Debutant. Chapter 7. Dwarf Pearl. Part 1

This novel is fictional; there is no need to look for intersections with historical events. This is a continuation of “Debutant” by Nikita Savelyev, the first readers of which were readers of F1News.ru…

Chapter 7. Dwarf Pearl. Part One

– Dear spectators, the third stage will take place on the most unusual circuit of the entire calendar. The distance is directly along the old city streets of the medieval principality. There are almost no long straights on the track, but there are many slow turns, where the pilots have to change gears several times. Here the engine power fades into the background, but the load on the gearbox is simply unthinkable. The pilot’s skill also plays an important role: the track is bordered by straw bales, sandbags and concrete curbs. The smallest mistake and the car is broken. The victory on this most difficult circuit is considered extremely prestigious by the pilots themselves.

“Hey, are you going to listen to me or not,” Georges pushed Henry in the side. Indeed, he was distracted by the commentator, whose jaunty voice carried over the teams’ pits.

– Remember about the number of spins in the casino area? – Georges moved his pencil along the diagram on the workbench. – Next it will be a little easier, the next part is faster. Here, where the tunnel is, the route bends. You see? I advise you to slow down, not take unnecessary risks. Then we break into the harbor area, the straight is quite long, but is intersected in the middle by a slow chicane. You won’t have time to accelerate much, and don’t try. Make sure you don’t make a mistake while braking. Otherwise you might even fly into the bay. Don’t grin, such cases have happened. As soon as you gain speed, go to third gear at the kiosk, the turn is smooth, try to cut the corner. This is a good place to overtake. It’s unlikely you’ll need it. So, just in case… And again, the starting line. A slow hairpin bend follows…

“Yes, I understand,” Henry pushed the diagram away. “I will ride alone and I will understand what is what.”

“Don’t show off,” Georges warned. “It’s easy to crash a car here.” What do you want to do? Or do you have another thousand in your pockets? Look, Edward already cut you some slack and took pity on you.

Henry turned away from his toxic interlocutor. Baker, of course, gave him a living, thank you, even though Henry didn’t receive a single cent after being denied entry to the start in France. But why bother?

Georges continued the story, although no one was really listening to him:

“It’s a shame we can’t walk the distance today, everything is closed.” And in the evening it is full of normal cars. This is a legendary circuit; Car races have been held here for more than forty years. I was just a child then. It seemed crazy to be racing on a small piece of land. But no one regretted it. Every year the crème de la crème of society comes together here. If only they knew how many cars, hopes and human fates are broken here. How many astonishing victories have these ancient walls witnessed. So many tragedies and triumphs.

Georges was silent for a while, his face, tanned by the wind, became really distant, it seemed that the racer was carried away with his thoughts far away and looked even younger.

“I’m going for a walk,” Georges left abruptly.

– What’s wrong with him? – Henry asked in surprise to Sandra and Adam, who were chilling nearby. – Has the ice statue melted?

“He hasn’t been himself lately,” Adam shrugged. – And it swept around like a tornado.

– WHO? – Henry was surprised. Until then, the sometimes slow and always irritated Georges was infinitely far away from a tornado.

“It’s hard to estimate, but Georges has been racing since the early 1950s,” says Sandra. – More than ten years ago. He even won the principality. Once upon a time he had very high hopes. He also happened to play for Monetti, but he didn’t get along well with Mario, he also tried to develop French brands – it didn’t work, he chased for Carnall for several years – they had the strongest team, but their partners changed out to be faster are. And now a new generation of talented pilots has arrived. Georges, even at the height of his form, was always a little short of becoming one of the leaders. Now he…

Sandra hesitated.

“The driver lives his life,” Henry said.

“Rough, but true,” Sandra nodded. – Sometimes I feel sorry for him. When Edward hired Georges, there was so much inspiration: our resources plus the winner’s experience…

Sandra smiled sadly.

“It’s bad luck any way you look at it,” Adam said in a deep voice. “Many of whom Georges started, young and fast, have long since met their end: some crashed, so many bones cannot be collected, some burned down with the car. But Georges is still in service, he has not suffered any serious injuries – only scratches. There is something to be jealous of.

– And do they often fight to the death in Europe? – Henry asked out of interest.

‘How do you say that,’ Adam thought. – The most interesting thing is that when the championship first appeared, there were not so many deaths, but things started happening and the speeds increased. In ’58, six of our people were injured in different races, and after that a lot of people lost their lives. Therefore, the bureaucrats decided to switch to one and a half liter engines – otherwise there would be no one left to race.

– Got better? – Henry clarified.

