The Night Watch (44 page)

A faint trembling. A rumbling below ground, the roar of an approaching hurricane. A tiny black ball appeared on Zabulon's open palm, spinning rapidly.

'What do you say?' asked Zabulon.

I ran my tongue over my lips and looked at Alisa's magically frozen body. She was a real bitch, no doubt about it. And I had a personal score to settle with her.

Maybe that was why I didn't feel like settling this business with a compromise. Maybe it had nothing to do with the risks of an agreement with the Dark. Alisa had tried to use the prism of power to extract part of the life energy from humans. That was third- or fourth-degree magic. I'd be able to perform a second-degree intervention, and that was a very big deal. A genuinely massive intervention. A city without a single crime for a whole day. A brilliant and unequivocally good intervention. How many times in the history of the Night Watch had we needed to make a third- or fourth-degree intervention but didn't have the right, and we'd had to just go ahead and risk it, terrified by how the other side might respond?

And now I could have a second-degree intervention for free, or as good as.

'May the Light bear witness to my words,' I said, and held my hand out to Zabulon.

It was the first time I'd ever called on the primordial powers to witness anything. I only knew it didn't require any special incantations. And there was no real guarantee that the Light would deign to become involved in our affairs.

A petal of white flame flared up on my open palm.

Zabulon flinched, but he didn't take his hand away. We sealed the agreement with a handshake, the Dark and the Light coming together. I felt a stab of pain, like a blunt needle piercing my flesh.

'The agreement is sealed,' said the Dark Magician.

He frowned too. He had also felt the pain.

'Do you hope to gain some advantage from this?' I asked.

'Of course. I always hope to gain some advantage from everything. And I usually do.'

At least Zabulon wasn't obviously delighted with the deal we'd made. Whatever he might be hoping for as a result of our agreement, he wasn't completely certain of success.

'I've found out what the courier brought to Moscow from the east and why.'

Zabulon smiled gently.

'Excellent. I find the situation trying, and it is a great relief to know that now my concern will be shared by others.'

'Zabulon, has there ever been a single case when the Night Watch and the Day Watch collaborated? Genuine collaboration, not just catching violators and psychopaths?'

'No. In any collaboration one side or the other would be the loser.'

'I'll bear that in mind.'

'You do that.'

We even bowed politely to each other. As if we weren't two magicians on opposite sides, an adept of the Light and a servant of the Dark, but two acquaintances who got on perfectly well.

Then Zabulon returned to Alisa's motionless body, lifted it easily and threw it across his shoulder. I was expecting him to withdraw from the Twilight, but instead the Dark Ones' leader gave me a condescending smile and stepped into the portal. It remained visible for a moment, and then began to fade. I was going a different way.

It was only then that I realised how tired I felt. The Twilight likes it when we enter it, and it likes it even more when we're agitated. The Twilight's insatiable, glad to take on anyone.

I chose a spot where there weren't many people and tore myself out of my shadow.

The eyes of the people walking by swung away as usual. You meet us so often during the day, you humans . . . Light Ones and Dark Ones, magicians and werewolves, witches and healers. You look at us, but you're not allowed to see us. May it always be that way.

We can live for hundreds and thousands of years. We're very hard to kill. And for us the problems that make up human life are no more than a schoolboy's distress at his bad handwriting.

But there's a downside to everything. I'd gladly trade places with you humans. Take this ability to see the shadow and enter the Twilight. Take the protection of the Watch and the ability to influence people's minds.

Give me back the peace of mind that I have lost for ever.

Someone jostled me to get me out of the way. A tough-looking man with a shaved head, a mobile at his belt and a gold chain round his neck. He looked me up and down disdainfully, muttered something through his teeth and headed on down the street. The girlfriend clinging to his arm made a rather unsuccessful attempt to imitate his glance, the kind that petty gangsters use for jerks who are a soft touch.

I laughed out loud. Yes, I probably looked a sight! Standing stock still in the middle of the street, apparently gawping at a stand covered with ugly bronze figurines, wooden
matryoshka
dolls with politicians' faces and fake Khokhloma painted boxes.

I had the right to shake up the entire street. To perform a mass remoralisation – then the man with the shaven head would take a job as an orderly in a mental hospital and his girlfriend would head for the train station to go to see the old mother she'd managed to forget, somewhere out in the sticks.

I wanted to do Good – my hands were just itching to do it!

And that was why I mustn't.

