.

Which one?!! Why are you all crazy here?!! - Nikolai Sergeevich yelled.

You, Nikola. “The room was suddenly filled with a blinding light, so much so that the pensioner hastened to cover his face with his hands and only after a few seconds was able to rise to his feet. Turning sharply towards the voice, he saw Prince Dmitry Ivanovich Donskoy.

He, holding two huge snakes with human heads in his hands, thoughtfully looked from one reptile to another, as if tormented by a choice. The creatures, hissing and grinning in disgusting smiles, leisurely, downright familiar, wrapped themselves around the arms of the Grand Duke of Moscow, whispering something to Dmitry Ivanovich in unpleasant hissing voices.

What are they saying about them in your future, huh? - Raising his eyes to his interlocutor, he held both reptiles forward, turning them this way and that so that the man could properly see the heads of the reptiles that seemed familiar. - You would have to choose. What can you say? - and, without waiting for an answer, the prince again began to look at the reptiles, deciding which one to choose.

Make peace with your opponent quickly while you are still on the road with him. - Turning around again, the teacher stared at who knows how Sergius of Radonezh appeared here. He, kneeling and humbly bowing, recited some strange prophecy in a monotonous tune, like a prayer. - Every kingdom divided against itself will be desolate; and every city or house divided against itself will not stand [Gospel of Matthew]. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for for them is the Kingdom of Heaven. What ransom will a man give for his soul? - Raising his head sharply, Sergius looked at the pensioner, who shrank from such a look. - Shaking your belly, reading prayers in vain, or handing over your Soul to the Devil for the life of your neighbor!

What?!! - Nikolai Sergeevich leaned forward, but a sound wave from these seemingly quiet words threw him sharply back, towards one of the damp walls.

Give and you will receive!!! - The repeatedly amplified echo knocked him off his feet again, immediately depriving him of his sense of reality.

What...

There is no fear of losing your belly, but losing your soul - oh, how scary! - Sergius humbly continued, bowing again in prayer. - As you are humble, so is the Lord God in your soul. Just as you turn away from the Heavenly Father, so does the Devil rejoice; anger or delight, which covers the eyes with a veil and draws them into sin with fornication. You know, they are already sharing your immortal soul. “So, remember, the order is about the kingdom,” Radonezhsky continued in the same quiet voice. - So, know: you have time to save your soul - until the four Judases cross paths! As soon as they cross paths,” Sergius raised his head and smiled quietly, “then you will fulfill the prince’s order.”

The ground, as if alive, bucked, knocking the elderly man off his feet, and behind him there was a nasty crack of an explosion. The last thing the alien managed to see, turning around at the roar, was the satisfied face of Milovan, holding in his hands a tightly stuffed bag with a thin snake of a burning wick.

“This is Bubl-Gum,” he threw back his shaggy head and laughed so hard that Bulytsky, widening his eyes, jumped up on his hard bench, waking up at once and trying in vain to retain in his memory at least fragments of the crazy dream.

Fu-you! - Realizing that this phantasmagoria was still nothing more than a dream, the teacher exhaled heavily, coming to his senses. He is Nikolai Sergeevich Bulytsky. Alien from the future. Now he is in the Trinity Monastery, and his goal is to open and conduct an audit of the saltpeter pits laid a little less than two years ago so that, before laying the next batch, if possible, cut off the obviously unsuitable options, slowly, by touch, moving forward. And dreams... it’s not without reason that these dreams came. And so bright too. And if so, then, concentrating, he tried to remember the details of the dream... however, alas, he failed. The images, gradually losing their brightness, merged into one tawdry spot, and the elderly man, who had cheered up, but overcome by fatigue, fell asleep again.

The silence of the frosty morning was disturbed by the sounds of footsteps and a dull, hoarse cough; someone was making their way heavily through a sleeping spruce forest, heading for a small clearing with hills.

Why are you waiting again? We haven’t installed cans for a long time, huh?!

Banks today are for the prince and his son. It’s not a warrior’s honor,” the grumpy voices of wanderers came from the thicket.

