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Title: Watchdogs of the Empire

About the book "The Watchdogs of the Empire" Andrey Belyanin

Andrey Belyanin is one of the most talented and popular domestic science fiction writers. He has more than thirty books that have become real bestsellers.

The formed circle of fans will definitely recognize the author's signature style by many, including stylistic features. According to all the laws of the genre, Belyanin's work is characterized by action-packed novels about movements in time and space, about fantastic characters and non-existent things. However, the new creation, which the author recently presented to his readers, is strikingly different from everything that Belyanin's fans are used to seeing before.

Watchdogs of the Empire is a new work whose genre can be defined as a classic adventure-adventure novel. Here the reader will not find any familiar fiction. Only persecution and chases characteristic of this genre, exciting adventures, detective and espionage passions and, of course, love passions.

The plot of the book tells about the life of tsarist Russia, the reign of Alexander II. The young Count Strogoff, a hereditary nobleman, returns to his homeland from England. It was not in vain that his dying father summoned him to Russia. The Count learns that he belongs to some secret order that guards the empire. From this moment on, events begin to develop, and duty calls the heroes to distant and harsh Siberia. Baikal is waiting for them.

Of course, Watchdogs of the Empire was not intended as a standalone work, it will be followed by a sequel, which, perhaps, will turn into a real cycle. In the meantime, the ending of the novel is rather vague, but this is not a defect of the author. If we compare this book with Belyanin's previous works, despite the fact that this is a rather new genre for him, it was quite a success. Thanks to the stylistic features of the text, the special language of narration, the hand of the author is felt. In addition, unobtrusive, light Belyanin humor has always betrayed and betrays a special mood to his works. Without a doubt, this book should be read slowly, delving into the essence, understanding what the author wanted to say in a new genre for him and a new context. The historical component of the narrative also makes the book quite informative and, to some extent, patriotic.

Read Andrey Belyanin's new book "The Watchdogs of the Empire", form an opinion, enjoy the plot and wait for the continuation. Enjoy reading.

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© IP "Karpovsky Dmitry Evgenievich", 2015

© LLC AST Publishing House, 2015

* * *

“... It was in June, at the very beginning of summer, when soft, invigorating warmth spread in the golden air. The heat had not yet set in, but the long rains remained in May, and the old Peterhof park near St. Petersburg still received distinguished guests in its penates.

The weather was wonderfully sunny, white clouds were circling over the horizon, leaving into the distance along the Gulf of Finland, and jets of golden sculptural fountains sparkled with thousands of wet diamonds. The fresh green of the leaves beckoned with coolness, and the emerald crowns of pines and firs gave that amazing northern air, which is considered so beneficial for breathing and even heals the lungs.

Along the cleanly swept alley leading to the sea, our sovereign Alexander II walked at an unhurried pace. His noble face was tired, and his shoulders stooped slightly, as if under the unbearable yoke of worries about the boundless Russian Empire. Many said that lately he has become more and more distant from his family. Who knows? Who dares to climb to him with questions ...

Perhaps the sovereign is really looking for an outlet in politics, harnessing himself to all matters and making the country a leading European power. A small retinue of close officers and officials followed a little behind. They didn't see me and didn't know what I was doing here. It was only my business, and to initiate someone into it was not only superfluous, but even dangerous ...

The hawthorn bushes protected me from prying eyes. And even if you can’t hear from here what they are talking about in the retinue of the king, but this was not important at the moment. Hunting for a man dictates its own rules.

The main thing is that I was the first to notice it. A short, broad-shouldered man in black robes, a dark silk scarf covered half of his face. He was betrayed by the brilliance of the glass of a copper spyglass, through which he watched the sovereign walk. At first I did not believe that this person was alone, usually hired killers work in pairs. Weird…

A minute later, a stranger hiding in the bushes cautiously raised a long gun, almost hidden by the leaves. I no longer had time for further reflection, now everything depended only on the speed of running.

He managed to take aim, I almost physically felt how the front sight was aligned with the proud head of the sovereign and the forefinger of the man in black was preparing to pull the trigger ...

I managed to run. My heavy hunting dagger, barely audibly whistling through the air, entered his back almost to the hilt. I was taught to throw knives in Central Asia, it was a hard daily training, but the result was worth it. Ten paces away from me, the stranger shuddered all over, arched his back, dropped his gun, and tried to turn around. His eyes were full of rage and unspoken pain.