The heart might be pure and the hands might be hot, but the head still had to be cool.

I was an ordinary, rank-and-file Other. I didn't have the power granted to Gesar or Zabulon, and I never would have. Maybe that was why I took a different view of what was happening. And I couldn't even use this unexpected gift – the right to use Light magic. That would be joining in the game that was being played out above my head.

My only chance was to drop out of the game.

And take Svetlana with me.

And in the process ruin the operation the Night Watch had been preparing for so long. To stop being a field agent of the Watch. Become an ordinary Light Magician, using mere crumbs of my powers. That was the best case, of course – in the worst case scenario it was the eternal Twilight for me.

Today, today at midnight.

Where? And who? Whose Book of Destiny would the sorceress open? Olga had said they'd been planning the operation for twelve years. Twelve years spent searching for a Great Sorceress who could use the little piece of chalk that had been kept safe all that time.

But wait!

I could have howled at my own stupidity. Higher magicians plan many moves ahead. There are no accidents in their games. There are queens and there are pawns. But there are no superfluous pieces.

Egor!

The boy who had almost become a victim of illegal hunting. Who'd entered the Twilight in a state of mind that had nudged him towards the Dark Side. The boy whose destiny was still not determined, whose aura still had all the colours of a child's. A unique case. I'd been stunned when I saw him for the first time.

I'd been stunned, and then had forgotten. The moment I discovered that the kid's powers had been artificially increased by the boss – to mislead the Dark Ones and allow Egor to offer at least some resistance to the vampires.

And for me he'd become a personal failure – after all, I had been the first to discover he was an Other – and a good person, at least so far, and a future enemy in the eternal struggle between Good and Evil. The memory of his undecided destiny had remained buried somewhere deep under all the rest.

He could still become absolutely anyone. His future potential was indeterminate. An open book. A Book of Destiny.

He was the one who would stand in front of Svetlana when she picked up the piece of chalk. And he would do it gladly, once Gesar had explained what it was all about. A serious, logical explanation. The boss of the Night Watch, the leader of the Light Ones of Moscow, a great and ancient magician – he'd be able to explain everything clearly. Gesar would talk about correcting mistakes. And it would be the truth. Gesar would talk about the great future that would open up for Egor. And even that would be true! The Dark Ones could lodge a thousand protests, but the Inquisition would certainly take into account that the boy had initially suffered from their actions.

Svetlana would certainly be told that I was depressed by my failure with Egor. And that the main reason the boy had suffered was because the Watch had been busy saving her.

She wouldn't even hesitate.

She'd accept everything she was told to do.

She'd pick up the piece of ordinary chalk that could be used to draw squares for hopscotch in the street or to write '2 + 2 = 4' on a school blackboard.

And she'd start shaping a destiny that hadn't been defined yet.

What were they planning to make him into?

Who?

A chief, a leader of new parties and revolutions?

A prophet of religions that hadn't been created yet?

A thinker who would found a new school of social thought? A musician, a poet, a writer, whose work would change the consciousness of millions?

Just how many years into the future did the plan of the powers of the Light extend?

The original essential nature of an Other could not be changed. Egor would always be a very weak magician, but thanks to the intervention of the Night Watch, he would be a Light Magician.

And in order to alter the destiny of the human world, you didn't have to be an Other. It could even get in the way. It would be much better to have the support of the Watch while you led the human crowd, so much in need of the happiness we had invented for it.

And he would lead them. I didn't know how, and I didn't know where, but he would lead them. But that was when the Dark Ones would make their move. An assassin can be found for every president. And for every prophet there are a thousand interpreters to distort the essence of the religion, to replace the bright flame with the heat of the inquisitors' pyres. The time came when every book was cast into the fire, when every symphony was reduced to a popular tune and played in all the bars.

No, we hadn't learned a thing. Probably because we didn't want to.

But at least I still had a bit of time. And the right to make my move. My only move.

If only I knew what it was.

Should I appeal to Svetlana not to accept what Gesar said, not to get involved in higher magic, not to change anyone else's destiny?

But why should she agree? Everything was being done correctly. Mistakes that had been made were being put right, a positive future was being created both for a single individual and for humanity as a whole. I was being relieved of the burden of the mistake I'd made. Svetlana was being relieved of the knowledge that her good fortune had been paid for by someone else's tragedy. She was entering the ranks of the Great Sorceresses. What did my vague doubts mean compared to all that? And what were they really? How much was genuine concern, and how much petty self-interest? Where was the Light, where was the Dark?