If you need it, I'll get it for you.

You - yes. A striker beyond his years. Alenka, here's a gift.

Don't hesitate! It's already sickening.

I asked you, Milovan!

Sorry, Nicola. - Two bearded men came out into the clearing, followed by five monks holding in their hands rough wooden shovels with metal tips [In the times described, the shovels were wooden. In rare cases, metal tips were used. This was due to the high cost of the metal and the complexity of its processing.]. - Here? - Looking around and noticing a dozen hills in a row, a man with a bow slung over his shoulder asked.

Here,” his interlocutor exhaled. - It’s just too early. It - less than two years have passed [According to this story, the first saltpeter pits were laid in the late spring of 1382. Now it is the end of 1384.]. At least another year.

Tell the prince about it. My business is small. I was told to check it, so I check it.

“You should all nod at him,” the first one snapped back, the one in whom the reader easily recognizes Nikolai Sergeevich Bulytsky. “The prince ordered, the prince will marry,” he mimicked.

Oh, and you’re angry with him, but it’s all in vain.

How sad are you?! Well, he's angry! So what? Are you supposed to sit in the woods?

Don't worry, Nikola! You are now held in high esteem by him. Look, what kind of guns did you cast? The mattress compared to them - ugh! And the plinth?! Rukast!

So what?!

And the fact that your faith is now tripled! Look, the prince himself believed you! No joke; gunpowder to break the order! This honor is not for everyone!

“I need this honor,” the teacher grumbled. - Honor is when everyone is happy! And the order, for non-fulfillment of which - cutting...

You can do it! - his interlocutor confidently stopped him. - And what frightens you with a chop, don’t blame me. Our great Lord also sends Hell down for failure to fulfill the commandments. So this is our heavenly Father, and the prince is only a human being who has entrusted his fate to the will of the Lord.

And is it God’s will that I should sit in jail for an order that I don’t know how to deal with?

The prince, he is like his father: he is the master of the destinies of others, but not his own. I humbly gave mine to God. And you need the same. And there everything will work out as expected.

“Oh, he’s too clever,” Bulytsky snapped.

You yourself would have dissuaded the prince from opening your pits! So you have nowhere to go! Why freak out then, huh?! Or,” Milovan suddenly grinned, “I suppose it’s interesting yourself, huh?” What kind of gunpowder is there from the latrines?

You have become painfully sharp, as I can see,” the teacher, letting go of his anger, grinned [The main character is Nikolai Sergeevich Bulytsky. In our time, he is a history teacher, but due to shortages, he holds a second position as a labor teacher.].

“Who are you going to deal with,” the second one answered kindly.

Exchanging phrases, the men approached one of the mounds.

Well, Nikola, shall we raise it?

We raise.

The monks accompanying them began to scatter the snow.

And don’t you feel sorry for the shovels, Nikola?! - Milovan bared his teeth, looking with envy at the iron tips. - Here it would be a gift for the prince, but you! - Without finishing, he waved his hand in annoyance: what is there to say?!

Now it’s a gift to the prince. And after a little while, it will become a trifle. What a torch. In every house.

Is it the same in everyone? And the houses, you yourself said, are like trees in the forest.

This is true.

How many blacksmiths does it take to forge the ends for each?! How about transferring coal?! And charcoal burners [Charcoal burner is a charcoal miner. As a rule, they are short-lived, since the production of charcoal involved a large volume of wood combustion products, with which the craftsmen ultimately poisoned themselves.] how many souls will they give to God, so even to think about passion?!

Eh, Milovan, it takes a long time to explain. God willing, I’ll show you how such things can be done in a new way. Several pieces at a time. Yes, not in a day, but from Matins to Mass, and not just the iron end, but the whole thing! The handle will only be wooden.

So much for “come on”!

Look, Nikolai Sergeevich,” the accompanying men called out to the men, who had already opened five of the six pits.