Like a shadow from a nearby tree, silently and easily, I rushed at the killer, covering his mouth. The shooter died in my arms, the dagger blade went under the shoulder blade, piercing the lung. Screams or wheezing could no longer be feared, red foam bubbled on the lips of the unknown. I carefully and very quietly lowered his body to the ground. Everything.

I drew my dagger in one jerk, knelt down on one knee and wiped the blade with a handkerchief. Then he quickly looked around, peeking out from behind the bushes to make sure that no one had noticed us. The last thing I needed now were witnesses, inquiries, clarifications, and indeed any hype.

The hunt was successful, our autocrat with the generals and officials calmly continued his walk, thank God, neither he nor his retinue heard anything ...

Finally, I turned over the corpse of a man in black, searched it, took out crumpled British pounds and a small photograph from an inside pocket - a group portrait of participants in the parade of the Life Guards of the Imperial Cavalry Guards Regiment, among them the young Tsar Alexander. The sovereign's head is outlined in red ink. There is nothing else, no papers, letters or documents. This is bad.

Involuntarily biting my lips in annoyance, I understood perfectly well that no hired killer could get into Peterhof just like that. There was always enough guards here, guardsmen stood at all entrances and exits, which means that someone very influential led the unknown to the park, indicated the route of the emperor’s walk and provided him with weapons. And from this it followed that very strong people were involved in the conspiracy ...

I took everything I needed and silently left. The hunting dagger returned to its sheath. A couple of drops of the mercenary's blood dried up on the wrist of the right hand, it's good that it didn't get on the bracelet, it would be a bad omen.

Once again I wiped the heavy silver chain with the head of a dog, I covered it with the cuff of the sleeve of a simple infantry uniform and headed to the sea, where a boat and two sailors of our order were waiting for me. They also wore bracelets of Watchdogs on their hands…”

(From the notebooks of Captain Nikolai Strogoff)

... When I have some free time on long winter evenings, I put a yellowed pencil drawing with a portrait of my father in front of me and open the old notebooks of my archives. The gray memory brings me back to the distant times of my youth, I turn over the pages like days and years. I managed to do a lot, see a lot, and some of the historical events that turned the modern world upside down might not have happened at all without my feasible participation ...

I have been leading a double or even triple life for a long time. Alas, this is not my desire or habit, it is my duty, a given, associated with the banal instinct of self-preservation. I'll try to explain if you're interested. So…

For everyone, I am a quiet Russian landowner, the father of three sons and a charming daughter, a loving husband, a traveler, and a modest collector of ancient Asian coins. This is how my family, my friends and relatives know me, this is how I am for the world. And only a select few know my real face, my vocation, my duty and my service. I am the chained dog of the empire...

My initiation into the ranks of this secret order took place at the very beginning of the autumn of 18…. I have no right to give more exact figures and dates. In those days, our homeland Russia stood at the turn of the era, its cities were rapidly gaining power, industry was growing, the country was carrying out land reforms, developing the North and strengthening its influence in the world. And the victorious wars and the general flourishing of the self-consciousness of the Russian people under the wise rule of Alexander II, nicknamed the Tsar-Liberator, united and uplifted the soul of the entire nation!

Tired Russian troops were victoriously returning from the Balkan front, throwing off more than a century of Turkish yoke from fraternal Bulgaria with their bayonets. The country rejoiced, the people greeted their heroes with flowers, and the progressive public was waiting for new changes. Education became available to all segments of the population, our army was the most combat-ready in Europe, and the eastern khanates, protected by deserts, including impregnable Khiva, bowed in obedience to us, remembering the past campaigns of General Skobelev!

Native roots still make themselves felt, even if you live in another country and have been saturated with its spirit. You may not think about it for a long time, but when the time comes, you will be ready to give up everything to fulfill your mission. The protagonist of Andrey Belyanin's novel "The Watchdogs of the Empire" is a prime example of this. His adventures are captivating, without giving time to think, it seems that something is constantly happening, and at any moment the hero will again be in danger.

This work can be attributed to the historical-adventure. And although the author usually writes in the fantasy genre, this novel turned out to be very bright and lively, and the writer's style is still recognizable. It is interesting to observe how the main character changes, how his native blood makes itself felt, how patriotism wakes up in him. And now I'm looking forward to the denouement to start reading the next book.

