Day Watch

by Сергей Лукьяненко

  Anton got up, nodded to his friends, and made for the boss's office on the third floor.

  He was feeling really sick at heart, not looking forward at all to the approaching New Year festivities that people everywhere around the planet were anticipating so eagerly, as if the number 2000 could change anything. What did it all really matter? But when Anton reached the door of the office, he felt a faint stirring of interest.

  The magical defenses there were very strong. The Night Watch building itself was protected against observation, and the employees' offices and conference halls had additional screening. But it seemed like today Gesar had put in a lot of extra effort to ensure confidentiality: The air in the corridor was still and stifling, saturated with energy. And this invisible wall extended into the Twilight, much farther down than the first two levels that were accessible to Anton.

  He walked into the office and closed the door firmly behind him. He sensed a slight movement behind his back as the defensive field closed together after being torn for a moment.

  "Sit down, Anton," said Gesar, and asked in a perfectly friendly voice: "Tea, coffee?"

  "Thanks, Boris Ignatievich," Anton replied, calling Gesar by his human name, "but I've just had one."

  "A mug of beer then?" Gesar asked unexpectedly.

  Anton had to stop himself rubbing his eyes or even pinching his arm. Gesar had never shunned the joys of life. He could leap about with the young people at a discotheque, flirt a bit with the silly young girls, and even take off with one of them for the whole night. He enjoyed sitting in a restaurant over dishes of exotic food, driving the waiters backward and forward, and setting the cooks trembling with his knowledge of exotic culinary subtleties. He could even go out with his staff, acting like one of the boys and drinking beer with smoked bream, vodka with freshly salted pickles, and wine with fruit.

  But there was one thing Gesar never did, and that was to hold parties at the workplace. The ten members of the analytical section who drank a bottle of cognac to celebrate the birthday of Yulia, the watch's youngest enchantress and a universal favorite, had been punished with genuinely brilliant originality. Not even an intercession by Olga, who had been involved in the misdemeanor along with the others, had helped. The punishment had been devised individually for each of them, and it had been the most hurtful possible. Yulia, for instance, had been made to stay away from the Watch offices for a week and instead attend an ordinary school with teenagers her own age, go to the ice-cream parlor with the girls in her class, and go to the movies and discotheques with the boys. Yulia had returned to the Watch, fuming with indignation, and for ages she'd kept repeating: "God, if you only knew how stupid they all are! I hate them."

  For those three words "I hate them!" she received another day's penalty and a long lecture from Gesar on the subject of "Can a Light enchantress entertain negative feelings for people?"

  So now Anton was standing there in front of Gesar, frozen over the chair he'd been about to sit down in. He'd forgotten what he was doing.

  "Sit down, will you?" Gesar prompted him. "No point in standing. So will you have a beer?"

  "It's not quite the weather for it," Anton replied, indicating the window with his eyes. Outside there were large, heavy flakes of snow swirling through the air. A genuine Christmas blizzard. "Not the right weather… and not the right place?"

  He surprised himself by making the last phrase sound like a question.

  Gesar thought for a moment. "Yes, we could go to some amusing little place," he said, with a note of real interest in his voice. "For instance, that little cafe in the South-West district, where all the dentists go. Can you imagine it? The favorite cafe of Moscow 's tooth-pullers? And there's a little pizzeria at the Belorussian station, that's a real blast…"

  "Boris Ignatievich," Anton asked, unable to resist, "where do you dig all these places up from? The mountain-skiers' restaurant, the lesbians' bar, the plumbers' snack bar, the philatelists' pelmeni joint…"

  Gesar shrugged and spread his arms: "Anton, my dear fellow, let me remind you once again what we work with. We work with…"

  "The Dark Ones," Gorodetsky blurted out and sat down in the chair.