Oh, and it stinks! - Milovan winced, barely looking inside. - In your future, you may not be able to breathe, since gunpowder is the same trifle as shovels?

Why not take a breather? - Covering his nose and carefully examining the contents, the alien asked.

How much of that jam can you remove?! Tears! Well, it turns out there needs to be plenty of gunpowder! - the bearded man whistled.

What?! - Bulytsky stared at his interlocutor in shock. - What kind of pearl?

From cesspools which.

“Yamchuga,” the teacher thought, delving into his memory and trying to remember where he heard this word. After all, it was familiar.

Well, Yamchuga! - Seeing his comrade’s hesitation, the comrade added. - Without it, there’s no gunpowder! She, sulfur and coal.

Saltpeter, or what? - the pensioner finally realized. - How do you know about her?!

What's wrong with that? - Milovan, in turn, was amazed. - It’s clear: to get gunpowder, you need coal, pearls and sulfur. There’s plenty of coal, we can get some jamchug ourselves, sulfur, that’s where it comes from...

Why were you silent before?! - the historian attacked his comrade.

Did you ask, or what?!

Ugh, abyss! - the man swore in his hearts. - The prince demands, and I... Oh, he’ll throw me into the chop.

Sure thing, he’ll quit! - The bearded man shook his head affirmatively. - If you don’t fulfill the princess’s will. You see, disobedience to the prince’s will is a sin second only to God’s will on the list. So you have time - until next winter. You'll manage.

Come on! - Nikolai Sergeevich spat.

“Don’t freak out,” the bearded man continued conciliatoryly. - You, over there, are trying to break the jam in some other way. What happens if, thanks already. You, Nikola, are savvy. And you’ll know how to overcome the sulfur. Look, look!

Look, Nikola! - the warrior shouted, pointing his finger excitedly at the far corner of the very pit to which the monks had called. The teacher followed where his escort was pointing and was stunned. On top, on the fetid liquid, barely noticeable light whitish crystals gathered! The first saltpeter mined by the teacher. Without special knowledge. Actually on a whim!

That’s what he said: we can do the saltpeter ourselves,” the Trudovik said, putting a stony expression on his muzzle and barely restraining himself from jumping on the spot.

“You,” the warrior whispered, turning his enthusiastic gaze from the fetid heap to his comrade, “you yourself denied it: they say, I don’t know, I don’t know!”

Well, he said,” the alien smiled flattered.

So he did something strange: he knocked down a jam! I thought of it!

And the fact that you are handy and smart! And if so, then getting gunpowder - ugh, not a concern! Isn’t that right, Nikola?! - he looked demandingly at his interlocutor.

Well, God willing, I will do so...

You, Nikola, that one. God loves you so much! Look, he saved me from evildoers, and conquered illness, and averted the prince’s anger. And he will get along with Alenka.

Fuck you! After all, he asked... - Bulytsky, who was breaking into a smile, winced and spat in annoyance.

Why are you so upset?! - Milovan exploded in turn. - The matter is decided! It’s as if I didn’t want to, it had already flown away a long time ago, otherwise... While you’re getting ready, timidly, maybe. So that's it for now! The fast will end - we will go to Tverd as matchmakers, and then - the wedding! - Trudovik did not answer anything, only, spitting again, began to inspect the contents of the remaining pits. However, the result there was much more modest. Crystals, but in much smaller quantities, were found in another one, therefore, rummaging through the bag and finding the desired birch bark scroll, Bulytsky, squinting and desperately peering into the barely visible notches, began to restore the original parameters. The opened pits were filled up again; wait for the next revision. The purpose of the campaign was fulfilled; the further vector of development has been determined and the recipes according to which the next ten pits will be laid [The specifics of the production of saltpeter assume that the saltpeter pits are laid near the places of residence of a large number of people (the raw materials are waste products of humans and animals), however, the first pits were broken by order of the prince not far from the Trinity Monastery, since the main character lived there (see “Corrected Chronicle-1: Save Moscow”)], selected.

“We’re going back,” the alien nodded, satisfied with the result. - To Sergius, and - home.