From childhood, the young Count Strogoff lived in Great Britain. He considers himself an Englishman, the features of an English character are well manifested in him. It can be said that the count even forgot that he was born in Russia, that his homeland is there. But one day he receives news that his father will die soon and asks him to come. Count Strogoff goes home, but already on the way unusual things begin to happen to him, so his road cannot be called calm.

At home, the Strogoff learns that his father is a member of the secret order of Watchdogs. And the son inherits this title from his father. Members of the order defend the Russian Empire. The count strives to fulfill the task of his father, and at the same time to find out who attempted on the emperor.

The work was published in 2014 by AST. The book is part of the Watchdogs of the Empire series. On our site you can download the book "The Watchdogs of the Empire" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The rating of the book is 3.41 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In the online store of our partner you can buy and read the book in paper form.

Andrey Belyanin

Watchdogs of the Empire

© IP "Karpovsky Dmitry Evgenievich", 2015

© LLC AST Publishing House, 2015

“... It was in June, at the very beginning of summer, when soft, invigorating warmth spread in the golden air. The heat had not yet set in, but the long rains remained in May, and the old Peterhof park near St. Petersburg still received distinguished guests in its penates.

The weather was wonderfully sunny, white clouds were circling over the horizon, leaving into the distance along the Gulf of Finland, and jets of golden sculptural fountains sparkled with thousands of wet diamonds. The fresh green of the leaves beckoned with coolness, and the emerald crowns of pines and firs gave that amazing northern air, which is considered so beneficial for breathing and even heals the lungs.

Along the cleanly swept alley leading to the sea, our sovereign Alexander II walked at an unhurried pace. His noble face was tired, and his shoulders stooped slightly, as if under the unbearable yoke of worries about the boundless Russian Empire. Many said that lately he has become more and more distant from his family. Who knows? Who dares to climb to him with questions ...

Perhaps the sovereign is really looking for an outlet in politics, harnessing himself to all matters and making the country a leading European power. A small retinue of close officers and officials followed a little behind. They didn't see me and didn't know what I was doing here. It was only my business, and to initiate someone into it was not only superfluous, but even dangerous ...

The hawthorn bushes protected me from prying eyes. And even if you can’t hear from here what they are talking about in the retinue of the king, but this was not important at the moment. Hunting for a man dictates its own rules.

The main thing is that I was the first to notice it. A short, broad-shouldered man in black robes, a dark silk scarf covered half of his face. He was betrayed by the brilliance of the glass of a copper spyglass, through which he watched the sovereign walk. At first I did not believe that this person was alone, usually hired killers work in pairs. Weird…

A minute later, a stranger hiding in the bushes cautiously raised a long gun, almost hidden by the leaves. I no longer had time for further reflection, now everything depended only on the speed of running.

He managed to take aim, I almost physically felt how the front sight was aligned with the proud head of the sovereign and the forefinger of the man in black was preparing to pull the trigger ...

I managed to run. My heavy hunting dagger, barely audibly whistling through the air, entered his back almost to the hilt. I was taught to throw knives in Central Asia, it was a hard daily training, but the result was worth it. Ten paces away from me, the stranger shuddered all over, arched his back, dropped his gun, and tried to turn around. His eyes were full of rage and unspoken pain.

Like a shadow from a nearby tree, silently and easily, I rushed at the killer, covering his mouth. The shooter died in my arms, the dagger blade went under the shoulder blade, piercing the lung. Screams or wheezing could no longer be feared, red foam bubbled on the lips of the unknown. I carefully and very quietly lowered his body to the ground. Everything.

I drew my dagger in one jerk, knelt down on one knee and wiped the blade with a handkerchief. Then he quickly looked around, peeking out from behind the bushes to make sure that no one had noticed us. The last thing I needed now were witnesses, inquiries, clarifications, and indeed any hype.

The hunt was successful, our autocrat with the generals and officials calmly continued his walk, thank God, neither he nor his retinue heard anything ...

Finally, I turned over the corpse of a man in black, searched it, took out crumpled British pounds and a small photograph from an inside pocket - a group portrait of participants in the parade of the Life Guards of the Imperial Cavalry Guards Regiment, among them the young Tsar Alexander. The sovereign's head is outlined in red ink. There is nothing else, no papers, letters or documents. This is bad.

