“Erasmus, what’s going on?” I asked. “Pardon me for asking, but are you drunk?”
“Yes, a little bit,” he admitted. I heard a distinct gulp. “But this is such a rare whisky . . . so very old. I was keeping it for a special occasion . . .”
“Erasmus, what’s happening there?” I shouted.
“It’s the Tiger,” the prophet replied very calmly. “I deceived you ever so slightly, Antoine. Don’t hold it against me. I carved two chalices out of the tree into which I shouted my prophecy.”
“You’ve found out what your own prophecy was?” I cried, jumping up off my chair. I ran to the window. Right now: who was there on the premises right now? No one . . . but if I really hurried, there were people walking by in the street . . . “Erasmus, hold on for a minute! I’ll hand the phone to someone, you tell them.”
“Don’t bother, Antoine,” Erasmus told me. “It’s all predetermined. Don’t bother! And don’t try to discover my prophecy, please. It won’t bring you joy and a long life. Don’t be angry that I gave you the chalice. Forget about it, bury it.”
“I can’t promise you that I’ll do that,” I said honestly.
Erasmus sighed into the phone.
“Then forgive me. I only have twenty seconds left. The Tiger’s about to break through my defenses. I’m putting my will into a briefcase—a crocodile-skin briefcase . . . there. It will be lying on the table in the kitchen.”
“Erasmus, I’m very sorry!” I exclaimed. “Maybe there’s something I can do?”
“Contact the London Day Watch. Ask them . . . to tidy up my home.” He paused for a moment, and then said quite calmly and clearly, in good Russian: “Farewell, Moscow Magician Anton Gorodetsky.”
First the noise in the earpiece fell silent.
And then the connection was broken.
I looked at the screen. Length of conversation: two minutes, twenty-eight seconds. I had heard Erasmus Darwin’s final prophecy even as he spoke it.
Erasmus was a good Prophet.
Or rather, he had been.
And in general, not a bad Other. For a Dark One, quite remarkable.
I walked over to the window, opened it, and lit a cigarette. It was cold and overcast, threatening rain.
That was how Olga found me—smoking at the window. She walked up without saying a word and took out her slim “feminine” cigarettes. When she had emerged from her confinement in the body of an owl thirteen years earlier, she had smoked Belomor papyroses at first—the height of chic back in her time. Only she had soon found her bearings in a changed world.
“What’s wrong, Anton?” she asked. “You look really terrible.”
“Erasmus phoned me.”
“Darwin? What did he want?”
“To say goodbye. He had another chalice with the prophecy sealed inside it—and he couldn’t resist the temptation. He found out his own prophecy . . . and then the Tiger came.”
Olga swore. Coarsely, like a man. She asked: “Is there nothing we can do?”
“No. He only had two and a half minutes—he wanted to say goodbye. And he asked me not to try to find out the prophecy, no matter what.”
“Destroy the chalice,” Olga said firmly. “Anton, don’t play games with prophecies. It’s a good thing that Kesha’s prophecy turned out to be so vague—incredibly vague, if you ask me. But any prophecy is potentially dangerous.”
I wasn’t surprised that Gesar had already shared his information with her. Or that Olga had immediately come to me and was concerned for my safety: that was in her nature. But there was something bothering me. Something wasn’t right. But Olga gave me a demanding look and I nodded reluctantly.
“All right.”
“Today.”
“All right.”
“I feel like I ought to keep tabs on you, Anton.”
“Olga, I swear. I’ll go back home today and destroy the chalice.”
She looked into my eyes and nodded, reassured.
“Thank you. Maybe everything will be all right. Probably it was wrong—” she said, and stopped.
“What was wrong?” I asked. “You mean it was wrong of Gesar and you to think up that trick with the Chalk of Destiny? Wrong to turn my daughter into a Zero-Level Enchantress?”
“Who could tell then that she would be yours . . .” Olga replied somberly.
“Why did you need to do it at all? A massive shift like that in the balance between the Watches . . . I can just imagine the kind of concessions it cost.”