“We’re coming back,” Milovan repeated obediently.

We spent the rest of the day at the monastery of Sergius of Radonezh and the next morning we went back to Moscow, whiling away the journey in conversations about nothing. Day, two, three. Already at the entrance to Moscow there was a conversation about saltpeter.

How long do you have to wait for your pearls to ripen? - Milovan asked, wrapping himself in a sheepskin coat. - Or should it be like this: from the pit - a fig? - he continued to reason. - How many holes do you need? And okay - it’s winter, but what about summer? Everything will stink!

Who knows? - Bulytsky just shrugged. - Maybe five years. Or all ten... I myself don’t know how many more lessons are needed to learn how to do everything the right way. Now, let’s figure it out right away, and then we’ll see.

What about your future?

In the future... - the Trudovik asked. “Everything is completely different there: they will fertilize the land with saltpeter.” And to make gunpowder in a completely different way: without pits. But how, I don’t know,” Trudovik shrugged, mentally complaining that at one time he had inattentively read “The Mysterious Island,” in which Jules Verne meticulously described the technology for creating nitroglycerin and gunpowder based on it.

Yamchuga?! Earth?! Vo said! Who was worthy to think of such a thing?!

You, Milovan, remember that you yourself saw Kalina’s houses reaching up to the sky, right?

Well, I saw it,” agreed the former dashing one.

And then why are you surprised that everything is not like it is now? And the women, look, they wear what their mother gave birth to, and the roads are no match for those of today...

And a complete shame! - Having interrupted his comrade, the bearded man hastened to spit.

Now it's a shame.

“Whatever is a sin will remain a sin through the centuries,” Milovan answered with conviction. - God, he will not ask, but at once - to the Fire Gehenna forever and ever!

Well, let it be your way,” Nikolai Sergeevich waved it off, not wanting to get involved in an unnecessary argument.

That’s it,” his opponent grinned contentedly.

“Sounds like screams,” the red-bearded fellow, sent with a small squad to guard the expedition, as Nikolai Sergeevich jokingly called their trip, brought them out of their reverie.

What? - Milovan perked up. - What kind of screams?

“It seems like someone is acting up,” the red-haired man spat, having listened.

“And that’s right,” Milovan nodded, standing up to his full height and listening. “Oh, we’ll scare someone away,” he grumbled menacingly, taking off his bow.

“Not ordered,” the red-haired man boomed. - The prince used to say that we are responsible for the stranger with our heads; both you and me.

Nikola will be waiting here! He won't come with us.

What about the trap for your Nikola? Whose head is off his shoulders?!

What trap?

Should I know why?! Look, Dmitry Ivanovich was in vain in sending his squad as a security guard?! I was ordered to bury him, so I bury him, but I don’t ask questions!

“Your truth,” answered the former dashing man, after a little hesitation. - Let's move on.

Eh! Stop! - the pensioner was alarmed. - How did you go? Turn! Turn whoever they tell you to!

It's not your concern, Nikola! - his comrade tried to calm him down. - Go!

Come on, stand! - the pensioner howled. “There,” he pointed his finger in the direction where the noise was coming from, “Orthodox souls are being destroyed, and he: “Let’s go!”

“Don’t bother,” the former dashing man said in response. - For sins, know.

Are you shaking for your life?! - Bulytsky became furious in response. - Are you afraid to appear before the prince?! So, it means that if you save the skins, you will pay with your souls, right?! Or is there no fear of the Lord? To appear at the Last Judgment with a stain on your soul, eh?!

“Don’t take his name in vain,” the former dashing man tried to besiege his comrade, but in vain. He, having instantly gained momentum, became seriously furious.

Empty copper! - he blurted out in response. - You bow down, but that faith is from the evil one! Abraham, by order of God, was going to sacrifice his son! The Son of God, and those who followed him suffered martyrdom in the name of saving pure souls, and you! They were afraid of the prince’s wrath, and like Jonah in the belly of the fish, they hid!!! Underpants! - Jumping off the sleigh, Bulytsky decisively moved towards the screams.