Involuntarily biting my lips in annoyance, I understood perfectly well that no hired killer could get into Peterhof just like that. There was always enough guards here, guardsmen stood at all entrances and exits, which means that someone very influential led the unknown to the park, indicated the route of the emperor’s walk and provided him with weapons. And from this it followed that very strong people were involved in the conspiracy ...

I took everything I needed and silently left. The hunting dagger returned to its sheath. A couple of drops of the mercenary's blood dried up on the wrist of the right hand, it's good that it didn't get on the bracelet, it would be a bad omen.

Once again I wiped the heavy silver chain with the head of a dog, I covered it with the cuff of the sleeve of a simple infantry uniform and headed to the sea, where a boat and two sailors of our order were waiting for me. They also wore bracelets of Watchdogs on their hands…”

(From the notebooks of Captain Nikolai Strogoff)

... When I have some free time on long winter evenings, I put a yellowed pencil drawing with a portrait of my father in front of me and open the old notebooks of my archives. The gray memory brings me back to the distant times of my youth, I turn over the pages like days and years. I managed to do a lot, see a lot, and some of the historical events that turned the modern world upside down might not have happened at all without my feasible participation ...

I have been leading a double or even triple life for a long time. Alas, this is not my desire or habit, it is my duty, a given, associated with the banal instinct of self-preservation. I'll try to explain if you're interested. So…

For everyone, I am a quiet Russian landowner, the father of three sons and a charming daughter, a loving husband, a traveler, and a modest collector of ancient Asian coins. This is how my family, my friends and relatives know me, this is how I am for the world. And only a select few know my real face, my vocation, my duty and my service. I am the chained dog of the empire...

My initiation into the ranks of this secret order took place at the very beginning of the autumn of 18…. I have no right to give more exact figures and dates. In those days, our homeland Russia stood at the turn of the era, its cities were rapidly gaining power, industry was growing, the country was carrying out land reforms, developing the North and strengthening its influence in the world. And the victorious wars and the general flourishing of the self-consciousness of the Russian people under the wise rule of Alexander II, nicknamed the Tsar-Liberator, united and uplifted the soul of the entire nation!

Tired Russian troops were victoriously returning from the Balkan front, throwing off more than a century of Turkish yoke from fraternal Bulgaria with their bayonets. The country rejoiced, the people greeted their heroes with flowers, and the progressive public was waiting for new changes. Education became available to all segments of the population, our army was the most combat-ready in Europe, and the eastern khanates, protected by deserts, including impregnable Khiva, bowed in obedience to us, remembering the past campaigns of General Skobelev!

Nowadays, even the most stubborn critics of the idea of ​​monarchism could not fail to recognize the merits of the Russian Tsar, and from Berlin to London, from Paris to Vienna, from Belgrade to Istanbul, the authority of the Russian Empire grew. We confidently pursued our policy, they reckoned with us, the state was able to insist on its own both diplomatically and by military force. Unfortunately, this is what sometimes caused the unhealthy envy of certain individuals and even countries ...

My story begins long before these events. Actually, at that time I was not yet a member of it. Then I was just a child, enjoying a cloudless childhood in my parents' estate near St. Petersburg and did not know anything about the Watchdogs, but fate was pleased to dispose of me differently ...

London, summer 18…

…I remember July of that year well. Britain has had an unusually dry summer. London was dying of overheating, the silhouette of the old Big Ben seemed to be made of river sand, the heat heated the London bridge so that it was impossible to touch its railing. On the walls of the Tower, hanging their beaks, exhausted black crows sat, unable to find strength even for a hoarse croak.

The cabmen tried not to leave unnecessarily, because the horses fainted, unable to withstand the sunstroke. The workers suffocated in the factories, the wealthy London public moved out with their families to the sea coast.

So during the day the capital of Great Britain plunged into an uneven and feverish sleep, slightly reviving only at five o'clock tea. The heat killed everything: desires, diligence, duty; the human anthill of one of the greatest cities in the world was quiet and hiding from the heat. Everyone was waiting for the sunset...

Even ships moored at the pier tried to arrive in the evening and unload at night. The port areas of the docks lived their own lives: merchants, policemen, sailors, beggars, visitors, foreigners and ordinary Englishmen crowded into all the nearby taverns every evening. The sounds of bagpipes and violins, cheap singers, the splash of cheap black beer, the clatter of crockery, and often short brawls did not subside until almost morning.