  "No, my boy, you're wrong. We work with people. And people are not a herd of cloned sheep who chew their grass in synchronized motion and all fart at the same time. Every human being is an individual. That is our joy, because it makes the work of the Dark Ones harder. And it's also our misfortune, because it makes our work harder too. In order to understand these people, whose souls, after all, are what the endless battle between the Watches is fought over, we have to know them all. It's not just that I have to, you understand. We have to! And we have to understand every one of them-from the pimply-faced kid who chews Ecstasy tabs at the discotheque to the ancient professor who's the last in a dying line of blue-blooded aristocrats and spends all his time growing cacti… Oh, by the way, the bar where cactus-lovers get together has rather interesting cuisine and highly original decor. But you and I can't go anywhere right now. Did you sense the defenses?"

  Anton nodded.

  "Believe me, I had good reason to install them. And sound security arrangements in a crowded place would be far more complicated. I don't think I can really afford to waste that much Power at the moment…" Gesar rubbed his hand across his face and sighed. He looked really tired, all right. "By the way… take this. A small present."

  Anton accepted the small object from his boss's hands with a surprised expression. It was something like a globe: a ball that was made out of thin needles of bone… yes, it was bone… bent into arcs and stuck into two little disks of wood at the poles. The ball was empty… But no, it wasn't. It was full of Power. Power that was sleeping, constrained.

  "What is it?" Anton asked, almost in a panic.

  "Don't worry. It's not liquefied bliss."

  "Er… what's liquefied bliss?"

  Gesar sighed: "How should I know? It was a joke. A figure of speech. A turn of phrase. A metaphor. I'm not even sure that bliss exists, let alone whether it can be liquefied. What you're holding in your hands is something like a magical white noise generator. If you need to have an absolutely-let me emphasize that-absolutely secret conversation, one that nobody can listen to, no matter what means they use, simply break the ball in your hand. You'll probably cut your hand, that's just the unavoidable price. But then for the next twelve hours there'll be no way anyone can monitor or check what's happening in a sphere ten meters across, with you at the center, no matter what technical or magical means they use."

  "Thanks," Anton said gloomily. "Somehow a present like this fails to inspire me."

  "You'll thank me again for it yet. So, will you have a beer or not?"

  "Yes. But why does it have to be beer?"

  "To avoid too serious a violation of my own rules," Gesar said with a contented smile. "We're at work, after all."

  He pressed a button on the intercom and said quietly: "Olya, bring us some beer."

  Nothing in the world was going to surprise Anton now. But Gesar released the button and explained anyway.

  "Galochka's a magnificent secretary. But she's a fourth-level enchantress. And she could give information away to the enemy without even realizing it. So just for today I changed my secretary."

  A minute later Olga came in with a tray on which there were two immense glass mugs full of light-colored beer, an impressive crystal jug holding about two liters of the same drink, and a plate with an assortment of cheeses.

  "Hi there, Antoshka," Olga said in a very friendly tone of voice. "You like Budweiser, don't you?"

  "What Light One doesn't like light Czech beer?" Anton asked, trying to joke. The joke fell flat, but his readiness even to attempt a pun was amazing. He hadn't felt like doing that for ages…

  "How's Sveta doing?" Olga asked, still in the same tone.

  Anton gritted his teeth. The weight that had fallen from his heart returned for a moment.

  "Still the same…"

&
nbsp; "Nothing?"

  Anton nodded.

  "I'll call around to see her this evening," Olga told him. "I think she's ready for visitors now. And I'll find some way to make her feel better… trust me."

  It was true. Who better to console a Great Enchantress who had lost her magic powers for a long time than another Great Enchantress who had been deprived of her powers for many decades in punishment for a misdemeanor?

  "Yes, come round, Olga," said Anton. "Sveta will be very glad to see you."

  Gesar cleared his throat gently.

  "You've got plenty of time," Olga snapped. "Anton, you know… I wish you luck. I sincerely wish you luck."

  "Luck with what?" Anton asked, puzzled.

  Instead of answering, Olga leaned down over him and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

  "Well now!" was all Gesar could find to say.

  "Ever since Anton and I swapped bodies," Olga remarked casually, "you don't really have any right to be jealous of me with him. And especially over such a tiny thing. Right, boys! Behave yourselves, don't drink too much, and if there are any problems-call me."