Roman Zlotnikov, Mikhail Remer

Corrected chronicle. Book three. Cannons and bells

Having fallen into the catacombs, he spins on the spot and, every now and then bumping into cold, damp walls, tries in vain to get out of the trap. But initially there was no sign of trouble! It is unknown how, having found himself in the arena of a seedy booth, he, to the cheerful laughter of Dmitry Ivanovich Donskoy, dressed as an entertainer, deftly and naturally took out wonders from his hat, indescribably amazing the spectators who had gathered for fun, richly dressed in brocade. At first, staging entire performances in the style of Akopyan, the pensioner, accelerating and properly warming up, grabbed the props and, shaking them, turned them over, pouring onto the floor a whole heap of incredible trinkets packed in colored candy wrappers: sheets of paper, some kind of British cabs, palanquins, spinning wheels with foot drive and so on. Carried away, he did not even notice how the scenes behind him opened and an incredibly bulky structure slowly rolled onto the stage, assembled, like Professor Frankenstein’s monster, from pieces of completely different ships: the hull is from an ordinary fishing boat, on which three shaky masts are installed, some -as if tied together and attached to the sides in an absolutely incredible way. The picture was completed by mismatched, as if hastily cut, sails, randomly attached here and there, strongly reminiscent of sheets and pillowcases hanging on ropes. Rocking dangerously, the incomprehensible creation rolled out to the middle of the stage, where, unable to withstand the next roll, it fell on its side with a crash.

- Prince! Almost ruined the prince, you scoundrel! Where's the gunpowder?! Murderer, but you won’t get any gunpowder! Ugh, abyss! To hell!!! “The prince’s powerful hands easily grabbed the distracted pensioner and, tearing him off the ground, threw him to the floor. The fall was not hard. On the contrary, the playpen, springing up like a trampoline, threw the teacher a little upward, and a moment later split into two parts, letting the terribly swearing Bulytsky pass down into the cold, damp catacombs. Already there, having come to his senses, he tried to orient himself and at least see something in the pitch darkness, but in vain. The darkness was so dense that even at arm's length it was impossible to see anything. Moreover, as the alien realized, having stumbled upon cold walls a couple of times, he ended up not in a cut, but in some kind of underground labyrinth...

“Nikola, my husband, come here,” someone’s painfully familiar melodic voice called out to the now completely desperate pensioner, and he, having grasped the direction, carefully moved towards the call.

Catching echoes, Bulytsky trudged along the long damp corridor, which gradually became wider and cleaner. A few steps, and judging by the sounds coming, the teacher walked out into a huge hall.

“My husband is hot-tempered, and sometimes like a foolish youth; Even though the hair is already white, it’s all the same - you have to play the fool and make it weird in your own way.

- Who are you? – blindly putting his hands forward in an attempt to feel the wall, Nikolai Sergeevich shouted into the darkness.

- Alyona. Your wife is legitimate. Forgot, or what?

“Sister Tverdova,” the woman invisible in the darkness laughed loudly.

- What kind?!! Why are you all crazy here?!! - Nikolai Sergeevich yelled.

- You, Nikola. “The room was suddenly filled with a blinding light, so much so that the pensioner hastened to cover his face with his hands and only after a few seconds was able to rise to his feet. Turning sharply towards the voice, he saw Prince Dmitry Ivanovich Donskoy.

- What do they say about them in your future, huh? – Raising his eyes to his interlocutor, he held both reptiles forward, turning them this way and that so that the man could properly see the heads of the reptiles that seemed familiar. - I would have to choose. What can you say? - and, without waiting for an answer, the prince again began to look at the reptiles, deciding which one to choose.

