The Night Watch (41 page)

'A human being and an Other – that's even more unequal.'

'That doesn't count. We're two different species. That means nothing counts.'

'I want you to know,' said Svetlana, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, 'that I wasn't intending to let things go so far. I was waiting for you to come down and see us and get jealous.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't know I was supposed to get jealous.'

'And then everything just went crazy and I couldn't help myself

'I understand everything, Sveta. It's okay.'

She looked at me in confusion.

'Okay?'

'Of course, it happens to everyone. The Watch is one big, tight-knit family. With everything that follows from that.'

'What a bastard you are!' Svetlana exclaimed. 'Anton, if only you could see yourself now from the outside! How did you ever end up on our side?'

'Sveta, you came to make up, didn't you?' I asked. 'So I'm making up. It's all okay. Nothing counts. That's life, all sorts of things happen.'

She jumped to her feet and glared icily at me for a second. I started blinking rapidly.

'You idiot!' Svetlana blurted out and went back into the house.

So what had she been expecting? Hurt feelings, accusations, sadness?

But more importantly, what had Gesar been expecting? What would change if I stopped playing the role of Sveta's ill-starred lover? Would someone else take on the role? Or was it already time for her to be left alone – all alone with her great destiny?

The goal. I had to know what Gesar's goal was.

I sprang up off the lounger and walked into the house. I immediately spotted Olga, alone in the sitting room. Standing in front of the open display case, holding out a sword with a long, narrow blade in front of her. She wasn't looking at it the way you look at an antique toy. Tiger Cub probably looked at her swords in the same kind of way. But her love of old weapons was in the abstract; Olga's wasn't.

When Gesar came to live and work in Russia – because of her, by the way – swords like that might still have been in use.

But eighty years ago, when Olga had been deprived of all her rights, wars were already fought differently.

A former Great Sorceress. A former Great Goal. Eighty years.

'It's all so well planned, isn't it?' I said.

Olga started and swung round.

'We can't defeat the Dark ourselves. The little people have to be enlightened first. Become kind and loving, industrious and intelligent. So that every Other can see nothing but the Light. What a great goal it was, how long the ripples lasted when it was drowned in blood.'

'You figured it out after all,' said Olga. 'Or did you just guess?'

'I guessed.'

'Good. Now what?'

'How did you slip up, Olga?'

'I accepted a compromise. A little compromise with the Dark. And the result was that we lost.'

'We did? We'll always survive. Adapt, fit in, find our place. And we'll carry on the old struggle. It's only humans who lose.'

'Retreats are inevitable sometimes,' said Olga, gripping the double-handed sword easily in one hand and swinging it above her head. 'Do I look like a helicopter with its rotors idling?'

'You look like a woman waving a sword around. Do we really never learn anything, Olga?'

'Sure we do. This time everything's going to be different, Anton.'

'A new revolution?'

'We didn't want the last one. It was all supposed to happen almost completely without bloodshed. You understand: we can only win through ordinary humans. When they become enlightened, when their spirit is raised up. Communism was a wonderfully well-calculated system, and it's all my fault that it wasn't realised.'

'So why aren't you in the Twilight already, if it's all your fault?'

'Because everything had been agreed. Every step approved. Even that disastrous compromise, even that seemed acceptable.'

'And now – a new attempt to change people?'

'One more in the series.'

'Why here?' I asked. 'Why in Russia again?'

'Why not?'

'How much more of this does our country have to put up with?'

'As much as it takes.'

'Come on – why here again?'

Olga sighed, deftly slipped the sword back into its scabbard and put it back on its stand.

'Because, my dear boy, in this arena it's still possible to achieve something. The potential of Europe and North America has already been exhausted. Everything that was possible has already been tried there. There are a few things being developed right now. But all those countries are already half asleep. A healthy pensioner in shorts with a video camera – that's the prosperity of the West. We need to experiment with the young ones. Russia, Asia, the Arab world – these are where present-day battles are fought. And don't look so offended, I love my country as much as you do! I've spilled more blood for it than you have flowing in your veins. What you've got to understand, Antosha, is that the battlefield is the entire world. You know that as well as I do.'