“Let’s just say we did it on credit,” Olga said casually.
“Meaning?”
“We’ll be settling up with the Dark Ones for fifty years.”
I didn’t say anything to that.
“I suppose it would be pointless to ask what the Dark Ones were granted the right to in exchange for Nadya’s appearance?”
“Absolutely pointless,” Olga replied sharply. “Let’s just drop the subject.”
“But why? What did you need to do it for? A Zero-Level Enchantress is a violation of the equilibrium, a disruption of the balance, it . . . it’s like an atomic weapon that’s made in order not to be used . . .”
I understood the whole thing myself before I’d even finished speaking.
“It’s not against the Dark Ones, is it?” I asked Olga. “That’s why Zabulon agreed . . . that’s why the Inquisition turned a blind eye . . .”
For a long moment Olga didn’t answer. The dead cigarette end trembled in her fingers.
“Nadya’s a weapon against the Twilight, right?” I said. “She’s the only Other capable of destroying the Twilight—of destroying the entire world of magic. You . . . you had suspected for a long time . . . for a long time that the Twilight was not simply an environment, not just energy—but a person. And you were afraid. That was why Gesar consulted with Zabulon. And you involved the Inquisition too, right? And it was decided that the Others needed a deterrent, just in case . . . in case the Twilight should suddenly stop carrying out our petty whims and become far too active. How did you decide what color she would be? Did you toss a coin? Zabulon took heads and Gesar took tails? Doesn’t it bother you that you’re raising a child as a living weapon?”
“I had no part in it!” Olga replied abruptly. “If you remember, I was still a stuffed bird.”
“But you held the Chalk!”
“I was desperate not to spend another fifty years in the cupboard, Anton! And I didn’t realize what it was all about at first. Do you think Gesar let me in on all the details straight away? Oh, sure—it sometimes seems to me that he hides his own plans from himself!”
“I’ll tell Nadya everything,” I said. “She has a right to know. So that no one can try to use her without her knowledge.”
Olga sighed.
“No one intends to use her. It’s just a precaution. Don’t burden the child with it, let her grow up.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, and closed the window. “But all of you really are . . .”
Olga narrowed her eyes as she looked at me.
“Really are what? If the leaders of the Watches have arrived at the valid suspicion that the Twilight is an active force, that it possesses will and desires—what would you have us do? The Twilight doesn’t enter into contact with us: its most real manifestation is the Tiger—and he’s not very talkative. So what would you have us do? Rely on its goodwill? But who can say that we understand the good in the same way? Better to have an Other in reserve who can stand up against the Twilight in a crisis. And bear in mind, by the way, that your daughter is effectively under the care and protection of both Watches! She’s a communal weapon!”
“She’s not a weapon,” I said wearily. “She’s a person.”
“She’s not an ordinary person, she’s an Other!”
“All that’s nothing but words, Olga,” I said, starting to stride round the office. I looked at her and asked: “You don’t think that the Twilight really is harmful? That it would be better to destroy it? Maybe
I should ask my daughter . . .”
“But are you certain that she would survive the Twilight?” asked Olga. “She’s an Absolute Enchantress. All the Power in the world flows through her. Are you sure that Nadya can live at all without it?”
“Bastards,” I said. “You’re all such bastards . . .”
Olga simply shrugged, as if to say: Think what you like.
“Contact the London Day Watch, will you?” I asked her. “They need to visit Erasmus’s house. His will is lying on the kitchen table, in a crocodile-skin briefcase.”
“Where are you going?” Olga shouted after me.
“Home. Consider me on leave.” As I closed the door, I couldn’t resist adding: “Indefinitely.”
Chapter 7
ONE BAD THING ABOUT AN ORDINARY CITY FLAT IS THAT IT’S hard to burn a large object in it. Especially if the object’s magical, which means that in order to avoid unpleasant consequences it’s best to burn it with ordinary fire.