- Make peace with your opponent quickly while you are still on the road with him. – Turning around again, the teacher fixed his gaze on who knows how Sergius of Radonezh had appeared here. He, kneeling and humbly bowing, recited some strange prophecy in a monotonous tune, like a prayer. – Every kingdom divided against itself will be desolate; and every city or house divided against itself cannot stand. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for for them is the Kingdom of Heaven. What ransom will a man give for his soul? – Sharply raising his head, Sergius looked at the pensioner, who shrank from such a look. - Shaking your belly, reading prayers in vain, or hand over your Soul to the Devil for the life of your neighbor!

- What?!! – Nikolai Sergeevich leaned forward, but a sound wave from these seemingly quiet words threw him sharply back, towards one of the damp walls.

- Give and you will receive!!! – The repeatedly amplified echo knocked him off his feet again, immediately depriving him of his sense of reality.

- What...

– There is no fear of losing your stomach, but losing your soul – oh, how scary! – Sergius humbly continued, bowing again in prayer. – As you are humble, so is the Lord God in your soul. Just as you turn away from the Heavenly Father, so does the Devil rejoice; anger or delight, which covers the eyes with a veil and draws them into sin with fornication. You know, they are already sharing your immortal soul. “So, remember, the order is about the kingdom,” Radonezhsky continued in the same quiet voice. - So, know: you have time to save your soul - until the four Judases cross paths! As soon as they cross paths,” Sergius raised his head and smiled quietly, “then you will fulfill the prince’s order.”

- Fu-you! – Realizing that this phantasmagoria was still nothing more than a dream, the teacher exhaled heavily, coming to his senses. He is Nikolai Sergeevich Bulytsky. Alien from the future. Now he is in the Trinity Monastery, and his goal is to open and conduct an audit of the saltpeter pits laid a little less than two years ago so that, before laying the next batch, if possible, cut off the obviously unsuitable options, slowly, by touch, moving forward. And dreams... it’s not without reason that these dreams came. And so bright too. And if so, then, concentrating, he tried to remember the details of the dream... however, alas, he failed. The images, gradually losing their brightness, merged into one tawdry spot, and the elderly man, who had cheered up, but overcome by fatigue, fell asleep again.

-What are you waiting for again? We haven’t installed cans for a long time, huh?!

– Banks today are for the prince and his son. It’s not a warrior’s honor,” the grumpy voices of wanderers came from the thicket.

“If I need it, I’ll get it for you.”

- You - yes. A striker beyond his years. Alenka, here's a gift.

- Don't bother! It's already sickening.

– I asked you, Milovan!

- Sorry, Nikola. – Two bearded men came out into the clearing, followed by five monks holding rough wooden shovels with metal tips in their hands. - Here? - Looking around and noticing a dozen hills in a row, a man with a bow slung over his shoulder asked.

“Here,” his interlocutor exhaled. - It’s just too early. It's been less than two years. At least another year.

- Tell the prince about it. My business is small. I was told to check it, so I check it.

“You should all nod at him,” snapped the first one in response, the one in whom the reader easily recognizes Nikolai Sergeevich Bulytsky. “The prince ordered, the prince will marry,” he mimicked.

Cannons and bells Roman Zlotnikov, Mikhail Remer

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Title: Guns and Bells

About the book “Guns and Bells” Roman Zlotnikov, Mikhail Remer

The book “Guns and Bells” is the third part of the “Corrected Chronicle” series. Roman Zlotnikov and Mikhail Remer described a dark era when our country was torn apart by the Tatar-Mongol hordes, and the church did not provide the opportunity to develop industry. The Moscow principality of the Middle Ages is a special page in history. Reading about the adventures of our contemporary in this era will be interesting to all fans of historical fantasy who care about the fate of our Motherland.

