"Hello, Anton," Larissa said to me. "You're looking good."
"Two weeks on the beach!" I replied proudly.
Larissa squinted at the clock. "I was told to show you right in. But the boss still has visitors. Will you go in?"
"Yes," I decided. "Seems like I needn't have bothered hurrying."
"Gorodetsky's here to see you, Boris Ignatievich," Larissa said into the intercom. She nodded to me. "Go on in… oh, it's hot in there…"
It really was hot inside Gesar's door. There were two middle-aged men I didn't know languishing in the armchairs in front of his desk-I mentally christened them Thin Man and Fat Man, after Chekhov's short story. But both of them were sweating.
"And what do we observe?" Gesar asked them reproachfully. He cast a sideways glance at me. "Come in, Anton. Sit down, I'll be finished in a moment…"
Thin Man and Fat Man perked up a bit at that.
"Some mediocre housewife… distorting all the facts… vulgarizing and simplifying everything… running rings around you! On a global scale!"
"She can do that precisely because she vulgarizes and simplifies," Fat Man retorted morosely.
"You told us to tell everything like it is," Thin Man said in support. "And this is the result, Most Lucent Gesar!"
I took a look at Gesar's visitors through the Twilight. Well, well! More human beings! And yet they knew the boss's name and title! And they even pronounced them with candid sarcasm! Of course, there are always special circumstances, but for Gesar to reveal himself to ordinary people…
"All right," Gesar said with a nod. "I'll let you have one more try. This time work separately."
Thin Man and Fat Man exchanged glances.
"We'll do our best," Fat Man said with a good-natured smile. "You understand, though-we've already had a certain degree of success…"
Gesar snorted. As if they'd been given some invisible signal that the conversation was over, the visitors stood up, shook the boss's hand in farewell and walked out. In the reception area Thin Man made some amusing and flirtatious remark to Larissa, and she laughed.
"Ordinary people?" I asked cautiously.
Gesar nodded, gazing at the door with a hostile expression. He sighed.
"People, people… All right, Gorodetsky. Sit down."
I sat down, but Gesar still didn't start the conversation. He fiddled with his papers, fingered some bright-colored, smoothly polished glass beads heaped up in a coarse earthenware bowl. I felt like looking to see if they were amulets or really just glass beads, but I didn't want to risk taking any liberties in front of Gesar.
"How was your vacation?" Gesar asked, as if he'd exhausted all his excuses for delaying the conversation.
"Good," I answered. "I missed Sveta, of course. But I couldn't drag little Nadya out into that scorching Spanish sun. That's no good…"
"No," Gesar agreed, "it isn't." I didn't know if the Great Magician had any children-even close associates weren't trusted with information like that. He probably did. He was almost certainly capable of experiencing something like paternal feelings. "Anton, did you phone Svetlana?"
"No," I said and shook my head. "Has she contacted you?"
Gesar nodded. Then suddenly he couldn't contain himself any longer-he slammed his fist down on the desk and burst out: "Just what did she think she was doing? First she deserts the Watch…"
"Gesar, every one of us has the right to resign," I objected. But Gesar had no intention of apologizing.
"Deserts! An enchantress of her level doesn't belong to herself! She has no right to belong to herself! If, that is… if she calls herself a Light One… And then-she's raising her daughter as a human being!"
"Nadya is a human being," I said, feeling myself starting to fume too. "Whether or not she becomes an Other is for her to decide… Most Lucent Gesar!"
Gesar realized that I was all set to blow too and he changed his tone.
"Okay. That's your right. Pull out of the fight, ruin the little girl's life… anything you like! But where does this hate come from?"
"What did Sveta say?" I asked.
Gesar sighed. "Your wife phoned me. On a number that she has no right to know…"
"Then she doesn't know it," I put in.
"And she told me I intended to have you killed! That I was hatching a highly complicated plot for your physical elimination!"
I looked into Gesar's eyes for a second. Then I laughed.
"You think it's funny?" Gesar asked in a voice filled with pain. "You really think so?"