Now, if only I’d had a flat with a fireplace in it! Then I’d have tossed the wooden chalice into the blazing heap of wood, closed down the damper of the hearth a bit, and watched as the prophecy for which Erasmus had died disappeared forever.
But just what was this prophecy? And why had Arina and I both got away scot-free with listening to Kesha’s prophecy, which the Tiger had wanted so badly to prevent that he had even spoken in human language? And in any case, it was strange, preposterous: not a prophecy, but an information bulletin—it could have been included in Wikipedia . . .
I glanced round the balcony. Maybe I could light a little fire here? I could handle the fire brigade if I had to . . .
But we had a good balcony, glassed-in, with an insulated wood-laminate floor. Svetlana would bite my head off if a burnt spot appeared on that wood. If only there had been some ceramic tiles left over after the renovation work . . . but we’d used up every last one.
After I’d wasted enough time trying to come up with something, I went back into the flat, through into the kitchen, opened the oven and took out the steel baking tray. That would do the job.
But then, why go back out onto the balcony? Erasmus’s wooden chalice wasn’t very big, it fit into the oven perfectly.
I held it in my hands again for a moment. It was made very precisely, lovingly. Perhaps not with any special skill, but with genuine care and application.
So there had been two of them. It was a pity to do this, of course. Quite apart from the cunningly concealed magical filling, the chalice was interesting in its own right. An ancient relic . . .
But the prophecy concealed in the chalices had already killed its owner.
Oh no. Enough sacrifices. Down with prophecies. I put the chalice on the baking tray and went to get a bottle of lighter fluid. (I’d been using those cheap gas lighters for ages, but the bottle had been standing in the cupboard, waiting for its time to come.)
“May you rest easy in the Twilight, Erasmus,” I said, dousing the chalice generously with petrol.
The front door slammed.
“Daddy! I’m home!” Nadya shouted. “Anna Tikhonovna fell ill and let us off the last lesson!”
Sveta had been going to collect Nadya from school that day.
“Okay,” I shouted back, squatting down in front of the oven with a box of matches in my hand.
“I’ve brought visitors.”
“Yes?” I asked, looking round.
Nadya appeared in the doorway. Then Kesha appeared awkwardly behind her.
“Hi, Innokentii,” I said. For some reason I wasn’t surprised by his visit. “How are things?”
“Fine . . .” he said, and hesitated, not looking up. “The lessons are interesting.”
“That’s great,” I said in the vigorous tone that grown-ups use for talking to children.
“Kesha’s mum is working late,” Nadya explained. “I invited him over to our place. Mummy promised to take him home afterwards.”
“But where is Mummy?”
“She drove us to the entrance and then went to get some toilet paper,” Nadya said, with a giggle. There’s an age at which the very words “toilet paper” sound remarkably funny, especially if you say them in front of someone the same age as you.
“Yes, I forgot to buy any yesterday,” I said in a repentant voice.
Nadya looked round and shouted into the hallway: “No, those are Mummy’s slippers, the green ones are for visitors!”
“Have we got lots of visitors, then?” I asked, getting up.
“Not really lots,” said Nadya, slightly embarrassed. “Just Aunty Arina as well. We met her in the entrance. She was coming to see us.”
I took a couple of swift strides and positioned myself between the children and the hallway. My left hand was still holding the box of matches. But the fingers of my right hand were already folded into the Shield sign.
“Anton,” Arina shouted from the hallway. “Peace, friendship, chewing gum!”
She glanced in cautiously from the corridor.
“I come in peace!” she said, smiling broadly. “No evil here. You can see that the children are fine!”
Nadya seemed to have realized that she had acted rashly. She didn’t make a sound, but she grabbed hold of Kesha’s hand and dragged him in further behind me.
And I felt a bottomless well of Power seething and brimming over just a meter away from me.
“Nadya,” I said in a quiet voice. “You know perfectly well that you shouldn’t bring strange . . . people back home.”
“But she’s not an ordinary person,” said Nadya, trying to make excuses. “She’s an Other . . . a Light One.”