  "Any problems?" Gesar echoed with a frown. But Olga was already on her way out. The Great Magician watched her go, and when the door closed, he sighed and said, "Living with a Great Enchantress is a real ordeal. Even for me. How do you manage it, Anton?"

  "Svetlana didn't have time to become a genuinely Great Enchantress," Anton remarked. He picked up one of the mugs and took a mouthful of beer. It was excellent. Just the way real beer ought to be.

  "But you're glad of that, surely?" Gesar inquired.

  "No." Anton took a piece of strong-flavored goat's milk cheese. "I'm not."

  "Why not?" Gesar asked with gentle curiosity. "Now you have several decades of happy life as equals ahead of you. Ideally fifty whole years."

  "Gesar, what happiness can there be if the woman I love feels like a worthless cripple?" Anton asked sharply. "And if it's my fault, at least partly."

  "Partly?"

  Anton nodded. "Yes, exactly. Partly."

  Gesar paused. Then he asked the question Anton had been expecting three weeks earlier but had already stopped expecting.

  "Tell me, what happened between you and Zabulon."

  "He came to my apartment again. Like the first time."

  "And he entered with the help of your vampire friend again?" Gesar inquired.

  "No, after the other time I closed my home to him. I simply don't understand how Zabulon could have got through."

  Gesar nodded and took a drink of beer.

  "Then Zabulon suggested I should commit… an act of betrayal. He said that Vitaly Rogoza was a Mirror-Magician created by the Twilight in response to the increasing strength of the Night Watch. That his main goal was to kill Svetlana or deprive her of her powers. And if I was late for the session of the Inquisition, then Rogoza would strip Svetlana of her Power and dematerialize."

  "And you agreed?"

  Anton thought before he formulated his answer. He'd run through this conversation with Gesar plenty of times in his head. But he'd never found the right words…

  "Gesar, the only other alternative would have been continuing confrontation. Obviously, either Svetlana would have been killed, or…"

  "Or?" Gesar was clearly interested.

  "Or many Others would have been… less exalted members of the Watch. To weaken us to the same extent overall."

  Gesar nodded. "You figured it out for yourself?"

  "No, not entirely. I rummaged in the archives and found a few similar cases, one of which ended with the annihilation of the entire Kiev division of Night Watch, apart from its leader, Alexander von Kissel. That time, the Mirror's target was apparently von Kissel, but he managed to protect himself. The result was that ordinary operatives and magicians died."

  "But why didn't you contact me?" Gesar asked. "Why didn't you warn me about Zabulon's visit?"

  "How could I know what he was expecting to happen? Maybe just that-for me to go dashing to you for advice. Zabulon was clearly trying to trick me, but I couldn't figure out what the trap was. It could have been a mistake to contact you, or to keep quiet. So I chose a third way. I tried to prevent the Mirror getting to Svetlana. Using a very primitive method-I rammed his car."

  "Bravo," said Gesar in a strange, squeaky voice. "Well done, Anton. It didn't work, but it was a good try. But why didn't you tell anyone who Rogoza was?"

  "Why didn't you tell anyone, Boris Ignatievich?" Anton asked, raising his head. "Or are you trying to tell me it wasn't you who led the investigation into the events in Kiev in October 1906? Or is one lousy century too much for your memory to retain? The entire situation was a perfect parallel. A certain Vladimir Sobolev came to Kiev from Poltava and registered with the Night Watch. He was later found at the scene of the murder of a young streetwalker, where there were clear signs of vampirism, then he was caught near the spot where a witches' coven was dispersed…"

  "What did I summon you for?" Gesar asked in a very loud, indignant voice. "To question you about the dubious circumstances of your relations with Dark Ones or to hear you accusing me?"

  "You summoned me, Boris Ignatievich, to have a drink of beer. And to ask me to do something for you."

  Gesar started breathing heavily. Then he shook his head. "No, I'm not going to ask. I still have the right to order you."

  "Go ahead," Anton said, pleased. "I won't argue, I'll carry out my orders. Right down the line. Only that's not what you want, is it? An obedient agent without any initiative?"

