In XIX century Tiflis, where European and Asian architecture merge, near the main avenue, between Tatars square and Shaitan Bazaar, steeped in tobacco and coffee aromas, there is a theft! Royal Mary, a 5 years old English horse, an unbeaten favorite at all the horse-races in Caucasus, is stolen from the famous Alikhanov stable. Royal Mary was to be presented to the Persian Shah, who was planning to visit the Georgian capital in a couple of days. There are no clues in the stable, except for a single white rose. The case is given to a descendant of an Aquitaine noble family, the elegant and intelligent Louis Albrais, to investigate. The number of victims gradually increases: in various districts corpses are found, knifed in the back and with a single rose, either white or red, left on the body as the murderer’s signature. Louis Albrais realises that the horse theft is part of a bigger plot with even more uncanny and surprising details. Tbilisi’s narrow streets have become a playground for secret agents of foreign countries, whose one purpose to reach the Shah and influence Persia. When he plays game of chess with the French Consul, Louis Albrais realises that placing white or red roses at the crime sites imitates a chess game’s alternation of white and black figures. The series of murders began with a pawn – a stableman – and will presumably end with the king. And who will be the last victim? The detective fears that it will be the Shah himself. The story is narrated in a style typical of XIX century Tbilisi. Humour, imagination, an exotic mixture of facts and fiction, of tragic and comic protagonists are the main features of Abo Iashagashvili’s novel. The book is intended for those who like light thrillers as well as lovers of serious literature, and is full of allusions. The reader will periodically be reminded of Kipling, Hoffmann, Pushkin, Hamsun, Hugo, Chesterton, Stevenson, Borges, A Thousand and One Nights, and many other authors and works.

EXTRACT
Translated into German by Lia Wittek 

'Erst wenn alle tot sind, endet das große Spiel' -
Rudyard Kipling 

Feldmann, ein Hypnotiseur
Die Pferdebahn mit ihrem Nummerschild, zog voran zum Woronzow- Denkmal, und die Insassen schauten auf den Trubel des Straßenhandels, auf das Durchtriebene, Gerissene, das-sich-gegenseitig-auf-die-Füße-treten, den Schwindel mit Maß und Gewicht , das geheuchelte Lächeln der Verkäufer, die an den Ohren gezogenen Laufburschen.
Tabakqualmend und ausspuckend, hustend, beißend in einen Apfel und die befeuchteten Hände obendrein an fremden Hosen abwischend zog der Wagen trotz allem noch vorwärts.
Ein Kondukteur, mit einer Binde um den Kopf wegen seines Backenzahns, kontrollierte im Wagen die bunten, zerknautschten Fahrkarten, und weil man in Tiflis alle diese Fahrkarten an recht seltsamen Orten und in tiefsten Tiefen versteckt, braucht man ziemlich viel Zeit, sie zu finden, die Jackentaschen umkrempeln oder das aus den löchrigen Hosentaschen Verlorene irgendwo unten an der Ferse suchen... (See PDF)