Dara scratched his beard with his right hand and went back, closing the door behind him and returning the handle to its original state.
"It would be nice to explore everything, and then strengthen the tunnel. To drive tourists, this is the so-called industrial tourism! Make the company a tourist, rake money with a shovel!"
BUT, we live in Small-An, where safety comes first!
So ... we do not smell of industrial tourism! Ahahahahahahaha! "Dara smiled.
"Well, at least, in the end, I will check the floor and walls in the corridor and tunnel, maybe I will come across something interesting"?
Shir Ali, went to the left. With his cultivator's gaze, he explored the dungeon. There was nothing worthwhile. Except for maybe one corner. He was in the middle of the tunnel.
There was a niche in the wall of the dungeon tunnel, it was hidden by a secret door.
Behind the door, there was a man, or rather his skeleton, he was sitting on a bench made of bricks. The niche was small, only two meters deep; there was also a small hole in the wall from which water flowed. and through the other flowed out. The skeleton was holding a Mauser in one hand and the other was on top of a small leather notebook.
Several bullets were stuck in his bones, which were deformed from impacts against them.
The skeleton was dressed in expensive cloth, his suit was the uniform of an official, long gone in the past, the first northern European empire.
A letter stuck out of his jacket pocket. In him was his last will.
He was the governor-general of the first empire, his fate was sad and little was known about him. Everyone thought that he fled with the city treasury to Iran, and from there he went to France.
But it turns out he was here all the time, in Small-An.
Official? Rather a scientist! Researcher of plains, mountains, geologists, engineer, he was appointed governor-general a month before the revolution. He did not have a military rank. He was a purely civilian. A little out of this world, psycho scientist.
He devoted his time entirely to research ...
... and then the revolution, the old government was removed, the treasury disappeared.
The garrison went over to the side of the rebels, and the junior and senior officers stationed in the dachas were against.
Skirmishes began, two years later, the garrison again raised an uprising, but this time against the revolutionaries. Two echelons were sent to suppress the uprising ...
... there was a long fight. But the forces were unequal. The Governor-General and his entourage disappeared along with part of the garrison. In historical documents, they simply wrote that he ran away with the treasury.
And the treasury was plundered by the revolutionaries, but its plundering was hanged on the runaway governor-general.
Such is the sad story.
In the letter, it was indicated that he took samples of gold content in city canals and wells. All the results of the work were in a notebook, indicating the sites where he washed gold.
He also indicated the places, hid it on washed gold material, sand and nuggets. He scattered them around the apartments of his acquaintances, where he had been hiding for the last two years and in the surrounding streets.
A former governor-general, he was afraid to keep all the finds in one place, "keep your eggs in different baskets," the old proverb of the First Empire said.
Since he assumed that the part would probably be found and then his work would be lost. He was interested in research, not gold itself as a metal that can be sold.
Shir Ali had two options, the first was to leave the governor-general in the cache and appropriate his find, the second was to open the cache and show everything to the general that his cousin was talking about.
He chose the second, this is the right path to repose the soul of a lost person, to give justice to his work, to whitewash his name.
This would be the best gift to yourself, to improve your karma and follow the path of enlightenment, not money-grubbing.
Money, of course, is very important, but gold used only for oneself, and not for the people and their well-being, brings only misfortune.
Perhaps such feelings arose in him thanks to his environment. Grandfather was and remains a communist believing in bright ideals, on the other hand, Grandmother was a believer. And he was a believer and a cultivator. Most importantly, he was honest with himself, he knew that there was only one truth. And also his inner advice - the soul was the measure of his right or wrong actions.
Shir Ali decided to walk through the dungeon himself. The floor was covered with tiles, broken in places. The ceiling is brick, the walls are stone.
Surprisingly, the dungeon corridor was empty, no skeletons, no shells, empty and dusty, no treasure chests. But the bricks themselves were treasures! With stamps, every brick is a work of art!
Leaving the hiding place with the body aside, Shir Ali went on ...