'Hey, friend!'

The street trader who owned the stall I was standing in front of was staring at me. Not really angry, just rather annoyed.

'You buying anything?'

'Do I look like an idiot?' I asked him.

'Sure you do. If you're not buying, move on.'

From where he stood he was right. But I was in the mood to talk back.

'You don't realise how lucky you are. I'm collecting a crowd for you, attracting customers.'

He was a colourful character. Stocky, red-faced, with huge thick arms, rippling masses of fat and muscle. He sized me up, obviously didn't see anything threatening and got ready to make some caustic remark.

Then suddenly he smiled.

'Okay, if you're collecting a crowd, put a bit more effort into it. Pretend to buy something. You can even pretend to pay me some money.'

This was a pleasant surprise.

I smiled back at him:

'Would you like me to buy something for real?'

'What would you do that for? This is rubbish for the tourists.' The trader stopped smiling, but there was no tension or aggression left in his face. 'This damn heat, it's driving me crazy. I wish it would rain.'

I looked up at the sky and shrugged. Something seemed to be changing. Something had shifted in the transparent blue dome of the heavenly oven.

'I think it's going to,' I told him.

'Great.'

We nodded at each other and I walked away, slipping into the stream of people.

I didn't know what to do, but I already knew where to go. And that was a start.

T
O A LARGE
extent our powers are borrowed.

The Dark Ones draw theirs from the suffering of humans. Things are a lot simpler for them. They don't even have to cause people any pain. They can just wait. Just keep their eyes open and keep absorbing people's suffering, like drinking a cocktail through a straw.

We can do the same, only with one small difference. We draw strength from people who are feeling good, when they're happy. But there's one little difficulty that makes the process easy for the Dark Ones and almost forbidden to us. Happiness and sorrow are not just two levels on a single scale of human emotions. If they were, there'd be no such thing as radiant sorrow or malicious joy. They're two parallel processes, two equal currents of power that Others can feel and use.

When a Dark Magician drinks in someone's pain, it only increases.

When a Light Magician takes someone's joy, it decreases.

We can absorb power at any moment. But we very rarely allow ourselves to.

That day I decided that I was entitled.

I took a little bit from a couple locked in each other's arms at the entrance to the metro. They were happy, very happy just then. But I could tell that the lovers were parting, and for a long time, and sadness would inevitably come to them anyway. I decided I had the right. Their joy was bright and rich, like a bouquet of scarlet roses, proud and delicate.

I touched a child as he ran past – he was happy, he didn't feel the oppressive heat, he was running to buy an ice cream. He would soon restore his power. It was as simple and pure as wild flowers. A posy of daisies that I gathered without hesitation.

I saw an old woman in a window. The shadow of death was already hovering over her, she could probably sense it herself. But she was still smiling. Her grandson had called round to see her that day. Probably only to check if his grandmother was still alive, or if the valuable apartment in the centre of Moscow was free now. She understood that too, but she was still happy. I felt ashamed, unbearably ashamed, but I touched her and took a little power. A fading orange and yellow bunch of asters and autumn leaves . . .

I walked along just as I used to in my nightmares, when I handed out happiness to everyone on all sides, making sure no one went away without his share. But the trail I left behind me now was quite different. Slightly faded smiles, wrinkled foreheads, lips pressed together in doubt.

It was pretty easy to see where I'd been.

If I met a Day Watch patrol, they wouldn't stop me.

And even if any Light Ones saw what was happening, they wouldn't say anything.

I was doing what I thought was necessary. What I believed I had a right to do. Borrowing. Stealing. And the way I used the power I'd taken would seal my destiny.

Either I'd pay back all my debts in full.

Or the Twilight would open its arms to embrace me.

When a Light Magician starts drawing power from humans, he's gambling everything on a single throw of the dice. And the usual balancing of accounts between the actions of the two Watches didn't apply.

Not only did the amount of Good that was done have to exceed the amount of Evil I had caused, I would have to be certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd paid everything back in full.

The lovers, the children, the old people. The group drinking beer by the statue. I'd been afraid their happiness might turn out to be a sham, but it was genuine, and I took their power.

Forgive me.

I could apologise to every one of them three times over. I could pay for what I'd taken. But I wouldn't really mean it.

I was simply fighting for love. In the first place. And only after that for you, the humans for whom this new happiness was being prepared.