“Even if only a little,” Adam scratched his head. – A few people a year are mowed down by the bony ones. Some in stages, some in tests, some in other races.

“Last year a good guy was murdered during the non-event phase in Mexico City,” Sandra sighed. “I don’t remember his name, but he showed so much hope, and it’s necessary…

– Is it different for you there, abroad? – Adam asked.

“It seems even worse,” Henry tried to conscientiously remember the statistics. “One reporter, a rogue, seemed to estimate that more than thirty pilots had been killed in fifteen years. I don’t know if I lied or not. But one ‘Brick Girl’ brought exactly ten boys to a better world. And sometimes the audience gets it too. No one counts them, even if they are not guilty of anything.

“Let’s cross our fingers this year while everyone is still alive,” Adam sighed.

“Yes, of course,” Sandra nodded.

Henry also muttered something incomprehensible: You are my optimists. He’s not superstitious, of course, but why would he say it out loud?

“By the way, despite its proximity to the walls, this route is relatively safe,” Sandra noted. – Low speeds probably have an effect. Injuries happen, but I don’t remember any fatalities.

— Used to be. A few years ago,” Adam said confidently. – In the youth series a man unsuccessfully flew into a building, he also flashed among us – however, he did not succeed.

– Didn’t this happen in sixty-one? – Sandra remembered.

– Hardly. There was plenty of everything there without it.

– Yes, what a tense race happened then. And we had chances for a good place for a long time, but then as usual everything was lost.

“But how did they pull Monetti’s nose in Quincy?” They will remember it for a long time… And what a holiday they organized. The building shook. Do you remember?

“Edward at least walked away a bit at the party, otherwise he wouldn’t have had a face when our car took off a few laps before the finish.

Henry listened no further and left the garage – he has no memories of the coming stage, neither warm nor alarming. There is only one fierce desire: to show at least some result. If he fails to reach the starting line again, it will mean the failure of his entire luxurious idea. Mr Baker is a sincere man, but not an endless altruist: transport, fuel and spare parts are not cheap. If he were Edward, would Henry suggest not to suffer and either sell the useless car out of sin or offer the cockpit to someone who can pay the rent.

And what do you want me to do? Like asking a beaten dog to go back to mechanics? Well I don’t. Or in a casino? Henry looked somberly at the ornate building of Europe’s most famous gambling house, which stood nearby. And if it doesn’t work out there, all you have to do is throw yourself to the bottom of the local bay and strap a heavier cast iron to your feet. At least ruin the holidays for the rich people who parked their luxury boats and yachts next door.

To drive away the painful thoughts, Henry tried to force himself to think about the upcoming race. You won’t be able to rev the engine on short straights anymore, and that doesn’t matter – it’s still underpowered, especially compared to competitors’ latest modifications. Then we need speed in the corners, which means we will adjust the gear ratios in the gearbox. We have already done all this abroad, the main thing is to immediately choose the right settings option, there is not much time to think.

Henry brightened a little as he looked around. There were so many conversations between the team members when they got here: “Oh, the Côte d’Azur!” – “Are we really here?” – “Walk along the dike again, taste oysters, admire the sunsets…”

It is interesting, whatever you say, especially in comparison with the European racing circuits he has already looked at – vast and spacious, located in a purely provincial area, or at a considerable distance from a more or less large city. A number of pompous historic buildings, astonishingly scattered along the rock walls, were interspersed with fairly modern buildings. In addition, there are many starting construction projects. It’s cramped, the houses are clumped together, there are big crowds and there are cars everywhere. Sharp changes in height: the narrow streets of the dwarf principality wound like serpentines, then rose in stone terraces against the coastal mountains and then fell onto the water surface of the harbor. And there was also an intangible smell of big money hanging around. Real Europeans. Why crowd on a seaside cliff when there is so much space around? They haven’t seen Las Vegas yet – what a scale it is. There is infinite space in the desert; there is room for development. And here? The mountains press behind, the sea approaches from the front.

Next door, fellow pilots were smoking and paying no attention to Henry. The joker Carlo, choking with laughter, told a story about how he climbed a tree through a hotel room window to meet a beautiful lady, but the watchful receptionist stopped him. The backbone of the world championship racers turned out to be a very friendly team, they had lunch and dinner together, discussed all everyday matters, consulted about lawyers and bank accounts, visited, invited each other to weddings, baptisms and anniversaries, and spent holidays together. But only the skeleton. Pilots who only take off sporadically did not fall into this category. Generally speaking, it’s true: why remember a privateer’s face, let alone his name, if you see him once or twice a year? Henry didn’t hear the end of the funny story as he walked by.

== To be continued…