'Our war's with the Dark, not with humans!'

'Yes, with the Dark. But we can only win by creating an ideal society. A world that will be ruled by goodness, love and justice. The Watches don't exist to capture psychopathic magicians on the streets and issue licences to vampires! All those little things take up time and energy, but they're by-products, like the heat from a light bulb. Light bulbs are meant to produce light, not heat. We have to change the human world, not just neutralise the Dark's minor outbursts. That's the goal. That's the path to victory!'

'Olga, I understand that.'

'Wonderful. Then you have to understand something that's never said in so many words. We've been fighting for thousands of years. And all that time we've been trying to change the course of history. To create a new world.'

'A brave new world.'

'Don't be so ironic. We have achieved something, after all. Through all the blood and suffering the world is becoming a more humane place. But we need a real, genuine revolution.'

'Communism was our idea, then?'

'No, not ours, but we supported it. It seemed quite attractive.'

'So now what?'

'You'll see.' Olga smiled. A friendly, sincere smile. 'Anton, everything will be fine. Trust me.'

'I need to know.'

'No. That's exactly what you don't need. And you don't need to worry, we're not planning any revolutions. No prison camps, execution squads or military tribunals. We're not going to repeat our old mistakes.'

'We're going to make new ones instead.'

'Anton!' she said, raising her voice. 'Think about it, will you, what are you doing? We have a really good chance of winning. Our country has a chance to live in peace, to flourish. It could become the vanguard of humanity. Defeat the Dark. It's been twelve years in the making, Anton. And it's not just Gesar's project, the whole senior level's been working on it.'

'What?'

'Yes. Did you think it was all being done on the spur of the moment?'

'You were keeping tabs on Svetlana for twelve years?'

'Of course not! A new social model has been developed. Various elements of the plan have already been put into action. Not even I know all the details. Since then Gesar's been waiting for the key players in the plan to come together, in space and time.'

'Who exactly? Svetlana and the Inquisitor?'

The pupils of her eyes contracted, and I knew I'd guessed it. Or part of it.

'And what else? What part am I supposed to play in all this?'

'You'll find out when the time comes.'

'Olga, so far magical intervention in human life has never led to anything good.'

'Don't come up with those old schoolroom axioms,' she said, getting really worked up now. 'Don't think you're any wiser than anyone else. We've no intention of using magic. Calm down, relax.'

I nodded.

'Okay. You've explained your position. I don't agree with it.'

'Officially?'

'No. In a private capacity. And as a private individual I believe I have the right of opposition.'

'Opposition? To Gesar?' Olga's eyes opened wide and the corners of her lips curved up in a smile. 'Anton!'

I turned on my heel and went out.

Yes, it was laughable.

Yes, it was absurd.

It wasn't just a crazy project dreamed up by Gesar and Olga. It wasn't just an attempt to repeat a failed experiment. It was a meticulously prepared operation, planned over a long period, and it had been my bad luck to get caught up in it.

An operation approved at the highest level.

Approved by the Light.

Why was I getting so involved? I had no right to be. None at all. And I had absolutely no chance either. I could console myself with the wise parable about the grain of sand that stopped the clock, but right now I was a grain of sand caught between mill wheels.

And the saddest thing of all was that these were the mill wheels of my own side. Nobody would persecute me. Nobody would fight me. They'd simply stop me doing all those stupid things that wouldn't do any good in any case.

Then why did I feel this pain, this unendurable pain in my chest?

I was standing on the terrace, clenching my fists in impotent fury, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

'Looks like you've managed to figure something out, Anton.'

I glanced at Semyon and nodded.

'Hard to take?'

'Yes,' I admitted.

'Then just remember one thing. You're not just a grain of sand. Nobody's just a grain of sand. Especially if he's an Other.'