But what if I were really doing that as well?

What if, every time you fought for love, you were fighting for the whole world?

For the whole world – not against the whole world.

Power!

Power.

Power?

I gathered it in crumbs, sometimes gently, sometimes in crude haste, to prevent my hand from trembling and my eyes from looking away in shame, as I took almost all there was.

Maybe happiness was a rare experience anyway for this young man.

I didn't know.

Power!

Maybe without this smile, this woman would lose someone's love.

Power.

Maybe tomorrow this strong man with the ironic smile would die.

Power.

The amulets in my pockets wouldn't be any use. There wasn't going be a fight. The 'top form' the boss had mentioned wouldn't help me either. That wouldn't be enough. And the right to carry out a second-degree intervention that Zabulon had granted me so generously was a trap. There wasn't any doubt about that. He'd framed his own girlfriend, drawn the lines of probability together so that we'd meet and then handed me his deadly gift with a mournful expression on his face. I couldn't see far enough into the future to be sure the Good I did would never become Evil.

But if you have no weapon, accept one even from the hands of your enemy.

Power!

Power.

Power?

If I'd still been connected to Gesar by the narrow thread that maintains contact between a young magician and his mentor, he would long ago have sensed what was happening. Sensed the energy building up inside me, the massive energy I'd gathered for some unknown purpose.

What would he have done?

It made no sense to try to stop a magician who had started down this path.

I was walking in the direction of the Economic Exhibition metro. I knew where it was all going to happen. Coincidences aren't coincidences when they're controlled by higher magicians. The absurd 'box on stilts', the matchbox standing on its end – that was where Zabulon had lost the battle for Svetlana, that was where Gesar had unmasked the Light Magician he'd assigned to the Inquisition, teaching Svetlana a lesson in the process.

The focus of power for the whole complex manoeuvre.

For the third time.

I didn't feel like eating or drinking, but I stopped once, bought a coffee and drank it. It was tasteless, as if all the caffeine had been filtered out of it. People started making way for me, even though I was walking in the ordinary world. The magical tension was rising.

There was no way I could conceal my approach.

But I didn't want to creep up on them anyway.

A pregnant woman was walking cautiously along the pavement. I shuddered when I saw she was smiling. And I almost turned away when I realised her unborn child was smiling too in its own safe little world.

Their power was like pale pink peonies – a large blossom and a round bud that hadn't unfolded yet.

I had to gather what I found along my way.

Without hesitation or pity.

There was something happening in the world around me too.

The heat seemed to have got stronger. In a single desperate surge.

The Dark and the Light Magicians must have had good reason to spend all those days trying to disperse the heat. Something was going to happen. I stopped and looked up at the sky through the Twilight.

Subtle, twisted coils of swirling air.

Sparks on the horizon.

Fading light in the south-east.

A glowing nimbus round the needle of the Ostankino TV Tower.

It was going to be a strange night.

I touched a little girl running by and took the naïve joy she felt because her father had come home sober. Like snapping off a briar branch, prickly and fragile.

Forgive me.

It was almost eleven o'clock when I reached the 'box on stilts'.

The last person I touched was a drunken factory worker, slumped against the wall in the alley. The same alley where I'd killed a Dark One for the first time. He was barely even conscious. But happy.

I took his power too. A dusty, trampled stem of coarse plantain, a crude, dirty-brown candle.

That was power too.

As I crossed the road, I realised I wasn't alone. I summoned my shadow and withdrew into the Twilight.

The building was cordoned off.

It was the oddest cordon I'd ever seen. Dark Ones and Light Ones all together. I spotted Semyon and nodded to him. He gave me a calm, slightly reproachful look. Tiger Cub, Bear, Ilya, Ignat . . .

When had they summoned them all? While I was wandering round the city, gathering power? Sorry about that holiday, guys.

And the Dark Ones. Even Alisa was there. The witch was a terrible sight: her face looked like a paper mask that had been crumpled and straightened out again. It looked as if Zabulon hadn't been lying when he told me she'd be punished. Alisher was standing beside Alisa, and when I caught his eye, I could tell the two of them would fight. Maybe not now. But some day.

I stepped through the ring.

'This is a restricted zone,' said Alisher.

'This is a restricted zone,' echoed Alisa.

'I have a right to enter.'

I had enough power in me to enter without permission. Only the Great Magicians could stop me now, but they weren't there.