The third book in the series is a continuation of the adventures of Nikolai Sergeevich Bulytsky, an ordinary history teacher who, by the will of fate, found himself in the distant past. It is worth noting that the main character does not have military skills or the ability to survive in critical conditions. He is not a superman, but a simple and middle-aged man who has set himself one goal - to direct history in the right direction and help his beloved Russia. Finding himself in the 14th century, Nicholas decided to carry out an industrial revolution, but immediately encountered the disapproval of church ministers. The ability to persuade led the school teacher to some success: he enlisted the support of Sergius of Radonezh and Prince Dmitry Donskoy. And now the main industrial discoveries have already been made. It would seem that you can breathe easy, enjoying your achievements. However, the Middle Ages were an extremely turbulent era. The unexpected flourishing of the Moscow principality was viewed unkindly by its powerful neighbors. In addition, the throne of the Prince of All Rus' remains vacant. There are several contenders, but the struggle between them will be tough and treacherous. Our hero is also woven into this tangle of intrigue.

Roman Zlotnikov and Mikhail Remer wrote not just an adventure saga, but a work valuable from a historical point of view. Starting to read the novel, you are immersed in the leisurely pace and color of those times, you get acquainted with their life and famous historical figures. It is noteworthy that the book contains practically no dynamic action scenes, which are replete with science fiction action films. The narration is conducted in a measured manner, helping the reader to understand every detail.

The image of the main character of the novel “Guns and Bells” is described in a multifaceted and deep way. Roman Zlotnikov and Mikhail Remer not only point out the technological achievements of Nicholas, but also reveal his inner world - his moral vacillations in the fight against the church, fear and uncertainty in verbal skirmishes with the prince , mental heaviness due to confrontation with the entire medieval world. The innovations introduced bit by bit by the main character are very “juicy” and described in detail on the pages of the work. It is especially interesting to read about the emergence of commodity-money relations, which instantly brought medieval Rus' closer to bourgeois countries. This novel makes you think about the fact that in any society, even the most imperfect in terms of development, there is always room for progress.

Having fallen into the catacombs, he spins on the spot and, every now and then bumping into cold, damp walls, tries in vain to get out of the trap. But initially there was no sign of trouble! It is unknown how, having found himself in the arena of a seedy booth, he, to the cheerful laughter of Dmitry Ivanovich Donskoy, dressed as an entertainer, deftly and naturally took out wonders from his hat, indescribably amazing the spectators who had gathered for fun, richly dressed in brocade. At first, staging entire performances in the style of Akopyan, the pensioner, accelerating and properly warming up, grabbed the props and, shaking them, turned them over, pouring onto the floor a whole heap of incredible trinkets packed in colored candy wrappers: sheets of paper, some kind of British cabs, palanquins, spinning wheels with foot drive and so on. Carried away, he did not even notice how the scenes behind him opened and an incredibly bulky structure slowly rolled onto the stage, assembled, like Professor Frankenstein’s monster, from pieces of completely different ships: the hull is from an ordinary fishing boat, on which three shaky masts are installed, some -as if tied together and attached to the sides in an absolutely incredible way. The picture was completed by mismatched, as if hastily cut, sails, randomly attached here and there, strongly reminiscent of sheets and pillowcases hanging on ropes. Rocking dangerously, the incomprehensible creation rolled out to the middle of the stage, where, unable to withstand the next roll, it fell on its side with a crash.

Catching echoes, Bulytsky trudged along the long damp corridor, which gradually became wider and cleaner. A few steps, and judging by the sounds coming, the teacher walked out into a huge hall.

“My husband is hot-tempered, and sometimes like a foolish youth; Even though the hair is already white, it’s all the same - you have to play the fool and make it weird in your own way.

- Who are you? – blindly putting his hands forward in an attempt to feel the wall, Nikolai Sergeevich shouted into the darkness.

- Alyona. Your wife is legitimate. Forgot, or what?

“Sister Tverdova,” the woman invisible in the darkness laughed loudly.

- What kind?!! Why are you all crazy here?!! - Nikolai Sergeevich yelled.

- Make peace with your opponent quickly while you are still on the road with him. – Turning around again, the teacher fixed his gaze on who knows how Sergius of Radonezh had appeared here. He, kneeling and humbly bowing, recited some strange prophecy in a monotonous tune, like a prayer. – Every kingdom divided against itself will be desolate; and every city or house divided against itself will not stand. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for for them is the Kingdom of Heaven. What ransom will a man give for his soul? – Sharply raising his head, Sergius looked at the pensioner, who shrank from such a look. - Shaking your belly, reading prayers in vain, or hand over your Soul to the Devil for the life of your neighbor!