'How long do you have to live to be able to guess what someone else is thinking like that?'

'A hundred years, Anton.'

'Then Gesar can read any of us like an open book?'

'Of course.'

'Then I'll have to learn how not to think,' I said.

'For that you have
to
learn how to think first. Did you know there's been a skirmish in town?'

'When?'

'A quarter of an hour ago. It's all over already.'

'What happened?'

'A courier arrived to see the boss, from somewhere out east. The Dark Ones followed him and tried to eliminate him. Right there in front of the boss.' Semyon laughed.

'That means war!'

'No, they were within their rights. The courier entered the city illegally.'

I looked around. Nobody was in any hurry to go anywhere. They weren't starting up their cars or packing their things. Ignat and Ilya were lighting up the barbecue again.

'Shouldn't we be getting back?'

'No. The boss handled things his own way. There was a small fight, without any casualties. The courier's been made a member of our Watch, and the Dark Ones had to leave empty-handed. The restaurant suffered a bit, that's all.'

'What restaurant?'

'The restaurant where the boss met the courier,' Semyon explained patiently. 'We've been told we can carry on with our holiday.'

I looked up at the blindingly blue sky, swelling with the heat.

'You know, somehow I'm not in the mood for a holiday. I think I'll go back to Moscow. I don't suppose anyone will mind too much.'

'Of course not.'

Semyon took out his cigarettes and lit up. Then he said casually:

'In your place, I'd find out exactly what the courier brought with him from the east. Maybe that's your chance.'

I laughed bitterly.

'The Dark Ones couldn't find out. Are you suggesting I should start rummaging in the boss's safe?'

'The Dark Ones couldn't take it. Whatever it was. You have no right to take what the courier brought or even touch it, of course. But just finding out. . .'

'Thanks. I really mean that.'

Semyon nodded, accepting my gratitude graciously.

'We'll settle up in the Twilight. You know, I've had enough holiday too. After lunch I'm going to borrow Tiger Cub's motorbike and go back to town. Want a lift?'

'Uhuh.'

I felt ashamed. It was the kind of shame that probably only Others can feel. We can always tell when someone's helping us out, when they're giving us something we don't deserve but can't possibly refuse.

I couldn't stay there any longer. Stay there and see Svetlana, Olga and Ignat. Listen to their truth.

I would always have my own truth.

'Can you handle a motorbike?' I asked, clumsily trying to change the subject.

'I rode one in the first Paris – Dakar rally. Let's go give the others a hand.'

I glanced sullenly at Ignat. He was chopping wood, handling the axe like a real virtuoso. After every blow he froze for a moment and looked round quickly at everyone, flexing his biceps.

He really loved himself. Sure, he loved the rest of the world too. But he came first.

'Let's do that,' I agreed. I swung back my arm and threw the sign of the triple blade through the Twilight. Several blocks of wood flew apart into neat sticks of firewood just as Ignat raised his axe for the next blow. He lost his balance and almost fell. Then he started to look around.

Naturally my blow had left a spatial trace. The Twilight was vibrating, greedily drawing in energy.

'Antosha, what did you do that for?' Ignat asked crossly. 'That's not the sporting way!'

'But it is efficient,' I said, walking down from the terrace. 'Shall I chop some more?'

'Don't bother,' said Ignat, bending down to collect up the firewood. 'Carry on like that and we'll end up grilling the kebabs with fireballs.'

I didn't feel at all guilty, but I started helping anyway. The firewood had been chopped cleanly and the cuts glittered a rich amber yellow. It seemed a shame to put something so beautiful on the fire.

Then I looked at the house and saw Olga standing at the ground-floor window.

She'd been following my little escapade very closely. Far too closely.

I waved to her.

T
IGER CUB'S
motorbike was really great, if such a vague word can ever be applied to a Harley, even the most basic model. After all, there are motorbikes, and then there are Harley-Davidsons.