They didn't try to stop me. Someone, either Gesar or Zabulon, or maybe both, must have ordered them just to warn me.

'Good luck,' I heard someone whisper behind me. I swung round and caught Tiger Cub's eye. I nodded.

The entrance hall was empty. And the house had gone quiet, like the time when the immense Inferno vortex was spinning over Svetlana's head: the Evil that she had summoned against herself.

I walked on through the grey gloom. The floor echoed hollowly under my feet. In the Twilight world even the ground responded to magic, even the shades of human buildings did.

The trapdoor to the roof was open. Nobody was trying to put any obstacles in my way. The trouble was I didn't know if I ought to be pleased about that.

I emerged from the Twilight. I couldn't see any point in it. Not now.

I started climbing the ladder.

The first person I saw was Maxim.

He looked quite different from the way he had before, the spontaneous Light Magician, the Maverick who had killed adepts of the Dark for years. Maybe they'd done something to him. Or maybe he'd just changed. There are some people who make ideal executioners.

Maxim had been lucky. He'd become an executioner. An Inquisitor. Standing over and above the Light and the Dark, serving everybody – and nobody. He had his arms crossed on his chest and his head slightly lowered. Something about him reminded me of Zabulon, the first time I'd seen him. And something reminded me of Gesar too. When I appeared, Maxim raised his head slightly and cast a casual glance at me. Then he lowered his gaze.

So I really was allowed in on the whole show.

Zabulon was standing to one side, wrapped in a pale raincoat. He took no notice of my arrival. He'd known I'd be there anyway.

Gesar, Svetlana and Egor were standing together. They gave me a much livelier reception.

'So you came after all?' the boss asked

I nodded and looked at Svetlana. She was wearing a long white dress and her hair was loose. She had a small, glittering box made of white morocco leather in her hand. It looked as if it was meant for a brooch or a medallion.

'Anton, so you know then?' Egor shouted.

If anybody there was happy, he was. Perfectly happy.

'Yes, I know,' I answered. I walked up to him and ruffled his hair.

His power was like a yellow dandelion.

Now I felt like I'd collected all I could.

'Full up?' asked Gesar. 'Anton, what are you planning to do?'

I didn't answer. Something was bothering me. There was something wrong here.

That was it! Why wasn't Olga there?

Had the final briefing already been given? Did Svetlana already know what she had to do?

'A piece of chalk,' I said. 'A little piece of chalk, pointed at both ends. You can use it to write on anything. In a Book of Destiny, for instance. Cross out old lines, write in new ones.'

'Anton, you're not going to tell anyone here anything they don't already know,' the boss said calmly.

'Has permission been given?' I asked.

Gesar looked at Maxim. As if he could feel the glance, the Inquisitor raised his head and said in a hollow voice:

'Permission has been given.'

'The Day Watch wishes to object,' Zabulon said in a dull voice.

'Denied,' Maxim replied indifferently and lowered his head back on to his chest.

'If a Great Sorceress picks up the chalk,' I said, 'every line in the Book of Destiny will take a particle of her soul. And return it to her, changed. You can only change a person's destiny by giving away your own soul.'

'I know,' said Sveta. She smiled. 'I'm sorry, Anton. I think this is the right thing to do. It will be good for everyone.'

There was a brief glint of concern in Egor's eyes. He'd sensed something was wrong.

'Anton, you're a warrior of the Watch,' said Gesar. 'If you have objections, you may speak.'

Objections? To what? To Egor becoming a Light Magician instead of a Dark one? To an attempt, even if it was bound to fail, to bring Good to humans? To Svetlana becoming a Great Sorceress?

Even at the cost of sacrificing everything human she still had inside her.

'There's nothing I wish to say,' I said.

Did I imagine it, or was there a flash of surprise in Gesar's eyes?

It was hard to tell what the Great Magician was really thinking.

'Let's begin,' he said. 'Svetlana, you know what you have to do.'

'I do,' she said, looking at me. I moved a few steps away from her. So did Gesar. Now there were just the two of them standing together – Svetlana and Egor. Both equally anxious. Equally tense. I looked across at Zabulon – he was waiting. Svetlana opened the little box – the click of the catch sounded like a gunshot – and slowly took out the piece of chalk, almost as if she didn't want to. It was tiny. Had it really been worn down so much by the Light's attempts to alter the destiny of the world over the millennia?

Gesar sighed.

Svetlana squatted down and began drawing a circle around herself and the boy.