  Gesar shrugged. "All right. You win. I want to ask you to do something for me, Anton…"

  "First answer me… about the Mirror."

  "Then listen. Mirrors have appeared nine times-if we take just the documented and proven instances. Only two of them have been on our side. The last three appearances of a Mirror have been on the side of the Dark Ones, each time at a place where the forces of Light had a significant advantage and plans were being made for… for a large-scale operation of some kind. It's impossible to fight a Mirror. He beats off any magical attack by rising to the level of his enemy and defends himself against ordinary attacks by using magical means. All you can do is choose who to sacrifice-a dozen of the rank and file magicians or one of the Great Ones."

  "And you decided to let him have Tiger Cub and Svetlana."

  "I didn't decide a thing! In the first place, until Tiger Cub was killed I wasn't even sure that what we were facing really was a Mirror!" Gesar smashed his fist down on the desk, spilling the beer. "And nobody was supposed to die. It was all supposed to end with Rogoza being captured-which would have meant he wasn't a Mirror at all, just an ordinary visiting emissary-or with us retreating. I didn't expect Tiger Cub to blow her top like that!"

  "She was a very impulsive girl."

  "No, Anton. You're wrong. She was an energetic and impulsive Other, but she had excellent control. And this outburst of hers…" Gesar paused. "It seems that I underestimated the strength of her feelings for Andrei Tiunnikov…"

  "They'd been seeing each other a lot just recently," Anton admitted. "He even went to her place out in the country, and Tiger Cub was very fond of her privacy. And when Andrei… well, just why did he go into Rogoza's room?"

  "To show off to Tiger Cub…" Gesar sighed. "Ah, you little boys and girls, still green, boasting to each other, showing off your magic, your battle scars, talismans, and amulets… why is there so much human stupidity in all of you?"

  "Because we are people. People who are Others, but still people. And we don't become genuine Others right away."

  Gesar nodded. "You're right again, Anton. You have to live a complete human life, eighty years or a hundred, lose your family and all your loved ones who are human, see how ridiculous the politicians are, building their empires to last a thousand years, and the philosophers, creating their eternal truths for one or two generations… that's when you become an Other. But while you live your first, human life, you're still a human being
. Even if you can enter the Twilight, cast spells, and read the reality lines… You're still a human being, Anton. And so is Svetlana. And Tiger Cub and Andrei were human beings. And your human side is where the Darkness catches you out. Your weaknesses, your emotions."

  "Is love really a weakness?"

  "If you have love in you, it's a strength. But if you are in love, it's a weakness."

  "We can't do it any other way yet."

  "Yes, you can, Anton. It's hard for you, but you can…" Gesar looked into his eyes. "Well, are you still angry with me?"

  "No. I believe you tried… your best."

  "Yes, I tried. And I pulled it off-that's the amazing thing."

  "Tiger Cub and Andrei dead, Svetlana powerless-and you say you pulled it off?" Anton exclaimed indignantly.

  "Yes. Because all the other options were far worse. And surprising as it may seem, what's happened doesn't simply play into the hands of Zabulon and his mangy curs." Gesar smiled. A cold, ironic smile. A very disturbing, suggestive smile.

  "That still won't do Svetlana any good…" Anton began. Then he stopped, because Gesar shook his head.

  "It's not finished yet, Anton. In fact, it's only just begun."

  The chief of the Night Watch poured them each a second mug of beer, took a sip, and leaned back in his armchair.

  "Boris Ignatievich…"

  "Anton, I understand everything. You're tired. I'm tired too, we're all tired, we're full of bitterness, pain, anguish. But we're at war, and this war's a very long way from over yet. If you want to withdraw from it-then go. Live as an ordinary Light One. But while you're in the Watch… you are in the Watch, Anton?"

  "Yes!"

  "Well, that's excellent. Do you like the beer?"

  "Yes," Anton muttered.

  "Well, that's excellent too. Because you're flying to the homeland of this divine beverage. To Prague."