“She used to be a Dark One,” I said. “But that’s not the point: there are some Light Ones who don’t have a single white spot left on them.”
“Anton, you’re being insulting!” Arina exclaimed indignantly.
She looked entirely peaceable. A long dress, long hair arranged in a bun, looking like an elderly village school teacher. The large fluffy slippers on her feet completed the picture.
“What have you come for?” I asked.
I wasn’t really afraid. Svetlana would arrive in a moment. I was in my own flat—and at home the very walls lend you strength, every Other knows that. And in addition, I had my daughter beside me. Not very skillful, but infinitely powerful. And if she struck out—with anything at all—Arina would go flying out through the wall.
“As I understand it, you’ve decided to do away with the chalice,” Arina said. “I’d like to watch that. May I?”
“I’m going to burn it,” I said. “And don’t try to change my mind.”
Something elusive glinted for a moment in her eyes. Could it really have been relief?
“I swear that I won’t! But can I just watch? And then I’ll leave! I swear—”
“I’ve had enough of your oaths!” I growled. “You should be thankful that the children are here. Nadya, Kesha! Stand over there, in the corner! I’m just going to burn this lump of wood, then Arina will say bye-bye and leave. Okay?”
“Can I say ‘See you later, alligator’?” Arina asked, smiling sweetly.
“How come you have such a good knowledge of 1950s slang?” I asked. “You were asleep then!”
“I’ve been watching a lot of movies just recently,” she said. “I don’t like the modern ones very much, they’re spiteful. But fifty years ago people knew how to make good-hearted films.”
“A good-hearted Baba-Yaga,” I snorted, and prepared to strike the match. Arina watched me attentively, not looking as if she wanted to interfere. But one of her hands was tightly clenched on something. “The Minoan Sphere!” I said, realizing what it was. “Put it on the floor and take a couple of steps back!”
She didn’t argue. That should probably have put me on my guard. She opened her hand, showed me the small sphere of white marble . . . so that’s what you look like, you famous Minoan Sphere, the Inquisition’s number one headache. Then she squatted down, carefully placed the
sphere on the floor, and set it rolling in my direction. Either the floor of the flat wasn’t very even, or Arina’s hand trembled, but the sphere rolled under the shoe locker.
“Anton, I’m playing fair and square.”
Oh, but I don’t believe in honest Witches at all—and not very much in honest Others . . .
“No sudden movements,” I said, just in case. I lit the match and threw it into the oven, trying to keep my eyes on Arina.
There was a flash of flame. Quiet a powerful one—the concentration of petrol fumes must have built up. Nadya even cried out—but, like the fine young fellow he was, Kesha stepped forward towards the stove, to face up to the danger.
“That’s it,” I said to Arina. “Happy now?”
Arina was gazing intently into the oven.
“So, you made up your mind after all, Daddy?” Nadya asked in a deliberately loud voice, evidently ashamed of being frightened.
“Yes. No one should hear this prophecy,” I said. “It has already . . . done enough damage today.”
Arina suddenly laughed.
“Ah, Anton,” she said. “Straight, honest, simple, and naive. So you still haven’t realized?”
“Daddy, I think the prophecy is revealed when the chalice is destroyed . . .” whispered Nadya.
I managed to turn round in time. I even managed to take a step towards the open oven, towards the wooden chalice blazing with a bluish flame . . .
But the next second the threshold of destruction that Erasmus had implanted in his handiwork was reached.
And I was on the edge of a dark forest at night.
About five meters away from me I could just barely make out a village track running through the darkness. Beyond it were fields, and beyond the fields were dim lights that I guessed at rather than saw with my eyes. Yes, the electricity supply wasn’t so good back then—or rather, there wasn’t any.
There were two shadows darting about in silence on the track. One was almost incorporeal and moved with incredible speed. The other was moving fast, too, but was far more material—and it was carrying a glowing blue whip in its hand. The blows of the whip occasionally connected with its adversary, but didn’t seem to cause him any serious injury at all.
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