"Gesar…" I said, suppressing my laughter with an effort. "I'm sorry. May I speak frankly?"
"By all means…"
"You are the greatest plotter of anybody I know. Worse than Zabulon. Compared to you, Machiavelli was a mere pup…"
"Don't be so quick to underestimate Machiavelli," Gesar growled. "I get the idea, I'm a plotter. And?"
"And I'm sure you have no intention of getting me killed. In a crisis, perhaps, you might sacrifice me. In order to save a commensurately greater number of people or Light Others. But not that way… by planning… and scheming… I don't believe it."
"Thanks, I'm glad to hear it," Gesar said with a nod. I couldn't tell if I'd nettled him or not. "Then what on earth has Svetlana gotten into her head? I'm sorry, Anton…" Gesar suddenly hesitated and even looked away, but he finished what he was saying. "Are you expecting a child? Another one?"
I choked and shook my head. "No… at least, I don't think so… no, she would have told me."
"Women sometimes go a bit crazy when they're expecting a child," Gesar growled and started fingering his glass beads again. "They start seeing danger everywhere-for the child, for their husband, for themselves… Or maybe now she has…" But then the Great Magician got really embarrassed and stopped himself short. "That's rubbish… forget it. Why don't you pay your wife a visit in the country, play with your daughter, drink some milk fresh from the cow…"
"My vacation ends tomorrow," I reminded him. Oh, there was something not right here! "And I thought the idea was that I was going to work today?"
Gesar stared hard at me. "Anton, forget about work! Svetlana shouted at me for fifteen minutes. If she was a Dark One, there'd be an Inferno Vortex hanging over my head right now. That's it, work's cancelled. I'm extending your vacation for a week- go to the country and see your wife!"
In the Moscow department of the Watch we have a saying: "There are three things a Light Other can't do: organize his own personal life, achieve worldwide peace and happiness, and get time off from Gesar." To be honest, I was quite happy with my personal life, and now I'd been given an extra week of vacation. So maybe worldwide peace and happiness were only just around the corner?
"Aren't you pleased?" Gesar asked.
"Yes," I admitted. No, I wasn't inspired by the prospect of weeding the vegetable beds under the watchful eye of my mother-in-law. But Sveta and Nadya would be there. Nadya, Nadyenka, Nadiushka. My little two-year-old miracle. A lovely little human being… Potentially an Other of immense power. An Enchantress so very Great that Gesar himself couldn't hold a candle to her. I imagined the Great Light Magician Gesar standing there holding a candle, so that little Nadya could play with her toys, and grinned.
"Call into the accounts office, they'll issue you a bonus…" Gesar continued, not suspecting the humiliation I was subjecting him to in my mind. "Think up the citation for yourself. Something like… for many years of conscientious service…"
"Gesar, what kind of job was it?" I asked.
Gesar stopped talking and tried to drill right through me with his gaze. When he got nowhere, he said, "When I tell you everything, you will phone Svetlana. From here. And you'll ask her if you should agree or not. Okay? And you tell her about the extra vacation too."
"What's happened?"
Instead of replying, Gesar pulled open the drawer of the desk, took out a black leather folder and held it out to me. The folder had a distinct aura of magic-powerful, dangerous battle magic
.
"Don't worry, open it, you've been granted access…" Gesar growled.
I opened the folder-at that point any unauthorized Other or human being would have been reduced to a handful of ash.
Inside the folder was a letter. Just one single envelope. The address of our office was written in newsprint, carefully cut out and stuck onto the envelope. And, naturally, there was no return address.
"The letters have been cut out of three newspapers," said Gesar. "Pravda, Kommersant, and Arguments and Facts."
"Ingenious," I remarked. "Can I open it?"
"Yes, do. The forensic experts have already done everything they can with the envelope-there aren't any fingerprints. The glue was made in China and it's on sale in every newspaper kiosk."
"And it's written on toilet paper!" I exclaimed in absolute delight as I took the letter out of the envelope. "Is it clean at least?"