Why Tiger Cub needed it, I couldn't imagine. As far as I could see, it was only ridden once or twice a year. Probably for the same reason as she needed a huge house to live in at the weekend. In any case, we arrived back in town before it was even two in the afternoon.

Semyon handled the heavy two-wheeled vehicle like a master. I could never have done it, not even if I'd activated the 'extreme skills' implanted in my memory and reviewed the reality lines. I could have got there almost as fast by expending a considerable portion of my reserves of power. But Semyon simply drove – and his superiority over an ordinary human driver was down to nothing but experience.

Even riding at a hundred kilometres an hour the air still felt hot. The wind struck at my cheeks like a rough towel. It felt like we were riding through a furnace, an endless tarmac furnace full of vehicles that had already been roasted in the sun, slowly crawling along. At least three times I was sure we were going to crash into a car or an inconveniently placed pillar.

It wasn't likely that we'd be killed outright. The rest of the team would sense what had happened and come and put us back together, piece by piece, but it wouldn't exactly be fun.

We arrived without any mishaps. After the ring road Semyon used his magic about five times, but only to make highway patrolmen look the other way.

Semyon didn't ask my address, even though he'd never been to my place. He stopped outside the entrance to the building and switched off the engine. The teenagers swilling cheap beer in the kids' playground stopped talking and stared at the bike. How great it must be to have such clear and simple dreams: beer, E at the nightclub, a hot girlfriend and a Harley.

'How long have you been having premonitions?' Semyon asked.

I started. I hadn't really told anyone that I'd been having them.

'Quite a long time now.'

Semyon nodded. He looked up at my windows. He didn't tell me why he'd asked the question.

'Maybe I ought to go up with you.'

'Listen, I'm not a girl who needs to be seen all the way home to her door.'

The magician smiled.

'Hey, don't get me mixed up with Ignat. Okay, it's not such a big deal. Be careful.'

'Of what?'

'Of everything, I suppose.'

The bike's engine howled. The magician shook his head.

'There's something coming, Anton. Coming this way. Be careful.'

He zoomed off to roars of approval from the adolescents, and slipped neatly through the gap between a parked Volga and a slow-moving Zhiguli. I watched him go and shook my head. I didn't need any premonitions to know that Semyon would spend the whole day zooming round Moscow. Then he'd attach himself to some group of rockers and a quarter of an hour later he'd be a fully fledged member, already creating legends about a crazy old biker.

Be careful. . .

Of what?

And more importantly, what for?

I tapped the code into the keypad, walked into the lobby and called the lift. That morning I'd been on holiday with my friends, and everything had been fine.

Nothing had changed now, except that I wasn't there any longer.

They say that when Light Magicians go off the rails, the first sign is always flashes of insight, like the ones epileptics have before a fit. Then the pointless use of power, like killing flies with fireballs and chopping firewood with combat spells. Quarrels with the people they love. Sudden disagreements with some friends and equally unexpected warm relations with others. Everyone knows that, and everyone knows what happens after a Light Magician goes off the rails.

Be careful . . .

I walked up to the door and reached for my keys.

But the door was already unlocked.

My parents had a set of keys. But they would never have come all the way from Saratov without giving me any warning. And I would have sensed that they were coming.

No ordinary human thief would ever break into my apartment, the simple sign on the threshold would have stopped him. And there were barriers against Others too. Of course, they could be overcome with sufficient power. But the sentry systems ought to have been triggered.

I stood there, looking at the narrow crack between the door and the doorpost, the crack that shouldn't have been there. I looked through the Twilight, but I didn't see anything.

I didn't have a weapon with me. My pistol was inside the apartment. So were the ten combat amulets.

I could have followed instructions. A member of the Night Watch who discovers that a home secured by magical means has been penetrated by strangers must first inform the duty operations officer and his supervisor, and then . . .