A hereditary nobleman, the young Count Strogoff returns from England according to the will of his dying father and learns that he belongs to a secret order that protects Russia.

Andrey Belyanin

Watchdogs of the Empire

“... It was in June, at the very beginning of summer, when soft, invigorating warmth spread in the golden air. The heat had not yet set in, but the long rains remained in May, and the old Peterhof park near St. Petersburg still received distinguished guests in its penates.

The weather was wonderfully sunny, white clouds were circling over the horizon, leaving into the distance along the Gulf of Finland, and jets of golden sculptural fountains sparkled with thousands of wet diamonds. The fresh green of the leaves beckoned with coolness, and the emerald crowns of pines and firs gave that amazing northern air, which is considered so beneficial for breathing and even heals the lungs.

Along the cleanly swept alley leading to the sea, our sovereign Alexander II walked at an unhurried pace. His noble face was tired, and his shoulders stooped slightly, as if under the unbearable yoke of worries about the boundless Russian Empire. Many said that lately he has become more and more distant from his family. Who knows? Who dares to climb to him with questions ...

Perhaps the sovereign is really looking for an outlet in politics, harnessing himself to all matters and making the country a leading European power. A small retinue of close officers and officials followed a little behind. They didn't see me and didn't know what I was doing here. It was only my business, and to initiate someone into it was not only superfluous, but even dangerous ...

The hawthorn bushes protected me from prying eyes. And even if you can’t hear from here what they are talking about in the retinue of the king, but this was not important at the moment. Hunting for a man dictates its own rules.

The main thing is that I was the first to notice it. A short, broad-shouldered man in black robes, a dark silk scarf covered half of his face. He was betrayed by the brilliance of the glass of a copper spyglass, through which he watched the sovereign walk. At first I did not believe that this person was alone, usually hired killers work in pairs. Weird…

A minute later, a stranger hiding in the bushes cautiously raised a long gun, almost hidden by the leaves. I no longer had time for further reflection, now everything depended only on the speed of running.

He managed to take aim, I almost physically felt how the front sight was aligned with the proud head of the sovereign and the forefinger of the man in black was preparing to pull the trigger ...

I managed to run. My heavy hunting dagger, barely audibly whistling through the air, entered his back almost to the hilt. I was taught to throw knives in Central Asia, it was a hard daily training, but the result was worth it. Ten paces away from me, the stranger shuddered all over, arched his back, dropped his gun, and tried to turn around. His eyes were full of rage and unspoken pain.

Like a shadow from a nearby tree, silently and easily, I rushed at the killer, covering his mouth. The shooter died in my arms, the dagger blade went under the shoulder blade, piercing the lung. Screams or wheezing could no longer be feared, red foam bubbled on the lips of the unknown. I carefully and very quietly lowered his body to the ground. Everything.

I drew my dagger in one jerk, knelt down on one knee and wiped the blade with a handkerchief. Then he quickly looked around, peeking out from behind the bushes to make sure that no one had noticed us. The last thing I needed now were witnesses, inquiries, clarifications, and indeed any hype.

The hunt was successful, our autocrat with the generals and officials calmly continued his walk, thank God, neither he nor his retinue heard anything ...

Finally, I turned over the corpse of a man in black, searched it, took out crumpled British pounds and a small photograph from an inside pocket - a group portrait of participants in the parade of the Life Guards of the Imperial Cavalry Guards Regiment, among them the young Tsar Alexander. The sovereign's head is outlined in red ink. There is nothing else, no papers, letters or documents. This is bad.

Involuntarily biting my lips in annoyance, I understood perfectly well that no hired killer could get into Peterhof just like that. There was always enough guards here, guardsmen stood at all entrances and exits, which means that someone very influential led the unknown to the park, indicated the route of the emperor’s walk and provided him with weapons. And from this it followed that very strong people were involved in the conspiracy ...

I took everything I needed and silently left. The hunting dagger returned to its sheath. A couple of drops of the mercenary's blood dried up on the wrist of the right hand, it's good that it didn't get on the bracelet, it would be a bad omen.

Once again I wiped the heavy silver chain with the head of a dog, I covered it with the cuff of the sleeve of a simple infantry uniform and headed to the sea, where a boat and two sailors of our order were waiting for me. They also wore bracelets of Watchdogs on their hands…”

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