"Unfortunately," said Gesar. "Not the slightest trace of organic matter. Standard cheap pulp. 'Fifty-four meters', they call it."
The sheet of toilet paper had been carelessly torn off along the perforation and the text was glued onto it in different-sized letters. Or rather, in entire words, with a few endings added separately, and with no regard for the typeface:
"The NIGHT WATCH should BE INTERESTED to know that a CERTAIN Other has REVEALed to a CERTAIN human being the entire truth about oTHErs and now inTENDs to turn this human beING into an OTHER. A wellWISHer."
I would have laughed, but somehow I didn't feel like it. Instead, I remarked perspicaciously, " 'Night Watch' is written in complete words…"
"There was an article in Arguments and Facts," Gesar explained. "About a fire at the TV tower. It was called night watch ON THE OSTANKINO TOWER."
"Clever," I agreed. The mention of the tower gave me a slight twinge. That hadn't exactly been the best time of my life… And those weren't the most enjoyable adventures I'd ever had. I would be haunted for the rest of my days by the face of the Dark Other I threw off the TV tower in the Twilight…
"Don't get moody, Anton, you didn't do anything wrong," said Gesar. "Let's get down to business."
"Let's do that, Boris Ignatievich," I said, calling the boss by his old "civilian" name. "Is this for real, then?"
Gesar shrugged. "There's not even a whiff of magic from the letter. It was either composed by a human being, or by a competent Other who can cover his tracks. If it's a human being… that means there has to be a leak somewhere. If it's an Other… it's an absolutely irresponsible act of provocation."
"No traces at all?" I asked again to make sure.
"None. The only clue is the postmark." Gesar frowned. "But that looks very much like a red herring…"
"Why-was the letter sent from the Kremlin, then?" I quipped.
"Almost. The mailbox the letter was posted in is located on the grounds of the Assol complex."
Great tall buildings with red roofs-the kind Comrade Stalin would have been sure to approve of. I'd seen them. But only from a distance.
"You can't just go walking in there!"
"No, you can't," Gesar said with a nod. "So, in sending the letter from the Assol residences after all this subterfuge with the paper, the glue, and the letters, our unknown correspondent either committed a crude error…"
I shook my head.
"Or he's leading us onto a false trail…" At this point Gesar paused, observing my reaction closely.
I thought for a moment. And then shook my head again, "That's very naive. No."
"Or the 'wellwisher,'" Gesar pronounced the final word with frank sarcasm, "really does want to give us a clue."
"What for?" I asked.
"He sent the letter for some reason," Gesar reminded me. "As you well understand, Anton, we have to react to this letter somehow. Let's assume the worst-there's a traitor among the Others, who can reveal the secret of our existence to the human race."
"But who's going to believe him?"
"They won't believe a human being. But they will believe an Other who can demonstrate his abilities."
Gesar was right, of course. But I couldn't make sense of why anyone would do such a thing. Even the stupidest and most malicious Dark One had to understand what would happen after the truth was revealed. A new witch hunt, that was what. And people would gladly cast both the Dark Ones and the Light Ones in the role of the witches. Everyone who possessed the abilities of an Other…
Including Sveta. Including little Nadya.
"How is it possible 'to turn this human being into an Other'?" I asked. "Vampirism?"
"Vampires, werewolves…" Gesar shrugged. "That's it, I suppose. Initiation is possible at the very crudest, most primitive levels of Dark Power, but it would have to be paid for by sacrificing the human essence. It's impossible to turn a human being into a magician by initiation."
"Nadiushka…" I whispered. "You rewrote Svetlana's Book of Destiny, didn't you?"
Gesar shook his head. "No, Anton. Your daughter was destined to be born a Great One. All we did was make the sign more precise. We eliminated the element of chance…"
"Egor," I reminded him. "The boy had already become a Dark Other…"
"But we erased the specific quality of his initiation. Gave him a chance to choose again," Gesar said and nodded. "Anton, all the interventions that we are capable of only have to do with the choice of 'Dark' or 'Light.' But there's no way we can make the choice between 'human' or 'Other.' No one in this world can do that."