- What?!! – Nikolai Sergeevich leaned forward, but a sound wave from these seemingly quiet words threw him sharply back, towards one of the damp walls.

- Give and you will receive!!! – The repeatedly amplified echo knocked him off his feet again, immediately depriving him of his sense of reality.

- What...

-What are you waiting for again? We haven’t installed cans for a long time, huh?!

– Banks today are for the prince and his son. It’s not a warrior’s honor,” the grumpy voices of wanderers came from the thicket.

Nikolai Bulytsky, an ordinary school teacher from our time, found himself in the 14th century and successfully carried out an industrial revolution there. And at the same time he attracted the unwanted attention of powerful neighbors to the Moscow Principality. Who will henceforth become the Grand Duke of All Rus'? The ambitious Vitovt Keistutovich, the insidious Jagiello Olgerdovich, or the stern Ivan Dmitrievich Donskoy? The future of the Moscow principality is at stake. Will Rus' be able to resist medieval aggressors with the help of modern technologies?..

Roman Zlotnikov, Mikhail Remer

Corrected chronicle. Book three. Cannons and bells

Chapter 1

Having fallen into the catacombs, he spins on the spot and, every now and then bumping into cold, damp walls, tries in vain to get out of the trap. But initially there was no sign of trouble! It is unknown how, having found himself in the arena of a seedy booth, he, to the cheerful laughter of Dmitry Ivanovich Donskoy, dressed as an entertainer, deftly and naturally took out wonders from his hat, indescribably amazing the spectators who had gathered for fun, richly dressed in brocade. At first, staging entire performances in the style of Akopyan, the pensioner, accelerating and properly warming up, grabbed the props and, shaking them, turned them over, pouring onto the floor a whole heap of incredible trinkets packed in colored candy wrappers: sheets of paper, some kind of British cabs, palanquins, spinning wheels with foot drive and so on. Carried away, he did not even notice how the scenes behind him opened and an incredibly bulky structure slowly rolled onto the stage, assembled, like Professor Frankenstein’s monster, from pieces of completely different ships: the hull is from an ordinary fishing boat, on which three shaky masts are installed, some -as if tied together and attached to the sides in an absolutely incredible way. The picture was completed by mismatched, as if hastily cut, sails, randomly attached here and there, strongly reminiscent of sheets and pillowcases hanging on ropes. Rocking dangerously, the incomprehensible creation rolled out to the middle of the stage, where, unable to withstand the next roll, it fell on its side with a crash.

Catching echoes, Bulytsky trudged along the long damp corridor, which gradually became wider and cleaner. A few steps, and judging by the sounds coming, the teacher walked out into a huge hall.

“My husband is hot-tempered, and sometimes like a foolish youth; Even though the hair is already white, it’s all the same - you have to play the fool and make it weird in your own way.

- Who are you? – blindly putting his hands forward in an attempt to feel the wall, Nikolai Sergeevich shouted into the darkness.

- Alyona. Your wife is legitimate. Forgot, or what?

“Sister Tverdova,” the woman invisible in the darkness laughed loudly.

- What kind?!! Why are you all crazy here?!! - Nikolai Sergeevich yelled.

- Make peace with your opponent quickly while you are still on the road with him. – Turning around again, the teacher fixed his gaze on who knows how Sergius of Radonezh had appeared here. He, kneeling and humbly bowing, recited some strange prophecy in a monotonous tune, like a prayer. – Every kingdom divided against itself will be desolate; and every city or house divided against itself will not stand. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied, Blessed are the poor in spirit, for for them is the Kingdom of Heaven. What ransom will a man give for his soul? – Sharply raising his head, Sergius looked at the pensioner, who shrank from such a look. - Shaking your belly, reading prayers in vain, or hand over your Soul to the Devil for the life of your neighbor!