But the moment I imagined appealing to Gesar, after he'd casually scattered the entire Day Watch only two days earlier, I lost any desire to follow instructions. I folded my fingers into the sign for a rapid freeze spell, probably because I remembered how well it had worked for Semyon.

Be careful?

I pushed open the door and walked into the apartment that had suddenly stopped being mine.

And as I walked in, I realised who had enough power, authority and sheer chutzpah to come calling without an invitation.

'Good afternoon, boss!' I said, glancing into the study.

I wasn't entirely wrong.

Zabulon was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a newspaper. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and put down the paper. Then he carefully took off his spectacles with the slim gold frames.

'Good afternoon, Anton. You know, I'd be very glad to be your boss.'

He smiled. A Dark Magician beyond classification, the chief of the Moscow Day Watch. As usual, he was wearing an immaculately tailored black suit and a light grey shirt. An Other of indeterminate age, with a lean frame and close-cropped hair.

'My mistake,' I said. 'What are you doing here?'

Zabulon shrugged:

'Take your amulet. It's in the desk somewhere, I can sense it.'

I walked over to the desk, opened the drawer and took out the ivory medallion on a copper chain. I squeezed the amulet in my fist and felt it grow warm.

'Zabulon, you no longer have any power over me.'

The Dark Magician nodded:

'Good. I don't want you to have any doubts about your own safety.'

'What are you doing in a Light One's home, Zabulon? I would be within my rights to report you to the tribunal.'

'I know,' Zabulon said with a shrug. 'I know all that. I'm in the wrong. This is stupid. I'm exposing myself to reprisals and exposing the Day Watch too. But I haven't come to you as an enemy.'

I didn't say anything.

'And you don't need to worry about any observation devices,' he added casually. 'Either your own, or the ones that the Inquisition installs. I took the liberty of, shall we say, putting them to sleep. Everything we say to each other will remain just between the two of us, for ever.'

'Believe half of what a human says, a quarter of what a Light One says, and not a word of what a Dark One says,' I muttered.

'Of course, you have every right not to trust me. It's your duty not to. But please hear me out.' Zabulon suddenly smiled in a remarkably open and reassuring way. 'You're a Light One. You are obliged to assist everyone who asks for help, even me. And now I'm asking.'

I hesitated, then went across to the sofa and sat down. Without taking my shoes off, without cancelling the suspended freeze, as if it wasn't utterly absurd to imagine myself doing combat with Zabulon.

There was an outsider in my apartment. So much for 'my home is my castle' – and I'd almost started to believe it during the years I'd been working for the Watch.

'First of all, how did you get in?' I asked.

'First of all, I took a perfectly ordinary lock pick, but—'

'Zabulon, you know what I mean. The sentry systems can be destroyed, but they can't be tricked. They should have been triggered by any unauthorised entry.'

The Dark Magician sighed.

'Kostya helped me to get in. You gave him access.'

'I hoped he was my friend. Even if he is a vampire.'

'He is your friend,' Zabulon said with a smile. 'And he wants to help you.'

'In his own way.'

'In
our
own way, Anton. I've entered your home, but I have no intention of causing any harm. I haven't looked at any of the official documents you keep here. I haven't left any monitoring signs. I came to talk.'

'Then talk.'

'You and I have a problem, Anton. The same one. And today it reached critical proportions.'

The moment I saw Zabulon, I'd known what we'd be talking about, so I just nodded.

'Good, you understand.' The Dark Magician leaned forward in his chair and sighed. 'Anton, I'm not under any illusions here. We see the world differently. And we understand our duty in different ways. But even under those conditions our interests sometimes coincide. From your point of view, we Dark Ones have our failings. Sometimes our actions seem rather ambiguous. And we are obliged by our very nature to be rather less caring with people. That's all true. But note that nobody has ever accused us of attempting to change the entire destiny of humanity. Since the Treaty was concluded we have simply lived our own lives and we'd like you to do the same.'

'Nobody has ever accused you,' I agreed, 'because whichever way you look at it, time is on your side.'