"Then that means we're talking about vampires," I said. "Supposing the Dark Ones have another vampire who has fallen in love…"
Gesar spread his hands helplessly. "Could be. Then everything's more or less simple. The Dark Ones will check their riffraff-it's in their interest as much as ours… And yes, by the way. They received a letter too. Exactly the same. And sent from Assol too."
"How about the Inquisition-did they get one?"
"You get shrewder and shrewder all the time," Gesar laughed. "They got one too. By mail. From Assol."
Gesar was clearly hinting at something. I thought for a moment and drew yet another shrewd conclusion.
"Then the investigation is being conducted by both Watches and the Inquisition?"
There was a brief flicker of disappointment in Gesar's glance.
"Yes, that's the way it is. When it's absolutely necessary, in a private capacity, it is permissible to reveal yourself to human beings. You know yourself…" he nodded toward the door through which his visitors had left. "But that's a private matter. And the appropriate magical limitations are imposed. This situation is far worse than that. It looks as if one of the Others intends to trade in initiations."
I imagined a vampire offering his services to rich New Russians and smiled. "How would you like to drink the people's blood for real, my dear sir?" But then, it wasn't all about blood. Even the very weakest vampire or werewolf possesses Power. They have no fear of disease. They live for a very, very long time. And their physical strength shouldn't be forgotten either-any werewolf would beat Karelin and give Tyson a good whipping. And then there was their "animal magnetism," the "call" that they had such complete control over. Any woman was yours for the taking, just summon her.
Of course, in reality, both vampires and werewolves were bound by numerous restrictions. Even more so than magicians-their instability required it. But did a newly initiated vampire really understand that?
"What are you smiling at?" Gesar asked.
"I just imagined an announcement in a newspaper. ‘I will turn you into a vampire. Safe, reliable, a hundred years guarantee. Price by arrangement.’"
Gesar nodded. "Good thinking. I'll have the newspapers and internet notice boards checked."
I looked at Gesar, but I couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. "I don't think there's any real danger," I said. "Most likely some crackpot vampire has decided to earn a bit of money. Showed some rich man a few tricks and offered to… er… bite him."
"One bite, and all your troubles ar
e over," Gesar said encouragingly.
Encouraged, I continued. "Someone… for instance, this man's wife, found out about the terrible offer. While her husband is hesitating, she decided to write to us. Hoping that we'll eliminate the vampire and her husband will remain a human being. Hence the combination of letters cut out of newspapers and the post office in Assol. A cry for help. She can't tell us openly, but she's literally begging us: Save my husband!"
"You hopeless romantic," Gesar said disapprovingly. "So then she takes a pair of nail scissors, and snippety-snips the letters out of the latest Pravda… Did she get the addresses out of the newspapers too?"
"The address of the Inquisition!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing the problem.
"Now there you're right. Could you send a letter to the Inquisition?"
I didn't answer. I'd been put firmly in my place. And Gesar had told me straight out about the letter to the Inquisition.
"In our watch I'm the only person who knows their address. In the Day Watch, I presume Zabulon is the only one. So where does that leave us, Gorodetsky?"
"You sent the letter. Or Zabulon did."
Gesar only snorted.
"And is the Inquisition really uptight about this?" I asked.
"Uptight is putting it mildly. In itself, the attempt to trade in initiations doesn't bother them. That's standard business for the watches-identify the perpetrator, punish him, and seal the leak. Especially since we and the Dark Ones are both equally outraged by what has happened… But a letter to the Inquisition-that's something really exceptional. There aren't very many of them, so you can see… If one side violates the Treaty, the Inquisition takes the other side, maintaining equilibrium. That gives all of us… discipline. But let's just say somewhere in the depths of one of the Watches a plan is being hatched for ultimate victory. A group of battle magicians who have come together and are capable of killing all the Inquisitors in a single night-that is, of course, if they happen to know all about the Inquisition-who serves in it, where they live, where they keep their documents…"
Twilight Watch Page 2