Zabulon nodded:

'And what does that mean? Perhaps we're more like human beings? Perhaps we're right? But let's not get into those arguments, there's no end to them. I repeat what I have said before. We honour the Treaty. And we often observe it far more closely than the forces of the Light.'

A standard tactic in an argument. First admit to some kind of generalised guilt. Then gently reproach your opponent for being equally guilty of the same general kind of fault. Reproach them a bit and then drop it. Let's just forget the whole thing!

And then move on to what's really important.

'But, let's deal with what's really important here,' said Zabulon, getting serious. 'There's no point in beating about the bush. In the last hundred years the forces of the Light have launched three global experiments. The revolution in Russia. The Second World War. And now this new project. Following the same scenario.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' I said. I suddenly had this desperate aching feeling in my chest.

'Really? Let me explain. Social models are developed that should eventually – at the cost of massive upheaval and immense bloodshed – bring humanity to the ideal society. Ideal, that is, from your point of view, but I won't argue about that. Certainly not. Everyone has a right to his own dream. But your path is so very cruel . . .' Another sad smile. 'You accuse us of cruelty, and not entirely without reason, but what's one child killed in a black mass compared with any fascist children's concentration camp? And fascism was another of your inventions. Another one that got out of control. First there was internationalism and communism – that didn't work. Then there was national socialism. Another mistake? You put your heads together and examined the result. Then you sighed, wiped the slates clean and started experimenting all over again.'

'They turned out to be mistakes thanks to your efforts.'

'Of course! We do have an instinct for self-preservation, you know. We don't construct social models on the basis of our ethics. So why should we tolerate your projects?'

I didn't say anything.

Zabulon nodded, apparently satisfied.

'So you see, Anton. Maybe we're enemies. We
are
enemies. Last winter you caused us some inconvenience, serious inconvenience. This spring you frustrated me again. You eliminated two Day Watch agents. Yes, of course, the Inquisition declared that your actions were committed in self-defence and out of absolute necessity but, believe me, I was not pleased. What kind of leader is it who can't even protect his own colleagues? So, we are enemies. But now we have a unique situation. Yet another experiment. And you're indirectly involved in it.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Zabulon laughed and raised his hands in the air.

'Anton, I'm not trying to coax any secrets out of you. I'm not going to ask any questions. Or ask you to do anything. Just listen to what I have to say. And then I'll go.'

I suddenly remembered how the young witch Alisa had used her right to intervene up on the high-rise roof the previous winter. A very minor intervention – all she did was allow me to speak the truth. And that truth had turned Egor over to the side of the Dark Ones.

Why did things happen that way?

Why was it that the Light acted through lies, and the Dark acted through the truth? Why was it that our truth proved powerless, but lies were effective? And why was the Dark able to manage perfectly well with the truth in order to do Evil? Whose nature was responsible, humankind's or ours?

'Svetlana's a wonderful sorceress,' said Zabulon. 'But her future is not to lead the Night Watch. They intend to use her for just one single purpose. For the mission that Olga failed to complete. You know, don't you, that a courier from Samarkand entered the city illegally this morning?'

'Yes, I know,' I admitted, without really knowing why.

'And I can tell you what he brought with him. Would you like to know?'

I gritted my teeth.

'You would,' said Zabulon, with a nod. 'The courier brought a piece of chalk.'

Never believe what the Dark Ones say. But somehow I got the feeling he wasn't lying.

'A little piece of chalk.' The Dark Magician smiled. 'You could write on a school blackboard with it. Or draw hopscotch squares on the pavement. Or chalk your pool cue with it. You could do all that, just as easily as you could use a large royal seal to crack nuts. But things change if a Great Sorceress picks up that piece of chalk – it has to be a Great One, an ordinary sorceress wouldn't be powerful enough, and it has to be a sorceress, in male hands the chalk remains nothing but chalk. And in addition to that the sorceress has to be a Light One. This artefact is useless for Dark Ones.'